All You Need Is Fudge (9 page)

All I needed to do was show him that I could and would help. No matter what. Even if it meant proving Rex wrong. More important, especially if it meant proving Paige's innocence.

“What's the scoop?” Jenn asked as she came into the apartment after a date with Shane. She threw herself down on the sofa and Mella jumped up on her chest for long, slow pets. Mella was in heaven as Jenn stroked her from ear to tail.

It was after dinner and I was doing the dishes. “The scoop is that Paige has been arrested and is out on fast tracked bail. Trent hasn't had time to do anything more than text me that he's okay and I'm to let their lawyers handle it.”

“Well, that stinks,” Jenn said with a frown.

“Did Shane tell you anything?” I wiped the last pot and put it away.

“He wouldn't tell me,” she said with a sigh. “It's super hush-hush because the Jessops have high-powered attorneys. We are not allowed to blow the case.”

“But the case is wrong,” I said with certainty.

Mal followed me from the kitchen to the open living area and jumped up to get Jenn's attention. Mella swatted her away as if to say Jenn was her human at the moment.

“There is no way Paige killed anyone.”

“I agree. Shane isn't telling me if he agrees or not.” Jenn frowned. “It's not like him. Usually he shares tidbits with me.”

“Yes, it seems everyone is keeping us from investigating.” I crossed my arms. “It isn't right.”

“Frances says the yacht races are huge again this year. In fact, Carin's murder has made the businesses all the more busy with day-trippers. Every room on the island has been booked for almost a year so newshounds have had to take the ferries over every day or sleep on the streets.”

“The mayor won't let people sleep on the streets, so the ferry guys must be happy. The first crews from Chicago came in today. We sold out of fudge by noon. Sandy made some late batches, but we aren't even trying to do demonstrations. The streets are too crowded. I'm not complaining.” I sat down.

Mal jumped up in my lap and I petted her as she and the cat played silent glaring war.

“It's the biggest race weekend ever and our cash registers are showing it. But I'm not happy that Trent hasn't called me. He's supposed to lean on me during bad times, isn't he?”

“I'd certainly think so,” Jenn said. “Did you learn anything from Eleanor today?”

“Only that she exaggerates things.” I shook my head. “I went to see Janet Biggs at her cottage afterwards.”

“You did? How is she?”

“She's actually very nice. And a great pastry chef. Did you know she is the yacht club's caterer?”

“Yes, silly,” Jenn said. “I'm surprised you didn't. She's quite well-known on the island for her pastries . . . especially her cookies.”

“I had one this afternoon and she does have a magic touch. I asked her if she would be willing to cater some of your events and she said yes if it didn't conflict with her existing gigs.”

“That's wonderful.” Jenn sat up straight, accidently pushing the cat to the floor.

Mal took the opportunity and leapt from me to Jenn.

“She's a known name. It will help make our events legitimate with the island crowd.”

“She also told me that Paige had to kick April Schmidt and her date to a waiting list for the yacht club fund-raiser because an important donor was left off the list.”

“Ouch,” Jenn said.

“Yes. I guess April was livid. Frances told me it takes two to three years or more to get from the waiting list to the actual event. April had been on the list for the last five years.”

“Is that motive enough to frame Paige?” Jenn asked.

“What? No, of course not,” I said. “At least I don't think so. Janet suggested I talk to Paige's boyfriend Reggie Owens.”

“Oh, that's a good idea,” Jenn said as she petted Mal.

Mella jumped up on the kitchen bar and licked her paw as if the last thing she wanted was for Jenn to be petting her like she petted Mal. I loved my fur babies, but they were still getting used to each other and their little games were entertainingly human.

“Janet suggested that if the Jessops were shutting me out of the investigation, maybe they were shutting Reggie out as well.”

“That makes him all the more likely to talk to you about what he may or may not know.” Jenn's gaze lit up. “Did you call him?”

“Yes. He didn't answer so I left a message.”

“Good. He has to at least be able to alibi Paige. I mean, wasn't he with her the night of the murder?”

“I'm hoping so,” I said. “And yet if he was, how could Rex arrest her?”

“True.” Jenn tapped her finger on her chin. “This is harder than I thought. Let's say for some reason Reggie wasn't with Paige. How would the killer know that? And why would they frame Paige?”

“Paige must have some idea, but the Jessops aren't answering any of my calls. I hate that they don't see that I can help.”

“You are great at helping.” Jenn got up and patted my shoulder. “Until you hear from Reggie, I think we should concentrate on other things. Things that are less frustrating, like planning Mr. Devaney's proposal to Frances. Did he say when he wanted to propose?”

“He said as soon as possible, since they weren't getting any younger.”

“Now that sounds like Mr. Devaney.” Jenn pulled two sodas out of the fridge, grabbed two glasses, and brought me a glass and soda. “What are you thinking we should do for this? He wants private, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “Private, romantic, and super special. Frances deserves super special.”

“Yes, she does,” Jenn agreed. She went into the end table drawer and pulled out a paper and a pen. “Okay, let's brainstorm. What would be private yet special?”

“Well, remember how he has a private beach area for viewing the fireworks? Maybe we could do something there.”

Jenn wrote down
beach
, but frowned. “Do you think he would show it to us so we could decorate it?”

“Most likely not.” I drew my eyebrows together. “What about decorating the roof of the McMurphy? It's flat. It's private and has a view of Main Street and the lighthouse, as well as the fort. Would be romantic at night.”

“That's a great idea,” Jenn said. “I've been up there a couple times looking at it as an event space. You were going to reinforce it for crowds, remember?”

“That's right.” I pursed my lips. “I guess that idea sort of got lost in all the other events we've had this season, but I did have Mr. Devaney look into it. Although it is flat, it does not meet code for parties over ten persons. In order for that to happen, we have to have the roof reinforced from underneath. It would require pulling up the roofing, adding new joists and underpinnings to ensure the foundation can hold the extra weight. Then replace the roofing and the safety rail.” I opened my soda and poured it into my glass slowly. It bubbled and fizzed, tickling me with carbonation. The sweet smell of cola filled the air as I ran the financial numbers through my brain. “I think I remember the quote on the work was five to eight thousand dollars. That's a lot of money. Plus stairs to the roof would have to be added inside and out, which is another thousand.”

“Yes,” Jenn agreed. “But you could make that up in one season of events like rehearsal dinners, birthday parties, and fireworks viewing. It would be so totally worth it.”

“Yes, but I just spent all of Papa's money on remodeling of the McMurphy lobby and an extra five grand on putting in the glass doors to keep Caramella out when we're making candy.”

“Again, cats add value to a hotel. People love pets and so those were both good investments.”

“I'd rather talk romantic engagements than investments,” I said, bringing her back to the task at hand.

“Fine. Does he have a theme?”

“Mr. Devaney with a theme? Can you imagine that?”

We laughed.

She was quick to reply. “That's why he asked us to help him do this. Okay, so back to rooftops. What if we did a romantic rooftop theme? You know, soft music, catered Italian dinner, flowers, bistro-like setup.”

“Do you think that's too cliché?”

Jenn frowned. “You want original romantic rooftop theme. Hmmm.”

“What about something personal to them?”

“The only thing I know about them as a couple is they are both dedicated to you and the McMurphy,” Jenn said. “But that is a point. We could find something they've done together and create a more personal setting with mementos and such.”

“We'll have to do some snooping,” I said. “I think we're pretty good at that.”

Jenn laughed again. “Yes, yes we are.” She lifted her glass of cola and toasted me. “Here's to our investigations. May they always result in positive outcomes.”

“I agree.” I clinked glasses with her and sipped my cola.
Had I really been so busy this summer that I didn't know more about Frances? Who did she hang out with besides Jenn and me and Mr. Devaney? Didn't she have older friends?

Maybe a trip to the senior center would help me find out more. I put it on my to-do list—right along with talking to Reggie and trying to figure out what evidence the police had. What did they have against Paige that they could issue a warrant for her arrest? All this and yacht racing madness was making my head spin. At least the yacht club fund-raiser had been a hit. Jenn and Sandy had gotten a few more inquiries to plan events and to make chocolate sculptures.

I thought of the money in the bank. I had enough reserve to make any repairs winter would bring and to get me started into the next season. Fall would be a great time to make the additions on the roof, but could I spend that much of my reserve? Jenn hadn't said she was coming back next season and I wasn't paying her what she could make elsewhere.

I glanced at my cell phone and noted that Trent hadn't called me today.

I hated when my life was in chaos. It seemed that nothing about it was on track. I remember Papa Liam telling me the only certain things in life were death and taxes . . . which reminded me that the accountant I outsourced was working on second quarter taxes. I'd wait for that bill before I committed the funds to reinforcing the roof. One thing I'd learned since Papa Liam died. Life was uncertain and it was good to be prepared for whatever happened next.

* * *

“I heard they found the murder weapon,” Mrs. O'Malley said when I walked into the senior center with two pounds of fresh fudge. Ninety years old, she sat at the first crafting table beside her seventy-year-old daughter, Mrs. Helmsworth.

It was craft day—painting teacups that would be auctioned off at the fall sale to raise money for more craft supplies. Craft day was held twice a week. They played cards three times a week and often held tournaments for cards and chess.

There were more women at the center for craft day. A bird watching lecture was scheduled for after lunch. I had brought the fudge in hopes of learning more about Frances. I remembered most of the seniors—they were the older set now—from my summers staying with Grammy Alice and Papa Liam. When I was young, they were the middle-aged people bringing their parents to the center.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Mrs. O'Malley, Mrs. Helmsworth, would you like a piece of fudge?”

“What kind is it, dear?” Mrs. Helmsworth asked.

“Dark chocolate with Traverse City Cherries, English toffee, and walnuts.”

“Well, the nuts and toffee will crack my dentures,” Mrs. Helmsworth said.

“You can suck on it,” her mother advised. “That's what I do. I love toffee and walnuts.” The elder woman took two pieces of the ill-advised fudge and winked at me.

“Frances said it was a favorite here at the center.” I frowned. “I didn't realize it could crack your teeth.”

“Of course it's a favorite,” Mrs. Helmsworth said. “Anything that is bad for you is favored here. We're old. We like to tempt fate.” She took a piece of each kind of fudge. “Are you here to investigate the murder?”

“Well, actually, no,” I said and stepped over to Mrs. Albert and Mrs. Tunisian. “But you were saying you heard they found the murder weapon? The one that killed Carin Moore?”

“Yes,” Mrs. O'Malley said, her mouth full of fudge.

“I heard the police got a warrant for the Jessops' yacht—the
Scoundrel
,” Mrs. Albert said. “That's where they found the murder weapon. Right in plain sight.”

“That doesn't seem right to me,” I said.

“It was an oar with the Jessops' ship name printed right on it,” Mrs. Helmsworth said as she bit into the fudge. “It matched the mark at the base of Carin's skull. They ran some tests and found Carin's blood on it.”

“That's horrible.” I tried to remain calm. “I didn't know the Jessops had a yacht. I mean, I imagine they did because they are so active on the island. I don't remember seeing a boat with that name on it the morning I fished Carin out of the water.”

“You date that Jessop boy, don't you?” Mrs. O'Malley asked and reached for a third piece of fudge.

“Yes,” I answered.

“I'm surprised you didn't know they had a yacht. In my day, a young man would take his girl sailing pretty early on in the courtship. He had to see if she had sea legs,” Mrs. Albert said with a cackle.

“Trent is busy with the stables.” I frowned as I was tapped on the back. I turned and Mrs. Finch was there with a small plate.

“Can I take some fudge to my table?”

“Certainly.” I put eight pieces on her plate, figuring two for each person at the table.