Fruit Baskets and Holiday Caskets

by Gayle Leeson

  “Does he have family here?” Mom asked. “If he has cousins, I wonder how they felt about his benefiting from their mother’s death?”

  “That’s a good point.” I smiled. “You two really do make good detectives—Sherlock and Watson.”

  “I prefer to think of us as Charlie’s angels.” Aunt Bess patted her curls. “That way, you’re included too. But, of course, I’m the hot one.”

  “They were all hot,” Mom said, through gritted teeth.

  “That’s right.” Aunt Bess gave Mom’s hand a condescending pat. Then she looked at me. “Devon’s been here—what—six or seven months?”

  “I believe so,” I said.

  “Angry cousins could be the very boogers that killed that boy.” The oven clicked and the preheat light went off. Aunt Bess nodded toward the appliance. “Shouldn’t somebody be putting that chicken in to heat up?”

  RYAN CAME OVER AFTER work, and we watched a Christmas movie on television. During a commercial break, I wondered how to broach the subject of Roger being a suspect in Devon’s murder.

  “Mom, Aunt Bess, and I were talking about Devon earlier today.” That seemed like an adequate start. “We heard something about how he left Florida because his aunt left him some property here in Winter Garden.” I looked at him from the corners of my eyes while I fidgeted with the fringe on a blanket I had beside me on the sofa. “Aunt Bess seemed to think some angry cousins might be responsible for Devon’s death.”

  “Good point.” Ryan gently bopped Rory’s nose with the gingerbread man the dog had presented to him. “Right, Rory? Yes, it is! Yes, that’s right!” He tossed the toy, and Rory scampered after it.

  “Then you are looking at the cousins,” I said.

  He gave me a look that reminded me of the department’s—and his—policy on not discussing active cases, especially ones involving my friends.

  “I’m just guessing there are a lot of suspects in a case like this.” I accidentally pulled a thread out of the fringe and tucked it inside the folds of the blanket. “Right?”

  Rory bounded back with the gingerbread man. Ryan took it and tossed it again.

  “Do we really want to talk about this?” he asked.

  “No.” I nestled against his side. “I just—Roger isn’t really a suspect...is he?”

  “Oh, look,” he said. “The movie’s back on.”

  That night, I had the strangest dream. Ryan and I were in a Christmas movie. At first, I thought it was a romantic comedy. I was the wide-eyed girl who’d returned to her hometown to follow her dream of opening a café. He was the handsome lawman who’d never left. While I was trying to decide whether he was trying to teach me the meaning of Christmas or the other way around, Rory came running into the scene.

  That’s when I realized the “scene” was an outdoor Christmas tree lighting with all of Winter Garden gathered around: There was Dilly. She was standing beside Walter and was holding her raccoon. The raccoon was wearing a red crocheted scarf and hat, and the hat had a pompom on the top. I thought that was the cutest thing. I waved, and the raccoon waved back. In the dream, I wasn’t even surprised.

  There was Homer. His hero of the day was Santa Claus, and he was spouting off quotes like, “As the jolly one would say, ‘Ho, ho, ho!” and “Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.” Scott was dressed as an elf, and at Homer’s words of—of what? merriment? good cheer?—Scott would encourage him with cries of, “Way to go, Jolly Dude!” and “Tell it like it is, Goodwill Guru!”

  Aunt Bess and Mom were off to the side where they could observe everything. It appeared they were at the ceremony to serve and protect, although I knew that was Ryan’s job. Maybe he was off duty? Anyway, Mom and Aunt Bess stood back to back, and each held some sort of pistol—barrel up—in front of her face. They wore black jumpsuits and looked fantastic. The dream had shaped them into angels the likes of which Charlie would have been proud.

  Ryan winked at me and squeezed my hand before stooping down to address Rory. “What’s the matter, buddy? Are you spooked by the crowd?”

  But, no, it wasn’t the crowd that had Rory in a fright. It was the felt gingerbread man Ryan’s mom had made for my Christmas tree. It had grown to a height of a hundred feet tall, dwarfing the Christmas tree at the center of the tree lighting ceremony by at least forty feet! That was the moment that I realized I wasn’t starring in a romantic comedy. This movie was a horror film!

  It also dawned on me that I hadn’t picked Roger and Jackie out of the crowd yet. I scanned the faces near me. None of them were Roger and Jackie. I began to run. Even though a giant gingerbread man was heading down the sidewalk, it appeared that I was the only person aware of it. I stopped amid clusters of people to determine whether Roger and Jackie were among them. Finally, I saw them. They were right in the path of the gingerbread man! I ran, but I wasn’t fast enough. The gingerbread man crushed Roger beneath one icing-laced foot.

  I awoke with a start. Rather than looking for Roger and Jackie, I should have been finding a way to stop the gingerbread man.

  { }

  Chapter Seven

  U

  pon arriving at the café Friday morning, I was surprised to find that Jackie was already there. I got out of my car and hurried inside. The coffee pots had been prepared, but I didn’t see Jackie in the dining room.

  I went through to the kitchen where I found her shredding lettuce. “Is everything all right?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m worried about this whole thing with Devon.”

  “Oh, come on.” I tied on an apron. “No one is seriously considering Roger as a suspect. Everybody knows he’s a great guy.”

  “The sheriff apparently doesn’t.” She put down the head of lettuce she’d been holding and turned to look at me. “When he and Ryan talked with Roger yesterday, they asked him about an argument he had with Devon a few days ago.”

  I frowned. “Devon and Roger argued? About what?”

  “Roger learned that Devon was trying to get cheaper versions of name-brand appliances for a home the crew is currently renovating.”

  “Why would Devon do that?” I asked. “The money for the appliances wasn’t coming out of his pocket.”

  “No, but if it took less money to pay for the appliances than what he was given, then he could keep the difference.” Jackie resumed shredding the lettuce. “Roger’s crew knows he doesn’t cut corners, and he was furious with Devon. I believe he was also hurt that Devon would go behind his back like that.”

  “I’m surprised Roger didn’t fire Devon on the spot.” I took the sausage from the refrigerator and began forming it into patties.

  “He would have had it not been so close to Christmas,” she said. “Plus, he liked Devon. He wanted to give him a second chance. And, yeah, the deal caused Roger a lot of headaches—he had to cancel the order for the cheaper appliances, go buy the right ones—but it was certainly nothing he’d kill a man over. Fire, yes? Kill, never. And he couldn’t even pull the trigger on firing Devon.”

  “Surely Sheriff Billings understands that. Everyone gets angry—and it sounds as if Roger had an excellent reason for doing so.”

  “True. But to him—and Ryan—it looks like Roger was the one with the means, motive, and opportunity.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They know it, and they won’t stop looking for Devon’s real killer.”

  I heard the door open, peeped through the window into the dining room, and then went to greet Dilly and Walter. I said a silent prayer that the sheriff would find Devon’s murderer soon.

  FRIDAYS WERE TYPICALLY busy at the café, and today had been no exception. It was getting close to quitting time when Devon’s wife, Belinda, walked in. She gazed around the dining room, in which only Mr. Poston and his son lingered over hot dogs and sodas.

  “Welcome to the Down South Café,” Scott said brightly. “Would you like to hear today’s special, or is there something in particular you’d like to try?”

  “I’m h
ere to speak with Jackie Fonseca more than anything,” Belinda said.

  “Sure.” Jackie walked out of the kitchen. “Would you care for some coffee or a glass of water?”

  “A glass of water would be nice. Thank you.” Belinda sat at the counter. “Did Devon eat here often?”

  Not knowing whether I’d need to use the grill again before closing up for the day, I helped Luis clean the tables. Also, I was curious as to what Belinda wanted to speak with Jackie about—especially since the woman had been so unfriendly to my cousin on Wednesday evening. Jackie always had my back, and I wanted to be there to defend her if Belinda got rude.

  “Sometimes Roger and his crew—if any of them are working in Winter Garden—stop in for lunch but not that often,” Jackie said. “They take too many jobs out of town.”

  “That’s good,” Scott chimed in. “Winter Garden is so small, a person could blink and drive right past it. If Roger did all his business here, he wouldn’t have much to do.”

  “That’s the truth!” Mr. Poston chuckled. “Thank goodness people like to read and that they come to my bookshop from all over the region or else I’d have gone belly up years ago.”

  “Once in a while if the café has too many leftovers at the end of the day, I’ll take some home and Roger will share them with his workers the next day,” Jackie said. “It’s mainly cookies or brownies. But every so often, we have chicken salad or tuna salad, and I make sandwiches for the crew.”

  “That’s nice,” Belinda said, her voice a bit on the icy side. “How well did you know Devon?”

  “About as well as I know anyone in Roger’s crew.” Jackie glanced over at me.

  I pretended to studiously wipe off the table in front of me, although if I wasn’t careful, I was going to rub the finish off the top.

  Mr. Poston and his son paid and left the restaurant.

  Scott sidled next to me. “Want me to clean the grill? I don’t think this woman is going to order anything.”

  “Would you please?” I smiled, guessing he knew I wanted to eavesdrop.

  He winked. “I think that table’s good now. Might want to move on to another one.”

  I playfully swatted at him with my towel.

  Jackie came around the counter and sat on a stool beside Belinda. “There’s something I need to confess to you.”

  Belinda stiffened. “All right. Let’s have it then.”

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think Devon would want you to know. He loved you very much.”

  “Right. That’s what you shouldn’t be telling me?” Belinda asked.

  “No. What I shouldn’t be telling you is that Devon and I had planned to meet tomorrow,” Jackie said.

  I raised my head at Belinda’s sharp intake of breath.

  Jackie hurried on. “We were going to get your Christmas present. It was supposed to be Devon’s day off, but he planned to tell you that Roger needed him to work.”

  Belinda gulped her water. “M-may I have more please?”

  “Of course,” Jackie said.

  “I’ll get it.” I left my cleaning supplies on the table and went to refill Belinda’s water glass.

  “We’d been working on our plan for weeks,” Jackie said. “He wanted to get you something special, and given his hectic work schedule, he had me trying to track it down.”

  “Track what down?” Belinda asked. “This is the first I’m hearing of any of this.”

  “Well, that was the point—to surprise you.” Jackie smiled. “He wanted to get you a necklace, but it had to be the perfect necklace—one like the necklace you said your grandmother always wore. He said you’d described it so often—”

  At that point, Belinda gave a strangled sob, slid off the stool, and raced out the door.

  Jackie stood and hurried after her. “Belinda, wait!”

  Either Belinda hadn’t heard Jackie, or she’d chosen to ignore her because she got into her car and drove away.

  Turning to us in bewilderment, Jackie asked, “Did I handle that poorly? Should I not have told her about the necklace?” Her voice faltered. “I thought she should know.”

  “Of course, she should have.” I went over and patted Jackie’s shoulder. “She was just overcome with emotion, that’s all.”

  I hoped I was right. It was a weird reaction for Belinda to simply get up and flee the café without another word.

  “Given the questions she was asking, I think that chick thought maybe you and her husband were having a fling,” Scott said, coming from the kitchen into the dining room.

  “What?” Jackie asked.

  “Sure. She wanted to know how often her man came in here, how well you knew him...” He spread his hands. “Jealous woman 101.”

  “He’s right,” Luis said. “Maybe that’s why she ran away like she did. She was ashamed of thinking badly of you. And of him, for that matter.”

  My gaze locked onto Jackie’s. Scott’s words did make sense. And Belinda’s jealousy would certainly account for her behavior on Wednesday evening.

  { }

  Chapter Eight

  A

  fter work, I went home to shower and change and to feed the pets. Then I drove to the hobby shop to buy fondant and decorator icing for my giant cake. I wanted to be ready to begin work as soon as the cake dummies arrived. On the way there, I used Bluetooth to call Sarah. She’d been one of my best friends since elementary school.

  “Hi, there!” Sarah answered brightly. “What are you up to?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I’m getting ready to make a giant cake to put on top of my car and drive through town in the Christmas parade?”

  She laughed. “You, yes. Anyone else? I’d have trouble believing it.”

  “Are you free for dinner?” I asked. “Ryan has to work tonight.”

  “I’d love to have dinner with you. John is having to stay at school all weekend to finish up a project that’s due on Monday.”

  Sarah’s boyfriend attended law school in Grundy, which was a little over an hour and a half away from Winter Garden.

  “When does his winter break start?” I hoped he’d be able to come home soon.

  “His classes wind up this coming Thursday, so he’ll be home in a week,” she said. “I’ll have to get used to having him around again. He’ll be home for three weeks.”

  “Well, the parade is next Saturday, so it’s good to know where I can find another strong pair of arms should I need any extra help getting this cake up onto the roof.” I knew the cake wouldn’t be that heavy and that Scott and Luis could place it onto the roof just fine, but I exaggerated to get a laugh out of Sarah. It worked.

  “We wouldn’t miss that parade now for the world. We’d been planning to skip it but wait until I tell John about your giant cake!” After she stopped giggling, she asked, “Where do you want to have dinner?”

  “I’m on my way to the hobby shop, so would you like to meet somewhere in Bristol or Abingdon?” I asked. “Or I can come back to Winter Garden and pick you up.”

  “No, let’s meet in Bristol. Maybe we can get some shopping in before we head back home.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. We decided on a restaurant, and I ended the call as I pulled into the parking lot of the craft store.

  I got some pretty strange looks as I made my way to the checkout counter a short while later with my cart filled with two twenty-pound tubs of white fondant and fifteen bottles of gel food coloring in assorted colors. I also had a few tools and molds I thought might come in handy.

  Later, at the restaurant, I told Sarah how I wished I’d been able to think of something clever to say to the cashier.

  “Something like, ‘These elementary school parties are getting out of control—am I right?’ Nah, that falls flat.” I screwed up my face. “I guess I was better off keeping my mouth shut.”

  “How about...” She tapped her index finger on her chin, her coral fingernail polish providing a lovely contrast to her caramel-colored skin.
Finally, she grinned. “Is it just me, or is the leaving cookies for Santa thing getting way too competitive lately?”

  “That’s a good one!” My laughter was interrupted by two men coming over to our table. One of them looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “May I help you?”

  “Yeah—sorry,” said the man closest to me. “I’m Adam, Devon Carpenter’s brother-in-law. We met at their house the other night?”

  “Of course.” I introduced Adam to Sarah.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Adam said, turning to the man at his side. “This is Chris. He’s one of Devon’s cousins. We saw you here and just wanted to say hello and to thank you for the food you brought to Belinda’s. That was awfully nice of you.”

  “And the food was delicious,” Chris said.

  “How is Belinda?” I asked. “She was in the café earlier today, and she ran away as Jackie was telling her that she and Devon were planning to shop for her Christmas present tomorrow.”

  Adam nodded. “She told us about that—said Devon and your cousin had been trying to find her a necklace like our grandma used to wear.”

  “Right. I’m glad she got home okay. We were concerned about her.”

  “She’s grieving, that’s all.” Adam shrugged. “This ordeal has broken her heart.”

  “Even more now that she’s found out about the necklace,” Chris said. He ignored the dirty look Adam cast his way and continued, “I guess because it showed her how much he cared about her and that it would’ve been something to remember him by.”

  I looked across the table at Sarah and found that she appeared to be as confused as I felt. What were these guys—these strangers—doing standing at our table talking about someone I barely knew and whom Sarah didn’t know at all?