by Meg Macy
Hunter rose and straddled a pub chair at the kitchen island. I’d made coffee earlier today in the programmable maker, but dumped the leftover brew and fetched the can of grounds from the refrigerator. He reached down to stroke the cat again.
“Toss something in the Keurig for me. Less trouble.”
“Any particular brand or caffeine strength?”
Once he’d chosen, I plucked a pod from the metal carousel, added filtered water to the machine, and placed a medium-sized mug beneath. I slid the sugar bowl closer after I brought his mug. Surprisingly, Hunter added two spoonfuls. He seemed so hard-nosed and gruff, as if he chewed nails for fun. How odd that I’d learned more about him from a cat’s affection and a coffee-making ritual. I’d chosen Lady Grey tea and then perched on a chair opposite. Onyx leaped to the pub seat beside him for better reach.
“Can’t get enough, huh. Typical female.”
I gritted my teeth. “Are you here to update me on the mayor’s death, Detective?”
“I’m no longer on the case.”
Hot tea burned my mouth. I’d gulped too much in surprise, and snatched a napkin from the tree-shaped holder. Yowza. I hoped he didn’t suspect me of influencing Chief Russell in booting him, when my dad had probably called.
“Been reassigned,” Hunter added, “to the Ypsilanti case Mason’s working. I’m surprised he isn’t here yet. Should be coming any minute.”
“Oh. I see.”
I fetched the can of grounds again, filled the pot with water, and started the coffee brewing. By the time the pot filled, Rosie had hopped down and barked with excitement at the back door. She raced in circles when Detective Mason knocked. I’d already filled the creamer and set it on the island, and waved the detective inside. The minute he held up a finger, Rosie’s rump hit the floor and she whined, low. Mason praised her obedience.
He glanced at Phil Hunter, who was petting the cat on his lap now. Mason draped his jacket on the pub chair at the end of the island and sat. Rosie curled up at his feet. The two policemen couldn’t be more different. Mason reminded me of a teddy bear, stocky and round, with light brown hair and glasses. Hunter had a lean, hungry air with an angular body, wary blue eyes, and sleek dark hair. He looked catlike, come to think of it.
“Jamie.”
“Phil.”
I poured fresh coffee, eyebrows raised at their terse first-name greeting. But Mason’s tone had more than an underlying hostility, with a sharp nip to it. Maybe I needed to wave a white napkin for a truce. They ignored each other and sipped from their mugs.
“Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, getting yanked from the case,” Hunter finally said. “You behind it?”
“Yeah, what of it? If you had an ounce of integrity, you’d never have taken—”
“I’m already over it.”
“Huh. You said that about the Heritage Park case.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d already interviewed those gang members?” He glared at Mason. “Like they gave me any worthwhile information anyway. Turns out they were involved in both murders, remember.”
“I sent you the file. You could’ve read it first.”
Another long silence reigned. I gulped my cooler tea and crushed my insatiable curiosity. Cramming it back into a Pandora-like box was impossible. If only I could cast a spell like Hogwarts’s Professor McGonagall and transform myself into Onyx, or one of our wizard bears. The two detectives would battle it out minus the velvet gloves without me around, given their past history of clashing over cases. Clearly, they frayed each other’s nerves. I kept an eye on the clock. Counted out one minute, two, and then a third.
Wow. The tension prickled the hair on my neck, making me shiver. I was dying to know who’d break the silence first. Hunter stared out the window, while Mason twisted his mug around, eyes downcast.
“Never got reports about the Bloom case,” he finally said. “I checked every day.”
“I sent ’em. Email.” Hunter shrugged. “Never got a reply.”
“Are you accusing me of—”
“Whoa.” I held up a hand to interrupt. “Maybe one of you had the wrong email address,” I suggested. “Transposing one letter is pretty common.”
Hunter glared at me, but Mason wrote something and pushed the notebook over toward his colleague. “Whatever. So I’ll resend ’em.”
“And then,” I said to Mason, “you hit reply with ‘thanks’ or some other response.”
“Yeah, gotcha. The big question is, are you gonna mess up my federal case while I clean up after you on this one?”
Hunter turned beet red and set Onyx on the floor as if preparing to pounce on the other detective. “I didn’t mess up anything.”
“Bunk! I had to redo all the—”
I whistled sharply. “Do I have to use the kitchen sprayer, the way you two are acting like junkyard dogs? Or send you outside so you can finish fighting.”
Mason leaned back against the stool and took a deep breath. The last thing I needed was acting as referee between two cops. I wasn’t in the mood for a chess match, either. I was terrible at strategy. No matter how disgruntled, they’d both beat me hands down. I also had no idea why they’d chosen the Silver Bear Shop as neutral ground for such a tense meeting.
“That’s better,” I said, glancing at them both. “Get to the facts.”
“Okay.” Mason flipped to a new page of his notebook. “Chief Russell is convinced Cal Bloom’s death was accidental.”
“I agree with him, except his daughter insists it was murder.” Hunter shrugged. “Kristen hadn’t spoken to her dad in a while, so it could be guilt. She’s pretty upset.”
“I think it’s murder as well,” I said, deciding not to be a mere spectator, “but there’s too many people with motives. I don’t know if they all have alibis.”
Mason tapped his pencil on the table. “Run down the list of suspects and motives.”
“Tony Crocker, who resented losing the election.”
“So what.” Hunter’s scoffing tone made his opinion clear on that score. “He had no chance of winning whatsoever. He’d be insane to kill Bloom over that, even though that dead girl, Holly what’s-her-name, got more votes than Crocker did.”
“That ‘girl’? She was my age,” I said tightly.
“Okay. Woman.”
Now I wished I hadn’t invited him inside. Hunter definitely pushed my buttons with his bad attitude, but I continued when Mason nodded in encouragement.
“There’s Cissy Davison and her fiancé, Gus Antonini.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
I ignored him. “Cal Bloom somehow got hold of an intimate photo—”
“Oh, the curvy blonde. She owned some fancy boutique on Main Street.”
“What kind of photo? Nude?” Mason looked skeptical when I explained.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Bloom did suggest trading that photo for sex,” Hunter said, “but she can claim anything. He’s dead and can’t deny it. Convenient.”
“You don’t think that’s a substantial motive for murder?” I asked.
“Hey, consenting adults.”
“But Cissy didn’t consent! And how did the mayor get that photo in the first place? He may have denied having it, but Digger saw him with it.”
“I’d like to know what happened to it, too,” Mason added. “You must have questioned Ms. Davison, Phil. What about Officer Sykes?”
Hunter plucked a few cat hairs from his wool suit jacket and pants. I didn’t offer him the lint roller. When you encourage a cat, you deal with the consequences. The detective slouched in the chair, hands curled around his empty mug, as if deciding how to reply.
“Yeah, I asked Sykes. He didn’t know how Bloom got it, or where it is now. I pressured him. You know the idiot nearly contaminated the last murder scene, right? So I asked if he found it inside the mayor’s polar bear suit. Copped it instead of letting the forensic techs process it. He got all hyped-up, and denied it half a do
zen times.”
“He must be telling the truth.” I thought back to that night, and related how Flynn had unfastened the costume. “There weren’t any pockets in that suit, or photos.”
“It’s probably gone for good, so tell Cissy baby not to worry.”
Mason glared at Hunter and turned to me. “Who else?”
“Alison Bloom, the widow, had motive and opportunity.”
“Kristen would love to accuse her stepmother of murder, but she’s got an alibi.” Hunter folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s be honest. This was just a stupid accident. I met the mayor a couple of times. Typical blowhard. The guy loved to hear himself talk and impress people. Friendly on the surface, but a real jerk once you got to know him in person.”
“Many people around here would not agree,” I said.
“Okay, I get that your parents are tight with him and his wife. But Cal Bloom wasn’t one to admit a mistake.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I think he shocked himself at the parade,” he continued, ignoring me. “Got a jolt and then staggered off. Didn’t tell anyone he was having a heart attack. Maybe Cal fell, hit his head. Managed to make it as far as that bench. And then died. The end.”
Hunter looked at me as if I’d agree with him. I didn’t. I also thought he liked the sound of his own voice, just like Cal Bloom. We stared at each other for a long while, waiting. Mason finally broke the silence.
“Not buying into that theory, Sasha?”
“It’s a theory like any other, but with a big flaw.”
Mason grinned. “Why is that?”
I chose my words with care. “A lot of people hung around the generators where they tested the floats’ light strings. If the mayor got a shock there, someone would have noticed. And they wouldn’t have let him wander off, either.”
“Hmph.” Hunter eyed me with derision. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“When I talked to Alison Bloom on Monday, she told me you and Kristen had been visiting the Silver Birches the day of the parade,” I said. “That you both left around four o’clock or thereabouts. So did you go to the funeral home after that?”
“No. Kristen wanted something to eat before watching the parade.”
“Which restaurant, then?”
“Ham Heaven.”
“That checks out, my dad saw you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Hunter rolled his eyes upward. “What else?”
“Did Kristen tell you she fought with her dad, about the business? Cal Bloom wanted her to take over the funeral home business. Like how I manage this shop.”
That last bit was a guess on my part, but easy to conjecture given Cal’s close friendship with my parents. Hunter stared into his empty mug. Maybe wondering how much to disclose what he knew about his girlfriend and her family.
“Yeah, okay, but Kristen hated the idea. It was a petty feud. She had her own plans, and his bad behavior around the village embarrassed her,” he added. “Cal Bloom was a scumbag, but he was still her dad.”
“Scumbag?” Mason glanced up from his notebook. “Sounds harsh.”
“The mayor was a drunk, a womanizer. Nobody here realized half of what he got away with,” Hunter said. “He cheated on his first wife and didn’t change that bad habit with the second one. Plus sweet Alison wasn’t around much. If you want my opinion, Cal got tired of her playing saint and martyr at that retirement home. So he looked elsewhere.”
“Then who was he involved with?” I asked. “The woman might have a motive to kill him if Mr. Bloom decided to end the affair.”
Hunter shrugged. “I got nothing on that. Never asked, never heard.”
“So why would Alison Bloom use her mother as an alibi,” I said, “when someone at the Silver Birches saw her leave? And she didn’t return until after the parade.”
He straightened up, shoulders back, eyebrows knitted together. “No way. I asked all the staff there, and no one saw her leaving.”
Mason finally spoke up. “Then maybe you asked the wrong people.”
I smiled. “Alison was at the parade, because someone overheard her arguing with her husband. And not much later he was found dead.”
“So who saw them together?” Hunter asked.
“You’re off the case, remember?”
I set aside my cold tea, yearning for a cookie. Or three. I deserved it after sitting through this prickly encounter, with Hunter acting like a jerk and Mason clearly enjoying our exchange, by his sly smiles.
“That’s more legwork for Jamie, then, once you tell him who to hunt down.” Hunter cracked his knuckles. “If you do.”
“Sasha’s gotten more results than you did over the past ten days,” Mason said, “while you wasted time with your girlfriend.”
The other detective muttered a curse, or at least that’s what it sounded like to me. “This whole case is a waste of time.”
“Nobody asked your opinion. Kristen wants justice for her dad,” I said, “and every murder victim deserves that.”
“Sure, sure. And we solve every case, just like on TV. Right, Jamie?”
Hunter’s sarcasm burned me. I was thankful when he rose to his feet, though, signaling the end of this exchange. I collected the empty mugs, set them in the sink, wiped down the coffee machine, and then straightened the row of wooden nutcrackers in their holiday colors on the counter. Mason leaned down to rub Rosie’s belly and then slid off the tall chair onto one knee. He didn’t bother to acknowledge Hunter, who sauntered to the door.
“One last thing,” the lanky detective said, hand on the knob. “When Kristen’s mom dumped her back on Cal Bloom, Alison resented that. Sure, they had a bad relationship, but now her dad’s dead, she has to share the inheritance. Money soothes a lot of wounds.”
“Does Kristen actually suspect her stepmother of murder, though?”
Hunter exchanged a cautious glance with Mason. “She hasn’t come out and said it, but. Kristen told me that Alison didn’t give a fig about Cal being mayor, and she hated him owning the funeral home. And her dad mentioned something about a possible divorce.”
“So now you’re on board,” I said with satisfaction. “That witness who overheard Cal and Alison Bloom arguing said he threatened to stop paying the bills for her mother. It costs a lot to keep her at the Silver Birches. That alone is a solid motive.”
“What the hell.” Hunter waved a hand at Mason. “Give her a detective shield. But can you blame the mayor? A cold wife, who milked his bank account for all it was worth. All right, Jamie. You still have a lot of ground to cover, but maybe your little Christmas elf here will make it easier for you.”
The door slammed after him. I turned to Mason, glad he’d be handling the case now. “Do you think Hunter will mess up your federal case?”
“Can’t worry about that now.” He shrugged into his leather jacket. “Chief Russell wants to solve this case quick, and I agree with you. Everything points to murder, where the mayor was found, and that blow to the head. Keep in touch. And even though Phil Hunter thinks you’re a big help, I think you’ve done enough.”
“Hey. Can I help it if people always confide in me?”
“Just remember—”
“Yeah, stick to selling teddy bears.” I smiled. “Right.”
Chapter 20
Maddie, Aunt Eve, and I all pitched in over the weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, at the factory. I refused to skip church, though, and raced back to work in the shipping department. We had to push hard to finish the Teddy Bear Keepsake orders for Child’s Play Toy Box Co., or there’d be the devil to pay. Uncle Ross reminded us that Michigan’s state laws didn’t require breaks for workers. I insisted that everyone stretch their legs after four hours, refill water bottles, and use the restroom.
Meals were also mandatory, and snacks. Pizza from Amato’s, tacos and burritos from La Mesa, plus Mary Kate’s delicious half scone, half cookies topped with jam, to accompany coffee or tea. Uncle Ross grumbled about the cost. I ignored him. It defi
nitely kept our staff motivated to pull an overnighter that continued into Monday. We fueled ourselves with coffee, bagels with cream cheese or peanut butter, hard-boiled eggs, and a huge bowl of fruit that Mom put together for breakfast before getting back to the grind.
My mother joined me to pack wizard bears, too, since Maddie had gone to meet Zoe at the graphics studio. I counted myself lucky that Renee Truman was free to cover the shop for me. But when Aunt Eve brought news of a predicted blizzard, we sent the staff home.
“I hope we don’t get any more orders for the wizard bear,” Mom said.
“It’s long past the deadline,” I said, taping a big bandage over my thumb. A cardboard box was capable of nastier cuts than paper. “We only have another three dozen bears to finish, and we’ll be all caught up.”
Aunt Eve sighed. “Ross isn’t sure we’ll make the deadline. I’m going home. I only want soup and some crusty bread. Sorry, Judith, and I know you made lasagna.”
“More for us!”
I was joking, but Mom’s Italian meals truly were amazing. Dad had refused to eat only one dish she created long ago. “Heavenly Hash” had been declared inedible, and my sister and I rejoiced. We’d dubbed it “Hell Hash” and tossed it in the garbage. Shamefaced, Mom ordered fish and chips instead from Casey’s Tavern. After that, she stuck to favorites. And Mom was a whiz at making linguini, spaghetti pie, shrimp scampi, and the like.
Isabel French looked exhausted. I’d sent her to quality control earlier since she had a sharp eye for details. She also proved a deft hand at fastening Beary Potter’s special wizard robe at the neck, and tacking on the wand to prevent it being pulled loose during shipment. That was a lifesaver. She punched her time card with pride and thanked me again.
“This is fun! So much better than serving ice cream.”
“I’m gonna miss your Silver Scoop creations, though.” Yawning wide, I glanced out the window and shook my head. “It’s already snowing.”
“Great.” She sighed. “See you tomorrow, if it’s not too horrible.”
“I’ll have to work in the shop, since Renee Truman can’t make it.”
“I could do that! I love interacting with people, and helping kids choose a new teddy bear or some outfits. But only if you need me to switch.”