Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3)

by Addison Moore

  I find Fish hiding out behind my chair, while Mistletoe and Holly enjoy all the attention they want as they sit on a red and green crochet runner that Nessa laid out for them on the counter. Nothing brings out the best in people like two tiny little kittens who love to be held.

  A tall, dark, and vexingly handsome homicide detective strides on in with Sherlock Bones by his side, looking like he finally has his spring back in his step. Now that the cone of shame has been taken off for good, he’s almost forgiven us. Almost.

  “I see Sherlock’s right back to his old self again,” I say, giving the happy-go-lucky pooch a scratch between the ears.

  I am, Bizzy. Can I play with Fish? I miss biting her in half and I have an awful craving for kitten.

  I wince at the thought.

  “Be careful with Fish,” I say to the excited pup. “Her stitches have just healed. I’m afraid you can’t put her in your mouth just yet.”

  Sherlock groans with defeat as he makes his way to her.

  “Detective.” I bite down on a flirtatious smile before I remember the details of my meeting with Trixie last night and that smile melts right off. I step around the counter and land a quick kiss to his lips. “Guess what?”

  His head inches back, and I’d swear there’s a slight frown on his face.

  “You’ve got good news for me?” After that research I did, I’m not sure what kind of news I have for her.

  My lips part a moment. “Yes, I’ve got good news. I think I know who killed Lincoln Brooks.”

  “What?” He takes me by the hand and leads me over to the tree as his spiced cologne intoxicates me. “I’m all ears.”

  “I think Mary Beth did it. I found out she was having an affair with Lincoln this entire time, and I bet he threatened to rat her out. I think she took antifreeze from either her garage or her husband’s shop and mixed it with the oleander bushes she has in the front of her house and she poisoned him in order to keep their secret from getting out.”

  “Bizzy”—the muscles in his jaw tense and he looks unfairly handsome—“how did you know the plant toxin that was mixed with the antifreeze was oleander?”

  My mouth opens and closes like a marionette’s. “Okay.” I blow out a breath. “I met with Trixie Jolly-Golightly at a bar across the street from Maximus last night.”

  “What?” He squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Why would you meet up with a suspect in a homicide investigation at a bar? Were you waiting for me to leave?”

  “What? No!” I wince. “But when you did leave is when I noticed the sign—and I was told that’s the very bar she likes to languish in, so I practically felt obligated to go. It was like fate or kismet.”

  “Or a potential disaster.” His brows hitch. “Bizzy, you endangered yourself.”

  “Georgie was with me,” I say as if that makes everything better. “And besides, she scored the bartender’s number.” I give a little shrug.

  He takes a moment to digest this information. “Bizzy, I just got the official report from toxicology yesterday. Nobody knows it was oleander in that cup other than the coroner and me.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “How did Trixie know?”

  His cheek rides up one side. “Because she’s probably the killer.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth. “But she gave such a convincing argument that Mary Beth was the killer. And she was believable, Jasper. I swear you would have believed her, too.”

  “I have no doubt. But I would have also known she’s a con woman. Her real name is Wilhelmina Fletcher, and she’s been conning men out of their pensions and nest eggs for years.”

  “I know that.” I wrinkle my nose. “ Okay, so I didn’t know her real name, but she all but admitted that she was a paid escort. Why do you think she would kill him?” Those thoughts she had about the will come to mind and I moan. “She’s in his will.”

  “I would think so. And that might just be the motivator. Anyway, I guess I’d better track her down and see if I can get her to tell me how she knew about the oleander. It looks like I’ll have to take her in for questioning.”

  I glance to the entry just as Leo Granger walks in, clad in his sheriff’s deputy uniform, and heads this way.

  “Leo.” Jasper wipes down his face. “Glad you could make it.” He looks back my way. “I asked Leo to come down. I wanted to share what I gleaned regarding the Metaphysical Research Department. It turns out, the agency is based in Nevada, somewhere near Groom Lake.”

  Leo leans in. “Groom Lake? That’s next to Area 51.”

  “Area 51?” I balk. “As in the fabled place that deals with aliens?” Oh, Leo, we are in bigger trouble than we know.

  His brows depress, but he doesn’t let a single thought fly—most likely because he agrees with me.

  Jasper takes a breath. “The MRD is one of many offshoots of the FBI. They typically make their way to the McCarran Airport in Las Vegas and enter a private terminal where they board unmarked planes known by the acronym JANET—Joint Air Network Transpiration. Only those with top security clearance are allowed to work with the MRD. This organization is no joke. And they wouldn’t come all the way to Cider Cove, Maine unless they felt a very real need. To say they went out of their way is an understatement.”

  Leo and I exchange a brief glance.

  Leo shakes his head. “Don’t worry. They’re probably scoping out the inn as a possible base for their employees while they’re out doing whatever it is they do. It’s nice, and out of the way. I bet the things they’re dealing with are nowhere near Cider Cove.”

  “I sure hope so.” I give a single nod his way. Nice save.

  Jasper pulls out his phone and glances at the time. “I’d better get going.” He looks to Leo. “There’s been a break in the Brooks’ murder. Bizzy here picked up a hard lead, and I need to check it out before the killer figures out they sold the farm.” He lands a kiss to my cheek before hitching his head to the door. “Leo, you’re coming with me.”

  “In case you need backup?” Leo asks with a touch of amusement in his tone.

  To keep you the heck away from Bizzy. He gives a short-lived smile. The guy can’t stop looking at her. Not that I blame him. And not that I trust his motives. The last thing I want is to put Bizzy in that position.

  “Yes, for backup,” Jasper concedes. Whatever it takes.

  I watch as Jasper and Leo leave before I take off for the dining hall and begin nibbling on the first sweet treat I see, one of my mother’s raspberry jelly thumbprint cookies, a tried-and-true favorite at our house growing up.

  Mackenzie spots me and excuses herself from the small crowd she’s entertaining to head my way.

  “Mayor Woods.” I give an amicable nod. “That public nuisance we discussed is at it again.” I pull a tight smile. There is no way I’m telling Mack the truth about what Camila knows—God forbid Camila tells her. Not that anything that comes out of Camila’s mouth is credible at the moment. Her desperation has clouded her judgment and by proxy turned her into someone with questionable morals. Everyone knows lying is just a stone’s throw from stealing someone else’s boyfriend. “When are you going to act?”

  Mackenzie tips her head back and laughs. “I already have the ball in motion. Expect results sooner than you think.”

  Camila and Gwyneth step into the room and Mack glowers in their direction before taking in a sharp breath and flexing that contrived smile she’s honed so well since she’s taken office.

  “I’ll do what I can, with what I have, Bizzy. Enjoy the afternoon.” Mack takes off, and I think back to that conversation I had with Jasper and Leo. Camila has no idea the destruction she’s about to rein down on my life. Not that she cares. As long as I’m out of Jasper’s life, it won’t matter to her if I’m here at the inn or in some fabled part of Nevada. Camila is only looking out for her own selfish interests. Namely the one I’m interested in—Jasper.

  Speaking of Jasper, he’s off to question Trixie, or Wilhelmina for that matter. A part of me can�
�t believe she killed Lincoln.

  And what about that stuff she said about Mary Beth? Would Mary Beth really have an affair with her ex right under her husband’s nose? And if Dexter knew about it would he have killed Lincoln? It’s not a leap to think he’s capable. I saw hatred in his eyes that night he was arguing with Lincoln. I’d love to have a chance to talk to Dexter and hear what he has to say—or more to the point, hear what he’s thinking.

  Emmie comes my way and slings an arm around my shoulder as we watch the women chattering and laughing around us.

  “Well, Bizzy, it looks as if we have another successful cookie exchange under our belts. What do you want to do now?”

  I press my lips tight a moment. “I think I want to drive down to Edison and have my car inspected. You up for riding shotgun?”

  Her lids hood a notch because, face it, Emmie Crosby has always had the ability to see right through me.

  “We’re questioning a suspect, aren’t we?”

  I tip my head to the side and nod.

  “Great.” She claps her hands together as if she were greedy to do just that. “Let’s grab some cookies for the road. I’ll take the left side of the room. You take the right.”

  We do just that, and we munch all the way to a tiny little auto shop in downtown Edison.

  Dexter Bronson, I hope you’re ready to spill everything you know. I’m getting the truth out of you today. Even if I have to bribe you with a cookie or two.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Let’s hope the way to his confession is along the same route,” I say to Emmie as we pull into Bronson’s Auto Shop.

  Emmie squints out the window. “I’m pretty sure those cookies are bound to work a miracle here. This place looks like its home to desolation and despair.”

  It’s true. In a technicolor world, this tiny speck on Edison’s map looks like a sepia tone dumpster from an era long gone by. Cars sit eroding and seemingly abandoned on the side of the property, and there’s a small line of newer make and models with their hoods and trunks popped open while a small beehive of men buzz around them.

  I spot Dexter over by the open garage looking over some paperwork attached to a clipboard. And just behind him there’s a faded Christmas wreath hung over the door to the facility that looks as if it’s seen better seasons gone by.

  “How about we divide and conquer?” I hand Emmie the larger platter of the two. “I’ll corner Dexter on his own. You make sure the rest of the men have all they want to eat. We’ll let them know we’re sharing the overflow from the cookie exchange.”

  Emmie grunts out a laugh. “Oh, Bizzy, they’re men. They’ll see a plate full of cookies and their minds will turn to fuzz right after. They won’t come looking for an explanation.”

  “Hopefully, Dexter’s mind won’t turn to fuzz.”

  We get out, and without having to draw much attention to our offerings, men come out of the woodwork and congregate around Emmie and her cookie platter while I make a beeline for Dexter.

  “Hello!” I say it as cheery as can be. The air is so icy it feels as if my lungs will freeze with every breath I take. It snowed last night, just enough to cover the ground, and since Edison is west of Cider Cove, it is certainly sticking.

  Dexter looks up and his lips curve into a smile. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re just delivering cookies to any and every business that will take them. We had a local cookie exchange that was a little too productive.” I hold out the platter to him, brimming with holiday treats of every shape and size.

  “Say no more.” He picks up a gingerbread whoopie pie without hesitation and takes a bite. “Mmm, now that’s what I call heaven. You could sell these and make a fortune. In fact, my kids are dabbling in that business right now. We’ve got a cookie stand on the corner at night that caters to the crowds coming through the area. I live over in what’s known as Candy Cane Lane, a place out in Cider Cove.”

  “Oh, I’m from Cider Cove, too. Speaking of which, I was just at Candy Cane Lane about a week ago. Hey?” I turn up the volume on my smile. “Did we meet?” I wince. “I’m sorry. My mother introduced me to so many people that horrible night. The kids in my neighborhood are calling it the night Santa died. I was actually in front of that poor man’s house when he keeled over. It was such a horrible scene.”

  He tips his head back. “I was there, too. And we might have met. But I meet hundreds of people each night, so it’s hard for me to keep them all straight. No offense.”

  “No offense taken. So you saw it, too?”

  “The dead guy? Oh, yeah. I was the other Santa on the lawn with him. Lincoln and I didn’t always get along. Come to think of it, I don’t know who he actually got along with. No kids. Lots of money. That will send the vultures circling, I’m sure.”

  “Can I ask why he was so hard to get along with?”

  He takes another bite out of his whoopie pie. “I don’t know. A part of me thinks that Lincoln actually liked having enemies.”

  “I heard a rumor that he liked the ladies a little too much.” I shrug over at him, hoping to prod some sort of admission from him.

  “Yes.” His gaze hardens on something across the street. “He liked the ladies a little too much.” He seemed to like my wife a heck of a lot. I should have killed him the second I found out about the two of them together. What on earth Mary Beth saw in him is beyond me.

  It’s true! Mary Beth and Lincoln were having an affair. And what does Dexter mean by he should have killed him the second he found out? As in, he waited until that night? Or someone beat him to it?

  “What do you think happened?” I ask as he finishes up his dessert and hold the tray out for him to take another.

  “I think one of those women decided she didn’t like him so much after all.” He takes up a confetti sprinkled sugar cookie. “They poisoned him. He died a horrible death right there in front of all those kids. That was selfish of the killer. I get they wanted him dead, but what about all the Christmas magic people like us work hard to maintain for the next generation? Any other time of year would have been better.”

  “I agree. But why would he have all those women up in arms? Do you really think they’d be mad enough to kill?”

  “I sure do.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. I was certainly mad enough to do it. “I heard his girlfriend was a suspect.” His lips purse. And my wife. “Trixie something or other. I knew she was trouble the moment I met her. She’s a kept woman, only Lincoln couldn’t quite figure out how to keep her. Some women—kept or not—don’t really want to be tied down.” Mary Beth for instance. He glowers past me.

  “I heard he was having an affair with someone, and that his girlfriend got wind of it.”

  His eyes widen a notch and a fire flashes through them. I’ve clearly overstepped my bounds.

  “I heard the same thing.” I saw the way he and Mary Beth went on. I knew she was visiting him. Mary Beth should have known better. Heck, Lincoln should have known better. But there’s nothing sweeter than revenge and, I guess now that Lincoln is dead, I’ve got my revenge on them both.

  On them both?

  My stomach cinches.

  My God, could Dexter here have framed his wife for the murder?

  He takes a breath as that smile returns to his face.

  “Julia was the other woman.” He shrugs. “His secretary. She’s his side piece.” I’m leaving Mary Beth out of it. But then, bringing up Julia isn’t most likely stretching the truth. The guy bagged everything that moved. “I saw them getting friendly in front of his house one day. I asked him about it and he said he liked them young. His poor girlfriend was either clueless or looked the other way. I’m guessing it was the latter. She was stepping out on him as well. It was a horrible, twisted situation.” And you don’t know the half of it. “But it’s over.” And I’m hoping by the new year, this entire nightmare goes away. “Now if those bumbling detectives can find the killer b
y Christmas, we can all sleep a little easier.”

  “But it was personal, right?” I lift a shoulder. “I mean, if we cling to that, we can all sleep soundly as it is.”

  “Suit yourself. I just don’t like the fact someone out there feels as if they got away with it.” Getting away with murder. Now there’s a feather for the old hat.

  I hold my breath a second, hoping for one more piece of incriminating evidence. Not that he hasn’t already given me plenty.

  “Thank you for the treats.” He points down at another gingerbread whoopie pie and I nod as he takes it. “Never tasted anything so good in my life. It’s like the whole Christmas season is encapsulated in a cookie.”

  “I agree. Have a good rest of the day,” I give a little wave as he heads into the garage and I see an odd sign that catches my attention.

  Season’s best antifreeze half off! Proprietary blend sold only at this location! Works twice as hard as most top brands.

  I pull out my phone and take a picture of the signage.

  Lincoln was poisoned with antifreeze. I wonder if we can narrow down what type? I wonder what it would mean if it was from Dexter’s shop?

  The murderous possibilities are endless.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later that night, I head over to Candy Cane Lane where the streets and sidewalks alike are once again bustling with people bundled in their winter coats, with scarves wrapped all the way up to their noses.

  It’s literally elbow-to-elbow out there and parking is scarce. I had to park in the neighborhood up above and hike down a steep incline just to get to the cheery holiday scene, which feels a lot more chaotic than it ever does peaceful tonight. Not to mention the inclement weather. The wind is howling, and it’s tipping over those large cheery holiday blowups everyone seems to have fastened to their lawns. The lights festooned on just about every house swing wild in the wind, and there are hats being blown right off of people’s heads and scarves that fly like kites.