“Maybe you both should have thought of that before bringing this man into the house.”
Copra stared over my shoulder at Annie. “We could get Miss Westin to help us.”
I whirled around to see Annie’s face light up at the thought.
“Miss Westin would be delighted to help us.”
“Delighted?” I repeated, with more of a snarl than I’d meant to.
“She’ll help us, I have no doubt,” Annie said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Doris?” I asked. “You’d rather have Doris’s help?” What could my sister-in-law provide that I couldn’t?
Copra shook his head. “Rather? No. But she’ll pitch in if you’re otherwise engaged. I know this party has been something you’ve been looking forward to.”
“So was Doris!”
Copra looked to Annie, unsure what to say, and Annie jumped right in. “We can but ask.”
“That’s true.” Copra looked at me expectantly.
Doris? I was the one who’d unpacked the undertaker and figured out who’d killed him and why. I huffed. “Fine, I’ll do it. Doris has little to no experience in unmasking killers.” For all I knew, she did it every day. She was very secretive about her activities, but when she came back from an excursion with pieces of artwork and jewelry, I couldn’t imagine when she would’ve had time to add in a little sleuthing. Though how far putting together pieces of a murder puzzle was from planning a heist, I didn’t know. Did one lend itself to the other? I’d helped plan to rob the Port Bass Museum, hadn’t I? No need to mention it hadn’t gone so well.
My two cohorts looked too smug for my liking. “Don’t think I’m unaware of exactly what you just did.”
Each held innocent hands up to their chests.
I stared at Copra until he shrank. “Why does he smell like cinnamon?”
“The dead fellow?”
“Yes. The dead man. Lying there. That one. The one who’s not breathing. The one we’ve been discussing.”
“I’m sure I have no idea. Does he smell like cinnamon?” he asked Annie.
She shrugged. “I assume so. I know Mrs. Westin is fully capable of lying, and lying well, but I can’t fathom why she’d lie about such a thing.”
Copra nodded, satisfied.
I tried another question. “Why does he smell like ginger?”
“Oh, that would be me.”
I waited for Copra to continue, but he didn’t. The muted sounds of music and laughter from downstairs filled the silence. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really,” he muttered before taking a deep breath. “I had to hide him somewhere, since the party was in full swing. Everyone showed up early, and I hadn’t left extra time to carry a dead man back here, when I’d originally planned to visit Mama.”
Annie patted him on the shoulder. “You can’t plan for everything.”
“Why did you stick him in the pantry?” I asked.
“I assumed nobody would go in there but me.” He glanced at Annie. “I was wrong.”
Her hand dropped from his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Copra. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was hungry.”
“I’d have brought you anything you wanted, Miss Grainger.”
“Of course you would’ve. That’s why I wanted to go myself. You were so busy with the party, and I needed to get out of this room, if only for a minute.”
“I understand.”
“You’re so kind.”
I broke in before either burst into song. “Copra, you hid him in the pantry and then Annie walked in on you.”
“It nearly frightened me to death. That’s when I spilled the gingerbread cookies on him. I’d run out of room in the kitchen, and I was using shelf space in the pantry to hold various foods in different stages of baking and cooking. I knocked the trays over and the cookies broke. Crumbs dumped into his hair and fell into his clothes. I tried to brush him down after Annie said she’d help me hide him in her room and got rid of the guard from the pantry door by going back.”
Annie nodded. “It was Dirk Malone. All your friends and agents who’ve been guarding me have been so attentive and nice. When I insisted on making my own sandwich, Agent Malone didn’t protest too much but he followed me the whole way.”
Copra shivered. “It’ll be a long time before I look at a gingerbread man the same way again.”
I stared at him for a moment, attempting to ignore the image my mind conjured up. “Did you use cinnamon?”
Copra stared at me. “Yes, I did, in the icing. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”
“Is it important?” Annie asked.
“I’ve noticed a lot of marks and smells coming from the man. If we can figure out where everything came from, maybe we can figure out when and where he was killed. Or at least where he was before occupying Copra’s mother’s bed.”
Annie gasped. “And if we figure out when and where he was killed, maybe we can place who was with him and figure out who killed him.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, but it’s worth a try,” I said.
Copra boldly stalked to the bed and bent over the body. “He does smell like cinnamon,” he said in awe.
Annie leaned forward and sniffed.
I thought we’d established I hadn’t made that up.
Copra fixed me with a sad gaze. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I said, wondering why he’d taken the apologetic stance.
“I hope it doesn’t ruin your favorite.”
I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. I’d been doing that a lot this evening. “My favorite what?”
“I made a batch of cinnamon-spiced cookies especially for you.” He tilted his head to the side as if embarrassed. “Hetter mentioned you like cinnamon. But now it’s associated with…” He nodded at the dead man.
My eyes widened in complete surprise. More than once I was glad I hadn’t arrested Copra or his fellow cohorts. The strange group of misfits had bewildered me then and Copra was doing a fine job of that right now. “Thank you, Copra. I…I still love cinnamon.”
“Then you’ll eat his cookies? Including the gingerbread men with cinnamon icing?” Annie asked.
“O-of course.” I forced a smile.
The girl clapped her hands together, delighted, and Copra exhaled.
Not well-versed in these emotional moments, I moved to the dead man’s left sleeve, to a brown stain that smelled of coffee. “Any idea what this is?”
Copra immediately turned to Annie. “It’s the coffee.”
The coffee?
“Must have been me, I’m afraid.” Annie jerked her shoulder up in contrition. “I was astonished when I saw them in the pantry.”
“You give yourself too little credit, Miss Grainger.” Copra turned to me. “She did not shout or jump or make any indication anything was untoward.”
“Well, Agent Malone was right there,” Annie explained. “I think my mind realized what was happening before I did, if that makes sense. Trying to block Agent Malone’s view, I bumped Mr. Cryer’s arm against a burlap sack of coffee I’d knocked over. It must have made a smudge.”
“Fine. That’s explained. What about this?” I pointed to his pants cuffs. Both of them had muddy stains.
“I don’t know,” Copra said.
“Copra, I’d like you to explain how you brought Mr. Cryer here.”
Annie said, “Every detail or not every detail?”
“I want every detail, Annie.”
“I wanted to check with you.” She shrugged at Copra. “Earlier she said she didn’t want the details.”
“Copra,” I hissed.
“Mama was all for getting him out of her room. I wouldn’t let her help me, though. But…um…”
“Yes?” I prodded, not sure I wanted to hear what he didn’t want to tell me.
Copra pointed to Oscar Cryer’s shirt collar and the red stain there. “That might be from Mama.”
I’d already determined it wasn’t blood. It was drier, more cakey.
“I think it might be her rouge.”
Annie clapped her hands together. “She got dressed up? Even though she wasn’t attending any Christmas parties?”
Copra’s cheeks went pink. “I think it was for me. She was so excited by my visit. I suspect she thought I was disappointed she didn’t come to Captain Westin’s party, but I told her that was nonsense.” He dipped his head toward me. “I’d never be mad at Mama for any reason.”
“Not even for handing you a dead man for the holidays?” I asked, unable to keep the insolence from my voice.
Annie shook her head, eyes shut tight. “Not even for that, Mrs. Westin. It’s his mama.”
“She tried to help me and lost her balance and stumbled into his chest. I hadn’t noticed a red mark until I helped her off him, and her cheeks didn’t match after that. I remembered this detail for later, for now, when I would tell you this awful story. In case it was important.”
Annie squeezed his shoulder once again.
“I helped Mama change the bedclothes, took my knitted socks, and hoisted the gentleman over my shoulders.”
“He must have been so heavy!” Annie interjected.
“Oh, he was, but it was for Mama.”
Annie tilted her head and beamed at him.
“No one saw you?” I asked.
“I was lucky. The household was either leaving for Captain Westin’s party or having one of their own.”
“Ah,” I said. “The servants were holding a party of their own?”
“By the sounds of it, they must have started the moment the first horse hoof trotted off Stoker land. I had no trouble making my way to my horse un-accosted. I had much trouble propping the man up in my saddle, though, but I managed and climbed on behind him. I kept him upright by holding one hand over his chest and using my other hand to control the reins. Fortunately, since my horse is really one of Captain Westin’s that he’s so kind to lend me whenever I’m in need, he knew his way home. Really, all I had to do was keep us balanced. And not think about it too much.”
Annie gasped again. “You mean how you were riding double with a dead man, don’t you?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“Oh, you poor thing!”
“It was his choice,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
“For his mama!”
That was not an argument I would win, so I asked Copra, “Did his trousers touch anything other than the horse?”
“No, ma’am. No part of him touched the ground, the snow, water, anything. I held him aloft the whole time.”
“You’re sure?”
“I paid careful attention to everything, both in case someone saw me and for later questioning by you.”
A chill ran down my spine. “I see. Well done, Copra.”
Annie clapped her hands as one of those happy children who gained joy from another child being praised. A slight pull at Copra’s lips let me know my approval did not go unnoticed by him.
“How did you get him inside our house?” I was all ears. Exiting Stoker’s without being spotted would have been simple enough because everyone was on their way here.
“That was a little trickier. I rode straight into our barn and left the gent hanging over my saddle. I checked the area and no one was about—everyone being inside or coming through the front door. I’d left enough food in the ballroom for early attendees, and, of course, the hired help to mind the kitchen and serve as needed.”
For the first time since Ella had known him, Jasper had hired help. As a pirate-supposedly-turned-honest-citizen, he couldn’t very well host one of the social events of the year without letting servants into his house. While Copra brought in men and women in need of extra work, I insisted Jasper hire Martin Belmont, the little red-headed orphan that fellow agents had taken in.
Copra blew out a breath. “I ordered the staff out of the kitchen and went back to the barn. I carried him straight to the pantry. When the staff bustled back in, I instructed them not to enter the pantry for the duration of the party on pain of death.”
Annie’s eyes grew large.
Copra shrugged. “It’s my kitchen. Everyone else is temporary. No one batted an eye at my declaration.”
“He didn’t touch hay or dirt or snow on the way in?” I asked, refocusing on more important matters.
“No. I’m sure of it. I had him over both shoulders. His legs did not dangle past my knees.”
“Thank you, Copra. I appreciate the consideration you gave to this, even if I don’t necessarily like the fact you brought him here.”
“His mama,” Annie interrupted.
“I understand, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“No, you don’t,” Annie agreed. “I wonder what Miss Westin will say.”
“Doris has nothing to say about any of this,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. I focused my attention on Copra once again. “What time did you go over to the Stoker mansion?”
“I left here at three o’clock, knowing that would give me plenty of time to visit with Mama and still be back before the guests were to arrive at six o’clock. I put the assistant cook in charge and informed the kitchen help of all they needed to do in my absence. I was able to prepare most of the food in advance. All I’d have to do when I came back was monitor the soups and stews, check the roasted meats, and mix a few more batches of cookies.”
“When did you find the body?” I glanced at Cryer once again. He still looked to be sleeping, although that could be my stubborn mind attempting to let me off the hook for thinking the worst of Annie. How had I not noticed he was turning blue?
“About a quarter to four, and that’s a guess. It didn’t occur to me to consult my pocket watch until I was well on my way home. I thought of preserving the body for your, and Dr. Ivan’s, eventual examination, but the time slipped my mind. I arrived at the Stoker mansion around three thirty or so and chatted amiably with some of the servants.”
I smirked as I thought about that. The history he had with Barnaby Stoker went deeper than the world knew, minus a handful of secretive people. And Copra being Copra, he made friends easily with Stoker’s staff. “How is Jerry?”
“Mr. Osman is doing quite well. He offers the season’s greetings to you, Ella. I took the liberty of returning the sentiment on your behalf.”
“The time, Copra?”
“Oh, yes. I made my way to Mama’s room, and she was a bit riled. At first I thought she was sick again but then I saw the man in her bed.” He blushed before lowering his head sadly. “I regret to say I thought the worst for a few seconds.”
Only a few seconds? I shoved the guilt away once again. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t immediately think of murder; it was a holiday. “Did your mama know why he came there? To Stoker’s mansion? To her room?”
“Oh no. Mama said she walked in and he was lying there. She thought it was one of the servants, already drunk who’d accidentally stumbled into the wrong room. But when she tried to rouse him, she realized he wasn’t breathing and had no pulse. That’s about when she panicked.”
“That’s when I would, too,” Annie said, nodding in agreement.
“Well, Mama paced her room for a few minutes—she doesn’t remember how long it was before I knocked on her door—but she grabbed me and apprised me of the situation. She was afraid of causing a problem with Mr. Stoker so she didn’t want to attract attention.” Copra looked at me, almost pleading. “I badly wanted to summon Mr. Osman, but Mama was sure this man in her bed had been murdered.”
“She was too?” Annie asked.
“Absolutely sure.”
“Why?” I asked.
Copra looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Mama sometimes gets impressions. Like she knows things. She can be so sure of a thing based on nothing, but sometimes she’s right.”
“Only sometimes?” Annie asked suspiciously.
Copra nodded.
“Woman’s intuition or something more mystical?” I asked.
>
“Oh, not mystical. I’ve heard of people who know things they have no way of knowing but that’s not Mama. She’s…she can get a little paranoid but she possesses good instincts. I think it’s the sicknesses. She’s lived in a weakened state for so long and feels vulnerable and thinks she’s a burden. She’ll sometimes think the worst—I think to prepare herself for action she doesn’t have the strength to endure.” Copra studied the worn rug beneath his feet. “Neither of us recognized him, and we both know every member of Stoker’s household. So I took it upon myself to assume the worst, too. Men don’t just drop dead. Even old men. This Oscar Cryer looks to be in good health.”
“Except he’s dead,” Annie pointed out, holding up a finger.
Copra waved her off. “Well, aside from that.”
I sucked a breath through my nose. “This man may have died of a heart attack.”
“In a house he doesn’t belong in? In Mama’s bed?” Copra shook his head.
“There isn’t a mark on him,” I said. “Not a bruise, cut, stab wound, or bullet hole.”
“Ella, if he’d had one of those, we’d be sure he was murdered.”
“Not necessarily,” Annie said. “He could have done the deed himself.”
“Why would he kill himself?”
“Maybe he’s very unhappy.”
“All you need do is make a batch of cookies or go for a walk in the snow or call on a frie—”
I held up a hand and directed a stern look at Copra. Despite having been so poor he’d starved most of his life, he was uncharacteristically optimistic. Insanely so. Perhaps that was God’s way; if a man in his situation didn’t realize how bad off he was and the easier ways out, he wouldn’t go down that path.
Annie smirked. “Mrs. Westin thinks it was murder.”
“You do?” Copra’s eyes rose in astonishment.
“Maybe.”
He turned to Annie. “How could you possibly have known that?”
Annie nodded at the body. “She keeps looking at him. She’s listening intently to your story.”
“Maybe she’s being thorough,” Copra suggested.
Annie kept the smirk. “Mrs. Westin?”
I acquiesced. “I admit I find it odd the man is dressed in his finery and has mud stains on his pants and ended up in your mother’s bed—when you swear you and she do not know him. It seems deliberate. Purposeful.”
Christmas Caper Page 3
