Hot Fudge Frame-Up: A Fudge Shop Mystery (14 page)

The soaked fishermen in the shop had gravitated to me again, right at my elbows. I shared the muffins, holding on to the box. The men inhaled them so fast that there was an updraft of air right in front of me.

A chunky man with a long, bushy beard said, “I didn’t know Cinderella herself was gonna be here dolin’ out the goodies.”

Another slender guy in a plaid shirt snickered to the first guy, “You wait your turn. I got in line first to try the glass slipper on her foot.”

This sudden fairy-tale talk from a bunch of wet fishermen was unnerving to say the least, but taking their money was not. I rang up the fudge-laden muffins in my frilly yellow apron while Cody offered them another cup of cocoa-laced coffee.

The frenzy over the muffins bled over into a flurry by the men buying pink fudge to take with them. The chunky man with the beard stood over me at the counter, watching my every move as I bent over to wrap his box. He said, “You sure have a way with fudge. There’s some dance coming up for the fudge, isn’t there?”

“Yes, an adult prom.”

“I was wondering . . .”

His friend punched him on the arm and then hauled him off.

Pauline rushed up to me. “He was going to ask you to the prom!”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he was.”

“I don’t even know that man.”

“Who cares? Beggars for dates can’t be choosers. Want me to drag him back?”

“No, Pauline.”

“Please?”

Stubborn Belgian.

Minutes later, Pauline, Laura, and I were walking out the back door of the shop, intending to drive with Grandma in her SUV with pies to visit Libby. But Sheriff Tollefson’s squad car was at Grandma’s house. For the second time that morning, I took off running through the rain across my lawn and Duck Marsh Street.

“Jordy, what’s going on?” I asked breathlessly when I stopped in the middle of the living room.

He stood there with a pen poised over his clipboard.

My grandmother was sitting in her favorite corner of the sofa, next to her reading table. “Ava dear, he’s just asking me a few questions.” But her pallid face said it was more serious than that.

“About what?”

Pauline and Laura trooped in behind me. Laura was panting.

Jordy said, “It’s official business. I have to ask you to leave, please.”

“You can at least tell me what’s going on.”

My grandmother said, “My theory about Lloyd has proven true. He’s bad luck. The sheriff thinks I might have had a hand in murdering him. I’ll gladly take the blame after what he’s done to us.”

I screamed something about injustice at Jordy that Pauline and Laura echoed. To his credit, Jordy helped Laura to a chair like a gentleman should. But he explained that
because
Grandma was a close friend of Libby’s, she had to be questioned.
Because
Libby was a prime suspect.
Because
the first person you look to in a murder case is the spouse. Then Jordy kicked us out of the house for his interrogation of Grandma Sophie
because
she’d consented to it. Jordy was full of answers that I didn’t like.

* * *

“My grandmother a suspect in murder? What is he thinking!” As I drove to Libby Mueller’s with Pauline, Laura, and the rice and raspberry pies in Grandma’s sports utility vehicle, I added, “Grandma Sophie’s never like this. She’s smart enough to refuse to talk to the sheriff without a lawyer present. She’s talking to Jordy as a way to get back at Grandpa. She wants to be arrested. This is going to blow up in all our faces big-time.”

“Your face maybe, but not mine or Laura’s.” Pauline sat in the front passenger seat with a rice pie wrapped inside an insulated holder on her lap. It was still warm and was infusing the air with the smell of eggs and cinnamon. I’d called Libby and she’d hitched a ride back across the county with a lighthouse volunteer, leaving the professor to do his research on his own. Pauline continued. “You’re being overly dramatic again. You’re going to ruin your contest and your TV show if you don’t stop looking at life as if it were an e-mail and you had to say everything in capital letters with a bunch of exclamation points after them.”

“First of all, the fudge contest and TV show ideas were both John’s. Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed at how his idea has turned out? Jordy even said it—all of this happened because of the fudge contest. And how is John today, anyway?”

Asking was a mistake. Pauline launched into telling us all about how John mastered scuba diving in one day.

“Did he find any treasure?” I asked.

“He found a cup.”

Laura, who had a raspberry pie sitting next to her on the backseat, asked, “That’s all?”

“John thinks it’s a significant cup, a very important find,” Pauline said, pride oozing through her words. “He said Professor Faust told him it could’ve come from one of the shipwrecks that carried important goods for the well-to-do of Door County back in the 1800s, which means the ships could have had gold coins and jewelry aboard, too. He could be rich by tonight. He’s going to catch up with Professor Faust to see what else he knows.”

Laura asked, “What’s the cup look like?”

“It has gold lettering on it. We think it’s the ship captain’s own personal service. Or a rich passenger’s.”

“What letters?” I asked.

“AVD. In an intricate script.”

“Darn,” I said. “The A works for Ava, but I guess I’m out of luck. No Oosterling in those letters. And I could really use the dough right now.”

“John’s excited. He’s arranging for another dive.”

Rapture was all over my friend’s face. It was good to see her that way. Somehow her happiness gave me hope for my own love life.

Within ten minutes we’d gone through our tourist-laden streets and up Highway 42 toward Ephraim to a road that ran inland, southeast and opposite of Peninsula State Park. Libby Mueller lived amid a collection of older cottages, mostly one story. Long ago this was probably a lumber camp. Libby’s cottage was white with black shutters. What her plain house lacked in color, her postage-stamp yard made up for with its bounty of flowers, including perennials like daisies, and annuals like marigolds, zinnias, and bachelor buttons. Both she and Lloyd had a love for flowers, it seemed.

We parked next to Libby’s small, rusting gray Honda sedan.

I got out and retrieved the raspberry pie from the backseat so that Laura could climb out unencumbered.

When we got to the door, voices filtered through the screen. I punched the doorbell.

To my surprise, Kelsey King came to the door wearing pajamas. She hissed through the screen, “Are you following me?” She lifted her cell phone up and snapped a photo of me through the screen. “I’m calling the cops.”

I
f there wasn’t a screen between us, I might have heaved the raspberry pie right on top of her blond head. “Kelsey, the cops, as you call them, are already at my grandmother’s house, so I win. Now put the phone down and back away. We’ve brought pies for Libby. We’re here to express our condolences.” A partial lie, but I was proud of how sincere I sounded.

She flipped her blond ponytail at me as she walked away from the door.

Pauline and Laura raised their eyebrows at me. Laura whispered, “She’s wearing pajamas. Did she stay overnight here?”

Pauline whispered back, “Hard to tell. The high school girls wear pajama bottoms to school in place of jeans.”

Libby came to the door, swinging it open, her face springing into a teary smile. “Well, good morning, girls! Please come in.”

Her short, perfect bob of dark hair and tan pants and dusty rose blouse were a stark contrast to Kelsey’s slobby appearance at a little after ten on a Monday morning.

We stepped inside.

“More of Sophie’s pies? What a lovely gesture. Look at those pinched piecrusts. Let’s put those down over here.”

“Libby, I’m so sorry about Lloyd.”

“Ava, I know it was a shock for you, too, the way we found him. . . .” She leaned into me for a hug. “Thank you for being with me. He was a good man.”

She led us to the small dining room table, which was only a few steps from the front door. The open kitchen was to the right and living area to the left, all flowing together. It was a normal house except for Kelsey King’s presence. She was pouring herself a glass of orange juice as if she’d lived here forever with Libby.

Laura asked for directions to the bathroom, then scooted away while Pauline and I stood there agape at Kelsey.

“You two know each other?” I said, stupidly.

Kelsey said, leaning back against the kitchen counter, “Libby came to Legs and Toes last night and had my new fudge flavor for dessert.” A smile slashed across her face crookedly like a fudge cutter trying to dig into me.

Libby said, “And it was very good fudge.”

“What flavor?” I asked.

Kelsey laughed. “Nice try. I have a winner, wouldn’t you say, Libby?”

“It’s unusual, I’ll give you that.” Libby held up her coffeepot to offer us coffee.

I shook my head. “We can’t stay long. Do you need any help, Libby, with the arrangements for tomorrow?”

“That’s nice of you, but no, the funeral director seems to have it all in hand. They even ordered a big tent in case of rain and will add a loudspeaker outside if the crowd gets that big. Lloyd knew everybody. He was well liked.”

By everybody but my grandmother, I thought, who was being questioned right now as a suspect. I turned my attention to Kelsey.

“A friend said you were singing atop the lighthouse tower over at the park, Kelsey. Yesterday morning early.”

Kelsey shifted her weight but otherwise looked properly perplexed. “That wasn’t me.”

“But the friend said it was you, a petite blonde.”

“His binoculars must’ve been dirty.” Her eyes grew hard as she drank from her glass of orange juice. The color “orange” struck me, giving me conniptions.

Libby pulled out a chair at the table for Laura as she returned. Laura said, “Thank you, Libby.”

Libby said, “Are you sure you all don’t want some coffee? Maybe a piece of those pies?”

Pauline and I stayed standing. Pauline said to Kelsey, “We chased somebody through the woods who looked just like you.”

“It wasn’t me.” Kelsey plopped her glass on the counter.

Libby gave Kelsey a quick hug. “This dear girl was so exhausted from all her work at the restaurant in Egg Harbor that I told her if she was too tired to drive all the way to her condo in Sister Bay to stay with me. This little thing isn’t somebody who’d be running out in the woods.”

Kelsey smiled at us, triumphant. “Nice chatting with you, but I’ve got to change and get to the Legs and Toes to work on my fudge recipe. Libby, you’ll join me for lunch after your errand? I need a taste tester.” She started to walk past me, then paused. “Say, who’s the new replacement judge for Lloyd? Libby would be an appropriate choice.”

Sure, I thought, because somehow you’ve made friends with Libby. Then I saw Libby teary-eyed at the opposite end of the dining room table. My heart spoke for me. “Libby, I’d be honored if you joined the fudge contest. We’ll okay it with John, too. It’d be a tribute to Lloyd. You both meant a lot to each other. And to my family.” The last part was a lie, of course, what with Grandma wishing Lloyd dead.

Libby palmed away her tears. “That’s a lovely gesture. My husband always gave a lot to this community. He’d want me to do this for you. I accept.”

It struck me then that I didn’t know exactly how Lloyd had contributed at all. He owned a street full of cabins, some of the buildings along Main Street, and a fancy historic estate home, but did he give to the school? Parks? What? I’d have to ask my grandfather, or Libby, sometime when the kickboxing confectioner wasn’t in my face.

Laura rocked up from her chair. “I’m feeling puffy. I’d better get home and put my feet up.”

Kelsey went on her way toward a bedroom down the hall.

Libby rushed to help Laura with her chair. “When are those babies due?”

“Couple of weeks yet. I feel like a cow.”

We assured her she was too pretty for such comparisons. As we headed to the front door, Libby said, “Is your husband coming back for the birth?”

“I’m afraid not. The army has him working on something important and top secret.”

Libby hugged her at the front door. “We appreciate his service. We’re all here for you. Just call and let me know what I can do and I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Libby.”

After we were settled in grandma’s SUV, Laura said from the backseat, “Kelsey was lying about everything.”

I started the vehicle. “Definitely.”

“That invitation to Libby for lunch was spur-of-the-moment. It felt controlling somehow, though I don’t think Libby realized it.”

Pauline said, “And what’s this chummy relationship with Libby all of a sudden? They just met last night? And Kelsey stops by to stay over? And after we know Kelsey made a pass or two at Lloyd? This is fishy. They’re not telling us the whole story.”

I kept my eyes on the blacktop road. “There was only Libby’s car at her place. But Kelsey must have rented a car in Green Bay after she flew in from Portland, so where is it?”

“What does she drive?” Pauline asked. “A dark car?”

“I don’t know.”

Laura asked, “You’ve never seen her car?”

“No. She just showed up at the shop, and who would think to go out to the parking lot to see what rental car she’s driving?”

Pauline said, “Kelsey could’ve been driving Libby’s car and run us into the ditch.”

“If only we can prove it,” I said. “She says they only just met last night.”

Laura said, “It’s got to be a lie. They’re too chummy.”

Pauline agreed. “That’s how Kelsey was on top of the tower yesterday morning early. She got a key for the lighthouse from Libby. You have to also have a special key to open the hatch at the top of that staircase; only Libby would have that key, outside of the Coast Guard.”

“Kelsey likely stole the keys from Libby,” I said. “I noticed Libby didn’t say much about the singing on the tower. She may have been as surprised as us and just didn’t know what to say.”

Laura asked, “So, what is Kelsey up to with all this sneaky behavior?”

“It’s obvious,” Pauline said as we pulled up to the stop sign in front of Highway 42. “She plans to win the fudge contest however she can do it, plus get money out of Libby.”

“But Libby has no money.” Then I realized my stupidity. “Of course Lloyd probably left her money because he was nice and loved her. I doubt he left her a ton of dough to gamble away, but Kelsey is stupid enough to believe Libby will come into a fortune. What if Libby’s been Kelsey’s mark since the first day Kelsey arrived in Fishers’ Harbor?”

Laura clapped from the backseat. “You’re good. Case solved.”

We were almost back to Fishers’ Harbor on Highway 42 heading south when my cell phone rang. I dug it out and handed it to Pauline.

“Hello, this is Pauline, Ava’s secretary.”

It was my father. Pauline turned on the speaker. Dad said, “I’m here at the bank. The land contract looks solid enough, but I have some bad news. Along with Lloyd’s name, and your grandfather’s, the contract also has Mercy Fogg’s name on it. It appears she cosigned it with Lloyd.”

I almost ran off the road. I pulled into a nearby gas station lot. “Is there any other paperwork? Anything to explain why her name is on it? Any notes from Lloyd?”

“No, honey, that’s what we’re missing. This is just the contract in your grandpa’s lockbox.”

After we said our good-byes, the word “box” lingered in my head. Cars pulled around me to get to the fuel pumps. “Maybe Lloyd had some of the documentation about the contract with Grandpa in that box that was stolen from us. A long shot, but . . .”

Pauline said, “So we have to find that box. If Kelsey stole it at the crash site, maybe she’s also dumb enough to try and hide it in the woods? She’s been over there a lot, it seems.”

Laura said, “That park is huge. That’s a needle in a haystack. And she could have burned it. Or tossed it in the lake.”

My hunch said otherwise. “If Mercy stole those papers, she’d burn them, but maybe not Kelsey. She’s ditzy. She’s befriending Libby. Kelsey would’ve saved the box in order to curry favors from Libby.”

Pauline said, “True. Maybe it’s at the lighthouse. That’s why she was on the tower. She was faking the reason for being there by singing. Mercy saw her up there, so maybe the box is up there.”

A new realization gave me a shiver. “Libby didn’t exactly seem surprised at us questioning Kelsey about singing on the tower. I’m wondering now if Libby’s in on some ruse to get more of Lloyd’s money, such as proving she’s still part owner of his real estate. But that makes no sense since she likely inherits something anyway.”

Laura offered from the backseat, “It could be that Libby’s been threatened by Kelsey. If Kelsey killed Libby’s ex-husband over their secret affair gone bad or their disagreement about her winning the fudge contest in hopes of gaining fame and fortune, she might be willing to threaten other lives. Maybe Libby’s in fear for her life and going along with whatever Kelsey wants.”

It was all starting to make sense, as strange as it was. Jordy’s words rang through my head again. “But we need hard evidence.”

Pauline dug in her fat purse, which sat on the floor. “I’m writing all this down.”

Pauline was using a ruled pad of paper from school. What if Kelsey had somehow stolen the paper from Pauline’s purse at the fudge shop? Pauline set that bag down and walked away from it all the time. But there was no way to prove a piece of ripped paper came from Pauline’s purse.

“Do you have crayons in that purse?” I asked.

“Sure. A whole box of sixty-four.”

“Still have the orange one and related colors? You called the note a ‘moderate orange’ when we were with Jordy at his office.”

Pauline pulled out the box. She hoisted the waxy sticks. “Apricot, melon, peach, yellow-orange, red-orange, burnt orange, and . . . Wait. One’s missing. Salmon.”

Laura croaked from the back, “Oh my gosh. Is this what’s called a lead?”

“Could be,” I said. “Or not. Pauline, do your kids take your crayons out of your purse?”

“Never. First thing they learn in kindergarten is never to get into Miss Mertens’s things or anybody else’s backpack or pockets.”

“We should run that box down to Sturgeon Bay for fingerprinting.”

“There’s fudge smudged all over it from the Butterflies, and Jordy would also get my fingerprints.”

“Yeah. And despite your protests, Verona or her friends could have swiped a crayon.”

“Or maybe I just never saw it on the floor at your shop when I cleaned up after the girls.”

I thumped my fingers on the top of the steering wheel. What would the
Topsy-Turvy Girls
do next on my TV show?

While I was thinking, Pauline said, “Hey, look. It’s Dillon. And that’s your truck.”

I hadn’t realized we were at the old gas station that was connected to Fishers’ Harbor Auto Body. A tall overhead door was open, though we couldn’t see much from this angle, what with the pumps, cars, and people in between. Dillon was looking over my vehicle’s crumpled yellow tailgate. Lucky Harbor was wandering about, sniffing. Dillon must have taken an early lunch break from the Main Street construction. It was after eleven o’clock. But what was he doing with my truck? One of his hands was sliding along the top of the tailgate, and then it was caressing the crumpled steel before cupping the one good headlight that remained. My memory relived his warm hands with strong fingers that were sensitive to a woman’s needs. . . . My heartbeat quickened.

I jerked in my seat.

“What’s wrong?” Pauline asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t say ‘nothing.’ You just got hot watching Dillon Rivers touch your truck!”

“Did not.”

“Now who’s the stubborn Belgian?”

Laura laughed.

I steered fast back onto the highway. Because I was driving Grandma’s SUV, I hoped Dillon hadn’t recognized me.

Soon afterward, I veered off again and onto a back street.

“Now where are we going?” Pauline asked.

I fished in my pocket and came up with Lloyd’s key.

Pauline said, “The key was okay when Lloyd was alive, but now it feels like trespassing. I’ll be fired from my teaching job.”

“We’re not breaking in.” I waved the key again.

“We need to get Laura home. She needs a rest stop.”

“Lloyd has nice bathrooms.” I glanced into the rearview mirror. “You’re fine with this, Laura?”

“I have nothing better to do than watch birthing videos.”

“This’ll be more fun,” I said.

Pauline printed a note on her pad, muttering, “Forced into Lloyd’s house against my will. Please call nine-one-one.”

“If I didn’t know better, P.M., I’d think you were the one writing the threatening notes to me.”

“I do own an orange crayon, A.M.”