The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

I nodded. “We can sort through the old gardening stories in search for the words foxgloves and digitalis. We’d be happy to do it. But you and your officers will have to read through the articles to pick up the details. We have a paper to put out here.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll have Betty McCracken sort out the gardening articles for you. She’ll email you copies of whatever she finds.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Good.”

Gossford paused for a minute, then said, “I am right, aren’t I? You did say Wendy Cartwright came up with that key to Scroggins’ apartment?”

“Sure. She kept a spare key in the kitchen.”

“They were close? Her and Scroggins?”

I raised my shoulders. “They were cousins. I believe she let him live rent-free in the apartment. Rumor has it she built the thing specifically for him. I doubt anyone would go to that kind of bother for someone they dislike. Why do you ask?”

Gossford grunted. “She’s got a lot of flowerbeds on that lot of hers. Some in front of the house. Some behind. Even though it’s winter, you can still see all those dried stalks.”

“Yes, I think she’s widely considered to be an excellent gardener. But, you can’t possibly suspect Wendy of killing her cousin. She’s seventy years old and frail.”

“Poisoning a person doesn’t take strength, Melanie. Plus, the woman’s obviously strong enough to garden. That’s no small thing. I also suspect a good gardener knows which of her plants are poisonous.”

“Whoa, slow down. I doubt Wendy Cartwright ever had a mean thought in her life about anyone. And I’ll never believe she’d kill Barnaby.”

Gossford smiled. “Think you know her that well, do you?”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. This wasn’t the first time Gossford had jumped to a wrong conclusion, and pointing his errors out to him rarely had the desired effect.

Dang
. I swallowed a sigh. I hoped he wasn’t going to make more of Wendy’s gardening pursuits than was warranted.

Gossford leaned forward in the chair, his brow furrowed. “Was Wendy with you all the time between when you entered the apartment and our officer arrived?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? She never left your side? Never offered to double check your findings? She was never alone even when you wandered off to call police?”

“I had my cell phone with me in my pocket, so I was able to call your dispatcher from inside Barnaby’s bedroom. Wendy was waiting for me in the living room. That’s where I left her after entering the apartment. And that’s where I found her when I left the bedroom.”

He straightened. “Okay, fair enough.  Anyway, thank you for helping with the research. I look forward to reading those gardening articles.”

“Don’t mention it. We’ll get them to you as soon as we can.”

He nodded and rose to his feet.

I slumped back in my chair and watched as Gossford departed.

Wendy, indeed, I thought. I had the uncomfortable feeling Ginger and I might become involved with tracking down a killer for the second time..

The phone buzzed. The call was on our internal line. I snatched up the receiver. “Yo.”

“I’ve reached Toby,” Betty announced. “He’s thrilled to help out at the cabin. In fact, he’s already headed over there. I hope that’s okay?”

I grinned. “I’m sure Ginger will be thrilled.” While I had Betty on the line, I spelled out Gossford’s request on the gardening articles.

“Consider it done,” she said.

“Thank you. I don’t know how we’d survive without your steady hand.”

“Oh, go on. Get out of here.”

After disconnecting, I grabbed my purse from the floor and took off running. I didn’t think Ginger had ever met Toby, and I felt duty bound to handle the introductions. With everything on Ginger’s plate just now, politeness might not be among her top priorities.

T
oby had already reached the cabin by the time I arrived. Things apparently had gone well between him and Ginger even without my intervention, a fact for which I was most grateful. I found the boy on his knees in the far corner, crawling around on the floor with two little tykes. I waved. He offered up a broad grin.

Meanwhile, a little girl sat on Santa’s lap, her face gazing adoringly at the bearded man. A young woman, who I took to be the girl’s mother, knelt before them snapping photos on her cell phone.

Ginger hovered around the edge of the scene, her toe tapping out a brisk staccato rhythm  on the floor.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” she said, “but if I don’t get out of here soon, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Hanging out with kids is not my thing. And Santa Claus is going to give me ulcers. Maybe I’ll fire him after all.”

I smothered a smile. I doubted she’d carry through on her threat, but I could understand her desire to. Despite her quick tongue, Ginger couldn’t bring herself to fire anyone. Plus, mix in the fact  that Santa’s wife ran the DBA, I assumed  firing Santa could prove a bit tricky.

“You just need a break. Now that Toby’s here, how about you and I go for a bite to eat?”

She looked at me with relief. “That would be super. I haven’t had anything since breakfast, and I’m here until after the shops close.”

“What time’s that?”

“Nine.”

“In that case, I feel duty bound to feed you. I think we can trust Toby to handle things here for at least half an hour.”

“He probably won’t do a much worse job than I have.”

“Please. Have some faith. I suspect he’ll be much better at handling kids than you are.”

Ginger shot me a dirty look. “I dare you to spend one full day in here before you criticize me.”

I laughed.

Soon, Ginger and I settled in at Howies. Our favorite hamburger joint was located just one block off Main Street. I took a pass on the food. Dad would be feeding me tonight. He’d been head chef at our house, since my mother’s death when I was only four. Instead of food, I made do with coffee. Ginger, however, gave way to her basest instincts and ordered up a triple-decker hamburger with a large side of fries.

I couldn’t believe it and did an eyeroll.

“Hey,” she answered, “this meal is gonna count as lunch and supper today, so stop making faces like that, would you? While I’m waiting for my food, why don’t you make yourself useful and grab us a table?”

At this time of day Howie’s was normally empty. But with school out for the Thanksgiving weekend, the place was nearly packed with teens and preteens. I laid claim to a corner table away from the worst of the din.

Ginger joined me a short time later, setting her tray down before shrugging her way out of her coat. I reached over and snagged my coffee, also grabbing up the two sweetener packets and dumping their contents into my steaming cup.

“So,” Ginger said, sliding onto a chair, “what have you been up to?”

“Besides snagging you a babysitter?”

“Yeah, I’m grateful for that, make no mistake, but what else has been happening around town? I feel so cut off from everything stuck inside here.”

“For one thing, I’ve learned what poison police think may have killed Scroggins.”

Her large hazel eyes grew even more so. “Really?”

“But I’m not free to share it with anyone yet.”

Ginger, who had been focused on unwrapping her burger stopped and stared at me. “Well, aren’t you just the special snowflake?”

“You needn’t be so sensitive.”

“Huh, why not?”

“Because deep down you know you need me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Seriously, what is your problem?”

She set her burger down. “Maybe I’m a little annoyed. It was one thing for Scroggins to die. Given time, I could forgive him for that. I mean, as you pointed out, it wasn’t his fault. Death happens. But to be going through all of this because some selfish, no-account jerk wanted to kill the man? Now, that really ticks me off.”

“See, that’s what makes you so special.”

“What is?”

“The size of your heart.”

“Horse pucky. I’ve put hours and hours into planning this project. I’ve cleaned that drippy cabin, I’ve managed to get it moved from the storage barn to the square. I’ve dry cleaned the the blasted costumes. I’ve knocked myself out till I’m half dizzy over this, and now I’m having to scramble to save all of my hard work from falling apart due to the death of an old man?” She shook her head. “Somebody needs to pay for this. And we’re just the pair to find out who.”

“Forget it. Last time we tried that, I almost ended up dead.”

“Stop exaggerating, would you?”

“Trust me. You weren’t there. I’m not exaggerating.”

“This time around would be different. We’re seasoned veterans now. We’d be more careful.” She opened her mouth wide and bit off an enormous hunk of burger.

I watched her chew and reconsidered my position. Gossford was eyeing Wendy for the murder. I knew that was a waste of his time. Besides what kind of friend would I be if I let Wendy go undefended? I grabbed a deep breath. “You may have a point,” I said.

Ginger swallowed her burger. “About what?”

“About sticking our investigative noses into Scroggins’ death.”

Ginger grinned and nodded. “Oh, goody. Here we go.”

~~~

That night, after Dad had fed me on chicken breasts, potatoes, cheese, and cream, I put together a container of coffee and a can of pop for Toby and scurried back to Santa’s Cabin. When I arrived things appeared to be going well. Children were where they belonged and were behaving as good children should. Santa sat on his throne and mumbled to the little kiddies without slurring his words. Meanwhile, Ginger had pulled together a makeshift costume for Toby.

The dear boy took one look at me and blushed from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair. The brown sweatshirt wasn’t too bad. I also suspected Toby could have lived with the short pants and the jingle of the bells attached to their hem. But I think it was the candy-striped stockings and jeweled slippers that had the shy teenager turning pink.

I walked up beside him. “Hello there, Toby,” I said, managing to keep a straight face.

He ducked his head. “Nobody mentioned I’d be wearing a costume,” he whispered and cast a nervous eye toward Ginger.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“That would be helpful.”

Ginger walked up and joined us. “Doesn’t Toby look cute?” She eyed him over and nodded with satisfaction. “Dressed this way, except he’s too tall, he looks like he might be Barnaby’s nephew.”

“That’s one description,” I said mildly.

“You have another?”

“Ginger,” I protested, “Toby’s obviously uncomfortable in that costume.”

“Oh, come on. He’s playing an elf.” Ginger glanced over at Toby. “It’s okay with you, right?”

I broke in. “Maybe his mother could come up with something that would be a little less showy. Would that work for you?”

I knew I needed to tread carefully. If Ginger got her back up, Toby could be wearing jeweled bedroom slippers until Christmas, a fate I wouldn’t wish on any teenaged boy.

“Look, I have to face the board after I close the cabin tonight,” she said. “They’re not going to be in a good mood. I don’t need your grief over Toby’s costume right now.”

Two children walked into the cabin with parents in tow. Toby said his farewell to us. He scurried to the boy and girl, took their hands, and ushered them up to Santa. Mom and Dad hung around for a moment, observing their offspring with proud smiles before scurrying out the door and hopefully on to spend their money in the nearby shops.

“So how are Santa’s gin fumes tonight?” I asked.

“So far so good. I’m going to pick up a pizza for Toby and Santa.  That should keep the jolly fellow sober.”

I thought about the nine o’clock closing hour. “I don’t envy your employees their work hours.”

“After scheduling my stylists and balancing my books, their hours aren’t much different from mine.”

“Yeah. Well, you’re a good at being a workhorse.”

Ginger gave me a startled look. “Me? Have you totaled up how many hours you spend running around at night, snapping photos, taking names, or covering boring meetings? I bet you work more hours than I do.”

I suspected Ginger had me on that point, so I changed direction. “Dad went right to work on your ad. He thinks you’ll get a lot of responses.”

“Really, for this kind of a position?”

“He said your applicants will most likely be retirees looking to have a little fun and bring in extra cash. But that’s what Scroggins was, and you say he worked out well.”

Ginger snorted. “At least if they’re seniors, none of them will be as tall as they once were.”

“Ginger, your sense of humor needs serious work.”

She gave me a dirty look.

Before us, the two children had finished their stint on Santa’s lap and were now headed toward a pile of toys in the far corner of the cabin. Toby trailed behind them, encouraging them not to run.

Ginger nodded contentedly. “Toby is good with children. I could see that this afternoon.”

“I’m glad you think he’ll work out. Will you keep him, after you find your replacement for Scroggins?”

“I think so. He was helpful when we were in a tight spot. I don’t feel I can just dump him after the emergency ends.”

That was totally Ginger.

“So are you here for the night,” Ginger asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“You wanna stay here and babysit Santa while Toby and I run out and pick up the pizza?”

“I’d be glad to.”

With that, she rounded Toby up. They grabbed their coats, gave me a wave, and scurried out the door

From behind me came a voice. “You can make yourself comfortable, you know.” I turned. The two children were at the toy station, playing with modeling clay, and Santa was gazing up at me. “Why not have a seat?” he said.

“Good idea.” It had been a crazy day. I headed for a small chair to his right.

“No, not there,” he protested.

I glanced around the room. “Then, where?”

“How about on my lap?’ he asked, giving me a broad wink. “That’s where most of the good little girls sit. And I can tell you’ve been a really great little girl  this year.”

Oh, good grief.
Ginger hadn’t been exaggerating this man’s sleaziness.

I bit back a snarky comment. Ginger’s life was tough enough without me alienating her Santa Claus. “That’s a generous offer,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”

He didn’t look best pleased. “Aw, come on. You look like you could use a little fun.”

“Maybe, but I still think I’ll pass.”

His face flushed red, but I doubted it was from being embarrassed. I could see why Ginger couldn’t trust the man alone with a teenaged girl.

“Most of me in this suit is padding you know,” he said. “ I’m a good looking dude when I dump the costume.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I struggled to dream up a new conversational thread. “Ah… so  what do you with yourself when you’re not playing Santa?” I asked. It probably wasn’t the most original question in the world,  but I was desperate.

“Pretty much whatever I please,” He chuckled softly, “I’m a kept man.”

“I’m sorry? I’m not following you.”

“My wife, Valerie Farmer, owns the bakery. She’s doing so well that I don’t need to work.”

“Then why are you playing Santa?”

“I like watching the young mothers. They sort of give me a warm fuzzy feeling.”

Oh, joy.
“And when you’re not working here, how do you fill your time?”

“This and that. Nothing in particular.”

I must have had a disdainful look on my face, because Farmer went suddenly into defensive mode, lifting his chin and saying, “I’m no different than the stay-at-home wives of successful husbands.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Lucky you.”

“Yes, indeed.”

As I stood there mulling over our exchange, I couldn’t help  wondering if Valerie knew of her husband’s flirtatious nature? Either way, she’d certainly have my sympathy from here on in. This guy was very close to being a serious waste of oxygen.