All You Need Is Fudge (18 page)

“Why would you want to know?”

“She might know if he was here that night looking at the stars . . . or not,” I said. “She could corroborate his story.”

“Funny. I wonder why the police didn't ask me that.” She shrugged. “Perhaps they took him at his word. He's a good boy, my son.”

“I'm sure he is.” I patted her hand. “I bet he has a very good mother.”

“I'm so proud of him,” she said with a sigh. “His lady is a member of the yacht club. He told me he met her there. I remember how exclusive that club is and I'm glad to know he is with a woman of good breeding.”

“Have a good day, Mrs. Jones. It was so nice to meet you.” I put Mal down and tugged her onto the grass and away from the house.

“Thanks for the visit, dear,” she called after me. “Come by again any time and bring your lovely doggie friend.”

“Thank you,” I called, waving back at her. I rounded the corner of the house and looked up. She was right. There was a widow's walk on the roof. I looked carefully and saw a long metal tube that could have been the telescope of so much interest. I had almost asked her if I could go up and look through it, but that would have been too forward. Besides, I was pretty darn sure that Rex already did . . . and at night. He wouldn't have left anything as important as Paige's life to a witness whose story wasn't checked completely. It would be too easy to defend with an he said-she said argument.

I frowned as we walked down the winding road. Harold Jones had a girlfriend from the yacht club. I glanced at the house. Mrs. Jones was right. The club members were very exclusive. Did they think Harold owned the English house? The man worked at the Nag's Head bar. He wouldn't be doing that if he had money . . . so why would a woman from the yacht club be dating him?

I heard Jenn's voice in my head.
He might be really hot.
It made me laugh. Mrs. Jones was in her eighties. At his youngest, Harold Jones was in his forties. What hot forty-year-old worked at a bar on a small tourist island and then went home to stargaze?

It didn't add up. Maybe if I could figure out who his girlfriend was, I would have better insight into what his motives might be for testifying. Was the killer offering him money? That would make sense. If he wanted to impress a yacht club member he would need a lot of money. I hurried down the hill with Mal.

I needed to get back and do a fudge demonstration, then Jenn and I had a meeting with Mr. Devaney about the engagement plans. If I had time later in the afternoon, I might run by the yacht club and nose around a bit. I suddenly remembered that we were excused from the committee. That meant no entrance without a membership and I didn't have one. I blew out a long breath. I would have to wait until the race week closing gala. Luckily, Trent had told me last night we were still going. It might be the last time I'd get inside the yacht club for a while. I would have to find out everything I could without being too obvious. It was going to be tricky.

I had to have a proper plan if I was going to pull this one off.

“It feels strange meeting you girls here for lunch without Frances,” Mr. Devaney said. He looked ruffled by the secrecy. It was pretty clear he didn't like it.

“Well, you wouldn't like being a spy, would you?” Jenn asked and winked at him.

He harrumphed.

We were seated in the corner of the Grander Hotel's bistro. It was the best place we could meet for lunch without any of the locals knowing. The Grander Hotel was brand new on the island and run by an outside firm. Most of the locals boycotted it out of principle. They liked the idea that the island hadn't changed from the Victorian era. The new hotel was fully updated, energy efficient, and a replica of a Victorian mansion.

It was the replica part they hated the most. Everything else on the island was original. People worked hard not to turn the island into a theme park, but we needed new emergency equipment and updates to the police and fire departments . . . and the developers of the Grander Hotel had deep pockets. In the end, the replica was built and the island's emergency responders had enough money to buy two fire trucks and hire two more policemen.

It was really a win-win . . . unless you were a local. Then you groused about it. As it turned out, most of the tourists were suspicious of the replica and preferred to stay in an original. That was good news for the McMurphy, as well as the other hotels. The added hotel space was filled by overflow and brought more people downtown to eat at the pubs and buy fudge.

I wasn't afraid to give them my money for one lunch. As far as I was concerned, the Grander Hotel did more good than harm to the island.

“What can I get you?” The waitress was dressed in full Victorian worker garb—long gray skirt and white leg-of-muffin sleeved blouse with an apron over it all, white hair cap.

We gave her our orders.

“What do you girls have for me?” Mr. Devaney asked.

“We have three options,” I said. “We wanted to give you choices.”

“How soon can these options happen?” he asked. “I don't want to wait weeks while you two create something elaborate.”

“All three could be set up within a few days,” Jenn said. “Of course, that will make some more expensive than others.”

“I'm not worried about the cost,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I want to do it soon before Frances gets suspicious or some knucklehead lets her in on the plans. If it were up to me, I'd just ask her this evening over dinner, but I want this to be her last proposal. I want it to be as memorable as all the young kids are doing it nowadays.” He paused and looked at us. “What?”

I grinned. “Like all the young kids are doing it?”

“I see those YouTube clips,” he replied. “I'm up-to-date on trends. I'm just pretty sure a mob of dancers would scare the hell out of Frances. Let's not do that.”

“Got it,” I said. “No mob of dancers.”

Jenn's eyes sparkled. “We don't want to give Frances a heart attack.”

“She's stronger than you think, but that's off topic. Our first idea is a romantic dinner on the roof of the McMurphy with the island at your feet. Jenn and I would decorate it like a fancy terraced restaurant complete with fairy lights, candles, and soft music so that you two can dance.” I paused and watched his expression.

Mr. Devaney had the best poker face ever.

“Okay, number two is a romantic moonlight carriage tour around the island where you would stop at Lovers Point. We would have set up a picnic dinner complete with candles, soft music, and views of the bridge.”

“And the third choice?”

“The third choice is to rent the sunporch at the Grand Hotel and have a three-piece orchestra playing while you are waited on hand and foot by your own personal staff. They would be very discreet, of course,” Jenn said.

“Well, I can imagine which one is the most expensive,” Mr. Devaney said. He pursed his lips. “What do you girls think?”

Jenn and I looked at each other. We had discussed what to say should he ask our opinions.

“We think that any of these three would be memorable and romantic for Frances,” I said.

“But you prefer one of them,” he said as the waitress came with our drinks.

We waited patiently for her to leave. Even though we didn't know her, there was a chance she knew someone who knew us and word would get out. It would be hard enough to explain our lunch should anyone ask, but we had agreed upon a back story just in case.

“We think Frances would like the McMurphy option best,” I said. “It's where you two met and is her home when she isn't at her apartment.”

“Hmm,” he said as the waitress brought our lunches.

Jenn and I let him think about it while we ate. Since he was a man of few words, I was on pins and needles wondering if the suggestions were anything that appealed to him. Our discussion turned to the security camera that was being installed on the back of the building.

“I wonder why Papa Liam didn't have one installed earlier,” I said.

“It's a small island,” Mr. Devaney said. “People here don't lock their doors outside of tourist season and even then rarely.”

“Right.” I pushed my empty plate away. “The issue came up because I investigate murders.”

Mr. Devaney shook his head. “I think it's a different situation when you have two young girls living alone versus an old man. Your grandfather knew people on the island. He was never more than a few feet away from friends. You girls are new.”

I frowned. “We need extra care?”

“Let's say it's a different animal,” he said.

“If you ask me, it's a good thing,” Jenn said. “Well worth the money.”

“I agree.” He leaned forward. “I've decided on a proposal.”

“Wonderful!” Jenn said and we all leaned in like conspirators.

“I want the rooftop one.”

“Yes,” I said with delight. “When?”

“When can you get it done?”

“Well, tomorrow night is the end of the yacht race week. The yacht club is having its final gala,” I said. “If you can wait a couple days, the night crowds will dissipate and you won't be disturbed by pounding party noise.”

“Fine. Let's do it the night after the gala.” He put his hands on the table to stand. “You girls can do that, right?”

“Yes,” Jenn and I said together.

I added, “We will need your help to get things up on the roof without Frances noticing.”

“It won't be a problem,” he said. “We'll tell her we are having estimates done on creating event space up there. It will account for any workmen that go up.”

“Perfect,” I said.

“I've got a plan of action right here.” Jenn pulled out papers from her tote. She handed us each a copy.

“This is well thought out,” I said as I looked down at the list of tasks that had to happen. Each task was assigned to me or Mr. Devaney or Sandy or Jenn.

“I'm a good project manager,” Jenn said with a grin. “We'll meet again tomorrow to see where we are. It's going to be a lot of fun.”

Mr. Devaney harrumphed. “It all depends on your definition of fun.”

“Keep your eye on the prize,” I said to him. “Frances is going to be so happy. It will all be worth it in the end.”

“It better be,” he said. “I'm counting on it.”

“Are you still going to the yacht club gala tomorrow?” Jenn asked me as we walked back to the McMurphy.

“Trent asked me,” I said. “Unlike the opening night fund-raiser, this one is black tie.”

“I know.” Jenn sighed. “I had such high hopes of going, but after we were not-so-graciously kicked off the committee and handed our business hats, I have no way to go. Shane isn't part of or even interested in the social set.”

“Neither am I,” I said.

“But think of all the great networking opportunities,” Jenn pointed out.

“You are the networker. I'm a fudge maker and for one, am so glad I have you. I wouldn't know half the people I've met on the island.”

Jenn laughed. “I do get around, don't I?”

“Do you know Harold Jones?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Harold Jones,” I repeated. “I think he works at the Nag's Head Bar and Grill.”

“No, why?”

“He's the eyewitness who placed Paige on the pier the night Carin was murdered.”

“Really. Hmmm. How did he see her and not say anything to the police at the time of the murder?”

“Well, he was stargazing from the widow's walk on Cassandra English's cottage. He claims to have heard an argument and turned the telescope on the pier where he saw two females fighting. One stepped into a circle of light and he recognized her as Paige. Then a meteor caught his eye and he focused on that for a moment. When he looked back at the pier both women were gone.”

“That is oddly coincidental,” she said.

“Apparently he stargazes every night after work,” I said. “I walked Mal by the English cottage today to see what I could see.”

“And?” Jenn's eyes lit up.

“I ran into Harold's mother, Irene Jones. She's old and in a wheelchair. Mal charmed her,” I said.

“Of course she did. So Mrs. Jones told you about Harold?”

“Actually, she expected me to come around sometime,” I explained, feeling the heat of a blush on my face. “The interesting thing is that she said Harold has a lady love from the yacht club. That's how he could recognize Paige.”

“Very interesting,” Jenn said. “Want me to do some digging?”

“Can you check Harold out? It's weird that he works at one of the few bars on the island that the Jessops don't own. Weirder still is that any member of the yacht club would be dating a part-time bartender.”

“Maybe they're trying to piss off their parents,” Jenn suggested.

“Or maybe Harold has a motive to point the finger at Paige that has nothing to do with the yacht club,” I suggested. “Find out if he was fired by one of the Jessops' bars.”

“I'm sure if he was, the Jessops have already looked into that,” Jenn pointed out.

I frowned. “Yes, they have an investigator who is quite on top of things. Darn. Maybe his girlfriend has a beef with Paige. Maybe she's using him to frame Paige.”

“He'd be at risk of perjury,” Jenn said. “She must really be something if he would risk going to jail for her.”

“Men have risked their lives for the woman they love,” I said.

“I suppose that's true. Wouldn't it be nice to find a man who would do that for you?”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh.

“Do you think Trent would risk his life for you?”

“I don't know,” I said and felt a moment of sadness. “We've only been dating a few months, but he did shut me out for days.”

“And apologized for it.”

“Yes, he promised to never do it again and then brought in his investigator to collaborate with me on the information I'd discovered.”

“See. I bet he would take a bullet for you,” Jenn said with cheer. “You watch. After you show up at the gala tomorrow night, we'll have more island business back.”

“It's almost like when his grandfather died,” I said. “The island folks really are loyal to the Jessops.”

“You know that no matter how long we live here, the locals will always think of us as outsiders. Shane tells me they think of him as an outsider because he lives in St. Ignace.”

“It seems a little silly, doesn't it?”

“Sometimes,” Jenn agreed.

I turned the question back on her. “Do you think Shane would risk his life for you?”

“He darn well better,” she said brightly. “I think I'm falling in love with the guy.” Her expression softened at the mention of Shane's name.

“Oh, that's wonderful. Does that mean you might be staying in the area?”

She sobered up. “I have a contract to work in Chicago this fall. I signed it before I came here and met Shane.”

“Long distance romances work for some people,” I said and patted her shoulder. “It will be okay. You'll see.”

“Of course it will.” She brightened. “Isn't it nice to know there's a man in the world—someone besides your father—who would risk his life for you?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It is.”

* * *

Jenn was a mastermind.

She spent the next morning in and out of the attic staging the rooftop proposal. She didn't want to set it up on the roof in case we had a storm overnight. She supervised people moving giant potted palms, a gorgeous bistro set, and more into the attic. One guy was working on a portable gazebo. The roof was waterproof and the sides could be open with long gauzy drapes that could be pulled closed for privacy or opened for a view. If there was rain, storm walls could be rolled down and zipped up, making a cozy nest. Fairy lights were planned for the ceiling as well as the railing around the roof.

We used the cover story of having contractors assess the roof and give us a quote for having events up there. Frances seemed unconcerned about the activity. I stayed in the fudge shop when she was at the reception desk and Jenn stayed with her when they refreshed rooms.

I tried to be calm, but it was fun to sneak up to the attic and see the plans all coming together. Sandy was in on it, of course, and was creating a chocolate centerpiece of delicate flowers for the table. Another worker installed weatherproof speakers. Mr. Devaney had given us a list of 1960s love songs that would play in the background. Jenn was amazed by his knowledge of music and spent two hours downloading music to create the background music for the night.

“You seem distracted,” Frances said suddenly as she looked up from her computer.

“I'm sorry?” I said.

“You've been standing by the coffee bar with a mug in your hand staring into space.” She pointed with her hand. “What's going on?”

I moved closer to her. “Nothing.”

“It's the investigation, isn't it? Are you worried because you can't help Paige?”

I grabbed her excuse by the horns and ran with it. “Yes.” I felt the heat of a blush hit my cheeks. I was never any good at lying and felt my heart pounding harder under her scrutiny.

“No one expects you to solve every murder, you know,” she said.

“I know, but I want to help.” I leaned against the reception desk.

“I did some asking around about Harold Jones. He is in his early forties and takes care of his mother during the day. He works nights at the Nag's Head Bar and Grill and is sometimes seen on the widow's walk of the English cottage late at night.”

“I met Irene Jones yesterday on my walk with Mal,” I said.

“Really? You didn't mention it.” Frances looked down at Mal curled up in her pink doggie bed at the foot of the reception desk. “You didn't tell me you met someone new, either.”

Mal untucked her nose and looked at Frances. I knew that look. It meant
Are you going to give me a treat or are you just chirping at me?

“Mrs. Jones loved Mal,” I said. “She had a bichon named Fluffy.”

“Oh my goodness. I remember that dog. Irene would bring her when she came to visit one week out of every summer.” Frances frowned. “The last time I saw that dog was 1972.”

“Oh, wow. Mrs. Jones sure has a good memory. She spoke about the dog as if it were just last week.”

“That happens as you age,” Frances said. “Things that happened decades ago are clearer than where you put your glasses today.”

“She told me that Harold has a lady love who is a member of the yacht club. Do you have any idea who that is?”

“Do you think a girlfriend is his reason for lying about seeing Paige?”

“It might be plausible . . . if the woman had a reason not to like Paige . . . or Carin for that matter.”

“Do you think he might be protecting the real killer?”

“I'm not sure,” I said with a shrug. “It's an avenue to go down. I also wondered if maybe he got fired from one of the Jessops' bars and was taking his revenge out on Paige, but I think Rex would have looked into that.”

“Yes, my guess is that Rex would have looked into that,” Frances agreed. “In a case of he said-she said, I imagine that Rex is all over any doubt the defense attorney can put up about Harold.”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “That's exactly what I thought.” I leaned my elbows on the desk and looked at her. “Any idea who Harold might be dating? Is there any gossip about a rich girl dating a bartender? Maybe a rich girl looking to push her parents' buttons?”

“Well, a rich girl in her twenties dating a part-time bartender in his forties would certainly be a rebellious act against someone,” Frances agreed. “I haven't heard of anyone like that recently. You've been closer to the yacht club crowd these days than I have.”

“Not anymore,” I said. “They uninvited us from the committees and dropped us as a vendor when Trent made it clear that he wasn't letting me in on the investigation.”

“They only put up with you because you were dating Trent?”

“It seems that way,” I said. “Jenn thinks after I go to the gala with Trent tonight, the committee members might change their minds about taking us off the approved vendor list.”

“Interesting,” Frances said. “Mackinac Island has that small-town mentality. I could see why Jenn thinks that, but are you certain there isn't another reason you were removed from the approved vendor list?”

“What do you mean? We have a good product and we under-promise and over-deliver.”

“I know that and so does anyone who has hired you,” Frances said. “But it might simply be that they have removed you from the list because the committee feels you remind the Moores of their loss. You did drag their daughter's body from the marina.”

I pondered that thought for a minute. “I hadn't looked at it that way.”

Frances turned back to her computer. “Nothing is ever cut and dry, but being cut from the list of approved vendors might be a good reason to stop by the yacht club in the afternoon.”

A smile spread across my face. “Yes, it just might.” I took off my chef's jacket and dragged the hairnet from my hair. “Why don't you come with me?”

“What?” Frances looked up at me from over the top of her reading glasses.

“Why don't you come with me? You know the older members of the committee better than me. We'll go talk to the manager of operations. If you see any member of the committee in the club, you can find out much easier than I can why we were booted. I'm sure Eleanor would have a canned response, but you might be able to get something more concrete from an actual committee member.”

“Huh. Okay,” Frances said. “If I do go with you, who will look after the desk and the fudge shop?”

I glanced at my watch. “Megan comes in in ten minutes. She can watch both while you and I go to the yacht club.”

“All right,” Frances said with a nod. “Remember, I scheduled her to take over this afternoon because I have a hair appointment. We have to be done at the club in time for that.”

“You have a hair appointment?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. Frances loved the fact that she was a free spirit about her hair. She rarely had regular appointments. My question had her blushing.

“Douglas gave me a spa certificate on my birthday.” She patted her hair. “I'm going to get my hair and nails done for our date tomorrow night. I thought it would be a nice surprise for him.”

“I think that's a wonderful idea,” I said. “Which spa are you going to?”

“Astor's.”

I felt my eyes widen. “In the Grand Hotel?”

“Yes.” She blushed again. “I know it's extravagant, but I couldn't tell him to take it back.”

“I think it's wonderful,” I said. “What are you getting done?”

“A full half day of services,” she replied, her blush deepening further. “I'm scheduled for the deluxe facial, then hair styling, manicure, and pedicure.”

“Wow. That is so wonderful.” I nudged her with my hip. “I'm jealous. You win the best boyfriend award.”

She laughed nervously. “Yes,” she agreed. “I do win that award. I'm about the luckiest woman alive.”

“I don't know about that. If you ask me, Mr. Devaney is the luckiest man alive.”

“You are such a doll,” Frances said. “Now, go wash up. I need to get some things wrapped up before Megan gets here and I take off.”

“It won't take me long. I'll just duck into the hall bathroom.”

Frances frowned. “No, really, I don't need you to hover. I'm fine. I can finish up here without you.”

“Oh.” I acted surprised. “Have I been hovering? I'm sorry. Sure, I'll leave you to your work.”

“Good.” Frances looked back at her computer screen. “Who knows? Maybe we'll learn something of value at the club . . . something for Paige's defense. Wouldn't that give me something to think about while I'm having my half day of beauty?”