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

by Anna Drake

  “Try not to let the man upset you. I’m sure this will all work out. But I’m glad you haven’t eaten. Dad sent this lamb stew over. I think it’s still warm. I can microwave it for a minute or two to bring it back to steaming.” I took the container of food back from her.

  I followed her to the kitchen. The room I entered was small but pleasant. Like her living room, it was crammed with antiques. The original wooden cupboards still existed. They stretched from the floor to the ceiling and had been painted a soft, pleasant green. The setting was made to feel up to date by being enhanced with the latest appliances. Oddly enough, the mix made the room feel rather cozy, a neat trick on this cold and dreary a night. I spotted the police scanner I’d heard yesterday perched on top of her refrigerator.

  After locating the microwave, I slipped the stew inside, set the timer, and turned on the machine. Despite my Dad’s kitchen prowess, microwaving was my one and only talent in that department.

  Wendy nodded toward a pine, drop-leaf table. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

  “Please,” I said, “I’d rather you let me assemble things.”

  “My dear, that’s not at all necessary.”

  “Maybe not, but I insist anyway. Dishes?” I asked.

  “You’ll spoil me,” she protested.

  “It’s about time someone did, but it’s really not me. Dad made the meal. All I did was cart it here. Truth be told, I can’t even boil water without scorching the pan.”

  Wendy chuckled. “Well, whoever made the meal, it was kind of them. And I do thank you for coming over. I feel better already.”

  The cat, who had followed us in from the living room, jumped to the top of the refrigerator, being careful not to bump the scanner. He then sat and inspected me closely.

  “Nero won’t hurt you,” Wendy said. “Just don’t make any sudden moves. He doesn’t much care for strangers, but he rarely attacks them.”

  That made me feel so much better.

  Finally, with tea steeping in a lovely rose covered pot, dishes and silverware laid out on her lovely table, Wendy and I sat down to a hot, flavorful meal courtesy of my father.

  Wendy ate quietly and daintily. My appetite was lagging, too, as my thoughts turned often to Barnaby. And I next found myself wondering at the lack of mourners in the house.

  I reached for my water glass. “If you’re expecting any out-of-town relatives, let me know. I’ll get Dad to work on casseroles and such that you can trot out for the hoards when they arrive.”

  Wendy wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll get any visitors. Barnaby and I were on our own. Most of our family has already passed on and those who are left won’t care two figs that Barnaby’s dead.”

  “Really? He wasn’t popular with the masses, then?”

  “My cousin hadn’t lived well or wisely. He’d burned bridges, offended lots of people. I doubt they’re going to overlook his shortcomings now.”

  “But you stood beside him?”

  “Yes. We were childhood playmates, see? I’d always been close to him. Even after he turned greedy and grasping, I couldn’t forget that little boy I’d once spent so much time with.”

  “Greedy? Grasping?”

  Wendy shook her head and gazed off into the distance. “He grew up in a family of four children,” she said. “He was the oldest. But it wasn’t until his teens that his true nature surfaced. His parents were wealthy. There was more than enough money for all of the children to live comfortably on after the parents died. But Barnaby broke the will. Lost all the money. His siblings never forgave him. He did the same with each of his business partners over the years. Siphoned off all the business profits, that is.”

  “So old-time buddies and relatives are unlikely to turn up to mourn him?”

  “That’s probably true,” Wendy replied.

  “What about locals. Did he make friends after his move here?”

  “Mostly, he kept to himself, but he had a few people here to pall around with. Let me see, there was Lester Porter. He and Barnaby used to go down to Patty’s Grill once in a while for a beer or two. Then, he sometimes went with a group of men over to the riverboats to gamble. Not very often. The only negative here that I knew of, at least, happened last year. Harold Sparks was in charge of Santa’s Cabin. He and Barnabas had a falling out of some sort.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “No, Barnaby never discussed details. He just came home a time or two cursing Sparks for having treated him badly.”

  “Did he ever mention anything about Samuel Farmer?”

  “Valerie’s husband? Nothing special that I can recall. Why?”

  “No reason. I’ve just spent some time with Mr. Farmer and wondered what kind of an impression he made on other people.”

  “Barnaby might have crabbed about him a couple of times. But I never paid much attention. It didn’t come close to his dissatisfaction with Sparks.”

  I inwardly shrugged. Maybe Santa was only good at raising a woman’s ire. “Can you come up with the names of his gambling buddies?”

  “Not off the top of my head. But I’ll think about it tonight and write you up a list.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wendy studied me a moment. “Why do you want to know all this?”

  “Curiosity is my curse.”

  “Do you think knowing these things will help expose a killer?”

  “I don’t know. But if you didn’t kill Barnaby, then somebody else did. And it didn’t look like anyone had broken into the carriage house, so the killer is most likely someone Barnaby knew.”

  Wendy shivered. “I like to think the best of my fellow man.”

  “I know. But sometimes a few of them disappoint us.”

  Wendy sighed. “It’s often the way of the world, isn’t it?”

  Five

  First thing the Sunday morning, I touched base with Ginger.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she demanded.

  “Early?”

  “Like obscenely so.”

  “Meet me at Howies?”

  “For what?”

  “Breakfast and good news.”

  “It had better be.”

  “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  But before taking off to meet up with Ginger, I gave my favorite snitch a call. Alan Larkin was a sheriff’s deputy and one of the best gossips I knew. Old maids bearing knitting needles had nothing on this guy. He was nearly always able to provide me with chapter and verse on people living within Weaver County.

  “With this snow,” he said in response to my request for a meeting, “I doubt our usual hideout is doable. So meet me out front of our usual spot, and I’ll scope out another rabbit hole for us to dive into before you get there.”

  We both thought our precaution was warranted. Larkin’s boss would hardly want him tipping me off to some of the information he sent my way.

  “Is nine okay?” I asked.

  “Works for me.”

  Now, I strode into Howies and saw Ginger seated in a booth waiting. I waved at her. She nodded in return.

  Sundays were the only day Howies did breakfast. And they did it so well that half of Cloverton rewarded them with their patronage.

  “This news of yours better be special,” Ginger snarled as I slid into the booth opposite her. “You pulled me out of bed before dawn. Did you realize that?”

  I beamed. “So what? Now, how about food?”

  “I’m just having coffee,” she groused.

  “Too bad. I think I’ll have the full breakfast.”

  Our server came by the table with coffee pot in hand. I nodded toward my cup and said I would be participating in the buffet. And before Ginger could protest my move, I shot up and grabbed a plate, which I filled with all kinds of sausage and bacon and eggs and French toast. Winter has always pushed my appetite into the overload zone.

  Balancing my plate carefully to lose not a drip, I returned to the booth and Ginger studied the
pile on my plate with disdain. “Your arteries are going to harden.”

  “That’s at least thirty years down the road.” I loaded my fork and opened my mouth.

  Ginger scoffed. “So what is this news of yours?”

  I chewed, then swallowed. “I spent last night with Wendy Cartwright. Gossford’s apparently eyeing her as the killer.”

  “So you told me.”

  “Yes, but last night, Wendy spilled the beans about Scroggins.”

  “As in reasons why people might want the man dead?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ginger grinned. “Have you come up with any theories for us to explore?”

  “You know Harold Sparks, right?”

  “Sure, he was in charge of the cabin last year.”

  “So Barnaby came home complaining to Wendy about the way Sparks was treating him.”

  Ginger’s head snapped to attention. “Hey, you’re not suggesting one of the DBA members wiped Scroggins out? That’s not going to fly. Besides, If Sparks had a thing against Barnaby, why would he wait for a year before killing the guy.”

  “I still think it’s worth checking.”

  “If you say so. But you’d better have some other suggestions, because I don’t think Sparks is going to add up to much.”

  “Sure there are other options. Wendy said Barnaby had one drinking buddy he hung around with, a man named, Lester Porter. I thought I’d take a run at him this afternoon.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Use your cell phone. Call the DBA members. You have to touch base with them about the status of your elf search anyway. Tossing in a few questions about Sparks shouldn’t seem too far off base. Maybe you can scope out what the deal was between Sparks and Scroggins. After all, you’ve got all this free time to kill now that you’ve come up with a new elf.”

  “I will have once I know if Agnes is up to the job.”

  “I was under the impression that you were seriously sold on her.”

  “I am. It’s just I need to verify my opinion.”

  “When does she start?”

  “She came in for a brief stint last night. My idea. I thought I’d get a feel for her.”

  “How did she do?”

  “I liked what I saw. She was great with the kids. Got along well with Toby and even managed to get on with Santa Claus. But you know me. I hate assumptions.”

  “So Agnes has some proving of her herself to do?”

  “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I turned her loose on faith alone. Besides, it is a little odd that she called me asking for the job.”

  “I’d wondered about that too. What do you know about her background?”

  “Very little.”

  “I’m touching base with one of my best snitches later. I’ll see if I can fill in the blanks for you.”

  “Larkin?”

  “Yes.”

  “If anybody knows —the dirt, he should. I appreciate your checking on her.”

  “You’re welcome. And for your sake, I hope Agnes works out.”

  I took a quick swig of coffee. “Anyway, Barnaby was also known to troop off to the riverboats with a group of men from time to time. Wendy’s going to call me with the complete list of those names when she manages to remember them all.”

  Ginger rested her coffee cup on the table before her. “I can’t help but wonder why Scroggins was murdered now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was ancient. Why bother? The grim reaper was bound to scoop him up soon.”

  “Ginger, just because he was getting on doesn’t mean he was going to drop dead tomorrow. People live longer today.”

  “Certainly at his age love, and jealousy have to be ruled out.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, come on.”

  I relented. “You’re probably right. According to Wendy, he screwed over a lot of people. His siblings. His business partners. Apparently the guy wasn’t to be trusted if there was money to be had. How does that sound for a motive for murder”

  Ginger shifted uncomfortably. “As long as the killing has nothing to do with Santa’s Cabin, I’m pleased.”

  “I doubt if it did. Scroggins didn’t have access to any money there, did he?”

  “I don’t see how he could.”

  Suddenly a voice spoke up from beside my right elbow. It was male and smooth and absolutely rang with unabashed pleasure. “Ginger, it’s so good to see you.”

  I looked up to find Roger Bradley standing beside me. His gaze was locked solidly on my friend. I couldn’t blame him. Ginger was a looker, and she usually loved to look right back at any new guy who crossed her path. But for some unknown reason, that formula didn’t hold true this time.

  Fortunately, Roger had been saved from making a complete fool of himself over his open adoration of Ginger by his devotion to his new business. He’d bought the popular restaurant, Bella’s Place, two months ago. And he had spent the bulk of his time renovating building and refurbishing the restaurant’s reputation.

  Now, under Roger’s capable hands, the restaurant had been renamed The Roadside Cafe. And it still managed to draw the same mix of truckers, and tourists, and locals that had frequented the place before Bella’s death. I was pleased at his success. The town needed a restaurant like his.

  Gazing up at him now, I was struck by how good looking he was. He had chestnut colored eyes, with hair to match, set off by a strong build, and a fetching face. His arrival in Cloverton had set several female hearts aflutter — except for Ginger’s — which mystified me. Ginger was not known for restraint when encountering new men.

  With my friend’s nose pointing anywhere but at Roger, I spoke up for the pair of us and offered the man a friendly, “Good morning.”

  Ginger remained irritatingly mute.

  I glared at her, and she finally tossed in a quick, “Hello, there.”

  Roger took it all in stride, his face still glowing with good will. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, Ginger. There are a lot of cars in the ditches out there this morning.”

  “Their bad luck, huh?” she answered.

  I did an internal eye roll. Sometimes, Ginger could be so self centered.

  Roger plowed on, undeterred, “I hear you’re in charge of Santa’s Cabin this year.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve been thinking about donating free hot chocolate for the kids. Couldn’t hurt to help chase winter chills away. I’d make it up in big batches at the restaurant and have an employee deliver a batch to the cabin several times a day. Would that be okay?”

  Ginger didn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Off the top of my head, I’d say yes. But I’d better run your offer past DBA members. I’ll get back to you with their verdict.”

  Soon?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call around today. I should be able to let you know what they say by tonight.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Roger nodded his farewell to us and headed off to a table.

  At his departure, I leaned close to my friend. “I don’t understand you, Ginger.” I whispered. “That man is gorgeous. He’s eligible. And you do nothing but give him a hard time.”

  She sighed. “He’s not Stepich, is he?”

  “No he’s not, and he doesn’t share Stepich’s distaste for small towns and the people who live in them.”

  Stepich was a New York City native who’d blown into town briefly for a mutual friend’s wedding. He’d caught Ginger’s eye during his visit, and now she remained uncharacteristically committed to him.

  Ginger frowned. “Get off my case, okay? I’ve gotta go and fire up the heater to get that freezing cabin ready for Santa and the kids.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, polishing off the last of my eggs. “I’ll try to touch base with Lester Porter sometime today. You want to get together to go over what I learn tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Seven?”

  “Fine.”

  “Your house?”


  “Why not yours?”

  “Because I don’t want Dad overhearing us. He’d never let me out of the house again.”

  “I still say you need to move into a place of your own.”

  “I know. I’ve heard it all before. You may even be right. But I’m not ready to move out yet, so would you drop it, please?”

  “Chicken.”

  I ignored her bait. “So maybe while you’re calling board members about the hot chocolate, you could feel them out over the bad blood that existed between Sparks and Barnaby last year?”

  “If there was any, you mean. Sparks is as mild-mannered a man as I know.”

  “Why are you so grumpy? You say you adore tracking down murderers, but now that we’ve got a case to tackle, you turn snippy.”

  “Yeah, well as you pointed out I have a business to run and Santa’s Cabin to oversee. Maybe I’m feeling a little overwhelmed just now.”

  “I’ve promised Wendy that I’d try to clear her with Gossford. I’m in this with both feet, and I could use a little help.”

  “Good for you.”

  I swear, I doubted I’d ever really understand my friend. Other than her opinion on Stepich, Ginger could shift from hot to cold in an instant.

  “What are you up to next?” she asked.

  “I’m headed out to my session with Larkin.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Six

  Although the snow had stopped falling sometime overnight, driving over the back-county roads remained a serious challenge. It was so bad that I almost wished I’d delayed my scheduled meeting with Larkin to the following day.

  Icy patches scattered here and there on the highway caused me a couple of heart-in-the-mouth moments, and howling winds piled up snow drifts across the east-west roads. Each time I encountered one, I closed my eyes and prayed my car would push through them.

  But I kept a dozen bags of kitty litter in my trunk for extra weight over the rear tires. And with their help I managed to reach my destination, a forlorn plot of snowcovered ground a few miles east of Cloverton. And while doing all that I kept a close watch on the two coffee’s I’d picked up on my way out of Howies. Larkin had a serious addiction to coffee.