by Meg Macy
“Now you can tell me what you told him.” Hunter’s smile held no warmth.
“Of course I want to cooperate with the investigation, but this isn’t a good time.” I glanced around the room, aware of their discomfort. “No one else has any information. Let’s arrange to meet tomorrow.”
Hunter leaned over the desk, shoved aside Pastor Lovett’s Bible and papers—probably Sunday’s sermon notes—and narrowed his eyes. “I’m not in the habit of waiting.”
“But you don’t mind wasting everyone’s time.”
“You’re in no position to dictate terms to me, Ms. Silverman.”
“Am I a suspect in Mayor Bloom’s death?” I asked.
“I never said that.”
“Then call Detective Mason for the information.” I rose and turned to Marianna. “Let’s go. You have to check on vendors, and I’ve got that cookie table to set up.”
She quickly jumped to her feet. “Yes, please!”
Hunter rose from the desk chair, sputtering protests, but I ignored him. Marianna had already scurried out, and I preceded the other committee ladies. Many attended church here and knew my mother. I suspected many would report this incident to the gossip network at the first opportunity. Wendy Clark followed at the rear, trying hard to repress her laughter.
I didn’t glance back at Hunter. The nerve of the guy, making ridiculous demands like that. The door banged shut behind us. Let him stew. I’d wasted enough time, and I wasn’t going to miss the concert tonight. All he had to do was call Mason.
“Boy, oh boy! Did you tell him off.” Wendy chuckled while we rushed to the basement. “I almost told him that I saw the mayor. Only on Wednesday morning, when he came into Fresh Grounds for coffee.”
“Did he have his brandy flask with him?”
“I dunno. Bloom looked fine, joked about the weather as usual, and how hot that Santa Bear costume would be. He was strolling around the floats later on, but I was so busy, I never talked to him. So what’s going on? I mean, was it murder like everyone’s been saying?”
“I have no idea,” I said honestly, “but they won’t know for certain until the autopsy.”
“Ben was so shocked to hear about Cal Bloom’s death. He drove his pharmacy float, the first one in the parade with all the presents and a big Christmas tree.”
“I missed seeing that one.”
“He had to redo the wrapped presents, too. Some wiseacre kids tore them apart Tuesday night.” Wendy stopped outside the hall’s double doors. “Maybe they thought Ben hid drugs in them. Like, how stupid is that? He had to get all new empty boxes and wrap them.”
I yanked one door open and stopped cold. “Wow. Look at all this!”
Amazed at the transformation, I admired the red and green tinsel looped across the ceiling, held up by hooks, along with golden bells, red and white candy canes, and sequined ornaments. Slim evergreens dazzled with white or multicolored lights. The aisles between vendor tables were far narrower than I’d expected, but artists didn’t seem bothered by it. They hurried to set out their creations in their booths. One woman wore a sweatshirt with green buttons all over it, in the shape of a tree, with a big red bow beneath her neck, and she hung other painted or appliqued blouses and sweatshirts on a portable rack beside her table.
“Everything is great,” the vendor told Marianna. “The rental price, the lighting, the food court. I’m hoping we get a big crowd in tomorrow.”
“I’m sure we will. We advertised all over the place.”
Wendy nudged me. “Your sister’s flyers sort of fell through the cracks,” she whispered. “That was a big mistake. But a few village shops tacked them up today.”
“Better late than never, I suppose.” Maddie wouldn’t be pleased. She’d worked extra hard getting those designed and printed on time. At her own expense.
While the committee trooped through the hall, checking things out, I set up the Teddy Bear Cookie Bake-Off contest table. We’d paid extra to host it at the Bear-zaar, which Marianna appreciated for the church fund, and expected a good turnout of entries. Aunt Eve had fielded more than two dozen calls for information, about how many cookies to bring, what types were allowed, including gluten-free, whether children could bake them, and if the cookies had to be iced and decorated. Even whether they had to be shaped like teddy bears.
Maddie and I had even taken out an ad in the Silver Hollow Herald to explain the contest and its rules. As long as the cookies were edible, we would accept any kind. The grand prize was large enough to attract plenty of entries. Or so we hoped.
Once I finished, I raced to my car and broke the speed limit to make it to the concert on time. Laura hugged me and laughed at my shaking hands.
“We’ve less than five minutes, come on!”
“You’re still in your scrubs.”
“I didn’t get a chance to change—shh!”
We slipped into our seats since the violinists and cello player had already begun warming up. Every time my stomach growled, we giggled. I’d forgotten to grab something to eat on the way. We thoroughly enjoyed the musicians’ skill, the haunting melodies, and catching up with our busy lives during intermission. After the concert, we promised to have tea at the Queen Bess before New Year’s. On my way home, I grabbed a fast food burger and wolfed it down.
My thoughts returned to the taut exchange with Detective Hunter. He’d acted cold and smarmy, to say the least. No wonder Mason seemed ambivalent about him. Clearly, they didn’t communicate, since Hunter hadn’t been aware that Mason came to “start the ball rolling.” That probably stuck in his craw. I also resented Hunter’s quick summary of me as an interfering busybody. Come to think of it, he made it sound like Mason had told him that.
If so, I’d really be steamed.
Chapter 7
I had to drag myself out of bed the next morning. After a hot shower, I donned jeans and a sweater with OH SNAP! in large letters and broken gingerbread cookies appliqued on the front. An homage to our bake-off contest. Winners would be chosen next week, but we hadn’t decided on rules for judging. What if we couldn’t agree?
“Hey, Sash! Are you coming or not?” Maddie’s shrill voice floated upstairs from the kitchen. “We’ll be late! It’s almost five forty-five.”
I groaned and dragged Rosie off the bed. “Come on, girl. I know it’s an ungodly hour, but it can’t be helped. Let’s get you outside.”
She resisted, however, so I slid her toward the bed’s end and carried her down to the kitchen. Again. “You better not make this a habit, Rosie.”
Maddie had two travel mugs of coffee ready. “That concert last night did you in, huh?”
“Talking to Jay so late is the real reason.” I yawned so hard, my jaw hurt. “The concert was wonderful, and Laura’s as busy as I am. It was great seeing her.”
When I strapped on Rosie’s plaid doggie coat around her neck and middle, we both laughed at her sad expression. Rosie hated mornings more than I did. And winter. Once Maddie opened the back door, I set Rosie on the slick porch. A glimmer of weak sunlight slanted through the trees’ bare branches, and darker clouds hung in the west. The cold bit through my sweater and made my teeth chatter.
“Go on, girl. You can catch up on your beauty sleep after this.” I stamped my numb feet while Rosie reluctantly picked her way over the snow. “And don’t complain about cold paws. I bought you boots but you refuse to wear them.”
“Aunt Eve said she’ll feed Rosie and Onyx around eight thirty,” Maddie said, “so let’s go. Amanda and Abby are waiting at the Sunshine Café.”
Since the cat was already curled on the window seat, Rosie crept into her crate with a chew toy and her ragged bear for company. I grabbed my purse, parka, fur-lined gloves, and jammed a knit hat on my wet hair. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to the car over the rutted snow in the darkness. Maddie’s back seat held boxes crammed to the ceiling, and the trunk was full as well. She parked in the bank’s lot and dragged me across the street to the former hardware store
, which had been converted to the café. Empty flower boxes lined the huge picture window. Yawning, I crunched over the rock salt scattered near the front door.
Inside, customers filled half the booths and tables. Vintage photos of Silver Hollow, one showing Model T’s with a horse and buggy on Main Street, cheered me. This town had such an interesting history. Indirect lighting washed the bright yellow walls and low ceiling, warming the place until real sunshine streamed through the front window. I breathed in the delicious smells of fresh coffee and bacon. Mmm.
“Morning! Sit anywhere,” Lenore Russell said, bustling behind the counter.
I blinked. Uncle Ross, Gil Thompson, and my dad sat in a row before her with full coffee mugs, earlier than usual, exchanging the latest village happenings. Lenore set three huge dinner plates before them with stacked pancakes plus eggs, bacon, toast, or her flaky buttermilk biscuits. If anyone asked about police business, the chief’s wife remained mum. I didn’t blame her.
Maddie led the way to the booth where the Pozniak sisters waited. “Hey. Wake up, Sasha!” Amanda snapped her fingers with a laugh. “Coffee, stat!”
“Yes, please,” I mumbled, and poured half the cream into an empty mug with a hefty spoonful of sugar. Lenore topped it with coffee and set a full cup at my sister’s elbow.
“Bring us the specials, all around.” Maddie poked me. “Drink up. It’s gonna be a long day, and you’ll need an IV if you keep yawning like that.”
“I’ll be fine.” I gulped half of the coffee and felt better. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe I should have skipped talking to Jay, but I’d wanted to update him on events here. “Has anyone else heard about Cal Bloom’s DUI record? I didn’t know he had one.”
“That’s old news.” Abby hooked a thumb in Gil Thompson’s direction. “He and Cal Bloom both attended AA, plus did community service. They’ve been sober ever since.”
“But we found a brandy flask near the mayor’s body.”
I’d lowered my voice to keep anyone from eavesdropping, although the other customers’ chatter in the café, the sizzling grill close by, and the scraping of chairs on the wooden floor, masked most of our conversation.
“I’m surprised at that. He kept saying he was over booze,” Amanda said. “And even though Cal Bloom stuck his foot in his mouth countless times, everyone forgave him. That’s why he kept getting re-elected.”
Abby nodded. “That was awful, Sasha, finding him dead.”
Janet Johnson must have overheard that when she brought over our breakfast plates. “So it’s true you found Cal Bloom at the parade. Did he die of a heart attack?”
“The police haven’t determined for certain what happened.” I crunched a piece of burned bacon and shook salt and pepper over my scrambled eggs. “Yum, and the hash browns are nice and crispy, too.”
“Not overdone, I hope.”
“Nope. Perfect for me.”
Janet tucked a strand of long dark hair behind an ear and leaned closer to the booth. “You ought to know Cal Bloom was drinking again,” she whispered. “He was in here maybe a month ago, telling Gil Thompson that his wife threatened to divorce him if he didn’t get sober.”
“Really?” Surprised, I noted how Maddie’s friends also looked shocked by that news. “You heard him say that?”
“Yup, and so did Lenore. Enjoy your breakfast, and let me know if you need anything else. Hot sauce? Sure thing, right over here.”
Janet grabbed the small bottle off another table and plopped it down in front of Abby. We ate in silence for a few minutes, ingesting that information along with our food, before Maddie finally spoke with her coffee mug in hand.
“So the mayor slid backward, but everyone knew he wasn’t a saint. I’m surprised Mom didn’t mention that Mrs. Bloom wanted a divorce.”
“Either she didn’t tell her, or Mrs. Bloom wasn’t serious about filing,” I mused. “But I’ll ask Mom next chance I get. If I remember.”
“If you don’t, I will.” My sister pushed her plate away. “Come on, Sash, it’s twenty to seven. We still have work to do at the Bear-zaar.”
Reluctantly, I followed her out with my unfinished toast wrapped in a napkin. Maddie groaned when some strawberry jam dripped on the car seat, but I swiped it clean and finished eating. Not before she turned onto Kermit, fish-tailing on the slippery pavement until regaining control. Maddie braked hard in the church parking lot and nearly sideswiped a truck. Luckily no one was present to witness.
“Whoa, there,” I said. “Remember what Grandpa T. R. always said.”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘we’ll get there when we get there.’ We made it just fine. Uh-oh. Looks like Uncle Ross is mad about something. Wonder what’s up.”
His obvious annoyance wasn’t new. And his swanky pale blue vintage Olds took up two spaces in the lot, so no one could park too close, bump it, or scratch the paint. What was up? We hurried over to join him.
“We can’t leave our cars here. One of you better follow me back to our parking lot,” he grumbled. “They want this one and the streets around for customer parking.”
Maddie handed me the keys. “We have to unload first, though.”
“They should have paved this lot three times bigger.”
“Except they couldn’t, because of the small cemetery behind the church,” I told Uncle Ross. “Pastor Lovett sent paperwork in for a historical marker, but they haven’t heard back yet. The mayor wanted to move the ten graves to the county cemetery in Ann Arbor.”
“Cal Bloom meddled in too many things beyond his mayoral duties.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“His spat with the police union over the latest contract negotiations, for one thing, and he disagreed with the Silver Hollow Beautification Committee. They want to put a picket fence all around the Village Green to keep people off the grass.”
“Oh, I hope not! Rosie loves walking there.”
“That’s the biggest problem. Too many dog owners don’t pick up after their pets. Mayor Bloom was on your side, though. Who knows what the committee will do now.”
“A lot of people had disagreements with him,” Maddie said, “but let’s get our work done and then you two can gossip.”
Uncle Ross huffed. “Who’s gossiping? Not me.”
I grinned and carried a big stack of boxes down the steps to the Fellowship Hall. We had samples of our specialty six-inch wizard bear for taking orders, but the other bears we brought to sell all wore Christmas outfits—red and white pajamas, fancy dresses, Santa suits, and the like. We also had a dozen bags of our tiniest and cheapest bears in a rainbow of colors. Uncle Ross had assembled the booth yesterday, and it glowed with lights and tinsel garland.
“ ‘Fa La La Llama,’ how adorable!” Marianna Lovett pointed to the lettering on my sister’s navy sweatshirt, which included a white llama and a striped scarf. “And your sweater is perfect for the cookie competition, Sasha.”
“The Teddy Bear Cookie Bake-off contest,” Maddie corrected. “I asked Isabel French to register the entries for us.”
I liked Isabel, who co-owned the Silver Scoop Ice Cream Shoppe along with Kristen Bloom. I often stopped by for a scoop of mint chocolate chip during the summer. She was so friendly and nice, while Kristen remained aloof. Oh well.
“Hey, when are we gonna decide about decorations, food, and entertainment for the open house? Plus the staff party.”
“That’s up to you and Aunt Eve,” Maddie said. “I’m busy with my own shop.”
“Oh, come on. You’re better at those details.”
“Sash, I don’t have time with all the projects I’m doing. You’re lucky I agreed to help today back in the summer. Otherwise, I’d be at Silver Moon all day.”
“Gee, thanks.” I was half-kidding, but my sister’s crankiness got on my nerves. Maddie didn’t look happy with me, either. “Never mind, I’ll manage with Aunt Eve’s help. Wanna bet we’ll be swamped today like last year? It was a madhouse.”
“Come on, let’
s find out if anyone’s registered for the cookie contest yet.”
Maddie led the way to the wide table near the church kitchen, where Isabel French sipped from a Fresh Grounds coffee cup. She wore a gray sweatshirt with battery-powered lights tangled around a sheep, and the words FLEECE NAVIDAD printed in white.
“Morning! I love the gingerbread teddies you painted on the cookie banner, Maddie,” she chirped. Isabel tugged the white tablecloth back into place. “The red and white bunting is so festive, too. I’ve gotten a dozen entries already.”
“Really? Can I see them?” I asked, but Maddie emphatically shook her head.
“Don’t you dare show her a single cookie. I don’t trust Sasha within an inch of anything resembling one. Especially Christmas cookies.”
“I’m no better, really.” Isabel patted her plump stomach with a smile. “But I promise not to touch or even sniff. I’ve lost twenty pounds in three months on Weight Watchers. And I’m exercising a few days a week.”
“Good for you,” I said. “But I can’t wait until the Silver Scoop opens again.”
“I hate to tell you, but Kristen is pressuring me to buy out her share of the business.” Isabel looked morose. “She wants to open a yoga studio instead.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Okay, you two, back to the cookie contest. The cutoff for entries is thirty,” Maddie told Isabel, “although you might not get that many. I’ll check back later today.”
While they discussed the contest rules, I crossed the aisle to the Fresh Grounds table where Mary Kate arranged her goodies. “Almost ready?”
“Yep. Want this broken maple pecan scone? I can’t sell it.”
“Say no more.” I scarfed that down in two bites, moaning with the delicious flavors and tender flaky pastry. “Look at those gorgeous snowflake cookies.”
Wendy Clark joined us with a huge smile. “Aw, thanks! I used silver sugar pearls instead of dragees, which really shouldn’t be eaten. We have Christmas trees with edible dots, though. They’re supposed to look like ornaments, but I like the poinsettias best.”
