Maple Nut Murder Page 2

  “She’s twenty-one.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I wish I was. She’s lived at home this whole time, just enjoying spending her father’s money.” Letting out a disappointed groan, she shook her head. “So, he made a deal with her. She could get a job and start to learn some responsibility.”

  “Or?” Bert inquired, wanting to know the consequences of ignoring such a request.

  “Or, she could live on her own outside their home and without the allowance they’d been giving her.”

  “Wow, that’s some pretty high stakes.”

  “You bet it is,” Carla agreed. “And you’d think she’d be acting better, considering.” She jabbed a finger in the direction the girl had disappeared.

  Bert shook her head. “Well, how about something to take your mind off her?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like helping me carry in pies so we’ll be ready to go when you open. I’ll even let you have a slice.”

  A smile rose up on Carla’s face. “Now that I can get behind.”

  CHAPTER 2

  It only took about five minutes to get all the pies out of the car and set up for display along the length of the front counter. A sparkly decorative table runner accented the pies and made them pop out. Bits of holly, fresh cinnamon sticks, and little statues of Mr. and Mrs. Claus helped give the display some holiday cheer.

  “Something in here smells divine,” a voice boomed from the stockroom door just as Bert and Carla were sitting down on two stools at the counter to take a break and eat some pie. Looking up, Bert spotted a man dressed to the hilt in red clothing with a large bouncing belly and a huge white beard that appeared to be real. His head was topped off with the traditional red cap with white trim and a ball on the end.

  “Oh, Panther, I didn’t know you were here yet,” Carla said, smiling.

  “Sorry, I’m a touch late.”

  “No trouble at all. You’re early,” Carla noted, checking her watch and seeing that it was still ten till. There was plenty of time to get the actors situated in Santa’s Workshop before the doors opened.

  The back corner of the store, where they usually displayed Christmas trees for sale, had been cleared to make room for a large cardboard fireplace. Inside the mouth of a fireplace was a wood cabinet space heater that displayed fake flames and made crackling noises. The heat was off, but the flames were going strong. In front of the fireplace was a large red armchair where Santa would sit and talk to the children. The space was also decorated with oversized gift boxes. Velvet red ropes surrounded the area of Santa’s Workshop with a space for a line along the wall which displayed popular cartoon and movie characters in ornament form.

  “Yeah, I just walked in the backdoor. Samara let me in, much to my surprise.”

  Carla made an overexaggerated shocked expression. “She put down her phone long enough to help someone out?”

  “Believe me, I was just as shocked,” he admitted, holding up his hands and laughing. “But, she was too busy taking pictures of herself to say hello. I think I accidentally got in one of them and she got irritated. What are they calling those these days? Selfies?”

  “That’s right. Selfies,” Bert answered.

  “And who is this lovely lady?” Santa asked.

  “This is my best friend, Bertha Hannah. She owns Pies and Pages just around the block,” Carla noted.

  “So, you’re the master behind these pies,” he praised her, eyeballing the lineup of holiday desserts along the decorated counter space.

  Carla motioned toward the man in costume. “Bert, this is Panther Carrol. My Santa for the week.”

  Bert stood up with a smile, shaking the man’s hand. “Panther? Is that a nickname?”

  The man chuckled, his stuffed belly bouncing up and down. He really did look and sound like Santa Claus. The kids would love it. “Unfortunately, no. I guess my parents just had a sense of humor.”

  “Would you like a piece of pie before work?” Carla offered, knowing Bert wouldn’t protest.

  The man smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t mind if I do, ladies.”

  Adjusting his fake belly, he took a seat at the counter. The old checkout stand had once been a soda fountain. As a result, it was long and curved on one end with shelves behind. It was where Bert would be serving pie throughout the day.

  Panther sat down on one of the stools, adjusting his fake belly as he did so. “Man, we haven’t even started and I’m already sweating in this thing.”

  “You mean it’s not real?” Bert joked.

  “Thankfully, not. I try to stay fit, you know? I go and play tennis every week with a buddy of mine at the local rec center. By the way, I left my duffel bag with my exercise clothes and wallet in it in the stockroom. I hid it away in one of the empty crates, so it wouldn’t be in the way—and wouldn’t get touched or moved.”

  Bert couldn’t blame him but doubted that anyone would bother looking through some older gentleman’s clothes.

  “That’s just fine,” Carla agreed.

  “I go to the rec center every day after work, so I’ll be bringing it along all week.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Carla looked down at herself and sighed. “I could stand to get to the gym more often.” She shoveled another bite of pie into her mouth. “But this Christmas pie is just too good to resist.”

  “Which rec center do you go to?” Bert asked.

  “The one right here in the Old Market actually. You know the big stone building that used to be a spa just across the park?”

  Bert nodded. “The castle, as I’ve heard some people calling it. I didn’t realize it was a rec center now. Wasn’t it previously someone’s house?”

  “Yep. Some rich man owned it back in the fifties but donated it to the city once he passed on. For a while it was a spa, but now it’s a rec center. The fact that it has a pool, hot tub, and tennis court already built in helps. Just slightly out of the way of the rest of Old Market so that it’s relaxing, but still part of historic downtown.”

  “We’ll have to check it out,” Bert noted to Carla who didn’t look thrilled about having to break a sweat if she didn’t have to.

  Panther began to stroke his beard and caught Bert staring. “This is the only thing that’s real about this outfit. A remnant of my biker days.”

  “You used to be a biker?” Bert gasped, looking over at Carla in shock.

  “We all have pasts somewhere. Mine just happened to be on the road, in bars and pool halls. For a long while, I made all of my money hustling fools.” This time, he laughed out loud, and while it still sounded like Santa it had a hint of the real man inside.

  Bert sort of liked him.

  “I wasn’t part of a gang or anything, understand. I went around and did odd jobs, made money here and there and where I could. Just sort of a nomad trying to find himself.”

  “And did you?” Carla asked with a smile. Bert could tell from her friend’s expression that she was already aware of the man’s past. Perhaps it was one reason she hired him.

  “I became a year-round professional Santa,” he said in a joking manner. “I guess doing odd jobs is still my thing, huh?”

  “I guess so,” Carla agreed.

  “What kind of pie you got?”

  “Well, I made apple, pumpkin, and pecan.” She pointed at each pie in succession as they were laid out on the counter over a red and green runner.

  “What is that you girls are having?” he asked, eyeballing the steaming slices on their respective holly patterned paper plates.

  “Oh, this? It’s a new holiday tradition of my own making. Roasted Maple Nut Pie.” She pushed her untouched piece toward him.

  “What’s in it?” he asked, grinning.

  “It’s a combination of crushed walnuts and pecans. I roast them with butter, sugar, and a touch of cinnamon for an hour. Then I mix them in with a combination of brown sugar, eggs, and most important of all, real maple syrup. None of that fake stuff you usually find
at the neighborhood grocery store, mind you. No, this is the real deal.”

  “I guess you couldn’t call it a Maple Nut Pie otherwise,” he noted with another chuckle.

  “I put it in a puff pastry crust and bake it all together.” She motioned to the pie as an indication of the results. The crust had browned perfectly along the edges and the filling had a beautiful caramel color to it.

  Carla stabbed her own piece and took a big bite. “Mmm, it’s amazing.”

  “How can I say no to that?” he joked, pulling the plate close. He picked up the fork but then paused. “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” Unbuttoning his coat, he reached somewhere down into his belly and produced a neatly wrapped stack of papers.

  “What are those?” Bert asked.

  “Fliers,” Carla exclaimed excitedly. “Oh, I almost forgot I asked you to make them.”

  “You made fliers?” Bert inquired, pleasantly surprised.

  “Hey, just cause I couldn’t remember pointless terms like selfie doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around a computer—or at least a word editing program.”

  Carla pulled the fliers close and admired the handiwork. The paper was a beautiful shade of wintergreen with an aspen branch embellishment around the edges. All manner of autumn and winter leaves sprouted out from those to highlight the words in the center. It’s officially Christmas in July! Experience the festive spirit of the holidays this summer by visiting the Christmas in July shop in the Old Market. Everything is twenty-five percent off for a limited time only. Bring the kids to see Santa while you browse our selection of ornaments, mini villages, lights, and more! Enjoy a slice of famous pie from Pies and Pages. Don’t miss out. See our fine winter greenery and Santa might just give you a gift!

  Bert nodded her approval. She thought there was a bit too much text on the flier, but it looked aesthetically pleasing and Carla seemed to be happy with it, which was what mattered most.

  “I’m here,” another voice called, stepping out of the back room. Bert glanced up to see another young woman dressed in an identical elf costume as Samara. Her hair was so fair it was almost white. Her skin was even lighter, but she had a big smile on her lips and vibrant blue eyes that twinkled in the shops lightning.

  “Oh, Heebee. Perfect timing,” Carla praised her.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit later than I said I was going to be. I promise it won’t happen again,” she said.

  “Oh, honey, you’re fine,” Carla waved a hand.

  Bert could tell from only this minimal interaction that Heebee was a sweet and polite girl. First impressions and gut feelings were Bert’s bread and butter in life. She could always tell whether she trusted someone or not from only a few moments of interaction.

  “Do you mind being my street greeter today?” Carla asked.

  “Of course not. I’d love to,” she said with a hint of excitement.

  Carla picked up the fliers and handed them to the girl. “Great. Just stay in character, stay cheerful, and hand these out.”

  “I’m on it boss,” she declared with a playful salute, marching off toward the front door.

  “Well, Santa. You better get into the workshop. I have to go and unlock our front door.”

  “What about that other elf?” he said with a sneer, bobbing his head back to the storage room door.

  Bert stood up. “Let me talk to her.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Carla asked.

  “No way of knowing unless I try.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Panther carried his pie plate over to Santa’s chair with him, so he could finish it quickly, before any kids came in. Bert was sure they wouldn’t have an influx of people right away, but she didn’t doubt it would get busy before the day was out.

  Double checking that her display of pies looked festive, inviting, and appetizing, she realized she’d forgotten her sign. Pulling out the piece of cardstock she’d had a local designer make and print for her, she set it out to make sure all the prices of the pies were marked for customers who got hungry while shopping or waiting for their kid to see Santa.

  She passively wondered if Panther could make signs for her in the future that didn’t cost as much as this one had. Shrugging it off, she headed for the back room to see if she could sweet talk the ornery young woman whom Carla had hired out of a sense of duty and charity.

  Twisting the door handle and stepping in, she called out to the young woman. “Samara?” she asked. She had to stop the door short as there seemed to be someone in a hoodie standing right behind it. It took her a second to realize that the stranger was standing close to someone in an elf costume—Samara.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bert gasped, feeling more embarrassed for the two young people than herself.

  Instantly, Samara and the young man she’d been kissing separated from one another.

  “What the heck, lady? What are you doing back here?” Samara barked, adjusting her crooked elf hat.

  “I am an employee . . . well sort of,” she corrected. “I’m Carla’s best friend and I’m selling my pies here during the Christmas sale.” She tried to keep a chipper tone to smooth out the awkward situation. After all, it wasn’t a crime to kiss your boyfriend goodbye for the day. However, was Samara allowed to have her boyfriend in the back room of the store?

  “I-I think I better be going,” the young blonde-haired man muttered nervously, digging around in his jean’s pocket and producing his keys.

  “Shay, no. Don’t go because of her,” Samara insisted angrily.

  “I-I’ll pick you up after work, okay?”

  “Shay,” she exclaimed.

  “Bye,” he stumbled, rushing for the backdoor and escaping out into the alleyway. The door hung open for a second, letting in a rush of hot humid July air, before slamming shut on its own.

  After a moment’s pause to take in the shock of what had just happened, Samara looked at Bert with thin lidded eyes and tight lips—an expression that shot daggers right through the older woman.

  Bert, while feeling a little red in the face for having interrupted, knew it was for the best. Samara needed to be getting out onto the sales floor to greet the children as they came in. Carla would be upset to know what her employee was doing.

  “Look what you did,” she accused.

  “Young lady, I said I was sorry. I was simply coming back on Carla’s behalf to let you know the shop is opening, and she’d like you to get to your post in Santa’s Workshop.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “What a joke. This whole thing is stupid.”

  Bert wondered how this girl could be in her twenties but still acting as if she was fifteen. She supposed some people took longer to grow up than others.

  “I’m just trying to help,” Bert insisted, keeping her voice low and calm. “Your boyfriend promised to be back once your shift is over. You can see him then.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she insisted.

  Bert rose an eyebrow. “Oh? It sure looked like it.”

  The girl tilted her head to one side. “You don’t know what you saw,” she spat out as if she could dictate Bert’s thoughts.

  Bert, not willing to put up with this any longer, folded her arms in a power stance. “My dear, I’ve been alive a lot longer than you and just because I’m in my sixties doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about dating. I’m not blind either. I can see when two people are kissing.” She felt a bit odd reprimanding the young woman, but she wanted to hit home her meaning.

  Apparently, it worked.

  Samara’s jaw dropped at the words coming out of the woman’s mouth, as if she wasn’t used to strangers talking back to her.

  “Now, I’m trying to help you. You can get out there and do your job with a good attitude and a smile without giving my friend or her customers a hard time,” she held up a finger, “or I can tell Carla you’re no longer interested in this position.” At this, Bert smiled. “I’m sure she’d be happy to inform your parents.”

  All color drained from the you
ng woman’s face and the first hint of fear came over her. She walked toward the door and paused. “I-I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out like the words hurt her.

  “I know,” Bert said with a smile, glad to see some tiny semblance of progress.

  “You won’t tell Carla, will you? Please?” she begged.

  Bert thought for a second then nodded. “Alright. If there are no more slip-ups, and you greet the kids with a smile, I’ll keep my lips zipped,” she offered, making a zipper motion with her hand over her mouth.

  “Okay, you got it,” she whispered, a hint of attitude still hiding beneath the surface. Still, she wasn’t being as outwardly rude now. Maybe she felt Carla was too kind natured to tell her parents she was being a terror and had taken advantage of that. Bert, however, was not. She had as much charity as her friend but also put her foot down when necessary.

  “Good,” Bert smiled.

  The woman gave a tiny nod before leaving through the door.

  “Well, that’s one disaster averted,” Bert sighed, hoping her little chat would help the woman act appropriately all day.

  CHAPTER 4

  Much to Bert’s surprise, the shop had a heavy stream of customers from almost the moment the doors opened. Part of it may have been the enticing Christmas carols playing over the shop’s speakers and carrying outside. If there was one thing to get people in the holiday spirit, it was carols. Another part of it may have been the young woman, Heebee, who was outside handing out fliers and inviting people in. She was simply so cheerful and rosy-cheeked that you could almost mistake her for a real elf.

  The same could not be said for her colleague, Samara. The dark-haired young woman had a slight pout to her lip the entire time. However, each time she caught Bert looking her way, she forced the most uncomfortable smile that could scare even the stoutest of children away from Santa’s shop.