The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Anna Drake

  The dear boy took one look at me and blushed from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair. The brown sweatshirt wasn’t too bad. I also suspected Toby could have lived with the short pants and the jingle of the bells attached to their hem. But I think it was the candy-striped stockings and jeweled slippers that had the shy teenager turning pink.

  I walked up beside him. “Hello there, Toby,” I said, managing to keep a straight face.

  He ducked his head. “Nobody mentioned I’d be wearing a costume,” he whispered and cast a nervous eye toward Ginger.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  Ginger walked up and joined us. “Doesn’t Toby look cute?” She eyed him over and nodded with satisfaction. “Dressed this way, except he’s too tall, he looks like he might be Barnaby’s nephew.”

  “That’s one description,” I said mildly.

  “You have another?”

  “Ginger,” I protested, “Toby’s obviously uncomfortable in that costume.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s playing an elf.” Ginger glanced over at Toby. “It’s okay with you, right?”

  I broke in. “Maybe his mother could come up with something that would be a little less showy. Would that work for you?”

  I knew I needed to tread carefully. If Ginger got her back up, Toby could be wearing jeweled bedroom slippers until Christmas, a fate I wouldn’t wish on any teenaged boy.

  “Look, I have to face the board after I close the cabin tonight,” she said. “They’re not going to be in a good mood. I don’t need your grief over Toby’s costume right now.”

  Two children walked into the cabin with parents in tow. Toby said his farewell to us. He scurried to the boy and girl, took their hands, and ushered them up to Santa. Mom and Dad hung around for a moment, observing their offspring with proud smiles before scurrying out the door and hopefully on to spend their money in the nearby shops.

  “So how are Santa’s gin fumes tonight?” I asked.

  “So far so good. I’m going to pick up a pizza for Toby and Santa. That should keep the jolly fellow sober.”

  I thought about the nine o’clock closing hour. “I don’t envy your employees their work hours.”

  “After scheduling my stylists and balancing my books, their hours aren’t much different from mine.”

  “Yeah. Well, you’re a good at being a workhorse.”

  Ginger gave me a startled look. “Me? Have you totaled up how many hours you spend running around at night, snapping photos, taking names, or covering boring meetings? I bet you work more hours than I do.”

  I suspected Ginger had me on that point, so I changed direction. “Dad went right to work on your ad. He thinks you’ll get a lot of responses.”

  “Really, for this kind of a position?”

  “He said your applicants will most likely be retirees looking to have a little fun and bring in extra cash. But that’s what Scroggins was, and you say he worked out well.”

  Ginger snorted. “At least if they’re seniors, none of them will be as tall as they once were.”

  “Ginger, your sense of humor needs serious work.”

  She gave me a dirty look.

  Before us, the two children had finished their stint on Santa’s lap and were now headed toward a pile of toys in the far corner of the cabin. Toby trailed behind them, encouraging them not to run.

  Ginger nodded contentedly. “Toby is good with children. I could see that this afternoon.”

  “I’m glad you think he’ll work out. Will you keep him, after you find your replacement for Scroggins?”

  “I think so. He was helpful when we were in a tight spot. I don’t feel I can just dump him after the emergency ends.”

  That was totally Ginger.

  “So are you here for the night,” Ginger asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You wanna stay here and babysit Santa while Toby and I run out and pick up the pizza?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  With that, she rounded Toby up. They grabbed their coats, gave me a wave, and scurried out the door

  From behind me came a voice. “You can make yourself comfortable, you know.” I turned. The two children were at the toy station, playing with modeling clay, and Santa was gazing up at me. “Why not have a seat?” he said.

  “Good idea.” It had been a crazy day. I headed for a small chair to his right.

  “No, not there,” he protested.

  I glanced around the room. “Then, where?”

  “How about on my lap?’ he asked, giving me a broad wink. “That’s where most of the good little girls sit. And I can tell you’ve been a really great little girl this year.”

  Oh, good grief. Ginger hadn’t been exaggerating this man’s sleaziness.

  I bit back a snarky comment. Ginger’s life was tough enough without me alienating her Santa Claus. “That’s a generous offer,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”

  He didn’t look best pleased. “Aw, come on. You look like you could use a little fun.”

  “Maybe, but I still think I’ll pass.”

  His face flushed red, but I doubted it was from being embarrassed. I could see why Ginger couldn’t trust the man alone with a teenaged girl.

  “Most of me in this suit is padding you know,” he said. “ I’m a good looking dude when I dump the costume.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I struggled to dream up a new conversational thread. “Ah… so what do you with yourself when you’re not playing Santa?” I asked. It probably wasn’t the most original question in the world, but I was desperate.

  “Pretty much whatever I please,” He chuckled softly, “I’m a kept man.”

  “I’m sorry? I’m not following you.”

  “My wife, Valerie Farmer, owns the bakery. She’s doing so well that I don’t need to work.”

  “Then why are you playing Santa?”

  “I like watching the young mothers. They sort of give me a warm fuzzy feeling.”

  Oh, joy. “And when you’re not working here, how do you fill your time?”

  “This and that. Nothing in particular.”

  I must have had a disdainful look on my face, because Farmer went suddenly into defensive mode, lifting his chin and saying, “I’m no different than the stay-at-home wives of successful husbands.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Lucky you.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  As I stood there mulling over our exchange, I couldn’t help wondering if Valerie knew of her husband’s flirtatious nature? Either way, she’d certainly have my sympathy from here on in. This guy was very close to being a serious waste of oxygen.

  Four

  Saturday morning dawned gray and bitter. A cold front had swept in overnight and chased our beautiful weather away. Now, a stiff north wind whistled about the house. Snowflakes flew past my bedroom window. I yawned, rolled onto my side, closed my eyes, and tried to put the unwelcome sight out of mind.

  After leaving Santa’s Cabin last night, I’d dropped by the newspaper office to catch up on some work. I hadn’t wandered home until almost eleven. Now, I longed to return to sleep.

  “Melanie,” Dad’s voice called up from downstairs. “Come on. Up and at ‘em. We’re expecting four inches of snow before this stuff ends. If you’ve got things to do, best get at them while you can.”

  Someplace in this world, fathers turned a blind eye to their offspring’s desire to remain in bed. But not in this house. I shoved my bedcovers aside.

  That’s what you get, I told myself, when you live with your employer. Dad not only acted like he owned my time at the newspaper but, most days, the same attitude prevailed at home.

  Giving forth a mighty groan, I propelled myself into a sitting position and plopped my warm feet onto the cold floor. Normally, we didn’t work on Saturdays, but this was the holiday season. With only four staffers putting out three weekly issues of the Gazette, we’d be swamped between now
and Christmas. It wasn’t just the merchant’s busiest time of year, it was ours as well. At least, I thought with relish, after Christmas, things would slow down for the next month or so.

  I heard Taffy bark someplace downstairs. Then, the back door slammed shut. I assumed Dad and his beloved cocker spaniel were taking off for their daily constitutional, snow or no snow.

  Good for them, I thought, perhaps, a bit uncharitably.

  But despite the day’s grayness, I quickly showered, and dressed, and in short order, was pulling my Fiesta out of our garage. By then, Dad had already left for the office. I followed his tire tracks down the drive and out onto the slippery street.

  At work, Betty was already behind the receptionist’s desk when I walked through the front door. “Morning’,” she called out cheerily to me. “How are the streets?”

  “Slick.”

  “It’ll be worse on the way home.”

  “No doubt.” I stomped my boots free of snow on the rug which trailed from the front door to Betty’s desk.. “How did Toby like his stint at the cabin?”

  “He said it was fun. He doesn’t much care for the costume, though.”

  “Tell him Ginger’s standing firm. I tried arguing the point with her and lost.”

  “Toby’s thought of a couple of changes. He’ll try working those past her. He thinks he wouldn’t feel like such a silly goose.”

  I silently wished him luck. “What’s his biggest complaint?”

  “The slippers and stockings.”

  “Can’t blame him on the slippers. Ginger told me she’d found them in the attic. She thinks they must have belonged to her great grandmother.”

  “Ugh, I think I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself. Toby might burn them if he hears who they once belonged to.”

  “No matter how he feels about the costume, I hope he stays with the job. Ginger intends to keep Toby working right up to Christmas. That could mean some pretty good money for your boy.”

  “He knows it. I think he’ll bring her round, though, on the costume.”

  Bringing Ginger “round” on anything would be a first, I thought. “Did any new assignments come in overnight?”

  Part of Betty’s job was to check the phone messages every morning and pass out whatever assignments had been phoned in.” It wasn’t unusual for requests for news coverage to arrive that way. Maybe someone wanted a photo shot of a square dance at the VFW, or one taken of speaker at a monthly session of the Grandmother’s Club.

  “Nope,” Betty said. “Everything remains as it was. I imagine if this snow keeps up much longer though, your dad’s gonna want some shots of snow piles or such.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “I’d already been planning to cover road closures.”

  “What about the murder?” Betty asked.

  “I’ll scour the Times to see what details they have.”

  The Times was the largest newspaper in our area. Published in a city about forty miles from Cloverton, it covered the main news in our county. But the paper left the little stuff — the spelling bees, the Boy Scout news, anniversaries and such — to us. Dad and I monitored their pages daily to be sure we hadn’t missed a major story. Most of the time, our coverage held up just fine. Thank you very much.

  “That murder was a nasty business,” Betty said, with a firm shake of her head. “Who’d want to go and kill an old man like that?”

  “I hope we find out soon.” But I avoided any mention of my plans to lend a hand with the effort. Dad tended to get a bit irritated with me when he thought I was putting myself in danger. But then, he would. I was his only child.

  I sighed and made my way to the office. I suspected a rash of early morning accidents from the snowstorm needed to be checked out and written up.

  After slipping out of my parka, I hung it on the corner coat rack. The boots went down below the coat. My purse, I plopped into my bottom desk drawer. I took a quick time out to collect a cup of coffee from the break room. There, a new, fancy coffee maker had replaced our old broken pot, the one that had played such a big part in my last brush with a killer.

  Finally, armed with a fresh ration of caffeine, I returned to my office and fired up my computer. Pulling open a drawer filled with press releases and notes from last week’s Police Pension Board meeting, I tore into my daily tasks. From there, I started calling around, checking on street conditions and accident reports — all in preparation for Monday’s edition..

  Shortly before noon, I headed to the break room where I heated a can of soup for lunch. Betty joined me. We discussed weather, and murder, and Christmas shopping plans. I shopped almost exclusively with local merchants. Our advertisers supported us, so I felt duty bound to return the favor. Dad, of course, felt the same way.

  It wasn’t until late afternoon, when I was about to put on my coat and walk out the door, that my phone rang.

  “I’ve got him.” It was Ginger.

  “You’ve got whom?”

  “My elf.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m confused. The ad won’t come out until Monday.”

  “I don’t need it. A woman walked in off the street this morning. Said she’d heard about Scroggins’ death and wanted to know if she could have the job.”

  “And you hired her?”

  “Yeah, her name is Agnes Plummer. She’s perfect.”

  “I’m glad it worked out for you. I’ll tell Dad so he can pull the ad.”

  “Do thank him for me. It was nice of him to offer to run it for free.”

  “I will. But tell me, aren’t you concerned about Agnes being left alone with Santa?”

  “Don’t give it a thought. Agnes could kick Santa out the door and halfway to the North Pole if he tried to get smart with her. She’s tough.”

  “What about the Elf costume?”

  “Fits her like it was made for her.”

  “That’s great,” I said. But on some level, I couldn’t help wondering what could have driven this woman to volunteer for so lousy a job? And before it had even been advertised yet.

  ~~~

  That night, after battling my way home over ice-covered roads, I’d just sat down to one of Father’s wonderful meals when the phone rang. This night Dad had opted for lamb stew with cornbread muffins. The meal was a perfect counterbalance to the dreadful winter weather surrounding us.

  But despite being settled at the table, when the phone rang, Dad excused himself and answered the call. Within seconds he returned to the dining room. “It’s Wendy Cartwright. She wants to speak with you.”

  I rose and proceeded to the kitchen. “Yes?” I said.

  “Melanie, is that you?”

  “Of course. But Wendy, what’s the matter?”

  “I think Gossford believes I killed Barnaby.”

  I already knew of the police chief’s suspicions, but I saw no sense in feeding her fear. “You’re worrying needlessly,” I lied. “I’m sure Gossford has more sense than that.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I mean, not that I think he’s senseless or anything. But he’s been after me about how much keeping Barnaby had cost me. And about how much money I’d spent remodeling the apartment for him. It was like he thought I considered Barnaby a financial burden. I tried to make him see that the money didn’t matter. But I‘m not sure he believed me.”

  “Has Gossford threatened to arrest you?”

  “He hasn’t come right out and said so, but he’s been back here several times. The last time he had a search warrant for my old gardening shed.”

  “Did he say what he hoped to find?”

  “Poison.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  On my return to the dining room, Father frowned. “You’re going out in this awful weather?”

  “Can’t be helped. Wendy is nearly hysterical. She thinks Gossford’s about to arrest her for murdering her cousin.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t do it?”

  “I think she’s an unlikely killer.”

&nb
sp; “Melanie, I’d rather you didn’t involve yourself in another murder case. Remember how that ended last time?”

  “I’m not going to do anything but lend a delightful woman an ear and give her a hug.”

  “On a night like this?” Dad shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Yes, she does. She’s a lovely and caring woman.”

  “If you were younger, I’d lock you in your room.”

  “You tried that last time, remember?”

  He sighed. “Wait here. Okay?”

  He rushed to the kitchen and a short time later returned bearing a large plastic container. “At least if you’re leaving this house, you’re not doing so without dinner. Plus, Wendy’s probably forgotten to eat. It’s not uncommon during a loss like this.”

  I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Yours will probably be the best meal Wendy has eaten in decades.”

  Dad’s chest puffed out a bit. Cooking was his one true vanity. “Be careful driving,” he said. “The streets are sure to be like glass tonight.”

  Halfway to Wendy’s house, I almost regretted my mad dash out the door. The roads were slick. Trying to turn left at Henderson and Andrew streets, I slid through the intersection sideways. Fortunately, I was the only fool on the road, so no harm done.

  It was with gratitude that I eased my car in front of Wendy’s house a short time later. I didn’t even attempt to pull into her unplowed driveway. Stepping from the car, the wind whipped about my hood and blew snow into my eyes. I lifted my arm and battled my way to the front door.

  “Goodness,” Wendy said. She swung the door wide. “Come in. Come in. You are a dear to venture out into a night like this.”

  I stepped through the doorway and handed the container of stew to her. “Dad sent this over. I hope you haven’t eaten.” Hands now free, I relieved myself of hat and coat and boots and scarf.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve had a bite all day. Until Gossford proved so hostile, I’d been thinking about Barnaby. After my time spent with Gossford, I started worrying about me.”