by Darci Hannah
The lighthouse was a flurry of activity as drinks were poured and the table was made ready for English trifle and a game of dominoes. I had just poured a pot of fresh coffee into a carafe and was ready to take it to the table when Betty popped up behind me.
“Don’t say anything to Bob, but did you find out who wrote that note?” She cast a glance at Doc Riggles, who was laughing at something Dad said.
I didn’t know whether to tell her or not, due to her reputation for spilling secrets. But since Betty had supplied Mom with the opportunity to snap the picture of said note, I decided to be honest. “I did. Ginger Brooks wrote it.” Before Betty could scream, I swiftly added, “But she didn’t kill him.”
“The jury’s still out on that one.” Kennedy, passing by with a tray of dessert plates, had paused long enough to add her two cents. She tossed Betty a wink before heading to the table.
“We don’t know who did it,” I told her. “All we know is that Chevy made a lot of enemies in this town in the short time he was here. I’m passing all my information along to the police.”
“Are you giving up on this case?” She looked more troubled than relieved.
Her confidence made me chuckle. “Betty, I’m a baker. I run a bakery. I was never really on the case. We were just trying to help.”
“Well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open all the same.” She picked up the teapot and the decorative basket holding my collection of teas. “One more thing. Bradley Argyle called to thank me for sending him a cake. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“No,” I lied. “I wonder where he got that idea?”
CHAPTER 38
The murder of Chevy Chambers had stumped the best of us, but I wasn’t about to give up just yet, and neither were Rory and Kennedy. I had a bakery to run, but the two of them had time on their hands. Therefore, it was decided that while I worked at the Beacon, they would set aside their petty differences and put their heads together, scouring the internet for any clue as to the identity of the mysterious cookie-nappers.
I was eager to speak with Mrs. Nichols the moment I arrived in the bakery kitchen. The poor woman had spent an afternoon at the police station watching confiscated footage. Although she hadn’t been able to spot the three women in question, she might have picked up on something of value.
As she mixed up a giant batch of her now-famous butter cookies, she thought about my question. “He was a camera hog,” she announced. “I enjoyed watching each of you bake. But Chevy was a vain man and liked to be seen. What was also evident was that he was a shameless flirt. You didn’t bite. You bake with confidence and didn’t need the flattery.” I blushed at the compliment. “But Ginger and Felicity did . . .” Her voice trailed off.
While Mrs. Nichols was talking, I had been working on cupcakes. A tray of rich chocolate was just about done baking in the oven while another tray, this one containing carrot cake batter, was ready to go in. Wendy had talked me into making holiday-themed cupcakes. Since she wanted to practice her decorating skills, I had encouraged her to be creative. The cupcakes had been her palette, and she hadn’t disappointed me. Her whimsical designs out of frosting and candy had created cupcakes that looked like reindeer, snowmen, snowflakes, Christmas trees, and even ones that looked like Santa. Not only were they adorable and delicious, but we sold out of them every day. Since Christmas was only a few days away, I was confident we could move a few dozen more.
“What is it?” The flow of her narrative had stopped. I opened the oven and swapped out the trays before turning to look at her.
She pursed her lips. “It’s just that he seemed so confident with you ladies, but I forgot about Bradley.”
“What about him?”
“Chevy left him alone.”
I laughed. “Only because he was a man.”
“Well, there is that. And maybe that’s all it was. But Chevy was more cautious of him than he was of you ladies. I might even suggest he was respectful.”
That got me. I shook my head, bristling slightly at my colliding thoughts. “That would suggest he was a chauvinist as well as a pig. I should have figured as much. I’m afraid our victim was riddled with unsavory vices.”
Mrs. Nichols agreed, and the conversation ended. Her only regret had been leaving the police station without identifying a single cookie-napper.
With the bakery cases full and the customers lining up for their morning coffee and treats, I waved good-bye to Mrs. Nichols. She had worked her usual magic and needed to run some errands. I told her to enjoy the rest of her day.
When Sergeant Murdock and Tuck came in, I left the bakery counter and waved them over to the coffee bar. Since they were both slightly addicted to our holiday drinks, I brought each a peppermint mocha. It was my way of buttering them up before I handed over the signed receipts I had gathered through my Christmas cake deception. Being cops, they were going to find out about the anonymous Christmas cakes eventually.
Although Tuck had been party to some of our meddling, he hadn’t been aware of all of it. I knew I had shocked him, just as I knew I had angered the sergeant, losing any points I had thus made with her. But the so-called burden of proof had been too much for me. I briefly explained what I had done with a few choice edits, then handed them over.
Sergeant Stacy Murdock, being a clever person, was still stuck on the one detail I wasn’t willing to give them.
“One thing I still don’t understand, Bakewell, is why you bothered in the first place. I specifically told you not to meddle in this case.”
“And I was honestly trying not to.” Her look of aggressive skepticism was so chilling it almost made me confess everything. But I wasn’t just protecting myself on this one. It was for the sake of Mom and Betty that I couldn’t reveal the real reason I had gone through so much trouble to get four signatures.
“What good were these signatures to you?”
“Ah . . . well, if you must know, I saw the note.”
“What note?” Now she was playing me.
“The one found in Chevy’s hand. It said Meet me under the mistletoe. I thought that maybe I could match the handwriting and find the killer.”
“Without the note?”
“Umm . . . yep. I have a good memory for letters.”
“I thought it was numbers,” she pointedly remarked, before sipping her mocha.
At this point in the conversation, Tuck was staring at me in a most uncomfortable way. With the exception of his crush on Kennedy, he was a very astute man. His look suggested he knew we had somehow gotten a copy of that letter.
Ignoring him, I turned to the sergeant and shrugged. “That’s why I’m handing them over to you. I thought you might have better luck matching the handwriting.”
When Tuck and Murdock left, I sent Ginger a quick text alerting her to expect a visit from Murdock. She was my friend, and I had believed her when she told me that she hadn’t killed Chevy. But the twisting, turning events leading to the cookie critic’s death was proving nearly impossible to unravel. Without knowing the identity of the cookie-nappers, the murder of Chevy Chambers just might remain unsolved. That would throw a shadow over my perfect Christmas for sure.
* * *
There was one other person I needed to talk with to clear the air, so to speak. After the lunch rush, I took off my apron and left the Beacon in the capable hands of Elizabeth and Wendy. I then put on my coat, hat, and gloves and headed across town to the Tannenbaum Shoppe.
I couldn’t help but smile as I came upon the busy shop that pushed Christmas cheer all year round. There was no denying that there was something quite special about a person who displayed so much passion for the season. It struck me for the first time as I walked past the crowded parking lot, just how lucky the town of Beacon Harbor was to have such a store. Thanks to a woman with a vision, the place was the embodiment of Christmas. Children were still lining up to meet Santa and pet his reindeer at this late date. It was the place for last-minute Christmas
wishes, gifts, ornaments, and hot cocoa with sticky marshmallows. I walked through the front door, found an elf, and asked to speak with the owner.
The young lady with pointy ears and a floppy hat walked over to the wrapping station and picked up a phone. A few minutes later, she apologized and told me that Felicity was somewhere on the floor.
Not a big problem. I thanked the elf and set out to explore the crowded store. I walked down aisle after aisle, fighting the crowds while looking for Felicity. I finally spotted her near a nine-foot fully decorated tree in the Christmas tree forest, set apart in a separate room. I could see that she was talking with someone—a customer, I presumed. I made my way toward her and called out her name.
Felicity turned, revealing the person she’d been talking with. It was Mrs. Nichols.
I was shocked to see my assistant baker there. To be fair, Mrs. Nichols looked just as surprised to see me as well. Before I could say hi, she waved and disappeared behind the tree. Felicity straightened her green velvet Christmas skirt and walked over to meet me.
“You were talking with Mrs. Nichols.” The words tumbled out of my mouth as both a statement and a question. I peered around the woman, who was blocking my view. Felicity seemed unaware.
“I talk to a lot of people. But seeing you here is a surprise. Don’t you have a bakery to run?”
I tried to peer around her other side, but she blocked me. “Like you, I have helpers. Was that Mrs. Nichols?”
“A lovely woman. We were just talking.” She took hold of my arm and gently guided me in the opposite direction. “Why are you here?”
I stopped and looked at her. “I came to apologize. Can we talk?”
I sat in Felicity’s office, attempting to explain why I had come. “I was so certain that you were having an affair with Chevy, but now I know that you weren’t.”
She looked at me with all the trust a mouse regards a viper with and scratched her chin. “I don’t understand. How is that an apology?”
I blushed. “Because I thought you were the one responsible for Chevy’s murder.”
That pushed some buttons. Felicity bristled with indignation. “Really! I told you I didn’t kill him, just as I told you that I wasn’t having an affair with him either. I can’t believe you were smart enough to work on Wall Street.” She flipped her red hair and tilted her head as she stared at me.
“There are many different brands of clever,” I told her. “Only a select few of them relate to financial success. I freely admit that I screwed up on this one.”
“Good. That’s a start.” I was happy to see her anger morph into thoughtful reflection. “By the way, you might be the only one in this town who believes me.”
“I take it your husband doesn’t?”
At the mention of Stanley Stewart, her bravado crumbled. “I made a fool of myself,” she whimpered as her chin began to tremble. “I put winning that damn bake-off ahead of my marriage and now I’m paying the price. You might be right about different brands of clever. I’m not clever at all. I can’t see a way out of this one.”
My heart went out to her. There were some people who spent a lifetime playing it safe, venturing small risks to gather small gains. It was a comfort for them to know that the ground would always rise up to meet their feet.
And then there were those like Felicity. Her passion for Christmas was so great that in a moment of greed, fueled by visions of grandeur, she had risked it all. I, of all people, knew there was a lot to admire in that. Felicity and I weren’t so different after all. But I never risked more than I was willing to lose. I also relied on the numbers, because, unlike the vagaries of human nature, numbers could be trusted. Putting one’s trust in an emotional saboteur like Chevy Chambers was a recipe for disaster. Yet perhaps I could help her out of this one.
“The reason I’m here is because I know who was having an affair with Chevy.”
Her eyes shot to me like two pointy darts. “You?” I didn’t think I deserved quite all of the accusation and venom in her glance.
I deflected it with my well-practiced gag me face. “It was Ginger.”
The thought was so salacious that a hand flew over her mouth. “No! That little liar.”
“Honestly, can you blame her for lying?” I knew that poor Ginger had been embarrassed enough by her foolish mistake. It was now time to put that behind us. I doubled down and told her, “My point is, Ginger can help you. She can tell Stanley the truth.”
She thought about that. “She would do that for me?”
“I know she will. We are the shop owners of Beacon Harbor. Your silly Christmas cookie bake-off nearly tore us apart. But we can’t let that happen to us, Felicity. I’d like to think that our love for this beautiful village and all who live here is stronger than our need to bake the best cookie. They’re Christmas cookies, for heaven’s sake! Anyone who bakes a Christmas cookie is a winner. Our mistake was letting Chevy Chambers convince us otherwise.”
“You’re right,” she said, nervously wringing her hands. “And I’m partially to blame. I let Chevy sweet-talk me into believing that I might have my own Christmas-themed baking show. I fell in love with the idea. All I needed to do in return was . . .” She seemed embarrassed to continue.
“I know,” I said and held up a hand. I didn’t need to hear any more. “I’m beginning to understand how that man worked. He was torquing each one of us up by flirting and making false promises. I think he felt all the drama would be good for ratings.”
Her face flushed with anger. “The horrible truth of it was, I actually entertained the idea. But I could never take that final leap.”
“Thank goodness,” I said and smiled at the woman across from me. “It’s now time to put that behind you. Heaven knows, I’m trying to as well. Christmas is only a few days away, Felicity. We can’t let the ghost of Chevy Chambers ruin it for us.”
CHAPTER 39
As I walked down the snowy sidewalk back to the lighthouse, I felt better. I had made peace with Felicity and had handed the receipts over to the police. I was trying to let go of the tragedy at the Christmas Festival, and in doing so, it felt like a weight had been lifted from me. Death was always sad, I thought. And murder, quite frankly, terrified me. There was also the element of anger—that someone had cornered Chevy Chambers and had murdered him at the village Christmas Festival during the live bake-off! The shock of finding his body was something I wasn’t soon to forget, and in a selfish way, it made me mad. The Christmas Festival was supposed to be a safe event for families. It was supposed to be fun and filled with good cheer. Chevy and his need to stir the pot had ruined it for us. He had pushed someone too far and had paid the price. I silently cursed him and his giant ego. But I wouldn’t let him ruin Christmas.
The moment I caught sight of my home, my heart beat a little faster. The old Beacon Point Lighthouse never failed to capture my imagination, standing tall over a freshwater sea. Covered in Christmas lights, it looked even better, reminding me of my task. There were still plenty of cars in the parking lot and plenty of baking left to do.
I walked through the front door, greeted Wendy and Elizabeth, then headed back to the kitchen. There, I looked at my baking list, gathered my ingredients, and set to work on the special orders for the next morning.
“Hey, Lindsey.” I looked up from the cake I was decorating and saw Elizabeth. I waved her in. She came through the door carrying a red mug that was topped with a heavy dose of whipped cream. “While you were out, I mixed up this. Care to try it?”
It smelled good, and vaguely familiar. “Of course. What am I drinking?”
“Taste it and try to guess.” I liked her confidence, and the challenge issued behind her smile. I always encouraged the Beacon’s employees to be adventurous. We had our set menu of crowd pleasers, and a rotating list of daily specials. But I loved it when someone other than me came up with an idea. Wendy had embraced cupcakes and was becoming a big help in the kitchen. Ryan liked to throw a twist on our sandwich m
enu. Alaina was still a bit shy when it came to expressing new ideas for our edible offerings, but she was our resident chalk artist. I had given her free reign over our menu board and had never regretted it. Then there was Elizabeth and Tom. They both loved coffee and weren’t afraid to try new things. This little drink was one of them.
I looked at the spice sprinkled on the whipped cream and sniffed. I sniffed again and ventured, “Nutmeg?” She nodded. I then took a sip. The strong espresso had been blended with thick, creamy eggnog and steamed milk. It was so silky, rich, and flavorful, it tasted like Christmas Eve.
“Elizabeth, this is amazing! I love it. It’s so perfectly blended. I know that I don’t have eggnog here. Did you buy it?”
“We made it last night. It’s my mom’s recipe and one of our holiday traditions. She makes a batch with alcohol and one without for the kids. I asked if I could take a pint of the nonalcoholic batch and brought it to work today. I wanted to see if we could make a good eggnog latte.”
I took another sip and toasted her. “Mission accomplished! This tastes so good. If I bought the ingredients, would you be able to make the eggnog here? I know there’s only a few days left until Christmas, but I want this to be our Christmas Eve special. What do you think?”
Elizabeth beamed with delight. “Really? I would love that! Wow. Thanks, Lindsey.”
I made a note to have Alaina add it to the menu tomorrow. Everything was falling into place, I thought. The Beacon was returning to normal.
But my thoughts had spoken too soon. The moment we closed for the day, Rory and Kennedy came bursting through the lighthouse door. The intensity on their faces and the air of urgency that swirled around them stopped me in my tracks. One look at them and the weight that had lifted began to settle around me again. It didn’t help that all three dogs raced into the café, too, feeding off the excitement. I had a biscuit and a pet for each, which calmed them back down. I silently wished that the same offering would work on the hyped-up human duo, but I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.