Page 63 of Christmas Mittens Murder

“I’m sure. Why, do you have a nineteen-year-old?” Cam asked.

“I do. She’s in college.” And that was all I intended to say about Zoe.

We chatted further about my job managing a nonprofit in Pasadena and about Cam’s detective husband, who worked for the state police.

“Policing must be dangerous work,” I said. “I’ve never met a detective before.”

“It can be. Sometimes what he does is super boring, though.”

Val reappeared. “Did I hear one of you talking about permaculture?”

“I mentioned it,” Cam said. “I’m interested in knowing more about the practice for my farm back in New England.”

“I can’t say I personally have an interest.” Val sniffed. “But I’m the president of the Colinas Garden Club, which has been in existence for a hundred years. Thea Robinet, one of our members, insists on suggesting speakers about all these nutty . . . I mean, innovative new practices.”

I stifled a laugh at her course correction from “nutty” to “innovative.” Cam gave me the side-eye, and her mouth looked as if she was also suppressing a laugh. Soon enough, Val would find herself in the minority. Innovation was always the way of the future.

“Either of you ladies heading up to ski at Tahoe after Christmas?” Val asked.

“Not me.” I shook my head. I’d never skied and didn’t see the need to start now.

“I’m returning to Massachusetts before the holiday,” Cam said. “Why, is the skiing good at Lake Tahoe? I’ve heard of the lake but not in the context of winter sports.”

“It can be, and the view is spectacular.” Val reached under the bar and laid several pairs of mittens on the surface. Two were black, and the fabric of one was in a blue-and-white snowflake pattern. All had a long cuff. “I make and sell these. They’re stretchy, so one size fits all.”

I picked up a pair and tried out the stretch. It expanded easily but also went back to shape. The weather in Colinas was chillier than in Southern California. It hadn’t gotten over sixty degrees today. I’d driven up yesterday and was already glad I’d packed my thickest fleece sweatshirt. Did I need mittens, too?

“I can always use a new pair of mittens,” Cam said. “Our winters back home are cold. And these long hands would appreciate the stretch.” She laid a hand flat on the bar. With unvarnished and closely trimmed nails, it wasn’t beefy, but she did have extra-long fingers to match her height. “How much are they?”

“Thirty each, but I’ll sell you two pair for fifty.” Val folded her arms.

That seemed a little pricey for mittens. On the other hand, they were handmade.

“I’ll think about it,” Cam said. “Thanks for showing them to us.”

“You interested?” Val asked me.

“Not right now, thank you,” I said. “Why don’t you have a display of them out on the counter? You might get more customers that way.”

Val tossed her head. “The manager of this cluster of buildings frowns on me selling anything but wine in here. Ridiculous, but true. And unfortunately, he—Otto Harper—is my ex-husband.”

Ouch. Having to work for an ex would be no fun.

“What else is in the complex?” Cam asked.

“Alexander Books and the Acorn art gallery down that way.” Val gestured with her head. “The Colinas History Museum next door in the other direction. All four businesses are in antique adobes. Town owns the property, and a board of directors makes the big decisions.” She made her way around the bar to help a customer.

I sipped my wine.

Cam covered a yawn. “Sorry. It’s been a long day, and it’s eight o’clock at home.”

“No worries.”

“Listen, I’m going to go visit a couple of farms in the area tomorrow. Would you like to come along?” Cam asked.

I cocked my head. Why not? “I’d love to, thanks. I came up here to hang out with Allie, but she’s really busy with her business, and my twin nephews are in school. Who knew people wanted to rush to buy houses at the end of December?”

Chapter Two

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