Christmas Puds & Killers

by Donna Doyle

“No. No, it’s all right. I’ve been wondering how to fix that.” She stared at her own cupcake for a moment before jumping up from the table. At first, Sammy thought Carly would attack her or at least kick her out, but she trotted around behind the display case. “Here. Try this one. I wanted to make a lemon cupcake. My grandma used to bake them when I was a little kid, but I never could find her recipe. I found another recipe and I follow it to the tee every time, but they always come out tasting funny.”

  Sammy gamely tried the bright yellow cupcake and immediately knew what the problem was. The confection tasted more like sugary floor cleaner than a lemon cupcake. “Are you using artificial flavoring?”

  “I got a really good deal on it online,” Carly explained, looking sheepish.

  Sammy couldn’t even pretend to finish this one, and she set it back down in its wrapper. “I understand, but lemons aren’t all that pricey. A little bit of zest and juice from the real thing instead of the artificial stuff will really go a long way.”

  “Thank you! I’ll be sure to try that!” Carly picked up the cake in question and put it in the trash. “I like to think I at least have decent coffee, right?”

  Sammy took a sip, happy to find that the owner was right. “That, I can’t argue with.”

  “I’m so embarrassed. I always loved to bake as a kid. It was my dream to open up a place like this for the longest time. I had it all planned out with a binder full of recipes and paint swatches and ideas. And when my grandma died and left me an inheritance, I thought it was the perfect chance to finally live out my fantasy. My family was really excited for me, too, but sometimes I wonder if I ever should have done this.” She hung her head sadly as she sat back down.

  “Don’t let a few botched recipes get you down,” Sammy replied sympathetically, reaching across the table to touch Carly on the arm. “It happens to everyone.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just need a little more practice. And I should get out in the community more instead of hiding in the kitchen so people will actually know who I am. That seems to go a long way in Sunny Cove.” Carly’s eyes were glistening with tears, but the corners of her mouth trembled into a smile.

  “That’s a great idea!” Sammy couldn’t have asked for a better moment to bring up the real reason she had come. “I think I saw you at the fundraiser for the rec center a few days ago, didn’t I?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Carly’s color blanched again slightly, and she began clearing their table. “Quite the party!”

  “Did you get a chance to try any of the Christmas puddings? Those were such a challenge! I never thought I could pull it off, and I have to admit there were a couple of them that went straight into the trash and never saw the light of day.” It was the truth, but Sammy thought it might also be a good way for Carly to understand that even she messed up sometimes.

  “I doubt that. They were very lovely.” Carly’s mouth was a straight line as she rearranged a few cupcakes in the display case.

  “Did you have a good time at the party? The Radical Grandmas really went out of their way to make it a good old-fashioned Christmas. It’s just such a shame about Maureen.”

  “Yes. Terrible.” Carly produced a wet rag and began wiping down the already-immaculate counter around the cash register.

  Sammy knew she was no longer welcome, but she had yet to figure out why Carly’s attitude had changed so much. “Mind if I take a few of your business cards? That will make it easy for me to refer my extra clients to you.”

  Carly’s shoulders sagged a little as she turned around and grabbed a broom, quickly sweeping the floor. She came around the display cases and attached the kickplates before moving whisking away invisible crumbs under the table they had just been sitting at. “Sure. That’d be great.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give you a call sometime. Maybe we can get together and have lunch, baker to baker,” Sammy suggested with a smile.

  Somehow, Carly had managed to produce a little dirt with her sweeping. She quickly brushed it into a dustpan and dumped it in the trash. “Sure.”

  “Thanks. It was great meeting you!” Sammy headed outside, the bell over the door jingling happily. But she didn’t feel so happy as she got in her car and set Carly’s business cards on the passenger seat next to her. They were white and pink and highly decorated, just like her store. There really could be a potential for the two of them to work together once Carly spent a little more time working on her skills. Unfortunately, there was one big thing that was going to stop that, and as much as Sammy wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, she just couldn’t: Carly had swept a sprig of holly into her dustpan.

  8

  Christmas Traditions

  It had been stressful, but Sammy was glad she had gotten her visit with Carly out of the way. Otherwise, she would have continued to dread it. As it was, she had a few notes to bring back with her the next time she got together with the Radical Grandmas. Sammy drove to her next destination, ready to stop thinking about the young baker.

  Gibb’s Department Store was a big place compared to the other businesses in Sunny Cove. Two stories tall, it took up almost an entire block downtown. The store had been a resident feature in the town for as long as Sammy could remember, and even her father had spoken to her of going there with his mother when he was a child. The windows, always full of the latest products, had been expertly decorated with garland, Christmas trees, and ornaments amidst the bright sweaters and newest electronics. It might not have been Macy’s, but it was close enough for the residents of their little town.

  Parking had always been an issue, as much of Sunny Cove’s downtown area had been built before cars were the norm. The small lot on the west side of the building was already full, as was the one behind the courthouse half a block away. After circling a few times, Sammy found a slot on the street next to a deep puddle and took it, jumping out of her car to keep her feet from getting wet in the melted snow.

  A blast of chilly air tugged at the collar of her coat as she trotted into the store. Sammy hadn’t been into Gibb’s very much since she had returned home, but at this time of year it gave off a festive feeling that even she couldn’t ignore. Looking past the cheap sweat suits that the Radical Grandmas had complained about, she found the same old-fashioned display cases, the staff scurrying around in Santa hats, and the scent of pine in the air.

  Just to the left, several racks had been cleared away near the stairs to make room for Santa’s chair, complete with a heavy-looking toy sack sitting next to it, oversized fake presents, and an elf to take pictures. Santa, who was filled out with padding and stuffing more than his own jolliness, sat impatiently waiting for the child on his lap to stop talking about the toy train he wanted, get his picture and his candy cane, and leave so the next kid could take their turn. His big black boots were an amusing contrast to his skinny legs in the red suit. There was quite a line of children, even for a weekday, each of them craning their necks to see the magical man.

  She browsed through the store, keeping her eyes peeled. Frank McLaughlin had been the store manager even when she had been a teen and had come in shopping for little black backpack purses and chokers with her friends. Though the other employees would be wearing button-down shirts or sweaters with khakis, Mr. McLaughlin would be dressed in a full three-piece suit. At least, he always had been when she had seen him before, and as she rounded a display of silver watches she saw that nothing had changed.

  Mr. McLaughlin was making his rounds of the store, watching that his employees smiled as they rang up purchases and making sure they always asked customers if they needed help. He would pause to adjust a fuzzy bathrobe on a mannequin or put a rack of shirts on hangers back in order by size. This was his castle, and he took his job of keeping it in order very seriously. Sammy knew that he was just doing his job, but she couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated as she approached.

  “Mr. McLaughlin?”

  The older man turned his customer service smile to her. Most of his hairline
had receded, leaving a few carefully combed wisps in the front, and his jowls had loosened over the years, but he was still the same man she remembered. “Yes? What can I help you with today? We have a lovely selection of home stereo systems if you’re looking for that perfect Christmas gift.”

  “Well, I do need some help, but not with any shopping.” While Sammy had been able to come up with some excuses for visiting her last two suspects, she hadn’t found any good way of dealing with the department store manager than being direct. She didn’t think of him as a suspect so much as a witness, so it was easier to just be honest. “I have a friend who was in here a few days ago, and she was killed the other day. I’m trying to collect some information on her, to help out the investigation.” Sammy added this last part to make her bid for help sound a little more legitimate, even though she had no idea what the police were doing, exactly.”

  Mr. McLaughlin’s chin trembled slightly. His squinty eyes darted around the store, presumably to see if there were any other customers in the vicinity who might overhear the morbid conversation when they were supposed to be surrounded by holiday cheer, and then he gave her a small nod. “Come with me.” He turned on the heel of his wingtip oxfords and headed briskly toward the back of the store.

  Sammy followed him, struggling to keep pace. They threaded their way through the men’s section and housewares until they reached a nondescript door in the wall. He led her into the store room, which was bustling with more workers, and then off to the right and through another door. Now they were in a small office, the metal desk covered in papers and several drawers of the filing cabinet open. “I thought it best that we talk in private. I don’t want to give any of my customers a reason to think this isn’t a happy place to shop. I hope you understand.”

  “I do, and I appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to talk to me. I could hardly get a parking spot!” She sat down in the plastic chair Mr. McLaughlin indicated as he moved around the desk to sit down himself.

  “That’s the way I like it! Just like many businesses, our Christmas season keeps us afloat throughout the rest of the year. Sure, we have our Memorial Day and Labor Day sales, and some good clearance seasons, but there’s nothing like the holidays!” He allowed a small smile to crease his face before folding his arms on the top of the desk. “Now, I assume you’re here to talk about Maureen Bradshaw. She’s the only person I know of who’s passed away recently.”

  “I am,” Sammy admitted. She hadn’t brought her notebook in with her, but she hoped she would have some good information to jot down in it later. “You see, I have reason to believe that her death might not have been an accident. Some friends and I are doing what we can to figure it all out. I understand that she was in your store just a few days before she died, so I was wondering if you happen to remember her being here.”

  Mr. McLaughlin shook his head and sighed. “I certainly do remember her being in here, because she was nothing but trouble!”

  This wasn’t what Sammy had been expecting. “How so?”

  Another sigh from the manager. “She was in here with her granddaughter, and I might not have even know she was here amongst the rest of the crowd. But she started making a stink about the clothes I brought in for the holidays. I guess she had checked the tags and realized they were made overseas. She started talking to the other customers about it, and the next thing you know half the store is involved. One of the cashiers came to get me, and I had a hard time convincing her to calm down and that I would handle it.”

  “I don’t think I understand. Lots of clothes are made overseas.”

  “That’s true, but she said this particular company uses a sweatshop. Some Christian group she’s associated with has been trying to shut places like this down, and part of that process is creating boycotts against their products. Maureen had checked the tags, and she didn’t think it was enough simply not to buy the clothes.” Mr. McLaughlin picked up a stack of papers on his desk, tapped them until they were stacked neatly, and set them down again.

  “So she was a bit of a problem for you?” Sammy was now second-guessing coming all the way back here alone with this man. If he had anything to do with her death and he now knew that she was onto him, this could be a very dangerous conversation to be having.

  “Yes, but I was still very upset to hear that she’s gone. Maureen did a lot for this town. She didn’t care that her moral authority was going to cut into my profits, but she had good intentions.” McLaughlin fiddled with the adjustment knobs on his desk chair.

  “Did you notice anything else unusual while she was here? Anyone suspicious or acting oddly?”

  The manager shook his head. “Nothing like that at all.”

  “What about your security guards? Do you think I could speak to them?”

  Mr. McLaughlin waved off her request and stood up. “They’re busy enough this time of year. Mind you, it’s nothing more than a missing sweater here or a shoplifting teen there, but they’re very vigilant.”

  “I understand.” What Sammy really understood was that he was done talking to her. “Thanks again for talking with me.”

  “No problem. Be sure to check out the jewelry counter before you leave. We have some very nice diamond stud earrings in stock.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.” But Sammy breezed right past the jewelry counter and out the door. She would need to come back later to do some Christmas shopping, but she wasn’t in the mood for it at the moment.

  When she got back to Just Like Grandma’s, she headed straight up the stairs to her apartment and wrote down everything she could remember about her interviews. “I might need to start hiding a digital recorder in my pocket,” she muttered as she tapped her pen against her chin and tried to recall all the information.

  Stepping over to the sink to make herself some lunch, she caught sight of the soggy piece of paper she had retrieved from the pool at the rec center. Somehow, she had completely forgotten about it until now. At first, it had been so wet that it was impossible to read, and Sammy hadn’t been convinced it was recoverable. Now, however, she gently pried it from the clothespin she had hung it from and saw that even though some of the words were blurred, she got the general gist of the article. After a quick lunch, it was time to head to the library.

  9

  A Right Jolly Old Elf

  Two days later, Sammy sat at Sheriff Jones’ desk at the police station. He sat across from her, tipped back slightly with his muscled arms folded in front of his chest and giving her a somber look. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

  “I do,” she enthused. “And it’s too late to back out now, anyway. Everything is all set up, and you’ve got all your officers decorating the break room as we speak.”

  Jones scratched the stubble on his chin. “I know, but you must understand why I have reservations about this. We’ve suddenly decided to have this fundraiser, ostensibly to make the police look good while raising money for charity, and we’ve invited all the prominent members of the town. It’s a little strange to begin with.”

  “The timeline is a bit short, I have to admit, but you’ve been over all the evidence yourself. I’ve spent my time talking to people and looking things up at the library. Paired up with the information that you have, I know we’re on the right track.” As soon as she had finalized her notes, Sammy had brought everything down to the sheriff’s office. He had listened patiently, and she could tell he was just waiting for his moment to tell her to go back to baking cookies, but by the end of her little presentation he had pulled out his file on Maureen Bradshaw and started collaborating with her.

  Unfortunately, her idea for finalizing it all didn’t sit well with him. “But this isn’t how we normally do things,” Jones explained. “We bring people in for questioning, talk to witnesses, gather concrete evidence. It’s all by the book. I could send my boys out and probably find some clues that you missed—no offense—and get this taken care of without all the deception.”

  �
��I know, but I don’t think that’s going to work this time. Maureen’s killer is out there, and this is a good way to gather all the suspects without giving them any reason to feel strange about being here. Do you have everyone in place?”

  “I do,” he replied begrudgingly.

  “Just trust me, okay? If nothing else, you’ll have a very nice Christmas party for the community. Let’s go.” She straightened the skirt of her dark green dress and headed for the break room, the heavy bootsteps of Sheriff Jones right behind her.

  Several of their special guests had already arrived. There were only a few people that they needed to have here in order to make this work, and the rest would show up after they had Maureen’s killer behind bars. The last thing they wanted was to embarrass the innocent. A large donation box for toys had been set up near the door. An officer was just putting the star on the top of the fluffy Christmas tree in the corner, and centerpieces had been set up on every table. Jones had questioned the location for this event, stating that it wasn’t a big enough or nice enough space for a holiday charity fundraiser, but Sammy had argued that there was no time to secure another place. And while this wasn’t as nice of a setting as the rec center, it would do just fine.

  Carly Anderson had just arrived. In a pink dress and a rope of pearls, she looked like a happy homemaker as she carried in several trays of cupcakes. “Oh, Sammy! I didn’t realize you would be here! I can’t tell you how excited I was to receive an invitation to cater this fundraiser. I’ve been working on improving my skills, just like we talked about. I think you’ll be pleased with these cupcakes.”

  “I can’t wait to try them,” Sammy assured her.

  Next came Andrew Herzog, who looked rather proud of himself as he fiddled with the buttons on his suit jacket and found a seat at one of the front tables. Sammy scurried over to greet him. “I’m so glad you could make it, Mr. Herzog.”