Oh Say Can You Fudge (20 page)

I couldn’t keep my hands off him. What I really wanted to do was crawl up in his lap and feel his arms around me. It was as if he read my mind. He pulled me into his lap and George draped a blanket around both of us as we clung to each other.

“Rex wants you two here for questioning before he lets you go,” Officer Lasko said.

“What about the McMurphy?” I asked her.

“The bomb squad is going through the building. They found a suspicious package near the front door.”

I closed my eyes against the thought as anger rushed through me. My entire world was threatened tonight. It made little things like not pleasing the Star Spangled Fourth’s committee seem inconsequential.

Frances came out of the crowd. She wore a trench coat over her night clothes. “I was getting ready for bed when I heard the commotion. What happened?”

“There was a bomb,” Jenn said. “Mal found it.”

“A bomb?” Frances had a flash of anger in her eyes. “This has gone too far.”

“They found a package in the McMurphy as well,” I said. “This fight has gotten very personal.”

Trent gathered me closer to him. “There is no way the bomb under the bushes was directed at anyone in particular. It was simply in a random place as if the builder was hoping to catch someone but didn’t care if it was a rabbit or a passerby.”

“I suppose the bomber could have been a kid,” I said, tears rushing back down my cheeks stinging my chapped skin. “A kid experimenting, maybe?”

“What kid thinks like that?” Jenn asked.

“This bomb might have been a distraction from the McMurphy.” Liz was all business as she approached. “They found two bombs at the McMurphy, one inside near the fudge shop entrance and the second on the fire escape outside your door.”

“Oh, no. The cat!” I nearly jumped up, but Trent tugged me back down.

“The cat’s fine. I’ve got her. It was going to be a surprise for you. I lured her into my arms and got her to St. Ignace to the vet today. They’re going to spay her and give her shots and such. I was going to bring her home to you the day after the Fourth.”

“That would be tomorrow,” Jenn said, looking at her watch.

Mr. Devaney arrived, tugging his jacket on over his under shirt. It was clear that he, too, had been getting ready for bed. “Is everyone all right?”

“We’re good,” Trent said.

“They found two possible bombs at the McMurphy,” Frances told him.

Mr. Devaney scowled. “We left the arson board in the lobby. Whoever is doing this must have seen their name on the list and gotten scared.”

A shiver ran down my back. I’d forgotten all about our arson board in the lobby. It meant that the arsonist, now bomber, had done more than left packages at my door. They had been in my home.

Chapter 22

For the second time this season, the McMurphy was a crime scene. Thankfully, all the guests felt safe enough to stay. No one wanted to check out immediately.

“After all,” Mrs. Hamish said. “There was a bomb in the park. We don’t know that there aren’t bombs everywhere. Here, we know that the bombs are gone.” She patted my hand and winked. “Safest place on Mackinac.”

“We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Mr. Jonas said. His wife Laura and their two kids, Joy and Stevie nodded in agreement.

“Everyone gets a free pound of fudge,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

The lobby emptied as the guests went back to their rooms.

Rex studied the arson board thoughtfully.

Trent sat on the couch, facing the board with Mal in his lap. His broad capable hands stroked her fluffy fur. Somehow, she knew he needed comforting and made it her job to see that he got it.

Mom sat in the settee, her bathrobe clutched in her hands. Dad paced the length of the lobby in his striped pajamas and plaid bathrobe.

“This has gone beyond too far, don’t you think, Manning?” Dad said, his voice stern. “I need to know that my family is safe here.”

“Or what?” I asked from my place on the couch next to Trent. “You can’t close the McMurphy. I own it.”

“No, you run it,” Dad said. “The family owns it and I am the head of this family. I won’t let you stay here and get hurt.”

“Calm down, dear,” Mom said. “The family has been safe on this island for over one hundred years.”

“This is different. This is our only daughter we’re talking about. If we had a son—”

“Stop right there,” Mom interrupted and stood. Her face was pinched in anger. “A woman can do the very same things as a man.”

“This isn’t about equal rights,” Dad said, flinging his arms. “This is about some maniac out there trying to blow our kid up. If Allie were a man, you can darn well know that a bomber would think twice before pulling the stunt they pulled tonight.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Trent’s voice was deep and sincere.

I squeezed his hand. Mal rested her head on his chest as if to say she would take care of him, too.

“When did you put this up in the lobby?” Rex asked, his attention still on the board.

“Yesterday,” Mom answered.

“Liz came over,” I explained. “She thought she had an idea of who did it and was explaining her theory.”

“Who was here when you discussed this?”

“Me, Mom, Liz,” I said, counting on my fingers trying to remember where everyone sat. “Frances, Mr. D, Jenn . . .” Mal put her paw on my arm. “Mal,” I said with a smile. “Oh, and Sandy.”

“No one else?” Rex asked. “Not a guest or a fudge shop customer?”

“No,” I said, thinking back. “It was one of those down times. We had finished the demonstration and the fudge shop was empty. The guests had checked out and it wasn’t time for the check in yet.”

“This is a listing of fires back to February?” Rex asked as he tilted his head to look at the map.

“Yes,” Mom said. “Liz had a list of people who were on Mackinac Island when the first four fires happened, then were off the island during the down period, and then back on the island when the fires started up again.”

“Henry Schulte is on this list,” Rex said. “I had him in custody when the shed fire happened.”

“There are two theories there,” I said. “The first is that the shed fire was set to slow burn and could have been set prior to your arresting Henry.”

“I’ll check with the fire chief but I don’t think that’s likely.” Rex shook his head and crossed his arms. “What’s the second?”

“That Henry has a partner or accomplice,” Mom said.

“In which case, the whole on-island, off-island theory is out the window,” I added. “That’s when we decided to ask the people on the list about where they went and why they came back.”

“This is not your investigation,” Rex said, his face stern. “You are not professionals and someone could get hurt.”

“Someone almost got hurt, anyway,” Dad pointed out.

“All we were doing was asking our friends and neighbors about their trips.” Jenn came downstairs with an overnight bag. Shane followed her.

“Where are you off to?” Mom asked.

I sent her a look that it was none of her business, but she sent me a look saying it most certainly was her business.

“Shane’s taking me off the island for tonight.”

“The ferries aren’t running this late,” Mom said.

“I have an in with the helicopter pilot,” Shane said with a grin. He pushed his dark framed glasses up his nose. He wore a T-shirt that had
T
ESLA
VS
. E
DISON
emblazoned on it. The two inventors fought it out with electricity.

“We have to go if we’re going to make our ride,” Jenn said with a grin and a wave of her hand. “See you later. Happy Fourth of July!”

“Are you coming back for the parties tomorrow?” Mom called after her.

“
Today
is the Fourth, Mrs. McMurphy,” Jenn smiled. “Allie gave me the day off. Good night!”

And out the door they went.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hold her for questioning,” Dad said to Rex.

“Shane told me that they were out walking when the bombs were found. They didn’t see anything.”

“Shane seems like a nice young man,” Mom said. “Is Jenn serious about him?”

“Mom.” I shook my head.

“Do you think the bomber saw this list and got nervous?” Trent asked Rex. “Or do you think he was simply mad because Allie and Mal have called in two of his fire sites?”

Rex paused for a moment and let out a long breath. “It could be either.”

“If you had to hazard a guess, which would it be?” Dad asked.

“I’d guess the arsonist saw this board.”

Dad slumped down on the arm of Mom’s chair. “I was afraid of that.”

“That means that whoever is doing this has been inside the McMurphy in the last twenty-four hours and not just to deliver packages,” I said.

“The package at the front door was left by a porter,” Rex said. “Frances identified the kid as Oliver Crumbly.”

“Oh, no. Not Oliver,” I put my hand on my mouth.

“Frances said Oliver told her the box was forgotten and left on the dock so the dock supervisor told him to deliver it. The box was marked C
OCOA
so Frances told him to leave it at the opening to the fudge shop. That was where you usually leave your candy-making supplies.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but my deliveries always come on Monday and Thursday. I’m surprised Frances didn’t think something was off.”

“He came as they were closing up for the fireworks,” Rex said. “I’m sure she had other things on her mind.”

“Oliver is on the list,” Mom pointed out.

“I went to see Cyndy about him earlier today. She said he was having trouble with his dad.” I looked at Trent. “I offered Oliver the cat. I thought perhaps it would give him a pet to confide in and help him with his anger.”

“Anger issues are a hallmark of arsonists,” Rex said. “So is being a teenage boy.”

I shook my head. “I don’t see Oliver doing that. I mean, if he blew up the McMurphy, then his own home would be damaged, as well. It’s not his mom he’s angry with.”

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Rex said. “Maybe he knows more than we think.”

“We can’t discount him as the arsonist,” Dad said. “He fits the pattern. Do you know why he was off the island when the fires stopped?”

“His dad went to court and got custody of Oliver for a month.”

“But he wasn’t gone a full month,” Mom said.

“No, after a week, his father put him in summer camp. Oliver hated camp and called his mom. Cyndy sent him a plane ticket and brought him home.”

“You could check with the camp,” Dad said to Rex. “See if they had any unexplained fires.”

“I’ll ask Cyndy what camp he went to,” Rex agreed and wrote in his notebook.

“You can cross the Castors off the list,” I added. “Frances said they were concerned about the fire . . . no wait! She said the Castors told her that Luke Archibald was working on a summer rental they had near Eagle Point Cave when the first fire broke out.”

“Wasn’t he also working on the pool house when that fire broke out?” Mom asked.

“Yes.” I looked at Rex. “We were going to see if he was doing any jobs near any of the other sites—besides the one in his trash barrel.”

“He’s working at the Hummingbird this week,” Rex said. “I saw him out on the picnic table eating lunch. He said it was a good job. The owners are repainting the entire interior of the cottage. They’re thinking about selling the property and wanted to spruce things up.”

“There you go,” Dad said. “Another suspect.”

“I don’t get it,” Trent said with a shake of his head. “Luke’s an okay guy. He’s always smiling and joking around. I don’t see him as the brooding angry type.”

“And he certainly won’t get any insurance money from the places that were set on fire,” I added. “He doesn’t fit the typical profile of an arsonist, either. Does he fit with a bomber?”

“I’ll figure that out,” Rex said. “What’s going on with the rest of the people on this list?”

“We hadn’t gotten that far,” I said.

“I’m going to take this board in to the station and have it printed. It might just give us a clue as to who was angry enough to try to blow up the McMurphy.”

“Okay,” I agreed and stood. “Do you need help with that?”

“No.” He snapped on gloves and lifted the board from its easel. “My advice to you all is to stop investigating. Leave it to the professionals. Okay?”

We all nodded. I wondered how many of us had our fingers crossed behind our backs.

“Get some rest. It’s going to be a crazy day.” Rex left.

I locked the doors behind him. My parents said good night and went to their room.

“Can you stay?” I asked Trent. He stood in the lobby with Mal in his arms. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Your couch is pretty comfortable,” he agreed. “I know I’d feel better keeping an eye on you and Mal.”

“Thanks,” I said and we walked upstairs arm in arm. “I’m pretty tired of explosions.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Chapter 23

The Fourth of July dawned warm and bright on the island that time forgot. The apartment windows were all open to let in the cool lake breezes. The sounds of gulls and the crash of waves came in on the dew-scented air.

I got up at the sound of the back door of the McMurphy closing. A quick glance out the bedroom window showed me that it was my dad with picnic tarp, chairs, and blankets in hand. After last night’s fiasco, he was still going to stake out a spot for tonight’s fireworks. I watched as his jeans and T-shirt covered body disappeared down the alley.

I was restless and hurt in places I didn’t know I had. It made me wonder how Trent was. I trotted into the kitchen with Mal at my heels. I wore silk boxers and a navy T-shirt. My hair was wild, but I didn’t care. If Trent was serious about being my boyfriend, he’d have to see me with bed head sometime.

I poured kibble into Mal’s bowl and started the teakettle for my French press coffee. I ground the beans fresh for every pot. It wasn’t because I was some kind of coffee purest. It was because I read somewhere that some coffees weren’t all coffee. They had fillers in them. The only way to know you were drinking the real thing was to buy the beans and grind them yourself. So I did.

The sound of the grinder made Trent groan. I glanced over to see him sprawled out on my couch. His head was buried in the pillow I had given him. The sheet under him was rumpled and the blanket slipped down to expose his bare broad back. He had one bare foot on the floor and the other hung over the arm of the couch.

For a moment, my heart stopped. It was a sight I would hold in my mind for the rest of my life. Then Mal ruined it by jumping up on his back and licking his face.

“What the—” Trent opened his eyes and sat up. His hair stood up on one side. Mal jumped into his lap, put her front paws on his broad chest, and licked his whisker-covered cheeks. “Whoa, down girl.” He pushed Mal to the side and glanced up to see me staring and then grinned. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” was all I could get out of my mouth. My brain had dropped below my waist and the spit dried up in my mouth.

He got up and stretched. He wore only dark blue boxer briefs.

I decided to concentrate on the coffee. Besides, the kettle was whistling. By the time I put the grinds in the press and added the hot water, Trent was sidling up to the breakfast bar wearing his jeans and a white T-shirt.

“You didn’t have to get dressed on my account,” I said as I stirred the coffee and then placed the top on it and the quilted cozyaround it to steep.

“My Mom taught me that it’s polite to get dressed before any meal,” he said, looking down at the wrinkled T-shirt stretched taut across his well-muscled chest. “I hope you don’t mind a few wrinkles.”

“Wrinkles look good on you.” I went around to plant a kiss on his whiskered cheek.

“Wow, kisses from two lovely ladies first thing in the morning and French press coffee. I might have to sleep over more often.”

“You’ll scandalize the neighbors,” I teased and moved to pull down two fat white mugs. I had to admit I was getting pretty good at using my left hand. The splint on my right thumb barely slowed me down . . . except when there was fudge to be made. Then I didn’t even try. My ego wanted to keep going, but my teachers ingrained in me that when dealing with hot sugar, you didn’t take any chances. If you got burned, you might be out of your career entirely. I wasn’t going to take that kind of chance.

I put the mugs on the counter and let Trent pour the coffee. “Sorry to get you up early.”

“It’s the Fourth,” Trent said with a shrug and added cream to both of our mugs. “I have to get to the stables early so I have time to take my girl out for a picnic and some fun and games at the fire department.”

“Oh, no no no.” I wound my fingers around the mug of coffee. “I’m not playing any games. No more three-legged races and definitely no greasy pole for this girl.” I held up my splint. “I’m wounded. All I want is a nice shady blanket, a good picnic lunch with a nice bottle of wine, and my boyfriend to share it.”

Mal whined and jumped up on me. I laughed. “Oh, and Mal, of course.”

“Of course,” Trent said. “Sounds like a plan. So, want to go for a bike ride and find a nice quiet picnic spot in the park?”

“Yes. I have to check on Sandy and make sure all our guests have fudge delivered to their rooms to make up for last night. What time do you want to meet?”

“Let’s meet at one. That gives us a few hours before we have to join the families for the dinner picnics and fireworks.”

I kissed him on the cheek. “Sounds perfect.”

 

 

A couple hours later, I was downstairs in the fudge shop watching Sandy do a demonstration.

She was good. She had the crowd enthralled. She asked for my help and together we lifted the copper kettle and poured the liquid fudge onto the cold marble slab of the cooling table. “You’ll notice the metal frame. Not every table has one, but we use this one so that we can pour the candy on the table and not worry that it will spill over at this critical point when the sugar mixture is super hot.”

We set the empty kettle in the pot holder where it was left to cool before it was cleaned. “We use marble because the cold stone wicks away the heat slowly and evenly. We will let the candy cool on the table for ten to fifteen minutes. That’s why you see me pouring the candy but the demonstration isn’t scheduled until ten-fifteen.” She pointed at the hands of the little paper clock on the candy counter that said N
EXT DEMONSTRATION
and the hands of the clock were set at 10:15. “While we wait, you can see that today’s specials are as American as apple pie, and cherry pie, and coconut cream, and lemon meringue.”

The crowd chuckled.

“We’ll take orders while the candy cools,” I said. Some of the people surged forward and I grabbed a prebuilt pink fudge box and paper square and filled the order of the couple in front of me.

Meanwhile, Sandy filled the order of a single mom with three little kids hanging off her. The kids were wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. Mom didn’t even look the tiniest bit frazzled. I admired women who could do that.

The time flew while we were busy serving up fudge. The timer buzzed and Sandy and I raised our hands like they do at the end of a televised competition.

“That’s it for the moment folks as it’s time to continue our demonstration. Sandy . . .” I motioned it was all hers and took a seat on a metal stool between the candy counter and the cooling table so that I could watch from the customer’s point of view.

Sandy washed her hands and dried them on a paper towel. “As we said when we poured the hot candy, the marble table is a special cooling table. The marble wicks the heat away slowly and evenly. Then, to encourage the process, the marble is cooled from the bottom with water. The table is prepared with butter or coconut oil depending on the type of fudge. We pour the hot liquid candy on the table to begin the cooling process. Now you’ll see as I remove the frame that the fudge has begun to thicken. It’s much less likely to drip off.” She pulled a long handled stir paddle off the wall. “These paddles have long wooden handles that do not transfer heat so that I can safely begin to stir the fudge as it cools.”

She stuck the metal paddle end into the fudge and scraped it off the bottom and flipped it onto itself. “We stir the fudge from one end and then the other. As we do that, we add air to the liquid, making it nice and creamy.”

She flipped one end and then walked around to flip the other. “We want to be careful not to let any of the fudgy goodness run off the table. This stage of hand whipping goes on for roughly eight to ten minutes. As you become more experienced with scraping and turning and folding fudge, you get a feel for the density of the chocolate.” She silently turned the table a couple times. “Do you see how it’s stacking up on itself and maintaining its height? When I first started, it would simply slip back down to the original height, but as I fold in air and the candy cools it starts to take shape.

“When it is able to stand three or four inches high, we know it’s cool enough to start to shape the loaf. Before we do that, though we add the extras. This is pecan pie fudge, so we take the dark chocolate base and throw on chopped pecans.” She put the long handled stirrer in the sink and reached for a measured white bucket of chopped pecans. Then she layered them on the top of the fudge. “Next we add a layer of salted caramel to help give it the taste of pecan pie.” She poured a thin ribbon of caramel custard. “Now we take out a small spatula and start to fold the pecans and caramel into the shape of the classic fudge loaf you see in the counter in front of you.”

She quickly scraped and flicked the fudge, expertly giving it the fudgy wave shape as she walked around the table. “Things go very fast at this stage. You see how quickly it’s setting up?”

I looked at the crowd and smiled at the little kids who were standing still, in awe, and the little girl who was a tad too short who kept jumping up to see better. A blond-haired little boy sat on his dad’s shoulders, watching through the window glass. This was the reason I loved the McMurphy. I lived for these moments when we passed on our heritage of candy making to the next generation of Fudgies. These demonstrations made impressions and lasting memories.

“Finally,” Sandy went on, “we take a long buttered knife and cut approximately one-quarter pound sections and plate them on the trays and fill the candy counter.” She cut the sections carefully and stood them in classic rows.

I got up and picked up a white platter and snipped off demonstration pieces and put them on the tray. Then I took the tray to the crowd to offer up free tastes. “The pecan pie fudge is part of this month’s American pie fudges,” I said as greedy hands, young and old, grabbed the just set, still warm fudge from the tasting plate.

My smile grew as I watched the expressions of the people sampling the fudge. The kids popped it in and chewed fast and nodded, more enthralled with the process than the candy. The adults, on the other hand, understood the dark chocolate pecan pie taste. Their expressions went from eager to eyes closed in pure enjoyment.

Yes, that was exactly why I loved being a fudge maker and continuing the McMurphy tradition.

The orders went fast and furious after that. People were grabbing fudge and hurrying off. The games at the fire department had begun. The streets were a crowded party of Fudgies and locals, laughing and shopping and enjoying the old-fashioned sights and sounds of a Fourth of July with no cars. Horse and buggies vied with bicycles for space on the roads. People walked five and six across as they moved like an endless wave from the ferry docs and on down Main Street.

“Great job,” I said to Sandy when the crowd finally cleared. “I’m so happy to have you on my staff.”

She nodded. “There is something about the crowds, isn’t there? I think it’s the kids.”

“No, it’s the grownups,” I said. “The little kids may be seeing it for the first time, but it’s the grownups who are remembering what it is like to be a kid again on the Fourth of July.”

In the distance, firecrackers popped. Kids laughed and jumped up and down. The cannon boomed on the hour. As the door opened and closed, the sounds of the crowds carried on the wind along with the smell of the lake and sun-warmed vegetation.

“All right. Time for you to take off, Allie,” Sandy said, her voice full of authority. “It’s your Independence Day. Go have fun. I’ve got the fudge shop covered and my cousin April has the front desk.”

“It’s your Independence Day, too. Many indigenous people fought for the United States.”

Sandy smiled. “We were already independent. We were fighting against our enemies.”

“The ones who sided with the English?” I asked.

“The ones who were trying to kill us,” Sandy said. “Now go. I know you have plans.”

“Thank-you,” I said. “The police are stationed at the front and the back of the McMurphy to ensure we don’t have any bombs nearby.”

“It’ll be okay.” She gently turned me toward the door. “I will handle the fudge shop until it closes at six. My cousin has the front desk until then. I’m sure it will be boring. Everyone will be at the picnic and fireworks.”

I went upstairs to get ready for my picnic when there was a knock at the back door. Mal raced to the door barking. I peered out to see Trent standing there. “You’re early,” I said as I opened the door.

The man was drop dead gorgeous in his turquois polo shirt, khaki shorts, and deck shoes.

“I brought you a present,” he said with a smile on his face. He brought a cat carrier out from behind his back.

Mal stood on her hind legs to smell the carrier. The cat inside was bored by her aerobatics.

“Is that the kitty?” I asked and peered inside to see the beautiful dark eyes of the calico cat.

“Yes.” He set the carrier on the breakfast bar to be at eye level. “She is healthy and caught up on her shots.”

“She is wearing a cone,” I noted.

“She has been spayed and must be kept quiet for a few days.”

“Oh, dear. Quiet does not really happen around here.” Mal was pawing at my leg to get a closer look. “Do I . . . can I take her out of the carrier?”

“Let’s leave her in there while we go on our picnic.”

I filled the water holder that hung on the outside of the carrier. The water holder’s mouth was metal with a bead inside that when pushed aside the water would be accessible but not drip on the cat. “Does she need to eat?”

“I have some kibble,” Trent said and pulled a small baggie out of his pocket. He poured the kibble into a tiny feeder.

“What am I going to do with her? I can’t have a cat in the fudge shop.” I waggled my fingers in the carrier and scratched the top of her head. “But she is so pretty.”

“I thought you said you were going to see if Oliver would take her.”