by Pepper Frost
“Yes, boss lady!” cracked Bea, slapping her knee. “I love saying that.”
“But I’m not your boss. You’re the CEO and I’m the president, remember? Anyway, make your way to the kitchen as soon as you can. No need to change or anything.”
The tube disconnected and Bea snorted with laughter. “I can’t believe she thought I would change this fantastic outfit. I don’t think I’ve ever looked better! Maybe she was thinking I’d dress down a bit.”
“Ready to go, then?” Pat said. “I’m so glad not to have to wear that stiff security guard outfit anymore. I have to admit, it was a little unflattering.” She was back in her plaid flannel shirt and a loose pair of chinos.
As the two of them walked past the lobby towards the kitchen, the last of the golden, late-afternoon light streamed in through the main doors. It provided a beautiful halo effect for the tinkling decorations in the deserted lobby. Jackson, and all the other staff, had left for the holiday—their pockets and bank accounts bulging with unexpected bonuses from Bea and Angela, plus generous tips from Connie and the twins.
Just as in the ballroom, Angela had restored the warm and homey Betty Snickerdoodle-style decorations in the lobby. The big tree was covered in lights and handcrafted ornaments. Sweet Santas, elves, candy canes, and stockings galore adorned the walls and shelves. The room radiated family, love, and glad tidings.
“You gotta admit, Betty’s world is pretty corny,” laughed Bea. “But don’t you just love it?”
“Hey, do you smell something delicious? I sure do!” said Pat.
As they walked into through the swinging doors, the tantalizing scents grew stronger—and their source was revealed. Angela’s mother was cooking away in the Inn’s large, gleaming kitchen. Angela and Connie were there, too, sipping hot drinks in clear mugs, the cinnamon sticks in each contributing to the festive fragrance in the room.
“Surprise!” said Angela. “My mom thought it would be more fun to cook in this big kitchen. Since Connie was here, I thought we could make a party of it. I called Perry—he’ll be over later, too.”
Maria hugged Bea and Pat, then turned her attention back to her work. She opened one oven to check on a glorious pork roast, its irresistible aroma filling the room. “Needs about an hour more. Just enough time for appetizers. Will you help yourselves to mulled wine or cider?”
“I recommend the mulled wine. We are in Napa Valley, after all,” said Connie. “And it’s absolutely delicious.”
“Connie and I have started working on dessert,” said Angela. “By ‘working,’ I mean decorating the gingerbread men that my mother already rolled and cut for us. Later, I’ll demonstrate even greater expertise by taking my mother’s famous flan out of the refrigerator.”
“Shall we set the table?” Connie asked.
“Yes, please. Angela and I pushed two tables together in the ballroom for us,” said Maria. “I just need to set the vegetables to cook. Then I’ll bring the appetizers out for us all to snack on. I hope everyone’s hungry.”
The four of them set the large table with a red tablecloth and pretty plates stenciled with holly leaves. Angela placed Christmas-themed platters and serving utensils onto the spare table, and Pat and Connie carried the two punch bowls into the ballroom and placed them on the bar. The finishing touch was a lovely centerpiece of holly and candles.
“Hey girlie, what about the Yule log?” Bea asked.
“Great idea,” Angela said, hopping onto the stage and turning on the display.
“I love your outfit, Angela,” said Connie. “Is that sweater from the Betty Snickerdoodle collection?”
“Indeed it is!” Angela was wearing cream-colored jeans, tall boots, and an off-white sweater with fluffy faux fur trim and a delicate reindeer applique design. Her hair was tied back in a swingy high ponytail.
“I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned my outfit yet,” said Bea. “I thought for sure you’d say something at the presentation this morning. My sweater’s from the gift collection, too!”
“The sweater is great, Bea,” said Angela, maintaining her focus on just that one garment. The pretty merino-wool sweater Bea had chosen had a lovely Christmas tree pattern. But it was not well-complemented by the bright red and green argyle leggings she wore with it.
“I see you’re looking at my bottoms,” Bea cackled. “It’s a little hard to appreciate at first. But chic people these days avoid too much matchy-matchy. Kind of surprised you didn’t know that, Angie.”
“Learn something every day,” said Angela, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
Maria saved the moment by wheeling in a beautiful tray filled with a mix of Mexican and American holiday snacks: tiny tamales, shrimp cocktail, pumpkin empanadas, pigs in blankets, and more.
“It’s beautiful,” said Connie, tears in her eyes. “This is so much fun. Thank you so much for including me.”
“Thank you for being here,” said Angela.
“I’ve got news,” said Pat after taking a bite of a pumpkin empanada and oohing and aahing over it. “I spoke to Foxy a little while ago. They managed to capture the five rascals on their way to the airport. They’re all spending Christmas Eve in jail.”
“Yay!” said Bea, Angela, and Connie all at once.
“He shared a couple of other interesting tidbits—professional detective type stuff.” Pat cocked her head and assumed a pedantic tone as she began to explain what Foxy had told her. She appeared to have picked up some stylistic tricks from Bea’s big reveal. “I couldn’t help but be curious about the case. Truth is, I’ve never worked on a felony before, let alone a murder. And it turns out Lee and her gang might have murdered some of the other players who mysteriously died during some of their previous tournaments!”
The other ladies gasped all at once.
“Foxy said he’s been working on the case, tracking Lee, Harry, and the rest of the gang for almost two years. He’s really happy it’s resolved, but regrets he couldn’t stop poor Eddie’s death.”
“Did he say how they broke into the control room?” asked Angela. “Aseem was wondering, too.”
“The forensics team is still working on it. Foxy found some paper by the door that looks like a clue. They defeated the fingerprint scanner somehow—the paper might be part of the answer. Funny, he mentioned that he’d share more about it when he sees you next month, Angela. So… I guess that means you’ve got a date?”
Angela turned a familiar shade of pink. “Just coffee. Why would I refuse?” She spotted Bea’s grumpy expression, but interrupted her before she could say what Angela knew she was about to say. “Bea, just for the record, Aseem and I are dear friends, and that’s how it’s going to stay—we talked about it, by the way.”
“Does that mean you have to go running after the first hot guy who comes your way?”
“It’s just coffee, Bea. I’m not getting married. I don’t even know if it’s a date. Besides, didn’t you admit that Foxy is one of the good guys?”
Bea frowned and shrugged, at a loss for words for once.
“How about a toast!” said Pat. “Grab a drink, girls.” The ladies each picked up a mug with their beverage of choice. They clinked their glasses and heartily wished each other Merry Christmas.
“It was a challenging few days,” said Angela. “But it all worked out in the end.” But as she said it, she realized that things hadn’t worked out for Billy Ray in the end, and she looked at Connie with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Connie. That was insensitive.”
“It’s OK, Angela,” Connie said. “I’m sad for Billy Ray. But the truth is… maybe not sad for me. Billy Ray wasn’t right for me. I don’t think I would have done anything about it, though, if he were still alive.”
“To new beginnings,” announced Bea, raising her glass again. “And the New Year around the corner.”
“Hear, hear!” said the ladies.
“Since we’re talking about new beginnings, there’s something I’d like to share,” Connie said. Her
face was pink, her smile brighter than it had been since she arrived at the Inn. She looked just a little bolder, too—perhaps it was the warm wine, or maybe just the mildly intoxicating notion of a fresh start.
“I’ve been a fan of yours, Bea—or, should I say, a fan of Betty’s—for ages. For years now, I’ve even dreamed about trying my hand at writing stories like yours. You’ve been such an inspiration. And so the thing is—” she said, stopping to take a deep breath, “I’ve given it a shot! I’ve written a novella. And I was wondering—feel free to say no, of course—but I was wondering if you’d be willing to read it.”
Before Bea could answer—perhaps afraid of what her answer would be—Angela piped up. “That’s wonderful news, Connie. Of course, we’ll both read it. Isn’t that right, Bea?”
“Of course we both will,” said Bea. “Why don’t you come back next month for BettyCon? You could take my writing seminar.”
“Your writing seminar?” Angela said with a gulp.
“Didn’t I tell you about it, Angie? Great idea, right?”
“I hadn’t even considered BettyCon,” said Connie. “Billy Ray wouldn’t have wanted to go, and that would have meant I couldn’t, either.”
“Not a bad way to start a new year,” said Angela.
“You might even get a new career out of it!” Bea said.
Later that night, stuffed to the gills with delicious food, Angela, Bea, and Pat were clearing plates and cleaning up the kitchen. Maria was taking a much-deserved nap in her suite, and Connie had taken a snack of leftovers back to Bijou.
“I guess I’m glad to hear about the writing seminar, Bea,” Angela said, breaking the silence. “All that talk of detecting was making me nervous. I thought you might be training to become a PI.”
“It’s a shame she’s not,” said Pat. “She’d be a fine one. My best student ever, by far.”
“We all know I’m your only student,” said Bea, rolling her eyes.
“Have to admit, you’ve got a knack for it, Bea,” said Angela.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be able to take good advantage of it with her new writing career,” Pat said.
Bea grimaced as Pat blabbed how she’d come to the Inn to give Bea the training to become the Agatha Christie of Napa Valley. “I’ve taken to calling her J.B. Fletcher Junior.” For a PI, Pat was not much good at keeping secrets.
Angela was, as Bea predicted, alarmed by Pat’s revelation. But she held her tongue for a moment. The truth was, if Bea wanted to write mystery stories, who was she to try to stop her? Still, then, the Inn, BettyCon, and all things Christmas—what, and who, were they doing it for?
She began to respond slowly, carefully. “Bea, you do realize we have an entire business riding on Betty Snickerdoodle now. I don’t want to stand in the way of your creativity, but—”
“Good gravy, you worry too much, girlie!” Bea said with a cackle. “I’m going to write sweet mysteries that Betty’s fans will like—at least, I think a lot of them will. No blood, no serial killers, just good, clean, murderous fun! And I’m not going to stop writing Christmas stories, either. In fact, I’ve just come up with a great idea for one about a beautiful young executive who seems determined to choose the wrong guy, even though the right one is right in front of her. I’m thinking of calling the main character Angela.”
Angela rolled her eyes but soon found herself giggling. “I’ll always be grateful for that wild imagination of yours, Bea.”
“And don’t worry, after that, I promise I’ll do at least one Christmas story every year, along with a mystery or two.”
“You know Betty’s fans hope for more than one new story a year.”
“That’s where the writing workshop comes in. Maybe we’ll find the next Betty Snickerdoodle. A new talent we could publish. Or maybe a co-author. You’re the business brain—I know you’ll figure out how to make it work.”
Angela thought about it a minute and realized Bea might be right: Maybe she did worry too much.
“We’ll be working on your confidence in the New Year, girlie,” said Bea.
“We’ve already got a long list of things to work on, Bea,” Angela said, smiling.
“Good thing there’s nothing either of us likes more than a challenge!”
~ The End ~
Epilogue
Christmas and New Year’s came and went.
Angela and her team bore down on the task of readying the Inn for BettyCon, now just weeks away. Aside from finishing the construction and decoration of several new casitas and last few guest suites, there was an agenda to design, catering to arrange, transportation to set, and marketing to execute. It was exhilarating, but exhausting, too. So when an opportunity came to spend an hour or two away from the Inn, Angela decided to take it. But as she sat waiting in the little café, she had to laugh at herself. Instead of just relaxing, she studied the menu, watched the staff’s workflow, and wondered if she should sample a few of the baked goods for inspiration. Truth was, the girl loved her work. She didn’t really have an off switch.
Right on time, the tall, handsome man she was waiting for walked through the door. He smiled at her so warmly and sincerely, it was like he’d never smiled at her before. She stood up and gave him a hug.
“You look like a new person,” she said. Instead of slick designer duds, he looked relaxed in jeans and a button-down shirt. Even his hair looked different—naturally wavy, no longer styled. Still, he looked as gorgeous as ever. Maybe even more gorgeous than ever.
“Do you miss the fancy clothes?” she said with a laugh.
“Not at all,” Foxy said. “The car, though—that I miss.” He dropped his key chain on the table. The car key attached bore a mid-level brand, and the key itself looked at least a few years old.
“Back to reality, huh? So what happens to a car like that when you’re done with it? I assume the FBI must own it?”
“It’s being redeployed. A colleague of mine in Miami is using it for his undercover gig. I’m going to get myself a latte. You set for coffee?”
He came back to the table a few minutes later, two large latte cups in hand.
“Thanks, Foxy,” Angela said. “Wait—I should ask—is Foxy even your real name?”
“Believe it or not, it sort of is. But it’s not from ‘Foxworth.’ My name’s Drew Faulkner. Girls started calling me Foxy Faulkner in middle school.”
“Already attracting attention from the ladies in middle school—I guess you were a junior high Casanova?”
“I peaked early.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” laughed Angela.
“They say that when you use a fake name, it’s better to use something you’d naturally respond so. That’s why I use Foxy. I don’t love it, but if someone says it, I react without having to think about it.”
“I guess I should call you Drew, then.”
Drew caught Angela up on the details of the case against Lee, Walter, James, Harry, and Frank.
“Those aren’t their real names. The details will all come out once they’re charged. I bet it’s going to be a big story.” He went on to explain how he’d been working the case for over a year, gathering evidence of racketeering and tax evasion.
“They’ve been swindling millionaires and billionaires for several years now, all over the world. Of course, with Eddie’s death, they’ve added murder to their crooked resumes. They probably didn’t plan it—it looks like they just wanted to sideline him, at least at first. But the stakes often rise when you’re running a racket like theirs. I’m hoping all of them end up in prison for a long time, but I suspect there will be a deal offered to one or two of them to turn on the others. By the way, I almost forgot to mention—they’re family. ‘Lee’ is married to Harry, who’s Walter’s brother. James and Frank are her sons. It’ll be interesting to see if their blood ends up thicker than water.”
“Wow, no kidding? Congratulations on nailing them,” Angela said.
“I have to confess, you and Bea and y
our gang ended up helping, even though at first I thought you’d blown my case. I couldn’t believe it when I came into the ballroom and the safe was gone.”
“Yeah, well get to know Bea and you’ll realize she’s always got another trick up her sleeve.”
“Aseem’s tracker led local cops right to them. Your discovery about the flour was critical, too. I hope you don’t mind—I took the liberty of telling Ming you proved it wasn’t his fault. He said he never had any doubt, but I could tell he was relieved—both that he was off the hook, and that you were the one to figure it out.”
“You actually should take credit for that. If Foxy hadn’t been in the kitchen where he didn’t belong, I doubt I would have looked into those ingredients,” Angela said. “By the way, do you have any idea how Walter and James broke into the control room? Aseem said he couldn’t figure it out. His video shows them waltzing right in, but it’s not clear how.”
“That’s one of the most interesting bits of the case,” Drew said. He explained that the answer stemmed from the night Aseem was attacked. “When Walter and James flipped Aseem over after knocking him out, it was so they could take images of his fingers. Then they used special ink and conductive paper to create a fake fingerprint. Then they used their fake print to fool the scanner on the control room door.” He shook his head with disbelief and took a sip of coffee. “It required so much smarts and precision to do it, then they stupidly left some of the paper right by the door. And they left the ink cartridge in the printer in the business center, too. I shouldn’t complain about smart criminals making stupid mistakes, though. That’s my bread and butter.”
As they chatted, Angela found it was easy to talk to Drew—even easier than talking to Foxy. Underneath the fake Foxy facade, Drew was just a straight-up nice guy, with a delightful sense of humor, too.
“So Angela, thank you for meeting me. Mainly, I wanted to apologize in person for my Foxy routine. I had to make sure I fooled Lee and her gang. And I wanted to get close to you to be sure you weren’t in on it. Ditto about the liquor license thing—I would never have outed you to McGregor.”