Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “What good news?” Blake asked.

  Tanya grinned. “Staley & Thomas asked me to come back to the company. With a pay raise and added bonus for all the hassle I’ve gone through.”

  I gasped. “That’s wonderful, Tanya. I’m so happy for you!”

  Tanya grinned. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.” She reached over and hugged me. “Just know, if you’re looking for something more steady, I could use a secretary.”

  Blake slipped his hand into mine and squeezed.

  “Thank you, Tanya. But I think I want to focus on my bakery.”

  “Understandable.” Tanya opened the door then turned back to Blake. “Guess I’ll see you around the office when we get back from the New Year.”

  “Can’t wait,” Blake said.

  When the door closed, Nan laughed. “Looks like everything has a way of working out. C’mon, Milt. I forgot to show you some of my better scars the other night. Plus, I think we need to leave these two alone. They look like they want to do some kissing.”

  I felt my face turn red. “Stop it.”

  Nan laughed and dragged a chuckling Milt to the kitchen.

  “Your Nan is something else,” Blake said as he wrapped his arms around me. “I sure do like her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She’s obnoxious.”

  Before Blake could answer, something flew out from the kitchen and hit him square in the chest.

  “In case you need it,” Nan yelled.

  Blake bent down to pick up the object, and I leaned over and shot daggers into the kitchen.

  Blake laughed and held up a clump of mistletoe. “Thanks, Mel. But I don’t think I need it.”

  Shaking my head, I wound my arms around Blake’s neck. “I don’t think you will, either.”

  “Merry Christmas, Amanda.”

  “Merry Christmas, Blake.”

  When his lips touched mine, I closed my eyes and sank into his kiss. He felt safe and warm. And even though we hadn’t known each other long, he made me feel something I hadn’t felt since my dad died. He made me feel excited and hopeful for my future.

  THE END

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  The Candy Cane Killer by Constance Barker

  THE CANDY CANE KILLER

  by Constance Barker

  Copyright 2018 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Chapter One

  It was a peaceful and sunny winter’s day in Paint Creek, Kentucky. But with the annual Christmas Festival starting tonight, I could taste the excitement in the air. We had gotten a beautiful and rare one-inch blanket of white snow in the morning, and it was looking and feeling like Christmas.

  My favorite day of the year is just one week away! I thought as I savored the last sip of my cup of hot cocoa. My mind a million miles away as I sat in the front booth of my diner.

  That was when the wicked ambush attack happened.

  My brain was absorbed with relaxing thoughts and fun ideas for our concession stand at the festival, when I was suddenly startled by a clamorous thud on the plate glass window, just inches from my head. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  I looked through the remains of a shattered snowball that had just landed on the glass to see a tall, goofy-looking fellow in a Sheriff’s hat and jacket with his thumbs in his ears and his tongue out, waggling his fingers at me. It was my fiancé, Sheriff Brody Hayes.

  And this was war.

  He waved for me to come out, and then he hollered with his hands around his mouth, “Come out here, Mercy Howard! You’re not afraid, are you?”

  I wasn’t. It was such a pleasant day, I went out the door in just my sweater, hatching my plot for revenge behind my smile.

  “Better watch it there, fella,” I said to him. “I happen to know the Sheriff of this county, and a prank like that could get you arrested.”

  “Oh yeah?” He teased, like the sixth-grader that he seemed to be emulating today. “Well, I ain’t afraid of no Sheriff. He’s probably a sissy-boy anyway. I’ll bet a girl could beat him up.”

  “Well, he’s definitely no sissy-boy,” I said, casually walking close to one of the outdoor tables. I looked at the sky to divert his attention as I gathered a handful of sticky snow from the tabletop. “But he’s afraid of girls. That’s for sure.”

  That was as far as his male ego was willing to take the game, and he stepped up to me and put his ice-cold hands on my cheeks.

  “If I’m afraid of girls, then how come I’m engaged to the prettiest one in town?”

  His flattery was not going to work today. Not after that surprise attack. He was expecting a kiss, but I had to string this out a little longer.

  “Maybe she’s just taking pity on you, Sheriff,” I said flirtatiously.

  He moved in for a kiss, and I made my move. A handful of icy snow was soon pressed against the back of his neck, and I shoved as much of it inside his shirt collar as I could.

  I tried to run, laughing with devilish delight as I attempted my getaway. But he grabbed my arm. He took a handful of snow and held it close to my face. Time to use my superpowers. But which one? Fight? Flight? Or Mind Control? Let’s go with that one…

  I turned on my female power of persuasion (which Brody calls the eyeball of death), to deter him from his dirty deed. That was all it took.

  Deloris stuck her head out the door.

  “When you two kids are done playing, I need you to come inside and taste my hot wassail punch. Tell me what you think.”

  Brody and I looked at each other with eager, child-like eyes.

  “Truce?”

  “Truce!”

  We were inside in a jiffy and followed our noses, and Deloris, into the shiny kitchen.

  “I love your wassail, Deloris. Are you going to finally give me your recipe this year?”

  “It’s just eight gallons of pressed apple cider with a little of this and a little of that added. I’ll leave it to you in my will, Mercy,” she said as she took a huge boiling kettle off the stovetop and set it on the stainless-steel table next to a big stainless mixing bowl. “I don’t need any competition for wassail queen just yet, so you’ll just have to be patient.”

  “It smells fabulous!” Brody said, trying to sneak a dipper into the pot of boiling gold.

  She slapped his hand. “It’s not ready yet.”

  She gathered the top edges of a large cheesecloth that she had clothes-pinned around the rim of the pot. The rest of the mesh hung submerged in the punch, about halfway to the bottom or so, filled with fruity goodies. Then she pulled out a punching-bag-sized load of spices and fruits that had been simmering in the punch and set it in the mixing bowl, still in the cheesecloth. When the top of the cloth fell open, I could see several large oranges studded with whole cloves, large slices of fresh pineapple, a couple of lemons cut in half, and the remains of several cinnamon sticks.

  She cut the oranges open, then took another bowl and pressed down on all the fruits to squeeze out more of the juice. Then she pulled the cheese cloth with the ingredients out, letting all the juice drip out, and tossed it away. There was probably a cup or two of juice in the bowl, which she poured into the large kettle of wassail and stirred it up.

  “Now it’s ready.”

  She ladled two cupfuls into large mugs for Brody and me.

  “Just one cup each, guys. This is going to the Old School Diner concession stand at Christmas Festival tonight for charity. I’ll be making another batch every day of the festival, th
ough.”

  “Okay!” I said with a smile. “Thank you!” And we ran into the dining room like a couple of kids anxious for Santa to come.

  “Wow!” Brody said as he took a sip of the hot concoction. “I’ve heard you rave about it, but I had no idea this stuff was so good! It tastes like…”

  “Christmas!” I inhaled the warm steam wafting off my cup with my eyes closed and dreamed of gingerbread men and sugar plum fairies, just like when I was a girl.

  “You’re right. That’s exactly what it tastes like, Mercy.” He took another sip and smiled at me. “So, let’s go to the town festival tonight. Opening night – they’ll be lighting the tree. And there’ll be hay rides and food and music…”

  “…and handcrafted gifts and ornaments – I get one every year,” I added. “And, of course, Santa will be there tonight too. I’m in!”

  Paint Creek is a sleepy, small town in Kentucky, not far from the Indiana border, where I grew up. After several years as an ER nurse in the big city, I came home to run the little diner that my grandfather had opened 50 years ago. I’m really glad I did.

  “You can’t have wassail without some Christmas cookies,” Deloris said, coming in from the kitchen. “Babsy baked these this morning before she left to run the concession stand.”

  Deloris was my lovable but cranky counter manager who had pretty much run the place for the past 30 years. Babs waited on the tables and booths, and she lived in the little apartment upstairs.

  “I get the star with the chocolate kiss in the middle!” I said, claiming my cookie and taking a big bite immediately.

  “And I’ll take all the rest of them!” Brody teased – at least, I thought he was teasing.

  Deloris folded up an old yellowed piece of paper, which said Aunt Lydia’s Hot Wassail Punch on the top. She stuck it right about in the center of her tall blonde beehive hairdo, which she used as a purse. You never knew what she might pull out of there. I’ve seen everything from photographs, to lipstick, to playing cards, to half a sandwich, to a semi-automatic pistol come out of that nest.

  “Are you coming out to the festival tonight, Deloris?” Brody asked her. “Or would you like us to bring the punch there for you?”

  “Oh, I’ll be going there, alright. I got roped into being an elf in Santa’s Wonderland with all those pesky kids lining up all night.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I said. “Red’s an elf too, isn’t he? And Jake too. So that should be fun!”

  “Fun, shmun,” she griped. “Just a lot of spoiled little rug rats hyped up on sugar candy, running around on the loose and hollering. Parents these days don’t watch their kids, just let them go wild.”

  That wasn’t true here in Paint Creek, but Deloris had her cantankerous image to keep up. She loved the kids and I knew she was excited.

  “What about Santa?” I asked. “Did Junior finally find a Santa suit? He’s been growing his beard out since school started, so he should look pretty authentic if he can find a nice suit.”

  “No idea, Mercy. I found some little green lederhosen and a candy-striped blouse for myself, and Red says he has a pointy cap for me. But all I got to do is pass out candy canes for the tiny terrorists.”

  My chin slipped off my hand, as I had fallen asleep right there at the counter. It caught Brody’s attention as I jerked back into consciousness,

  “Are you alright, Mercy?” He was more concerned than necessary. “I think you’ve been working too hard lately, burning the candle at both ends to get the booth ready for the festival.”

  “Oh, no, Brody.” I appreciated his concern, but I was fine. “Just tired. I always get anxious and have trouble sleeping this close to Christmas. It brings back so many childhood memories – and memories of my loved ones who are gone now. That’s all.”

  He pulled me close. “Well, we’ll get you to bed early tonight.”

  Deloris rolled her eyes.

  “It sounds like your whole crew is going to be running Santa’s Wonderland, Mercy.” Brody said. “Who’s going to be running the diner?”

  “That would be me,” Smoke said walking out of the kitchen with a cup of wassail. Smoke was granddad’s original chef, almost since the day he opened.

  His punch smelled of rum, which is the way my dad always liked it too. “The whole town will be at the festival all week, so I can cook and take orders too. Won’t be a problem.”

  I felt bad for Smoke having to stay behind all by himself. “Well, if it’s dead, just lock up and come to the festival, Smoke.”

  “I’ll be fine – but I will be coming out for the big Parade of Lights at sundown on Christmas Eve.”

  “Of course. We’ll close at 4:00 on Christmas Eve.”

  Chapter Two

  It was almost the winter solstice – the shortest day of the year – so it was already dark when we got to the festival grounds. It was all the way across town from the Old School Diner – about seven blocks – and it looked like the whole town was there, at the town square at the end of the commercial district.

  Actually, the town square wasn’t square at all. It was a beautiful park set in a full circle, maybe about 150 yards in diameter. You might say it was a huge grassy island in the middle of a big cul de sac at the end of Main Street.

  I know it was longer than a football field, because they set up a temporary field with bleachers there when they tore down the old high school stadium and rebuilt it when I was still in grade school. The road had cars parked all the way around the circle already.

  The north side of the circle had a beautifully decorated and lighted Christmas Market that looked like an old-fashioned village. It reminded me of the one my grandfather built around his beloved train set in his basement. There were houses, stores, and a church, all white with red roofs. The structures were built of heavy plywood with hinges holding the walls together, so they could collapse and be stored easily. There were also white tents set up for more merchants at each end of the little town.

  The wide street down the center of the village had an occasional horse, usually followed by an elf with a shovel and wheel barrow. And there was a family of carolers dressed in attire right out of a Charles Dickens novel. They were singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas when they passed by the Old School booth, where I had stopped by to visit Babs. Brody said he had to “check something” and he would join me shortly.

  “How’s business, Babs? Do you have everything you need?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes, Mercy!” She said with her usual bright smile as she collected $3 for three cups of wassail.

  “The punch is popular, of course. We will sell a hundred cups or so every night for the veterans’ club, so that should make them happy. And your idea for empanadas was genius! They’re all made at the diner ahead of time, stashed away in our little freezer here, and deep fried to order. No work, and lots of choices! I think we will need to do more sloppy joe and chili ones for tomorrow, though. The chicken pot pie and pizza ones are doing real well too, but the veggie and cheese ones are slow movers.”

  I felt a kiss on my cheek.

  “Who’s there?” I teased Brody when he came up behind me. I turned and saw that he was holding a ball of mistletoe over my head. “You know, if you play your cards right, you won’t need the mistletoe.”

  “Good to know!” He said and handed me a very small white gift bag with a bow on top.

  “For me?” I asked with a smile.

  Brody looked around. “I don’t see anyone else here, so I must be talking to you,” he said in a bad DeNiro impression.

  I tried to hide my eyeroll and opened the bag.

  “Ah! It’s an ornament for my Christmas tree!” I said, holding up a five-inch porcelain candy cane with a beautiful gold bow and the year dangling from the bottom.

  “Thank you, Brody. That was very thoughtful. I love it!” And I did. “You know this is my first ornament as an engaged woman, so it’s very special coming from you.”

  “I was thinking you might like some
thing colorful that reminds you of your childhood Christmases. And you know, there’s a good chance that this will be your only ornament as an engaged woman.”

  I had to think about that for a moment. “So, I guess by next Christmas I’ll either be a jilted ex-fiancé, or…”

  “…or a married woman. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

  Suddenly, red and green searchlights at the center of the park began flooding the night sky, swirling and turning, lighting up the clouds and trees and everything all around the park. They finally stopped, fixing their aim on the big unlit tree far away in the middle of the circle, and then they slowly moved upward to form a sort of teepee around the tree. Then they all moved straight up, and then slightly outward, away from the tree, so the area was lighted for the people, but the tree was still in darkness.

  The town crier started ringing his bell, telling us that the lighting ceremony was about to begin.

  There was a beautiful fountain in the center of the park in the summertime, but tonight that is where they would be lighting the 30-foot Christmas tree that was all decorated and ready to go. And best of all, Santa would be making his debut! He would flip the switch, and then Santa’s Wonderland would be open. The kids were already lining up.

  “We better get moving, Brody. That’s farther than it looks. Don’t want to miss the lighting! See you, Babs! Let me know if you need anything!”

  Mayor Bud Finster was on the raised platform, right between the big Christmas tree and the entryway to Santa’s Wonderland.

  The curtains to Santa’s place were pulled shut behind the big candy cane arches that formed the gate, and the kids – ok, all of us – were eager to see Santa come out and up the steps onto the Stage.

  Bud was tapping the microphone, which seemed to be working fine, and the spotlights came up to full brightness. There was a drum set, guitars, and amplifiers behind him for the band that would be playing soon.