Frosty the Dead Man (A Snow Globe Shop Mystery)

by Christine Husom

  “So sorry that happened to you.”

  She nodded again then looked out the window and flinched like she might have right before she was hurt. I glanced up, but all I caught was a tall person walking by who soon disappeared from sight.

  “I need to get going,” she said. Something negative, perhaps harmful, was going on in the young woman’s life. I was sure of it.

  “Are you on break from school?” I said.

  She finished the drink and set the mug back on the checkout counter. “School? No. I am not as young as I look. Or so I have been told.”

  “That’s something you’ll appreciate the older you get.”

  That didn’t bring the smile to her face that I’d hoped it would. “I thank you. Good day.” She turned and headed for the door.

  “Please stop in again. Any time at all.”

  She gave a little nod and out the door she went.

  Pinky poked her head through the archway. “Someone’s here to see you.” And then she mouthed, “Harley Creighton.”

  Oh, great, the city council member who’d told Mayor Frost he was quitting in no uncertain terms. I switched my thoughts from Nicoline to Frosty and all the people he’d been having trouble with, including the man who was waiting for me in Brew Ha-Ha. I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders, my expression asking, Any idea what he wants with me?

  Pinky frowned and moved her eyes back and forth. Apparently it was her silent way of saying no without being too obvious. She looked so silly I almost laughed.

  I rounded the corner from my shop into hers and went to the back table area where Pinky was pointing. Harley must have felt more comfortable there than in Curio Finds. But he’d saved me from tracking him down so I wasn’t about to fret about details.

  “Afternoon, Camryn.” He sounded far more chipper than when he’d been talking to Frosty the day before. Way too cheerful, in my opinion. Especially under the circumstances.

  “Mr. Creighton—”

  “Harley.” He eyed me like he was about to ask me out on a date. What was his marital status anyway? No one had ever mentioned it, and I’d never thought about it one way or the other.

  I nodded and my body stiffened, wondering why he was there.

  “Do you have a minute to sit down?” he said.

  “Okay.” I pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table to keep some distance between us. Creighton had a bit of a creep factor going, as far as I was concerned. It was possible his beady brown eyes and his unnatural-looking blond comb-over played into that.

  Harley leaned across the table to close that distance. “The word out there is that you’re interested in the vacant seat on the council.”

  That was the last thing I’d expected him to say. If anything, I thought maybe he’d come to offer some sort of an apology or excuse for his behavior the day before. “Um . . . you mean yours?”

  He head jerked back a bit. “No. I admit I may have made some noise about that yesterday. But it wouldn’t be right for me to leave now. It would cause too much disruption and wouldn’t be fair, not after what happened to Mayor Frost and all.”

  “So you’re planning to stay on until they find a replacement?”

  “Let’s just say I’m planning to stay on and leave it at that.”

  With Frosty out of the picture, the man he’d so often battled with, life on the council would be easier for Harley. “Oh, okay.” I tried to come up with something pithy to say, but that wasn’t what came out.

  Harley pressed on. “So you agree that’s the best thing for me to do?”

  I didn’t know enough to either agree or disagree. I’d read the council meeting minutes in the newspaper fairly often, but they didn’t spell out every detail of the discussions about each matter before it went to a vote. There were disputes and disagreements among the council members over various issues, as one would expect. I’d have to poke around, ask some people I trusted for their opinions about the kind of job Harley was doing before I could render an informed opinion of my own. I shrugged. “The people who voted for you would expect that. But if you’re not happy in your role—”

  “There have been some moments here and there that were tense, but I’ve enjoyed serving overall.”

  That’s not the way it had sounded to me yesterday. “So you heard I was interested in a seat on the council. That’s not completely accurate, but I’ve been thinking about it since Mayor Frost asked me to consider it. But now . . . after what happened to him. . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  He extended his arm across the table, and I sat up straighter in my chair so he couldn’t touch me, if that was his intention. “I hope you’ll go for it. We’ll need to appoint a new mayor to fill in until the next election. It’ll be one of the sitting council members. And from what people tell me about your experience working for Senator Zimmer in Washington, I think you’d be a great fit.”

  Did he now? “Like I said, things have changed since yesterday. I’m not ready to make a final decision yet.”

  “I get that. I think everybody in town is shocked about Frosty dying in his office like that.”

  Including you, Harley? And Frosty didn’t just die. Somebody had killed him. Whether it was intentional or not had yet to be determined. When I gave it a little thought I realized it might prove useful to keep an open dialogue with one of the prime suspects. “You are right about that, Harley.”

  8

  I was behind the serving counter in Brew Ha-Ha washing some mugs when Erin Vinkerman, our third “all for one and one for all” musketeer came in with a sweet smile on her face. I knew it was to cheer me, and in fact, it did. By a lot. “How was school?” I said.

  “The kids have been little angels. Something about Christmas being right around the corner brings out the best in them every year. We’re going to make snow globes tomorrow as gifts for their families, and they are all excited. So thanks to you and Pinky for having that snow globe–making class here in October and giving me the idea.”

  That infamous class where it turned out that half the people there had a connection to the most unpopular man in Brooks Landing, and ended up having unpleasant words with each other after the class had ended. But that was nothing compared to the dead body I came across in the city park on my walk home that night. I shook my head at the memory.

  Erin frowned slightly. “I know you’re thinking about all the drama that happened with some of the people at the class.” Erin was one of those people. “But I’d rather remember how much fun the class itself was instead.”

  “It’s good to put a positive spin on it.” I had trouble forgetting, however. “Erin, you’re a natural when it comes to arts and crafts. Are you planning to make the snow ahead of time, or will you demonstrate how it’s done to your fourth graders?”

  “No, I actually found a recipe online where you use Styrofoam instead of that method May taught us, you remember, precipitating benzoic acid. Those might look more like real snowflakes, but with having to heat the water and all that, it’ll be easier with Styrofoam. You just use a grater to get little white flakes.”

  “That’s clever. Who comes up with stuff like that?”

  Erin nodded her agreement and said, “Where’s Pinky?”

  “Taking an inventory of her coffee beans, seeing what she needs to order. She’s been going through a lot of them lately.” Pinky ordered beans not only from companies in the United States, but also from around the world.

  “She sent me a text about Emmy being sick, so I’m here to work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re hanging in there?” Erin said.

  I nodded. “Doing pretty well, all things considered. But I’ll rest much easier when they find Mayor Frost’s killer.” We chatted about him for a while then I filled her in on my visits with Harley Creighton and Rosalie Gorman. “I’m having trouble figuring
them out. Both of them. Another mystery to me is how the council members manage to work together with those strong personalities.”

  “I know what you mean. So what is up with Harley Creighton? First he says he’s out then he tells you he’s in. It really makes you wonder. And then he actually asks you to take a run at the open seat. Are you still thinking about it?”

  I sucked in a quick breath. “I told Harley I wasn’t ready to make a decision, but that’s only partly true. I’ve gone back and forth a thousand times, and what keeps bubbling to the surface is the obligation I feel to Frosty.”

  “Seriously, Cami? Why is that?”

  “Okay, Erin, this is probably going to sound a little strange, but as it turns out, Frosty asked me to consider an open position that was actually created by his death.”

  Erin frowned slightly. “I think I’m following you—which is scary by the way—but I’ll have to let it sink in some more.”

  “It’s something you’ll understand more with your heart than with your mind, Erin.”

  “I’ll try. But even if you feel you owe that to the mayor, think of all you’ve got on your plate already. Running this shop has been more than full time for you.”

  “You’re right about that, especially this month. But if Emmy stays on, and my parents keep up with the ordering, we’ll make it work.”

  Erin gave me one of her Don’t say I didn’t warn you looks then said, “I’ll go see if I can help Pinky and get her home at a decent time.”

  That reminded me. “So how did your muffin and scone-baking session go last night?”

  Erin shook her head. “Pinky’s got it down to a science with her fancy commercial mixer and baking equipment. She doesn’t even have to measure ingredients. I did what she told me to do, and she assured me I was a big help. Ha, I’ll take her word for it.” She smiled and headed to the back room.

  I went back to Curio Finds for some alone time before the next potential rush of customers. I sat down behind the checkout counter and picked up the Marilyn Monroe snow globe Erin and Pinky had made for me after the original one got broken. I gave it a shake and watched the snowflakes touch Marilyn’s bare arms and legs before they dropped to the ground around her feet. The funny thing about snow globes was the scenes were often not set where snow would actually fall. But it didn’t seem to matter. It was still delightful to watch snow fall on just about any scene imaginable.

  My thoughts turned to Marvin Easterly and his opposition to the children’s clothing factory going up in his neighborhood. I understood why he felt the way he did, but I also recognized it would be a big boost to Brooks Landing’s economy. Mr. Easterly had talked with the mayor yesterday morning at Brew Ha-Ha, and then later paid him a visit at his office. Was it to apologize for his behavior, or to try to convince him to change his mind? If that was the case, and the mayor had stood his ground, could their disagreement have escalated into a physical altercation, one that led to murder? I needed to talk to Marvin Easterly.

  I set the Marilyn Monroe snow globe down and went to Pinky’s back room where she and Erin were finishing up with the inventory. Pinky stood straight from her bent over position and stretched her back. “What’s up?”

  “Checking to see how long you’ll be here, what time you’re planning to leave,” I said.

  “You need to go on another errand, a.k.a. fact-finding mission?”

  Erin raised her eyebrows. “Is that some sort of new code you two have?”

  I cut to the chase. “I thought I’d take a quick drive out to Marvin Easterly’s farm; see what it’s like out there.”

  They both scrunched their faces at the same time, a good indication that neither one of them saw any value in that at all. Pinky turned to Erin. “Trust me, it does no good to try to talk her out of these mission trips she’s bent on taking lately.”

  Pinky’s idea of a mission trip was very different from mine. “It shouldn’t take long, but if you’re leaving soon, I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Nah, go ahead. I need to get my coffee bean orders in today and that’ll take a while.”

  “Thanks.” I hurried to get my things. The sun set right around 4:30 p.m. and I hoped to get to Mr. Easterly’s before dark.

  • • • • • • • •

  I’d looked up Easterly’s address earlier in the day, and followed County Road 53 west from the downtown area of Brooks Landing. It ran along the north side of Green Lake to its western shore then continued to the edge of town into Chatsworth Township. I focused on the beauty of the land and scenery around me. Chatsworth Township was picturesque with its rolling hills and many lakes. Aside from more concentrated housing around some of those lakes, and a few businesses—including a large apple orchard with a century-old barn that drew in huge crowds from September through November, a horse riding stable, a downhill ski area, and a bar and grill that was a destination for bikers—the majority of the acres were used for farming operations, and were either planted in crops, or utilized as grazing pastureland for livestock. Every part of the township could be delightfully captured as a winter wonderland snow globe scene.

  Marvin Easterly’s farm was less than a mile from the Brooks Landing city limits. I stopped my car in front of the property that was at the heart of the dispute. The western edge was perhaps a quarter of a mile from Easterly’s house. The land itself was flatter than the surrounding areas and would require a minimal amount of earth moving, compared to nearby land. I hadn’t known the previous property owners, and only knew of the current ones. They dabbled in raising animals, mainly for their children’s 4-H projects, and had a large organic vegetable garden. They rented out the majority of their acres to another farmer: namely, Marvin Easterly.

  So it wasn’t only the rural view he was concerned about. Easterly also faced the loss of income he got from ninety acres of corn one year and soybeans the next. My car windows were starting to fog up, so I slid the lever on my dashboard from heat to defrost, then drove up Easterly’s driveway. As I pulled up between his house and barn, the man himself came out of the barn toting a large milk can in each hand like they were light weights. The only sign that he was exerting in the least came from the clouds of stream swirling around him from his expended breaths.

  I wasn’t certain how many gallons each can contained, but judging from the old milk cans my parents had picked up at auctions, I guessed they were either the six- or seven-gallon size. And since one gallon of milk weighed close to nine pounds, that meant he was lugging between fifty- and sixty-something pounds in each hand. He’d be a very worthy arm wrestling opponent.

  I parked the car, but left it running as I popped out. His eyebrows lifted in surprise when he saw it was me. “Hello! I see you’re doing your chores,” I said.

  “Just finishing up with the afternoon milking. Can I help you with something?”

  “I hope so. If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you about the clothing factory the city council is considering. And also about Mayor Frost.” I stopped myself from saying, and his untimely death.

  “Hmm. Well, let’s get in out of the cold. You look like you’re about to turn into an ice sculpture.”

  My eyelashes were freezing together, now that he mentioned it. I followed Easterly to his house. The weight of his body combined with the heavy milk cans he carried produced a loud crunching sound on the snow with his every step and dispelled the quiet of the late afternoon. I didn’t feel personally threatened by Easterly, but I fingered the canister of Mace in my pocket to be sure it was there. I’d started carrying it when I lived in Washington, DC, and it gave me a sense of security, even in my small hometown. “I’ll get the door,” I said and stepped around him. I pulled open the old screen door of the side entrance. It led to an enclosed, unheated porch.

  “Thanks,” he said as he stepped inside and set the milk cans on the wooden floor. “My neighbors like fresh milk so I set aside
some each week for them.”

  “That’s a lot of milk.”

  He kicked off his barn boots and set them on a side rug. “Enough for four families.”

  That meant Easterly was on good terms with at least four families in the area. He pushed open the entry door that led to his kitchen. I started to remove my own boots, but he waved his hand. “Leave them on. The floor is linoleum and easy enough to wipe up.”

  I stomped off the snow I’d picked up on the driveway and followed him inside. He didn’t call out and it made me wonder if anyone else was there. Hanging on the opposite wall, prominently displayed, was an aerial photo of a well-kept farm. I pointed to it. “Is that your place?”

  He pulled off his jacket, cap, and gloves. “Yup. Taken about twelve years ago.”

  “Nice. I can see why you love it here and want it to stay rural around you.”

  “Make yourself at home, take a load off.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.

  The room was clean, but lacked a decorator’s touch. A small wood table with salt and pepper shakers and butter dish sitting in the middle of it and four wood chairs surrounding it took up half of the floor space. The old wood cupboards had been painted white, and the countertops were a gray Formica with some swirls of other colors mixed in and dated back to the fifties, was my guess.

  I unbuttoned my coat and sat down across from him. “You said you’ve lived here all your life?”

  “Every one of my fifty-four years. Yup. Born and raised here. This farm has been in the family for nigh unto a hundred years.” No wonder he was so steadfast in his resistance. A factory as a next-door neighbor would be a big change.

  “What about the rest of your family, are they nearby?”

  “I’m all that’s left. My brother died young, and I haven’t found the right woman who would have me yet. Sorta been married to this farming operation, you could say.” Like Pinky and I were to our shops.