Mistletoe and Mayhem (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 2

  “Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as I figure out how to construct a Victorian kissing bough.”

  Chapter 3

  A gray mist was hovering over the ocean, but that hadn’t stopped seemingly everyone in town from walking down to the wharf to watch the boats sail in. It was midday so there were no dazzling light displays yet, and most of the boats had secured or removed their decorations for the trip from Mayfield Bay to Port Danby. It was probably a wise precaution. The water along the marina looked particularly murky and restless this afternoon. Even the boats already moored in the slips were beating out a rhythmic tune as their hulls drummed against the pier.

  One thing I hadn’t gotten used to was the incongruous scene of snow piled along a beach. Icy drifts seemed out of place in the midst of an ocean port, yet the white caps on the pylons and the bows of the rusty fishing boats made me smile. One boat owner had even sculpted a miniature snowman to sit proudly at the stern. A captain’s hat had been placed at a jaunty angle on the snowman’s head and shells had been used for eyes and a nose.

  Cold as it was out on the wharf, Lola had insisted on buying a chocolate covered ice cream bar for the walk. She stopped suddenly and stared down in despair at a sizeable piece of chocolate shell that had broken free. “Oh man, I hate it when that happens. The chocolate is the best part.”

  “I believe that is a sentence that can be used in almost any context.” I pointed to the large wooden gingerbread men standing hand in hand along the planks of the pier. “I hadn’t seen the row of gingerbread people. They must be new.” In preparation for the holiday light flotilla, an event that was even going to draw in news crews on Saturday night, the town had decided to decorate the entire marina. Pickford Marina consisted of a long wharf where fishermen could clean their catch and visitors could rent a bike or stop for a shrimp salad. A long set of parallel docks ran adjacent to the wharf. The various slips were filled with every size and shape of pleasure boat. Farther out were the larger slips for fishing boats and the occasional visiting yacht. The boats that had come to town for the holiday flotilla would be anchored off Pickford Beach, where us landlubbers could view them from the wharf or the sand.

  “They put those gingerbread men up every year,” Lola said over a bite of ice cream. “I guess someone finally took the time to repaint them. They were starting to look a little shabby.” She elbowed me. “Look who Yolanda has once again lassoed into helping with the lights.”

  I gazed down to the end of the wharf where my tall, charming and unmistakably handsome neighbor, Dash, was hanging a wreath on a light pole.

  “I’m not too surprised he’s helping. Dash told me this was his slowest time of year. Apparently, boat repairs and maintenance are not high priorities in winter. He gets really busy in spring though, before the season starts.”

  The chocolate was gone, so Lola tossed the rest of the ice cream into the trash can as we passed it. “I guess he’s like the accountant who does taxes. I always wonder what they do from May to December. Of course, Dash would never look right sitting behind a desk, chewing on the end of a pencil and crunching numbers. Although, I’ll bet he looks spectacular in a suit.”

  Dash noticed Lola and me walking along the pier. He waved. The tall ladder beneath him wobbled, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

  “He sure spots you easily in a crowd,” Lola noted.

  I glanced around. At that moment, the only other people in the vicinity were the stoutly carved gingerbread people. “In this crowd? I sure hope so.”

  “Is it true that he got back together with Kate Upton after Thanksgiving?” Lola lowered her voice, but again, only gingerbread men were there to listen in on our conversation.

  “I guess I didn’t tell you—”

  Lola stopped and turned to face me, her eyes wide with anticipation of possible juicy gossip. “No, you didn’t. What? And don’t leave out anything.”

  “There’s not much to leave out, except Dash told me he ended up cancelling his first plans for Thanksgiving because his dad sprained his ankle on the golf course. He flew home to help out his parents.”

  “His first plans? You told me Kate had invited him to a reunion of their mutual friends.”

  “That’s what Kate told me, but Dash wasn’t any more specific than that. I can only assume he meant the dinner at Kate’s.”

  “Interesting,” Lola purred as we continued on our aimless journey.

  “Not really, but whatever floats your boat. Pun intended.”

  Lola had an imaginary relationship in her head between Dash and me. As attractive and kind and chivalrous as my broad shouldered, blond haired neighbor was, there had been nothing between us aside from some intermittent flirting and several incidents where he came to my rescue. Including one where I fell literally into his arms.

  For no other reason except we were both procrastinating from having to go back to work, we walked down the pier steps and headed out on the sand to view the boats.

  Yolanda Petri had been so busy studying her clipboard, she nearly smacked into us as we stepped onto the beach. Yolanda was always hustling and hurrying. Even though I knew she was frazzled, not a hair was out of place on her short, neatly cut bob, and she even managed to keep the pleats in her jeans.

  “Lacey, Lola, can you believe all these people on the beach? No one was supposed to show up until the light displays, but look at this place.” She swept her arm around once. “Every busy body in the world is out here, which only makes it harder for those of us organizing the event.” As she spun back to face us, the top paper on her clipboard flew away.

  I bounded after it through the sand and managed to grab the corner with the toe of my boot. I picked it up and glanced at it. The Merry Carolers was typed across the top, and a list of names was printed below. The first name, Charlene Ruxley, caught my attention for no reason other than it was an unusual surname. I handed Yolanda the paper.

  “Thank you, Lacey.”

  “You’re welcome. So a group of carolers are going to be part of the festivities?”

  Yolanda smiled proudly. “I was lucky to get them. They are highly sought after at this time of year. They’ve already arrived. They’ve parked their two motor homes at the Mayfield Bay campsite.”

  Lola was poking my arm trying to get my attention, but Yolanda wasn’t through talking about the carolers.

  “They’ll be dressed in Victorian costumes. I’ve seen pictures. It’s going to be so much fun. I’ve even hired a horse and carriage to give people rides through town. It’ll be as if Port Danby has been transported back into a Charles Dickens novel,” Yolanda continued on enthusiastically. But then her face fell slightly. “But without the cobblestone or thatched roofs or plum pudding.”

  “Or the cool British accents,” Lola added unhelpfully, obviously not noticing that with each missing element Yolanda’s vision was deflating like an old balloon.

  I patted Yolanda’s arm. “And without the charcoal choked fog and the sour face of Ebenezer Scrooge.” And just as I finished the name, Mayor Price bellowed down to Yolanda from the pier, negating my second point. Just like his polyester suits, the mayor’s overcoat was stretched to capacity over his round belly. His crooked moustache twitched below his bulbous nose as he motioned for Yolanda to join him. As always, he scowled when he saw me standing next to Yolanda. Then, as always, he looked up at the sky to see if he could catch my ornery pet doing something wrong. I was relieved that Kingston was at home.

  “Oh dear,” Yolanda muttered, “what does that man want now?”

  I patted her arm again in sympathy. “You’re doing a great job, Yolanda. We’ll let you get back to it. Lola and I are just going to take a quick walk around, then we’ll get out of the way.”

  Lola grabbed my arm as I started walking. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.” She leaned closer. “Did you see who was standing down near the water, eating his burger and chatting with a boat owner?”

  The mist was getting heavier, but
I could see a familiar figure standing just a few feet from where the foamy water was sliding over the sand. Detective Briggs was wearing a black hat to keep his head warm. He had a thick coat on over his usual business-like attire. He was a man who looked as good in a suit as he looked in a sweater or t-shirt. We had spent a good deal of time together solving two different murder cases. Something that I found exhilarating, especially when my super sense of smell played a part in finding evidence. And, if I was being perfectly honest, I found working with Detective Briggs exceptionally nice. Naturally, Lola, who was obsessed with romance and who had an overactive imagination, had decided there was more to our friendship than the occasional murder mystery. I’d assured her many times that James Briggs was only interested in my sense of smell, slim medical knowledge and ability to connect dots in a murder case. Which was fine by me. When I left behind my high paying job in a perfumery, I also left behind a no-good scoundrel of a fiancé. Now I was an independent businesswoman and loving my freedom. The last thing I needed was to cloud my thoughts with a man.

  And almost as if he’d read those thoughts, Detective James Briggs stepped out of the cloudy mist and stopped just a few feet in front of me.

  “Detective Briggs,” his name shot out after a quick inhale.

  “Miss Pinkerton.” The man seemed to know exactly how to smile to make me release a silent sigh.

  It had been a few weeks since I’d been face to face with Detective Briggs, so it took me a second to notice the man behind him. He wasn’t a local. He looked to be about forty with smoky gray sideburns and wavy black hair tucked under a dark blue captain’s hat with the words Sea Gem embroidered in gold. I could only assume he had ferried to shore on one of the small row boats sitting on the sand.

  Briggs pointed toward Pickford Way. “Mr. Ruxley, if you take this street east and turn left onto Harbor Lane, you’ll see the Corner Market on your right.”

  “Thank you again, Detective Briggs.” The man walked in the direction of Pickford Way.

  “Is that man’s name Ruxley?” I asked.

  “Yes, Chad Ruxley. He owns that twenty foot sailing sloop sitting anchored just past the buoy. Why? Do you know him?”

  I looked out to sea and saw that the words Ruxley Plumbing had been painted on a sign. Elsie had mentioned that the boat owners usually advertised their companies or took on advertisements to help pay for the cost of being a part of the flotilla. “No, it’s just I saw that name on the carolers’ list and I thought—what are the odds of hearing or seeing that unusual name twice in the same day.”

  Briggs nodded a polite hello to Lola, who had fallen silent. She stood back a few feet as if she was watching a show rather than standing in a three way conversation. Sometimes she was incredibly silly.

  Briggs turned back to me. “Then I suppose the odds of seeing that name three times in the same day are even slimmer. There’s another boat out there with the same name.” Briggs pointed out to a pleasure boat that had a large holly wreath hanging up on the pilot house window. The sign posted said T. Ruxley Plumbing.

  I looked back at Briggs confused. “Same company? Did they forget the T on the first boat?”

  The three of us headed back to the steps.

  “Apparently, they are two brothers who had a falling out some years back. They split up the company. So the second brother added a T to his company name,” Briggs said.

  “That has to be confusing,” Lola finally spoke up.

  “I’d say so.” Briggs made sure not to look in the direction of Dash working on lights, and Dash seemed to make the same effort to avoid eye contact. I had yet to figure out what had happened between them, and I wasn’t about to bring it up.

  “I guess you’ve been busy,” Briggs said as we reached the end of the pier. Lola continued on.

  “Holiday season. Plus I had to train my new assistant. Not that it took much training. Ryder is such a solid help, I’ve got more spare time now. In fact, I’m planning to dive into that Hawksworth murder case later today. I’m going to the Chesterton Library just like you suggested. Of course, that also means I have time to help you solve some current crimes. If you need the help, that is.” I tapped my nose. “Bridget and I are ready for action.”

  “Bridget?”

  “What do you think of that nickname for my sniffer? Too kitschy?”

  He laughed, and I realized it had been weeks since I’d heard it. “It’s your nose. I suppose you can name it whatever you like. Have fun with the Hawksworth case, and let me know what you find. Oh, and Miss Pinkerton, I’ll let you know if I need you and Bridget for a case.”

  “Yes, now that I hear you say it, I’m thinking it’s too pretentious. And anytime!”

  Chapter 4

  I’d left Ryder elbow deep in wire and chicken mesh. He had decided to keep the entire window display a secret, even from me. Although, I caught a glimpse of a five pound sack of black sunflower seeds so I could at least hazard a guess that there would be a penguin sitting in the display.

  Ryder had used the same wire and chicken mesh to create a sphere shaped form for Lola’s kissing bough. I knew exactly where some lush holly berry bushes grew alongside Culpepper Road, so the bough was a perfect excuse for me to take a trip to Chesterton Library. After seeing Detective Briggs earlier in the day, I had a terrible urge to immerse myself in a murder mystery. And since there had been no convenient murders lately, I had to go back in time to the century old Hawksworth family mystery.

  Most of the morning’s clammy mist had evaporated, and for the last hours of its arc through the sky, the sun was trying its hardest to warm the air. I pulled my car over and hopped out with my holly collecting supplies, a pair of pruning shears and a paper bag. The holly bushes were sprawling and wildly tangled. It seemed they’d been planted along Culpepper Road many years back and then left to fend for themselves. They’d fared pretty well, even withstanding the yearly blanket of snow.

  I made quick work of my trimming errand and filled the bag with sprigs of holly and berry clusters. The Chesterton Library would be closed in an hour, and I wanted time to peruse the stacks of old newspapers they boasted about on their website.

  I climbed back into the car and exchanged my wet gloves for dry ones before heading to Highway 48 and the town of Chesterton. By the time I’d parked in the small six car lot in front of the library, I had forty-five minutes for browsing.

  The Chesterton Library looked like a house you’d see in any small neighborhood. It had been painted barn red, which was perfectly complimented by bright white window trim and shutters. The front door was painted dark blue with two sidelights. There was a metal bike rack positioned between two evergreen saplings. Both young trees were propped up by wooden poles to keep the ocean breeze from snapping their tender trunks.

  I left my coat and gloves in the car, deciding I could bear the short walk to the door without them. I didn’t want them in my way when I looked through the stacks. Various flyers advertising everything from the local Christmas tree farm to the holiday light flotilla had been pinned to the front of the wooden counter.

  A young girl with a volunteer badge was sitting on the stool behind the check out desk. Her long tawny bangs covered her eyes as she stared down at her phone. She was surrounded with marvelous books, but she was honed in on her phone.

  I cleared my throat, and she lifted her face. “We close in forty-three minutes.” It seemed she had closing time down to the second. I could only assume the volunteer position was something her counselor had told her to do to beef up her college application.

  “Yes, I’m aware of the time. Could you point me in the direction of the old newspaper stacks?”

  She tilted her head. “I would have taken you more as a fiction reader, thrillers or maybe romance.”

  “And you’d be right on both accounts. Now, as you mentioned, there are only forty-three minutes until closing.”

  “Forty-two but who’s counting.”

  “You, apparently. The newspapers?”


  She leaned forward as far as she could without falling off the stool. “Through that door and to the left. But you’ll have to ask Tilly before you go into the newspaper stacks.”

  Her last comment stopped my progress. “Tilly?”

  “Tilly Stratton, head librarian. You can’t miss her. She’s wearing a Mrs. Claus apron. She just finished story hour in the kids area.”

  I followed the girl’s directions and entered a large room that had been divided into different sections with tall bookshelves and strategically placed tables and chairs. White orb shaped pendant lights hung around the room, giving each section its own round, warm glow. A small corner of computers with a sign that said “For Homework Use Only” sat beneath a row of posters showing various famous authors, like Austen and Twain. Aside from two high school kids, who looked more interested in each other than in their math homework, the room was empty.

  I turned around just as a middle aged woman with a bowl shaped haircut and front teeth that were a touch too long came out from an office. A bright red, ruffle covered apron with the words, “Mrs. Claus” embroidered in green silk floss across the front assured me I’d found the head librarian.

  Tilly Stratton looked up at me through her round rimmed glasses as I approached the circulation desk. Her top lip slipped up when she smiled, making her front teeth even bigger. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m interested in looking at the Chesterton Gazette. I understand it was a paper that was circulated around Chesterton and the surrounding towns at the turn of the last century.”

  “It was indeed. They stopped the printing press on that paper just after World War I. People were no longer interested in only local news. I guess the war opened their eyes to the fact that there was a whole big world around them.” She stepped out from behind a swinging gate and motioned for me to follow.