Fudge Bites Page 3

  “Officer Brown, they want you back at the site,” Shane said. “This should only take a minute.”

  I grabbed the cat carrier and hurried to the waiting room. Having had evidence collected from me, I had a pretty good idea of what Mella would be going through, and I didn’t want to be there for her reaction. Officer Brown trailed beside me. “Wait, do you need to stay with me if I’m out here?”

  “The exam room door is open, and I’m sure Shane will verify your custody,” Charles said. Then he nodded, tipped his hat, and left.

  A few minutes later, Shane walked out wearing heavy gloves, a fresh scratch on his cheek. He held Mella out at arm’s length while she wiggled and tried to get free.

  “Were you able to collect any evidence from her?” I asked, standing. I opened the metal door to her cat crate, and Shane poured her inside. I quickly closed the door, and Mella made a mewling noise as she curled up tight in the back of the crate.

  “I think I got enough.” He peered at me through thick glasses with his calming blue eyes. “She got me good a couple of times, but I was able to clip her nails and get some evidence from underneath them.”

  “You have a battle wound,” I said, pointing to his cheek. He pulled off the glove on his right hand and touched the dried blood on his face.

  “Just a scratch,” Dr. Hampton said. He walked out of the exam room, wiping his hands on a towel. “It might swell up a bit, but nothing too bad.”

  “I don’t blame her for being scared,” Shane said. “After all, she was just minding her own business, and bam! She’s being hauled away and tested for forensic evidence.”

  “I suppose it has to be a shock,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Mella,” I cooed into the locked door of the cage. “I’m sorry she got you so good.”

  “It’s fine,” Dr. Hampton said. “It means that if she gets out, she’ll be able to defend herself.”

  “Mella likes to roam. She adopted me, you know. One day she showed up and never left, so I let her inside. She still likes her freedom to roam the alley when the crowds are small.”

  “Has she scratched other people?” Shane asked with concern in his eyes.

  “Gosh, no,” I said. “As far as I know, she’s never hurt anyone before.” I studied his face. “That’s why I think she has to be stressed out.”

  “I recommend that you take her home and let her rest,” Dr. Hampton said. “Of course, you might want to give her a bath first.”

  I winced. “Jenn was the one who gave her a bath last time. I’m good with Mal, but I’ve never had the pleasure of bathing a cat.”

  “You never know,” Dr. Hampton said. “She might like it.”

  “Or you could end up with the nickname ‘Scarface, ’” Shane teased, touching the scratch on his own face.

  I ignored Shane’s silly comment. “Thanks for letting me in and checking on Mella,” I said to the doctor. “How much do I owe you?”

  “We can settle the debt in chocolate,” he said. “My daughter is having a baby shower next week. It would be great if you could get Sandy Everheart to make a sculpture for the event.”

  “Sounds like a deal,” I said. “Call me in the morning with the details, and I’ll get Sandy right on it.”

  “You do that,” he said and waved me off. “Take care of that cat. She’s pretty special.”

  Shane walked with me down the street to the McMurphy. He was very quiet.

  “You processed the crime scene quickly,” I said as I hauled Mella’s crate. “I expected you to be at least an hour.”

  “I made you a priority,” he said. “Cats can lick themselves clean pretty quickly.”

  “Oh, then are you on your way back to the scene?”

  “I waited for them to transport the body,” he said. “Most of the evidence will be collected from the victim in the lab.”

  “Did you know Anthony?” I asked. “You seem particularly grim tonight.”

  “I did,” he said. “He was a nice guy. Didn’t deserve to have his head bashed in.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

  “No.” He shook his head. The sound of a rowdy crowd ahead of us filled the air. We were close to Main Street.

  “I thought the Red Walk would be over by now,” I said. I glanced at my watch—it was 11 P.M.

  “People usually stick around until the bars close. I’m sorry you didn’t get to participate.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything. I’m worried for Maggs, you know? She just lost her son. I want to get whoever did this.”

  “I know you know this, but you shouldn’t be investigating,” Shane said. He pushed his glasses up. “Jenn encouraged your sleuthing, but she was wrong. There are some pretty horrible people in the world. Some of us choose to hunt them and bring justice for the victims. You aren’t one of us.”

  That hurt a bit. “I don’t mean any disrespect. I really am only trying to help.”

  He stopped me with a gentle hand to my arm. “You could ‘help’ by volunteering at the police and fireman’s ball. Amateur investigations make us question our own training. Trust me, we go to school for years to be prepared for this stuff. Imagine if some random kid off the street came into your fudge shop and started making fudge.”

  “What? No! That takes years of classroom work and apprenticeships . . . oh, right.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll try to keep my help to a minimum.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you hear from Jenn very often?” I asked. It had been a few weeks since she left the island to take a great job in Chicago, and if I was missing her, Shane must be, too.

  “We talk every day,” he said simply. There was a quiet sadness in his words. “I’m going down there next weekend for a day or two. They keep her pretty busy.”

  “Yes, she seems either tired or excited every time she calls me. But she seems to be learning a lot.”

  “There’s certainly more to do in Chicago than on Mackinac in the off-season.”

  We arrived at the McMurphy’s back door. “Oh, wait. Do you need to collect my costume?”

  He glanced at me. “I think what I got off of the cat will be fine. No need to take your clothes this time. But don’t wash anything for a while, just in case.”

  “Great. Good night, Shane.” I left him and went inside. The new backdoor locks on the McMurphy were tough to negotiate holding a cat carrier, but I managed. I set the carrier down and locked the door.

  “Good, you’re back,” Mr. Devaney said from behind me. I jumped a little, surprised at the sudden voice and still edgy from the events of the night.

  I turned to see him standing at the mouth of the hallway. Mal ran past him and jumped on me for her greeting. I gave her a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ear. “Is everything okay?”

  “The whole of Main Street is overrun with zombies,” he stated grumpily. “But that’s beside the point. Frances is spending the night with Maggs. It was a horrible shock for her to lose her son like that. I promised Frances I’d check on you and the McMurphy since it happened so close.” He paused and watched me pick up the crate and move out into the lobby. “It sounds like the Wild West out there.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “The McMurphy is locked up tight, so you can go home.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I have to go up and change and then give my first cat bath. Unless you want to?”

  He looked slightly terrified. “I believe I’ll be heading out. Glad you ended up getting the security system and the new locks. Frances and I don’t like the fact that a murder happened so close.”

  “We had a murder inside the McMurphy,” I said. “Remember?”

  “Not on my watch,” he grumbled.

  “True,” I said with a smile. “Not since you were here. Hey, before you go, tomorrow I’ve got a meeting with the historic committee to get the permits for the rooftop deck.”

  “So you have the money?”

  “We m
ade more than I thought this season.”

  “Remind me to ask for a raise,” he said, tugging on his coat.

  “You might want to go out the back,” I said. “There are a lot of zombies hungry for brains out there.”

  “Good thing I carry my zombie spray,” he said as he left. Mr. Devaney was mostly gruff and rarely had a comeback, but when he did, it always made me smile. I locked the front door behind him and caught my reflection in the glass. I was one sad-looking pinup.

  The crowd outside was rowdy, but they weren’t interested in the hotel since we didn’t have a restaurant or bar inside. The people partying on the streets must not know that a crime had happened so close. I had a feeling the police presence got bumped up, though. It was going to be a long night for the Mackinac Island police force.

  The McMurphy was quiet. I ensured the lobby was all closed up. Had it really been only five months since I moved in to the old building in May? This past summer was supposed be my first season working in the hotel’s fudge shop with Papa Liam, but he died before I was able to work with him, leaving me to learn the ropes on my own. The thought of my beloved Papa’s death made my chest constrict. It still hurt so much to have lost him. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your child.

  I turned off the light in the fudge shop, leaving only a soft glow through the window from the streetlights outside.

  Pride filled me as I looked over the fudge shop once more. The McMurphy had changed a lot since I had taken over. I had enclosed the shop in glass so that people could watch the fudge being made, but I still wouldn’t have to worry about my pets getting hurt from hot sugar. I knew from experience how badly it could burn.

  Across from the fudge shop was a small sitting area with free Wi-Fi. I thought that it might bring people in to rest or work and enjoy the smell of the fudge and the view of the people walking past the front windows. Before the season had started, I pulled up the old flowered carpets and refinished the wood floors. The walls of the big lobby were covered in pink-and-white striped wallpaper that I matched to a piece of the original that I’d found in the attic. Behind the sitting area was the reception desk, where Frances usually sat when she wasn’t helping with room turnover and cleanup.

  The hotel used to have old-fashioned room keys hanging from hooks behind the desk, but the locks had gotten a bit tricky, so those keys were now for decoration only. Instead, we had the very latest in room keycards. Even the front door was now unlocked with keycards. Across from the receptionist desk and behind the fudge shop, the coffee bar by the group of settees was another new addition. We made it fresh every hour until 9 P.M. With it being this late, Mr. Devaney had shut it all off and cleaned it up a couple of hours ago now.

  At the very back of the lobby, a double staircase rose on either side of the old-fashioned, open-gated elevator to take guests up to the second and third floors.

  Mal followed me around as I turned down the lights, leaving only the lowest of lights meant to guide patrons up the stairs to their rooms. October was the off-season, and I currently had only five rooms filled. That meant it was extra quiet. I picked Mella’s carrier back up, and the three of us went up to the fourth floor, where my office and apartment were. I unlocked the two locks on the apartment, flicked on the light, and locked the door behind me. I hated to think that I needed so much protection, here on Mackinac Island, after all I’d been through, but it was best to keep things locked.

  I put down the carrier and pulled Mella out. She protested a bit, so I didn’t let her go right away. Mal ran around my legs, excited that the cat was back. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I needed to drop everything to give Mella a bath. There was no way I was going to let her get away with licking blood off or trailing it through the apartment.

  Thirty minutes later, I had a clean cat sulking in the closet. I took a shower and cleaned off the zombie makeup that Frances had so carefully applied hours earlier. I was a bit sad that I missed the Walking Red zombie walk, but at least I was home safe. Still, the second bedroom, now empty of Jenn and the vibrancy she had brought when she stayed with me this summer, left the apartment strangely dark and quiet.

  I was almost ready for bed when I got a text from Rex. Are you up?

  Yes, I texted back. Just got out of the shower.

  It can wait until morning.

  I looked at the time—past midnight. It is morning. What do you need?

  There was a pause. Just thinking about you, he texted. I liked your zombie outfit.

  I smiled and curled up on my bed with Mal beside me. Thanks.

  Don’t find any more dead bodies, okay?

  You keep saying that!

  You keep not listening.

  It’s certainly not intentional.

  Good night, Allie.

  I slipped down into the covers, happy to have my pets surrounding me. October was my favorite time of year. I usually loved all the ghosts and witches and zombies. Now the fun will be forever marred by the memory of Maggs’s face when she saw her son with his head bashed in.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning was a Sunday, and I was up early making fudge. With fewer crowds than summer, it was a great time to experiment. Today’s experiment was apple pecan fudge with cinnamon chips inside.

  At 5 A.M., there were still a few zombie stragglers on the street. I waved at them when they stopped to watch me work the fudge. The fudge shop portion of the McMurphy was built to show off fudge making to people outside, so the windows to Main Street were large and clear. I cooked the candy in a big copper pot in one corner of the shop, then carried it over to the cool marble table near the windows. The hardest part about making fudge by myself was lifting the heavy pot. I’d gotten stronger this past season, though, and I hefted it up on the table like the pro that I was, spilling the candy onto the buttered surface.

  Next, I scraped out the pot and put it into the deep, stainless steel sink so I could wash it. This gave the liquid fudge time to cool a tiny bit. After that came the long-handled scraper that I used to mix the fudge and beat air into it. It was a repeated scrape and pour, scrape and pour motion that was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I grew up watching my grandfather turn fudge, and I had learned to do the same, working the fudge demonstrations as a high schooler on the island during summer vacations.

  As the fudge began to solidify, I sprinkled on the cinnamon chips and the nuts and, using a short-handled scraper, folded them into the fudge. Then I carefully cut one-pound pieces and added them to the candy tray that goes in the counter. Finally, I cut a small piece for myself as a sample. It turned out pretty well, I thought. I wiped my hands on a towel I had hanging from my waist and noticed that the zombies had all gone, leaving Main Street dark and empty.

  I worked through three more batches so that I had four total trays of fudge ready for the tourists who would come in by ferry. Saturday and Sunday were the busy days now that it was off-season, and I expected to see all my guests leave this afternoon. I didn’t mind the down time, though. It gave me time to work on the proposed roof deck and to plan out next year’s promotions.

  I washed up and headed back into the lobby, leaving the glass door to the fudge shop closed behind me. Mal climbed out of the dog bed that we kept by the receptionist desk. She stretched and padded up to me, wagging her stump of a tail. “I bet you want to go for a walk,” I said, taking my apron off and hanging it up on the pegs by the door. I put Mal into her halter and leash and stepped out into the chill morning air.

  There had been no sign of Mella this morning. I think she was still mad at me for giving her a bath last night. My pup made straight for her regular grassy patch with no worries, but I glanced down the alley. The crime scene was four blocks away, and even from this distance I could make out the yellow tape that cordoned off the area. It was too early to call Frances and see how Maggs was doing.

  I was beat. Four hours of sleep did not sit well with me. I was used to going to bed by 9 P.M. and up by 5 A.M. Nothing
like a murder to mess with your routine.

  I turned and walked down the alley in the opposite direction. It opened up into parallel streets. Mal and I took the street down a block to Main and walked out toward the shore.

  The wind off the straits rustled the brilliant orange and red leaves. Not many people were out yet today. An early morning jogger passed by. He clearly hadn’t been out all night partying as a zombie. There were a few boats out on the water, too. Fishermen never seemed to need to sleep.

  “Hey, Allie.” I turned to see Mrs. Tunisian biking toward me from the alley. Mrs. T was one of several senior citizens who kept me informed of the latest gossip. Truthfully, any sleuthing I did always included the seniors. They seemed to know everything that went on.

  “Mrs. Tunisian, good morning. Are you out biking by yourself ?”

  “Yes. I was supposed to go with Mary, but she isn’t feeling well. There was no way I was going to let that stop me.”

  “But there’s been a murder,” I said. “It’s not safe to be out alone.”

  “You’re out alone,” she pointed out as she stopped and got off her bike.

  “I’m not alone,” I said. “I’ve got Mal.” I gestured toward my pup, who was already greeting Mrs. Tunisian.

  “Ah, the famous body finder,” Mrs. T said, bending down to pat Mal’s head with her free hand. “Did she find the latest dead person?”

  “No,” I said. “This time it was Mella, my cat.”

  “Ah, so both of your pets are involved in detective work.”

  “I suppose that’s true. I should put out a shingle on my door that says ‘Pet detectives inside.’”

  Mrs. Tunisian chuckled.

  “On a more serious note, we are pretty sure the dead man is Anthony Vanderbilt.”

  “Oh, no. Maggs’s boy?” Her expression was stricken. “That’s horrifying. How did it happen?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “It was dark. Liz and I were walking from Doud’s to the McMurphy when we found Mella. The poor cat was covered in blood. Then we heard a scream—it was Sophie. We ran to her and found the body. Mella’s footprints were all around him.”