Five-Alarm Fudge (28 page)

Dillon said, “He’s here on business. Just passing through, getting directions to the Oosterling farm. He’ll be there a few days, uh . . .”

I said, “Doing a farm diary for a French magazine. They like butter and cream over there, too.”

It all sounded inane at first, but Marc and John bought it when I added, “The French like to follow the comings and goings of royalty. Arnie will be here through the kermis.”

John said, “Then we’ll cross paths a lot as we both get our stories for the media.”

Marc said as he was turning to leave, “Say, why don’t we all meet on Saturday at the scene of the crime, since that’s so close to the farm?”

Prince Arnaud said, “There’s been a crime?”

“You betcha,” John said, his voice rising. “A murder. Ava found the body. It was a guy that was studying the cherries and orchards out by her parents’ farm. I got myself clocked on the head by somebody in that church, too. You should take some notes for your magazine. This is a big story.”

“
Oui
, of course,
merci
,” Arnaud said.

My insides were going topsy-turvy. I was embarrassed by the crimes that had occurred recently. Door County never had much crime at all . . . until I returned.

I said to Marc, “Better yet, we’ve been meaning to help clean up the garden at the Dahlgren place. Let’s meet there on Saturday afternoon.”

“Deal,” Marc said. “You wouldn’t mind if I took a few pictures? There’s a cinematic quality here that I’d like to show a few people back home.”

I groaned inwardly, though a part of me felt proud that he’d noticed how beautiful it was here in this part of the country.

John said, “We’ll shoot video earlier at your roadside market, Ava. Saturdays are busy for you, so it’ll make great color. You won’t mind if I interview a few customers?”

“Sounds peachy,” I said, concerned.

The duo left. I breathed in deeply to settle the dread already seeded and sprouting in my head.

While Dillon and “Arnie Malle” went to a farm store for suitable farm duds, Piers hurried to the old mansion for a look and to wait to talk with Dillon’s mother, Cathy, about his muffin shop deal.

I went back down the hill to my shop to grill my grandfather.

Chapter 24

G
randpa Gil was in high spirits. He was always that way when he hatched some plan like the one involving Prince Arnaud. I didn’t believe for a minute that it was the prince’s idea to arrive early in Door County and work on the farm.

Grandpa winked at me. “Did he like the divinity fudge?”

“It’s not real divinity, Grandpa.” I gave him the gist of how it was made last night. “Why did you tell the prince that was the recipe? You know this lie is going to come back and bite you. Your lies always turn into disasters for us.”

He gave me such a hurt look that I wanted to shrivel up and disappear under a copper kettle.

Grandpa said, “This lie is going to solve everything.”

“Solve a murder case? A ghost in our family? Mere fudge can’t do all that, Gilpa.”

“Oh, honey, don’t you ever lose faith in what you do or your fudge. I’m proud of you.”

While my heart melted like Belgian chocolate in my kettles, I had to do something to help Grandpa. He had too much time on his hands and that was why he hatched crazy ideas. I went over to help him load a shelf with bobbers in DayGlo orange and yellow.

Grandpa said, “The prince will get to like it here, and even if he finds out we snookered him with that recipe, he won’t care. He’s a pretty darn handsome guy, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you go matchmaking, too. Grandma still wants me to marry Sam.”

“I’m partial to tall Parker Balusek. I’d have basketball players for great-grandkids. But the prince has a castle and fly-fishes. I’d like to go over there and try that a time or two.”

“I have Dillon and that’s enough for me for now. And besides, Arnie is my relative.”

Grandpa chortled. “He’s so far back on the family tree he’s but a tiny twig. He’s fair game. Did he kiss your hand?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Because he’s a prince and you deserve to be treated like a princess.” Grandpa put down the packages of bobbers he was holding to settle his hands on my shoulders. “That’s all I want for you in life, Ava Mathilde. I want you to be loved and respected by a man for being you.”

“You do that for me, for sure, Gilpa.” I put down the box of bobbers I was holding for him and gave him a hug.

“You’re a good kid.”

“Only the best for you, Gilpa.”

He laughed.

The shop soon became crowded as the early weekenders started pouring in for their fishing equipment, fudge, and souvenirs. Cody showed.

“Hey, Miss Oosterling! I learned how to give shots last night. Part of my EMT and firefighter training class. Want to watch me give a piece of your fudge a shot?”

Customers giggled.

“So you think my fudge needs saving?” I was giving out free samples at my glass case area.

“Nope. Could I take a batch to my next meeting?”

“Not if you’re going to mutilate it with needles.”

Cody guffawed. “Heck no. It’s to eat. The guys bring treats. I don’t know how to make anything but fudge. Bethany knows how to make lots of stuff, but she’s just my girlfriend. Maybe after we’re married she’ll make stuff for me.”

That made me pause. My grandfather peeked over at me with hiked eyebrows from across the shop.

I said to Cody, “Have you proposed to Bethany?”

Customers plastered on sly smiles and went quiet.

“No. I have to take these things slow, Miss Oosterling. Dillon told me that.”

“He did?” I almost guffawed at Grandpa’s face scrunching up.

“Dillon said special women are worth waiting for.”

I was starting to swell with pride at what I was hearing about Dillon.

Then Cody said, “I figure I could save the proposal for the kermis when the prince is here. It’ll be like a fairy-tale ball. Bethany looks like Cinderella, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, she does.” Bethany Bjorklund was a blond former cheerleader. “But maybe you should propose in a more private moment. At least consider it.”

Cody was blossoming with Sam’s and Dillon’s advice, but he also had a mind of his own. Bethany was wise at eighteen, but I was beginning to feel anxious about the prince’s visit. I wondered if other men planned to use the Cinderella atmosphere for a proposal.

Several customers remarked they’d be returning to Door County for the festivities a week from this coming Saturday. They bought more items than the usual. The shop became a musical concert with register dings and the cowbell clanking on the door.

Around eleven that Thursday morning, I loaded up fudge, Lucky Harbor, and Prince Arnaud in my truck. He was dressed in blue jeans, work boots, and a gray sweatshirt with a Green Bay Packers logo.

“You’re official now,” I said to Arnie.

My heartbeat still sputtered in the presence of royalty. It felt unreal to think he lived in a castle. I liked that he had eaten my waffles and drunk authentic Belgian thick cocoa from tiny Limoges cups.

We headed south through the county. Our agenda included stopping by my roadside market, then the farm, and then I’d show him the shrine and resting place of Adele Brise in Champion. For now, I’d do what I could to avoid stopping at the scene of Cherry’s final day. We’d drive by, of course, but I wouldn’t stop.

A squad car was on my tail the whole way as soon as we passed through Sturgeon Bay.

“Our sheriff doesn’t know about you; they’re following me. To protect me.”

Prince Arnaud said, “Do not worry. I will not tell my mother about the murder or your police needing to follow you. Amandine would cancel her trip. For me, I find this exhilarating. My life is boring compared with yours. I enjoy being called Arnie.”

Again I sensed a kindred spirit. I ventured, “What would you think about stopping at a local winery first, Arnie?”

“
S’il vous plait
, show me anything you wish. I’m eager to understand the land where my relatives found their joy in life,
joie de vivre
.”

*   *   *

The Prevost parking lot was full, perfect for my plan. At this time of day, near lunchtime, I knew it’d be crowded, a good cover for sneaking around. I let Lucky Harbor out of the truck. He shot to the back of the stone winery.

Arnie went inside like any other customer while I excused myself to allegedly watch the dog.

I hustled to the back of the building. Lucky Harbor was sniffing the ground around a massive old freezer chest, the kind used to store extra bags of ice in summer and fish caught in the lake. It stood about hip high and was about five feet wide and three feet across front to back.

Lucky Harbor kept snapping his head to me and then back to the ground as he circled. He sniffed the freezer chest several times. The way the dog kept appealing to me made goose bumps down my arms ripple in place.

A voice said, “Is there something wrong?”

I jumped. It was Arnaud. “No, Arnie. Just watching the dog.”

“He’s intrigued by the appliance.”

“Yeah. I’d like a look inside. But it’s locked. A crowbar would help.”

“Perhaps that is not wise.”

I chuckled. “You don’t know me. This is the kind of thing I do.”

“But the car following us has arrived.”

He meant the squad car with Maria Vasquez. We walked
up the sidewalk along the building. I implored Arnaud to duck into the shop to buy a bottle of wine.

On the sidewalk, Maria growled out, “What now?”

“Deputy Vasquez, hi. Here to taste a little wine? Aren’t you on duty?”

Maria’s big brown eyes gave me a weary stare.

I pointed behind me. “The dog knows that there’s something in the freezer chest behind the winery.”

“Like ice?”

“Maybe. Whatever it is, Lucky Harbor thinks I should open the chest.”

Maria walked the few yards back to the corner of the building with me in tow to peek. Lucky Harbor was still snuffling about.

Maria said, “So?”

“So do something. What if there’s a body in there?”

I meant it as a joke, but Maria sighed dramatically. “With you, I realize there might really be a body in there, but—”

“Let’s open it.”

“Please, Ava, I need a warrant for such a thing and you also can’t go around thinking the worst about your neighbors. Besides, whose body would it be? There’s been nobody reported missing.”

“All right, it’s not a body. But there’s something in there the dog doesn’t like.”

“Or it’s something he does like. Michael Prevost might have steaks stored in there. Now get a move on before Prevost finds you and this dog and complains. Where are you headed next?”

“Ava’s Autumn Harvest and then my parents’ farm. Why?”

“Do you think you can get there without getting into more trouble? I’d like to head back up to Sturgeon Bay to my office. Alone. Without you in handcuffs.”

“I don’t look good in cuffs anyway. They don’t match my outfit.”

She managed a smile as she turned to head back to her squad car.

I gathered the dog and prince and we headed to my
market down around the corner of Highway 57 and County Trunk C.

The mystery of the freezer bothered me like something in a tooth you can’t get out. A couple of times I flicked a glance in my rearview mirror and Lucky Harbor was giving me a stone-cold stare that said everything.

*   *   *

Ava’s Autumn Harvest was packed. A thrill shot through me. I could already hear the pleasant ding of the cash register in my head. I had to park six cars down the road. Lucky Harbor tried to do circles in his excitement in the backseat, but I told him he had to stay in the truck this time.

“Word is out that a prince is coming,” I said to Prince Arnaud, nodding to the unusual crowd on the rural road as we got out.

“I am—he is—good for your business.
Beaucoup
.”

Very good indeed. But I needed to find a lot more help for me and my poor mother. She looked frazzled. Her lovely dark hair was tied back with a red bandanna that was coming undone from its knot at the nape of her neck.

Prince Arnaud played his role of a visiting journalist. My stomach was churning as I introduced him in front of other people and my mother as Mr. Malle. I couldn’t even say “Arnie” for fear my mother would think of “Arnaud” and then screech and spoil his wish to be incognito. He took photos of the flatbed wagons loaded down with bags of cheese curds, apples, pumpkins, and several flavors of my fudge. Nobody took a second look at the tall man in the jeans and Green Bay Packers sweatshirt.

When my mother broke from the crowd at the wagons to head off to the stone barn to cash out a customer, I followed her to ask how she was doing.

She said, “That journalist is handsome, don’t you think?”

“Very, but I have Dillon.”

She grimaced. “Do I need lipstick? Will I look okay in the pictures?”

“You’re beautiful. I need to show him the neighborhood. But I’ll be back soon. Should I find more help? Maybe Dotty and Lois could help.”

“I’ll manage on my own. I’ve seen what they can do to the fudge shop.”

We laughed.

Moments later, Arnaud and I were back in my yellow truck with Lucky Harbor.

I drove past our farm and went on to Namur to drive past Saint Mary of the Snows Church. Several cars were parked at it and on the road. Panic swept through me like a gale-force wind off the Lake Michigan bay. Tourists were wandering around the grounds of the church and school. License plates were from Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, and Wisconsin.

Several people were poking about among the headstones under the tree out front.

The crime scene tape was still over the doors, but one person was trying to boost another so he could see through a window of the church.

Arnaud and I got out of the truck so he could take a few shots of the exterior of the church and grounds. He said in referring to the guy in the window, “He is observing the area of the recipe,
non
?”

My body flushed hot. “May I keep it a surprise until the kermis?”

“
Oui, certainement
. I will enjoy the surprise along with my mother.”