Deck the Halls with Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  “Why would they put the body in the sleigh in the first place?” Douglas asked.

  “Well, to confuse us all as to where the murder scene was, of course.”

  “I guess I could see Leigh Ann come up with the cover-up,” Douglas said. “She’s sneaky smart. In fact, there were some suspicious circumstances of her husband’s death, but it was ruled accidental.”

  “When did he die?” I frowned. “Wasn’t that ten years ago? Didn’t they conclude that he fell off the roof and hit his head on a rock?”

  “Some people say his head looked bashed in,” Douglas said. “Others say that decorative rock hadn’t been in the spot before his death.”

  “So, what, she bashed him in the head and then made it look like it was an accident? What did the coroner find?”

  “Injuries consistent with falling from the roof and hitting his head on something blunt.”

  “Weird.” I swallowed hard. “How do we find out who her accomplice is?”

  “I have an idea. Let’s make a plan together. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  The plan was set into motion by the time we left for the funeral at ten a.m. The entire town seemed to come out for it. Thanks to my getting them to donate to a scholarship fund for Warren’s girls, the town felt engaged and involved. We all knew no one was there for Warren.

  I smiled at Rex Manning, who stood in the back corner of the church. He nodded at me. The plan was in place. Douglas and I sat in the friends’ section of the pews. The family came in last and sat at the front. There were tears on everyone’s faces. I watched Leigh Ann like a hawk.

  She ate up the attention, sniffing delicately into a handkerchief. How did I not see it before?

  The service went quickly. No one had anything really positive to say about Warren, so they kept it to themselves. As the family walked out of the church, I shot Rex a look. He had on his flat expression. The one cops keep for bad guys. He sent me a nod and I knew what I had to do.

  We got up when it was our turn and moved through the reception line. I hugged Emma and her girls. Then I stepped to Leigh Ann.

  “It must be so hard losing your stepson,” I said.

  “It’s unbelievable,” she said. “Were you able to catch the killer last night?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I know you set up the event for more than fund-raising. Did you talk to Henry Higginboom?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “Were you able to prove his guilt?” She dabbed at her eyes. “A monster like that shouldn’t be left to go free.”

  “Come with me,” I said and slid my arm through hers and walked her over to the corner of the church. “Rex will tell you what we found.”

  “Don’t you want Emma to hear?”

  “I do, but I’m not sure you do,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” She frowned at me. “Of course I do. Everyone should hear about what you found out.”

  “I think we should talk to Rex first,” I said.

  Douglas stood by Rex.

  “Did you find the killer?” Leigh Ann asked Rex.

  “We have a person of interest,” Rex said.

  “Oh good!” Leigh Ann looked relieved. “I mean a killer shouldn’t go free.”

  “Leigh Ann Engle, you are under arrest for the murder of your stepson, Warren Engle.”

  “What? I don’t understand. No, no, you should arrest Henry Higginboom. He has no alibi. He had a beef with Warren.”

  “We found evidence of blood on your sidewalk,” Rex said and cuffed her. “A lot of blood. That gave us enough to issue a search warrant on your property. What did you hit him with?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “We found the spot where he went down. We found the sleigh in the Andersens’ carriage house, behind your home. It had traces of Warren’s blood, and we found the trail you used to take the horses from the Pilsons’ to the Andersens’ and hook up the sleigh.”

  “No, no,” she said. “The Pilsons’ horses don’t pull a sleigh. They are riding horses.”

  “There is blood evidence on the woodpile under your carport,” Rex said. “What did you hit him with? Did you fight and bash him in the head with a log?”

  “She had a fire going when everyone went in to bring her food and condolences,” I said. I looked at Leigh Ann. “You burned the murder weapon, didn’t you?”

  “You can’t prove that,” she said. “You can’t prove any of it.”

  “We have a crime scene crew going over your property now,” Rex said. “We found a bicycle with evidence of recent use. Did you use it to follow the sleigh? Is that how you got the horses back in their stalls without anyone knowing?”

  “This is crazy.” She looked more angry than confused. “I could have ridden that bike into town for all you know.”

  “What is going on?” Emma asked as she came toward us. “Leigh Ann? Why are you cuffed?”

  “She is under arrest for the murder of Warren,” Rex said.

  “No!” Emma stepped back as if she’d been hit by a blow. “Oh no.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Emma, don’t say anything,” Leigh Ann said.

  I put my arm through Emma’s to steady her. “I checked with the senior citizens,” I told Emma. “It was Leigh Ann who told them about the men Warren blackmailed. She thought I would have them investigated.”

  “You did,” Leigh Ann said. “You saw how dangerous they were. They did this.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Those men didn’t kill Warren. You killed Warren.”

  Emma had tears in her eyes. “No, no, no.” She shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “She didn’t do it.”

  “Emma, it’s okay. We found the crime scene.”

  “No,” Emma said. “I did it.”

  “What?” I let go of the girl. She shook from head to toe.

  “Warren was angry. We were at Leigh Ann’s house, away from the kids. He dragged me outside by my hair. He hit me, kicked me where it wouldn’t show.” She pulled up her black top and showed her black-and-blue ribs. “I don’t know how I got ahold of the log, but I did. I bashed him in the head. Leigh Ann came out and checked for a pulse.” She swallowed and looked as if she were in a trance. “He was dead.”

  “It was self-defense,” Leigh Ann said. “Warren was just like his father. He hurt you and the kids time and time again. Look at the bruising on your arm.”

  Emma shrank back into her black coat.

  “I took care of everything,” Leigh Ann said.

  “How did you get him in the sleigh?” Rex asked gently.

  “Women can be strong when they need to be,” Leigh Ann said.

  “You can’t arrest her,” Emma said. “I did this. Take me.”

  “I’m going to have to take you both until we get this straightened out,” Rex said. “Do you have anyone to stay with the kids?”

  “West can watch them until Emma’s mom gets here,” Leigh Ann said. “Please don’t make them go into foster care. We were only trying to protect them.”

  I hugged my waist tight. “Rex?”

  “The court needs to see that the kids are safe,” Rex said. “The kids will come to the courthouse until a guardian can be assigned.”

  “Poor things,” I said.

  “Come on,” Douglas said gently. “I think we’re done here.”

  “I started off trying to help her,” I said. “Instead, I got her and Emma arrested and the girls might have to go into foster care.”

  “You did the right thing,” Douglas said. “Now let’s go home and get some rest.”

  “Allie might need me,” I protested, but not nearly strong enough to persuade Douglas.

  “Not today.”

  We walked through the sparkling sunlight. Christmas music was playing from one of the open buildings. Snowmobiles lined Main Street. So odd to feel sad during the holidays, but I did feel sad. Bone-tired and sad. At least we knew the truth.

  * * *r />
  Later that night, we all gathered in the McMurphy for hot cocoa and Christmas cookies and, of course, fudge. Mella dozed by the fireplace. Mal curled up in my lap.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Allie asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Investigating is tiring.”

  “Not to mention sad when you have to point the finger at your own friend.” Jenn patted my shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

  I stroked Mal’s plush fur. “I know. What did Rex say? Are they pressing charges?”

  “The ladies are out on bail while the investigation is ongoing,” Douglas said. “I understand Emma had some pretty horrific evidence on her body still. It makes me want to pummel the guy myself.”

  “I suspect it will be considered self-defense and they will be free to live their lives,” Jenn said. “For now, they will be able to spend Christmas with the girls.”

  “I guess that’s the best possible outcome,” I said. “I’ve had enough death. Now all I want is to think about Christmas and friends and family.”

  “We still have to decorate our Christmas tree,” Douglas said.

  “Oh yes, that will help me feel better. How about you girls come over tomorrow and we have a tree-trimming party? Just the four of us?”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Allie said. “All the holiday fudge has gone out in the mail. I’m ready to take a few days off.”

  “A tree-trimming party it is,” Jenn said and raised her cocoa mug. “Happy Holidays!”

  I felt the sadness dissipate. “Happy Holidays!” I repeated. I knew that all was going to be well. I was with my love and my adopted family and all had been set right in my world. “Love and laughter to all.”

  In case you missed the first delightful holiday-themed novella in the Candy-Coated mystery series, here’s a sample excerpt from All I Want for Christmas Is Fudge!

  Turn the page to enjoy more holiday merriment and murder . . .

  Chapter 1

  Who doesn’t love fudge, friends, and Christmas? Seriously, I was missing all three, so I returned to Mackinac Island the week before Christmas to spend time with my best friend and sometimes boss, Allie McMurphy. Allie inherited her family’s small business, the Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop. She’d taken over when her grandfather Papa Liam had died in early May and I’d come out to help her last summer.

  My name is Jennifer Christensen. I’m an event planner by trade and thought I’d be spending most of my life in my hometown of Chicago, Illinois, until Allie needed my help. I’d only been to Mackinac Island once before last season. It’s a beautiful place to spend a couple of months—or so I thought. Then I got a little involved in the people and events that went on there and fell in love with . . . well, everything. Mackinac Island is a gorgeous place for weddings and reunions and parties, and the McMurphy is a nice place to set such events. I suspected Allie needed me full-time, but she had yet to ask.

  When the summer season ended, I left Mackinac behind—along with my boyfriend the CSI guy, Shane Carpenter. It was a tear-filled good bye. I left for a paying gig in Chicago with Eve’s Events. What I’ve learned is that Eve is no Allie, and Chicago was no longer the home of my heart. So, when Allie invited me to come to Mackinac Island in December for the Santa Fun Run and for Christmas, I said yes. Besides, it was an excuse to see what life is like in the off-season.

  There really wasn’t an off-season on Mackinac Island. Winter had its own events and beauty. Yes, the number of visitors was far fewer and snowmobiles took over for bicycles, but it was the perfect winter wonderland. There were still a few horses that pulled sleighs. Some brave adventurers rode fat-tire bikes, but it was tough going in the deep snow.

  Most of the Victorian summer homes that now served as bed and breakfasts were closed. A few places like the McMurphy were open year-round, making the tiny island homey, quiet, and a little crazy. With as much snow as Mackinac Island got in winter, there wasn’t much to do but pub crawls and winter sports. Once the straits started to ice up, the ferries didn’t run. So I hopped a ride via chartered airplane. Luckily, I knew a pilot. Sophie had brought a group of us in from Chicago’s executive airport.

  Last night was crazy. The streets had been wall-to-wall Santas. The Santa Fun Run was a 10K race around the island with participants wearing Santa suits. To make the winter celebration even more fun, there were Santa pub crawls set for the two nights before the race and the night after, adding up to a four-day affair.

  I stood in the middle of Main Street and took a long, deep breath. There was something so clean and rustic about Main Street in the winter. It was early morning—six a.m. I wore thermal running gear and a Santa hat, along with a long red-and-white-striped scarf. A foot of snow covered the ground and Main Street was lined with snowmobiles.

  In anticipation for the race, the Chamber of Commerce had plowed the eight-mile bike path that circled the island. The route would include Main Street, Lake Shore Drive, and Huron Drive.

  I headed out on Main Street and then veered off to Lake Shore Drive along the island’s coast. It was dark, as the sun wasn’t supposed to be up for at least an hour. The lake was frozen pretty far out. Soon the brave would try to cross via an ice bridge. In some years the ice froze thick enough a person could ride across the straits from Mackinac Island to St. Ignace on a snowmobile. Traditionally, the islanders would line the ice bridge with Christmas trees.

  It was cold this year and the ice was already four inches thick. The air was frigid. I’d taken the precaution of putting Vaseline on my face to ward off windburn. My breath puffed out in a cloud. I had my hair pulled back into a thick, dark braid. I ate up the distance as I stretched my long legs out into an easy stride.

  Running was a study in meditation for me. I tended to count my breaths—in two, three, four; out two, three, four. When I had first started running in high school, counting my breathing had distracted me from the pain in my side and kept me from gasping for breath. I’d been running five or more miles a day for over ten years now. There was something so wonderful about outrunning your troubles. That’s what it felt like to me when I ran.

  Being from Chicago, I liked winter running. It was hard on the knees and ankles due to the uneven snow, but this trail was well groomed in anticipation of the Santa Run.

  I came up on a pair of Santas in full suits puffing away. “On your left,” I said, and sent them a salute as I lengthened my stride to pass.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” the larger of the two Santas said as I left them behind. I put on a burst of speed because I liked to run alone. I liked the quiet, and passing them would let them know I wasn’t in the mood to chat.

  I was well past the three-mile marker when I rounded the corner and saw a Santa resting in a snowbank near the woods side of the trail. The sky had started to lighten and I could make out a red suit and a Santa hat ahead of me. As I approached, I noticed that this Santa appeared to be face-planted in the snowbank. It was comical how his legs, covered in red Santa pants with white, faux-fur trim, stuck up in the air. One black boot was on. The other was off, revealing red-and-white-striped socks in thick wool.

  The breeze teased the trim at the bottom of the slacks. The white ball at the end of his Santa cap fluttered. I slowed down. It was too cold to be sleeping in a snowbank, even if you were wearing a Santa suit.

  “Hey, Santa, wake up,” I said as I jogged in place. He didn’t move. A spike of fear went through me as I noticed how pale the skin was at the back of his neck. I stopped, grabbed his shoulder, and tried to roll him over. He was stiff and strangely crunchy. It took both hands to try to budge him; his arms and legs stayed in the weird position he was originally in.

  Something was not right, but your brain does weird things when faced with a new situation. I could only think that I had to get his face out of the snow. I put my back into the effort to roll him over until I got a glimpse of his white face. His eyes were wide open and unseeing. His neck was at a funny angle. I couldn’t help the small scream th
at came out of me as I let him go.

  Momentum caused him to fall back into the posture I found him in. I fumbled for my cell phone. As a longtime runner, I had perfected the use of the armband cell phone holder. I had an app that allowed me to keep track of my distance and time and heart rate. Besides, a girl alone should always have a cell phone on her. Thankfully, I was able to pull it off the band and dial 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one, this is Charlene. What is your emergency?” came the voice of the dispatcher.

  “Hi, yes, my name is Jenn Christensen. I was jogging on the Fun Run trail and I think we’ve got a frozen Santa on our hands.”

  “Are you in hypothermia? I can send blankets and hot cocoa,” Charlene said. “But you really should be more prepared when you run. Where are you exactly? Can you get back to Main Street on your own?”

  “Oh,” I said, and looked from Santa to the coastline. “No, it’s not me. There’s a Santa facedown in the snowbank. I tried to turn him over, but he’s quite stiff. I think he might be dead.”

  “Oh, dear,” Charlene said. “Is this Allie McMurphy?”

  “No, this is Jenn Christensen, Allie’s friend.”

  “And you think there’s a dead body on the Santa Fun Run trail?”

  “Yes,” I said, frowning at Charlene’s repetitive questions. “I’m quite certain. I tried rolling him over, but he’s kind of tall. Even though he’s thinner than most Santas, he’s frozen and I couldn’t get his face out of the snow. Oh, and his eyes are open.”

  “Well, then, where exactly are you?” I could hear her connecting to the police.

  “I’m at Griffin Cove, between the three- and four-mile marks,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ve sent out first responders. They should arrive on snowmobiles. Are you with anyone?”

  “Besides the dead Santa?” I asked. “No, I’m alone. I like to run by myself. There were a couple of guys on the trail behind me. Listen, can you tell the police to hurry? It’s kind of creepy out here alone with a dead guy.” Although the sky lightened a bit, the nearby woods felt ominous.