Chapter Nine
“I want to be an ice zombie for Halloween,” Christopher declared.
Tiffany sighed in maternal exasperation. “I worked all last week sewing your Dracula cape.”
The Clauses of Castle Kringle were all lounging in the main salon, a rare moment when we were all at leisure after dinner. Lucia was sprawled the wrong way in a chair by the fire, long legs dangling over the puffy upholstered arms, feet toasting before the hearth. Quasar crouched next to her, nodding off, his head propped up by his antlers tilting down into the rug. On the sofa next to Tiffany, my mother-in-law, Pamela, sat properly erect, her gray ballerina bun and bifocals making her appear every inch the dowager Mrs. Claus. She was tatting doilies in the shape of spiderwebs for the Halloween carnival’s craft booth.
Nick was with us, too, relaxing with the evening edition of Christmastown Herald, in what would probably be the last calm days before nonstop Christmas preparations kicked in. Although the headlines were hardly relaxing these days. The walrus-shaped potato had been pushed off the front page by murder and robbery.
Christopher tossed a floppy brown forelock out of his eyes. “An ice zombie costume won’t take long. I can shred some of my clothes and do the rest with makeup.”
“Which clothes?” Tiffany asked, alarmed.
“Just some of my normal ones.” Before it could register that this assurance hadn’t reassured his mother one bit, he went on excitedly, “I can’t wait to see everybody’s scared faces when me and my friends show up at the Haunted Ice Castle in our costumes. They’ll think it’s an ice zombie invasion.”
“You should leave it to the Haunted Ice Castle to terrify people,” Tiffany said.
Christopher rolled his eyes. “Right. Everyone’s going to be so scared of a headless snowman.”
My phone pinged, alerting me to a text. I looked down at my screen and groaned. Another bake-off judge, Nick’s cousin Amory, was bugging out. Sorry, April. I forgot I’m working late at the Candy Cane Factory that night.
Sure he forgot. No doubt he remembered the moment he heard about the crushed glass candy corn incident. I texted right back, suggesting his wife, Midge, might judge in his place.
Pamela eyed her grandson over the top of her bifocals. “Why don’t you be Dracula this time and save the ice zombie idea for next year?”
“Because everyone’s talking about ice zombies now,” he said. “I can be Dracula any old time.”
“Christopher and his gang want to get in on the ice zombie ground floor,” Lucia deadpanned, unfolding herself from her chair to grab a sugar cookie from the dessert trolley Felice, the cook, was wheeling in. In her white uniform with a chef’s cap and white booties, Felice looked none too happy to be serving as wait staff.
I frowned. Jingles and Butterbean usually waited on us after dinner. Where were they?
Next to the decorative plate of cookies was a crystal candy dish that was almost to overflowing with candy corn. It looked like the candy I’d bought at Dash’s.
“That candy corn was supposed to be for you to use for the bake-off,” I told Pamela.
She gave the dish a dismissive glance. “I know,” she said, “but they’re oddly shaped.”
“Candy corn’s not supposed to look like that,” Tiffany agreed.
I felt a knee-jerk urge to speak up for my favorite confectioner. “It’s full-ear candy corn. Dash is very proud of it—and it tastes great.”
“It’s peculiar.” Pamela kept tatting her spiderweb. “Anyway, Jingles found some normal candy corn that will do very nicely for my cake design.”
“Where is Jingles?” I asked Felice.
The stout elf planted her hands on her hips. “I’ve been wondering that myself! He and Butterbean disappeared just after dinner was served. Those two have been as jumpy as snowshoe hares all week.”
“Did Jingles tell you where he found the candy corn?” I asked her.
“He said a peddler came to the castle door.”
Great. Even Santa’s castle was buying black market candy corn now.
I frowned and reached over to scoop up several pieces of candy. It was hard to believe that there could be better tasting candy corn than Dash’s. That little hint of cardamom put them over the top for me. As I absently nibbled a piece, wondering where this mysterious peddler had found enough candy corn to take door to door, I looked up and saw the entire room watching me in horror. All except Nick, who was still buried behind his newspaper.
“What?” I asked.
The muscles in Christopher’s face had gone slack. “You’re eating that stuff?”
Quasar had jerked awake, and now his nose was fizzling like a punk sparkler on the Fourth of July. “It c-could be poisoned.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this candy corn,” I insisted. “I bought it myself, from Dash.”
My phone pinged. It was a reply from cousin Amory.
Midge has to stay at the lodge on Halloween in case of trick-or-treaters. Sorry.
Of all the lame excuses. Not even the most dedicated trick-or-treater was going to trek all the way to the top of Sugarplum Mountain to Kringle Lodge, where Midge and Amory lived. They were cowards—and I was still without a judge for the candy corn bake-off.
I groaned.
Pamela stared up at me impatiently over her bifocals. “What is the matter, April? You keep groaning.”
Christopher laughed. “Maybe she’s practicing to be a zombie.”
“All the judges for the candy corn bake-off are chickening out because of what happened at the constabulary today. I need to scare up someone else to be the judge.” I didn’t kid myself that I could find another three-person panel of judges. But maybe, I thought, scanning my family’s faces, I could strong-arm one person. “Any volunteers?”
It’s amazing how quickly those two words can clear a room. My question was like a Chinook that caused my in-laws to melt away. Even Nick hoofed it for the exit, but I managed to catch him by his red velvet sleeve.
“Who better to be the candy corn bake-off judge than Santa himself?” I said.
He looked trapped, both by my words and the firm hold I had on his Santa coat. “Me?”
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“April, I’m not even a fan of candy corn.”
“You can be perfectly objective, then.” I pulled him toward me, reeling him in. No, I wasn’t above using sex if the occasion warranted. We kissed, and he groaned.
“I’m going to agree to this, aren’t I?” he asked.
I smiled, lifting to thread my hands around his nape. “I hope so.”
“Oh . . . okay.”
He kissed me, and as we stood entangled, my phone rang. I was tempted to ignore it, thinking it was bound to be Mrs. Firlog pestering me to see if I’d found a replacement judge yet, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a name I hadn’t been expecting. JUNIPER.
I swiped her name and lifted the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
Nick sighed, took a step back, and watched me curiously.
Juniper’s voice was urgent, almost breathless. “Oh April, I wanted to talk to you before I called the constabulary.”
My nerves tingled. “What’s going on?”
“You’d better come downtown to the SPEX office. Smudge and I have caught the candy corn smugglers.”
“That’s great—but why should I be there?”
“Well, because you won’t be happy when you discover who it is.”
But in my heart I already knew.