Free All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) by Nancy CoCo

always paid my bills on time,” I protested.
    “Right, well, you don’t have a good credit score due to the fact that you don’t currently have any credit cards or accounts in your name.”
    “I pay my bills on time,” I said. “My parents helped me through college, but I have always paid my rent and my utilities on time.”
    “Have you run a business before?” He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk.
    “No, I’ve been studying to prepare for owning the McMurphy.”
    “Have you interned at a hotel or fudge shop?”
    “No, I thought I would intern with Papa Liam this spring.”
    He sat back. “The electricity needed to run a hotel and a fudge shop is ten times what it takes to live in an apartment, Miss McMurphy. Even a Chicago apartment,” he said. “How can you assure me you can pay the bill?”
    “Oh, for goodness’ sake . . . I have a business plan, Mr. Early.” I clutched the basket to keep from showing my frustration. “I’m not doing this willy-nilly. Papa left me enough money to cover my first year of business. That includes utilities, based on the average from the previous five years.”
    “I see.” He turned back to his computer and pulled up my account. “The utility rules state that anyone with a credit score under six hundred will need to put down a deposit not less than two months of the average bill for the business.” He tapped on his computer keyboard. “For the McMurphy that means we need to have a deposit of two thousand dollars.” He eyed me. “If you don’t have it . . .”
    “I have it,” I said loud enough that I must have woke up the puppy. She started to stir in the basket. I ignored my pup and glared at Mr. Early. “I take it the deposit is fully refundable?”
    “Yes, as long as you have paid all your bills on time for the length of your account.”
    “Fine.” I pulled my debit card out of my wallet. “Here.”
    “I’m sorry. We take only cashier’s checks.” He didn’t look sorry as I stood and put my debit card in my purse.
    “I’ll go right down to the bank and get you that check,” I said and hitched my purse over my shoulder. “I expect not to have to wait in line when I get back.”
    “As long as it’s before lunch, you can come straight to my office and I’ll help you myself.”
    “Thank you,” I said. It took everything in me to not say what I really wanted to say. But I was an adult now and as an adult I would do whatever it took to save the McMurphy.
    “What’s in the basket?” he asked as I picked up the basket and my bags.
    “It’s my puppy,” I said. Oh how I wanted to take her out and let her piddle on his office floor, but I thought better of it. “We’ll be right back.”
    “That’s fine,” he said.
    I stormed out of his door and refused to look at either the purple-ribbon-wearing receptionist or the purple-ribbon-wearing customers in line. My anger helped me sail out of the building and down to the whitewashed limestone bank on Market Street.
    “Good morning, Allie,” Mrs. Amerson called from the art/photography gallery she ran on Market. She had a broom in her hand and was sweeping the front stoop.
    “Hi, Mrs. Amerson,” I said.
    “You look to be in a hurry.”
    “I found out I need a cashier’s check to get my power turned on.” I blew a breath that puffed the bangs out of my eyes.
    “What? That’s ridiculous,” she said. “The McMurphy has been in business for centuries.”
    “Yes, but I haven’t,” I said. The basket in my hands wiggled. I was afraid the puppy needed to piddle. The last thing I needed was for Spot? No, Sugar? Ugh, my puppy to piddle on the bank’s floor. “Do you like dogs, Mrs. Amerson?” I asked.
    “Sure, I have two pugs at home, why?”
    “Frances Wentworth gifted me with a puppy. Would you mind watching her until I get back from the bank?” I lifted the squirming basket and the pup stuck her nose out.
    “Ooh, sweetie,” she said and took the basket out of my hands.