Candy Slain Read online

  “Do you know anyone who hated Orville?” Maggie asked.

  “I can’t think of a single person who liked him. And he was our Santa!” Nobody likes a mean Santa.

  “Dee Dee hated him. Everyone knows that. The mayor liked him at first,” Miss May said. “Linda was proud she hired a high-profile Santa.”

  “I heard Orville used to be Santa at the Macy’s in New York City,” Maggie said.

  Miss May nodded. “I heard that too. So I bet the mayor paid a lot of money to get him for the season. But he was acting out. Upsetting the townspeople. Causing a problem everywhere he went…”

  “So the mayor might have gotten fed up with his antics,” I said. “Mayor Delgado always ends up on our suspect list. One of the risks of being in politics, I guess. You make enemies.”

  Miss May shrugged. “This town means everything to her. There’s always a potential motive for the mayor.”

  “Any other suspects? I asked.

  “Sure. Orville was such an ornery guy, I’m sure he had plenty of old foes. The killer could have been someone from his past,” Miss May reminded me. “Someone dangerous. Someone he wronged.”

  “That makes sense,” Maggie said. “But I feel like we’re forgetting someone.”

  Suddenly, a pink convertible squealed up the driveway to the farm and came to a halt. It was Teeny in her trademark car. Not sure why she had the top down since it was December, but she played by her own rules.

  Teeny jumped out of the convertible. “I know who killed Orville!” Teeny rushed toward us. “It’s OK, Maggie. I am the new queen of the sleuths. Just got elected because I figured the mystery out already.”

  “Please don’t have some theory based on a TV show you love,” said Miss May.

  Teeny shook her head. “It was Humphrey.”

  Humphrey was well known as a curmudgeonly man-about-town, but he didn’t strike me as a murderer. “Why do you think that?”

  “Humphrey has been the Santa in our town events for 15 years. Remember how upset he was when Orville got hired?”

  Miss May and I looked at one another and shrugged.

  “I think we were in the middle of another investigation,” Miss May said. “Not exactly keeping track of the Santa drama at that point. But yeah… He was beside himself.”

  Maggie nodded. “I think I remember that. Humphrey got fired because he lost weight, right? The mayor didn’t think he had the girth to play Santa anymore?”

  Teeny smiled and nodded. “He was angry, all right. Angry enough to kill.”

  “Humphrey has breakfast at Grandma’s every morning, right?” Miss May asked.

  Teeny nodded.

  “Then I guess we’ll see him bright and early,” said Miss May. “Find out if he was angry enough to kill.”

  6

  Humphrey Dumpty

  Teeny owned the cutest and most delicious (not suspicious) restaurant in Pine Grove, Grandma’s. The place was adorable year-round. During the holidays, Teeny went into decorating overdrive and made the restaurant into a genuine tourist attraction in the Northeast.

  Miss May and I were there to question Humphrey, a suspected killer. But I couldn’t help but stop to admire Teeny’s festive decorations as we entered.

  First of all, there had to have been 25,000 twinkling white lights strung on the walls. White and green garlands draped along the ways to accent the strands of lights. Candy canes dangled from every available surface. A massive Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the back corner, decorated with old family ornaments that had been donated by the townspeople over the years. The Christmas tree in Grandma’s was a local treasure, and everyone in town had a sense of ownership over it.

  Traditionally, my favorite part of Teeny’s decor was her famous Santa collection. Teeny lined her windowsill with Santas from around the world that she had collected or been gifted over the years. Norwegian Santas, Alaskan Santas, Santas dressed like famous movie characters. My favorite Santa was Tropical Santa — he was wearing an open Hawaiian shirt and drinking a beer.

  But that year, the Santa display didn’t warm my heart as it had in prior years. In fact, the display sent chills from my shoulders to my toes, thanks to the murder of Orville Starr. I shuddered. I hoped that Santa’s jovial potbelly, fluffy white beard, and rosy visage hadn’t been ruined for me forever.

  After a minute or two of enjoying the decorations, Miss May pointed across the room. There was Humphrey, sitting in his booth along the far wall.

  “There he is,” said Miss May. “Does he look guilty?”

  Teeny shrugged. “He looks hungry. I don’t know how he could still have an appetite though. That’s the second Triple Big Boy Breakfast he’s eaten this morning.”

  Miss May walked toward Humphrey. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  Teeny smiled as we approached Humphrey. “Humphrey. Hi! Anything else I can get you?”

  Humphrey did not look up from his food. “Wow. What a great hostess. You want me to have a wonderful experience in your restaurant? Maybe don’t bring the local super detectives over to be suspicious of me like I’m some kind of common criminal.”

  Miss May offered her trademark gentle but stern smile. “Humphrey, we’re not here because we suspect you. Can we sit?”

  “I’m not moving over.”

  Miss May sat next to Humphrey. It was a tight squeeze. Neither had skipped many Triple Big Boy Breakfasts over the years. Teeny and I sat across from them.

  “Honestly, this is so offensive,” said Humphrey, through a mouthful of food.

  “Don’t be offended, Humphrey. But clearly you know why we’re here,” Miss May said. “You’re a suspect in the murder of Orville Starr. More than anything, I want to clear your name so people stop talking.”

  “Let ‘em talk!” Humphrey belched. “Teeny. Can I get another one of these Big Boy Breakfasts?”

  Teeny cringed. “Sure, I guess. But you’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “Whatever it takes. I’ve got one week to gain thirty pounds. I think if I gain the full thirty, the mayor will let me be Santa again.”

  Miss May hung her head. “You really are obsessed with this Santa job.”

  “If you keep eating like this and talking like this everyone will think you’re guilty,” I said.

  “You say people are talking about me, but I know the truth.” Humphrey took a big bite of bacon. “The cops already found the killer. It’s your crazy sister, May. No offense. But you know I think she’s crazy.”

  Miss May nodded. “I know. But are you sure you even need to eat like this? If Orville isn’t available for the job anymore maybe the mayor will let you do it.”

  Humphrey snorted. “You didn’t hear? She asked KP to be Santa. KP! He’s barely fatter than me.”

  Miss May held up her hands. “You know what? We’re getting off target. You and KP can figure this out on your own. Right now, why don’t you tell us about where you were last night?”

  “Just say the word. You want an alibi.”

  Miss May opened her palms. “OK. Do you have an alibi?”

  “Heck yes. I was at this very restaurant during the tree-lighting ceremony.”

  Teeny scrunched up her nose. “We were closed at that time. So I could go to the tree-lighting ceremony.”

  “I know!” Humphrey grumbled. “It was ridiculous. I was sitting out front waiting for you to come back so I could order a double stack of pancakes.”

  “I’m confused,” I said. “You were already trying to fatten yourself up for the Santa job? At that point, Orville hadn’t turned up dead yet.”

  “Nice try, Sherlock. At that point, I wasn’t trying to gain. I was just eating my emotions. I’ve been so depressed about the Santa thing, I turned to pancakes as my only solace.”

  Teeny stood abruptly. “You know what? Enough interrogating my customers. I’m sorry we bothered you, Humphrey.”

  “Bring me another Triple Big Boy Breakfast and all will be forgiven.”

  T
eeny took a couple steps away. “You’ve got it, pal.” Teeny gestured for me and Miss May to stand. “Let’s go, girls. Let my favorite customer enjoy his fourth BBB in one morning even if it does seem disgusting, because it is, and that’s saying a lot coming from the person who invented the Triple Big Boy Breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Humphrey dipped a piece of toast in an egg yolk. “And make it with extra butter.”

  Teeny dragged me and Miss May away from the table. But Miss May protested. “What are you doing, T? We’re not done with Humphrey.”

  Teeny gestured toward the back office with her head. “I’m going to check his alibi.”

  Miss May kneaded her eyebrows. “How are you going to do that?”

  7

  Candid Cameras

  Teeny opened the door to the back office. We stepped inside. The place was covered, floor-to-ceiling, with television monitors. And the monitors showed a live feed of the interior and exterior of Grandma’s restaurant.

  Teeny turned to us with a big smile. “What do you think?”

  Miss May raised her eyebrows. “I think this is a lot of cameras.”

  I nodded. “Me too. Why did you install all of these cameras?”

  Teeny shrugged. “We’ve had a hundred murders in the past ten months. Why have you not?”

  Miss May turned down her lips. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

  “And it’s already coming in handy,” Teeny said. “Let me just see how to work this thing so we can check the video from last night. Find out if Humphrey was telling the truth.” Teeny crossed the room and stared down at a computer on her desk. “OK. My nephew set this thing up. He said that if I ever need to look at the footage it will be on my computer.”

  “OK.” I stepped toward the computer. “So let’s see the footage.”

  Teeny nodded. “You bet. Just one small snafu. Don’t know how to turn it on.”

  Miss May hung her head. I laughed.

  “Maybe I can help. Pretty sure this is the power button.” I pointed out a button on the computer. “Do you want to press it or should I?”

  Teeny puffed out her chest. “It’s my computer. I’ll press the button.”

  Teeny pressed the button and nothing happened. “Darn. That was the wrong button. Chelsea, you told me that was the button.”

  I took a deep breath. “That is definitely the button. It says ‘power.’ But is it plugged in?”

  Teeny held her finger in the air. “Probably not plugged in.”

  I laughed. “Do you want to plug it in or should I?”

  Teeny craned her neck to see beneath the desk. A mess of wires crawled in every direction. “That seems like a job for the age-inclined. AKA, a young person.”

  After ten minutes of plugging and unplugging wires underneath Teeny’s desk, the computer whirred to life with an angelic sound. Then came thirty-five minutes of trying to access the archival footage from the cameras, followed by a half dozen calls to Teeny’s beleaguered nephew. Finally, we located the file from the prior night.

  “This is it. Wow. That wasn’t so hard. That was much easier than I expected to be,” Teeny said.

  I threw up my hands. “Really? It’s been almost two hours!”

  “You young people expect everything to happen with the snap of a finger. We used to have to write letters and put them in envelopes and put on a stamp and then the mailman would come and then he would drive to someone else and then he would give them the letter and then they would have to open it. That was email.”

  “We’re getting distracted,” said Miss May. “I’m opening the file.”

  One moment later, and we were huddled around the computer, watching a boring video of nothing happening in front of the restaurant the prior night.

  I yawned. Teeny side-eyed me. “Are you bored, Chelsea?”

  “This isn’t exactly riveting footage,” I said. “There’s not even any sound.” I fast-forwarded and a figure approached the door. I paused.

  “That’s him,” I said. “That’s Humphrey. Does the video say what time that was?”

  “Approximately 9 PM,” Teeny said.

  We watched as Humphrey pulled on the door of the restaurant in the security footage. He threw up his hands when the doors didn’t open. But he didn’t leave. He sat on the curb and waited. Just as he’d claimed.

  “That guy really likes your cooking, Teeny,” I said. “I can’t believe he just waited for you to come back.”

  Miss May laughed and pointed at the screen. “He wasn’t as patient as we thought.”

  On the screen, a delivery truck from a local pizza place pulled up to the restaurant. A deliveryman hopped out and exchanged the pizza for a wad of Humphrey’s cash. The truck hadn’t even left the parking lot before Humphrey had inhaled an entire slice. Then another, and another.

  Teeny, Miss May, and I watched in awe as Humphrey slowly but surely devoured an entire pizza pie by himself.

  Miss May shook her head. “He’s really going to make himself sick. I’m pretty sure that’s a pepperoni pie.”

  We continue to watch with fascination as Humphrey picked slices of pepperoni off the pie and ate them with a satisfied smile.

  Then I caught sight of the live feed from one of the cameras in the restaurant.

  The live footage showed Humphrey standing at his table, pointing and yelling at a little bald man with an absurdly long beard. Seriously, the man’s beard was almost as tall as the man himself.

  I pulled on Miss May’s arm to try to get a look at the live footage. “Look. What’s going on?”

  But Miss May couldn’t take her eyes off of the video of Humphrey eating the pizza from the night prior. And either could Teeny. They were hypnotized by Humphrey’s maniacal eating.

  In the live video, the bald man took an aggressive step toward Humphrey.

  Once again, I tried to be polite as I pulled on Miss May’s sleeve and urged her to look.

  Once again, neither Miss May nor Teeny looked. Finally, I got fed up and nudged Miss May with my elbow.

  “Look at this screen.”

  Not even that was enough. I swear, those two ladies could have watched Humphrey eat pizza forever.

  Finally, there was a loud crash from inside the restaurant. Both Miss May and Teeny turned their heads toward the sound.

  Teeny stood up. “What was that?”

  I pointed back at the live footage. “Look.”

  There on the TV, Humphrey had the little bald man in a headlock. And he was not letting go.

  8

  Stealth Elf

  Teeny rushed back out to the restaurant to break up the fight between Humphrey and the little man with the big beard. Miss May and I followed close behind.

  As we got closer, I saw that the man had a small gold earring and a golden tooth. He fought against Humphrey, but Humphrey had the size advantage and the man could not get free.

  “Take it back.” Humphrey tightened his grip. “Take it back or I’ll never let go.”

  “Can’t take back the truth,” said the little man. “That’s what makes it true.”

  “Hey.” Teeny tried to push Humphrey away. “No fighting in my restaurant! You should be ashamed, Humphrey.”

  Humphrey backed off. The little man stumbled back two steps. He coughed and wheeled on Teeny. “This is your restaurant!? I should sue. How can you let animals like this in here?”

  Miss May approached with both hands held up. “OK. Let’s everybody calm down. What happened?”

  The little man dusted himself off. “I’ll tell you what happened. This beast spoke ill of the dead. Insulted my best friend.”

  “Back up a step. Who are you exactly?” Miss May asked. “I know everyone in this town and I don’t recognize you.”

  The little man stuck out his stiff hand to shake. “Call me Lincoln. I’m a career elf. Don’t make any jokes about it, OK? I’m a lifelong Christmas elf. Best Santa’s helper up and down the East Coast. Worked with Orville his whole life. May he rest in pe
ace.”

  “Goodness,” said Miss May. “I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a friend as well as a colleague?”

  “We were a tag team. Hawaiian and punch. Cookies and milk. Sleighs and bells. I arrived this morning to join him for the Pine Grove gig. Show up. Find out Orville’s dead. Saddest day I’ve had in years. And I lost my mom and my dog not too long ago.”

  “Sorry about your mom,” Humphrey said. “And your dog.”

  Lincoln lunged at Humphrey. “Don’t you ever talk about them again.”

  Miss May stepped between the two men. “Guys. Guys. So, what exactly happened here?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened.” Lincoln shook his head. “I walk in. Introduce myself. This guy tells me Orville is dead. Next sentence, he finds out who I am. Recruits me to work for him as an elf. Like this skinny nerd could ever be Santa. Like he could ever fill Orville’s shoes or his belt.”

  Humphrey slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t call me skinny. You should have seen me last year! I weighed at least fifteen pounds more than I currently do!” Humphrey’s trusty Bassett hound, Semolina, barked from under the table. “Semolina knows!”

  “Humphrey,” Teeny said, “I told you, Semolina can’t come in the restaurant or the health department’s gonna get after me.”

  “She’s my service hound! And she stands up for me when no-good out-of-towners call me skinny!”

  “I call them like I see them,” Lincoln said. “Or like I barely see them, in your case.”

  Humphrey slammed his fist again. Semolina whimpered. “That’s it,” Humphrey said. “That is it.”

  Lincoln balled up his fists. “What? What are you going to do, old man?”

  Teeny stood on a chair. “Hey. No one is going to do anything. You, Humphrey. Get out. You can’t possibly eat more food and I’m sure you need a nap.”

  Humphrey began to protest. Teeny balled up her fist. “I’m not kidding, Humphrey. I’ll ban you for an entire week. Then how will you put on your Santa weight? Cook for yourself? Ha!”