by Darci Hannah
“What if it was both of them?” I offered. “Think about it. Here is what we know. Bradley’s mom and her friends, our cookie-nappers, were in the audience during the bake-off, and each one was seen talking with Chevy. Bradley, as far as I know, never left the stage until he was done with his gingerbread showstopper. That was around the time his mom was pointed out to me by Mrs. Nichols. I chased after her and ended up being locked in a storage closet. How long was I in there?”
Rory shrugged. “Fifteen minutes, maybe? But you’re right, Lindsey. There was about fifteen or twenty minutes between the time you called me from that closet until the time we entered the library, where we found Chevy’s body. We know that he was seen talking to Felicity, Stanley, and even our Mrs. Nichols in that room. But no one ever saw him talking with Bradley or his mom. They would have had plenty of time to corner him in the library and hit him over the head.”
“With what, though?” Kennedy, resting her head on her crossed arms, looked at him.
“Bradley had a rolling pin,” I offered.
“But his wasn’t missing. Only Felicity’s went missing. But wouldn’t it be just like Mommy Sticky Fingers to take it in order to shift the blame onto Mommy Cheeriest? After all, she had been flirting shamelessly with Chevy.”
“Good point, Kennedy. Don’t let that go to your head.” Rory tossed her a wink. “If we’re lucky, she might still have it. I suggest we try to locate Bradley’s mother.”
* * *
While Kennedy and Rory shared our latest discovery regarding the death of Chevy Chambers with Mom and Dad, I jumped into the kitchen and started dinner. All the delicious smells from the hotel restaurant had made me hungry. Welly and the models, staring at me with hope in their eyes, were ravenous as well. Dogs were always hungry, I mused, and began the preparations for both human and canine dinners.
The dogs were satisfied with their favorite kibble doctored with a little roasted chicken. For the humans, I was making pasta Bolognese. I knew it was one of Rory’s favorite dishes, containing three different types of meat blended in a red sauce. I took out a pound of thick bacon, cut it into inch-sized pieces, and threw it into a skillet. I let the bacon cook for a few minutes, then drained off the fat and added a pound of lean ground beef and a pound of Italian sausage.
Mom walked into the kitchen to get drinks. “That smells both fattening and delicious.”
“Everything delicious is fattening,” I told her with a grin. “Remember my lighthouse Christmas rule? No talking about diets until January second. Now, put down that fattening bottle of wine and help me crush this garlic and chop this basil.” I smiled as I handed her a garlic press and a knife.
As Mom set to work, she said, “So, Bradley’s mother is one of the cookie-nappers.” I could see that the thought both troubled and intrigued her. “And he wouldn’t give you her name or address? That sounds very much like he’s hiding something.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Dad, coming in to pluck a piece of bacon out of my pan. The scent of its sizzling had lured him into the kitchen. Sheer male boldness made him believe that he could put his fingers into my hot pan of meat. I slapped his hand away with my spatula and scooped out a piece for him.
“Honestly, you’re as bad as Wellington,” I chided, watching him gobble it up. “Thank goodness Welly doesn’t have opposable thumbs.”
“I’m starving, and it smells so good in here. Can I help?” I kissed him on the cheek and relinquished the meats to him.
As Dad drained the fat out of the pan, he asked, “Regarding Bradley’s mom, can’t Rory Google that or something? I mean, if he found that article with her picture in it, I’d think a man of his talents would be able to find out her name.”
“And what talents are those, James?” Kennedy swooped into the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine Mom had abandoned. Rory, finding himself alone, had come in behind her. My lighthouse kitchen, although recently gutted and remodeled with white upper cabinets, blue lower cabinets, and white granite countertops, wasn’t very large. But that didn’t stop everyone from wanting to be in there.
Dad turned from the sink to look at Kennedy. “Special Forces. They know how to do things we mere mortals don’t. Isn’t that right, Rory?”
My boyfriend blushed. Captain Rory Campbell, ex–Navy SEAL, was being modest, and I found it utterly adorable. “James. I wish it were that easy. But personal information like that is usually protected.”
Dad winked. “For normal people.”
Rory cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Right, well, there’s also the problem of matching a face with a name. We’d need facial recognition software for that, as well as a government-protected database.”
“Hello, everyone. I’m shagging a cop. Mightn’t we give this to him to solve?” Kennedy waved the scathing review in the air.
“No!” we all cried, although Mom was giggling.
“I mean, of course, we should,” I said, gently removing the review from her hand. “Just not yet. We might be wrong about all this, and then how would that look? Murdock would come down on us for snooping. And Tuck, well, no one likes mixing business with pleasure. Let’s give Rory a crack at this first.”
Kennedy was outnumbered on this one.
I finished the sauce by adding two cans of crushed tomatoes, the four cloves of crushed garlic from Mom, and the fresh basil. I also added a teaspoon of dried oregano, a teaspoon of salt, and a teaspoon of sugar to cut the acidity of the tomatoes. After adding half a cup of heavy cream, I stirred it all together. I covered the pan and turned the heat to low to let it simmer. While the sauce was finishing up, I cooked the spaghetti. Needless to say, dinner was a hit.
After dinner, we all bundled up and hiked along the snowy pathway to Rory’s log home with only the moon and the lights from my candy cane light tower to guide us. Sure, the dogs knew the way, and we all had flashlights on our cell phones. My hands were full, however, carrying the apple pie I had made earlier. Mom was toting a carafe of coffee. Over dinner we had cajoled Rory into contacting one of his buddies currently working at the Pentagon. We were having dessert at his house while he worked on the puzzle of matching the face in the newspaper photo to a name. If that failed, our backup plan was to pay a visit to Bradley’s house in the morning.
After we had finished the pie, we gathered around Rory’s Christmas tree drinking coffee. His tree was a beautiful ten-foot Douglas fir wrapped in white lights. There were no ornaments on it, just lights. But it looked lovely, placed before the tall wall of windows that overlooked his snowy deck and the frozen lake beyond. Wellington was lying at my feet. Brinkley and Ireland were snuggled in the laps of Mom and Dad respectively. Kennedy was sipping coffee while flipping through her Instagram feed. A moment later, Rory, who had been in his office on the second floor, appeared in the loft.
“We got it,” he said, looking down on us. “Sophia Argyle-Huffman. I have her most recent address. She lives outside of Petoskey, in the village of Bay Harbor.”
“Bay Harbor!” Mom sat up and looked at us girls. “I was just there. That’s a wealthy little neighborhood right on the lake, and full of shops, restaurants, and trendy clothing boutiques. In short, that’s my territory.”
Dad, recognizing her euphoric expression, ventured a tentative, “Ellie, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I know how to get into the house of Sophia Argyle-Huffman, no cops needed. No offense, dear.” This, she directed to Kennedy with a sympathetic pout. “I’m cooking up a plan as we speak. Ladies, are you in?”
Mom was a model, not a cop; her plans were usually half-baked and wacky. Nonetheless, my curiosity got the best of me. “Yes,” I cried. “I’m in.”
Kennedy clearly thought I was crazy, yet she set down her phone and addressed my mom. “Right. Me, too, Ellie.”
CHAPTER 42
I opened the bakeshop as usual but only worked until eleven. That’s when Dad tied on his apron and came behind the bakery counter to relieve me. He was taki
ng over while I helped Mom spring a trap for Sophia Argyle-Huffman. Mom, a fan of drama, had kept her plan to herself, building it up in our heads as a home run. “Ladies, you have to learn to trust me,” she told Kennedy and me. “I’ve got this.” Her confidence was not only impressive, but convincing. We knew she had put a lot of thought behind this, but when she handed us our garment bags, I was assailed by doubt.
“Umm . . . this is your plan?” Why had I thought it was going to be a little more complex than putting on an Ellie & Co original? I had been expecting something clever and daring, something that would require me to carry a Taser. Clearly, Mom was going with what she knew, and that was being a model. Kennedy and I were parading as models as well. My disguise, as Mom put it, was a soft, thick-striped black and white turtleneck tucked into a pair of flowing black palazzo pants. I had to admit, my outfit was as comfortable as pajamas, but looked, well, elegant. As for accessories, I was given a pair of beautiful, dangly silver earrings, a bright red cape, and a black leather crossbody purse with a silver buckle. I looked inside, hoping to find a Taser buried in the tissue. Again, I was disappointed. Another disappointment came when I was given a wide, floppy black hat that I was to wear rakishly over half my face. Kennedy didn’t have to wear a hat.
“We need to hide your identity,” Mom explained, positioning the hat and arranging my loose, bouncy curls around my face. “We don’t want Sophia to recognize you.”
Good point. My one rebellion against Mom’s plan was tossing the high heels aside for my trusty black Dansko shoes.
When Mom strutted into the living room, I began regaining my confidence. The celebrity eighties fashion model was back, only better. Her beauty and poise had always been there, but now they seemed somehow more real to me than that old Vogue cover of her that popped up on my phone whenever she called. Her face was a little rounder and made far more interesting by the laugh lines around her mouth and the spidery beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes. She looked gorgeous and natural in the ankle-length, flowing skirt that was the color of an evergreen tree. On top, she wore a snowy-white mohair sweater, the perfect choice for the holidays. Her one accessory, besides a full-length fake fur coat, was a spectacular, dangling emerald and diamond necklace.
Kennedy, always a fashionista, looked stunning in the strapless dress with a fitted bodice that Mom had picked out for her. The deep gold of the material wasn’t only festive, it suited her skin color and black hair to perfection. The skirt fell around her like a liquid bell, fluttering as she walked. To add a touch of panache to the ball gown look, Kennedy had been given a crimson bolero jacket with tails. And, of course, impractically high heels.
Bay Harbor was roughly an hour north of Beacon Harbor, situated on Little Traverse Bay. It was a playground for the wealthy, a modern resort community devoted to yachting, golfing, equestrian pursuits, and fine dining. I had never been to the town but had heard a lot about it. Rory had been there for one of his business trips, and he was driving us there in the high-end crossover vehicle Mom and Dad had rented.
Rory pressed Mom for her game plan. “You really think this is going to work, Ellie?” He took his eyes off the road to look at Mom.
“If you’ll remember, Mrs. Nichols described the women who stole the cookies as looking like they didn’t need to steal them at all. She said they were well-dressed, attractive, and middle-aged. From all your descriptions, they appeared to like fine clothing.”
“Mom, honestly, I don’t know where you’re going with this. Are we supposed to be the pied pipers of fashionistas—summoning the clotheshorses and power-shoppers with the clopping of our high heels as we march down Main Street in our designer clothing? It’s twenty degrees outside with a windchill of zero. Everyone in their right mind will be inside, hovering around a crackling fire.”
“Or last-minute shopping in the village clothing boutiques. I told you that I’ve been here before, earlier this week with your dad. We had lunch but didn’t have time to shop. However, while I was here, I wanted to scout out some of the boutiques and see if they’d be interested in carrying our clothing line.”
“Brilliant idea,” Kennedy quipped. After all, she had a stake in the brand. She leaned forward. “Is that what we’re doing?”
Mom nodded. “It’s our cover story. It works because it’s real. Bay Harbor is a small, lovely, very wealthy town. If Sophia Argyle-Huffman frequents any one of the boutiques there, the owner will know her. Shop owners always know their best clients.” Mom looked at Kennedy and me in the back seat and winked. She was winding up for her big reveal, the essence of her brilliant plan. Her voice filled with drama as she added, “And once we find the boutique where Sophia shops, we shall convince the owner to contact Sophia and tell her she’s won a pop-up Christmas fashion show, by me, in the privacy of her own home. That’s how we’re getting in.”
Rory nearly drove off the road, he was laughing so hard. He swerved back, sobered, and cleared his throat. “Wow! This is a joke, right?”
Mom grew incensed. “Why would you think this is a joke?”
“No offense, Ellie, but this is the real world, not an episode of the Kardashians. People don’t just let three strange, albeit beautiful, women into their home because they’re wearing nice clothes.”
“Rory Campbell, do you know anything about women’s clothing or women’s fashion?”
“Nooo, ma’am. I shop at Cabela’s and stick to the woods.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. You, dear boy, are way out of your league on this one. Now, mark my words, we will get into that house.”
“I don’t mean to be a bucket-dipper, but the only way we’re getting into that house, ladies, is if I kick down the door.”
In general, I’d have said Rory was correct. But Mom was a celebrity, one recognized in very unique circles. After strutting into three different boutiques in the luxurious village of Bay Harbor, modeling our outfits, and soliciting orders for Ellie & Co’s new spring line, Mom struck gold.
“Sophia’s one of our best clients!” the woman in the chic leather pants gushed. Mom explained her private pop-up Christmas fashion show idea, stating that Sophia and her friends would be the perfect audience. As Mom spoke, the woman snuck out her phone, angled it at her, and snapped a picture before shoving it back in the drawer under the register. Kennedy and I saw the whole thing.
“She was just in this morning,” the woman continued, “with Cynthia Goddard and Barbie Blankenship. They were looking at our new shipment of organic, sustainably sourced, hand-dyed, handmade scarves. She’ll be so surprised. We have her phone number on file. I’ll give her a ring.”
“Did she buy one?” Kennedy asked the woman holding the phone.
“One what?”
“A scarf.”
The woman shook her head, and uttered, “She bought a cute little tam off the sales rack today, but she’ll be back for our Christmas Eve sale. Hello, is this Sophia?”
Twenty minutes later, we were standing before the door of a lovely home one block from the town center. Rory, dumbfounded that Mom’s plan had gotten us this far, parked at the end of the road, where he could keep an eye on things.
“Lindsey, lower your hat,” Mom reminded in a whisper. “Alright, ladies. Time to put on your cover girl smiles and sparkle.” Mom, flashing hers, gave a loud knock on the door.
CHAPTER 43
“Ellie Montague! It really is you!” Sophia Argyle-Huffman answered the door in a holiday sweater gussied up with a loosely draped scarf around her neck and a black tam on her head. It didn’t escape my notice or Kennedy’s that the scarf looked suspiciously like the ones in the boutique. Mommy Sticky Fingers had struck again, I mused.
As Sophia ushered us inside her home, beaming from ear to ear, she continued to extol her good fortune. “What an unexpected surprise! We were just finishing lunch when Piper called. Are we really the first women to see your new clothing line? Such an honor. Such an honor. I had no idea you lived in Michigan.”
&n
bsp; “My husband grew up in Traverse City,” Mom informed her, taking off her gloves one finger at a time. This wasn’t a lie. She added, “We’re here visiting relatives. I’ve always loved Michigan. For me, there was no better place to launch Ellie and Company.”
As I walked inside the house with my head down and my face partially covered, I was struck by how normal Bradley’s mother appeared. Last time I had seen her, she had run from me and lured me into a storage closet. Now she was schmoozing my mother in the name of fashion. As we entered the spacious living room, her two friends were seated on a floral couch. Kennedy suddenly grabbed my hand. “Those are the women Rory and I chased after in the hotel,” she whispered. She squeezed my hand again. “Don’t be obvious, but look at the coffee table.”
Sophia’s friends, dressed in the same uniform of designer holiday sweaters, black yoga pants, and knee-high boots, were holding chunky white coffee mugs in their hands while listening to Mom’s spiel about Ellie & Company. I shifted my gaze to the coffee table and inhaled sharply, a faux pas I quickly covered with a loud cough. I had drawn attention to myself, but nothing could have prepared me for the cold slap-in-the-face of seeing my beautiful signature cookies displayed on a Cookies for Santa plate. Did the woman have no shame?
Although I was ready to crack, Mom was still in character. “I’d like to introduce you to my two models, hand-picked by me to showcase our holiday collection.” As Kennedy smiled and curtseyed, I stood as still as a statue.
“Although some of our fabrics are imported,” Mom continued, “all our clothes are made right here in the United States. Ms. Kapoor is wearing our holiday evening gown with a playful bolero jacket coverup . . .”