Page 94 of Christmas Mittens Murder

“Every bit of one.” Cam smiled. “She loves building things, and she’s always sure her way is the right way. Who knows, maybe she’ll be the next great architect.”

“I’d like to talk with you later about something Allie said this morning,” I murmured to her as we waited for a signal to turn green.

“Oh? I’ll be all ears.”

We arrived a few minutes later at the municipal parking lot. On Sundays it was transformed into a village of pop-up tents, eager shoppers, toe-tapping live music, and delicious food, prepared as well as recently harvested.

I slowed, feeling eyes on me. I scanned the perimeter of the market. There. A tall figure in black disappeared around the corner of a tent. Thea? Or maybe Rafael. A shiver ran through me.

“We’re getting tamales at the end, right, Auntie Cee?” Arthur asked, eyes bright.

“Of course,” I replied, glad to be brought back to the moment by a delightful child. “Isn’t that the best part?”

“Ooh, love me a fresh tamale,” Cam said.

“They’re very good,” Franklin said in all seriousness. “And you can get one without meat if you want, Auntie Cee.”

“I know,” I said. “Remember, I came with you last Christmas?”

“You were here last Christmas, but the last time we went to the market together was in July,” he said. “Don’t worry, the tamale truck is here every week.”

I ruffled his hair and took his hand as we followed Cam and Arthur down the first row of stands. In contrast to the craft fair yesterday, today was all about food. No vendor was allowed who hadn’t produced their edible product on their own property. The booth owner didn’t have to sell fresh-picked produce, although many did. But cheese was required to be small-scale produced. The same with bread, olives, pistachios, pickles, and all the other yummy foods on offer. Here was no place for carved puzzles or hand-blown glass. I liked the organizers forefronting the “farmer” in farmers’ market.

Franklin and I paused and bought five artichokes on foot-long stems while Cam and Arthur sampled pistachios in all flavors next door.

“Ooh! Whew.” Artie fanned his mouth. “Auntie Cee, I’m dying here.”

“He sampled a jalapeno pistachio.” Cam didn’t look alarmed.

“He loves hot food,” Franklin said with a world-weary look. “Even when it hurts his mouth. He says it clears his sinuses. But ask my brother what a sinus is, and he has no idea.” He shook his head.

I smiled. “You need a milkshake, Artie, and they might not have them here. But look. A cheese sample might help.” I pointed at a booth called Sam the Cheese Man.

“I like to sample everything.” Arthur skipped across the row to the cheeses.

After the cheese, we proceeded to taste tangy dill pickles and an amazing sourdough, which I had to buy a boule of. A family dinner for tomorrow was shaping up—artichokes, sourdough bread, salad, and fish on the grill, which I could pick up in the morning at the fish market. I snagged a baguette, too.

Cam got into a lengthy discussion with the organic farmer where I bought a bag of greens. The boys and I wandered along until we reached Harper Greenscapes. I was surprised to see Otto here. How could shrubs and perennials be considered edible? He stood amid dozens of pots of what looked like shoots and twigs.

I greeted him. “I thought everything here had to be food.”

He grinned. “These will be. I’m selling starts for peach, pear, and avocado trees. Those are boysenberry and raspberry seedlings. And more. I talked the market manager into it.”

“They shouldn’t have agreed.” Rafael materialized next to me. “Hey, boys,” he said to Arthur and Franklin.

Arthur glanced at him, his face scrunching up in either anger or fear, I couldn’t tell. I grabbed his hand and pulled him behind me. I wanted to keep hold of him in case he decided to flee again. Franklin joined his brother, the two murmuring their code words.

“Rafael,” I said. His black long-sleeved waffle shirt and matching fleece vest chilled me. It might well have been him who was watching me earlier.

Otto glared at him. “If you don’t like it, you can take it up with the market manager.”

“Maybe I will.” The teacher turned and sauntered away.

No love lost there.

“Shall we move on, boys?” I asked.

Arthur nodded. He dropped my hand but kept hold of his brother’s.

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