All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the closet and look for Papa’s trap—the one that may have killed Joe.
    The thought had a shiver running down my back. How often can you say someone was killed by a dead guy? My next thought was worse. What if Papa had booby traps hidden all over the McMurphy? How could I protect the subcontractors or, worse, the customers? What was that going to do to my insurance?
    I sat at my office desk and dropped my forehead into my hands, then looked into Papa’s smiling portrait. “You would never actually endanger a life, would you?”
    Of course I wouldn’t really know anything until the coroner ruled on whether Joe died accidently or if he was murdered. I didn’t want to think about it. Murder wasn’t exactly helpful in getting people to reserve rooms and stay the night, nor was it any good at selling fudge.
    I had just dialed the security company’s number when the power flickered and then went out. The window light in my office meant I could see easily. What I didn’t account for was the sudden emergence of an annoying beeping.
    “AlertMe Security, this is Kendall, how can I help you?” came the voice on the other side of the phone.
    “Hi.” I tried to ignore the incessant beeping noise. “This is Allie at the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe. I had called last week about having a new security system installed. I was curious if there was any way I can get someone out here sooner??”
    “Let me check.” She tapped on some keys and clicked the mouse twice. Funny how the phone sounds didn’t help me ignore the beeping. I swear it grew louder with every passing minute. “Ms. McMurphy?”
    “Yes.” I strummed my fingers on Papa’s big old desk and looked for a source.
    “The soonest we can get anyone out there will be Saturday and there will be a five-hundred-dollar overtime fee. Do you still want it installed that early?”
    I thought about Joe’s dead body and my strong desire not to spend the next seven nights sleeping on Frances’s guest bed. “Yes, please, let’s have them out on Saturday.”
    “Okay.” I heard her tap more keys. “The boys will be out between eight AM and noon. Will someone be there to let them in?”
    “I’ll be here,” I said. Because I would. I lived here and only a man with a gun could pry me out. I pushed away any thought of the officer with the gorgeous blue eyes.
    “Excuse me, is your power out?”
    I glanced around, surprised that she knew that. “Yes, how can you tell? Is it out all over?”
    “Oh, no, we have power,” she replied. “It sounds like your Wi-Fi system has a battery backup.”
    “Is that what the beeping is?” I found the set of shelves with the Wi-Fi modem on it. Sure enough, there was a red light blinking in time with the beeping. “How did you know?”
    She giggled. “It happened to my mom when she had Wi-Fi installed and the power went out. It about drove her nuts . . . Oh, and FYI, the beeps will start to get closer together as time goes by, so you might want to get that fixed.”
    “Thanks,” I muttered, hung up, and then dialed the power company number. Unfortunately I had to go through the inane computerized menu only to be told to “please hold.”
    I don’t know whose idea it was to have a battery backup beep. It was emotional blackmail, torture-camp stuff akin to the “Muzak-on-hold” playing in my ear.
    Here I’d thought I’d been clever when I had Wi-Fi installed. At the time I’d envisioned crowds of tourists in the big lobby sitting around the fireplace, drinking specialty coffee and teas, noshing on McMurphy fudge while checking in with their buddies back home.
    I hadn’t anticipated the electricity going out. I wondered how often it happened. It was another question to ask Papa—if he were here. The beeping battery backup’s insistent sound reminded me that Papa Liam wasn’t here and if I didn’t get the power problem fixed soon, not only would I lose a day of working on the hotel improvements, but I would be completely