Hot Fudge Frame-Up: A Fudge Shop Mystery
Page 17
“A friend said you were singing atop the lighthouse tower over at the park, Kelsey. Yesterday morning early.”
Kelsey shifted her weight but otherwise looked properly perplexed. “That wasn’t me.”
“But the friend said it was you, a petite blonde.”
“His binoculars must’ve been dirty.” Her eyes grew hard as she drank from her glass of orange juice. The color “orange” struck me, giving me conniptions.
Libby pulled out a chair at the table for Laura as she returned. Laura said, “Thank you, Libby.”
Libby said, “Are you sure you all don’t want some coffee? Maybe a piece of those pies?”
Pauline and I stayed standing. Pauline said to Kelsey, “We chased somebody through the woods who looked just like you.”
“It wasn’t me.” Kelsey plopped her glass on the counter.
Libby gave Kelsey a quick hug. “This dear girl was so exhausted from all her work at the restaurant in Egg Harbor that I told her if she was too tired to drive all the way to her condo in Sister Bay to stay with me. This little thing isn’t somebody who’d be running out in the woods.”
Kelsey smiled at us, triumphant. “Nice chatting with you, but I’ve got to change and get to the Legs and Toes to work on my fudge recipe. Libby, you’ll join me for lunch after your errand? I need a taste tester.” She started to walk past me, then paused. “Say, who’s the new replacement judge for Lloyd? Libby would be an appropriate choice.”
Sure, I thought, because somehow you’ve made friends with Libby. Then I saw Libby teary-eyed at the opposite end of the dining room table. My heart spoke for me. “Libby, I’d be honored if you joined the fudge contest. We’ll okay it with John, too. It’d be a tribute to Lloyd. You both meant a lot to each other. And to my family.” The last part was a lie, of course, what with Grandma wishing Lloyd dead.
Libby palmed away her tears. “That’s a lovely gesture. My husband always gave a lot to this community. He’d want me to do this for you. I accept.”
It struck me then that I didn’t know exactly how Lloyd had contributed at all. He owned a street full of cabins, some of the buildings along Main Street, and a fancy historic estate home, but did he give to the school? Parks? What? I’d have to ask my grandfather, or Libby, sometime when the kickboxing confectioner wasn’t in my face.
Laura rocked up from her chair. “I’m feeling puffy. I’d better get home and put my feet up.”
Kelsey went on her way toward a bedroom down the hall.
Libby rushed to help Laura with her chair. “When are those babies due?”
“Couple of weeks yet. I feel like a cow.”
We assured her she was too pretty for such comparisons. As we headed to the front door, Libby said, “Is your husband coming back for the birth?”
“I’m afraid not. The army has him working on something important and top secret.”
Libby hugged her at the front door. “We appreciate his service. We’re all here for you. Just call and let me know what I can do and I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Libby.”
After we were settled in grandma’s SUV, Laura said from the backseat, “Kelsey was lying about everything.”
I started the vehicle. “Definitely.”
“That invitation to Libby for lunch was spur-of-the-moment. It felt controlling somehow, though I don’t think Libby realized it.”
Pauline said, “And what’s this chummy relationship with Libby all of a sudden? They just met last night? And Kelsey stops by to stay over? And after we know Kelsey made a pass or two at Lloyd? This is fishy. They’re not telling us the whole story.”
I kept my eyes on the blacktop road. “There was only Libby’s car at her place. But Kelsey must have rented a car in Green Bay after she flew in from Portland, so where is it?”
“What does she drive?” Pauline asked. “A dark car?”
“I don’t know.”
Laura asked, “You’ve never seen her car?”
“No. She just showed up at the shop, and who would think to go out to the parking lot to see what rental car she’s driving?”
Pauline said, “Kelsey could’ve been driving Libby’s car and run us into the ditch.”
“If only we can prove it,” I said. “She says they only just met last night.”
Laura said, “It’s got to be a lie. They’re too chummy.”
Pauline agreed. “That’s how Kelsey was on top of the tower yesterday morning early. She got a key for the lighthouse from Libby. You have to also have a special key to open the hatch at the top of that staircase; only Libby would have that key, outside of the Coast Guard.”
“Kelsey likely stole the keys from Libby,” I said. “I noticed Libby didn’t say much about the singing on the tower. She may have been as surprised as us and just didn’t know what to say.”
Laura asked, “So, what is Kelsey up to with all this sneaky behavior?”
“It’s obvious,” Pauline said as we pulled up to the stop sign in front of Highway 42. “She plans to win the fudge contest however she can do it, plus get money out of Libby.”
“But Libby has no money.” Then I realized my stupidity. “Of course Lloyd probably left her money because he was nice and loved her. I doubt he left her a ton of dough to gamble away, but Kelsey is stupid enough to believe Libby will come into a fortune. What if Libby’s been Kelsey’s mark since the first day Kelsey arrived in Fishers’ Harbor?”
Laura clapped from the backseat. “You’re good. Case solved.”
We were almost back to Fishers’ Harbor on Highway 42 heading south when my cell phone rang. I dug it out and handed it to Pauline.
“Hello, this is Pauline, Ava’s secretary.”
It was my father. Pauline turned on the speaker. Dad said, “I’m here at the bank. The land contract looks solid enough, but I have some bad news. Along with Lloyd’s name, and your grandfather’s, the contract also has Mercy Fogg’s name on it. It appears she cosigned it with Lloyd.”
I almost ran off the road. I pulled into a nearby gas station lot. “Is there any other paperwork? Anything to explain why her name is on it? Any notes from Lloyd?”
“No, honey, that’s what we’re missing. This is just the contract in your grandpa’s lockbox.”
After we said our good-byes, the word “box” lingered in my head. Cars pulled around me to get to the fuel pumps. “Maybe Lloyd had some of the documentation about the contract with Grandpa in that box that was stolen from us. A long shot, but . . .”
Pauline said, “So we have to find that box. If Kelsey stole it at the crash site, maybe she’s also dumb enough to try and hide it in the woods? She’s been over there a lot, it seems.”
Laura said, “That park is huge. That’s a needle in a haystack. And she could have burned it. Or tossed it in the lake.”
My hunch said otherwise. “If Mercy stole those papers, she’d burn them, but maybe not Kelsey. She’s ditzy. She’s befriending Libby. Kelsey would’ve saved the box in order to curry favors from Libby.”
Pauline said, “True. Maybe it’s at the lighthouse. That’s why she was on the tower. She was faking the reason for being there by singing. Mercy saw her up there, so maybe the box is up there.”
A new realization gave me a shiver. “Libby didn’t exactly seem surprised at us questioning Kelsey about singing on the tower. I’m wondering now if Libby’s in on some ruse to get more of Lloyd’s money, such as proving she’s still part owner of his real estate. But that makes no sense since she likely inherits something anyway.”
Laura offered from the backseat, “It could be that Libby’s been threatened by Kelsey. If Kelsey killed Libby’s ex-husband over their secret affair gone bad or their disagreement about her winning the fudge contest in hopes of gaining fame and fortune, she might be willing to threaten other lives. Maybe Libby’s in fear for her life and going along with wh
atever Kelsey wants.”
It was all starting to make sense, as strange as it was. Jordy’s words rang through my head again. “But we need hard evidence.”
Pauline dug in her fat purse, which sat on the floor. “I’m writing all this down.”
Pauline was using a ruled pad of paper from school. What if Kelsey had somehow stolen the paper from Pauline’s purse at the fudge shop? Pauline set that bag down and walked away from it all the time. But there was no way to prove a piece of ripped paper came from Pauline’s purse.
“Do you have crayons in that purse?” I asked.
“Sure. A whole box of sixty-four.”
“Still have the orange one and related colors? You called the note a ‘moderate orange’ when we were with Jordy at his office.”
Pauline pulled out the box. She hoisted the waxy sticks. “Apricot, melon, peach, yellow-orange, red-orange, burnt orange, and . . . Wait. One’s missing. Salmon.”
Laura croaked from the back, “Oh my gosh. Is this what’s called a lead?”
“Could be,” I said. “Or not. Pauline, do your kids take your crayons out of your purse?”
“Never. First thing they learn in kindergarten is never to get into Miss Mertens’s things or anybody else’s backpack or pockets.”
“We should run that box down to Sturgeon Bay for fingerprinting.”
“There’s fudge smudged all over it from the Butterflies, and Jordy would also get my fingerprints.”
“Yeah. And despite your protests, Verona or her friends could have swiped a crayon.”
“Or maybe I just never saw it on the floor at your shop when I cleaned up after the girls.”
I thumped my fingers on the top of the steering wheel. What would the Topsy-Turvy Girls do next on my TV show?
While I was thinking, Pauline said, “Hey, look. It’s Dillon. And that’s your truck.”
I hadn’t realized we were at the old gas station that was connected to Fishers’ Harbor Auto Body. A tall overhead door was open, though we couldn’t see much from this angle, what with the pumps, cars, and people in between. Dillon was looking over my vehicle’s crumpled yellow tailgate. Lucky Harbor was wandering about, sniffing. Dillon must have taken an early lunch break from the Main Street construction. It was after eleven o’clock. But what was he doing with my truck? One of his hands was sliding along the top of the tailgate, and then it was caressing the crumpled steel before cupping the one good headlight that remained. My memory relived his warm hands with strong fingers that were sensitive to a woman’s needs. . . . My heartbeat quickened.
I jerked in my seat.
“What’s wrong?” Pauline asked.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t say ‘nothing.’ You just got hot watching Dillon Rivers touch your truck!”
“Did not.”
“Now who’s the stubborn Belgian?”
Laura laughed.
I steered fast back onto the highway. Because I was driving Grandma’s SUV, I hoped Dillon hadn’t recognized me.
Soon afterward, I veered off again and onto a back street.
“Now where are we going?” Pauline asked.
I fished in my pocket and came up with Lloyd’s key.
Pauline said, “The key was okay when Lloyd was alive, but now it feels like trespassing. I’ll be fired from my teaching job.”
“We’re not breaking in.” I waved the key again.
“We need to get Laura home. She needs a rest stop.”
“Lloyd has nice bathrooms.” I glanced into the rearview mirror. “You’re fine with this, Laura?”
“I have nothing better to do than watch birthing videos.”
“This’ll be more fun,” I said.
Pauline printed a note on her pad, muttering, “Forced into Lloyd’s house against my will. Please call nine-one-one.”
“If I didn’t know better, P.M., I’d think you were the one writing the threatening notes to me.”
“I do own an orange crayon, A.M.”
* * *
We circled inland and drove the rural road that would take us by Lloyd’s on the southwest edge of the village. Instead of turning into Lloyd’s lane from the main road where people might spot us, I parked Grandma’s SUV around a corner on the rural road with woodland between us and Lloyd’s house. “If anybody asks, we’re here picking berries in the woods,” I said.
Laura was puffing as we made our way through the acre of maples and pines and tall grasses. We were inside Lloyd Mueller’s house within minutes. I locked the door behind us. Laura hurried to the restroom not far from the front door.
The beauty of the atrium with the stained glass skylights and warm woods on the floors stopped me again.
Pauline dropped her purse in awe. “So he just took out the floor above? That was a bold architectural move in such an old house. I never heard about this.”
“That was Lloyd. He quietly went about his business.”
“Too secretive, though, if you ask me. If he asked your grandpa to hide a box, and he lets Mercy put her signature on a contract without telling anybody, I’m not sure Lloyd can be trusted at all. Maybe he and Mercy had something going on.”
My conniptions returned because she was right. “Mercy and Lloyd? A pair?”
“A secret affair would explain a lot of stuff. Except why would she threaten to get rid of Lloyd? Isn’t that what the first note said?”
“No, it didn’t.” That note was burned into my brain. I repeated it out loud. “Somebody will die if you don’t convince Lloyd to throw the contest. Miss Oosterling must not win.”
“So Mercy merely wanted you to lose. She didn’t care who died.”
“She’s always wanted my business to founder. She probably thinks I’d move back to Los Angeles. If so, she and Lloyd then wouldn’t have so much opposition to selling the building and land under it for the expansion of the harbor they planned.” My theory was all too plausible.
“Maybe that’s why Lloyd was so eager to have you move into the Blue Heron Inn? He wanted you to feel agreeable, even if the bait shop got torn down. Boy, this plan of theirs was almost too pat.”
“Except somebody got too eager and greedy and murdered Lloyd and messed things up a little for the lovers. If Mercy and Lloyd were lovers.” I sighed. Now the theory didn’t feel right. “Lloyd was my grandpa’s best friend. And Lloyd was trying to protect Libby from Mercy.”
“Are you sure? Or was it all just a cover-up for an affair? Maybe what you witnessed at the fish boil that evening was more of a lovers’ spat with Kelsey.”
She’d just made my stomach twist in on itself. I wasn’t sure of anything.
Laura rejoined us. “Where do we begin?”
“Laura, you stay downstairs and hunt through drawers, and, Pauline, you go upstairs.”
“Why do I have to go upstairs?”
She’d always wanted to be boss, from the time we played house at the age of five. “You have to go upstairs because you’re the tallest. You can look in the tops of closets the easiest.”
“I suppose that makes sense, but if somebody comes, I can’t escape like you two. I’ll be stuck upstairs and they’ll find me.”
Laura said, “Like I’m going to be able to run?”
“Pauline,” I said, giving her a stink-eyed look, “nobody will put a pregnant woman or a schoolteacher in jail.”
“Oh yes, they will. Women give birth in prisons all the time and schoolteachers end up teaching poetry to felons.”
“You’re wasting time. I’ll take the library in back. Meet me there when you’re done.”
We started to head off to do our spying, but then Laura noticed the cups and saucers in their cabinet. “All in pink flowers. Pink, like your famous fudge.”
I hadn’t made the connection when I looked at them previously.
Pauline and I came in for a closer look. That’s when I noticed a couple of cups and saucers were missing. Previously I’d seen shelves that were packed. But the lower shelf—the one that might go unnoticed at first—now sported cups with spaces between them as big as a hand, as if somebody had hastily reshuffled all the cups to hide thievery. I said as much to my friends.
Laura said, “But who would come in here and take a couple of cups?”
We all looked at one another with a slow burn growing on our faces. I said, “Kelsey? Maybe Mercy? If either had something going on with Lloyd, she would’ve been in here.”
“What about Libby?” Pauline asked.
“She’s visited for years. Why would she wait until now to steal two cups? But it’s a good point. Maybe the cups had sentimental value.”
Pauline said, “We should give her a call about this before we report it to the sheriff.”
“Indeed,” I said. “But it feels like Kelsey’s doings again. I just don’t trust her.”
“Another big lead?” Laura asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, remembering Jordy’s need for hard evidence. “We’ll call it a soft and loose connection.”
Pauline said, “Whatever the connection, it’s odd that he dissed your cherry pink fudge when he seemed to like pink cups.”
Laura pointed out, “But maybe he dissed pink because these cups belonged to Libby and they’d fought over them.”
We agreed that seemed plausible, unfortunately. But we were here to find out why Lloyd was murdered and to find anything to do with my fudge shop building, not about Lloyd’s cup collection.
As I passed the bottom of the staircase, I recalled the gun cabinet was tucked into the alcove on the other side. Even from a few feet away I could see that a rifle was missing. Unlike the cup shelves, you can’t rearrange rifles. They fit in slots and sleeves within a cabinet. One was missing. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I made a mental note to call Dillon as soon as we were done here.