First-Degree Fudge: A Fudge Shop Mystery (20 page)

R
ain and wind lashed at
Sophie’s Journey
all the way home, keeping Pauline suffocating herself under a blanket. The decrepit boat got us back to the dock in front of Oosterlings’ Live Bait, Bobbers & Belgian Fudge by around four on Wednesday afternoon. Black smoke continued pouring out of the engines, not a good sign. Cody leaped out first to help Pauline. This time she didn’t land in the water, but she was still soaked from her earlier dunking, and without an umbrella, she was getting even wetter. I handed over her big purse. She snatched it and ran in her ruined pumps to her car in the parking lot.

Sam Peterson was waiting for us inside the fudge shop, along with Dotty and Lois and several church ladies who had commandeered my shop again. The place felt gloriously warm and dry. My olfactory senses were pleasantly assaulted by the aromas of sugar, butter, cream, vanilla, cherries, chocolate, butterscotch, peanut butter, and maple syrup.

Cody wrinkled up his nose. “They’re not cutting the fudge right,” he said. “They’re not cutting the pink cellophane right. And the fairy glitter is all over the place. They don’t know how to put magic in fudge.”

It sounded like he was reciting
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
and the “somebody’s been eating my porridge” routine.

Sam’s blue eyes went wide at Cody’s new look as he shook his hand. “Glad you’re okay, but we better call your parents.”

“I’ll call ’em later,” Cody said with a commanding voice as he marched over to grab an apron out of the closet behind the cash register. “I have to make sure Miss Oosterling’s fudge is done right. This glitter takes special skills.”

In a nice way, he shoved red-haired Lois aside, but she took umbrage with him telling her to cut new cellophane squares. He told her she’d cut the old squares too small. “You have to have enough cellophane for a handle so your hand doesn’t warm the fudge. And so you can make crinkly noises. Our fudge makes noise.”

This was the first I’d realized that noisy fudge was an asset, but I liked it.

Lois and Dotty and the half dozen other ladies had plenty keeping them busy. They’d used the afternoon to create more microwaved fudge in the several flavors I’d smelled walking in. Delectable-looking fudge morsels filled the glass case next to the register. More batches cooled on the new shelving unit I’d put together earlier in the week with Sam’s help. What was more, a shipment of naked fairy dolls had come in, along with several other items that I’d been missing since the sheriff confiscated everything. The women were stocking shelves, and white-haired Dotty Klubertanz was stuffing several naked dolls into a sack.

She said, “I’ve texted all the gals at Saint Ann’s. We’ll have the fairy doll clothes crotched and sewed by Saturday. Lois’s parish gals over at Saint Bernie’s are in charge of making the fairy wings. She just sewed for two weddings and has lots of lace and netting left over that’ll be perfect for starching and making into wings. Your shelves will be brimming and ready for gift-buying for Mother’s Day.”

Mother’s Day? I’d forgotten it was coming up this Sunday. I hugged Dotty. “Thanks. Now, if I can just find customers without news cameras attached to them.”

The bait side of the shop where the minnow tank bubbled was empty. I hoped my grandfather would be home soon.

“I need your help,” I told Sam. “Cody has agreed to talk with the sheriff about things that will require a guardian with him, I’m pretty sure, and I think he wants to do it without his parents along. He’s an adult now.”

Sam ran a hand through his blond hair, his blue eyes surrounded by wary squinting. “What kind of trouble did you get him into?”

“Me?” I couldn’t keep up my pretense of indignation. Sam knew me too well. I took him aside over to the minnow tank and away from the church ladies’ ears. “Mercy and Cody have been playing detective. They allegedly have some proof that the Reeds killed Rainetta. Cody thinks they tried to hide it by pushing him down the stairs at the Blue Heron Inn on Sunday.”

“What?”

Heads swiveled our way, but soon returned to cutting and wrapping fudge and divvying up naked dolls to dress later.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s plausible.”

Sam shook his head, leaning closer to my ear, so close that I enjoyed the manly scent of his neck. He whispered, “I never saw Cody there on Sunday.”

“I believe you, but Cody admits to being there, and Jeremy Stone says he saw him. He has a picture of Cody. The upstairs at the inn was evidently like a college dorm party, with everybody changing rooms and stealing diamonds from one another.”

“What?”

When all the heads turned to us a second time, I said, “Shhh. Stop saying that. Please, let’s just take Cody down to Sturgeon Bay now and talk with Jordy while Cody’s in the mood and Jordy’s in the office. It’s getting late. I don’t want him leaving before I can convince him to keep Isabelle’s guests in town for a couple more days. If they leave, the murderers leave.”

“You believe the Reeds did it? I don’t think Cody’s all that reliable. What happened to your theory that Mercy did it? Heck, she’s probably convinced Cody of a whole bunch of lies.” He rearranged the frustration on his face with a swipe of his hand, then said, “Never mind. I’ll go with you. Let’s get this over with.”

“Don’t say it like that, Sam. I thought maybe you’d trust me, or at least trust Cody.”

“Don’t pull the trust card on me now. I don’t trust you. That’s why I’m going with you. The next thing I know, you’ll have
me
arrested for murder.”

“Well, you
were
at the inn. That’s not a bad idea.”

I smiled, but he sighed before going over to collect Cody. I supposed Sam’s sometimes lack of humor was what had attracted me to Dillon Rivers, who was a stand-up comic, after all. It made me wonder: What would I do if Dillon walked through the door right now? What would he make of all this mess I’m in?

• • •

While Sam went into a different private interrogation room with Cody and his parents, who Cody wanted with him after all, I asked to see my grandfather and was surprised to be escorted to a larger meeting room near the jail cells.

My parents and Grandma Sophie were there with Gilpa, all sitting in blue plastic chairs around a six-foot table. Evidently they’d tried calling me, but I hadn’t looked at my messages for a while. My dad was muttering about how they had to get home to start the milking. Grandma Sophie was biting her lip. Gilpa peered at me with a crimp in his ruddy face.

My throat closed in terror. I had to swallow to breathe again. “Did something happen?”

Gilpa said, “I found Destiny.”

This had to be a dream. I shook my head to clear it. “Okay, Gilpa, that’s nice. Your destiny is to run your bait shop. And maybe buy a new boat?”

Gilpa’s wrinkled face clouded. “Not that destiny.” Then he smiled around the table at us, his eyes sparkling like stars. “I found us a lawyer. Her name is Destiny.”

Obviously, this had to be
some
lawyer. Gilpa appeared
that
happy.

He said, “She’ll be here any minute.”

We waited. And waited. My father hemmed and hawed about needing to leave for the cows. My mother sniffled, muttering about how afraid she was for me. Grandma Sophie said she liked how well Cody had wrapped my left wrist with the bandages.

Another half hour of small talk went by. Gilpa kept saying to us, “We have a lawyer now; everything will be fine.”

Finally, the door to the small tan room opened. We turned; our plastic and metal-legged chairs pinged and popped.

A petite, short girl stepped forward. She looked sixteen, with too much makeup on flawless cocoa skin and a sleek cap of black hair. Her eyelashes were brooms sweeping up and down when she blinked; I was instantly jealous because they looked real. She wore a black suit, making her look like a high school kid playing a librarian in a school play.

Gilpa said, “This is Destiny Hubbard. She just graduated from law school in Madison. She’ll be defending me on the murder charge.”

“But, Gilpa,” I said, interrupting the girl-woman’s grand entrance, “you’re getting freed today. That’s why we brought Cody Fjelstad down here.”

“Not so fast, y’all,” said Destiny in a chirpy voice. “That’s why I’m late. Had to talk over some things with the DA’s office and the sheriff.”

Destiny stepped forward on her high heels—red ones—and held out her hand. “Ma’am, it sure is good to meet y’all. You’re my first case. But don’t worry. I know all about Belgians. Our Memphis in May celebration coupla years back honored Belgium. We pick a new country every year to celebrate while we hold our barbecue contests. You guys are stubborn. But so am I. I’m from Memphis, and living along the Mississippi takes strong people. We endure. I hear you cook up a mean batch of fudge. We like good food in Memphis, in case you haven’t heard, so I think we’ll get along just fine.”

All of us stared back at her with a look that said:
We are in trouble
.

She talked on with her exquisitely polished lips, luring us with her big eyelashes. “I always did well in practice court. I defended two murder cases and got the highest scores. I took acting classes, too. So I’m prepared.”

Practice court? An actress? Yup, we were in trouble.

My parents shook her hand and then excused themselves after hugging me. No matter what was happening in life, even a tornado bearing down on you, you had to tend to the cows. Cows would knock the doors down to get in a barn to be fed and milked on time. I was left alone with my grandparents and our new actress lawyer.

Destiny had been appointed by the public defender’s office to take my grandfather’s case. In other words, my family was officially too poor to afford a criminal attorney. But I sensed we were in deep poo here because if my grandfather were getting freed today we wouldn’t need a lawyer. But he was smiling, still positive in his outlook. Or insane.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” he said to me. “And she’s free.”

It was a good thing Pauline Mertens wasn’t here because she’d be calling us “cheap Belgians.”

Destiny didn’t look uncomfortable with my grandfather’s remark. She sat down next to him on his side of the table. Her head barely came up to his shoulder. She took a sheaf of papers out of her briefcase, fanning them out in front of my grandfather. Grandma Sophie and I had to read them upside down. It didn’t matter. I could tell the news was bad.

Destiny pointed out, “The amethyst necklace was in your possession, and you insisted on confessing to the theft of a necklace taken off a murdered woman, and even though that alleged theft might be a false confession to save your granddaughter, it gives the sheriff’s department and the DA enough cause to keep you for questioning just a bit longer because there’s a murder involved.”

“But I found the necklace and put it in his boat. It’s my fault,” I said.

Grandma Sophie patted my hand, careful not to touch my bandaged wrist. “Honey, let Destiny talk. I suspect the less we say, the better.”

“You’re so right, Mrs. Oosterling,” Destiny said. “But I’m going to see about bail.” Her smile broadened. “I’ve never said that for real before.”

I couldn’t help but wiggle in my plastic chair. “Are we really your first case?”

“Yes, but I was valedictorian of my high school class, graduating early at age sixteen; then I graduated
cum laude
in three years instead of four, with a degree in human resources, before going to law school, where I finished top of my class. I am simply the best at what I do.”

Even Gilpa flushed at the speech. Grandma Sophie bit her lip again; I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or confused.

“So,” I said, “how old are you?”

Destiny laughed. “I get that all the time. I look sixteen, but I just turned twenty-three.”

“She’s legal!” Gilpa crowed. “And free,” he repeated. “A twofer.” Meaning two for one price.

I asked, “When can my grandfather get out of here?”

“I was hoping Mr. Fjelstad might admit to something, which would mean immediately, but the sheriff tells me Mr. Fjelstad has some convoluted story that pins the murder on everybody staying at the Blue Heron Inn. We all know that not ‘everybody’ can be guilty.”

“Why not?” popped out of my mouth. I recalled my earlier thought about the college dorm party, with the inn’s guests all joining in the fun together and maybe covering up for one another. But I wasn’t sure I could speak up about the diamonds in the pouch since Pauline and I had stolen them, too. My perch on my chair in the jail felt precarious at best.

Destiny cocked her pretty head at me. “Do you know something I should know?”

“No,” I lied. “It’s just that, well, yes. You should talk with Mercy Fogg. And Sam Peterson.”

Sam’s name flew out before I could stop myself. My face burned and my stomach soured with panic. Had I just betrayed Sam?

Destiny said, gathering her papers, “Sam’s with the Fjelstad boy now. What should I be talking to him about?”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to talk with my grandparents staring at me. There was no way I wanted to tell them that the guy I was once engaged to had a “thing” for the dead movie star, who might have had a “thing” going on with Mercy Fogg, the recent past president of the village board of Fishers’ Harbor. My grandparents would accuse me of making up stories befitting my soap-operaish
The Topsy-Turvy Girls.