Chapter Seventeen

Mel’s phone rang with a FaceTime call from her mother before she even got through the kitchen door. Worried, Mel stopped everything to answer. “Mom, are you okay? When did you learn how to use FaceTime?”

Her mother laughed. “I know more than I let on. Everything’s fine, I called to say stop beating yourself up trying to make Grandma’s Mint Surprise from her recipe.”

Mel leaned against the polished kitchen counter. Was she such a hopeless lost cause that her mother felt compelled to tell her to stop baking? “No, Mom, I think I’ve got it this time, I need to—”

“Emmeline, stop. I’m trying to tell you that your grandmother fudged a couple of the ingredients in the recipe she printed out for all of us in her ‘family cookbook.’ ”

Mel’s mouth fell open. “What? Why?”

Her mother sighed. “It was her way of guaranteeing no one ever made cookies—or anything in that book—as good as she did.”

Mel was aghast, but mostly really stupefied. “What kind of grandmother sets her kids up for failure?”

“The same one who saddled her granddaughters with names like Emmeline and Lavinia.”

It was sort of genius if you thought about it. Every family meal, someone asked their grandmother to make some special dish or treat, loudly proclaiming no one made it as well as Grandma.

“You need to bump up the flour by almost a quarter cup and double the baking powder.”

“Wait, let me write this down.”

Mel grabbed the family cookbook, really just index cards her grandmother had printed of all the favorite recipes. Her phone beeped with another incoming call, but she ignored it. She turned to the only page splattered from frequent use—“Grandma’s Starlight Mint Surprise Cookies.”

“Surprise my ass,” she grumbled and made the notation, confirming with her mother the rest of the ingredients were correct. “Mom, you’re a genius. How did you figure it out?”

Mel heard an uncharacteristically evil chuckle. “Remember last year when Grandma had a kidney stone and thought she was dying?”

“You didn’t make her sick, did you?”

“No, but she also wasn’t dying. For a woman who pushed out four big O’Rourke babies, she sure has a low threshold for pain. Anyway, she thought it was the end, so she told me her secret. She couldn’t stand the idea of her real recipes going to the grave with her.”

A thought suddenly struck Mel. “Has Vinnie been yanking my chain this whole time? Doing all the Zoom calls with helpful tips when she’s been holding back all this time?” Mel was furious—how could her sister do that to her?

“No, and don’t you tell her the truth either. This is just between us. Now you get out there and win that bake off!”

Mel hung up and got to work on the batch of cookies. After the first cookies came out of the oven— perfect, just like Grandma’s—she remembered to check the Babbling Brook’s message machine. Sadly, there were no missed calls from potential guests or anyone else. She needed to get her brother to help her make more social media ads, right after winning the cookie competition.

A couple of hours later, the Starlight Mint Surprises were cooling on the counter. Mel searched in vain for her phone to see how much time she had to get ready for tonight since she still had to come up with some sort of display. She headed out to the Festival stage to measure the space they had allotted her when she saw Mr. Thibodeaux setting up Jackson’s elaborate gingerbread Pine Cove. She carefully approached him, not wanting him to drop anything and get blamed for sabotage.

“Hi, Mr. Thibodeaux, is Jackson too swamped at the diner to set up his cookies?” She hoped Jackson’s absence wasn’t because he was still holding a grudge.

“Must be busy cleaning up,” his father replied. “The place closed a half an hour ago. I figured I’d give him a helping hand since he was running behind.”

Mel wished him luck and retreated to the Babbling Brook to find a basket or something to put her cookies in. It was midsearch when she found her missing phone and saw a message notification. Of course—the incoming call that beeped when she was talking to her mother.

“Hey, Mel, I left a message on the Bed and Breakfast’s machine, but in case you’re out, I’m calling your cell too. Anyway, after talking to you and Deputy Douchebag I thought about the night we found Hubbard. I figured out who did it, call me back as soon as you get this.”

Mel tried to his cell phone, but there was no answer. She got a voicemail message at The Hungry Puppy as well. Where was he?

Suddenly, Mel remembered the footprint on the bridge came from the B&B side of the bridge headed toward town. And a minute later they passed Stacy exiting the café. Stacy could have also left the distinctive shoe print on the inn’s steps. The same Stacy who suggested the shoes belonged to Jackson.

Jackson’s words came back to her—Stacy, every afternoon around three, came in for a coffee and cookie, same thing every day. The same items and time stamp were on the receipt Mel found next to Hubbard. But then why was there still steam coming from the cup of coffee when they found him at five if he bought it hours ago?

A pit opened in Mel’s stomach. Stacy was the killer. She heard Jackson’s message on the machine and erased it, leaving her plenty of time to eliminate him the way she must have done to Mindy.

Mel called the sheriff’s department but got the message that all hands were out on the highway controlling traffic on newly re-opened roads for the Christmas Festival and to hold for an emergency. Shit! There was no time to call anyone else. Jackson was in trouble now. She pushed the thought he might already be dead out of her mind and ran to the bridge.