Page 80 of Christmas Mittens Murder

“Also, circling back to his thoughts about who might have murdered his sister, if he’s been distant from Val, he might not know of her conflict with Thea Robinet,” Cam mused.

“Let me tell you who I talked to earlier,” I said.

Cam sat forward.

“I happened to be poking around in Gourmet Provisions toward the end of the morning. Narini Raj was stocking olive oil. Naturally I struck up a conversation.”

“Naturally.” A smile played at Cam’s lips.

“As we do.” Allie smiled full-tilt.

“One thing I noticed, other than the astronomical prices on the olive oil, was how strong her arms are.”

“She probably lifts vats of olives and cases of oil.” Cam pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. She had strong forearms, too.

“She also seemed completely supportive of Thea’s views on the direction the garden club—and society—should be heading,” I said. “And get this. She’s pregnant.”

“Sperm donor?” Allie asked.

“I didn’t ask. But if defending her sweetheart means the world to her, she’s certainly strong enough to . . . oh, wait.” I had more I hadn’t told either of them.

“What?” Allie and Cam spoke at the same time.

“I learned more. The murder happened in the bocce court at the historical complex. The art gallery and bookstore are blocked off for now because of the bocce court. I wanted to take a closer look, but a sheriff’s deputy was quite clear I couldn’t go any farther. So I stopped in to Vino y Vida.”

“Good idea,” Allie said. “Val ran the place, after all.”

“And?” Cam asked.

“Mooncat, a woman who works at Vino y Vida, knew the method of death.” I gazed from Allie to Cam.

“And?” Allie sounded impatient.

“Val was bonked on the bean by a bocce ball in one of her own mittens. I didn’t have a chance to tell either of you.”

Cam’s eyes grew wide, but Allie snickered.

“Sorry.” My twin tried and failed to gulp down the laughter bubbling up. “It’s . . . the thought of the headline. ‘Bean Bonking Bocce Ball Blasts Bartender’ put me over the edge.” She giggled. The hand she clapped over her mouth didn’t do a thing.

I started to feel a twin laughing spree coming on, something Allie and I had a long history of, as many sisters do. But when Cam cleared her throat, I made myself get serious.

“Bonk and bean might have been an unwise choice of words,” Cam said. “The fact remains, a woman is dead. And Allie hasn’t been cleared from the Person of Interest list, not that I’ve heard. We have work to do, girls.”

Chapter Fifteen

I made sure I had each nephew firmly by the hand at ten the next morning before we, plus Cam, crossed Manzanita.

“Ready, geysers?” I asked, with the affectionate term for “guys” I’d used since they were little.

We four waded into the holiday craft fair in Halstead Park. I’d tucked a couple of cloth shopping bags into my backpack, and the boys each had money of their own. Franklin’s was in a wallet in his front pocket.

“Auntie Cee, you should never carry a wallet in a back pocket,” Franklin instructed. “It can throw off your spinal alignment when you sit on it, plus it invites pickpockets.”

Arthur, being a kid who had lost two wallets and three house keys in the last year, had his cash zipped into a side pocket of his cargo pants.

Franklin carried a phone in his other front pocket. Allie had given it to him but said it was for emergencies only, such as if he and his brother got separated from me. Looking relieved not to have her sons for the first half of the day, she’d driven off to run an open house.

“Do you boys know what you’re looking for as gifts for your parents?” Cam asked them.

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