by Nancy CoCo
“You look so lovely,” Mom said and clapped her hands. She wore a similar getup in lavender and mint.
“I want the McMurphy to stand out but I hoped that didn’t mean I had to.”
“Oh, pooh.” Mom dismissed my thoughts with a gentle hand motion. “You do two demonstrations a day. You should be used to people looking at you.”
“Yes, well, that’s different.”
“How so?” Mom handed me a parasol and a pair of white lace gloves. She put her gloves on and watched me expectantly.
I put on the gloves. “When I do the fudge demonstrations, I’m showing my talent. This . . .” I waved at the dress, “Is not the same. Everyone will stare.”
“That’s the point.” Mom pushed me toward the door. “Put up your parasol. And here we go . . .” She opened the door, stepped out into the street crowd, and put up her parasol. I took a deep breath and followed her. My parasol was pale pink. My mother’s was lilac. The crowd parted around us as we kept our heads up and gently glided—or in my case tripped and tried not to fall—down the sidewalk. Officer Polaski followed a few lengths behind us. We passed the grocery store and had gathered behind us a trail of people interested in what was going on.
We hit the large lawn at the foot of the fort. Thankfully, the tent was set up at the near side of the lawn. First I spotted the tent, and then I saw the small groups of women in costume milling around it.
Relief washed over me. If I were with a crowd in costume, then I was less likely to stand out. The tent front had been tied back so that you could see the ten cloth-covered tables inside. The sound of the orchestra seeped out from the open doorway.
“It’s so lovely,” Mom said, and I had to agree with her. Jenn stood at the entrance, checking the elegant invitations she had given to each and every person who had bought a ticket. We closed up our parasols as we stepped into the tent.
Jenn had each table covered in white and lilac blue. In the center were more chocolate creations that Sandy had made. Then each plate was garnished with lilac flowers. The sugared lilacs I had made looked lovely on the multicolored petit fours. The chairs had high backs and were also covered in white linen with lilac blue bows in the back. Each table had a teapot with a different lilac theme.
Women filled the tent and took their places. If anyone could host a costume party in a tent in early June, it would be Jenn. Luckily Office Polaski stayed back, hanging out on the corner talking with the carriage drivers as they waited in the street for fares.
The tea party was perfect, and two hours later Jenn and I waved every attendee through the door with a thank-you and a card for one free pound of fudge from the McMurphy.
“That went well,” Jenn said when the last lady had left.
“Of course it went well,” Mom said. “You girls are very professional. I’m going to go find Sandy and let her know that I have collected orders for her chocolate work.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said as she hurried off, her parasol open and the crowds parting on the street.
“We raised five thousand dollars,” Jenn said with glee. “I’ll be sending the children’s clinic a nice check.”
“This was a fantastic idea,” I said. “It not only showed off what our team could do, but also helped build awareness of the McMurphy.”
“I love the Lilac Festival,” Jenn said. “What’s the next festival?”
“Let’s see, there’s the yacht race next month and then the festival of the horse in August.”
The cannon fired above us and the sound startled us both. We looked at each other, gloved hands on our chests, and we laughed. The cannon went off twice while we were inside with the tea, but with the band playing it didn’t have the same effect.
The catering crew came in to clear away the dishes and then take down the tables and linens. “Why don’t you go home,” Jenn said. “You look worn out. I can handle the teardown.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I can’t wait to get out of this bustle.”
Jenn laughed. “Come on, you have to admit that you liked it.”
“Yes.” I grinned with reluctance. “I did like it.” I gave Jenn a quick hug, grabbed my parasol, and strode out of the tent in a hurry to get back to the McMurphy and out of the corset. I was in front of the grocery store when Mrs. Finch emerged out of the crowd.
I could not believe it. In fact, I had to pinch myself to see if it was a dream. She wore the same clothes that she had on last night. Her Windbreaker was torn and her pink T-shirt dirty. This time there was a wild light in her eyes, along with the big butcher knife in her hand. She advanced on me with the knife held high.
The crowd around us screamed and parted as the crazy woman approached, knife held high. I glanced back and forth looking for Officer Polaski in the crowd.
“Stand still and take your punishment,” Mrs. Finch said. She had an odd expression on her face as if something inside her had snapped.
“No,” I said loudly. “Stop.”
She paused for a brief moment as if to process what I said. “I can’t, I won’t,” she said. “You need killing.” She slashed at me with the knife. I defended myself with the parasol. The knife missed me but made direct contact with the umbrella. The force of the hit sent a shock wave up my arms.
As she raised her arm again, Rex and Officer Polaski came running around the corner, guns pulled. “Stop, police!” Rex shouted.
She paused a moment, arm raised, and turned in the direction that Rex ran. “No.” She turned back to lower her arm, but I had taken the opportunity to lift my skirts and run out of her reach. “Nooo!” She wailed at the top of her voice when she realized I had bolted. “Come back here, girl. I have to kill you.”
By this time I had Rex between me and the crazy old woman. Officer Polaski was on her in a blink and removed the weapon from her hand. She wailed a strange animal-like noise that had the hairs on my arms standing on end.
She was cuffed and hauled off toward Market Street and the police headquarters. Like a huge wave, the crowd parted and then filled in as they passed.
“Are you okay?” Rex asked me.
I was bent in half with my hands on my knees and my head down. I looked up. “Yes, just a little scared.” I took a couple of deep breaths—as deep as you could get when wearing a corset—and straightened. “By now I should be used to this.”
“Being from Chicago you should be able to handle crime better than this,” Rex teased with a wink.
“Are you okay?” Trent appeared from the crowd.
“Yes, I’m good. Rex and Brent were here in good time.”
“I got a call that there was a crazy old woman with a knife,” Rex said. “The first thing we thought of was Mrs. Finch. I was in the McMurphy when Frances said you were out here in the tent. Brent tells me he didn’t see you leave the tent.”
“You both got here just in time,” I said.
“Why hasn’t Mrs. Finch been taken into custody before this?” Trent asked.
“We’ve been looking for her since last night, but she knows the island well and apparently she can keep out of sight if she wants. In fact, if she hadn’t become fixated on Allie, we may never have seen her again.”
I put my glove-covered hands on my exaggerated hips. “Do you believe me now?”
“I believed you last night,” Rex said. “That said, I have to stay objective.”
“Do you have the other guy in custody?” Trent asked.
“Yes, we caught Tony trying to sneak off island.” Rex nodded. “Mrs. Finch was the last one found. Her family has contacted a lawyer and are petitioning that she is innocent by insanity.”
“Well, she certainly looked insane,” I said.
“We need to ensure that she never gets out of treatment,” Trent said to Rex. “She’s already killed two people. I can tell you this—she’s definitely not going to be allowed on island ever again.”
“What will happen to Daisy?” I asked, and both men turned to me as if in slow motion.
�
��That dog is off island as well,” Rex declared.
“That’s sad. It wasn’t the doggie’s fault. Daisy’s innocent.”
“Until proven guilty,” Rex muttered. “She’s been in police lockup since yesterday. I have a woman from the Saint Bernard rescue service coming in tomorrow to take Daisy and find her a new and better home.”
“Thanks, Rex.”
He nodded.
“Come on Allie, I’ll walk you home.” Trent put his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from Rex. “You look good in pink and white.”
I felt the heat of a blush rise up over my face. “Thanks. Jenn and Mom seem to think they will get me to wear this dress again. But a betting man would look his fill now, knowing he may not ever see it again.”
Trent threw his head back with a loud laugh. “You are so funny.” He sobered. “This is the last day of the festival. The movies start tomorrow. Are we still on?”
I smiled at Trent. “Yes, I believe it’ll be safe for you to be with me by then.”
“I have a feeling being with you is far from safe. Especially for my heart.” He shook his head slightly.
“That’s one heck of a line.”
He took my hand in his and kissed my cheek. “Did it work?”
“Maybe . . . a little.”
“I know a shortcut to your house. One with significantly fewer people.”
“You do?” I raised one eyebrow.
“Yes.” He winked and kept hold of my hand as his presence parted the crowd until we moved into the alley. There was nothing left but the crunch of our feet on the alley gravel. The scent of lilacs drifted by on the breath of the wind. We walked hand in hand, enjoying the bright blue sky and the company. When we hit the McMurphy’s back door, he bent and kissed me properly on the mouth.
“Let’s go another month without sleuthing, okay?”
“Okay,” I said dreamily.
“I need you safe.” He kissed my forehead, opened the door to the McMurphy, and guided me inside. “See you tomorrow.”
The door closed behind me as he walked away. The hardest thing to do was to let him go.
Later that evening I sprawled out in the McMurphy lobby wearing jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. Frances sat nearby knitting. Jenn sat next to her, teasing Mal with a dog toy. Mom tapped something on her phone. Sandy lounged on the settee.
“Well, that festival was certainly interesting,” Jenn said. “All in all it was a success I think.”
“Between the teas, the sugared lilacs, and the chocolate centerpieces,” Sandy said, “it was a huge success.”
“Don’t forget solving a string of murders,” Mom said.
“Rex said that Mrs. Finch admitted to killing Heather and putting the body in the nearby shredder,” I said.
“Creepy.” Jenn shuddered.
“Creepy smart. She snuck into the Jessops’ yard to do it. Thus ensuring her brother’s competition would have to get rid of an entire season’s worth of products.”
“That means she is more clever than crazy,” Frances mused over her knitting
“I think the judge may agree,” I said. “At the bare minimum she’ll be in mental health lockup for the rest of her life.”
“Good,” Mom said. “I can go back home without worrying about you.”
“You’re going back home?” I tilted my head, not sure how I felt about the news.
“Yes, your father called. He wants me back.” She got up, put her phone away, and kissed my cheek. “I’m packed and going to take the last ferry off the island. It was so nice to meet you, Jenn and Sandy. Frances, thanks for all you do for my family.”
“We love you, too,” I said. “Group hug.” We all got up and surrounded my mom with love. I watched with amazement as tears came to her eyes.
“I love you all, too,” she said and stepped back to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Have a safe trip,” Frances said.
“Can I walk you to the dock?” I asked.
“Sure,” Mom said.
And so it was that I stood on the pier and waved good-bye to my mom.
Refreshed from a good night’s sleep, I did two demonstrations the next day, enjoying the art of it. Then Trent came by, took my hand, and escorted me to the black-and-white movie. I realized that at this moment in time all was well. And with the support of my family and friends, running the McMurphy was far from the crazy venture I had held on to for so many years. Perhaps, just perhaps, I was finally and truly home.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to The Island Bookstore of Mackinac Island for help with the details—all mistakes regarding Mackinac Island life are mine as I’ve never met an embellishment I didn’t like. Thanks to the team members at the day job, USDTL, for taste-testing fudge recipes. Thanks to all the wonderful book lovers who support me by reading, editing, cheering, and suggesting—you know who you are Liz, Joelle, Dru Ann, and all . . . Your time and efforts are truly appreciated. Special thanks to my editor Michaela Hamilton for believing in the series, enjoying the recipes, and bringing Gene with her because he has a talent for taking great pictures that make us look so young. Last but far from least, thanks to my agent Paige Wheeler, who advises, negotiates, supports, and frees me to do what I do best—write.
Join Allie, Mal, and their friends
in the next Candy-Coated Mystery
Oh Say Can You Fudge
Coming from Kensington in 2015
Turn the page for a preview excerpt . . .
CHAPTER 1
I was working on a red, white, and blue striped fudge recipe when I got a call from Rodney Rivers. So, of course, I let the call go to voice mail. I mean, nothing, but perhaps the curtains on fire, interrupted working with hot sugar. I was at the most delicate part of making fudge—the stirring to cool. If you overbeat the fudge while it cools, it sugars. If you underbeat the fudge, it’s too soft. Therefore a random phone call from the pyro technician in charge of the Mackinac Island Star-Spangled Fourth firework celebration could be answered later. Right?
Except I got caught up in the fudge.
Three hours later, still not happy with the recipe, I noticed the blinking light on my cell phone and called up the voice mail.
“Allie, we’ve got a problem. Meet me at the fireworks warehouse as soon as possible.” Rodney sounded angry. “The entire program is in ruins.”
Oh, man, that was not good. I had had to fight my way onto the Star-Spangled Fourth event committee in the first place. It was only because old man Slauser had died in May that I had been able to join the committee and take over the fireworks program. It was all part of my ongoing plan to become an upstanding member of Mackinac Island society.
Message two came up.
“Allie, answer your phone, will you. This is serious and time sensitive.” Rodney’s tone had gone from angry to desperate. “The entire back row of fireworks has been tampered with—Hey, you, what are you doing here? Are you responsible for . . .” The phone went eerily dead.
Well, that certainly can’t be good. I dialed the callback number, but it went straight to voice mail. I left a message. “Hey, Mr. Rivers, this is Allie McMurphy. I just got your voice mails. I’m headed to the warehouse. Call me if you’re no longer there. Otherwise, I’m coming down to see what I can do to help.” I hung up my phone and stripped out of my chef’s jacket, which was stiff from sugar and candy ingredients that tended to float in the air whenever I was inventing something new. The lobby door to the McMurphy was open to let in the soft, fresh lake air, which blew the summer white linen curtains softly. “Frances, I need to meet Mr. Rivers at the fireworks warehouse. Can you cover for me until Sandy comes in?”
“Sure can,” Frances, the historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe reservation manager, whom I inherited with the McMurphy, answered from her perch behind the reservation desk. “What’s up?”
“He didn’t say exactly, but there may be something wrong with some of the fireworks.”
“Do yo
u want me to call the fire department?” Frances looked at me over the top of her dark purple reading glasses. It was hard to tell she was in her seventies. She kept her brunette hair immaculate and her skin glowed in a way I hoped mine would at her age.
“No, I think if it were bad enough for the fire department Mr. Rivers would have called them. He’s an expert at that kind of thing and has always stressed safety first.”
My bichonpoo puppy, Marshmallow—Mal for short—got up from her comfortable spot in the pink doggie bed beside Frances. She stretched her back legs in a manner I liked to call doggie yoga and trotted over to me, then begged to be picked up. When I ignored the blatant display of cuteness, she poked my leg with her nose—a sign she knew I was going out and she expected me to take her.
“No, Mal, it’s too far for you,” I said and gathered up my keys and things in a small bag with shoestring handles that went over my shoulders like a backpack. Mal sat, sighed loudly, and turned back to her bed. “I’ll call as soon as I find out more.” I pulled the bag over my shoulders. “Let Sandy know we’re short on the chocolate cherry and the cotton-candy fudge.”
“Will do,” Frances said and went back to her computer. She had been my Grammy Alice’s best friend and a teacher who worked for Papa Liam as his reception desk worker for over forty seasons. When Papa had died this March, she had stayed to help me navigate the ins and outs of running the McMurphy. I made her my hotel manager and we made a great team.
I counted on her to introduce me to our recurring customers. Some had been summering at the McMurphy for generations, others just a season or two—but Frances remembered them all.
I went out the back door of the McMurphy and unchained my bicycle from the stand in the back alley. Part of the appeal of Mackinac Island—besides the world-famous fudge and the grand Victorian painted-lady cottages—was the fact that motorized vehicles, with the exception of the ambulance, were not allowed on the island. That meant there were three modes of transportation: horse-drawn carriage, bicycle, and on foot. Since the fireworks were stored in a cinder-block warehouse near the airport, I decided to bike it. Two miles on foot might make my current tardiness even worse.