Mistletoe and Mayhem (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 3) Read online

  “And you won’t be long because, as I mentioned, the box is nearly empty. Don’t get your hopes up too much.” He buzzed me through to the official side of the counter and led me down a narrow hallway to a door. He unlocked the door and we headed down a set of metal stairs which ended at another door. Once again, he pulled out his keys to unlock the door.

  “Jeez, this place feels like a prison,” I quipped.

  “Very funny.” He opened the door and flicked on a light. The windowless basement room was filled with industrial shelving all piled high with boxes.

  My gaze circled the room. “My gosh. Port Danby must have been like the wild west at some point in time. How can there be so many boxes?”

  “Every crime, no matter how big or small, is stored inside this room. Not sure why, but I’ve been told by the higher ups to keep it all.” Briggs headed to a corner shelf and pulled out a step stool. He climbed on top and reached up to the top shelf. He pulled out a box that was no bigger than a box for kid’s sandals and stepped down.

  I stared at the box, trying not to show my disappointment.

  “Yep. Biggest crime in these parts for the past hundred plus years, and this is all we’ve got. No physical evidence at all. Not even the gun or the bullets.” He walked it over to the table and opened the lid. Three pieces of paper were folded up and clipped together.

  “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?” I asked. “To have no physical evidence inside.”

  He handed me the papers. “I’ve always thought so. It was almost as if the entire thing had been covered up or erased. Like someone was trying to squelch the story fast.”

  I unfolded the papers. The first one was a handwritten police report form filled out by an Officer Gaynor. I skimmed through his report. “He was the first officer on the scene.” I ran my finger over the script and squinted to read it without my glasses and in the bad lighting. “Yuck. He goes into pretty graphic detail about the state of the bodies.” I kept reading. “Those poor kids.” I continued on to the second page and sucked in an excited breath. “Right here.” I pointed to the second paragraph of the report which Officer Gaynor had written the day after the murder. “He noted the same thing.” I read the lines to Briggs. “When looking through photographs of the Hawksworth family, I noticed that Bertram Hawksworth used his left hand to write.” I looked up at Briggs. “He must have seen the same newspaper clipping as me. He goes on to note that the murder weapon was in his right hand when they found Hawksworth and his wife dead in the piano parlor.”

  Briggs pulled out the last sheet of paper and looked at it. “This is the report that claims it was a murder-suicide. It says on October 7th, 1906 at approximately six in the evening, Bertram Hawksworth shot his three children and his wife, Jill, before turning the pistol on himself. This report is signed by an Officer Turner. It’s dated October 12th, 1906. He wrote case closed on the final line.”

  I took the paper from his hand. “But what happened to Officer Gaynor and the wrong hand theory?” I turned the papers over and looked once again into the empty box. There was nothing more to see.

  I looked up at Briggs. “Seems as if we’ve just added another layer of mystery to the mystery.”

  Chapter 7

  The buttery yellow facade coupled with the candy cane teal and white stripes on the window frames already made Elsie’s Sugar and Spice Bakery look like an edible confection. But her incredible gingerbread display in the front window took it to an entirely new level. A whimsically shaped gingerbread house with candy stained glass windows, a peppermint striped chimney and thick white frosting icicles sat on a hill of snow that appeared to be made wholly of royal icing. Rows of swirly lollipops lined either side of a candy pebble walkway leading to the dark chocolate front door. Evergreen trees of piped green frosting and red cinnamon candies lined the entire scene, and strings of gingerbread people, each decorated to be unique, frolicked in the buttercream yard. A cake snowman was surrounded by a mound of fondant wrapped gift boxes, each one, like the gingerbread folk, was decorated with different colored ribbons and candy baubles.

  I walked inside the bakery and had to set back the dial on my nose or get swept up into a dizzying sugar rush. Elsie’s glass shelves were filled with dozens of amazing treats. I zeroed right in on a tray of almond horns. She had dipped each end in dark chocolate and she’d added red and green sprinkles for a festive touch.

  I waited while Elsie finished with her customers.

  “The town is already getting busy,” Elsie said as she closed the register. “I saw you looking at the window display. What do you think?”

  “I think I feel bad for poor Ryder, who arrived extra early this morning to work on the flower shop window. He might as well throw in the towel. Your display is magical, Elsie. Like you. I don’t know how you do it.”

  She waved her hand as if it was no big deal to build an entire storybook scene out of cookie dough and sugar. And that was in between baking and running a store.

  “It was a nice diversion.” She released a slow breath. “But seeing how nice it’s been for you to have Ryder in the shop, I’m thinking about taking on some help. Mind you, I’ve had assistants before, but they never worked out.”

  Lester, Elsie’s twin brother and the coffee shop owner on the opposite side of me, had told me that no one was ever good enough for his sister. She was such a perfectionist and so big on control, she either scared off her new employees or they tossed their aprons on the counter and walked out in frustration. But I wanted to be supportive.

  “You should advertise, Elsie. I know Ryder is an exception, and once he leaves, I’m sure I’ll never find a suitable replacement. But I have to say, I love having him in the shop.”

  “You got lucky with that kid, that’s for darn sure. And speaking of Ryder …” She lowered her voice as if the baked goods had ears. “Is it my imagination or does our mutual, boy crazy friend seem less interested in your amazing assistant than she did a few weeks ago? I don’t see her finding excuses to walk across to your shop as much. And for awhile, she had replaced wearing some of those shabby rock and roll tshirts with pretty winter sweaters. But she came in today wearing a Rolling Stones shirt and that faded brown fedora.”

  “Let’s just say, there seems to be an indirect correlation between Lola’s interest in a man and the man’s interest in Lola.”

  Elsie looked puzzled by my math analogy.

  “In other words, she stopped liking him once he liked her. I should get back over there. He’s alone in the shop, and he’s busy with the window. But I believe one of those almond horns is calling my name. I want this one from the front of the tray. It has the most chocolate. I’ll take one for Ryder too.”

  Elsie slid open the door and plucked out the cookies. “Are we still on for making chocolate truffles tomorrow night?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been having this recurring dream where I’m with Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate factory and I’m elbow deep in melted milk chocolate. We are definitely still on. I’m excited to learn the art of truffle making.”

  “Perfect. I will get everything ready.”

  I nibbled my almond horn and headed back to my shop with one for Ryder. Before I reached the door, I heard distinctly unhappy grumbling coming from Lester’s side. I walked around to the Coffee Hutch. Since early fall when I moved into my shop, Lester and Elsie had been competing to have their sidewalk seating areas filled with customers. It didn’t even matter if the people had spent money at their stores. Someone could easily have sat at one of Elsie’s tables with a cup of Lester’s coffee, and Les didn’t mind if someone sat at his table with one of Elsie’s cobblestone muffins. They just wanted their tables filled. I suppose it gave the look that business was thriving. Which it was for both of them, tables filled or not. That was when I, an only child, discovered that sibling rivalry stayed strong no matter how old you got. But the snowfall and glacial weather had dampened the competition some. It seemed even with Lester’s plush seat cus
hions and Elsie’s beautiful hand woven placemats, no one wanted to sit outside when the trees were dripping with icicles and the wind blowing in off the coast was bitterly cold.

  Lester was attempting to get a very large wooden sleigh through the single door of the coffee shop.

  “I’ll hold the door, Les.” I rushed over to help him.

  “Oh thanks, Lacey. Didn’t see you over there. Excuse my salty language.”

  “Didn’t hear a thing. And I’ve been known to occasionally drop a salted word myself, so no worries.”

  He managed to get the sled into the shop, but it was so big, some of the indoor stools fell over. Lester placed the sleigh down hard on the ground. His face was red from struggling with the heavy sled and from the cold and mostly, it seemed, from anger. And Lester, with his snow white pillow of hair and colorful shirts and sweaters, rarely looked angry.

  “Whose crazy idea was it to have this window display contest?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering. Did you see Elsie’s window? It’s ridiculous. Like she was asked to decorate a window for the White House.”

  “Ahh, now the sleigh and the salty language make sense. And, yes, I don’t know why any of us bother with Elsie putting all her talents to use on her window.” It hadn’t even occurred to me that the window contest would be a new source of competition between Lester and Elsie. “Of course, I can’t complain because Ryder is designing my window. Hey, why don’t I help you put this into your window. Then we can figure out ways to spruce it up. I’ve got ribbons and holly leaves. I’ve even got some gold and silver garland in my shop.”

  Some of the red had cooled from his round cheeks. “You’re a peach, Lacey. A pink peach.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter 8

  After an hour of helping Lester put together a window display and in between helping customers, I spent the rest of the morning creating a Victorian kissing bough. Thanks to Ryder’s brilliantly crafted wire sphere it had turned out pretty. And I’d only suffered two hot glue gun burns in the process. I tied a frilly spray of mistletoe at the bottom with a bright blue strip of ribbon, and Ryder had fashioned a sturdy hook from wire for hanging.

  It spun around as I held it up to admire. “What do you think?” I called to the front window.

  Ryder leaned out. His jeans were covered with floral moss and white cedar bark chips. “It’s awesome. You should make a few more if you have any holly leaves left.”

  I picked up the bag of holly. “I did go a little overboard with the pruning shears. I think I could make a couple more to sell and maybe one to hang in our shop.”

  “I’ll build some more spheres.”

  “Only if you have time. How is it going? Do you need some help?”

  “Nope. It’s going just fine.”

  “I’m going to take this over to Lola’s shop. I think it’s the last part of her window display. Then we’re going to grab some lunch at Franki’s. Do you want something? Or maybe you’d like to crawl out of that window and go with us. We could close the shop for a bit.”

  Ryder crawled out from the bay window and sat on the edge of it. “I’ll keep working. Besides, I think I annoy Lola.”

  “You don’t. There’s not one annoying bone in your body, Ryder. Lola is just kind of unpredictable with her moods.” I didn’t know how else to explain how she went from practically fawning over him one minute to hardly acknowledging his existence the next. “I could bring you a burger with fries,” I suggested, wanting to take his mind off the Lola topic.

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll get something later.”

  “If you’re sure. Text if you change your mind.”

  I yanked the hood of my coat up over my head as I walked across the street to Lola’s Antiques, the kissing bough swinging at my side. No new snow had fallen for several days, and rivulets of water flowed down Harbor Lane from the melt. I jumped over several puddles and a water filled gutter. At least the cold fog had burned off into a brisk blue day.

  I stopped to admire Lola’s front window. The girl had an eye for design. After her world traveling parents gave her permission to design the shop however she liked, Lola had transformed the exterior into a beautiful smoky gray-blue storefront with glistening picture windows and sheer curtains. It was a perfect blend of continental and small town.

  I probably shouldn’t have been too surprised about her incredible window display, except, so far, all she’d done was complain about having to drag old toys out from the storeroom. And drag she did. Sitting together in the window, the toys and antiques took you right back to a Victorian Christmas. The centerpiece and focal point of the display was an old fashioned bicycle with the massive front wheel and the teeny tiny rear wheel. Lola had woven some plaid ribbon through the wire thin spokes. A wooden rocking horse with a long flowing mane and tail sat next to a big silver metal goose pull toy. A charming antique sled that still had some of its original gold trim sat up against the window ledge, which was covered in fake snow. An ancient pair of ice skates rounded out the snow scene, and if that wasn’t enough, Lola had filled the inside of an old Victorian dollhouse with the most intricately detailed miniature furniture I’d ever seen. There was so much to look at, I might have stood out there for another hour if Lola hadn’t seen me gawking through the front window.

  She opened the door. “Pink, what are you doing?” Her gaze dropped to the kissing bough dangling from my fingers. “Ahh! it’s perfect,” she said loudly enough to dislodge a mushy pile of snow from the roof top. It plopped down like melted ice cream between us. I stepped over it and followed Lola into the shop.

  My nose went into instant twitching mode. “What is that pungent smell? Glue?”

  “Yes, can you still smell it? I was gluing the handle on a vase, but it’s too cold to open the window. The strong odor is making me a bit loopy.”

  “The last thing you need,” I joked. “How did the vase break?”

  Lola bowed with a flourish to point out her dog, Late Bloomer. The boxer lifted his graying muzzle from the pillow where he cradled a rawhide in his paws. His stubby tail swished back and forth when he realized he was the topic of our conversation.

  “Bloomer just walked by and did that ear shake thing, and crash, the vase hit the ground. It’s a valuable piece of Nippon. Or at least it was. Now it’s a worthless vase held together with glue. I’ve always thought it was kind of ugly anyhow.”

  “So you rewarded Bloomer with a new rawhide?”

  Lola laughed. “No. That he found in the farthest, deepest corner of the storeroom when I was pulling out the old toys. I think he dropped it there when he was a puppy, but it still looks new.”

  I patted Bloomer on the head. “It does look new. Ten thousand years from now people are going to dig in the ground and instead of finding fossils, they’re going to find hidden rawhides all perfectly preserved.”

  “Man, they are going to think we were a bunch of weirdoes who gnawed on twisted leather for fun.” Lola took the sphere from my hand. “You put a hook on it. Great. I’ve got a jutting nail in the small ceiling of the window.” She held it up. “You are genius, my friend.”

  “I’d like to take the genius credit, but it was actually Ryder who created the form for the ball. All I did was cut holly and battle the hot glue gun.”

  “That was nice of him,” she said quickly.

  “Yes, don’t forget to thank him when you see him.”

  “Uh huh,” she said in a way that assured me she wouldn’t. She climbed into the window and stepped gingerly around the fake snow. She hung the kissing bough up and jumped back down from the window. “I love it.”

  “You do realize that with the kissing bough hanging up there with your delicate display, there is no way anyone can use it to steal a kiss.”

  Lola rubbed her chin in thought. “I guess it does sort of defeat the purpose.” She laughed. “Who am I kidding? No one worth kissing ever walks in here. Are we doing lunch at Franki’s? I’m hun
gry.”

  “Yes, grab your coat. Let’s go.”

  We stepped out onto the sidewalk and had to avoid the mosaic of puddles forming on the ground. “Did you take a carriage ride last night?” I asked her as we hurried across to Franki’s.

  “No. Just like hanging a kissing bough up in a window, a romantic carriage ride alone sort of defeats the purpose.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I rode with Marty Tate. And he was far more charming than any man I’ve dated.”

  Lola had a good laugh at my comment as she pulled open the door.

  Franki’s Diner was crowded. People were beginning to arrive for the light show. And then, of course, there were the boat owners themselves. There were more than a few unfamiliar faces around the tables.

  Lola and I sat at a table directly behind the stools running along the counter. They were filled too. Three men were sitting at the stools closest to our table. They had dropped a hat on one seat, apparently to save it. The hat was bright yellow and had the words Dayton Construction labeled across it. They looked as if they’d been out on a construction crew with steel toed boots and downy sleeveless vests. Lola zeroed right in on the many muscular arms but then her eyes were drawn to the front door. I was facing the back of the restaurant, but the sudden rush of cold air let me know someone had walked inside.

  Lola was practically leaning into the aisle as she eyed the newest customer.

  “Hey, Dayton, there you are.” The man next to us picked up the yellow hat. He pointed down at Dayton’s wet work boots. “What happened? Did you step in a puddle? I told you to put the waterproof stuff on them.” The guy giving the lecture stuck out his heavy work boot and turned it as if he was admiring a fine pair of shoes at a shoe shop. “Mine are dry as the desert.”

  Dayton ignored the man’s advice. Lola had caught his eye. He turned to flash her a gracious smile before climbing up on the stool between his friends. He was tall, lean and thirty something with mint green eyes that could be considered very attractive. He had an impressive head of blond wavy hair beneath the yellow cap. But, in my opinion, the sharp angles of his face, his wide jaw and straight mouth, made him look sort of mean. It seemed my friend did not share that opinion. Lola’s smile lingered long after he climbed onto his stool and faced away from us.