Egg the Halls

by Jessica Payseur

  “Hey, Steff,” said Kiko in return, eyeing the selection of bread. “How goes life at the bakery today?”

  “Oh, about as well as usual. Trying to get everything together for our stamp day on Saturday. We’re having a Pipers Piping contest, did you hear?”

  Kiko shook his head.

  “I’ll throw you in a little flyer with your order. The unfrosted cookies, right?”

  “Could you throw one of those marble rye loaves on there, too?” he asked, thinking he ought to have another bread option around for the guests. And a backup if Mother decided he wanted to misbehave again.

  “That all?” she asked as she rang up the order. Kiko estimated he’d need two trips out to his truck, at least. There was a bag of red, white, and green frosting, too, and he already had sprinkles back at Yolks on You. He nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  Steff leaned closer as he handed over his card.

  “Did Cat’s art place really get wrecked again?” she asked.

  “Wrecked might be an overstatement. The outside of the building was paintballed.”

  “What a shame,” said Steff, shaking her head. “Someone really has it out for her, huh? Luckily they left the art alone this time.”

  “Yes,” said Kiko, not bringing up the decapitated angel. Cat had reported the incident to the Catsville police again, but there was still little they could do. Since they all seemed to agree it was a threat, Kiko thought it best to keep silent on it. Steff’s eyes flicked to the door, but no new customers were approaching.

  “It’s not her brother doing this, is it?”

  “Why do you say that?” Kiko tucked his card back in his wallet.

  “The sibling rivalry is obvious. And paintballing? It all points to him.”

  “We don’t have any proof that Ben did any of this,” said Kiko, and Steff rolled her eyes.

  “Maybe you and Dom should have a break with this mystery thing. You know he has a paintball class, right? My nephew’s going the week after Christmas.”

  Kiko blinked, surprised. Dom hadn’t mentioned a paintballing class. He’d remember to be surly with him later, maybe claim a punishment out of it all. But the very concept of such a class confused him.

  “How do you have an art class on a paintball gun?” he asked. Steff fidgeted with the boxes of cookies.

  “I think it’s shooting at a canvas. You put a vinyl sticker over the canvas, shoot a bunch of paintballs at it, then peel away the sticker. Splatter art.”

  Kiko figured at least some of the problem Cat had with her brother was his concept of art. What some people thought of as a party activity, Ben apparently stuck the word “class” on and then charged for it. Fun, no doubt, but probably a slap in the face to someone like Cat.

  “I see. I didn’t think there was enough room at the place to shoot paint guns.”

  “Oh, they’re holding it at Ben’s house, he has a few acres. His son’s teaching the class, too, I heard. Isn’t that wild? A high school student teaching an art class.”

  Kiko shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal about the information, but he agreed. It also didn’t pass him by that Ben offered the role of teacher to his son, the role of model to his daughter. He was looking less and less like a person of quality character. Kiko did not look forward to how smug Dom was going to get with this information.

  “Dom and I don’t take action without proof,” he said. “But thanks for everything.” He patted the boxes of cookies. “I’m sure everything will work itself out in time for Christmas.”

  * * * *

  Nearly home from work Dom decided that not only did he not want to see his brother, he didn’t have to. He and Kiko were really dragging their feet on this mystery and there was more he could do. So he took a different turn and made his way to New Slough, where Sasha Jennings lived.

  It hadn’t snowed at all and the roads were clear. By Dom’s calculations he had enough time to get to the tiny town, track the artist down, and have a quick interview with her before getting to Yolks on You in time for Kiko’s Eggnog Cookie Social. He’d promised to help out at it since Katie had wanted the evening off. And if he could show up with some key information, Kiko was sure to be appreciative.

  They really should be tying up the entire case by now. Dom drove past the jerky factory and into New Slough proper, looking for a gas station. Had a mystery ever taken them so long before? If they were being lazy because of a lack of a murder, that wasn’t very professional of them. Of course, maybe Kiko understood that once they found the culprit Dom would have no excuses to avoid his brother.

  “Sasha lives on Birch Lane,” said the gas station cashier when Dom asked. “The apartment there. One of the bottom floors.”

  When he pulled up to the apartment he began to think everything was going too easy. Sasha was easy to find—a woman with the purple hair from her picture online was sitting on a folding chair on the patio of one of the bottom apartments, bundled up but scribbling in a notebook with a pencil. Dom got out of his car and waved. She didn’t look up. Maybe not so easy after all.

  “Hey, Sasha Jennings?” he asked as he approached. She looked up at him, one part boredom on her face, two parts exhaustion.

  “I got enough religion, thanks,” she said. She sounded like someone who had been an obstinate teen but now that she was approaching thirty she was simply worn down by life. Dom stopped several feet away.

  “I’m Dominic Grady,” he said. “I’m actually here about your art.”

  “‘Kay,” she said. She curled her fingers in on themselves against the cold. Dom noticed she was wearing those fingerless gloves. “You could just send me an email if you want to order something special.”

  Dom felt immediately like an asshole. Sending an email was a great answer for everything he could have done. But he wanted to talk with Sasha herself. She was definitely an interesting person if she was sketching outside in the middle of winter.

  “It’s about you moving,” he said. She scowled.

  “Cat sent you?” she asked, standing. “Look, I gave her my key back. I moved on. I got to get ready for work. Nights at the jerky factory. You get a lot of inspiration.”

  She moved toward the door.

  “Cat didn’t send me,” said Dom, telling himself it wasn’t a lie. Not really. Cat asked him and Kiko to look into the vandalism, not track down one of her former artists. “I’m just confused. I saw your art at the Apple Barn party at Halloween, and at Cat’s. Can I only get it online now?”

  “It’s all at Ben’s now,” said Sasha. “You know, Angus Arts in Mount Angus? I just changed where I’m displaying, that’s all.”

  “Right,” said Dom, trying to make the word sound like he was still confused.

  “It’s nothing against Cat,” said Sasha. “Ben gave me better terms. Didn’t want as much profit from a sale. He says he’ll get them sold faster, too. Even offered to come out here and pick up anything I can’t get out to him fast enough.”

  “That’s convenient,” said Dom, remembering what Joy told him about why Sam had left. Ben appeared to be sweetening everything as much as possible for the artists. Dom wondered if he offered such good terms to everyone. Maybe Dom should pick up wood burning or something.

  “Look, I don’t think her…clientele were super into what I do. A lot of her stuff was on the more feminine side, cute or serene. My art makes people think. Seems to fit better with other uncomfortable things, like the taxidermy.”

  Dom couldn’t argue with that.

  “My still lifes make people squirm. I like that. But I also like making money. I’m trying to plan a wedding with my boyfriend, and everything counts. It’s not about Cat.”

  “Still life?” echoed Dom. This was what Sasha claimed to paint?

  “Yeah, well, I guess more like rage against still life. Dull little fruits. We’re all still life. Just look at yourself.” She paused as Dom contemplated the fact that a lot of her paintings incorporated death. “I really have to get to work no
w. Go to Angus Arts and buy something.”

  She went inside, leaving Dom standing alone, suddenly feeling the cold. He went back to his car and pulled out his phone, considering texting Kiko, but he was probably too busy preparing for his cookie-decorating event. Which Dom really should be on his way to right now. He turned on the car and got on the road back to Mount Angus, wishing someone would give him some more damning evidence about Ben than just that he was being overly aggressive in securing artists.

  * * * *

  Yolks on You was packed. Considering it was a Monday night and two weeks away from Christmas, Kiko was impressed. He hoped he’d bought enough cookies, although he’d made up more than enough eggnog, both alcoholic and non. He rushed around, annoyed with Dom for not showing up but unable to take out his phone and call. Dom was still not technically late; Kiko just hadn’t assumed people would show up this early.

  “Chad, back to the register,” he said, noticing the teen messing around with the sprinkles. There were only two customers waiting, but Chad seemed to have difficulties not spilling everything so Kiko wanted him far away from the cookies. What he didn’t need was a bunch of kids crying.

  Dom pushed through the crowd to him, still wearing his coat, and Kiko extended an arm to hold him back from the cookie tables.

  “What’re we doing?” he asked.

  “You’re getting your coat off. Serve eggnog when Chad says, and otherwise help me keep the kids from frosting their faces instead of the cookies.”

  “Got it,” said Dom, and disappeared. When Kiko saw him next he was delivering eggnog to mingling adults. The workload eased up a bit and Kiko was able to relax more.

  He’d started the Eggnog Cookie Social last year, but it had been a small turnout. The premise was simple: adults could drop by for an eggnog and chat while their kids decorated egg-shaped cookies in Christmas colors. Apparently it had been well received enough last year that word had spread. It helped that Kiko made sure to offer it over Yolks on You’s stamp day.

  “Think of it like an egg in a sweater,” said Kiko to one whiny child. The kid wanted a tube of red but they were all in use. “Sweaters can be more than just red.”

  The child sulked anyway until Kiko was able to snag the red frosting. If that was all he had to deal with, it would be a good night. At some point Dom wandered over to help out at the other end of the table, and then Kiko saw Gaby enter. Her kids settled at the table near him and promptly began to argue about who got the nearby tube of green frosting.

  “How’s it going?” asked Gaby, sipping an eggnog. “I don’t remember it being this busy last year.”

  “It wasn’t,” said Kiko, glancing back at Chad to make sure he was still handling the register all right. People swarmed the store, wandering through the aisles, sitting at the tables with an eggnog, standing around and chatting. The noise level was impressive. “It must have left a good impression.”

  “I’m happy for you,” said Gaby. Kiko noticed she was staring down the table at Dom.

  “About the business?” he asked, pressing her.

  She laughed. “That, too.”

  “It’s not that serious.”

  “Sure,” said Gaby, taking another sip of eggnog. “He works at your store with no pay. He even does chores with you. Maybe try to hang on to this one.”

  “Just don’t give me any advice about him.”

  Gaby gave him a little shove, then moved to grab the sprinkles before Nathan knocked them over.

  “You’re not still angry about that. It was one guy!”

  “Dom thinks we don’t have any family issues,” said Kiko. “Hold on.” He had to move halfway down the table and solve a disagreement about an empty tube of frosting, easily solved by removing it and fetching a new one.

  “That’s because he compares everything to his brother,” said Gaby when he returned. It was clear to Kiko that she was not pleased with having to deal with Devin. Kiko didn’t particularly like him, either, but he’d had to put up with him less.

  “Sounds like his entire family is that way.”

  “Then you should definitely have separate side seating at the wedding.” Gaby paused when Kiko turned to look at her. “Oops. Drank my eggnog too fast.”

  She was grinning. Kiko moved to stop a child from eating a cookie without frosting it first, then decided against it. The little girl could have her cookie any way she wanted.

  “We’re not getting married, Gaby. We haven’t even been together a year.”

  “So? When you know, you know. Luke and I got engaged seven months in and look at us.” She paused, but Kiko was not going to have this conversation. “Oh, fine. I guess I’ll have one more.”

  “And don’t go saying things like that to Dom,” said Kiko as she moved off to get Chad to pour her another.

  “Say what to me?”

  Kiko shrugged at Dom, taking the empty tubes of frosting from him.

  “You know family. They meddle.”

  Dom grinned wickedly.

  “Spare frosting tubes are behind the counter with Chad,” said Kiko, tossing out the empty ones in the trash by his end of the table. Dom hovered for a moment more, but when Kiko turned back to the kids, he gave up and went back to helping.

  Eventually the crowd thinned, the parents collected their children and cookies and went home. Kiko was left with a slowly emptying, messier than normal, store. Even Gaby collected her kids and their half dozen decorated eggs and said good night. Customers dwindled until it was just the three of them left to clean. Chad grabbed the broom, the easiest job, and Dom frowned at him.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “Winter break,” said Chad, then glanced around. “You really think my mom’d toss me out? For real?”

  Dom swept sprinkles from the table into his hand and then deposited them in the trash. Kiko examined the last four egg-shaped cookies and frosting, one full tube of white, one-half tube of red. He tossed them all in a box and decided to take them home.

  “You just need to be prepared, Chad,” said Kiko. “Probably not.”

  “Right,” said Chad, nodding. “I can prepare.”

  Kiko left Dom to wipe down the table and circled around behind the counter. Chad had left the inkpad open and he snapped the lid back on now, then picked up the rubber goose stamp and turned to wash it. Something crinkled under his foot and he looked down, seeing an envelope on the floor.

  “Chad? You drop something?”

  Kiko picked it up. It was a plain white envelope, with the flap tucked under rather than sealed.

  “No, boss. I like, am all digital and shit. Paper-free. Eco-friendly. All that.”

  Kiko opened it and unfolded the paper inside. It was a regular sheet of computer paper, with one line printed on the top. He read it once, then twice, then passed it over to Dom as he hovered.

  “Stop before it’s too late,” Dom read aloud.

  * * * *

  Chapter 11

  Make sure your brother’s around, Dom read when he pulled out his phone, we’re taking him to the Pickle.

  Srsly? he responded, groaning. He was unloading the dishwasher. Again. Guests made so many extra chores that he was beginning to hate his brother in new and interesting ways.

  G wants him away for a night.

  Lucky for her, typed Dom, then deleted it unsent. I’ll call him, he sent instead.

  “What, Dom?” asked Devin when he picked up. There was noise behind him. Dom pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the sink.

  “You want to go to the Pickle with me and Kiko later?”

  Devin laughed.

  “The Dill Pickle? I’m here now. I was going to stay—they have these bacon pickle appetizers—so you can bump into me then.”

  He’s already there, sent Dom, looking forward to going to bed later.

  Pick you up in twenty?

  Dom finished with the dishes, tossed a few dirty cups and bowls in that had been sitting in the sink, and changed shirts.
Kiko came in to drop off Mother. They got in Kiko’s truck and went, neither of them speaking until they pulled into the lot.

  “Can’t believe you want to spend any time with him,” said Dom.

  “There’s probably something redeeming about him,” said Kiko, turning the engine off but not getting out.

  “Not really. Katie and Chad covering for you?”

  “Yes. And today was quiet.”

  “Did you take the note to Gordon?” asked Dom. Kiko sighed. “Kiko.”

  “I dropped it by the station but I didn’t stay to talk,” said Kiko, and Dom figured that would have to do. The Police Chief was notoriously slow about gathering information. “We’re doing a good job of avoiding Devin, aren’t we?”

  He popped his door open before Dom could suggest they not go in at all and Dom was forced to follow. Kiko had dismissed any of Dom’s worry about the note the night before. There was nothing much they could do; it had to be related to their investigation, and the sooner they cleared that up, the better. Dom knew they’d been taking too long with it. Spending time with Devin now seemed a bad idea for more than one reason.

  His brother was easy enough to find, the other patrons leaving a space around him at the bar. Kiko took a seat on one side of Devin and Dom took the other side of his brother, hoping this made him uncomfortable as hell. He looked drunk already by six though and didn’t do much more than take a drink and grab at an admittedly delicious-looking pickle bacon pinwheel.

  “Those look good,” said Dom as one of Dill’s bartenders brought him and Kiko their usual. Devin pushed his hand away when he reached for the plate.

  “Get your own. I’m surprised you showed up.”

  “Oh? Why?” asked Kiko, ordering a plate of the pinwheels.

  “You’re so busy being stuck up at your store. Has to be the only reason why Dom’s been in a relationship so long. You never see him for who he is.”

  “Thanks, Dev,” said Dom.

  “Stop calling me that,” said Devin, finishing his beer and motioning for another. “We’re not kids.”

  Kiko toyed with his tie as though considering taking it off in here. Instead he loosened it, took a drink. Dom noticed he was already nearly through his own. He needed to slow down. Devin pissed him off so much.