Fudge Bites Page 4

  “That’s horrible,” Mrs. Tunisian said. She was a shorter woman with steel-gray hair, which she wore pulled back from her face. Today, she was wearing a corduroy jacket, a flannel shirt, and pair of jeans.

  “We called 9-1-1 right away. Then Maggs came out into the alleyway and recognized the victim as her son Anthony. It was awful.”

  “Poor dear, is she home now? Is anyone with her?”

  “Frances took her home and spent the night with her. It was quite a shock.”

  “I bet it was,” Mrs. Tunisian said, her expression grim. “I’ve got to go tell the ladies. They need to know so we can start the food brigade.”

  “Food brigade?”

  “Whenever anyone dies or is seriously ill, we all take turns cooking for the victim’s family. Maggs may not want to eat for a few weeks, but we will continue to cook and bring her food. That way, Frances can push her to take a few bites. Keeping your strength up is important when you’re faced with tragedy. Any idea when the funeral is?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think they will release the body for a few days. I know they wanted to do an autopsy and collect as much evidence as possible. Until they do that, there’s nothing Maggs can do.”

  “Poor Maggs,” Mrs. Tunisian shook her head. “She was supposed to help out at the art fair today.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot about that.”

  “Don’t forget,” Mrs. Tunisian said with warning in her voice. “It’s one of the best things about Mackinac in the fall. The art fair brings artists from all walks of life. Frances tells me you will be redecorating the guest rooms at the McMurphy soon.”

  “I hope to, yes.”

  “Then you have to come to the fair. I bet you can get some very good, original Mackinac Island art for the rooms. We have many plein air artists who paint with watercolors and acrylics. Plus, it’s good for the local economy.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said. “I’ll make sure I’m there. You said that Maggs was supposed to help. With her and Frances out, do you need me to step in?”

  “Would you? That would be great. Come by at one. Stop at the information booth and tell them you’re a volunteer.”

  “Great, I’ll see you then.”

  Mrs. Tunisian got back on her bike and pushed off down the alley toward Market Street. I watched her go, thinking that if I were a better person, I’d be on a regular exercise program like hers. But I was too busy doing the things I loved—creating new fudges, growing the McMurphy, and becoming a part of the island community. I gave Mal a scratch behind her ear. At least I had to take her on regular walks.

  * * *

  Rex stopped by the McMurphy at 10 A.M. I had a few guests checking out when he arrived. With Frances out taking care of Maggs, I had to handle the checkout process. Sandy Everheart, my friend and resident chocolatier, was using the fudge shop to make small chocolate sculptures for the art fair. She had been creating miniature pieces for the past week to display and sell at her booth at the fair.

  Sandy had studied in New York, and she was crazy good at making chocolate miniature versions of animals, buildings, and whatever object you could think of. The only reason she worked in my fudge shop instead of for some fancy chocolatier in a big city was because she had returned to Mackinac Island during the summer to take care of her grandmother. All of the other local places had hired for the season but, lucky for me, I still had my “help wanted” sign out. Once I realized how good she was, I knew I couldn’t pay her what she was worth. So I offered her time in my kitchen to run her own business. It had worked out very well for us both so far.

  “Allie, do you have a minute?” Rex asked. While I finished up with the guests, he had stepped to the side and taken off his hat, tucking it under his arm.

  “Sure,” I said. “Mr. Devaney, can you watch the front desk?”

  “Watch the front desk, repair the squeaky door, unclog a toilet . . . sure,” he said. “Seems I’m more than a handyman.”

  I shook my head. “Let’s go up to my office,” I said to Rex. “I’m sure you’re looking for a statement from yesterday?”

  “Yes,” he said as he followed me up the stairs.

  “Does Shane need my costume for evidence?”

  “If you have it handy, I’ll take it, but he hasn’t asked for it yet.”

  “I bagged it last night and put it in my office. I figured you’d be coming by.” My office was on the fourth floor, near my apartment. File cabinets and bookshelves covered the office walls. My laptop computer sat on one of the two heavy oak desks that faced each other in the center of the room. The other was sadly empty. It had been Papa Liam’s desk before he died, and then Jenn’s while she was here. I tried to ignore the sad pang in my heart.

  “Please have a seat,” I said, waving toward the extra desk chair. “What do you want to know?”

  He pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Let’s go over last night, step by step.”

  I told him everything, from going to Doud’s for a zombie outfit for Mal to finding Mella covered in blood and then seeing Anthony crumpled on the ground. “His head was bashed in.”

  “Yes, but we haven’t released that detail,” Rex said.

  “I haven’t said anything to anyone about that,” I said. “I saw Mrs. Tunisian this morning when I was walking Mal. I told her about Anthony and Maggs, but I didn’t say anything about cause of death—other than I doubted it was natural.”

  “Good,” he said with a short nod.

  “Were you able to determine anything else?”

  “Blunt force trauma,” he said. “Most likely from a bat or pipe. So, you know Maggs Vanderbilt well?”

  “Yes, she’s Frances’s best friend. We see her quite a bit.”

  “Did she give you any reason why someone would want to hurt Anthony?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I have no clue. All I really know about Anthony is that he was Maggs’s son and in his early thirties.”

  “He grew up on the island,” Rex said, filling me in. “He was star quarterback on the football team and worked as bartender for the Nag’s Head Bar and Grill for a short time after high school, then worked through college. Best I can tell, he was well liked.”

  “Did he have a wife or children?” I asked. I cringed at the thought of little kids losing their father.

  “No, he was single,” Rex said. “Although it was rumored he had a new girlfriend. Maggs couldn’t tell me who it was.”

  “Bashed in the head means a fight of some kind, right? Maybe he was mugged. Did you find his wallet? His phone?”

  “It didn’t look like a mugging,” Rex said. He frowned. “We don’t have those on the island.”

  “Wait. With all the tourists, you never get a complaint of pickpockets?”

  “Careful, your fudgie is showing,” he said softly, smiling. Fudgie is the name islanders warmly call the tourists who venture here for fudge. “Clearly, you’ve lived in the city too long. This is a small town. A mugger couldn’t get off the island without someone knowing something.”

  I crossed my arms. “So you’re telling me that there has never been a robbery? I’ve seen several murders, but there are no robberies?”

  “I didn’t say we didn’t have the occasional miscreant. I do have a job on the island, after all. What I’m saying is that this community is a big family. And it’s unusual for a mugging.”

  “That means it was probably someone Anthony knew who killed him.”

  “I’m checking into that,” he said, sitting back. “How is the new security system working?”

  “Fine,” I said with a casual wave of my hand. “So far, I’ve caught a few bats and Mrs. Johnson’s cat on camera.”

  “Good,” he said. “Have you heard from Jessop lately?”

  “Trent? No,” I said with a shake of my head. “His mother’s keeping him and Paige close. That last adventure was a final straw, as far as she’s concerned. As far as I know, it will be next spring before we see any of the Jessops.”

/>   “I wouldn’t let my mother get between me and the woman I love,” he said softly.

  “That’s easy for you to say. Your mother isn’t alive.”

  “No,” he said with regret. He stood up. “But I still wouldn’t do it.”

  I stood, too, and walked him to the office door. “You never did get to finish making me dinner.”

  He lifted one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. “I’m waiting for the crime rate to go down. The next time I have you over, I don’t want anything to interrupt us.”

  “Let’s hope this is the last body I find.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  * * *

  I arrived at the art fair fifteen minutes early, leaving Mr. Devaney with front desk duty. I’d sold most of this morning’s candy already, so we closed the fudge shop before I left. I’d also stripped sheets and towels from the rooms that had been vacated. No one was coming in until next weekend so I could take my time cleaning them out, but it didn’t hurt to get a head start.

  Having completed most of the hotel work, I dressed in a simple, floral maxi dress with a cropped cardigan. I added hoop earrings to the ensemble in the hope that I would look a little creative, since I was working the art fair.

  “Hello, I’m here to volunteer,” I said when I stepped up to the information booth. Mrs. Oslow was checking people in

  “Great,” she said. “Yes, I see Mrs. Tunisian has created a badge for you. Please wear it so customers know that you’re working.”

  I took the badge and lanyard and put it on over my head. “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Go around the booths and find out if anyone has any questions or needs any help. Here’s a walkie-talkie.” She handed me the small plastic radio. “If you don’t know the answer to a question, just call over. Here’s a pamphlet with all the booth names and a map. Make sure all of the artists are setting up in the right spots. Also, take this wagon with water bottles. Each exhibitor gets two bottles of water. Any questions?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Good, now go. Start at the far end and work your way back here. The people closest to this booth are more likely to pop up here with questions.”

  “Got it.” I grabbed the handle of the little red wagon filled with ice and water bottles and headed across the lawn. The fair was set up on the wide park lawn at the foot of Fort Mackinac. The island had been a stronghold for first the Americans and then the British during the War of 1812. During the summer season, reenactors played the part of soldiers from both sides every day. They fired the cannons at the fort on the hour. I had grown quite used to the sound. It didn’t even seem to bother Mal anymore.

  This time of year, the fort was closed except for the weekends. Today, the flags flew and whipped in the air. The fort was built on a bluff and rose high above the front of the lawn. People climbed the sloping entranceway to go inside and visit the tea shop and museums. Some of them would stop by the art fair on their way back, once everyone was set up.

  The art fair had twenty booths. Most of them had canopies to keep the artwork protected from the weather, although today was sunny so far. I walked through the bustle of setup to the far booths and carefully stopped by each one, handing out water bottles and lending a hand when needed.

  At one booth, Max Avery’s watercolors of scenes from the island included the fort, the marina, Main Street, and pictures of the Grand Hotel and the new Grander Hotel.

  “Wow, these are gorgeous,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Max’s wife, Ann, said. “Max has been working on these for years. I think he’s perfected his technique.”

  “You aren’t asking too much for them,” I said, checking the price tags. “I may be looking for something like this for my guest rooms.”

  “People love to see these scenes, especially once they visit,” Ann said.

  “Hmm. If you want, maybe I could hang them in the rooms and offer them for sale,” I suggested. “They really are quite good.”

  “I’ll have to ask Max,” she said. “But I think he’ll like that idea. It would be good exposure.” She handed me his business card.

  “You know where to find me. I’m at the McMurphy.”

  “I know. I adore Frances Devaney. I’ll ask Max to stop by and at least look at your renovation ideas.”

  “Great,” I said. I handed her two waters. “Let me know if you need any help or have questions about setup.”

  The next two booths were fiber arts—vintage patterns and contemporary subjects. The booth after that held beautiful pottery with melted glass in the bottom. I couldn’t help but pick up a piece to get a better look at the glass.

  “Do you like those?” The voice belonged to a lovely young woman with rosy cheeks and long blond hair in a thick braid down her back. Her cornflower-blue eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. With her denim jacket, white tee shirt, and long denim skirt, she had a Western look.

  “I love pottery,” I said. “I always have. You can feel the energy of the potter when you touch them. The textures are so incredible.”

  “That bowl you have is one of my favorite pieces,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Haley Manx.”

  “Allie McMurphy,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “Ah, the famous fudge maker turned sleuth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I winced a bit at the description. “I hope what you’ve heard is all good. I’m actually a lot more of a fudge maker and hotelier than I am a sleuth. It’s been a strange few months. I take it you’re local?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, boy. I’m sorry I haven’t met you before now.”

  She looked like an elf when she smiled. “It’s okay. I spend the summer moving from fair to fair selling my pieces. I’m around more in the winter. I teach at the high school. So I know you, but I’m easy to miss.”

  “Oh, then I feel a bit better. What do you teach?”

  “I teach art, of course. I’ve been working on pottery for at least ten years.”

  “Well, these are perfect,” I said. “I’d love to own one.”

  “Great,” she said. “Shall I wrap it up for you?”

  “Yes, please.” I handed her the small bowl and got out my credit card. “I’m supposed to be helping, not shopping, but I can’t help myself.”

  “I tell you what, you put away your credit card. I’ll wrap this up and keep it for you. When your shift is over, come back and buy it then. I promise it’ll still be here.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said. “I’ve got two bottles of water for you, and I’m meant to ask if you have any questions.”

  She put the bowl away and took the water bottles. “I do have questions,” she said. “Is finding a dead body as horrible as I think it is?”

  “Yes,” I said sincerely. “I hope you never find one.”

  A man walked up to the booth and kissed Haley’s cheek. “Hey, babe, are you drumming up some business?”

  “Rick, this is Allie, Allie McMurphy. Allie, my husband Rick.”

  “Hello,” I said, shaking his hand. He was tall, at least six feet, with wide shoulders and windblown, caramel-colored hair. His hands nearly engulfed mine. “I was telling Haley how lovely her pieces are.”

  “They should be—they cost a fortune to create.”

  “Well, they make up for it in happiness,” Haley said.

  “Are you an artist, too?” I asked Rick.

  “I’m in construction,” he said. “I suppose that’s an art form.”

  “It certainly is,” I said with a nod. “I had the lobby of the McMurphy renovated in May. It made a huge difference. I have plans to renovate the guest rooms next.”

  “I work mostly on roofs and structural things,” he said.

  “Oh, good to know,” I said. “I’m trying to get permits to create a rooftop deck. Since the McMurphy is on Main Street, it does have a flat roof, but it’s simply not structurally sound enough for a deck right now.”

  “I’ll send my boss yo
ur way,” he said. “I work for Faber Roofing.”

  “Oh, yes, I had Elmer come and do an initial inspection. He’s one of the guys who are giving me a quote.”

  “Good,” Rick said. “It’d be nice to have some work before the snow comes.”

  I looked at my watch. It was getting closer to the time the art fair was scheduled to open. “I better keep moving,” I said. “It was nice to meet both of you. I’ll be back later for my bowl.”

  The next booth was contemporary oil paints. Betsy Shaw was at the one after that. She did a lot of inking and calligraphy. I studied the handwritten signs that said “Best Friends” and “Live, Love, Laugh.”

  “Hi,” Betsy said. She was an older woman with strong facial features and steel-gray hair. “Allie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I reached down and gathered her water bottles. “It’s Betsy, right? I think we met at one of the senior center events.”

  She took the water. “Yes, that’s right. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I heard you found another body last night.”

  “Terrible,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “Is it really Margaret Vanderbilt’s son?”

  “I believe so,” I said. “She identified him.”

  “Whoever did that should be shot. He was a good boy. Doted on Maggs, and she doted on him. You aren’t supposed to outlive your baby, you know?”

  “I know, I’m heartbroken for her,” I said. “Frances is staying with Maggs for a while.”

  “Well, I certainly hope you will help figure out who the killer is. A thing like that just isn’t right.” She shook her head.

  “Do you have any questions about setup? Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Oh, no, dear. You go on now,” she said, waving me on. “I’m going to be doing demonstrations. Draw them in, maybe teach one or two the art.”

  Five more booths brought me back to center and the information tent, where I refilled my wagon. The crowds had started arriving off the docks. The sky was the crisp, clear blue of fall. The flags above the fort snapped in the wind. I wished I could have brought Mal. She would have loved the crowds and the attention from all the tourists. But I volunteered to work, and you didn’t get much work done with a pup getting all the attention.