by Darci Hannah
I could see how troubled Mom was by the thought of murder in the small village of Beacon Harbor. Murder happened all the time in New York City, and there were probably a few in Palm Springs, Florida, as well. But Beacon Harbor was a small, close-knit community, and the thought had her on edge. The real reason was that it had struck too close to home. What I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom was that Chevy had been eating one of my cookies when he was killed. And what about that note? Who did he think he was meeting under the mistletoe? I looked at Mom and nodded.
“That’s wise advice, and I’ll do my best to heed it. I promise I won’t let this ruin our perfect Christmas.”
“I’m not worried about Christmas, dear. I’m worried about your safety.”
CHAPTER 23
Mom had a good point. I should just forget about the terrible murder of Chevy Chambers and leave it to the police to solve. They were the professionals. They should be able to figure it out . . . eventually. However, there was one giant problem with Mom’s advice. I couldn’t follow it. It would be like asking me to unsee Chevy sprawled on the floor beneath the mistletoe sprinkled with cookie crumbs. It had been burned into my memory—at Christmastime, no less. The only way I could get the horrible vision out of my head was to try to make sense of it. And in order to do that, I was going to have to think about Chevy and why someone would feel compelled to end his life in such a manner. Another fact that was urging me on was that someone at the Christmas Festival had done the deed. Who? Why? I had no idea. It was a mystery. It had piqued my curiosity, and I could no sooner turn that off than I could turn off the moon.
Therefore, the moment everyone had retired to their respective bedrooms, I got into my flannel pajamas, climbed beneath a pile of warm blankets, and invited Welly on the bed to join me. Although I had left him all day in the company of the models and had given him a scrumptious dinner of kibble and roasted chicken breast, he was longing for some cuddle time. It was our nightly ritual. He would snuggle with me for a while before retiring to his own bed at the foot of mine.
“I’m just going to see if Rory’s awake,” I told him, opening my laptop. At the mention of the name, Welly picked his head up and looked at me with his soft, bearlike eyes, as if to ask, Where? Where’s Rory? I ruffled his head and began to type a message to his second-favorite human.
Captain Rory Campbell, I typed, using his military rank to grab his attention. Although he seldom used it, I was proud of the fact that he was a captain. Are you still awake, dear captain?
Of course. I’ve been waiting for you. And, like you, I’m thinking about Chevy.
I smiled at his words. He knew me so well. Couldn’t talk about it tonight, not with Mom and Dad adamant we leave it to the authorities, I typed. But I can’t stop thinking about him, lying on the floor like that. Care to make any guesses as to who would do such a thing?
There was a pause on his end, and then he typed the name I had been thinking about all day. Felicity Stewart.
Her name keeps popping into my mind as well. Do you think she was the one who lured him beneath the mistletoe?
His words flitted across the screen. She’ll deny it through her teeth, but I think the cookie-nappers were working for her. Mrs. Nichols kept spying them, which means they were watching the bake-off. I never thought to look, but Felicity could have been sending them hand signals or messages while she was baking. Her baking station was closest to the stage steps.
She could have been, I typed back. We were all so busy baking it would have been easy to miss.
Also, those three women knew who we were. Every time they caught sight of me or Kennedy, they did their best to avoid us.
True, I replied, then added another thought. We did think Felicity was behind the cookie-napping. She wanted to be part of the live bake-off come hell or high water. After our cookies were stolen, we dropped in the polls just enough for her to be in the bake-off.
She couldn’t very well steal them herself—too obvious—but she did try to have you disqualified as well, he reminded me.
She was also flirting shamelessly with Chevy the whole week, especially during the bake-off. I didn’t tell you this, but at one point, when Felicity slapped Chevy, her husband had to remove her from the stage.
There was a pause. I could only imagine his shocked expression. Then he answered, What? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?
I forgot. You were off chasing a cookie-napper. It all started when Chevy called her use of fondant on her gingerbread house lazy. She flipped out and slapped him with her icing bag. She also threw a sheet of fondant at him.
Damn. Wish I had seen that.
It wasn’t pretty. She was causing a scene, but the odd thing was, I typed, recalling the whole ordeal, Chevy appeared to be amused by her anger. It was like he was pushing her buttons because he knew she would blow up at him.
Very interesting. I can’t imagine that sitting too well with her. Ms. Christmas Cheer gets yanked off the stage by her embarrassed husband. There’s also the fact that her rolling pin went missing, which is a little suspicious given the fact that Chevy was bludgeoned on the back of the head by an unknown object that fit that description.
Felicity appeared puzzled that it went missing, I reminded him.
Could be an act.
I thought a moment, stroking Welly’s soft head. Or, I typed, what if the cookie-nappers were trying to frame Felicity?
Interesting. One of them could have written the note insinuating it was from her—especially if they had seen the blow-up.
Would Chevy be vain enough to believe Felicity would do anything to win, including a little romp under the mistletoe to change his mind about her gingerbread house?
Possibly. Or . . . and bear with me here, he typed, but the blowup could have been an act—a little lovers’ public foreplay?
Eww, I pecked the keys, trying to push the mental image from my head. But why kill Chevy and frame Felicity? If that’s the case, one of the cookie-nappers would need to have issue with both Felicity and Chevy.
True. But why was Chevy eating one of your cookies before he was murdered? Rory queried.
I stared at the screen and shook my head. I had no good answer for that. I took a stab with, Because he liked them?
Could be as simple as that, or something far more sinister. I say we sleep on it and go pay Felicity a little visit in the morning.
Sounds like a plan. But what am I going to tell my parents?
Lindsey, you’re an adult. Besides, what harm can there be in going to the Tannenbaum Shoppe during the week leading up to Christmas? Before I could protest, he added, Pick you up at nine.
I couldn’t say no, and I didn’t have a good excuse. Rory knew the bakery wasn’t open on Mondays.
As we said our good nights and signed off, I silently wished that Rory wasn’t on the other end of my laptop, but rather in bed beside me. However, it was the holidays, and I didn’t want to deal with all the curious looks and sly questions from Mom, Dad, and Kennedy. Also, we had decided to take it slowly. Having dated a lot of losers and realizing that I wasn’t the best judge of character where men were concerned, I was still trying to figure Rory Campbell out. He liked his independence and could be a bit secretive regarding his freelance work with the DEA and the Coast Guard. I respected that. But still, there were times I wished we hadn’t taken it quite so slowly. I sighed and gave Welly a big hug. Then I shooed him to his own bed and snuggled deeper into mine.
As my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed, I was relieved to find that the terrible image of Chevy Chambers was fading. Yet, just when I was about to fall asleep, another face popped into my head, elbowing all thoughts of sleep aside. I sat up and stared into the murky darkness as the sweet, faint smell of pipe smoke tickled my nose.
I sucked in my breath. “Captain?” I ventured. I rubbed my eyes and gasped when I opened them again. My heart leapt in my throat as I realized the giant face staring at me from the end of the bed was a dog’s.
“Welly,” I breathed with relief. The dog, hearing his name, took that as an invitation to join me on the bed. Maybe I had been dreaming. Maybe I hadn’t really smelled the pipe smoke. After all, the captain and I had an understanding. My bedroom was off-limits. But even as I snuggled next to Wellington, allowing my pup to stay on the bed, the face that had pulled me from my sleep had bubbled to the surface again. It was unmistakable. So was the expression that flitted between anger and embarrassment. It was Stanley Stewart, Felicity’s husband.
“Alright,” I said to the empty space in my bedroom, half certain that the name had been conjured by a ghost. “Good point. I’ll look into it, Captain. But please don’t do that to me again.”
CHAPTER 24
I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes when I saw Rory’s truck pull into the lighthouse drive. Mom was scrolling through Facebook on her iPad while Dad was reading the news. Both had a dog on their lap, and both were enjoying their third cup of coffee. Kennedy had gone upstairs to her room to do some work. With everyone thus occupied, I went to the closet and quietly grabbed my coat. “Welly and I are going to run to the grocery store,” I said nonchalantly. “We’re almost out of coffee. Need anything?”
Four pair of eyes shot to me with interest; two were human and two were canine. Mom smiled and shook her head. Dad narrowed his eyes. “You’re going now?”
“Best get there early, you know, before all the good coffee is sold out.”
Dad wasn’t convinced, yet he said nothing as he patted Ireland and took another sip from his mug.
Welly, feeling a bit superior, wagged his tail proudly as he slipped out the door with me. Once in the cold air, we dashed for Rory’s truck. After settling my big dog in the back, I climbed into the passenger seat and winked conspiratorially at the driver.
“Gave them the slip, did you?” he teased with a grin. “Playing detective becomes you.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” I gave his hand a little squeeze.
We were just about to pull out of the driveway when the door behind me suddenly opened, letting in a burst of cold air and Kennedy.
“Seriously? You were just going to sneak out and leave me with them?”
I craned my neck to look at her. “I thought you were working?”
“I was dabbling, throwing my influence behind a new line of clothing called Ellie and Company.” She waved her hand as if I should have known. “Posted a pic of Wellington in his buffalo plaid coat. Irresistible. Planting a little last-minute gift idea for the dog who has everything.” She ruffled Welly’s head. “You’re blowing up on the internet, my dear.” Welly, not caring about such human things, gave her a shifty glance, then brought his eyes back to the man driving the truck.
“Also,” she continued, “I overheard your parents making a lunch date with Betty Vanhoosen and Doc Riggles. It’s a couples outing. It’s either third-wheeling it with you two or fifth-wheeling it with them, and I’m not a sadist, darlings. Besides, I have a feeling you two are about to do some snooping around. Am I correct?”
Ignoring her comment on snooping, I asked, “My parents are having lunch with Betty and Doc?” I looked at Rory. “Does that sound right to you?”
Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t sound weird, if that’s what you’re asking. They’re all of a certain age. Do you want me to stop the truck so you can join them?” he teased.
“Step on the gas, Captain Campbell!” I mock-ordered. “I don’t want to be involved in that lunch date. It’s just that—”
“Betty’s a gossip and Doc has examined the murder victim?” A sly, knowing look animated Kennedy’s face as she spoke. “If I had to guess, I might be inclined to think that Ellie and James are snooping around too. And what better place to start than with the town gossip and the county medical examiner? By the way, where are we headed?”
Rory’s eyes shot to the rearview mirror. “The Tannenbaum Shoppe.” Instead of pronouncing the old spelling of the word as shop, Rory had chosen to pronounce it shop-a.
Kennedy nodded her approval. “Fabulous. Going for the jugular, I see.”
The Tannenbaum Shoppe, residing in a charming Bavarian-style building, was awash in Christmas cheer. Outside on the snow-covered lawn, parents accompanied their children as they ran to pet live reindeer in a pen, or to climb on a replica of Santa’s sleigh. Employees dressed like elves handed out hot cocoa with marshmallow goo dripping down the sides of the Styrofoam cups and a candy cane poking out the top. It was a happy, sticky mess. Wellington, who was on a short leash, wanted nothing more than to come nose-to-nose with a reindeer. Unfortunately, the reindeer didn’t share his curiosity and sprang for the opposite side of the fence. The annoyed high school–age elf working the line yelled at me for the intrusion.
Kennedy, in a very New York city girl manner, held up her hand to him, stopping his tirade. “This dog is a celebrity,” she told him. That was overstating the truth just a wee bit. To prove her point, she drew her phone and showed the kid an Instagram account featuring my dog. Maybe I’d been too busy, but even I hadn’t known the account existed.
“Unlike fickle reindeer, children adore him,” she told the elf. “He also smells better. Now, if you’ll kindly take us to Ms. Stewart. She’s expecting us.”
I had to admit, Kennedy was good on her feet. Oozing confidence while spinning a pack of untruths, she had gotten the kid to leave his station and escort us through the main doors of the Christmas shop. He then ushered us to the front of the line at the very busy sales counter. Both registers were ringing up shoppers double-time. The team of gift-wrapping elves were doing their best to keep pace with the cashiers. We were getting dirty looks as our elf picked up the phone at the first register and dialed his boss.
“Ms. Stewart, there’s a celebrity here to meet with you. I have him at register one.” He then hung up the phone and took out his cell. Looking at Rory, he asked, “Can you take a picture of me with him?”
Rory, tickled by the request, gave a military nod. The elf knelt beside Wellington, put his arm around my dog’s thick neck, and smiled. It was an utterly adorable moment. Kennedy, never one to miss a photo op, stood next to Rory and snapped a picture as well.
Taking his phone back, the elf checked out his picture, smiled, and thanked us as he headed for the door.
“This is going straight to Instagram.” Kennedy raised a slender brow and set to work pecking the tiny keyboard with her thumbs. A few seconds later, she showed me the caption before launching Welly and the elf into the ether of the internet. Santa’s little helpers working overtime at the North Pole. I had to admit, it made me smile.
A moment later, Felicity appeared. She saw us, stared at Wellington, and frowned. “I was told a celebrity was waiting for me.”
I smiled a little too brightly. “Just us, I’m afraid. We’d like a word.”
Noting the large crowd waiting at the registers, she nodded and indicated that we follow her.
“I’ve already spoken with the police,” she informed us, sitting behind her red-painted desk. The edges were trimmed in white and had been painted with holly leaves. I had never been in her office before; it was anything but dull. Her crowded seasonal store was an overload for the senses, but her office was an oasis, offering subtle touches of Christmas that made you feel welcome and not claustrophobic. Although the walls had been painted white, red was her accent color. Judging by the wall behind her desk, she apparently had a thing for cardinals. Replicas of the bird were perched on a shelf, while above them hung a tasteful grouping of pictures depicting them in snowy winter landscapes, accentuating their stunning color. On the wall to her right was a gathering of pictures depicting snowmen and quaint villages covered in white.
The wall to her left was different. That wall was dedicated to her personal photos, each one depicting a happy family of four in idyllic outdoor activities—planting a family garden, playing on a beach under the summer sun, riding bikes on a country lane flanked by autumn colors, building a snowman on the ed
ge of a barren forest in the winter. Felicity and Stanley were easy to recognize, even as they aged from their early thirties to the late forties. What I didn’t realize was that Felicity had a son and a daughter. They were a handsome family, both children sporting the same rich shade of red hair as their mother. From the progression of the pictures, I assumed her children were in their late teens or early twenties. I mused at how the happy woman in the photos seemed so at odds with the desperate Christmas diva of the cookie bake-off. Trying to process it all, I cleared my throat, knowing that I had come here to ask questions.
“You have a lovely office.” I thought it best to start with a compliment.
“I do,” she agreed with hooded eyes. “And I don’t appreciate you bringing that hairy beast in here with you.”
“I told you to wait outside,” Kennedy said to Rory.
“I meant the dog, you pack of imbeciles!” Felicity barked before Rory had time to react to Kennedy.
Teetering on the verge of giggles, I took the high road and feigned ignorance instead.
“Is it because of his size?” I asked while leaning forward. Although Welly was on his best behavior, he wasn’t exactly the type of animal one put in their shopping cart and wheeled into the store, ignoring the No Pets Allowed sign. Unfortunately for Felicity, there wasn’t any such sign posted at the entrance of the Tannenbaum Shoppe. That wasn’t unusual. Beacon Harbor was a very pet-friendly town. I gave Welly a pat on the head for being so patient with us humans.
“He’s a drooling Newfie,” she stated, pointing out the obvious.
Seeing that Kennedy was looking at Rory again, I jumped in with the offer, “I could shoo him out the office door, but I can’t promise he won’t lick a few ornaments while he waits.”
She narrowed her eyes as she slowly shook her head, reinforcing our imbecile status. “You’re missing the point!” she huffed. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we? I assume you’ve come to ask me if I murdered Chevy.” It was a blunt opening. Kudos to her.
