Free Hot Fudge Frame-Up: A Fudge Shop Mystery by Christine DeSmet Page B

my copper kettles, showing the process to tourists. They loved trying their hand at raising the long wooden paddles to whip the mixture. The whipping was essential to get the crystals just right so that the fudge came out smooth and not too grainy. Everything had to be timed right and at the right temperature or you could end up with something hard as glass or rubbery as taffy.
    To my surprise, Piers and Kelsey took over the kettles around two o’clock while I loafed my fresh pink fudge on the marble slab at the front window. The chefs were quiet, as if they’d vowed over lunchtime to change their personalities. I swallowed my trepidations and asked them to join me at the fish boil; after all, it was even more important now to get the judges and contestants together for a chat about how the judging would be presented to the public a week from Saturday. And watching Lloyd and Piers interact could get interesting, since Lloyd knew about the bribe.
    When I got to the fish boil that evening behind the Troubled Trout, a good country-swing band provided the music and Piers and Kelsey were engaged in separate conversations on opposite sides of the crowd on the beach. It almost didn’t register with me that the man Kelsey was talking with was Lloyd, of all people. At first I assumed it was merely a judge-contestant conversation, but then they walked together behind a potted evergreen near the path to the parking lot. They were still in my view, though hidden from most of the crowd, including my grandparents and Libby. My grandparents and Libby sat near the big fire and its boiling pot, where the big fillets of fish were lowered in for cooking. Professor Faust was walking up to them.
    Back behind the evergreen, Kelsey had one hand on Lloyd’s forearm, with a drink in her other hand. Then her free hand traveled up to touch his cheek. I gulped at her brazenness. She wore a smile that was so big it gave “friendly” a new definition. My heart was racing. Was she coming on to him right here in public? It grew more curious when Lloyd headed back to the outdoor bar, where he seemed to be lecturing Erik, maybe to cut off Kelsey’s drinks. Erik scowled at Lloyd, said something, then gave him the brush-off, walking away while Lloyd’s mouth still moved, presumably spewing more advice to Erik. Lloyd limped from the bar and made his way toward Libby and my grandparents. Kelsey, still by herself at the edge of the crowd, was watching Lloyd’s retreat and laughing.
    It dawned on me to look for Piers to see what he was up to. He’d wended his way through the crowd a little from the other direction, but he’d planted himself behind a couple of people, as if he were hiding. He was staring hard and cold at the group that now included the professor, Lloyd, Libby, and my grandparents.
    A chill swept over me. What was going on? Common sense kicked in then. Piers was in a direct line to Kelsey. His hard look had to be for her. I didn’t blame him for trying to admonish her trampy behavior.
    Pauline had found John in the crowd, so I was alone. And out of sorts, reeling from witnessing the obvious flirting between Kelsey and Lloyd, while I was still thinking about Sam’s wanting a meeting before we could even date.
    Feeling dull, I wended my way alone toward the outdoor bar near the building for a glass of wine. Before I could get there, Dillon grabbed me for a barefoot dance in the sand. He had a way of sensing my moods. He knew when I needed laughter. Or a dog. By now, the town was used to seeing the “runaway couple” and didn’t pay us much heed. When we finished dancing, Dillon escorted me closer to the water’s edge where it was more private. A skein of pink across the water advertised the impending sunset.
    “I can’t stay long,” he said. “I’m training Lucky on scent-trailing this evening over at the park.”
    “How’s he doing?”
    “He flushed a possum and a pheasant the other day like a pro.” Dillon dipped a bare foot