Another half hour passed as we gave the cops all the information, wrote up statements, signed them, and bid them farewell. Even as I slid behind the wheel and got comfortable in my cousin’s car, I felt better about the rest of the journey. If that cop had protected us from a couple of punks, it wasn’t likely that he would just leave us now. Somewhere along the route, he would rejoin us. That meant three things. Folks knew we were heading to Vermont, those documents were important, and Annette might really be in serious danger, legal or otherwise. I was glad I tucked the roll of Frist concrete bids into the gingerbread house, safely ensconced in the trunk as we got back onto I-87.
We went another twenty miles on the interstate before I caught another glimpse of that dark sedan. By the time we crossed over into Vermont, I was having trouble keeping the pain of all those bruises at bay, but at least I wasn’t fighting exhaustion. All that agony was helping to keep me wide awake. Beside me, Nettie was dozing fitfully, shaking herself awake every ten minutes or so. Finally, taking pity on her, I told her to go ahead and sleep.
“At least one of us will get a little rest.”
“No, Gabby. I should keep you company,” she insisted, struggling to keep her eyes open. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the familiar headlights, keeping their distance.
“It’s okay, Annette. I’m fine.” Frankly, if there was trouble, I was probably a lot safer if Annette was asleep. I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting in the way, at least not until she was awake.
There’s an old gag line you sometimes hear on construction sites when someone who’s less than helpful volunteers to help. “Go wait in the truck.” That’s because in the time it takes to explain what needs to be done and how it should be done, you could already have it finished the job. Sometimes it’s not practical to waste time trying to teach a dog any new tricks. Annette and law enforcement weren’t really a good mix. She was too anxious about criminals to appreciate that cool heads prevail, too easily panicked to realize that incidents could be avoided if people were handled safely. Even though she managed to smuggle those documents out of Frist and Company under the noses of her bosses and the security guard, I was pretty sure that if the bullets started flying again, I’d be worrying about her sticking her foot in her mouth yet again. Annette had always been a very bossy kid, and that hadn’t changed with the decades. She often told people what to do and how to do it, even if she didn’t know what she was talking about. Normally, that wasn’t a problem. Most people shrug that kind of thing off. But in cop circles, sometimes a big mouth can get you into a lot of hot water.
Watching Nettie fall back to sleep, an idea popped into my conscious mind. Maybe part of the reason she was now in trouble wasn’t because she was involved in the bid-rigging scheme, but because she was such a busybody. What if Joe Fortuna was an FBI agent by the name of Mike Alves? What if he was worried she’d shoot her mouth off? Maybe he knew she had a deputy sheriff as a cousin, just like he knew that when things got complicated, she would call me to help her. Had he been counting on that? How else could you explain why the guy gave her his personal cell phone, even though he knew he would be using his real name, which would cause some confusion? Maybe he romanced her and then blew her off on purpose, leaving her in the lurch with the hope I would step in and take over the babysitting job. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If Annette thought there was something illegal going on at Frist and Company, she’d feel the need to fix it. And if this was part of an organized crime game, that might make her a victim. A victim with a brand new pair of shoes, made with the very concrete that was now in question. Had Alves had us tailed to make sure I got my cousin to Black Forest Farm safely? An FBI agent discharging his weapon during a convenience store robbery would be a problem, so that might explain why the guy made such a fast exit. Had Rufus gotten the FBI call as a way to ratchet up the pressure on me to take care of Nettie on my home turf? I was transporting her across state lines. If the bad guys came after her, it was likely they, too, would have to cross those same state lines. Was the FBI killing two legal birds with one stone and saving some budget money in the process? The bad guys would be compounding their crimes by coming after her in Vermont, allowing the Department of Justice to add charges to the indictment, and the FBI would skip witness protection procedures and costs, thanks to me.
Normally, I’d be pretty riled up about such a cheesy move, but ever since Paul died, Annette really did need the support of the Grimm family. I had little doubt that my dad and stepmom would be thrilled to take her into their home and keep her safe on the farm. And who knows, maybe she’d even enjoy it. After all, Christmas was fast approaching. What better place to be than on Black Forest Farm, where Ervina was baking night and day and Gerhard was about to harvest the frozen grapes for his ice wine. There was plenty to keep Nettie busy and there were lots of farm hands to deter any effort to kidnap her.
Just before six, I pulled into the driveway of Black Forest Farm, and it was a good thing. My right leg was stiff and cramped. I drove past my carriage house and headed for Gerhard and Ervina’s place. Driving up the back door, I put the car in park and turned off the ignition.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” I softly encouraged Nettie, hoping to rouse her from her slumber.
“Are we there?” she wondered, stretching out in the seat as she came awake.
“We are.”
Pablo came out of the cow barn and gave me a wave.
“Gabby, we have a new calf!” the dairy worker announced. “Healthy and hungry.”
“Wonderful,” I said. It was. There was nothing more delightful than an animal birth, whether it was a kid, a calf, a foal, a puppy, or a kitten. There was new life on the farm and we all took pleasure in watching the antics of the young. I introduced Annette. “My cousin is visiting for a few weeks.”
“Want a hand with the luggage?” he offered. It was too good an opportunity to turn down, especially with my fanny feeling the bruises of my roof tumble. I popped the trunk as Annette wiggled her sleepy limbs.
“What the....” The gingerbread house was gone. “Oh, come on!”
“What’s the matter?” Pablo wanted to know. Those accented words rolled off his tongue like a purr off a cat. He was Argentinean, raised on a cattle farm on the plain, and with his brown hair and dark eyes, he arrived at Black Forest Farm with the smoldering good looks of the soccer star he once was, a degree in animal science, and ten years of experience as a livestock expert. He and Steve handled the dairy business for Gerhard.
“We ran into a little trouble on the way here. Someone tried to rob a convenience store when we were getting coffee. Now it looks like someone took advantage and stole Annette’s gingerbread house. Damn!’
“It’s gone?” Annette came in for a closer look. “No way!”
“Way,” said Pablo, nodding as he used what he thought was still a popular American phrase. I caught the look pass between the widow and the cowboy. They were about the same age. They were both healthy, attractive people. Were those sparks I saw?
“Oh, shoot! Why would someone steal....” Even as her words trailed off, I could see the realization dawning in her eyes. Those documents were gone, too.
“Shall I?” Pablo pointed to the luggage.
“That blue one,” I answered. He lifted Nettie’s bag out of the car. I led the way up the back steps and into the kitchen.
“Nettie!” Gerhard was sitting at the big pine table in his work clothes as we entered. Ervina, in her bathrobe and slippers, was flipping pancakes. “What are you doing here?”
“I had some trouble at work,” she began to explain. I cut her off. There would be plenty of time to get into it later.
“She’s here for a few days. Feel free to put her to work,” I told them. “Make her a farm girl and maybe we’ll get her to give up her life in the city.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice!” my stepmother sighed. “Gerhard, Annette could help at the winery. We have so many orders to fill
at the gift shop.”
“Well, maybe she doesn’t want to be a shop girl. I could put her to work in the office. She’s used to doing paperwork. I’ve got invoices to send out.”
As they discussed the best way to utilize Nettie, I watched my cousin. She took it all in, listening to the comfortable banter. I noticed Pablo helped himself to a mug of coffee before leaning back against the counter as an observer. He definitely had eyes for my cousin.
“First things first,” I broke in. “We both need some sleep. Any chance you have a bed for her?”
My carriage house is a lovely little place at the foot of the farm’s main gate. It has all the charm of a tiny chalet in Germany, but it’s not really equipped for guests at the moment. I was using the second bedroom as an office, and I didn’t really want to pull out the sofa bed for Nettie, not if I was also going to have to work on the case and get her Frist and Company mess sorted out. The main farm house had lots of guest rooms, a couple of dogs, a trio of cats, and a kitchen that never closed. It was the perfect place for Annette.
“How about the yellow bedroom?” Gerhard suggested. “The green room is being used for packaging. Oh, that’s another possible job for Nettie. Ervina has all those knitted orders to go out.”
“Boy,” I laughed as we climbed the stairs, “you’re going to need your beauty sleep. It sounds like you’re going to be busy!”
“That will be nice,” she decided. “It’ll get my mind off worrying about...you know.”
We were in the cheerful bedroom with walls the color of fresh creamery butter, introducing my cousin to her home away from home when my cell phone rang. I had retrieved it from the bottom of my purse and turned it on when we were ten miles from home.
“Deputy Grimm,” I answered when I saw the Albany area code.
“Hey, this is Sergeant Rushmore. Any chance you lost a gingerbread house? We found it at the Mobil station.”
“You have it? Is it broken?”
“Nope. Everything looks good. Of course, I’m not an expert baker, but I think it still looks like a viable holiday decoration. You want to come get it?”
“I do. Any chance you can hold it until I can get a little shut eye? I’ll pop down later this afternoon.”
“Great. In the meantime, we’ll put it in the dispatch room, to keep it safe. If I’m not here, that’s where you’ll find it.”
“I appreciate this, Sergeant. Thanks for calling.”
“My pleasure. Merry Christmas, deputy.”
“You, too.”
Even as I hung up, the questions were rattling around in my brain. What in God’s name was going on? Had the FBI retrieved those documents and arranged for the safe return of the gingerbread house? Or was that guy in the dark sedan not an FBI agent? I needed to get that cookie confection back here, so I could go over it with a fine-toothed comb.
“Gabby?” Annette looked at me expectantly.
“The cops found the gingerbread house. I’ll go down this afternoon and collect it.”
“What a relief!”
“A gingerbread house?” Ervina’s interest was tickled. “Do you bake?”
“I do,” Nettie admitted.
“Gingerbread?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Do you like to bake?” my stepmother wondered.
“I do.”
“Gerhard,” Ervina said, turning to my father, “you know what I am thinking?”
“Yes, my love. I do,” he laughed, patting her shoulder. “You’re putting her to work in the kitchen.”
“I am.”
“Am I making a gingerbread house?” Nettie wanted to know.
“You are going to decorate the cookies. Oh, this will be wonderful,” said the lady with a twinkle in her eye. “I will bake while you sleep. We’ve sold out three times in the past week. Everybody loves gingerbread cookies.”
“And when the gingerbread house returns, you might want to display it in the shop,” I suggested. “Wait till you see it, Gerhard. It’s architecturally accurate, with trusses and braces. Utterly charming.”
“I am looking forward to that,” my father agreed. “Perhaps we will hire you to do a gingerbread village next Christmas.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I wish we had thought of that earlier!” Ervina sounded positively wistful over the lost opportunity.
Chapter Six --
“There might still be time,” said my cousin. I could see her already considering the possibility.
“Gerhard, you could help her make the templates, couldn’t you?” That was my stepmother, taking advantage of the chance to add some more dazzle to the display at the winery gift shop. “I could roll out the dough and bake it.”
“Wow, you people lose no time,” I laughed. “On that note, I’m off to the carriage house. I’ll call you before I leave for Albany.”
“We will take good care of Annette in your absence,” said my stepmother, patting her guest on the shoulder. She pulled back the covers on the big brass bed, beckoning Nettie to get some rest.
Just outside the door, I grabbed Gerhard and pulled him away for a private conversation. We huddled by the linen closet.
“Dad, Nettie’s had a spot of legal trouble we’re trying to sort out. Keep an eye on her and be wary of strangers. Rufus and I are going to see if we can help her, but I need to get that gingerbread house back. We hid some documents in there.”
“Will I need my shotgun?” he wanted to know. My father’s a crack shot.
“I don’t think so. Just watch out for her.”
“Okay, Gabby. I am glad you are helping her. Your cousin has had a tough time of it since Paul died. She needs a good man to look out for her interests.”
That was Gerhard’s philosophy of life. People need people. Love makes the world go ‘round. Walk on the sunny side of the street. That comes from the hard lessons learned. My mother was murdered several years ago. She returned unexpectedly and interrupted a robbery at their home. Life changed in the blink of an eye. In that split second, our whole world turned upside down. One moment she was full of smiles and hugs, the next she was lying on a slab in the morgue and I was standing there identifying the body. It didn’t help that her killer was sorry. There was no do-over. Dead is dead. The pain never really goes away. It may dull with time, but it’s always still there.
That’s part of why I decided to become a deputy sheriff in Latimer Falls. The village is a warm, friendly place where people are decent. Keeping it safe is my job. I told myself that if I can keep one family from experiencing what we went through, it’s worth it. So far, I’ve actually saved more lives than I ever imagined I would. It’s funny what pops up when you least expect it.
As soon as I lugged my overnight bag up the flight of stairs to my abode above the garage, I brushed my teeth, got into my shorty pajamas, and flopped into bed. The alarm clock was set for two. That would give me time to drive back to Albany to fetch the gingerbread house and still get home at a decent hour. Puss N. Boots, my wily cat, joined me, parking himself on Sam’s side of the bed and proceeded to take a long bath. My own would have to wait. I was just too exhausted. Long before the last bit of fur was licked by my companion, I was sound asleep.
“Beep-beep-beep-beep!” Hours later, I tapped the alarm button on the bedside table, wishing I could dream on. I wasn’t really sure what I had been imagining as I slept, but I knew it was good enough to put a smile on my face. And then an image popped into my head. It was Annette, in the farmhouse kitchen, decorating gingerbread cookies. It had been a long time since she had been with us at Christmas. It brought back some happy memories.
When we were kids, she used to visit us in Manhattan with her parents and brothers. Gerhard was Angelika’s brother, and the two of them would take us skating at Rockefeller Center. All the twinkling lights and hot cocoa were magical. They would arrive in the family station wagon, packages and suitcases behind the back seat, unload everything in front of the building, take the elevator up to the
fourth floor apartment I shared with my parents and sister Gisela, and we would celebrate over several days. The adults got the bedrooms and we kids slept in sleeping bags on the living room and den floors.
Now everyone was scattered across the country and we rarely got together any more. Oh, there were phone calls and emails back and forth, but it wasn’t the same. We all had our own lives. Sometimes I really missed the old days, when we all had fun together.
“How about some kibble, Puss?” I rolled out of bed, groaning when my feet hit the floor. My fanny muscles protested. Nothing that a long, hot shower wouldn’t fix in the short run. I was not looking forward to the drive.
Half an hour later, my hair still damp, I headed down the stairs to the car, dialing Gerhard as I went.
“How’s everything?”
“Fine. Annette is still up in her room.”
“Good. Hey, Dad, remember all the times that Aunt Angelika and Uncle Tom would bring everyone to the city, for ice-skating?”
“Some of my favorite winter days,” Gerhard replied, a wistful tone in his voice.
“Mine, too. We should have a reunion,” I decided. “Maybe in the summer time. We could put folks up at the bed and breakfast.”
When Ervina married my father, she still owned the old house she had lived in with her late husband, on the dairy farm they operated. Gerhard helped her renovate; together, they turned it into a charming guest house. Not a big money maker. In fact, it barely broke even. But it was a sweet little place for families to come to enjoy life on a working Vermont farm.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Gabby. We’ll have to talk about it. You know what would be perfect?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Gerhard had been lobbying for a wedding ever since I met Sam Hogan. He was relentless.
“What’s that, Dad?
“We could go hiking as a group.” Even as he said that, I could hear the rush of breath exit my mouth as a sigh of relief. “And take the horses for trail rides.”
Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2 Page 4