After we all enjoy a glass of champagne, I send everyone home for the evening, and then Drew shows up for our pop-up shopping trip. They plowed the entire town square while installing heat lamps around the area to melt the snow and keep shoppers warm. Directly in the center of the town square is an enchanted ice rink. Not just the fake ice like they show on tv but an actual frozen pond that will be available until Valentine’s Day.
Shop keepers have packed away the Halloween decorations for the year and hung up Christmas decorations in their place. Lights twinkle, garland sparkles, and holiday music plays in the background, hoping no doubt to get shoppers in a mood to spend money. The scents of hot chocolate, funnel cakes, and roasting chestnuts make me want to run from booth to booth and grab at least one of everything.
Even though we tried to sneak out while the three boys were sleeping, they chased after us at the last minute. Then they convinced me to take them in the wagon, which they then also insisted I bewitch with colorful and festive lights. They point out that if I just let them run loose, I’ll end up chasing them all evening to get them back to the cafe, but if I wheel them around in the wagon, I’ll know exactly where they are. The three of them know exactly how to work me.
The Five Dachshund Bakery has a booth, but my efforts to sneak by are met with howls of protest. Stumpy is meowing like he hasn’t eaten in days, which causes many shoppers to stop and stare. Like they weren’t already staring at the three of them being towed in a bright red Radio Flyer steel wagon leftover from my childhood.
The rabbits openly boo me, which thankfully no one else can hear. But when they realize that, they stomp their feet against the steel bottom, which echoes all over the shopping area. I end up buying more than enough treats for all three. When I insist they’re for Christmas presents only, they threaten to start up again. But when I tell them I’m returning the treats, they stop. For now, at least.
I pick out a handmade wooden pepper mill for Aranya with swirling natural wood colors and hand rubbed with clear finish. The artist who created it said that no two were exactly alike.
For Damien, I get a new apron that reads “Best Dad Ever” and a matching apron for Poppy that reads “Dad’s Sous Chef.”
I select a chocolate lover’s dream box for Miranda that’s so pretty they may not last until Christmas in my hands. It has chocolate covered sea salt caramels, hand crafted dark chocolate truffles that are so pretty they look more like art than food, and hot chocolate bombs made of chocolate on the outside, stuffed with chocolate chips and marshmallows on the inside.
“Any updates on the note left at the travel agency?” I ask Damien.
“Our forensic handwriting analyzer said that it was almost certainly written by a left-handed individual,” Drew explains.
“That’s it?”
“It’s the best we have so far. And given that only a small percentage of the population is left-handed, it might help somewhat.”
I stop in my tracks.
“What is it?” Drew asks.
“Chloe is left-handed,” I whisper, which I immediately regret disclosing.
I feel better though, when Drew admits they already knew that. Not better that Chloe is left-handed, but better that I didn’t admit anything they didn’t already know.
But when I spot Owen Munoz just mere feet away, I think I’m imagining it for a moment. When I realize it’s him for sure, I grab Drew’s arm. “Drew! Look!” I point in the distance.
“What are we looking at?”
“That’s Owen Munoz! I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to find him!”
“And why are you looking for Mr. Munoz?” he asks, giving me one of those intense stares that I’ve become all too familiar with.
“Errrrr.”
“Never mind, I already know. And believe it or not, we’ve been trying to track him down too.”
“Are you kidding? Why?”
“When we searched Morley’s house after the murder, we found a box full of threatening emails and letters.”
“There were so many people who despised Morley that he kept copies of their threats?” I ask.
“Yep!” he says.
“And Owen Munoz has been one of his loudest critics. Did you know Morley even took out a restraining order against him?”
“I’m aware of that. Do I even want to know how you know that?” he asks.
I wiggle my hand back and forth to indicate it’s debatable. “Remember, he was in Marcall’s the day after Morley died, and when he saw the article in the newspaper about Morley’s death, he was thrilled. Like, dance a jig happy.”
“Let’s go talk to him. Hopefully, with you at my side and the fact we’re not in a police station, he’ll be a little more inclined to open up.”
“Wait just a minute. Does this mean I get to accompany you to question a suspect?”
Drew sighs. I can tell this is painful for him. “I suppose,” he groans.
“Yeeee!” I exclaim, clapping my hands. Okay, so maybe that was a bit over the top, but I feel like a six-year-old getting a new bike.
“Just play it cool, wouldja?” he insists.
“Okay, got it, super cool.”
“Mr. Munoz, hello!” Drew calls out as we approach him. “Detective Andrew Bailey from the CPPD, we’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I don’t really enjoy talking to cops,” he says as he starts to turn away, but then stops when he sees me.
“Well, hello there. Charlotte, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Munoz, nice to see you again!”
“I keep thinking about that fabulous meal I had at your cafe and I need to get back again very soon.”
“You absolutely should!” I tell him as I feel Drew poking me in the back, encouraging me to keep talking.
“I keep thinking about how when you were in Marcall’s you mentioned that you were glad Morley died after you saw the article in the newspaper, I mean.”
“You’re darn right I am. That guy was a worthless piece of garbage, and we’re all better off with him dead.”
“That must have been a heartbreaking experience for you, aside from losing your wife, I mean.”
“I still have nightmares about it.”
“Mr. Munoz,” Drew breaks in. “We’re well aware of your history with Mr. Haynes. And when we searched his house after he died, we found a lot of letters from you threatening to harm him. In addition to the restraining order he took out against you. Can you tell us where you were on Halloween night?”
Owen takes a deep breath and looks somewhat embarrassed. “Am I a suspect?”
“If you could just answer the question, we could rule you out as one right now.”
“I admit, at one point, I truly wanted to beat that man senseless, to say the least. I used to fantasize about running into him in a dark alley somewhere, with a baseball bat, and just bash the living daylights out of him.”
Gulp. I move a bit closer to Drew. This is making me so uncomfortable.
“But, when the court mandated I get therapy, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. I was able to talk through what happened, and I no longer feel compelled to physically harm him - even if I do plan to dance on his grave once he’s buried.”
“Were you at the Halloween Festival, Mr. Munoz?” I ask.
“You’re still wondering if I killed him?”
“It occurred to me that you may have. And who could blame you, right?” I just realized we’re doing good cop, bad cop, and I’m struggling not to show how excited I am about it.
“No, I wasn’t at the Hotel Glacier on Halloween. I still don’t go to parties like that. My dear wife, rest her soul, was the one who enjoyed those types of gatherings. And no, I didn’t kill him. But when you figure out who did, let me know so I can shake their hand.”
“If you weren’t at the hotel party, where were you?”
“I was at home watching tv, I passed candy out to a few trick or treaters, and then I went to bed.”
“Can anyone corroborate that, Mr. Munoz?” Drew asks.
He shrugs. “I guess the kids who got candy from me. Say, do you serve pancakes at your establishment?” he asks, turning to me.
“Uh, yes, we sure do!”
“I think I should stop in for some pancakes soon.”
“I would love that.”
“See you folks later,” he says as he nods his head and turns and walks away.
I turn to Drew. “Do you believe him?”
“Not as a matter of practice. People can tell me all sorts of things, but I’m inclined not to believe them until I see proof. Or at the very least, I’m reserving judgment until I know more.”
“He certainly isn’t shy about his feelings regarding Morley. And I guess I don’t blame him. That must have been so traumatic.”
“I agree, but it’s no excuse to kill someone.”
“Does this mean you believe me when I tell you Chloe couldn’t have done this?” I ask hopefully.
“It means I’m investigating all credible angles of this case. Chloe is still the one we have the most evidence to support as the murderer.”
He can be such a party pooper when he wants to be. “I appreciate that you’re at least investigating other possibilities,” I tell him, thinking I should at least be gracious and thank him for not solely focusing on Chloe.
“Should we get a present for Tom and Damien’s foster daughter?” Drew asks, surprising me once again. I find his stoic alpha male personality both sexy and exasperating at times. But then he asks if we should get a present for a little girl we haven’t even met yet, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
“We should,” I respond.
“I’m not really sure what little girls like. How old is she again?”
“She’s three. And I bet she likes unicorns. I’m pretty sure every little girl likes unicorns. It’s a rule or something.”
We scour the pop-up market for unicorns when we come across a plush and colorful unicorn blanket that should be perfect for a cold Crested Peaks winter. “What do you think of this?” Drew asks, holding it up for me to see.
“I think she’ll love it!”
On the way back to Marcall’s, we stop at my car to pack some of the gifts in the trunk, when I spot a flier under the windshield wipers.
“Huh, what’s this?” I mutter as I pull it from the windshield. “Oh no!” I exclaim. “Drew!” I say as I shove the piece of paper at him.
Back off!
The flier looks like it’s written with the same print and sharpie that was left at the travel agency for Shauna.
Drew isn’t happy at all. “Stay here,” he tells me, “while I call this into the station. I want a team out here to look over the car and the cafe.”
“Do you think they did something to Marcall’s?” Now I’m terrified. What if they’ve vandalized my beloved cafe? And what if I had left the rabbits and Stumpy there while we were out shopping? I turn to run towards Marcall’s, but Drew, anticipating exactly what I planned to do, grabs my arm.
“You are not to go anywhere near there until my team can go over everything and make sure it’s safe.”
“But-” I whimper.
“No buts! This is precisely why I don’t like it when you nose around in police work, Char. We’re dealing with criminals here. In this case, a murderer. Don’t take another step until my guys get here.”
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly, while it takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got - which admittedly isn’t much - to keep from running to my restaurant. But Drew is too fast, and I’ll never make it there in time to check everything over, anyway.
I’ll just have to wait until his people get here. Or until he turns his back. Unfortunately, he knows me so well he doesn’t take his eyes off me until the squad car pulls up next to us.
Drew approaches the two patrolmen while one of them places the note in an evidence bag. He gestures at Marcall’s, so one of them walks cautiously toward my restaurant. My heart is racing so hard it feels like a car engine revving.
After inspecting the front door, he signals that it’s locked. That’s somewhat of a relief, although they still need to check out the back door and ensure no one tampered with it, either. I recall my conversation with Chloe, where she said she found the door to her cupcake truck unlocked. The next thing she knew, she was being arrested for murder.
The other officer heads around back but radios us to tell us that door is still locked as well. Drew insists I unlock it with magic, so I don’t have an excuse to go over there myself and potentially contaminate a crime scene. I unlock both doors, and the officers enter my cafe.
I can’t help but recall when I found my original landlord’s body in the alley after first moving here. And then I discovered Tony, the owner of the restaurant next door, stabbed to death. It gives me chills that are far deeper than the freezing cold air outside, and I rub my arms for comfort.
I know in reality it’s only several minutes later, but it feels more like hours when the officers radio Drew to tell him it doesn’t look as if anyone was in the restaurant while we were gone. When Drew gives me the go-ahead, I sprint for Marcalls, bursting in through the front door as I try to catch my breath from the adrenalin rush.
I have to see for myself everything is okay. Thankfully, it’s all just as I left it a couple of hours ago. Nothing looks touched, and given that both doors were locked, I feel better. But I’m still nervous that someone knows I’m looking into this - I assume that someone is the killer - and wants me to back off.
And then I go from nervous to mad. You bet I’m investigating this. Someone in Crested Peaks is a killer, and they don’t care if an innocent person goes to jail instead, and I won’t stand for it.
Seeing the concern on my face, Drew tells me, “I’ve arranged to have a patrol car drive by your house every hour tonight just to be on the safe side. Given that whoever it was just left this on your car, but didn’t touch your restaurant, it makes me think they’re just trying to scare you. But I want you to be extra cautious right now. And I really need you to stay out of this. Let me and the CPPD handle this from now on, got it?”
I nod my head numbly. I can’t believe this is happening, and while part of me is scared, the other part is more determined than ever to figure out who really killed Morley. But maybe we’ll just keep that other part a secret from Drew.
Drew insists that we still get a pizza like we originally planned and then drive back to my house. The three boys are in the back seat and the rabbits chatter on non-stop about the note. “I swear if someone tries to break into our house, I’ll bite them right on the ankle!” I hear Marshall telling the other two.
“I’ll bite them on the other ankle!” Marcus offers.
I can only imagine what Stumpy must be thinking as they talk. “Stumpy says he would scratch their eyes out, in case you were wondering,” Marshall informs me.
I feed the rabbits and Stumpy their dinner while Drew gets out some plates and the wine for our dinner. We plop down in front of the fireplace to eat and I admit I’m exhausted. It’s been a crazy day, full of ups and downs.
“Did you know that Morley didn’t approve of Supernaturals and Non Supernaturals dating?” I ask Drew.
“Where did you hear that?” he responds. “Not that I’m surprised or anything. That guy was the worst. Everyone we’ve talked to has pointed out how glad they are he’s gone.”
I refrain from telling him I’ve had the same experience since I’m not supposed to be in the middle of this. “Shauna told me. But then Neil stopped by the cafe and asked if Damien could cater their wedding reception because they just got engaged. And Chloe said that Morley had control of Shauna’s trust. Hey, you haven’t found that in Morley’s things, have you?”
“A copy of the trust?” Drew asks. “No, but we’ve been looking for that and Morley’s will.”
We both fall silent as we take another bite of pizza. Police work is not only tiring, it makes me hungry.
”Is there any way to confirm Mr. Munoz alibi?”
Drew shakes his head. “Probably not. Not unless one of his neighbors can tell us they specifically saw him at home passing out candy.”
I don’t think Drew is aware yet that we talked to Ethan Davis, and if he knew we made up this complicated ruse to get to him, I’m sure he’d be mad. And as much as I don’t want to get myself in trouble, I really don’t want to get Damien in trouble now that they’ve been approved as foster parents.
“I never even asked Chloe where she was when Morley was killed.” I suddenly remember.
“She was at the hotel, overseeing the cupcake display,” Drew says matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” I gulp. “Police work is hard.”
Drew laughs. “No kidding!”