To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) (11 page)

“The Lilac Festival starts in tomorrow,” Jenn reminded me after I walked Trent out of the apartment and went into the office. The business office for the McMurphy was located on the fourth floor next to the owner’s apartments.

When Jenn, my best friend from the hotel management degree program, offered to come out and spend the summer on island and help me run my first season with the McMurphy, I had moved a couple of bookshelves and tucked a second desk in the small twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot room.

Our desks faced each other, computer monitors on opposite sides so that we could see each other. Unfortunately, the rest of the office was a mess of stacked files, books, and on Jenn’s side, a giant box of samples for linens, print materials, and all the things an event planner might want to order for an event.

Behind me the entire wall was filled with bookshelves—one dedicated to fudge recipe books old and new, one filled with Papa’s books and paraphernalia, and the final one held cloth boxes that served as my filing system.

“Oh, man,” I sat down. “Lilac Festival . . . I still feel as if it’s May.”

“The parade floats are looking awesome,” Jenn said. “Frances went over to the exchange building and snapped some pictures on the work in progress. I understand it’s a flurry of activity. You really should consider entering a float in next year’s parade.”

I turned on my computer, then put my left elbow on the top of Papa’s big mahogany desk that now served as my desk. “I hoped to have a float this year, but there is simply no time.”

“No worries, it’s best to scope out the floats this year. I’ll snap some pictures of the ones we like best and we can brainstorm at the end of season for what our float will look like. I understand the planning starts in January.”

“Yes.” My computer booted up, and I typed in my password. “Frances is cutting lilacs to festoon the hotel lobby. I have lilac fudge and candied lilacs on my planning sheet.”

“I love the smell of lilacs in bloom, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Grammy Alice used to love Lilac Festival. She was on one of the first planning committees. It was thought that we should have a horse-drawn float parade. Then the best time for it would be when the whole island smells of lilacs and all the flowers are in bloom so that the soft scent of flowers would fill the air. Quite a difference from the busy, smoggy summer days in Chicago or Detroit.”

“I’m excited to see it up close.” Jenn scrolled through the pictures she had in her e-mail. “We should offer a lilac tea on Sunday. What do you think? We could set up the front half of the lobby with three or four round tables and use fine china and offer a variety of delicate teas, plus lilac petit fours, cucumber sandwiches, and ladyfingers adorned with sugared lilacs.”

“Sounds fabulous,” I said. “We could see if Sandy wants to make white chocolate centerpieces—perhaps a small replica horse-drawn carriage? If there are only only three or four tables that need centerpieces, she might be able to sculpt multiples if she keeps it simple.”

“Oh, great idea,” Jenn said. “I’ll go down and see what Frances and Sandy think. If we’re going to do this, we need to act quickly. We should leave an invitation in the mailbox of every guest room. I can make some simple posters to go up around town. Is it a go?”

“Yes, maybe we can take donations for the Mackinac Island Children’s Clinic,” I said. “Let’s see if we can have a presence in the festival without a float.”

“Great idea.” Jenn left filled with excitement.

I was deep into bill paying when the phone rang. “McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe, Allie speaking.”

“Allie, Peter Thomas,” his voice boomed through the phone line. “We’re having a cast meeting for the show in an hour. Can you be at the Grand? Salon A.”

“As long as I don’t have to be ready to shoot, I’ll be there,” I promised.

“Great, thanks.”

I finished my bills, made a long list of other things I needed to attend to, and headed downstairs. Mal greeted me with a running slide into my legs. I picked her up and patted her on the head. “Are you being a good pup?”

Mal licked my cheek as her answer.

“Hey, Allie,” Jenn said from behind the reservation desk. “Frances and Sandy are on board with the tea. We were thinking of offering it on both Sunday afternoons.”

“That way, it takes advantage of all ten days of festival time,” Frances added from her perch behind the reception desk.

“It will give me time to craft something for the last tea’s centerpieces,” Sandy chimed in. She wore a pink bandana over her black braided hair, a pink McMurphy polo, black slacks, and the pink-and-white apron of our uniform. “The first tea is four days from now. I can craft something simple for that tea.”

“I like it,” I said to my smiling team and put Mal down. She wandered off to snag a dog toy and shake it.

Mr. Devaney came up from the basement. Mal dropped her toy and ran over to get her pets from the new person in the room. “There’s a plumbing issue in 221 and stuck windows in 333.” He reached down and patted Mal.

“Mr. Devaney, have you ever worked on a Lilac Festival float?” I asked.

He straightened and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“We’re thinking we should enter a float next year,” I said.

“That’s a year away. I could be dead by then,” he groused.

I put my hands on my hips. “Well, if you’re alive next spring can you help with the float? Frances will be in charge of overseeing the project.”

He looked at Frances and then the hopeful faces of everyone else. “I suppose.”

“Good.” I looked at my team. “Let’s get on the festival tea. I have to go to the Grand—they’re having an emergency meeting of the show cast.”

“When will you be back?” Jenn asked.

“I’m hoping to be back in time for the evening fudge demonstration.”

“Good,” Frances said. “Let those reality folks know that you’re running a business. Put your foot down, young lady. You need to sleep.”

“Are the bags under my eyes that noticeable?”

“Yes,” all three women said at the same time.

I made a face. The front doorbells jangled, and a couple came in. “Hello folks, how can we help you?”

My team scrambled to their various work pursuits.

“We’re planning a wedding on island in September and are looking for a place to house the family,” the young man said. His green eyes sparkled in delight as his right hand brushed the woman’s left arm.

“We offer a special if you rent the entire hotel for a weekend,” I said. “We also offer an event planner’s services as part of the weekend fee.” I waved toward the reservation desk, where Frances and Jenn were. “Please come in. I’m Allie McMurphy. My family has owned the hotel for over one hundred years.”

Mal raced up to greet the newcomers. Thankfully, she didn’t slide into them but did a pretty pirouette and then sat and held her paw out to shake.

The woman laughed. “Hello, are you the entertainment here?” She reached down, patted Mal on the head, then straightened. “What we love about the island,” the woman said, “is all the tradition in this lovely, peaceful setting.”

“I’m Thad. This is my fiancée, Rose. We are looking for a place where we could rent either an entire floor or an entire building,” he said.

“Depending on the dates we can certainly help you.” I glanced at my watch. It was time for me to go. “Frances, this is Thad and Rose. See if we can meet their dates. If so, please give them a tour.”

“Will do.” Frances waved the couple over. “Let’s see what we can do to accommodate you.”

“I have to get going before I’m late again,” I told Jenn. “You can reach me by text or cell.”

The air outside was soft and fragrant. My thoughts were not on the walk down the alley that split the block between Main Street and Market Street. I felt bad for Cathy. She would never again know the sights and smells of early summer.

“You just think you’re so much better than us.”

“What?” I turned to see Tammy Gooseworthy hovering by the side door to the part of the Grand Hotel where the cast and crew entered for shooting. Her brown hair was hair sprayed to create a helmet-like bob. She wore a white short-sleeved button-down shirt with the Grander Hotel logo embroidered on the top pocket, black slacks, and athletic shoes.

“You have something going with Chef Thomas, don’t you? It’s got to be the only reason he picked you to be in his show.” Her expression was one of cold disdain, her nose in the air as she looked down at me.

“Chef Thomas was my mentor,” I said. “I didn’t hide that. Why are you so upset anyway? I understand you’re the chief pastry chef at the Grander Hotel. Congrats, by the way.” I took hold of the door handle. “I’ve got to go in, they’re waiting for me.”

“He should have had auditions.” Tammy followed me inside. “I have more years’ experience than any other member of this so-called cast. I’ve done some digging and most of these people aren’t even qualified to be here.” She followed me as I kept walking.

“Seriously, Tammy? A woman has died. Just put in your application for next year’s show.” I stopped her in the hall. “Besides, it’s not like the Grander Hotel needs the publicity.”

“This isn’t about the Grander.” She waved her hand. “This is about honor. Mackinac is the fudge capital of the world. We need a true local in this contest to show people why we’re the best.”

“Fine,” I said to get her to quit following me. “There’s Bob Salinger. He’s the producer. You really should be talking to him about this.”

“I will!” She stormed off toward poor Bob.

The woman was trouble on wheels. I was so swamped I didn’t have time to argue over why I was in the show. Right now I was very close to saying, “Fine, have at it. I quit.”

“Cathy’s passing has been a great loss for us,” Brian Bere, the associate producer said. He had a ball cap across his heart and his head bent. “A moment of silence, please, for our girl, Cathy.”

The cast and crew were all herded into the dressing room. There were about thirty of us all told. I noticed that Jabar and Tony were holding on to each other with tears running down their cheeks. Emily, the first cast member to be let go, was also here. It was a solemn gathering.

“Thank you,” Brian said. He wore a tan T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts in camouflage green. His calves were bare and his sockless feet were encased in classic boat shoes. “Now, I know you are all wondering where do we go from here?” He gave a dramatic pause. “The producers and directors feel that as long as no one is in direct harm, Cathy would want us to go on.”

There was a round of applause from everyone whose summer paychecks depended on the show going to air.

“With Cathy gone, there is no need for an elimination episode. It’s been decided that each of you will go home for twenty-four hours and a small camera crew will go with you. You are to show off your hometown and the people who support you.”

“Awesome,” I said. I could use twenty-four hours of respite from taping.

“I’m sorry but that’s not going to happen for a while,” Rex said as he came into the room.

The sound of all thirty of us protesting was close to deafening. Rex put his hands in the air with a signal to stop. When that didn’t work, he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled one short, incredibly loud burst.

The room went quiet in an amazing amount of time.

“The preliminary report is that Cathy Unger was poisoned,” Rex said. “We need everyone who was here the night she was murdered to come to the station and be interviewed.”

“The show will provide a lawyer,” Brian said. “Don’t say anything until the lawyer gets here. I don’t think I need to remind you that you are all under contract. Our contract has withstood one lawsuit. Don’t think for a moment it won’t withstand another.”

I looked from Brian to Rex and back. Brian looked thin and young in comparison. Rex’s gorgeous blue eyes studied the cast and crew as if he could ferret out a killer simply by looking at them. Brian, on the other hand, turned away from us and dialed a number on his cell phone.

Whoever Brian spoke to was not happy. The associate producer spent a long time explaining and reexplaining what was going on. Finally he turned around.

“Go to hair and makeup,” he said. “We’re going to shoot. Peter, when you’re done see me. We need to figure out what we’re going to shoot for this episode.”

“Wait,” I said. “I thought this was only a team meet. I didn’t know we would be shooting in the daylight.”

“That phone call was to the guys footing the bill for this show. If you want to get paid, you will stop asking questions and go to hair and make-up as I said.” Brian gave me the evil eye.

I held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, I just need to let people know where I am.”

“Don’t take too long,” Brian said. “Time is money.”

“Keep in mind, I will be asking you individually to come down to the police station to be interviewed,” Rex said. Officer Lasko entered the room looking very official and as intimidating as a woman with a gun could look. “In the meantime, do not talk about what happened that night. I don’t want my reports to be a group memory.” He looked us over one more time. “Officer Lasko will remain with you while you tape the show.” He waved his hand toward her. “Keep yourselves busy and always in view and hopefully we can get the interviews done as quickly and quietly as possible. First up is Tony Sergeant. Come with me, please.” Rex nodded toward the big chef.

Brian put a hand on Tony’s bicep. “Remember, don’t say a word until our lawyer gets there.”

“How long will that be?” Rex asked, his hand on his hip belt.

“He’s flying in from Chicago,” Brian said. “So no more than an hour.”

“Fine,” Rex said. “I’ll send someone over to get him in one hour.” Rex turned back to the room. “Remember, do not talk to anyone about Cathy. I need independent stories.”

“They won’t,” Officer Lasko said, her gaze intent. “I’ll make sure.”

 

 

Wardrobe and makeup were slow, quiet affairs. I had spoken to Jenn. She promised to keep things running at the MacMurphy in my absence. A half an hour from our initial meeting, Brian came in with script pages for everyone.

“Here’s the storyline for tonight. When we shoot the at-home visit, we’ll air it with a dedication to Cathy. This taping will air the following week.”

I looked at my part. “Wait, we break into teams of two except for me?”

Brian nodded. “We need to see if you can pull off crazy fudge or if last night’s fudge was just a fluke.” He raised an eyebrow and looked me straight in the eye. “The choice is up to you.”

“I thought there wasn’t an elimination this week.”

His eyes were serious. “We’re shooting for next week.”

“Oh.” I looked at my part. “Okay.”

They came and took Tony to the police station while we were blocking and staging the next competition.

Once again we were all standing behind two marble-topped fudge tables.

“Welcome chefs,” Peter said when the cameras rolled. I noted that the other two judges were missing. “Today’s challenge will be judged on how you work through a difficult order. I will be the only judge tonight. You must impress me with your negotiation skills and your ability to substitute when an ingredient goes missing from your work area.

“As an extra challenge, the pantry has been stocked with minimal ingredients. Everything is first come, first served. It will be up to you whether you want to work together or apart.”

The cameras took in our looks of horror and fear. There were certain key ingredients needed in every fudge base. “On your mark, get set, go!”

We rushed to the pantry. Tim was the first guy inside and swept as much as possible into his arms. That left precious little for the remaining staff. Jon went through and snatched up a giant grouping of extras. The two mean girls, Amber and Erin, worked in tandem as well, grabbing the ingredients they needed from opposite ends of the pantry table. Everyone rushed back and negotiated their exchange. I was left with a jar of peanut butter, some powdered sugar, a box of cocoa, a stick of butter, and a pint of milk.

I grabbed it all up and went straight to work. There were two candy thermometers that were passed around by the others. I quickly melted the butter and peanut butter together, then stirred in the powdered sugar for a peanut butter fudge base. I scored it and put it in the refrigerator. All that was left to do was to create a fudgy ganache. Once I made that I added a top layer and then ran a hot butter knife through it to swirl the two fudges together.

“Five minutes!” was announced. The two girls had squabbled over the candy thermometer. Neither one had it long enough to ensure their fudge was at the right temperature. The two guys worked together and had their fudges done and plated. I melted a bit of the ganache and drizzled it on the plate and then put a pyramid stack of three fudge pieces on the plate.

“Five, four, three, two, one—Stop!”

I raised my hands to show that I had indeed gotten my fudge to the judge’s table.

Chef Thomas looked them all over for a scoring of presentation. He quizzed us on our choices. Finally came the taste test. Peter held up the first piece of my fudge, when the associate producer came running onto the set.

“Don’t eat anything!” He smacked the piece of fudge out of Peter’s hand.

“What? Why?”

I thought Peter was going to deck Brian for smacking the candy out of his hand.

“It’s been confirmed. Cathy was killed by poisoned fudge.”

Butter an 8” x 8” x 2” pan. Line with wax paper or parchment paper.

 

In a double boiler, melt milk chocolate chips, butter, and sweetened condensed milk until smooth. Be careful not to burn.

 

Remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir until incorporated. Pour half of the fudge into the prepared pan. Layer peanut butter chips. Cover chips with the remainder of the fudge. Cool. Refrigerate overnight. Remove from pan. Cut into pieces. Store in a covered container.