“Of course,” I said, and shoved the last of the cake into my mouth. I gulped it down and headed over to help out. “What do you need?”
“That string of lights there, please.”
I lifted it and fed it up to her, and she proceeded to hang it carefully above the doors, pegging it in place. The string of lights only brought my thoughts back to the murder.
“There, now, that’s better. Doesn’t it look festive?” Millie asked, clasping her hands together. “I’ll tell you, Ruby dear, this is one hundred times better than working at the paper.”
“I thought you loved your job,” I said, and held the ladder as Millie descended, her sneakers clacking on every rung.
“I did, before Greta came in and ruined everything.” Millie dusted off her palms. “The woman is a complete and total menace. She’s decided we’re going to start publishing gossip stories about everything related to the murder.”
“Really?” I asked. “Did she mention anything about Clayton Babcock?”
“No,” Millie said, “and I don’t think she will since she’s apparently the one who funded his campaign to run for mayor. But she has been spreading other vicious rumors around.”
Even though we would leave soon, I did hope none of them were about Bee or me. I cared what the people of Carmel Springs thought of us. And when we did go, I wanted to leave them with warmth and joy and delicious Christmas cake miniatures. Not bad memories or gossip.
“Well,” Millie said, lowering her voice and glancing around at the beautifully decorated hall, complete with red table clothes and a DJ booth. “She’s started a rumor that Ava was having an affair.”
“What? But I thought that definitely wasn’t true.”
“It wasn’t. At least, I think it wasn’t. Greta seems so convinced.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Apparently, she saw Ava at the Clover Pot Hotel with someone. But she won’t say who it was,” Millie whispered, leaning in. “And rumor has it, they’ve been meeting in secret spots all over town. That’s what she says anyway, but I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Secret spots? I didn’t realize there were any secret spots for people to meet.”
“Oh sure there are,” Millie said. “Jeremy and Tilly were meeting out in the shed off Fifth Street. And when the Lobster Shack was closed, Henrietta sure sneaked in there a lot. And then there’s the church yard where—what? You’ve gone all wide-eyed.”
“Did you say the church yard?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s right across the street. It’s usually locked up tight, but I know for a fact that Juicy Jameson used to hang out there with his girlfriend. Before the winter.” Millie shrugged. “There are all kinds of places people can meet, but I don’t know if I necessarily believe what Greta’s saying is true, dear. She’s hardly the most trustworthy of sources.” Millie patted me on the shoulder and hurried off to fetch more tinsel.
Bee had disappeared, likely gone to the bathroom. I considered going after her, but this would only take a second. Assuming my hunch was correct.
Brick dust.
The church yard.
Someone trying to keep us out.
My pulse pattered along at a furious pace. I sucked in breaths to calm myself. I had to g now. The party was due to start soon. The guests would be arriving. This was my chance!
The sun had only just set as I crossed the road, walking briskly, the cold wind whipping against my cheeks. I adjusted my fluffy earmuffs and my scarf and looked both ways down the street. The coast was clear, relatively speaking.
There were still folks moseying in and out of the Corner Café across from the town hall, but it didn’t seem like anyone was paying particular attention to me.
The Christmas tree’s festive lights were reflected in the windows of the buildings either side of Main Street, flashing merrily, and the distant singing of carolers drifted through the air.
“Quickly,” I whispered to myself.
I closed my gloved hands around the gate’s rungs and hoisted myself over with lots of heaving and scrambling and the odd grunt. I landed on the other side, and my insides went all topsy-turvy. There were two fresh sets of tracks leading from the wall and back to the church. It was as if it hadn’t snowed at all since we’d last been here.
Except I knew it had.
Lovers meeting in the church yard? That had to be some type of blasphemy, especially since it might have been an affair.
But who was the mystery guy? And why was there brick dust on the snow again?
Brick dust!
Where did brick dust come from? Why from bricks, of course. And the entire church wall, barring the wrought iron spikes atop it, was made of bricks. I walked over to it, near where the footprints ended, my boots crunching on the snow.
I scanned the wall in the fading light then drew my gloved fingers across it. One of the bricks was loose and wobbled under my touch. Carefully, I slid it free and placed it on top of the wall. I bent and peered into the gap it had made.
There was something in there!
A letter?
I drew it out, quickly, brushed the dust off it and unfolded the page.
To my dearest Ava,
I hope that you’ll get this letter before things go wrong. I know that you’re probably unhappy about what happened, but you have to know that it was for the best. I needed to get him out of the way. He didn’t treat you right.
You’re the only one I can trust. I want you to know that I did it for you and for us. Once this all blows over, you and I can be together for real. In public.
Forever yours,
Jerry.
Jerry? Jerry Flagg? The mayor’s assistant?
I swayed on the spot, grasping the letter. Of course! Jerry had been there the day Ava had moved into the Oceanside. He had also been keen to help with the decoration of the hall, and he’d shifted blame toward Clayton Babcock.
I’d just found the final and likely only piece of evidence that proved Jerry was the murderer.
19
“Please,” I said, as I strode back toward the town hall, “you have to come, detective. I have a crucial piece of evidence to give you that proves that it wasn’t Ava who committed the murder.”
Martin took a deep breath on the other end of the line. “You’re sure about this? I have work to do tonight.”
I frowned. Both Sam and Detective Martin had been invited to the Christmas party. Sam was most definitely coming, and I’d hoped Martin would too. We hadn’t been the best of friends, but he had still been a part of our journey in Carmel Springs.
“Trust me, detective. It’s worth it. I know who the real murderer is, and I am not kidding around.”
“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said, and hung up.
I hadn’t even had the chance to tell him who the murderer was, but that was fine. Now, I could only hope that Jerry would attend and wouldn’t suspect anything. He surely hadn’t been in the church yard. I hadn’t seen him there, at least.
By the time I entered the hall, the DJ had already started playing music—Michael Buble of course—and people danced on the floor or ate food from the magnificent buffet table that Shawn and Sam had helped us set up. Folks carried miniature Christmas cakes or chattered with a glass of bubbly.
It was all so festive and sweet and definitely marred by my discovery. I scanned the crowd for Bee, but she was nowhere.
Sam stood over by the buffet table. She wore her mousy brown hair in a high ponytail and a splash of bright red gloss on her lips. It was the most makeup I’d seen her in, and she was absolutely stunning. Radiant, actually. A changed woman in comparison to the shy person she’d been months ago, when we’d first arrived in town.
She waved me over. “There you are. Bee’s just run out to look for you. She was sure you were in the bathroom.”
“Oh, I had to run an errand. Do you know when Bee will be back? It’s sort of important.” I continued searching the crowds in case Jerry had arrive
d.
“No, I don’t know. But I’m sure she’ll be back once she checks the food truck.”
I brought my cell out of the pocket of my jeans and unlocked the screen, just as ‘Have a Very Merry Christmas’ started up over the speakers in the hall. I had two missed calls from Bee and a text. I shot one off to her myself, telling her I was in the hall and had important news.
Then, I peered around again.
It was beautifully decorated now, truly festive with a Christmas tree either side of the stage, the tables clothed in red, and the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. White lights flickered against the walls, and tinsel was strung up everywhere, looped perfectly by Millie’s willing and able hand.
The song cut off and the DJ tapped on a microphone on stage. “This great evening is all thanks to Bee and Ruby. Let’s here from ‘em.” Applause rang out, and my cheeks turned about as red as Sam’s lip gloss.
I waved a hand in an effort to divert the attention, but the crowd was insistent. Oh, well, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe I’d be able to spot Jerry from up on the stage. Or Bee. Or even Detective Martin. The letter in my pocket was practically burning to get out.
On the stage, I fiddled with the microphone, blushing furiously. I was so not good at being in the spotlight. That came with the whole debacle from my past and Daniel. Definitely not the best time to focus on that, good heavens.
I cleared my throat into the microphone, and it gave a shriek. “Sorry,” I called. “Sorry. And hello, everyone. It’s so good to see you all here.” I scanned the crowd. Still no Jerry. But there was Bee! She waved at me and squeezed between the partygoers, heading for the stage. I smiled at her. “We want to wish everyone here a very Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” everyone called, laughing and clapping. There were smiles all around. Except for Bee, who had stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. She pointed at the stage, right at me and shouted something that was lost in the noise. She waved, but I shook my head.
What was wrong?
Bee started shoving her way through the crowd, leaving a ripple of complaints in her wake.
“So, anyway. We wanted to thank you all for the most amazing few months we’ve ever had in this beautiful town. We’ve sold our cakes, we’ve had our fun, and we’ll be moving on soon, but being here was an education in—”
An arm slipped around my throat and dragged me back from the microphone. For a hot second, I had no idea what on earth had happened, and I grappled with thin air. The smell of Sandalwood eclipsed everything, and I peered up and found Jerry Flagg holding me tight to his chest.
“Hold still,” he said, “or I’ll kill you too. And your old friend.”
“Old!” I choked.
Jerry didn’t hear. He dragged me forward again, positioning himself in front of the microphone. “Hear me now. You will get the police to release Ava Jacobsen, and you will grant me immunity for the murder of Ian Jacobsen. If you don’t meet my demands, the woman I have here will be collateral damage.”
“Jerry, you don’t have to do this,” I said, grabbing at his hairy forearm. How could one man have so much hair? Oh wait, of course, it wasn’t hair, it was his Christmas sweater.
“Shut up,” he snarled.
My gaze swung wildly left and right, searching for help. I had called Detective Martin. Where was he?
I caught sight of Bee. She stood near the left Christmas tree next to the stage, a wicked gleam in her eye. She took hold of the tree and rocked it back and forth, back and forth. Jerry hadn’t noticed. He was too busy professing Ava’s innocence and his insistence on murdering me next. What a lovely Christmas this was turning out to be.
“—you will contact the head of the police, immediately,” Jerry said.
I kept my focus on the rocking Christmas tree. I would have to pick my moment carefully. I had a black belt in karate, and I’d use it to my advantage the minute I was sure I had the upper hand. I had no idea whether Jerry had a weapon or not, but it was best not to risk it.
The Christmas tree crashed down against the side of the stage, bringing gasps and screams from the onlookers. Jerry’s grip loosened a little.
Now!
I slammed my elbow into Jerry’s solar plexus, drawing a pained growl. I stepped on his foot with the heel of my boot then spun out of his grasp and caught his arm. I twisted it behind his back and drove him down to the floor, placing myself atop him. “Got you,” I said.
The crowd burst into screams and applause, and Bee rushed up to the stage. She helped me secure Jerry, his greasy ponytail flopping this way and that as he turned his head.
“Let go of me, let go!”
“I’m afraid not, Jerry,” I said. “And Merry Christmas, by the way.”
“Now, there’s a catchphrase you should keep.” Bee nudged me with her elbow.
“It’ll only work one time of the year.”
“True, but imagine how confused people would be if you used it in July? Even better.” The mirth in Bee’s voice contradicted the concern in her eyes, but I still appreciated it.
A commotion broke out near the town hall’s side doors, and Detective Martin appeared. He spotted us on the stage and instead of groaning or scowling or frowning, he broke into a broad smile.
We’d done it again.
Carmel Springs was safe.
20
Christmas morning had brought with it snow. We had a white Christmas, after all, the flakes pattering gently against the window. It wasn’t too thick, but it was so cold that we’d gathered in the living room next to the crackling fire.
The stockings had been filled. Four in total.
One for Sam.
One for Shawn.
One for Bee.
And one for me.
Sam had also knitted a miniature sock for Trouble and had filled it with kitty toys and treats.
The four of us warmed ourselves and sipped coffees and cocoas, grinning like we were kids on Christmas morning rather than grown adults.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” I said, and reached into my stocking.
“Of course, we did,” Sam said, grinning at Shawn. “We wanted to thank you for everything you two have done around here. Both at the Oceanside and in town. We’re hoping if we butter you up enough, you’ll come back next year.”
“No butter required,” Bee said, drawing a gift out of her stocking as well. “Unless it’s butter on those delicious croissants that Shawn made the other morning.”
Shawn beamed at her. He was in another ugly Christmas sweater, still with the black kohl around his eyes, and now with a piercing in his lip. It didn’t matter what he wore. Shawn had gone from troubled young man to responsible chef in the few months we’d known him. That made Christmas all the more sweet.
“Unwrap them,” he said, and dangled a bit of ribbon for Trouble to play with. The kitty cat leaped and turned, clawing and purring whenever he caught the end of the golden swatch of fabric.
I unwrapped my gift and a soft piece of cloth fell out. I unfolded it and blinked. “This is too much, you guys. It’s so nice.”
“I’ve got one too.”
Shawn and Sam had bought us matching aprons for the truck. Both were covered in pastel pink and green stripes and had our names printed across the front.
“There’s more,” Shawn prompted.
We unwrapped a second set of gifts. Matching oven mitts. Bee and I both grew a bit watery-eyed. We gave Shawn and Sam a hug each, then settled back to unwrap the last of our gifts.
Shawn had bought Sam a trophy that read ‘Best Boss Ever’ as well as hand lotion because she’d complained constantly about how cold and dry her hands got during the winter.
Sam had bought Shawn a pair of stainless steel tongs, since he’d recently discovered a passion for barbequing and had started developing a rib sauce that was to die for. Hopefully, not literally.
Bee had gotten me a map, marked out with all the best tourist destinations we could visit, along wi
th a notepad and pen to signify our investigations. On top of all of that, she’d gifted me a sterling silver pin that bore my name.
And I had gotten Bee a key chain with her name on it—since it was our long-standing joke that I could only drive and she could only bake—as well as a book she’d wanted all year: Gennaro’s Italian Bakery.
Lastly, Bee and I had created Christmas cakes for Sam and Shawn, and Bee had written down her secret recipe for lemon meringue pie for Shawn to try out. It was a family recipe, and one that she’d sworn she’d take to the grave.
“This is the best Christmas ever,” I said, smiling at my friends. The friends I would so sorely miss once we had set off on our next adventure.
But that was life, wasn’t it? There were beginnings and endings. Just because our time in Carmel Springs was nearing its end, didn’t mean we would never come back to visit.
“Wait until you taste the delicious meal Shawn’s got prepared for lunch,” Sam said, as Trouble leaped into her lap in search of comfort and maybe the shimmer of the trophy.
“I can’t wait,” I said.
“I’m already starved.” Bee paged through her recipe book, pausing here and there to admire the pictures. “This is going to be a Christmas to remember.”
Two days later, the snow had cleared up a little, the roads had been scraped clean, and we were ready to set off on our next big adventure.
Well, ready was a weighty term.
Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes as I hugged Millie on the steps of Oceanside Guesthouse’s front porch.
“You take care now, dear. I’ll send you emails and messages. And if you ever need anything, you know who to call.” She patted me on the back.
Bee was already hugging Shawn. She’d struck up an unlikely friendship with him in our time here, and he seemed sadder than she was to see him go. “Now, young man,” she said, “you keep doing what you’re doing. You’re going to be great, do you hear me? A great cook and baker. Your future is bright.”
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