The Case of the Missing Elf: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 2) (19 page)

Farmer stood. He ripped his beard off. Perspiration stood out on his brow. “That’s nonsense,” he roared. “The police haven’t spoken a word to me. Why would they?”

“Maybe they haven’t interviewed you yet. But that doesn’t mean you’re not on their radar. Maybe they’re just waiting for that last little piece of evidence before they step in to arrest you.”

Farmer’s face flushed red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled.

“I think it’s all about that wife of yours. About her ambitions. She wouldn’t be too pleased to have word of your womanizing made public. She wants to run for alderman. A public scandal might end those dreams. And then where would you be? Off that little comfy perch you’ve got at home, right?”

Farmer’s face flushed a terrifying red. “Scroggins had no right to hound me. He had no right to demand money of me. Who was he? A nothing. A nobody.”

“So you’re saying Scroggins was a blackmailer? That’s why you killed him?”

I wanted to get his confession on record. I wanted his words to flow through this microphone I wore and out to the police huddled inside a van parked near the cabin.

Farmer came nearer. “That dirty, no account scoundrel. And now you come. What? Do you want  money too? Well, I don’t have any. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. She’s got the money. And she’s not about to share it with me.”

Farmer lunged at me, fingers grasping for and then closing tight about my throat. I’d never thought him to be a strong man, but I was helpless in his tight grip. I struggled. It was useless. My pounding fists bounced off his body without doing any damage at all.

I gasped, I saw black spots. Then, I heard a loud clunk. And suddenly, Farmer’s grip loosened. His hand slipped onto my shoulders as he slid, unconscious down to the floor.

Glancing up from Farmer’s prostrate body, I stared at Ginger standing over him. The loose, heavy arm from Santa’s throne dangled in her right hand.

“I got him for you. I saved you,” she babbled. Tears flowing, she dropped the weapon and pulled me into her arms..

Behind us, the door to the cabin burst open. Gossford and four of his men rushed into the room.

“I’m so sorry,” I managed to squeak out through my tortured throat. “I never... got him... to name Scroggins."

“That’s okay. We got enough to convict  him.”

“I
can’t believe you did that. Wore a wire. Faced down a killer. Thank heavens for Ginger.

I nodded.

It was Saturday night, and Josh Devon and I were at a charming restaurant enjoying a wonderful meal and each other’s glorious company. Especially that last part.

“I was never in any danger.”

“Right. That’s why Ginger had to bash Farmer over the head with the arm from Santa’s throne to save your hide.”

“Yes… well, I’m not sure Ginger will ever come down from that high. She just loved performing that little trick.”

“I can’t say I blame her. But what did you find the most frustrating with the case?”

“The warehouse. I never could figure out what role it played in this mess. I think the only two men who could have explained that are gone.”

“Scroggins and Porter?”

I nodded. “Unfortunately, neither Jeremy or his mom seem to know anything about that venture.”

“And the blackmailing?”

“Oh, that was real enough. Gossford’s contacted most of those names in the diary. They all told the same tale, Scroggins was robbing them blind.”

Josh reached across the table. Took my hand in his. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Gossford was a little slow to show up for the party, but he made it. No one got hurt.”

“And you sneaked into Barnaby’s apartment and stole that diary?”

“I didn’t steal it. I only  borrowed it. I put it back.”

“But you know better than to tell Gossford of your little trick?”

I tried but failed to hold back a grin. “I think he already knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Wendy and I entered the apartment, I had to rip the crime scene tape from the door.  I think he figures it was me.”

“How did  you respond?”

“I played dumb.”

“It sounds to me like you got a little overly involved in this homicide business.”

“Maybe. But you know me. Once I get started on something, I never know when to stop.”

“So it was Farmer killed Scroggins and Porter?”

“Yeah, apparently Porter tried to take over the blackmailing gig after Scroggins was killed. That’s what the break in at Scroggins apartment was about.”

“The one that and so frightened Wendy?”

“Yes. I think Porter was after the names in tat little black book.”

“The one you know nothing about?”

“Bingo. That’s it.”

“Anyway, it worked out okay this time.”

“It did. Ginger came up a trooper and so did Jeremy. Dad’s offered him a part-time job doing little tasks at the paper. I think he likes the boy.”

“Ginger will make it through now to the end of Santa’s cabin?”

“Just as soon as she finds a replacement for Santa Claus.”

“You’re keeping out of that one, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“And what are you hoping your Santa brings you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.

Josh grinned. “Maybe he has a surprise planned.”

“Maybe. But I think he should know that hate surprises. Couldn’t he give me even a tiny clue?

“Not a chance,” Josh said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve heard the big guy just loves surprises.”

Death among the Roses, a Melanie Hart Mystery

Murderous Decisions, a Tale of Mystery and Suspense

Murderous Relations, a Tale of Mystery and suspense

The Capture, A Delton Ross Short Story

The Baying Witness, A Delton Ross Short Story

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A
wedding can be a glorious event. Anytime or anyplace, nuptials will often put a smile on a woman’s face.

But not mine. I hate weddings. I’ve never seen one where the bride wasn’t a nervous wreck, the mother a walking zombie, and the groom little more than a second thought.

Was that why I was in my present funk? I was headed to a wedding, my best friend’s wedding. And I was running late.

Now, almost at my destination, I wrestled my car around the corner at Main and Maple Streets like an Indy driver on steroids. Flooring the gas pedal, I flew past a startled Mabel Florent, who was taking out her trash. Next, I barreled onto Torrance Street, and halfway down the block, I stomped on my brakes, tires screeching, to turn into the parking lot of the Cloverton Methodist Church.

Easing my Fiesta into a vacant space, I sank back in the seat and took in my surroundings. The church sat in gray splendor to my left. A rose bed lined up before the nose of my car. The parking lot was stuffed nearly to overflowing. I stepped outside, pulled in air, and admired the day. It was perfect weather for a wedding. Bright sunshine. Blue sky. Greening grass and….

And that’s when the impossible happened. My gaze fell to an object among the roses.

I blinked, momentarily wondering what the groom was doing stretched out in a rose bed? But a closer look brought the reality of the situation home. Obviously Cordelia’s intended groom, Gary Pepper, was dead. But not only dead, but murdered. I could tell.

My breathing quickened. My heart banged inside my chest. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.

Behind me, a car pulled into the parking lot. Its door banged shut. Footsteps drew near.

What’s happened,” a man’s voice asked. “Are you ill?”

Still unable to speak, I raised my hand and pointed a trembling finger at the body.

“Oh,” he said, the one word coming out in a great whoosh. He wrapped his strong arms around me. He gripped me tightly to his chest. My fingers clutched at his lapels. I silently vowed never to let go of them.

“Here,” he said, releasing me a few seconds later. “Come. Sit down.” He led me to his car, opened the door, and steadied me. I sank down onto the seat. I gazed up at him, trying to figure out just who my helpmate was. Mid-twenties, tall, slender, I’d never seen the man before.

“Do you have a cell phone with you?” he asked.

I nodded. Licked my lips. “It’s inside my purse.”

“Would you retrieve it for me, please?”

I fished the phone free.

He gently removed it from my outstretched hand. “You stay here. Take deep breaths. I’m calling the police.”

The fellow’s fingers punched in numbers on the keypad. He drew even closer to the fallen man. Once connected with the county dispatcher, he gave him our location and described what we had found.

“No, there’s no reason to rush,” he said a short time later. “I can’t find a pulse.”

At hearing the finality of those words, I shivered. My mind, which had been numb until then, launched into overdrive.

Gary Pepper, a man I’d known since childhood had been murdered. I shook my head. How could this have happened? And on this of all possible days. Then, my thoughts turned to Cordelia, waiting inside the church for a groom who would never come.

.