people to Mackinac Island. I wanted the McMurphy to become a place that made them want to linger.
The fudge shop itself continued the pale pink-and-white color scheme. Against the wall were the old cabinets and counters where I would work. It had a galley-kitchen feel. Unlike the Hay Candy Shop, where they had two candy makers and a staff to sell the candy, I was the sole candy maker. My kitchen was smaller, my presentation would be less dramatic, but I still had the marble table in full view where I would cool and scrape the fudge and fold in amazing fresh ingredients before my customers’ eyes.
In front of that was the ancient original glass cabinet that held the trays of fudge and on the edge stood the old-time cash register. Papa had spent money to put up-to-date electronics into the gleaming old machine. The outside was for looks, but the inside was pure twenty-first-century magic. We even had a card swipe for debit and credit cards. I paid a hefty fee for the privilege but it kept the customers happy.
The glass walls and front windows held shelves that also contained trays for fresh fudge. These were rotated out when the sun came in the window, and replaced with a sign that said “free smells inside.”
The fudge shop floor held black and white tiles that were easy to clean. I remember mopping them every night as a teenager. How I hated them then. The thought made me smile. I appreciated their efficiency now.
Finally, I included an old-fashioned watercooler in the corner next to the door, along with paper cups. The idea was to offer tourists a free drink and a respite from the busy street, while the hope was that they would wander into the fudge shop and find they had to take at least a quarter pound home.
Mike Proctor walked on the paper carpet runner that stretched from the bathrooms behind the elevator to the front door. He was tall, over six foot two inches, with sandy-colored hair and a large nose. Today he wore painters’ Dockers in khaki and a blue uniform shirt. His shoes were thick brown boots covered in multiple paint colors and a variety of stains. “There you are. What do you think of the floors?” he asked, waving toward the uncovered portion of freshly finished hardwood. “It took some sanding but I was able to polish out those stains.”
“It looks great,” I said. He was right. There was no sign of the reddish-brown stains left. Only the gleaming narrow-planked wood floors remained.
“You should be able to put the rugs and furniture back down in twenty-four hours.”
“Good.”
“Frances said to tell you that the puppy is in her crate in the office upstairs. You’ll need to walk her later.”
“Thanks.”
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and studied me. “You’re really going to take on this monster all by yourself?”
“Yes.” I gave him a firm nod. “It’s been my dream since I was a little kid. Besides, I promised my Papa.”
“Well.” Mike shook his head. “Good luck to you. A building this old needs constant upkeep and the fudge shop business here on island can be a little cutthroat.”
“I know.” I raised an eyebrow and lifted the bag hanging from my wrist. “I’ve been scoping out the competition.”
Mike gave a hardy laugh. “Call me if you need anything else. Unlike you, we’re the only game on island. Besides, Emily can find practically anything you might need from antique fixtures to pictures and hat racks. She loves the thrill of the hunt.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
I walked him to the door and held it open. He stopped at the entrance, his brown eyes twinkling. “Don’t let the ghosts drive you out.”
Chapter 13
“What rugs did you decide on?” Frances asked.
“Excuse me?” I looked up from my work arranging the kitchen portion of the fudge shop.
“Did you meet with Emily Proctor this morning?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Yes, I’m getting three area rugs to define the space. One by the fireplace, one in front of your reception
The fudge shop itself continued the pale pink-and-white color scheme. Against the wall were the old cabinets and counters where I would work. It had a galley-kitchen feel. Unlike the Hay Candy Shop, where they had two candy makers and a staff to sell the candy, I was the sole candy maker. My kitchen was smaller, my presentation would be less dramatic, but I still had the marble table in full view where I would cool and scrape the fudge and fold in amazing fresh ingredients before my customers’ eyes.
In front of that was the ancient original glass cabinet that held the trays of fudge and on the edge stood the old-time cash register. Papa had spent money to put up-to-date electronics into the gleaming old machine. The outside was for looks, but the inside was pure twenty-first-century magic. We even had a card swipe for debit and credit cards. I paid a hefty fee for the privilege but it kept the customers happy.
The glass walls and front windows held shelves that also contained trays for fresh fudge. These were rotated out when the sun came in the window, and replaced with a sign that said “free smells inside.”
The fudge shop floor held black and white tiles that were easy to clean. I remember mopping them every night as a teenager. How I hated them then. The thought made me smile. I appreciated their efficiency now.
Finally, I included an old-fashioned watercooler in the corner next to the door, along with paper cups. The idea was to offer tourists a free drink and a respite from the busy street, while the hope was that they would wander into the fudge shop and find they had to take at least a quarter pound home.
Mike Proctor walked on the paper carpet runner that stretched from the bathrooms behind the elevator to the front door. He was tall, over six foot two inches, with sandy-colored hair and a large nose. Today he wore painters’ Dockers in khaki and a blue uniform shirt. His shoes were thick brown boots covered in multiple paint colors and a variety of stains. “There you are. What do you think of the floors?” he asked, waving toward the uncovered portion of freshly finished hardwood. “It took some sanding but I was able to polish out those stains.”
“It looks great,” I said. He was right. There was no sign of the reddish-brown stains left. Only the gleaming narrow-planked wood floors remained.
“You should be able to put the rugs and furniture back down in twenty-four hours.”
“Good.”
“Frances said to tell you that the puppy is in her crate in the office upstairs. You’ll need to walk her later.”
“Thanks.”
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and studied me. “You’re really going to take on this monster all by yourself?”
“Yes.” I gave him a firm nod. “It’s been my dream since I was a little kid. Besides, I promised my Papa.”
“Well.” Mike shook his head. “Good luck to you. A building this old needs constant upkeep and the fudge shop business here on island can be a little cutthroat.”
“I know.” I raised an eyebrow and lifted the bag hanging from my wrist. “I’ve been scoping out the competition.”
Mike gave a hardy laugh. “Call me if you need anything else. Unlike you, we’re the only game on island. Besides, Emily can find practically anything you might need from antique fixtures to pictures and hat racks. She loves the thrill of the hunt.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
I walked him to the door and held it open. He stopped at the entrance, his brown eyes twinkling. “Don’t let the ghosts drive you out.”
Chapter 13
“What rugs did you decide on?” Frances asked.
“Excuse me?” I looked up from my work arranging the kitchen portion of the fudge shop.
“Did you meet with Emily Proctor this morning?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Yes, I’m getting three area rugs to define the space. One by the fireplace, one in front of your reception
Similar Books
