All You Need Is Fudge (13 page)

“Maybe he thinks that she got into the lifeboat and rowed to the pier where she confronted Carin, hit her with the oar, then got back in the boat and rowed back to the
Scoundrel
.” Liz hypothesized.

“That's ridiculous. Wouldn't using the oar destroy the blood evidence?”

“Maybe that's what the killer hoped, but if there were any cracks or splinters from the blow, blood or even hair could have gotten caught. Maybe that's what they found in the lab.”

I frowned. “I'm going to see what Shane will tell me.”

“I already tried, but he won't talk to me,” Liz said.

“Yes, well, I have an insider who might be able to get some information out of him.”

“Oh, can I use her as a source?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Isn't secondhand information not useful?”

“Only in a court of law,” Liz said with a grin. “Come on. Let's buy Jenn a cup of coffee and see if she's learned anything new.”

Early the next morning when the first batches of fudge were done, I took Mal out for her walk . . . away from the marina. Most of the yachts had arrived and the marina was filled with people coming and going at all hours. It was good for the coffee shop, but not so good for me.

The sun was slowly rising in the east and the sky was deep blue in the west as we walked down Main Street. Jenn hadn't been able to help us any further. It seemed that Shane was tight-lipped on the evidence in the case. So far, my biggest leads had come from the senior center. Perhaps I'd go back with more fudge and see what new rumors might have popped up.

I remembered that one woman had said
Ronald
, not Reggie as Paige's boyfriend, and everyone had corrected her. What if the man involved in Carin's murder was Ronald and not Paige's Reggie? If so, who was Ronald? And why would he kill Carin . . . or worse, cause someone else to kill her?

We turned the corner and I saw Mrs. Tunisian and Mrs. Albert power walking toward us. They wore pastel jogging suits with white stripes that looked as if they had been purchased in the eighties, but the shoes they wore were bright white and brand new walkers. Both women walked with purpose and huffed and puffed in the early morning air.

“Allie, good to see you,” Mrs. Tunisian said. “Is this your little dog?”

“Yes, this is Mal—short for Marshmallow.”

Mal stood up and did a little pirouette for them as a means of introduction.

“Oh so cute,” Mrs. Albert said. “What a smart little girl you are, too.” The older woman reached down and patted Mal's head.

“So, Allie, how goes the investigation?” Mrs. Tunisian asked. “Do you know who did it yet?”

“Not quite yet. I must admit I'm stumped.”

“Well, we believe in you, my dear.” Mrs. Albert patted my arm. “You'll figure it out.”

“You know, the other day you said that Ronald was an eyewitness,” I said to Mrs. Tunisian. “I thought you meant it was Reggie, Paige's boyfriend. Remember? We corrected you.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Tunisian said.

“Were we wrong? Did you really mean Ronald?”

“Yes, I did mean Ronald, not Reggie.” She looked at Mrs. Albert. “I am certain that I heard it was Ronald Lorrie who witnessed the crime.”

“You know Ronald, don't you?” Mrs. Albert asked me. “He is a young man about your age. Very handsome, too. I think he's relatively new to the island.”

I shook my head. “No, I don't know him. At least, I don't think so.”

“Oh, you would remember if you did meet him,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “He's an adorable young man with coal black hair and light blue eyes.”

“And a rear that is really high and tight,” Mrs. Tunisian added with a grin.

I struggled not to shake my head at her.

“He works as the manager for the Island House Hotel,” Mrs. Albert said. “It's next door to the yacht club.”

“I think he's related to the Andersons. They have a large cottage on the island and two yachts in the race,” Mrs. Tunisian added. “They've been an island family for nearly my whole life—around eighty years.”

“That's right,” Mrs. Albert said. “I think he is Jeannine Anderson's nephew. He lives in their cottage and is managing the hotel. I'm surprised you haven't met him.”

“Well, I'm still getting to know everyone on the island. I'm not the kind to go out to the bars much as I'm up early to make fudge.”

“And I bet that handsome boyfriend of yours would prefer you didn't get to know a boy as good looking as Ronald.” Mrs. Albert kept the twinkle in her eye.

I smiled. “Trent has nothing to worry about.”

“Of course, he doesn't, dear.” She patted my arm. “Everyone knows you are of good character. Unlike some other girls your age.”

“Like who?” I asked, drawing my eyebrows together.

Mal was busy jumping on Mrs. Tunisian, who patted her on the head and rewarded her for being bad.

“Well, that Eleanor Wadsworth for one and the unfortunate Miss Carin Moore for another,” Mrs. Albert said. “Two bad seeds if you ask me—no disrespect to the dead.”

“Why do you think they are bad?” I asked.

“Everyone knows those two had to be the center of attention. If anyone got something, they had to get twice as much.” Mrs. Tunisian shook her head. “It must make for a miserable life if you are always worried about what others have.”

“Well, dear”—Mrs. Albert looked at her oversized watch—“we have to get going. We have another mile to walk and we're supposed to meet the crochet club for coffee and bagels at seven. Tootles.” She waggled her fingers at us and they took off, their elbows bent and their strides long and filled with purpose.

I glanced at Mal who tugged me down the street toward a patch of grass. “That was certainly an interesting meeting.”

Mal seemed unimpressed. There was a walk to be had and pets to be won. Thankfully, she hadn't turned up any more dead bodies.

* * *

“Trent, please call me,” I said into my cell phone. “It's been days. I need to know how you are. I want to know how Paige is. I miss you. Please, don't shut me out. Call me, today, okay? I'm worried.” I hung up with a sigh and knew I sounded needy and whiny. But sheesh, I was his girlfriend and his sister was being charged with murder. I think I should be there for him and I wasn't understanding why he'd shut me out.

Her hair pulled into a high ponytail, Jenn bounced into the office and stopped in front of our desks. “Well, hello, Miss Sad Face. What is up? Or should I guess? Trent still hasn't talked to you? It's been nearly four days.”

“He hasn't even texted,” I said and dropped my phone on my desktop. “It's ridiculous. I just left a needy, whiny message.” I put my head in my hands. “I've become that girl.”

Jenn patted me on the back. “You are not that needy girlfriend. You care for him and he's shut you out. It seems to me he is in the wrong here, not you.”

I looked up at her. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Any time.” She sat down at her desk opposite me. “Now, what's up? Any new ideas on who killed Carin and why?”

“Yes. What do you know about Ronald Lorrie?”

“Oh, the hunky guy who manages the Island House Hotel?”

“Yes.” I tried not to sigh. “How is it you know so many people?”

“I get out. You are McMurphy bound, my dear. I'm free to move about the island. Besides, if I'm planning events, I need to know the competition.”

“Right.”

“Why do you want to know about Ronald?”

“It's something Mrs. Tunisian said when I was at the senior center the other day. She said that Ronald was the eyewitness and I thought she was mistaken. I thought she meant Reggie—Paige's boyfriend.”

“Huh.” Jenn leaned on her elbows. “Now you think she really meant Ronald?”

“Yes. You see, Reggie isn't part of the investigation. He was drunk and passed out. Can't even alibi Paige. Rex has to have more than an oar to tie Paige to the crime. It makes sense he has an eyewitness. I ran into Mrs. Tunisian this morning and she confirmed she really did mean Ronald not Reggie.”

“So you think she's right? Ronald Lorrie is the eyewitness?”

“She's certain she heard it was Ronald. She's guessing it was Ronald Lorrie.”

“It's a small island.” Jenn drummed her fingers. “There could be another Ronald, but I haven't met one. Are you going to go see Ronald Lorrie and ask him if he knows anything?”

“The problem is we haven't met. I can't just go up to him and say are you Ronald Lorrie? Are you the witness who is framing Paige Jessop?”

Jenn laughed. “No, I don't suppose you can.” She paused thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Well, the Island House runs specials. Included in the weekend package are dinners at their restaurant and a certificate for two pounds of fudge at one of the local shops.”

“So?”

“So, why don't you set up an appointment with Ronald for a business meeting?”

“But he's a competitor,” I argued. “The McMurphy is a hotel, not just a fudge shop.”

“A competitor in a different market place. They have a restaurant, you don't. You offer fudge, they don't. You could approach him to see if he would be willing to send his overflow your way. In exchange, you would give your customers certificates to his restaurant and he could give his people certificates for two pounds of free McMurphy fudge. It's win-win. The people will taste your fudge and get to see how quaint the McMurphy is. We are right down the street from the Island House and they can feel comfortable coming to stay with us when the Island House is full.”

“Hmmm. It does sound good if I can afford gift certificates to his restaurant.”

“See if he'll give you dinner certificates at cost. You could offer him free fudge for the entire season.”

“And after we meet, I could ask him about Carin,” I said.

“Yes,” Jenn said with a grin. “I mean, you will know him better then. You might even offer to take him out for a drink.”

I thought about Trent shutting me out. “Yes, I may.” I reached for my phone. “Thanks! You are always the best at problem solving.”

“I aim to please,” Jenn said. “Now, I'm off to an island charity club meeting. We'll see if I can't drum up another event.”

“Good luck.”

The Island House Hotel was a large white capital
I
-shaped hotel whose lobby faced the marina. The hotel had a wide front lawn with a fire pit for roasting marshmallows, a smattering of lawn chairs for people to relax in, and a wide front porch that overlooked the marina and the yachts coming and going. It evoked a feeling of service and old money that the McMurphy didn't quite have. We were more like staying with family situated in the middle of Main Street's hustle and bustle.

I walked into the cool spacious lobby. The restaurant was to my right, the reception desk in front, and stairs to the rooms to the left.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” A lovely young woman in a black and white uniform stood up from behind the desk when I entered.

“Hi, yes. I have an appointment to see Mr. Lorrie,” I said.

“Can I have your name, please?”

“I'm Allie McMurphy.”

“Perfect. Yes, I see a note to send you on up. If you wait a moment, I'll let him know you are here and then walk you up.”

“Great. Thanks.” I was dressed in clean black slacks and a pink and white polo with the McMurphy logo. I held a leather bound notebook in my hand with two copies of my proposal in it. I looked around at the slightly faded elegance of the Island House. There was a sign on a pole at the entrance to the restaurant saying it was closed until five
PM.
I could hear the waitstaff and kitchen people at work. A glance at my watch told me I was right on time.

“Right this way please, Ms. McMurphy.” The girl's gold name tag said ANGIE.

I followed her up a short flight of stairs and to the right in the hallway. I estimated we were directly above the reception desk when she stopped and knocked on a door marked OFFICE.

“Come in.”

She opened the door. “Mr. Lorrie, Ms. McMurphy to see you.”

“Thanks, Angie.”

She waved for me to step inside and closed the door behind me. The office was a nice size—about the size of one suite of rooms. The walls were a yellow cream color and the carpet a muted green. A closet door was to my left and an open bathroom door to my right. In front of me were a couch and wingback chair arranged with a view of the pool house behind the hotel. To the right of that was a massive oak desk with two wooden chairs in front of it.

Sitting at the desk was Ronald Lorrie, who was just as handsome as the ladies told me he would be. He rose and offered his hand. “Hello, Ms. McMurphy, Ronald Lorrie. It's nice to finally meet you.”

I shook his hand and tried not to stare at his pale blue eyes and dark black hair. He wore a crisp, long sleeved dress shirt the color of a summer sky. It was reflected in those eyes that were ringed with black lashes. He also had on a blue and black striped tie and black dress slacks. He could have stepped right out of
GQ
magazine.

“Please, call me Allie.” I pulled my gaze away. “May I sit?”

“Certainly.” He waved toward the seats in front of his desk.

I sat down quickly and placed the notebook on his desk. He sat back down and put his hands on his desk and smiled at me. I had to swallow hard not to drool.

“How can I help you, Allie?”

“My event planner, Jenn Christensen, told me that you offer weekend packages that include coupons for two pounds of free fudge.”

“Yes, it's sort of a tradition here at the Island House Hotel.”

“Well, I would like the McMurphy fudge to be a part of that offer.” I pushed the notebook toward him. “I know you can sort of see us as a competitor, but let's be honest, we have a very different vibe at the McMurphy.”

He opened up my notebook and thumbed through the proposal. “Yes, you do,” he said with certainty.

It felt as if he was implying that his hotel was the
Queen Mary
and mine was a tugboat. I tried not to take it personally . . . to let it roll off of me. “I thought perhaps we could exchange coupons. I would offer your people two pounds of free fudge and you could offer my people a fifteen percent discount on meals at your restaurant. Reservations only, of course.”

“Of course.” He looked at the proposal a little closer. Then he looked up at me. “Our restaurant is filled almost every day. I really don't need to run a special to get butts in my seats.”

“Well, that may be true, but I'm willing to offer your customers two pounds of free McMurphy fudge at no cost to you.”

“I see. Why would I encourage my customers to go into your hotel so they can draw comparisons?” Not only was he handsome, he was shrewd.

I tried not to wiggle. “As I said, we offer two completely different hotel experiences. I truly doubt your customers would change their room reservations at the sight of my lobby. That said, I would like to drum up more business for my fudge shop. If they get two pounds free, they are more likely to buy a pound or two on top of that.”

“We already have an understanding with one of the other fudge shops.”

“Yes, but can they do chocolate sculptures?”

He sat back and tilted his head as if considering. “No, they make fudge.”

“Sandy Everheart is my chocolatier. She could make small chocolate replicas of the Island House hotel. We could offer them to your customers at cost instead of free fudge.”

“And what would be the advantage for you?” He drew his dark black brows together.

I smiled. “They would come into the shop and may be more likely to purchase fudge or to order a sculpture for their own special occasion.”

“I see. This sounds very interesting. Can I take a few days to look it over?” He tapped the notebook.

“Yes, I can have Sandy send you pricing for the replicas. We use dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate. Your customers would have their choice.”

“I certainly like the idea. It would be a great souvenir for them to take home and remind them of their stay on the island.”

“That's the plan. If we're successful, the island is successful and that is good, right?”

“All boats rise in a lifting tide.” He sat back. “Now that business is done, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? I've heard so much about Allie McMurphy and her little white dog. It's an honor to finally meet you in person.”

I grinned. “Funny. I was hoping you'd do the same.”

A hint of a smile crossed his face. “You didn't have to bring me a business proposal to meet with me.”

“I'm sincere about the proposal,” I said, feeling the hint of a blush rush over my cheeks. “It's good business to partner with other hotels.”

He leaned in toward me, his elbows on the top of his desk. “I heard that your grandfather died this spring. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I wasn't expecting to take on the family business all at once. I had hoped to have a season or two with Papa Liam's guidance, but . . .” I shrugged.

“You are brave for doing all that you are doing on your own. This is my first season on the island also,” he said. “I've managed hotels in Traverse City and in Mackinaw City, but this is my first big gig on the island. It's a bit different to say the least.”

A feeling of comradery washed over me. “I agree. Who knew that it would be so hard to get extra help during the festival weekends?”

“And the horses create so much dust. I cringe every time I hear a customer tell how they opened a window to let in the lake breezes.”

I understood. “You have a restaurant, too. I have trouble getting supplies for the fudge shop. How do you manage to keep things going with a full kitchen?”

“I'm lucky. The staff has its routine down. My head chef has been working here for fifteen years. He knows exactly who to call when he needs something special shipped in.”

“How are you doing with the locals?” I had to ask. “I don't remember seeing you at any of the festival committees.”

“The owners are more involved with those things. I'm lucky in that most see me as a manager and think I live with the rest of the staff in the cheaper apartments. Only a few know I'm staying at my aunt's.”

“Aren't those summer cottages huge?” I asked. “Does your aunt own one of the Painted Lady Victorians? Do you have six or eight bedrooms and three baths? Or have they converted them all to en suite rooms?”

“Oh, the old place is quite original, so one bath upstairs and a half bath in a converted closet space on the first floor. But I'm not staying there. I'm renting the apartment above the carriage house.”

“Wow, you live above the horses?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “They haven't had horses on the property for over fifty years. They keep them at the Jessops' stables. Three carriages are stored beneath the apartment, no animals.”

“Whew. I would have worried about the smell.” I sat back. “So who do you know on the island besides your family? When I got here, I knew mostly people my grandfather's age. Since then, I've been slowly making my way into the layer of society closer to my age.”

“I'm lucky in that the Island House is right next door to the yacht club. I get to meet quite a few of the island's elite.” He paused. “It's where I met Carin Moore and Eleanor Wadsworth.”

“You knew Carin?”

“Yes.” His voice wavered and his eyes grew red. He rubbed them to cover up the emotion. “I was in love with her.”

“Oh, dear. I'm so sorry for your loss.” I got up and reached over to pat his shoulder. It was an awkward gesture. “I didn't know. I thought she was dating James Jamison.”

“Yeah, we were keeping things secret,” Ronald said. “The Jamison thing was political. Her family pushed her into it. At first, she liked all the politics and such, but then she got tired of it always being about him. We hooked up last month. My aunt didn't approve of Carin. She said she was one of ‘those' kinds of girls. But she didn't seem that way to me. All I ever knew was a warm, happy, loving woman. It boggles my mind to think that she's dead. That some monster killed her and left her to float away in the lake.” He looked up at me with pain in his gaze. “You found her, didn't you?”

“Yes.” I stepped back, hugging my waist. “I thought she was merely floating in the water at first. Then I thought she might have hit her head and was unconscious so I jumped in and took her to the grass. I tried CPR.”

“That's what I heard. I wanted to thank you for finding her and trying to save her.”

“I was far too late,” I said.

“I'm glad they have the killer—even if she did get released after putting up bail. At least they have her. Carin will get her day in court.”

I frowned. “Were you with her the night she was killed?”

“Sadly no. She had a party to go to. It was just more politics. I wasn't invited, of course, plus I had to work until eleven. When I got off, she met me just outside the Island House. She was tipsy and had a bottle of wine in her hand. She said she missed me.” His voice broke into a half sob. “She had on this beautiful watercolor dress. It looked so great against her skin.”

“I can imagine. So she left the party to meet you?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod of his head. “I told her I missed her, too, but that she needed to get back. It was important that she be there. She protested, but I knew everyone still thought she was seeing James. I kissed her and sent her away.”

“Nice.”

“I know that now,” he said, his tone bleak. “If only I had stayed with her, it might not have happened.”

“What time was that?”

“Eleven fifteen or so. I pulled away finally and turned her around to face the pier. I told her to go back to her party. I was going to go home and change and I'd meet her afterwards. She was supposed to text me when it was over. I would have never let her go had I known I would never see her alive again.” He shivered.

“Then what happened?”

“I went home and showered and grabbed a dress shirt and slacks. I sat down on my bed for a minute and apparently fell asleep.”

“You had to have been exhausted.”

“It was a fourteen-hour day. There had been a problem in the kitchen and then we had yacht race guests arriving for hours. The porters needed extra staffing to help move all the luggage from the pier to here and then sort it into people's rooms.”

“I know how hectic it can get,” I reassured him. “There have been times when I've been asleep on my feet, as well.”

“Yes, well, I woke up about three
AM
and she hadn't texted me yet. I decided to go out and see if the party was still hopping. Carin could keep things going until dawn.”

“Really.” I sat and leaned toward him. “Did you see anything?”

“The music was still going, although more muted than usual. I heard later that they had had a complaint from people docked nearby. It was pretty dark and a bit foggy. I boarded the yacht and talked to a few people. Mostly I asked if anyone had seen Carin.”

“And did they?”

“Yes, people who were sober enough to answer pointed me in one direction or the other. I checked below deck but didn't find her. I had almost given up when I thought I saw her talking with someone on the dock.”

“Did you go to her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I wish to God I had, but I just thought she was having a private conversation. You know?”

“Do you have any idea who she was talking to?”

“It looked like another woman,” Ronald said. “That's what I told Rex. But there's no way I could swear to who it was exactly. I remember something about Paige Jessop and Carin fighting that afternoon. It could have been Paige with her.” He slammed his fist on the desk top. “I should have gone to her. She might still be alive if I had. Instead, I grabbed a beer and waited by the gangplank. I figured I'd catch her when she came back. After all, she was talking to a woman. How long could they stand out there? It was getting chilly.”