Chapter Nineteen

Hours later, Mel limped through the Christmas Festival, a walking cast on her ankle, to sink carefully onto a bench next to a battered but chipper Jackson.

Deputy Marks joined them, eating one of her cookies. “Hey, I only bought this to help you win, but it’s actually pretty good.”

She gave Jackson a sideways glance. “Thanks, but it’s not a competition, all for a good cause.”

“Right, because cops—even ex-cops—aren’t competitive at all. I’m surprised to see Miss Jackson here still on her feet.”

Jackson shook his head, unwilling to take the bait and opting to grin instead. “I couldn’t sit this out, not after my Dad went to the trouble of setting up my sure-to-win gingerbread town.”

“Speaking of gingerbread,” Mel dove in to cut off any competitive cookie trash talking, “I have to admit it was clever of Stacy to use the to-go cup from the coffee she bought earlier in the day and refill it with a latte from another coffee shop. She sedates her father to kill him and sets up a suspect all at the same time.”

“What did I ever do to her?” Jackson complained.

“I don’t think it was personal, she needed to divert attention away from herself.”

The crowd quieted as the mayor stood to announce who raised the most money with their charity cookies.

Mel muttered under her breath, “If it’s his wife, do we get to demand a recount?”

To everyone’s surprise, the third-grade elementary class, whose cookies looked so terrible they were adorable, won the contest. Mel suspected their teacher, a wizened old nun, had that in mind all along. “You can’t beat the sentimental favorite.”

“Do you think that’s why Stacy kept that picture of her and her father, sentimental reasons? It was so dumb to bring the one thing that connected you to your victim along with you when you murder them,” Jackson asked.

Mel chuckled. “It must have made her furious when Mindy snuck into her wallet and stole it and then tried to use it as leverage against her.”

“You have to feel a little sorry for her, poor kid,” Marks said, showing an unexpected soft side. “Abandoned by your father, you finally find him on Facebook, and then he refuses to acknowledge you?”

Doc Hart joined them, her voice cold and hard by contrast. “Yeah, cry me a river. You, my friend—” She Mel grinned at all of them. “Next time? So you think there’ll be a next time? Honestly, I came to Pine Cove to retire and live a quiet life.”

All three of her new friends rudely snorted.