Homicide for the Holidays
Page 2
“Must be a diesel,” she thought, knowing some diesel owners let their vehicles idle rather than shut them off and restart. Although it also occurred to her that a motoring van might make for a quick getaway.
She lifted the door handle, found it unlocked, and let herself in. The heater was going and it was warm and pleasant inside. As she climbed up into the front seat, she heard a male voice from the back of the van. “Hello, Francine.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Slowly she traced the sound of the voice to where an older man sat in the back. He reclined in a bucket seat that looked sort of like a sleigh. Surrounding him was wall-to-wall electronic surveillance equipment. The man had a Bose headset over his ears, which he removed. The old “Mission: Impossible” television show immediately came to mind. She felt like she had wandered onto the set.
“Who are you? H-how do you know my name?” She heard the shakiness in her voice and tried to steady her nerves.
His complexion was ruddy and his face was well-wrinkled, with laugh lines that deepened when he gave her a smile. He put a finger aside of his nose. “Please sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door. It’s getting cold back here.” For whatever reason, his calm demeanor soothed her nervousness. She did as he asked. Discovering the front seat swiveled readily, she moved it around so she faced him.
She noticed that his hair was white, from the top of his thinning pate to his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Plus, he smelled of evergreens, like he spent a lot of time in the woods. Knowing Gar had been the elf at yesterday’s benefit, she was fairly sure this had been Santa.
Charlotte’s voice could be heard through the Bose headset he was holding. She was doing her best Perry Mason interrogation.
Francine realized why he was not surprised to see her. “You knew I was coming out to the van. You were listening in on our conversation.”
“While that’s true, I also know who you are.”
She stared at the vast amount of surveillance equipment. “What is all this? Who are you?”
“Welcome to the Naughty or Nice Surveillance Vehicle,” he said, spreading his hands. “It’s so much more dependable than getting updates from unreliable informants. No one has standards anymore.” He sighed. “Now, when I distribute lumps of coal, I’m fairly sure it’s a good call. We’ve been giving out a lot of coal lately. The White House is getting enough to heat the West Wing for the winter.” He chuckled to himself.
Francine crossed her arms over her chest. “You expect me to believe …”
“You can believe what you want. As soon as Gar completes his mission, we’re out of here.” He slid one of the earpieces back onto an ear and listened in. “Though that may take a while,” he huffed. “Your friend Charlotte fancies herself a real pro at this crime solving stuff, doesn’t she? Although there’s no crime here to speak of.”
“What do you mean, ‘no crime?’ You’re trying to steal someone’s recipe! And you’re illegally doing some kind of wiretapping. Shouldn’t you have a search warrant or something?”
“Don’t go getting all legal on me. You’re not so innocent, you know.” He pulled out a tablet and swiped it a few times. “Let me check my list. You’ve lied countless times to Detective Judson, hidden things from your husband, duped a state senator…do I need to go on?”
Francine couldn’t deny the charges, but there were circumstances that made each one justifiable. “About that last one,” she said. “Charlotte had me duped, too, so it doesn’t count.”
“So, we’ll just call you an accessory to the crime.” His eyes twinkled. “And I only want the cookie recipe so Mrs. Claus can make them back at the North Pole. I’m not really stealing it! We’re just trading favors. You heard Mary Ruth say she already has it memorized.”
“Only because she’s spent the better part of three days trying to figure out what’s missing! She’s hoping to win the state cookie contest for the Make-A-Wish Foundation. I would think you’d have some sympathy toward that.”
“Oh, I do. I admire her philanthropic efforts. And I’m all about wish fulfillment. You could say that’s my cause. But I agree with her about the cookies. One additional little spice could put them over the top. And I know just what it is.”
“What makes you think you can figure it out better than a trained chef?”
“I’ve eaten a lot of cookies in my day. I can taste something and know what’s missing, but that doesn’t mean I can figure out the full recipe.” He paused to stroke his beard. “Maybe I can enter it in a different contest once Gar gets the recipe out of there.”
Francine was aghast. “So you’ve tapped into a repair facility’s phone, diverted the call to your fake business, and sent a spy into the house to retrieve a cookie recipe because you know a secret ingredient that you can use to win a contest? Talk about having no standards …”
He frowned at her. “You misunderstand me, Francine. What matters is that Mary Ruth asked for some surprises. And when you sat on my lap, you said you wanted to believe again. Well… here I am!”
She rolled her eyes. She was not buying this. “Last time I checked it was still a week before Christmas Eve. And if you were the real deal you could have just let yourself in her house with a magic key or dropped down the chimney.”
He gave a maybe-yes-maybe-no tilt with his hand. “We all have rules we have to live by. In my case, I can only get into houses on Christmas Eve. And who has time then? With billions of presents to deliver in twenty-four hours? I’ve got to tell you, it’s a logistical nightmare. FedEx and UPS could learn a few tricks from us. Although there’s a bit of magic involved, admittedly.” He grinned at her. “So, I had to enlist one of my elves to help with the recipe deception.”
“It’s still stealing! That may be an elf in there, but you, sir, are no Santa Claus!”
He shrugged. “You still don’t understand yet, do you? Maybe you’re not half the detective you fancy yourself to be.”
Francine sputtered. She was a darned good detective. This was just too unbelievable. “I’m going back inside and help Charlotte grill Garland,” she said. “We’ll get to the truth. Just try and stop me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. For a moment she saw snowflakes flitting around her like a bad case of floaters in her eyes. She backed out of the van and shut the door behind her. She went up to Mary Ruth’s house a little foggy. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to do. All she knew was she needed to get in the house.
She rushed through the front door bringing a bit of the snow in from the porch. The wreath’s jingle bells jangled again as the door opened and closed. She smelled chocolate cookies and heard Charlotte and Mary Ruth in the kitchen. Then she remembered. “I’m here,” she called. She pulled off her coat and tossed it on a chair as she hurried to find out how Charlotte was doing with the cross examination.
Charlotte sat on a stool at the bar with three Hot Chocolate Crinkle Sandwich Cookies in front of her. Two had teeth marks in them. The third was in her right hand headed for her mouth. She bit into it, chewed thoughtfully and set it down.
Nearby, a woman in her mid-fifties in hot pink coveralls pulled the coat hanger out of the bottom of the wall oven. “There you are,” she told Mary Ruth. “Should be back in working order. Let me go out in the garage and flip the circuit breaker for you.” She disappeared into the garage.
Francine stared at the woman as she went past. Her hair was tucked behind ears that were decidedly not pointy. “Who is she?”
“Repair technician,” Mary Ruth said.
“But she used to be a he!”
“Are you saying she’s transgendered?” Charlotte looked shocked. “How would you know that, Francine?”
“I mean, when I was in here before, it was a repairman, not woman. He was trying to steal your recipe, Mary Ruth. The one for the Hot Chocolate Crinkle Sandwich Cookies!”
Mary Ruth and Charlotte exchanged glances. “Maybe you�
�d better sit down,” Charlotte said. “You just got here.”
Francine drew herself up to her full height. “No, I didn’t. I got here ahead of you. I was just out in the repair van, talking to…” She couldn’t bring herself to say Santa Claus. “Just a minute,” she said. She retraced her steps to the front room where she looked out the window. A repair van sat in the driveway. It was from A Woman’s Touch Appliance Repair Service. She didn’t remember seeing that.
She walked slowly back to the kitchen, thinking.
“This one,” Charlotte said to Mary Ruth, indicating one of the three cookies, “has too much cinnamon in it. The second is a little bland. The third is just weird. I don’t think the answer is tarragon.”
Mary Ruth pursed her mouth. “I didn’t think so. It was a desperate guess.”
“I know he was stealing the recipe,” Francine insisted. “Charlotte recovered it before he got away. She put it on the counter.” Francine scoured the counter looking for it.
The technician came back from the garage. “That should take care of it. We’ll send you an invoice,” she said to Mary Ruth. She gathered up her tools and left.
Francine was still mystified. “But you called us over because the repairman had passed out,” she insisted.
Mary Ruth sighed. She handed Francine one of the crinkle cookies. “No. This is what I called the two of you over for. To taste-test for me. Though it doesn’t matter now. Cookie samples had to be provided to the judges hours ago.”
The jangle of the bells from the front door rang again. “I thought the repair woman left,” Charlotte said.
Joy McQueen danced into the kitchen carrying a huge cardboard check, the type used for demonstration purposes at press conferences. “Look what I have for the winner of the state cookie contest!” she said. “The $10,000 we’re presenting at the 4:00 press conference.” Joy, a correspondent for the local ABC affiliate, was also serving as the volunteer Communication Chairperson for the contest.
Mary Ruth was less than enthused. “That’s nice.”
Joy placed the check on the floor and planted her fists on her hips. “That’s no way for the baker of the Hot Chocolate Crinkle Sandwich Cookies with Cardamom Marshmallow Filling to act.”
“Cardamom!” Mary Ruth smacked her forehead. “That makes sense. I bet cardamom was exactly what Great Aunt Jenny used. Wish I thought of it in time.”
Frowning, Joy cast a puzzling look at Francine. “What is she talking about?”
“So, who won?” Mary Ruth asked politely.
Joy pointed to the check. “Who is this made out to?”
“The Make-a-Wish Foundation.”
Joy bent over and took a good look at it. “Oh, right. But wasn’t that the charity you played for?”
Mary Ruth sighed. “Yes. And don’t get me wrong. I’m glad someone else won for them. It’s just…you know…”
Joy’s arms windmilled around. “I still don’t get it, Mary Ruth. Why are you being so dense? Your cookies won!”
“But I didn’t send any cookies! I didn’t enter the contest!” She scrunched up her face. “At least, I don’t think I did.”
“Someone sent the cookies in. They had your name on them.”
Joy, Charlotte, and Mary Ruth looked at each other, mystified.
“Do you know who delivered them?” Francine asked excitedly, although she wasn’t completely sure she wanted to know the answer. “Was it a short guy with pointy ears?”
Joy thought a moment. “Actually, it was. How did you know? Was it you who sent them?”
The same chill Francine had earlier when she entered the Naughty and Nice Surveillance Vehicle and heard Santa’s voice now spread from the back of her neck to the top of her head. She understood what happened. And why.
She turned to Mary Ruth. “You asked Santa for surprises, didn’t you?”
Mary Ruth nodded.
“Well, surprise!”
And in that moment, just for a moment, she believed.
Hot Chocolate Crinkle Sandwich Cookies with Cardamom Marshmallow Filling
Use your favorite chocolate crinkle cookie recipe for the dough, or try this one Mary Ruth modified from King Arthur Flour.
Cookies
1 1/3 cups chopped bittersweet chocolate or chocolate chips
1/2 cup (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter
2/3 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 teaspoons espresso powder (optional, but Mary Ruth recommends)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 2/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
Granulated sugar and confectioners’ sugar, for coating
Marshmallow filling
1 1/4 cups marshmallow crème
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/4 cups confectioners’ sugar
1/8 teaspoon cardamom (to start)
To make the dough, place the chocolate and butter in a small saucepan or microwave-safe bowl, and heat or microwave until the butter melts. Remove it from the heat, and stir until the chocolate melts and the mixture is smooth.
In a separate bowl, beat together the sugar, eggs, vanilla and espresso powder. Stir in the chocolate mixture, baking powder and salt, then the flour. Chill the dough for 2 to 3 hours, or overnight; it’ll firm up considerably.
Preheat the oven to 325°F. Lightly grease a couple of baking sheets, or line them with parchment paper.
Using two shallow bowls, place one cup of granulated sugar in one and one cup of powdered sugar in the other. NOTE: Since these are being used for sandwich cookies, you will want to make smaller cookies. Scoop out about half a teaspoon portion or so of the dough and drop into the granulated sugar, roll to coat, and then into the confectioners’ sugar to roll and coat. Place the cookies on the prepared baking sheets, leaving about 1 1/2” between them.
Bake the cookies for 10 minutes, switching the position of the pans (top to bottom, and front to back) midway through the baking time. As the cookies bake, they’ll flatten out and acquire their distinctive “streaked” appearance.
Remove the cookies from the oven, and allow them to cool on a rack.
In the meantime, prepare the marshmallow filling. In a bowl using an electric mixer, beat all the ingredients together except the cardamom. Once incorporated, mix in the cardamom. Add a bit more if it suits your taste. Cardamom is a tricky spice; a little goes a long way, so taste each time you add to make sure you don’t overdo it. Also, please be aware that this is a very sweet icing.
To assemble the cookies, spread a layer of the marshmallow frosting on the bottom of one cookie and top with the bottom of a second so that the crinkle side points outward on both cookies.
Makes 4 dozen or so sandwich cookies, depending on how big you make them. Enjoy!
Hacked for the Holidays
By Ross Carley
If it hadn’t been for the pale light from a scraggly Christmas tree on the coffee table, I would have tripped over his body. The acrid, coppery stench of blood engulfed me as I closed the drapes and flipped on the overhead light.
I’d found Rudy Nicholas, known to his acquaintances as Red because of his carrot-colored hair and beard, and to the international computer hacking community on the darknet as NikCrypt. He was lying on his back beside the sofa, a small-caliber pistol near his left hand. A head wound had stopped oozing. Blood was clotted in his beard and coagulated on the thin carpet.
Nausea and disorientation swept over me. My mind flashed back to an Army cafeteria in Iraq. The bodies of Schumacher and Wilson at my feet. Eighteen comrades dead. Dropping to my knees, one hand on the sofa for support, I willed myself not to vomit.
I breathed deeply until my vision cleared. Sweating profusely, I crawled to Nicholas’ body. He reeked of alcohol and body odor. Vacant staring eyes on his mottled face and a lack of a pulse on his cool skin verified it was too late to help him.
Or, he could have been murdered. His lifestyle as a hacker provided potential motivations. Fierce competition raged between criminals called black-hat hackers intent on bringing the internet crashing down, and good guys, the white hats, just as determined to protect it. There was also his alleged involvement with sensitive government projects. An enigma, Red worked in areas somewhere between a white hat and a black hat. Call him a gray hat.
I knew almost nothing about his personal life. Pat Acton at Maltrack, a cybersecurity company, had hired me to check up on him. Acton was concerned because Red, usually punctual with his professional obligations and a stickler for timelines, was late on delivering a software analysis module, a part of their new anti-malware system.
My calls to Red had gone unanswered. Twice during the day while I was nearby serving subpoenas for the Marion County Sheriff’s Office, I’d knocked on the outside door to his first-floor condo. Nada. So, I’d waited until after midnight to employ my lockpicking skills.
Now, I placed a call to the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. Two officers would be on the scene in five to ten minutes.
But, just as important to me was my need to reach out to my primary PTSD support, Tito Rodriguez. Tito was a homicide detective sergeant in the IMPD. He and I served together in Iraq in the military police and military intelligence, respectively, and we both returned with PTSD. I started to punch in his landline number but changed my mind. I had only a few minutes before the cops arrived. It’d have to wait.
I surveyed the condo contents, careful not to touch anything.
Three high-definition computer screens sat side-by-side on the table in the small dining area adjacent to the kitchenette. Two of the screens were off and black. The center one had a blank blue screen.