The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (4 page)

S
aturday morning dawned gray and bitter. A cold front had swept in overnight and chased our beautiful weather away. Now, a stiff north wind whistled about the house. Snowflakes flew past my bedroom window. I yawned, rolled onto my side, closed my eyes, and tried to put the unwelcome sight out of mind.

After leaving Santa’s Cabin last night, I’d dropped by the newspaper office to catch up on some work. I hadn’t wandered home until almost eleven. Now, I longed to return to sleep.

“Melanie,” Dad’s voice called up from downstairs. “Come on. Up and at ‘em. We’re expecting four inches of snow before this stuff ends. If you’ve got things to do, best get at them while you can.”

Someplace in this world, fathers turned a blind eye to their offspring’s desire to remain in bed. But not in this house. I shoved my bedcovers aside.

That’s what you get, I told myself, when you live with your employer. Dad not only acted like he owned my time at the newspaper but, most days, the same attitude prevailed at home.

Giving forth a mighty groan, I propelled myself into a sitting position and plopped my warm feet onto the cold floor. Normally, we didn’t work on Saturdays, but this was the holiday season. With only four staffers putting out three weekly issues of the
Gazette
, we’d be swamped between now and Christmas. It wasn’t just the merchant’s busiest time of year, it was ours as well. At least, I thought with relish, after Christmas, things would slow down for the next month or so.

I heard Taffy bark someplace downstairs. Then, the back door slammed shut. I assumed Dad and his beloved cocker spaniel were taking off for their daily constitutional, snow or no snow.

Good for them, I thought, perhaps, a bit uncharitably.

But despite the day’s grayness, I quickly showered, and dressed, and in short order, was pulling my Fiesta out of our garage. By then, Dad had already left for the office. I followed his tire tracks down the drive and out onto the slippery street.

At work, Betty was already behind the receptionist’s desk when I walked through the front door. “Morning’,” she called out cheerily to me. “How are the streets?”

“Slick.”

“It’ll be worse on the way home.”

“No doubt.” I stomped my boots free of snow on the rug which trailed from the front door to Betty’s desk.. “How did Toby like his stint at the cabin?”

“He said it was fun. He doesn’t much care for the costume, though.”

“Tell him Ginger’s standing firm. I tried arguing the point with her and lost.”

“Toby’s thought of a couple of changes. He’ll try working those past her. He thinks he wouldn’t feel like such a silly goose.”

I silently wished him luck. “What’s his biggest complaint?”

“The slippers and stockings.”

“Can’t blame him on the slippers. Ginger told me she’d found them in the attic. She thinks they must have belonged to her great grandmother.”

“Ugh, I think I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself. Toby might burn them if he hears who they once belonged to.”

“No matter how he feels about the costume, I hope he stays with the job. Ginger intends to keep Toby working right up to Christmas. That could mean some pretty good money for your boy.”

“He knows it. I think he’ll bring her round, though, on the costume.”

Bringing Ginger “round” on anything would be a first, I thought. “Did any new assignments come in overnight?”

Part of Betty’s job was to check the phone messages every morning and pass out whatever assignments had been phoned in.” It wasn’t unusual for requests for news coverage to arrive that way. Maybe someone wanted a photo shot of a square dance at the VFW, or one taken of speaker at a monthly session of the Grandmother’s Club. 

“Nope,” Betty said. “Everything remains as it was. I imagine if this snow keeps up much longer though, your dad’s gonna want some shots of snow piles or such.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “I’d already been planning to cover road closures.”

“What about the murder?” Betty asked.

“I’ll scour the Times to see what details they have.”

The
Times
was the largest newspaper in our area. Published in a city about forty miles from Cloverton, it covered the main news in our county. But the paper left the little stuff
—
the spelling bees, the Boy Scout news, anniversaries and such 
—
  to us. Dad and I monitored their pages daily to be sure we hadn’t missed a major story. Most of the time, our coverage held up just fine. Thank you very much.

“That murder was a nasty business,” Betty said, with a firm shake of her head. “Who’d want to go and kill an old man like that?”

“I hope we find out soon.” But I avoided any mention of my plans to lend a hand with the effort. Dad tended to get a bit irritated with me when he thought I was putting myself in danger. But then, he would. I was his only child.

I sighed and made my way to the office. I suspected a rash of early morning accidents from the snowstorm needed to be checked out and written up.

After slipping out of my parka, I hung it on the corner coat rack. The boots went down below the coat. My purse, I plopped into my bottom desk drawer. I took a quick time out to collect a cup of coffee from the break room. There, a new, fancy coffee maker had replaced our old broken pot, the one that had played such a big part in my last brush with a killer.

Finally, armed with a fresh ration of caffeine, I returned to my office and fired up my computer. Pulling open a drawer filled with press releases and notes from last week’s Police Pension Board meeting, I tore into my daily tasks. From there, I started calling around, checking on street conditions and accident reports
— all in preparation for Monday’s edition.
.

Shortly before noon, I headed to the break room where I heated a can of soup for lunch. Betty joined me. We discussed weather, and murder, and Christmas shopping plans. I shopped almost exclusively with local merchants. Our advertisers supported us, so I felt duty bound to return the favor. Dad, of course, felt the same way.

It wasn’t until late afternoon, when I was about to put on my coat and walk out the door, that my phone rang.

“I’ve got  him.” It was Ginger.

“You’ve got whom?”

“My elf.”

“I’m sorry. I’m confused. The ad won’t come out until Monday.”

“I don’t need it. A woman walked in off the street this morning. Said she’d heard about Scroggins’ death and wanted to know if she could have the job.”

“And you hired her?”

“Yeah, her name is Agnes Plummer. She’s perfect.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you. I’ll tell Dad so he can pull the ad.”

“Do thank him for me. It was nice of him to offer to run it for free.”

“I will. But tell me, aren’t you concerned about Agnes being left alone with Santa?”

“Don’t give it a thought. Agnes could kick Santa out the door and halfway to the North Pole if he tried to get smart with her. She’s tough.”

“What about the Elf costume?”

“Fits her like it was made for her.”

“That’s great,” I said. But on some level, I couldn’t help wondering what could have driven this woman to volunteer for so lousy a job? And before it had even been advertised yet.

~~~

That night, after battling my way home over ice-covered roads, I’d just sat down to one of Father’s wonderful meals when the phone rang. This night Dad had opted for lamb stew with cornbread muffins. The meal was a perfect counterbalance to the dreadful winter weather surrounding us.

But despite being settled at the table, when the phone rang, Dad excused himself and answered the call. Within seconds he returned to the dining room. “It’s Wendy Cartwright. She wants to speak with you.”

I rose and proceeded to the kitchen. “Yes?” I said.

“Melanie, is that you?”

“Of course. But Wendy, what’s the matter?”

“I think Gossford believes I killed Barnaby.”

I already knew of the police chief’s suspicions, but I saw no sense in feeding her fear. “You’re worrying needlessly,” I lied. “I’m sure Gossford has more sense than that.”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, not that I think he’s senseless or anything. But he’s been after me about how much keeping Barnaby had cost me. And about how much money I’d spent remodeling the apartment for him. It was like he thought I considered Barnaby a financial burden. I tried to make him see that the money didn’t matter. But I‘m not sure he believed me.”

“Has Gossford threatened to arrest you?”

“He hasn’t come right out and said so, but he’s been back here several times. The last time he had a search warrant for my old gardening shed.”

“Did he say what he hoped to find?”

“Poison.”

“I’ll be right over.”

On my return to the dining room, Father frowned. “You’re going out in this awful weather?”

“Can’t be helped. Wendy is nearly hysterical. She thinks Gossford’s about to arrest her for murdering her cousin.”

“You’re sure she didn’t do it?”

“I think she’s an unlikely killer.”

“Melanie, I’d  rather you didn’t involve yourself in another murder case. Remember how that ended last time?”

“I’m not going to do anything but lend a delightful woman an ear and give her a hug.”

“On a night like this?” Dad shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yes, she does. She’s a lovely and caring woman.”

“If you were younger, I’d lock you in your room.”

“You tried that last time, remember?”

He sighed. “Wait here. Okay?”

He rushed to the kitchen and a short time later returned bearing a large plastic container. “At least if you’re leaving this house, you’re not doing so without dinner. Plus, Wendy’s probably forgotten to eat. It’s not uncommon during a loss like this.”

I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Yours will probably be the best meal Wendy has eaten in decades.”

Dad’s chest puffed out a bit. Cooking was his one true vanity. “Be careful driving,” he said. “The streets are sure to be like glass tonight.”

Halfway to Wendy’s house, I almost regretted my mad dash out the door. The roads were slick. Trying to turn left at Henderson and Andrew streets, I slid through the intersection sideways. Fortunately, I was the only fool on the road, so no harm done.

It was with gratitude that I eased my car in front of Wendy’s house a short time later. I didn’t even attempt to pull into her unplowed driveway. Stepping from the car, the wind whipped about my hood and blew snow into my eyes. I lifted my arm and battled my way to the front door.

“Goodness,” Wendy said. She swung the door wide. “Come in. Come in. You are a dear to venture out into a night like this.”

I stepped through the doorway and handed the container of stew to her. “Dad sent this over. I hope you haven’t eaten.” Hands now free, I relieved myself of hat and coat and boots and scarf.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve had a bite all day. Until Gossford proved so hostile, I’d been thinking about Barnaby. After my time spent with Gossford, I started worrying about me.”

“Try not to let the man upset you. I’m sure this will all work out. But I’m glad you haven’t eaten. Dad sent this lamb stew over. I think it’s still warm. I can microwave it for a minute or two to bring it back to steaming.” I took the container of food back from her.

I followed her to the kitchen. The room I entered was small but pleasant. Like her living room, it was crammed with antiques. The original wooden cupboards still existed. They stretched from the floor to the ceiling and had been painted a soft, pleasant green. The setting was made to feel up to date by being enhanced with the latest appliances. Oddly enough, the mix made the room feel rather cozy, a neat trick on this cold and dreary a night. I spotted the police scanner I’d heard yesterday perched on top of her refrigerator.

After locating the microwave, I slipped the stew inside, set the timer, and turned on the machine. Despite my Dad’s kitchen prowess, microwaving was my one and only talent in that department.

Wendy nodded toward a pine, drop-leaf table. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

“Please,” I said, “I’d rather you let me assemble things.”

“My dear, that’s not at all necessary.”

“Maybe not, but I insist anyway. Dishes?” I asked.

“You’ll spoil me,” she protested.

“It’s about time someone did, but it’s really not me. Dad made the meal. All I did was cart it here. Truth be told, I can’t even boil water without scorching the pan.”

Wendy chuckled. “Well, whoever made the meal, it was kind of them. And I do thank you for coming over. I feel better already.”

The cat, who had followed us in from the living room, jumped to the top of the refrigerator, being careful not to bump the scanner. He then sat and inspected me closely.