by Darci Hannah
“Did you?” Rory, getting the jump on Kennedy, used his most intimidating look on the woman. Unfortunately, Felicity was made of stronger stuff and refused to cave under his direct gaze.
“I’ll tell you what I told Sergeant Murdock. No, I did not kill that man. Why would I? He was my friend. If you ask me, you two are the guilty party.” She turned the tables on Rory and me with a look that was more darkly amused then probing. “After all, you two found the body. And, if rumor is to be believed, the poor man had crumbs from your bake-off cookie on him.”
“How did you learn about that?” I asked.
“I just told you, the rumor mill. It works fast around here. By your reaction, I assume it’s true.”
“Well, by now everyone obviously knows that we found the body, but we are not murderers. What motive do Rory or I possibly have to kill Chevy?”
Her response was a grin of pure smugness. I was sorry to think that New York Lindsey wanted to wipe it off with the back of her hand. Dangit! Why did this woman infuriate me so? I didn’t come to pick a fight, I reminded myself. I came for answers, and I was going to get them.
Felicity tilted her perfectly coiffed head. “My guess is that you wanted to win the bake-off, like the rest of us, but you took it a step further. And you brought your henchman.” She narrowed her eyes at Rory. “When you put pressure on Chevy and realized that he wasn’t going to pick you, one of you killed him. My guess is that you did the deed, Mr. Campbell.”
Rory, clearly not amused, told her, “I’m not even going to respond to that, Mrs. Stewart.”
While the three of us argued our cases, each of us swearing innocence, Kennedy, I noticed, stood to the side in quiet observation. Waiting for the right moment, she finally pounced. “But you, Felicity, were having an affair with the man.” It was spoken in the tone of common knowledge.
If Felicity’s face had been flushed while arguing her innocence, the mention of the affair opened the floodgates, turning her fine porcelain skin the color of Santa’s hat. “What? That’s . . . the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard yet. I’m a happily married woman!”
“Well, the flirting was obvious,” Kennedy stated. “You were either lovers, or you were promising services you had no intention of delivering on. Either way, it sends a man a message.”
“We were not having an affair,” she affirmed.
“But you were close,” I said, picking up on Kennedy’s lead. “You were the one who brought Chevy Chambers to Beacon Harbor in the first place. How did you meet him?”
Felicity was quiet a moment. Then she exhaled and leaned back in her chair. “If you must know, we met in Chicago. I often accompany my husband there on business. It’s the perfect getaway. Stanley meets with his clients, while I go shopping. At night we go out to dinner with clients or friends. The night we met Chevy Chambers we were dining with old friends. They were taking us to a new restaurant that had just opened. They told us that Chevy Chambers, the famous restaurant critic, was joining us for dinner. He was an acquaintance of theirs and would often invite them along when dining at a new place. Stanley and I were so excited when we heard the news. We met Chevy and realized that when dining with a famous restaurant critic, you get service and cuisine that is above and beyond the normal dining experience.”
Felicity looked pointedly at me as she added, “You wouldn’t know anything about this, Lindsey, being a mere baker, but dining with a celebrity foodie is quite a heady experience.”
Although Kennedy smiled at her ignorant presumption about me, I took silent offense. The reason I owned a lighthouse in Michigan was because of a celebrity foodie, namely my ex-fiancé, Jeffery Plank. Felicity was correct. Professionals knew the ins and outs of a restaurant because it was their domain. They enjoyed food and knew the right dishes to order and the right questions to ask when visiting a new establishment. As fun as it had been for me, I was quite happy discovering my own path in Beacon Harbor.
“He was testing the menu and the service for his column,” Felicity continued. “If he liked the place, he’d film an episode of his show, Windy City Eats, there. Chevy, as you well know, was a charming man. We instantly hit it off.”
“Did he flirt with you—in front of your husband?” I asked.
She grinned like a mischievous child. “He flirted with everyone, Lindsey. But you might say that he had a soft spot for me.”
Kennedy, in a lowered voice, whispered to me, “I’ll bet he did.”
“How many years ago are we talking?” Rory asked.
She shrugged. “Two years.”
“And you kept in touch with him?” Kennedy cast her a suspicious look.
“I always knew that one day I could entice him to come to Beacon Harbor.”
“Easier to carry on an affair that way, I’m sure.” Kennedy, bless her, was being ruthless.
Felicity took the bait. She slammed her fist on her desk, causing Welly to flinch. His soft brown eyes shot to her and hardened a measure, as if sizing up a wily cat to be chased.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I was not having an affair with that man, nor did I kill him! I was a fan of his work.”
Sensing that Kennedy was ready to go for the kill, I placed a hand on her arm, signaling for her to relax. “Very well. We didn’t mean to rile you up. As you can imagine, his death during the Christmas festival has affected us all. I have another question for you. Did you have anything to do with the three women who came to the Beacon Bakeshop and stole my signature cookies?”
Felicity glared at me, then threw up her hands. “Are we back to this again? I didn’t have anything to do with stealing your cookies, Lindsey, just as I didn’t have anything to do with Chevy’s murder.”
“But your rolling pin is missing,” I reminded her.
“That has nothing to do with this! My rolling pin was a valuable antique. Somebody obviously stole it. For the record, I’ve reported it missing. The police are looking for it.”
Of course they were, I thought. It was the obvious murder weapon. But to Felicity I merely nodded. “Well, that’s all we’ve come to ask you. I don’t like the idea of a murderer running loose in our town right before Christmas any more than you do, I’ll wager. Thanks for talking with us.”
As we stood to go, Rory remarked, “Nice-looking family. Do your kids help with the store?”
Felicity turned to the wall of pictures. When she looked back at us, her face was a pale porcelain once again. “They used to. This year they’ve decided to spend the holidays in warmer climates. Kara, my daughter, attends Arizona State University and will be spending Christmas with her boyfriend’s family there. Kevin, my son, is in computers, like his dad. Yet instead of working with Stanley after he graduated, he took a job in Hawaii. He won’t be coming home either.”
The thought was obviously painful for her. Personally, I couldn’t imagine spending Christmas without my family. “I’m sorry,” I said and truly meant it. “That must be hard for you.”
She gave a little nod. “The irony is that I started Tannenbaum because of them,” she offered with a watery smile. “I’m going to guess that none of you have children yet, but let me tell you, Christmas is a wonderful time for a parent. There is nothing on earth to compare with the way a child’s face lights up when reading books about Santa Claus, or the magic of presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Kara and Kevin used to love to help me decorate the house in anticipation of Christmas. Each year they made a special ornament for the tree. It was just one of our traditions. Cookies were another. My children loved helping me in the kitchen, making our favorite cookies for our family and our friends. Every year we threw a big party.”
She paused a moment, her eyes misting over from the memories. “Everything was perfect. There was nothing to match the joy on their faces when carrying on our family traditions, silly as they might be. When I told Stanley that I was going to open a year-round Christmas shop, he laughed at me. But the kids loved the idea. They were still in grade school
at the time. When they were teens, they used to work in the store dressed up as elves. But somewhere along the way, Christmas lost its appeal for them. They’ve rebelled against the holidays, and it breaks my heart. But what can I do? I still believe in the magic of the season.” It was the first true thing I believed she’d said since speaking with us, and my heart ached for her.
“I do too,” I confessed, then left her in the privacy of her office.
CHAPTER 25
In desperate need of a sugar buzz, we parked ourselves on a bench outside Felicity’s shop with a cup of complimentary hot cocoa. Welly sat on the packed snow at my feet, staring at me as I took a cautious sip. I removed my glove, plucked a sticky marshmallow off the top, and offered it up as a treat for being a good boy. I took another sip and said, “She’s definitely lying.”
My dog was working Rory over as well, but he was made of stronger stuff. Giving him a pat on the head instead of a marshmallow, he asked, “You think Felicity murdered Chevy?”
Kennedy turned to him and rolled her eyes. “No, silly. About the affair. Possibly about the murder, and most definitely about having children.” This last remark earned her a hardened stare.
“Don’t get your knickers all in a bunch, Rory dear. I’m joking. Although I did find it sad that Mommy Cheeriest drove her little holiday helpers away at her favorite time of year.”
“I do too,” I agreed, recalling Felicity’s face as she talked of her children. The fact that both had ditched her at the holidays was sad, if not telling. “You know what I think? In a weird way, I think this could be about Felicity’s children. She knew they weren’t coming home for Christmas. Think about it. What if she was trying to prove to them that they should have come home? Maybe that’s why she felt the need to have a Christmas cookie bake-off a week before Christmas. According to Felicity, Kevin and Kara loved baking Christmas cookies. What better way to make them take notice of their home, Beacon Harbor, than having their mom head up a town-wide Christmas Cookie bake-off that was to be judged by celebrity foodie, Chevy Chambers? Of course, Felicity would have to win to prove her point to her children—the point that she really is the queen of Yuletide splendor.”
“You think Mommy Cheeriest was trying to make them jealous—trying to make them believe that her Christmas was going to be better than theirs?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Something like that. Remember, the cookie bake-off was her idea in the first place. Sure, it really could have been about boosting foot traffic in the town during the run-up to Christmas, as she had told the Chamber of Commerce and the festival committee. But maybe it was also about shining the spotlight on her at Christmastime. This is Felicity’s holiday, after all. Anyone who owns a year-round Christmas shop must walk the walk, you know?”
“Not going to argue that,” Rory agreed.
“Imagine being one of her biological little holiday helpers,” Kennedy said. “Imagine the horror of growing up in a home where Christmas music is played all year, living with candy cane décor, and where Santa and his elves are always watching.”
Although she was just speculating, I cringed just thinking about it.
“And being forced to drink hot cocoa with candy canes and marshmallows in the summer instead of Kool-Aid, or water,” Rory added with a disparaging shake of his head.
“Look, we can all imagine that she’s not an easy woman to live with. But it really is December. Christmas is just around the corner, and her children aren’t coming home. To Felicity, a self-proclaimed Christmas aficionado, not having her family with her at Christmas has got to be the biggest blow to her heart and ego.”
Rory gave a subtle nod. “Might explain how strangely desperate she’s been acting.”
“And we all know that desperate people do desperate things.” Punctuating this sentiment, Kennedy crumpled her empty cocoa cup and threw it in the trash can closest to the bench. She peered back at us with eyebrows raised. She was trying to be sly, but her marshmallow mustache ruined the effect. Knowing that Rory would let her walk around like that all day, I handed her my little napkin square.
“Thanks.” She mean-smiled at Rory before picking up the thread of our theory. “When her plans went awry, and she knew she wasn’t going to win the bake-off, she might have taken matters into her own hands. Imagine sleeping with that wanker, Chevy Chambers, just to win a Christmas cookie bake-off?”
“I’ve known people who’ve done more for less,” Rory added nonchalantly.
“I’m sure you do, darling. After all, whatever happens at deer camp stays at deer camp, isn’t that the motto?”
“Hey,” I said, forcing Kennedy’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Remember, Felicity has emphatically denied having an affair with Chevy. She claims she’s happily married. But whenever she was around Chevy, she didn’t act like she was.”
Kennedy nodded. “Here’s another thought. What celebrity foodie would travel all the way to this little frozen dot on the map to judge a cookie contest if he wasn’t getting a little nookie on the side?”
Rory drained his cup. “She’s got a point.”
“There is one person who might be able to weigh in on this discussion with a bit more clarity. Last night, just before I fell asleep, his name popped into my head.”
“You better not say Santa,” Kennedy warned.
“No,” I chided. “Stanley Stewart, her husband. Yesterday, when Felicity was going after Chevy at the bake-off and you two were chasing cookie-nappers, Stanley stormed onto the stage and carried her off to save her from further embarrassment. I say we pay Mr. Stewart a visit.”
* * *
All I knew about Stanley Stewart was that he was married to Felicity and had a software company somewhere in Traverse City. I didn’t know where his company was or what it was called, but I did have a pretty reliable source to help nudge us in the right direction. With the heat blasting in the pickup truck and Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” on the stereo, Rory drove in the direction of Traverse City while I dialed Betty’s number. The phone had barely rung before she was on the other end.
“Lindsey!” Her voice was over-bubbly. “What a surprise.”
The clanking of glasses and dishware in the background told me she was at a restaurant. The unmistakable sound of my mother’s laughter was telling as well. “Have I caught you at a bad time?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I was just . . . I was just . . .” The woman was stumped. She was obviously having lunch with Mom and Dad but didn’t want to admit it to me. I caught my dad repeating my name as my mother laughed again. Betty, bless her, tried to muffle the phone. Her voice echoed loudly as she finally settled on, “I was just wrapping a few presents.”
Really? Wrapping presents at a restaurant? Betty was a terrible liar. And why was she lying to me in the first place? What were they hiding? I had a suspicion that they were snooping into Chevy’s murder behind my back—and after Mom had told me to leave it be. The nerve!
I could have rattled her, stating that I knew she was with my parents, but I decided to let her continue with her little charade. “Cool,” I replied. “Go sparingly on the tape. Nobody likes a lot of tape on their presents. Hey, I have a question. Stanley Stewart. Where does he work?”
“He owns a company called Tartan Solutions—” She wasn’t finished talking, but I had all I needed. I shot a “thank you” in before ending the call.
“That was awkward,” I remarked, pulling up the website for Tartan Solutions on my phone. I loaded the directions into Google Maps and placed it in Rory’s cell phone holder. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I hadn’t realized it from the website, but Tartan Solutions was an impressive business. The investment banker in me knew that tech companies were hot commodities, but they came and went on the fickle tide of the economy. Tartan Solutions, from all appearances, had weathered that tide. Set a few miles outside of the downtown business district on a rolling five acres of land, Tartan Solutions operated out of a modern, four-story
glass and steel building, one that I believed had been specially built for Tartan Solutions. Stanley Stewart wasn’t some lone-wolf programmer, as I had imagined him to be, but he was the CEO of an impressive tech company. All kinds of questions popped into my head as Rory parked the truck.
Kennedy stepped out, zipped up her coat, and sniffed the icy air. “Ooo, I smell money.”
“You can smell that from here?” Rory looked amused.
“It’s more of a sixth sense, darling,” she admitted. “Most women are born with it.” She slowly raked him with her dark eyes. “Maybe not Lindsey.”
“I can smell it,” I said. “But I prefer to make my own.” I cast Rory a wink.
Welly was going to need to stay in the truck for this one, but he was already sprawled across the back seat, assuming his nap-time position.
“Not sure what to expect here, but I hope Stanley will give us more insight into his wife’s relationship with the food critic. There’s something about Felicity and Chevy’s relationship that doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Probably because it ended in murder,” Kennedy remarked, heading toward the stylish building.
CHAPTER 26
Stanley Stewart’s office was on the fourth floor. Having gotten through security, and after Stanley agreed to meet with us, we were greeted by a young woman as we stepped off the elevator. I might have thought she was his daughter had I known better. The girl looked to be in her mid-twenties, with a slight frame and mid-length dark hair tinted bright red. She had multiple piercings in her ears and a small diamond stud popping out of her right nostril. Her nails were painted black, perhaps to match her short black sweater, black tights, and ankle-length black boots. Her skirt, however, or what little there was of it, was a bright Stewart plaid.
Her blue eyes, aggressively rimmed in black, took in the measure of us. “Hey-ya. I’m Alyssa.” I was surprised to note she had a Scottish accent. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising for a company named after a multicolored Scottish fabric. “He’s busy, so yer lucky he’ll meet with ya today. This way.”
