Read To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) Online

Authors: Nancy Coco

To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) (20 page)

BOOK: To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes)
10.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“The judge will see you now,” the call went out, and we rose and shuffled out the door. I paused at the open door and asked Caroline, the ever-vigilant director’s assistant, a question. “What’s with all the sports equipment under the table?”
“Oh, the producers wanted to hold a wrap picnic instead of a party. They felt it would be great for the show to highlight the lawns and atmosphere on the island.”
“Huh, nice idea.”
“Thanks,” she nodded. “It was mine.”
“Of course it was,” I muttered, then asked, “has that equipment always been under there?”
“I’ve been adding to it every day I get to the mainland.”
“Did you get bocce ball?” I added when she appeared to wonder at my questions. “I understand it’s a great lawn game.”
“Thanks, I’ll look for it.”
“Allie McMurphy is wanted on set ASAP!” The call came down the hallway, and I scurried off to find out my reality-show fate.
CHAPTER 35
“So, who won?” Jenn asked when I dragged myself home at two
AM
. . . Thursday.
“What are you doing up at this time of night?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Jenn stood in my galley kitchen and stirred a small pot of hot cocoa. She wore a silky nightshirt and matching robe.
“Is that real cocoa?” I sat my weary bum on the barstool and leaned against the counter.
“Yes, I saw you hadn’t come home yet. I figured we could both use something to help us sleep.”
“You are awesome.” I leaned my elbows on the countertop and rested my chin in my hands.
“Did you win?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I chided. “By contract, I can’t say a word. But I can tell you that I spoke to Peter today.”
“How is he?”
“He looks horrible and doesn’t remember a whole lot, but other than that, he’s alive and mending.”
“Did he remember who did it?” She poured the cocoa into two cups and passed a steaming cup on to me.
“No.” I sipped. “He remembers having his head covered and then being beaten. He thinks it was two men and he said it felt like they hit him with wood—like a baseball bat.”
“Ouch.” Jenn leaned against the counter and hugged her cocoa. “Two men? If they had a bat they could have killed him. Why didn’t they finish the job?”
“That’s a good question. I think whoever beat Peter wanted him out of the job, but not necessarily dead.”
“Someone he knows then. Only someone who cared would say when to stop.”
“Something else,” I said. “I discovered a series of lawn games in the greenroom under the table. Among the things were baseball bats, softballs, and gloves.”
“Did you tell Rex?” she asked. “They could test the bats for residue or something, couldn’t they?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one dating the science guy.”
“I’ll ask Shane in the morning.”
I sipped my warm chocolate. “How’s the work going for the last Lilac Festival tea?”
“We’re ready to make it quite the bash. I’ve got tents to be set up in the park at the foot of the fort. We’ve asked everyone to wear eighteen-nineties dress. I even have costumes from the Old Tyme Photography shop for those who don’t have a costume.”
“Wow, sounds great. Is there music?”
“Yes, I’ve scored a three-piece orchestra to play classical pieces. You should see Sandy’s centerpieces. They’re works of art. I asked her if we could auction them off.”
“Wait.” I drew my eyebrows together. “Won’t an auction disrupt the genteel tea setting you described?”
“A silent auction, silly. It will benefit the women and children’s center and I think it will help Sandy get her chocolatier company going.”
“I am proud to say the McMurphy sponsored you and Sandy with your new businesses. Just promise me you will never get involved in these reality shows. Deal?”
“Wait, what? But I’m ready for my close-up . . .” She framed her face in the old Vogue manner.
We both giggled. “Oh, now, it’s so late we’re getting slap-happy.” I got off the stool and put my cup in the sink. “I’ve got to get up in a couple hours.”
“I don’t know how you are doing this,” Jenn said. “You have to sleep sometime. Why don’t you text Sandy and have her come in in the morning and take care of the fudge?”
“Yes,” came my mom’s voice from the hallway. She stepped out into the low light from the lamp over the kitchen sink. “You can’t make fudge on this little sleep.... You’re asking for disaster.” Mom wore a silky housecoat in a floral pattern. Her face was bare from makeup and her hair was brushed back and hung to her shoulders.
She was a beautiful woman, one of those women who look better every year. My dad used to tease that she aged like a fine wine—better the longer it lived.
“I asked Sandy to cover me yesterday when I went to visit Peter. She’s making centerpieces. She doesn’t have time to cover for me.”
“And if you get hurt then who will cover for you?” Mom hugged her waist. “Liam would have a fit if he knew you were making fudge on so little sleep.”
I cringed. “Okay. Fine.” I hated the idea of giving up control of the McMurphy even for a day or two. But Mom was right. The last thing I needed was to be so tired I caused an accident. Burns from boiling sugar were nothing to mess with.
“Good,” Mom said. “You go to bed and get eight hours of steady sleep. I will contact Sandy at seven AM and open the fudge shop. You have enough fudge made that things will last until nine AM. I can handle the customers while Sandy makes the first two batches of fudge.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said and kissed her cheek. “I’m lucky to have you still looking out for me.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that the next time you get mad at me for interfering.”
 
 
Nine hours later I was up and dressed and drinking my first cup of coffee. The problem with getting a good night’s sleep after surviving on only a few hours a night was that your brain didn’t want to wake up. I stood groggy and crabby and clung to my cup of coffee as if it were the only lifeline to sanity.
There was a knocking at the back door. “Oh,” I exclaimed as the sound startled me out of my groggy stupor. The apartment was four floors up, and the only way to get to the apartment’s back door was to climb up the fire escape. I went to the door and moved the tiny linen curtain that covered the face-high square window.
“Hi, Allie, can I come in?” Rex stood in front of the window. The man was wearing his official uniform. Somehow it made him even more attractive.
I opened the door. “Why are you knocking on the back door?” I asked as he stepped in. A quick look out behind him showed the metal ladder for the fire escape was lowered. No one else was in the alley.
“I wanted to talk to you without the entire town knowing,” he said. “Coffee smells good.”
“Would you like a cup?”
“Thanks!”
I pulled a thick blue mug out of the cupboard and poured him the last cup from my French press. “We have fancy coffee downstairs in the coffee bar.”
“This is great, thanks.” He took the mug from me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Where’s your puppy?” He wandered into the living room.
“She’s downstairs with Frances and my mother.”
“Your mother’s on the island?” He tilted his shaved head, his blue eyes laser bright. “I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“Please, I might be tired, but I’m not so tired to smell a redirect when one comes along. Why are you here, Rex?”
“I got word that you saw some yard games being stored on set that may—and I stress, may—have something to do with Peter Thomas’s assault.”
“Yes, it was the weirdest thing. I saw a bat shape sticking out from under the catering table in the greenroom. When I checked it out, I saw that there were three baseball bats, some gloves, and softballs. There were also more lawn games like croquet and horseshoes. When I asked about them I was told they were being gathered to hold an end-of-show picnic.”
“Okay.” He sat down on a stool and sipped his coffee.
“Peter said he was beaten by baseball bats . . .”
“That’s correct. Is there any evidence that these were the bats used on him?”
“What do you mean by evidence?”
“Did you see blood on them? Smell bleach that could have been used to get rid of blood?”
My shoulders slumped in disappointment. “No. I thought you could get a warrant and check them out yourself.”
His right eye twitched. “I wish it were that simple but we have to have just cause and a judge who believes that cause. If Mr. Thomas’s wounds are indicative of a blunt instrument such as baseball bats, then if I find a bat near where he was wounded or in the possession of a suspect, then I can get my warrant and have Shane do his magic.”
“If his wounds look like a blunt instrument? Did you see Peter?” I put my hands on my hips. “He didn’t exactly run into a door.”
“The medical examiner is going over the photos of his wounds along with the X-rays to make that determination.”
“But Peter told you he was hit with baseball bats.”
“Mr. Thomas said that they covered his head and then beat him with what he thought were baseball bats. Witnesses can be wrong.”
“Okay, so if the medical examiner says Peter’s wounds are consistent with his story, then will you check out the bats?”
Rex stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s never that easy. Just because you saw baseball bats under a table the same day that your friend said he thought he was attacked by baseball bats is not enough to get a warrant. I need a person attached to the bats and a motive attached to a person.”
“Fine.” I frowned. “Why did you stop by here? I know the McMurphy isn’t on your usual route.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the show,” he said. “I hope you realize that Brent wasn’t on there to be a carpenter.”
“He did very well with the display piece,” I said.
“It’s a hobby of his. My condolences, by the way. These things never turn out the way you hope.”
“Thanks.” I sent him a partial smile. “It’s nice that you know the outcome. I hate that we have to wait until the show airs before we can talk about it.”
“Are you doing any promotion for the show?” he asked. “I understand that they connect you all with
Ellen
or
The Tonight Show
or one of those talk shows.”
“That’s up to the PR staff. Right now they’re trying to book all the losers.”
“Make sure they pay you well.”
“Oh, I will,” I said. “Did you ever figure out what was going on with Mrs. Finch?”
“What about Mrs. Finch? She finally gave up and came in with a leash and bailed out Daisy.”
“Oh, um, good. Well, then that takes care of that.”
He narrowed his eyes. “There’s more to this story. Spill or I may have to ask Mrs. Finch what you know about her.”
I cringed. “It’s just that when she left the other day she said she was going home to get Daisy’s leash.”
“That’s right. She came back later and picked Daisy up. I gave her the leash-law talk and told her she would be fined triple if I find Daisy off her leash again.” He crossed his arms and widened his stance. “I also threatened to deport that animal off the island if I found her messing with one more crime scene.”
“What did she say to that?”
“She said it was a free country and Daisy had every right to roam about it. Then she said she’d never been fined so much before and if I fine her again or deport Daisy, she’d be in the Island city council meetings faster than I could see her coming.”
“She tried to intimidate you.” I laughed.
“It’s not funny,” he said. “I’m done chasing that dog down and wrestling with it to get the evidence I need.”
“Do you think that Daisy could be motive for murder?” I asked.
“What? Where did that thought come from?”
“Well, surely you can’t be the only person put out by a Saint Bernard that has free run on the island.”
He raised one of his eyebrows. “So you think that Daisy had something to do with the poisoning?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But she might have something to do with Heather’s death.”
“How so?”
I shrugged. “Maybe Daisy pushed Heather into the Jessops’ shredder.”
Rex laughed. “That’s reaching, don’t you think? That mutt doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s as likely to lick Heather’s face off as she is to push her into a chipper-shredder. And even more ridiculous is to think Heather would be alone with Daisy at Jessop’s Compost and Mulch.”
“Wow, when you say it like that, it does sound silly.”
“Let’s forget about Daisy for a moment.” He put down his coffee cup and crossed his arms. “What Brent learned while on set was there’s a strong camaraderie among the cast.”
“I know, right?” I said. “They all know each other and have worked other reality shows.”
“Which means either no one had a motive to kill Cathy or perhaps someone was holding a grudge from a previous show?”
“Or, Tammy Gooseworthy poisoned my fudge so that she could get her face on television.”
“Yes, I heard that they cast new contestants.”
“Jenn said that Tammy was first in line to try out for the replacement cast.”
“But she didn’t end up on television, did she?”
“No.” I shook my head. “The producers spent a day looking at the episodes with the new cast members and then decided there was more drama in the old cast. So they shot some extra scenes to up the story line and then brought us all back for the final show. I think they hoped by bringing us all in one room they could solve the mystery. You know, like the old mystery books do.”
“Don’t we wish we had Sherlock Holmes to piece together all the clues?”
“Is this all you came by for?” I tilted my head and drew my eyebrows together.
“No,” he said quietly. “There is one other thing.” Then he leaned forward and kissed me.
BOOK: To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes)
10.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Breakdown by Katherine Amt Hanna
Tiger Moth by Suzi Moore
Thin Line by L.T. Ryan
Girl in the Mirror by Mary Alice Monroe