The Twelve Dice of Christmas
Page 21
Everything happened in quick succession: the mallet, Ralph’s attack on Cora, the gun firing, the smoke detector blaring. Bill crashed through the front door in true superhero style. Snatching the gun off the floor, I aimed it at Cora. “B-Bill,” I stammered, “dial 911. Ask them to send an ambulance—and the sheriff.”
• • •
Bill and I watched from the doorway as the ambulance pulled away from the curb, siren wailing. We’d seen Cora Prentiss hustled down the front walk in handcuffs and prodded into the backseat of a patrol car. Sheriff Wiggins had taken my statement and directed his men to bag the pistol and spent shell casing as evidence. I handed him Cora’s prescription bottle and warned him not to be surprised at the results of Eula’s drug screen.
Sighing, I rested my head on Bill’s shoulder. “Cora might’ve been right when she claimed there was no proof that she’d killed Waylon, but the sheriff said she’ll be charged with two counts of attempted murder. That will keep her behind bars for a good long time.”
“Amen,” Bill said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Glad I got here when I did. If not, no telling what you might have done to Cora.”
I turned my head to better read his expression. “You still haven’t told me what brought you here tonight.”
“Take a good look at the yard,” he instructed, pointing to a bright white object that hadn’t been there earlier in the day. “It’s an inflatable snowman. The salesman at Lowe’s told me it glows in the dark. I didn’t want you to get in trouble with the gals for not having enough outdoor decorations so I thought I’d help.”
I smiled a slow smile that grew into a full-fledged laugh. “Nothing says Merry Christmas like an inflatable snowman in the front yard. I love it—and I love you, too.”
Chapter 33
Somehow, don’t ask me how, but it had all come together. Sheriff Wiggins had stayed late the night of the . . . incident . . . taking a kazillion photographs and filling his little black book with various notes and measurements. When he finished, he gave Eula’s home his personal stamp of approval. The Holiday Home Tour was good to go.
Monica, as expected, had a conniption fit when she heard what I’d done to her pristine kitchen. Connie Sue, on the other hand, fussed over me like a mother hen. Polly expressed grave disappointment that she’d missed out on all the excitement, while Gloria just rolled her eyes. All of the Babes were grateful that Eula was recovering nicely from her overdose and would soon be released from the hospital. The doctors were confident that once the drug was completely out of her system her memory would improve and her confusion abate. Barring complications, she could remain in her own home and not have to move into Valley View Manor.
We’d all pitched in to restore the kitchen. The frying pan I’d used to make Swiss steak went into the trash, a total loss when a burned meal had set off the smoke detector. Claudia contributed the pièce de résistance of the tour—a spectacular gingerbread house she had bid on and won at a charity auction. The Babes pulled out all the stops, adding touches of fresh greenery, fluffing pillows, and tweaking bows until the house did, indeed, resemble a fairy-tale cottage. Even Rita’s amaryllis had cooperated by blooming right on schedule, a silent testimony to her green thumb. When Bill had arrived, spackle in hand and ready to repair the bullet hole in the kitchen ceiling, I’d stopped him. A bullet hole in a ceiling combined with the notoriety of a skeleton in the root cellar, would draw people like crazy.
My instincts had proven correct. According to all the feedback, Eula’s home had proven to be a huge success, the most popular one on the tour.
A quick peek at my watch told me the Holiday Home Tour would soon be history. I couldn’t wait to go home, put my feet up, and enjoy a cold glass of wine.
“So, hon, do you think we’ll have any latecomers?” Bill asked as we manned our post at the front entrance, prepared to greet stragglers.
I glanced at my watch again. “According to the program, the home tour doesn’t officially end for another fifteen minutes.”
Bill had offered to stay with me until the last of the ticket holders trickled through, then help me lock up. The rest of the Babes had already exited. All day long, they’d taken turns acting as hostesses as hundreds of people trooped through. Megan and Tammy Lynn had been the last to leave. Tammy Lynn was so happy she practically glowed. Not only was her beloved meemaw on the mend, but she had reconciled with Eric. Love was in the air, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if Eric popped the question. Before leaving, however, Tammy Lynn had lingered to tell me about a strange dream her grandmother had experienced while drugged. In her dream, Eula had invited Cora to join her and Waylon for a dinner of Swiss steak. But when she arrived home late from her quilt circle, there was no trace of either one. Strange indeed, I’d agreed with Tammy Lynn.
Or is it true, smells really do ring bells?
“Figures,” I sighed, seeing a Ford Explorer stop at the curb. “There’s always one.”
A large man climbed out dressed entirely in black—slacks, collared shirt, leather jacket, boots. I was so fixated on his sartorial splendor it took me a minute to recognize the newcomer as none other than Sheriff Sumter Wiggins.
“Hey, y’all, nice snowman,” he greeted us as he strolled up the walk. “Hope I’m not too late.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.” I punched the ticket he handed me, surprised to note he’d visited all of the homes on the tour. “You trying out for the role of Darth Vader in that getup?”
“Very funny,” he grunted. “As a public official, I feel it’s my duty to support a worthy cause. Thanks to all y’all’s hard work, you raised enough funds for new playground equipment at the Children’s Home, with enough left over for a flat-screen TV for their day room.”
Hearing this made all the planning, work and long hours seem worthwhile. “Take a good look around,” I said, beaming at his rare praise. “Take as long as you need.”
“And be sure to help yourself to the cookies,” Bill called after him. “They’re homemade.”
The sheriff came out ten minutes later munching a gingerbread cookie and holding a cup of Diane’s mulled cider. “I don’t usually eat sweets but thought I’d make an exception, this bein’ the holidays and all.”
“I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, Sheriff,” I said. “I swear I’ll never be able to understand the lengths people go to in order to get what they want. Cora wanted this house so much she’d have killed her own sister.”
“It wasn’t simply the house Cora Prentiss wanted, but the secret hidden in the cellar. Her plan might have worked, too, if you hadn’t found Waylon Snow’s remains—and if you’d been content to let his murder remain unsolved. She’d even tried scare tactics on you by leavin’ a cheap Halloween trinket where you’d be sure to notice.”
Bill stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “It’s a shame Cora will never be tried for Waylon’s murder even though she confessed to Kate.”
“Not necessarily.” The sheriff polished off the last of his cookie then washed it down with cider. “Although we didn’t release it to the general public, hair fibers were found clutched in the victim’s hand. I’ve requested that these be compared to Cora Prentiss’s DNA. There’s no statute of limitations on a murder case.”
Reaching up, I placed my hand over Bill’s. “Karma caught up with Cora in the end.”
“Never met Karma”—Sheriff Wiggins tugged on his earlobe—“but I guarantee Ms. Prentiss will get what’s comin’ to her. Never was fully convinced Miz Snow was the culprit. Accordin’ to the coroner’s report, Waylon Snow was no small man. His wife’s a little thing, makin’ it difficult for her to land a blow of sufficient strength to cause that kind of wound. Then there’s the problem of transportin’ a body to the cellar and hidin’ it. Not an easy task for a woman her size.”
“Sheriff . . .” I stopped him as he was about to leave. “What became of Ralph after you took him the other night? Is he with Ta
mmy Lynn? Or did his real owners show up?”
“Don’t think that’s likely to happen. The dog’s got a touch of Lab mixed in with the Boykin spaniel, so I’m guessin’ that ruined his pedigree for a breeder. With Miz Snow’s approval, I’m keepin’ him.” Sheriff Wiggins opened the front door and let in a rush of crisp night air. “I’ve been wantin’ to start a K-9 unit, and Ralph’s my first recruit. That don’t work out, he’ll make me a fine huntin’ dog.”
Bill and I stood side by side on the porch steps while he climbed back into the Explorer and drove off into the gathering darkness. “Who knew?” I said, shaking my head in wonder. “Sheriff Wiggins is human after all. Not only does he eat sweets, but he’s a dog lover.”
“Let’s go back inside,” Bill said as the sheriff’s taillights disappeared around the corner. “It’s freezing out here. Any colder and it might snow.”
“Don’t be silly. It never snows in South Carolina.”
Holding out his palm, Bill caught a perfect crystal flake as it drifted from the sky. “Never say never.”
Down the street, a group of carolers were making the rounds. The lyrics of an old favorite of mine, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” carried in the still night air. One line in particular resonated within me: “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” Safe and content in the circle of Bill’s arms, I let the spirit of the season wash over me.
Recipes
Pecan Tassies
Yield: 2 dozen
Ingredients
½ cup butter, softened
3 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup all-purpose flour
Filling
½ cup chopped pecans
1 egg
¾ cup brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon butter, softened
1 teaspoon vanilla
Dash of salt
Directions
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease bottom and sides of mini muffin cups.
Beat butter and cream cheese until smooth. Gradually beat in flour. Refrigerate, covered, for one hour or until firm enough to shape.
Shape dough into one-inch balls (using a small cookie scoop makes this easy). Press into bottoms and up sides of mini muffin cups.
Add heaping ½ teaspoon of chopped pecans into each muffin cup.
Prepare filling: In a small bowl, mix egg, brown sugar, butter, vanilla, and salt until well blended. Spoon filling into muffin cups.
Bake 20–25 minutes. Cool 2–10 minutes, then remove to wire rack.
*Cookies can be made ahead and frozen.
Easy No-Bake Butterscotch Treats
Ingredients
1 12-ounce package of butterscotch morsels
1 cup Spanish peanuts
2 cups cornflakes
Directions
The most difficult part of this recipe is melting the butterscotch morsels. If done over low heat, watch closely to make sure they don’t scorch. If using a microwave to melt them, use 50% power for 30-second intervals, stirring well each time until only a few morsels remain.
Stir in peanuts and cornflakes. Drop by teaspoons onto waxed paper and let set.
Secret-Ingredient Fudge
Yield: Makes 2½ pounds
Ingredients
½ pound butter
½ pound Velveeta cheese
2 1-pound boxes (or bags) confectioners’ sugar
½ cup cocoa powder
2 teaspoons vanilla
Chopped walnuts or pecans, optional
Directions
Butter a 9 x 9-inch pan.
Melt cheese and butter together in a microwave.
Working quickly because this sets up fast, add confectioners’ sugar, cocoa, vanilla, and nuts (optional). Stir together.
Spread in pan and refrigerate.
*Freezes well.
Books by Gail Oust
Spice Shop Mysteries
Rosemary and Crime
Kill ’Em with Cayenne
Cinnamon Toasted
Kate McCall Mysteries
Murder is Dicey
Roll Over and Play Dead
Death Rolls the Dice
The Twelve Dice of Christmas
About the Author
Friends often accuse Gail Oust of flunking retirement. While working as a nurse/vascular technologist, Gail penned nine historical romances under the pseudonym Elizabeth Turner for Avon, Pocket, Berkley, and Kensington. It wasn’t until after she and her husband retired to South Carolina that inspiration struck for a mystery. Hearing the words “maybe it’s a dead body” while golfing with friends fired her imagination for this series. Gail is also the author of the Spice Shop Mysteries. When she isn’t reading, writing, or sleeping, she can usually be found on the golf course or hanging out with friends.