“Mom, why are you a suspect? And how were you handing out the eggnog? You were with me when we saw both Lincoln and Dexter drinking it.”
She glances to the ceiling.
If I knew what would have become of that man, I would have watched the show from across the street.
And that right there assures me my mother had nothing to do with this—I think.
Georgie bumps her arm to mine. “Your mother admitted to hauling over a pitcher of eggnog. That’s how she got him.” She winks over at the woman the Seaview County Sheriff’s Department is so quick to finger for the debacle. “Now tell us how you did it. Wolfsbane? Arsenic? Good old-fashioned household bleach?”
Mom’s mouth rounds out in horror. “Would you hush? There are other people around in the event you were too out of your cracked skull to notice. And for your information, I didn’t do anything. I met up with Mary Beth across the street at the snack stand, and she asked if I could lend her a hand. She mentioned Dexter and Lincoln were going at it, and I suggested we take some eggnog over and cool them off.”
“So it was your idea.” I bite down over my lip. “Do you think maybe she coaxed you into it? Like maybe she pointed to the eggnog?”
She makes a face as she struggles to recall. “You know, come to think of it, she suggested the hot cocoa. It was me who thought the eggnog would cool them off.”
“So she did suggest a drink.” I shake my head. “If Mary Beth knew she was going to poison Lincoln, maybe she was trying to set you up? Mom, did you and Mary Beth have any problems?”
Georgie slaps the table. “Ree, you slept with her husband! Of course, she hated you and wanted to peg you for his murder. It’s a classic tale of love gone awry. Face it, Ree, you’re the other woman. The universe will side with the wife on this one.”
Mom’s eyes enlarge the size of one of those whoopie pies. “The universe will side with me once I decide to poison you. How about coming to my place later for eggnog? I’ve got a jug of bleach just waiting to right all the wrongs in this world.”
Georgie all but purrs at the offer, her eyes squinted with mischievous delight. “I say bring on the eggnog, but just know that anything with a high dairy content makes me lose my good senses, and word to the murderous wise, I travel with a butcher knife in my tote bag.”
Mom groans, “Bizzy, please tell Jasper this whole thing is ridiculous. It’s obvious Mary Beth had it in for the guy. I bet she and Dexter staged that whole argument right before baiting me over to that silly stand of hers.”
I suck in a quick breath. “How did she bait you?”
Georgie snorts. “I bet she waved a bottle of your mother’s favorite vodka and she came running like a deer after a headlight.”
Mom nearly tips over, she’s so incensed. “Georgie, I don’t drink vodka. Nor do I imbibe in anything remotely fermented.”
“Really?” Georgie tips her head suspiciously. “Then how, pray tell, do you keep up with that young stud of yours from the hours of twelve to six a.m.?”
I cover my ears a moment. The last thing I want to know is details on how my mother keeps up with my boyfriend’s brother during those unholy hours.
“Never mind that,” I say. “Mom, how did Mary Beth bait you?”
Her mouth opens and closes. “Okay, fine. She didn’t bait me. I parked across the street from the stand and was about to buy myself a nice cup of hot cocoa when she asked for help. And I simply picked up a pitcher and followed her to Lincoln’s house. I set the pitcher down on a table near Lincoln’s porch, and that’s when I saw Lincoln and Dexter going at it. I thought I might be the one to put a stop to it, so I went over.”
“And that’s when I saw you.”
Georgie wraps an arm around me. “So what’s our next move, Detective Baker?”
My phone buzzes, and it’s a text from the vet letting me know it’s time to pick up Fish and Sherlock.
“I have to run,” I say as I give my mother’s hand a quick squeeze from across the table. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll clear things up with Jasper.”
Georgie gives a husky laugh that qualifies as an innuendo all on its own.
She gives a sly smile my way. “It must be nice to have boyfriends with homicidal fringe benefits. Hear that, Ree? You have a get-out-of-murder-charges-free card because Bizzy is getting busy with the po-po.”
Mom growls as if there just might be another homicide afoot.
“I’ll see you both soon.” I pop up out of my seat. “Try not to rack up a body count while I’m gone.”
I have a feeling exactly who I need to speak with to get my mother out of this murderous mess, and it’s not Jasper.
Mary Beth Bronson, I’m coming for you.
But first, I need to come up with an extra helping of Fancy Beast cat food and a truckload of bacon as I cuddle with two sweet beasts that need all of my love and affection right now.
And the best part of all—Jasper will be right there with me.
Chapter Seven
Fish yowls up at me as I hold her like a baby wrapped in her favorite blanket.
I may never forgive you.
Sherlock lets out a meager bark from across the room. I may never forgive you.
I groan as I snuggle against Jasper. “They may never forgive us.”
He chuckles at the thought. “They’ll forgive us.” He reaches over and gives Sherlock a pat. There’s a large plastic cone around his neck, preventing him from licking himself into regret and damnation—those were the vets exact words, not mine.
“Maybe—in a decade,” I say, carefully placing Fish onto the sofa next to me. The vet did caution me against holding her too much and said she would do best placed in her bed. Little does the vet know the only bed that Fish has claimed ownership of is my bed. And if I’m not in it, she’s convinced the entire contraption doesn’t function properly. Besides, her official bed, the tiny padded ball of fluff I purchased for her a few months back, is currently occupied with a pair of sleeping kittens that have stolen my heart.
Jasper and I had Chinese food delivered straight to my cottage from the Dragon Express, and we indulged until each delicious box of Eastern Hemisphere-inspired joy was devoured. My quaint little cottage is decorated in a shabby chic style with its frilly curtains and yellow and white plaid sofa. But this time of year I’ve pulled out every Christmas tchotchke known to man. I’ve decorated the mantel with garland and lights, and there’s a giant snow globe on the coffee table that encapsulates a town that reminds me of Cider Cove in the winter.
Jasper pulls me in close and his lids drop down a notch, hooding over those glowing eyes that search my features as if he were trying to memorize them.
“Has anyone told you you’re beautiful today?” His cheek glides up one side and I can see the naughty intent in his eyes. I’m really liking the naughty intent.
“Not since you mentioned it yesterday,” I whisper.
“You’re beautiful, Bizzy.” He lands a heated kiss to my lips. “I’ll make sure you hear it every day.”
I clear my throat. “So what was it that you and Leo were discussing at the tree lot this morning?” This might be a perfect time to reassure him he has nothing to worry about, thus securing Leo’s position at the sheriff’s department.
Jasper pulls back to get a better look at me. Why would she ask about that?
He presses out a quick breath. “Just some department business.” His lips twist. I’m not about to tell her that I threatened him within an inch of his career if he so much as looks in her direction. He’s diabolical. I wouldn’t put it past him to tell her just about anything to wedge his way into her life. The guy is a plague between us and he needs to be stopped. And—I stopped him, all right. One more wayward glance and he’s on the next train back to Sheffield. We don’t need him in Seaview anyway.
“Department business.” I shudder as I repeat the words. “For a second, I thought you were threatening the poor guy with his job just because he bothered to look in
my direction.” I give a quick wink and Jasper’s eyes widen the size of fried egg dumplings.
“You know, Bizzy, it’s like you can read my mind.”
I’m about to laugh off the idea when that conversation I had with Leo comes back to me. This is exactly how he said it started with him and Camila. Dear God, I’m headed down the same dark path I berated him over. This is not going to end well unless I nip it in the bud right now.
“I’m just a good guesser.” A good guesser? Kill me. I scoot back a notch so I can get a better look at him. “Jasper, I need my mother wiped off that suspect list. It’s Christmas. She should be stressing out about the gifts my sister will undoubtedly reject rather than whether or not she can barter cigarettes in the prison commissary.”
“The answer would be a hard no to that last one.” He glances to the floor a moment. “As far as taking her off the suspect list, I’m sorry, Bizzy, but she was there. She admitted to bringing the eggnog across the street, and she has a romantic history with the deceased. She checks off a lot of boxes.”
“Did the coroner’s report say what Lincoln was poisoned with?”
He gives a solemn nod, his fingers absentmindedly spinning slow concentric circles against the back of my neck. “Methanol poisoning—antifreeze. Along with another compound, a toxin we’re still looking into. Something that expedited the process, no doubt.”
“Antifreeze?” Ironically, my muscles freeze at the mention of it. “No wonder poor Lincoln could hardly choke the stuff down.”
“I don’t know about that. Most methanol is odorless and doesn’t leave much of a flavor. He genuinely may not have appreciated Mary Beth’s eggnog.”
“Mary Beth,” I practically hiss her name out. “Jasper, she coerced my mother into bringing the eggnog across the street, and we both know Mary Beth definitely had a romantic history with the deceased. They were married.”
“I know.” He shakes his head as his chest expands with his next deep breath. “I mean, the fact she lives with her current husband in the same house that she was married to Lincoln in—well, it might have bothered most men. I can see where the contention lay between them. And, add in Dexter and you have a perfect storm. It was no wonder they were battling it out on the lawn that night. I’m surprised it wasn’t a daily occurrence.”
“But why would Mary Beth want him dead? I mean, he’s not her husband anymore. He hasn’t been for years. You would think Dexter would be used to him by now, too. And that whole house-decorating thing? They’re not novices at that either. They’ve been doing it for over a decade. Why now?”
“I don’t know. They don’t have children. They no longer share property. Both the Bronsons and Lincoln are doing well for themselves financially. It’s a real head scratcher.” He steals another kiss and this time he lingers.
Sherlock moans, I want to scratch my head, Bizzy. Take this wall of torment away from me. I’ll share my bacon with you. Heck, I’ll give all of my bacon to Fish if it helps remove this contraption. Georgie calls it the cone of shame, Bizzy! I can’t be seen in public like this.
A tiny laugh rumbles through me.
Jasper pulls me onto his lap. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” I say, giving his tie a quick tug. “Now, tell me again, Detective. What do I have to do to get my mother off the suspect list?”
A lazy grin glides over his face as he touches a finger to his lips. “You can start here. But it’s going to take a lot of convincing.”
A dark laugh rumbles from me. “Good thing I’ve got all night.”
Sometimes you need to do what you need to do to protect your mother.
And ironically, I won’t be thinking about her one bit as I do it.
Chapter Eight
If there is one thing I look forward to each and every year, it’s the annual tree lighting ceremony right here in Cider Cove. For some reason, it’s always felt like a unifying event. No matter how busy we are with life, it seems the entire town comes out to witness the official kickoff to a brand new Christmas season. It also signifies the three-week period where townies and tourists alike can enjoy horse-drawn carriage rides up and down Main Street. The carriages are something straight out of a fairytale with twinkle lights woven through the spokes of the enormous wheels, as well as the canopy that covers the majestic carriage. The horses are dusted with iridescent glitter and shine under the streetlights with all the appeal of a mythological creature. I think I can say with all honesty there is no place like Cider Cove at Christmastime.
Jasper had to work late but assured me he’d be at the park in plenty of time to see the seventy-foot evergreen illuminated in all its holiday glory.
Georgie and Emmie help me bring platters of the Country Cottage Café’s gingerbread whoopie pies over to the refreshment table. Emmie and I thought we’d spread a little good cheer and make double the amount of whoopie pies than we originally intended to bring. Hopefully, people will find them so irresistible they’ll storm the café to pick up a dozen or so for their holiday parties. Even though the Country Cottage Café is attached to the inn, it’s open to the general public and we always appreciate their business.
Georgie elbows me in the ribs as soon as we put the whoopie pies down.
“So what’s gonna happen?” she whispers through the side of her mouth like a bad ventriloquist as we take in the ever-growing crowd.
The tree lighting ceremony itself is taking place at the city park that stands at the edge of Main Street, and all of the streetlights are decorated with a giant wreath. A chain of twinkle lights entwined with garland is strung all the way up and down the street in every direction you look. And yet, the most stunning sight to see is that horse-drawn carriage as it clip-clops its way over, lighting up the entire vicinity with a soft incandescent glow.
Emmie leans over to Georgie. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to help me man the refreshment table in the event that killer wants to come back and do us all in.”
Georgie gags at the thought. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. It’s a brilliant idea. If the killer were smart, they would think so, too,” she says, tapping the side of her head. “A mass homicide will throw the sheriff’s department for a loop.”
“Oh, Georgie,” I groan. “Let’s pray this killer isn’t half as bright.”
I spot a familiar looking woman with short dark hair who looks as if she’s bossing an entire crowd of people around. I don’t know Mary Beth all that well, but every time I see her it looks as if she’s herding a crowd. I take it she likes to be in charge. I’m betting she likes things to go her way, perhaps even things of a nefarious nature, like planting my mother at the nexus of a murder scene, or ending Lincoln’s life because she felt it was time for him to go. That is, of course, if she did it. And I know for a fact my mother didn’t, so that about narrows the field.
I snatch a few gingerbread whoopie pies off a platter and land them on a dessert plate.
“I’ll be right back, ladies,” I say, not taking my eyes off Mary Beth.
Emmie follows my gaze and growls, “Take your time, Bizzy. Justice can’t be rushed.” She sucks in a quick breath. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Jamison will be here tonight. It’s our first official quasi-date. Do I look okay?” She cranes her neck and looks into my eyes as if she were looking into a mirror.
“Go easy on him, Em. I’m serious about Jasper. It’s bad enough Macy ate her way through his brothers like a bag of salty potato chips. Not to mention the carnage my mother is causing with Max.”
Emmie winces. “Do you think that’s going to last?”
I blow out a breath as I contemplate it. “With Ree Baker, you never know. If she’s consistently anything, she’s consistently unpredictable.”
Georgie snatches up a whoopie pie herself. “Oh, it’s going to last. Ree just started a whole new cardio routine to keep up with the demands that boy places on her body.”
“And on that note”—I take a step in the opposit
e direction—“wish me luck. I’d rather hang out with a killer than discuss my mother’s reasons for an increase in her cardio.”
Emmie belts out a laugh. “It sounds like you need some cardio yourself!” she calls out as I disappear into the crowd.
The icy air whips around me, burning my lungs, assuring me that the walk across the street will be cardio enough on a frozen night like this.
Mary Beth stands with a group of women about the same age as they carry on a conversation in front of the darkened tree that’s about to ignite the night with the power of a thousand candles. I’ve seen this group of mothers around town together. They all have kids about the same age at the same schools.
Just as I open my mouth to call out to Mary Beth, an all too familiar body gets in my way and I groan at the sight of her.
“Camila,” I say, struggling to look past her in the event Mary Beth decides to bolt like the fugitive she is.
Camila glides to the right and effectively blocks my line of vision. She’s wrapped in an emerald green coat, and her hair is wild and wavy as it hovers above her like tentacles as if it had a life of its own.
“Well, if it isn’t Bizzy Baker.” She purses her bright red lips. I’m sure you’re just thrilled to bump into me, aren’t you, Dizzy?
I’m tempted to say something, but those words I uttered to Leo come back to me. Deny, deny, deny.
“I don’t know why you’re staring at me that way.” I cinch a smile. “If you’re looking for Jasper, he’s not here. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She steps in close and snatches me by the arm, nearly sending my whoopie pies to the ground.
“No, I will not excuse you, Bizzy.” Her smile tightens. “You and I both know your little anomaly won’t be a secret for long. Have you thought about what I said?”
“I’m not afraid of you or your threats, Camila. I’m not leaving Jasper just because you discovered that you made a grave mistake in your relationship. And besides that, Jasper is a grown man. If he wanted to be with you, he would. Nobody is holding a gun to his head. He’s with me because he wants to be. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s a fact. I can’t change it, and neither can you. No amount of threats or whatever other emotional toxins you have brewing will make him love you.” I try to step around her and she steps in close.
Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3) Page 6
