Grievance in Gingerbread Alley (Christmas Village Cozy Mystery Book 2) Read online

  For the first time, she realized how hard it must be for Willa to investigate all those murders back home. Maybe she should go easier on her. Willa did come up with some halfway decent solutions, and Gus grudgingly admitted her efforts did help solve the crime, sometimes. Gus had never realized before how difficult that must be even with Willa’s unnaturally smart cat.

  She inspected one of the large bird cages. “I suppose it is disturbing when someone in the village dies, but without her around, your lives will be a lot easier, right?”

  “Sure!” Joy eagerly agreed. “She was making quite a ruckus, and people were starting to… hey…wait a minute, you’re not insinuating that we killed her, are you?”

  “No, of course not. Though I did hear something about her getting your bird-keeping permits pulled…”

  Comfort and Joy started fluttering behind the counter. “Not true. Well, she did try, but we’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Yeah, we keep the birds happy and healthy. Just look at them.” Joy gestured toward the window that overlooked the village green. High atop bountiful nests in a shed decorated like a Swiss chalet sat the geese-a-laying. All six of them seemed to be happily settled into their cozy nests. At the far end of the pond, the swans a-swimming glided blissfully. Beyond the swans was a tree laden with golden delicious pears. A little brown bird—the partridge, Gus presumed—poked its head out from under a shrub, looked around, and then darted back into the shrub. The partridge seemed happy. And Gus had heard the calling birds squawking their heads off earlier that morning. They were quite healthy, if the volume of their ear-piercing calls was any indication.

  But just because the birds were healthy and happy didn’t mean that Comfort and Joy hadn’t killed Vicky.

  “I suppose they do look happy, but still when people start poking around in your business, it can get sticky,” Gus said.

  Comfort and Joy glared at her. The vibe was no longer friendly, and Gus figured she might have worn out her welcome.

  “Sure, it was a pain the way she kept putting up those flyers and spouting off about the birds, but our permits were in good standing, and we have no violations. Just ask Mary Dunn down at the town hall. She’s in charge of making sure the tourist attractions are in compliance. She’ll tell you we had nothing to worry about.”

  Chapter 3

  On the way home from Ruffled Feathers, Gus made a detour to the town offices to talk to Mary Dunn. The conversation would cut into her practice time, but suddenly solving this crime seemed much more important.

  As she walked, she did an online search for poisons on her phone. There were a few that could be disguised in food and wouldn’t take effect for an hour or so later. Was it possible someone had put something in Vicky’s food earlier that morning? The husband might have shown up with the bag as a way to prove that he didn’t give her food earlier, because if he had, why bring takeout now?

  The town offices were just down the street from the toy factory where Gus had heard they employed elves to make the toys. Seriously? She figured it was just a rumor the town perpetuated to keep up the persona of Christmas Village, which seemed to have all the usual tropes from childhood Christmas shows.

  She passed the giant crossed candy canes in front of the toy factory door and turned down a cobblestone street lined with old buildings and classical architecture. The town offices were in an older brick building that had granite steps and carved concrete columns in front. Next to the steps, a snowman stood beside a Christmas tree that was decked out in blue and silver vintage style ornaments.

  The doors opened into a marble-floored lobby. Luckily, signs were posted along the wall, and she found Mary Dunn’s office quite easily. Gus tapped on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Mary’s office wasn’t anything like the stark governmental office she’d expected. The room was light and airy with white painted furniture, large windows, and lots of plants. Mistletoe, to be exact.

  A middle-aged brunette sat behind the desk tying sprigs of mistletoe. Gus glanced up. She didn’t want to get caught underneath the plant and have someone run in and kiss her unexpectedly. She hated surprises, especially if they involved kissing.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Umm, yes…” On the way down the hall, Gus had decided that she’d pretend to be doing research on the village for a news article. Town officials always liked to have their names in the paper, and since Mary was in charge of village tourism, she’d be eager to talk. “I was doing some research on Christmas Village for an article and people said you were the one to talk to.”

  Mary brightened and gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Please have a seat.”

  Gus picked up a sprig of mistletoe that had been lying on the seat of the chair, and Mary said, “Sorry, I’m making up some decorations to put about in the shops. We always like to put it out fresh near the holiday. You can just put that on the desk.”

  Gus put the sprig on the desk and sat in the chair. Hadn’t she seen mistletoe listed as a poisonous plant when she did her Google search earlier? The birds were a big tourist attraction in Christmas Village, and if Vicky was complaining about their care, Mary probably wouldn’t be too happy about that. If Vicky had been poisoned with Mistletoe, that would place Mary on Gus’s suspect list. But how could she find out what substance was used to poison Vicky? Winters certainly wouldn’t tell her. She needed to make friends with some of the locals and get tapped into the rumor mill.

  Mary finished the red satin bow she’d been tying around the sprig with a flourish and turned to Gus, focusing on her. “Now, what can I tell you about the village?”

  Gus took a deep breath and tried to phrase her questions the way someone writing an article would phrase them as opposed to the usual blunt line of questioning she used as a sheriff. “Well, Christmas Village is so different from other places. You’ve got the pipers piping, the maids a-milking, all the snowmen and decorations and birds. There must be criteria for all these things, I imagine, right?”

  “Yes, of course. We have certain standards and pride ourselves in a realistic and unforgettable experience.”

  “And I suppose all of those attractions require permits of some sort?”

  Mary frowned, looking suspicious of Gus’s line of questioning. “Of course. We make sure everything is in order and has the proper permits as mandated by state law.”

  Gus plastered on a friendly smile and nodded enthusiastically to banish any fears Mary might have that she was some sort of undercover state inspector on a surprise visit. “Right, of course. I wanted to emphasize in the article how everything is safe and how well treated the animals are.”

  This last bit seemed to mollify Mary. “That’s good. I appreciate that.”

  “What about the care of the cows that the maids milk, the horses that pull the sleighs, and the birds? I heard that lady outside saying that the birds aren’t well cared for and should be removed from the village.”

  Mary made a dismissive noise. “Vicky Smithers. She’s been spouting off about that for months now. All of our animals are well cared for, and the permits to house them here are in order. We have routine state inspections and have never failed one.”

  “So, those girls that take care of the birds weren’t in any danger of losing their permits because of Vicky, then?”

  Mary looked taken aback. “No. Well, I guess she was creating a bit of a ruckus, but I don’t think it was going to amount to anything.”

  “I guess they won’t have to worry about that anymore, anyway.” Gus kept her voice casual and studied Mary for her reaction.

  “What do you mean?” Mary looked her straight in the eye, but Gus couldn’t tell if Mary already knew about the death. Surely, since she worked in the town hall, news would have spread to her already. Maybe she’d been too busy with the mistletoe. Or maybe she was only acting like she hadn’t heard because she knew more about it than she should.

  “The woman died not long ago.”

  Ma
ry gasped. Her hand flew to her chest. “Really? I had no idea. What happened?”

  “She was putting up one of those flyers and just dropped dead.”

  Mary frowned. “Dropped dead? You mean a heart attack? Come to think of it, she did get very worked up. Her face would turn all red. I bet she had a heart condition.”

  Before Gus could tell Mary that Vicky might not have died from natural causes, the door opened, and a woman in her early twenties peeked in. “Oh sorry, didn’t know you had someone in here, Auntie.”

  Mary gestured for her to come in. “It’s okay, dear. This is my niece Belinda. She’s one of the maids a-milking.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Gus said. “Speaking of which, I suppose there are all kinds of regulations about the milk used in the village too.” Gus was trying to keep in character and not tip Mary off that she was only interested in the birds.

  “Of course there is, but we followed them all,” Belinda said eagerly. “That’s why Auntie has to take me to the Good Tidings Café with my pail of milk. The milk has to be delivered within ten minutes, and it takes too long for me to walk all the way.”

  Mary grimaced. “Belinda was in a little bit of trouble last year and lost her driver’s license. So I drive her for her deliveries.”

  “That’s nice that you can do that. This is great info for my article.” Gus stood. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  At the door, Gus turned, remembering the note in Vicky’s appointment book. Mary probably knew a lot of people in town and might be able to make sense of it.

  “Before I go, I do have one more question. Is there someone in town with a name like Saint Nic who would have something to do with the birds or the permitting?”

  Mary frowned. “Saint Nick? No, I don’t think so. That’s an odd name.”

  “It wasn’t really Saint Nick. More like S-T N-I-C.” Gus spelled out the letters she’d seen on the calendar. “An abbreviation, maybe?”

  “Oh, I know!” Belinda said. “That must be Steven Nicholson. He’s a lawyer in town. I have to meet with him for my probation. That’s how I know. He looks over all the legal documents, including permits.”

  “Why do you ask that?” Mary asked.

  “Just something I saw on a note.” Lawyer? Interesting. Gus said goodbye and headed out. If Vicky had an appointment with a lawyer, that might mean she was about to take legal action. And that would mean the killer had an even more urgent motive.

  Chapter 4

  Gus spent the rest of the afternoon familiarizing herself with the songs she and the sax player, Ivy Peterson, had agreed upon. She arrived at the North Pole Lounge precisely on time to meet her and practice a little before the customers started piling in.

  A red sleigh with six reindeer attached was parked out front. The reindeer stamped their hooves and nodded their fuzzy antlers in her direction as she passed. Gus gave them a wide berth. She’d made the mistake of trying to pet one of the majestic creatures on her first day in town, and that had resulted in the whole team of reindeer making fun of her and calling her a Barbie doll. So what if she had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and an hourglass figure on the outside? On the inside she was tough, a competent officer of the law, and she was certainly no doll. And since when did reindeer talk anyway? Apparently that was part of the Christmas Village magic.

  The North Pole Lounge had all the ambiance of a big-city jazz club. The club was dimly lit with candles on the black tables and twinkling miniature white lights in strategic places. The charcoal rug, dark gray walls, and black ceiling added to the chic-but-cozy ambience.

  The lounge had a long bar that ran the length of the wall opposite the door and was lit with a soothing blue light from underneath. The hour was early, and only two people sat at the bar. One of them was a large beefy man. It wasn’t surprising to see someone like that here. What was surprising was the person he was talking to: Detective Winters.

  Winters had a long paper in her hand, so long that it curled down onto the top of the bar like an old scroll. She was writing something at the top of it.

  “Excuse me, are you Gus Chance?”

  Gus turned to see a woman of about twenty-five. She was fresh faced with a smattering of freckles across her nose and an eager look in her periwinkle-blue eyes. The young woman was carrying a saxophone case, so it didn’t take much detective work to figure out who it was. “Ivy Peterson?”

  The girl nodded enthusiastically, her halo of strawberry blonde curls bobbing around her head. Her eyes drifted over to the bar, widening when she recognized Detective Winters. “Did you hear about what happened today?” she said in a low voice.

  “The death? Yeah.”

  “They said natural causes but…”

  Ivy let her voice trail off, and Gus cast her an appraising look. From the sound of it, the girl didn’t believe it was natural causes, either, and the way she was staring at Detective Winters led Gus to believe she had an interest in the case.

  “You don’t think it was natural causes?” Gus said.

  “Not really. I mean, she wasn’t that old, and she was causing trouble in town. Some people might have wanted to get rid of her.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Gus said.

  They both strained to overhear the conversation going on between Winters and the man at the bar, which was not very difficult because Winters was talking pretty loudly. Gus caught the words “…poisoned with hemlock.”

  Hemlock! Gus was mildly disappointed it wasn’t mistletoe, but then that would have been too easy since she knew exactly where to go to find that.

  “Poisoned!” Ivy gasped.

  Winters’s gaze flicked in their direction. Her expression screwed up into a scowl when she recognized Gus. She pushed up from her stool, rolled up her scroll, and headed over to them.

  “What are you doing here? Investigating?” Winters demanded. Gus resisted the urge to step back and apologize. She was on equal footing with Winters now and no longer the student.

  “No. Playing jazz.” Gus pointed at the shiny black baby grand piano in the corner. Ivy lifted her sax case.

  Winters’s scowl deepened. “You play jazz?”

  “Yep.”

  Winters stared at her for a few minutes and then nodded. Her gaze drifted to Ivy and then back to Gus.

  “Make sure you keep it to just playing jazz, Sherlock.” Winters spun on her heel and left.

  “That was weird,” Ivy said. “Guess I was right about Vicky. Sounds like she was poisoned, which means she was murdered.”

  Gus wasn’t sure what to make of Ivy. She was a little too excited about murder. “Sounds that way. You seem to be overly interested in Vicky’s death. Why is that?”

  “You don’t think I always want to be a piper piping, do you? A girl’s got to have ambitions, and mine is to be a police detective.” Ivy looked sideways at Gus. “You seem overly interested, too, and why did Winters call you Sherlock?”

  “I’m in law enforcement.”

  Piper looked at her admiringly. “Are you here investigating undercover?”

  “Hardly. I’m here on vacation and to play jazz.”

  “Then why did it seem like Winters was warning you off? Sounds like you know her.”

  Gus sighed. She had to hand it to the girl—she was persistent if nothing else.

  “She was my teacher at the police academy.”

  “So you’re a detective too?”

  “Sheriff.”

  Gus could practically see stars in the young saxophone player’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re not investigating? Because Winters seems to think so.”

  “I might have been a bit over-inquisitive at the crime scene. I thought Winters might be trying to get out of investigating by saying the death was natural, and I couldn’t let that happen. But now it looks like she might be digging into it.”

  “So you are interested in investigating. I’d love to help.”

  Gus studied Ivy. She was enthusiastic and probably had good instincts if sh
e’d figured that Vicky didn’t die of natural causes. And she did know people in town, which would make getting information easier. Perhaps she could come in handy. “Maybe I could use some help. Do you know that guy at the bar that Winters was talking to?”

  “Yule Navidad? Sure, he runs the reindeer transport and just took over the toy factory. Nice guy.”

  “Reindeer transport? Why do you think Winters was talking to him? She mentioned the poison to him, so they must have been talking about the case. Do you have any idea why he would be involved?”

  “Do you think he’s a suspect? As far as I know, he didn’t know Vicky, and her complaints didn’t really affect him because reindeer are supposed to live in this climate.” Ivy pressed her lips together. “But nothing gets in or out of Christmas Village unless it comes in one of his sleighs. Maybe Winters was following a lead about a delivery for Vicky. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Gus followed Ivy to the bar, and they did a round of introductions. Yule looked Gus over. “You new in town, huh?”

  “Just on vacation,” Gus said. The last thing she wanted was to encourage romance from some toy-producing sleigh driver.

  Ivy got straight to the point. “We saw Winters here. Was she asking something about the murder?”

  Yule smiled at her. “I figured you’d be around to ask.” He turned to Gus. “Ivy here is a budding detective. She’s a good kid, see?”

  Gus nodded. “Yes, I see.”

  Then he turned back to Ivy. “She was asking about hemlock. Seems that lady was poisoned with hemlock. But not just any kind. It was fresh.”

  “Why would she be asking you about that?” Gus asked. She was skeptical about Winters’s methods. Normally, police didn’t spill their guts about these details to the citizens unless they were trying to trip up a suspect.

  “Nothing gets in or out of Christmas Village without me knowing because I have the only shipping transport,” Yule said. “Fresh produce or livestock requires special permits, and Winters wanted to know who got fresh produce in this week.”