Murder at the Christmas Cookie Bake-Off by Darci Hannah

Author:Darci Hannah [Hannah, Darci]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

We couldn’t get out of Stanley Stewart’s office fast enough. The poor man might not have seen any harm in a short, portly woman dressed like Mrs. Claus visiting the cookie critic, but we sure could, especially since Stanley had described Mrs. Nichols to a tee.

“Are we sure he didn’t mean Betty?” Rory voiced the question we were all mulling over in our heads. We were driving down Grandview Parkway in Traverse City, heading to Wags Dog Park, a place I had been wanting to take Wellington. It was thirty degrees with a light snowfall, the perfect weather for my dog to romp around in while we tried to clear our heads. “She was playing Mrs. Claus to Doc Riggles’s Santa,” Rory continued. “Betty’s old and portly.”

“Stanley Stewart has lived in Beacon Harbor a long time,” I reminded him. “He’d know Betty Vanhoosen. She practically runs the town. And she’s not old and portly, Rory. Betty’s middle-aged and pleasantly plump.”

Rory shrugged. “Same difference. But there have to be other older ladies who fit that description.”

Kennedy, with a glass of red wine coursing through her veins, leaned her head over the front seat between us. “Doubtful Betty knows how to use a rolling pin. Mrs. N, on the other hand—”

“Okay, let’s just stop thinking about this for a moment.” I couldn’t hide the anxiety in my voice. Truthfully, I didn’t even want to entertain the thought that Mrs. Nichols might be involved.

Rory took his eyes off the road long enough to cast me a questioning glance. “Lindsey?”

“I’ve had enough snooping for one day, and I think Mom was right. I don’t think we should pursue this. Chevy was murdered. This is a matter for the police.”

“I know what this is all about.” Kennedy, still resting her crossed arms over the front seat, looked at me as only a friend could do. “This sudden call-off-the-dogs about-face has nothing to do with murder. You’re Lindsey Bakewell. You like being snoopy. You like poking your nose into other people’s business. It’s essentially what an investment banker does,” she added breezily, as if she knew. Apparently, that’s all she had picked up from our many conversations on the subject. “This sudden change of heart is about losing the best assistant baker you’ve ever had.”

Leave it to her to hit the nail on the head. I knew it wasn’t right to just drop the subject, but I suddenly lost my appetite for cookie bake-off justice.

“It’s the holidays,” I protested, feeling a panic attack coming on. “I’m swamped at the bakery. Cut me a break! That woman—although mysteriously appearing on my doorstep—is a godsend.”

“And possibly a sly murderer.” With another pointed look, Kennedy sat back, settling in her own seat next to Welly.

“Look, it was all fun and games while we were investigating Felicity. Then Stanley had to ruin it by dropping that little brain bomb on us. If he is to be believed, Mrs. Nichols approached Chevy Chambers in the very sitting room he was

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