“No. Freaking. Way.”
Lussi was in the break room, staring into the fridge as if she were gazing into the abyss. The door was open, “letting all the cold air out,” as her mother would have put it. Her mother would have understood, though, because an even greater sin had been committed.
Somebody had stolen her stollen.
The Christmas party was scheduled to start in less than an hour. After running out of time to grab her fruitcake for the editorial meeting, Lussi had decided to save it for the office party. She hadn’t drawn anyone’s name for the exchange, but it felt wrong to go empty-handed—especially since there was a gift waiting for her under the tree. She’d peeked Monday afternoon. The red-and-green striped box with her name on it didn’t look threatening. The idea that it was a prank had slowly subsided as the week had worn on. But now…
Lussi couldn’t imagine someone taking her fruitcake by accident. Trouble was, there were too many suspects. Not even Robert Urich could solve this mystery.
“Mind if I grab my lunch there, chief?” Sloppy Joe said, lumbering into the break room.
She held the fridge door open for him. “You haven’t seen a fruitcake around here, have you?” she asked. “It seems to have gotten up and walked away.”
“Lose your lunch, eh? I’ll tell you what.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘I’ll tell you—’ ”
He closed the fridge. “I shouldn’t say anything, but…” He glanced around nervously. “You know who loved fruitcake?”
She shook her head.
“Mr. Blackwood,” he whispered.
She raised an eyebrow. “You think your new boss is a food snatcher.”
“Not Digby,” he said. He lowered his voice. “Xavier.”
“Sorry, I don’t think you’re understanding me. I put it in the fridge Monday. Mr. Blackwood died last week.”
As the microwave hummed to life, Sloppy Joe turned to her. “May I inquire about your views on life after death? More to the point…do you believe in ghosts?”
She’d long since ruled out any malice in Sloppy Joe’s warnings about the basement. How had she suspected this man of orchestrating or participating in a prank of any kind? She felt silly even thinking about it. He was earnest to a fault. That didn’t mean she was about to get into a serious metaphysical discussion with him. Especially not in the ninety seconds it took him to heat up his lasagna.
“I’ve never heard of a ghost that eats fruitcake,” Lussi said, sidestepping his question. “In fact, I’ve never heard of a ghost that eats anything. They don’t need to eat. They’re dead.”
“Did you see Ghostbusters? I took my grandkids. There was this fat green fella in the movie, ate all the hot dogs.” The man snort-laughed, and his jowls wiggled. “Then again, maybe Mr. Blackwood’s ghost is just messing with you. I’m not an expert on these things. I thought you might be, because…” He let the sentence trail off and stared at her awkwardly.
The microwave dinged.
“You better get that,” Lussi said. She turned on her heel, leaving Sloppy Joe to his lunch. “And to whoever stole my fruitcake,” she added under her breath, “I hope you have fun choking on it.”