Five-Alarm Fudge by Christine DeSmet

Author:Christine DeSmet [Christine DeSmet]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Grandpa had the knife in one hand while the six-pack loaded with fudge dangled off the other hand. He was railing at Mike about the way he’d treated my grandmother.

Dillon had both arms out, trying to motion them to back off.

Grandpa hollered at Mike, “You bastard. Taking advantage of a good woman like that.”

Mike’s face wrinkled in red rage. “She willingly took every drink I gave her. Sophie is a lush.”

Grandpa lunged around Dillon and almost caught Mike’s arm with the dangerous Buck knife.

I filched in the lavender bag and within a blink was spraying Fontana’s awful spicy perfume at everybody as if it were pepper spray.

Lucky Harbor started barking at our feet, making us jump.

Grandpa halted to sneeze three times. He lowered the knife, replaced it in its sheath, then handed the knife and the fudge to Mike.

Mike said, “What the hell is this for?”

Grandpa sneezed again. “It’s a gift. That’s my old knife. I always give my enemies a gift. To butter them up. And to forgive them for being assholes.”

Dillon smirked.

I wasn’t sure what to say or do. Grandpa was not himself.

Amid batting at the perfume in the air, Mike handed the knife back. “Thanks, but you keep the knife. I’ll keep the fudge, gladly. You know your granddaughter was always good in my classes. Ava, sorry about everything with your grandmother.”

Grandpa waggled a finger at Mike. “You’re covering up something, Mike. Why was my wife drinking too much?”

“Sophie asked me for advice about going to Chicago.”

I asked, “Why?”

“I mentioned I was going to Chicago soon to visit wine stores. Your grandmother said she wanted to look into some family ghost.”

Grandpa harrumphed. “You’re making this up. You got her drunk and then she started seeing things.”

Mike said, “No. She talked about the ghosts first, then started slamming wine.” Grandpa stalked away to his SUV, then drove off.

Lucky Harbor sneezed, then raced around the corner of the stone winery building again. He stopped to peer back at me, then disappeared. I refused to think lightning could strike twice. The dog must have found a cat or woodchuck that interested him.

Mike was about to walk away, and I tried to hold back my questions, I really did, because Dillon was standing there, but I was bursting. “Wait. Mike, did you or Fontana set the fire? Did you have anything to do with Cherry’s death?”

Dillon groaned.

Mike took a moment, creating suspicion in my mind. “No. I . . . I just don’t want Fontana taking the fall for it. She’s . . . fragile.”

Dillon said, “Listen, what you do in your spare time isn’t my business, but she was with Cherry last Saturday night.”

I said to Mike, “And you were out in your car and hit John and my manager from behind. Maybe you hit one of them on the head from behind in the church later.”

Mike blinked. “Your manager?”

“The Hollywood kind of manager. They drove on instead of confronting you because my manager is from a place where gang members might be in the car behind you.

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