A Midwinter's Tail

by Bethany Blake

  “Tiny Tim!” I cried softly, happy to see the mischievous pup. Then my smile quickly faded when I realized the pug’s presence likely meant Mike Cavanaugh was in attendance, too.

  I’d wanted that—suggested that—but my heart still hitched in a funny way as I leaned over the railing, searching for Mike—and Moxie. And I nearly tumbled forward when I saw them talking in a dimly lit corner, next to one of the pine trees.

  It was impossible to read their expressions from my awkward position, and a moment later, my attention was drawn to movement behind the tree.

  “Brett Pinkney?” I whispered, in disbelief.

  I couldn’t ever recall Brett attending Bark the Halls. And he wasn’t dressed for a ball that evening. He sported one of his usual flannel shirts, and, as I watched, he moved quickly to cut some netting from the evergreen.

  Apparently, the winter wonderland hadn’t quite been finished in time.

  Balling up the netting, Brett shoved a pair of scissors into his back pocket, then quickly and unobtrusively exited through one of several doors that were camouflaged by paneling.

  I returned my attention to Moxie and Mike, not sure if their reunion was going well. Moxie’s back was to me, and Mike appeared tense. Then he reached out and touched her elbow. I saw Moxie nod, and they walked toward the main double doors, perhaps also heading to the lobby, where it would be quieter and easier to talk.

  When they’d exited the ballroom, Mike’s arm still lightly on Moxie’s elbow, I exhaled with a whoosh. I hadn’t even realized I’d been taking shallow, nervous breaths the whole time I’d been watching them.

  “At least the punchbowl’s still standing,” I whispered. “Although, there’s still a chance I’ve made a mistake, urging Mike to come.”

  “You? Make a mistake by meddling?”

  The deep, teasing voice, which came from behind me, caused me to spin around, so I nearly got tangled in my gown. The move was appropriately clumsy, given my history with the man who’d joined me, and who was extending his hand and asking, “Would you care to dance, Daphne?”

  Chapter 40

  I didn’t know a thing about ballroom dancing, and I couldn’t help feeling nervous as Jonathan slipped one practiced arm around my back and took my right hand into his left.

  Okay, fear of stepping on his feet wasn’t the only reason butterflies were fluttering around my stomach.

  It felt strange, and wonderful, and terrifying to be so close to the detective who had at first aggravated me with his attempt to put my sister in jail, then frustrated me by refusing to admit that I was as much a help as a hindrance when it came to solving crimes, only to ultimately earn my respect and affection with his intelligence, humor, depth—and genuine compassion, although he tried to downplay that side of himself.

  And, let’s face it, I’d always been drawn to Jonathan’s good looks, which were enhanced that night by a classic, perfectly tailored black tux with an understated black tie and a white shirt that complemented his smile.

  Apparently, he was pleased with my appearance, too. “You look gorgeous,” he said, for at least the tenth time, his voice low with genuine appreciation. “That dress is—”

  “The biggest splurge of my life.”

  “And well, well worth every penny.”

  I waited for a follow-up reference to my guacamole-stained cowgirl boots, but the joke never came. Looking up at him, I realized that he didn’t plan to tease me. At least, I didn’t think so, as I studied his dark blue eyes by the dim, flickering light of the lanterns suspended in the branches that twisted above us, creating a private, quiet space amid the crowd.

  “Jonathan . . .”

  I had no idea what I wanted to say. And I wasn’t sure how he’d pulled me a little closer. All at once, my hands were resting on his broad shoulders.

  “You were late,” he noted softly, taking my right hand again. Distancing us, just a tiny bit. “I thought you might not show up at all.”

  Warmth crept into my cheeks. “I was upstairs in CeeCee’s room. Talking with Gabriel.”

  Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Talking? Or investigating?” “Both,” I admitted, the butterflies swirling when his hand brushed upward on my spine, just an inch. “Actually talking, investigating . . . and breaking up. To the extent that we were ever together, really.”

  Jonathan Black was a smooth dancer. I somehow hadn’t tromped on his feet once in the crowded room, but he stopped us for just a moment. “I didn’t come between you, did I? Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you to the ball, when I knew you two were—”

  “No, it’s not your fault,” I interrupted him, as we resumed gently swaying. I glanced to my left, where Gabriel was dancing with Fidelia Tutweiler. I swore, as she spun in the arms of yet another handsome man, she was getting a sparkle in her eyes, some color on her cheeks and—although it probably wasn’t possible—some gloss to her hair. Gabriel’s grin seemed genuine, too, and I returned my attention to my partner. “Gabriel and I just seem to be heading in different directions. And that’s okay.” I smiled. “He did think you were watching the door for me, though. But I guessed you were on the lookout for suspects.”

  Jonathan broke our gaze to look around, and I saw a muscle in his clean-shaven jaw twitch. I’d summoned the detective. “Yes. There are quite a few assembled here.” Then he looked down at me again. “And I’m sure you won’t focus on our dance until we discuss the whole roster.”

  “Not the whole roster,” I said, because part of me wished we hadn’t started talking about the murder at all. But now that we’d begun, I noted, “However, I was surprised that Jeff Updegrove came back to town.” My stomach tickled again with the excitement of piecing together a puzzle, and of being so close to a man who’d intrigued me since the day we’d met. I tried to focus on the case for one more moment. “But I’m not convinced that means Jeff’s innocent.”

  “I am,” Jonathan informed me, to my surprise. The song ended, and we stepped apart, but we didn’t leave the dance floor. “I tracked down the people who were in the room next to Updegrove’s on the night of French’s murder,” he explained. “They confirmed that he was holding loud phone conversations all evening. And housekeeping restocked his minibar twice—without earning tips. It seems that he has an alibi. Although he doesn’t come across as a pleasant person.”

  “No, I don’t think so, either,” I agreed, somewhat disappointed that Jonathan had ruled out a prime suspect before I’d done so. That feeling was tempered by happiness when the quartet began to play another soft melody, and, without asking, Jonathan reached for my hand again and wrapped his arm around me. It felt more natural, this time, to be so close to him. “I wish I’d never signed Jeff’s yearbook at all,” I noted, settling into the new rhythm. “And I’m pretty sure I voted for him to be class parliamentarian, too.”

  Jonathan grinned down at me. “I can only imagine you in high school, Daphne. I’d like to see that yearbook.”

  I pictured the photo of me in my leg warmers. “I don’t think you need to . . .” I started to tell him that he wouldn’t want to peruse my annual when all at once, I realized that he probably should. “Actually, you might want to check out a yearbook that Jeff left me. I think there might be a clue in there.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Have you been keeping something from me, Daphne?”

  I didn’t want to debate investigative protocols during our dance, so I asked, “Can we discuss it later?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Jonathan’s hand rested more firmly on my back, and shadows darkened his eyes. “You know that Mike Cavanaugh and Moxie aren’t cleared yet,” he said quietly. “And there’s still no explanation for the disappearance of the scissors from Spa and Paw.”

  I understood what he was doing: reminding me that murder investigations in Sylvan Creek, where I knew everyone, had a way of creating rifts between him and me. Whatever was happening between us wouldn’t change the fact that he had a job to do, while I would protect my friends.

 
“The truth will resolve everything,” I assured him. Somehow, my hand had crept back to his shoulder, and I inhaled his familiar, spicy cologne, a masculine note against the sugary-sweet air in the ballroom. For a moment, my head swam. Then I got control of myself and said, “I’m sure you’re following every lead, and Moxie and Mike will be fine.”

  At least, I hoped that was the case, and not just in relation to CeeCee French’s murder. I was still concerned about Moxie and Mike’s disappearance together. Especially since I hadn’t seen them return.

  I glanced around the room, spying Socrates, Snowdrop, Axis, and Artie, who were getting acquainted with Tiny Tim. The pug and the Chihuahua looked especially compatible, their matching, bulging eyes alight as they faced off, happily stamping their paws as prelude to a friendly tussle. I suspected something would be broken, or a table overturned, by the end of the night.

  Meanwhile, my sister and Roger Berendt had started dancing at some point. Piper had as close to a dreamy look on her face as I ever expected to see, and Roger looked blissful, too. Like a man who might have plans to hand out at least one gold ring that holiday season.

  At the edge of the dance floor, my mother was haranguing a couple I believed to be tourists, no doubt trying to convince them to set down roots, and pick up some property, in Sylvan Creek.

  But I still didn’t see Moxie and Mike—nor Jeff Updegrove and Norm Alcorn.

  “Speaking of leads . . .” Jonathan’s deep voice snapped me back to reality, and, when I raised my eyes to look up at him, I saw that he was laughing, for some reason. “You could follow mine, you know.”

  I hadn’t even realized I’d taken control of the dance, and I laughed, too. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good dancer,” I said, letting him guide me again. “I didn’t attend finishing schools, like you.”

  Jonathan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “They were boarding schools. Not finishing schools.”

  The tiny revelation about his past was, like all the other hints, intriguing. But all at once, I suffered a chill in my core, as if the icy scene around us had come to life. He seemed to sense the change in mood, too, and our dance slowed to a near standstill while I searched his eyes.

  “Jonathan . . . What happened this year? What did you mean in the park, when you said it’s been ‘interesting’?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and my heart sank lower, because I was afraid I already knew the answer. Moxie had tried to drop hints, too. She’d either heard rumors, or worried and reached out when Jonathan had stopped getting his hair cut during chemotherapy. He wouldn’t have been her first client to disappear for a while, and he would’ve pledged her to silence if she’d discovered the truth. So I wasn’t surprised, only heartsick, when he finally admitted, quietly, “Remember that illness I mentioned, once?”

  I nodded, recalling our conversation in Pettigrew Park on a chilly fall evening, when Jonathan had explained why he’d left the Navy. He hadn’t wanted to be a burden to his team, or put them at risk by dropping in and out of service while undergoing treatment.

  “You should’ve called me,” I said, my voice tight. “I could’ve been there for you.”

  “I considered it,” he said, surprising me again—and pulling me even closer. We were standing completely still at that point, lost in our conversation and oblivious to everyone around us. “I spent a lot of time debating whether to contact you. But I was afraid that wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I . . .” I tried to protest, but he shrugged, adding, “Maybe I wasn’t fair to shut you out.”

  My fingers tensed on his shoulders. “And now?”

  “I’m in remission, with a good prognosis.” Jonathan’s body felt warm and strong against mine, even as he reminded me, “But nothing is guaranteed.”

  He was offering me a way out before we became more entangled in each other’s lives, but I wasn’t interested. “Nothing is ever guaranteed, for anyone,” I said. “That doesn’t mean we should keep each other at arm’s length. It’s really a reason for people to pull each other closer, don’t you think?”

  Jonathan smiled, and there was a warmth in his expression that I’d never seen before. “I anticipated that, as a student of philosophy, you’d say something to that effect.”

  We grew quiet then, and I felt like I could’ve stayed that way, just resting against him, for the entire evening. And yet the moment, perfect as it was, didn’t last. Someone was stepping up to us, clearing his throat, and clapping a hand on Jonathan’s back.

  Pulling reluctantly away, I discovered that Gabriel Graham had joined us, a grim expression on his face.

  For a moment, I thought he hadn’t been completely honest with me about his feelings, back in CeeCee’s room. Then I quickly realized that Gabriel wasn’t angry or jealous. He was just deadly serious.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, withdrawing another step from both men.

  Gabriel’s gaze darted between the two of us. Then he lowered his voice, so he wouldn’t panic anyone when he said to Jonathan, “Sorry to interrupt, Black. But Jeff Updegrove was just found in a frozen heap next to the sleigh outside.”

  Chapter 41

  “Honestly, Daphne, another murder!” Mom complained, stalking around the Sylvan Creek Hotel lobby, where she, Piper, Roger, and I had convened after Jonathan had been called away. Socrates, who’d somehow ditched his bow tie, was, of course, there, too, along with Snowdrop, who continued to look resplendent, even as she snored by the fireplace, tuckered out from the party. Axis and Artie had also stuck with us, as if they understood that I was their default caretaker when their regular person was busy. Axis sat patiently by the front desk, while Artie trotted around, showing off his fancy attire and perhaps looking for his new playmate, who, in typical Tiny Tim fashion, had disappeared. “First, you monopolize poor Jonathan Black,” Mom added, tsk-tsking. “Then you ruin the biggest event of the year. I’d nearly sold a young couple on, at the very least, a vacation rental on the shores of Lake Wallapawakee!”

  Of course, Mom was blaming Jeff Updegrove’s homicide on me, although I had a rock-solid alibi with the lead investigator on the case. And, as expected, my mother had somehow reduced the situation to a real estate crisis. Finally, I was not surprised that she’d pinned the abrupt end of Bark the Halls on me.

  Needless to say, the event had wrapped up quickly with the arrival of ambulances and squad cars. Most guests were being dismissed, but those of us who’d had a connection to Jeff—including me—had been asked to stick around for a while.

  My family members and Roger were probably free to go, but they’d stayed for moral support. Or, in my mother’s case, a chance to express her frustration with me, related to a murder I’d had nothing to do with. I hadn’t even found the body this time.

  “Could we, just once, have a nice evening that doesn’t end in a hail of bullets, Daphne?” Mom continued, pacing and waving her hands, while her face remained remarkably placid. Moxie guessed Botox deserved the credit—or blame. “I swear, whenever you attend a soiree, people get gunned down in the streets!”

  Moving closer to the fire and pulling Moxie’s wrap more tightly around myself, because uniformed officers kept opening the front door, I debated whether to inform Mom that no one—except me—had been shot at, recently. I also considered reminding her that I’d helped to clear her of the last, and to my knowledge only, “soiree”-related murder in Sylvan Creek.

  However, before I could say anything, Roger Berendt, of all people, spoke up on my behalf.

  “Now, Maeve,” he said calmly, from his perch on one of the lobby’s settees. Piper sat next to him, her hand resting on his arm—which she squeezed as he dared to contradict a woman who did not appreciate contradiction. I saw my sister’s knuckles whiten, but Roger forged ahead. “You have to admit that Daphne has helped you and Piper by solving murders. I think she has a gift, as opposed to a curse.”

  Judging from the fact that everyone seemed to accept that word—“curse”—as related to me, I got the se
nse that it had been used behind my back before. Probably more than once.

  My mother certainly didn’t seem surprised by the term, probably because she was the one who’d bandied it about. She stopped pacing and gave Roger a dead-level, withering gaze, which he endured without flinching. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice that a Realtor with a capital R was about to pounce on him, like a tiger in a Chanel gown.

  Then, all at once, Mom’s shoulders slumped, just slightly, and she sighed. “Perhaps I am placing a tiny bit too much blame on Daphne,” she agreed, shocking me, while Roger gave me a small, surreptitious smile and a wink. He definitely had a strategy for dealing with my mother and wasn’t quite as mild-mannered as I’d thought. I heartily approved, and appreciated his attempt to stand up for me. I smiled back as Mom added, “It’s just quite disappointing, to have such a lovely event interrupted by another homicide—next to Elyse Hunter-Black’s gorgeously restored sleigh, no less. It was such a nice surprise for the whole community!”

  My mother’s comments were insensitive, to say the least—Socrates made a loud grumbling noise—but I had to admit that I’d suffered a twinge of disappointment, myself, to have missed the opportunity for a ride I’d secretly been hoping to take, ever since I’d seen the sleigh parked at Jonathan’s barn. Then I immediately felt guilty for wanting something so frivolous when one of my former classmates had lost his life.

  “Why didn’t anyone notice the crime happening?” Piper mused, with a glance out the windows that faced Linden Lane, where the ambulance was parked, its red lights flashing. My sister disapproved of my amateur crime-fighting efforts, but she loved solving puzzles. “There was a line for the sleigh rides.”

  “From what I understand, the driver was on a break,” Mom said. “He’d requested a half hour to get a warm drink since—of course—Elyse had insisted that he wear a fitted coat, top hat, and driving gloves, as opposed to the down parka and insulated cap he’d tried to wear. An outfit that would have destroyed the ambiance, as surely as Daphne’s latest murder destroyed the ball.”