Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2

by Karin Kaufman

  “I told them,” he answered without hesitation. “When Craig came here and asked me to steal from the money we raised for Christmas, starting the whole thing over again, I said I was going to talk to the others. I’d had enough. Even though he hadn’t taken any money, I got so angry. Farley, Micah, and I were going to figure out what to do next after Christmas. How to deal with Craig. But I said he was out of the group, and that was it. No discussion. He should have been forced to pay back everything he took ten years ago. We shouldn’t have let . . .” His voice fell away, and he tilted his head, as if hearing a far-off sound. “Oh, God. It was me. What have I done?”

  “Oliver.”

  “It was me, Rachel. I made Craig go after Sonya. I made Bonnie kill Micah and Farley.”

  “You refused to keep quiet about a crime. You did the right thing. You’re not to blame here, Oliver. Not one bit.”

  I wondered what kind of madness enabled someone to poison their friends. Friends who had done no harm. And the ironic truth of it was, Craig couldn’t have been prosecuted for his theft ten years ago. There wasn’t a whiff of proof that he took that money, and the statute of limitations had to have passed on the crime. Bonnie must have known that. But maybe she didn’t care. Revenge was a dish best served cold, after all. I wondered, too, if Craig knew what Bonnie had done. He must have suspected her. There were so many unanswered questions.

  But one thing I knew. Bonnie Eskew was out of her mind.

  “Micah was the one who wanted us to wait until after Christmas before we told Craig to leave the Four Santas,” Oliver said. Tears were glistening in his eyes. “He didn’t want us to ruin Craig and Bonnie’s holiday. Bonnie should have handed that first cookie to me.”

  “You were going to be targeted too. It was only a matter of time.”

  “What was she doing? Saving me for last?”

  Oliver rubbed his eyes and pushed to his feet. His legs appeared to have gone weak on him, and he briefly stood still before heading for the door. “I need to go to the police station.”

  “I’ll take you. My car’s right outside.”

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  The receptionist was grinning like a Cheshire cat when Oliver walked up to her desk and asked her to hold down the fort for an hour or so.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “By the way, Bonnie Eskew stopped by with some cookies. She said I could try them, too. Like I don’t have enough cookies at home. I’m proud to say I restrained myself and waited for you.” She picked up a plate of snowball cookies and held it out. “She wanted us to try them right away and tell her what we think.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The morning light poured between the houses and through the pine trees across Finch Hill Road. I stood on my front porch, cradling my first cup of coffee. The cold was comforting, cleansing. “Christmas,” I said aloud. Not as I had pictured my first Christmas with Gilroy in my daydreams, but it was good.

  A slight breeze carried the smell of burning wood. Looking across the street and to the west and east of me, I saw smoke rising from almost every chimney on my street. The Kavanaghs were already up, but that wasn’t surprising. Seven o’clock wasn’t at all early for them. I heard Julia’s front door open, and I peeked over the hedge between our two houses. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you! I’ve got your present. Hang on.”

  “Julia, be careful,” I said, but she was already padding her way down her front walk and out her gate. Wearing a pink robe and fluffy pink slippers. I grinned and bit my lip.

  “Here we are,” she said, breezing through my gate. She didn’t like it, but I helped her up the stairs. I still hadn’t shoveled them, and I wasn’t going to ruin Christmas for her or me by adding a hospital visit to the day. I’d had quite enough of that sort of thing.

  “Come on, have some coffee,” I said, making my way to the kitchen.

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  I poured her a cup and sat with her at the table, eyeing the package she’d brought. “I’m going to take a wild guess. It looks like a mug-sized box.”

  “As if you don’t have enough mugs and cups,” she said. “I thought of getting you a year’s worth of free cream puffs from Holly’s Sweets, but I didn’t think I could afford it.”

  “Hey, we’re supposed to be nice on Christmas!”

  “I’m joking,” she said, patting my hand. “Now stop waffling and open it!”

  I tore into the purple bow and silver wrapping paper and popped open the box inside. At first, all I saw was a curl of scarlet ribbon. Then I glimpsed a silver ball beneath. A Christmas ornament. I gently pulled it out by the ribbon and let the ornament rest in the palm of my hand. “Julia, it’s beautiful.”

  “It says ‘Blessed Christmas’ on it. Look.” She pointed at the frosted white lettering. “I didn’t think anything could be more appropriate.”

  “You’re right. It’s perfect,” I said, giving her a hug. “And now yours.” I raced upstairs to my bedroom and hurried back again.

  “What is it?” she said.

  I put the box the table in front of her. “I’m not telling you. Open it, silly.”

  She ripped open her wrapping paper with every bit as much vigor as I had mine, took the top off the box, and turned back the tissue paper. “Rachel, it’s just what I needed.” She lifted it up and looped it around her neck. “A scarf without a frayed edge or a single hole in it. And it’s so soft.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Next year is going to be very warm. So what did you get Chief Gilroy?” she asked, barely able to contain both her nosiness and her excitement.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’m not letting you know before he does! That wouldn’t be fair. I’ll tell you all about it later.” I was about to tell her what had happened yesterday with Oliver, as a sort of compensation, but I decided against it. It could wait. And if it couldn’t, Holly could tell her. Holly probably would tell her. She had gone with me and Oliver to the police station, where, thankfully, both Underhill and Turner had been on duty. Neither one of them could have handled interviewing Oliver and arresting Bonnie and Craig on their own, and I commanded them not to call Gilroy. Not that it was any of my business.

  Underhill handled things remarkably well. He took control of the cookies Bonnie had dropped by Juniper Charities’ office, and declaring it an emergency in spite of it being Christmas Eve, he had them checked immediately for palytoxin. They were loaded with it. Bonnie was indeed out of her mind.

  Craig said he knew nothing about the murders, only about the threats on Sonya, but when pressed, he admitted he suspected Bonnie of killing his fellow Santas. And oh yes, he said, they owned a truck. Bonnie liked to drive it. Before Underhill could check it out, Bonnie admitted she had fired shots at Sonya and Gilroy with her revolver and then drove them off the canyon road. Her truck undoubtedly bore evidence of the collision, so there was no point in her denying what she’d done.

  Holly and I stood in the lobby all the while, listening to Underhill question them. He knew we were there, but he also knew I needed answers to my questions—especially about the truck that had rammed into Gilroy’s SUV—and he let us listen.

  Underhill and Turner were happy men. They had wanted the murders off their plates too. A fresh start for Christmas. Before Holly and I left the station, Underhill told me he would transfer the Eskews to the Larimer County jail and go home. He would send Turner home too. He wasn’t expecting any crime on Christmas Eve.

  “I’m still worried about poor Sonya,” Julia said.

  “Don’t worry about her. She has a father and aunt, and a few people in town who will watch over her. She’s not alone.”

  “But it’s Christmas, Rachel.”

  “She won’t be alone today. Since Bonnie and Craig are in jail, and Bonnie won’t be bailed out any time soon, Turner drove to Windsor to pick her up from his parents’ house and drive her back here.”
r />   “So she was hiding in Windsor?”

  “Yup. Tuner’s dad is a cop. She was safe.”

  “How lovely! And now she’s back in Juniper Grove. But will she stay at her apartment?”

  “Not today.” I grinned.

  “Rachel, you know I have no patience. Speak up.”

  “All right. Sonya is staying with Oliver. He said he wants to tell her he’s her real father. Ellen’s coming too. They’re all going to talk. Sonya is having a real Christmas, Julia. With good food and decorations and family.”

  I was about to refresh my coffee when the doorbell rang.

  “Who would come to your house at this hour?” Julia said, oblivious to the irony of her question.

  I opened the door and found Gilroy, balanced somewhat precariously on crutches, standing on my snow-covered porch. “James! How did you get here?”

  He tossed his head at the street. “Underhill. Believe it or not, he volunteered to drive me.”

  I peered around him at the Juniper Grove squad car parked at my curb. “Well, merry Christmas! Come in. Julia is here.”

  Julia’s footsteps sounded on the floor behind me.

  “No, I want you to come with me,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Foster.”

  “Merry Christmas, Chief Gilroy.”

  “Do you mind if I take Rachel away for a while?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Get your coat,” he said to me.

  I wheeled for the kitchen, lifted my coat from the hook, and shot a smile at Julia. I felt like a little kid.

  Gilroy managed to squeeze his way into the backseat of the SUV without hurting himself, and after I wished Underhill a merry Christmas, the three of us sat in silence as he drove west into the foothills along the winding curves of Cedar Avenue. Juniper trees threw long shadows over the road, and everywhere I looked, snow blanketed the land.

  A mile into the foothills, I spoke up. “Where are we going?”

  “Never mind,” Gilroy said. “You’ll see.”

  Underhill glanced at the rearview mirror, and I saw his smile—tired but broad—reflected in it.

  “This is near where you went off the road,” I said.

  “That’s about two miles ahead,” Gilroy said.

  A minute later, Underhill eased up on the accelerator as the road bent south. He slowed again and came to a stop. “Okay, Chief,” he said. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back.”

  “Thanks, Underhill.”

  Out my window I saw nothing but snow-covered foothills and junipers, but off to my left, out Gilroy’s window, I saw the valley below and colored lights like tiny jewels in half a dozen pine trees clustered in their own small grove. James got out and extended his arm to me. “Let me show you.”

  We stood by the car, looking out over the valley, over the sparkling snow and six dozen trees in their own grove, miraculously lit in the middle of nowhere.

  “I saw these trees last night,” he said. “I was hoping they’d be lit on Christmas morning.”

  “It’s beautiful. So peaceful. Someone must knock the snow off those trees so the lights show, but I don’t see a single footprint or tire track.

  “Where do you think they plug in the lights?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He pulled me to his side, and I laid my head on his shoulder. “Underhill told me you solved the murder cases.”

  “Hardly. A bunch of lucky guesses.”

  “That’s not what I heard. There was nothing lucky about it.”

  “We’ll have to thank him for driving us out here on Christmas morning.”

  “I already did. He has the next two days off.”

  I laughed. “Thank goodness you hired Turner.”

  Enchanted by the beauty and stillness, and not wanting to break the spell, neither of us spoke. And then, after a minute, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t divorce my wife,” he said in a low, tentative voice.

  I could feel his chest rise with his deep-taken breaths.

  “She died. She was murdered.”

  I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Oh, James. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a carjacking in Denver. Two years later, I moved to Fort Collins and became a cop.”

  “I’m so sorry.” It was all I could think to say.

  He pulled me close again, holding me as tightly as he ever had. “It’s all right. It’s been eighteen years. I think I’m just coming up for air.”

  I looked far away, out past the trees to homes and barns on the horizon. My heart was breaking for him. He’d waited so long to tell me. Did he think I’d run away? Had he feared my reaction? Of course he had. Just as I had feared his when he found out how long I’d grieved for a marriage that had never existed.

  Here we were, two people who had locked themselves in their own worlds for too long. But no more. It was Christmas morning. Bright and clear.

  “I love you,” I said.

  He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, too.”

  SCARED TO DEATH

  A JUNIPER GROVE MYSTERY

  KARIN KAUFMAN

  CHAPTER 1

  The interior of the Grandview Hotel was quite possibly the dreariest thing I’d ever seen. And I was destined to stay there overnight. My friend Holly Kavanagh had been offered the chance of a lifetime by the millionaire owner of the hotel—catering a gathering there—and I had agreed to go along for moral support. So had Julia Foster, our sixty-something neighbor on Finch Hill Road. By the looks of the lobby, Holly was going to need every ounce of support we could muster.

  The Grandview was privately owned, but not so the five acres of land it sat on. Though the hotel was set in the Colorado foothills four miles northwest of Juniper Grove proper, the land belonged to the town. The Grandview had been built in 1908, back when luxury and chunkiness were synonymous. Ornate coffered ceilings, dark wood paneling, massive interior columns. I figured the decor was appropriate for a hotel whose claim to fame was a mysterious and unsolved murder in room 108. Seriously, people paid extra to stay in that room. And gangster Al Capone had used the hotel as a hideaway, staying in a less popular room on the third floor.

  The three of us stood in the empty lobby, our suitcases at our feet. Holly was chewing on the inside of her lower lip and fiddling with her wedding ring, probably reconsidering her decision to stay at the hotel. She’d left her husband, Peter, in charge of her bakery—and of Caleb, their thirteen-year-old son—to serve pastries to a talk-radio host and his assistants before, during, and after their live broadcast from room 108.

  “Tell me again why I agreed to do this,” she said.

  “Because Arthur Jago loves your baking and is going to help you expand Holly’s Sweets,” I replied.

  Julia gave a mock shiver. “Now tell me why I agreed to this.”

  Holly elbowed Julia. “You agreed because we’re friends and you didn’t want me to be alone in this creepy place.”

  “And Peter, sensible man that he is, wouldn’t let you go alone,” Julia said.

  “Now that we have that straight.” I snapped up my small suitcase. “Come on, you two, we can do this. It’s just a hotel.” I strode to the receptionist’s desk and dinged the call bell.

  Moments after I heard the echo of footsteps down a distant hall, a tall, potbellied man in a bold plaid sweater rounded a corner into the lobby, his eyes settling on Holly. He broke into a broad smile. “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, giving her a quick, restrained hug. His was a round, Humpty Dumpty kind of face, with a hairline that had receded a good two inches, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and a small, pink mouth. A friendly face, I thought. Not that my record on judging faces was anything to crow about. It was dismal, in fact.

  “Arthur,” Holly said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “No, thank you for coming out here on a cold January evening. I know this isn’t your cup of tea, but if Shane Rooney goes crazy over your pastries on live radio tonight, an
d he will, that alone will be worth your while. His station’s signal reaches north to Wyoming and south to Denver.” He rubbed his hands together. “And where are those lovely pastries of yours? And by pastries, I mean eclairs. You know how I love them.”

  “In my SUV at the side of the building,” Holly said, digging her keys from her coat pocket. “We need to go back.”

  “You stay right there.” He reached out and slapped the bell. “I closed the hotel to guests for the event, but the managers are still here. And you can leave your car parked where it is.”

  Holly gestured toward me and Julia. “These are the friends I told you about. Rachel Stowe and Julia Foster.”

  “Welcome ladies,” Arthur said, shaking first Julia’s hand and then mine. “Are you ready? You’re in for an experience tonight.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Julia said.

  “Don’t you worry. You’ll have the time of your life.” Just as Arthur raised his hand to ring the bell again, a large carved door on the other side of the lobby swung open and a man and woman hastened to the receptionist’s desk.

  “Let me introduce Ian and Connie Swanson,” Arthur said. “Managers of the Grandview for three years now. They have a suite on the third floor.”

  “So if you need anything at all, any time of night, don’t hesitate,” Ian said, stepping forward to grasp Holly’s hand.

  Another round of handshaking and introductions ensued, after which Arthur asked the Swansons to retrieve the pastries from Holly’s car and take them to the kitchen. Connie nodded eagerly, telling Holly what a fan she was of her bakery, then took her keys and marched for the door, Ian on her heels.

  “It’s snowing,” Holly called out.

  “We’re fine,” Ian yelled over his shoulder.

  Wearing only sweaters and jeans, the two headed out into the brewing storm.

  “They’re young,” Arthur said. “They can handle a little cold.”

  The Swansons weren’t that young. Early forties, probably. But I could tell they were keen on pleasing Arthur—without delay.