Yule sipped his cocktail, which was what Gus normally referred to as a frou-frou drink—a foamy blue concoction in a tall glass with lots of fruit around the rim. Not the sort of drink that she would expect a large man who looked like a mobster to drink, but she was learning that unusual things often happened in Christmas Village.
“So who got fresh produce?” Gus prompted after a few seconds when Yule didn’t supply the information.
“No one. The only live thing that came in was a Pomeranian for Gladys, one of the elves at the toy factory.” Yule’s expression turned sad. “Her little Bitsy died last month, so we all pitched in and got her another puppy. She was happy.”
“So no fresh plants came? Then someone must have grown it here,” Gus said.
“It’s not that easy,” Ivy said. “The ground is frozen, and the days are short. You’d need special equipment to grow indoors.”
“Winters asked about that too. No one ordered any grow lights or anything. I suppose they could have already had them, though.” Yule turned to Gus. “So are you helping Ivy investigate this?”
Gus glanced at Ivy. “I guess you could say that.”
Yule leaned closer to her. “Maybe I could help you out, see?”
Gus didn’t see. And she didn’t want Yule to help. Having to team up with Ivy would be bad enough. She usually worked alone, except when she had to call in help from the sheriff in the next county. She preferred to be on her own. Ivy seemed like a nice kid, but she was a necessity, someone who would have an “in” with the locals. Yule, on the other hand, would just get in the way.
Gus gave him a short smile. Nothing too encouraging. “We’ll let you know if we need your help. Right now, I think we better try a practice set before the place fills up.”
Chapter 5
The next day Gus woke up to a cacophony of squawking. When she’d rented the apartment from Airbnb, they’d failed to mention that the calling birds were directly across the street. They made an awful racket every single morning. Luckily, there were only four of them.
The gig at the North Pole Lounge the night before had gone very well, although she could’ve done without Yule’s extra attention. She was afraid he might be developing a bit of a crush on her, and she wanted to nip that in the bud while still keeping him as a future source. As it turned out, Ivy was an excellent saxophone player, and they had a lot of fun playing some of Gus’s favorite jazz tunes. The customers had liked it, too, if the enthusiasm of their applause was any indication.
The evening of piano playing had invigorated her and the prospect of continuing her investigation this morning even more so. But even though Ivy was a good sax player and she was glad they’d teamed up at the lounge, Gus didn’t relish the idea of having a sidekick in the investigation. The locals were her only source of information, though, and having Ivy around would help her talk to them without raising their suspicions too much. In her experience, people clammed up around strangers. Additionally, it would be a lot better to have someone whose investigation she could control, as opposed to her sister Willa, who was always running off doing things on her own that could potentially mess matters up for Gus.
Ivy arrived promptly at nine o’clock, as they’d arranged the night before, and they started going over the clues.
Gus’s place was small, so they decided to walk around town, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. Gus took care not to walk under the dangerous icicles dangling from the gutters and to keep out of earshot of the snowmen. She knew the snowmen were not real, but it still seemed like they were trying to listen in.
A light dusting of snow fell as it usually did, even though the sun was shining brightly. Skaters in colorful fur-lined outfits twirled on the pond, and the bells above the shop doors jangled as shoppers went in and out.
Horse-drawn sleighs clip-clopped down the street pulling tourists with hot cocoa mugs in their hands and blankets wrapped around their legs. Gus wasn’t interested in any of the local scenery or attractions this morning, though. She wanted to get the bottom of this murder and prove to Winters that she wasn’t the same flunky who’d screwed up back in the police academy.
“So far, we know the killer used fresh hemlock that had to be grown somewhere in the village. Do you have any idea who could do that?” Gus asked Ivy.
Ivy gestured toward the snow-covered ground. “Clearly no one can grow it in their gardens. Had to be indoors.”
Gus pressed her lips together. “Well, unfortunately, that doesn’t narrow it down too much, does it? Anyone could set up an indoor grow area with some grow lights, dirt, and fertilizer. I hope Winters has a search warrant out for her suspects so she can see if any of them have a grow room.”
Ivy nodded. “I’m sure she does. We don’t have that benefit, so we have to be sneakier.”
“True. Let’s work on some of the other things we know. We know Vicky had seen a lawyer, but we don’t know why. Let’s assume it had something to do with her pet project of shipping the Christmas Village birds south. Those girls that run Ruffled Feathers—Comfort and Joy—must have felt threatened by Vicky. She could have ruined their business, especially if she brought some kind of lawsuit.”
“Pretty much everyone in the village would suffer if that happened. One of the big tourist draws is all the birds.” Ivy gestured toward the lake, where they could see the swans a-swimming. This part of the lake was far from the skaters. Gus supposed they must have kept the water from freezing with aerators that keep it in motion.
“The swans are pretty, but I could do without those calling birds,” Gus said grumpily.
Ivy laughed. “You got suckered into one of those Airbnbs across the street from them? They can be a little loud. Just be glad you’re not near the drummers drumming. That incessant beat all night long is like dripping water torture.”
They were at the very edge of the park now. A majestic pear tree towered over them, golden pears dripping off its lush green branches. The branches were so full of heavy pears that they drooped down almost to the grassy ground below. The tree was surrounded by shrubs and smaller trees that went quite a way toward the pond, like a secret forest. The bright green leaves were a striking contrast to the white snow in the background. A golden fence roped off the area.
Gus stopped in her tracks. “Wait a minute. This pear tree and all the shrubs are thriving in the middle of winter.”
“Of course. They sell the pears at the market. And of course, the partridge in the pear tree is a big tourist attraction, especially since its pears are in season all year long.”
A bird about the size of a chicken poked its head out. It had pretty brown feathers on the wings and gray on its chest. Its face was white with black markings on the sides and neck. Black, beady eyes sized them up.
“Squawk!”
“He doesn’t sound very welcoming,” Gus said.
“Yeah, the town frowns against anyone going near him or the pear tree. That’s why the fence is here.”
“Well, what makes the tree and shrubs grow in winter?” Gus asked as the partridge craned its neck out farther while still keeping to the safety of the shrub it had been squatting under. Something was odd about the bird. His feathers looked puffy and over-preened.
“No one knows. There’s a lot of things about Christmas Village that are… well… sort of magical.”
“If a pear tree and shrubs can grow in there, maybe hemlock can.” Gus swung one leg over the fence. “We need to check it out.”
“Hey! You can’t go in there!” Comfort appeared, practically out of nowhere, and yanked Gus off the fence.
“Hey, let go of me.” Gus shook her arm free.
Comfort dropped Gus’s arm then stood with her hands fisted on her hips. “You can’t go in there. That’s the partridge in the pear tree.”
Gus glanced over at the partridge. The bird had retreated under the shrub, and only a few tail feathers stuck out. “Technically, he’s not in the pear tree. He’s under that shrub.”
> “Yeah, so? Partridges don’t sit in trees. Guess they didn’t know that when they made up the song. The tourists don’t seem to mind, though. They just like to see a partridge and a pear tree.” Comfort gestured in the direction of the partridge and then the tree. She sounded very defensive. She kept darting glances at the shrubs, which only made Gus more determined to get inside. “It’s a very important display in the village, and we don’t want it ruined.”
“Yeah, I see that. I wasn’t going to hurt the partridge or the pear tree. I was looking at the other plants. I wanted to see what was growing in here.”
“There’s nothing growing there. It’s just a pear tree and some shrubs. That’s what it does—it grows.” Comfort said. She still seemed very upset, her face red and voice shaky. She really was overprotective of her birds, or perhaps there was some other reason she didn’t want Gus to go in there. “We don’t need anyone messing with our partridge. It’s bad enough that people throw rocks at the calling birds.”
“Can’t blame them, especially when those things go off so early in the morning,” Gus muttered.
Comfort frowned at her. “Wait. You were the one asking questions in our store the other day, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Okay, so the girl was a little slow on the uptake. That didn’t necessarily mean she lacked what it took to poison Vicky, or did it?
“We don’t need anyone nosing around here. We have enough trouble.” Comfort glanced at Ivy as if Ivy had committed treason by hanging around with Gus. “Don’t we, Ivy?”
“If you mean the recent murder, I suppose we do,” Ivy said.
The partridge let out a loud squawk, and Comfort jerked her head in that direction. “See? Now you’ve upset the partridge.” She shooed them away from the fence. “Go. Be on your way or I’ll call Detective Winters.”
Ivy raised a brow at Gus, and Gus nodded toward the road. Neither one of them wanted Detective Winters to come and yell at them.
“That was kind of weird behavior, don’t you think?” Gus asked when they were out of earshot.
Ivy looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah, but Comfort and Joy are a little weird to begin with. They’re very protective of the birds.”
“Or maybe she was being protective of something else. What if she’s the killer? She has a motive and could grow fresh hemlock right under the pear tree,” Gus said.
“She could, but how would she get Vicky to eat it? They weren’t exactly friends, so I doubt they could just bake her some brownies and expect her to chow down.”
Gus paused to let a horse-drawn sleigh pass before crossing the street. “Good question. Maybe they got it to her through someone else or somehow snuck it into her food. According to my research, she could have eaten anywhere up to an hour before. Funny thing, though: her husband was bringing her a takeout bag, which would seem to indicate she hadn’t eaten.”
Ivy frowned. “A takeout bag? From where?”
Gus shrugged. “I didn’t see any name on it. It was white with a blue fleur-de-lis.”
Ivy nodded and thought for a few seconds. “Didn’t you say you thought Vicky had an appointment with Steven Nicholson?”
“Yep. That’s why I figure someone had to kill her right away. She might have been looking into some kind of lawsuit about the birds.”
“Either that, or maybe she found out about the affair.”
Gus jerked her gaze to Ivy. “Affair?”
“Yes, well, I didn’t say anything before because it’s just a rumor, but I have heard Vicky’s husband Kevin was having an affair with Wanda Garland. She owns the Good Tidings Café. What if Vicky was seeing Nicholson because she was getting a divorce?”
“Would her husband not want a divorce? Seems like if he was having an affair, that would be welcome unless Vicky had money that he would stand to lose in a divorce.”
Ivy shrugged. “Exactly. I don’t know their financial situation, but there’s something else that might point to the husband.”
“What’s that?”
“The Good Tidings Café has takeout bags that are white with a blue fleur-de-lis on them.”
Gus thought about that for a minute. “But the husband came onto the scene after Vicky was dead. He was bringing the takeout bag after she was poisoned.” Wasn’t he?
Ivy looked at Gus. “Maybe that’s what he wanted everyone to think. Did you see him arrive with the bag? Can you be sure the bag wasn’t already on the scene? What if he cleverly planned it so that he could swoop in and grab the bag, making it look like he’d just arrived with it and thus taking away the only evidence of how Vicky ingested the poison.”
Gus stared at Ivy. She couldn’t remember seeing the bag before. Nor did she recall whether the husband had arrived with it or picked it up at the scene. He’d made a big fuss over the body. Had the bag been there near her things? Gus couldn’t remember, but the theory was worth investigating.
Chapter 6
The Good Tidings Café was an old-fashioned diner at the north end of Main Street. Outside, a sign boasted that they used fresh-grown herbs. Yet another thing to make the owner suspicious: if she grew herbs for cooking, then she’d be able to grow hemlock.
The inside gleamed with chrome. Naugahyde booths and metal-edged Formica tables sat under a row of large windows that looked out over the scenic village. Across from the door was a long counter with round stools. The top of the counter was punctuated with glass cake stands, each filled with some kind of pastry.
“That’s her,” Ivy whispered, nodding toward a tall brunette who was taking an order at one of the booths. Gus supposed the woman was pretty in a practical sort of way. She looked to be in her early forties, the same age as the victim, so she would be a likely candidate for an affair with the husband.
They took seats at the counter, and Gus resisted the urge to spin around on the stool as she used to do when she was a kid. Across from the counter, a pass-through looked into the kitchen, where a thin woman slaved over a flat top. The smell of bacon and sausage wafted out. Gus’s stomach growled. She hadn’t had breakfast yet.
“Order up!” Wanda shouted as she slipped behind the counter and clipped the order slip onto a spinning rack on the pass-through. She turned to Ivy and Gus.
“Hi, Ivy.” Wanda nodded at Gus and then poised her pencil over the order pad. “What can I get you?”
She didn’t look like an adulterer—or a murderer, for that matter. If the husband had killed Vicky, it didn’t necessarily follow that Wanda would’ve known about it. Then again, Gus had seen plenty of killers who didn’t look or act like killers.
“I’ll have two eggs over medium, sausage, and toast,” Gus said.
“I’ll have the oatmeal.” Ivy patted her stomach. “Watching my weight.”
Gus looked down at her own stomach. It was flat as ever.
“So, quite a bit of excitement yesterday morning,” Ivy said to Wanda.
Gus admired how Ivy just jumped right in with the questioning while acting as if she were simply gossiping. This stealth investigating was a challenge, and Gus would be happy if she never had to do it again. She had a new appreciation for how difficult it must be for her sister to butt into her investigations back home, which made why she always seemed to do it all the more curious. Then again, she always had been nosy, even as a little kid.
Wanda whipped out a cleaning cloth and started wiping down the counter. “I’ll say. The café has been abuzz with it.”
“Yeah, we heard the victim’s a regular here,” Gus said casually.
Wanda blinked. Her eye twitched. She scrubbed at the counter harder. “She did eat here, yeah.”
“No wonder. The food must be great with all those fresh herbs and everything,” Gus said.
Wanda glanced up at Gus. “The fresh herbs are a big draw.”
“So what dishes do you put the herbs in?” Gus craned her neck to see into the kitchen, expecting to find pots full of herbs, but all she saw were eggs and sausages on the griddle. Her mouth watered
. She hoped those were for her.
“Oh, the usual things, soups, sandwiches. Our omelet and breakfast sandwich specials.”
“I heard the woman who died might have eaten her last meal here. Her husband picked it up for her.” Gus lifted her brow as if to indicate that was suspicious.
“Her husband? I don’t think so. Vicky usually came in by herself. In fact, she was here yesterday morning by herself.” Wanda’s voice was a bit high pitched, and the way her gaze darted around the café told Gus she was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Perhaps she did have something to hide. But if Wanda was the killer, would she so readily admit that Vicky had gotten a breakfast sandwich from this café right before her death?
“She was?”
“Yeah. She always gets the breakfast sandwich special.” Wanda pointed to the menu above the pass-through, where the breakfast sandwich complete with fresh herbs was listed. Ivy frowned up at the menu, and Gus knew what she was thinking. Wanda was practically confessing to being the killer by admitting Vicky had gotten her last meal there and then pointing out the breakfast sandwich had fresh herbs. Surely it would be easy enough to slip some hemlock in there unnoticed.
“So, you saw her get the sandwich?” Ivy asked.
Wanda nodded. “I took her order. I mean, I assume she got the sandwich. It gets busy in the mornings, and the other waitress must have rung her up. I was putting the milk into glass containers. I don’t know why they bring it in a bucket. It’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah, that does seem crazy. I guess it’s part of the village charm?” Gus asked, glancing at Ivy.
Ivy nodded. “The maids a-milking are an attraction, and the restaurants all use our own fresh milk. The town thinks it’s quaint for people to see the maids bring it around in a bucket. It’s all sterilized, though, so don’t worry.”
At least Wanda wasn’t lying about the milk. Belinda had said she came every morning with her bucket.
Grievance in Gingerbread Alley (Christmas Village Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 3