All You Need Is Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  “Are you sure I don’t still smell like fudge?” I bit my bottom lip. Jenn had given me a makeover complete with cat-eyed style, black eye liner, and deep red lip.

  “No one will care,” Jenn said and crossed her arms satisfactorily. “In fact, you are so stunning, no one’s going to be talking about Carin or Paige. All eyes will be on you.”

  “Oh stop it. You’re making me nervous.”

  “No, seriously. You look like Audrey Hepburn.”

  “I do not,” I protested. “But thanks anyway.” I gave her a quick hug and a kiss as the apartment doorbell rang.

  “Oh, he’s here!” Jenn clapped her hands. “This has been the best day. First, I’ve nearly finished setting the scene for tomorrow’s romantic proposal and second, I got to make you look like a Hollywood movie star.”

  “The only thing missing is you.” I eyed her blue satin pajama pants and white cotton T-shirt. “You should be going.”

  “Oh, no,” Jenn said as she went to answer the door. “The only way I go to these things is if I’m working it. Trust me. I’m glad for a day off on this one.” She opened the door and Trent stood there in a black tuxedo.

  His square jaw and dark hair made him look like the perfect GQ model. His eyes flashed at the sight of me.

  “Wow.” Jenn and I said at the same time as Trent.

  “Jinks!” Jenn said, laughing. “Look at you two.” She held the door as he stepped into the apartment with a small flower box in his hand. “You look like something out of a Vogue fashion spread.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I don’t think so. Trent maybe ...”

  “You look gorgeous,” he said in a low sexy tone that made a blush rush right up my cheeks. “I brought you a corsage.”

  “It feels like prom,” I said when he opened the box and pulled out a delicate orchid wrist corsage.

  “Did you go to prom?” he asked me.

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I was too busy apprenticing at a local chocolate shop.”

  “It’s better to go to prom as an adult anyway.” He winked at me. “We know what we’re doing now.”

  Oh, boy.

  There was a ping of a text message. Trent reached for his phone in his pocket and checked it. “Paige says to have fun.”

  “Oh, she’s not going?” Jenn asked.

  “She’s wearing an ankle bracelet and is confined to the cottage. Shall we send her a selfie?” He pulled me close and held his phone up. “Smile.”

  I did and a second later the picture was on its way to Paige.

  “We should go. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  “Wait!” Jenn ran into her bedroom. She came back out with a shimmering silk scarf. “Take this in case it gets cold later tonight.”

  “Thanks!” I wrapped it around my shoulders. The dress had sleeves but being backless more skin was exposed than you would think. “Good night.”

  “’Night kids. Have fun now!” Jenn waved us out the front door.

  We took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped into the dim evening light.

  “You two look gorgeous!” Megan said from her place behind the reception desk.

  “Thanks,” I said as we walked by. “Have a good night.”

  Trent had a horse and carriage waiting outside. It was a short walk from the McMurphy to the yacht club, but taking a carriage was best considering my four-inch stilettos.

  “How’s Paige holding up?” I asked once we were settled in for the short ride.

  “As best as could be expected,” Trent said. “She’s brave.”

  I noted the tightness in his jaw and put my hand on his arm. “I know. Your investigator is very good. We’ll get this figured out. It all comes down to the eyewitness. If we can figure out what motivated Harold Jones to say what he said, we can find the real killer. I’m certain.”

  Trent patted my knee. “Let’s hope that happens soon.”

  We arrived at the yacht club and stood in a line of carriages that delivered guests in dazzling designer attire. My simple gown was a loaner from an online company who rented designer gowns. Jenn had found it and had them overnight ship the gown to me. The shoes were mine—black patent leather stilettos that had been an investment for graduation from culinary institute last year.

  Trent held out his hand and helped me out of the carriage. He leaned in and whispered against my ear. “You look fantastic. Are you ready for this? It won’t be easy.”

  “I’m glad to be by your side,” I replied and gave him a long look to emphasize my words.

  He smiled that charming, perfect smile of his that I swear had to be practiced and yet knew it wasn’t. He slipped my hand into the crook of his arm and walked me up the red carpet and into the yacht club.

  Music swirled at just the right volume. The air was scented with expensive perfume and fresh flowers. We were greeted by Richard Blake, the president of the yacht club, and his wife Amelia, who were hosting the evening’s gala. As Trent shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, I could tell from the look in their eyes that they were on the fence about whether we should be there or not. I knew it was because they didn’t want a scene. While he was welcomed, I was tolerated. I deduced it was partly because I wasn’t of moneyed elite and partly because they had hoped I wouldn’t come. As Eleanor had mentioned, I was a reminder to everyone that Carin Moore was dead.

  The evening began with cocktails and canapés in the front parlor. I smiled and made small talk, mostly staying by Trent’s side. That said, I wasn’t passive. I could hold my own there. I spent the time looking at the female members, trying to figure out who might be dating Harold Jones. I had the feeling that if I knew who he was seeing, I could trace back to why he’d said what he’d said about Paige.

  As people entered, I kept an eye on who had dates and who didn’t. My thinking was that Harold’s girl might show up unescorted. An hour and a half into the cocktails, I saw no one who didn’t have a date. Trent had introduced me to several new people. Most had known Papa Liam and expressed their sorrow at his loss this spring.

  “He was a fine man,” Mr. Butterworth said. “I played cards with him often.”

  “You have to admit he was a card fiend, wasn’t he?” I asked.

  “More like a shark,” he said and winked at me. “Not that anyone objected. Good man, your Papa. He was a good man. Now if you will excuse me, I see an old friend I haven’t seen since last year’s races.” Mr. Butterworth patted me on the shoulder and moved on.

  One of the servers came in holding a bell and hit it with a rubber hammer.

  “Time to go in to dinner,” Trent said.

  I looked around, disappointed that I wasn’t able to deduce who Harold Jones might be seeing.

  As Trent escorted me to our table in the far corner, I saw several of the ladies leaving their shawls and heading toward the restrooms. “Please excuse me,” I said, draping my shawl on the back of my chair. “I need to powder my nose.”

  Trent nodded and took a seat as I made my way through the crowd. It seemed surreal to use that old phrase, but I wasn’t going to tell him that I needed to go to the restroom to see if I could pick up on any good gossip.

  The line extended into the lounge area full of couches, mirrored walls with vanity counters, and small stools so women could either rest or sit and fix their makeup. I sat on a stool behind the crowd and took out my compact. The talk was mostly of the yacht race winners and losers as well as welcomes and quick hugs of old friends. And then I heard the conversation I had been waiting for.

  “I cannot believe that Paige Jessop killed Carin Moore. I thought they had buried the hatchet last fall.”

  “I know,” said a blonde in a long red Valentino gown. “Paige told me that she and Carin had more in common than anyone else. It’s why Carin had said they should join forces.”

  “I know they worked on the Christmas fund-raiser for the Chicago Police Widows and Orphans campaign. It was quite the succe
ss.”

  “Well, they certainly wouldn’t have argued about boyfriends. I spent a weekend with Carin last month. She was over the moon about this new man in her life.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “James Jamison,” the blonde said. “They met at the fund-raiser. His family is eyeing him as a candidate for Congress. In fact, Carin said he has his eye on the ultimate prize.”

  “The White House?”

  “Yes.” The blonde and her friend stepped forward in the line. “It’s why Carin buried the hatchet with Paige. She wanted to bring the Jessops in on Jamison’s campaign.”

  “Well, I can see that. What a force to have the Moores and the Jessops backing you.”

  I caught a glimpse of the other woman in the mirror. She was a brunette in an emerald green print gown that looked as if it might be Dolce & Gabbana.

  “Having Paige Jessop accused of murdering Carin really puts a split between the families and their friends. Poor James not only lost his girlfriend, but all the backing the Jessops could have given him.”

  “Do you think Carin’s murder was politically motivated?” the brunette asked.

  I paused with my lipstick half raised toward my lips and held my breath. Here was an angle I hadn’t known about. I wondered if Rex knew about it. Certainly Trent and Tom would have told me if they had known about it.

  “Oh, I doubt it. Politics are murder, but there are easier ways to split the two families than to kill Carin,” the blonde said. “There are so many skeletons in the closets.”

  “True. That’s what happens when families have generations of history behind them,” the brunette said.

  They stepped closer to me as the line slowly moved.

  “I wonder what Eleanor thought of Carin and Paige becoming friends,” the blonde said.

  The brunette’s eyes grew wide and she gave a giggle. “I bet she was beside herself.”

  “Carin was her only friend,” the blonde said. “Without her, Eleanor is nothing but the operations manager of the yacht club.”

  “Manager of the club with a bartender boyfriend.” The brunette shook her head. “That’s no way to social climb.”

  “She spent her whole life riding Carin’s coattails. I don’t know what she’ll do now,” the blonde said.

  “Find someone else to glom on to,” the brunette said. “The smart thing to do would be to marry her way up. I’ll have my mother warn all the eligible bachelors to beware.”

  “As if they would be attracted to that.”

  Both laughed as they walked past me into the stall area.

  I finished my lipstick, washed my hands, and returned to my table.

  “Are you okay?” Trent asked.

  “Yes, I think I’m okay.”

  “Good.” He patted my hand.

  The waiter bent near me and asked if I would like red or white wine. I opted for white and looked over the crowd to see if Eleanor was visible. I finally spotted her near the front of the room in a strapless column dress of royal purple. Her hair was in an updo and she looked quite nice. I’d always thought of her as Snow White pretty with her black hair and pale skin, but on closer inspection, her eyes were a little too close together. Her mouth was a little too thin.

  I watched her work the head tables like a pro, laughing at something Richard Blake said. Careful to touch each one just enough to be flirty but understated. I wondered if she was Harold Jones’s lady love? I thought Mrs. Jones meant that he was dating one of the patrons. It never occurred to me that he was dating someone who worked there. It made sense. More sense than a part-time bartender in his forties dating a daughter of the yacht club set.

  I watched her work her way around the head table. It was her job to keep the board happy, and she was doing it well. The music was perfect. The waitstaff on point. The cocktail hour could not have been better. The only bad thing was the empty table where the Moores and their friends would have sat. A black runner had been placed over the center and the plates turned over, signifying that the table was left empty out of respect.

  As Eleanor queued up the president to move to the podium and begin his opening remarks, I thought about telling Trent what I had learned in the bathroom. I decided to wait since it was better not to rely on gossip.

  I watched as her eyes teared when Richard Blake called for a moment of silence. After the meal, I would hunt her down and ask how did she feel about Carin and Paige’s friendship and why hadn’t she told me they were working together on James Jamison’s campaign. I would also ask her point blank if she’d had anything to do with Harold Jones’s testimony. If anything felt off about her explanations, I would tell Tom, not Trent.

  Suspicions were one thing. To get to the truth I had to find proof.

  Chapter 23

  “Very nice event, Eleanor,” I said as I hunted her down after the auction.

  “Thank you,” she said with a curt nod of her head. “It would have been even better if you had had enough respect for Carin and for me not to come tonight.”

  “No one seemed bothered by my being here,” I said.

  “That’s because you’re with Trent. At least Paige had the good sense to stay home.”

  “She’s on house arrest. No way would she have come with an ankle bracelet keeping track of her every move.”

  “She should be in jail for what she did, not allowed the comfort of her family home.”

  “I heard a rumor that you are dating Harold Jones. Is that true?” I asked loud enough for two older women to turn their heads in our direction.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eleanor said and stepped outside onto a side porch away from the prying eyes inside.

  “I heard two women talking in the restroom. They said you were dating a bartender on the island. Harold Jones is a part-time bartender at the Nag’s Head.”

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.” She turned on her heel to come at me with anger in her gaze and her hands balled into fists at her side.

  I resisted the urge to step back. “Harold Jones is the eyewitness who placed Paige on the pier that night. If you are dating him, he may be lying because he thinks you would want him to lie.”

  “Why in the world would I want him to lie?”

  “Because he thinks Carin—your best friend—and Paige were enemies,” I said. “But they weren’t, were they?”

  “This is crazy,” she said in a low whisper. “First of all, I would never date a part-time bartender. Secondly, I didn’t tell anyone to lie about Paige being on the pier that night.”

  “Would you be willing to take a lie detector test about that?” I asked.

  “No, I would not.” She crossed her arms. “Lie detectors are an invasion of my privacy and I will not stand for anyone to assume that I am not telling the truth.”

  “Come on, Eleanor. You knew that Carin and Paige were becoming fast friends and yet you led me to believe they were still feuding.”

  “You’re new to the island,” she said and raised her nose in the air. “Don’t think because you are dating Trent Jessop that you know more things about Carin and Paige than I do.”

  “You knew they were becoming friends. You knew that Carin wanted the Jessops to support James Jamison for congress.”

  “You have no idea what I know,” Eleanor said.

  “Why don’t you enlighten me then,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Paige Jessop killed Carin in cold blood. She bashed her head in with a lifeboat oar and then left her to drown in the water of the marina.”

  “Why would she do that, Eleanor?” I pressed. “Because Carin beat her at homecoming queen? That was ten years ago.”

  “Reggie wanted Carin back. Paige and Carin fought the afternoon she was killed. We broke it up. Janet told you that. After that, Paige had enough time to preplan Carin’s murder. Paige used Ronald Lorrie to lure Carin away from her party that night. Ronald asked Carin to wait for him on the pier, but he never showed. Instead, Paige picked up th
e oar and bashed Carin in the head, dumped her into the water, and then rowed back to the Scoundrel. Everyone knows Paige did it. Everyone knows why.”

  “No,” I said. “Everyone does not know it. Yes, they fought that afternoon, but not hard enough for anyone—least of all Paige—to want to murder Carin. Certainly not enough to preplan it. In fact, it is just as likely that you lured Carin away from the party that night.”

  I saw a spark of fear in Eleanor’s gaze and knew I was on to something. “You did, didn’t you? It was you on the pier that Harold Jones saw through his lens. That’s why you are dating him. You want him to tell everyone it was Paige, but it was you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Carin was my best friend.” Eleanor’s back went straight. “I’m going in now. I’m working. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” I said and followed her to the door. “You were mad that Carin and Paige were becoming friends. In fact, it was something you said to Paige that sparked the fight that afternoon, wasn’t it?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You told Paige that Carin was hitting on Reggie.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “What you saw was Reggie comforting Carin,” I said.

  “He was holding her in his arms,” Eleanor cried. “When I came around the corner, they stepped apart like a pair of guilty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Someone needed to let Paige know.”

  “But Carin was your best friend. Why betray her? Why tell Paige?” I put my hands on my hips. “Was it your attempt at driving a wedge into their budding friendship?”

  “I don’t like two-timing men,” Eleanor said. “I told Carin that and I told Paige that. It had nothing to do with Carin and Paige’s so-called friendship.”

  “Really?” I said. “Or is it that you don’t like losing the social status you got from being associated with Carin?”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?”

  “Come on,” I said as she turned her back to me. “Carin was a mean girl yet you spent your entire life doing whatever she said. Even as she put you down for dating Harold Jones. Even as she told you your hair wasn’t right. Your schooling wasn’t good enough. You still stayed with her because you wanted to be part of the in crowd. With Carin and Paige joining forces, that left you out with nothing but a job as operations manager of the yacht club.”