Mistletoe Murder Read online

  "That was nice of you," he said.

  As he took another sip of coffee, the phone rang.

  "Lucy? It's Quinn."

  "What's up?" I asked. Her voice sounded urgent.

  "Remember how we were talking about Mandy's sister being in town last night, and how she and her husband weren't getting along too well?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Well, Mandy's brother-in-law's dead."

  2

  I clutched the phone. "Dead? You mean, like of a heart attack or something?"

  "Not exactly," Quinn said. "Somebody stabbed him in the back right in the parking lot of Rosita's." Rosita's was the local Mexican restaurant, run by Mandy's parents. I'd been planning to run by to pick up some tamales in the next day or two; Mandy's mother only made them at Christmas, and they were the best I'd ever tasted.

  "That's horrible," I told her. "Hang on a second; Tobias is here. Let me tell him what's up." When I'd filled him in on what Quinn had told me, I got back on the phone. "When did it happen?"

  "Last night sometime," she said. "They arrested Mandy's sister, Isabella, this morning. Apparently, Isabella and her husband got into a huge fight last night at the restaurant, and she stormed out of the place threatening to divorce him."

  "Do you think she was the one who killed him?" I asked.

  "It's hard to say; I don't know her very well," Quinn said. "I met her a few days ago, when she and Mandy came in for lunch. She seemed nice. Kind of distracted, but not the kind of person you'd expect to stab someone in the back." She sighed. "I heard her complaining about her in-laws, though."

  "Who are her in-laws?"

  "The Stones. They live out toward La Grange. Own a big cattle operation. I don't think they liked Isabella very much."

  "I'll bet they really don't like her now," I said.

  "It's so sad this had to happen right before the holidays," Quinn said. "I know both families will be crushed."

  "Well, if Isabella's innocent, I'll bet Mandy will find a way to prove it." As I spoke, there was the sound of a car on the gravel drive. I turned to see Mandy's car driving toward the farmhouse, way too fast. "Speaking of Mandy, guess who's here?"

  "I'll let you go, then. Let me know how it goes, okay?"

  "I'll call you shortly," I promised, and hung up.

  "Someone stabbed him in the back?" Tobias asked as we watched Mandy park the car.

  "Yes, and I'm guessing Mandy's not too happy about the way Rooster's handling the case."

  As soon as Mandy got to the door, anxiety rolling off her in waves and steam practically shooting out her ears, I knew I was right.

  Mandy spent the first five minutes at my kitchen table railing on Rooster Kocurek, Buttercup's sheriff, before pausing long enough to have a sip of coffee.

  "When did they find his body?" I asked.

  "My mother found him this morning," she said. "She was going in at six to make tamales, and there he was, in the parking lot, smelling like beer and bleeding all over the place, with a sprig of mistletoe in his hair. I'm surprised she didn't have another stroke."

  "She just got out of the hospital a little while ago, didn't she?" I asked.

  Mandy nodded. "That's part of the reason Isabella came to town. She and I were going to help with the tamales, take some of the pressure off her. And now this..." She ran a hand through her silky black hair and took another sip of coffee. She was so amped up, I was kind of wishing I'd made decaf.

  "I'm so sorry," I said. "I know this is the last thing your family needs."

  "Was the murder weapon at the scene?" Tobias asked. His father had been a cop, so he knew the ropes.

  Mandy nodded. "It was one of the knives from the restaurant kitchen."

  "Isabella and her husband were staying with you while they were in town, right?" I asked.

  "Yes. Randy's parents were miffed about it, but Isabella wanted to be closer to our parents' house and the restaurant, so she could help out."

  Tobias took another sip of coffee. "Did Randy come home last night?"

  "No," Mandy said. "He likes to go to the Hitching Post and have a few beers. Or more than a few beers. Isabella and I figured he'd just gone to stay with his parents, you know, to cool off."

  "Was Isabella home with you the whole night, then?"

  "That's the thing," she said. "I thought she was, but there were tire tracks this morning, in the ice. Someone took out her car. She said it wasn't her, but I don't know what to believe. I know she didn't kill him, though." She looked at me with an appeal in her brown eyes. "I need to find out what happened last night. I know how good you are at finding things out, and I was hoping you could help me. If Isabella is locked up for the rest of her life for killing Randy..." Her eyes watered, and she swiped at them.

  "I'll help you find out what happened," I said, and Tobias and I exchanged glances. Randy had been killed with a knife from the restaurant kitchen, and all evidence pointed to Isabella having gone out the night before, despite her denial. I'd help find out the truth, but there was no guarantee Mandy would like it.

  "If there's anything I can do to help, count me in," Tobias offered.

  Mandy looked relieved. "Thanks," she said, sagging into her chair.

  "First question," I said. "Who else would have wanted to kill Randy Stone?"

  Tobias leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Particularly anyone with access to Rosita's kitchen."

  "That's part of the problem," Mandy replied. "I don't know that much about him or his friends. He and I didn't get along too well, so we kind of kept our distance. I know he liked to go drinking down at the Hitching Post, though."

  "Was he an alcoholic?"

  "I think so," Mandy said. "He's gone through a case of Lone Star in about two days, and that's just what he drank at the house."

  "Sounds like Isabella's well out of it," I said. "Although divorce would have been preferable. Did he have any life insurance?"

  "Some," Mandy said. "Which, under normal circumstances, would be great, but now..."

  "More motive," Tobias supplied.

  "Have you talked with the kitchen staff at Rosita's yet?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "I was hoping maybe you could come help make tamales and we could do it together, kind of under the radar."

  "I've got my hands full today," I said, "but would tomorrow morning work?"

  "How about nine o'clock?"

  "I'll see you there," I told her.

  "I should let you get on with your day," she said as she stood up to leave. "I can't thank you enough, though. I just know this had nothing to do with Isabella."

  "We'll do everything we can," Tobias reassured her as she stepped out into the wintry morning. As I closed the door behind her, Tobias and I looked at each other, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing.

  We were both hoping Mandy was right.

  Tobias left a few minutes later, and after checking in with Quinn and putting up the milk, I spent the next hour cutting fragrant soaps, wrapping them in my handmade labels, and tying them off with raffia. When I had enough for the Market, I took a break, slipped into my boots, and went out to collect some mistletoe from the oaks by the creek.

  Chuck wouldn't come any farther than the kissing gate—it was too cold and wet for him—but I happily trudged through the wheat-colored grass down to the creek, leaving a dark, wet track in my wake. The ice was melting by now, making loud, dripping noises, and although a few small branches were down, I was relieved to see no major limb damage. I gathered a few bunches of mistletoe from the oaks—with the drooping branches, it was easier to reach—and reflected on the irony of the kissing plant being both poisonous and parasitic in nature. Love could be toxic; in Randy and Isabella Stone's case, it appeared that had very much been the case. I paused before going back inside, enjoying the tang of woodsmoke on the cold air and the bleached gold fields, punctuated by the greens of live oak trees and cedars. On my way back to the farmhouse, I gathered a few cedar boughs, making sure to
pick from female trees so the boughs wouldn't be loaded with yellow pollen, and added them to the wicker basket in which I'd put the mistletoe.

  Back in the farmhouse, I put some beeswax into a double boiler to melt, then sorted through the mistletoe, gathering small bunches and drying them off before tying them with red velvet ribbon. They were big sellers at the Market. When I had a few dozen bunches of mistletoe ready to go, I loaded them into the basket and put them on the porch to stay chilled, then arranged the cedar boughs in the center of the table, adding a homemade beeswax candle in a jar and tucking in a few sprigs of pyracantha I'd picked down by the mailbox the day before. The red berries added a festive touch. I put on a CD of 1940s' Christmas carols, and as Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra crooned, the smell of cedar boughs, beeswax, and woodsmoke filled my grandmother's kitchen. All I needed now was another batch of snickerdoodles—and maybe a Christmas tree.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon absorbed in getting ready for the Market—it was the kind of afternoon I'd dreamed about when I worked in Houston—but the festive feeling was dampened by thoughts of the Vargas family. By the time I pulled up at the Town Square, my truck loaded with holiday goodies, the sky was darkening to deep blue, and the Christmas lights all around town were lit and sparkling.

  Several of the local businesses were way ahead of me in preparation. Local artist Martin Shaw's Twin Oaks Pottery, which had opened a studio in town just a few months ago, had an amazing selection of mugs, plates, platters, and other kitchen items for sale, all in gorgeous blues, with a few greens and earthy tones mixed in. I had my eye on a big blue mug whose colors reminded me of the ocean. The Buttercup Knittery, a business I had only recently started paying attention to, was offering a selection of handmade ornaments, luscious yarns, and a selection of scarves and mittens I was planning on using as backup in the event my scarf for Tobias wasn't long enough to go around his neck. Quinn's Blue Onion stall was already loaded up with her famous Christmas bread and a variety of other yummy holiday treats, Fannie's Antiques was set up with a variety of vintage-looking Christmas decorations, and Gus Holz had already hung about a dozen of his homemade birdhouses. I had my eye on one of his bluebird houses; if I sold enough of my stock, I was getting myself one for Christmas.

  Flora turned up as I finished clipping the mistletoe bundles to the front of the canopy covering my stall and stood back to admire my handiwork. I'd strung white Christmas lights and added red bows to the corners, and covered the table with a homey, festive red-and-green-plaid tablecloth. The hand-painted sign hanging from the booth said "Dewberry Farm Holiday Delights," and once I got my jams, candles, and soaps up, I hoped it would be alluring enough to draw several Market visitors.

  "Hi, Flora!" I greeted her.

  "It looks good," she said, nodding with approval.

  "Thanks," I told her. "Could you help me get these candles out for display?" I asked. "I'll put the soaps next to them, and line up the jams on the other side."

  "Sure," Flora said, looking happy to have a job. She'd dressed for the occasion in a spangled red Christmas sweater that would be a shoo-in for first place in an Ugly Christmas Sweater contest, accessorized with glowing Christmas light earrings and red lipstick that accentuated both the thinness of her lips and her skin's waxy pallor. I'd never been known for my keen fashion sense, but even I could tell she wasn't exactly dressed to kill.

  Still, she was out in the world, and even if she didn't lure a potential Prince Charming, it was a lot better than being holed up at home. I watched as she placed the first few candles on the table, then got busy lining up the goat-milk soaps. I'd brought lavender, oatmeal-honey—made with honey from the Honeyed Moon Mead Winery—lemon verbena, antique rose, and a new variety I was calling Cozy Christmas, with warm spices and a touch of orange oil. I was hoping it sold like hotcakes.

  By the time we managed to get everything set up, we already had customers. Many were from neighboring La Grange, but there was a good mix of locals, too, most of whom had heard about what had happened to Randy Stone and were anxious to talk about it.

  "What happened to Randy Stone?" Flora asked after the first local left. Which just went to show that she really, really needed to get out more. I knew squirrels in Buttercup who were better informed.

  I gave her the lowdown on what had happened, adding that I wasn't sure Randy's wife was the culprit. I'd just finished telling her what I knew when Opal Gruber appeared with a cup of mulled mead from the Honeyed Moon Mead Winery.

  "I'm so glad to see you," I told her. And then, in a lower voice, I asked, "What's going on with the Randy Stone case?"

  "Not much, to be honest. It looks pretty open-and-shut. Crime of passion."

  "Mandy Vargas doesn't think so," I said.

  "Of course she doesn't," Opal said, giving me a sharp look over her cat-eye glasses. "Isabella's her sister. Now, I'm not sayin' it was the right thing to do, goin' after him with a butcher's knife, but that one was a bad apple through and through."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He got into a fight at the Hitchin' Post a few nights ago; he had trouble with liquor. And there's rumors he and his ex-girlfriend from high school were seeing each other on the sly."

  "Who's his ex-girlfriend?"

  "Rhonda Gehring," she said. "She's married, too. Still, those old high-school flames can be hard to put out."

  Rhonda and Randy. Maybe it was a good thing they hadn't gotten together, I thought.

  "I heard he was involved in the family business, too," I said. One of the locals had mentioned it while purchasing a jar of spiced pear butter.

  "Couldn't hold a job, so his family took pity on him, from what I hear," Opal said. "No wonder Isabella was fed up. I know I shouldn't say it, but I think he deserved what he got. I just wish she'd done a better job of covering her tracks."

  "You think Isabella did it, don't you?"

  Opal grimaced as she picked up one of my Cozy Christmas soaps. "A woman can only take so much. Oooh, these soaps smell good," she said, sniffing the soap bar. "I'll take two."

  3

  My mind was churning as I wrapped up the soaps and watched as Flora counted out Opal's change. Opal might be convinced Isabella was the one who'd killed Randy, but it sounded to me like there might be some other options.

  Like Rhonda Gehring. Or maybe her husband.

  As Opal drifted off to the next stall, Flora was looking more disconsolate than usual.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Maybe I shouldn't be looking for a man," she said. "They're all scum, aren't they?"

  "Some men aren't good relationship candidates," I admitted. "But then again, some women aren't either. Still, just because there are some bad eggs out there doesn't mean they're all horrible." As I spoke, Gus Holz approached the stall. "Hey, Gus," I said. "Here for some mistletoe?"

  He blushed; as one of Buttercup's inveterate bachelors, I was pretty sure that wasn't on his Christmas list. He was solid, with a reddish face and only a sprinkling of gray hair around his round pate. "Nah," he said, but he darted a glance at Flora, whose right hand snuck up to fluff her hair. "I just wanted to let you know I've only got two bluebird houses left. Want me to put one aside?"

  I hesitated. The Market was going well, but money was tight, and I was saving as much as I could to put toward the renovation of the old house I'd recently moved to the property. I'd gotten a windfall on a find of golden coins some time back, and the local German heritage club was contributing to the renovation, but I was still short of what I needed to finish the project. "Don't hold one for me," I told him. "If there's one left at the end of the season, I'll get it... if not, I'll just have to wait until next year."

  He nodded at Flora and me, then abruptly turned away. It was an awkward moment; I wasn't quite sure what had prompted it, but when I noticed two pink spots on Flora's normally pallid cheeks, I wondered.

  Had Cupid lofted a Christmas arrow while I was worrying about Mandy's sister?

  Tobias arrived
just as we started packing up what little was left. The Christmas lights were still glowing, and a few customers were still milling through the market, but we were pretty picked over, and I was tired.

  "How was the Market?" he asked as I unclipped one of the three remaining bunches of mistletoe from the front of the stall.

  "It was good," I told him, "and Flora was a godsend, but I'm worn out."

  "It was fun!" Flora added, in a tone more animated than I was used to hearing from her. After I was comfortable she knew how to handle the stall, I'd taken the opportunity to wander the Market. I'd marked the scarf I had in mind—it wasn't red and white, but it was a lovely blue that would set off Tobias's eyes—and visited with Quinn and Serafine, who were both doing a booming business. Flora had done the same later on, coming back holding a bratwurst and wearing a smile that made my night.

  "Up for helping out tomorrow, too?" I asked her.

  "Sure!" she said, and her eyes darted across the green to the stall where Gus Holz sat surrounded by birdhouses. There was only one bluebird house left, I was disappointed to see. Ah, well...

  I reached up to unclip another bunch of mistletoe, and Tobias took the opportunity to put his arms around me and land a big kiss on my forehead. I laughed and kissed him back, prompting a rogue whistle from a passerby.

  "Still up for a nightcap?" he asked.

  "I could use a drink," I said. "Preferably something warm, like a hot toddy." The temperature had dropped as the Market continued, and it was only a few degrees above freezing. Which was positively frigid by Texas standards.

  "I'd recommend the mead, but we'll probably have a better chance of finding out more about Randy Stone if we walk over to the Hitching Post."

  Once we got everything loaded up, I was more than ready for a warm drink. I set a time to meet Flora tomorrow evening and snuggled into Tobias as we walked the few blocks to Randy Stone's favorite bar.

  "How was the clinic this afternoon?" I asked as we left the twinkling Christmas lights of the Square behind us. The sky was clear and studded with stars, and a half moon was riding high in the sky.