Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2

by Karin Kaufman

  “You’ll do fine. Are you going to tell Gilroy about Juniper Charities?”

  “And a few other things, I think.” I opened my front door. “It’s snowing pretty heavily, Julia. Let me walk you home.”

  “I’m in my mid-sixties, not mid-nineties,” she said, shooing me away. “See you tomorrow, then. Get some sleep, dear.”

  I watched from my porch until Julia got safely home and then, with a big smile on my face, I closed the door. Dear. She’d called me dear.

  Upstairs, I stood at my bedroom window for a minute, gazing down at my snow-covered yard and the marshmallow shapes the snow had sculpted from what remained of the summer’s rose bushes. The whole night was lit by streetlights and Christmas lights striking the snow.

  I got into my pajamas and crawled under my thick comforter, pulling it up to my neck. As tired as I was, my mind would not stop ping-ponging between thoughts of Santa murders and my conversation at the festival with James. The untimely arrival of Bonnie and Amber had cut that short—just when I’d worked up the courage to ask him about his marriage.

  I had always assumed he was divorced—a foolish thing to assume—and now I knew he didn’t believe in divorce. His word precisely. Well, that was good. I didn’t believe in it either. Going back more than seven years, to when Gilroy first came to Juniper Grove, neither Holly nor Julia could recall him wearing a wedding ring. So what happened to his wife? And when? Did she leave him? Did she die?

  Both of us had been playing our cards close to the vest for the past month, since the day we first kissed in the parking lot of the Aspen Glen assisted living home. Thinking of it, I almost laughed out loud. Who had their first kiss in such a place? It was an unusual beginning for an unusual romance. Neither of us had told the other much about our pasts. We’d skimmed over the surface of the past like a couple of water insects fluttering across a glassy lake. At first I was afraid his interest in me was a figment of my imagination. Later, I thought he’d find my past—my twelve years alone since my ex-fiancé left me—too strange. But then I realized he had been holding back too. He was as worried and as reticent as I was. But why?

  I was finally about to drift off to sleep when I heard the muffled thud of a car door slamming on the street below. I threw back the comforter and went to the window, my legs going a little wobbly on me as they tried to wake up. As I pulled one of the drapes back a sliver, Amber de Witte glanced up at the window and waved at me. I grumbled and dropped the drape. What on earth? Wrapping myself in my terry robe—and stubbing a toe on my dresser in the process—I headed downstairs for the door.

  I pulled open the door, the cold air shocking me, and tried not to scowl.

  “Rachel, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t want to talk about this on the phone,” she said. “I don’t know why. I guess I always feel someone is listening.”

  Against my better judgment, I invited her in. She took a seat at my kitchen table while, also against my better judgment, I made a pot of coffee. Though she’d been inside her car, her complexion was as rosy at it had been at Ellen’s house and in the cold air of the caroling festival.

  “How long did you stay on Main Street after the police arrived?” I asked her.

  She pulled off her cap. “I left five minutes ago. After we talked to the police, Bonnie, Ellen, and I had cider at Grove Coffee, and we got to talking.”

  “What about Mr. Lambert, whatever his first name is?”

  “His name’s Michael. A friend took him home. He’s not very social and he likes to go to bed early. I’m sure glad you were up.”

  Did she not see my robe? My pillow hair? “Amber, what’s bothering you?”

  “A friend told me you’re investigating Micah and Farley’s murders.”

  I poured our coffee, gave Amber her cup, and sat across from her. “The police are doing the investigation. I’m just nosing around a bit. Anyway, Chief Gilroy won’t know until sometime tomorrow or the next day if Farley was murdered. It’s way too early to say.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “Two of the Four Santas dead in one day?”

  “I have to admit that suggests murder. So what’s the problem?”

  She sighed and cleared her throat, preliminaries that gave her time to gather her thoughts and, perhaps, I thought, muster the courage to speak. “You heard that woman scream? Just before everyone ran over to Farley?”

  “It was hard not to hear her.”

  “I saw something after she screamed. The more I think about it . . .” She trailed off and lapsed into silence, sipping her coffee. Obviously, she was going to need some encouragement.

  “Tell me what you saw. It’s important you speak up. I can go to the police with whatever information you have and try to keep your name out of it.”

  “I saw Oliver Morris.”

  She stopped again. I was exhausted, bleary-eyed, and in no mood to play guessing games. “Just tell me, Amber.”

  “I saw Oliver Morris put something in his Santa suit pocket.”

  That was it? “You have to be much more specific.”

  “I went off by myself to get some chestnuts. When I heard the scream, I looked behind me and saw Farley on the ground. The woman who screamed was so shocked, she backed up and looked the other way. You know, covered her eyes. But Oliver ran over—I thought to help Farley. He looked down at him, and he must have seen something, because he bent down real quick, picked it up, and stuck it in his pocket. I don’t think anyone else saw him. Everyone was focused on Farley.”

  “And you have no idea what this was?”

  “It was hard to see. It’s like it was . . .” She stared off, as if trying to picture the moment. “Clear. Like a clear pen. Or tube, maybe.”

  A clear tube? A chill ran down my spine. And not because I was cold.

  CHAPTER 8

  First thing the next morning, I called the police station. Gilroy was out, so I talked to Officer Turner, telling him what Amber had told me but omitting her name. Frustratingly, he asked me what a clear tube could possibly have to do with the murder.

  “It could have been a vial,” I explained. “The kind that can hold poison. Or it might have been a hypodermic needle. In any case, it doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that’s usually found on Main Street.” By the time I hung up, I was sure Turner would mangle my message. If he thought it worth passing along at all.

  I was painfully aware that I was giving a party in a matter of hours and hadn’t done much to prepare for it. The food would be covered by Holly, thank goodness, and Julia had promised to bring eggnog and help me decorate, but I hadn’t chosen the music, cleaned the living room, put out the china, or done any of the dozen other things you do when you’re giving a party. And it wasn’t just a Christmas party. It was my first party in Juniper Grove, period, and my first party with James. I wanted to dazzle him and everyone else. But first, I had to talk to Sonya Quinn and Ellen Lambert, face to face.

  I had coffee and buttered toast for breakfast, grabbed a couple of cookies, and hurried out the back door. Still tired from last night, I took deep breaths of cold, clean air on my way through the backyard to the shed I used as a garage. It had only snowed an inch last night, so I had no trouble pulling out and onto the street.

  Turning onto Finch Hill Road, I searched Julia’s porch, thinking I might catch her picking up her morning paper, but she wasn’t there. And it looked like Holly and Peter, who lived across the street and kept early-morning bakers’ hours, were long gone.

  About a mile from Ellen’s house, I phoned her. I didn’t want to do an Amber on her and just show up, but neither did I want to give her or Sonya time to leave the house. She was up and awake when I called, and she made a point of saying her husband was at work, as if she’d been expecting me and needed the privacy. She welcomed me as she had before, eagerly, and showed me to her dining room, where Sonya was drinking orange juice and eating an omelet while she twisted a strand of her long blonde hair in her fingers.

  “Rachel, you came,” she said
.

  “Sure, I did. Did you want me to?”

  “Yeah, I think we’re friends now. I’ve seen you enough.”

  Ellen asked me if I wanted coffee, but I declined. I just needed to get this over with.

  “What brings you here this morning?” she asked.

  “There’s no way to say this delicately, but I think you, and especially Sonya, should stay away from Oliver Morris and Juniper Charities for a while.”

  Sonya dropped her fork on the table. “Stay away from Oliver? But he’ll be here for dinner tomorrow and on Christmas Eve.”

  Ellen sniffed. She seemed to think my statement was impertinent. It probably was. “Oliver Morris is a friend of mine, and Juniper Charities employs Sonya. She enjoys working there. It’s important to her.”

  It would take some careful wording to dissuade Ellen and Sonya from seeing Oliver without straight-out accusing him of murder. But I gave it a shot. “You know Farley was probably . . .” I glanced at Sonya.

  “He’s dead,” she said. “Ellen told me.”

  “Sonya, that means there have probably been two murders. Two Santas dead. I just think it would be wise to stay away from the other Santas until this is resolved.”

  Ellen’s face changed abruptly, the offended, mortified look gone, as if she had suddenly grasped what I was saying. “Are you telling me I should worry about Oliver?”

  “Yes. No. What do you mean worry?”

  “Are you saying he’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I was floundering. She had completely misunderstood my point. “I think it’s best to stay away from him until Gilroy arrests someone.”

  The offended look was back with a vengeance. “Rachel Stowe, I’ve known that man my whole life. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. What evidence do you have?”

  I decided to approach the problem from a different angle. If I couldn’t keep them away from Oliver, I’d keep them away from Juniper Charities. “Did you know that Juniper Charities might have been involved in fraud a few years ago? Back when Craig Eskew ran it?”

  “Do you mean the flood?” Ellen asked. “Nothing was ever proved, and anyway, it’s a different organization now.”

  “I’ve heard some disturbing things about that charity.”

  Ellen folded her arms over her chest. “Rachel, come on. This is what you came here to tell me?”

  She was right to be annoyed. I was spreading rumors about a man and organization I knew almost nothing about, and I hadn’t provided her with a scrap of evidence that Oliver was a danger to her and Sonya. Without using Amber’s name, I told her what she had seen, and what I thought Amber’s “clear tube” might be. She went white.

  “All right, that’s fine. Thank you for coming,” she said after a moment.

  That’s fine? A peculiar response, to say the least. My attention swung back to Sonya, whose eyes were fixed on me. “Please don’t go to work today,” I said.

  “Sonya, clear the table,” Ellen commanded.

  Sonya did as she was asked, and I waited until I heard her in the kitchen before I let Ellen have it. “Two people have been murdered, one of them Sonya’s uncle, and Juniper Charities, run by Oliver Morris, is in the middle of it all.”

  “You don’t know that.” Ellen started sweeping crumbs from the table into her open palm. “You’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t even know Farley was murdered.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. But what’s the harm in keeping Sonya away from work until the police arrest a suspect?”

  “Oliver is the last person who would hurt Sonya. He loves her. He came to our house last night and—”

  “When was he here?”

  “After the festival.”

  I rolled my eyes and then cradled my head in my hands, hoping to make my point through dramatic gestures since my words weren’t having any effect on her.

  “He came to tell me that he knew Sonya would be well cared for in Micah’s will,” Ellen went on, “and that if it was okay with me, he would step into Micah’s shoes and be a second uncle to her.”

  “A second uncle who was seen picking up evidence at a murder scene.”

  Ellen dumped the crumbs back on the table, brushed her hands, and rose to her feet. “Who is this mysterious witness you talked to? Have you considered that he’s lying? Wouldn’t the police have arrested Oliver if he’d removed evidence?”

  “They may do that soon.”

  “I can’t tell you how wrong you are, Rachel. You should be ashamed to talk about Oliver like that.”

  “Ellen, I’m not saying Oliver killed Farley.”

  “It sounds like it to me.”

  “I’m saying his actions were suspicious and you have to be wary. I’m worried about you, too, you know.”

  Ellen waved her hands in the air. She was through talking about it. “Please leave.”

  “If you let Sonya go to work, you may be putting her in danger.”

  “I’ve asked you to leave.”

  “At least tell Sonya to be careful.”

  “Leave. Just leave. I need you to leave.”

  She wasn’t throwing me out of the house, she was begging me to leave. There was no anger in her voice. She was on the edge of tears.

  I was almost at her front door when I turned back. “Sonya is welcome to stay at my house until the killer has been arrested. Will you tell her that? She’s welcome any time.”

  Ellen walked around me and opened the door. “I’ll tell her.”

  “What did you think I was coming here for?” I asked as I stepped onto her porch. “You seemed eager to see me.”

  “I enjoyed having you at our wreath-making party yesterday. I guess I thought we could be friends.”

  She shut the door in my face.

  Okay, maybe she was throwing me out of her house. I trudged back to my car, feeling miserable and wondering what my next move would be. It should have been to go home and start preparations for my party, but instead I decided to make a stop at the police station.

  Main Street was so busy with Christmas shoppers I had to park two blocks from the station, but the walk gave me time to clear my head and stop feeling sorry for myself over Ellen’s door slam. The lights strung in windows and wrapped around trees and shrubs were still lit, and Christmas carols burst forth and fell silent as shop doors swung open and then closed. Up the street, the roasted chestnut stand was still up and running, and though I’d never understood the attraction to eating chestnuts, the smell was heavenly.

  When I entered the station, Turner was decorating a small tree atop the front desk, hanging disproportionately large ornaments on the poor, sagging thing, and Underhill and Gilroy were nowhere to be found. “They’re out, working the case,” he told me. “Two cases, I mean. They think Farley Brewer was murdered.”

  “That’s a safe bet,” I said. “Did you have a chance to tell Chief Gilroy about Oliver Morris at the crime scene?”

  “I radioed him, and he said he’d be talking to Oliver this morning. He thinks the clear tube may be significant.”

  Maybe I had underestimated Turner. “That little tree is real, isn’t it?” I leaned close and sniffed its branches. “Where did you get it?”

  “The chief got it. It was a leftover from a tree lot. No one wanted it, so they gave it to him.”

  “Do you know when the medical examiner’s report will be in on Farley Brewer?”

  “Probably today. He wasn’t too busy. Do you need me to give the chief another message?”

  “No, thanks. I just thought I’d stop by.” Biting my tongue, I watched as he tried to strangle the tree with a red plastic garland.

  “This is harder than I thought,” he said. He dropped his hands, giving the tree a momentary reprieve. “Can I ask you something? Are you and the chief, you know, seeing each other?”

  I saw no reason not to tell him the truth, though I was surprised that Underhill hadn’t yet spilled the beans. “Yes, we are.”

  “That explains a lot.”
/>   “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he’s kind of, you know, goofy-happy, which people tell me is not the usual for him.”

  I heard the station door open and turned to see Gilroy holding the door for Oliver Morris. Gilroy saw me and then did a double-take as he caught sight of Turner’s tree. He quickly recovered from the assault on his eyes—I’m sure for Turner’s sake—and walked Oliver straight to his office, shutting the door.

  “Do you think he liked the tree?” Turner asked.

  “I’m sure he appreciates your effort.”

  “Thanks.” Turner went back to his decorating, alternately whistling a carol and taking bites from a glazed donut, and I walked to Holly’s Sweets to check on the latest murder gossip. The bakery’s warm and comfy atmosphere got people chatting, with Holly and each other, sometimes saying things they wouldn’t say anywhere else, and I needed information. And maybe a cream puff.

  A block from the bakery, I ran into Bonnie Eskew. Judging by the number of bags in her hands, she’d put off most of her Christmas shopping until today. She had that last-minute frantic look about her. After saying hello, she asked me if I’d heard that Oliver had been taken in for questioning in Farley’s death. “Officer Underhill told me just now, in the bakery,” she said.

  “Underhill talks too much.”

  Bonnie waited for a gaggle of shoppers to pass, then said, “Chief Gilroy searched his house and his office at Juniper Charities this morning.”

  I thought it best to play dumb. “What was he looking for?”

  “I don’t know. Oliver is completely harmless.” She brightened suddenly. “Hey, Ellen and I are taking wreaths to nursing homes and hospitals today. Want to help?”

  I didn’t want to tell her that Ellen and I were not the best of friends right now, though I was sure Ellen would. As I was sure she would tell Bonnie that I knew very well why Gilroy had searched Oliver’s home and office. My sleuthing was about to lose me a second wreath-making friend. “I’m sorry, Bonnie, I can’t. Come to think of it, I didn’t really help with the wreaths, did I? I think I made half of one.”

  “None of us did much. How could we? But Ellen and I finished them, so not to worry. We’re so used to making them that it took no time at all. We even strung together twigs that weren’t big enough for the other wreaths and made three little ones to hang on door handles.”