Christmas Eve is just two days away. It doesn’t help that it’s Friday night and every organization known to man has shuttled out buses and buses of children to see what Candy Cane Lane has to offer. It’s just Sherlock Bones and me tonight. When Mistletoe and Holly found out where I was headed, they begged me not to take them. I think they’re still fearing I’ll give them back to Mary Beth.
During our last visit, Georgie had them sit on Dexter’s lap while he was dressed as Santa and Mary Beth tried to pet them, and let’s just say all clawing and pawing heck broke loose. So, of course, Fish offered to stay home with them.
Jasper is working late tonight. Georgie has a hot date with that bartender we met at the City Limits Bar and Grill. The one serving up the hot buttered buns—her words, not mine. And anyway, I highly advised her to stay away from anything hot and buttered for the night.
Earlier, I asked Macy to meet me out here and she still hasn’t responded.
My phone pings and I walk Sherlock to the side to avoid being run over by the onslaught of strollers and roving packs of teenagers.
It’s a text from Macy. Why would I want to walk around in subzero weather, looking at a bunch of lights, when I could be snug in my bed watching mysteries and ordering up a whole new wardrobe online?
“Point taken.” I shake my head at the screen before shoving the phone into my purse. “It looks like it’s just you and me, Sherlock. You ready to do this?”
He gives a howling bark. I’m ready, Bizzy. I want to see Santa again. He had a biscuit for me and everything. And there’s a poodle that lives two doors away from him who said it would be okay if I sniff her—
“Okay!” I say bright and cheery with just a touch of olfactory horror. “No sniffing.”
My nose twitches as we resume our walk in the thicket of people all bundled for a night out in the elements. A few of the neighbors have bonfires right there in their driveways in cute round outdoor fireplaces, and there are lines ten deep at the cookie stand manned by the Bronsons’ children. We get as far as the corner before one of the street vendors selling glowing red antlers plops an illuminated headband over Sherlock’s head, and the crowd around us coos at the adorable sight.
Bizzy? Sherlock gives me a wild look, and I bite down on a smile. I look ridiculous, don’t I?
“You look amazing.”
“Ten bucks,” the young man selling them shouts my way. “But we’ll make it five for the dog. They look good on him.”
I dig out a five-dollar bill and hand it over before Sherlock and I cross the street with a sea of people.
Bizzy, why is everyone staring and taking pictures of me?
A small laugh bounces through me. It’s true. Hordes of teenagers and mothers with small children all have their phones positioned in his direction.
“Sherlock, you’re the cutest reindeer that ever did live,” I say as we navigate our way through a human wave like a couple of salmon swimming upstream until we come upon a couple of familiar faces.
My stomach sours, but only because it’s a natural effect that Mackenzie has had on me ever since she shoved me into that whiskey barrel way back when.
“Mayor Woods.” I offer an amicable nod. “Leo.”
“Bizzy Baker.” Mack sheds her signature chiding grin. She looks stunning tonight with her fitted emerald green coat and her dark hair swarming around her shoulders in smooth creamy waves. Mack has always had the ability to look impeccable despite things that disrupt the lives of mere mortals, such as hurricane strength winds.
It’s almost eerie the way she doesn’t have a hair out of place.
“Bizzy.” Leo nods my way as he gives a quick pat to Sherlock. He’s dressed in his own clothes tonight, not a single stitch that screams Seaview Sheriff’s Department. “You’re quite the lady killer tonight, Sherlock. The antlers are a good look on you.”
Mackenzie takes a moment to glower at the sweet pooch, “What brings you here tonight, Bizzy?”
I glance to Leo. “The same thing that brings everyone else here. I’m just trying to soak in the season. It has a way of disappearing before you know it.”
Mack’s phone pings in her hand, and she groans as she looks to the screen. “I need to get down the street. The city council has come by, and it’s time to say a few nice words. Wish me luck. Every house is uglier than the next.” She stalks off, headlong into the blustery wind.
Leo steps in with those curious eyes hooked to mine. “What really brings you here tonight?”
I glance to the left a few houses down where dozens of kids are waiting impatiently to see Dexter in his deluxe plush Santa suit.
He glances back. “Ah, yes, Bizzy Baker, detective extraordinaire. Why do I get the feeling Jasper doesn’t know about this?”
“Oh, he does.” I give an incredulous laugh. “I invited him, but he’s working late and couldn’t make it.” I’m about to tell him all about my adventure out in Edison this afternoon when something catches my eye across the street at Lincoln Brooks’ house. “Leo, look,” I whisper as I take a step closer. “The front door is wide open and so is the trunk of that car parked out front.”
“I’d better check it out.” He pats his back, checking for his weapon just the way I’ve seen Jasper do a hundred times before.
“Not without me you’re not.”
Leo and I make our way across the street. We could have made it here in half the time if so many people hadn’t stopped to take a selfie with Sherlock. I can’t say I blame them. Aside from the Santa—who happens to reek of cheap rum according to Macy’s last adventure here—Sherlock is the star of the show.
“Leo”—I butt my shoulder up against his as we see a shadow moving from inside Lincoln’s house—“do you think we should call the sheriff’s department?”
“Bizzy, I am the sheriff’s department.”
The three of us make our way up the lawn, and it just so happens the fake snow is covered with the real deal tonight as the blue glow from the twinkle lights buried underneath it give it a fairy-tale appeal. The gold throne sits askew and abandoned at the moment, and no one has bothered to fix the Christmas lights that have unhitched themselves last week. Instead, the wind blows them around like a demonic whip.
A person charges out of Lincoln’s front door with an armful of clothing and shoes that dangle precariously from their grasp. It’s not until she makes a beeline for the trunk of the car do I see a long blonde ponytail swinging in the wind.
“Trixie?” I shout as Sherlock and I head over ahead of Leo. “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to sound friendly as she dumps the load in her arms into the trunk and squints over at me. “I was at the bar last night with you.” I give a little wave.
“Oh, right.” She’s quick to flick her wrist my way. “Didn’t I say men would always disappoint you?” She slams the trunk of her car shut, and a sleeve from a sweater is left hanging outside of it, giving it an overall morbid appeal.
“Actually, I don’t remember you saying that.” I wince because I’m guessing I should have just gone with it.
“Well, I meant to.” She plucks the purse off her arm and tosses it into the passenger’s seat. “That old coot deserved to die.” She pitches her head back and spits onto the ground next to her. “He’s right where he should have been all along. Six feet under with no one to care.” She leans in my way. “You be good to yourself, missy.”
“Oh, I will.” A prickling of fear pulsates from me as she prepares to take off. I’m mostly terrified I won’t get another chance to shake her down for clues. Speaking of which. “Hey, Trixie? How did you know Lincoln was poisoned with oleander?”
Her eyes connect with mine a second too long but not a single thought rides through her mind.
“Let’s just say I’ve got boyfriends in high places—like the morgue. I asked the cops what did Lincoln in, but they weren’t talking so I found someone who would. I don’t appreciate being held in the dark, and my friend felt the need to enlighten me.”
“Well, thank you for enlightening me,” I say. “I’ll still see you at the Let It Snow event tomorrow night, right? There will be lots of eligible bachelors that I’m guessing will be more than willing to make you forget about your troubles.”
She snarls over at the house behind us with its gaping door and lights still on inside.
“You betcha I’ll be there. I’m not losing out on a sparkling future just because I had a rotten past. No man is worth it.” She shakes her fist at the sky. “Hear that, Lincoln Love-’Em-and-Leave-’Em-Broke-and-Penniless? I’ll be finding me a new man in less than twenty-four hours. Take that to the grave!” She hops into her sedan and speeds off, honking her way past the crowd until she’s effectively stuck in traffic a few houses down.
“Well, that was dramatic.” I turn to Leo with a laugh caught in my throat just as Julia pops out from the walkway on the side of the house.
Julia chuckles. “It was rather dramatic, wasn’t it?” She extends a hand to Leo. “Julia Hart. I live in the carriage house in the back. I used to be the secretary for the man who lived here.”
“Nice to meet you.” Leo offers a brief smile. “What was the drama all about? And were those clothes hers, or was she stealing?”
Julia’s chest pumps at the thought. “Oh, who cares. It’s all headed to some thrift shop next week anyway. But I’m pretty sure she cleared out her own closet. Even though she didn’t technically live here, Trixie had quite the collection of designer gowns and expensive coats. I’m not too surprised she wanted to scoop up what she could. Especially after the evening she’s had.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” I tilt my head her way because I don’t want to miss a single word.
Julia pulls her dark sweater tight around her body. “Reading of the will. Let’s just say it didn’t exactly go her way. Lincoln had lots of money, and he left none of it to her.” She takes a moment to glance across the street at the Bronsons’ residence. “And it went exactly how Mary Beth planned.” She shakes her head. “I knew she was sniffing around for nefarious reasons. Apparently, Lincoln left her this house. Which was unexpected since it was supposed to dissolve with the rest of his estate and pay off any outstanding debts. Boy was Calvin steamed.” She twitches her nose at Leo. “Calvin was Lincoln’s business partner, and he sort of got caught holding the financial bag.” Her eyes shift across the street once again. “But Mary Beth won the jackpot. It really makes her look maniacal like she plotted the whole thing out. First, she slept with him and had him change his will. Next, she poisoned him, and now she collects a house worth over a million dollars.” She shakes her head. “Some people get away with everything. Even murder.” She sniffs the air. “It was nice meeting you, Leo. And Bizzy, it was nice knowing you. My position came through in South Carolina. I’m leaving Monday.”
“Wow, Santa delivered right on time. Congratulations on the position. I’ll be sad to see you go. But you’re still coming to the Let It Snow event at the inn, right?”
She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I should probably pack my things. And there are still so many things to take care of for Lincoln. All those accounts of his had to be notified, and there are still a few I need to take care of.”
“Well, how about just stop by long enough for me to give you a care package of gingerbread whoopie pies and a hug?”
She belts out a laugh. “Boy, you play hardball. Fine. I’ll be there. You had me at whoopie pies. Have a good night.” She gives Sherlock a quick pat. “The first thing I’m going to do when I get to South Carolina is pick up a shelter dog that looks exactly like you.” She takes off into the murky darkness of the walkway and disappears out of sight.
Leo raises his brows my way. “You’re going to have a cast of characters at the inn tomorrow night, aren’t you?”
“Camila and Mack will be there, and so will you, so I guess that’s true.”
“Very funny.”
We amble our way across the street to our intended target, and I tell Leo all about my strange meeting with Dexter yesterday. And all about his even stranger wife.
“Geez.” Leo rocks back on his heels as he inspects the Bronsons’ home lit up like a Christmas version of the Las Vegas strip. “And those are the oleander bushes?” He shakes his head. “Did you pick up a bottle of the antifreeze?”
“No. But I took a picture of it.” I pull out my phone and show him. Leo frowns at it as if it somehow offended him.
“Come here.” He navigates us up the driveway and around the masses of people all waiting for a turn to sit on Dexter Bronson’s lap. Mary Beth is dressed as a rather scary looking elf tonight with garish red lipstick and giant hot pink dots on the apples of her cheeks while handing out candy canes to the kids after they’re done whispering their Christmas wish to the jolly old elf.
Leo leans my way. “The garage is open,” he whispers.
A small swarm gathers around Sherlock, and soon the kids in line are all circling around him while their parents angle to take pictures of him.
I glance over at the dark cave of the garage and note a lawnmower, a few tools scattered around, and in the corner, right next to the entry sits a row of at least a dozen of those specialty bottles of antifreeze Dexter was advertising at his shop.
I suck in a quick breath. Leo, I see them. What should I do?
He gives a quick glance that way as he takes the leash from me. Pretend to drop something from your purse and chase it. That tote bag you’re carrying could fit a human inside. Pick up a bottle and drop it in.
That’s theft. I shoot him a look.
That’s creative borrowing. You can bring it back while the killer is being arraigned for murder charges. That is, if it’s not used as admissible evidence.
The crowd only seems to thicken around us. I dig a tissue out of my purse—or tote bag as Leo called it— as if I were about to blow my nose, and sure enough the wind carries it right over to the garage for me. I do my best to chase after it, and it gets stuck right up against a bottle of that antifreeze. I swipe both the tissue and the antifreeze up and bury them in my purse without hesitation.
My entire body breaks out into a sweat as I hurry my way back to Leo.
“It’s time to go,” I pant.
Leo leads us down the driveway and down the street as if the neighborhood were on fire.
A man with a heavy coat steps right in front of me, blocking my path, and I look up to see Jasper Wilder’s flashing silver eyes.
“Jasper.” I wrap my arms around him for a moment and pull back as he lands a kiss to my cheek. The bright look on his face dims when he sees Leo, and he quickly takes Sherlock’s leash from him. “What’s going on?”
A woman steps up from behind Jasper, a laugh caught in her throat. She’s dressed in black from head to toe with a face that looks as if it could launch a thousand missiles—something far more destructive than a plain old ship. After all, she did start a war when she dragged a government agency into our lives.
A jumble of words tries to escape me all at once. “We were just… Mayor Woods is speaking tonight and I bought antlers.” I glance to Sherlock who is busy cowering away from Camila. He’s not her biggest fan.
Why are they together, Bizzy? Sherlock moans. Why? It’s not happening again, is it?
I certainly hope nothing will ever happen between these two again.
A husky laugh escapes her. “Well, well. It looks as if Bizzy and Leo have something to hide.” She leans up against Jasper. “And I bet it’s something big.” She gives a wink my way. “I’ll see you back at the inn, Bizzy. My favorite home sweet home.”
Leo quickly says goodnight and takes off, and Jasper says goodnight to Camila as he walks me to my car.
“I ran into her.” He winces. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. And I highly doubt it was coincidence she saw you here. She’s a proficient stalker.”
His dark brows depress as he wraps his arms around me. “How about we get back to my cottage and
I make us something to eat?”
“He cooks?” I tease. “I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be. It’s a rather small menu I’m capable of. I hope you like grilled cheese.”
“Only if there’s extra cheese.”
His chest bumps with a laugh. “You are my kind of girl, Bizzy Baker.”
I glance over my shoulder quickly and spot Leo looking this way while Camila accosts him.
Leo, tell Mack it’s time to put our plan into motion, asap.
Leo shakes his head. Plan? This will not end well, Bizzy.
It will, I assure him. And it ends now.
Jasper follows my gaze and his jaw tightens. He’s looking at Bizzy again. And this time, it feels as if she’s looking right back. I hope it’s nothing. But then, I’ve hoped that before.
We head to Jasper’s cottage, and I try to show him exactly how devoted I am to him.
Soon enough, Camila won’t be a problem and we can get right back on track, where we belong.
Chapter Sixteen
The Country Cottage Inn plays host to a number of events all year round, and the most elegant of them all is tonight’s annual charity event run by the city council. The Let It Snow Ball promises to be absolutely opulent. I hope.
As the manager of the inn, it’s my responsibility to keep the Christmas magic alive, and it’s a bit harder to do with a woman ranting and raving as she schleps a bevy of quilted duffle bags down the stairs.
To my surprise and somewhat delight, the ranting and raving lunatic is the exact ranting and raving lunatic I was hoping it would be—Camila.
Fish stands on the counter, and the hair on her back rises an inch. Here comes trouble.
Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3) Page 13