All I Want for Christmas is Fudge

Book 4: Candy-Coated Mystery

by Nancy Coco

Genres: Short Stories; Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

E-Book Exclusive Includes a Yummy Recipe! “Fun characters, a quaint setting.” — RT Book Reviews Ho-Ho-Ho-Homicide This Christmas, event planner Jenn Christensen has come back to the winter wonderland of Mackinac Island, Michigan, to race for charity in the Santa Fun Run, rekindle her love for CSI tech Shane Carpenter, and indulge in her BFF Allie McMurphy’s fabulous fudge. But there’s one event she didn’t plan—chasing down a killer. After finding a deceased Santa in a snowbank, she’s shocked to discover the police suspect her of murder. It’s up to Jenn,  Allie, and a helpful  golden retriever named Marley to catch the killer and find out who’s at the top of the naughty list. Praise for All Fudged Up “A sweet treat with memorable characters, a charming locale, and satisfying mystery.” — Barbara Allan “As enticing and tasty as a pan of fudge!" -- Cozy Mystery Book Reviews “Fun and lively.” — JoAnna Carl

Release date: October 1, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 81

Sample

Who doesn’t love fudge, friends, and Christmas? Seriously, I was missing all three, so I returned to Mackinac Island the week before Christmas to spend time with my best friend and sometimes boss, Allie McMurphy. Allie inherited her family’s small business, the Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop. She’d taken over when her grandfather Papa Liam had died in early May and I’d come out to help her last summer.

My name is Jennifer Christensen. I’m an event planner by trade and thought I’d be spending most of my life in my hometown of Chicago, Illinois, until Allie needed my help. I’d only been to Mackinac Island once before last season. It’s a beautiful place to spend a couple of months—or so I thought. Then I got a little involved in the people and events that went on there and fell in love with . . . well, everything. Mackinac Island is a gorgeous place for weddings and reunions and parties, and the McMurphy is a nice place to set such events. I suspected Allie needed me full-time, but she had yet to ask.

When the summer season ended, I left Mackinac behind—along with my boyfriend the CSI guy, Shane Carpenter. It was a tear-filled good-bye. I left for a paying gig in Chicago with Eve’s Events. What I’ve learned is that Eve is no Allie, and Chicago was no longer the home of my heart. So, when Allie invited me to come to Mackinac Island in December for the Santa Fun Run and for Christmas, I said yes. Besides, it was an excuse to see what life is like in the off-season.

There really wasn’t an off-season on Mackinac Island. Winter had its own events and beauty. Yes, the number of visitors was far fewer and snowmobiles took over for bicycles, but it was the perfect winter wonderland. There were still a few horses that pulled sleighs. Some brave adventurers rode fat-tire bikes, but it was tough going in the deep snow.

Most of the Victorian summer homes that now served as bed and breakfasts were closed. A few places like the McMurphy were open year-round, making the tiny island homey, quiet, and a little crazy. With as much snow as Mackinac Island got in winter, there wasn’t much to do but pub crawls and winter sports. Once the straits started to ice up, the ferries didn’t run. So I hopped a ride via chartered airplane. Luckily, I knew a pilot. Sophie had brought a group of us in from Chicago’s executive airport.

Last night was crazy. The streets had been wall-to-wall Santas. The Santa Fun Run was a 10K race around the island with participants wearing Santa suits. To make the winter celebration even more fun, there were Santa pub crawls set for the two nights before the race and the night after, adding up to a four-day affair.

I stood in the middle of Main Street and took a long, deep breath. There was something so clean and rustic about Main Street in the winter. It was early morning—six AM. I wore thermal running gear and a Santa hat, along with a long red-and-white-striped scarf. A foot of snow covered the ground and Main Street was lined with snowmobiles.

In anticipation for the race, the Chamber of Commerce had plowed the eight-mile bike path that circled the island. The route would include Main Street, Lake Shore Drive, and Huron Drive.

I headed out on Main Street and then veered off to Lake Shore Drive along the island’s coast. It was dark, as the sun wasn’t supposed to be up for at least an hour. The lake was frozen pretty far out. Soon the brave would try to cross via an ice bridge. In some years the ice froze thick enough a person could ride across the straits from Mackinac Island to St. Ignace on a snowmobile. Traditionally, the islanders would line the ice bridge with Christmas trees.

It was cold this year and the ice was already four inches thick. The air was frigid. I’d taken the precaution of putting Vaseline on my face to ward off windburn. My breath puffed out in a cloud. I had my hair pulled back into a thick, dark braid. I ate up the distance as I stretched my long legs out into an easy stride.

Running was a study in meditation for me. I tended to count my breaths—in two, three, four; out two, three, four. When I had first started running in high school, counting my breathing had distracted me from the pain in my side and kept me from gasping for breath. I’d been running five or more miles a day for over ten years now. There was something so wonderful about outrunning your troubles. That’s what it felt like to me when I ran.

Being from Chicago, I liked winter running. It was hard on the knees and ankles due to the uneven snow, but this trail was well groomed in anticipation of the Santa Run.

I came up on a pair of Santas in full suits puffing away. “On your left,” I said, and sent them a salute as I lengthened my stride to pass.

“Ho, ho,. . .