I was stirring the delicious mixture in the pot, waiting for it to bubble, as I thought about what had happened yesterday at the creek. Did it have something to do with treasure-hunting? Or something much more personal? It was hard to tell, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was still pondering when I poured the last of the pecan-studded caramel onto parchment-paper-lined pans and rinsed out the pot before using it again to make butterscotch squares, another holiday favorite.
I had just finished adding butter and cream to the pot and was about to measure out the sugar when something down in the orchard caught my eye; it was white, and fluttered in the breeze.
As Chuck continued to pace around the bottom of the crape myrtle, I let myself out the back gate, following the path through the pasture to the cluster of trees and dewberry vines that lined the creek, turning right at the path to the small orchard and letting myself in through the gate.
There were no more signs of fresh digging; we'd evidently scared off whoever it was for the night. The white fluttering thing turned out to be a plastic bag, which I grabbed and tucked into my pocket before it could blow into the creek, or somewhere where the goats might eat it. As I glanced around the orchard, something flashed on the ground: a shell casing. It was only a yard or two from where I'd found the diamond necklace.
I stopped short, feeling my stomach churn. Why was there a shell casing here in the orchard? I thought about what had happened yesterday. I had assumed the bullet had come from the other side of the creek; what if the shooter was on my land?
There was another question, too.
Did the necklace belong to the digger?
Or to the shooter?
I took a quick picture of the shell casing, and mentally reviewed the names of the people at the Lemmons' house the night before. The only "M" was Marcie. She didn't seem the diamond necklace type—I'd never seen her wear much in the way of jewelry—but could this be hers? Even if it was, the water was fairly high and fast in the creek after the recent rains. Was it possible to cross easily?
I walked down toward the water; the flow had decreased in the last few days. A large hackberry tree had fallen, making a natural bridge across the water, just on the other side of the hole in the fence. I ducked through it and walked down to where the tree lay, lodged between two boulders. Sure enough, there were footprints leading from the fallen tree in the direction of my orchard.
Someone on the Lemmons' property had crossed the creek and snuck into my orchard. Which meant Cyrus—or one of his guests—was a treasure hunter.
Or a murderer.
8
I spent the rest of the afternoon making Christmas candy and thinking about the shell casing I'd found. The butterscotch squares were so good I made a few more batches, planning to give any I didn't sell away as gifts. The crumbly, buttery candy was delicious, and I ended up eating rather more of it than I meant to. The sun was hanging low in the sky when I put a bow on the last package of cooled butterscotch squares, snuggled it into its wooden crate with its friends, and carried the crate out to the truck. Then I grabbed the keys, checked on all my animals, gave Chuck his dinner and one more romp around the yard, and headed into town.
Even though I got there before it officially opened, the Market was already bustling. The local German Club had decked out the white wooden courthouse with swags of cedar and pine wreaths decorated with red velvet bows, and big pots of blooming poinsettias flanked the steps. Behind one of the wavy glass windows stood the town Christmas tree, a remarkably evenly shaped cedar that had been cut from one of the locals' fields. The mayor had adorned it with a handmade star just the day before, and each family was welcome to contribute an ornament, a new tradition the mayor had just started, and one that I loved. I hadn't made my ornament yet, but had a recipe for salt dough that I planned to use to make a mock gingerbread man, decorated with puff paint and glitter and holding a basket labeled "Dewberry Farm."
The local polka band was playing a jaunty rendition of "Jingle Bells" on the stage by the courthouse, the smell of mulled wine and candied nuts drifted through the air, and the white lights the town had put up for the season sparkled in the oaks dotted around the green as I hung mistletoe from the front of my booth. The band switched to "Silent Night" as I laid out the cedar bundles next to the candy bags, then arranged the candles and soaps in what I hoped was a pleasing arrangement. I had just set up my cashbox and checked to make sure my Dewberry Farm banner was tied down properly when Tobias showed up, looking handsome as always in a red wool sweater and jeans.
"Booth looks terrific," he said, pulling me into a hug and planting a kiss on my forehead. "Need some help?" he asked.
"I think I've got it all done," I told him.
"My timing is exquisite as always," he said, giving me a squeeze before letting me go. "Any word on that star we found last night?"
"Nothing yet," I said. "But I found something else..."
I had just pulled the necklace out of my pocket and was about to show it to Tobias when the Lemmons walked up. Cyrus looked subdued, a furrow between his brows. He'd exchanged the chinos for jeans and wore an oversize Texas A&M sweatshirt and a Dallas Cowboys ball cap. Lissa had exchanged her high heels for boots, which she wore with tight jeans and a low-cut, lacy blouse. Despite the fact that the sun had dropped behind the courthouse, she wore big sunglasses that covered what I suspected were bloodshot eyes, and her makeup had been applied in thick layers.
"Hi there, Cyrus. Lissa. How's Sadie?" Tobias asked.
"A little better today," Cyrus answered, his face relaxing into a small smile at the mention of one of his beloved labs. "More relaxed with the painkiller. Thanks again for coming out."
Tobias nodded. "Happy to. Anytime."
"She's such a sweet dog," I said. "It's hard when they're in pain, isn't it?" I'd watched someone kick poor Chuck across a room a few years back, and it was one of the worst things I'd ever experienced. He had recovered quickly, with no permanent damage, but I still shivered thinking about it.
"Nothing worse," Cyrus agreed.
"Hopefully, she'll be back to normal in no time," Tobias said.
"Ooh, these are nice," Lissa said, paying more attention to my wares than the conversation. She had skimmed over the candy and was looking at the mistletoe bunches. She turned to her husband. "We can hang these around the house and kiss all the time." She got up on her tiptoes and pecked Cyrus on the cheek, leaving an iridescent lip print.
"How are you doing today?" I asked.
"Oh, just fine," she said, as if her high school sweetheart hadn't died the day before. "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it? So festive. And I love these little soaps! They smell so good. Let's get some, Cy!"
I stared at her. What had happened to the bitter, angry woman from last night, who was accusing her houseguests of murdering her former lover? Today, she was acting like a honeymooner.
"I'll take a dozen of these," she said, pointing to the lavender goat's milk soap, "and three mistletoes."
I set the necklace down next to the cashbox and reached for the soaps she'd picked out. I wrapped them up for her, glad to be moving my stock... and glad I had a few more batches of soap curing at home. I totaled up the cost and set the bag of soaps on the table, with the mistletoe bunches on top.
"Do you take credit cards?" she asked.
"I sure do," I said. She dug through her fringed purse and handed me a gold American Express card. I ran it through the card reader and handed it back to her, then handed her my phone to sign on. She added her signature with a flourish, her red-polished nails flashing in the sunlight, then handed the phone back to me.
I looked down at the name on the transaction.
Melissa Lemmon.
"Thanks," I said, staring at the necklace next to the cashbox, suddenly sure I knew whose it was... and how it had ended up in my peach orchard. I picked it up and showed it to Lissa. The diamonds sparkled in the sun as I dangled the "M" from its broken chain. "Is this yours, by any chan
ce?"
"How did you get that?" Lissa asked, but she didn't reach for it.
Cyrus looked at the necklace, puzzled, and then at his wife. "I got you that for your anniversary!" He turned to me. "Where did you find it? And how did you know it was hers?"
"It was on the ground by the creek, on my property," I said, staring at Melissa. "The chain must have broken when she shot Bud."
Lissa paled beneath her makeup, but said nothing.
Cyrus blinked a few times, confused. "Wait a cotton-pickin' minute here. What on earth are you talkin' about? What happened to Bud was an accident."
"No," I said. "Your wife was in my orchard with a shotgun the day he died. I'm guessing she was upset that your friend resisted her advances. Is that right?"
Lissa said nothing. Her eyes were invisible behind the dark glasses, but her jaw was set.
"So she headed out at the same time everyone else did, only she stationed herself across the creek, on my side."
"You said you had a headache and went to take a nap! That's where you were, right, sweetie?" There was a note of panic in Cyrus's voice.
"Of course, darling," she said, suddenly coming back to life. "This woman's crazy."
"I'm guessing Bud spotted Lissa aiming at him," I continued, ignoring her. "She may have said something to him, or else the light glanced off the shotgun and caught his attention. So he pointed his gun at her; he may not even have known it was Lissa."
"How do you know this?" Cyrus said.
"Because my friend Quinn Sloane and I saw the shooting," I said.
Cyrus took a step backward. "What?"
"We were watching Bud when he fell," I told him. "He was aiming at something on my side of the creek—I'm guessing Lissa—but she shot first."
"How... do you have any proof?" he asked. "Did you see it?"
"I found the shell casing in my orchard, right near the necklace. There are footprints leading to a fallen tree on the creek. I'm guessing she hurried back over across the creek, checked to make sure he was gone, and hightailed it back to the house so she could be 'asleep' by the time everyone got back."
"Lissa wouldn't do anything like that," Cyrus said, his usually ruddy face pale. Despite his words, though, he looked uncertain. "Right, honey?"
"Of course I wouldn't," she said, her voice rising high. "This is total nonsense. She stole my necklace when she was at the house last night. She's framing me!"
He peered at her. "Why would she do that?"
Lissa shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't like it that we live in a big house on a hundred acres. Maybe she doesn't like that we're outsiders. Maybe she's jealous." Lissa looked at me. "Besides, you don't have any proof."
"I have the shell casing," I said. "And boot prints. And the necklace your husband gave you," I reminded her.
"She got the necklace at the house. I would never do something like that," she said to Cyrus. "This woman's crazy."
"Then why was your necklace on Lucy's side of the creek?"
"It wasn't. She stole it when she was at the house." She stared at me. "Maybe she killed him."
"Why would Lucy kill Bud? She'd never even met him."
"Maybe Claire did it," Lissa said quickly. "Maybe Claire and Lucy are secret friends. I'll bet they cooked this up between them," she said, talking fast. "That's what you did, right?"
"Hold on there," Tobias said, holding up a hand. "Lucy didn't 'cook up' anything. Besides, she was with Quinn when Bud died," he added, stepping up to place himself between Lissa and me.
"Lissa," Cyrus said in a soft, slow voice. "Did you kill Bud?"
She stood slack-jawed for a moment. Then she turned and ran through the Market, fringed purse bumping against her hip, leaving all of us—and her bag of soaps—standing at the booth.
"Well," Cyrus said, his voice heavy with grief. "I guess that solves one mystery."
"I'm so sorry," I said, putting my hand on his arm as he stared after Lissa.
9
We got back to the farmhouse just after ten. Quinn and her boyfriend, Peter, were planning to join us; she had promised to bring some leftover vanocka, Czech Christmas bread, from the Blue Onion stall at the market, and we'd picked up a jug of mulled wine to share.
"I wonder if they found Lissa?" I mused to Tobias as he helped me unload the boxes from the back of the truck. I'd gone and found Deputy Shames over by Bubba's Barbecue right after the episode with Lissa. She'd confirmed that the shot had come from my side of the creek, and had actually been planning to come back out to check my property for evidence.
I'd just finished talking when there was a knock on the door. Tobias and I looked at each other, both wondering if it was Lissa. When I peeked out the window, though, I recognized Cyrus.
I opened the door; he stood on the porch, still in his A&M sweatshirt, but with the ball cap gone.
"I just wanted to say thank you," he said.
"No need to thank me. Why don't you come in?" I offered. "Join us."
"No," he said. "I may take you up on that another time, but I've got guests back at the ranch... Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for figuring out what happened to my friend. I'm torn up about Lissa, but... things between us haven't been good for a while. She's not been herself for some years. I tried to get her help, but..."
"You can only help someone who's ready to help themselves," Tobias said. "Still, I'm so sorry. It's a terrible shock."
"It is," he said. "They arrested her on her way to Houston this afternoon, by the way, so you don't have to worry about her coming back here."
"Thanks for letting us know," I said.
"And I brought you something," he said. He handed me a red-and-white paper bag with a bottle in it.
"Oh, thank you," I said. "You didn't need to do this!" I pulled out the bottle; it had a fancy label which meant nothing to me, but Tobias let out a long, low whistle. "Wow. That's really generous."
"I hope you enjoy it. And once the holidays are over, I'd love to have you two over for dinner."
"We'd love to," I said. "Thanks so much. And if you need anything, anything at all, I'm right here."
"I'll be in touch. Anyhow, thanks again. And if you need anything..." He reached up to tip his cap, then realized it wasn't there.
"Likewise, Cyrus," I said, and Tobias and I watched as he turned around and headed back to the truck.
"Well," I said as I closed the door behind me. "Not the ideal way to build a relationship with a neighbor, but I'm glad I know him better now."
"And plus, this whiskey..." Tobias said.
I laughed.
"It'll be tough for him for a while," Tobias said.
"If I don't hear from him by the second week in January, I'll reach out and invite him over," I said. "I'm glad they caught her, though. I'll sleep better tonight."
"After a glass of this you will!" he said. "Let's try a little."
"Just a little, though," I said. "I don't want to get sozzled before Quinn and Peter get here."
He poured two very small glasses of the amber liquid. I took a sip; it was warm and spicy and perfect for a cold night. "I'm not usually a whiskey fan, but this is amazing!"
"Not quite Jack Daniel's, is it?" he asked.
"No," I said. "We never did find out what that medal we found was, did we?"
"You still have it?"
"I do," I said. "I also don't know who was digging for artifacts down in the peach orchard."
"That's true," I said. "I'm sure it's just another trend that will die out soon when nobody finds anything." As I spoke, Chuck got up and ran to the door, barking. There was an answering bark from the other side; Quinn and Peter had arrived, with Pip in tow.
Pip bounded through the door as soon as I opened it, and Chuck leaped up to greet him. As the two dogs played, Tobias and I hugged Quinn and Peter, who were both dressed in Christmas sweaters. Hers featured a giant green Christmas tree with active lights, and his had a goat head with an actual bell on it, the legend "Meh-rry Christmas" emblazoned bel
ow it in bright red letters.
"Wow," I said. "That's a fashion statement."
"We're doing ugly Christmas sweater selfies to put on the farm's Facebook page," Quinn explained.
"Creative," I said.
"Peter always is," Quinn said. "And they're recycled, of course; we found them at Goodwill."
"Someone was willing to give those up?" Tobias asked, grinning.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Peter replied with an easy smile as the two men shook hands. "I hear there was some excitement around here the last day or two."
"You can say that again," I said, and gave them the rundown of everything that had happened.
"So she killed her former flame because he didn't return her affections? Despite the fact that he was visiting her at the home she shared with her husband... and that his wife was with him?"
"That's the idea," I said. "A woman just filled to the brim with Christmas spirit."
"I feel bad for the folks she left behind," Peter said. "I'll have to reach out to them."
"And I'll put together a King Ranch chicken casserole this week and drop it off," Quinn said. "I don't really know him that well—he only moved into town a year or so ago—but he seems nice."
"That sounds great," I said, reflecting yet again how much I loved the way folks in Buttercup looked after one another.
"He brought Lucy an amazing bottle of whiskey for figuring it all out," Tobias said. "Maybe she'll share."
Six Merry Little Murders Page 12