Hot Fudge Frame-Up: A Fudge Shop Mystery

by Christine DeSmet

  But was it too simple? Mercy had never struck me as a dumb person, so doubts niggled me. Mercy was probably right about the land contract returning the ownership of the bait shop to somebody. If that owner was Mercy, how the heck did Lloyd hand the land contract over to her? If it was so, why hadn’t Mercy spoken up about this until now?

  This was feeling complicated. I knew two people who could help me with my questions about real estate history in Door County: Professor Alex Faust and Dillon Rivers’s mother. I wondered if Cathy Rivers had arrived yet in Fishers’ Harbor for her visit. Did she know yet about the rifle being found in her son’s truck? There was only one way to find out. Call Dillon—the one person my parents and grandparents loved to hate. It’d surely be ironic if he could help us get out of this pickle.

  * * *

  While sitting in my grandparents’ front sunroom, I called the professor. He was in his car when I called, heading to a book signing over in Jacksonport on the other side of the county. Libby was with him; after his signing they were headed north to the Cana Island Lighthouse, where she was going to introduce him to her docent friends at that location. I set up a date to meet with the professor later.

  When Dillon answered in person this time, I asked almost breathlessly, “You weren’t arrested, were you?”

  “No. But I got to visit the justice building in Sturgeon Bay for a couple of hours. What do you know?”

  “Pauline and I saw the professor and Libby show the sheriff the rifle in the back of your truck yesterday. Who could’ve put it there, Dillon?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not a funny joke.” His voice was rough with irritation. “I just got a call back from the sheriff. It seems the rifle was recently fired, and the sheriff knows I’m out in the woods with my dog a lot, training him to hunt. I carry my gun to get the dog used to its presence, but I’ve never fired it. He accused me of firing this rifle.”

  Irritated myself now at the sheriff, I got up to pace in front of the sofa bed. “But, Dillon, you’re innocent.”

  “My fingerprints are on the rifle.”

  That landed like a bomb in my ear. I almost dropped the phone. “Really?”

  “A few weeks back when I was in town setting up the construction schedule, Lloyd invited me over for a look at his gun collection. He’d heard I was out with Lucky a lot.”

  “Oh no.” I sagged onto the sofa. “This doesn’t sound good.”

  “It gets worse. The reason the sheriff called this morning is that not only did the rifle have my fingerprints on it, but he went back out to the lighthouse and found a bullet lodged in the wooden floor of the lighthouse. From this rifle. He didn’t say so, but I’m no dumb person. He thinks this rifle was involved somehow in Lloyd’s death. The sheriff was hoping I’d cough up a confession.”

  I could barely whisper his name. “Dillon, what can I do to help?”

  “I’ve already contacted my mother about a lawyer. She’s in town now, by the way, looking for a Door County motel to invest in.” The phone went quiet. I was about to ask if he was still there when he added, “Thank you for offering to help. That means a lot, Ava.”

  We set up a date to meet, with his mother in tow.

  * * *

  My grandmother vented her anger by baking pies. She wanted to take one over to Libby’s house later this morning, after Libby returned from the Cana Island Lighthouse. I told Grandma I’d go with her. I needed to ask Libby a few questions about Lloyd’s investments to see if Mercy or somebody else had a good motive for killing him. I suspected Libby didn’t know about the hole blown in the lighthouse floor. She’d swept up the gift shop area without mentioning it, so the sheriff must have found that hole this morning early or yesterday in some other room of the lighthouse when inspecting the place without Libby around.

  I hiked back to my shop through a mist and droplets plopping off the maple trees, calling Pauline and Laura on the fly to fill them in.

  Pauline was at the shop fifteen minutes later, close to half past perch on the clock, or nine thirty. Fishermen who had come in out of the rain milled about, yakking at me; they were on me like wasps after a sugary drink. I wore the disgustingly frilly yellow apron because it was still handy. I smiled a lot, pretending I was feeling sunny.

  Cody was wrapping pieces of Cinderella Pink Fudge from the loaves I’d made yesterday and left out on the marble slab for cooling. I escaped the men only by restocking shelves with Fairy Tale Fudge pink doll clothes that the church ladies had dropped off during the time I’d been across Duck Marsh Street.

  Pauline wore an orange short-sleeved cotton knit top and matching shorts and sandals. I’d never seen this getup before. Yesterday’s nice all-red outfit had been new, too.

  “You look sort of like one of Dillon’s orange cones. We could stand you next to an open manhole for a summer job.”

  “I do not look like a traffic cone. The color is tangerine.”

  “You look nice.” I knew she was dressing up lately for you-know-who-with-hairy-feet. “But don’t you have to work with the Butterflies later on the fudge floats?”

  “Bethany’s helping again. She’s determined to earn college credits for her summer volunteer work.”

  “Throw some detective work into the mix. Please ask Bethany if Verona Klubertanz showed up today with any pink Fairy Tale purses or doll clothes. I’m missing more of them. Have you noticed any?”

  “No, but then I wasn’t inspecting the toys the girls drag along with them in their backpacks. Now tell me more about somebody trying to frame Dillon and Mercy owning your fudge shop.”

  I drew her behind the glass case and whispered, “She may be trying to get away with murder. She could have kept that rifle stored in her bus, then dumped it in Dillon’s truck while cruising through town. We have to outsmart her.”

  “We? This part of ‘we’ won’t be going into basements of mansions. And no guns. Okay?”

  “Of course not. We’re just going over to Libby’s with my grandmother to deliver a pie. With no gun hidden in it. But I need a lookout.”

  “Why?” Pauline did her look-down-her-nose routine.

  “I have to get inside Lloyd’s manse after I meet with Libby.”

  “You almost got yourself killed the last time we sneaked into a house.”

  She was referring to the debacle in the old mansion in May. “My wrist is fine now. Falling down those stairs was nothing. Besides, Lloyd’s library and office are on the first level. As is his gun collection. So, no stairs.”

  Laura Rousseau came through the front door, lugging a big box atop the shelf of her pregnant belly. I rushed over to relieve her. The aroma of red velvet muffins hiding cherry-vanilla fudge chunks inside assailed me right through the seams of the closed box. I’d left Piers a text message early this morning about trying the recipe for me.

  “I thought Piers would bring them, Laura. This is too heavy for you.”

  “Piers said he was meeting Professor Faust.”

  Suspicion pricked me because Lloyd had said Piers had tried to bribe Erik, a fudge judge, too. Was Piers bribing Alex Faust now, too? Would Piers rig the contest this way, and murder a disagreeable judge just to triumph on John’s cable TV food or travel show? I dared not even look at Pauline.

  Fortunately, the aroma of muffins and fudge was distracting. I set the box down at the cash register counter. I flipped the top open and took out a luscious-looking red velvet muffin sporting a huge muffin top the size of a small plate. Laura, Pauline, and I broke the muffin up to share. There were walnuts inside, too, a surprising riff added by Piers. The red velvet texture surrounding the gooey fudge along with the walnut crunch gave my mouth a rush. Our ability to taste and the pleasure centers in our brain react to texture as well as flavor. We gals stood there, lapping at our fingers as if we were Lucky Harbor. Chocolate, vanilla, and cherry flavors with the hint of walnut danced on our
tongues. My jaw prickled pleasantly from the sensations.

  The soaked fishermen in the shop had gravitated to me again, right at my elbows. I shared the muffins, holding on to the box. The men inhaled them so fast that there was an updraft of air right in front of me.

  A chunky man with a long, bushy beard said, “I didn’t know Cinderella herself was gonna be here dolin’ out the goodies.”

  Another slender guy in a plaid shirt snickered to the first guy, “You wait your turn. I got in line first to try the glass slipper on her foot.”

  This sudden fairy-tale talk from a bunch of wet fishermen was unnerving to say the least, but taking their money was not. I rang up the fudge-laden muffins in my frilly yellow apron while Cody offered them another cup of cocoa-laced coffee.

  The frenzy over the muffins bled over into a flurry by the men buying pink fudge to take with them. The chunky man with the beard stood over me at the counter, watching my every move as I bent over to wrap his box. He said, “You sure have a way with fudge. There’s some dance coming up for the fudge, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, an adult prom.”

  “I was wondering . . .”

  His friend punched him on the arm and then hauled him off.

  Pauline rushed up to me. “He was going to ask you to the prom!”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “I don’t even know that man.”

  “Who cares? Beggars for dates can’t be choosers. Want me to drag him back?”

  “No, Pauline.”

  “Please?”

  Stubborn Belgian.

  Minutes later, Pauline, Laura, and I were walking out the back door of the shop, intending to drive with Grandma in her SUV with pies to visit Libby. But Sheriff Tollefson’s squad car was at Grandma’s house. For the second time that morning, I took off running through the rain across my lawn and Duck Marsh Street.

  “Jordy, what’s going on?” I asked breathlessly when I stopped in the middle of the living room.

  He stood there with a pen poised over his clipboard.

  My grandmother was sitting in her favorite corner of the sofa, next to her reading table. “Ava dear, he’s just asking me a few questions.” But her pallid face said it was more serious than that.

  “About what?”

  Pauline and Laura trooped in behind me. Laura was panting.

  Jordy said, “It’s official business. I have to ask you to leave, please.”

  “You can at least tell me what’s going on.”

  My grandmother said, “My theory about Lloyd has proven true. He’s bad luck. The sheriff thinks I might have had a hand in murdering him. I’ll gladly take the blame after what he’s done to us.”

  I screamed something about injustice at Jordy that Pauline and Laura echoed. To his credit, Jordy helped Laura to a chair like a gentleman should. But he explained that because Grandma was a close friend of Libby’s, she had to be questioned. Because Libby was a prime suspect. Because the first person you look to in a murder case is the spouse. Then Jordy kicked us out of the house for his interrogation of Grandma Sophie because she’d consented to it. Jordy was full of answers that I didn’t like.

  * * *

  “My grandmother a suspect in murder? What is he thinking!” As I drove to Libby Mueller’s with Pauline, Laura, and the rice and raspberry pies in Grandma’s sports utility vehicle, I added, “Grandma Sophie’s never like this. She’s smart enough to refuse to talk to the sheriff without a lawyer present. She’s talking to Jordy as a way to get back at Grandpa. She wants to be arrested. This is going to blow up in all our faces big-time.”

  “Your face maybe, but not mine or Laura’s.” Pauline sat in the front passenger seat with a rice pie wrapped inside an insulated holder on her lap. It was still warm and was infusing the air with the smell of eggs and cinnamon. I’d called Libby and she’d hitched a ride back across the county with a lighthouse volunteer, leaving the professor to do his research on his own. Pauline continued. “You’re being overly dramatic again. You’re going to ruin your contest and your TV show if you don’t stop looking at life as if it were an e-mail and you had to say everything in capital letters with a bunch of exclamation points after them.”

  “First of all, the fudge contest and TV show ideas were both John’s. Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed at how his idea has turned out? Jordy even said it—all of this happened because of the fudge contest. And how is John today, anyway?”

  Asking was a mistake. Pauline launched into telling us all about how John mastered scuba diving in one day.

  “Did he find any treasure?” I asked.

  “He found a cup.”

  Laura, who had a raspberry pie sitting next to her on the backseat, asked, “That’s all?”

  “John thinks it’s a significant cup, a very important find,” Pauline said, pride oozing through her words. “He said Professor Faust told him it could’ve come from one of the shipwrecks that carried important goods for the well-to-do of Door County back in the 1800s, which means the ships could have had gold coins and jewelry aboard, too. He could be rich by tonight. He’s going to catch up with Professor Faust to see what else he knows.”

  Laura asked, “What’s the cup look like?”

  “It has gold lettering on it. We think it’s the ship captain’s own personal service. Or a rich passenger’s.”

  “What letters?” I asked.

  “AVD. In an intricate script.”

  “Darn,” I said. “The A works for Ava, but I guess I’m out of luck. No Oosterling in those letters. And I could really use the dough right now.”

  “John’s excited. He’s arranging for another dive.”

  Rapture was all over my friend’s face. It was good to see her that way. Somehow her happiness gave me hope for my own love life.

  Within ten minutes we’d gone through our tourist-laden streets and up Highway 42 toward Ephraim to a road that ran inland, southeast and opposite of Peninsula State Park. Libby Mueller lived amid a collection of older cottages, mostly one story. Long ago this was probably a lumber camp. Libby’s cottage was white with black shutters. What her plain house lacked in color, her postage-stamp yard made up for with its bounty of flowers, including perennials like daisies, and annuals like marigolds, zinnias, and bachelor buttons. Both she and Lloyd had a love for flowers, it seemed.

  We parked next to Libby’s small, rusting gray Honda sedan.

  I got out and retrieved the raspberry pie from the backseat so that Laura could climb out unencumbered.

  When we got to the door, voices filtered through the screen. I punched the doorbell.

  To my surprise, Kelsey King came to the door wearing pajamas. She hissed through the screen, “Are you following me?” She lifted her cell phone up and snapped a photo of me through the screen. “I’m calling the cops.”

  Chapter 14

  If there wasn’t a screen between us, I might have heaved the raspberry pie right on top of her blond head. “Kelsey, the cops, as you call them, are already at my grandmother’s house, so I win. Now put the phone down and back away. We’ve brought pies for Libby. We’re here to express our condolences.” A partial lie, but I was proud of how sincere I sounded.

  She flipped her blond ponytail at me as she walked away from the door.

  Pauline and Laura raised their eyebrows at me. Laura whispered, “She’s wearing pajamas. Did she stay overnight here?”

  Pauline whispered back, “Hard to tell. The high school girls wear pajama bottoms to school in place of jeans.”

  Libby came to the door, swinging it open, her face springing into a teary smile. “Well, good morning, girls! Please come in.”

  Her short, perfect bob of dark hair and tan pants and dusty rose blouse were a stark contrast to Kelsey’s slobby appearance at a little after ten on a Monday morning.


  We stepped inside.

  “More of Sophie’s pies? What a lovely gesture. Look at those pinched piecrusts. Let’s put those down over here.”

  “Libby, I’m so sorry about Lloyd.”

  “Ava, I know it was a shock for you, too, the way we found him. . . .” She leaned into me for a hug. “Thank you for being with me. He was a good man.”

  She led us to the small dining room table, which was only a few steps from the front door. The open kitchen was to the right and living area to the left, all flowing together. It was a normal house except for Kelsey King’s presence. She was pouring herself a glass of orange juice as if she’d lived here forever with Libby.

  Laura asked for directions to the bathroom, then scooted away while Pauline and I stood there agape at Kelsey.

  “You two know each other?” I said, stupidly.

  Kelsey said, leaning back against the kitchen counter, “Libby came to Legs and Toes last night and had my new fudge flavor for dessert.” A smile slashed across her face crookedly like a fudge cutter trying to dig into me.

  Libby said, “And it was very good fudge.”

  “What flavor?” I asked.

  Kelsey laughed. “Nice try. I have a winner, wouldn’t you say, Libby?”

  “It’s unusual, I’ll give you that.” Libby held up her coffeepot to offer us coffee.

  I shook my head. “We can’t stay long. Do you need any help, Libby, with the arrangements for tomorrow?”

  “That’s nice of you, but no, the funeral director seems to have it all in hand. They even ordered a big tent in case of rain and will add a loudspeaker outside if the crowd gets that big. Lloyd knew everybody. He was well liked.”

  By everybody but my grandmother, I thought, who was being questioned right now as a suspect. I turned my attention to Kelsey.