“Are you going to tell me what this is all about or should I just bring you in for questioning myself?” Detective Nelson looked grumpy, but his words were lacking their usual harsh edge.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Adam said, foregoing a handshake Margot assumed neither man would agree to.
“I don’t like being called away from home the day before Christmas Eve. I especially don’t like it when it’s based on nothing but hunches.”
Margot took a step forward and drew in a deep breath. This was it, time to impress the man who appeared to have no use for any outside help. Then again, she felt as if she was beginning to see the chinks in the man’s armor.
“Detective Nelson,” she said with all deference, “they may be assumptions, but they are drawn from facts. First, am I right in assuming that Simon was killed from an overdose of insulin?”
Detective Nelson opened his mouth, his frown deepening, and Margot prepared for a tongue-lashing, but then he closed his mouth. He opened and closed it once more before finally finding words. “How in Saint Nicholas’s name did you know that?”
She almost laughed at his Christmas exclamation but decided to remain on point. “Because I believe that Ken Huxley killed his father and I’m relatively certain he’s a diabetic.”
This time, Adam turned to look at her in awe. “How did you know that?”
“It’s from what Doc Benson said. We saw him at the store,” she explained to a confused Nelson. “Doc said that no baker could resist cookies, but that’s exactly what Ken said when I asked him about the cookies at his office. He implied that he never tried them, which is very odd for a baker.”
“All right, I’ll give you that leap in logic,” Detective Nelson said, hands slipping into his coat pockets, “but just how do you get around his alibi?” He pointed to the large house before them. “I’ve been over the alarm logs and I’ve heard those stairs, it’s just not possible he left the house after he came in that night.”
“That’s where I would ask for a bit of leniency.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I have an assumption that can be proved with a simple search of his room.”
“Go on.”
Margot hesitated for a moment. It was just that—an assumption—but she was fairly certain she was correct. How they would gain access to the room, she wasn’t sure. The thought of Fran, looking shocked, and Simon’s body on the floor gave her the courage to push through.
“What’s going on out here?” All three of them turned to see Ken walk down from the steps of the house. He wore a red sweater that pulled taut against muscular arms and a cautious expression.
“Missus Durand here is telling us how she’s got the notion that you killed your father.”
At the detective’s harsh words, her attention snapped to him, but she saw something there that she hadn’t expected. He was reading Ken. Could it be that he believed Margot?
“I believe that you were going to be written out of your father’s will.” She addressed herself to him even as he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I think what happened was that Simon had fallen in love with Fran. He wasn’t able to publicize it—at least not yet—because Fran was worried about her reputation in such a small town as well as struggling with moving on, even after all these years, from her husband’s memory.” Margot felt the pain of familiarity even as she said the words, but she pressed on. “I think Simon might have decided to change his will in order to show Fran that he cared deeply for her. Or perhaps it was just the fact that you would have to split anything with someone else. Whatever the case, I think you found out about it. It’s a small town and a few drinks with friends and you could easily find out what your father was planning to do on his next visit to his lawyer’s office.
“I think it was a matter of desperation. You saw that the only way to ensure your inheritance—and therefore your dream of expanding your outdoor adventure business—was to kill your father.”
Ken’s face was a mask of stone. He hadn’t moved an inch since she started talking, but she wasn’t going to give him time to defend himself. Not yet.
“I think you are a clever man and, being a diabetic, know the risks of taking too much insulin. I'm not sure how long it took you to come up with the plan, but I believe you did think things through enough for it not to be spur of the moment. I have a feeling we’ll find that you disconnected the wires on your window that connect to the house alarm system. Being an outdoorsman as you are, I have a feeling we’ll find some type of evidence that you climbed down from the window—giving yourself the perfect alibi.
“You killed your father with an injection of insulin—you are lefthanded, which corresponds with the puncture behind his left ear. Then you brought him to Fran’s, where you knew she would be because of knowing her schedule from when you dated Stephanie, and you probably drugged Fran in order to stage the perfect crime. At that point, your father wouldn’t have been lucid, and in a drugged state, Fran attacked him. All that was left was to pin the murder on someone, and Wade was a perfect choice. You placed the empty insulin syringe in his locker and none were the wiser.”
Ken’s mouth, still pressed in a hard line, began to tremble.
“The thing I don’t understand,” she said, pressing a little further, “is how you weren’t affected by all of this. He was your father—”
“And he was going to leave me with nothing.” Ken’s arms yanked down to his side, his hands clenching into fists. In her peripheral vision, she saw Detective Nelson slowly reach for his gun.
“How could he? After all he’d done? After all I’d done? He’d just write me out of the will? I asked him about it that morning and you know what he said? He said that I was old enough to make my own way and that loving Fran was more important. I wasn’t going to do it.” Ken was shaking with rage and emotion now. “But then he turned his back on me and I knew I couldn’t let him leave. I couldn’t let him take my dream away. I-I couldn’t…”
Margot’s chest constricted at the words. If only he’d stopped to think, to separate himself from the emotion, but he’d allowed his selfish desires to rule and ruined so much in the wake of their hold on him.
“Ken Huxley,” Detective Nelson said, stepping slowly forward, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Simon Huxley.”
Chapter 15
Margot crept down the carpeted hallway of the Eastwoods’ home, heading straight for the kitchen. It was early morning on Christmas Eve and she had baking to do. But the moment she stepped into the kitchen, reality struck. They hadn’t finished their shopping. A wave of disappointment rushed over her, thinking about how disappointed Fran would be that they would have no entry to take to the bake-off event that afternoon.
She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, resting her head in her hands. Was it possible to make do with the limited ingredients they had? She shook her head to the empty kitchen. She and Fran had decided to go a slightly different route than what the woman usually entered.
Taking Margot’s culinary background, they had decided to make a Bûche de Noël, or Yule Log cake, but to replace the typical buttercream frosting with a cinnamon dark chocolate ganache. It was going to be exquisite, formed in the shape of a log with sugar-coated cranberries and springs of mint to emulate holly berries as adornment.
But now those plans were ruined.
“And here I thought you’d be baking.” Margot jolted upright, locking gazes with Adam in the doorway. He smiled and walked to the table wearing dark gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting academy t-shirt. His hair was adorably ruffled and she had had the strong desire to place a kiss on his unshaven jaw.
“Morning to you too.”
“I repeat: why aren’t you baking?”
“Oh you know, because somewhere between solving a crime and keeping you in line, I forgot to do my shopping.”
He grinned. “Keeping me in line? Well, that’s impressive if you can do it. It’s a full-t
ime job, you know.”
Something in his gaze made her stomach twist into knots and brought back the fact that she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet. Was now the right time? Should she just blurt out the fact that she wanted him to propose? Was that too much? Too forward? Or just the right?
“Adam, I—”
“I guess it’s a good thing your boyfriend is good for more than just helping you catch killers.”
Her head tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”
With a smile, he rose and walked to the pantry where he proceeded to pull out two grocery bags. “What about these supplies?”
Her eyes went wide. “You went shopping? But how? When?”
“I had a feeling you’d be too distracted to do it later, so while you were answering questions and comparing notes with Detective Nelson, I placed a call. It’s a good thing Jeb owes my parents for that time he backed his pickup truck into my mom’s Mercedes.” Adam shook his head. “He delivered them on his way home.”
Margot jumped up and ran to Adam, slamming him in a big hug. “You are the best!”
“I know,” he said with a grin. He looked down at her and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “So are you.”
There it was again, the urge to tell him what she was feeling, but the reality was that if she didn’t start baking immediately, it was doubtful the log would have time to cool enough for the ganache.
She accepted his gentle kiss, then pulled pack. “I’ve got to bake—and you can thank yourself for that.”
Letting out a fake groan, he stepped back. “Remind me why I got you all of this just so you could spend the day in the kitchen instead of snuggling on the couch with me?”
“You’ve never been a snuggler,” she said matter-of-factly as she pulled out the sugar.
“True. All right. Go bake your little heart out, but remember, we have a date after the bake-off.”
“We do?”
Adam feigned hurt. “How soon you’ve forgotten. We have a sleigh ride.”
“Oh, that!” Margot laughed as she pulled out a mixing bowl. “Is it still valid since the man who sold it to me is in jail?”
“Let’s just say I know the guy who does the rides. It’s still valid.”
Now it was her turn to mock-sigh. “Well, I suppose I’ll be all right if we must go for a romantic sleigh ride in the snow.”
Adam pecked her on the cheek as he walked past. “You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.”
The baking had gone smoothly and Fran had joined Margot in time to decorate the cake and add the finishing touches. Now, everyone was on their way to the bake-off and Christmas Eve festival. There would be carolers, various vendors from local businesses selling food, hot drinks, and very last-minute Christmas shopping items. There were games, various raffles, and then, at the crowning event of the day, the bake-off entries would be judged.
When they arrived in town, Adam parked behind Fran’s in her reserved parking and everyone climbed out of their cars to walk the streets. Brad and Giselle took their kids toward the family-friendly actives, Cassie and the recently released Wade following behind them at their own pace. Ahead of Margot and Adam, Louise and Harvey walked alongside Fran as they made their way down the sidewalk to place their entry with the other baked goods.
“Thank you,” Adam said, squeezing Margot’s hand where it rested in the crook of his arm.
“For what? Baking a Yule log?”
He grinned. “No. For helping my family when I couldn’t. My mother can be a little…demanding at times.” He said it in a good-natured way, but it was easy for Margot to refute.
“She just cares about her friend. And I was happy to help. I didn’t want you to endanger your job either. Besides, I didn’t do much. Just pulled the pieces together.”
“And did so with perfect timing,” Louise said, stepping back from Harvey and Fran. She flashed a warm smile at Margot. “Thank you, Margot. I knew I could count on you. You and Adam both.” With a wink, she rejoined Harvey, grasping his hand and then wrapping an arm around Fran’s shoulders.
It did feel good to know that the case was wrapped up in time for Christmas, though she still felt sad at the outcome. To know that a son had done something so terrible, all for the sake of greed—and at such a giving time as Christmas—was unfathomable.
Margot pulled her dark thoughts back to the present and cheered up as they walked past the rows of baked goods set out for display. She and Fran entered their Bûche de Noël and then Margot set off with Adam to enjoy all that the festival had to offer.
After a bag of roasted chestnuts, a few harmonized Christmas carols, and one hand-knitted scarf later, Adam and Margot rejoined the whole family for the judges’ announcement. The air crackled with chatter from everyone gathered to hear the outcome. Children played in the background, their laughter a perfect backdrop to the joyous occasion.
“I think you and Fran are going to win.”
“I don’t know… Did you see that cake that looks like a book?”
Adam shook his head. “It may look good, but I know Joyce can’t really bake. It looks like she went with A Christmas Carol this year.”
“Joyce? Like from Bob’s Books?”
“Yep. She’s been entering every year. No one has the heart to tell her that her designs are great, but the cake is denser than some of the books she likes to read.”
Margot tried to stifle her laugh. “How do you know that?”
“I used to judge when I was back in town.”
“I had no idea!”
“I begged out of it this year for obvious reasons.”
“Because you’d feel bad when your girlfriend wins?” She winked just as a portly man stepped up to the microphone.
“Thank you all for coming out today. I’m always glad to see everyone on the day before Christmas. It’s such a special time—time for family and friends—and to spend it together as a community is what I think Christmas is all about.”
The audience applauded and the man, whom Adam told her was the mayor, turned to the three people to his right. “I’d like to introduce this year’s judges. Chief Mike Blaine of the Sisters Police Department, Vanessa Lexington of Grandma’s Café in Bend, and ten-year-old Jimmy Trent from Sisters Elementary School.” More applause followed this as the mayor outlined how the judges had been asked to grade each baked item.
“And now, we come to what you’ve all be waiting for. In third place, we’ve got Olga Herington with her gingerbread version of the old church across town.” The older woman came up to the front to accept her small trophy, waving at the audience. “In second place, we have an entry from Rhonda Nelson with her tea ring cake.”
“As in Detective Nelson?” Margot asked.
Adam nodded. “Yep, that’s his wife.”
Margot could see a resemblance to Stephanie in the woman’s gentle features. Then she saw Detective Nelson standing at the edge of the crowd cheering like a schoolboy for his wife. It warmed her heart.
“And, lastly, we’ve got our first prize winner. They’ll go home with a trophy for bragging rights, a fifty-dollar gift card to the Sal’s Steakhouse, and this cash reward that, if I know Fran, will be heading straight to her favorite children’s charity. Congratulations to Fran Jones and Margot Durand for their Bûche de Noël… That’s a Yule Log Cake for those of you who don’t know.”
The audience erupted into more cheers and Fran took Margot’s hand and pulled her to the front. Margot was overwhelmed and yet excited for Fran to receive this honor after such a trying time this holiday.
“Looks like we’ll be taking everyone out to dinner,” Fran said, squeezing Margot in a tight hug after they received their trophy and prizes. The crowds began to dissipate and Margot looked around to find Adam.
Instead, her gaze landed on Detective Nelson where he stood with his wife and daughter. Instead of looking away, he broke away from his family and came toward her.
“I wanted to thank you for your help, Margot. Wha
t you did was some pretty impressive detective work.”
Margot was stunned, unable to form the words.
He chuckled. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I wish you and Adam the best. And congrats on the cake.”
“Th-thank you,” she said, finally finding her voice.
“Merry Christmas.” He nodded once and returned to his family, sliding an arm around his wife and daughter as they walked toward the parking lot.
“What was that all about?” Adam asked, coming up to her.
“He thanked me. For my help.”
“He did?”
She broke into a smile and met Adam’s gaze. “I know, I almost don’t believe it myself, but I think we’re in his good graces now.”
They shared a laugh and then, saying good-bye to the rest of the family, Adam tugged Margot down the street. They walked a few blocks, then he nodded toward a large park. “Your chariot awaits. Or sleigh.”
Just then, accompanied by the sound of sleigh bells, a sleigh pulled by a single horse rounded the bend. It had bows draped along the side and bright red bows to accent. The driver nodded toward them and pulled up. “Ready for your ride?”
“Yes,” Adam said decisively.
Adam climbed in after helping Margot in and they draped a red and green plaid blanket across their laps just as the driver clicked his tongue to send the horse off into a brilliant white field of snow.
Margot relaxed back against Adam. It was the perfect end to an exciting afternoon. “I can’t believe we won.”
“I can,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “It’s like you’re Midas and anything you bake turns to culinary gold.”
She laughed. “No one wants to eat gold.”
“You know what I mean.”
They rode in silence for a few more minutes before the driver pulled up near a grove of trees. “Here we are,” he said, turning around and nodding to Adam.
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