Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2

by Karin Kaufman

  I caught a flash of cobalt up ahead, disappearing through the bakery door. Sonya was on another bakery run.

  “You’re welcome to join us next year,” Bonnie went on. “We make our first batch of wreaths in early December, then we do a second batch a few days before Christmas.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.” I began to move for the bakery, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder, hoping Bonnie would get the message.

  “And we do Thanksgiving wreaths in early November. Aspen leaves, berries, grape vines. Should I call you?”

  “Sure.” Taking tiny steps, I kept moving toward the bakery. When Bonnie started in on autumn wreaths in October, I told her to give Craig my best and then turned and darted off.

  CHAPTER 9

  I spotted Sonya at the counter, pointing at assorted Christmas cookies as one by one Holly put them in a box. Holly glanced up as I approached and tossed her head at the display case to her left. “Fresh cream puffs.”

  Sonya glanced over her shoulder. “Rachel, it’s you. You like cream puffs?”

  “They’re my favorite. Did you walk here?”

  “I walk everywhere. I like to walk.” She focused again on the cookies. “I want six more gingerbread men.”

  “But it must be hard in winter.”

  “Not when the sun is shining.”

  From the start, Sonya had struck me as someone who was frank and expected frankness from others, so I skipped the rest of my small talk and went right to my point. “Did Ellen talk to you about Oliver?”

  “I heard you when I was in the kitchen. You’re wrong about him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “That’s enough cookies, Holly.” Sonya dug into her jeans, pulled out a twenty, and gave it to Holly in return for the box. “Get your cream puffs, Rachel. Lots of people love them and they’ll be gone soon.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Holly said. “How many?”

  “Two. Sonya.” I touched her arm as she turned for the door. “Stay a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”

  Holly had another five customers to attend to, so I told her I’d take my cream puffs last, after I talked to Sonya, who was taking a seat at a small table along the back wall.

  As I slid another chair up to the table, Sonya told me again how wrong I was about Oliver. “You know how you have a feeling someone is good?” she asked. “That’s how I feel about Oliver. I don’t know why, but I know it, Rachel. I know he’s a nice man.”

  “I’ve had feelings like that before, but sometimes I’ve been wrong.”

  “Well, I’m not wrong, and you don’t know Oliver.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Can I ask you about yesterday, at Ellen’s house?”

  She nodded sadly. “When my uncle died. I don’t have any family now. Did you know both my parents are dead?”

  “Micah told me. Mine are gone too, Sonya.”

  “Really?”

  “I understand how hard it is, especially at Christmas.”

  “Even though it’s been a long time, I still miss them.”

  “I miss mine too. But we have friends, don’t we?”

  “Yes. I have good friends. Like Oliver.”

  “Right now I need to ask you about yesterday at Ellen’s house. Did you see anything strange or different? Anything when your uncle was on the porch or in the kitchen? Something that looked different to you?”

  “I found a huge needle without the needle on it,” she said, opening her cookie box. “Is that what you mean?”

  It took me a second or two to recover my ability to speak. “Do you mean a hypodermic needle?” I spread my thumb and forefinger apart. “About this long, including the plastic part?”

  “Yeah, but it has another name. I can’t remember what it is. It wasn’t like a regular needle with a sharp point. It was smaller on the end, but it was all plastic.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In my coat pocket.”

  I flopped back in my chair.

  Seeing my reaction, Sonya cringed. “Should I be quiet about it?” she asked in a low whisper.

  “Did someone tell you to be quiet about it?”

  “Ellen did.” Unable to resist her cookies any longer, Sonya dug in.

  My thoughts were swimming. The needle Sonya had described sounded like a water syringe—the kind dentists and doctors used to irrigate wounds and help them heal. And it was just the sort of thing that could inject poison into a cup of cider or a soft cookie with a gooey chocolate center. Like the cookies Ellen had made explicitly for the Four Santas. “When did you find the needle in your pocket?”

  “When I got my coat to go home. I remember it was right after Ellen’s husband came home,” she added, chewing her cookie between sentences. “And right before I asked Chief Gilroy if you could drive me home.”

  “Where was your coat?”

  “In the closet in the living room.”

  “Did you tell anyone besides Ellen about the needle?”

  “No. Just Ellen and you.”

  “What did Ellen do with it?”

  Sonya lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell her where you found it?”

  “I didn’t get a chance. I showed it to her, and she grabbed it and told me to be quiet. Then I went to talk to Chief Gilroy.”

  “And you don’t have any idea who put it in your pocket?”

  “No.” She closed the cookie box and brushed crumbs from her hands. “I’d better be careful or I’ll eat them all before dinner. That’s what Ellen says.”

  “I know the feeling.” Was the syringe why Ellen wanted Sonya to stay with her? With Sonya hidden away at the Lambert house, Ellen could keep a close watch on her until she ceased to talk about what she had found. Maybe that explained why the Lamberts essentially took in a free boarder when they encouraged Sonya to stay. Though remembering the door slam I heard, I thought, perhaps, that Mr. Lambert wasn’t so enthusiastic about their visitor. And what about that story Ellen had told me about Sonya pleading with her to stay because, suddenly, she didn’t trust me? All that nonsense about it being Sonya’s dramatic nature. What hogwash. It was all Ellen’s doing.

  “I have needles like that in my apartment,” Sonya said, breaking the silence. “I can’t remember the name. What are they called?”

  “Syringes.” I stared open-mouthed at her. “Why do you have syringes?”

  “For my aquarium. I use them to test the water and sometimes to squirt medicine into the water when the fish are sick. They’re very handy.”

  “Where did you get them?”

  “I ordered them online.”

  Holly set my cream puff box in front of me and dragged another chair to the table. I’d been so wrapped up in my conversation with Sonya, I hadn’t seen or heard her approach. “Are we hogging your tables?” I asked.

  “Nah. It’s good for business to have people sitting here.”

  “Sonya and I were talking about the day her uncle died,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Holly said, giving Sonya’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. “If you ever need anything, just ask me. Or just stop by the bakery for a talk if you want to.”

  “And you’re welcome to stay at my house until you feel like going back to your apartment,” I said, casting about for anything that might entice her from the Lamberts’ home. “I’m having a Christmas party tonight, and Holly’s bringing the food. Would you like to come?”

  “Thanks, but I’m having dinner with the Lamberts and Oliver,” Sonya said.

  I was at my wit’s end. There was nothing more I could do to change her mind, short of screaming at her to get out now while she still could. And honestly, I didn’t know for certain she was in danger. If Ellen or Oliver had wanted to get her out of the way, they probably would have done so already. “Can I drive you home?”

  “No, I like walking,” Sonya replied. Before she exited the bakery door, she glanced back at the table. “You’re wrong about Oliver,
Rachel. He’s a nice man.”

  The door swung shut, and I groaned and sagged in my chair like a rapidly deflating balloon.

  “Underhill was in here earlier,” Holly said.

  “I heard. That man talks too much.”

  “Peter?” Holly called out. “Take over a minute?” She turned back to me. “So why would Gilroy question Oliver Morris?”

  “This is between you and me, okay?”

  Holly nodded and leaned forward, listening.

  “Amber de Witte saw him put something like a clear tube in his Santa suit pocket at the crime scene,” I said. “Very furtively, I might add.”

  Holly scrunched up her nose. “Oliver?”

  “That’s what Amber said. And now Sonya tells me she found a water syringe in her coat pocket the day Micah died. She doesn’t know who put it there or what Ellen did with it after she took it from Sonya.”

  “And a syringe looks like a clear tube,” Holly said. She wasn’t asking me a question—she’d made the connection right away. “I wonder if Ellen got rid of it.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “No wonder you wanted Sonya to stay with you.”

  Peter made it to the counter just as three hungry-looking women entered the bakery.

  “This place is a madhouse,” I said.

  “It makes up for our slower summers,” Holly said. “Do you think Sonya’s life is in danger?”

  I’d almost forgotten about the knife in Sonya’s door and the threatening phone calls. I gave Holly the abridged version of events, including Julia’s insistence that Juniper Charities was a no-good organization, especially back when Craig Eskew ran it. “I don’t know if she’s in real danger or someone is trying to scare her.”

  “I like Sonya,” Holly said. “She’s a little different, but I like that.” She pushed to her feet. “I’m taking off early to bring your party food. I think we should have a short meeting of the Juniper Grove Mystery Gang before we set the table.”

  “Great,” I said, latching on to my bakery box. “You and Julia can help me decorate my tree.”

  Holly was aghast. “You haven’t decorated your tree yet? Please tell me it’s up.”

  “It’s up, it’s up. It’s just bare and sad looking.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “No, Rachel, I need more direction than that. What are you wearing?”

  “I haven’t had time to decide.”

  Holly took a moment to think. “A skirt and a nice sweater. You can’t go wrong with that. It’s casual but dressy.”

  “For me or you?”

  “You. Gilroy will be there.”

  “Gilroy will be dressed as he always is—jeans and cowboy boots. He’ll be on the job and he can only stay an hour.”

  “I’m surprised he can put in that much time, with Santas dropping like flies all over Juniper Grove. Look, I have to run. I’ve got cranberry scones to bake. I’ll be at your house no later than five o’clock. With the food. That gives us two hours.” She took off for the ovens, spun back at the register, and shouted, “And don’t wear your hiking boots!”

  Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I mumbled, “Oh, what have I done?”—much to the amusement of the three ladies at the cookie counter. I gave them a little wave, wished them a merry Christmas, and hurried out the door.

  Hoping Gilroy had finished talking to Oliver, I walked to the station to let him know, unfiltered through Officer Turner, what Sonya had told me, but when I got there, both he and Oliver were gone.

  “The chief isn’t in,” Turner said the instant I walked in the door.

  “He isn’t?” I said, unable to take my eyes from the monstrosity of a Christmas tree sitting on the front desk. It was a wonder it didn’t collapse under the weight of its enormous ornaments. And that hideous garland. It was wrapped three times at the top and then tied in a bow, like a misshapen tree topper.

  “Do you like it?” Turner asked. “Three people came in here to leave cookies and fudge for the station, and every single one of them stared at that tree for a full minute.” He hitched up his belt. “My wife says I can’t decorate, but I beg to differ.”

  “Do you decorate your tree at home?” I asked.

  “She won’t let me.”

  Thank goodness for that. “Ah well, maybe next year. Just let her see what you’ve done here. It may change her mind.”

  “Good idea. I’ll have to bring her in and show her. And thanks for the tip on Oliver Morris.” He popped a rumball in his mouth and returned to admiring his tree.

  “Did he admit to picking up evidence at the crime scene?”

  “Mmm.” Turner chewed and swallowed. “He said he didn’t, and the chief didn’t find anything in his house or office.”

  “I’ll bet because Oliver threw it away last night, probably in a trash can downtown. Or maybe he took it with him and disposed of it on the way home. That way no one would ever find it.”

  “Whatever happened, Gilroy had to let Mr. Morris go. Ellen Lambert came to pick him up.”

  The news jolted me. “Was Sonya Quinn with her?”

  “Not that I saw,” Turner answered. “But I’ll tell you something. Maybe it’s my cop instinct, but there’s something weird going on between Ellen Lambert and Oliver Morris. They’re in on something shady together.”

  CHAPTER 10

  After vacuuming the living room, I wandered my house in an anxious mood, tidying corners of the kitchen, making more coffee, now and then hanging an ornament on my tree. Turner’s observation about Ellen and Oliver—that they were up to something—was troubling me. But if Turner sensed something was wrong, then Gilroy certainly did, I told myself. He was on top of things, and I was not going to call and pester him about the case. Over the course of twenty-four hours, I had come to trust Turner, and I was sure he’d pass along my latest message—this one about Sonya and the syringe in her pocket.

  If Ellen and Oliver were up to something together, I thought, that explained why Ellen had been so personally offended when I’d warned her about him. But I’d seen more than offense in her expression. I stopped fiddling with the tablecloth on my kitchen table and tried to recall Ellen’s face. Heartbroken. She’d looked heartbroken when I’d suggested he might be guilty of murder. That was it.

  The doorbell rang, bringing me back to the present. I found Julia and Holly on my porch steps, Holly bearing bakery boxes and Julia lugging two half gallons of eggnog.

  “Thankfully, it’s not snowing,” Holly said. “The roads aren’t bad, and your walk is dry. All pluses for a party.”

  “Your Christmas lights are off,” Julia said, wiggling past Holly and making for the kitchen.

  I reached over and flicked the switch by the doorframe, turning on my white icicle lights. “Done.”

  “There are more boxes,” Holly said, following Julia into the kitchen. “You stay here, Julia. Rachel, come with me.”

  Holly and I retrieved the rest of the party food from her SUV and took the boxes into the kitchen, where Julia was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She set down the carafe and gave me the once-over, top to bottom. “You’re not wearing that.”

  I glanced down at my sweater and jeans. “I’m still cleaning and decorating I haven’t changed yet.”

  “I should hope so.”

  “You two look great,” I said appreciatively. “Classic skirt and sweater,” I said to Holly, “and Julia, very smart in that Christmasy dress.”

  Julia held out her arms and did a half twirl. “You like it?”

  “I love it. Green is your color.”

  “All right now,” Holly said, holding her hands above the assembled boxes like a conductor ready to engage her orchestra, “all this can stay out of the refrigerator. Have you got platters?”

  “Stacked behind you on the table,” I said. “I found out from Officer Turner that Gilroy had to let Oliver go. He couldn’t find any evidence that he tampered with the murder scene.”

&nb
sp; “Which murder scene?” Julia asked.

  While Holly and I arranged cookies and pies and the fruit torte on my red and white platters, I caught Julia up on the latest news. When I was done, she pronounced Oliver Morris innocent. “That man is incapable of murder,” she said. “I don’t know what he picked up or why he did it, but it didn’t have to do with Farley Brewer’s murder, you can be sure of that. The thought of that gentle man poisoning someone—and one of his friends, at that.” She solidified her argument by impatiently shaking her head, telling me I’d missed the boat by a mile.

  “Let’s grant that, then,” I said, sitting beside her.

  “A meeting of the Juniper Grove Mystery Gang?” Holly said, taking a seat at the head of the table.

  “Yes,” I said. “We need to put our heads together—and not just for Sonya’s sake. I only talked to Micah Schultz for a few minutes the day he died, but I liked him. And he trusted me to help Sonya. I want to put his killer away.”

  Holly tugged at the band that held her ponytail in place, letting her thick, dark hair fall free. She was my friend, but she could give me a serious case of hair envy, and a small and childish part of me didn’t want Gilroy to see us together in the same room. At least not when Holly’s hair was down. I knew I’d end up on the losing side. Did he ever notice her ivory skin and perfectly oval face?

  “Are we assuming that the person who killed Micah also killed Farley Brewer?” Holly asked.

  “For now,” I said.

  “Then let’s start with the suspects,” Holly said.

  “Ellen Lambert and Oliver Morris,” I said, counting off on my fingers. “Craig Eskew, Bonnie Eskew, and Amber de Witte. That’s everyone who was in the Lambert house when Micah was poisoned. Not counting Farley, of course.”

  “You’re forgetting Sonya Quinn,” Julia said. “She said she found the syringe in her coat pocket, but what’s the proof of that? You just told me she uses syringes for her aquarium. What if it was her syringe?”