Deadly Traditions, page 5
“No?”
“Nope. They got it at an estate sale here in town. Who knows where it really came from originally.”
That had my ears perked. Maybe it wasn’t that the thieves wanted to steal it so they could sell it. Maybe it had sentimental value for the previous family. “Whose estate sale was it?”
My old friend lowered his chin. “How should I know?”
Chuckling, I nodded toward his pocket, assuming he kept his phone there. “Text your mom and ask her.”
“She’s gonna freak.”
“You don’t have to say anything about why you’re asking, just ask her where she got it.”
He didn’t look too sure, but he pulled his phone out and texted her. She replied right away, and he turned the phone around so I could see her text on the screen.
Marion Kemper.
And that name hit me like a bolt of lightning. Marion Kemper was the great-grandmother of none other than our teenage klepto—Ronald Draper. And I knew this because everyone thought it was weird that such a fancy family had spawned a brood of lowlife criminals.
But how the heck had Ronald pulled this off? Nico had already ruled him out as a suspect. But … had anyone been watching his uncle? Or … ah. Maybe even his other uncle. The one who’d gotten out of prison recently for you guessed it—grand larceny.
“I have to go,” I said suddenly, making Cory’s eyes grow wide as I moved for the door. “Tell Ryan and Nico what you told me when they get here. They’ll want to do their police work or whatever, but I don’t have time for all that procedural stuff.”
“Where are you going? What are you talking about?”
“Tell my brother I’ll be at Ronald Draper’s trailer.”
Cory balked. “Ronald Draper? There’s no way that kid broke in here and stole this thing. He’s like fifteen, and it probably weighs more than he does.”
Not wanting to waste a second, I waved him off as I slipped out the front door. “Just tell them!”
Chapter 9
When I pulled into the trailer park where Ronald lived with his uncles, the place was dark and quiet. I didn’t know how many of his neighbors had been to the community center with the rest of the town tonight, but if they were home, they were all settled in for the night by the looks of things. It was eerily still on the cold December night as I let my car door click shut instead of slamming it like I’d almost done in my haste to get up to the door.
Knocking softly, my mouth parted slightly as I realized how stupid it was for me to come here alone and not wait for my brother and his partner. But I wasn’t known for being very patient, and clearly, I hadn’t started playing it safe like Ryan and Nico wanted after the last debacle I’d been wrapped up in. Oops.
“Who is it?” came the gruff reply from the other side of the door.
“Um, Girl Scout Cookies.” I winced. Really? That was all I could think of to say? Girl Scout Cookies sold by an adult in the dead of winter after nine o’clock at night? Right.
“Go away. Can’t you read the sign? No soliciting.”
I looked to my right and found a battered old metal sign hanging near the door. The letters were worn and the n in no was practically nonexistent. He should probably replace it, since the no was the key word in the sentiment.
But then … wait. He believes me. Weird.
“Oh, this sign? No one ever means that when it’s cookies,” I replied brightly.
The door whipped open, and I found myself staring into the hardened eyes of Clarence Draper. He wore a white undershirt that had yellow stains under his pits and what looked like a drop of spaghetti sauce on the mound of his stomach. And I’d know. Being Italian meant I’d dripped my fair share of red sauce on my clothes, no matter how many times my mom and grandma warned me against wearing lightly colored outfits to dinner.
“Aren’t you the coffee girl?” Clarence asked with the thick strips of dark hair over his eyes pulled so tightly together they almost formed a unibrow. “Why don’t you just sell your cookies out of your coffee cart instead of buggin’ people at home?”
“Um, well, good idea.” Was he seriously still believing the cookie story? Whatever. If the biggest part of this lie for him to get over was believing I’d go door-to-door instead of selling them out of my coffee bus and not the fact that I wasn’t an adolescent girl, I’d run with it. “I’ll do that next time. But for now, can you let me in so I can show you this year’s lineup of cookie flavors?”
I’d bought enough cookies from our local troop to know the lineup didn’t change much year to year. And I also knew it wouldn’t be cookie season for another couple of months. But since Clarence didn’t, I pulled out my phone and Googled, quickly bringing up a photo of the cookies and descriptions for him to browse while I checked out his trailer. Surely, a massive chandelier wouldn’t be easy to hide in such a tiny space, would it?
Clarence yanked the door closer to his body so I couldn’t see inside. “It’s not a good time. Sell them out of your coffee cart, and I’ll buy some later.”
Out of ideas—since this one had been ridiculously stupid anyway—I tucked my phone back in my pocket with a resigned sigh. “Okay, look. I’m not really here to sell cookies. I’m here to ask you a couple of questions about something that happened tonight.”
“What, the gingerbread house nonsense? I had nothing to do with that. I left before it even happened.”
I fought the urge to smile at his admission. Clarence wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and he obviously didn’t think I knew the real chandelier was missing. Maybe he thought no one had noticed it yet. If it weren’t for me, no one would have until whenever Mrs. Daniels made it home, and maybe by then he’d have stashed it somewhere.
Well, sorry not sorry, buddy. “Oh, you left early?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t even there during all that. I dropped off my nephew so he could have some good, wholesome fun. That’s not a crime, is it?”
No, it wasn’t. But dropping off his nephew so he could pull off an elaborate scheme to steal a valuable item from an unoccupied house was definitely a crime. Larceny, in fact.
“What time did you leave? Just so I can make sure I understand.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing into slits. “Okay, hang on. Are you a coffee girl or a cookie seller or a cop?”
“Um, coffee girl who feels bad for her overworked and underpaid brother who is a cop,” I ventured, deciding not to touch the cookie thing with a ten-foot pole and hoping to appeal to his blue-collar worker vibes. This guy was in construction if my memory served me, so he was no stranger to long hours and hard work and could sympathize. I hoped. Then again, I was accusing him and his brother of theft. So maybe not. “I just want to help out however I can, and everyone was pretty upset after that house got smashed.”
“Well, like I said. I didn’t do it. I left the community center before the voting even started. Don’t know exactly what time it was because I don’t wear a watch, but there ya go. Is that all?”
I heard a sound that was almost like a wind chime—if it were made of crystals—from inside the trailer. Clarence coughed loudly into his fist as if he could belatedly cover the sound, so I played it off like I hadn’t heard it. Was that Ronald in there messing with the chandelier? Or was it the thieving uncle?
Either way, there was no doubt in my mind the missing monstrosity was hiding inside, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that the other uncle had been the one to smash the gingerbread house, with Ronald conveniently outside where he could be seen during the smashing, and Clarence at the house stealing the chandelier!
In my mind, a tiny version of myself did cartwheels. But on the outside, I continued to pretend I wasn’t putting pieces of this mystery together like a prize-winning puzzler. Sure, maybe my brother and Nico would have reached this conclusion on their own eventually, but by then, who knew where this thieving trio would have stashed the loot?
“Actually,” I said, smiling cheerily as the sound of gravel crunching under tires as Ryan’s unmarked cruiser pulled up next to my car, “I do have one more question.”
Clarence stood straight as a board at the sight of Ryan and Nico getting out of their car, then flicked his gaze back to me. “What?”
“Where the heck did you guys plan to hang your grandmother’s old chandelier? Did you think it’d make a good front porch light?”
Fury surged through the man as Ryan and Nico approached. “That old lady never should have let her stuff go to that dumb estate sale instead of giving it to us. We deserve it.”
“Sure, you do,” I said with an eye roll. Then I turned to my brother and his partner. “Guys, I’m pretty sure the chandelier is in there, along with Clarence’s brother and probably Ronald. Though, maybe you can take it easy on him. He’s just a kid.”
Ryan chuckled, and Nico blinked at me. “Oh sure, now you’re playing cop, lawyer, judge, and criminal advocate?”
“And Girl Scout, apparently,” I teased. “Anyway, I’m cold. Can you bust in there and wrap this whole thing up?”
“Not without a warrant,” Nico said in a clipped tone.
“Does it help if I said I heard it clinking around? That’s like, reasonable doubt … er, probable cause. Right? You know, that thing where it’s like, ‘I heard something so I can go in.’ Boom, Sparta-kick to the door.”
“You watch way too many crime dramas,” Nico said under his breath.
Clarence wedged himself even tighter between the doorframe and the door itself. “No way. You need a warrant.”
“The jig is up, Mr. Draper,” Ryan said in an easy tone. “Considering the fact that the chandelier once belonged to your grandmother and your brother recently got out of prison for grand larceny, I’d say my sister hearing the clinking sounds gives us plenty of cause to ask you to step aside. It’s over.”
With one last furious look in my direction, Clarence moved back and pushed open the particle board door. That thing definitely wouldn’t have survived a Sparta-kick. I gasped in delight as I took in the giant crystal chandelier taking up the majority of the living room area, looking a little worse for wear, but would otherwise be returned to Mrs. Daniels in one piece.
But then my eyes caught movement on the wall behind the chandelier, and I gripped the sleeve of Nico’s coat as I stared at an ugly floral curtain dancing from the winter wind. “Look. The window.”
There was no sign of the other Draper uncle in the cramped trailer. And since, unlike Clarence, he was skinny as a twig like Ronald was, that clinking I’d heard was probably from when he’d dashed by the chandelier so he could shimmy out the window.
“He’s long gone by now,” Clarence said with a sigh.
“Don’t worry,” Nico told him as he pulled a set of cuffs out of the leather pouch on his belt, “we’ll find him. But for now, we’ll make-do with you. Clarence Draper, you’re under arrest.”
Chapter 10
“Hazel, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you figured out this mess. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mrs. Daniels said the next day, grabbing me into a hug that nearly broke a rib. She was normally so prim and proper that the move surprised the heck out of me.
“You’re welcome,” I managed to croak into her shoulder.
She pulled back and squeezed my shoulders. “My husband thought I was crazy for how much I loved that chandelier, but just look at it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I peered over at the mass of crystals on the floor of her foyer. Right now, it looked like a mess, but with her money and connections, she’d have it repaired and hanging back where it belonged in no time. “It’s definitely beautiful. I’m glad to have helped.”
“Not that we needed it,” Ryan said with a playful eye roll. He and Nico had begrudgingly brought me with them to return the chandelier to its rightful owner because Mrs. Daniels had insisted on thanking me. “We would have figured it out.”
Mrs. Daniels and I looked at my brother and his partner as if we were both calculating how long that would have taken them, considering their blatant lack of interest in the gingerbread crisis. If I hadn’t come over here to tell Mrs. Daniels how sorry I was that her big night had taken such a dramatic turn, Clarence and his brother might have been long gone with their spoils. Once Ryan and Nico had gotten Clarence to the station, he’d admitted they were arguing over what to do with it when I’d shown up, but in any scenario, they knew they all needed to get out of there—and fast.
They just hadn’t gone fast enough. Well, not all of them, anyway. Poor Ronald had apparently snuck out with his skinny uncle, and they were both in the wind.
“Hazel,” Mrs. Daniels said, turning back to me without acknowledging my brother’s comment, “I’m having a Christmas dinner party next week when my husband gets back from his business trip. We would be honored if you would cater it.”
“Cater it?” I asked, not understanding my place at a fancy dinner party.
“Yes, hot cocoa and Lexi’s baked goods. She can make a variety of Christmas selections for us, right?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “She’d love to and so would I. Thank you!”
“It’s the least I can do. Dinner will be served around seven, so I expect we’ll be ready for you around nine. But get here a little early so you can set up, and I’ll make sure to leave you space in the driveway for your truck.”
After a final bout of thanks, Ryan, Nico, and I said our goodbyes to Mrs. Daniels and headed into the bitingly cold morning air.
“I think we’re gonna get some more snow today,” I said, inhaling through my nose and then wincing from the icy burn. “I can smell it.”
“You can smell it?” Nico asked with a sardonic smile as we reached the car.
“You’re from New York. You’re telling me you can’t smell the change in the air right before it snows?”
He scoffed. “Trust me, smelling the air in New York City is nothing like what you’re doing now. In fact, it’s a health hazard.”
“What are you even doing here?” I asked. My curiosity over that particular mystery still bugged me every time I saw the man. “Why did you leave New York and move to Pine Lakes?”
Nico’s eyes darkened a little before he looked away. “Have you ever heard the expression curiosity killed the cat?”
Without bothering to reply, I reached for the car door to get out of the frigid breeze that’d just picked up. But Nico reached for it at the same time, and my cold hand collided with his, shooting a contrasting blast of heat up my arm when I jerked back. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and wrapped his fingers around the handle and opened the door for me.
I eyed him dubiously. “I don’t think I like the optics of you opening the door for me when I’m getting into the back seat of a cruiser.”
“Good. Remember the image,” he shot back with a wink. “And Hazel?” he asked, causing me to stop with one leg in and one out.
“Yeah?”
“Great job on this whole gingerbread thing. I wanted to throttle you for rushing over to that trailer without waiting for us, but I’m glad you were able to keep Clarence from making off with it before we got there.”
“Throttle me, huh?” My lips pull up into a teasing smile. “Careful, detective. You’re starting to make me think you care a lot more about my well-being than you do about me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Nico’s face was so unreadable I found myself wishing for a translator, so I huffed and slid into the car.
“Want us to drop you at the Busy Bean?” my brother asked over his shoulder as Nico got in next to him.
“No, I need to go get Latte from Lexi and take her for a walk. The dog, not Lexi.”
“Figured,” Ryan replied. Then he cleared his throat as he pulled away from the curb. “Maybe I’ll grab a box of donuts for the guys while we’re there.”
Leaning forward so I could stick my face between Ryan and Nico, I grinned wickedly. “Looking for an excuse to talk to Lexi, brother?”
“Sit back and put on your seat belt,” Nico ordered.
But even as I did as I was so snarkily told, I didn’t miss the look that passed between the two men in the front of the car. Interesting.
I hope you enjoyed this mini mystery! Stay tuned for the next installment of the Coffee Truck Cozy Mystery series, where Mrs. Daniels’s dinner party turns into a deadly night to remember!
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About Justine Maxwell
Justine Maxwell writes cozy mysteries with brave heroines, strong family bonds, and a touch of romance. She has degrees in psychology from Northern Arizona University and Grand Canyon University. She hopes to one day become a reclusive author in a mountain cabin near Flagstaff, AZ. Until then, she'll be a busy mom of four small children and one (allegedly) hypoallergenic pup, writing in the midst of chaos.
Killing the Carol
SAM CHEEVER
FaLaLaLaLa the songbird’s dead.
* * *
It seems like a bad joke. I mean, Carol Ling? What cruelty of parental whim would make people name a kid Carol when her last name was Ling? But that’s not really the point, is it? The point is her death. Or really murder. Somebody must have decided that killing Carol was the best way to…er…kill caroling. If anything would induce me to murder it’s hearing myself caterwauling Christmas songs in front of an endless array of unfortunate victims. The term, “mating cats” comes to mind. Though, I’m pretty sure mating cats are more in tune than I am.
Chapter 1
“I’m pretty sure I don’t need the corset,” I told the flashily clad octogenarian clomping around my bedroom in a pair of hot-pink kitten-heeled slippers. Pinella Gerrard was an eighty-year-old spinster who thought she was a sexpot. And, since she’d decided to adopt me, I was currently suffering under her questionable expertise regarding the period costume I was being forced to wear for the evening’s caroling event in the town square.
