Page 71 of Christmas Mittens Murder

“Every coin has five sides, as my great-uncle Albert is fond of saying.”

“I guess. I’d like to have a word with Val’s brother if I can figure out how to approach him. Thea said they had a flare-up not long ago, didn’t she?” I asked.

“More or less. And Ed mentioned Rafael teaches at the high school.”

“Right,” I said. “I can look up what time classes get out and find him there. I hope. Or . . . wait. It’s the Friday before Christmas vacation. School might be closed, unless they go to school for a few days next week.”

“Allie will know,” Cam said.

“Better yet, I’ll ask Franklin. He’s always on top of the schedule. The kid is ten going on doctoral candidate. Let’s cross Manzanita here. We can hit the park trail over there.” I gestured at the corner of Halstead Park, which occupied an entire block. Huh. What was going on over there? Trucks were backed up to the curb, and people were busily erecting pop-up tents.

By the time we waited for traffic and crossed, one booth was already rigged out with garlands and red ribbons.

“I remember,” I said. “It’s the holiday fair. I’ll have to take the boys off Allie’s hands tomorrow and bring them over. I can help them pick out gifts for their parents.” I could look for a few presents, too. I needed to find special gifts for Zoe, Mom, and Allie’s whole family.

“You’re the best auntie.” Cam’s smile was wistful. “I’m an only child. Pete has a niece and a nephew, but they were taciturn middle schoolers when we married. Now they’re uncommunicative high school students.”

“Maybe you can connect better with them once they’re out on their own.”

“I hope so.” She gave a quiet smile. “But my best friend Ruth—who we named Ruthie after—is like an aunt to my girl. She spoils her and takes her on playdates and buys her the best play clothes, in addition to handing down stuff from her own kiddos.”

“See? When we don’t have blood family, we make our own.”

“True. And I’m close to her girls, her twins. They even call me Auntie Cam.”

We slowed our pace, watching the fair setup in progress. A man with thin sandy-colored hair was having trouble getting the legs of a folding table to cooperate.

“Let me help,” I said. Between us we got the legs secured and the table flipped upright.

“Thanks, ma’am.” About my height, he wasn’t thickset but looked like he might work physically for a living, with strong, thick hands and a ruddy neck.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. All left feet and rubber hands.” He rubbed his brow as if it hurt.

“I get like that at times,” Cam said. “What are you going to sell in this booth, sir?”

“Nothing, except memberships to the Colinas Historical Society. We’ll also give away information about the complex down t’other end of Manzanita.” He gestured with his chin.

“Can you tell us more about the complex?” I asked. “I love local history.” Or so I could pretend. “I’m Cece Barton, by the way, and this is my friend Cam Flaherty. We’re tourists.” I extended my hand. I mostly was a tourist. Same with Cam.

“Otto Harper.” He pumped my hand. “Born and raised up right here in the valley.”

Bingo. Another person on the list I was hoping to speak with.

“Good to meet both you gals,” he added.

“Likewise, Otto,” Cam said.

“Now, the historical complex should be any tourist’s first stop in Colinas,” he began. “All the buildings are antique adobes. You first get the overview of the town, like, and its past at the history museum. Then you can buy a map or a book or whatnot at the bookstore, check out Acorn Fine Art’s original souvenirs, and finish up with a glass of vino overlooking the river.” He rubbed those beefy hands together after finishing what sounded like a tourist brochure spiel, minus the “like” and the “whatnot.”

“I heard a woman in town died under unfortunate circumstances this week, a Val Harper.” I mustered my most sympathetic face. “Was she your wife? If so, my deepest condolences.”

He took a step back as if I’d slugged him. “Valencia was my ex-wife. It’s horrible, what happened to her.” His mouth pulled down at the corners.

“She served us a glass of wine on Wednesday, didn’t she, Cece?” Cam asked. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

He eyed Cam and me. “How’d you two know about her murder, anyhow? Her name ain’t been released yet.”

---