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When I return to Buttercup Manor, it is after dark. I stood by Winnie for moral support as she called Officer Hensel and told him everything about the wallet, despite her fears of signing off on Rowena’s one-way ticket to juvie. As soon as the police showed up to retrieve the wallet of Lester Landis, Pudding and I headed home.
The night air smells like pine and the manor glows with its twinkling lights framing the outside of the house. The antique chandelier hanging in the foyer is lit, but no one is at the front desk when I unlock the doors and step into the front hall. I quickly turn around and lock the doors behind me. My conversation with Winnie about Lester’s potential killer has kept me on my toes even more than usual. I stared in my rearview mirror most of the way home just to make sure I wasn’t followed.
Music floats from the lounge. There are empty mugs and cookie crumbs on the coffee table. A few gingerbread truffles remain on a decorative dessert plate Narine and I unpacked along with the Christmas tree decorations.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I haven’t checked it in a while. I pull it out and see a missed call from my brother. “Merry Christmas, Mark,” I whisper. “I hope your day was better than mine.”
Narine sits up straighter when I follow Pudding into the kitchen. She sets her cup of comfrey tea on the table and pushes aside a plate of peppermint divinity. Mr. Dixon leans against the counter with a teacup of his own. His silver spectacles are foggy from the steam of his beverage and for once, he is not wearing a suit jacket, a bowtie, or a button-down dress shirt.
“Anything?” Narine asks, wide-eyed.
I shake my head. “No.”
“I’m just flabbergasted by this whole thing,” she comments. “We haven’t had a child go missing in decades.”
“Our police department has their hands full,” Mr. Dixon adds.
“Indeed, they do.” Narine slurps her tea and Mr. Dixon doesn’t criticize her lack of etiquette. “Would you like something to eat, darlin’? Or maybe you would like something sweet?”
I sit at the kitchen table and rest my chin in my hands. Pudding curls up right by my feet. She still smells lemony fresh from yesterday’s hose down. No matter how hard I try, the image of Lester Landis keeps popping up in my head. I grab a peppermint divinity and let the sweet candy melt in my mouth.
“I missed a call from my brother.” I attempt to change the subject hoping it will liven up the mood. Unfortunately, my minds jumps to another worry that swirls through my brain nonstop. “We don’t speak much these days. Even when we do speak, it’s not like when we were kids. We don’t have much in common. Sometimes I wonder if reconnecting with him is even possible.”
“Never stop trying,” Narine replies. She reaches down and scratches underneath her sock. I glance at Mr. Dixon and wait for a snide comment about hygiene or proper foot care. He says nothing.
“She’s right,” Mr. Dixon agrees. “You can’t give up on family.”
I pop another peppermint divinity into my mouth. “Are you two okay?”
“What do mean, darlin’?” Narine continues to scratch.
“Yesterday you two could hardly stand each other,” I say. “Maybe I’m premature. How long have y’all been in the same room?”
Narine chuckles. “She has figured us out, Nubert.”
“What’s to figure out?” he responds. “We have our ups and downs. We’re siblings.”
“And with all the Rowena business, we’ve decided to bury the hatchet,” Narine explains.
“At least, until next year.” Mr. Dixon struggles to keep a straight face. “I’m kidding.”
“Look who found his sense of humor.” Narine’s laughter is contagious. I chuckle along with her as she reaches for a gingerbread cookie. The plate is almost empty. I don’t dare ask how many sweets she has had already.
“Nice to see I can still tell a joke,” he replies. “But let me be clear, Poppy. Don’t expect the funny times to keep on rolling when we get back to the academy. I have a reputation.”
“I’m glad you’re aware of it.” I smile for the first time all day.
“Nubert and I have agreed,” Narine announces. “We’re forfeiting our first-place award. That prize belongs to Ethel and the Alpine Bakery. I hope after a little talk with Mary everything will be sorted out. We’re even discussing having pastries and bread loaves delivered here on a regular basis.”
“And I am sorry for grabbing the wrong tin,” Mr. Dixon chimes in. “It was irresponsible of me not to double check everything.”
“Wait a minute.” Narine pulls out her cell phone. “Can you say that again, please? Particularly the part about being irresponsible.”
“I’ve said my peace. That’s all you get.” He sips from his teacup.
“Not a bad Christmas present.” I nod. “If you two can work it out then there is hope for the rest of us.”
“Now, why don’t we all end the day on that happier note and turn in early?” Narine suggests.
“I second that notion,” Mr. Dixon replies. “Poppy?”
“I could use a good night’s rest,” I admit.
Pudding’s ears perk up just as a knock rings through the hallway.
Narine shrugs. “I’m not expecting a late check-in, are you, Nubert?” Mr. Dixon shakes his head. “Oh well, I guess duty calls.” She slowly stands up and limps into the foyer. I follow right behind her along with Mr. Dixon. Pudding sniffs the hardwood floor and doesn’t stop until she reaches the welcome rug. She wags her tail and barks.
“I’ll check the schedule and see if we got a last-minute booking.” Mr. Dixon walks behind the reception desk and turns on the computer screen while I inch toward the staircase.
“Just a moment,” Narine says loudly. She runs her fingers through her hair and puts on a friendly face. Pudding barks some more as she unlocks the doors to greet her mystery visitor.
Narine’s smile fades instantly.
“Merry Christmas, my little cherry pie. I’m back.” A man with a frosty beard and pearly smile opens his arms to embrace her.
Narine’s cheeks turn a fiery red – a color that coincidentally reminds me of a cherry pie.
She walks right up to the man and slaps him in the face.
I yelp, rubbing both my cheeks.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up here like this,” Narine shouts. I glance up the staircase, hoping the ruckus doesn’t disturb any of Narine’s guests. Again.
The man looks over his shoulder. “I can explain. Please, let me explain!”
Narine rolls her eyes and limps as fast as she can back to the kitchen. Pudding follows her still wagging her tail. Mr. Dixon leaves his post at the front desk and grabs the front door. He exhales loudly as he examines the man in front of him.
“You’ve seen better days,” he comments.
“Nubert, you’ve got to let me in,” the man pleads. “There are some things I’ve got to say. Please. Please. Please.”
“Alright, Monty.” Mr. Dixon steps aside. “You have five minutes.”
