“Ghost? Are you sure?” Gracie hadn’t heard any credible ghost tales about the house. All the stories had come from people trying to stir up a little fear at Halloween gatherings.
“Sure. When I was young, there were sightings of a woman walking past a bedroom window on the second floor. It was always around Christmas time.” Midge folded her arms across her chest, as if daring them to dispute it.
“Oh, I’ve heard about that,” Quentin said dismissively. “It’s just someone pulling your leg. This discovery though is of historical importance if the remains can be identified. It will finally put the rumors to rest over her disappearance and that of Amos Murdoch, the livery stable owner in Deer Creek at the time.”
“Was Amos connected to Lily as her lover?” Gracie’s stomach began to growl. The aroma of the waiting food was making her anxious to get home.
“He was. Amos was quite well-to-do with a successful livery business, and he was also breeding draft horses.”
Midge waved her hand, frowning. “Who cares about that? I still believe someone’s ghost has been up there for years. Why else would so many deaths have happened there? Huh? Tell me that.”
Quentin’s bushy eyebrows drew together, and the man looked like he was just brimming with a theory of his own.
“Personally, I believe the Mistletoe family had a defect of some kind that led them to murder or suicide. A violent temperament or some sort of genetic mental illness.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Gracie agreed. “How many of them died or disappeared there?”
“About six,” Quentin answered.
“Well, believe what you want. I still say the place has been haunted, and I don’t know how Marci is going to run a business in a place with a curse on it,” Midge declared.
“Oh, come on, Midge. The history behind the house is going to be a marketing dream. People will come from all over to check it out,” Gracie said. “And now, I really have to go.”
Picking up the bag of savory delights, she handed Midge her credit card.
“I’ll be giving regular presentations on the estate’s history,” Quentin added. “Of course, you’ll be at that special opening, right?” he asked Gracie.
“Planning on it.” Gracie shifted the bag and tossed the card into her handbag.
“What opening? How come I didn’t know about—”
Gracie missed the last outburst from Midge, welcoming the brisk wind biting her face. Tucking the armload onto the passenger seat, she headed toward Milky Way Kennels just outside of the village.
Marc was napping on the sofa when she placed their supper on the kitchen counter. Both Haley and Max raced to greet her, tails wagging.
“I’m back with food,” she called.
“Oh, um, good,” Marc responded sleepily, stretching his arms overhead and yawning.
“I just have to check the kennel, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Marc joined her in the kitchen, pulling her toward him for a kiss.
“No need. I went down and closed up with Jim and Cheryl.”
“Oh! Why, thank you. We can eat then. I’m starved after all the excitement at Marci’s this afternoon.”
“Quite the find in the wine cellar.”
“No kidding. I think it’s great fodder for her opening. Midge is beside herself, talking about a ghost and a curse.”
Marc pulled plates from the cupboard while Gracie found forks in the drawer. They quickly distributed the contents of the containers and headed for the living room, where a fire was crackling happily in the fieldstone fireplace.
“A ghost and a curse, huh?” Marc grunted as he dug into the hearty gravy with chunks of chicken and vegetables.
“That’s Midge for you,” Gracie observed with a roll of her eyes. “She always knows something far worse than you do. So, how did the nativity relocation go?”
“No problems. Everything is on the platform in the sanctuary. Should be safe until Christmas.”
“Let’s hope so. Did you look at the security footage?”
“Yeah, but the quality is pretty bad. I told your dad that they need a better camera and gave them a couple of ideas. I think the thief is a young guy and pretty small. Apparently, he’s quite strong though because those figures are heavy. He must have a van or truck, and probably a handcart of some sort to take them off the property. Or even more likely is that he had help.”
Gracie paused mid-chew, sorting through young men she knew in town that might fit the description. She drew a blank, especially in why someone would do it in the first place. They had just settled in to watch Home Alone, Marc’s favorite Christmas movie, when his cell jangled on the coffee table.
“Uh-oh, it’s your dad,” he said, swiping the screen.
Gracie clicked the pause button on the remote, freezing the movie, watching her husband’s relaxed expression turn into a frown.
“You’re kidding,” he growled, leaving the sofa and standing near the French doors. “I’ll be right there.”
“What’s going on?”
“Someone broke into the church and stole the rest of the nativity.”
“What? How could that happen?”
“It can if the church secretary forgets to lock the side entrance into the sanctuary.”
“Oh no. I’m coming with you.”
“All right, let’s go.”
A group of exceptionally disgruntled and overwrought people stood looking at the empty platform, the pulpit and two chairs being the extent of its furnishings.
“I don’t want anyone blaming Rose for this,” Pastor Minders directed. “I’ve accidently left that same door unlocked when I left many times.”
“Well, if she hadn’t done it …” a strident female voice started.
Gracie glared at her cousin, who had a lot of nerve showing up at this particular moment. How did she know about it anyway? But if there was a finger to be pointed, Isabelle would be first in line.
“I mean it, Isabelle,” the pastor countered with a thunderous look on his face.
Gracie saw Isabelle’s face color in what appeared to be embarrassment, and she quickly backed away from the group.
“Now, what do we do?” Dan Evans asked.
“Nothing,” Pastor Minders declared, his voice firm with conviction.
“We have to call the police, Pastor,” Marc contended.
“No, we don’t. As I told Bob the other day, there’s something else going on here, and even if we never see that nativity again, I don’t want it pursued. We’re making it too important to the church and the community. I beg you not take it any further.”
Murmurs of disagreement bubbled around the group, and Gracie felt as if the pastor was merely giving up. It was a little disappointing to her. The old set was part of the fabric of a Deer Creek Christmas. It wouldn’t be the same. How could he not care about it?
“All right, Albert,” Bob Clark responded, his voice tight with emotion. He looked around at the council members, whose faces were dark with anger. “I don’t agree with you, but we’ll let it go for the moment. The church council will have to take it up at our meeting tomorrow night though.”
Pastor Minders’ shoulders drooped, and weariness settled into his face that gave Gracie some concern. How could this be happening? This disagreement would ruin everything that was planned for the retirement send-off. What was happening to her church?
“Thank you, Bob. I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow,” Pastor Minders stated, his gaze still on the platform.
The band of church members left their pastor, bewilderment and anger on their faces. Gracie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father with such a wrathful expression.
The ride home with Marc was subdued, and the glow had dissipated from their quiet evening at home. She decided to take the dogs for a run in the field after putting the SUV in the garage. Haley loved cold weather and dashed ahead of Max, who soon caught up, and the pair alternately plunged their noses into the frozen grass
es and loped in the darkness, whines and yips carrying in the night air.
“Come on, dogs, let’s go in,” Gracie called, her fingers numb from the frigid night air.
Haley, who was not always reliable in coming when called, was on her best behavior and trotted beside Max, falling into step with Gracie.
Marc was on the phone when the trio pushed through the kitchen door.
“Okay, Bob. Thanks.”
Gracie looked quizzically at her husband.
“My dad?”
“Yeah. He’s really upset with the pastor. He thinks that Pastor Minders knows the culprit.”
“Really? I can’t believe that Pastor would shield someone who’s stolen church property.”
“I wouldn’t think so either, but your dad’s known him for a long time. He may be right.”
“I know I don’t understand any of it, but I hope it’s all sorted out tomorrow night. This could really ruin the retirement party and the Christmas pageant.”
Marc shrugged, rubbing the back of his hand against a stubbly cheek.
“I think I’m going to take Max down to the church and do a little investigating,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cheryl, Gracie’s assistant kennel manager, walked into the office with a leash draped over her shoulder.
“Morning,” Gracie said, looking up.
“Morning,” Cheryl responded, finding her mug with a large “C” imprinted on it near the coffeemaker. She filled it with dark brew. Wrinkling her nose, she cautiously brought it to her lips.
“Jim made the coffee today, so beware,” Gracie warned.
Cheryl laughed. “I thought so. It smells pretty, uh … robust.”
“Hey, there’s enough caffeine in just one cup to keep you going all day,” Jim teased, heading for the coffeemaker.
“Or a week,” Gracie bantered.
Jim filled a mug and took a quick slurp. “When’s Dude’s owner supposed to pick him up? I thought he was leaving yesterday, but he’s still here.”
“He is?” Gracie quickly clicked on the dog’s reservation and scanned the dates. “You’re right. He was scheduled to be picked up yesterday afternoon. Did the owner call?”
Cheryl shook her head. “I called and left a voicemail, but no one got back to me. I’ll try again in a few minutes.”
Gracie examined the data again. “Huh. I don’t know this person, Her name’s Sally Pierson, and she’s from Batavia. I didn’t notice that before. Why would she board Dude here? We’re certainly not convenient to Batavia.”
Jim scowled and set his mug down on the snack table. “I’ll bet you a quarter that he’s a drop-off.”
“You think so?” Cheryl asked, looking pained. “I don’t know why someone would do that. He’s such a fun dog.”
“Right. Fun is one word. You didn’t have to pose with him at the Santa photo shoot,” Jim retorted, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Jim. He was fine.” Gracie chuckled. “You just have to get his attention. And we’ve only had one abandoned in five years. It’s Christmas after all.”
“We’ll see, Chief. I’m putting down my quarter.”
Jim plunked the coin next to Gracie’s mug.
“All right, you’re on.”
She opened the desk drawer and found a quarter amidst the rubber bands and paperclips. She placed it next to Jim’s.
The bell attached to the front door jangled, and Cheryl went to check on the early arrival. Jim took a seat in his classic ugly recliner, snatching up the newspaper that covered the arm of the green-and-gold striped chair.
“Hey, the nativity theft made the paper,” he announced.
“I know. It’s a mess. There’s some disagreement about even pursuing the thief.”
“Really? That nativity is a Deer Creek tradition. Whoever took it would be drawn and quartered at this point,” Jim said.
Gracie hesitated to tell Jim any of the details from the previous evening. He had already refused to darken the door of the church for almost any occasion. Jim had continued his grudge against “The Man Upstairs” since Michael’s untimely death. Her first husband’s farm accident had poisoned Jim’s thoughts on spiritual matters in general.
“Well, the church council will decide tonight, I guess,” she remarked. “Which reminds me, I need to work on getting that gift certificate for the Minders today.”
She scribbled a note on a green Post-it and stuck it to her laptop screen.
“Oh boy!” Jim exclaimed, rattling the paper. “Marci’s discovery made it in here too. Wouldn’t it be something if that skeleton was Lily Mistletoe?”
“It sure would. I don’t know how there will ever be any real identification for either of them. It was a really long time ago.”
“Oh, you never know. Some DNA test may show up. Those genealogy websites are being used to catch criminals. Maybe they could find out about Lily and her friend.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Hey, that might be something to pursue.”
“Not for you, my dear wife.”
Marc stood smiling in the doorway of the office, a pink bakery box in his hands.
“You come bearing gifts.” Gracie rose and took the box, knowing full well what the contents were.
“Yes, and as you can see, a plentiful supply of Midge’s sweet rolls for all.”
“Good, because we’re going to need them today,” Jim said, grabbing one of the gooey signature creations of Midge’s Restaurant.
“Napkin,” Gracie instructed as the caramel topping began to ooze downward.
“Got it.” Jim managed to catch the drip of syrup on a finger and immediately popped it in his mouth. “I’m in the storage barn. Later.”
Marc grabbed one of the huge cinnamon rolls and commandeered Jim’s chair while Gracie carefully placed hers on a paper plate for later.
“You never did tell me if you found anything at the church last night.”
Marc pulled a face. “Nothing to tell. Max followed a scent into the parking lot from the side door, but then it evaporated. The thief had to have a good-sized vehicle to haul that many figures away.”
“I’m worried about my dad and the Pastor. I hope the council meeting tonight won’t be a big fight.” Gracie found a plastic fork and pulled a piece of the roll apart.
“I hope not either,” Marc agreed and finished the pastry. “I’ve done all I can at the moment, so unless you have a secret list of chores, I need to do a little shopping since the twenty-fifth is creeping up on me.”
“Far be it for me to complicate your shopping plans. Happy hunting.”
Marc tossed the napkin in the garbage and bent to kiss Gracie.
“See you later.”
Marci double-checked the linen supplies, counting sheets for the nine guest rooms. Her phone chimed “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” and she sighed. Yesterday’s discovery had hit the B & B world already. She’d decided it had been a mistake to inform the special guests. They hadn’t been shy in sharing the information with other travel writers and the B & B Association. She’d already had several calls asking if she had room to accommodate additional guests for the opening weekend. With apologies, she’d refused. There was plenty to handle with the crowd already booked.
Deciding to take the call, she found herself talking with celebrity chef, Carl Flambeau.
“Ma cherie,” he practically cooed.
“Oh, Carl, it’s good to hear from you. You’re still coming, right?” Her greatest fear was that Flambeau would back out at the last minute, leaving her to make grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for a houseful of travel writers.
“Absolutely. My plane arrives Tuesday and Kristin will pick me up. I have all the menus ready, and my assistant will email them to you today. If you and Kristin can have the non-perishables stocked by then, I will make the final list for meat and produce when I arrive.”
“Sounds wonderful, though I need to warn you, we are in the boonies. Deer Creek is far from everywhere.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about anything, Cherie. I’ve done my homework on the area. The menus will highlight local ingredients, including its cheeses. I’ve been in touch with a new creamery near Deer Creek for their finest offerings and another artisan creamery in some town called Batavia, I believe. Along with the Finger Lakes wines I’ve chosen, your wine and cheese pairing on Friday afternoon will be superb.”
“That’s wonderful. I was hoping you’d do just that. Uh, I do need to tell you we had a rather startling discovery yesterday.”
Carl began laughing. “Ah, yes. I am to work at a haunted house, it appears. How delightful! Kristin called me last night.”
“It has raised interest here, and I’ve had to turn away some eager guests.”
“You’ll see. It will be good for business. I must run.”
The call ended, and she heard Kristin calling from below. She descended the stairway and hurried to the kitchen. Rows of dark chocolate and white chocolate truffles were drying on cooling racks. The slender Asian woman smiled when Marci entered her culinary kingdom.
“Go ahead and try the truffles,” she urged.
“Try and stop me,” Marci said. She bit into the dark chocolate, which oozed with raspberry creaminess. “These are truly divine,” she managed and finished the morsel.
“I’m glad you like them,” Kristin replied, looking pleased. Her expression turned solemn, and Marci sensed bad news coming.
“I was going over the guest list you gave me yesterday, and I wanted to warn you about a couple of them,” Kristin began.
“I know this group has some history.” Marci glanced over at the handwritten list that lay on the counter. “I’ve read some of their old blogs and articles.”
“Oh, yes. Quite a bit of history and some very bad.”
“How bad? Are they going to sabotage the weekend?”
“That remains to be seen, but I want you to know that Carl cannot stand Rush Cleaver. They go way back. In fact, Carl was a chef for Cleaver’s own B & B several years ago—before Carl was a celebrity. Let’s say that relationship didn’t end well.”
The Mistletoe Murders Page 4