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The rattling of a key in the lock woke me from a half slumber. I was lying on a rickety cot in the janitor’s closet since there was only one cell in the Upper Snow Falls Police Station, and it was currently occupied by Morley.
Tippy lifted his head, eagerly sniffing in the direction of the door. The constable had locked the poor mutt up with me since he had nowhere else to put him, and he’d growled when the constable tried to separate us. For a dog who didn’t care much for me, he sure was protective.
I sat up, patting my hair into place and surreptitiously scrubbing at my teeth just in case I’d gotten lipstick on them or something. I wished I had my handbag with me so I could look in the mirror, but I’d have probably been shocked anyway.
The cell door swung open, and the constable appeared, backlit. I could still make out his shame-faced expression. Mr. Woodward must have read him the riot act. That had been my one phone call. After all, not only was I on semi-official business, but what was the point of working for a solicitor if you couldn’t use him when needed.
But it wasn’t Mr. Woodward who was waiting for me. It was Jack, looking rather scrumptious in a neatly tailored brown suit with his sandy hair perfectly coiffed.
Tippy trotted over to demand ear scratching while I stood dumbfounded for a minute. Finally, I sputtered, “Jack, what are you doing here?”
He gave me a slight half-grin. “I was in the office when you rang. I told Uncle I’d take care of you. Er, I’d help you.”
I gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you.”
I also thanked the constable when he returned my belongings. “By the way, what’s going to happen now that the real will has been found?”
He scratched his head. “That’ll be up to probate, I reckon, but it looks like it’ll mostly go to the nephew as Mr. Croswell wanted.”
“What about Mr. Morley?” I asked. “Surely he must pay for his crime.”
“He will,” Jack assured me. “It’s called spoliation of evidence, and it’s a crime. He could go to prison for it. We’ll just have to see what the judge says. Now come along, Sugar. Let’s get you home.”
“All right, but first I want to stop and thank Mrs. Snow and maybe grab a few scones to go. You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve tasted her scones.”
Only the tearoom was dark, the chairs stacked in a corner and the tables tipped one on top of the other and shoved up against the walls. The fireplace was bare and cold, and there wasn’t a Christmas decoration to be seen. In fact, it looked as if there had never been a tearoom there at all. Certainly not any time in recent history.
“Are you sure this is the address?” Jack asked.
“Positive. Tippy and I stopped in here several times.” I frowned as I peered in the window again, wondering what was going on. I was definitely in the right place.
“Can I help?” a male voice called from behind us.
I straightened up and turned, recognizing the man immediately. “Berty! Do you know what’s happened to Mrs. Snow’s tearoom?”
He frowned. “Sorry, who?”
“Mrs. Snow. She ran the tearoom here.”
“The only tearoom in town is two doors down from my bookstore and closed in the winter. Miss Gretchen Higgins runs it. I don’t know a Mrs. Snow.”
“But she was here just yesterday,” I assured him. “I had scones with her. Surely you know her.” The village wasn’t that big. “She grew up here in the village. She told me all about it.”
He gave me a funny look. “Sorry, Sugar, but there’s never been anyone by the name of Snow in this village and that shop has been closed for years.”
“Are you sure? She was at the funeral. She was standing at the back under a tree. She wore a red coat. Surely you saw her.”
Berty frowned. “I’d have noticed a red coat amidst all that black. Are you feeling quite the thing, Miss Martin?” The inference being I’d lost my marbles.
“Oh.” There wasn’t anything else to say. It was all so... confusing. I couldn’t possibly have dreamt up Mrs. Snow and the tearoom. Tippy and I had been in there and eaten those marvelous scones.
Berty tipped his hat. “I’m off. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Happy Christmas to you both.” And he strode off toward his store.
“Come on, Sugar, let’s get you home. There’s just enough time to get ready and get to London.”
“Get ready for what?” I was still confused about the whole tearoom situation. What was going on? I knew I knew it hadn’t been a hallucination.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“No. What note?” I’d been so busy with my investigation I hadn’t checked the post in the last couple of days.
“I’ve got two tickets to opening night of the new Cinderella ballet. I invited you to join me.” His cheeks turned a little pink. “As my date. Will you go?”
––––––––
TO SAY THE BALLET WAS magical was, perhaps, an understatement. The costumes were stunning, the dancers magnificent, and the music enthralling. I was so wrapped up in it all, the time flew by.
I asked Jack how he’d known I’d been dying to see that ballet, but he just shrugged and said a little bird told him. I couldn’t imagine who that could have been. I hadn’t told a soul. Not even Toni or Penny. The only one who might have known was Tippy, and he wasn’t talking.
Afterward, Jack insisted on driving me home despite the late hour. It was the wee morning hours when he finally walked me to my door. The moon glowed bright overhead and the magic of his kiss blew everything else right out of the water.
Ballet? What ballet?