All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (14 page)

“Well?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I grabbed the coffeepot and poured myself fresh coffee. I turned and faced three people staring at me: Frances from her normal perch on the receptionist desk, Mr. Devaney from the chair beside her, and Jenn on the floor, playing with Mal. “What?”

“Do we move forward or are you planning to sell to creepy Mr. Creeper next door?” Jenn sat back on her heels.

“We move forward, of course.” I rolled my eyes.

“What did you do?” Frances asked.

“I called my father.” I winced—it was hard to think that I did indeed need his help and his money. I wanted to believe I didn’t, but at this point it was simply stubbornness on my part. “I convinced him to give me the money he has stashed for my wedding. Goodness knows if that will ever happen anyway. We now have an extra twenty thousand dollars. Will that help?”

“It’s a start,” Frances said with a nod.

“A good start.” Jenn got up and hugged me. “I know how hard that was. Good job.”

“I don’t know how good.” I ran a hand through my hair and tugged. “But it was definitely a job.”

“Why didn’t you just get a bank loan?” Mr. Devaney asked, drawing his bushy brows together. “You’ve got collateral in the building.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “But it turns out banks are much pickier with loans these days. I didn’t have enough credit even with the collateral and my solid business plan.”

“Did you try off-island banks?” Frances asked.

“Everything from here to Chicago, including a few credit unions.” It was embarrassing to let my staff know how dire our straits really were, but if they were going to be part of my team, then they needed to know just how good or bad things were.

“Well, you don’t need to pay me,” Jenn said. “All I need is a place to crash for the summer and a good reference.”

“They do a lot of weddings on island,” Frances said. “If you’re serious about event planning, that would be a great angle to start.”

“Wait! That’s awesome. We could use the McMurphy to book wedding parties. We could set up a plan where for a discount, parties could buy out the entire hotel. We’ll become a destination wedding hotel.”

“And fudge shop,” I said.

“And fudge shop,” Jenn added.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I expect to get paid for my work,” Mr. Devaney said firmly.

“And you will be,” I said. “I have funds now to get us through a season even if we don’t book all the rooms.”

“What did you have to do in exchange?” Frances blinked through her glasses.

“Besides give up my dream of a big wedding?” Okay so sarcasm didn’t really work on people who were contemplating working without pay. “I promised to spend the holidays in Detroit with Mom and Dad.”

“The holidays as in Christmas Day and New Year’s?”

“As in, one weekend a month and the entire months of December and January,” I said. Three pairs of eyes looked at me, stunned. “I know it sounds like a lot, but I’ll use the time to craft new fudge recipes and drum up business. Besides, lots of business owners aren’t here on the off-season.”

“What weekend a month?” Jenn asked. “When does that start?”

“The second weekend of the month and it starts in June. So I’ll be here for the rest of the new opening prep and then for Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day.”

“What about the lilac festival and the horse festival and all the other festivals?” Frances asked. “Those are not acceptable terms.”

“We turn a big enough profit this season and I’ll pay my parents off. Once I’ve done that, then I don’t have to continue with the visits.”

“Incentive,” Jenn said. “I like that. Come on then, let’s get our plans together. We have work to do, people.”

 

 

“I don’t understand it.” I looked up from the accounting books. It was late at night. Jenn was in her nightgown, her hair wrapped in a towel. She painted her toenails grape while Mal curled up beside her on Papa’s old couch.

“What?”

“Pete is right. The McMurphy hasn’t made a profit in decades.”

“But your Papa Liam had no problem keeping it going and even left you money when he died.” Jenn looked up from her work.

“I know, and it shows at least one solid entry every month in the bank account.”

“What kind of solid are we talking about?”

“Ten grand,” I said.

“That’s pretty solid. Was your grandfather into something illegal?”

“I highly doubt it.” I frowned. “Seriously, Grammy would have killed him.”

“I think I would have loved your grandmother. She certainly sounds like a strong woman.”

“She had to be to keep Papa in line.” I pursed my mouth and scrunched it to one side. “So where do you think he got the money?”

“Maybe there really is buried treasure in that tunnel,” Jenn said. “Didn’t you say there was another door down there?”

“Yes, but it didn’t look like it had been opened in years.”

Jenn went back to painting her nails. “Did you ever figure out what that tunnel might have been built for? I mean, the twenties were well past the need for an underground railroad, right?”

“Right.” I turned to my computer and did a search for keywords of “Mackinac” and “tunnels.” It popped up a story of a little boy who was killed when a snow tunnel fell in on him. “Tragic.”

“What?”

“Some poor kid lost his life five years ago when he tried to make a snow tunnel. It wasn’t stable and it fell in on him.”

“Sad.”

I continued to peruse the articles that popped up. Nothing was earlier than 1995. So I tried again, searching with the words “historical” and “1920s.” There it was plain as day. “Oh, I would never have guessed,” I said.

“What?”

“I bet that tunnel was created to move smuggled goods onto and off the island.”

“What kind of goods would someone want to smuggle here?”

“It was the nineteen twenties and thirties . . .”

“Wait—Prohibition.” Jenn pointed at me and I smiled.

“Yes, I bet Papa’s father was in the business of rum-running. Especially since we are so close to the port and there are so many wealthy vacationers who come to Mackinac for the summers.” I felt so proud of myself.

“What we need is proof,” Jenn mused.

“Well, there wouldn’t be any liquor left down there,” I said. “It’s been legal since 1933.”

“Still, it makes a great story,” Jenn said. “I know, we can have a costume party. Let’s say a Great Gatsby party. It goes nicely with your cocktail-inspired fudges. Oh, we totally have to get flapper costumes.”

Jenn was so excited she got Mal worked up. Both hopped off the couch, Jenn racing around with cotton between her newly polished toes and Mal running circles around her and barking. It made me laugh.

“Stop laughing,” Jenn muttered as she grabbed a pad of paper from my desk and a pen. “I’m being flooded with cool ideas and I need to get them down. This is awesome. It fits the entire theme of the McMurphy.”

“Wait, I thought we were Victorian . . .”

“Well, you are, but the twenties weren’t too far off that. Too bad you don’t have a lovely lawn where we could set out lawn games.”

“If you need a lawn you’ll have to stay at the Jessop Grander Hotel,” I grumbled. “We have fudge and easy access to downtown.”

“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean anything by that. I was only saying how cool it would be with our theme. Besides, your guests don’t need a lawn. The grassy plaza at the foot of the fort is merely blocks away. Practically right next to the yacht club, too.” She grinned at me.

I shook my head.

“Now, I’ll have to plan this just right. With any luck, we can showcase the improvements to the McMurphy and I can show off my party-planning skills. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Do you think Papa knew about his father’s rum-running? I mean, Papa was just a small boy when Prohibition was over. Did he know how or why they built the tunnel?”

“We will never know unless you uncover diaries in those bazillion or so boxes he left,” Jenn said. She sat back down on the couch and flung her feet and arms wide. “I’m exhausted.”

Mal took a flying leap and landed square onto Jenn’s stomach. My friend gave a solid umph and laughed, grabbing the puppy and planting kisses on her. Then she made Mal stand on her hind legs and dance. “We’re going to have a Great Gatsby party, Marshmallow,” Jenn said with glee. “We’re going to be flappers and drink from martini glasses and eat finger foods. Oh, we should see if we can have the pool house for the party. Then we can bring everyone through the tunnel as if they are going to a speakeasy.”

I stood. “I’m not having anything to do with Pete Thompson, and unless you want to pay for the insurance to have party guests crawling through tunnels in their party dresses, I think neither are you.”

“True.” Jenn pursed her lips and looked at Mal. “We’re going to be flappers right here in our newly remodeled lobby and showcase our complete twenty-first-century security system to boot.”

They both turned toward me, and Jenn made Mal do a little dance standing on her hind legs. “We’re so happy we could just die!”

“I’m glad you’re happy, but please don’t die. I have enough trouble with finding only one corpse in the McMurphy. The last thing we need is two.”

“I can’t believe she got everyone on the historical committee to agree to coming to a party this Friday.” I washed the front windows in the fudge shop area of the McMurphy. “That leaves me three days to make the new cocktail fudge recipes and box them up as take-home gifts.”

“You don’t have to make the entire series,” Frances said as she cleaned out the candy counter. “Just a representative few.”

“It takes weeks to perfect a recipe.”

“And you’ve been working on yours for two years.” Frances straightened. “Don’t worry. You’re ready. You’ll blow them away.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll give up my summer salary to pay the difference in the repair costs they require.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that,” I said.

“Then make good fudge,” Frances replied.

It was early morning, and I noticed that Paige Jessop walked down the sidewalk across the street from the McMurphy. She was with someone who looked familiar. “Who is that walking with Paige?” The man looked to be in his thirties, he wore a pale blue polo shirt, khaki pants, and boat shoes with no socks. His Windbreaker had an Izod emblem on it. His brown hair rustled in the wind and his hawk-like nose was tinged in red from the chill in the air.

“That’s Emerson Todd. The guy you took the picture of,” Frances said. “He sold his family land to Paige. It’s the only way she could have gotten the plot of land big enough to build her new hotel.”

“I thought he went broke in the real-estate bust.”

“All the more reason to sell out to the Jessops,” Frances said with scorn. “Do you know they railroaded the project through the zoning commission by promising to pay higher taxes?”

“Wow, it must be nice to be so sure of success that you would offer to pay higher taxes.”

“Oh, she won’t pay higher taxes. Her uncle is on the county commission. He’ll make sure the taxes are delayed for seven years. By then she’ll sell off that hotel and walk away with a tidy profit.”

“Who thinks like that?” I asked, shaking my head. “I’m surprised she got them to okay a new building. I mean, the beauty of the island is its age. Its old-time appeal.”

“You know as well as I do life is about who you know.” Frances handed me her cleaning cloth. “Speaking of people you know, I need to get back to checking the RSVPs.”

“Wait, you invited Paige and Emerson, right? I mean, if they have that kind of pull with the society, then I want them here.”

“Yes, they are both invited, but I advise you not to put all your eggs in one basket, so to speak. I heard that the money Paige gave Emerson for his family’s land was well over a million. I doubt he’ll be wearing anything but a purple ribbon on his lapel.”

“Right.” I watched them walk down the street and go into the Parrot’s Head Restaurant and Pub. It would be hard to compete with a woman who looked like Paige, even if I had a million dollars, which I most definitely did not.

 

 

“I scored insurance.” Jenn rushed into the office, her cheeks pink with excitement. Mal jumped up and raced to her.

“What?”

“I scored liability insurance so we can take everyone on a tour of the tunnel.” Jenn picked up Mal and gave the fluffy puppy a squeeze. Mal licked Jenn’s face and my friend chuckled. “She is the sweetest puppy.”

“She’s smart, too,” I said. “She’s almost completely house trained and she will sit for a treat.” I was such a proud doggie mommy.

“You should teach her tricks to entertain your guests.”

I got up and took Mal from Jenn. “I will. We’re going to go to obedience class next month. Frances got me in with the local vet. Now, what is this about insurance and why do I feel as if I should be worried?”

“I called in a few favors and I got liability insurance for the night of the party. Douglas won’t have the materials to wall off the tunnel until next week.”

“Wait, who’s Douglas?”

“Your new handyman, silly.” Jenn rolled her eyes at me. “You just hired him.”

“Mr. Devaney lets you call him Douglas?” I sat down and squeezed Mal. You couldn’t help but squeeze her—she was soft and warm and fluffy.

“Yes, he was telling Frances and me the most amazing stories today.”

“Where was I?” I wondered out loud.

“You’re the boss, silly, you were up here doing paperwork or something. Anyway, Douglas reassured me that he would not have the materials to wall off the tunnel until after the party. And, since I got liability insurance, I sent a note around that the party would begin in the McMurphy and we would tour the smuggler’s tunnel to the pool house. I’m hiring a couple of actors from Mackinaw City to come in and act out a murder mystery. It will be fantastic. Trust me, when people leave with your 21-and-older cocktail fudges, they will do nothing but rave.”

“I’m not sure a murder mystery is in the best taste,” I mused. “Considering that I want to make a good impression on the Jessops.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. Everyone will be in costume and it will be completely staged, far from the second floor and any reference to their grandfather. In fact, I’ve even scheduled a séance for later that night for anyone who wants to get in touch with the ghosts of McMurphy past.”

“I don’t know,” I said and put a squirming Mal down. “Check with Frances.”

“Oh, she is totally on board with the idea. Now, how do you feel about an advertisement in the
Town Crier?
We could call it Fudge, Flappers, and Femme Fatales.” She drew the title across the air. “It’s sure to get everyone who is anyone to come.”

“Why would they come? They all hate me.”

“Because, silly, I have also hooked us up with a local charity. There will be a fifty-dollar cover fee and all proceeds go to the children’s clinic on island. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

I slouched. It wasn’t a bad idea, but how were we going to pull it off in three days?

“Don’t worry.” She winked as if reading my mind. “You make the fudge and I’ll do the rest. I’m nothing if not brilliant at event planning.”

“It’s not you that I’m worried about as much as Murphy’s Law.” I frowned. “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“That’s why we make it a murder mystery. Everyone will be thinking murder anyway. This gets it out there and gets them actively looking to solve it. Trust me, the party’s going to be killer.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of . . .”