'Twas the Knife Before Christmas Read online

  I gave her a long blink, then typed everything she said into a response to Christopher. “Thank you.” I hit “Send” with a smile. “There. All done. So, what’s on the agenda for you today?”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m thinking of hiding out here until the new year. How about you?”

  “I’ve got to go check on Mom at the Hearth. The kitchen update was supposed to be finished more than a month ago, but everything’s still a mess. She’s fit to kill her contractor every morning when I get there. What do you say?” I asked. “Want to come save a man’s life with me? Help hide a body if we’re too late?”

  Caroline grimaced.

  “Oh, Care,” I said, prying the size-nine boot from my mouth. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” The horror of last night’s discovery came rushing back to me. “I’m sure Evan has made some progress,” I said. “He’s great at his job, and he barely sleeps. He was probably up all night chasing leads and pulling threads.” Evan had been a homicide detective in Boston before moving to Mistletoe a year and a half ago in search of a break from the darker sides of fighting crime in a big city. Whatever had happened to him in Boston had been enough to inspire a total life change, but that was all he would say on the matter. “We should give him a call after breakfast,” I suggested.

  Caroline set her mug in the sink and headed for the guest room. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll go with you to see your mom. Maybe I can light a fire under the kitchen contractor.”

  Two minutes? I needed thirty. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll meet you back here afterward.” I gulped the rest of my coffee and rushed through my morning routine.

  Forty-five minutes later, Caroline and I were calf-deep in new fallen snow, taking the basket of blueberry muffins to Mom at the Hearth.

  “Miss White!” Christopher and a trio of his men strode in our direction. “Hello! Good morning,” he said with trademark enthusiasm. He’d tucked a red plaid shirt into high-riding black trousers. The pant cuffs disappeared into neatly tied leather boots. His barn coat hung open, and his gray hair fluttered in the wind.

  Behind them, the door to the inn stood open while workers streamed in and out with loads of wide wooden planks balanced over their shoulders.

  Caroline and I stopped to wait while Christopher and his men caught up.

  I lifted a mitten in greeting. “Did you get my message earlier about the faucets?” I asked. If not, the timing was perfect because Caroline could explain what I’d meant.

  “Oh yes. Thank you,” he said. “I just wanted to give you a general update. Text messages are convenient and quick, but I feel that everything is a little better when people talk face-to-face, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “I completely agree.”

  “Good.” He folded his hands over the curve of his belly. “Thanks to that burst of better weather last week, the back patio has set nicely, and it looks wonderful A few inches of water when the temperature drops, and it will double as a skating rink, just like you asked. A clever idea.” He stroked the point of his white beard. “Would you mind if I suggest something similar at other job sites? Giving you full creative credit, of course.”

  My cheeks heated at the compliment. Being an artist at heart, creative credit felt like something I’d like to have in writing, then framed. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” He tugged a black knit cap over his thinning hair and zipped his coat before addressing Caroline with a rosy smile. “Miss West. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You know who I am?”

  He chuckled cheerfully. “Of course I do. You make the most delicious cupcakes on the East Coast. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.” He patted his middle and winked. “My sweet tooth is practically legendary.”

  Caroline cocked a brow. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Everything else is okay?” I asked, eager to get to the Hearth for my morning helping of crepes and cocoa.

  “Oh yes.” He smiled. “I just wanted to give you the update on the patio and let you know that I’m picking up the sample books for railings and spindles today. There are quite a few to choose from, so you’ll want to take a look as soon as you can.”

  The man on his right shook my hand. A wisp of dark bangs lifted on the breeze. The rest of his head was covered in a red beanie. “I’m Will. This is Bill and Phil.” Each man beside him nodded as his name was called. “We’re the team handling your railings. If you don’t see anything in the book that suits you, or if you see something that sparks inspiration but isn’t quite right, let me know. We’re happy to create custom pieces. Sky’s the limit if you have a special request. Do you have any special requests?”

  I looked to Caroline. “No?”

  She shrugged, attention fixed on the trio of crewmen.

  Matching dark hair fell across their brows, the rest neatly tucked into red beanies. They wore dark pants, like Christopher, and sleek green ski coats with the company logo on the breast.

  Aside from Christopher, I was the tallest person present.

  “While you’re considering the options for your balconies and second-floor veranda, don’t forget the rooftop widow’s walk,” Will said. “It’s easy to forget the ones that are out of sight. It might help you to walk the space.”

  “Definitely,” I said, having every intention of making my decisions for the veranda and widow’s walk from the safety of solid ground.

  Christopher’s smile brightened. “Well, I think that’s all we have for now. Is there anything else you ladies need?”

  “Breakfast,” I teased. “You’re all welcome to join us. Everything Mom makes is delicious.”

  “No, no,” he said. “We have lots to do, but the offer is appreciated.”

  Caroline gave a small smile and lifted her basket in his direction. “Then at least take my muffins. I made them this morning. They were warm until we walked outside.”

  Christopher took the basket with an appreciative grin. “We’d be crazy to pass up anything baked by Caroline West.” He handed the basket to his crewmen, who quickly dug in. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Not unless you can stop me from being arrested for murder,” she said.

  Christopher blanched.

  “I’d really like that,” she said. “I want to be out of this mess in time for Christmas.”

  “It’s fine,” I assured both him and Caroline. “Sheriff Gray will get to the bottom of this. Caroline is not being arrested.”

  “Very well,” Christopher said, nodding and tipping his head in a gesture of goodbye. “Have a lovely day.”

  Caroline watched until they’d gone several yards, before turning back toward the Hearth. “He looks like Santa Claus,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “He has to finish the job by Christmas because he has another job to do up north.”

  “Yep.”

  “The clothes. The beard,” she continued. “The crew of little men.”

  “They aren’t little,” I said. “They’re all at least five five.”

  * * *

  She gave me a disbelieving look. “I’m just saying. He asked us if there was anything he could do for us. I said I’d like to be out of this mess, and you might’ve missed a major opportunity.”

  “I don’t believe in Santa Claus,” I said.

  Caroline guffawed. “How could you grow up on a Christmas tree farm, in a town that lives for Christmas, without believing?”

  “Probably for all those reasons,” I said.

  She shook her head sadly.

  I bit the insides of my cheeks and cast one last glance in the direction of the inn. It certainly would be nice if getting what I wanted was as simple as asking for it.

  Christopher stood at the door, looking our way, and for the first time in years, for my sake and Caroline’s, I wished I still believed in Santa.

  Chapter Four

  I floated into the Hear
th on a cloud of anticipation. It was barely eight, and the place wouldn’t open for another hour, but scents of warm butter and cocoa already filled the space, pulling me deeper inside.

  “Hello, girls,” Mom said from behind the counter. I had Mom’s brown hair and eyes, but I was six inches taller and twenty-five pounds lighter. Her hair was wavy in all the right places while mine did nothing but reach constantly for the ground, much like the icicles hanging from my porch.

  I closed the space between us and gave her a warm hug. “How’s it going? Everything looks amazing and smells even better.”

  I never tired of our tree farm’s small café. The Hearth was a trip to another dimension on any day, but dressed for Christmas, it was a wonderland. With its chocolate-bar tables on black-licorice legs and gumdrop chandeliers over candy cane–striped booths, the café’s interior looked like the inside of a gingerbread house. Right down to the white eyelet lace lining the windows. For the next month or so, the look would be enhanced with drifts of cotton snow, interspersed with replica snowmen and topped with endless strands of twinkle lights.

  The Hearth had been my childhood refuge, and not much had changed.

  Mom wiped a paper towel over the glass display case in front of her. “I’d hoped to be further along on my morning baking by now because I’ve been here since six, but you know.” She tipped her head toward the kitchen’s swinging door behind her. A loud clatter erupted, and she shut her eyes. “My new oven still isn’t hooked up, and my old one only holds so many trays at a time.” She forced a tight smile and reopened her eyes. Her rosy cheeks were pink from frustration instead of the usual holiday spirit. “It’s fine.” She tossed the paper towel into the trash. “It gives me more time to mix all the batters one by one.”

  Caroline rounded the counter behind me and hugged her. “I can help you,” she said. “I’m not opening my shop today. I’m hiding out, and if I can hide and bake, then my life is perfect.”

  A loud crash of metal on metal rattled the wall between the kitchen and us. Mom winced. I nearly swallowed my tongue. “What was that?” I squeaked.

  “My bad,” a man’s voice called. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Contractor,” Mom said as her left eye began to twitch. “Not only is he incapable of fixing anything, but he regularly breaks the things that were fine before he got here.” She pressed a finger to her twitching eyelid. “I should’ve hired Christopher for this project too. I wish your father had found him before I found this guy.”

  “Fire him,” Caroline suggested.

  “Oh,” Mom shook her head hard. “I couldn’t. Not so close to Christmas.”

  Caroline considered that. “Do you want me to fire him?”

  Mom laughed.

  I agreed with Caroline. This guy was hurting, not helping. He’d made a promise to finish the remodel before our busy season began, but a month later he was still disrupting Mom’s life and her business in big, negative ways.

  Unfortunately, Mom and I also shared a soft personality. We were bleeding hearts, givers of fifteenth chances, and avid avoiders of conflict, at least when the problem only concerned ourselves. Basically, we’d fight black bears with our hands for someone else, then let the bear eat us if we thought he was hungry.

  A small swirl of brown powder crept under the swinging door. I wiggled my foot in it, and it dispersed, only to be followed by another, bigger cloud. “Is that cocoa powder?”

  Mom gasped. She dropped into a squat and inhaled. Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “Son of a snickerdoodle!” She jerked to her feet and planted her palms against the swinging door. “What happened to my cocoa powder?”

  Caroline went back around the counter and took a seat on a lollipop stool. “I’m going to help your mom bake today. This is perfect.”

  “I was going to make whoopie pies!” Mom hollered in the kitchen. She reappeared a few minutes later with busted plastic containers coated in brown powder. “I was going to make whoopie pies,” she repeated.

  Caroline patted Mom’s hand. “It’s no problem. We can start something else for now. We can only do a little at a time anyway, right?”

  Hope lifted Mom’s brow. “You’re really going to stay and help bake?”

  “I’d love to,” she said. “And I don’t mind making trips back and forth to Holly’s stove if that helps us catch up faster.”

  No one looked at me. My culinary skills ended with cold cereal and hot tea, and everyone knew it. I grabbed the newspaper from behind the counter and shook it open.

  “Wait!” Mom reached for the paper, but it was too late.

  I flopped it out flat in front of me to see if there was anything new about Derek’s death or his mysterious appearance in the candy bowl.

  A photo of Caroline, red-faced and pointing a finger at Derek’s nose, graced the front page. “ ‘Socialite Threatens. Entrepreneur Dies,’ ” I read.

  Caroline guffawed. “I am not a socialite.”

  Mom gave her a sad smile. “Oh, honey. You’re so much more than any reporter could sum up in a silly headline.”

  “Did you read this?” I asked Mom.

  She shifted her attention to the floor. “Yes.”

  Caroline reached for the paper, but Mom slapped a palm on it, rendering it motionless.

  “The article is pretty hard on you,” she told Caroline. “It sensationalizes the argument you had with Derek and portrays you in an unfavorable light. It asks some rather pointed questions about how Derek’s unbecoming behavior might have affected your father’s campaign for reelection. A lot of fishing and speculation, but if I were you, I’d skip reading it.”

  Caroline dropped her hands into her lap.

  Mom took the paper and tossed it in the trash bin behind the counter. “I should have done that sooner.”

  I gave the trash can a long look. “Did the article say Caroline’s engraved marble butcher knife was found in the candy with Derek?”

  “Heavens, no.” Mom’s brow slowly puckered. “Why on earth would it?”

  I mimed stabbing myself in the chest.

  Mom’s eyes rounded and she leaned toward us, voice low. “Derek was stabbed?”

  I nodded. “Possibly with Caroline’s knife. It was found in the candy.”

  Mom covered her mouth with both hands to collect herself, then quickly recomposed her sweet disposition. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. What can I do?”

  Caroline lifted her palms, then dropped them back to the counter with a sigh. “Let me hide from my troubles and help you bake?”

  “Done.” Mom patted her hand across the counter.

  “I wish I knew what really happened to Derek,” I said. “Who took the knife from Caroline’s Cupcakes? How’d they get it without anyone knowing? Why’d they take it?” To kill Derek? Or for another reason? And was Derek’s murder a whim or was it planned out? Did someone want to frame Caroline, or was that an accident too? As usual, I had too many questions and not enough answers. And I was getting that sickly feeling in my stomach, just remembering the horrors that had followed the dead body we’d found last December on our Reindeer Games property.

  “Who knows?” Caroline said. “Why would anyone steal anything? Or murder anyone?” She collapsed forward, resting her head on folded arms across the counter.

  A few ideas came easily to mind. Greed, for example. Love was a popular motive for all sorts of things. To cover another crime, maybe. Self-defense. The list was actually pretty long, but I didn’t want to be negative.

  Caroline groaned. “My reputation is doomed. My shop will fail before it’s had a chance to become something amazing. My parents will say they told me so. This is awful.” She snapped upright, eyes wide. “Not that I’m blaming Derek or that my situation is worse than his. I just mean that I … I’m selfish and only care about what happens to me. Oh my goodness. I’m horrible.”

  “You can’t think like that,” I said. “You are far from horrible, and your shop will persevere. Dozens of people visit your shop e
very day. Any one of them could’ve taken your knife, or anything else they wanted, without being noticed.”

  Mom nodded. “Sad but true. The only thing locked down around here is the cash register.”

  “Do you have any idea where Derek might’ve gone after your dinner?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t know who his friends are. I don’t know where he lived. Nothing like that. He talked about how wealthy and successful he was all the way to dinner.” She pretended to gag. “He called himself an investor and said he funded new businesses that needed a boost getting off the ground. They paid him a chunk of their monthly profits in return for his initial backing. He said that now he got multiple checks every month from those investments and spent his time leering at women or looking in a mirror.” Her face went tight. “Sorry. That was mean too.”

  I laughed softly. “It’s okay. He was rotten to you. You don’t have to be over that just because he’s dead.”

  “He has a crazy ex-girlfriend,” she said. “That’s all I know about his personal life.”

  “Who’s the ex-girlfriend?” I asked.

  “I think her name is Samantha Moss. She was a few years ahead of us in school.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” I said. Though it wasn’t as if any upperclassmen had known me either, and I still couldn’t recall Ray from his freshman year, when I was a senior, despite the fact he seemed to know plenty about me.

  Caroline uncrossed her legs, hooking the heels of her boots on the rung of her stool. “Samantha moved back to Mistletoe a few years ago and opened the shop right beside Oh! Fudge. I don’t know if she’s dangerous, but she’s definitely a few notes short of a carol, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh!” Mom perked up. “She’s a Winer.”

  “A whiner?” I laughed.

  “Yeah.” Caroline shot me a look. “That’s the name of her monthly tasting club. She owns Wine Around.”

  “The wine shop?” I loved peeking into that store window. There was a big globe with a changing display of wines from different regions around the earth and culturally dressed dolls like the ones from It’s a Small World at Disney World.