A Midwinter's Tail

by Bethany Blake

  “I still can’t believe you solved another crime,” Piper said, reaching for the dip, too. The big ring on her finger—which would be joined by a simple gold band in October, according to her latest announcement—glittered in the firelight. “I’m less surprised that you nearly got killed doing it.”

  Socrates huffed softly, agreeing with my sister, while Mom made a breathy sound that managed to convey her frustration with me, and her relief over not having to plan a funeral during the holidays.

  “To be honest, I was convinced that Ms. Bickelheim was the killer when she told me all about how CeeCee had ruined her life. Plus, she practically threatened me, backstage at the play,” I told everyone. Then I shrugged. “But it turns out she really was just worried I’d break my neck, up there on the ladder. Apparently, she’d told the school she had private liability insurance for the Players, but the coverage had expired. There could’ve been a big legal mess if I’d fallen.”

  Piper groaned and again did her best Charlie Brown impression. “Oh, good grief.”

  “Insurance is so important when renting a space,” Mom muttered with quiet disbelief, as if Ms. Bickelheim’s lapsed coverage was worse than homicide. “So, so important!”

  Only Moxie seemed to see the tale of the play in a positive light. “It’s a good thing Fidelia Tutweiler auditioned to be the Ghost of Christmas Future, then floated off without a word,” she noted, patting Sebastian again. His pink eyes were blinking sleepily. “If you hadn’t gotten the part, Daphne, you wouldn’t have seen the label in the costume, matched it to the labels in your dress and Snowdrop’s outfits, and realized that Ivy Dumphree was making designer dog clothes that had been knocked off by CeeCee French!”

  “Yes, Ms. Bickelheim’s slip, when she used Ivy’s real last name, was a big clue, too, as I began to put things together.”

  “Poor CeeCee and Jeff.” Piper shook her head and reached for another potato. “CeeCee shouldn’t have bullied Ivy, nor copied her designs. But that certainly doesn’t excuse Ivy’s behavior.”

  “Your classmate Jeff Updegrove made mistakes, too,” Mom noted, swirling the wine in her glass.

  I watched her, wondering if she realized she hadn’t gotten me a present. I didn’t care about material goods, and I certainly didn’t need more scarves I’d never wear, but I had to admit, I was feeling a bit overlooked.

  Mom didn’t seem to notice. “That young man shouldn’t have dumped a dog and a yearbook on Daphne, dragging her deeper into a whole dangerous mess.”

  I was strangely touched by my mother’s defense of me, although I’d come to love Snowdrop. Regardless, the comment partially made up for my lack of an unwanted scarf.

  “Jeff Updegrove should’ve had the courage to tell the police that Ivy Dumphree was in town, masquerading as someone else,” Mom continued. “And that she’d likely killed Celeste French, who might’ve been a bully back in high school, but who—in my humble opinion—had every right to copy those designs.” My entrepreneurial and fashionable mother raised an indignant finger. “It’s the law of the runway!”

  “Well, the law of the . . . law is going to put Ivy away for a long time,” I noted. “Ivy’s first homicide, at least, was premeditated. And there’s probably some sort of penalty for framing people for murder, too.”

  “Maybe you’ll learn more about sentencing in the book I gave you,” Piper suggested, gesturing to my new copy of The Idiot’s Guide to Criminology. She’d admitted that the gift was half a joke, and half concession to the fact that my involvement in murder investigations was starting to seem inevitable. I appreciated the present, but fully intended to hide the book from Jonathan—if I ever saw him again. “There’s a subchapter on ‘determining punishment.’”

  “Now that I’ve crushed her cookies, I don’t really take any joy from whatever will happen to Ivy,” Moxie noted, with a sigh. “I’m just glad I’m not headed to jail, and Mike will be okay, too.”

  It was Piper’s and my turn to exchange glances. Uncertain ones. Then Piper dared to venture, “What, if anything, is happening with you and Mike?”

  Of course, Mom also knew the whole story, and she asked, bluntly, “Are you a couple, or not? And is he happy with his present living arrangement? Because there’s a condo opening up on the golf course that would be perfect for a man interested in doing a little updating.”

  “You have got to stop pushing that development on single men,” I told my mother, forgetting Moxie’s relationship—or lack thereof—for a moment. “I really don’t think Norm Alcorn is happy there!”

  Mom waved dismissively. “He’s fine, now that he’s admitted to the whole town that he’s in financial trouble and hiding a half ton of discount dog food in his garage. His house—which is lovely and gaining value by the second—was not Norm’s problem.”

  The day after Ivy’s arrest, Sylvan Creek’s biggest booster of local businesses had called an emergency chamber meeting, during which he’d first confessed to hiding information about CeeCee’s plans for the pet superstore. Then he’d broken down in front of Tessie Flinchbaugh and admitted that he’d stocked up on CeeCee French’s cheap kibble, nearly killing Dunston.

  Being softhearted , Tessie had gotten emotional and embraced Norm, crushing him against a sweatshirt that featured a picture of a corgi in a yarmulke and the phrase “Yappy Hanukkah.” It was quite a touching, redemptive moment, and I was glad I’d bothered to attend. The rest of the chamber members also seemed inclined to forgive Norm.

  It didn’t hurt that he’d wrapped up the meeting by telling everyone he’d convinced the remaining decision-makers at French’s Poodles & More that Sylvan Creek was a terrible place to locate a flagship store. In truth, it sounded as if no one but CeeCee had really liked the idea to begin with. In the end, only my mother, who’d still hoped to score a real estate deal, had been disappointed.

  “Well, regardless of his house’s monetary value, I don’t think Norm loves golf course life,” I insisted. “He’s very isolated.”

  Mom had lost interest in Norm Alcorn. Her gaze cut to my woebegone tree. “I don’t suppose Brett Pinkney—”

  Piper rested a hand gently on our mother’s knee. “Maybe you shouldn’t keep trying to mine this particular pool of murder suspects for potential clients. I seriously doubt Brett is going to sell a business that’s been in his family for generations.”

  Mom drew back and blinked, as if she didn’t understand anything her daughter had just said.

  “Brett honestly does seem to love being a tree farmer,” I added, looking at Scrappy, too. Needles fell like a light but steady shower from his branches, but he looked right, somehow, in Plum Cottage. “Brett does his best to match people to pines. And I think he’s made peace with his life.”

  At least, that was the sense I’d gotten, trudging back through the snow in silent communion with the former football star. At one point, he’d paused, hoisted his axe to his shoulder, looked up at the stars, and smiled, and I’d felt like he was in the right place.

  “Moxie, getting back to Mike . . .” Piper’s comment alerted me to the fact that my best friend had been quiet since the original inquiry about her long-ago boyfriend. “What’s happening there?”

  Moxie chewed her lower lip, while Sebastian, who didn’t seem interested in affairs of the heart, yawned. “We’re taking things very slowly,” Moxie finally said. “We’ve met twice for coffee, and there’s clearly still something between us, but he has a lot of things to work through.”

  “I think it’s time to get over something that happened eons ago,” Mom said, frowning ever so slightly. “He’s obviously not an abusive person, if he was so upset then and never did anything similar again.”

  In the wake of Ivy’s arrest, Mike—at my urging—had finally told Moxie the truth about the events that ended their relationship. And, in my excitement over solving the murder, I’d also shared the story about Mike’s shoving CeeCee with Mom and Piper.

  Maybe I needed to share less.

&nb
sp; “It is a long time to carry guilt about one incident,” Piper said quietly. Over by the fire, Socrates raised his head, listening carefully. I knew he was considering my sister’s assertion, and likely agreeing that she was right. He probably also believed Mike had been correct to step away from Moxie and do some soul searching. “It’s not like he’s exhibited a pattern,” Piper added. “Although, I respect him for taking a step back from you, if he wasn’t sure he could control his temper.”

  “What happened at the dance definitely drove Mike away,” Moxie agreed, cradling Sebastian in her hands. The rat wriggled happily in his sleep. “But a lot of things that trouble him now happened after he joined the service. It’s not like that one evening in a high school defined his life. It just sparked a decision to pursue a path that wasn’t right for someone who is, ironically, a very gentle soul.” She smiled faintly. “Mike Cavanaugh was not meant for combat, outside of a football field.”

  I reached out to squeeze my best friend’s knee. “I hope he works through things.”

  “Thanks, Daph.” Moxie’s smile grew warmer. “I have to say, I’m hopeful. Detective Black has kind of taken Mike under his wing. He talks with him, and he’s helping Mike find some resources.”

  I felt a surge of warmth toward Jonathan, who quietly reached out to troubled young people, ex-cons, and now a fellow veteran. I also let myself hope that things would work out for Moxie and Mike—and that we’d see more of Tiny Tim. The little troublemaking dog had grown on me.

  All at once, I thought of another dog who’d won me over, and who was lost, not outside in the cold, but in a legal system that had swept her away from me—and Socrates.

  Everyone seemed to catch the sudden shift in my mood, and, on some wordless cue, we all gathered up our gifts and cleaned up the empty glasses and remaining dip. Within a few minutes, my guests were gone, and I sat down on the loveseat, watching the fire in the quiet company of Socrates and Tinks.

  Tinkleston soon fell sound asleep, but Socrates remained awake, obviously feeling contemplative, like me.

  “Sorry,” I told him softly. “I know you miss . . .”

  I was just about to say “Snowdrop” when we both heard a sharp, familiar yip, from just outside the door.

  Chapter 57

  “How did you find her—and get her back?” I marveled, grinning at Jonathan while Snowdrop and Socrates reunited. The poodle wore a fleece jacket and basic leather collar, her diamonds no doubt confiscated and distributed as part of CeeCee’s estate, but I could tell that she was fine with her simple outfit. Artie, who danced around the room while Axis looked on patiently, was probably more disappointed with Snowdrop’s lack of designer duds than the poodle was. And Socrates was over the moon. I could tell by the way his tail drooped less than usual and occasionally almost wagged. Even Tinks seemed happy—from his safe perch on the mantel, between two candles. I looked up at Jonathan. “How . . . ?”

  Jonathan smiled, too, in a self-deprecating way. “I’m afraid I can’t take total credit for Snowdrop’s return,” he admitted.

  “Then who . . . ?”

  “You mother,” he informed me, his blue eyes twinkling. “She harangued me to use every one of my legal and family connections to get this dog back for you. Snowdrop is meant to be—in her own words—your Christmas gift. And I was informed that I would deliver a poodle to your doorstep, like Santa Claus. Or else.”

  That was very threatening, in a way, but I suddenly felt as if I might cry. “My mom did that? For me and Socrates?”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes. Indeed, she did.”

  “And you made it happen?”

  He shrugged. “I was happy to help.”

  I didn’t know what to say for a moment. Thank you seemed inadequate. Plus, I was still close to crying, so we both took a moment to watch the dogs as they all began to run around the small room, threatening to topple the tree. Even Socrates was bounding about, his tail suddenly swinging wide arcs.

  Then I finally looked up at Jonathan and quietly confessed, “I don’t have anything for you. I kind of thought, when you said ‘rain check’ you might mean ‘good-bye.’ Because I keep meddling in murders.”

  Jonathan broke into a wide grin. The one that transformed his whole face. “Really, Daphne? You think a little thing like my temporary, if admitted, irritation with you for nearly getting yourself killed again would make me go back on my word?”

  “Maybe?” I confessed, cringing.

  Jonathan laughed. “Come on.” He inclined his head toward the door. “I don’t mind that you don’t have anything for me. But I do have a gift for you. Waiting outside. A little something to make up for canceling our dinner plans.”

  I felt even worse about not having a present for him. But I was also intensely curious, and I hurried to the door, flinging it open.

  “Oh, Jonathan,” I cried softly, spying a gorgeous black Friesian horse, stamping his feathered feet in the snow as he waited impatiently to draw a gleaming sleigh through the snowy woods. I didn’t want to turn away, for fear the scene before me would disappear, and, as I stood there gaping, Jonathan draped my old barn coat around my shoulders.

  “Thank you, so much,” I told him. “For everything.”

  The handsome, dark-haired detective who was slowly giving up his secrets smiled down at me. “You’re very welcome.”

  Then he turned and summoned the whole pack. “Come on, everyone,” he said, sending the dogs darting past our feet, in a rush for the sleigh. As the classic song, “Sleigh Ride,” played on the old, scratchy radio, and a light snow began to fall upon the woods, Jonathan looked down at me again and spoke more seriously. “Ready, Daphne?”

  I knew that he was asking about more than the sleigh ride. Jonathan Black was inquiring about . . . us. Giving me one last chance to back out before we changed our relationship forever. But I had no doubts. I slipped my hand into his, smiled up at him, and said, “Let’s go.”

  Recipes

  Pupper-Mint Candy Cane Twists

  These treats are not only fun for the holidays, but the fresh mint can also freshen up your pup’s breath, so he or she is ready to mingle at the season’s many social gatherings. NOTE: Just be sure to use fresh mint leaves. Extracts and oils can be too strong for pets.

  3 cups of flour best suited to your dog’s diet—whole wheat, barley, rice, sorghum . . . whatever suits your pup best. Feel free to use a mix. I find that actually works best.

  ½ cup nonfat powdered milk

  ½ tsp baking powder

  2 large eggs

  1 cup chicken broth

  4–5 mint leaves

  2 tsp pet-friendly food coloring (see below for tips)

  1 large egg, for a wash

  Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

  Whisk together the flour(s), powdered milk, and baking powder. Then whisk the egg into the chicken broth. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, stir until combined, and knead into a dough. You may want to add extra flour, a teaspoon at a time, if the dough is too sticky. Divide the dough into two parts and let it rest for a moment while you complete the next steps.

  Make a paste with the mint by chopping it, adding a bit of water, and muddling it with a mortar and pestle. If you don’t have a mortar-pestle set handy, use a small metal bowl and the back of a spoon. The amount is so tiny that it doesn’t really make sense to use a food processor. And it doesn’t have to be a perfect paste. Even finely chopped mint is just great.

  Knead the mint into one of the dough balls.

  Add the pet-safe food coloring to the other ball. NOTE: Pet-friendly dyes are readily available online, but you can also use a touch of beet juice. Think about how beets, which are actually good for dogs, stain your hands!

  Roll out your two doughs separately, forming rectangles of approximately the same size. Cut both doughs into strips, and roll the strips into “snakes.” Form candy canes by twisting two snakes together and shaping into the traditional
form. Beat the remaining egg in a bowl and use a pastry brush to apply egg wash to each cookie.

  Bake the cookies for about 12 minutes. You’ll want to watch them, because cooking time will depend upon thickness. Cool thoroughly before serving to your pet.

  Snowdrop’s Favorite Snicker-Poodles

  What’s the holiday season without snickerdoodles? The cinnamon-sugary treats are a seasonal staple at Plum Cottage. I’d never thought about adapting a recipe for pets until Snowdrop came to stay with us. Needless to say, the elegant little cookies were a hit with her sophisticated self!

  3 cups of flour best suited to your dog’s diet—whole wheat, barley, rice, sorghum . . . whatever suits your pup best. Feel free to use a mix.

  2 tsp ground cinnamon

  ¼ cup honey

  1 egg

  1 tsp vanilla extract

  ½ cup water

  Preheat your oven to 375 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

  In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour(s) and cinnamon. Add the honey, egg, and vanilla extract, and stir everything together. Then, using a fork, begin adding scant amounts of water until the ingredients start to come together as a dough.

  Gently knead the dough into a ball and roll it out on a lightly floured work surface until it’s about a quarter-inch thick.

  This is the fun part. Get your favorite cookie cutters and make shapes, depending upon your mood or the season. (These don’t have to be holiday cookies!)