A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) (19 page)

“She’s fine,” Mike said.

“You know this how?” Sean asked.

“She’s just . . . good at taking care of herself and stuff like that,” Mike said.

“I see,” Sean said. “May I assume that you’ve spoken to her, Michael?” Sean asked him. “Is that how you know this?”

Mike didn’t say anything.

“Because actually the truth is that Amber’s not fine. She’s in way over her head, and if you care for her you’ll tell me where I can find her,” Sean continued, switching to the guilt approach.

“We just told you we don’t know, Mr. Simmons,” Rudy said. He raised his hand. “Honest injun.”

“You may think you’re helping her, but you’re not,” Sean pointed out.

Neither one of the boys said anything.

Sean took a deep breath and shifted his weight from his right leg to his left. He wished he hadn’t left his cane in Marvin’s vehicle. “Okay, where’s the other one?”

Mike frowned. “The other one?”

“The third roommate. Marissa.”

“Why?” Mike asked.

“I’d like to speak to her too,” Sean told him.

Rudy hemmed and hawed. “She doesn’t know any more than we do.”

Sean scowled. “I’d like to be the judge of that, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Mike fingered his earlobes. “She’s busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Sean asked.

“Ah . . . working,” Rudy said.

“So I assumed. What does her work consist of that you guys can come down and she can’t?” Sean asked.

Neither Mike or Rudy answered.

“That’s what I thought,” Sean told them. “You know,” he said, “if anything happens to Amber or she causes something to happen to anyone else, you guys are going to bear the responsibility.”

Mike looked at Sean and shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to live with that.”

Sean turned to Rudy. “Is that how you feel too?”

“Guess so, Mr. Simmons.” He looked at the clock. “We have to get back to work now.”

“Go ahead,” Sean told them.

“That was a waste of time,” Marvin said when they were gone.

“Maybe,” Sean said. “Maybe not.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, we know that they know where Amber is. Listen,” Sean said, catching Marvin’s look. “There’s no way that Rudy is going to let her go off with his car without being in contact. Would you have done something like that at his age?”

“No,” Marvin said after thinking his answer over for a couple of seconds. “Not if it were my only means of transportation.”

“Exactly. Two, I’m willing to bet Amber’s pretty close by.”

“Why do you say that, Mr. Simmons?” Marvin asked.

“Because the crime she’s investigating is here, so there’s no way she’s leaving the area. And three,” Sean said as he headed toward the door, “I’m just guessing here, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Marissa went off to alert Amber that we were tracking her down. Either that or she’s off somewhere getting high.”

“But that’s bad,” Marvin protested.

“Marissa getting stoned?” Sean asked.

“No. Marissa alerting Amber.”

“Not if we’re quick and she is where I think she might be,” Sean said. “Come on,” he told Marvin. “Let’s get moving.”

M
illie’s house was dark, and the driveway was empty when Sean and Marvin arrived ten minutes later.

“What do you think?” Marvin asked Sean.

“I think someone was here,” he said, pointing to the tire tracks in the snow.

“Amber?”

“Maybe.” Sean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a habit he’d picked up from Bernie. Then he grabbed his cane and hoisted himself out of Marvin’s hearse. By the time Marvin caught up with him, Sean was peering through the window into Millie’s garage. “No car here,” he said.

“I guess Amber’s come and gone,” Marvin observed.

“So it would seem,” Sean said as he continued on to Millie’s house.

His legs were bothering him now, and he had to concentrate on getting up the six stairs to the landing. Marvin stayed behind him to catch him in case he stumbled. When Sean got to Millie’s front door he rang the bell. No one answered. Not that he had expected anyone to. He was just observing the amenities.

“Now what?” Marvin said as he shook some snow out of the cuff of his pants leg.

“Now we go inside and have a look-see,” Sean said.

“But how are we going to do that?” Marvin asked.

“We’re going to try the door, and then”—Sean’s hand darted into his pocket and pulled out a ring with several thin metal pieces attached to it—“we’re going to try these.” He turned and jangled them in front of Marvin’s face.

“Are those what I think they are?” Marvin asked.

“They most certainly are,” Sean told him.

“But you told me you don’t have anything like that,” Marvin wailed.

Sean grinned. “I lied.”

“Where did you get them?” Marvin demanded. I mean, it wasn’t as if you could order them on the Internet. Or, for all he knew, maybe you could.

“An old burglar called Fat Hand Freddie gave them to me.”

“Gave them?” Marvin asked incredulously. He could see the headlines now:
FUNERAL DIRECTOR CAUGHT IN BREAK-IN
.

“Yes,” Sean said. “He gave them to me in return for a favor I did him. I found a home for his dog when he was going on an extended vacation upstate. The question you should be asking,” Sean said to Marvin, “is can I still use them, or have I lost the knack? It’s been awhile.”

Marvin was smart enough not to say anything. He just stood and watched as Sean struggled with the lock picks. After ten minutes, Sean turned to him and said, “Here. You try.”

“Me?” Marvin squeaked. “I wouldn’t have the vaguest idea what to do.”

“I’ll show you,” Sean said, and he did. Then he handed the picks to Marvin. “My hands just aren’t steady enough anymore.

“Go on,” Sean urged, when Marvin just stood there with the lock picks dangling from his hand.

“I don’t know if I can,” Marvin objected. “This feels wrong.”

“Would Amber doing something bad be better?” Sean asked.

“No,” Marvin said, looking abashed.

“Then try. We need to get in there sooner rather than later.”

Marvin took a look at the expression on Sean’s face and knew he wasn’t kidding. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try. But don’t be mad at me if I can’t do it.”

“I won’t,” Sean promised, “but you’ll do it. It’s easy.”

Marvin bent over and did what Sean had showed him. He didn’t expect to succeed, but to his surprise he did.

“Wow,” he said when he felt the tumblers clicking into place. He straightened up and gave the door a push. It opened.

“Good job,” Sean said as he stepped inside Millie’s house. He turned around. Marvin was still standing on the porch. “Well, just don’t stand there like a goofball,” Sean told him. “Come inside. It’s cold out there, and we don’t want the neighbors getting suspicious.”

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Marvin said. He looked stunned.

“It felt good, didn’t it?” Sean asked him.

“It kind of did,” Marvin admitted.

Sean chuckled as he walked through the entrance hall and into the living room. The place was as neat as Libby had described it as being, except that the sofa pillows were rumpled, a couple of the smaller ones looked as if they’d been used as headrests, and there was a comforter at the foot of the bed. Sean went over and took a look.

“I bet Amber was sleeping here,” he said. Then he spied something on the floor and bent down and got it. “Definitely Amber,” he said as he held up a Hello Kitty sock. It was the kind of thing that Amber would wear.

“So where do you think she is now?” Marvin asked.

Sean shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “But it’s late. She probably needs to find someplace to sleep.”

“So you think she’ll come back here?” Marvin asked.

“She could.” Sean thought for a moment. “Or she could go back to her old place. That wouldn’t surprise me either.”

He was reaching for his phone to call Bernie and Libby when he spied a piece of paper on the coffee table. The paper was a flyer advertising plowing and landscaping services. Around the margin someone had written the initials TR over and over again, and Sean was pretty sure he knew to whom the handwriting belonged to. He should. He’d seen it often enough for the past four years on the order forms in A Little Taste of Heaven when he’d been closing out the register.

“What is it?” Marvin asked, coming up behind him. Sean picked up the paper and pointed to the letters on the paper. “That’s Amber’s handwriting.”

“And the TR? What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Sean admitted.

Marvin frowned. “Could it be an initial of some kind?”

Sean laughed. “Very good, Marvin. Very good. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Marvin looked at Sean to make sure Libby’s dad wasn’t being sarcastic. When he was sure he wasn’t, he said, “I’m guessing they don’t stand for Theodore Roosevelt.”

“I’m guessing you’re right,” Sean replied. He thought for a minute. His face lit up. He had it. “I bet TR stands for Teresa Ruffino. She’s one of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club ladies brigade.”

“I know who she is, Mr. Simmons. We buried her husband and her sister. May I?” Marvin asked, reaching for the paper Sean was holding.

Sean nodded and handed it to him. Marvin studied it for a moment before handing it back to Sean.

“Well,” Marvin observed, “I’ll say one thing. Amber definitely has this lady on her mind.”

“Yes, she does,” Sean agreed. He rubbed his thigh to ease the muscle cramp that was beginning to form. “I wonder if Teresa is Amber’s next stop?” he mused.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?” Marvin asked.

“I think so, you think so, but I’m not sure that Amber will think so, given the constraints she’s operating under. After all, she’s not going to be making a social call.”

Sean put the paper back down on the coffee table, took out his cell, and called Amber. It went straight to voice mail. Not a big surprise. But he felt he had to try. Then he called Bernie and Libby and alerted them to what was going on.

“What are we going to do?” Marvin asked Sean, once he’d gotten off the phone.

“We’re going to go through the rest of Millie’s house and see what else we can find. Then we’re going to move your hearse out of sight and settle down and wait for Amber to come back. If she comes back,” Sean added. It was a long shot, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“For how long?” Marvin asked, a note of panic in his voice. “Because I need to get home. I have a viewing tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Sean said. “The life of a funeral director is not an easy one.” Then Sean looked at the expression on Marvin’s face and felt bad at his comment. “We’ll stay for an hour and then we’ll get out of here.”

“I
want to go home,” Libby said after Bernie had relayed their dad’s message to her. They were on their way back to the apartment, and Libby had been looking forward to a cup of hot chocolate, a bath, and bed—in that order.

Bernie snorted. “Whine. Whine. Whine.”

“Like you don’t feel that way too,” Libby told her.

“I do,” Bernie said. “But I’m ignoring it.”

“I’m serious, Bernie.”

“So am I, Libby. And we will go home. We’ll go home after we check out Teresa’s house and Amber’s place and make sure that Amber isn’t at either one,” Bernie assured her.

“Amber could be anywhere,” Libby pointed out. “This could be a complete waste of time.” She was so tired that her bones ached and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“It could be,” Bernie said. “But that’s not what Dad thinks and . . .”

Libby put up her hand. “I know. I know. He’s usually right about this kind of stuff.”

“Think of it this way,” Bernie told her. “If we find Amber we can catch up on our sleep . . .”

“. . . and our work,” Libby said, getting into the spirit of the thing.

“. . . and get rid of George.”

“That would be a blessing devoutly to be wished,” Libby conceded.

While George was better than nothing as a counter person, he was only slightly better than nothing. Very slightly better. In fact, he had been getting steadily worse since he’d started at the shop. He still hadn’t mastered their credit-card machine for reasons that eluded Libby, and his coffee either tasted like a chicken had walked through it or was so strong it had to be watered down. Most important, there was something wrong with his hearing, so he had a tendency to fill orders with what he thought people would want instead of what they had told him they actually wanted.

“Plus, Penelope will stop calling,” Bernie added, interrupting Libby’s thoughts.

“Also a good thing,” Libby agreed. The producer of
Baking for Life
had been calling every two hours for updates on Amber’s whereabouts, or “the Amber situation,” as she liked to put it. Okay, that was an exaggeration. It was every three hours. By now Libby was ready to strangle her.

Bernie looked at her watch. “I say we try Teresa’s house first. We’re nearer. Then we see if Amber’s at her place.”

“And then we go home,” Libby said.

Bernie nodded. “And then we go home.”

The streets of Longely were empty at this hour of the night, everyone snugly tucked in their houses, so Bernie and Libby made good time on their way to Teresa’s house. While Bernie drove, Libby looked out the window and admired all the Christmas decorations: the white and colored lights wound around the trees and the houses, the candles in the windows, the nodding reindeer on the lawns, and the blow-up Santas with presents spilling out of their sleds. She decided she would like this time of year if she ever had the time to enjoy it. Because she worked in retail, she was usually just glad when it was over.

Next year, Libby decided she’d get an earlier start. That way things wouldn’t be so nuts. Because the truth was that despite all her moaning and groaning she really did like making the mince pies with real mincemeat, and the bûches de Noël, and the plum puddings served with hard sauce. She loved doing it, in fact. And she liked decorating the shop window, and she liked handing out Christmas cookies to the kids who came into the shop. It’s just that this year, the
Baking for Life
crew coming to town, Millie’s death, and Amber’s supposed disappearance had put her over the edge.

Libby could feel her heartbeat start to quicken at the thought of what she and Bernie still had to do, and she decided it would be better to think about something else. Like chocolate. Chocolate truffles, to be exact. So far, her chocolate mocha truffles had gotten an extremely good reception, as had her Grand Marnier ones, although Libby decided they had to cut down on the liquor a bit. Maybe A Little Taste of Heaven should add truffles and French macaroons to the shop’s offerings next year. They could package them in fancy cellophane wrappers, six to a roll, and market them as stocking stuffers. Libby was thinking about the kind of packaging she would like, maybe something with green and gold in the design, when she became aware that Bernie was talking to her.

“So what do you think?” Bernie was saying.

“Think about what?” Libby asked her.

“About what Amber knows about Teresa.”

“Aside from the fact that she thinks that Teresa has Millie’s recipes.”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “And . . .”

“Does she think that means that Teresa killed Millie?”

“I’m guessing it does,” Bernie said. “What about you?”

Libby half unzipped her jacket and unwrapped her scarf from around her neck. The heat in the van had finally kicked in. “No, I don’t,” she said when she was done. “Absolutely not. I’m sorry, but no matter how much I try, I can’t see Teresa lugging that deer target out into the middle of the road.”

“Neither can I,” Bernie admitted. “Unless, of course, she had help.”

“Like who?” Libby challenged.

Bernie shook her head. “You got me.”

“In fact,” Libby went on, “I don’t see her even coming up with an idea like that—I mean what does she know about deer targets . . .”

“. . . Maybe one of her neighbors hunts,” Bernie said, interrupting.

“. . . much less implementing a plan like that,” said Libby, finally finishing her sentence.

Bernie glanced at her. “Implementing,” she said. “Are you doing one of those word-a-day thingies again?”

“Don’t start, Bernie,” Libby warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not starting anything,” Bernie told her. “I was just asking a question. I think learning new vocabulary is a positive. Why do you always take things I say in a negative fashion?”

“Because I’m a negative person,” Libby promptly answered. “As you never tire of telling me.”

By now Bernie and Libby were five miles from Teresa’s house.

“You’re never at your best when you’re tired,” Bernie observed.

“Oh, and I suppose you are?” Libby shot back as the van went over a bump.

Bernie was about to make a snotty comeback when she spotted the headlights of a car zooming down West Road. She leaned forward to get a better look at the vehicle because it was hard to see it in the dark on a road with no streetlights. She was just about to point it out to Libby when Libby gestured at it.

“Look,” she cried. Suddenly she wasn’t tired anymore.

“I see it too,” Bernie told Libby.

“It’s the same model car Amber borrowed.”

“I know.”

“Do you think Amber’s driving it?” Libby asked Bernie. “Could we be that lucky?”

“Boy, I hope so.”

“Well, speed up and let’s find out,” Libby said. She was so excited she was practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

Bernie shook her head. “No can do. If I speed up, whoever is driving will see us.”

“I wish it were daytime,” Libby complained. “Then we could get a look and see what color hair the driver has.”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “If it’s brown or blond, we would know it’s not our girl.”

Libby sighed. Then she brightened. “On the other hand, if the car turns into Coville Lane, then there’s a chance that it’s Amber on her way to Teresa’s house.”

“Which means we’ll know very soon,” Bernie said.

“In a minute, to be exact,” Libby said.

At which point the car in front of them made the turn.

“Ah-ha,” Bernie said as she slowed down even more and turned in too. “The plot thickens.”

She just hoped that Amber—because she was pretty sure that’s who it was—didn’t notice them and take off. One thing was for sure, though. It was hard to follow anyone when it was nighttime and there were only two cars on a two-lane road. Bernie supposed she could always kill her lights, but Coville Lane was bumpy and full of curves and potholes. It wasn’t worth the risk to the van, so she hung back as far as she could.

“She’s definitely going to Teresa’s,” Libby announced as she watched the car in front of them hang a left onto Westcott.

Bernie grunted her agreement. She was too busy driving to talk. A moment later the car in front of them made a sharp right onto Maiden Lane and pulled into the driveway of the third house on the left.

“Definitely Teresa’s,” Bernie said as she put her foot down on the accelerator. The van made a grinding noise and sprang forward.

By the time they got to Teresa’s house, Amber was out of her vehicle.

Bernie rolled down the van’s window. “Amber,” she cried as she braked. “Hold up a minute.”

Amber spun around and faced the van. “You,” she gasped.

“We want to talk to you,” Bernie said.

“But I don’t want to talk to you,” Amber yelled.

“You’re not helping matters,” Bernie said as she got out of the van. “You’re making them worse.”

“Explain how,” Amber challenged, standing with her legs apart and her hands planted on her hips.

“We told you we would take care of things,” Libby said to Amber after she got out of the van too. “Let us.”

“Well, you’re doing a lousy job,” Amber cried. Her hair was even more a mess than usual, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept for days.

“That’s because we’ve been busy looking for you,” Bernie said.

Amber turned on her. “Now you’re saying this is all my fault,” she yelled, advancing on her.

“No, she’s not,” Libby said, in a soothing tone of voice.

“Yes, I am,” Bernie said. “We’ve been so worried about you that we haven’t been able to think clearly about anything else.”

Libby nodded. “It is true. We’ve been going down one path when perhaps we should have been going down another.”

“Meaning?” Amber said. It had started to snow again, and she brushed a few snowflakes off her face.

Libby was about to explain, when the door to Teresa’s house flew open and Teresa came stomping out. She was wearing big, fuzzy kitten slippers, a flannel nightgown dotted with roses, a black parka, and curlers in her hair.

“What is going on out here?” she demanded.

“Well,” Libby began, but before she could finish her sentence Amber jumped in.

“I want my aunt’s recipes and I want them now,” Amber said.

“Are you crazy?” Teresa asked her. “Because you look like you are.”

“No, you’re the one that’s crazy if you think you can get away with killing my aunt,” Amber cried, balling up her hands into fists and taking a step toward her.

Teresa clutched her parka to her chest and took a step back. “How can you say anything like that?” she cried. “Millie was my best friend.”

“Not according to her, you weren’t,” Amber replied. “You want to know what my aunt called you? She called you a snake in the grass.”

“That’s not true,” Teresa said.

“Oh yes it is,” Amber said. She raised one of her hands. “I swear it.”

Teresa’s eyes narrowed. “If anything she was the snake in the grass. She was the one who spread rumors, hateful ones,” she blurted out. “Your aunt was a mean, mean woman. There. I’ve said it, and I’m glad I did.”

“See,” Amber said, shaking a finger at her. “My aunt was right. You
are
a liar. All this time you were pretending you liked her and you hated her.” Amber stamped her foot. “I want my aunt’s recipes, and I want them now, or else, trust me on this, you’re going to be very, very sorry.”

Teresa straightened up and glared at Amber. “Are you threatening me?”

“You threatened my aunt,” Amber shot back.

Teresa’s jowls quivered. “I refuse to stand here and be insulted and bulldozed on my own property. I’m calling the police.” She turned and started toward the front door.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Amber cried, taking a step toward her.

Bernie took two quick steps and put herself between Teresa and Amber. “Let it go,” Bernie said to Amber. “Libby and I will take care of this.”

“You haven’t so far,” Amber pointed out.

“Please, Amber. Give us a chance,” Libby begged.

“No. I’m not going anywhere,” Amber told her as she tried to step around Bernie to get to Teresa. “I’m staying right here until she”—she pointed to Teresa—“gives me back my aunt’s recipes and confesses to what she’s done. Do you hear that, Mrs. Ruffino?”

Teresa spun around and faced Amber. “You should be ashamed of yourself, speaking to a woman of my age like that.”

“Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you’re worthy of respect,” Amber shot back.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Libby said to Teresa, thoughts of lost customers and having to bail Amber out of jail dancing in her head.

“I most certainly do,” Amber insisted.

“No, you don’t,” Bernie said. “It’s the drugs she’s taking,” she explained to Teresa. “She’s having a bad reaction.”

“I’m not on anything,” Amber cried.

Bernie grabbed one of Amber’s arms and began dragging her to her car. “My mistake,” she told Teresa. “She’s just crazed with grief.”

“I am not,” Amber yelled.

“You most certainly are,” Libby said.

Amber tried to wrest her arm away, but Bernie held on. Then Libby came around and grabbed Amber’s free arm.

“Calm down,” Libby told her as she held on for all she was worth.

“Let go of me,” Amber shouted.

“Absolutely not,” Bernie told her through gritted teeth. “Not until you come to your senses.”

Amber gave one more yank, and when that didn’t work, all the fight seemed to go out of her. She went limp, which Bernie decided was a good thing because she didn’t know how much longer she and Libby could have held on to her.

“Amber, give Libby your keys,” Bernie ordered.

“Why?” Amber demanded sullenly.

“Because she’s going to drive your car and you’re coming in the van with me,” Bernie told her. She was still holding on to Amber’s arm. Just in case.