“Where’s his coat?” I asked as the doctor closed his cell phone and rejoined us.
“In the car. Which has gone on ahead.” The chief said and then looked at me sharply. “Does it matter?”
“Well… it’s cold.” I waved a hand at the chief’s long wool coat and then at Alex’s parka. “Why isn’t he wearing a coat?”
“He said he was feeling hot and took it off before the parade started.” The chief’s brows drew together. I knew he was kicking himself for not asking the real estate developer if something was wrong.
“That would be normal before a heart attack. If he had a heart condition, this sudden cold could be what stressed his heart. Did he mention any pain?” the doctor asked.
“No, but he was indigested and breathing hard. He has a roll of antacids in his right pocket.” The chief looked at the sky and got a face full of wet flakes. “Let’s get him in the cart and off to… where, doc?”
“The hospital. Let’s do it by the book. They can pronounce him there.”
“Okay.”
A silent Alex handed me Blue’s leash and then helped the chief and the doctor load Dillon into my cart. There was no room for the body to rest on the horizontal so he had to sit beside me. I found the indignity to be distressing, though Herb Dillon was beyond caring about such things. I thought about volunteering my car blanket to cover him, but that would look worse. Shrouds shouldn’t be made of bright red plaid.
“Chloe, I hate to ask this of you, but you know how to handle the cart better than anyone here.” We both stared at the corpse, slumped in the seat where Blue usually sat. Only the shoulder belt was holding him upright. The gardenia smell was still in the air and since we were alone now and I knew that the living among us did not wear gardenia perfume I was forced to admit that it was the Marshall who smelled so pungently.
I swallowed hard. “It’s okay, chief. I’m the lightest. We only have a one-third charge on the batteries and it may matter. The cold drains them really fast. Just strap him in tighter, okay? Greenvale is steep and I don’t want to lose the body.” I turned to Alex. He was still wearing his knit elf hat. It was hard to resist the urge to step into his arms when I knew he wanted me there. “Can you bring the car to the hospital? I don’t think the charge will get me back to the station since it is all uphill. Chief, can you…?”
“I’ll take care of it. And don’t worry about coming to work tomorrow, Chloe. I think you are Jeffrey are getting a couple days off.”
I nodded. There was no more delaying. It took Herculean effort but I made myself climb in the cart. The corpse crowded me but I didn’t shove him away. Blue came over to say goodbye and I allowed myself a moment to pet her with my waxy mitten. I had spilled the candle wax when we were running to the car. Candles— I just don’t like them.
Alex leaned over and kissed me. I saw his nose wrinkle as he, too, smelled the perfume that surrounded the body in an invisible cloud. Alex is not fond of scent, especially heavy florals.
“Drive carefully,” he said because he was feeling constrained by circumstances and company. Alex and I had some unfinished business. While visiting for Thanksgiving, he had (accidentally) declared his love for me and I had (impulsively) been double-dog-dared into declaring mine too. Shocked back into caution by the spoken words, we had yet to discuss the matter. Putting it off had been easy while he was down in Silicon Valley, but now that he was back in Hope Falls the subject was bound to come up again.
“Go with Alex,” I said to Blue who was looking anxiously at the body in her seat. “I’ll be home in no time and we’ll have hot chocolate and cookies, okay?”
Unless Dad needed help with moving the animals. I really hoped that he didn’t. I was dressed warmly, but a terrible cold was creeping into my bones. Maybe it was dread of my own mortality or a premonition of things to come, but I blamed it on the storm because I didn’t want anything unpleasant to happen three days before Althea’s wedding and four days before Christmas.
Chapter 3
As I walked in the door of my bungalow I was rushed with the smell of evergreen and stopped for a moment with eyes closed to enjoy the safe smell. Blue and Alex also sighed contently, glad to be out of the cold. Blue doesn’t really like the snow much, but of course she came to the hospital with Alex. No way would she rest while I was out in the night, possibly grappling with a dead body.
Actually, I hadn’t had to grapple. Thanks to the doctor and decent cell reception, there had been orderlies waiting at the hospital to get Dillon out of my cart. They had chuckled and made jokes about the body that were in poor taste, but I didn’t scold. I just wanted the gardenia-scented corpse out of my vehicle.
There was just enough charge left to get the cart into the parking garage. I had my choice of spaces and parked far enough inside that blowing snow would not bury the open cart. All non-essential employees had left and no one was getting to the hospital that night unless it was on a snow mobile or in a helicopter. I had never felt quite so alone as I did in that echoing cement box and had a bad moment when my imagination suggested that everyone had been taken in The Rapture and I had been left by myself in the storm. It shows you how I was thinking that night.
Fortunately for my nerves, Alex was waiting for me at the base of the hospital driveway. He had wisely decided not to risk the car on the steep switchbacks that led to the ER. I hadn’t taken the cart that way either. It was narrow enough to use the gentler handicap ramps and then to cut through the lawn which was dead anyway.
The urge was still strong to bake cookies, but I realized that Alex and I needed to eat some real food. We were strung out on popcorn and cider and needed some protein in our frozen, sugar-ridden bodies. So I began cooking while Alex toweled Blue, fed the animals and got the fire going.
I know I should watch my sodium intake, but unless mom is around to complain I cook spaghetti in water that would make the Dead Sea cringe. Alex likes my spaghetti Bolognese, which is good because it is one of the few dishes I can do well. I’m a baker, not a cook.
Alex turned on the news with the volume way down. We were both morbid enough to wonder if the Grand Marshall’s death had made the news at nine and it had. There had been video crews filming the parade, gathering happy images for the next day’s six o’clock news hour. This time they got more than bargained for. I paused for a moment, wondering who the elf was kneeling by the body and realized it was me. I would have to suggest to Alex that we not go out in public in matching red and green stocking caps.
I groaned softly and turned back to the stove. I could still hear the voices though. Gone was all chance of talking about the pleasant parts of the parade, like how the service organizations had raised enough money to cover January’s expenses. The sensational and speculative wins over wholesome and cheerful every time. I sometimes think that news people don’t much like the holidays unless it is for all the fires that are caused by candles and faulty Christmas lights.
Frankly, I am a little shocked by how many people say they hate the holidays in general. Everything they do in December, they do grudgingly and make sure to complain about it. They somehow overlook that Christmas is supposed to be the season of peace on Earth and goodwill toward all men. All the rest— the decorations and fruitcakes and music— is optional. I bake because I like it and because I love to share food with my friends. But I know many people don’t like making Christmas cookies— and they shouldn’t bother if it makes them miserable. It isn’t like the world will end without more sugar cookies (though mine are especially delicious).
Like the rest of the world, I find last minute Christmas shopping to be frustrating. So I don’t do it last minute. And I don’t go to the mall because it makes me claustrophobic.
More importantly, loving— or at least tolerating— family was one of life’s highest callings (which was why I had agreed to be Althea’s maid of honor in spite of better judgment) and at Christmas especially one should be merry withal in one’s labors. Or something like that. As
Mom points out every year when Aunt Dot starts grousing, nowhere in the Bible does it command us to go forth to the mall and shop ourselves into debt. Nor does the Bible tell us to risk life and limb putting plastic Santa sleighs on our roofs or to drink eggnog and eat fruitcake until we burst a gall bladder. My folks had a rule while I was growing up; refuse if you must, but once you agree to do something for someone, you do it without grousing. I try to live by that but I guess a lot of the rest of the world doesn’t.
Some people just don’t know how to be happy.
Right on cue my cousin called and I abandoned my ideals of tolerating family. I knew who it was and what she wanted even before I heard her voice. My cousin always calls after counseling. Dale and Althea were doing pre-marriage counseling with Father McIlhenny. I personally doubted that it was doing them any good. My cousin and her groom are two of a kind and probably completely incomprehensible to the Ecclesiastical mind, especially Father McIlhenny who was the soul of kindness and charity and never had a bad word to say about anyone.
Althea also always watches the nine o’clock news for the crime report and she was probably pleased as punch that the Grand Marshall was dead. She would be seeing his death as a judgment upon him for denying her a chance to read her ghastly poem. By tomorrow she would have her sorrowful expression fixed in place, but tonight she would have her claws all sharpened and be ready to tear the dead man to shreds, and as her maid of honor I was deemed the proper audience for her verbal dismemberment.
And I couldn’t face it. All I felt up to was soothing my sharpened appetite, which had come on with a vengeance when I started browning meat and onions. I chose not to answer the phone. My cup of woe had already overflowed for the day. I told myself that the greater good would be served by not answering and therefore not yelling at my cousin three days before the wedding.
“Chocolate?” Alex asked, bringing a gold candy box into the kitchen. He didn’t pick up the phone either. We had checked with Dad on the way back from the hospital and the animals were all safely moved and Mom and Aunt Dot were home from the parade. Aunt Dot had snuck out when Althea wasn’t looking. Alex’s aunt, Mary Elizabeth, was in Seattle with friends so we didn’t worry about her.
I took one of the glossy brown balls and enjoyed every guilty mouthful of chocolate and cherry. Dad was drowning in chocolate cherry cordials. They were available from the Kandy Kounter only at Christmas and his addiction to them was an open scandal. Friends slipped him boxes on the sly so my mom wouldn’t know that they were contributing to his gastronomic delinquency. Some of those boxes were passed along to me. I kept them hidden in case Mom stopped by but Alex had ferreted them out his first day at the house. The man is a bloodhound when it comes to sweets.
Alex hadn’t asked why I had them hidden. He is fairly smart and he has been around my family enough to understand the dynamic. Mom has high cholesterol and high blood pressure. Dad and I do not. Mom and Dad are separated and I live on my own, but as far as Mom is concerned we are still family and this doesn’t excuse us from following the same high fiber, low fat, no fun diet she does. Alex, until such time as he actually married me, was exempt from criticism but he tried not to flaunt his chocolate addiction in front of her.
I was just glad that I had hidden the chocolates in the coffee table drawer instead of where I usually stash small things. I’d had Grandpa’s violin restrung for Alex for Christmas and it was waiting for a big red bow in the back of my closet. He would love it. The thought made me smile for the first time in an hour.
Alex poured us some wine which I had planned to mull, but which was lovely right out of the bottle. I put down some spaghetti for Aphrodite (plain) and for Blue (with sauce), but none for Apollo since he doesn’t like pasta. Blue woofled appreciatively and dove right in.
“Chloe,” Alex asked as we took our places at the table. “You don’t think that there was anything funny about Marshall Dillon’s death, do you?”
By ‘funny’ he meant suspicious, not ha-ha that was so amusing.
“I… don’t know. There’s nothing obvious that makes me think of murder.”
He relaxed when I said this. Alex solves cyber crimes and is very good at it, but he had also been dragged into some violent crime cases since he had started dating me. Alex didn’t care for violence, especially if got anywhere near me.
“Good. We can forget all about it then. And you can teach me to make gingerbread,” he said, brightening further.
I nodded, but there was something weird about the Grand Marshall’s death and I couldn’t entirely shake off the feeling that there would be consequences if I didn’t figure things out and quickly. I hoped I was wrong and that the only outcome would be another dreadful poem from Althea, but my subconscious had logged the problem of the missing coat and gardenia perfume and it kept chewing on it even as I ate my delicious dinner.
Chapter 4
We didn’t do any baking the night of the parade, though I did put some raisins in a jar to soak in rum. The key to great gingerbread is rum-soaked raisins and candied ginger minced super fine. Lots of people only use ginger powder and it makes for anemic gingerbread.
The next morning’s weather reassured me that I wouldn’t be needed at work— the snow had fallen all night long and there was at least a foot and half on the ground. It was the perfect morning for enjoying omelets and coffee and for me to teach Alex some of my favorite cookie recipes. If you don’t care for baking, you might want to move on to Chapter 5.
I loaded the CD player with Johnny Mathis and Perry Como and began setting out ingredients. I also had a stern talk with the stove. It is old and cantankerous. Being gas rather than electric it often hisses and sputters and sometimes refuses to light until someone is dumb enough to lean down and look through the glass window where they can be startled by a flying fireball. That morning it was feeling cooperative and started without protest. Perhaps it knew that it was being used for the highest of purposes: Christmas baking.
The first two recipes are family favorites; Aunt Crystal’s Almond Crescent Cookies and my Grandpa Mac’s Prettiest Sugar Cookies. I can’t imagine Christmas without them.
Almond Crescents:
½ pound salted butter (use the real thing—this is no time to be health conscious)
4 T powdered sugar (make sure it is new and sift it for lumps)
1 tsp vanilla (again—use the good stuff)
1 C almonds (the fresher the better. You can substitute macadamia or pecans— both are great)
2 C flour (again, sift, it makes mixing easier)
1 T water
Cream butter and powdered sugar. Add water, vanilla, flour and nuts. Refrigerate at least one hour. I usually make my next cookie dough while the first is firming. Preheat over to 350* and shape dough into crescents. Bake for three minutes on bottom rack. Move to top rack and cook until golden (this will depend on your over. Mine is old and cantankerous so it takes almost ten minutes but yours may be faster. Watch closely!). Roll in powdered sugar (or cocoa powder if you feel reckless).
Alex did really well with these, though he had a slight mishap when he dropped the mixing bowl of powdered sugar and it exploded like a bomb. By the time it was cleaned up off the floor and appliances the cats and dog had tracked some into the living room. I would have to vacuum.
Feeling Alex was ready for something slightly more complicated, I put on some Celtic Thunder and pulled out more ingredients and we started the sugar cookies.
Sugar Cookies:
1 C butter (don’t make me repeat myself—use butter)
1 C sugar (the finest grain you can find)
1 C powdered sugar (not the stuff swept off the floor L)
1 C vegetable oil (not olive)
2 eggs
4 ¼ C flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cream of tarter
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla
Cream butter, sugar and oil together in large bowl. Add eggs. Beat until smooth. Add flou
r, salt, cream of tarter, baking soda and vanilla. Mix well. Here you can do variations. I sometimes add lemon zest, powdered coffee, cinnamon or cocoa powder.
This dough needs to refrigerate over night so it is not a spur of the moment dessert (I’ll give you one of those later). Preheat oven to 375*. Form dough into balls and place on greased cookie sheet (or use parchment paper. I love parchment because clean up is super easy). Flatten cookies with the bottom of a glass dipped in 2 T sugar and 1 T nutmeg (if dough is plain—plain sugar if it is not). Bake at 375* for 8 minutes. Cool on rack (easy if you use parchment paper).
If you want frosting:
1 box powdered sugar
½ c softened butter
flavoring of choice (rum, chocolate, lemon, coffee—you pick what matches your cookie)
and milk until creamy.
If I am doing chocolate sugar cookies I often add coconut and/or pecans and go for a kind of German chocolate variation.
Alex and I split the dough into two bowls and did one with chocolate for him and one with lemon for me and Blue (dogs shouldn’t have chocolate. The cats don’t care either way because they can’t taste sweet and ignore dessert, but Blue likes her cookies).
By this time, Alex was kind of a mess and I think regretting his refusal to wear one of grandma’s embroidered aprons. Since the cookies would be a while resting in the fridge, I decided he needed some immediate chocolate dessert to keep his energy and spirits high, so I got out one of my favorite chocolate cheat recipes.
Chocolate Faux Bundt Cupcakes:
1 box chocolate cake mix (if you feel ambitious, use your favorite chocolate cake recipe)
1/3 C sugar
1 egg
1 tsp salt
8 oz cream cheese (not ‘lite’)
Murder on Parade Page 2