Maple Syrup Mysteries Box Set 1: Books 1-3

by Emily James

“You’ll need your energy,” Russ had said with a wink.

  I didn’t have the courage to ask him what he meant.

  After Russ left, I’d turned on the hot water for a bath when I realized it wasn’t just my cell phone I didn’t have. I also had no clean clothes and no toiletries. Uncle Stan probably had some bar soap somewhere, and I could maybe even scrounge up a tube of toothpaste and an unopened toothbrush, but no way was I wearing my dead uncle’s deodorant. Or his jammies.

  The doorbell rang. I turned off the water and crossed my fingers that it was Russ returning for something he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d drive me to the store for some necessities.

  When I opened the door, Officer Dornbush stood outside instead, my largest suitcase and one of the smaller matching ones resting beside him. They were from the purple-and-hot-pink polka dot set I bought specifically because they were easy to identify on the airport luggage carousel, and the long-suffering look on Officer Dornbush’s face said that lugging them around had made him as uncomfortable as a man stuck holding his wife’s purse.

  “The chief thought you might need some of your belongings.” Officer Dornbush glanced back over his shoulder as if expecting someone to come up and take his man card away. “Can I bring them inside? Please.”

  “Did you wear wool socks like I told you to?” Russ asked the next morning when I met him at the small rental shop next to Short Stack, Sugarwood’s pancake house. It was a good thing I didn’t have a lisp or the names would have given me a complex. As it was, I’d have to avoid trying to say them too fast if I didn’t want to accidentally spit on the person I was talking to.

  I nodded in response to Russ’ question, and he handed me a pair of waterproof boots and what looked like nylon land fins.

  “I guessed at your size,” he said.

  I took off my running shoes and laced on the boots. They fit perfectly. I had no idea what to do with the fins.

  One of the first things Uncle Stan had done when he purchased the property years ago was to find ways to make it more profitable. Along with establishing Short Stack, he’d also cleared and maintained nine miles of trails. The trails were free to use, but Sugarwood did a bustling business renting cross-country skis and snowshoes to tourists in the winter months.

  The things Russ handed me didn’t look like any of the snowshoes I’d seen in pictures. Those were made of wood and lattice.

  “Uh, Russ.” I held up a fin in each hand. “What exactly are we doing today? Because if these are for polar bear dipping, I’m out of here.”

  “We’re checking the lines that carry the sap from the trees to the storage tanks during sugar season. They can be damaged by falling branches and other things during the offseason, so we have to repair them every year before the sap starts to flow.” He took the fins from me and tucked them under his arm. “These are to keep you from having to wade through knee-high snow to do it.”

  So they were snowshoes. Modern snowshoes. Better than fins this time of year, but I still foresaw a day spent outside. I’d have to call Erik later and thank him for the delivery of my bags. My warm clothes and hat had been inside, and I’d clearly need them today. My coat was still MIA, so I’d grabbed one of Uncle Stan’s from the hall closet.

  “Nikki?” Russ called from the door. “You coming?”

  I hurried after him. He added my snowshoes and a set of poles that looked like they could have also been used for cross-country skiing to a sled that he’d hooked up to the back of a snowmobile.

  I’d never ridden on a snowmobile before. A little bubble of excitement built in my stomach. “We’re taking that?”

  Russ nodded. “We’re working part of the grid on the far side of the bush today.” He swung a leg over the snowmobile and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

  The snowmobile skimmed over the snow like a boat over waves. The wind bit at my cheeks, but this time the sting was worth it. My teeth started to ache from the cold, and I realized it was because I was grinning. So this was why people chose to live where there was a lot of snow. This I could get used to.

  Russ finally eased the snowmobile to a stop. He helped me snap into my snowshoes and then belted a utility belt around my waist that contained a small bottle of water, a pouch with a map and marker for tracking any damaged pipe, and a black box with a short antenna.

  I pulled the box out. “What’s this?”

  Russ gave me an are-you-kidding-me look. “It’s a walkie-talkie.”

  My blank expression must have given me away.

  He pushed the button on the side of his matching box. “It’s a two-way radio.”

  His words came out of the handset in my hand. “So basically it’s like an antique cell phone,” I said.

  Russ slowly shook his head. “Kids today.” But a smile peeked out. “A little bit. It doesn’t depend on radio towers, so we’re safe from the dead zones, and you have to be on the same frequency as the person you want to talk to.”

  He gave me more instructions on using the walkie-talkie and the poles that went along with my snowshoes and then explained what to look for in the sap lines.

  He turned back toward the snowmobile. “Keep heading south,” he motioned ahead of him with his arm, “and we should meet back up in about an hour.”

  The whir of the snowmobile faded as he drove away, and the only sounds breaking the silence were the top branches of the maples tapping together in the breeze and the schew-weh-weh-weh-weh call of the cardinal perched high in a bare maple tree a few feet from me.

  I drew in a deep breath. The air was sharp and bright. Even after a rain or a fresh snow, the air in DC never smelled this clean. Despite my inauspicious return to Fair Haven, moments like this reminded me why I’d come.

  I tromped forward, trying to use my poles the way Russ had shown me to keep my balance. I was barely an eighth of the way into the route marked on my map before sweat dampened the collar of my jacket. I was an avid biker and enjoyed the martial arts-based workout classes at my gym back in Virginia, but this used an entirely different set of muscles. How did Russ maintain his barrel shape if this was how he spent his days?

  I propped my poles against a tree and checked the next length of line. So far, I hadn’t encountered anything that I’d need to mark for Noah, our repair man.

  I stepped forward to follow the line around a bend, one snowshoe caught on the other, and I toppled over sideways. Snow swooshed up into my face, sending an instinctive scream from me.

  Eyes squished shut, I swiped it away. At least no one was around to see my clumsiness this time.

  I blinked my eyes open again. I’d face planted a few feet from a ring of packed down snow. Red splatters, like paint thrown from a brush, stained the greyish white ground.

  My breath caught in my throat. It looked like a crime scene.

  7

  “Russ?”

  I let go of the button on the walkie-talkie and listened. No reply.

  “Russ?”

  Still nothing.

  “Russ? Please answer.” A note of panic entered my voice.

  “You forgot to say over, Nikki.” Russ’ voice sounded like he was speaking from an empty room, tinny but clear. “I didn’t know you were done. Over.”

  I blew out a breath of air. That was great. I was sounding hysterical again. Be a grownup, Nicole.

  “I think someone might have been murdered out here. There’s a packed down section of snow and blood.” I let go of the button. Then pressed it again. “Over.”

  “It was probably just an animal.”

  Russ’ voice was patient, and for a second, I almost forgot I was talking to him rather than my Uncle Stan. Uncle Stan had always been the voice of reason to my wild ideas.

  “We have wolves and coyotes here in the winter,” Russ said. “It’s sad when you run into a spot where they’ve killed something, but it’s nature. Over.”

  The ring of packed down snow seemed too wide for that, but it made more sense than my theory. After all, a m
urderer wouldn’t be rolling around on the ground with their victim out here in the woods and packing down the snow.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t keep doing this. First I thought someone had broken into my house. And now I was fabricating murders in the woods. All because I knew there’d been another murder in Fair Haven and the murderer was still walking free.

  No way could I go on like this for weeks or months without any idea of where the investigation was even at. Somehow I had to convince Erik to let me join in. At least then I’d feel like I was actively doing something rather than sitting by and hoping the murderer wouldn’t strike again.

  I paced the length of my kitchen and back again, staring down my cell phone as it lay on the counter. Thanks to Erik, my purse had also come back with Officer Dornbush last night.

  So I could call Erik—it was a physical possibility—but first I needed to gather my nerve and plan out what to say. I didn’t want it to seem like I was only interested in talking to him now that I was back and needed something.

  Plus, he didn’t owe me anything. I couldn’t come up with one good reason why he should allow me to be a part of this investigation.

  I grabbed the phone and flopped down onto the couch. Maybe that was the answer. Erik was a straightforward kind of guy. I’d just ask him and explain why. No manipulation. No lies. No omissions.

  The worst he could do was say no.

  Well, not entirely. I ruffled my hand through my snowmobile-helmet hair. The worst he could do was think I was fabricating reasons to spend time with him, and then I’d come across as needy. I did not want to earn a reputation for being the kind of woman who trumped up reasons to spend time with someone in the vain hope that, if I hung around enough, the guy would see how amazing I was and want to date me. That’d probably backfire in my face even if I had wanted to try. The more time he spent with me, the more chances I’d have to trip over my own feet or say something uber-nerdy.

  Stop being a baby and just call him already.

  I dialed the cell number I still had stored in my phone. One ring. Two. Three. If it went to voice mail, should I leave a message or hang up?

  “Higgins.”

  I fumbled the phone, grabbed it in midair, and swept it back to my ear. “Umm, hi. It’s me.” Which could be anyone if he didn’t recognize my voice. It’d be humiliating for me if he had to ask. “Nicole.” What if he knew more than one Nicole? “Nicole Fitzhenry-Dawes.”

  He chuckled into the phone with that gravelly soft way he had. “I knew which me it was,” he said. “Did Quincey bring your bags?”

  I told him that he had and thanked him for thinking of it. “Did you get the test results back on what might have been in the syringe?”

  He might think it was strange that I was calling him rather than Mark to find out, since it’d been clear from Mark’s reception yesterday that we’d kept in touch, but it was the best way I could think of to lead softly into what I wanted to ask.

  “The results came back about an hour ago. Mark’s a miracle worker for getting the lab in Grand Rapids to rush results on tests he can’t run himself. Paul was injected with pentobarbital.”

  It was the drug used by some states in lethal injection executions. A high dose caused a person’s lungs to stop working. “That’s highly regulated, isn’t it? Are you able to trace people in this area who’ve purchased it?”

  Erik’s sigh carried through the phone. “Yeah, but I suspect that won’t lead us anywhere. Pentobarbital is also used by animal shelters. Fair Haven’s shelter is no-kill, but they still keep a supply on hand for animals who are too sick or too aggressive to adopt out. And the cabinet where it’s stored was unlocked. Paul could have been killed with pentobarbital from the shelter. We have no way of knowing since we didn’t find the syringe itself.”

  That potentially narrowed their field of suspects in a different way. “Do you think he was killed by someone who worked at the shelter?”

  “I have officers out interviewing all the staff and volunteers, but you know how it is. No one’s going to come right out and admit to having a motive for killing Paul.”

  You know how it is. His words wrapped like a warm blanket around me. Those were words for someone he at least viewed as a knowledgeable equal. I might not be a law enforcement officer, but he knew I’d been a criminal lawyer and had at least some experience with how things worked.

  And he’d given me the perfect way in to the investigation. This wasn’t the kind of case where an actual officer from another town would be spared to go “undercover,” working with the people at the shelter. But that’s exactly what Erik needed—someone they wouldn’t associate with the police, so they wouldn’t feel a need to hide how they really felt about Paul, their anger issues, or any other dirty laundry that could have caused this. I was the only person in town with no known history. I could become whatever I needed to be to get them talking. It was what I was good at, after all.

  The happiness still curling around my heart from Erik’s earlier words hardened and an ache built in my chest. If I offered now, he’d think I was doing it for him. And I would be. I did want to do something to help him. But I’d also be doing it for me. How much would my mixed motives matter to him?

  “You still there?” he asked.

  “They might admit it to someone they don’t know.” I spit the words out before I could second guess myself any more. “And they’re short-staffed now, right? And I’ve always loved animals.”

  It came out a little more garbled than I’d intended.

  He paused for so long that I was sure he saw right through me. “You don’t have to worry about this, Nicole. You have enough to do running Sugarwood.”

  I ran a nail along the seams in the couch. Was that meant as a nice mind-your-own-business? Or was he truly concerned about me stretching myself thin?

  The only way to know was to tell him the truth. “I want to help. For Paul. For my own piece of mind.”

  “Promise me you won’t go investigating on your own?” I swear I could hear a smile in his voice. How could that man smile with his voice and not with his lips?

  I bounced a little on the couch. “Cross my heart and hope to…” Drat. Very bad choice of words.

  “Hope to live a long and happy life?” Erik filled in.

  “Exactly.” I shifted my phone to the other ear and tapped a finger on the back. Please say yes. Please, please, please. “I had enough excitement last fall. I’ll only be there as your eyes and ears. If I sense anything is off, I’ll bring it to you.”

  There was another long pause on his end. “Alright.”

  “Thank you.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. I should take this moment and tell him that Mark and I weren’t having an affair. If I did that, though, it was also akin to hinting I wanted him to ask me out again.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning,” he said before I could dig my courage out from between the couch cushions. “That’ll give me time to let you in, show you around, and be gone before Craig, the assistant manager, gets in at 9:00. You can wait outside. Tell him Paul hired you.”

  A voice said something in the background.

  “Gotta go,” Erik said. “See you tomorrow.”

  He disconnected before I could even say goodbye.

  I slumped back into the couch cushions and smiled. I was officially on the case.

  8

  Snowshoeing was from the devil. When I woke up the next morning, my body ached all over like I had the flu. My muscles loosened a little after a hot shower, but when Erik’s unmarked police car pulled up outside my house, I was still moving like an old woman.

  He jogged over to me. “You are hurt from the crash.”

  I picked my way down the steps. “I don’t even have a seatbelt bruise from the crash. This is what happens when you’re too stubborn to admit that a sixty-year-old man can outwork you.”

  Erik chuckled and adjusted his pace down the paving stone walkway to match mine. “I ran into Ru
ss this morning at The Burnt Toast. He was moving like he fell off a ladder. He said he didn’t want to stop yesterday before you did because he didn’t want you to think he was too old for the job. Sure you two aren’t related?”

  Once we were in the car, he headed out of Sugarwood’s long driveway and into town. He turned off before we reached the road for the shelter.

  I twisted slightly in my seat. We were headed in the same direction as we had been before Mark called us the day after the accident. “You’re not still trying to take me to the hospital, are you?”

  “Quantum Mechanics. I thought we could get you another load of your belongings, and you could talk to Tony about how long you’re going to be without your car this time.”

  I tried not to cringe at the this time—and failed. The gossip mill in this town spread news faster than a cold spread in a pre-school. Truth be told, I would have been more surprised if Erik hadn’t heard about the fence I’d managed to jam up into the underside of my car previously. Still, that didn’t make it any less humiliating.

  The inside of Quantum Mechanics smelled like burnt coffee, rubber, and gasoline. A chemical headache burst to life in my temples. If running Sugarwood failed for me, I knew one place I definitely wasn’t coming for a job.

  Erik tapped the tiny Ring for Service bell perched on the counter, and Tony appeared from the back, wiping his palms on a grey cloth and a black smear covering his bald head as if he’d scratched his scalp with a hand he didn’t realize was covered in grease.

  Tony did his awkward shuffle with no eye contact as he prepared the paperwork for me to sign.

  As he slid it across the counter, he peeked at me. “I could add rubber bumper car bumpers onto your car if you’re going to make this a regular thing. It’d cost a lot less for you in the long run.”

  Erik snickered and I tossed him a just-keep-laughing-mister look.

  He backed slowly away. “I think I’ll go get some of those boxes from your car now.”