The Christmas Fair Killer Read online

  ‘Eight is plenty early. The grandkids are too excited to go to bed at any reasonable hour, and my daughters are putting up supper that night, so I’m out of the kitchen. It’s just sandwiches, salads, devilled eggs, and Christmas cookies, but it’s been our tradition since I was a little girl at my grandmama’s house, partly because my grandmama couldn’t afford to buy the ingredients for more than one big family dinner and partly because we kids were too anxious for Santa to arrive to sit at the table and eat a big meal. But it worked for everyone. Still does. No dishes to do after, so we can sit and watch a Christmas movie together and then go to the late church service before calling it a night.’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’

  ‘Sure is. Now, Christmas Day – well, that’s when we go all out. Mr Rufus starts the morning by makin’ a breakfast of biscuits and gravy. Then, after everyone opens presents, I start in on the late-afternoon feast. There’s the relish tray of olives, carrots, gherkins, celery, pickled okra, and green onion, then the Coca-Cola-glazed ham, macaroni and cheese, corn bread, green beans, rutabagas, and yams topped with pecans. Then, for dessert, there’s ambrosia salad, banana pudding for the kids, and my mama’s classic coconut cake.’

  ‘Girl, you’re making me hungry.’ Jules rubbed his stomach.

  ‘You’re always hungry,’ Tish pointed out.

  ‘True.’

  ‘Well, if you’re good and get your drinks prepared before our five o’clock opening, I’ll let you have a Twelfth Night cake,’ Celestine promised.

  ‘Bribery. Nice.’ Tish gave Celestine a fist bump.

  ‘Gotta do something to get the boy motivated.’

  ‘You two are a regular riot,’ Jules deadpanned. ‘So, what’s a Twelfth Night cake?’

  ‘Buttery puff pastry with a rum and almond filling.’

  ‘Mmm, sign me up for one of those.’

  ‘Will do.’ As Celestine unloaded the bins of cakes from the handcart, a wintry breeze swept through the booth, prompting Tish to turn up the collar of her black wool coat and pull her leopard-print beret further down on her blonde head. ‘Feels like snow.’

  ‘I doubt it. Not only is there no snow in the forecast, but there hasn’t been Christmas snow in central Virginia for twenty years. Besides, it’s not cold enough for it to snow.’ Belying his own words, Jules zipped his coat to his bronzed chin and wrapped his cashmere scarf around his neck.

  Both fully aware that Jules’s prediction of no snow was tantamount to General George Armstrong Custer proclaiming that there weren’t enough Native Americans in the world to destroy the Seventh Cavalry, Tish and Celestine exchanged commiserating glances and set to work stocking the booth with the evening’s provisions. Jules, meanwhile, prepared the mulled wine and spicy warm cider for a long, low simmer.

  Three hours later, with their work complete and the booth redolent with the aromas of wine, cider, simmering stock, and earthy spices, the trio swapped celebratory high fives and watched as the festival lights were illuminated, the gates to the fair opened, and the Richmond Revolutionary Re-Enactors’ fife and drum band marched visitors on to the fairgrounds to the tune of Joy to the World.

  Leading the crowd through the horseshoe-shaped arrangement of food purveyors, the re-enactors made a sharp left at the stage and assembled on the grassy area that traditionally served as the recreation park’s football field. After a rousing rendition of The Little Drummer Boy, the infantrymen fired their rifles in unison.

  ‘Gunfire and Christmas carols. What better way to evoke the memory of holidays spent with family?’ a familiar voice joked.

  They turned around to find a fortyish man with spiky dark hair, deep-set gray eyes, and a few days’ worth of stubble standing just a few feet away from the booth. He was dressed in jeans, a heavy black peacoat, and a pair of thick-soled motorcycle boots.

  ‘Ain’t that just the truth, Sheriff Reade,’ Jules greeted. ‘Family holidays are all drama, drama, drama.’

  ‘Mine ain’t,’ Celestine asserted. ‘When anyone whines or complains, I tell ’em to save the drama for their mama. Then I remind them that I don’t like it either.’

  ‘Hiya, Miss Celly,’ Reade replied with a laugh as he stepped closer to the counter.

  ‘Hey, Clem. Good to see you, darlin’.’

  ‘Hi, Clemson, what brings you here?’ Tish asked. ‘Getting in the holiday spirit?’

  ‘Yeah, a busman’s holiday. I have a team directing traffic for the festival. Knowing you had a booth here, I thought I’d stop by and get them some coffee. It’s going to be a long night and a cold one.’ Reade rubbed his hands together and turned up the collar of his coat. ‘Almost feels like snow.’

  ‘Nope. No snow in the forecast,’ Jules maintained. ‘What kind of coffee would you like, Sheriff? Gingerbread or caramel?’

  ‘How about just regular coffee? Do you have any of that?’

  ‘Yes, for the timid.’

  ‘Perfect. I am timid – about buying other people flavored coffee.’

  ‘I have tea and cocoa too.’

  ‘Hmm, one of my officers loves chocolate. I’ll have one cocoa and three regular coffees, please. And, Miss Celly, do you happen to have any of your beautiful baked goods on hand?’

  ‘Of course.’ Celestine pointed to the pristine pastries on display in the glass display case on the countertop. ‘You want some mince pies, some gluten-free golden fruitcake, or some Twelfth Night cakes?’

  ‘I’ll take two of everything,’ Reade requested. ‘What’s cooking in those pots back there, Tish?’

  ‘Elizabethan spiced stew.’

  ‘Sounds interesting. I’ll take a cup of that as well. Missed my lunch today.’

  ‘Beef or root vegetable?’

  ‘Root vegetable, please.’

  Tish was surprised by his choice. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. Just because I carry a gun to work doesn’t mean I don’t eat my broccoli,’ he joked.

  ‘I know, but it’s just that whenever you have breakfast at the café, it’s always the Portrait of the Artist as a Young Ham sandwich.’

  ‘That’s not because I dislike vegetables, but because I like to ease into the morning. I never know what I’m going to find at work, but I do know what ham and egg taste like. And I know that I like the way you cook them. As the day wears on, if things go well, I become more optimistic and more likely to take chances.’

  ‘Wow, given that attitude, I’m surprised you tried my sandwich in the first place.’

  ‘It was my day off,’ Reade quipped.

  ‘See?’ Jules challenged. ‘Timid.’

  ‘Where’s your car parked, Mr Davis?’ Reade asked with more than a hint of a grin upon his lips.

  ‘Back at the café. I hitched a ride here with Tish. Not that it matters. You wouldn’t ticket me anyway. You had a chance to fine me for selling sandwiches out of the trunk of my car a few months back, but you didn’t, y’old softie, you.’

  ‘Better not let that get around,’ the sheriff warned, ‘or we’ll have a crime spree on our hands. Wait a minute. If Tish is catering an event, we might already be facing a potential crime spree.’

  To that comment, Tish wadded up a paper napkin and tossed it at Reade’s head, a fake scowl on her face.

  ‘So, what are you up to this Christmas, Clem?’ Celestine asked after the laughter had died down. ‘Going up north to visit family?’

  ‘Maybe. An aunt of mine invited me to spend Christmas with her, but I’m not sure. All my cousins are married and have kids, so we don’t have much in common these days. I’ll probably wind up doing what I do every year. Work double shifts Christmas Day, so that my officers with families can have the day off, and spend Christmas Eve at the interfaith center handing out the toys we and the firehouse have collected.’

  ‘Really?’ Tish gasped. ‘We’ll be at the interfaith center too, dishing out food.’

  ‘You’re contributing the Christmas meal?’

  ‘Not the entire meal, no. The Rotary Club donated t
hree dozen or so locally raised chickens, which their volunteers will be cooking, along with the gravy. I’m just doing the side dishes: carrots, roasted potatoes, peas, and dinner rolls. And Celestine has been kind enough to donate one of her brilliant desserts.’

  ‘Just a plain ol’ giant sheet cake,’ Celestine announced, ‘with white-chocolate-and-peppermint-candy-cane frosting. It’s been a good year for Mr Rufus and me. Thought I’d share my good fortune.’

  ‘That’s mighty generous of you both. My band will be joining us at the interfaith center as well. After Santa finishes his bit, we get everyone to sing Christmas carols. It’s cheesy, I know, but it’s a good way to extend the evening and make it feel more like a real holiday instead of just a meal and a wrapped toy.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you guys. If we’re still around when you start playing, we’ll definitely sing along,’ Tish promised.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Jules agreed. ‘Hey, Sheriff, if you decide to stay in Hobson Glen for the holidays and find yourself with some extra time on Christmas Day, you should come on down to the café. We’re doing a ragtag, “Island of Misfit Toys” sort of gathering this year, but there’ll be plenty of food. And wine.’

  ‘Jules is right. You should come by for dinner,’ Tish concurred as she packed the sheriff’s order into a paper bag and handed it to him. ‘We’re having turkey with all the trimmings and then we’re playing some games afterwards. It will be fun, but low-key and quiet, unless, of course, Jules loses at charades.’

  ‘You’re giving Uncle Jules far too much credit, Aunt Tish.’ Fifteen-year-old Kayla Okensholt, bundled against the weather in a military-inspired khaki parka and a pink knit beanie that covered the crown of her brunette head, had stepped out from the crowd and leaned across the counter of the booth. ‘He makes a lot of noise when he wins too.’

  ‘You’re right. He’s as much a sore winner as he is a sore loser,’ Tish rejoined.

  Jules gasped in mock horror. ‘I resent that remark.’

  ‘We know you do.’ Kayla giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Hi, Uncle Jules.’

  ‘Hi, Kayla, honey. How are you?’

  ‘Good, now that it’s Thursday night and school’s out for two and a half weeks.’ Kayla went on to greet Celestine and Tish.

  ‘Hey, sugar.’ Celestine enveloped the girl in a bear hug.

  Tish and her goddaughter exchanged pecks on the cheek. ‘Are you here with friends?’

  ‘No, I’m here with Mom. And your boyfriend.’ She grinned.

  ‘Schuyler?’

  ‘He stopped by the café as I was helping Mom close up for the night. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to convince her to come here instead of going home and sobbing over Hallmark Christmas movies, like she’s been doing all month.’

  As if summoned by Kayla’s words, Mary Jo and Schuyler appeared at the booth. MJ was zipped into an oversized black puffer coat that she wore over black pants and ankle boots. Her long, dark-brown hair was pinned into a messy bun held in place by a ballpoint pen and, with the exception of some smudged mascara, her face was completely devoid of makeup.

  Having traveled directly from his Richmond law office, Schuyler Thompson was overdressed, but dashing, in his double-breasted navy cashmere coat, pinstriped trousers, burgundy scarf, and black leather driving gloves. His fair hair was trimmed into a short style that played up his chiseled jawline, and his blue eyes sparkled in the glow of the festival lights.

  ‘Hey, y’all,’ Mary Jo greeted.

  ‘Hey,’ the trio of Tish, Jules, and Celestine replied in unison. Schuyler, meanwhile, gave a brief, friendly wave ‘hello’ and went directly for a smooch with Tish.

  ‘I see you’re full of surprises today,’ Tish whispered to him as she slid her eyes toward Mary Jo.

  ‘A good surprise, I hope?’

  ‘A miraculous one. So’ – she raised her voice to normal volume – ‘how was business at the café today?’

  ‘Slow.’ Mary Jo frowned. ‘I think everyone was saving their appetites for tonight.’

  ‘That means there’s a bunch of hungry people heading our way,’ Celestine surmised.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’

  ‘Nope. You and Kayla are under orders to enjoy yourselves,’ Tish instructed.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts. There’s lots of cool stuff going on tonight. Virginia Cooperative Extension is hosting a wreath-making booth, the local dance company is running free belly-dance classes, and there’s a candy maker from Richmond handing out samples of ridiculously creamy fudge. In a little over an hour, the Williamsburg Theater Group will start a performance of Twelfth Night, and as employees of Cookin’ the Books, you’re both entitled to dinner on the house. So go and enjoy some girl time together.’

  Kayla gave a tiny squeal and clapped her hands together. ‘Can we do the belly-dance class, Mom? It would be so much fun.’

  ‘Umm … OK.’

  ‘Yay! Can I eat something first, though? I’m freezing and starving, and Aunt Tish’s stew just smells so good.’

  ‘Sure. As long as it’s OK with Tish.’

  ‘Of course. Just let me ring up Sheriff Reade’s order and—’ Tish searched for the sheriff, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where did Reade go?’

  ‘He left shortly after Kayla got here,’ Jules explained. ‘He mumbled something and handed me this.’

  Jules plopped a wad of bills on the counter, which Tish immediately counted. ‘This is too much money.’

  ‘He’s a regular at the café. Perhaps that’s his way of saying thanks.’

  ‘Forty dollars is an awful lot of thanks.’

  ‘You’ve cooked him an awful lot of breakfasts.’

  Tish’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s still strange of him not to say goodbye.’

  ‘People get strange at the holidays.’

  Tish agreed with a shrug and set about dishing out a helping of stew for Kayla, but something about the incident still struck her as odd.

  TWO

  It was twenty minutes past nine when the Williamsburg Theater Group took their final bow and the stage curtains closed on the first Twelfth Night performance of the long weekend. Having experienced a dearth of visitors during the show, Tish, Jules, Celestine, and Schuyler were suddenly met with a rush of theatergoers purchasing a last-minute cake or hot toddy before the fair closed at ten.

  Their food and beverage orders fulfilled, the famished theatergoers departed, only to be replaced by several members of the cast of Twelfth Night in various stages of the undressing process. First in the queue stood the star of the evening’s performance. Jenny Inkpen, twenty-two-year-old ingénue, was tall and slender with the elegance of a young Audrey Hepburn. Her long brown hair had been rolled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and although she had traded her doublets and breeches for a heavyweight pink tracksuit, her face still bore the understated makeup required for the role of Cesario/Viola.

  ‘How much for a coffee?’ she inquired with the same commanding voice she had used to enrapture the audience just minutes earlier.

  ‘All food and refreshments are complimentary for theater group members,’ Tish explained. ‘Courtesy of the interim mayor’s office.’

  ‘Really? In that case, maybe I’ll have some cake. Do you have anything gluten-free?’

  Celestine retrieved a slice of golden fruitcake and held it aloft. ‘Dried pear, apricot, ginger, and almond.’

  ‘That sounds amazing.’

  ‘We greatly enjoyed your performance,’ Tish complimented as she applied the coffee and cake to the mayor’s office tab.

  ‘Thanks. I prefer the meatier roles, but these lighthearted plays are fun for the holidays.’

  From somewhere in the queue, someone clicked his or her tongue in derision.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee and whatever stew that is cooking.’ The actor who had played Sebastian, still in costume, jumped in front of the line. With his soft brown eyes and fine features, he was perfectly cast as Viola’s twi
n brother, for he and Jenny could have been siblings in real life. ‘Maybe we can have our coffee together, Jenny, and review tonight’s performance? I thought it went really well.’

  ‘You’d be better off using that time to go over your lines,’ she replied frostily. ‘You flubbed two of them in the second act alone.’ With that, Jenny Inkpen collected her coffee and cake, said a quiet thank you to Tish, Jules, and Celestine, and marched off behind the stage.

  ‘Bailey Cassels, you fool,’ seethed the actress who played Maria. Short, stout, and middle-aged, she had switched her heavy gown and corsets for a pair of jeans, a bright green parka, and suede boots, but her face was still heavily made-up with thick, waxy foundation, bright-red lipstick, and dark, painted eyebrows. ‘That girl’s never going to give you the time of day. You have nothing to offer her. Just look what she did to poor Justin here.’ She motioned to Justin Dange, the actor who had played Malvolio. ‘Jenny only dated him to get into the troupe, and once she was in, she dumped him.’

  Dange, in his late thirties, had changed out of his gray wig and costume and into a quilted jacket, jeans, and sneakers. He left his spot at the end of the line to retaliate. ‘That’s not what happened, Fran,’ he insisted to the woman’s face. ‘Jenny and I broke up because … well, it’s complicated.’

  ‘Perhaps it was complicated for you, but for Jenny I’m sure it was dead simple. She’s a user.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Jenny’s done nothing but improve the quality of our performances.’

  The right corner of Fran’s mouth curled. ‘In your opinion, perhaps,’ she sneered.

  ‘Oh, get off it,’ Justin shouted before storming off in the same direction Jenny had traveled mere minutes earlier.

  ‘Justin’s right,’ Bailey Cassels chimed in. ‘Just because Jenny’s young and good-looking, the older members of the group think it’s OK to trash-talk her. Maybe it’s time you guys found a new hobby, like bingo or something.’

  As Bailey Cassels took his coffee and headed back toward the stage, Fran and the actor who played Sir Toby approached the counter. ‘Sorry you folks had to witness that unfortunate scene,’ he apologized.