Carnage in a Pear Tree Read online

  I pointed at him with my red-gloved finger. “You hush, mister. I can mope if I want to. I’ve earned it.”

  Atti tsked me with a cluck of his tongue. “You haven’t, Halliday. You’ve turned it into something it absolutely is not.”

  “Okay, you two, what the heck’s goin’ on? Is it about this murder bit last night?” Nana asked. “Are you sad you caught a killer? How can you be sad when you fought for justice?”

  I leaned the rake on the stall and shook my head with a sniffle. “I’m not happy someone I never even considered turned out to be a murderer, but no. That’s not why I’m allegedly moping.”

  Nana huffed, a puff of cold air whooshing from her nostrils. “Then what gives, kiddo?”

  “Hobbs gives,” Atti provided. “Our Halliday told him all about being a witch, and me, and even you, and rather than take into consideration it was a conversation worthy of some time to process for the poor bloke, Halliday’s gone all doom and gloom.”

  “But why, Cupcake? Did he take it bad?”

  I snorted and rubbed my hand over my grainy, tired eyes. “You know, that’s the funny thing. He seemed fine until we got to you. When I told him you were my grandmother reincarnated in a reindeer’s body, he got weird. Yet, he was perfectly fine when I showed him my magic. He had no problem with the bottle of wine I produced and when Atti talked to him, he seemed to take it in stride. But then I told him about you and suddenly, he had some urgent early meeting today and he had to go.”

  “Oh,” was all nana said—and I knew the tone of that “oh.” The tone said she knew something she didn’t want me to know.

  I cupped her muzzle with my hand and looked into her deep brown eyes. “Nana…what happened?”

  She lifted her snout and attempted to look away, but I kept her gaze.

  “Nana?”

  She closed her eyes. “Nothing happened, child. Nothing at all.”

  Riiight. “Open your eyes, Nana.”

  She shook her head. “I got somethin’ in ’em.

  “You don’t. Stop fibbing. What was that oh about? What did you do to Hobbs?”

  “I didn’t do anything to him, Sunshine. I like the boy. He’s sure good-lookin’, my Hot Sauce Hobbs, and he packs a mean carrot.”

  Atti snorted a laugh from his perch on her stall.

  “Nana…” I said with a warning tone. “What do you know?”

  She sighed, leaning back on her haunches before she said, “Listen, kiddo. He talks to me all the time. All the time. Comes in here every morning, lookin’ like he’s been up all night, and he talks. That’s all. He just…talks.”

  My eyebrows lifted clear to my hairline. “About?”

  “Oh, about lotsa stuff. Life, where he wants to go on vacation next year, how much he misses his mother now that she’s gone, his work…”

  She was purposely being evasive, and I knew it. Maybe she’d already told him she talks and the joke’s on me?

  “Aaand?” I prodded.

  “Oh, fine. And you. That sweet boy talks about you, Halliday. He talks about you a lot, and now that he knows I can talk, too, he’s probably losing his ever-lovin’ mind, goin’ back over all the chats we’ve had since he moved in and started dating you.”

  Now I was intrigued, and I knew what the answer would be, but I asked anyway. “What does he say?”

  “Nope. Nuh-uh, young lady. He was telling me things without having any idea I could understand him. Talked to me all the time like I was some kind of pet or something—confided in me, etcetera. No way am I gonna be some kind of stoolie and rat that pretty boy out.”

  I laughed at her dramatic take on her conversations with Hobbs. “Nana, this isn’t prison. You’re not a stoolie and I’m not The Man.”

  “Well, I’m no snitch, either. So forget it. I respect Hobbs and I respect the chats we had, even if he thought they were one-sided. Once he found out who I am, he was probably embarrassed, for glory’s sake. I mean, give the kid a break, Hal. He’s been talking to a reindeer who’s a reincarnation of your grandmother. He’s told me private things I couldn’t keep him from telling me for fear I’d let the cat out of the bag. You didn’t want that, did you?”

  “No,” I mumbled, looking guiltily at my feet as though I were ten and had been caught stealing popcorn balls from the pantry.

  “He probably hightailed it out of there because all our talks came rushing back to him in one big wave of confessions. Maybe he got a little embarrassed.”

  Confessions, huh? I wondered what he’d confessed? And why was he embarrassed? “You’re probably right.”

  “Darn tootin’ I’m right, young lady. Give him and me a break.”

  Nana was right, and I was out of line. I stroked her head and nodded. “You’re right. It was rude of me to ask you to out Hobbs, but you did make me feel better. Thanks for that, Nana.”

  She shuffled in her stall. “How so?”

  I smiled at her and it was filled with love. “If Hobbs confided in you about something bad, if he was deceiving me or lying to me or he was saying something that would hurt me, I know you’d tell me no matter what. I think he was confessing how much he likes me, and that makes me feel better. But is that enough to make him okay with everything else?”

  “If Hobbs is who I think he is, if all the talks we’ve had early in the mornin’ are any indication of the kind of man he is, then I wouldn’t worry your pretty head.”

  Taking a deep breath, I dropped a kiss on her head. “Thanks, Nana. I love you.”

  Nana nuzzled my palm and huffed. “I love you, too, kiddo. Now, how about a candy cane for my services?”

  I dug around in my pocket and pulled one out, taking the wrapper off and breaking it in half. I held it up. “Just a half. We have to be careful about your sugar. Remember what the doc said.”

  She snatched it from my hand with her long tongue. “Yeah-yeah. Now git. I need a nap.”

  Looking at my phone, I realized I had to git, too. “I have to move it. I need to speak to Saul over at the lodge. He’s still doing those cross-country ski tours through our land, and I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for the fact that he and his tour skied all over some baby pear trees I just planted this past year. They’ll never survive someone’s big, clompy feet, let alone skis and those pointy poles.”

  The Marshmallow Hollow Ski Lodge was just a bit east of my house, the only thing separating our acres a small stretch of land. Land where I’d tried to distinctly create boundaries by planting new pear trees next to the old ones and some arborvitaes on the border, and I was very careful to stick to the maps from the town.

  It was interesting during peak season to see the ski lifts overhead and watch as people lost skis and all manner of skiing accoutrement. The owner, Saul Sanderson, sent someone out to collect the items and he was always apologetic.

  Yet, every time someone new took over the ski tour guide position at the lodge—and that felt like quite often, because it was seasonal and the pay wasn’t the greatest—I had to make a trip over and remind Saul that we had land deeds for a reason.

  I wouldn’t even mind his customers traipsing through my half so much if not for the fact that, not only did they trample my trees, they had this really bad habit of gawking in my windows. I imagine their curiosity gets the better of them when they see all the lights and decorations, and that would be fine, but a girl needs her privacy.

  Once, I’d been getting out of my bathtub and found an elderly gentleman staring back at me—obviously on one of the moonlit tours the lodge offers. And he wasn’t staring at me as in peeping intentionally. He was inspecting the lights on the tree outside my bathroom window—while I was buck naked and soaking wet.

  When he realized he’d caught me in my birthday suit, he didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he’d knocked on the window and asked where I’d purchased such unusual lights. All I can tell you is people have chutzpah and plenty to go around.

  Things like that incident had happened on more than one occasion, and
while I was all for the tourists who brought money to Marshmallow Hollow, and they were the reason we had such a bustling economy, I didn’t want to help that economy while soaking wet and in the nude.

  A fair trade, don’t you think?

  Anyway, I needed to get control of this before the winter really took hold and my new pear trees were decimated by eager cross-country skiers.

  “I have to go, too, Nana I need to go over to the lodge and talk to Saul about those cross-country ski tours he gives.”

  “Are they trompin’ all over stuff again?” she groused. “Honest, I don’t want to deny a man his hustle, but land alive, he takes advantage.”

  I snickered. “His hustle, Nana? Where did you learn that expression?”

  “Hobbs,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a chuckle. “Of course it was Hobbs. Okay, I need to shower and change. But I love you. Thank you for talking me down. I really needed that.”

  “You bet, Cupcake. You can always count on me.”

  I pressed one last kiss to her snout and left the barn with Atti flying behind me.

  “I did tell you there must be a reason why your young man left so quickly, didn’t I, Hal? Though, I admit, I’m quite jealous that he had adult conversations with Karen. All he could summon for me was the occasional coochie-coo.”

  I laughed as I went in through the mudroom and kicked my boots off, going in search of Barbra and Phil.

  First a bit of unpleasantness at the lodge and then maybe I could talk Hobbs into lunch. A steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup I’d put in the Crockpot when I woke would hit the spot and might give us a chance to talk this through.

  At least, I hoped that’s what we’d do.

  I hovered for a moment outside the ski lodge, watching as droves of tourists wandered in and out, snow clinging to their feet, their faces happy. Admiring the decorations, I noted some of our lights from Just Claus hanging in various places.

  Saul had really outdone himself with the decorations this year. Even in bright daylight, they looked beautiful. He’d graced every window and door with fresh evergreen swags, draped with lights and pinecones. The wide automatic doors were flanked by two grand Christmas trees, full of ornaments in silver and gold.

  He’d framed every doorway with icicle lights and an enormous sleigh was parked right in the center of the lobby, filled to the brim with decoratively wrapped presents in more silver and gold, and a waving Santa.

  As I entered the lodge, I smiled at the enormous stone fireplace in the lobby—a lobby that looked more like a large, cozy living room with tartan plaid red and white chairs and big puffy gray couches.

  I recognized Abel Ackerman from guest services, with his friendly smile and welcoming cardigan in red, dotted with snowflakes. He raised a hand to me in a wave before going back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

  The scent of hazelnut coffee, redolent in the air, greeted my nose, along with the pastries Saul purchased fresh every morning from Dessert Storm.

  I thought I might grab a cup of coffee, but then I spotted Saul at the desk and decided I needed to handle the business end of things first.

  Weaving my way past a group of tourists from Asia excitedly having a conversation in their native language, I nodded politely at their smiling faces. Their colorful ski jackets grouped together as their guide led them out the doors toward the hill for tubing—a hill Stiles and I had spent a lot of time on as kids. Boy, were they in for a treat.

  I got in line behind a couple from Germany, I think, judging from the one or two words I knew in German. Tall and blond, they chatted happily, their faces red, likely from windburn on the slopes.

  I loved the diversity the lodge and our tiny Christmas town brought to us. People came from all over the world to see Marshmallow Hollow at Christmas. I’d learned so much about different cultures just by meeting people at the ice festival and various events over the season. Seeing the usual varied crowd get bigger this year left my heart happy.

  As I grew closer to Saul, I turned to take a peek at the small coffee area where guests could fill their own cups and grab complimentary pastries. Some of the waiters and waitresses from the dining room, in their plaid uniform shirts, were helping out, probably because it was so busy.

  One of them lifted a heavy platter of apple fritters. Oh, glory be. My mouth watered thinking about Rhonda’s apple fritters from Dessert Storm, crisp on the outside and gooey in the center, but I forced myself to stay on task.

  I was here to give Saul what for because he clearly hadn’t told his new instructor about our agreement.

  “Halliday!” he called out, his white mustache rising at the corners as his cheerfully broad face broke into a genuine smile. “How are you, young lady?”

  I loved his accent. He was what Maine was all about. Big, gruff, crusty around the edges with a heart of gold, hair the color of freshly fallen snow and ruddy skin from the cold. As he came around the desk, I gave him a quick hug, smelling Old Spice on his tan flannel shirt.

  “Hey, Saul! Happy holidays. Looks like business is good.”

  He leaned back on the heels of his booted feet and grinned a wide smile. “Sure is. Best year yet. Hey, did ya grab a pastry? I made sure there are plenty this year. Last year we ran out. Man, that was some tussle.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “I’m good, Saul, but thank you.”

  He leaned an elbow on the edge of the desk, his puffy red vest spreading to reveal his barrel chest. “So what can I do ya for, kiddo?”

  Shoot. I hated to bring him down when everything was going so well, but I had to draw the line somewhere. I couldn’t keep showing my wares to all the tourists, and I certainly wasn’t going to keep picking up their litter.

  “It’s about my new pear trees, Saul…” I said softly as the tinkle of happy Christmas music played in the background.

  His broad shoulders sagged, along with his face. “Aw, heck, Hal. I’m sure sorry. Are the tourists wanderin’ through there again? Dagnabbit, I told the kid where the line between our properties was! What is it about these youngin’s these days? They need to get those dang phones outta their faces and open up their ears!”

  Saul’s cheeks went red in his exasperation, so I held up a hand to soothe him. “It’s okay, Saul. If you would just tell whoever the guide is to—”

  But Saul wasn’t listening, he was already on his cell phone, dialing someone. “Loretta? Send Troy to me, would ya?” he barked into the phone before he turned to me to explain. “This is what I get for hirin’ family. My sister Janine’s kid from Nebraska, right? Don’t know his keister from his elbow, but boy that kid can ski.”

  Seconds later a sulky boy, tall and lanky with a white knit ski cap bearing the Marshmallow Hollow Ski Lodge insignia, slunk toward the desk, his long arms attached to hands stuffed into his thick down jacket.

  “What up, Uncle Saul?” he asked, clearly not terribly concerned.

  Saul’s face went hard as he looked at the young man who was but maybe an inch shorter than is uncle. “Troy, this is Halliday Valentine, and here’s what up, boy. She’s the lady who owns the property right next to ours. Remember I told you about the line of pear trees that separates us and how you’re not supposed to go past it with the ski tours because it’s not ours?”

  Troy shrugged, his youthful face indifferent. “Well, yeah. I guess. So?”

  I thought Saul might explode. “You guess? So?” he repeated, his tone full of sarcasm. “You listen here, son. If you want this job for the rest of the season, you’re gonna put your sorry behind in one of the lodge vans, drive over to Miss Valentine’s house, and she’ll personally show you where the line is. And I don’t want to hear you crossed it again or I’m gonna send you back to your mama. You hear?”

  Oh, geez. That’s just what I needed. A broody teenager with a grudge. If I ended up having my house egged on Halloween, I’d know whose door to knock on.

  Suddenly overly warm, I unzipp
ed my bulky jacket and held up a hand. “It’s all right, Saul. I just wanted you to be aware. He doesn’t have to—”

  But Saul stopped me cold when he held up his beefy hand, as well. “Nope. He’s gonna follow you over there right now and he can take a picture of the spot with his almighty cell phone. Maybe then he’ll remember what I told him—and replacing the trees is comin’ out of his paycheck!”

  Well, all right. Obviously, I wasn’t going to change his mind. “Thanks, Saul.”

  His broad face changed on a dime as he smiled at me again. “You bet, Hal. Sorry again, kiddo. Now, you,” he said, pointing to Troy, “get the van and skedaddle, then get back here for the afternoon tour.”

  Troy, his wide gray eyes sullen, looked to his uncle and held out his hand for the key. “Okay, Uncle Saul. Sorry…”

  “Have a great holiday, Hal!” Saul scurried off to tend to the rest of his customers, leaving me with a pouty teenager.

  Fighting a sigh, I said, “I’ll meet you around front in my car, Troy. That work?”

  He nodded but didn’t say much, and I didn’t try and make small talk because he looked positively miserable, and I thought Saul had been too hard on him already. Sure, I wanted him to stop trampling my trees, but he didn’t have to pay for them.

  I made my way past the crowd of incoming people, stopping as another group of tourists emptied from a bus and swarmed the lobby, leaving me in the thick of them.

  Just as I turned, looking for another way out, I caught a glimpse of the coffee shop and made my escape. I could sneak out the back door and around to the front of the lodge, avoiding the mass of people.

  I wormed my way past the crowd and managed to get to the entrance, where a swag of candy canes and ornaments adorned the doorway.

  As I scooted inside, I stopped dead in my tracks, almost tripping over one of the café’s chairs.

  Well, well.

  Know the reason Hobbs had to leave early last night?

  To have coffee with a gorgeous blonde lady with legs up to her eyeballs and an expensive business suit made out of white silk.