Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection)

by Anisa Claire West

  Whirling around, I recognized the smug countenance of Captain Davis, the man who had made me feel like a fool when I tried to solve the murder of an old woodsman. Henrik Blark had expired in his log cabin and everyone assumed it was a natural death. But the espresso beans told me otherwise. I knew from the beginning that the old man had been murdered, but Captain Davis wasn’t hearing any of it. Finally, Penelope and I discovered the truth and handed the Captain his perpetrator on a silver platter. Afterwards, he asked me to do some formal detective work for the police department, but I had emphatically refused. Ah yes, the Gypsy Sleuths are free spirits who can never be caged.

  “Hello Captain Davis,” I greeted coolly as his lips twisted in an expression somewhere between a grin and a sneer. Strange man.

  “Doing a little shopping?” The middle aged man asked patronizingly as though he were talking to his teenage daughter. I didn’t feel like reminding him that my 30th birthday was on the horizon for January and that he ought to treat me with more respect.

  “Yes, I’m buying some ingredients for a pecan pie.”

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm!” He smacked his lips loudly. “That’s my favorite. Forget apple, pumpkin, and please forget the mince meat! Pecan pie all the way!” He laughed heartily.

  “Yes, it’s everyone’s favorite in my family,” I replied in a detached tone, not inclined to make small talk with the cop.

  “Having a big dinner?” Captain Davis asked with a twinkle in his usually dull eyes.

  “Yes, my whole family is getting together at the farmhouse where I grew up. It’s a tradition. We do it every year. What about you?” I asked the question to be polite, not because I cared one iota what he was doing.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll probably just stay home,” Captain Davis muttered.

  “Stay home? By yourself?”

  “Yeah, well, ever since my wife left me and moved the kids out west to North Dakota, I don’t really do anything big for the holidays,” he tried to sound casual, but I could see the pain in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were divorced…” I trailed off as a crazy idea slapped me. Should I invite the poor guy to Thanksgiving dinner? Nothing could make the tense family reunion any worse unless one of the cows ran in from the farm and bulldozed through our meal. “Would you like to come to dinner at my father’s farmhouse?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose…”

  “You wouldn’t be. There’s going to be so many people there. I know there will be room for one more. And it won’t just be my family. Mrs. Dollner is coming too,” I informed, referring to the adorable but tough-as-nails 82 year old who had helped Penelope and me solve Mr. Blark’s murder.

  “Well, I would love a slice of pecan pie…” Captain Davis said with a chuckle.

  “And you’ll get one. Two, if you’d like. Dinner starts at 3 o’clock on Thursday. Locke Dairy Farm on the border of Candlewick Falls and Starlight Crossing. See you then!” Without waiting for a response, I scurried away, hoping I hadn’t just made an enormous mistake by inviting the cantankerous cop to Thanksgiving dinner.

  ***

  Locke Dairy Farm

  Thanksgiving Day

  Cattle roamed freely in the pastures as chickens clucked and fluttered around in their spacious pens. Carrying a stack of pies in my arms, I smiled, remembering how much I had loved to watch the animals when I was a little girl. I could spend hours lying in the grass, sucking the sugar out of a Pixie Stick, and observing the antics of our happy farm animals.

  At my side, Penelope giggled as I sensed she was silently reminiscing too. “Remember the day when you stepped in cow manure?” She laughed.

  “The day?” I echoed absurdly. “As in one day? I think it happened all the time!”

  “Yeah, but I mean the day you had your first date with Shawn and you stepped your high heel boot in manure right before he came to pick you up!” Penelope cackled.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I said with a slight grin. At 16 years old, I had been beyond mortified to smell like dung when the boy of my dreams was picking me up in his convertible to go make out at the movies. I sighed, as dating seemed like another lifetime ago. I couldn’t recall the last time I had been on a date, and the thought was more depressing than the sarcasm-filled family reunion that awaited me inside.

  “Girls! Girls! Wait for me!” Mrs. Dollner hollered, padding towards us in her flat, rubber soled shoes and balancing a jug between two frail hands.

  “What have you got there?” I asked, afraid the old lady would fall backwards with the jug toppled over her.

  “Homemade apple cider! It’s my contribution to the dinner!” She said excitedly, flashing her teeth at me defiantly when I tried set my pies down and grab the jug. “I’ve got it! It’s my weight lifting for the day. Look at my biceps!” The petite framed great-grandmother joked good-naturedly.

  “You didn’t have to bring anything. I told you that,” I reminded, knowing it was futile. The woman couldn’t be talked out of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute.

  “Oh hush! I couldn’t come here empty handed!” Mrs. Dollner exclaimed.

  “The kitchen entrance is this way,” Penelope directed as we navigated through a trio of mooing cows.

  My mother danced over to the door, opening it wide and opening her arms even wider. “My babies!” She exclaimed with the lightest breeze of a Spanish accent. Living in Minnesota for more than three decades, my mother nonetheless still carried a touch of Andalusia in her voice and her heart.

  “Hi Mom!” Penelope exclaimed, welcoming the Mama Bear hug that we only received a couple of times a year since our parents moved away from the farm.

  “So good to see my girls! And Mrs. Dollner, come in! How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Denidra, and so happy to be here. Happy Thanksgiving!” Mrs. Dollner said warmly, at last plunking the jar of cider onto the counter.

  “The turkey is almost ready. It’s going to be so juicy! I spent all morning basting it!” My mother exaggerated as I smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Sounds delicious, Mom. Where should we put that jug? Mrs. Dollner made some apple cider.”

  Grinning proudly, my mother replied, “There’s a beverage buffet in the living room.”

  “A beverage buffet?” I questioned. That was something new.

  “Yes, your Aunt Connie brought eggnog and I’ve made a pot of coffee that I’m going to drizzle with caramel sauce. The apple cider will go perfectly with the other drinks!” Mom wiped her hands on her apron and lugged the cider into the living room.

  “She’s really going all out this year,” I commented as Penelope stuck a finger down her throat.

  “Gross!” She said disgustedly. “Aunt Connie’s eggnog tastes like feet!”

  I stifled a giggle, not wanting to mock my favorite aunt. While most of my mother’s family remained in Spain, my father’s entire brood was parked in Minnesota. Hence the stressful annual Thanksgiving reunions. Widowed since the age of 51, Aunt Connie was sweet and soft-spoken…unlike her two beer guzzling older sisters and gambler younger brother. Aunts Patricia and Louise along with Uncle Sanford were some of my least favorite people in the whole American Heartland.

  “Be nice, Penny,” I scolded. “Maybe she found a better recipe this year.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not going to find out! I’d rather have some of Mrs. Dollner’s cider,” Penelope insisted as the old lady beamed.

  “Come on, we can’t stand around in the kitchen all day. We have to socialize.” I rolled my eyes as the ladies followed me into the living room.

  My father and his siblings were gathered around Mom’s “beverage buffet,” filling up mugs with various liquid treats.

  “Marisa! Penelope!” Dad exclaimed in his deep tenor.

  Enveloping us in a group hug, Dad kissed each of our foreheads the way he used to do every night before tucking us in. Penelope and I made the rounds and unenthusiastically pecked our aunts and uncle on the cheek as
Mrs. Dollner experimented with the eggnog.

  “I just love eggnog!” She bubbled. “What a treat! Usually I only drink this at Christmas.”

  “Don’t you want to try the cider you brought?” I asked curiously.

  “Tried it a million times!” She laughed. “I want something different.”

  “Well, I’d love to try some,” Aunt Connie announced, winking at me as she filled up a cup.

  Smiling at Aunt Connie, I poured myself a mug of Mom’s caramel-laced coffee and took a lingering sip. The taste was exquisite. Earthy but sweet. But as I drank the coffee, I staggered on my feet, the room suddenly spinning and the faces of everyone around me blurred inexplicably.

  Chapter 2

  “Marisa, are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out!” Penelope rushed to my side as I struggled to regain equilibrium.

  Rubbing my eyes that stung like someone had just peeled a huge red onion, I replied, “I’m okay…I think. I don’t know what just happened.”

  “You took a sip of that coffee and then turned white as a summer cloud!” Aunt Connie exclaimed.

  “I know. I really don’t understand it. But I’m fine now,” I tried to reassure the crowd, smiling for everyone’s benefit.

  “Did you just have a vision?” Penelope whispered into my ear as I shooed her away.

  “Let’s just go in the dining room. I’m sure Mom will want us all in our places before she serves the meal.” Taking the lead, I strode into the lantern lit dining nook as Penelope trailed me possessively.

  “Stop making a scene! I’m fine!” I hissed at my sister.

  “You are not fine. I know what I just saw. And everyone else saw it too,” Penelope rejoined obstinately as I rolled my eyes and slid into a cherry wood chair.

  The doorbell chimed as Penelope whispered, “Who could that be? Isn’t everyone here?”

  “Not everyone,” I said uncomfortably, mentally steeling myself for the unpleasant sight and company of Captain Davis.

  Dashing into the kitchen, I hastily introduced my befuddled mother to the cop. “Mom, this is Captain Davis. I invited him to dinner. He didn’t have plans, so…”

  “Oh I see!” My mother immediately understood. No one in Spain would ever allow someone to dine alone on a holiday. “Well, good, I’m glad you invited your friend! Welcome, Captain Davis. I’m Denidra.”

  Handing a bottle of red wine to my mother, Captain Davis said roughly. “Uh, thanks. Glad to be here.”

  “Go ahead and fix yourself a drink. Then have a seat at the table. Dinner’s almost ready!” Mom bubbled as the cop nodded curtly and headed towards the beverage buffet.

  A few minutes later, everyone was seated at the dining table, placing a linen napkin in their laps and hungrily eyeing the impressive spread. “You’ve outdone yourself this year, sweetheart,” my father said proudly.

  “Oh it’s nothing! Wait until we have Marisa and Penelope’s desserts!” My mother directed a loving wink at my sister and me.

  Suddenly, a gagging sound reverberated in the room followed by a round of severe choking coughs. “Who’s choking?” I mumbled before looking over at Aunt Connie who was clutching her hands to her throat.

  Barreling out of her chair, she smacked her chest and panicked as her airwaves closed up. Captain Davis darted over to her, grabbing her from behind and pressing into her gut to perform the Heimlich Maneuver.

  The officer’s practiced life saving skills seemed to further agitate Aunt Connie who wrestled free of his grip on a massive rush of adrenaline. Stumbling across the hardwood floor, she proceeded towards the guest powder room as we all followed her.

  “Connie!” My father boomed with fear icing his voice.

  “Call 911!” Penelope screamed as Mrs. Dollner sleekly reached into her purse and produced a cell phone.

  “I’m on it,” Mrs. Dollner asserted as though she were a smooth actress in a legal drama. I grinned instantaneously, recalling how devoted she had been in investigating Mr. Blark’s death. But as Aunt Connie thrashed and slammed into a wall, my grin instantly changed to a sorrowful grimace.

  As Mrs. Dollner was alerting the 911 dispatcher, Aunt Connie started to foam at the mouth, her eyes rolling back in her head ominously as my body went stone cold. “She’s dying,” I whispered in disbelief. “The ambulance isn’t going to get here on time! She’s dying!”

  We watched in collective horror as Aunt Connie collapsed face first onto the floor, wretchedly crumpling in a heap as all movement in her body ceased. My mother and Penelope simultaneously wailed as Uncle Sanford started to bawl. Mrs. Dollner looked on with abject terror as Aunt Patricia and Aunt Louise shook with fear.

  “What just happened?!” My father cried in a shattered tone.

  “The woman died,” Captain Davis replied solemnly as I shot the cop a menacing look. She died? Well no kidding, Einstein! I shouldn’t have invited the insensitive useless lump to Thanksgiving dinner. With all his years of training and experience, he couldn’t even manage to save my aunt’s life.

  “Why didn’t you keep your hold on her more firm?” I demanded. “Why did you let her wriggle away from you?”

  “Yeah, she was choking and you could have saved her!” Penelope raged.

  “I’m not so sure she was choking,” Captain Davis said somberly.

  “What do you mean? It was obvious she couldn’t breathe!” Aunt Louise said haughtily.

  “No, the only thing that’s obvious is that she was poisoned,” Captain Davis replied grimly.

  ***

  In all my childhood and adolescent years combined, I had never seen my father so furious. He stared Captain Davis down like a rabid dog, ready to attack at any given moment. Poor Dad. Like most men, he had no idea how to handle his emotions. So he was transferring his grief over Aunt Connie’s shocking demise into contempt towards a stranger.

  “What do you mean poisoned?” Dad demanded bitterly. “Poisoned in my home? At my dinner table? While eating my wife’s cooking? How dare you!”

  Calmly, Captain Davis replied, “She was foaming at the mouth. That’s a clear sign of poisoning. If she had been choking on a piece of food, it would have been expelled while I was doing the Heimlich Maneuver. I had already pressed into her belly enough times before she escaped my grip.”

  “I think he’s right,” Mom added meekly. “No one had started to eat yet, so she couldn’t have choked on food. All we did was drink…”

  “Exactly,” Captain Davis agreed. “One of those drinks was very likely contaminated.”

  “Or she could have eaten some tainted food before she came here today!” My father thundered his alternative theory. “Connie always liked to have a little snack before coming to dinner!”

  Slowly walking over to where my aunt’s body lay contorted on the floor, I drowned out the back and forth arguments between Dad and Captain Davis. Pressing two fingers into the underside of Aunt Connie’s limp wrist, I felt nothing. No pulse. No life. Just as I had expected. But I had to be sure. Tears streamed down my face as loud knocking initiated at the front door.

  “That must be the ambulance,” Captain Davis muttered, strutting over to answer the door as though he owned the whole house.

  Fiercely scowling, my father refused to look at his sister’s body sprawled on the floor. Instead, he banged his fist onto the table and clenched his jaw. “Who invited that arrogant son of a…”