Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  Oh, like that’s not crazy in any way.

  “I know you don’t know me,” Tanya said, “but take it from me, Margaret wasn’t the person she seemed to be. I had to learn it the hard way. It cost me my job.”

  “What happened?”

  Tanya sighed and slammed her mug down on the counter. “She stabbed me in the back. I think she wanted my job all along and she finally came up with a way to get it. So if you really must know, when I think of getting revenge on Margaret, I think of stabbing her in the back like she did me.”

  “You lost your job because of Margaret?”

  “Yes. I was called into Patrick Staley’s office last month, and he said he had proof that I had sought a job with our competition, Acme Advertising. I told him it wasn’t true. Acme Advertising had contacted me out of the blue with a query letter and informed me they had a job opening, but I figured they sent them out to hundreds of people.”

  I nodded. “As a temp worker, I get a ton of those emails.”

  “A lot of us around the office do, too. Acme Advertising is constantly fishing to see if anyone from our office will leave. I specifically remember I talked about getting the email in the workroom one day to a bunch of other workers. I think about ten people admitted they had received an email from Acme Advertising that day, too.”

  “So you didn’t really think anything about the email when you received it?”

  “No. But then Patrick showed me an email that I supposedly wrote back to them. It sounded like I had jumped ship at Staley & Thomas and would join Acme Advertising by Christmastime.”

  “Only you weren’t?”

  Tanya gave a bitter laugh. “No. I had no idea this had even gone on.”

  “Was it legitimate? I mean, did you follow up with PR from Acme Advertising and see if there really was an opening and if you had been in the running?”

  “Not until recently. I was so stunned by what had happened.”

  “Was there ever a position open?” I asked.

  Tanya’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes. The query letter they sent me was legitimate. I just never wrote them back. But someone did. Someone pretending to be me.”

  I let out a little whistle. “That’s pretty elaborate. But why suspect Margaret?”

  Without a word, Tanya sprang up from her chair and rummaged around in a drawer. She lifted a notecard out and flung it on the counter in front of me. “Because when I went back to clear out my office after getting fired, this was on my desk.”

  I gingerly picked up the notecard and lifted the flap. The front of the card simply had confetti on it, but inside in block lettering was written, “I hear congratulations are in order. M.E.”

  I frowned. “This is your proof? Someone prints congratulations and then signs the letters ‘M’ and ‘E’ and you automatically think it was Margaret? I mean, I guess I can see how you would think it was Margaret. But I can also see how someone planted it there on your desk in hopes you would think it was Margaret.”

  Tanya snorted. “Or it was Margaret wanting me to think it was someone else…or, or, or. I don’t care how you spin it, I will always think it was Margaret. And I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead. I gave the detective my alibi as to where I was last night, so I’m not worried.”

  I worked my lip between my teeth. “And where were you last night?”

  “Out drinking Christmas cocktails with friends. I have three other people plus a bartender and customers who will vouch for me. So you see, I have nothing to worry about.”

  Unless you hired someone to take care of your dirty work.

  But something else bothered me. If Margaret didn’t send Patrick Staley the fake email, then who did? And how could I go about finding that out?

  Chapter Six

  “I was about to call you and see when you were due home,” Nan said snippily.

  I closed the front door to our condo and flung my coat up on a peg. My eyes cut to Detective Carlson. He stood ramrod straight next to our sofa.

  “Seems Detective Carlson,” Nan went on, “and a few of his officers decided to stop by this afternoon without an invitation.”

  I groaned. I knew that voice, and Nan was good and mad. “Detective Carlson, what can I do for you?”

  “I have a few more follow-up questions for you, Miss Adkins. The good thing about small towns is that rarely are the labs in constant demand like in the bigger cities. That being said, the ingredients in your frosting came back a couple hours ago. Took me a little bit longer before I could come straight here. See, I needed to get this little search warrant signed.”

  My heart dropped at the mention of a search warrant. My eyes cut to Nan’s. I could tell she was just as worried. Detective Carlson shoved the paper in my shaking hands, made a motion to the two other policemen, and they all made a beeline for the kitchen.

  “Now wait just a second,” Nan said. “You tell me what you—”

  Detective Carlson whirled around on Nan. “I don’t have to tell you anything. I have a search warrant. I’m free to get what I need.”

  “What was in the frosting?” I asked.

  I actually had to clear my throat twice just to talk over the lump that had formed. This made absolutely no sense.

  “I’m pretty sure you know the white and pink powdery texture on top was bromadiolone,” Detective Carlson said.

  Nan gasped, but I didn’t know what that meant.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Simply put,” Detective Carlson said, “it’s rat poison. A blood thinner. You decorated the top of your cake with rat poison.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I certainly did not!”

  “And you won’t find any in our condo,” Nan said. “But you go ahead and look around.”

  Detective Carlson’s eyes narrowed at Nan. “Oh, I intend to.”

  When Detective Carlson stalked into the kitchen, I ran to Nan and threw my arms around her. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Nan soothed. “Don’t worry.”

  Detective Carlson stormed back into the living room empty-handed twenty minutes later. “Were you aware, Miss Adkins, that Margaret took Warfarin?”

  I frowned. “Warfarin? No. What’s that?”

  I heard Nan curse under her breath. Obviously she knew the implications of his question. I had no idea.

  “Warfarin is a blood thinner,” Nan supplied. “It’s used to treat and prevent blood clots.”

  Detective Carlson turned his shrewd eyes to Nan. “That’s exactly right. Were either one of you aware that Margaret suffered from valvular heart disease?” Detective Carlson asked.

  “No,” Nan and I both said.

  “But I’m sure you’re aware, Mrs. Adkins, what would happen if a person on a daily blood thinner was given another poisonous dose of blood thinner and then fell and bled?”

  “Of course I’m aware,” Nan snapped.

  I scowled at Detective Carlson. “I’m not a medical doctor and even I know what would happen.”

  Detective Carlson nodded his head slowly. “That’s what I figured.”

  “Does my granddaughter need a lawyer?” Nan demanded.

  Detective Carlson shrugged. “Do you think she needs one?”

  The door to the kitchen opened, and the two uniformed police officers exited. They looked at Detective Carlson and shook their heads.

  “We didn’t find anything,” one of the officers said. “We searched the bathroom and both bedrooms, too.”

  “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t here at one time,” Detective Carlson argued.

  “If you’re done here,” Nan said, “you know the way out.”

  Detective Carlson narrowed his eyes at Nan. “Rest assured, we will be back soon.”

  Nan didn’t say anything…she just pointed to the front door.

  I waited until the door closed then turned to Nan. “What are we going to do?”

  “Solve this case,” Nan said matt
er-of-factly. “I say we check in on that Marc guy.”

  “Marc Mallard?” I asked. “Okay. I didn’t get a lot from Tanya other than she believes Margaret set her up so she’d lose her job. But when it came down to it, Tanya has an airtight alibi.”

  “The truth is, the killer could be anyone close to Margaret who was at the party…but something tells me it’s someone who didn’t get the job.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Should we also spy on Linda Sellars at some point?”

  “Yes.” Nan looked at her watch. “We’re supposed to meet the guys at nine. That gives us plenty of time.”

  “For what?”

  Nan grinned. “For spying. We’re gonna go catch us a killer. If I were to ask you off the top of your head which of the other two candidates you thought would poison Margaret, what would your answer be? Don’t think about it.”

  “Marc.”

  “Then that’s what we’re doing. We’re gonna go spy on Marc tonight. You go take a shower and get ready for our date. Put on your winter base layer and then dark warm clothes. You don’t want to be weighed down by a bulky jacket. We can come back here and change into our outfits before we hit the pub.”

  I scurried off to my bedroom and wondered if this was such a good idea. What did we really know about spying? Nan’s specialty was medicine, and I really didn’t have a specialty other than baking.

  I pulled up some Christmas music on my Pandora app and hopped in the shower. Not even the soothing smell of my eucalyptus shower gel could calm my fears as Nan’s words of “catch us a killer” echoed in my mind.

  Chapter Seven

  “His house should be down this street,” I said as Nan pulled her mint condition, ‘65 Ford Bronco onto Tamera Drive.

  The winter sun had set hours ago, which helped disguise our slow cruise down the street. To the casual observer, it might seem like we were looking at Christmas lights.

  “There!” I pointed to a house on the left-hand side of the road. “It’s dark inside. Wonder if he’s home?”

  Nan parked the Bronco directly across from Marc’s house and shut off the engine. It wasn’t the most covert vehicle a person could drive when on a stakeout, but I wasn’t going to tell Nan that.

  “Looks like he’s inside,” Nan said. “I see the flicker of a TV in the front window. Let’s get out and see what Marc’s up to tonight.”

  I’d just reached for the door handle when Nan grabbed my arm. “Wait. Something’s happening.”

  The flickering lights from the TV went off, and a few seconds later Marc appeared on his front porch. He shoved his hands into a pair of gloves then strolled off the porch toward his lifted truck in the driveway.

  “Typical guy,” Nan said. “He’s made his vehicle too tall to even park in the garage. Overcompensating much, Marc?”

  I surreptitiously glanced around the interior of the Bronco but wisely kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t about to point out a similar connection.

  “Get down,” Nan hissed. “We don’t want him to see us.”

  We huddled together for a few seconds before Nan popped up and looked in the rear-view mirror. “I see his taillights. Let’s follow him.”

  “What if he’s just grabbing a burger somewhere?” I asked. “Do we really need to follow him?”

  “Do you really want to end up arrested and in jail over the holidays?” Nan countered.

  I waved my hand rapidly in the air. “Let’s go. What are we waiting for?”

  We followed a few car lengths behind Marc’s truck. It didn’t take long for me to realize where he was headed. “He’s going back to the office on a Sunday night?”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some solid evidence,” Nan said. “Could be he left some of the rat poison hidden in the workroom.”

  I bit my lip. “Or maybe he’s going in to delete emails?” Once I said it out loud, I warmed to the idea. “Yeah. Maybe Marc is the one that sent me the email that stated exactly how I was to decorate Margaret’s cake. Do you think that’s possible?”

  Nan nodded. “I think that’s totally possible. Does he have to have access to Margaret’s email or her computer?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how all that stuff works, but I’d assume he has to have access to Margaret’s computer somehow.”

  Nan sent me a wicked grin. “You could ask Blake that question on your date tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes at her obvious push. But what Nan didn’t know was that I wasn’t ready yet to concede that Blake had nothing to do with Margaret’s murder. I’m not sure what he’d gain from Margaret’s death, but someone with computer knowledge had to have manipulated Margaret’s computer or somehow had access to her computer to have sent the email. I didn’t think Marc or Linda were tech savvy enough to pull it off alone.

  I groaned when Marc pulled into an alleyway off the main street from the downtown office. “It looks like he’s using the back entrance. I heard there was a parking lot behind the building, but I’d never seen it. We won’t be able to get inside.”

  “Why not?” Nan asked.

  “Because it’s a digital punch code. Only certain high-level employees at Staley & Thomas have access to the back parking area. It’s shared with other buildings along the street. Most Staley & Thomas workers and customers have to park in the lot across the street from the front of the building. I have no idea what the number is to get inside the building. And there’s no way the security guard at the front desk will let us in.”

  “Trust me,” Nan said. “I bet I can get us in.”

  I snorted. “Whatever you say.”

  “Care to wager?”

  I grinned at Nan’s playful tone. “Sure. You manage to get those numbers and the first two drinks are on me tonight.”

  “Deal.” Nan parked the Bronco in the darkened alley beside the three-story building. “I don’t want Marc to hear us, so we need to park here and not in the lot behind the building. There shouldn’t be too much traffic through here to worry about.”

  I shoved my fingers into my gloves while Nan dug around under her seat. “What are you doing?”

  “Aha! Here they are.” Nan yanked out a cylinder box from under the seat. “These little babies will get us inside. Let’s go.”

  Before I could ask what she had, Nan opened the Bronco’s door and hopped down onto the freshly-packed snow. I sent up a prayer that we wouldn’t get caught and quickly followed suit. I could hear Marc muttering to himself as he approached the locked door. Eight or nine other cars were parked in the small, shared lot.

  Nan motioned for me to get low and together we waddled over behind a huge garbage bin. I inhaled deeply then wrinkled my nose at the smell. Once more I kicked myself for letting Nan talk me into this wild goose chase.

  Shooting me a saucy grin, I watched in wide-eyed wonder as Nan took out a pair of binoculars from the box and put them up to her eyes.

  “You can’t see in the dark,” I whispered.

  “Shhh,” Nan cautioned. “These aren’t regular binoculars. They’re infrared.”

  I blinked in surprise. “You have infrared binoculars? Why?”

  Nan lowered the glasses and smiled. “For times like these. Now hush. He’s about to open the door.”

  Without another word, Nan crept to her side of the garbage bin and peeked around the corner, binoculars up at her eyes. I whirled around and hurried back to the other side of the bin so I could peek around the corner and see Marc. His back was to me, but I could see his hands moving. A few seconds later a loud clank let me know Marc had correctly unlocked the door. He pulled it open and slipped inside.

  “I got the number,” Nan whispered. “Let’s wait a few seconds before we follow him in.”

  “Can I see those glasses?” I asked.

  “Sure thing. Point them toward the building and see what they can do.”

  I tipped the binoculars up to my eyes and stared at the building. It was incredible. Not only could I see a clear greenish image of the building, but it
was crisp and focused.

  “It’s a Gen 3,” Nan said. “It’s top-of-the-line quality on resolution amplification.”

  I handed the infrared binoculars back to Nan. She placed them back in their case and set them next to the trash bin.

  “C’mon. Let’s go see what Marc’s up to,” Nan said. “After that, I have two free drinks headed my way.”

  “We aren’t in the building yet,” I laughed.

  Two minutes later we were standing at the top of the second-floor landing, and I was cursing myself for not working out more. Nan put her fingers to her lips and quietly opened the stairwell door that led to the main office space. It wasn’t pitch black, but it did take a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.

  “Marc’s office is against the wall,” I whispered. “He, Margaret, and Linda are the only ones with actual offices.”

  I could see Marc inside his office. Nan motioned for me to stay low and keep my voice even lower. We waddled down a narrow aisle of mass cubicles.

  “Where is the office for the new vice-president of advertising and marketing?” Nan asked.

  We stopped at the end of the row, almost directly in front of Marc’s office. I hunkered down as close to the floor as possible and held on to the edge of the cubicle wall for support.

  “Upstairs. With the owners.”

  “So it’s a pretty nice promotion,” Nan said.

  “Yes,” I said. “But not worth killing over.”

  Nan shrugged.

  We both peeked around the edge of our individual walls to see what Marc was doing. He was clicking away on his computer. Was he deleting important emails? Emails that could lead back to him? It was a reach, I knew. There could be any number of reasons why he’d be at the office on a Sunday evening. Although I couldn’t think of one off the top of my head.

  The unmistakable ding of the elevator echoed in the silent air. I looked wildly at Nan. She mouthed for me to stay calm. Easy for her, maybe…but I felt like my heart was about to explode from my chest.

  I heard heavy footsteps as someone walked purposefully down an aisle two or three rows away. I flattened myself against the back wall of the cubicle as best I could.