To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) (10 page)

My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Hello?”

“Allie, it’s Liz.”

“Hey, Liz, we were just talking about you.”

“Well, you’re going to be talking more. I walked in on a crime scene.”

“What? Where?” My voice grew loud. Everyone with me turned to stare. I raised my hand to let them know I needed to hear more before I would repeat any information.

“Do you know the ladies’ room in the ballroom area where the show is being taped?”

“Yes, I was just there last night. It’s where the girls in the group change into our street clothes. Why?”

“There is a dead woman on the floor. Her purse is emptied out beside her.”

“Oh, no, do you know who it is?” My group of friends stepped in close to figure out what I was talking about. I held out my hand to indicate they needed to wait.

“I only caught a glimpse but I think she had caramel brown hair.”

“Cathy,” I muttered and slumped against the wall. “I was just talking to her there.”

“There’s one more thing, Allie.”

“What’s that?”

“She had a half-eaten piece of fudge wrapped in red, white, and blue checkered cloth beside her.”

“Oh, no . . .”

“Shane says it looks like poisoning. He’s already bagged the fudge. So quick question . . . was your fudge from last night plated on that material?”

I hugged my waist. “I can’t say.”

“So that’s a yes?” Liz pressed through the phone.

“No, it’s an ‘I can neither confirm nor deny anything about the show.’”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked behind me.

I put my hand over the phone. “Cathy’s been found dead.”

“What? When? Where?”

“Who’s that with you?” Liz asked.

“It’s Chef Thomas.”

“Oh, I want to talk to him.”

I held out the phone. “It’s Liz MacElroy, reporter for the
Town Crier
—our local paper. She wants to talk to you.”

Peter stared at my phone as if it might bite him. “Can’t,” he said and crossed his arms.

I put the phone back to my ear. “He can’t.”

“What do you mean he can’t? He doesn’t know how to or he won’t?”

I looked at Peter’s closed-off face. “He won’t.”

“Darn it,” Liz muttered. “Okay, look, I’m hearing your name getting thrown around. If you give me an exclusive, I’ll give you a heads-up on what’s going on.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. It was a tough decision. I had a signed contract saying I would forfeit all payment for the show plus have to pay them $20,000 in fines for each time they could follow a source back to me. That said, I needed to know why my name had come up. Had I been the last person to see Cathy alive?

“I can’t say anything about the show.”

“Fine,” Liz said. “So tell me, did you see Cathy in the bathroom this morning?”

“Yes,” I said.

“What is going on?” Jenn asked.

I held up my finger, asking her to wait.

“She was alive when I left her,” I stated. “That’s a fact.”

“Okay,” Liz said. “If you learn anything else you’ll give me the exclusive?”

“Yes, of course, we’re friends, right?”

“Yes. Okay, so it turns out that the hotel installed cameras in the hallways where the show is being shot to keep anyone from trying to steal a prop.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Word is that the video shows Cathy going into the bathroom last night and five minutes later you go in. Twenty minutes later you come out. Cathy never does. No one thought anything about it. They figured she left earlier than you when the camera monitor was looking at other footage.”

“No,” I said in horror. “No, she was alive when I left.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to prove that.”

I hung up the phone, grabbed an empty stainless-steel stool, and sat down hard.

Frances and Jenn surrounded me. “Are you okay?”

“You look white as a sheet. Are you in shock?”

“What? No,” I said.

Frances put the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re clammy. Put your head between your knees.”

I allowed them to guide me into a folded position.

“Breathe,” Jenn said. “In and out—whoosh.”

“Cathy died?” Peter asked.

I turned my head to look him in the eye. “Yes. Apparently two of us went into the ladies’ room and only one came out.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Frances said.

Mal barked at her tone.

“It’s okay, puppy,” I said from my folded position. I tried to sit up. “I think I’m okay.”

“Do they know how she died? Was it a heart attack or something more sinister?” Frances asked.

“They wouldn’t know for sure yet,” Jenn said. “Shane tells me it takes a full autopsy before they determine cause of death—even if they find a person hanging. They are to presume nothing and make their evaluation based on the evidence. If the body is inconclusive, then they go to the evidence around the body.”

“That makes sense,” Peter said. “Obvious assumptions are sometimes obvious and sometimes misleading.”

“What is Cathy’s death going to do for tonight’s shoot?” Jenn asked.

“I have no idea,” Peter said. “But I’ll find out.” He turned to leave, went to the front door, and paused. “They found her at the Grand?”

“Yes, in the bathroom in the hallway where the sets are,” I replied.

He pushed through the door and put on his sunglasses, then melted into the swelling crowds of Main Street. In the coming week the crowds would get even larger as Mackinac Island celebrated the Lilac Festival.

“Are you okay?” Jenn asked me again.

“Yes,” I said and stood. “I think all I need is a good four or five hours of solid sleep.”

“Good morning, gang.” Sandy came in from the back, cheery. “How’s everything?”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Jenn said. “Sandy, can you handle the fudge shop? I’m going to take Allie upstairs. She needs some sleep.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Sandy grabbed a striped apron and wrapped it around her waist. “Looks like all the fudges are already made. Go on, boss. Get some sleep. You know the first rule of the kitchen . . .”

“Don’t be late?” Jenn said.

I laughed. “No, it’s don’t work sleep or health impaired. It’s simply too easy to get burned or maimed or any number of awful things.”

“I can do this,” Sandy reassured. “Go on, get some rest. Things will look better with proper rest.”

“I certainly hope so . . .”

I woke up to pounding on the door to the apartment. It matched the pounding of my head. I hate how much it hurts to wake up from a nap. Especially when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.

“I’m coming,” I held my head as the pounding started again. I wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of silky boxers. My hair was mashed up on one side of my head. I suspected I had dried drool running down the right side of my mouth. Too bad. Whoever woke me deserved to be frightened by my appearance.

“Allie, open up.”

That was a familiar voice. Darn it. I opened the door to see Trent Jessop standing at my door. The man was a gorgeous sight for the eyes. Well over six feet tall, he had broad shoulders, dark eyes, and dark hair that was so expertly cut it didn’t matter who touched it, it fell right back into place. Next to him I felt even more roughed up. “I’m up,” I turned my back on him so he was saved from the full effect of me after a three-hour nap. I was up, but I was not awake.

“Are we alone?”

I stopped in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m sorry, why are you here, Trent?” I made my way to the kitchen and put water in the teakettle and put it on the stove. I went through the steps for making French press coffee. The French press took more effort than a drip machine, but the coffee was worth it. I’d been making it so long that I could and often did make it in my sleep.

He followed me to the kitchen. “Rex sent me over.”

“Okay . . . why? I was sleeping—something I’d rather do at night but the television show tapes all blessed night long.”

Trent chuckled and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“What gave me away?” I sat down on the stool and realized that I was in pajamas with bed-head hair in front of the hottest guy on island, and in several states, if you asked me. I jumped up. “Can you watch the water? I need to get dressed.”

“You don’t have to dress on my account.”

I turned to see him smiling, his eyes on my bare legs. “Yes, I do.” I scurried off to my bedroom, ripped off the T-shirt, and put on proper undergarments and a fresh McMurphy pink polo and a pair of black jeans. Then I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and brushed my hair. A look in the mirror reminded me that I was who I was and that was all that mattered.

I walked back into the kitchen to find that he had made the coffee in the press and set it in a cozy to steep.

“Where do you keep your mugs?” he asked as he opened then closed cupboard doors.

“Here,” I said and walked over to the sink. “I keep them to the right of the sink with the glasses.” I put down the mugs. “Actually, Grammy Alice kept them there, Papa Liam left them there, and now I leave them there.” I shrugged. “I guess they’re there no matter who owns the kitchen.”

“That’s deep for a woman who just woke up and has yet to have a cup of coffee.” His eyes twinkled at me as he picked up the French press and poured us both a cup.

“Half-and-half?” I asked and pulled out the pint from inside the refrigerator.

“No, I like mine straight-up black.”

“I like cream.” I splashed more than enough to turn my coffee a lovely creamy brown. I put the pint back in the refrigerator and took a sip. My eyes rolled back and the pounding in my head lessened. “Now, let’s try this again. Why are you here?”

I opened my eyes to see that he was once again leaning on the breakfast bar. This time he had a deep-red mug in his hands.

“Did you know that the cops got a warrant to search Jessop Compost and Mulch?”

“I heard them talking about that being a possibility,” I said. “Mal found more bones with those unusual cuts. Since the bones were found in the mulch in two different yards, the natural conclusion was—”

“—they came with the mulch,” he finished.

“Exactly, and Rex told me that there are only two companies who sell mulch on island, you and Gooseworthy—”

“—so they got a warrant for both.”

“You have to quit doing that,” I said.

“What?”

“Finishing my sentences. It’s unnerving.”

“Unnerving?”

“Yes.” I contemplated him over the edge of the mug. “It’s something old married couples do.”

He broke out in a deep, rich laugh. “And we’re—”

“—not even dating,” I finished.

He laughed even harder. “Someday we’re going to have to remedy the situation.”

Okay, I had been lifting my cup to my mouth. His words made me bobble the mug and splash coffee all over the floor. “Darn.” I put the cup on the counter and grabbed a paper towel to wipe it up.

“Didn’t mean to make you spill your coffee.” He raised one eyebrow. “Does the thought of us dating make you nervous?”

“I am not awake enough for this conversation,” I muttered and threw the paper towel in the trash. “Why are you here, Trent?”

“Apparently I’m here to terrorize you.” He sipped his coffee.

“That is not an answer.” I hugged myself and leaned against the counter.

“Okay, that’s fair. I guess I needed to know what was going on with this investigation of yours.”

“My investigation? Oh, you mean the bones Mal found?”

“There’s another investigation?”

My head had cleared from my nap. “Yeah, one of the cast members of the reality show died last night.” I picked up my coffee and took it to the small dining table on the other side of the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living space. “At least that’s what Liz told me. I had an hour’s sleep before I had to get up to make today’s fudge. It’s why the nap.”

He sat down across from me. “What made you agree to do the reality show? I mean, aren’t those shows about people humiliating themselves for money? You don’t seem that type to me.”

“Huh, thanks,” I said. “I didn’t think I was the type either, but my old mentor, Chef Thomas, is hosting the thing. They had a cast member bow out and he was looking for a quick fill-in.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d only be shooting one or two and it seemed like a quick favor.”

He tilted his head and studied me. “You are loyal to your friends, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“No.” He shook his head. “In my experience your loyalty is a rare gift.”

“Huh.”

“Okay, so I don’t need to worry about you investigating me, right?”

“Right.” I sent him a wry smile. “If anything, I need to worry about them investigating me.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “Why?”

“It seems that I was the last person to see Cathy alive.”

Prepare the first layer. Line a 1-½ quart square baking dish with wax paper so that, when pressed, just an inch or so hangs off around the edges. Set aside. In a double boiler melt the chocolate chunks completely. Stir in the almond butter, corn syrup, and salt, mixing until smooth and until all ingredients are incorporated. Spread into the bottom of the lined dish and set aside.

 

Prepare the second layer. In a small saucepan over low heat, combine the coconut milk and chocolate chips. Stirring frequently, cook until the mixture is well combined and the chocolate has a glossy finish. Pour this mixture over the first almond butter-chocolate layer, smoothing slightly with a spatula. Score with a sharp knife into 1-inch squares.

 

Chill in the refrigerator for 6 hours or overnight. When ready to cut and serve, remove the fudge from the pan by lifting out the paper. Place on a cutting board, and then use a sharp knife and cut into 1-inch pieces following the score marks. Serve.