Cremas, Christmas Cookies, and Crooks Read online

  “Oh, that’s great!” I replied. “Well, I guess. It’ll probably be really hard for her too. Putting in all that work all year and then having to sit in the audience during the performance.”

  “I know. I feel so bad for her.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “Have you made any progress on the case?”

  I thought about it. Had I? I’d certainly worked on it enough, done enough research, talked to enough people. I had some ideas, but I really didn’t know if they were worth anything. I had suspects, but I wasn’t really sure which of them was the most likely culprit. I almost felt as if all my efforts had been for nothing. Almost, but not quite. After all, all my suspects were going to be at the play that night—Principal Varros, Gwen Blarney, Brett Wallace, even Ann Crowsdale. If only I had a library I could draw them all into for an Agatha Christie-style dramatic reveal. Of course, to do a reveal, I’d have to know whodunit.

  “Fran?” Sammy said, making me realize I’d been lost in my thoughts about the case. “Have you made any progress?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted as I turned into the school parking lot. “But maybe.”

  We spent the next hour and a half or so getting our tables set up and decorated in true Christmassy fashion. As I stepped back to admire what was, admittedly, mostly Sammy’s work turning the tables into a red-and-green, evergreen-bough-bedecked, fake-snow-sprinkled winter wonderland, I realized that with everything going on, I’d nearly forgotten how quickly Christmas was approaching. I did some quick mental math and realized it was just over a week away, and I had virtually nothing done to prepare. If I didn’t get this murder figured out soon, all Matt would find under the tree on Christmas morning was one of Latte’s drooled-on chew toys. At least I’d be setting the expectation low for future Christmases.

  The school’s doors had just opened to let the playgoers in when I saw Mike slip in among the crowd. I felt my stomach clench. He couldn’t possibly have found out I went to see Brett in the hospital, could he? I didn’t see how. I told myself he was just there to help with security and busied myself with serving people snacks. I was successful until the lights flashed, letting everyone know the play was about to start, and the lobby cleared. Then Mike walked over to our table.

  “Sammy, could you give us a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. She shot me a sympathetic look and headed toward the bathroom.

  “What’s up?” I asked as cheerfully as I could.

  “I think you know,” he said coldly.

  I swallowed hard.

  “You went to see Brett in the hospital.”

  “Um, what did—how did—” I stammered and stuttered and couldn’t get my words out.

  “His mother wants to press charges.”

  “What? For what?”

  “Harassment. You’ve repeatedly met with or attempted to meet with Brett while insinuating that he was responsible for or involved in Veronica Underwood’s murder.”

  “But Brett asked me to go visit him!”

  “Brett is a juvenile.”

  “Mike, you can’t possibly think that I had any malicious intent!”

  He shook his head slowly, but I saw no sympathy in the gesture. “I told you to stay away.”

  I stared at him for what felt like a very long time. Finally, I managed to put the question thundering around my head into words. “Are you arresting me?”

  “Not now,” he said, sending a jolt of anxiety through my system. “But after the play, I’m going to need you to come down to the station with me so I can take your statement.”

  “Will I be going home tonight?” I asked. “Because if not, I’ll need to make arrangements for my dog.”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary,” he said. “As long as you cooperate.”

  I nodded briefly. I could cooperate. I might think it was ridiculous, but I could cooperate.

  “I’ll see you after the play,” Mike said then turned on his heel and walked away toward the other side of the large, open area we were set up in. He leaned up against the wall, where I guessed he was planning to stay for the rest of the show.

  We were friends, I thought, staring over at him. I didn’t really understand what had happened. Sure, I’d gotten involved in his investigation and hadn’t stepped away from it when he’d asked me to, but I’d done all that before. Maybe he’d just had enough of it. Maybe everything with Brett had really upset him that much. I could understand that. But his reaction seemed so extreme, so disproportionate. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d taken advantage of our friendship, assumed I could get away with things that I shouldn’t have. I still held out a fragile hope that maybe our friendship wasn’t gone for good, but I wasn’t terribly optimistic.

  “What was that about?” Sammy asked, coming up behind me.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It was nothing.” I suddenly felt overwhelmed. I had lost a friend, was facing harassment charges, hadn’t done a thing to prepare for Christmas, and for what? What did I have to show for it? Nothing. Not a solved case, not a vindicated teacher. I had not a single thing to show for it. “Did we bring a knife?” I asked Sammy, looking for a reason to get away for a few minutes. “I need a knife to cut the cinnamon loaf so we have some ready for intermission. I’ll go look for one in the kitchen.” I turned to go toward the cafeteria, even as I heard Sammy saying behind me that she had one right there. I just needed to be alone. Just for a minute.

  I made my way down the hallway and through the doors into the darkened cafeteria. There was a light on in the kitchen. I followed it, knowing I’d need to return with a knife to maintain my cover story. I had just gotten into the kitchen when I heard voices.

  “Why did you have a folder anyway, Marcus?” a female voice asked. “And why did you just leave it out on your desk where anyone could see it?”

  “Because I didn’t expect anyone to be going through my papers, Gwen!”

  Marcus. Gwen. Marcus Varros and Gwen Blarney. And were they—could they possibly be talking about the papers that Brett had stolen? The ones he’d taken the pictures of? I ducked down and crept closer to them.

  “Not even Brett Wallace? Are you an idiot, Marcus? You know that boy can’t be left alone for two seconds without getting into something!”

  “Well, if you didn’t send him to my office every day, it wouldn’t be such a problem. You can’t even control your classroom!”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t dumped me in the English department, I wouldn’t be having trouble with it! You know I’ve never been a good English teacher! It bores me! But no, your little girlfriend comes running, asking for a job, and you just shove me aside and give my job to her!”

  “Veronica wasn’t my girlfriend, and you know it! Besides, she was going to tell my wife about us.”

  “About the two of us? Or about the two of you?”

  “I told you, Gwen! We weren’t together!”

  “Then why did I catch you kissing her?”

  “I told you. It was a one-time thing! It meant nothing.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Your lies don’t work on me, Marcus. Not when you tell your wife the same ones when you’re talking about me!” Gwen’s heels started clip-clopping in my direction. I scooted back a little farther to stay hidden.

  “Stop it, Gwen! You know you’re not just some fling. I love you! I’d do anything for you. I’d die for you! I’d—I’d—” Varros’s footsteps followed her toward me. I shrank back some more.

  “You’d kill for me?”

  “You know I would.”

  “Say it.” Gwen’s voice was lower now. I could just barely hear it. Varros must have been standing very close to her.

  “I would kill for you.” He paused. “I killed for you.”

  The talking stopped, but I heard noises I couldn’t quite recognize. On my hands and knees, I crept toward them, trying to see what was going on without being seen myself. Unfortunately, I failed to take into account the
need to also not be heard and bumped into a cart piled high with metal pots that came crashing down onto the tile floor.

  “What was that?” Gwen asked.

  “Someone’s here.”

  I tried to scramble to my feet but kept getting tripped up on the pots. Finally, I managed to get myself up.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” Varros asked from behind me.

  “Oh, I was just looking for a knife to cut the cinnamon loaf, but it looks like I’m interrupting, so I’ll just be on my way.” I said it all without turning around and started to make for the door.

  “Then you’re in luck. I have a knife right here for you.”

  “Oh, thank you!” I turned around, naively assuming he was actually about to give me a knife. He was—he just had no intention of putting it into my hand. More like my chest.

  Varros brandished one of the biggest butcher knives I’d ever seen in my direction. “Thought you could just sneak in here to get some evidence for your little investigation, huh? Because Ann Crowsdale’s so nice she just can’t go to jail! You’re probably going to run straight to the cops and tell them everything, aren’t you?”

  Gwen stepped up and grabbed Varros’s arm. “Marcus, stop. She may not have heard anything.”

  “Oh, she heard everything. Didn’t you, Fran?”

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. “No, not really,” I squeaked.

  “You’re a terrible liar.” He stepped away from Gwen and toward me, still pointing the knife decidedly in my direction. “You wanted to hear me swear I’d kill for you, Gwen?” he asked. “Killing Veronica wasn’t enough for you? I’ll prove how much I love you. And this time you can watch.”

  I tried to look around the room for something I could use to defend myself while not taking my eyes off Varros. I knew that looking away for a split second would be all he needed to reach me with the knife. If he even needed that.

  “Marcus, I don’t—I don’t want to see her die!”

  “You always were a coward, Gwen.” He stepped closer to me. I stepped back, straight into the wall. There was nowhere to go. “It’s just too bad Ann’s out there watching the play,” Varros said. “I’ll just have to pin this one on you.”

  He made a move toward me, and I squeezed my eyes shut. If I only had a second left to live, I wanted the last image in my head to be of my Matty and Latte, not this monster.

  “Freeze!”

  It seemed like a strange thing for someone to say right before they murdered you, but I wasn’t planning on moving anyway, so I complied.

  “Drop the weapon, and put your hands in the air!”

  I didn’t have a weapon, so I just slowly raised my hands into the air above my head.

  “Not you, Franny.”

  And that was when I realized the voice wasn’t coming from Varros. I slowly opened my eyes. I’d never been so happy to see Mike in my life. Even if he was pointing a gun in my general direction.

  “Get down on your knees, both of you,” he barked.

  I started to get down, when I realized he was talking to Gwen and Varros. They got down. I stayed put.

  “Franny, go out in the hall and wait for the other officers. When they get here, show them where to go. They should be here any minute.”

  “Will you be okay here?” I asked. “Alone? With them?”

  “I’ll be more okay than you were.”

  I almost burst into tears when he smiled at me. Maybe I hadn’t lost my friend after all.

  Chapter 25

  “FRANNY, I AM SO SORRY.”

  “You don’t have to keep telling me that, Mike. It’s fine!”

  A week had gone by since the play’s opening night when Mike had stopped Varros from killing me, and he was still apologizing for everything that had happened.

  “No, but really, Fran. I never should have been so hard on you.”

  “Stop it! I don’t want to hear another word about it out of you. Now where are Sandra and the kids? Why aren’t they here?”

  “They’re already up at her parents’ cabin. I’ll head up tomorrow morning after I get off duty.”

  “How did you get stuck working Christmas Eve, anyway? Aren’t you high-ranking enough that you shouldn’t have to work major holidays?”

  He shrugged. “Somebody’s gotta do it.”

  I looked across the café at Ryan, cuddled up in the corner with Sammy, noticeably not in his uniform, unlike Mike. As he was ostensibly the low man on the police department’s totem pole, having only started working in Cape Bay less than four months earlier, I didn’t understand why he wasn’t the one spending Christmas Eve patrolling Cape Bay’s sleepy streets, but I wasn’t the one who made the schedule, so what did I know?

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway.” I slipped my arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “And I’m glad you’re not yelling at me anymore.”

  He laughed. “Me too, Franny.”

  I spotted Rhonda waving at me across the crowded room. “The kid-friendly eggnog is the one on the left,” I told him as I excused myself. Since he was working, he had to skip the rum-soaked stuff. I wasn’t complaining, though. It was more for me.

  I made my way through all the friends and friends-of-friends who had gathered at the café for our first annual Christmas party. I’d thought about having it at my house, but I’d never managed to get it very decorated. Sammy, though, had the café completely transformed, even above and beyond how she’d had it for the rest of the season. Just about everywhere I looked had something special and Christmassy. It was so festive. I was going to be sad when we had to take it all down.

  I finally got to Rhonda after saying hello and Merry Christmas and giving hugs to about twenty people.

  “You should have brought Mike over with you!” she said loudly so I could hear her over all the Christmas music and conversation.

  I looked across the room at him standing all alone at the punch bowl. “He does look lonely, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, yeah, but I meant because I still haven’t heard the details of how the whole Underwood thing went down, and I figure you’ve been hitting the eggnog too hard for too long to remember it all!”

  “I most certainly have not!”

  “All right, then! Spill! I know Varros is the one who killed Veronica Underwood, and she was blackmailing him about something or other, but I’m missing all the details.”

  I started from as near as possible to what I knew as the beginning. “So Varros and his wife used to live in Rhode Island, right? He and Veronica and her friend Kristin all apparently knew each other for a really long time. At some point, maybe before Varros got married, maybe after—the details aren’t too clear—he and Veronica got together.”

  “He was cheating on his wife with her.”

  “Yup. And apparently Veronica wanted to be a teacher even though she quite openly hated children. I guess she thought it would be an easy job or something. Anyway, she didn’t want to go through all the work to become a teacher, so she falsified her records to get her teaching certificate.”

  “And Varros helped her, right?”

  “They think so. They’re not totally sure. He definitely knew they were fake, but they haven’t figured out whether he helped her fake them. So they were together back in Rhode Island, but then Varros and his wife decided to move here. I’m not too clear on the details of that either, but I think she had some family here she wanted to be closer to or something like that.”

  “You’re not too clear on many of the details are you?” Rhonda teased.

  “I know the important ones! Anyway, once they were here and Varros started working at Cape Bay High, he and Gwen Blarney got together.”

  “Still cheating, right?”

  “Still cheating. He and Mrs. Varros are still together. Well, they were. I heard she’s filed for divorce already.”

  “Can’t say I blame her!” Rhonda said.

  “Me neither. Anyway, Veronica found out that the Rhode
Island Department of Education was onto her fake credentials, so she contacted Varros and told him she needed a job here. If he didn’t give it to her, she was going to spill the beans to his wife about the two of them.”

  “Were they still together?”

  “Apparently, yes.”

  “So he was cheating with Gwen Blarney and Veronica Underwood at the same time.”

  “Yup. And Veronica knew about Gwen too. She just used it to blackmail him more. He eventually got sick of her always asking for money and threatening to out him to his wife, so he killed her.”

  Rhonda shivered visibly despite the heat of the room.

  “What I think is so creepy about it is how methodical he was. He disabled the camera that covered the part of the parking lot where her assigned spot was and made sure everyone in the school knew it was broken. He slashed her tires to keep her there late after play practice when he knew that she and Ann Crowsdale would be the last two leaving. He knew that Veronica didn’t carry a tire iron but that Ann did because he’d had a flat tire the year before and she’d let him borrow it.”

  “So he knew she’d let Veronica borrow it and then her fingerprints would be on it.”

  I nodded. “He had everything planned down to a T. He knew everyone’s schedules and made his plan so that if Ann Crowsdale fell through, there would be plenty of other people to pin it on, including his other girlfriend, Gwen.”

  Rhonda shook her head. “So what did he have against Ann that he wanted to set her up for murder?”

  “Absolutely nothing. She was just the easiest target.”

  “Of course, if he’d picked someone less well loved to pin it on, the truth may not have ever come out.”

  “The biggest flaw in his plan,” I agreed.

  “What about Brett? How was he involved?”

  “He wasn’t. Except for the evidence he found that was enough to prove Varros’s motive.”

  “I told you the kid’s a genius.” Rhonda smiled.

  “Oh, trust me, I believe you.”

  “I’m going to go get some more eggnog. Do you want more?” Rhonda asked me.