All You Need Is Fudge (21 page)

“Miss McMurphy, I forgot to give these to you inside. You're going to need something on your feet if you're walking home.”

“Thanks,” I said and slipped them on.

Trent shook his head.

In the soft street lighting, I could make out a grin on his face. “What?” I asked.

“You. Only Allie McMurphy would not think twice about walking out of a police station barefoot while wearing a designer gown.”

I had to giggle. “Truthfully? I forgot the gown was designer.”

“Come on. Let's get you home before anything else can go wrong.”

The next morning the dress was carefully boxed and set out for the package delivery guy to pick up. I had gotten about five hours of sleep and when I came downstairs, Sandy was in the fudge shop making the first two batches of fudge. I grabbed a cup of coffee from the coffee bar and headed inside the fudge shop to look over the day's work.

“You had an eventful evening,” she said when I walked into the kitchen.

“How do you know?”

She grinned. “Small island. It's hard to keep secrets.”

“Unless you're a killer,” I muttered.

“Even then,” she said with a straight face.

I watched her stir the boiling liquid base for the next tray of fudge. “Today is a big day for Douglas and Frances. Do you think we've been able to keep that a secret?”

“She might suspect, but she'll be happy.”

I sipped my coffee in silence while the radio played soft tunes. Once the fudge was ready to be poured, I put down my cup and helped her lift the giant copper kettle and pour the boiling liquid onto the cooling table. We worked in tandem, stirring it with paddles until it cooled. I added pieces of nuts and berries, then folded it into a long loaf and cut it into one pound pieces and placed them on a tray.

Sandy washed the kettle and began the next batch. The contrast of the everyday morning compared to the excitement and glamour of the night before was stark. I thought about what Eleanor had said about being just another unimaginative fudge shop on a street where there was fudge on every corner.

The thought made me smile. This was my heritage and the life I had chosen. I would rather be in the McMurphy making fudge than on any one of the yachts in the harbor or buildings in Detroit or Chicago where people lived and worked indoors, rarely going outside.

I found something comforting about living in a place where my family had lived for over one hundred years. They'd crafted something that made memories for generations before me and for generations to come. While I might not be rich and famous, what I did still made a difference in the magic of a little kid's life or the magic of a pair of senior citizens who suddenly found themselves in love again.

Jenn and Mal came bounding down the stairs at seven
AM.
One hour before Frances was set to come in to work.

“Good morning, ladies. Are we ready for the big day?” Jenn grabbed a cup of coffee, adding flavored syrup, sugar, and cream. “I've got a sharp schedule to keep if we are going to pull this off. Sunset is roughly ten o'clock. Mr. Devaney is going to pick her up at eight-fifteen. They are going to ride Jessops' best carriage around the island. Then end up at the McMurphy where they will head up to the roof for cocktails and sunset. Right after sunset, the waitstaff will light the candles and the fairy lights and dinner will be served with dessert around ten thirty. Then he will ask her to dance to his song and when it is done, he'll go down on one knee and ask her. I've got cameras in two corners to catch all the special moments. Susy next door will edit the film down into a keepsake five minutes.” Jenn glanced at her watch. “Today's weather is perfect with no rain in sight. The wind will be slight, giving the sheer curtains a soft billowing effect while leaving the view of the lake and the stars.” She sighed. “Perfection.”

“What's perfection?” Frances said as she came in from the back alley door.

Jenn jumped. “Oh . . . the weather. I was just saying how the weather is going to be perfect tonight.”

Mal barked and jumped up to twirl. Frances pulled a treat out of the treat jar and gave her a reward for being cute. Jenn sent me a look that said she knew she almost got caught.

I looked at my watch. “You're here early.”

“I was up,” Frances said with a shrug.

“How was your day of beauty?” I asked.

Jenn looked from me to Frances and back.

“Mr. Devaney gave her a spa day for her birthday,” I explained. “Frances went yesterday.”

She took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. She sported new blond highlights and a fresh cut. “It was fun.”

“Oh, love the hair,” Jenn said and went over to look at the highlights. “Who was your colorist?”

“Kendra Goering,” Frances said. “She put in low lights and highlights. I feel like a princess.”

“Frances had her nails done, too.” I walked over to lift Frances's hand. “French tips are very nice.”

“She wanted to do silver glitter,” Frances said, “but I thought it was a bit too much for a woman my age.”

“Pedicure, too?” Jenn asked.

“The works, along with a relaxing facial,” Frances said. “I slept so well I was up early.”

“I heard you have a big date tonight.” Jenn wagged her eyebrows. “Is he taking you anywhere special?”

I turned and looked at Sandy in the fudge shop. She shrugged. If I looked at Jenn, I'd give away my surprise at her question.

“Oh, nothing too fancy, I hope,” Frances said. “It's really not our style.”

“But you're going to dress up, right?” Jenn asked.

Frances shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“I can help you pick out something nice,” Jenn volunteered.

“She does a great job,” I said. “She dressed me for yesterday's gala.”

“How did that go?” Frances asked.

“I thought you would have heard,” I said.

Frances and Jenn turned to stare at me.

“Heard what exactly?” Frances asked.

I felt the heat of a blush rush over my cheeks. “Nothing.” I checked my watch. “Won't you look at the time? Mal needs her walk.” I grabbed Mal's leash from its hook beside the mailboxes and put it on her.

“Allie, what happened?” Jenn asked, her hands on her hips.

“Nothing too important. I'm fine. Everyone is fine.”

Mal was happy to be leashed and pulled me toward the back door of the McMurphy.

“Just if you hear anything, take it with a grain of salt. Okay?”

“Allie . . .” Frances called after me.

“Be back in a bit.” I waved goodbye as Mal and I raced out of the McMurphy and down the alley before anyone could follow. I wanted to pick up my pup and kiss her, but she was intent on finding the right patch of grass for her business. I cleaned up after her and thought about last night.

Trent had said that bartenders take their own booze when they work a party on a boat—sort of like caterers take their own food when they have a gig. That meant the bartenders had to have a liquor store or a distributor to buy their booze from. I texted Jenn, figuring she would know. She planned parties and often times bartenders were staffing an open bar.

I tugged on Mal's leash. “Come on, Mal. We have a store to visit.”

Most of the stores on Main Street didn't open until ten. I glanced at my watch. It was just after nine. I took a chance anyway and headed to Mc-Griff's. It was closed. I walked Mal around to the alley behind. The back door was open so I stepped over the threshold. “Hello?” I called.

“Be right with you,” a husky male voice called back.

Mal found an interesting smell next to the Dumpster just outside the door. I tugged her toward me. She pulled back. When she got interested in something, it was not usually a good sign.

“Can I help you?” A big burly guy with sandy hair came around the corner wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Yes, hi. I'm Allie McMurphy. I run the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop.”

“Alex Hicks. I run McGriff's Liquors. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm going to redo the McMurphy's roof as an event space. Since I would rarely need a bartender, I don't want to get into the whole liquor license thing. My friend Jenn Christensen told me that you hire out a full-service bar complete with liquor, bartender, set up, and tear down. Is that true?”

“It's one of the things we do,” he agreed.

Mal tugged on the leash as she nosed around the Dumpster. I tugged back. “Sorry, my dog seems to be interested in something in your Dumpster.”

“Must be yesterday's chicken sandwich,” he said.

“Right, okay. I was wondering if your catering service used bartenders from the island or off island.”

“Does it matter?” he asked with a shrug.

“I like to hire local,” I said with a quick smile.

“Sure. Yeah. Most of the guys freelance with me. We don't talk about it too much because they are usually in competition with each other. Some of them work for the Jessops and some not. But yeah, I hire locals.”

“Great.” I said. “Do you have a business card or a price list I can take with me, Alex?”

“Oh, sure. Come on in. I've got a price list on my desk.”

I yanked Mal's leash and practically dragged her away from the Dumpster. We followed Alex down the dark hallway and into the tiny back office. The light was on. From the software displayed on his computer screen, I could tell he'd been doing inventory.

“I use that inventory software, too,” I said conversationally.

“Yeah, it's pretty good once you get the hang of it.” He turned and handed me a flyer and his business card. “This lists all our services and prices for this season. Things might go up next season. I heard talk about an increase in minimum wage and how tips might be cut out and straight salary required on these guys.” He leaned in closer. “Frankly, these guys make more in tips than they could bring home in salary after taxes. I don't see how the government is going to be able to make their life better.”

I took the papers and glanced at the standard packages. “How do you keep your inventory right if you have different guys doing different packages?”

“Oh, it's easy really. I pull what is needed for that day's gig and put it in a box with the bartender's name on it. All they have to do is pick up their box and off they go. They barkeep until the booze is gone or time is up.”

“What do they do with any leftover liquor?”

“Honey, there's no such thing as leftover liquor.” He chuckled.

“Right.” I walked toward the door, stopping on the threshold and turning back to Alex. “One more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Do you watch the boxes after you put them out?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you keep an eye on the boxes and make sure that the guys are picking up the right box and no one is tampering with the boxes.”

“Look, I trust my guys, okay? I inventory the boxes. They know they have to double-check the boxes against the order before they leave. If there's a discrepancy, we deal with it before it ever goes to the client.”

“But you don't watch the boxes,” I confirmed.

“Like I said, I trust my guys.”

“So any one of your guys could trade bottles—say substitute cheaper vodka for the vodka you put in the box—and you would never know.”

He frowned again. “Well, now if I caught them doing that, they know I'd fire their butts fast. Plus I'd make sure they didn't work on the island again. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Thanks, Alex.” I shook his hand. “It was nice to meet you.” I raised the papers. “We'll be doing more business next year once the roof space is finished.”

He smiled. “Great. You can count on McGriff's.”

I could count on McGriff's to provide an opportunity for Harold to have drugged people on the
Scoundrel
. He could have easily slipped a drugged bottle of vodka or whiskey in the box that Scott took on board. But how would he know that Reggie would drink that drink and not Paige?

Mal stopped me at the Dumpster one more time. I sighed. “What is it, girl?” I looked inside the Dumpster. Contrary to Alex's comment about chicken, all I saw were boxes. Then I noticed the handwritten names on the boxes. Did the bartenders bring their boxes back here? That would be too easy, wouldn't it? I dug around a little bit, but there was no way I was climbing into the Dumpster.