Deadly Traditions, page 3
But no … wait. That couldn’t be it. They looked much too distressed for their reactions to be about who won. Unable to stand it any longer, I put a hand on my brother’s shoulder for balance and climbed onto my chair so I could see. And then I gasped, my hands flying up to clap over my mouth.
Mrs. Daniels had won, but the beautiful house she’d hired someone to create? It was completely ruined.
Ryan, who’d jumped onto his chair, too, even though he was at least a little taller than me but apparently wanted my view as well, looked down at me with a grim expression. “Well. That kinda looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”
Chapter 5
People crowded around the table so they could see, but the chaos quickly grew out of hand. Ryan leaned over to Nico and yelled, “Do you think we should clear the room before everyone starts trampling each other?”
“Not if they want to find out who did this. No one should leave,” came Nico’s stiff reply. His eyes raked around the room, and he sighed heavily. “I’ll go call in some uniforms to help us with crowd control. You go talk to the contestant.”
Nico headed for the door, and Ryan started to move through the crowd. I took one look at Lexi and knew we were on the same page. We charged after my brother, just as eager to talk to Mrs. Daniels about who she thought might have done this to her house as Ryan was.
“You’d better catch the vandal who ruined my creation,” Mrs. Daniels yelled the second she saw the three of us approach her.
The woman practically radiated with fury, her limbs shook and her otherwise perfectly styled hair looked a touch like she’d grabbed her scalp with enraged fingers and pulled when she’d first seen the big reveal. It made her appear as unhinged as her gingerbread roof at the moment.
Ryan held out his hands in a placating gesture, and right as the mayor approached to speak with them, Cory Daniels appeared next to Lexi and me with his brows nearly reaching his hairline. “I told her not to hire it out, you know.”
I chuckled and crossed my arms. “That’s very unsupportive, Cory. I’m shocked by you.”
“Whoa, hey. I don’t think someone should have smashed the thing, but I had a feeling it would cause drama in one way or another. We all know how seriously the town takes this competition.”
“We sure do,” I said through a sigh.
Nico had moved to the door and now stood in front of it, asking people not to leave. Most were too curious about who might have done this to care that they had to stay. Where else would they rather be if they wanted to know what happened firsthand? The people of Pine Lakes may love to gossip, but witnessing firsthand drama? Nico wouldn’t need to work hard to make them want to stick around for that.
“Who do you think did it?” I asked Cory.
He shrugged. “I’d put my money on Betty. She planned to take home her tenth first-place prize.”
Lexi snorted. “Maybe she put the order in, but those eighty-year-old hands are for placing Skittles onto a row of white icing, not for whatever kind of weapon was used on your mom’s house.”
“You have a point there,” I conceded.
Ryan walked up to us then, scratching his head. “Obviously Betty is denying any involvement, and there was a solid ten minutes when the judges left the room after they’d set up the banners around the winning houses. It really could have been anyone. There are like five entrances to this room and people everywhere. It would be easy to slip in and out without anyone noticing.”
I tilted my head. “If there are tons of people here, why would it be easy to slip in without being noticed? Surely somebody had to have seen them.”
“Not if they were distracted with their gingerbread lattes and gossip. Plenty of crimes are committed with tons of people around. There’s too much going on for them to stick out.”
“Hang on. You sound pretty negative, Ryan Hewitt,” Lexi said. “It’s like you don’t think we’ll figure out who did this.”
He smirked and tucked his hands into his front pockets. “If we do, I hope it doesn’t take too long. No one wants to spend all night questioning a hundred witnesses over a smashed gingerbread house.”
“So, what, you’d rather they just get away with it?” I asked.
“Look, obviously it stinks. But it wasn’t like they smashed it before the voting. Mrs. Daniels already won, and now she’ll take home her winnings and not have to display this thing in her house until it goes stale. You know she was going to have to throw it away eventually, right?”
“Ryan, you have to at least look into it,” I insisted.
My brother sighed. “Of course we’re going to look into it. But don’t get your hopes up. We’re not gonna keep these people here all night if the quicker solution would be for Mrs. Daniels to forget about pressing charges, pick up her prize, and go home a winner.”
Without another word, Ryan walked up to a group of people whispering together. No doubt he wanted to hurry up and question people so he could be done with it. Was he right? Was it pointless to enter into a hard-core criminal investigation when Mrs. Daniels had already won and the only thing hurt in this whole mess was her pride?
“Haze,” Cory said, nudging me with his arm. “My mom’s waving us over.”
Taking a deep breath, I followed him to face his mother, wincing when she blew her nose with a surprising amount of force into a silk handkerchief. One that probably cost more than my jeans, and these were the good ones too. You know, like clearance-section-of-Nordstrom-Rack-as-opposed-to-Ross good.
“How are you holding up, Mrs. Daniels?” I asked, fixing a sympathetic smile on my face. “I’m sorry someone did this to the house, but congratulations on winning before it happened! It would have been so much worse if someone had done it right when we got here.”
“Hazel’s right,” Lexi added helpfully. “We were all able to enjoy how much hard work went into it before it was ruined, so that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she sniffed, looking down at the house like she’d actually spent months laboring over it with her bare hands instead of writing a check. Er—sending a Venmo? Either way. “It’s such a shame that someone’s jealousy got the better of them in this way.”
I peered over at Betty, standing off to the side with a concerned expression on her lined face. She wrung her hands in front of her and bounced from foot to foot like she was scared. Did that mean she was guilty? Or just nervous we’d think she was?
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Lexi, Cory, and his mom. Without waiting for their reply, I headed for Betty. “Hi. I’m sorry about the second-place thing. You doing okay?”
“Me? It’s Mrs. Daniels you should be asking.”
“I already did.”
“Is she?”
I looked from side to side. “Um, sort of. Not really. She’s upset.”
“Ugh, understandably. Imagine, you put all this effort into being a sneaky, conniving, rule-breaking-if-the-rule-had-been-there cheat, and then boom—you don’t even get to bring it home to enjoy for the rest of the holiday season.”
Momentarily speechless, I just stared at the older woman and watched her watch Mrs. Daniels with what definitely looked like sympathy in her light-blue eyes.
“So, you feel bad for her that someone smashed it, but you still hate her for having hired someone to make it?”
“Exactly. She took my number-one spot because she was smart enough to find a loophole in the rules and run with it. Lemme tell you, little girl, if I’d thought of it first, I would have done it, too, and I would have hired a much better architect than she did. I would have had the Taj Mahal of gingerbread houses, and I would have kept up my winning streak. But no, she thought of it first, and I hate her for that. But I wouldn’t want someone to smash up her house. She won not-so-fair and not-so-square, but I’m okay with that.”
Head spinning from the twisted logic that I was sure made perfect sense in her brain, I turned around to survey the room. Mom, Joe, and Gram were chatting with friends from Gram’s book club. Lexi was still with Cory and his mom, and she was rubbing Mrs. Daniels’s back while looking up at her son with a why am I the one comforting her? look. A few uniformed officers were interviewing witnesses, Nico and Ryan among them. But their faces were all very distant, like they’d been sucked into a vortex of small-town gossip, and they weren’t being told anything of value whatsoever.
The urge to act snaked up my spine. I’d taken a liking to sticking my nose into investigations when they involved me, and even though this one didn’t, what else was I supposed to do? They wouldn’t let anyone leave, and I couldn’t very well drive my coffee truck through the front door and serve more gingerbread lattes.
“Betty,” I hedged, scooting close enough to smell a hint of that fabric softener with the fluffy teddy bear on the bottle. “If you didn’t smash her house, do you have any idea who did?”
She made a little humming sound as she thought about it. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Mr. Smythe was more than a little miffed by the whole thing. He said she’d spat on the entire spirit of the competition.”
“By hiring it out?”
“Well, sure.” She waved a hand and lifted her chin. “Mr. Smythe feels this event is about celebrating amateur craftsmanship. Anyone could hire an outside source to create their entry, but what would be the point if everyone started doing it? Between you and me, he was a little more than miffed. It was more like … outraged.”
“Outraged, huh?” I turned to find Mr. Smythe, raising a brow as he stood in a huddle with the other judges. Whatever they were discussing caused them to continuously look over their shoulders to make sure no one was listening, and if that didn’t smell like guilt, I didn’t know what would.
“Thanks for chatting, Betty. Congrats on your second-place win, though. I know it wasn’t what you wanted, but …”
She shrugged, looking resigned to it. “It is what it is, dear. I know I’ve still won first place out of those who constructed their own houses, and so does everyone else in this room. That’s all that matters to me.”
Nodding, I turned and made a beeline for Mr. Smythe. One suspect down, him to go.
Chapter 6
“Mr. Smythe,” I said as I approached, offering a smile to the other judges, “sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a sec?”
A slow smile spread over his round face. “Of course, Ms. Hewitt. I’d be honored.”
“Er, thanks.” I led him away from the group, then when we were far enough away from listening ears, I spun around and adopted what I hoped looked like a casual stance. Inside, though, I pulled on my interrogator hat and was ready to rumble. “So, Mr. Smythe. I heard you were pretty mad about the fact that Mrs. Daniels hired someone to make her gingerbread house.”
He straightened to his full height—which wasn’t much taller than mine, to be honest—and stuck out his chest and bowling-ball-shaped belly in indignation. “Well, clearly. Nowhere in the rules does it say contestants can hire a professional to create their house.”
“Nowhere in the rules does it say they can’t,” I quipped, playing the devil’s advocate in the hopes it would get him flustered enough to say things without thinking.
“It shouldn’t have to!” he roared, causing more than a few heads to turn in our direction.
Getting back to the subject at hand, I cleared my throat and showed Mr. Smythe I had no intentions of cowering at his show of temper. The dummy. I’m Italian. I’d be a pretty mopey person if I got upset or offended every time someone raised their voice in an argument—or even at a friendly family dinner.
“Maybe you’re right,” I allowed, spreading my hands in a placating gesture. “Maybe there shouldn’t have to be anything in the rules about hiring out the work. But in this case, it wasn’t there, so you can’t really fault Mrs. Daniels for doing so.”
Again, my attempt at goading him worked, and he blew out a stinky breath through his nose. Man, his nostrils needed a Tic Tac. Was that a thing?
“Ms. Hewitt, since you obviously don’t possess even an ounce of morality when it comes to fair competition, why don’t you get to the point? Why did you ask to steal me away? It’s been longer than a ‘sec,’ and I’d rather speak to people who share my same values in the spirit of friendly competition.”
“Fine. I wanna know if you smashed the house.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. Did I miss your graduation from the police academy? My apologies.”
“No. I’m not asking officially. But the cops don’t seem too eager to stay here all night and figure out who did it, so I’m helping out.”
“Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree with me, young lady. Need I remind you I’m standing on much higher moral ground than you are? Why would someone who was offended by the blatant disrespect of the spirit of this event retaliate with a petulant act like that?”
His oddly old-fashioned way of speaking caused me to suddenly feel like I’d been dropped into an episode of Sherlock Holmes. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “Right you are, good chap,” but I held it in. Though, that didn’t take away the truth of the mocking sentiment. He really did have a point, as much as I hated to admit it. Sure, Mr. Smythe was a temperamental son-of-a-gun, but he was coming from a place of righteous bluster. It wouldn’t make sense for him to have smashed the house out of spite. No. A more suitable reaction would have been for him to try to get the vote overturned or call for an appeal or something like that.
Realizing that might have been what he was discussing with his fellow judges, I narrowed my eyes at him. “When I walked up, what were you talking to the other judges about? Because if I had to guess, I bet you were trying to convince them to rethink the winner now that the house is a mess.”
Again, another eye roll. “That wouldn’t be in keeping with the spirit of things either, would it?”
“No.” Frustrated by my own lack of experience in questioning suspects without making myself look like an idiot, I looked at the ceiling. “Fine, so I guess I believe that you didn’t smash the house.”
“Oh, well, now I’ll sleep much more soundly when my head meets my pillow tonight.”
This guy should be wearing a cravat and waistcoat for all this high-handed language, I swear. “Great. But while I have you, can you think of anyone else who was as outraged as you are but maybe doesn’t share your … abundant sense of morality?” That last part was said with a little smile, hoping he didn’t take it as mocking as much as acknowledging his viewpoint.
Tucking his hands behind his wide back, he lifted his chin as he thought about it. “Not off the top of my head. Much to my dismay, my compatriots on the judging panel were neither bothered nor offended by Mrs. Daniels’s blatant lack of respect for the parameters of this competition.”
Wrinkling my nose to keep from laughing, I nodded. “Sorry to hear that. Well, thanks for your time, and I’m sorry if I added to the drama by asking if you did it.”
“Not at all, Ms. Hewitt. I’m glad I was able to sufficiently convince you that I am not the man—or woman—you seek. Good luck with your amateur investigation.”
“Thanks,” I said with a wry smile, turning away from him to find my next victim.
But before I could take another step, Nico moved into my path with his head tilted to one side. “Your brother thinks you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong again. Is that true?”
“He calls it ‘playing cop,’” I told him, pursing my lips with a few innocent blinks.
“So do I.”
“Well, that’s fine. Everyone has hobbies, right? What do you play when you’re not actually being a cop?”
“What would you say if I told you I played barista and served up some knockoffs of your espresso drinks?”
I patted his bicep in what was meant to be a friendly gesture and ignored the shot of fire that ran up my arm. “I’d say good for you, and I’d offer to teach you everything I know.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
I shrugged. “Why don’t you take up the craft of coffee, and we’ll find out?”
“Because that would be like encouraging you to take up the craft of policing, and I’m not gonna do that.”
“Why not?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
Something flashed in his eyes then. Something like anger, but not quite as negative as all that. Protectiveness, maybe? “Because, Hazel,” he said, stepping close enough so I could smell the clove in his cologne again, “you almost died the last time you got wrapped up in police matters. No, the last two times, if the stories I’ve heard are true. It’s not safe for you to parade around like you have the skills and training of a detective when you don’t. I won’t have it.”
My brows went up automatically. “You won’t? Nico, you sound like my brother. And I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him. I appreciate the big brother protectiveness, but I promise, I’m a smart woman. I can take care of myself.”
He stared at me for a long moment, seeming to choose his words carefully. Then he looked at the ceiling before saying, “It’s not big brother protectiveness, and I never said you weren’t a smart woman. Just … be careful.”
Without waiting for me to reply, or to properly digest everything he’d just said, Nico turned on his expensive loafers and sauntered away. Swaggered, even. I stared at his retreating form until he was lost in the sea of townspeople, then let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
What the heck was that?
Chapter 7
“How’s the sleuthing going?” Lexi asked, eyeing the ruined house like a kid being tormented by a pile of treats they were told not to eat.
I watched her carefully. She wouldn’t really pluck a licorice string off the house and eat it, would she? I mean, I knew the girl could decimate a bag of Twizzlers like nobody’s business, but ugh. I wasn’t one for violence, but I’d totally slap her hand out of the air if she even tried it. What were besties for if not to save them from snacking on candy that’d been handled by the rando who was hired to build this thing?
