by Ami Diane
Rose slipped into the kitchen. A moment later, she popped her head through the passthrough. “What two dozen?”
“I better go help her,” Ella said.
She winced as she stepped into the kitchen and avoided looking around. It was going to be hell to clean up.
Ella noticed the door to the fridge slightly ajar. “The door doesn’t always catch,” she explained to Rose. “You got to shut it and hold it a second.”
Pushing aside a bottle of milk, she dug around, searching for the egg cartons she’d seen the day before. With each food item moved, her frown deepened until she reached the back.
“That’s strange. There were two cartons in here. I saw them again when I was cleaning up as everyone left, so I know they didn’t get used for any last-minute bakers.”
“I better go to Stewart’s then.” Rose tightened the scarf around her neck. “Do be sure Wink calls me, dear? I’m afraid she’ll try to clean this mess up herself.”
“She’ll rope me into it, and you can bet those cute buttons on your coat I’ll be dragging everyone in here to help. Heck, I might see if Sal’s in his barber shop and bribe him to help.”
“That’s a smart girl.” Rose winked and set off through the front door.
After a heavy sigh, Ella decided she could no longer avoid the mess. She turned to the massacre and worried her lip. It wasn’t just the cleanup that was getting to her, it was the savageness of the remains. And the attack on Wink.
Who would do something so… heartless? The pies were for charity. And Wink was a kind, older woman.
Any other time, Ella would’ve chalked this event up to vandals, but this felt personal. Perhaps, someone had a grudge against Wink. The diner owner was well-loved the town over, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have her enemies—or made new ones.
Recently, she’d joined a ‘Save Twin Hills’ campaign committee to stop the installation of another wind farm on the hills. Ella had thought they’d taken care of those disgruntled by the proposal, but maybe there was someone still out there upset by her opposition.
Or maybe they really disliked pie. Wink could’ve startled them, and they’d bonked her over the head out of self-preservation.
Who gained and who lost with the pies destroyed? Wink lost, obviously. And at the moment, any gain from vandalizing the diner and destroying the pies eluded her—just like the vandal had.
They were still out there.
If Wink’s attack was the result of some startled vandal, then chances were slim they’d return. But this was a personal vendetta against Wink, then her friend was still in danger.
Erik’s death moved down a notch on her list of priorities. As far as she knew, there was no immediate threat or urgency in finding his killer. She wasn’t a detective, she knew, but her curious nature and inability to let go of a puzzle made it difficult for her to mind her own business—especially when it involved her friends.
Dropping to her haunches, Ella surveyed the kitchen with a different mindset. She wasn’t staring at the pumpkin guts as a waitress who would be scrubbing and mopping until the second coming. No, she was searching for clues.
Chapman was a good sheriff, although rough around the edges, but he was old school in his methods—quite literally. He was from the 1850s and a gunslinging lawman to boot. Although he’d adapted well to new investigative techniques, she noticed, there was still much of the old frontier in him. He didn’t even carry a notebook, for goodness’ sake.
Her head tilted in thought. Perhaps that would’ve been a better Christmas present. She shook away the idea and forced herself to concentrate.
After digging out her phone, she snapped a few photos, eventually focusing on the floor. The unfortunate tossing of the flour now seemed to work in her favor. She found traces of footprints separate from hers and Rose’s, just the toes mostly, leading to the back door.
They certainly weren’t her own. For one, she hadn’t gone out that direction, and for two, she hadn’t walked on her toes.
When she found the largest partial print she could find, one that included part of the heel, she zoomed in on her phone and took a picture of the tread. It appeared standard, with lines perpendicular to the length of the shoe.
After putting her foot beside the print, she snapped another photo, using her own foot for scale. By the size of the print, she leaned towards Wink’s assessment that the intruder was male.
Ella kept to the perimeter of the kitchen, following the tracks to the back door. As quiet as possible given the ancient hinges, she opened the door and leaned out, searching the snow. The landscape was nearly blotted out by the current thick, heavy flakes and gusts of wind kicking up powder. The only tracks visible were her own, rapidly filling in by the storm. It was possible that the intruder came this way, and their tracks were already covered, but that would mean they’d been there some time since the snow was only starting up again.
Ella’s brows pinched in a deep frown.
How did the flour prints on the kitchen floor abruptly end? And why did they lead out the back door when she’d chased the intruder out the front?
The only narrative that fit the evidence was that the vandal had broken-in much earlier and had hung around while the snow covered his tracks.
Ella snapped a few more photos of the floor. The mess of prints became more muddled by the kitchen door, but after close inspection, she failed to find the intruder’s tread.
Ella rubbed a building headache in her temples that had begun with Flo’s grand entrance, figuring the prints must be there but had gotten lost in the shuffle. She needed more coffee if she was going to get through the next couple of hours.
Stuffing her phone back into her pocket, she rejoined the sheriff and Wink, hoping they wouldn’t notice her extended absence.
CHAPTER 12
CHAPMAN WAS STILL grilling the diner owner. “You sure nothing was taken?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but who can tell in this mess?” Wink noticed Ella slip in. “Are any of them salvageable in there?”
“Not unless we scrape them off the floor and auction them upside down.” Ella snapped her fingers. “Is upside-down pie a thing? Who knows? Topped with a bit of whip cream, maybe no one’ll notice.”
“Not everyone’s got as an unrefined palate as you.”
Ella shrugged. “There are still the pies at the inn.”
Wink’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh. “I guess that’ll have to do. Those’ll have to go to the food bank. We’ll have to call off the auction.”
“Can’t you make more?” Chapman asked.
“Ordinarily, yes. But we used up the last of the greenhouses’ pumpkin stock.”
“What about apple?” Ella suggested. “That’s a thing at holidays, right?”
“Not a bad thought. I’ll call Stewart’s and see if I can’t catch Rose before she leaves.” She started to slide out of the booth, but Ella motioned her back down.
“I’ll call.”
After getting the number for the store from Wink, Ella slipped into the kitchen to use the phone. Chapman hollered for her not to touch anything but the phone. A half-second later, the door swung in, and he was in the room with her, inspecting the damage.
Ella dialed the number for Stewart’s Market. After a creaking voice answered, she greeted the owner and asked if Rose was still there.
“I believe so. Hold on a second.”
“That’s not necessary. Thanks, though. Can you just make sure she picks up….” Ella had no idea how many apples were required for a single pie, let alone how many pies Wink wanted to make. “A dozen apples?” She guessed aloud. “Yeah, have her pick up a dozen.”
The phone crackled in her ear. “What…ind?”
“Sorry, can you repeat that?”
“What kind of apples?”
“Uh… the fruit kind?” Ella glanced at the sheriff, wondering if he’d know. “It’s for apple pie.”
“Ah… I’ll… her.” His voice cut out again. Th
e weather was wreaking havoc on the town’s networked phone lines.
“Thanks, Stewart.”
“My pleasure… case I don’t see you… a Merry Christmas and—” His voice cut off as the line went dead.
“Stewart?” Ella pressed the phone hook a couple of times, but it was no use.
“Line’s dead.”
Chapman nodded. “Must be the storm.”
She glanced outside, barely able to pierce the veil of snow falling a few feet out from the window.
He crouched by the refrigerator, surveying the kitchen in much the same way she had. His handlebar mustached drooped extra low, the only outward sign he found the scene puzzling.
“You didn’t touch anything?”
Ella shook her head. Dropping beside him, she indicated her footprints on the dusted floor, then Rose’s, followed by the vandal’s.
“Look’s to be a men’s size thirteen. Anything taken here?”
“Not that I can tell…” Ella’s words trailed off into a shrug.
Chapman ran his hands through his swept-back gray hair. “Good thing Rose caught me before I left the office. This weather’s caused a lot of problems. I was just heading over to the Johnston’s when the telephone rang.”
He pronounced every syllable of “telephone” as if his tongue were unaccustomed to producing the word.
“Why were you going over to the Johnston’s?”
“Their roof caved in. Nobody was hurt, but it’s gonna get a might cold at their place.”
“Can they stay somewhere else? Do they need to stay at the inn?”
He shook his head. “They’re holed up at a neighbor’s for the time being.” Studying the partial footprints of the perpetrator more closely, his frown deepened. “Wasn’t from no cowboy boots or snow boots, I can tell you that. You get photos on that fancy device of yours?”
Ella’s cheeks heated up. He was quickly learning.
“Good,” he replied, her silence enough of an answer. “Anyone expressing untoward emotions about this auction?”
“None that I heard.”
He shook his head. “Takes a special kind of person to do this. Lots of needy folks who won’t be having dessert this Christmas.”
“Speaking of, what are you doing Christmas Day?”
Slowly, he unfolded to his full height and tugged at the ends of his mustache. “What I do every year.”
“Which is…?”
“Sit by the fire, drink some whiskey, and read.”
“You read?” Ella cleared her throat. “I mean, that sounds really nice. But if you want company in the form of two bickering old ladies, Rose and some sort of gelatin mold, and a young, funny, charming, witty—”
“If you’re describing yourself, those aren’t the words I’d use.”
“—beautiful, clever, and funny woman, you should come over.”
“You said ‘funny’ twice.”
“Did I? Well, then it must be true.”
He shook his head. “That’s a kind offer, Miss Barton, but I don’t think I’d be good company. The holidays are hardest for me, and I’d prefer to be alone.”
“I get it.”
Ella walked him to the front door of the diner, passing a dozing Wink in the corner booth. She wondered if they should worry about a concussion, but Pauline hadn’t said anything.
Stooping over, Chapman scooped up the fallen bell and hung it back over its hook above the door. Something about the moment, about fixing a broken thing and putting it back the way it had been, got to her.
She swallowed, glanced at Wink, and dropped her voice. “This’ll be my first Christmas without my family and far away from home. I’m not going to lie, I’m dreading it a bit. Jimmy and Rose can’t replace my parents. The inn can’t replace my home, but both are a decent substitute, all things considered.”
Silence filled the space between them a moment.
She held out her palms in a partial shrug. “Who knows? It might be nice having the distraction. Maybe it could be the same for you?”
He looked at the floor as he tipped his head to put his hat on.
“Think of us like extended family. You know, the in-laws you’re forced to spend the holidays with. The ones you say you hate then miss whenever that time of year rolls around again.”
He tilted his head. “I think we’ve had very different holiday experiences.”
“Just promise you’ll think about it, please?” She did her best impression of Fluffy when he begged for food, minus the meowing and pawing.
“I will if you promise never to use that look on me again.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
With a nod of farewell, he opened the front door. A blast of cold air bit her skin, causing it to prickle.
“Oh, Miss Barton. Who else has access to the diner?”
The question caught her off guard as flurries of snow whipped inside across the wet doormat.
“Just myself, Wink, and Horatio.” She’d stake her life the cook wasn’t involved, and unless Wink could knock herself over the head, she wasn’t involved either.
“If you see this person again, don’t run after them. Call me.”
“The lines are down.”
“Then run away and find me.” There was a finality to his tone that left little room for discussion.
The door closed, and he leaned into the wind, the snow swallowing him in a flurry of white.
She decided to let her friend snooze a bit longer and stole back into the kitchen. After procuring a mop, broom, and dustpan, she began in the corner and worked her way towards the island.
She had just finished using the dustpan as a trowel to shovel at least three pies worth from the counter and dumped it into the overflowing trash when the doorknob jiggled for the back entrance.
Ella froze, her heart hammering against her chest. Why hadn’t she thought to lock it?
She held the dustpan aloft like a shield and grabbed the mop handle, wielding it like a sword.
The door burst in with a gust of wind, and someone in a fur coat and chiffon dress darted inside.
“Rose! I almost mopped you to death!”
“Is that an idiom for attacking someone where you come from?”
“It is now. What are you doing out there in that outfit?”
“I came looking for you. The phones are down—oh, you started without me.”
She appeared disappointed, and it hit Ella that the woman derived some sort of sick pleasure in cleaning. That was a discussion she planned on tackling in the future, but not today.
Ella leaned the mop against the island counter. “I figure, I’m no use in the kitchen, so maybe you and Sleeping Beauty in the diner back there can make more pies while I clean up.”
“Great idea. I got your message and picked up the apples. I think I have everything else on hand. If not, I’m sure Wink does here.” She assessed the room. “We’ll have to make them at the inn. It’s a good thing I took my flour back yesterday or it would be all over the floor.”
Ella eyed the white powder covering nearly every surface, wondering just how many cups she’d already scooped up then decided she didn’t want to know.
“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Sheriff Chapman over for Christmas. Not that he’ll come, but he seemed like he was considering it. After I coerced him, mind you.”
“Chapman? He doesn’t already have plans?”
“Not plans, per se.”
“I’m glad you invited him, then. No one should be alone on Christmas.” She sighed at the mess, and Ella could tell she was struggling not to attack the place with a sponge. The woman had issues.
“I suppose I should start on the pies,” she said but failed to move.
“Sounds good. Get a move on.”
“I am.”
“You haven’t moved.”
“I haven’t?” Rose pushed her glasses up her nose. “You sure you don’t want help in here?”
“Don’t worry,” Ella assured her. “I got this. Nothing a good bottle of bleach and a power washer couldn’t fix.” When Rose’s face scrunched in confusion, Ella added, “I’m just kidding. I’ll only use half a bottle of bleach.”
With one last lingering look at the chaos, the innkeeper went through the diner to wake Wink. A minute later, Ella heard the door jingle as they left.
She lost track of time, scrubbing, sweeping, and mopping. At one point, she sang the song from Cinderella in the scene where the character was mopping and soap bubbles were floating around her, but Ella promptly realized she didn’t know the lyrics and settled on humming.
After she had scrubbed every surface to the point it shone and filled another trash can to the brim, she stepped back and admired her work. Taking a hand towel, she dabbed at the sweat on her forehead and dropped it into the pile of dirty rags.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the snacks she’d nipped from the pastry case up front weren’t satiating enough. She glanced at her watch and saw that the potluck and auction started in an hour.
Hurriedly, she flipped off the lights and locked both sets of doors, hoping she could have a last-minute strategy session with Wink and Flo for the potluck, as well as to help carry the freshly baked apple pies over to the church. Outside, she waded through knee-high snow on the sidewalk, past drifts up to her chest. People had given up on staying on top of the blizzard-like conditions and were letting nature take her course.
The manor’s front yard had been neglected, forcing her to half-swim, half-crawl to the stoop. All around, snow swirled and stabbed her skin with its icy kiss.
She felt, rather than saw the stoop. Inside the inn, she peeled off her hat and scarf and leaned against the door, sucking in the scent of fires, Christmas trees, and apple pies.
As she disrobed several layers, excited voices came from the study. The door burst open, and a frazzled Rose pushed back her perfectly curled hair. A man with a vaguely familiar face followed on her heels.
“Apologies again for the inconvenience, Mrs. Murray.” The man hovered near the coat tree and shrugged on a trench coat, followed by a scarf and fedora.
