All You Need Is Fudge Read Online Free Page A

(ensure it does not touch the bottom or sides of the pan) and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Allow the mixture to boil, stirring frequently, until it reaches 238 degrees F on a candy thermometer. This takes approximately 10 minutes. (I set the timer to help understand how long it takes for the temperature to reach this point.)
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    Remove from heat. Take out the thermometer and stir in the butter and vanilla.
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    Stir the fudge vigorously with a heavy wooden spoon, stirring constantly for 10-15 minutes until the fudge loses its shine and holds its shape.
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    Pour fudge into the prepared pan and smooth into an even layer. Sprinkle with toasted coconut.
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    Place caramel sauce in a plastic sandwich bag, clip one corner, and use it as a pastry bag. Ribbon the caramel sauce over the coconut in diagonals.
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    Refrigerate the fudge for at least 1 hour.
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    Once set, remove the fudge from the pan using the foil as handles. Cut the fudge into small 1-inch pieces to serve.
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    Store fudge in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one week.

Chapter 2
    The problem with touching a dead body is that the police liked to take your clothing into evidence. That might have been fine the first time, but with my limited wardrobe and perchance for finding bodies it was getting expensive.
    â€œBringing you clothes seems to be a big part of my job,” Jenn said as she handed me a paper bag.
    â€œYou love it. The more clothes I lose to evidence the more you can shop online for me.” I dug out fresh underwear, shorts, and a T-shirt and ducked behind the curtain in the clinic room where I’d been checked out and given a couple of stitches on my forearm. “You know how much I hate to clothes shop.”
    â€œThat’s why you have me as your personal shopper.” She laughed and followed me in, sitting on the exam couch. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who doesn’t like to shop.”
    â€œClothes judge me,” I groused. “Food on the other hand never judges. I can grocery shop all day.”
    â€œWhat a weirdo,” she teased.
    â€œYou have to admit that things are never dull around me.” I quickly changed into clean clothes and dropped my wet leggings and shirt into an evidence bag.
    â€œI can’t believe you actually jumped into the water and pulled out a dead body.” Jenn sat with her hands on her narrow hips. Long legged, tall, and gorgeous, she wore crisp linen slacks and a flowing peasant blouse with embroidered flowers along the drawstring front. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat chignon and she wore gorgeous sandals. Jenn looked ready for brunch at the country club, mostly because that was what she was doing later in the morning.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if she was dead or not when I jumped in,” I pointed out as I struggled to put on my wet shoes. My hair was nearly dry and still tangled in bits of lake flotsam. Jenn handed me a comb and I attacked my hair. “I’ve forgotten how hard it is to swim in regular clothes and drag a non-responsive person to shore.”
    â€œUgh. I remember that training in lifeguard class,” Jenn said as her expression went from one of exasperation to one of condolences. “At least she didn’t try to drown you. Did they struggle against you when you took your test?”
    â€œYes.” I remembered taking the class. My teacher Mr. Metzger wanted to be sure we were prepared for all situations. He’d told us to be prepared to save him as he struggled like a drowning person. “My instructor was also the football coach so he was 200 pounds of pure muscle. He over did the panic thing, if you ask me. I have no idea how I passed that test, but I did.”
    â€œHa. My instructor refused to get wet. She set up seniors in stations to enact drowning by struggle and dead weight,” Jenn said. “I remember my struggle guy was Ryan Wiltz. He had a thing