Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  Anna stared.

  “I’d be glad to give it back, but I was going to hang it in the window, near the door. See the wires coming down from the ceiling?”

  Anna kept staring.

  “Sure you don’t want me to keep it?” A grin was forming on Gene’s face. Not a gotcha grin, Anna thought, but one full of mirth.

  “I see.”

  “I would have put it up yesterday, but things have been hectic.”

  “Yes, your dad. How is he?” Anna felt her face flush. In her anger over the poster she’d forgotten about Roger Westfall. Gene had more important things on his mind than advertising her business.

  “Better.” He leaned the poster against the window. “But he won’t be coming back to the store. He plans to retire.”

  “He does?”

  “I think it’s all worked out for the best. He’ll take it easy for once in his life, and the store will stay open. I’ll run it. I’ve wanted to make a change anyway.”

  The bell tinkled and a customer walked in. Gene smiled, said hello, then turned back to Anna. “One of my dad’s two employees quit, so I’ll be here around the clock for now. My sister’s going to help with the bookkeeping until we can find someone to do it. My dad used to do all that. Bookkeeper, cashier—most of the stocking himself, too. No wonder he worked seventy-hour weeks.”

  “Tell him we’ll miss seeing him, and his ornaments.”

  “I think he’ll still be carving those. He’s not one to fade away into retirement. Want to help me put your poster up?” He pointed at the wires and grabbed a small step ladder from the corner of the store.

  “Sure.” She walked Jackson to the calendar display and told him to sit. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking back at Gene. “I . . .” She searched for the right words, but there was no excuse for her rudeness.

  Gene shrugged. “It looked like I’d blown you off. Don’t worry about it. Hand me the poster.” He mounted three rungs on the ladder, took the poster from Anna, and hooked the dangling wires from the ceiling onto a taut wire running across the back of the frame. “Go outside and tell me if it looks straight from the street.”

  Anna motioned for Jackson to stay. She went outside, walked to the curb, then pivoted for a tourist’s-eye view of the store window. Gene bent down, looking through the window, awaiting instructions. She motioned with her hands until the poster sat straight, then gave Gene the thumbs-up. She couldn’t believe how impatient and demanding she’d been. The poster looked great, it popped in the window, and she was a selfish idiot.

  “It looks fantastic,” she said as she reentered the store. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Gene folded the ladder and propped it against the wall near Jackson, who was now lying on the floor, chin on his paws. “I hope you’re prepared for a massive onslaught of business.”

  Anna laughed.

  “Your dog’s well behaved. How old is he?” He smiled at the customer exiting the door, wishing her a merry Christmas.

  “About five.” Anna told Gene that Jackson was a shelter dog, his age uncertain. She was about to tell him what had happened to Jackson last night but thought better of it. She didn’t want to burden him with more of her troubles. He had his own. She released Jackson from the corner but he merely stretched his front legs and yawned.

  “So you’re going to make a career change?” she said.

  “I’d been thinking about it before my dad’s heart attack. I’m a lineman in Loveland. It’s a hard job—not something I want to be doing in my forties, which isn’t that far down the road. I’ve always wanted to live in the mountains, and my dad was thinking about retiring before this happened, so the best has come from a bad situation. We both got a kick in the rear.”

  “Sometimes that’s what it takes.” Anna knew she seldom moved before she had to. She waited until circumstances forced her hand. In retrospect those circumstances, though painful, had never been capricious. God’s timing was perfect. Or so she’d once believed—in the past, when she’d seen evidence of His caring touch, even in the small things. Now she couldn’t see His hand in anything.

  “I almost forgot.” Anna dug into her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “For the ornament,” she said, laying it on the register counter.

  “It was a replacement for the poster, remember?”

  “No.” Anna raised her hand. “It’s worth every penny, and more. I’d love to have a tree covered with your dad’s ornaments. The detail in the lettering, the beautiful ribbon.”

  “We’ve sold the last of his ornaments, for this year, anyway, but we’ve got the ribbon he used.” Gene walked back to the ornament aisle, returned, and produced a spool of wired red ribbon, the same cherry red on the ornament.

  “A perfect Christmas red,” Anna said, turning it over in her hands. She caught sight of the price tag on the side of the spool. “Maybe next year. I’m thinking of doing all red next Christmas.” She handed the spool back to Gene.

  “You do those color-theme Christmases, don’t you? My sister does that. She picks one or two colors and all other colors are banned, from the Christmas ornaments to the wreaths to the wrapping paper.”

  He’d seen her glance at the price tag and was covering for her. A word came to Anna’s mind. Gentleman. They seemed so rare these days. Yet twice she’d blundered into his store, accusing him. She still felt the flush in her cheeks, and her “Yeah” in answer to his “Merry Christmas Eve” still sounded in her ears.

  “I’d better get going,” she said. “I promised Jackson play time with Suka. Thanks again for doing all that.” She gestured toward the window with her head. “The frame really sets it off.”

  “You’re welcome, and merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” Anna tugged on Jackson’s leash. He looked up at her, his body an immovable sack of potatoes. He was comfortable in the store, relaxed with Gene, and didn’t care to venture out onto the snowy sidewalk. “Come on, boy.”

  “One of these days you should bring him to play with Riley, my golden. I think they’d get along.”

  “I’ll do that. Maybe after Christmas.” She clicked her tongue and Jackson reluctantly rose.

  “Oh, wait,” Gene said. “I meant to tell you. Darlene Richelle was in here asking about you.”

  Anna wanted to scream. “Asking what?”

  “She started with something about your license. Did I know if it was valid because she was thinking of hiring you to research a friend’s family tree.”

  “Those two—”

  “That’s what I figured. She said something about Tom Muncy, too, and your poster. Darlene and Tom seem to have a tag team going. She came in, introduced herself, talked about the weather for ten seconds, then got down to business.”

  Anna thought she must have looked stricken because Gene gave her a don’t-bother expression and said, “People like that aren’t worth worrying about. Forget about her.”

  At that, Anna decided to give Gene a condensed history of her relationship with Darlene and her employees, beginning with what had happened the day she went to the Muncys’ house and ending with the break-in at her house and the wails emanating from the car cruising her street last night. He raised his eyebrows a few times as she spoke, but his face remained calm. He reminded her of Sean in that way. Unflappable.

  “So I do worry about Darlene a little,” she said. “She bribed and threatened a town council member without hesitation. I don’t know what she’s going to do next. Or what her employees might do. One’s wiccan, the other’s becoming a druid.”

  “You’ve told the police all this, I hope.”

  “They know everything. But they’re not going to find out who broke into my house or killed the bird.” She looked down at Jackson. “Or anything else.”

  “Poor guy.” Gene crouched down and gave Jackson a scratch behind the ears. “You’re okay, though, aren’t you boy?”

  “And then to drive by my house like that, late at night, chanting.” Anna wrapped her arms
around her chest. The pounding crumb, crumb echoed in her mind.

  Gene stood straight and looked into Anna’s eyes. “She’s mau-mauing you. Setting aside the possibility that she’s deranged, I mean,” he said with a grin, “she’s just mau-mauing you.”

  “Yeah, that’s it exactly. Mau-mauing.”

  “Take today. She knew word would get back to you that she was asking me about you. It keeps you off balance, wondering what she’s up to, what she’s going to do next.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “She came in here with a cup of coffee from the Buffalo Café. She probably talked to Grace Bell too.”

  “I’m about to go there. I’ll find out.” Anna sighed and dropped her arms to her side, the events of the past several days descending on her, settling across her shoulders. Her emotions seesawed. She’d begun the day ready to do battle, and now she was in danger of sinking into self-pity. She’d done nothing to deserve the vicious attentions of Darlene and her crew. She was tired. Tired of running behind Darlene and Tom, plugging the damaging holes they left in their wake. Tired of wondering what would happen next, of turning around only to see Darlene’s piercing eyes.

  “Have you heard about Darlene’s great witch power?” she asked.

  Gene laughed. “Yeah, lately.” His smile faded and his face took on a serious expression. “You don’t believe in witchcraft, do you?”

  “No, but she does, and I wonder what she’d be willing to do to hold onto that belief. I think it matters more to her than anything else.”

  The bell over the door jingled again. Five women bearing multiple shopping bags each, chatting over one another like birds in a tree, entered the store.

  “You’re about to get busy and I’ve got to run,” Anna said. She gave Jackson’s leash a shake, rousing him, and began moving toward the door. “Merry Christmas.”

  “You too, and don’t let those thugs get you down. Mau-mauing can’t work when you know what they’re doing.”

  Anna let Jackson off his leash and entered the Buffalo by the back door. The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, a good combination at any time, but especially on Christmas Eve. She inhaled deeply as she made her way to the counter. “Grace, I think that’s the best smell in the world.”

  “You hang on, then. I’m making you my best mocha-cinnamon cappuccino, gratis.” Anna protested, but Grace insisted. “It’s my way of saying merry Christmas to all my regulars.”

  Anna was hardly a regular. Not anymore. Though the past three days she’d been making up for that. “Thanks, Grace, I’d love it.”

  Grace started the espresso machine then poured milk into a stainless steel pitcher and held it under the steamer wand. “The owner of What Ye Will was here this morning,” she said over the hissing of the steam. “Saying she wanted to hire you but she’d heard your business wasn’t legal. Wanted my opinion.”

  So Gene was right. Darlene had talked to Grace.

  “I told her that was the same foolishness Councilman Muncy was saying and I hoped she wasn’t just finding a fancy way of spreading his rumors, telling me she wanted to hire you.” She poured thick black espresso into a cup. “I said that’s the sort of thing that gets people into legal trouble. It’s called slander.”

  Slander. Anna felt a smile form on her face.

  The foamy milk came creamy out of the pitcher. Grace poured an inch of it atop the coffee then sprinkled the foam with cinnamon. What a wonder cappuccinos were, Anna thought. They looked almost as good as they tasted. She’d have two, three a day if she could afford it.

  Anna took the cup and saucer in hand. “Thank you, Grace. And thanks for talking to Darlene the way you did.” She took a sip of the cinnamon-flecked foam.

  “I don’t like that woman. There’s something sneaky in her. She’s all smiles too, and I’ve never trusted that.”

  Anna didn’t want to talk about Darlene or her employees anymore. They had occupied her thoughts for the past three days. She took another sip of coffee. “Grace, why’s the wreath on the counter back there?” She pointed to a large wreath of blue spruce, sprinkled with pine cones, a red ribbon at the top. It had to be the wreath Rowan had just yammered about.

  “You too? That boy with the hair was asking about it not fifteen minutes ago.”

  “That was Rowan. What did he say?”

  “He said he’d take it to the cemetery for me. I’ll take it to the cemetery myself, I said. I’ve been waiting for a break in the snow. You know, the last two years I took a wreath to Bert’s grave I did it in early December, and both times it was stolen.”

  “From his headstone?”

  “I tied the wreath to his gravestone with wire and someone cut it off. So this year I thought I’d wait longer. I figure people who steal things like that have all the decorations they need by Christmas Eve.”

  Anna couldn’t imagine someone taking the wreath from a headstone. Of all the cruel things to steal. It occurred to her that Rowan might have wanted to take it from Grace so he could steal it himself and use it to decorate Darlene’s anti-Christmas party. She wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Let me take it for you,” Anna said. It was important to Grace that her husband’s grave be decorated for Christmas, she could see that.

  Grace waved her off and started wiping down the counter with a bar towel. “You just drink your coffee.”

  “Let me do it. I’ll take the dogs with me, let them run around in the cemetery. The roads are dangerous, and you shouldn’t be driving. The snowplows can’t keep up.”

  Grace stopped mopping up. She considered the proposal. “You hate driving icy roads.”

  “They’re not that bad yet. If I leave soon, I'll be fine. As soon as I’ve finished this incredible coffee.” She took a gulp. “Suka and Jackson will love running off leash.”

  Five minutes later Anna was driving east on Summit, Bert’s wreath, a roll of wire, and wire cutters on the seat next to her, Suka and Jackson in the back. She turned south onto Elk River Road, heading toward Mount Hope, Elk Park’s largest cemetery. She soon realized that except for Summit, the roads were dangerous. Even in four-wheel drive she could feel the Jimmy slip as she entered the turn. She gritted her teeth.

  She eased up on the accelerator and drove through the cemetery gate, taking the narrow gravel road until it met another road. She took a right and inched up the road, searching to her left and right for Bert’s headstone. It was in the shape of a Gothic window, Grace had said. Bert had been an old-fashioned man and he’d wanted an old-fashioned headstone.

  There it was, two rows back from the road, easy to spot, just as Grace had described.

  Anna pulled as far to the right as she dared in the deep snow and stopped. As she slid down from her seat, she remembered the cheap digital camera Sean had put it in the emergency supplies box for accident photos, like her fender bender three winters ago on Saddleback Road. She’d take a photo of the wreath once she’d placed it on the grave. Grace would like that.

  She popped open the back passenger door, grabbed the cardboard box, and found the camera. Everyone who lived in mountain country had a box like this in their SUV or pickup. Flares, wrenches, granola bars, water, pen and paper, blankets—anything that might come in handy if they found themselves stranded in the snow or mud. The flash on the digital camera even worked as a last-ditch bear deterrent, or so a friend of Sean’s had told her. In her experience a camera flash only scared deer.

  Anna opened the back of the Jimmy, and Suka and Jackson flew out and bounded through the snow. She stepped through drifts to her shins, making her way to the headstone. She thought about going back to the Jimmy for her black metal walking stick and decided against it. Bert’s grave wasn’t too far ahead. The dogs were making circles in the snow, leaping over the smaller markers, barking with pent-up joy.

  “Merry Christmas, Bert.” She looped wire through the back of the wreath, stood the wreath against the stone, then wrapped the wire twice around it, ending with a twist and a snip of the wire cutt
ers. Let someone try to take that, she thought. She wondered if the same people stole wreaths year after year. Did they make a living at it? It was the sort of petty crime the police didn’t bother with, but its callousness wasn’t petty. Not to the victim.

  She glanced up, looking for the dogs. She cast her eyes about the cemetery and listened for distant barks. Then to her right, deeper into the cemetery, she saw a flurry of movement among the headstones. It was a wonder to her that Jackson and Suka didn’t run smack into one of the stones.

  She hopped into her Jimmy and continued up the gravel road in the direction of the dogs. They slipped out of sight again and she accelerated, rolling down the window and calling out for them. They were having fun, and for a Siberian husky, even more than a German shepherd mix, that meant taking off at top speed, but she didn’t dare let them out of sight. Suka had a tendency to run off, and Jackson would follow.

  Anna heard a distinctive bark. Jackson’s one-off bark. It meant he’d encountered a stranger. She saw a blur of tan and black fur and turned to her left. “Jackson, come now! Suka, come!”

  Passing through a small stand of ponderosas, she saw what Jackson had barked at. A rail-thin woman was standing before a headstone, hands in her pockets, head bowed. Anna pulled closer. The dogs ran toward the Jimmy, then drifted off again, cutting paths through the snow. The headstone was small, with some kind of ornament on top. A child’s grave. Anna drew in her breath. What had she interrupted?

  She started to back up slowly on the snow-caked road, steering her way back to where she’d taken the last turn. The woman heard the tires slip and grab in the snow and turned. Monica Fisk. Anna hit the brakes.

  19

  Anna got out of the Jimmy and walked around the front of it, her eyes on Monica. “I’m sorry, I was trying to find my dog and a friend’s dog. They ran this way.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s good to see you.” Monica smiled and worked her way through the snow toward Anna, at one point sinking in to just below her knees and keeping her balance by thrusting her arms outward like a tightrope walker. “Do you think this snow’s ever going to stop?”