Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2 (11 page)

“Ms. Dupuis,” said the assistant special
agent-in-charge, “are you sure you don’t want to have a lawyer
present at this meeting?”

My cousin still looked rather frazzled, but
she was getting used to having me speak for her, explaining what
she did and why. I insisted that we were there to offer information
to the FBI on some potentially unsavory activities at Frist and
Company. The atmosphere in the room began to warm up as my cousin
got started explaining the new construction techniques and the
recommendations of the structural engineers. She was in her glory
as she told the agents what they should look for when they
inspected the place.

The gingerbread house sat in the middle of
the table. They were happy to see it, given that they had sent a
couple of agents to collect the duplicate gingerbread house. The
structural differences between the two cookie concoctions were
striking. Half a dozen agents peppered us with questions,
especially after they saw the documents Nettie and I had concealed
in the fake snow. I handed over the Tracfone I had used to
photograph them. Back and forth, the conversation flew. An hour and
a half later, we wrapped things up in the conference room. By the
time we were done laying our cards on the table, the roof of the
original gingerbread house had been carefully cut away, Annette had
pointed out the architectural and construction features, and the
assistant special agent-in-charge, Georgia Dumont, had called
Will’s boss in New York, to coordinate the game plan. Another half
an hour passed before she got a call back that two agents were on
their way to collect Annette and return her to Manhattan, where she
would work with the field office there to develop evidence for the
case.

Apparently Will made good use of his time
after leaving us. He was in New Jersey by the time his boss caught
up with him, but he managed to join his colleagues en route, and
when the new agents walked into the conference room, he was them.
He left it to them to break the news to the supposedly shocked
Frist and Company employ that he was not Joe Fortuna. The look on
Annette’s face, with all its sadness and disappointment, was
perfect. No reason the FBI needed to know it was because the lovers
would not be able to resume their affair until after the case
wrapped up, right? Besides, I actually was beginning to think that
maybe it was a good thing they had to cool it down. There was so
obviously a powerful spark between them. You could almost see the
sizzle of desire every time their eyes met. It would take a fire
brigade to put that blaze out.

Just before six, I walked with my cousin out
of the FBI office and down to the street, where the two agents were
waiting with the car that would take her to the city.

“Oh! I left my suitcase at Black Forest
Farm,” she moaned. I put a protective arm around her and squeezed
her shoulder. “And my car....”

“Not to worry. If you can wait until Friday,
I’ll drive it down, with the suitcase.” I was beginning to feel
like I spent my days and nights cruising on I-87. “You call me if
you need anything. Anything at all, Nettie.”

“She’ll be in good hands, Deputy Grimm,”
Franklin, the senior agent promised.

“We’ve got this. You can stand down,” said
Genovese, the younger agent, giving me a little attitude to let me
know this was now a federal case and I wasn’t invited to the
party.

“You make sure she stays safe, boys.” I gave
them my best “don’t even think about messing with me” look as the
door shut on Annette in the back seat. “I don’t want any mistakes.
I don’t want any screw-ups. You make your bones some other way, but
you do not risk my cousin’s safety. Are we clear on that?”

“Just who do you think....” said the snotty
little junior G-man. His partner cut him off.

“Crystal, ma’am. You have a nice day.”

“Drive safely. Bring her back in one piece,”
I instructed them in my most motherly voice. Genovese gave me a big
huff-and-puff, like he was going to blow my house of sticks down. I
guessed he was still be a probie, in his first year as an agent,
practicing all those neat little tricks they teach at the academy
in Quantico. Franklin tried to hide his smirk, but as soon as his
partner was climbing into the passenger seat, he gave me a wink. I
rolled my eyes upward and feigned a great sigh while pretending to
burp a baby. Franklin had my condolences on working with such an
unseasoned horse’s ass. We’ve all been there and we know what it’s
like to be stuck with the smart ass kid in need of an attitude
adjustment. We also know that the new members of the team sometimes
are so ambitious, they take short cuts and risks that more seasoned
law enforcement officers avoid. I wasn’t about to let that little
Twinkie think he was hot stuff because he was riding shotgun for
the FBI on an organized crime case.

The last thing I saw as the federal sedan
drove off was Annette’s stricken face at the back window. She
seemed to have doubts about what she was going to do, and frankly,
I was more than a little apprehensive myself. My only consolation
was that I really did think Will would do everything in his power
to keep her safe. Would it be enough?

I stopped for coffee and a burger about an
hour later, sitting at one of the little tables with the attached
chairs at a McDonald’s. My fanny wasn’t overly fond of the hard
seat. No matter how I tried to adjust myself, there was just no
cushioning for my bruised bum.

By the time I rolled into the garage up at
the farmhouse, it was well after ten. I found Ervina in the family
room, the clack-clack-clack of her loom keeping a steady beat. She
was making a lap blanket out of the wool she carded and spun,
courtesy of her small herd of Angora goats.

“How did it go?” she wanted to know.

“Like butter. They took her back to New York
to help them with the case.” I sat for a moment. “Nettie’s got it
bad for that agent.”

“Does she? I suspected as much. What’s he
like?”

“Nice enough. He seems to have it bad for
her, too. I caught them exchanging kisses.”

“Oh, how lovely.”

“Not really. They can’t fool around as long
as there is an active case and during the prosecution phase.” I
scratched one of the farm cats under the chin and was rewarded with
a purr. “It might put a damper on the romance, especially if it’s
just about the lust.

“Then again, if it’s meant to be, it will
be.” Ervina is a big believer in what she likes to call kismet. She
thinks that if two people belong together, they will recognize it
and find a way. Me? I think love is often thwarted by stubbornness
and stupidity. How many people throw away a perfectly good
relationship in favor of the new, untested options? Looks can be
deceiving. The unknown can seem exciting on the surface, and as you
get closer to the center, you find a dud. It’s like when you look
at a box of assorted chocolates. They all look tasty on the
outside, but it’s what’s inside that matters. I’m a firm believer
that when you find a good man, you stick with him, and when the
going gets tough or there’s a lull in the hoo-hah department, you
get busy. Sometimes you have no choice but to make your own
magic.

“I guess we’ll have to leave them to sort it
out. Thanks for letting us use your van,” I said to her, giving her
a quick hug on my way out. “Tell Gerhard I said good night.”

“I will. Get some rest. Remember, you’re
still healing.”

Puss was waiting at the top of the stairs, a
plaintive howl rising in the air as I unlocked the door and let
myself in. I gave him his propers, including a scratch behind the
ears, before tossing his catnip mouse across the floor. He slid
across the wood floor, smacking the felt figure around with his
paws until it disappeared under the sofa.

I checked my emails. Another message from
“Harry Mann”.

Dear Fraulein Grimm -- I regret to inform you
that your marzipan Christmas pig and your Schladerer pralines are
currently out of stock. We hope to ship them soon for arrival by
December 24. Yours sincerely, Harry Mann

Chapter Twelve --

Great. It was bad enough that Sam would be
away for the holiday. Now it looked like I might not get his gift
in time. Sam knew the marzipan Christmas pig was a traditional
German custom, one I had loved since childhood. He also knew those
pralines are one of my weaknesses. Well, at least I wouldn’t have
to worry about temptations this Christmas, I told myself. I was too
bummed out to eat candy. The only sweets I wanted were Sam’s hungry
kisses, and if I couldn’t have those, I didn’t much care about
anything else.

I climbed into bed just before eleven,
deciding that I was fine to go back into work in the morning. Rufus
and I had touched base right after I left the federal building, but
we still had to compare notes, to make sure we were up to speed, in
case something went wrong for Annette in Manhattan. At least work
would keep my mind off of missing Sam. I decided to throw myself
into my deputy duties, making the village of Latimer Falls safe for
its citizens.

The morning dawned a dim gray. I peered out
the window on my way to the bathroom. It looked like we got about
four inches of snow overnight. That sometimes meant fender benders,
stranded motorists, and the occasional sledding accident. Last
year, Jessica Mallins hit a big pine tree head-on behind the
elementary school when she went roaring down the hill on her
toboggan. I called her mom at Delia’s Bakery and had her meet us at
Doc Morris’s office, where the gash on little Jessica’s chin
required ten stitches. I wondered if we’d have any similar
incidents today.

The worst were always the ones involving
all-terrain vehicles. That usually required a more serious
emergency response, like the time Gerry Rutgers had his machine
roll over on his broken leg. We needed a team to pull the ATV off
of the injured man without causing more harm. Biscuit hooked a tow
rope to the police SUV, while a bunch of volunteer firefighters
coordinated the lifting of the machine off the victim. The agonized
screams of the poor man stayed in my head long after he was patched
up at the hospital. I could do without those kinds of
accidents.

At this time of year, the teenagers often
engaged in creative Christmas decorating. Don’t ask me where the
tradition started, but the little buggers often went around to the
houses with the best decorations and redistributed them to the
neighbors. It was almost always in good fun. Mrs. Winkler found her
inflatable snowman plugged in down at the Rawsons’ barn, keeping
the chickens company late one December night. Another time, the
kids grabbed up the fake packages that Mrs. Wilson placed in her
sleigh on the front lawn and put them under the library’s
illuminated blue spruce. They also collected Mr. Wisnewski’s twig
reindeer and scattered them across the library lawn. A couple of
days later, another wise guy got a hold of the plastic coyote that
the Latimer Lake Association put up to keep the Canada geese from
polluting the lake with their droppings and set it up so that it
appeared to be chasing the reindeer. You name it, we’ve seen it at
the holidays. Even Louie Zefferelli got into the act one year when
he put pink flamingoes in Lucy Wentworth’s holiday Toyland display.
The only rule we had in town was simple. Don’t mess with the manger
at the congregational church. The Baby Jesus is off limits.

The nice thing about the village of Latimer
Falls was that folks didn’t care if you were Catholic or
Presbyterian, Jewish, or Muslim, believer or non-believer. We
respected each other as human beings, maybe even more so at the
holidays. Mrs. Klein was a big supporter of the Latimer Falls
Sheriff’s Department, and she knew that Rufus had a weakness for
kugel. Every Hanukkah, she dropped some off for him, knowing it was
a real treat for the former city cop.

We shared our customs and traditions across
the village. Many of Gerhard’s workers stayed on the farm all
year-long and my father encouraged them to uphold their traditions.
It was a big reason why they stayed through the years. On Three
Kings Day in January, the Hispanic farm workers in the surrounding
towns celebrated in Gerhard’s heated garage, decorating it from
ceiling to floor with tiny lights. They filled it with tables and
chairs, set up a buffet table, and hosted a feast that was open to
all. We would crowd into the space to listen to Latino music, cut
the Rosca de Reyes, and hope to be the one to find the tiny doll
baked inside.

I left for work just after eight-fifteen,
taking my time on the slick country roads. I called in to let Marge
know I was on my way, in case there was someone in need of
assistance. She informed me that Mrs. Lukens reported that her
mailbox had been knocked off its post, no doubt thanks to the
Bartles’ snow removal service. I headed over there to see what I
could do to fix the octogenarian’s problem. When I arrived on
Larchmont Lane, I found the metal box tipped, but not off the
platform. Grabbing my cordless screwdriver from the tool box I keep
in the trunk of my trusty yellow bug, I had the mailbox righted in
less than a minute. Once that was taken care of, I let the elderly
woman know all was right with the world. She invited me in for a
cup of tea and I accepted. I’m a big believer in community policing
and sometimes the best information I get from Latimer Falls
residents comes while I’m sitting in someone’s living room,
shooting the breeze. We passed a quarter of an hour together,
chatting about what was going on in the village before I continued
on my way to the sheriff’s office.

Rufus and I met for about twenty minutes,
exchanging information on a number of issues, including the roof
incident. I had yet to file my official report, which I promised to
do immediately after our meeting. Rufus warned me that there were a
series of house break-ins a couple of towns away. Even though
Latimer Falls isn’t right on the highway, we get our fair share of
people passing through on their way to somewhere else. It sounded
like the daylight robberies were related to folks looking for items
to pawn, so they probably were hoping to feed a drug habit. I
suggested that we up the patrols and create a more visible daytime
presence on the main roads, as a deterrent. The sheriff agreed,
assigning us to fifteen minute stints in the little lay-bys near
the highway. That way, when the thieves rolled into town, the first
thing they were likely to see was Latimer Falls’ finest.