“We should be able to taste the minerals from the soil that grows the alfalfa that the cows eat and turn into the rich milk that makes my fudge.”
She laughed. “And if we can taste the soil of Door County, then we can taste the rain that leeched through the dirt and was sucked up by the alfalfa to make the blossoms that the cows ate to make the cream that’s in this batch of fudge.” She pointed down at the batch of hot, dark, creamy chocolate fudge steaming in the boiler.
Grandma and I loved these nature games. She was scientifically minded like I was.
“Food fit for finicky fairies,” I said, doing my Pauline Mertens impression.
As I crossed over to Gilpa’s aisles in search of the one tall stool we owned so that Grandma could sit on a perch, I said, “Jordy was here earlier, and he said that I should have dirt as a fudge flavor. He said I’d get men buying fudge with that.”
“Of course, nobody would actually eat dirt.”
“Some chefs have tried it.”
Her eyebrows rose.
I laughed. “It’s true! Don’t worry. No dirt in my fudge.” I dragged the tall stool next to a copper kettle.
Grandma said, “Dirt holds its own secret codes. You can think up your own secret code of men, with something other than dirt. Let’s think about what men love to eat and drink. Some flavor has to pop into our heads for your fudge.”
A secret code. The phrase sparked an idea about the murder. I had to catch up with Jordy Tollefson and Jeremy Stone. The reason all the guests at the inn seemed to be involved with the diamonds was probably that they were. They all shared some secret. I was taking a chance by tipping my hand with a reporter like Jeremy Stone, but I had to try. The answer to who committed the murder lurked at the outer edges of my brain, like the fog off Lake Michigan rolling in and hanging around at the docks but not quite reaching my fudge shop door.
“Grandma, I have to go up to the inn right away and see Jordy.”
I helped Grandma pour the mixture into the kettle for cooling. She had two kettles to tend now, one with white chocolate and the other with dark. I figured if nothing turned into fudge, I’d take it up to the Luscious Ladle and Laura could use it for topping on a cake. I gave Grandma the long-handled, stainless-steel spatula and the walnut one, with directions about how to use them.
She asked, “But what new kind of fudge flavor am I making?”
I looked around the bait shop area. Crazy ideas came to my brain, and I didn’t even stop to analyze my science. I scribbled some quick instructions on a piece of paper. “Here’s our next flavor. It’s the secret code of men, Grandma, and we’ll also make another flavor that’s the secret code flavor for little boys.”
She squinted at my hasty diagram. “Oh my, this is over the top. You sure you want to try this with fudge?”
“Grandma, if that doesn’t attract men, nothing will.”
Then I took off, my head swirling with clues going back to the party on Sunday.
I was huffing and puffing by the time I travailed the steep grade to the Blue Heron Inn. The Reeds’ arguing drifted to the outdoors. I didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. I walked in to find the husband and wife practically stalking each other, barely missing the Steuben glass pieces. Other guests were in the front hall, too.
Boyd Earlywine halted when he saw me. He had a beer in hand. “You! You and that sheriff are keeping us hostage in this miserable house. I want to go home. I can’t believe you almost killed a man this afternoon.” He guzzled his beer as he trooped up the blue stairs.
John Schultz trotted out next from the dining room, carrying a beer. “I need to get back to Milwaukee by tomorrow for a convention.”
They must have drank all of Izzy’s wine by now and had moved on to any beer she had in her refrigerator. I pleaded, “What am I supposed to do about any of your lives?”
“Stop making fudge!” Hannah Reed said.
John said, “I heard they found more fudge killed the guy. The same fudge that was here on Sunday, so now we’re in lockdown again while they look for more hot pink fudge.”
I could see why Isabelle was going out of her mind with these people. I said to John, “I doubt you have to be anywhere by tomorrow. You’re probably lying about having any job, just like you lied about being out on the boat with my grandfather on Sunday.”
He sputtered beer off his lips.
“Yes,” I said, punctuating my words by stabbing his chest with my index finger, “you’re a big fat liar. How dare you? My friend even likes you.”
“She does? I can offer her discount tickets to the Brewers games.”
“Oh, stop it, you big fake. You’re no travel agent or tour guide. You just say that so you can get into places for free. Shame on you.” I stepped around him and marched up the stairs.
The Earlywines were in their room talking loudly again. I was tempted to stop and listen, but moved on down the hall. The sheriff was inside Jeremy Stone’s room with Jeremy and Isabelle, the door ajar. I stepped inside, then closed the door. “They’re all in it together. Maybe you’re in it with them, Jeremy. Are you? They’re splitting up the diamonds so none of them are caught with the whole treasure chest.”
“Slow down,” Jordy said, rising to offer his space on this end of the love seat.
Isabelle was looking up in wide-eyed wonder at me from the other end of the love seat. I sat down in Jordy’s spot. My body hummed with nervous energy. My theory could solve the case. I hoped.
Jordy stood between the couches, his arms crossed. “Now what’s got your undies in a bunch?”
“Jordy, you’re letting them all get away with murder. I think they know who did it, but aren’t saying because they’re all packing diamonds to take home.”
“We haven’t found any on them,” he said.
“Not yet. Because mostly you’ve found them hidden in my shop or in my fudge.” I ached to ask where the diamonds were in this room to prove my theory. I gave Jeremy a stern look that made his crooked nose twitch. I couldn’t tell if he was only nervous or guilty. I forced myself to still trust him, so I didn’t say a word. Instead, I said to Jordy, “You’ve hauled in me and my grandfather for the crimes, and my employee, Cody, but you haven’t arrested any of these yahoos. If you arrest any of them, they’ll start spilling one another’s secrets.”
“Tattle on one another?” Jordy asked, crossing his arms while blocking the door.
“Exactly,” I said. “They’re on the verge of doing it now. The other day I overheard the Earlywines say they came here for something valuable. They’re professors who should still be teaching. The semester isn’t over, so isn’t it odd they drove up from Madison to come here? And the Reeds came all the way from New York before the tourist season opens, when it’s still chilly. Even Taylor Chin-Chavez is a mystery, but we know she could probably use some money. We don’t know her exact connection to the rest of them, but if you arrested her, I suspect she’d begin to spill her secrets, too.”
“Arrest them all? You seem to have forgotten that I need cause to do that. I can’t just arrest people.”
“I’m the one who had diamonds put in my fudge. Somebody wants to pin this on me. No, all of them want to do that. It’s a true conspiracy, Jordy.”
“This isn’t your television show where we can just make up things as we go along.”
Now, that made me really mad. “Writing a TV script takes weeks of hard work. You have to gather the ideas together in the staff room, toss them into the middle of the table, then cook up the outline. From there, you stir, revise, see if it’s tasty, revise again, and then make sure the story and dialogue pass muster with the actors.”
“So writing for TV is like making your Fairy Tale Fudge,” Jordy said with a sigh. “And speaking of actors, Rainetta and her manager weren’t pleased with your fudge. You’re still not entirely cleared of suspicion by the DA. We found your fingerprints all over Rainetta’s room, a note card from you to her, and six messages on her phone from you pract
ically begging her to invest in your fudge. Something about her helping you promote your fudge for the swag bags?”
My stomach acid did a big flip-flop. “Those are the gift bags given to all the nominees at the Oscars and Emmy Awards.”
“I know that. I’m not an idiot. My point is that you have a lot of interest in this woman who’s dead. Why were you in her room, as in all over it with your fingers? And did you meet up with the manager at the mansion, too? I heard you were over there. We’ll likely find your fingerprints all over that place as well. This is beginning to look more than circumstantial.”
My blood pressure was zooming. Jordy had turned on me.
I explained, “I did sneak into her room a couple of times.” I gave a sheepish look at Isabelle. “Sorry, Izzy, but I snuck in on Friday night and left the note in Rainetta’s room when you were at the fish boil. And I looked around again after she was murdered because I wanted to help solve this fast because it marred our reputations.”
I pleaded with Jordy, “But that’s all it was, me trying to help you. I didn’t want to go to jail. I didn’t murder anybody. Trust me. And how can I possibly trust you when you sneak things out of my kitchen. What did you find, Jordy?”
His face burned red. “Nothing.”
“You took something.”
“Your measuring spoon set. My deputy missed it. I’m having it tested and fingerprinted.”
“Tested? Fingerprinted? Why? You think I used it to spoon poison into my fudge?”
“It’s a common tool used to measure all kinds of things, from illegal drugs to diamonds. Somebody could’ve used it recently for all sorts of things.”
“Somebody like the crazies staying in Izzy’s inn.”
Izzy held up a hand. “I like her notion of them all being in cahoots.”
Jeremy leaned forward. “Arrest everybody? Clean out the inn? Can I get the exclusive on this?”
Izzy said, “If you arrest them all at once, they’d clam up with their lawyers. What if you could take all of them out for a boat tour together? They could relax, start talking about things, maybe divulge a secret or two, and they can’t get away unless they fall overboard and drown.”
I blinked at her perfect solution. “Pauline and I will go along to stir things up.”
“You’re damn good at that,” Jordy said, again niggling my blood pressure. He opened the door, ready to leave. “I’d advise you to stop interfering, Ava, in this investigation. Putting yourself in the middle of Lake Michigan with a bunch of possible suspects could get you into more trouble than you already have.”
He closed the door behind him with a loud thunk to punctuate his words.
Jeremy, Izzy, and I glanced at one another.
Izzy said, “The idea of getting out for some fresh air on Lake Michigan sounds good, no matter what the real purpose.”
“Relaxing is the real purpose,” I said. “At least the one we’ll tell them. Jeremy can take notes.”
He said, “You heard the sheriff. He warned you. And they’re not going to say anything with me taking notes.”
“Well,” I said, swallowing hard, “maybe tell them you found diamonds hidden in your room so they feel like you’re one of them.”
His nose twitched. He paled. It was obvious to me that Jeremy had found the pouch of diamonds Pauline had hidden in this room. He finally said, “I suppose I could plant a small lie like that. Just to stir things up, as you put it.”
Isabelle said, “Is there any chance Gil’s boat is ready now? I’m desperate to find some peace again.”
We could hear the Reeds still going at it downstairs, and now John Schultz’s voice rose, too. A young woman’s voice—Taylor’s probably—said something like, “Shut up, maggots!”
Feeling the urgency, I offered, “I’ll go ask Gilpa right now. You don’t mind if I go down the back stairs?”
As the arguing crescendoed downstairs, I left via the quiet safety of the back stairs leading from Jeremy’s room.
• • •
To my shock, when I got to the pier, I found that Gilpa had the steering mechanism pulled apart in his boat. My body fizzed with frustration.
“Gilpa, we need your boat. Now.”
“It’ll be ready by tomorrow.”
“That won’t do. Isabelle needs you to take her guests on tour now. Before they bust up her place. We’re on a mission.”
“Do tell. Huh.”
He was still covered in grease. Harbor was, too. He panted, plunking his big fuzzy puppy paws on the edge of the boat, about to leap off to get to me.
I backed up enough to discourage Harbor from jumping out at me in my white shirt.
Gilpa said, with the steering wheel in his hands, “Tomorrow is soon enough.”
“You don’t understand. If we don’t figure out who killed Rainetta and her manager, you and I could be headed for jail or at least some very big trouble. The sheriff’s got my fingerprints and other things that might put me in a poor light.”
“Do tell?” His shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry. I’ll explain it all later. I’ve just been trying to help. We need your boat.”
“We have Destiny.”
“She’s no match for a half dozen lawyers from New York firms coming after us. If all these people leave, we’re up a creek. Jordy can hold them here for only so long before all their lawyers start complaining. A week is a reasonable time, and most of them have been here since last Thursday or Friday. Tomorrow is Friday, Gilpa. We need a boat. Now.”
I paused to catch my breath. I wasn’t used to such speeches. It dawned on me that maybe I would have been more successful on staff at my TV show if I’d spoken up like this. I told Gilpa about Isabelle’s plan. “You’re easy to talk to. You get things out of people. That’s why it’d be good if you took them on a tour. You can figure this out with me.”
He plopped his tall, wiry frame down on an overturned bucket with the steering wheel in his hands. Harbor chewed on it instantly as if it were his toy. “The boat’s not going to be ready.”
Gilpa looked so sad that I couldn’t bear it. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“There’s something wrong in the wiring. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
I hopped aboard, letting Harbor rub his oily dog hair on my jeans as he leaned against me while wagging his tail.
“Gilpa, maybe it’s time to make a change. The wiring is shot. Beyond repair. Why do you insist on nursing this decrepit boat like you do?”
“Honey, why did you stick it out in Los Angeles all those years with that TV show?”
His brown eyes peered at me with something like the luster dust I used for the fairy sparkles on my fudge. He already knew my answer.
But I confessed. “Because I was stubborn. I wanted it to work out for me. Too much pride.”
“And I’m a cheapskate, too.”
“No, you’re Belgian.”
That brought a smile to his lips. His brown eyes twinkled.
I got braver. Or more desperate. “What if we try something new today? Like a new boat?”
“Can you conjure a boat with your fairy fudge dust?” He looked about the docks and small marina in the cove; then his gaze caught mine looking over at the Super Catch I. “Oh no. Not that. We’re not renting that today. We can’t afford it.”
“We’re not going to have to pay for it. Your attorney, Destiny Hubbard, will rent it for us. Put it on our tab. When Destiny sues the murderers for all the damages to my business and yours, Destiny will have the other side’s lawyers arrange for payment for it.”
Gilpa smiled. “That’s a right smart plan. But are you sure the sheriff would be okay with us all going out for a tour?”
Jordy’s warning to stay out of trouble echoed inside my head, but he hadn’t barred the Blue Heron Inn’s guests from leaving the inn. “He’s asked the guests to stay in Fishers’ Harbor, and we plan to return to Fishers’ Harbor after our sojourn on the water. I don’t see how Jordy can object to that. B
esides, I think you’d look debonair, Gilpa, behind the controls of the Super Catch I.”
By three o’clock that Thursday afternoon, Gilpa was at the helm of the Super Catch I. On board were me, Pauline Mertens, the Reeds, the Earlywines, Taylor Chin-Chavez, John Schultz, and Jeremy Stone. Isabelle stayed behind. I called Sam to see if Cody could come over to the shop to watch Harbor and help Grandma. I brought along the batch of Cinderella Pink Fudge I’d made yesterday, just to keep the murder theme in front of everybody.
It didn’t take us long to stir up more than the cold waters on Lake Michigan.
Chapter 18
Pauline didn’t seem to mind that John Schultz was a liar; she was so excited about the prospect of being with him on a boat tour that she was littering my cottage’s floor with alliterative lettering dropping out of her mouth. I’d gone to my cottage to get a sweatshirt and jacket; we’d frozen yesterday in our journey to find Cody. Pauline now wore a heavy Scandinavian sweater she’d bought years ago at the gift shop of Al Johnson’s Restaurant in Sister Bay. She also had on grubby rubber shoes, much better for getting wet than her fancy pumps.
“Those pumps were perfect before you popped me in the pool,” she said, still upset. “It was the first time I was a fashionista at school, if only for five minutes when I changed clothes, but as always when I’m with you, the flying fickle finger of fate finished me.”
We were aboard the Super Catch I at three o’clock with Gilpa beaming at the helm. He’d showered off most of the grease and oil, though some lingered in his hair. If you got close enough to him, you smelled WD-40 instead of Old Spice. But man oh man was he happy, grinning from ear to ear, a kid in a candy store, as the saying goes.
At first, the guests of Isabelle Boone’s Blue Heron Inn came aboard in polite wonder, too. They’d been told that the tour was a gift of the townspeople. But Jeremy Stone, Gilpa, and I knew the truth. We hoped to net information—if not confessions—out of this school of diamond filchers and murderers.
The boat was a thirty-two-foot Grady-White, big as a house around here. When Gilpa started her up and backed off the pier, his face opened in admiration for the quiet, smoke-free engines. His instrument panel was a luxury for him, too, with its state-of-the-art electronics. The boat had radar, sonar, 3-D lake-bottom mapping, GPS, VHF radios, weather and sea conditions sent through a Sirius satellite system.
First-Degree Fudge: A Fudge Shop Mystery Page 23