Mistletoe and Mayhem

by London Lovett

  "Do we? So you were thinking the same thing about the other boat owners? That they're covering up to keep their event pristine?"

  "Pretty much. But I could be wrong. I'm hoping the ex-wife, my second person of interest, will lead us to a few more solid clues."

  "In that case—" I said as I pulled off my gloves.

  "What are you doing? It'll be plenty cold down by the beach."

  "I have no doubt of that, but I can't very well go sniffing around a campsite without looking like a hungry bear. If I run my hand over surfaces, I can sometimes pick up a scent. But it doesn't work with thick gloves."

  "Makes sense. You really are good at this."

  I couldn't contain my grin. "I'm learning from the best."

  He didn't hold back his grin either.

  The larger coastal town of Mayfield was to the east of Port Danby. It shared the same stretch of beach with our town, but their stretch was much longer. In my biased opinion, I didn't think Mayfield had nearly as much charm as Port Danby. One section of the public beach and a good portion of the forested land leading up to the beach had been designated as a campsite.

  Detective Briggs pulled his car into the parking lot where travelers with motor homes could hook their vehicles up to water and electricity. There were only five motor homes parked in the camp. The carolers' motor homes were easy to spot because they had their group name, The Merry Carolers, painted across the back of each vehicle.

  A woman and a man were sitting at a picnic table in front of the motor homes. The man was browsing through a magazine and finishing up a hot dog. The woman, interestingly enough, was doing some kind of repair on her bonnet. The two singers looked very different dressed in sweatshirts and jeans. Because of her red hair and ample cheeks, I recognized the woman immediately as the caroler with the fur trimmed mantelet.

  The man saw us walking toward them and stood, looking uneasy about the prospect of two strangers approaching their campsite.

  Briggs pulled his badge from his pocket. "Good evening. I'm Detective Briggs of the Port Danby Police, and this is Miss Pinkerton."

  "I'm Jonah Iverton." The man was long and thin everywhere except for his belly. It almost looked as if he'd swallowed a bowling ball. His defensive stance softened but only slightly. "How can we help you?"

  The woman sitting at the table had a bonnet and a spool of ribbon in front of her. It was tartan ribbon, exactly like the one wrapped around Chad Ruxley's neck. I sensed that Briggs noticed the coincidence as well. He stared at the ribbon before turning his attention back to Jonah.

  "I was hoping to talk to Charlene Ruxley. I'm working on her husband's murder case."

  "Ex-husband," the woman with round cheeks piped up quickly. She put down the bottle of glue she was holding and lifted her hand to shake and introduce herself. I made a point to stick out my hand first. I was hoping there would be just enough scent left on her palm from the glue bottle. It was a long shot, but it couldn't hurt to try. Especially with a possible piece of the murder weapon sitting right in front of us curled in a pretty bow waiting to be glued to the bonnet.

  She was slightly put off by my forthrightness, but she took my hand. "I'm Kendra. Charlene has gone off on an errand. She should be back soon."

  "Or maybe you should just come back tomorrow." Jonah was far less congenial than Kendra.

  "We'll wait a few minutes, if you don't mind," Briggs suggested. Jonah responded with a half-hearted nod and then walked back inside the motor home. I discretely rubbed my nose with my hand. There was no match. It was a water-based glue with no toxic or chemical odor.

  "Miss—" Briggs waited for her to fill in the blank.

  "Mrs. Olson," Kendra noted.

  "Mrs. Olson, is it possible for me to get just an inch or two of that ribbon?"

  Kendra's mouth dropped open, and a puff of breath hovered in the chilly air in front of her face. She, of course, had no idea why he wanted it and was no doubt stunned that a detective would be interested in her ribbon.

  She finally pulled her mouth into a smile. "I'm not sure it will go with your severe black coat, but what do I know?" She chuckled and picked up the scissors to snip off a piece of ribbon.

  "Thank you so much." Detective Briggs placed the piece of ribbon in his pocket. Then he walked away, pretending to make a phone call, but I knew he was scouting around, looking for something, anything that might point him toward the killer.

  "I saw the group in full costume singing in Port Danby." I said cheerily to Kendra. "Such a beautiful wardrobe and so lively and authentic."

  "Thank you." Kendra lifted her bonnet for me to get a better look under the dim lights of the campground. "We fashion it all from actual Victorian clothing. I just love the skirts and bonnets. Makes me feel as if I've stepped into another world."

  I smiled. "Same for those of us watching your performance. It was truly wonderful. There are five of you, right?"

  "Yes. Bobby and Rita got tired of the campsite and went to dinner."

  I motioned to the bottle of glue. "What happened? Wardrobe malfunction?"

  She found my comment amusing. "I suppose in a way. Somewhere in the hustle and bustle, I lost the ribbon off my bonnet. Fortunately, we had an extra spool of this tartan ribbon. It's my favorite and it works best with the colors of my skirt and mantelet."

  "Yes, the cherry red mantelet with the white fur trim? It's lovely."

  "Thank you. I had my seamstress recreate one from an old Victorian fashion plate."

  "I heard your group singing on Thursday night. How late did you have to perform? It got too cold for me by nine. I can't imagine how hard it is to sing for hours in frigid weather."

  "The costumes keep us warm. Since that was the only night of our performance—" She briefly frowned to show that she was saddened by the tragedy. "I can remember exactly how long we sang. We caroled until ten o'clock and then took the horse and carriage back to Jonah's car. We always tow a car behind each motor home when we travel. It gives us the freedom to move around towns easily without acting like a bunch of slow turtles with our houses on our backs."

  Headlights temporarily lit up the campsite. "Ah here's Charlene now. She left last night's performance an hour early. She had a terrible headache, and the cold air and crowds were making it worse."

  Detective Briggs had returned to our conversation just as Kendra mentioned Charlene leaving early with a headache. "What time was that?" he asked, suddenly, startling Kendra who had not heard him walk up.

  "Oh, hello, detective. We ended around ten, so Charlene must have left around nine." She moved her round chin back and forth in thought. "Yes, it was right after Silent Night."

  Charlene Ruxley climbed out of her car. She was younger than I expected. With her turned up nose and wide set eyes she reminded me of my third grade teacher, Miss Langley, who was gentle, kind and fun. She had two pet hamsters in her classroom named Atticus and Scout. I got up extra early for school every day in third grade because I couldn't wait to get to Miss Langley's class.

  Briggs went straight into detective mode, showing her his badge and letting her know he had a few questions. He glanced back at Kendra, who seemed to get the hint.

  She stood up quickly. "I'll just head inside then. It was nice meeting you, Miss Pinkerton, Detective Briggs."

  Kendra disappeared inside the motor home.

  Charlene hugged herself against the cold and possibly against a case of nerves. It was hard to tell. But she was underdressed for the weather, clad only in a sweater, jeans and a knitted shawl.

  "What can I do for you, Detective Briggs? I was waiting for someone from the station to come and interview me. I thought it would be earlier, during the day."

  "Yes, I'm sorry for the late visit," Briggs said as he pulled out his notebook. "This is Miss Pinkerton. She is working on the case with me."

  (Oh heart be still.)

  "I haven't seen Chad in six months. Even this weekend, I managed to somehow avoid him. I saw his boat, of course. But we
never passed each other. Not even on the pier."

  Briggs scribbled away with his pen. "Is that why you texted him on Thursday night? So you two could meet up and talk?"

  Her stunned silence pulled Briggs' gaze away from his notebook. "Ms. Ruxley?"

  "Ms. Carlton, please. It's my maiden name. I just haven't had time to change it back legally. I'm not sure what you mean. What text? Did you find my phone?"

  Briggs turned some of the pages of his notebook back. "Two other boat owners said they were talking to Chad around ten o'clock when he got a text. He told them you had texted that you needed to talk to him. He left immediately to the pier." Her last question had finally caught up with him. "Why did you ask if we found your phone?"

  "It's gone. It sort of negates being dressed in Victorian costumes when a twenty-first century cell phone rings in your pocket. We leave our phones, keys and other things like extra props—caroling books, candles, bells—in two canvas bags close to where we're singing. Then we can easily carry everything with us to our next location. I left the performance early last night. I had a terrible migraine, and the cold was making it worse. The canvas bags were tucked behind the bike rental kiosk during our performance on the wharf. I went to get my keys and phone. I rummaged through both bags but couldn't find my phone. I figured I'd left it back in the motor home. My head hurt so bad, I didn't even think about it. I got back to the motor home and climbed into bed. I still couldn't find my phone this morning."

  "When you got your keys, did anything seem amiss with the canvas bags?" Briggs asked.

  "Our stuff had been moved around. Not a lot, just slightly. Nothing appeared to be missing. Again, I wasn't thinking clearly with the migraine. But there were so many people, it seems entirely possible that someone could have slipped into the kiosk and rummaged through the bag. But nothing else was missing. Just my phone. Excuse me." Charlene pulled an intricately embroidered handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her nose. "This cold air always gives me the sniffles." She refolded the square of white linen.

  "It's unusual to see an embroidered handkerchief these days," I noted. "I guess it goes well with your Victorian era costumes."

  "I embroider them myself." She proudly unfolded it. Red and green poinsettias were hand-stitched in one corner of the handkerchief. "I'll be selling some at our table tomorrow night. On our last night of caroling, we set up a table with our music CDs, song books, bells and other goodies. It's nice extra income and helps pay for our travels."

  "Soup is ready, Charlene," Jonah called out the side window of the motor home.

  "If there's nothing else, Detective Briggs. I've got dinner waiting."

  "Yes, of course," he said. "Have a good evening."

  We headed back to his car. Once inside, I slipped my hands back into my gloves. "No match on the glue and I touched the picnic benches just to check for wood smell or varnish. I found nothing. It seems I'm not much help to you."

  "Not true at all," he insisted, but I was having trouble convincing myself.

  "I guess that sort of takes the heat off of her." I fastened my seat belt. "Since her phone was stolen the night she supposedly texted Chad to meet her on the pier."

  Briggs checked the side mirror and pulled out onto the road. "Yes. Unless, of course, she disposed of the phone and made up the story about it being stolen because she knew the text would implicate her."

  "Ah ha," I nodded. "And that's why you're the detective and I'm just the occasional assistant with a talented nose. What about Victoria? Too royal for a nose?"

  Briggs smiled as he turned the car and headed back to Port Danby.

  Chapter 19

  Lola's car was already parked out front of Elsie's house. Elsie had lined her walkway with giant wooden candy canes, and her entire porch was strung with snowflake shaped twinkling lights. I could smell melted chocolate the second I stepped out of the car. The pungent, slightly sweet smell of chimney smoke curling up from nearly every chimney on the street muted some of the rich cocoa smell, but it was still strong enough to make my mouth water.

  Elsie opened the door wearing a yellow and blue checked apron and one of her usual flashy smiles. "Thank goodness you're here. Now maybe droopy drawers will cheer up."

  "I heard that," Lola called from the kitchen as I stepped into Elsie's house.

  Elsie laughed. "Oops. Anyhow, come on in and we can get started. We need to coat the truffles. Then we'll watch Lucy and nibble cheese and crackers while they harden."

  Lola had perched herself on a stool at the kitchen counter. She'd knotted her curly hair in a careless knot at the back of her head.

  Lola took a sip of wine and then lowered her glass to the counter. "Good thing you tied your hair back, Pink. The iron fisted chef, here, told me I had to get my red mop tied up or it would get in the way of the truffles."

  Elsie poured me a glass of wine and ignored Lola's comment. Which was probably for the best. I'd been looking forward to the evening, and I'd hate for it to go south before we'd even dipped our hands in chocolate.

  I took a sip of wine. "I thought Lester might join us."

  "Les? No. He's been busy at his house." Elsie shook her head. "My silly brother has talked himself into remodeling his bathroom." She laughed between sips of wine. "He ripped out everything, right down to the studs. And get this, he's putting in one of those deep soak tubs. This cold winter air has reminded him both of how old he is and how much his years as a fireman destroyed his back and joints. Lots of arthritis."

  "Neat. I wish I had a soak tub," I said.

  Lola laughed. "I can just picture Les sitting in a tub of bubbles with scented candles lit all around him." She lifted her glass to her mouth but froze halfway. "Ooh yuck, now I'm trying to erase that image."

  Elsie walked to her refrigerator. "Now he's at that point of no return on the project. I promised to bring him some truffles tomorrow."

  I walked into the kitchen. Sitting on a piece of wax paper on Elsie's white quartz counter was the biggest slab of milk chocolate I had ever seen. Two large chunks had been broken off. Elsie turned from the refrigerator with a tray filled with small chocolate balls.

  "This is a massive bar of chocolate, Elsie. Where did you get it?"

  "From my chocolate supplier. It's special order. They have a ten pound bar mold."

  "Can I just start nibbling from this end?" I laughed at my joke and turned to see if Lola found it funny. She was busy looking at her phone.

  "I don't know why I care anyhow," Lola blurted. She was apparently starting a conversation in the middle. Elsie and I stared back at her, baffled by her statement.

  Lola glanced up and saw us looking at her expectantly. "I mean about Randall Dayton. Why should I care if he doesn't call? He doesn't live in the area, and he smells like tobacco." She put the phone down. "That's it. I'm done whining about him."

  "That's good to hear," I said, not totally convinced by her declaration.

  Elsie stretched out some wax paper. "I don't know why you'd be interested in some stranger when the most wonderful guy in the world works right across the street from you."

  Lola stared at her with pinched brows. "I adore Lester and his cool Hawaiian shirts, but he's a little old for me."

  "Oh stop," Elsie said. "You know very well I'm talking about Ryder."

  Elsie looked to me for back up. I shook my head to let her know I was staying clear of the topic.

  "Ryder is a great guy," Lola said as she climbed off the stool. "But I don't think he's my type."

  "And why not?" Elsie continued . . . unfortunately. "Too perfect?"

  Lola waved off her comment. "Let's get this party started. I want to drown my sorrows in melted chocolate."

  "Good idea," I said. "I'm kind of disappointed I didn't get to see you make the filling."

  I took a sniff. "Hmm, chocolate and whipped cream and vanilla," I declared.

  "Exactly right," Elsie said. "And a bit of salt but I guess even your nose can't smell that. I put large chunks of cho
colate in the top of this double boiler. The water below heats up so the chocolate melts slowly. You have to be careful with chocolate. If it gets too hot, it separates and seizes up. Then it's ruined. And you don't want to get any water or moisture in it either. After the filling chocolate melted, I folded it into some unsweetened whipped cream. Then I refrigerated it and shaped it into balls. Now it's time to coat them. Let me demonstrate."

  Elsie poured some of the melted chocolate from the top of the double boiler out on a clean spot on her counter. She raked the chocolate puddle back and forth with the edge of a spatula. Then she reached into a bowl of solid grated chocolate and sprinkled it on the melted puddle.

  "Why are you doing that?" I asked.

  "This is called tempering. Adding some cold chocolate will help make the coating shiny and even. Otherwise, it can look dull and get a waxy haze on it." Elsie worked as she narrated. "I gently pick up a tiny ball of chocolate and roll it back and forth until its coated completely. You have to work fast so the center doesn't get too mushy. Then I return it to its spot on the wax paper." She swirled the melted chocolate once around the top to give the truffle a decorative finish.

  "You make it look so easy," I marveled. "But I'm ready." I pushed back my sleeves to wash my hands.

  "Me too," Lola said.

  Elsie handed us each a spoon with her clean hand. "First, I suggest you each take a spoonful of melted chocolate. It helps keep you from wanting to lick your fingers in the middle of coating the candy. Trust me. It's a trick I taught myself years ago. That and always keep one hand clean because the second you coat both hands with chocolate, your nose will have a terrible itch."

  Lola and I turned to the pot with our spoons. I felt like a kid stealing a spoonful of cookie dough from my mom's mixing bowl. We both closed our eyes for a second as we coated our tongues with rich, melted chocolate.

  "That's heaven," Lola muttered. There was a bit of chocolate at each corner of her mouth as she smiled. "I'm glad you talked me into this."

  "I'm glad you came. After all, who needs men when there is melted chocolate, wine and good friends to enjoy."