Three Fudges and a Baby

Book 12: Candy-Coated Mystery

by Nancy Coco

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths; Mystery

Synopsis

When her pregnant best friend’s doula is found with a smoking gun, fudge maker Allie McMurphy’s sleuthing becomes a labor of love . . .

“A delightful cozy larded with appetizing fudge recipes.” —Kirkus Reviews

DID THE DOULA DO IT?

April is not only the start of “fudgie” season on picturesque Mackinac Island, it’s when Allie’s BFF Jenn Carpenter is due. Jenn wants to have her baby on the island, so she’s lined up a midwife and a doula. But she’s two weeks overdue—and if one more person tells her she looks ready to pop, she’s going to go bananas.

If there was a list of what not to expect when you’re expecting, right at the top would be coming upon your doula holding a gun over the body of her fiance. Clearly in shock, Hannah Riversbend claims not to have shot him. Jenn asks Ally to prove the doula’s innocence before her special delivery arrives. The clock is ticking as Ally races to solve the murder in time for Jenn’s bun to come out of the oven. . .

Release date: March 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Don’t tell my boyfriend, Officer Rex Manning, but Mackinac Island might just be the love of my life. It’s April and I’m prepping for my third season on the island. The Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop had made it through nearly one hundred and fifty winters on the island. I felt pretty proud about the fact that I had made it through my second with flying colors.

The fudge shop sales soared with my best-in-show fudge flavor driving most of the online sales. Who knew dark chocolate mint would be popular?

“Morning, Allie,” my general manager, Frances Devaney, said as she walked into the hotel promptly at eight a.m. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day. They say it might even get up to seventy degrees.”

I glanced out the front window. “That would be a heat wave for this time of year. But I’ll take it because it could snow tomorrow.” Frances chuckled.

Main Street Mackinac was busy as more and more shop owners trickled back into town to open and get ready for the “fudgie” season. We love to call the tourists who came to spend time in the beautiful parks and the Victorian era no-cars-allowed feel of the island fudgies. I saw my best friend, Jenn Carpenter, who shared my office for her event planning business, reaching for the door, I opened it and waved her inside.

“Don’t say I look positively radiant, or I will slug you,” she said. Her cheeks were red as she waddled in. “This baby was supposed to come two weeks ago. I’m no longer worried about the pain of childbirth. I’d just like to see my toes again.”

Jenn’s pregnancy felt like it had gone on for years, but in fact it was just over nine months. She was one of those lucky women who looked even prettier while pregnant. She held her back and sat in a wingback chair near the front door. I had designed a seating area with a cozy gas fireplace and a wonderful view of Main Street. There was no need for a fire today.

“Hello, Jenn.” Douglas Devaney, my curmudgeonly handyman and Frances’s new husband, walked toward the front door. “You look—”

“Don’t say it,” I warned and put up my hand in a stop gesture.

“What? I was going to say she looks—”

“Ready to pop?” Jenn said from her perch on the edge of the chair. She told me last week that if she sat back, she would never be able to get out of it due to her current low center of gravity.

“I was going to say, lovely as ever,” Douglas said. “What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I answered. “Absolutely nothing.” I hurried to the coffee bar behind the fudge shop and grabbed a bottle of water for Jenn.

“I’m sorry,” Jenn said to Douglas. “I’m just so crabby these days.”

“That’s understandable.” Douglas scooted the foot stool over so that she could prop her feet up. “Are you sure you should be working?”

“Sarah, my midwife, said it’s good to move around as much as possible,” Jenn said. “Although I feel more like I’m waddling than walking. That and I have to get out from under Shane. That man drives me crazy with his hovering. Just last night I woke up to find him watching me with the go bag at the foot of the bed.”

“How does he handle going to work in St. Ignace and leaving you here on the island?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s not going to St. Ignace. No, no, he’s built a small lab in the shed, complete with an evidence cage and chain of custody logs.”

“That had to be expensive,” I said.

“You don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “But he got it okayed by the county so there’s that.”

“How’d he manage that?” Frances asked.

Jenn shook her head again. “His father is good buddies with the governor so that might have helped him.”

“Then you have definitely decided to have the baby on the island?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said and rubbed her belly. “Sarah has permission to set up at the clinic, and I have a doula, Hannah Riversbend. She’s been working with us through the birthing classes and such. In fact, she’s supposed to be meeting me at the Coffee Bean.” Jenn held up her hand. “Before you say anything, I’m not drinking coffee. They have this nice triple-berry herbal tea. Anyway, I’m supposed to head over there, but I thought I’d stop for a moment and take a load off.”

“I’m done stocking the fudge shop,” I said. “Why don’t I go with you? I would love to meet your doula.” I unbuttoned my baker’s coat and pulled off my baking hat. “As long as you don’t mind my going smelling of sugar.”

“Sure,” she said. “You know I love the smell of sugar. But I’m going to rest a bit if you would feel better about changing first. I can text Hannah what’s going on.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ll just be a minute. Besides, that way if we run into Rex, I look less like the walking dead.”

“You know he doesn’t mind how you look,” Douglas said.

I shook my head and scurried up the stairs; my Bichonpoo pup, Mal, raced ahead of me. It took less than ten minutes for me to wash up and change. I even brushed out my wavy hair and pinned it up into a top bun, which I hear is all the rage for busy women these days.

I came down wearing jeans, a pink polo with the McMurphy logo on it, and my favorite pair of black flats. Mal loved it when I hurried. She would dance around picking up on my excitement.

“You can’t come with us,” I said to my pup as she raced down the stairs and watched me descend, her stub tail wagging. “It’s still too cool for Jenn to be sitting outside and the Coffee Bean doesn’t allow dogs inside.”

Mal sat and cocked her head to the side and just kept looking at me like I spouted nonsense.

“Oh, let’s take her.” Jenn rose awkwardly from the chair. “Sarah said sitting out in the sunshine was good for the baby. Plus, I have my sweater.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Jenn waddled toward us at the back of the lobby. “Grab her leash, we’ll cut through the alley.”

I slid Mal into her halter and leash and opened the door for Jenn. The back alley was Mal’s favorite spot. There was a small strip of grass between the alley and the fence of the neighboring hotel.

“How are you feeling really?” I asked.

“Do I look that bad?” Jenn asked as she held her low back and walked slower than I’ve ever seen her walk.

“Hey, only child here.” I waved my hand. “I have no idea what you should look like at this stage of pregnancy. I asked because you don’t complain about anything.”

“Oh, I complain plenty,” she said. “But only Shane gets to hear it because he helped this whole situation.” She gestured toward her belly. “Not that I’m not excited for the baby.”

“Oh, I know you’re excited. You had your nursery done in October.” We exited the alley and Mal turned left, not right toward the Coffee Bean. “This way, silly.” I pulled her toward us, but Mal insisted that we had to go left toward Main Street. “I’m sorry,” I said to Jenn. “She wants to go for a longer walk.”

Jenn glanced down at her phone. “I texted Hannah we’d be running late, and she didn’t get back to me. I see no harm in taking a detour. Maybe I can walk this baby out.”

“Fine, we’ll go around the block,” I said. “You might want to text her and let her know where we are.”

“Got it,” Jenn paused and thumbed in her message, hit send, and we let Mal lead us to Main Street. The street itself held the usual bustle of handymen and shopkeepers, touching up paint and washing windows and prepping things for the season. Overeager fudgies spilled onto the island from the ferries, but mostly it was fishermen, hikers, and park enthusiasts. Thankfully, the sidewalks weren’t crowded yet. Mal seemed to know which way we wanted to go and led us to the right. Joann’s Fudge Shop hadn’t opened yet. The ticket booth where people paid for horse-drawn-carriage tours around the island was also closed with a note that tickets were available at the visitors’ center.

It was a pleasant walk as we turned right again and headed toward Market Street. Jenn stopped and pulled out her phone.

“Is there a problem? Is she there?” I asked.

“No problem, I was just checking. She hasn’t answered yet.”

“Huh,” I said. “Maybe her phone died.”

Jenn frowned at me. “She’s a doula. Babies come at any time of day, so she needs her phone to always be working.”

“Okay, well, hold on a second. Let me text Carrie and see if she’s at the Coffee Bean waiting for us. If she’s there, then Carrie can let her know we got delayed.” Carrie was the owner of the coffee shop and unlike me, she knew everyone on the island.

“Okay,” Jenn said and sat down on a small bench in front of a restaurant on the corner. “I need to sit for a moment anyway. It sucks being as big as a whale.”

I texted Carrie and she got right back to me.

I haven’t seen Hannah Riversbend today, Carrie texted. But if I do, I’ll let her know you got delayed.

Thanks, I texted back and then glanced at Jenn, who looked tired from our two-block walk. “She’s not there yet, we’re fine.”

Jenn frowned. “None of this makes sense. Hannah is reliable.”

“Maybe she overslept,” I suggested. It was only 8:45 in the morning.

“Hannah does not oversleep,” Jenn said. “Her job is to be on call twenty-four-seven. I mean, what if I was to go into labor now?”

“Are you going into labor?” I asked, trying not to sound scared.

“No,” Jenn said and sighed. She heaved herself off of the bench. “Hannah doesn’t live far—just the next block over. I say we go and check on her.”

“Are you up to it?” I asked. “Because I can totally go check while you go to the Coffee Bean.”

“No, no, no,” she said. “I’m going, too. I think something’s wrong. She lives above a shop on Market Street. We can cut down the alley.”

As we approached the mouth of the alley, a man wearing a hoodie barreled between us. “Hey!” I shouted. “Watch out for the pregnant woman.” Mal barked fiercely and the man glanced over his shoulder for a second, then continued on his way. “Are you okay?” I asked Jenn.

“Yep,” she said as she leaned one hand on the closest building. “I caught myself in time.”

“Who was that? I mean, he was really rude. I want to follow him and give him a piece of my mind.” I helped her straighten.

“Are you girls alright?” It was Monica Grazer, the owner of a nearby what-not shop. “I saw him nearly push you to the ground.”

“I’m fine.” Jenn sent us a reassuring smile. I still had ahold of her elbow.

“Do you know who that was?” I asked Monica.

Monica and I met at a Chamber of Commerce meeting last month. She had retired from a corporate marketing job and bought the shop last fall. Her brown eyes showed concern as if Jenn weren’t telling the truth about being okay. “I think it was Vincent Trowski. I swear that boy gets ruder and ruder every time I see him. Are you sure you girls are okay?”

“We’re sure,” Jenn said. She glanced at her phone. “Still no answer from Hannah. I’m getting worried.”

“Are you looking for Hannah Riversbend?” Monica asked.

“Yes, she’s my doula, and she hasn’t been answering my texts,” Jenn said.

“I saw her just a bit ago,” Monica said. “She was arguing with Matthew Jones. I have no idea what it was about, but it was pretty animated.”

“Matthew Jones?” I asked.

Jenn shrugged. “He’s a park ranger. Shane knows him from their softball league.”

“Wait, Shane plays softball?” I asked. Jenn’s husband was a skinny, science type with round glasses. He was also our local CSI.

“Why do you say it like that?” Jenn asked. “He’s a really good pitcher.”

“How did I not know this?” I asked.

“Because you spend a lot of your time making fudge and running the hotel.” Jenn patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay that some of us have a life.”

I frowned at her, and her eyes twinkled at me. I couldn’t be upset because she looked happy when she teased me.

“Listen, you girls might be able to catch her,” Monica said. “When she saw me, she stormed down the alley toward her place and Matthew followed. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Mal whined and pulled on her leash, telling me that she was done with our talking and was ready to go walking. “Thanks,” I said. Jenn and I followed Mal down the sidewalk and into the alley. The shops along Main Street and Market Street often had two stories, with the shop underneath and an apartment or two above. Like my apartment, they often had exits facing the alley, keeping the street view of the shop from being marred by stairs.

Mal sped up as we entered the alley, dragging me behind. “Hey, slow down,” I said. “Jenn can’t walk that fast.”

“Watch me,” Jenn said and stepped up her waddle.

I watched her closely as we progressed down the alley. “I think that’s Hannah on her stairs. Wait, is that Mella?” she asked and pointed to a calico cat sitting on the top of a set of wire stairs that led to an upstairs apartment.

I glanced at the stairs she pointed to. There was a young woman sitting on the stairs and my cat a few steps above her. “Looks like it,” I said as we approached. I kept watch on Jenn to ensure she didn’t fall.

“Wait. Stop.” Jenn grabbed my arm a building away from the staircase.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m okay,” she said, “but he’s not.” She pointed with her chin toward the bottom of the stairs while Mal strained at the end of her leash.

On the gray rocky alley floor was a young man, lying in a widening pool of blood. “Oh, dear,” I said.

“Oh, dear is right,” Jenn said. “Hannah? Are you okay?”

Hannah didn’t answer as she sat two steps down from where my cat Mella sat licking her paws. “No,” Hannah finally whispered and looked up at us with a gun in her right hand. Her hands were bloody and so was her blouse. Both hands rested on her lap as if she didn’t realize what she held.

“Here.” I handed Jenn Mal’s leash. “Turn around. Seriously. You need to get as far down the alley as you can.”

“But Hannah—” Jenn balked as she took Mal’s leash.

“Has a gun,” I said as calmly as I could. I glanced down at Mal. “Mal, take Jenn to safety.”

Mal turned and immediately pulled Jenn toward the end of the alley we’d turned down.

Jenn looked like she wanted to protest, but Mal jerked hard, and Jenn took a step, turned, and hurried down the alley.

“Hannah,” I said calmly. “You need to put the gun down.”

She looked at me blankly. “What?”

“The gun in your hand,” I said, and slowly stepped toward her. “You need to put it down.”

“Gun?” She didn’t seem to register my words. Mella took two slow steps down and wormed her way into Hannah’s lap, knocking the gun out of her hand. The metal object rattled thickly across the end of the step and fell to the ground.

For a brief moment, I held my breath, praying that it didn’t go off. When it hit the ground without discharging, I leapt into motion, diving under the stairs, grabbing the gun with the hem of my polo shirt. I rolled to the other side of the stairs and lay there for a moment. Hannah stared blankly, petting Mella, who had taken up residence in her lap. I got up and brushed the dust off of my clothes and carefully put the gun on a dumpster a good distance from Hannah.

I’m not familiar with handguns, but this one was stocky with a ridged grip. Carefully, so as not to startle Hannah, I walked over to the man, whose head was turned away from the stairs, and squatted down to check for a pulse. I didn’t feel one and he was already starting to get cold.

Rex and Officer Charles Brown came dashing down the alley on their bikes. They stood them next to the building and stopped briefly to study the scene before coming any closer.

“EMTs are on their way,” Rex said as he approached in his calm, steady strides.

“I don’t think they can help,” I said. “I have a gun that may be involved.” Pointing to the dumpster, I watched as he slipped on gloves and squatted down much like I did, careful to avoid the blood. With a shake of his head, he silently communicated to Charles that they had another murder on their hands. Charles immediately went to a kit on his bike, then began to secure the scene with crime scene tape.

Rex studied the man, careful not to miss clues. Then he rose and walked over to me. “You picked up the gun? Why?” His blue eyes went flat cop, where everyone and everything was suspect—even me.

I swallowed as my heart rose in my chest. “Hannah was holding it when we got here.”

He glanced at the woman who stared into space and kept absently petting Mella. “You said we. Do you mean you and Jenn?” he asked as he stepped to the dumpster, carefully took the gun, and examined it.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch it?” he asked and sniffed the weapon. Then nodded, confirming that it had definitely been fired.

“I used the hem of my polo to pick it up after she dropped it,” I explained. “I wasn’t sure of her state of mind, and I thought it best to not keep the gun within reach.”

He grunted as if to acknowledge what I said but did not agree or disagree with my thinking. You would think I’d be used to this by now, but it still shocked me to be treated as part of a crime scene, especially from the man I loved.

Charles came up with an evidence bag and took the gun from Rex. “We passed Jenn at the entrance to the alley,” he said. “I imagine she called nine-one-one.”

“And Shane,” I agreed and hugged myself.

Rex went to the stairs and hunkered down to Hannah’s eye level to try and talk to her; she appeared to be in a state of shock. I noticed that she barely acknowledged what was going on. All she could do was whisper the word what, no matter the question.

“Maybe it’s a good thing we called for George,” Charles said as the sirens of the ambulance—one of the few motor vehicles allowed on the island—pulled in from the opposite end of the alley.

I became aware of a small crowd of locals who stood at the edges of the crime scene tape, and the curtains moving from a neighboring window. “You might have a better witness than me,” I said, and nudged my chin in the direction of the window. “They had to have heard the shot.”

“I would be surprised if they did hear it and didn’t run down to the alley to help,” Charles said. “Stay put and I’ll get your statement in a few minutes.”

I agreed and watched as George Marron and Kathy Miller pulled a stretcher under the crime scene tape. Charles intercepted them, and they turned their attention to Hannah. The alley warmed up as the sun grew higher in the sky. My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it and saw it was Frances calling. “Hello?” I asked af. . .