twenty-eight

I leaned back on my seat and the barstool rocked alarmingly. Hastily I leaned forward again. One-handed, I clutched the fractured kitchen counter for balance.

“After the way I acted the other night, I can’t blame you if you don’t want to see me. But I’m downstairs. Can I come up?”

“You weren’t as bad as you think you were.” I hopped to the linoleum floor and strode through the living room to open the front door. Below me, Mason, clad head-to-toe in black leather, leaned against his Harley. His helmet dangled from one hand. I waved and hung up.

He trudged up the steps to the landing.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said, his blue eyes morose. “And I’m sorry I punched a hole in your wall.”

“Look, about that—”

“I talked to Dieter. He said he’d fix your wall and send me the bill.”

I pulled a smile. “Thanks, but—”

“You were right to steer clear of Belle and me,” he said. “I get it. It would have been weird if you’d gotten involved in our problems. And you and I both need to move on.”

“Mason, I’m trying to accept your apology.”

“Oh.” He brightened. “Well. Thanks.”

A cold breath of wind stirred my hair. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.” I backed into the apartment and he followed. “Have you heard anything from them?”

His rugged face broke into a smile. “Yeah. She got an apartment in Sacramento. They’re good. And I’m still a part of Jordan’s life.”

Relieved, I reached for his hand. Then I remembered myself and drew away. “That’s fantastic news.”

“She’d just freaked out about how fast things were moving. One minute I didn’t know I had a son, and the next we were all living together like a happy family.”

“It’s enough to throw anyone for a loop,” I agreed.

His ears turned red. “I’m not sure where this is going with Belle, but I’m grateful I have the chance to find out.” He shuffled his booted feet.

“That’s great. Have you seen them yet?” Because while I was happy for him, I was also in suspicious amateur detective mode. Belle could have called him from anywhere and said she was in Sacramento.

He nodded. “I stopped by their new apartment. It’s in a decent neighborhood. And I told your Detective Slate everything was fine.”

“He’s not my Detective Slate.”

Mason winced. “I screwed that up for you, didn’t I? He thinks we’ve still got something going.”

“I don’t know what he thinks,” I said. “But if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” Urgh. Now I was quoting my mother.

“No, Mad. If it’s meant to be, you’ve got to go after it.”

I smiled, rueful. “When did you turn philosophical?”

“Having a kid really does change your perspective.”

“I’m glad you and Belle have a chance,” I said. “You deserve it.” I only hoped Belle did too.

I stood on my mom’s doorstep and banged the knocker encircled by a Christmas wreath. The late afternoon sunlight slanted low, breaking through the clouds, and the wreath’s holly leaves glistened.

Suddenly I felt lighter. I was nearer to a solution—and not just for the murder. I really was over Mason.

“It’s open!” my mother shouted.

I strolled inside.

“Is that you, Madelyn?” she called from the kitchen. The scent of baking pumpkin and spices filled the house.

“It’s me.” I walked into her kitchen. Flour lay in drifts across the granite counter. The red-and-white room was cheerful any time of year, but the scent of baking pies took me back to Christmases long past. And this Christmas would be upon us in two short days. I hugged her. “How’s it going?”

She blinked. “Fine, dear. I’m baking pies for our shut-in members.”

“Need help?”

“You’re too late. They’re in the oven. All I need to do now is clean up.”

“That I can manage.” I grabbed a sponge and wiped down the granite counter.

She planted her fists on her aproned hips. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Mason stopped by today.”

She canted her head. “Madelyn, you’re not—”

“He found Belle in Sacramento, and they’re moving forward with their lives, together it seems. He’s hopeful.”

“And you’re all right with that?”

I brushed the flour into my hand and dumped it in the sink. “Yep. ’Tis the season for family reunions. He deserves it.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

“Also, he’s hired Dieter to fix my wall.” Which meant I wouldn’t have to.

“Good news all around, except for Craig, whose father is sitting in jail.”

I cringed at her faintly accusatory tone.

“Have you learned anything that might clear his name?” She flicked a wet cloth across the counter.

“We don’t know if Tom’s innocent. He did have motive and opportunity to kill his wife and Bill Eldrich.”

“And Belle had fifty thousand motives to set that cow on fire,” my mom said. “Can you really tell me Bill might not have gotten hit by one of her stray arrows? Though she had no reason to kill Tabitha.”

“Actually,” I said, “she might have. Belle and Tabitha got into it over some licensing issue for hairdressers at a town council meeting.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From Dean Pinkerton, who’s the only person we can cross off the suspect list. He couldn’t have shot arrows at us when we were at his house.”

“Unless he had a co-conspirator.”

I shook my head. “This has the feel of a lone archer to me. We can account for all four of the gingerbread men. The killer had to have been Santa.”

She shuddered. “Don’t call him that. The killer was only dressed as Santa.”

I glanced at the collection of Santa figurines on the ledge above the kitchen sink. “Someone lured Tabitha to the Wine and Visitors Bureau for a bogus Christmas Cow committee meeting. Dean wasn’t on the committee. If he was trying to lure her there to kill her, he’d need a different excuse.”

“We only have Tom’s word that that’s where she was going. Even if he was telling the truth, who’s to say that Tabitha was honest about the call? She was having an affair with Bill, and she’d lied to her husband about that.”

“But Bill was already dead.” I pried open a blue cookie tin and grabbed a pfeffernüsse. “If she was off for a romantic rendezvous, whom with?”

“I can barely imagine Tabitha having an affair with anyone, much less finding a new lover right after the old one died.”

Unless her new lover had killed them both? Shaking my head, I took a bite and licked powdered sugar from my lips. We had to stick with the facts, and we had no evidence a new boyfriend had been in Tabitha’s life. “I hate to bring this up, but what about Craig?”

My mother blanched. “No. It would be monstrous. Besides, how would Craig have known that Bill would be at the Christmas Cow that night?”

“Who managed the guard schedule?” I finished the cookie and brushed sugar from my fingers.

She picked up the tin and replaced the lid. “Cora did, and we circulated the guard duty roster among the Dairy Association and Ladies Aid members who participated. But I don’t see how Craig could have gotten hold of it.” Her brow wrinkled. “Or Tom, for that matter. We didn’t send the list to his wife.”

“It might be another point in Tom’s favor.”

“Or not,” she said. “The list might not have been public, but it wasn’t exactly private either. It wasn’t the sort of information I thought we’d need to keep confidential. And Bill was complaining to everyone who’d listen about his guard duty.”

“Then there’s Kendra Breathnach.”

“Kendra?” My mom’s blue eyes widened. “What did she have against Bill?”

“She wanted to expand her development into the dairy pastures.” I gazed wistfully at the cookie tin in her arms. “Bill and Tabitha blocked that.”

“But she has her development—that agrihood thing.”

“And it’s surrounded by dairy farms. You know how they smell in the summer.”

My mom wrinkled her nose and set the tin on top of the humming refrigerator. “Surely people who move to the country will expect to be around livestock.”

“But they might not understand what that really means until it’s too late.”

“This won’t get Tom out of jail.” My mother folded her arms. “What else do you have?”

I rubbed my cheek with the flat of my hand. “The only suspects we’re left with are Belle, Tom, Craig, and Kendra. Unless you can figure out some Agatha Christie way Dean could have arranged for us to be shot at while he was cowering inside the house with us.” I straightened. Oh, damn. Damn!

“What’s wrong?”

“The newspaper article!” My pulse hammered in my skull, my breath quickening.

“What article?”

“The one about Tabitha’s murder. Dammit, I know who killed them both.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” My mom pressed her palm to her apron. “Unless … it isn’t Tom or Craig, is it?”

“It’s a bad thing because there’s no way I can prove it.” And then I made a fatal mistake.

I told her everything.