Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3)

by Addison Moore

  “Oh—give me Holly,” I say, taking the furry beauty from him.

  Leo shakes his head as he passes me by. Didn’t I say he isn’t going anywhere? He lifts a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

  “So Bizzy”—Mack steps in with her bright red coat, that matching painted on smile—“I suppose you’re coming to the annual tree lighting ceremony tomorrow night.”

  “That I am. And I’ve got a big sign at the inn inviting all of our guests to join the festivities.”

  “Good. Emmie said she’d donate four dozen gingerbread whoopie pies to the refreshment table.”

  “And I approve.” Why is she being so amicable?

  I squint over at her and a laugh bounces through her.

  “Always skeptical of my motives, aren’t you, Bizzy?” She gives a little wink. “Fine, I’ll come clean.” That sickly sweet smile melts right off her face. “Leo’s ex keeps fishing around. And I know for a fact she’s fishing around your man, too.” Her brows peak, giving her that evil villain appeal I’m sure she’s after.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” I readjust Mistletoe and Holly and dot each of their foreheads with a kiss.

  Holly lifts her furry little chin. She’s wicked, isn’t she, Bizzy?

  “On a good day,” I whisper into her little ear.

  Mack steps in close, like a threat. “What else is there to do but send her packing? Boot her from the inn, Bizzy.”

  “I can’t just boot a guest from the inn.”

  “Surely you have rules. Invent one and make sure she breaks it before she breaks your heart when she steals Jasper away from you.” Or worse yet, Leo away from me.

  My lips twitch. “You’re really into Leo, aren’t you?”

  She cranes her neck over my shoulder. “What’s there not to like?” She shoots a mean look my way. “And don’t get any ideas. Leo is mine,” she hisses before strolling off toward the miniature flocked trees.

  “Can I help you?” a cheery male voice calls from behind and I turn and jump a little once I see it’s Calvin St. James himself. His head is tilted to the side as if he were trying to place me—that or the fact he finds me completely suspicious.

  “Oh, right.” I give a nervous laugh as I pull Mistletoe and Holly in close. “I manage the Country Cottage Inn.” I hold the sweet kittens in my arms and his features soften. “We’re here shopping for trees to decorate the inn with.”

  Calvin St. James looks as if he has ten years on me. He’s handsome, dark curly hair, dark button eyes, and thin lips that slide easily in and out of a grin.

  “Well, aren’t you two the cutest little kittens.” He tilts his head as he looks to me once again. “Wait a minute. You were there last night, weren’t you?” There’s a slight look of relief on his face as if the last piece of the puzzle fits. Little does he know the puzzle I’m working on—the one in which I help remove my mother from the suspect list—is still taking shape. I’d say Calvin is most likely an important piece himself.

  “Candy Cane Lane?” I give a few innocent blinks. “It seems the entire town was there. Oh! The cats. Yes, one of the neighbors gave them to me. There was a horrible accident there last night.”

  He nods as his features darken. “Lincoln Brooks. He was my business partner.” A louse and a cheat, but I’ll leave that out for now. “Did you know him?”

  “No, not really. Oddly enough, my mother dated him once upon a time.” Regretfully. I believe she used the words louse and cheat to describe him a time or two herself.

  A small laugh bounces from him. “Don’t worry. He dated just about everybody’s mother.” That’s why he was such a lousy businessman. He was far too busy taking care of his physical needs to pay attention to the bottom line. And now I get to suffer for it. But not for long. Life is sweeter just one day after his passing. And in just a few weeks, it will be sweeter still.

  I clear my throat. “It sounds like Lincoln really got around. I met his girlfriend last night. Trixie, I think she said her name was.”

  He closes his eyes a moment. “Trixie Jolly-Golightly?” He twitches his brows suggestively. “That’s her dancer name.”

  Figures. My mother is always right.

  “Oh?” I try to sound surprised. “Well, that’s how she introduced herself. Do you know her real name?”

  “Nope. Doubt Lincoln did either. But I think we both know he wasn’t all that interested in hearing the truth from her.” Or anybody else for that matter.

  “What does that mean?” I lean in, anxious to hear anything he has to tell me.

  “It means I think she was on his payroll.” He nods heavily as if I should know what that means. “She’s a pretty girl.”

  “Yes, well, he had money. Sometimes pretty girls like Trixie are attracted to that.” I bite down on my lip. “Any news on how he died?”

  He blinks back. Is she kidding? I thought it was evident. And if it wasn’t, then it will be once they do the autopsy.

  My lips part, unsure of which direction to go in. “I mean, I thought he had a heart attack, but rumors are swirling he was murdered.” I shrug it off. “Cider Cove is a small, small town.”

  He averts his eyes. “Don’t I know it. I live out in Whaler’s Cove. Cider Cove is—was Lincoln’s stomping ground. He’s the one that owns the land we’re standing on. I’m the one he utilized to do all the grunt work.”

  “What happens to you now that he’s gone? Are you out of a job?”

  “Nope. We owned a fifty-fifty split on most things we were involved with. I spoke to my lawyer and he said I should be able to file for full ownership unless someone contests it.”

  He spoke with his lawyer? Lincoln hasn’t been dead for twenty-four hours. It’s not even one in the afternoon.

  Mistletoe burrows her head against my neck. I think he sounds guilty, Bizzy. Get Jasper to cuff him so we can get back to the cottage and enjoy some more of that Fancy Beast cat food.

  It sounds as if they’re taking a page right out of Sherlock’s bacon-laced playbook.

  “Good luck to you,” I say to Calvin. “I hope you don’t miss out on a single property that’s due to you.”

  Oh, I won’t, sweetie. His lips curl at the thought. I’ve all but ensured it.

  He nods my way. “I’m sure it will work out exactly how it’s intended. Go ahead and pick out as many trees as you like. They’re on me.”

  “Oh no, I insist on paying.”

  He shrugs as he squints into the crowd. “Have it your way. But I’ll take the biggest one off the tab. You can’t stop me.” He gives a little wink. “And you’ll be seeing me again. I’ve already bought a ticket to the charity function at the Country Cottage Inn. I guess you could say we’ll be spending Christmas Eve Eve together.”

  “And we’re going to have lots of fun,” I tease. “Bring a fat wallet. All proceeds go to needy families in the area.”

  “I sure will!”

  He starts to take off, and I block his path.

  “Hey, Calvin? If Lincoln was murdered, who do you think did it?”

  “You know”—he blows out a quick breath as he looks to some invisible horizon—“I’d bet it was those nutty neighbors. They were feuding pretty bad. If I had a dime for every time Lincoln complained about his ex and her new husband, I might really be a rich man by now.” And I will be soon enough. He offers me a brief salute. “Take your time.” He jogs off to the register where a bevy of customers have lined up.

  Jasper comes back and groans as he watches Calvin take off.

  He frowns over at him. “I missed it, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry. Something tells me you’ll be talking to Calvin a lot.”

  Calvin St. James is hiding something sinister—something to do with money. And money is always a great motivator for murder.

  I’ll let Jasper winnow out the details on that one. For now, it looks as if we’ll need to make another trip down Candy Cane Lane to speak with the Bronsons.

  They are, in fact, looking guilty
as sin.

  Chapter Six

  The weather outside has taken a turn for the dark and sinister, much like the emotional climate in Cider Cove. Christmas feels as if it’s sneaking up on me far faster than ever should be allowed. There are still presents to be bought and wrapped—not to mention Cider Cove’s annual cookie exchange will be taking place in just a few days, right here at the inn.

  As soon as I got back from the tree lot, I took Mistletoe and Holly to my cottage where they’ve been happily napping ever since. But at the moment I’m standing in the brightly lit interior of the Country Cottage Café, helping with the afternoon rush as Emmie and I ring up a small crowd of guests. The café is brightly lit and the scent of those gingerbread whoopie pies infiltrates through the air, enlivening the senses. There’s a large chalkboard that stands on an easel and highlights all of the holiday-themed specials for the month, and almost all of the bistro tables strewn about are filled to capacity with happy customers noshing away on their meals.

  No sooner does the activity at the register die down than Georgie waltzes into the establishment in a bright green kaftan and a string of gold garland around her neck.

  “Yuletide greetings!” She wags a piece of mistletoe over her head and blows both Emmie and me a kiss.

  Emmie giggles at the sight. “Let me guess. You’re tracking down all the handsome men in Cider Cove and threatening them with a little holiday delight?”

  “You bet your blue-eyed tooshie, missy.” Georgie gives a sly wink. “Now where are those cute kitties of yours, Bizzy? Everyone knows kittens are a man magnet. I’ll have an entire line of men trying to break down my door by midnight once I work my trifecta of holiday magic—with this outfit, this seasonal sprig, and those cagey cats, I’ll be fighting off a proposal by the new year.”

  Emmie and I share a warm laugh.

  “The kittens are napping at my place. But can I get you anything from the café while you’re here? The usual?”

  “Nah, I’ve gotta run. I still have a few hours of work to put in today. By this weekend the first segment of the mural will be completed.”

  Georgie has been working for months on a city-funded beautification effort along one of the tall retaining walls right here on Main Street. She’s creating a glass mosaic that will span an entire city block, featuring oceanic scenes that are sure to attract tourists to the area.

  Emmie leans in. “An entire segment? Congratulations. How many segments are there?”

  “Fifty-two.” Georgie doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Geez.” I grimace. “Georgie, this is going to take you a couple of years or longer to finish. They’re not paying you hourly, are they?”

  She belts out a maniacal laugh and shoots me with her fingers. “Now you’re picking up what I’m laying down.” She looks to Emmie. “One hot java and two of those gingerbread whoopie miracles to go, please. I can’t stand around here all day doing nothing. I’ve got to go there and stand around all day doing nothing.”

  Emmie tips her head. “I’ll get right on it.”

  She takes off and I lean in. “So, are you ready for the big day? Have you gotten any Christmas shopping done?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, I’m ready for the big day—because who isn’t ready for Christmas? And no, I haven’t even started my shopping yet. I’ll admit, I’m no good at figuring out what people want.”

  “Sure, you are. I love the wish jar you gave me last year.”

  It’s true. Georgie gifted me a Mason jar with miniature twinkle lights inside and instructed me to speak a wish into it every night. It’s an adorable concept and the jar is beautiful. And when I look at Jasper, I know in my heart every last wish was granted.

  She shrugs. “I gave everyone a wish jar last year. It was one of my best gifts and no one lost a finger.”

  “Georgie, I’m sure you always give good gifts—and no one loses a finger over it.”

  “Not true,” she says just as Emmie slides a coffee and two gingerbread whoopie pies her way. “One year I gave everyone a paring knife as sharp as a razor. My aunt Hilda sliced off a finger before she finished unwrapping it. The knife was so sharp she didn’t even notice the finger was gone until she was covered with blood.”

  Both Emmie and I groan in unison.

  Before I can say a word about Georgie’s questionable gift-giving choices, Mom dashes into the café, rushing over in a panic.

  “Bizzy! Oh, thank God you’re here.” Her hair is blown sideways and her coat is crooked as if she ran all the way over. “I just spoke with that boyfriend of yours. Can you believe they have reason to suspect me of tampering with the eggnog?” she hisses the words out so fast it sounds like one long sentence.

  I make my way around the counter and pull her in.

  “I’m so sorry. He mentioned something this morning, but I didn’t think he was serious. Mom, I know you had nothing to do with Lincoln Brooks’ death.” I nod over at her as if demanding that she reassures me of this.

  Instead, she shudders and glances away.

  Sure, I wanted to kill him. I might have even rooted for someone else to do it.

  “Ree Baker!” Georgie practically dances a jig she’s so excited. “Have you been accused of a homicide? Oh, this month is off to a murderously delicious start.” She pulls her along by the hand. “Let’s take a seat and you can tell me all about it. I’ll share my magical whoopie pies with you and you can tell me how you kicked his old keister to the other side.”

  Leo Granger strides into the café and I shoot him a disparaging look.

  “Go ahead, Mom. I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “Emmie”—I lean toward my bestie—“would you bring my mother a candy cane latte? I’ve got a bone to pick with someone.”

  Leo heads this way with a smirk and I can’t help but smirk right back.

  “Well, if it isn’t Granger the supernatural ranger,” I say. “I hope you’re ready to speak up, because you owe me answers.”

  His cheek flickers. “You’ll get more mileage out of me with donuts.”

  “I’ll do you one better. Gingerbread whoopie pies. It’s the best thing going just this side of heaven.” I pop three on a tray and slide them his way.

  “I think I’ll need some coffee to wash this down. This looks amazing, Bizzy.”

  “Good,” I say as I quickly pour him a cup of candy cane hot java cheer. “Because I have a feeling you’ll be filling my ears with a few amazing tidbits you failed to mention.”

  I waste no time shuttling him to a table near the window, far enough from my mother and Georgie and the unintentional homicide they’re trying to dissect.

  I lean in. “As if getting my mother off of Jasper’s suspect list wasn’t enough, I’ve got Camila Ryder and her very real threats to contend with. Why in the world would you tell her about your ability to read minds? Are you nuts? You should always deny, deny, deny. I didn’t need some supernatural rulebook to tell me that one. It’s what’s kept me from being the starring act in some government circus sideshow.”

  He all but rolls his eyes before indulging in a hearty bite of the gingerbread wonder before him.

  “Oh, man.” A deep moan evicts from him. “You weren’t kidding. This is the best thing going just this side of heaven.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say, pulling his tray over to myself and dangling those luscious sweet treats just out of reach. “Because if you want the rest of them, you’ll answer my question.”

  He glowers at me a moment. “Fine. I didn’t tell her.” He winces. “Not directly. I was having some fun with her, playing a few games.”

  “Leo,” I groan. “So you were coming across as the man who magically knew what she was thinking? And you took it too far.” I shake my head over at him. “But why admit it when she caught on? Once you cross that line, there’s no going back. Like with Georgie and me. And look where that landed me. Having a conversation with you while my boyfriend’s wicked ex threatens to out me.”

  He gives a little shrug.
“I’m sorry, Bizzy. You’re right. In hindsight, I should have denied it, laughed it off. But my ego was swelling. And at the time, she was still up for stroking it.”

  A flurry of words gets trapped in my throat and I gag on them.

  “Listen”—I lean in hard—“I’m not even a little interested in hearing about what that woman was stroking. How do I get her off my back?”

  “You said it yourself. Deny, deny, deny.” He shrugs.

  “You’re so right.” I sag at the thought of having no other option. “Honestly, how did that woman turn into my worst nightmare?”

  His brow rises as he glances to the entry. “Don’t look now, but your worst nightmare just walked in.” He closes his eyes a moment. “Also, we can’t meet like this anymore. Jasper threatened my position at the department.”

  “What?” I squawk myself right out of my seat. “Leo, he would never have you fired. He’s not like that.”

  His dark eyes meet with mine. “He’s very much like that. And he has the power to do it, too.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, we can have clandestine conversations in passing, mind to mind. But I’m afraid this will have to be our last rodeo sharing coffee and the world’s best gingerbread whoopie pies.” He pulls the tray over to him once again just as a shadow darkens our little corner of the café.

  How do you like that? Camila practically hums with glee internally. I’ve got her so hopped up on fear she can’t stand to be near my shadow.

  Isn’t that the truth.

  “And on that note.” I don’t even bother acknowledging Camila as I brush past her and land all the way across the dining room seated right before my rather panicked mother and Georgie.

  “Bizzy”—Mom practically hisses my name—“do something. I can’t be named a suspect in a homicide investigation. Cider Cove is a small town. It will ruin my reputation and your sister’s—and yours by proxy. Believe me when I say Lather and Light will suffer.”

  I cringe at the thought. Lather and Light is Macy’s soap and candle shop located just up the way.