Christmas Caper

by Jennifer Oberth

  Annie nodded. “Healthy men don’t keel over in strange women’s beds.”

  “We don’t know he was healthy,” Copra said. “And Mama isn’t that strange.”

  “What did your mother say happened? Why does she think this man was murdered?”

  Copra stared at me before slumping his thin shoulders in a defeated gesture. “Nothing definitive, Ella. She begged me to help her. I’ve told her so much about you, and how you helped me and…” He broke off, glancing at Annie. “Well, you know what I’m referring to. I’m sorry for my rudeness, Annie.”

  “It’s fine, Copra. You can have your secrets. I’m not offended. I always knew something confidential happened to you that Mrs. Westin helped with. You don’t have to spare my feelings, you don’t have to share anything, and I’m not leaving your side until this is resolved.”

  My eyes widened at that. “No, Annie, you’re not leaving this room at all. Period.”

  “I meant—”

  I interrupted her. “I don’t need your help.” Copra opened his mouth, and I quickly added, “Anymore than what you’ve already done. Copra is very lucky it was you who caught him in the pantry. I hope you realize how this could have turned out, Copra.”

  “Oh, yes, Ella. I will have nightmares for many a night.”

  “Good,” I said. Annie opened her mouth, and I quickly added, “That we understand one another. Annie, I want you to stay here.”

  “What about Captain Westin?”

  I stood ramrod straight, having already decided to enlist the help of my father-in-law and husband. This body did strike me as odd, and I was determined to find out who invited the dead fellow. “I will speak to him in a moment.”

  “So you believe Mama?”

  I slanted my head toward the body. “He’s dressed in a nice suit. He was on Jasper’s guest list. If he was killed, my guess is poison, and I further guess he was poisoned at home or on the way to this party. Does your mother have his coat?”

  “No coat, Ella.”

  “Gloves? Scarf?”

  “Nope.”

  “No outer garments at all?”

  “Nothing but what you see right now.”

  “Interesting. That would place him dying at home, as the most likely guess.”

  “Oh, there is this.” Copra reached into a pocket in his vest and extracted a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses. “These were on his face at the time of his…um…discovery in Mama’s bed.”

  I studied them for a moment but no clues jumped out at me. I handed them back, watching as Copra set them on the bedside table. “There’s no reason not to treat this as a homicide until I find out otherwise.”

  Annie clapped her hands before embracing Copra in a warm hug. “What’s the next step, Mrs. Westin?”

  “I’m going to find out if Mrs. Cryer is here. If her husband was poisoned at home, maybe she knows something.”

  “Maybe she did it!” Copra shouted.

  “Perhaps. How much trouble did you have carrying his body?”

  Copra shook his shoulders, adopting that tough demeanor men cling to when confronted with questions of their physical abilities. Then he exhaled sharply. “A fair bit, actually.”

  “Why would the wife poison him at home, right before a party they’re both to attend, and then drag him over to Stoker’s mansion to dump him in your mother’s bed?”

  Copra gaped at me. “Not a clue.”

  Annie said, “The wife wasn’t necessarily at home with him.”

  “They were going to a party.”

  “Yes, I know, but sometimes women meet at one lady’s home to get ready together. Then meet their husbands at the party.”

  Copra nodded. “Before Mama got sick and Daddy died, she used to meet Daddy after getting ready elsewhere. Daddy didn’t like it, but Mama said it felt like they were courting again. She liked when he picked her up.”

  Annie smiled. “I wonder how I’ll feel after I’ve been married to Al for a few years.” She turned big, brown eyes at me. “Assuming you get him out of prison.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?”

  Eyes cast downward, Annie’s voice came out soft. “I was supposed to be a Christmas bride.”

  Copra wrapped his arms around her. “It’s all right, Annie. Ella will fix everything.”

  Annie buried her head in his chest. A whimper escaped as she grabbed fistfuls of his clothes, wrinkling his apron. Copra glared at me.

  Guilt whirled in my stomach. “This is why I want you to stay here and keep an eye on Annie.” I reached into my skirts and pulled out a gun. “Don’t let anyone in except me. I’ll apprise Joe and Jasper of the situation, see if I can find the wife, and then come back here with Chris or Doug and relieve you. You’re not needed in the kitchen at the moment, correct?”

  “Captain Westin has plied his guests with more food and spirits than the king of a castle could ever desire. And the servants and assistant chef can continue to manage in my absence.”

  I nodded and studied Annie. Fortunately, she showed no signs of fighting me about my plan. I readjusted my skirts and exited the room, feeling both put upon and comfortable, as it was a holiday but I was back in my element.

  The lower level of Jasper’s opulent mansion buzzed with the joyous voices of happy guests. I didn’t mind being outside that group and wondered if I should be concerned by my lack of concern. I was comfortable among dozens of people, but I also liked being on a mission, and finding out what happened to Oscar Cryer took precedence over merriment.

  It was easy to find Jasper as he was surrounded by ten drunken men and three boisterous women. There was no way I could unobtrusively separate him from the group, and no matter how many tactics I tried, I couldn’t attract his attention.

  I’d have to try again later. At this very moment, Mrs. Hope Cryer, in a golden silk dress and emerald necklace, was making her way toward the buffet table. I’d only met her once or twice before and doubted she’d remember me. Joe liked to say I was memorable, but that was only to people I accused of murder and—up to a few minutes from now—I hadn’t done so to Mrs. Cryer.

  I cut through a group of four men singing carols at the top of their lungs, and by the time I made my way to Mrs. Cryer, she’d loaded her plate with two sliced meats, three kinds of cheeses, and a bread roll. Cradled against her elbow, she balanced another plate of tiny chocolate cakes and gingerbread cookies.

  Before I could blink, a servant carrying a silver tray lined with cookies darted forward and placed the scrumptious fare on the picked-over decorated stands.

  Mrs. Cryer gazed at the dance floor, chewing thoughtfully. Either her husband’s death hadn’t affected her appetite or she didn’t know he’d expired. I swallowed as I glanced at the cookies, wondering how close that batch had come to her husband, dead in the pantry with my cook.

  She turned. “Mrs. Westin, how nice to see you again.”

  She did recognize me. I could be flattered or suspicious; did she remember me because she knew I’d find out her husband had been murdered and she’d be questioned first? “Good evening, Mrs. Cryer.” I fumbled for what else to say. “Merry Christmas.” I felt bad wishing a potential suspect of homicide a merry Christmas. It seemed…fraudulent somehow.

  “Merry Christmas to you as well.” Defying gravity, she snatched a cookie from one of her plates and chewed, allowing her eyes to slide shut as the chocolate must have cascaded over her tongue. “A divine party,” she mumbled around crumbs.

  “Yes.”

  “Captain Westin has outdone himself.”

  “He has,” I agreed, wishing Joe was here. One of the rare times in my life I allowed this boring drudgery called social graces—and he’d missed it.

  I’m not sure what was holding me back from questioning this woman as I usually would. Because I was in Jasper’s mansion? At his party he’d been yammering on about for months? Because there were so many people surrounding us? Loathe to admit it, I suspected it was because I was such a newly-minted wife. I
couldn’t help but wonder how I’d want the news broken if Joe died. But did that mean I didn’t suspect her of the murder after all? Simply because she was packing away the dessert table almost by herself?

  I studied her dress more carefully, not as a procrastination; I was a professional. She had a small bosom and wide hips, exaggerated by the sweep of her skirts, but by no means was she over-plump and no part of her jiggled like pudding.

  So she didn’t usually indulge. Was she doing so now because it was Christmas? Or was she nervous because she’d just murdered her husband and nobody knew it yet? Did she avoid alcohol in case her lips loosened?

  I eyed her suspiciously. “Are you and Mr. Cryer having as good a time as we hope you are?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. A lovely time.”

  I wondered if it would liven up the conversation if I produced a dagger and dug out the freckle on my arm. I think Mrs. Cryer was so focused on the rest of the desserts, and only having two arms to hold the ever growing number of plates she nestled, she wouldn’t notice if Father Christmas shot out of the chimney, his butt on fire.

  “I assume.”

  She assumed what? I’d missed something. “Sorry?”

  “I assume Oscar’s having a fine time. He always does.”

  “Well, when’s the last time you checked in with him?”

  Mrs. Cryer dropped a slice of fruitcake as she laughed at me. “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot you’re a new bride. As if I would check in with my inattentive husband. Oh, I needed that, Mrs. Westin. Thank you.”

  “Oh, I…I only meant, well, when was the last time you saw him then?” I was thrown and didn’t like it. I wanted information, and if this polite small talk didn’t garner any, I’d go in for the kill. Pardon the expression, Mr. Cryer.

  She blew a noisy breath through her lips. “Who knows? Saw him this afternoon sometime, right before the midday meal.” Shoving a cookie in her mouth, she used the free hand to gently scrunch up her pretty brunette curls as she chomped. “I took myself over to Henrietta’s, and we all ate and drank and gossiped until Mrs. Crabtree showed up to style our hair.”

  “You never went back home?” Whoops. I sounded too much like an interrogator. I leaned in as though what I was about to say wasn’t for anyone else’s ears. “Or did you ladies have so much gossip to share you had to come straight here to avoid being late?” I attempted a conspiratorial look, but she stared at me as though I’d eaten something that didn’t agree with me. Then she burst into more laughter, dabbing her mouth as cookie crumbs sprayed from her lips.

  Pressing the napkin to her mouth, she stifled another laugh. “We couldn’t speak fast enough. Talked about Marcie Miller all the way up to Captain Westin’s front door.” Mrs. Cryer giggled like a delighted four-year-old girl. “Ah! I know you won’t judge me for it. Confession is good for the soul!”

  Could I politely ask if she had anything else to confess or would that be pushing it? I joined in her laughter as she fanned her face with the napkin scattering crumbs on her gown. While she attempted to compose herself, her previous remark rang in my ears. Why wouldn’t I judge her? Did she think I went around town giggling about other people’s woes and problems? I supposed I did sometimes, but it certainly wasn’t a habit. In fact, if I would be of any use in my job, I had to tune into every rumor I could latch onto. Time to be blunt with Mrs. Cryer; this was getting me nowhere. “Have you seen Mr. Cryer?”

  The pleasant smile faltered before disappearing altogether. “No.” The blue eyes darkened. “Why? What’s he done now?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was making the rounds and wanted to greet him. Make sure he’s having a great time and doesn’t need anything.”

  She raked her eyes over me, from the top of my scarlet velvet dress to the hem just brushing the floor. “Be sure you don’t offer him anything, dear, or you and I are going to have a problem.”

  I didn’t like her intense glare. Was she challenging me? Why did it feel more like a threat? “Do you mean alcohol?” I asked. I hadn’t heard Mr. Cryer was much of a drinker.

  “No, my dear, I wasn’t referring to drink.” She glared at me again, her small, blue eyes slicing into me like my own daggers.

  Did she know I was onto her? Her husband was dead, I was interrogating her, and she knew I knew even though I wasn’t admitting I knew?

  The lines in her face softened, and she took a step back. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?” She huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a growl. “Well, that’s refreshing, I must say.” She raised a glass, tipping it toward my chest.

  My hand flew to my heart. Not only, in the midst of holiday cheer, do I think the worst of Annie and get it wrong, but I couldn’t follow one lewd comment for what it was while investigating. “Mrs. Cryer, I would never—”

  “Hush, dear. I’ve had too many sweets, that’s all.” She set her cookie plate down, though only crumbs graced the fancy floral designs. “I didn’t mean to offend the daughter of the host. Please…please don’t mention this to Captain Westin.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Cryer. I know you were kidding.” I forced a laugh and dropped my hand, but I knew she wasn’t kidding. I’d never heard Mr. Cryer’s reputation marred by rumors of infidelity. Was this merely a wife guessing her husband was looking elsewhere or did she know he was looking elsewhere? And if she knew, did she murder him? Even if she didn’t know but suspected, was she capable of putting a stop to it—permanently?

  Could she have killed him and then left the house to get her hair done with the ladies? Personality-wise, yes, I believed she was capable—at least nothing had led me to believe she wasn’t capable. But Oscar Cryer hadn’t been dead that long. He wasn’t as decomposed as he would otherwise be. Of course, that didn’t preclude the poison I suspected. She could have left the house and the husband dropped dead hours later.

  “Tell me, from one wife to another.” I leaned in again and touched the back of her hand for good measure; I was rewarded with a clasp on my own wrist. “Did you make his midday meal?”

  She laughed again. “I most certainly did not. Let him get his fill here. And if he couldn’t wait, he could jolly well serve himself bread and cheese from our larder. He’s a grown man, you know.”

  “Grown men often act as children,” I said. “Especially at home.”

  She pulled away, a smirk on her lips. “Especially when hungry.”

  Now I was the one laughing. I liked Mrs. Cryer. Or, at least, I didn’t dislike her. She could be lying to me about the food. Thus far, she’d referred to him in the present tense and did not hide her disapproval of the man. She was either quite bitter, quite cold herself, quite clever, or truly didn’t know her husband was lying in Annie Grainger’s bed upstairs, dead.

  I had an idea. I couldn’t tell if she was pretending Oscar Cryer was alive—but I could. “Excuse me for asking, but have you seen my husband anywhere around?”

  “When I first got here, he and Captain Westin greeted me and the rest of my party. Such genial hosts. I’m afraid I haven’t seen either one since.”

  “Well, thank you. I really should find him, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course, dear, of course.” She waved me off, heading back to the buffet tables.

  It was best not to leave Annie and Copra alone for too long. Instead of searching for Joe, I went back upstairs, assuming I’d see a trusted friend on the way to the staircase—Chris, Doug, Ness—but I didn’t. I climbed the stairs slowly while breathing in the scent of popped corn and allowing myself time to think how I wanted to proceed. I had a clear picture of what I could do, but I’d need help, and I didn’t like that. Walking the length of the hallway, I was about to knock on the door when the hairs on the back of my neck tingled.

  “Ella.”

  A figure cut across the landing at the stairs, and I drew back as it advanced on me. My sister-in-law. Perfect blond hair drawn up in a neat chignon with wisps of strands grazing her shoulders and framing her pretty face, she glided ov
er to me in stylish purple slippers. The deep-violet satin evening gown formed to her curvy figure, nipped at the waist, flowing over her hips, gorgeous lace and looping ribbon flounces at the hem, the fabric barely swooshing as she halted in front of me. I started to say something when she cut me off with the wave of a bejeweled, gloved hand.

  “You’re up to something.”

  I froze, both because I didn’t know what to say and I was wondering how on earth she knew.

  “I knew it. Tell me all.”

  I shook my head. “Doris, I…I have some business to attend to. Please excuse me.”

  “Your business is conspiracies, robberies, meddling, and murder.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Murder is it? You’re investigating a murder? On Christmas Eve? At Dad’s party? He’ll kill you! Well, not really, but he’ll want to. What happened? Who’s the new ghost of Christmas?”

  “Doris, please!” How could the woman read me so well? Nobody else could.

  Peering past me, her eyes landed on Annie’s door. “Something to do with Annie, I see.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “No guard on the door. I’ve come to relieve you, as it’s my turn now. Judge Coleman has been boring me with stories about law, and I was prompted to relieve you a bit early, so I know you weren’t searching for me since you weren’t expecting me yet. And you’d never leave Annie unguarded unless something terrible happened.” She narrowed her gaze before moving past me. “Come to think of it, you’d never leave Annie unguarded anyway. What’s going on?”

  “She’s not unguarded—and if you attempt to enter that room it may well be the last thing you ever do.”

  That stopped her. But she only hesitated a moment. Whirling around in all her stunning glory, she fixed me with a piercing gaze. “Let me in that room, Ella.”

  I took my time walking over, unprepared with a viable excuse to avoid bringing her up to date with the events unfolding in her own household. I knocked on Annie’s door and instructed Copra to let me in.