Three Carols of Cozy Christmas Murder

by Carolyn L. Dean

  “This place has great food, and people come from all over to stay at the Resort. They host a lot of business conferences and big weddings here. I’ve heard the rooms are supposed to be really luxurious, I guess, but local folks from Brightwater Bay come out to the Resort, too. They drive all the way out here to buy goodies from the bakery. Wait ‘til you taste Aunt Myrna’s orange buns.” She rolled her eyes melodramatically. “They’re to die for!”

  As they walked through the luxurious building, Claire could see why people would want to stay at the Brightwater Resort. There were signs directing guests to the massage and spa area, and a peek through a set of double French doors showed off a large pool, covered for the winter. After making several more turns through corridors and connecting hallways, they caught the scent of the heavenly aroma of baking bread and pastries, and it didn’t take long before they arrived at a brightly lit shop with black and white marble floor tiles and a hand-painted wooden sign.

  Brightwater Resort Bakery, since 1912.

  Each Bite Delicious

  “Hi, Aunt Myrna!” Molly called out as she walked in, and a gray-haired lady with carefully coiffed hair popped her head up from behind the broad marble counter.

  “Cookie!” She sang out, a huge grin lighting up her face. She looked to be about sixty years old but the quick bounce in her step as she jogged around the end of the counter and came to hug her niece made her appear much younger.

  “I wondered when you were going to show up, cookie, you missed all the excitement. Cops were here and everything! Part of my back room’s ripped apart. and you’re just in time to help me get put it back together so we can get everything set up for tomorrow’s baking.” Suddenly realizing that Molly wasn’t alone, the older lady turned and looked at Claire. “Who’s your new buddy?”

  Molly gave her aunt a resounding kiss on the cheek, and then gestured at Claire. “Auntie, you remember I told you they found Orrin dead at the little cottages down by the ferry, the ones Daisy owns? Well, this is the lady who found him.” She leaned over and loudly whispered, “He nearly wound up on top of her.”

  Myrna openly looked her up and down, as if evaluating what she saw, but she did it in such an obvious way that it didn’t make Claire uncomfortable at all. Molly continued the introductions. “Claire, this is my aunt, Myrna Applegate. She’s the greatest baker in the world,” she said with a giggle and Myrna laughed with her.

  “She’s right, I am the greatest baker the world.”

  Claire couldn’t help but smile, even after all she’d been through that day. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Applegate,” she said, reaching out, and Molly’s aunt wiped the flour off her hands before gripping Claire’s in a friendly handshake. “I’m sorry to hear someone broke into your bakery.”

  Mrs. Applegate shrugged noncommittally. “Could’ve been worse. All the money gets stashed at night in the resort safe, so they didn’t get any cash at all. No one got hurt. Probably just some teenagers looking for some mischief. They moved around a bunch of our equipment in the back and broke a couple of things, but that was it.” She looked shrewdly at Claire. “I hear you’ve been having a tougher day than I have.”

  Claire tried to smile. “I’m here to eat away my sorrows. Any recommendations?”

  “Are you kidding?” Molly laughed incredulously. “Come over here and look in this case. Take your pick.”

  The glass display case was probably twenty feet long, with two levels inside and ropes of tinsel garland and small, hanging glass ornaments on the outside. Rows of trays and baskets were full of every pastry Claire had ever dreamed of, or heard of. Delicate chocolate filigree-decorated custard tarts were near the front, and an assortment of pies, some available by the slice, showed off the amazing variety of fruit in the region. Perfect creampuffs were filled with snowy-white froth and dusted with powdered sugar, while a row of tall layer cakes showed off the bakers’ talents. Fresh doughnuts, newly-dipped in sprinkles or frosted, were laid out with perfect precision.

  “I can’t choose,” Claire said. “Honestly, they all look amazing.” She felt like a little kid again, with her nose pressed against the candy counter. Straightening up, she looked at Mrs. Applegate, now understanding Molly’s praise for her talents. “You know, I love to bake, too, but I don’t think I could ever do anything this magnificent.” She glanced back at the case. “How about a piece of German chocolate cake?” she asked, and Mrs. Applegate pulled the cake out and sliced off a large chunk, expertly setting it sideways on a white plate. She handed Claire the plate and a clean fork, then watched in anticipation as she dug in.

  The first bite was heavenly, and the second one was even better. Claire kept chewing as she glanced at the beaming baker.

  “Genius,” Claire muttered, around a mouthful of broken crumbs. “Amazing.”

  Leaving Claire to her cake and her happiness, Molly and her aunt walked around the counter and into the back room. Claire was just scraping the last bit of frosting off the plate when the women returned, Molly’s face a thundercloud of anger.

  “You can’t believe how much got tipped over back there! Even the big machinery, and most of that’s brand new, when we replaced the old ones less than a year ago. You know how expensive those things are? The maintenance guy is back there, helping clean up and trying to get everything working again, but the new video camera wasn’t installed correctly, and I guess there’s no footage of the guys who did all this.”

  Mrs. Applegate watched her niece’s agitation with calm detachment. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Cookie, I love this place, but it’s only equipment and a bit of a mess. It’s not people. If we can’t make pistachio biscotti tomorrow, we’ll just put up a sign and let people know why. The guests will understand.”

  Claire set her fork on the plate with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious. I’ve made German chocolate cake before but never one like that.”

  The compliment seemed to delight Mrs. Applegate. “Honey, you ever thought about working in a bakery? Abigail’s going on maternity leave any day now and I’m going to be really short-handed for the next few months. Are you looking for a job?” she asked, but Claire instantly shook her head.

  “Thanks, but I’m due to be back in Arizona as soon as the police let me leave.” Noticing Mrs. Applegate’s crestfallen expression, she gently said, “It isn’t that I wouldn’t love to work with you. I’m just not up to the skill level you have here, and I’ve got to get back.”

  Mrs. Applegate nodded in understanding. “Back to friends and family. I completely understand.”

  The words brought Claire up short. Back to friends and family.

  Well, not really, she thought. Back to an empty apartment and a job hunt in the desert.

  As the thoughts crossed her mind she instantly tamped them down. The sooner she put Brightwater Bay behind her, the better.

  Mrs. Applegate was still explaining “They didn’t even really steal anything, except for a pumpkin pie. Oh, and someone dropped a fruitcake and then tracked it all over the back room. I’m going to have to make Sarah double-mop that whole area so the stickiness doesn’t wind up as a sticky mess across the whole bakery.”

  Claire’s ears perked up. “Fruitcake? He stepped in fruitcake?,” she asked, knowingly, but Mrs. Applegate shook her head.

  “No, dear. They stepped in fruitcake. More than one person. There are two completely different sets of shoe prints back there.”

  Chapter 8

  Thank goodness for dogs, Claire thought the next day, watching the backside of her furry friend, Roscoe, heading for the ferry dock on his morning walk. After the excitement and the horror of the previous day, it was lovely to do something as simple as taking him outside.

  Though the forecast had threatened snow, the heavy clouds high over the town hadn’t cooperated yet. Claire was almost looking forward to being able to experience a Pacific Northwest snowfall. Maybe it was all the decorations in the stores and restaurants, or maybe it was how cheery th
e people seemed, but whatever it was, there was a happiness that seemed to pervade the little town of Brightwater Bay.

  A happy town, until she thought back to the ongoing investigation and the fact that Orrin Cable had died under mysterious circumstances. Claire kept trying to push the reality of the previous day to the back of her mind, concentrating on the swooping gulls and the Christmas music that had been on the radio when she woke up. It felt like she hadn’t had a Christmas in ages, and the first time she caught herself humming along with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, she was surprised when she realized it was her own voice.

  The walk was lovely this time of day. Several early joggers loped by, most of them greeting her with a cheery smile or a ‘good morning’. She could see the white steeple of the church by the town’s center, rising like a hopeful beacon against the gray clouds. The town was built on hills that dropped down to the saltwater bay, and when Claire looked back at Brightwater she could see Christmas trees in many of the front windows of the houses, and even some sparkling lights around the foliage in a lot of the front yards.

  Christmas in Arizona had always been a time of stress for her, as many of her accounting clients were asking for end-of-year reports, or wanting to know how they stood taxwise, so they could calculate what to do to minimize the amount they would have to pay. Christmas here in Brightwater seemed to be a very different sort of occasion, relaxed and joyful. Claire made a mental note to walk through the shops later to see what was on sale. Even if she didn’t have anyone to shop for, exactly, maybe it would still feel good to be part of the Christmas crowds.

  She was leaning on a wooden railing and looking out on the Bay, her thoughts a jumble of her recent experience in town, when a cheerful whistle caught her attention.

  “Daydreaming?” Scott asked. The cold morning air caught his breath and made wisps of steam. He was wearing a heavy coat and had a large travel mug in his hands. “If I’d known I’d bump into you here, I would’ve brought more coffee.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a smile, “but I’m more of a tea drinker.”

  He feigned shock. “In this neck of the woods? That’s like saying you don’t love your mother and apple pie.” His expression turned more serious. “How are you holding up?”

  Knowing he was referring to everything that had happened the day before, Claire quickly told him about her trip to the Brightwater Resort Bakery, and that there had been two distinct sets of footprints from someone accidentally stepping in fruitcake while they were trashing the back room.

  Scott’s eyebrows went up. “You mean Orrin was in the bakery and had an accomplice?”

  “Sounds like it,” Claire said with a nod. “I left a voicemail for Officer Portman so he could investigate it. He’ll turn it over to whoever’s working the case. Mrs. Applegate said she hadn’t pointed it out to the junior officer, I think his name was Bell, who showed up and took the initial report.”

  Scott looked disgusted. “I know Officer Bell. He’s a nice guy and all, but I wouldn’t trust him to find a killer. To be honest, I’m not even sure I’d trust him to find a stolen fruitcake.”

  Pulling Roscoe’s leash so he wouldn’t chase a nearby seagull who was eyeing him, Claire shrugged. “I also had a card on my front door when I got back from the bakery. It was from the detective from the sheriff’s agency, wanting me to call her. I left a voicemail, but I have no idea what I can say that will help the investigation.” She caught Scott’s eye, her voice adamant. “My dog heard a sound that night, I searched but didn’t find anything, I went to sleep, then I opened my front door the next day and BOOM. Dead guy in my foyer.”

  They walked together toward the main street, Roscoe excitedly pulling on the leash as he tried to make them go faster. Looking in the shop windows together was fun, even if Claire felt a bit awkward. From time to time she’d glance sideways at Scott, wondering what was on his mind. He was acting like a true friend to her, but it still felt a bit odd. She wasn’t used to having male friends, and even though she was enjoying her time with him there was still a sense of unease about it.

  They walked by the toy store, which was full of chattering people, all going over their Santa lists. Half a block later they stopped and admired the large nativity scene on the front lawn of the church. The florist shop was decked out, too, with a huge display of wreaths and Christmas ornaments in their wide front window and red glitter scattered all over the bottom of the display. The hardware store was doing a thriving business selling trees, too, with a local band of Boy Scouts using their fledgling sales skills to explain the merits of each tree before helping to carry the chosen tree to their customer’s car.

  As they rounded the corner toward the coffeeshop, they could see Officer Portman standing on the sidewalk ahead of them, patiently listening as Mrs. Freeman gave him an earful. Her wire shopping basket was nearby, a small bag of groceries in the bottom.

  “And that’s not all, young man! That Edna, she’s done been sleeping under my rhodies again, smashing down all the little bulbs and not letting ‘em having any room. What are you gonna do about it?” she stuck her face in the policeman’s, her lower lip stuck out belligerently. “Hmmmmm?”

  Darryl put up his hands, trying to calm her. “Mrs. Freeman, I’m sorry to hear about your rhododendrons. I’ll be happy to stop by later to see how I can help.”

  “See how you can help?” Mrs. Freeman said as she put her hands on her hips, her voice shrill with anger. “I should think you would see what you can do.” Suddenly, she smiled. “I’ll see you at four for tea. Don’t be late,” she added, grabbing the handle of her cart and toodling along the sidewalk away from them.

  Claire and Scott could hear Darryl’s deep sigh as they walked up. He looked their way.

  “Did you hear I have a date at four?” he asked, and Scott laughed.

  “Tough being a hot guy in this town,” he said, but Darryl didn’t seem to think much of the comment.

  “Right, hot guy. Wish someone would tell my wife that I’m the hot guy around town,” he said, then looked pointedly at Claire. “I have some news for you.” He glanced around, but no one else was near them on the sidewalk. “The preliminary results are back from the medical examiner.”

  “What did they say?” Claire asked, almost breathless. Her morning had started off so well, but the police officer’s words were taking her right back into the stress and horror of the day before.

  “We were right about the cause of death,” Darryl said, his voice serious. “He was shot just once, in the back. The burns on the back of his coat show the muzzle of the gun was actually pressed against him when it was fired.”

  Claire’s eyes were wide at the news. “Did they find anything else?”

  “He did have some pills in his pocket but, knowing Orrin, that’s not a huge surprise. This information will be in the paper this afternoon, so I’ve been told. I can release it to the public now.” He eyes cut away for a moment, and Claire had the distinct impression that he was keeping something important away from her.

  Scott must’ve thought so, too, because he asked, “Is that it? Nothing else?” and Darryl gave a great sigh and looked at Claire.

  “He had a .44 caliber handgun in his coat pocket. Whatever he was doing at your house, he was definitely up to no good. A gun that size is only built for one thing. Even the cops around here only carry .38s.”

  The reality of the situation felt like a crushing blow on Claire. An armed felon had been walking up to her door in the middle of the night, with who knows what on his mind. His killer was on the loose, and was willing to shoot a man in the back, in cold blood.

  She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the bitter December wind.

  Chapter 9

  “You know, it’s only four days to Christmas,” Scott said, looking down the street. He was jamming his hands deep in his coat pockets, the collar of his jacket flipped up around his neck. “At the rate everything’s going, don’t you think you’ll be in town for the holid
ays?”

  Claire nodded numbly, the police officer’s words still ringing in her ears. A killer on her sidewalk. Maybe two, if Orrin was coming with a gun. They’d talked a bit more with Officer Portman before he had to drive back to the police station at the edge of town, but her mind was elsewhere.

  She could feel Scott’s eyes on her as they walked, and knew he was trying to distract her from the shocked realization that she had possibly almost wound up as a victim, too. They stopped in front of a small shop, with a red and white OPENING SOON banner draped across the front window. There was a hand-painted sign tacked up over the door, with the picture of two large cupcakes on either side of a steaming mug of coffee.

  “I wish Daisy’s new place was open,” Scott said. “She just put the sign up yesterday afternoon, I guess. The Dogwood has pretty decent coffee but doesn’t do anything fancier than asking you whether you want cream in that or not. Some days I’d kill for a good latte.” He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in the window. “Looks almost empty. Probably going to be weeks before she’s open.”

  Claire leaned down and petted Roscoe. She’d been worried he might be cold, but he seemed happy and eager to keep walking. Straightening up, she finally answered Scott’s question.

  “I think you’re right. The way things are going I think I’ll wind up being in Brightwater over Christmas.”

  Scott’s smile was wide and genuine. “Well, if that’s the case then we need to get you some Christmas cheer.”

  “Booze?” she asked, but Scott laughed.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a tree for your living room and maybe a stocking for the fireplace. That little cottage of yours could use some serious sprucing up. What do you think? If you leave earlier, I’ll take the tree down for you, I promise.”