The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

Ginger chuckled as she delivered our hot chocolate to the table.. “Those two names sound like someone’s bad idea of a law firm.”

“Funny.”

Ginger sobered. “Still, Sparks is a good guy.”

“Then, what was the row about?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to push too hard. Mostly, I filled the board members in on Scroggins’ replacement and assured them that I had everything at the cabin well in hand. I didn’t even manage to reach the last person until a little before you showed up.”

“So you failed to work the Sparks conflict into your conversation?”

“Something like that, thought I’m not sure I’d call that a failure, thank you very much.”

I picked up my steaming mug of chocolate. The drink smelled delicious. Maybe it would drown my disappointment with Ginger and her refusal to unearth info on Sparks and his disagreement last year with Scroggins.

“Thank you,” I said of the chocolate. “I know this will cheer me up. Is this also a sign that the board approved Roger’s offer to provide free hot chocolate at the cabin?”

Ginger moaned. “They did. They agreed to it. Can you believe it?”

“I’d think you’d be pleased. Surely your visitors to the cabin will welcome the addition.”

“No doubt they will. I only hope it’s not Roger’s way of worming himself further into my life.”

“I doubt that was his purpose. He’s a businessman, just like you. I suspect he’s eager to be viewed well by his fellow cohorts, that’s all.”

“You don’t know him well enough to be sure of that.”

“No, I don’t. And you don’t know him well enough to contradict me, either.”

“I know enough to consider him a pest.”

“Well, I think he’s a handsome, considerate, and highly available man.”

“Could we get back to discussing the murder, please. That is what was originally listed on the agenda for tonight’s session.”

“Sure, but first I have an update from Larkin.”

“Do tell.”

“He didn’t know that Santa was seriously fond of his gin.”

A look of puzzlement slipped over Ginger’s face. “That does surprise me.”

“Yeah, imagine that. For once, on one subject, we’re better informed than he is.”

“Huh, but did you pick up anything from him  to help us solve the murder?”

“Unfortunately, no. But he thought Agnes would work out as the elf. He sounded a little iffy about her youngest son, but said there was nothing against him yet.” I paused to take a sip of the chocolate. Then, I filled Ginger in on what Porter had said about Scroggins.

“No kidding?” Ginger asked at the conclusion of my update. “Scroggins wanted to set up a business in the old warehouse?”

“According to Porter, yes.”

“Well, first of all, I think it’s too late to launch a successful antiques and craft mall. That’s a bit of a deflated market right now. At least according to the latest business reports.”

“I doubt Scroggins took the time to study the market. What I’m wondering, though, is where he thought the extra money would come from? I don’t suppose his salary at Santa’s Cabin would provide much in the way of ready cash. Yet Porter insisted money was never a problem.”

Ginger shook her head. “What Scroggins earned from the cabin would hardly be enough money to buy a decent flat screen TV, let alone a warehouse.”

“Then what was he counting on to bring in the extra cash?”

“Blackmail?”

Dang
. Leave it to Ginger to be creative. Blackmail had never entered my mind.

“That could explain it,” I suppose. “Unless he expected to come into an inheritance.”

Our eyes grew large. “Wendy?” we said in unison.

“She’s in perfect health,” I protested.

“You know that, how?”

“I saw her Friday night. She was fine.”

“That doesn’t rule anything out. Lisa Clark’s aunt was fine one day and dead the next.”

“Yes, but if Scroggins was counting on an inheritance from her, he would have had to have known she was about to die.”

“Maybe Wendy is sicker than she looks.”

“I hope not.”

Ginger’s face softened. “You really like the gal, don’t you?”

“Yes, she’s just the kind of woman I’d have wanted for a grandmother.”

“All the more reason you should move into that vacant apartment of hers.”

“It isn’t vacant. It’s still full of Scroggins’ things and the door to the place is barred with crime scene tape.”

“That will come down.”

“Eventually.”

“Exactly.”

Drats. Ginger was nothing if not persistent.

~~~

When I reached home that night, Dad was in his armchair,  the
Herald Times
gripped tightly in his hands. Taffy lay on Dad’s lap. As I entered the living room, she looked up at me and yawned. That  pretty much summed up Taffy’s reaction to me almost all the time. Her loyalties lay firmly with the man upon whose lap she reclined.

“Anything worthy in the paper?” I asked.

“Their story on Scroggins’ murder was decent,” Dad said.

“I wouldn’t expect it to be otherwise..”

Dad grunted. “Have you touched base with Gossford recently?”

“Not since he dropped by the offices yesterday.”

“Did he give you many details about the killing?”

“Just that poisoning angle I told you about.”

Father chuckled. “The Times doesn’t have that little tidbit yet.”

“No they wouldn’t. Gossford said he wanted to keep that under wraps until it’s confirmed by lab reports. I’ll have to check with him to see if it’s okay to use that information.”

“Maybe the timing will benefit us, and the report will come in too late to meet the Times’ deadline.”

“I hope so.”

Father gave the paper a shake. It was frustrating sometimes, being the little guy on the block. And with only publishing three days a week, the
Times
often beat us to large stories. We tried to offset that advantage by writing more in depth, personal stories.

Dad lowered the paper and glanced up at me. “What sent you out on a night like this?”

“I wanted to check in with Ginger. See if she thought her replacement for Scroggins would work out.”

“You could have called. There was no need to go over there.”

“You didn’t see Ginger at the cabin. I wanted to be sure she’d fully recovered.”

‘What was the problem?”

“If I said Ginger’s allergic to children, would you buy the story?

Dad laughed. “Yes, from what I know of her, I can’t imagine her thriving around little tykes..”

I settled into a matching arm chair and pulled a book from a nearby table. Surreptitiously, I glanced over at my father and tried to imagine what his world would be like if I moved out.

Mom had died in a car crash when I was about four. Since then Dad had been everything to me. But now that I’d reached adulthood, I couldn’t deny a desire to launch out on my own. I told Ginger it was my absent cooking skills that held me back. Actually, though, feeding myself was only part of the problem. Ultimately, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Dad alone in this big house.

“How’s the book?” Dad asked.

“Great,” I replied.

T
he call came in at about three Monday morning. I rolled onto my side and grabbed the phone. “Hello?” I muttered in a voice still dripping with sleep.

“Melanie, I’m so sorry for disturbing you, but I don’t know who else to call.”

“Wendy?” I glanced at my bedside clock. “What’s happened?”

“Someone’s broken in.”

I raised myself up onto an elbow, “Into your place?”

“No, at Barnaby’s apartment.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw  what looked like the beam from a flashlight in the apartment window.”

“You’ve called the police?”

“Yes, they’re here now. But they won’t sit with me. Melanie,” her voice trembled, “I’m so scared.”

“I’ll be right over.”

I rose from bed and tossed on jeans and an old sweatshirt. Then, after leaving a note for Dad on the center island in the kitchen, I bundled myself up in my parka and headed for the garage. Less than five minutes later, I pulled up at Wendy’s house. Exiting the car, I dashed for her front door. Visiting a friend in her hour of need was one thing, but getting in out of this freezing cold weather carried its own urgency.

I bounded up the porch steps and pounded on the door. “Wendy,” I called out, “it’s me.”

In short order the door opened. I lunged inside the house.

“Thank you for coming,” Wendy said. “You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this.”

Nero sat off to one side, eyeing me with disdain.

“Glad to help.” I peeled off my parka.

“Come on into the kitchen. I’ve made coffee.”

Once settled there, with coffee mugs in hand, I pressed Wendy for details of the break-in.

“I wouldn’t have known a thing,” she said, “if Nero hadn’t wakened me. I found him sitting on my chest, making the most frightful sounds. I glanced at the clock, and that’s when, through my bedroom window, I saw a light flitting about in Barnaby’s apartment.”

“And you called police?”

“Right.”

“Good for you. Did they catch the culprit?”

“No, I’m afraid I thoughtlessly flipped on my bedroom light. That must have scared the burglar off. Because before the police could arrive, I saw someone race down the stairway from the apartment and run down the driveway. I’m too old for this, Melanie. It never occurred to me that I’d alert the thief.”

“Could you tell who it was?”

Wendy sighed. “No. It was too dark. He… or she… was little more than a shadow.”

“Any idea what the person might have been looking for?”

“Heaven only knows. Barnaby didn’t own anything of much value.”

“You did know he won a lot of money on a recent run to the riverboats?”

Wendy gaped. “He didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

“But he never said a word to me. How did you find out?”

“I spoke with Porter. He knew about the money. Barnaby wouldn’t have kept a wad of cash in his apartment, would he? He’d have used a bank, right?”

“I don’t know. I’d never asked him about his finances. I just assumed he didn’t have any.”

“He was also counting on adding to his total.”

“You mean more money?”

“Yes, he told Lester Porter that he was expecting a lot more cash to come his way soon. Do you know where it might be coming from?”

“I’ve no idea. He’s my heir, of course, but I’m as healthy as a horse.”

I smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Wendy gave me an answering grin. “But what was he going to do with the money?”

“He intended to start a business. He was going to buy that old warehouse on the east side of town and establish an antique and craft mall there.”

“Oh dear, starting businesses has never worked out well for him. Not over time, at least.”

We settled to our coffee, both of us now silent. Nero sat on top of the refrigerator, keeping a close watch on us. I wondered what would have happened had the cat not managed to wake his mistress up?

There was a knock on the back door. Wendy opened it up to find Patrolman Debbie Blake standing there. She was young and new to the force, but she stood in front of us displaying a steady confidence. “Miss Cartwright, would you mind coming over to the carriage house to take a look around? I’d like you to check and see if anything  was taken from your cousin’s apartment during the break-in.”.

“May my young friend come with me?” Wendy asked.

Debbie shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Just don’t either of you touch anything, you understand?”

We both nodded. I recommended Wendy take time to put on warm clothing. This was not the night to wander even such a short distance in a nightgown and house coat. In a few short minutes, Wendy returned to the kitchen clad in corduroy slacks and a bulky sweater. After tossing on a warm overcoat she pronounced herself ready to depart. While she’d dressed, I’d gotten myself back into my parka and scarf and gloves. Now, bundled against the cold, the three of us marched our way to the carriage house and up the stairs to Barnaby’s apartment.

“Remember, don’t touch anything,” the young patrolwoman said after closing the door behind us.

Wendy and I stood in the living room gazing about. “They didn’t take the TV,” I said. “Isn’t that odd?” I glanced at Debbie.

“If it were a normal burglar, yeah, you’d think they’d take something as portable as a TV,” she responded.

“So this wasn’t a normal burglary, you think?”

“I didn’t say that. Please, don’t put words in my mouth.”

I backed off. Sometimes cops needed a little room. Plus, I suspected it was a tough job to be new i.  She’d learn to speak carefully around us news types in the future.

Under an uneasy truce, we proceeded on through the rest of the rooms. Once finished we returned to the front door. I stopped and faced the officer. “Did you find any cash in the apartment?”

“Cash?”

“Scroggins apparently won nine grand recently at a local casino.”

“I haven’t found any tonight. Not that I was looking for money. But I can’t speak to what they found when they searched the place after Scroggins death.”

I turned to Wendy. “Do you have any idea where Barnaby might have kept cash if he didn’t deposit it in the bank?”

“None. But why do you think it might be here?”

“Since the TV and other portable items weren’t carried off, the cash seems the most likely attraction.”

She sighed. “There’s no safe hidden here. Not that I know of. If the money were here, I assume he’d have put it in a drawer.”

I wondered. I’d heard of all kinds of hiding places for cash
—
the freezer, the centers of toilet paper rolls, dirty socks in a hamper.: What about bank records? Do you know where he kept them?”

“If I remember correctly, they might be in that desk drawer over there.” Wendy nodded toward a small  walnut desk in the far corner of the room.

“May she check the drawer?” I asked Debbie.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll look for you,” she replied.

I glanced at Wendy. “Is that okay?”

She nodded.

I turned my gaze on the officer. “We’re looking either for a bundle of cash or Scroggins’ bank records.”

Debbie donned a pair of latex gloves and crossed the room. She slid the desk drawer open and used a delicate finger to shuffle through a stack of papers. Finally, she picked up a sheet. “I don’t see any money. But this appears to be the latest bank statement. Is that what you’re after?”

“That should do the trick,” I said.

Debbie carried it to us. Wendy reached out to grasp it, but Debbie jerked it back out of her reach. “I said don’t touch anything.”

Wendy’s head jerked back. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Will you hold it for us then, so we can inspect it?” I asked.

“Of course.”

We scrunched close together and studied the document.

The first thing I noticed was for someone who was allegedly short of cash, he had a darned healthy bank balance. I suspected Porter was more correct about Scroggins’ finances than Wendy was.

She now glanced over at me and said,. “His balance is a lot higher than I expected it to be.”

“I wonder if that balance includes the nine thousand dollars?” I asked.

“What’s so important about that money? Debbie asked.

I explained about Scroggins’ big win at the riverboat recently and that we wondered what he’d done with the money.

“I’ll be sure to tell Gossford about this,” Debbie said.

I  nodded. “Maybe, you might even give the apartment another pass. Make sure there’s no large stash of money hidden here.”

“I’m sure we’ll want to search the place a second time in light of what you’ve told me.”

Our contribution to Debbie’s efforts apparently finished, Wendy and I wandered back to her house, leaving Debbie to do whatever she needed to inside the apartment.

“More coffee?” my host asked upon entering her kitchen.

“Please.” I was overwhelmingly  tired and wanted desperately to kick back and think of nothing while I poured liquid energy into my flagging body.

We both shrugged our way out of our coats and settled ourselves back down at the kitchen table with filled coffee cups before us.

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the night?” Wendy asked.

“Sure. But I’ll be heading off to work early. I have an obligation to the newspaper that I can’t afford to miss. Especially not today.”

I didn’t tell her I’d be spending time writing up my final draft of her cousin’s murder. Now, with this latest bit, I’d also be adding the break-in at this apartment into my story. I figured she wouldn’t want to hear about that, either.

“If you could just stay until it’s light outside, that would be such a help. Maybe we could even work a quick nap in. There’s a little of the night left.”

I glanced down at my coffee cup. “I doubt I could doze off now.” But somehow I  managed to accomplish the trick, even if it occurred while sitting upright in one of her living room chairs.

~~~

The sun finally crept over the horizon a little before seven that day. Wendy and I were seated in the living room by then. She’d been snoring for the past hour, but I’d woken up in my chair early. I rose and collected a notebook and pen from my purse.

After dashing off a quick line about needing to report in at the newspaper, I left the note on the table beside the couch. Then, I donned  parka, scarf, and gloves and quietly let myself out the front door.

A half hour later, freshly showered and appropriately dressed I entered our newspaper offices. The place was oddly quiet. I’d beaten even Dad into work this morning, but only because I had two significant stories to write.

I started on the routine stuff first, checking for overnight accidents and road conditions. Then, I polished up the Santa’s Cabin story and dropped in a fresh quote or two. I also mentioned that henceforth hot chocolate would be available, crediting Roger Bradley with the donation. I could picture that little fact brightening Ginger’s breakfast immensely.

Then, I fed the photos I’d taken over the weekend into the computer. The choice of which ones to use, if any, was the editor’s job. In this case, of course, that was my father. I paused for a moment wondering which story, Santa’s Cabin or Scroggins’ death, Dad would place above the fold? The murder was important news. But then the start of the Christmas shopping season wasn’t to be discounted, either.

After I’d been hard at work for more than hour, Betty McCracken wandered into my office. “You’re here early.”

“Yes well, Cloverton’s had more than its fair share of news this weekend.”

“Isn’t that the truth. I wanted you to know there’s a fresh pot of coffee in the break room, I figured you could use a cup.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. How did Toby like spending his weekend in Santa’s Cabin?”

“He loves the job.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Has he managed to adjust his costume?”

“No. He couldn’t get any changes past Ginger. You never mentioned how inflexible that woman is.”

“Ginger?” I protested. “Really?”

Betty laughed. “Don’t forget the coffee.”

“Right.”

At shortly before ten that morning, I felt comfortable checking  in with Gossford. Apparently Debbie had reported in on the missing nine grand.

“Where’d you hear about that money?” he demanded.

I told him about Porter and what he’d told me.

“You aren’t sticking your nose into another murder enquiry are you?”

“No. I went to see Porter to get background on Scroggins for the
Gazette’s
murder coverage.”

“You better not be blowing smoke in my face.”

“I’m not. Honest.”

Someday, God was going to get me for telling such whoppers.