by Liz Mugavero
Izzy looked blank. “Harold? Who the heck is Harold?”
“Harold Dewey. That’s who was in the Santa suit, not Seamus.”
Something dark passed over Izzy’s face before it cleared again. “Wow. Okay. Haven’t seen him in a while. So what happened to him?”
Stan shook her head. “That’s the big question. He keeled over during the sleigh ride.”
Izzy sucked in a breath. “That’s terrible. A heart attack?”
“They don’t know how he died yet. Here’s the thing, Izzy.” She took a deep breath. “Jessie wants to talk to you because Amara was worried about the way Harold died. She saw him drink a couple cups of the cider and almost immediately get sick. And you know Jessie. She’s going to look into it.”
Izzy’s mouth formed an O of surprise. She leaned back against the counter, clearly trying to get her bearings. “What … what are you saying, Stan? That my cider was bad and it made him sick?”
“I’m not saying anything. They’re worried something like that happened. And when no one could reach you …”
“My God.” Izzy walked slowly around the kitchen, tugging at her braids. “That’s not possible. It’s just not. I—”
“Izzy. Did you not get my messages?”
They both turned to find Jessie in the doorway, arms crossed, one foot tapping in annoyance. She’d been stealth opening that door, for sure.
“I just got them. I was on my way over here anyway,” Izzy said coolly. “Stan was filling me in.”
“I bet,” Jessie said, frowning at Stan. “Look, I need to ask you a few questions about tonight. Do you want to talk here?”
“If you’re asking if Stan can stay, yeah, she can. We can talk here.”
“Fine. You were in charge of refreshments for tonight?”
Izzy nodded.
“What did you provide and where?”
“The main refreshments at my café. Hot cider. A carafe of hot water for tea. Coffee. And some pastries. Cookies, mostly. Here, for Stan’s place. And at Santa’s headquarters. He gets his own small Crock-Pot of cider and his own plate. A tradition. There were cookies and bottles of water for anyone else in there helping him.”
Jessie made a couple of notes. “When did you get everything ready?”
“This afternoon. I like my orders fresh.”
“Okay. You made the cider?”
Izzy gave her a strange look. “I poured it into a Crock-Pot and added mulling spices. I didn’t actually make the cider. I bought it from the Cloverleigh Farm.”
“And the coffee?”
“I made the coffee.”
The door opened and Lou stuck his head in. “All the edibles you want bagged—they’re all back here?”
“Bagged?” Izzy looked from Jessie to Stan and back again. “You’re taking my food? What on earth for?”
Jessie ignored her. “Yeah. Right there.” She pointed at the counter. Lou nodded and started packing up the food. Jessie turned back to Izzy. “Did you deliver Santa’s food to the museum conference room?”
Izzy shook her head slowly. “I couldn’t. I sent Jana.”
“You gave her the key? Or was the museum staff unlocking the door for you?”
“The staff was supposed to open it for Jana, and then she was supposed to lock it back up until Santa got there.”
“Did that happen?”
Izzy lifted her shoulders in a listless shrug. “I wasn’t there.”
“So the room could’ve been left unattended.”
“It’s likely.”
“Why didn’t you bring the goods? Don’t you usually?”
“I had some other things going on,” Izzy said evenly, tossing her braids.
“You were at the café the whole time?”
“I was back and forth between the café and the bookstore all day. And I was up in my apartment some. Junior’s been sick.” Junior was the elderly dog Izzy had adopted last year. Izzy lived above her café in a two-bedroom apartment with Junior and her two other dogs, Baxter and Elvira.
Jessie looked like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t. “Okay. Do you have a number for Jana? I need to talk to her too, since she delivered the food. And I may need to circle back with you.”
Izzy frowned. “Hold on a second. Grilling me is one thing, but why do you need to bother Jana?”
“Because it’s my job to know everything that happened tonight,” Jessie said. “Don’t make this difficult, Izzy.”
Izzy looked like she might fire back. Stan held her breath. This might not end well.
But Izzy apparently decided to play her cards differently. She folded her arms against her chest and recited a number. Jessie wrote it down.
“You think my food or drinks killed Harold,” Izzy said. “Do you know how crazy that is?”
“I’ll be in touch,” Jessie said, slapping her notebook shut.
“Great. Something to look forward to,” Izzy said under her breath.
Jessie shot her a look. “Actually, I do have one more question.”
“Hey, why not,” Izzy said.
“Did you see Harold since he’s been back to town? Before he turned up dead, that is.”
Izzy shook her head. “Nope.”
“He didn’t show up at your café?”
“Not while I was there.”
“You didn’t speak at all?”
“Not once.”
Jessie watched her for what seemed like a long time, then nodded again. “Okay. Thanks.” She headed back out to the main room.
Once she was gone, Izzy looked at Stan. “I don’t believe this. Do you think they’re overreacting? Or do you think something really made him sick?”
“I have no idea,” Stan said grimly. “And why did she want to know if you’d seen Harold since he came back to town?”
“Who knows. You know her.” Izzy waved it off.
“I guess. And on top of all this, the real Santa is apparently missing. With Ray.”
Izzy gaped at her. “Seamus? Missing how?”
“Well, as far as everyone knew, he was supposed to be Santa. Finding out it was Harold was a huge surprise. No one’s heard from him. And then Char said Ray was due back from the poker game he and Seamus had gone to, up in Boston, but he never showed and hasn’t been in touch.”
Izzy leaned against the counter. “That’s not like Ray. You can set your clock by Ray. Do you think they’re okay?”
“That,” Stan said, “is the million-dollar question. Second only to, did Harold Dewey die for some reason other than an illness, and if so, what?”
Chapter Nine
Izzy slipped out the back door the same way she’d come in. Stan didn’t feel like going back out into the mix, so she tidied up her kitchen a bit. It was probably wrong to be disappointed about her soft opening night getting derailed, given the fact that someone had lost his life, however it had happened, but she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t. She and Brenna had spent a ton of time over the past month planning for this weekend. They’d set up an area within the café where Santa could have his picture taken with the animals. Tyler Hoffman had been on board for the gig, since he was always looking to supplement his meager Frog Ledge Holler income. Although he seemed to be swept up in the excitement of a big story instead.
And then tomorrow, they’d planned a whole spread—a catered buffet for customers provided by the new Italian restaurant in town, and special signature Christmas treats for the pets. They’d held a contest in the weeks leading up to the grand opening. Residents who submitted Christmas photos of their animals for the patisserie’s new website would have their pets’ names entered for a chance to win a signature treat named after them. Miss Viv’s little Pomeranian, Chuckie, had been chosen for this round of dog treats, while Betty Meany’s cat, Houdini, won on the cat side. Stan still planned to open tomorrow and feature Chuckie’s Christmas Cookies and Houdini’s Holly Jolly Catnolis, since she and Brenna had made them all today, but it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t
in good conscience, out of respect for the dead man, hold an official grand opening celebration. She’d just have to reschedule.
Which meant more work and double the bills. With a big sigh, she leaned against the counter and looked around. For just a moment, she allowed her pride in the shop to bubble up, despite the drama playing out around her. Though it pained her to admit it, her mother’s recommendations had all been right on. The marble countertops, the double oven, the extra counter space, had all turned what could have been a lackluster room into a place in which Stan loved to spend time on her creations. She wished tonight had been spent baking and planning recipes rather than running around in the middle of this chaos.
If this was a murder, she might need to heed her best friend Nikki’s warning from a few months ago and go see a psychic or someone who could clear her energy. Seemed like these days, every time a momentous occasion was on track to occur in her life, someone was killed.
She was starting to get a complex.
Brenna stuck her head in. “Hey. Need help back here?”
“Hey, Bren. No, just trying to stay out of Jessie’s way. What’s going on out there?”
“Jessie just left and took Char home.” Brenna came all the way in and closed the door behind her. “Marty and Lily went home, and Scott’s waiting for me.” She twisted a chunk of long brown hair around her finger. Her eyes were dark with worry. “I can’t even wrap my head around this night. Why did Jessie take the food? And I’ve been calling my uncle’s phone nonstop. He’s not answering.”
“I’m sorry, Bren. We’ll figure this out. Jessie’s just being cautious, I think. As for your uncle, there has to be a good explanation. Maybe the game just ran long. Doesn’t that happen sometimes with these really serious card people?” It sounded lame to her own ears. Plus, despite Seamus’s propensity to be flighty, Ray didn’t strike her as the type who would forget everything if a card game got too intense.
The kitchen door swung open again. This time it was Jake. Thank goodness. Stan always felt better when he was around. He crossed the room and gave her a big hug, then did the same to his sister. “I heard you didn’t make it home yet,” he said to Stan. “How are you guys doing?”
“Bad,” Brenna blurted out. “I’m so worried about Uncle Seamus!”
“I know. But let’s not worry yet,” Jake said. “He may waltz back into town any minute and have no idea what all the fuss was about.” He looked at Stan. “Holding up?”
“I am. Just trying to put this place in order. I have no idea what I’m going to do with all the food for tomorrow.” Stan blew out a breath and shoved at the hair falling out of her ponytail. “Maybe I’ll just put it out anyway. Otherwise it will go to waste.”
“Good idea. Keep things as normal as possible. Look. It’s been a really long day. Why don’t we all go home?”
“Will you call me if you hear anything?” Brenna asked.
“Of course.”
Once she’d gone, Jake turned to Stan. “Actually, let’s bring some of the food you ordered back to the house for Liam and Declan. I’m not sure if anyone will feel like eating, but if they do it’ll be there.”
“Okay. They took all the pastries. Everything Izzy made.”
Jake arched an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Jessie’s got this crazy notion that Izzy’s cider killed Harold.” She pulled a tray of pasta and another one of salad out of the fridge. Jake grabbed another one of some kind of chicken. They loaded the food, along with Scruffy, into Jake’s truck and headed home. But when they drove past the Frog Ledge Museum, Stan sat up straight. Two police cars were parked out front.
“Can you pull over?” she asked Jake.
“Stan. You know Jessie won’t want anyone here.”
“No, I’m on the committee,” Stan said. “She probably needs someone who can walk her through how this was supposed to work. Please?”
Reluctantly, he pulled into the parking lot. “Fine, but I’m not responsible when she tosses you out.”
They walked around to the back conference room where Santa’s headquarters had been set up earlier in the night. Jessie, Lou, and Colby were inside. Stan rapped on the door. They all turned. Jessie said something, and Colby came to the door.
“Hey,” he said, somewhat apologetically. “Jessie—uh, Sergeant Pasquale doesn’t think—”
“It’s okay,” Stan said, pushing past him. The room had been transformed from a conference room with a large table and chairs to a Christmas scene, with multicolored lights strung around the perimeter of the room, a Christmas tree in the corner with presents stacked underneath, and ornaments hanging strategically from the ceiling. Santa would’ve spent time back here after the ceremony, meeting kids and noting Christmas wishes. “Jess. I figured you needed someone from the committee to walk you through how this night was supposed to work. Right? I bet you forgot I was on the committee.”
“Hey, that’s perfect,” Lou said to Jessie. “You were just saying you needed to talk to Betty and couldn’t find her.”
Jessie shot him a look. He turned away and pulled out his fingerprint kit. Stan felt a knot form in her belly. Fingerprints. Serious stuff.
Meanwhile, Jessie looked unhappy to admit that Stan was right. “It would be helpful to speak to someone who set this up, sure. And Lou’s right. I couldn’t track Betty down, so I guess I’ll have to go with you.”
Jake chuckled. “Jess. You have such a way with people.”
Jessie ignored her brother. “So tell me how you guys ended up having this here. This was the first time, right? Santa’s headquarters used to be in the library.”
Stan thought back to the last committee meeting on the tree lighting. She hadn’t been too involved in that part of the evening—her piece had more to do with the actual stroll and working with the other merchants—but she vaguely remembered Betty gleefully cooking up the sleigh ride with Ted and his snowmobile, and determining that they needed a new place for Santa to wait in order to create that dramatic effect they were after. She nodded. “This was the first year of the sleigh ride. They needed a place where Santa could hang out before the sleigh ride, but it had to be close enough that they could load him up and go when it was time. So Ginny Featherstone offered up this room.” Ginny ran the programs and events department at the museum. “They gave us full access but wanted someone from the committee here at all times.”
“But that sounds like it didn’t happen. Because Izzy had things to do,” Jessie said, using air quotes. “So she sent the other girl.”
“She told you she had a good reason,” Stan defended her. “Junior was sick. She’s been trying to run a business, be on this committee, and get another business ready to open. Cut her a break, Jessie.”
“Mm-hmm. So anyone who knew the room was going to be used could’ve figured out that it was open and unmonitored if they were in the area. Which is basically the whole committee.”
“Pretty much, yes.” Stan sighed. “Not helpful, huh?”
“Not even a little. Remind me again who was on the committee?”
“Me. Betty. Izzy.” Stan listed the rest of the names that she could remember—twelve in all—then thought for a minute. “I think that’s it.”
They watched Lou dust the two Crock-Pots of cider. One was clearly marked For Santa with a smiley face and a little Christmas tree drawn on the note.
Stan was silent for a minute. “Hey, Jess?”
“What?”
“You really think someone poisoned Harold?”
“We’ll see what the toxicology reports say.” Jessie turned back to her work, dismissing Stan.
“Tell me you don’t really think it was Izzy, just because it was her cider. I mean, you just said anyone could have access to the room.”
Jessie ignored her not-so-subtle question. Stan expected it. She had to know, though.
“Are you sure about this?” Stan pressed. “I mean, this whole thing is a little crazy. Why would anyone want to poison Santa, for God’s
sakes?”
“Someone who got coal in their stocking?” Lou asked, trying for levity.
Jessie shot him a death glare. Once again, he turned away with a long-suffering sigh, but Stan could see a tiny smile playing on his lips.
“I want us to talk to everyone on the committee, anyone related to anyone on the committee, and anyone from the museum who was around tonight,” Jessie said, addressing Lou and Colby. “I also heard Harold had a girlfriend. Anyone know anything about that?”
“Nope,” Lou said.
“No idea,” Colby said.
They all looked at Jake.
“Why are you looking at me?” he asked.
“I figured he’d tell you about her. Over a drink or something.”
“I haven’t seen Harold since he came back to town,” Jake said. “But I do know he had been getting friendly with Helen Hayes last year.”
“Helen? Really?” Jessie shook her head.
“Who’s that?” Stan asked.
“She used to work at town hall. In the voter registration office. Her husband died a few years ago. I thought she had better taste than that. Lou, make sure you talk to her. I should have the tox report back Sunday or Monday. I asked for overtime at the lab to get it done, and miraculously, I got it. So I want to be able to move on any information if and when it comes in. Also, we need to find out where Harold got that shiner. It looked pretty fresh. Colby, go see Lester Crookshank. That’s where Harold stays when he’s in town.”
Colby nodded. “On it.”
It all sounded so official. Stan shivered a little. They hadn’t turned the heat up in the room at all, and it had gotten colder outside.
“Stan,” Jake said quietly. “We better go.”
“Amara too,” Jessie said, still thinking out loud. “I have to circle back with Amara. She said there were some extra elves. I wonder if she’s still up?”
“Can’t you talk to her tomorrow?” Stan asked. “She was pretty shaken up tonight.”
“I can imagine.” Lou shook his head. “Imagine being in a sleigh with Santa and the guy keels over and dies?”
When he put it that way …
Jessie checked her watch. “You’re right. I’ll catch her in the morning. Thanks, Stan.”
