Page 35 of Christmas Mittens Murder

He did not respond to the chief.

Hayley wondered if he even cared what would happen to Tawny. As Sergio got behind the wheel of the squad car and drove away, Scooter stood in the middle of the large circular driveway in front of the main house, staring after the car, shell-shocked, his cheeks red from the cold. It started to snow, and little white flakes began landing on his bald head and graying goatee.

“How could she do it? She knows this could ruin me,” Scooter muttered.

“Maybe you should be less concerned with your reputation and more interested in getting your wife the help she needs. She’s obviously suffering from a mental illness, one she’s probably had to deal with for years without any help from you,” Hayley spat out.

Scooter chose to ignore her and stalked into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

She turned to Bruce, who was still measuring the size of his lump with his finger. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Bruce insisted.

“You’re going to the hospital. We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“Really, Hayley, I’m fine. I just want to go home and snuggle up on the couch and watch A Christmas Story on TV.”

“We can stand out here in the cold arguing about this for as long as you want, Bruce, but we both know how this will eventually end.”

He sighed.

Of course he did.

They headed straight to the hospital.

Because Hayley always won.

And deep down, he knew she was right.

Better safe than sorry.

Two hours later, after some quick tests, Bruce was given a clean bill of health—no serious head injury, just a nasty bump that would heal. The couple arrived home and did indeed curl up on the couch together with a plate of Christmas cookies and some of that spiked eggnog that gave everyone such a warm tingling feeling. This year, it was going to be a romantic holiday for two. If Bruce didn’t fall asleep watching the movie like he usually did.

True to form, by the time his favorite scene in A Christmas Story came on, where Ralphie’s friend Flick does the triple dog dare and sticks his tongue on a frozen flagpole with disastrous results, Bruce, who was stretched out on the couch, his head resting on Hayley’s lap, began snoring softly. She reached down and kissed the top of his forehead and took a sip of her eggnog.

There was no other place she would rather be than right here this Christmas.

Island Food & Spirits

by

Hayley Powell

What a wild ride it’s been in Bar Harbor this holiday season. First, poor Esther Willey’s tragic demise at the annual church Christmas Bazaar, and then, to everyone’s shock and horror, the involvement and subsequent arrest of Tawny Beauchemin for her wicked role in poor Esther’s death. It’s all anyone in town has been talking about! Word around town is that after Tawny’s arraignment, her husband, Scooter Beauchemin, immediately put their stunning seaside mansion up for sale and skipped town while his wife awaits her trial. No one has heard from him or seen hide nor hair of him since. And then there was the drama we all endured when Scooter failed to use my best friend Liddy as his real estate agent. She’s still raging on about that unforgivable slight.

But still, in true small-town fashion, the resilient residents of Bar Harbor have managed to put all the bad behind them and focus on the good with Christmas Day just around the corner.

My own plan for Christmas is to make my family’s traditional Peppermint Bark, a recipe that has been passed down through the generations from my great-grandmother to my grandmother to my mother and to me, and I have recently passed it along to my own daughter, Gemma. So while Bruce enjoys his favorite Christmas eggnog cocktail in the living room watching another one of his favorite holiday comedies, Elf, on TV, I will retreat to the kitchen to whip up a few baking sheets of this sweet chocolate treat and await Randy’s arrival. Randy seems to have a sixth sense whenever I make my Peppermint Bark, and always just happens to drop by unannounced right when they’re ready to serve.

Randy is a chocolate fiend. He has been ever since he was a little kid. I remember one Christmas when I was twelve and Randy was ten. Our mother recruited us to help her make Peppermint Bark that she would box up and deliver to her closest friends to enjoy. We were ordered to break the bark into pieces after it hardened and put them in gift boxes. Well, like Lucy and Ethel working in the chocolate factory, Randy and I ate more than we put in the boxes. When our mother inspected our work and found the boxes nearly empty and the Peppermint Bark almost gone, she was none too pleased. She warned us not to eat another piece! I did not have to be told twice, fearing she might ground me and I would miss Mona’s family’s raucous New Year’s Eve party, but Randy was so addicted to the Peppermint Bark he could not help himself. So finally, when our mother noticed his chocolate-smeared face yet again, he was ordered to go to his room until the morning when we would set out to deliver the boxes! There was some begging and crocodile tears. At one point he looked to me, the big sister, hoping for some support, but I couldn’t resist popping a piece of bark in my mouth right in front of him when our mother’s back was to us, which frustrated him even more. I know it was mean, but what can I say, I was twelve and could be a brat sometimes. Finally, Randy gave up, sighed and did as he was told, storming up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door behind him.

The following morning, I was up early and ready to head out to make our deliveries when our mother came into the kitchen with a worried expression on her face. She told me that Randy wasn’t feeling well and had been up sick since the early hours of the morning.

I knew this must be serious, because Randy did not want to miss delivering the boxes. Usually we were gifted treats in return, and on the rare occasion we had a box of our peppermint bark left over, it was a win-win in Randy’s eyes, so I feared this affliction might actually be serious.

Mom checked on Randy again, who was still pale but finally sleeping. She decided that she would call her close friend Celeste, Liddy’s mom, to come over and stay with Randy so we could deliver our boxes. Celeste agreed and was there within ten minutes. So off we went.

When we arrived home hours later, Celeste greeted us at the door with the unsettling news that Randy was still not feeling well. She had even tried offering him a piece of Peppermint Bark, thinking he would eagerly gobble it up, but he turned positively green. Celeste thought he might need to see a doctor. Before she could call the doctor’s office, however, our phone started ringing off the hook. My mother was fielding calls from all the homes we had been to earlier in the day. Her initial bewildered look slowly gave way to red-faced fury. She slammed down the phone, and within seconds another call came through, but she didn’t bother answering it. She just made a beeline for the stairs, marching up and yelling Randy’s name at the top of her lungs!

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