In Peppermint Peril Read online

  In Peppermint Peril

  A TEA AND A READ MYSTERY

  Joy Avon

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I’m grateful to all agents, editors, and authors who share online about the writing and publishing process. A special thanks to those who worked closely with me on this brand-new series: my amazing agent Jill Marsal, my wonderful editor Faith Black Ross, and the entire talented crew at Crooked Lane Books, especially illustrator Brandon Dorman for the wonderfully festive cover.

  And, of course, to you, readers: thanks for picking up this Christmas story; I hope that it put festive cheer in your hearts and made you fall in love with the quirky inhabitants of small-town Heart’s Harbor. You’re warmly invited to join them again as Fourth of July celebrations bring an old celebrity disappearance back into the headlines and catapult Callie into a web of deceit and secrets that only persistence and help from friends can unravel.

  Chapter One

  The road ahead had as much frosting as the triple-tiered cake in the back of her station wagon, and delivery to Haywood Hall could be tricky.

  Callie Aspen exhaled as she tried to give the car enough gas to keep the engine running without sending it skittering across the road on the slippery surface. The world around her looked like it had come straight out of a fairy-tale illustration: trees laced with frost; every stem of grass, every branch and bramble powdered with the snow that had fallen last night and had been scattered by the strong wind.

  That wind was gone now, and a matte golden sun was shining from clear blue skies. Perfect weather for ice skating. The village kids would be having a ball on the meadow at the edge of town, where last night the local chamber of commerce had let the fire department flood the grass so the night’s frost would create a natural ice skating rink, which was now surrounded by hastily set up stalls offering hot chocolate, gingerbread men, candied apples, and sausages roasted over open fire. With Christmas only a week away, everybody was in the mood to skate until dusk, when the lanterns along the rink were lit and people left hand in hand across the crunching snow.

  As Callie pictured the scene, the smells and sounds filled her head, and she wished she could be there to dig into all the treats and have a whirl on her skates that had been gathering dust—and possibly rust—in her great aunt’s attic ever since she had stopped spending her holidays at Heart’s Harbor. College had dragged her away, then her exciting job as a tour guide for Travel the Past, an agency specializing in trips to historic venues. Her work had taken her to some of the most iconic sites all over the world. She had seen the huge Christmas tree lit in Trafalgar Square, had welcomed the new year among a festive crowd in Prague.

  But this year she was back in good old Maine for the holidays, finding everything comfortingly the same, including Great Aunt Iphigeneia’s sneaky way of engaging someone in an errand that she herself would rather not run. The weather conditions had demanded a steady hand at the steering wheel and in putting together the masterpiece hidden in the back of the station wagon.

  The huge decorated cake was the crowning glory of the tea party Great Aunt Iphy had been talking about ever since Callie had crossed the threshold of her great aunt’s vintage tearoom on Main Street. She had barely had time to put her heavy suitcase away or introduce her new companion, the sweet dog that was now snoring in the basket secured in the passenger seat.

  Daisy didn’t seem to notice the car was skidding on the icy road. With her canine trust in her new owner, she slept straight through the bumpy ride.

  Fortunately, from here the drive to Haywood Hall was almost straight, with a broad bend at the end leading to the house. Locals called it “Deception Drive,” as you couldn’t see anything of the house until you were around that bend. You might think you were still miles away until all of a sudden your destination unrolled in front of you in all its majestic nineteenth-century glory. Would much have changed since she had last seen the Hall? She had always believed the house had a timelessness that could withstand anything.

  Callie turned the wheel ever so slightly and let the car find the tracks already made in the road’s snowy surface. Guests had to have arrived for the tea party already. Would Stephen Du Bouvrais come?

  Her hands clutched the wheel tighter at the thought, and nerves wriggled in her stomach. She tried to reassure herself that Stephen would probably have written a polite email to decline. He could use his diplomatic duties as a reasonable excuse to stay away, even though Christmas was the most family-oriented time of the year and he was Haywood Hall’s future heir, the only living relative of its eccentric mistress.

  But Stephen had never been big on family. Nobody at Haywood Hall had been. Which made it extra odd that the mistress of the house was now throwing a tea party for her only relative, some old friends, and Heart’s Harbor’s most distinguished citizens. Not a big affair, but with all the right people present for something … memorable.

  Callie rounded the bend and gasped.

  Haywood Hall’s majestic silhouette stood carved out against the tall firs behind it and the blue skies above, the slanting roof covered with a thin layer of snow, the many chimneys breathing smoke into the chilly air. The marble pillars supporting the balcony were decorated from top to bottom with greenery, red velvet bows, and Christmas lights, while the railings along the stone steps leading up to the front door had been entwined in more greenery with silvery accents and a perky robin sitting at the top. Wood or glass, or maybe metal, it looked alive with its dark eyes and round posture, its bright-red breast feathers standing out against the snowy surroundings. Dorothea Finster was Heart Harbor’s oldest resident, clocking in at ninety-three, so it was unlikely she had done any of that decorating herself. Had she hired someone to come in to do it for her? It seemed Dorothea had money to spend and needed only to snap her fingers to have people running to do whatever she wanted. But all of those people were strangers to her, who came and went, and she didn’t have anybody close to her, to share her hopes and dreams with. Callie supposed that at ninety-three you felt the need for togetherness, especially in December when the darkness came early and the nights were long.

  Callie brought the station wagon to a careful stop right in front of the steps and exhaled. She had done it!

  A soft sound came from her right. In the basket secured in the passenger seat, Daisy sat up, her floppy, half-hanging ears twitching. Her little nose moved as if to pick up the scent of these new surroundings. She had a white snout in a chocolate-brown face with her lighter-brown undercoat shining through. The Boston terrier stared through the window up at the house as if she was thoroughly impressed with the extensive seasonal decorations.

  Grinning, Callie said, “So here we are, Daisy. This is Haywood Hall. I came here a lot as a girl. All those afternoons lying in the apple orchard reading …”

  She threw a glance up at the windows of the library where the books she had read back then were no doubt still on the shelves and the large writing desk dominated the room. As children, Callie and her friends had sat in the leather swivel chair and searched the desk for hidden compartments, for some lever cleverly concealed in the wood carving that would make a panel slide away.

  They had always been treasure hunting, whether in the attic or the cellar, where expensive wine was stocked under the stone arches. Searching for traces of the earlier inhabitants whose faces looked down on them from the portrait gallery, some stern and reproving, others smiling and almost daring them to unlock the house’s many secrets.

  It was that sense of connection with earlier times and their people that had drawn Callie to Haywood Hall. Her love of history had been born here, fed by all the stories told by colorful characters like Mr. Leadenby, the eccentric gardener who cultivated his own flower varieties in the conservatory, guarding them like a treasure.

  With his deep baritone voice, Leadenby had told them of pirates and bank robberies and of the people who had lived at the estate, lawfully or illegally, long before Callie and her friends had played in the endless woods. With a single voice modulation, he would bring a shiver to their spines or make them laugh out loud. As a tour guide, Callie had always tried to convey that same sense of excitement to her visitors. Nothing was better than seeing a group of people spellbound on the sidewalk, oblivious to the busy city traffic breezing by behind their backs.

  Just then, someone came down the icy steps and tapped at her car window. Callie looked up to see the friendly features of Mrs. Keats, Haywood Hall’s longtime housekeeper. The elderly lady, dressed in a dark-red velvet gown with a small white lace collar, opened the car door and asked, “Can I help you carry anything inside?”

  The back of the station wagon was full of boxes for the tea party, and a helping hand was most welcome, but as a girl Callie had already thought Mrs. Keats was a granny, and these days the woman had to be in her late seventies. The idea of her carrying something up slippery steps, falling and breaking something—a week before Christmas at that!—made her shiver. “Thank you, but I can manage on my own.”

  “Then I’ll go tell Mrs. Du Bouvrais that you’re here. She wanted to see the cake first thing.”

  “Sheila’s here?” Callie’s mind whirled. Once upon a time Sheila had been in the group of friends Callie had hung out with whenever she was in Heart’s Harbor. Sheila had been the natural leader, always with some plan to earn extra pocket money or discover a rare species of bird. Although Sheila was three years older, Callie had never felt she was condescending, and she had actually imagined that that was what it must be like
to have a big sister.

  But contact between them had broken off after Sheila married Stephen Du Bouvrais, future owner of this entire estate, and moved abroad with him to his diplomatic posts all over the globe. When Sheila had married Stephen, Dorothea Finster had stayed away to show her disapproval of the match. Would Mrs. Finster have suddenly let Sheila take over her household and determine what party to give and what cake to buy for it?

  Or had her advanced age persuaded her to make peace with her only family? A Christmas reunion at the Hall? Every little thing would have to be perfect for that.

  “Mrs. Du Bouvrais is here with her entire family,” the housekeeper said with careful emphasis. Was there also a pointed look in her eyes, a subtle warning?

  Callie realized with a little stab of pain that she had hoped to avoid Stephen, but now that he was obviously here, she decided that it had been a childish sentiment. Her close friendship with him was way in the past, and he had not done her any harm by marrying Sheila. He and Sheila had always been much better suited to each other anyway. She had to approach her childhood friends with an open mind and make the best of their sudden reunion.

  Forcing a smile, Callie drew back her shoulders. “I look forward to seeing them all again. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has.” Mrs. Keats seemed relieved at her cheerful tone and withdrew slowly up the steps. She halted a moment to straighten a bow on one of the pillars, her fingers caressing the velvet.

  Callie realized that these bows had to have been attached in the last few hours, or else the overnight snow would have wet the velvet and ruined it. Dorothea had really thought of everything.

  She glanced down at Daisy. “It will be up to us, girl, to put the edible touches to this grand party. I can’t wait to see what Iphy did with the cake.” There had not been time before she left to look closely at anything Iphy had given her to take along.

  Callie plucked the doggy from her basket and put her on the ground beside the car.

  Daisy snorted as she felt the cold of the snow under her paws, then sniffed it and scratched in it. She turned around and around as if chasing her own tail and then sat on her bottom with a dazed look.

  Callie laughed and went to the back of the car. Upon opening the trunk, the dozens of boxes seemed to silently challenge her. Most of them contained fragile items: vintage china, silver cutlery, carefully cleaned and pressed tablecloths with lace decorations.

  And three special boxes of various sizes held the three layers of the pièce de résistance: the cake. Fortunately, it wasn’t put together yet, so it would be easier to carry inside. Great Aunt Iphy had insisted there was a reason for all of this and that it would become clear once Callie was on the scene. She had acted kind of nervous, wringing her hands, and Callie wondered if Iphy had been worried about Sheila’s presence.

  Sheila had always been good at springing surprises on people. No doubt she meant well and had the best intentions, but things didn’t always pan out like she planned.

  With a sigh, Callie picked up the biggest box and looked at Daisy, who was staring up at the house. “Wish me luck, girl.”

  She walked to the steps and tried the bottom one with her left foot. Not slippery, it seemed. Had her thoughtful hostess instructed some staff member to sprinkle the steps with salt?

  “Let me help you with that!” a voice boomed overhead. A stocky man in shirtsleeves came down to her and pulled the box from her hands. His shirt was stained with bright yellowish-orange smudges that looked a lot like plant juice or pollen. His broad jovial face had aged a little, and his white hair had retreated to the back of his skull, but it was still as if she had seen him just the other day.

  “Mr. Leadenby!” Callie blinked in disbelief that he was here too. Only minutes ago she had been fondly reminiscing about his storytelling talents that had inspired her own, and now he was before her in the flesh, reaching out to help her with her load. “How have you been? I had no idea you still visited here.”

  “I live here. Where I belong.” Leadenby carried the big box up the steps.

  Callie stared in mute surprise at his broad back. She didn’t recall that he could be so curt and edgy. She had only meant to start a conversation, not hurt his feelings. Intending to apologize to him later, she collected the medium-sized box of cake and followed him into the house.

  Welcome warmth enveloped her as she entered the hallway with its brass chandelier and oil paintings on the walls. Two Christmas trees decorated in red and gold flanked the stairs. On the last step, a tall woman with reddish hair was waiting for her. She wore a pearly gray pantsuit and towering high heels.

  Callie had expected a rather awkward meeting, as was only natural after so much time, but Sheila came over at once and kissed her on the cheek as if they had seen each other only the other week. “How good to see you again. I had heard you were back in town.”

  Sheila rested her hands on Callie’s shoulders and looked her over with a critical intensity, as if she was trying to pry some deep, dark secret out of her.

  “Yes,” Callie said quickly. “But just for Christmas and maybe New Year’s. I have a lot planned in January. Where can I put this?”

  “Over here.” Sheila sailed ahead of her, her back straight, the bun at the back of her head not even moving as she walked, firmly planting her heels into the thick expensive rug. Callie would never have trusted herself with such shoes, but Sheila seemed fully confident in them. She had always been outgoing, risk-taking, and, some might say, slightly manipulative whenever she wanted something. Callie had never resented her for that but had envied the single-mindedness that had taken Sheila so far in life. It hadn’t been easy for her to grow up with older brothers who had automatically been taken into the family business while Sheila’s wish to study architecture as well had been laughed off as “nothing for girls.”

  Her wish dashed, Sheila had had to reinvent herself, and she had probably believed that marrying Stephen at just twenty was the best move, as Stephen had been accepted as an exchange student via an international business school, sending him to Paris and Vienna. With him, Sheila could go abroad to all the cities full of the amazing buildings she had wanted to learn about and one day design herself. She had mastered the languages of the countries where they were temporarily living, and after Stephen joined the diplomatic corps, Sheila had made the perfect partner: elegant, adaptable, eager for ever new surroundings and experiences.

  Callie caught herself listening for footfalls betraying Stephen’s arrival on the scene. Or Amber’s. Stephen and Sheila’s daughter. Callie wasn’t sure whom she wanted to avoid more. Her crush on Stephen was long past, while her coincidental encounter with his daughter had taken place only a few months ago.

  Upon the occasion, Callie had not revealed to Amber who she was and that she knew her family and Haywood Hall intimately. It might be painful if Amber addressed that in Sheila’s presence. Callie wasn’t sure she could explain why she had kept silent about the connection. She didn’t even know herself why she had done it. Maybe because she had wanted to avoid explaining why her friendship with Amber’s parents had ended in radio silence without even the obligatory polite Christmas card?

  But now Amber would have questions, and Sheila would as well, as soon as she found out Callie and Amber already knew each other.

  Sweat broke out between Callie’s shoulder blades. The venture to Haywood Hall was turning into a tightrope act where one wrong move could send her into an abyss of social disaster. This tea party was an important assignment for the Book Tea, and her personal past with the participants shouldn’t ruin that.

  For a moment, Callie fervently wished she had refused Great Aunt Iphy’s request to deliver the cake and other supplies, at the same time knowing she would never have taken the risk of her lovable great aunt hurting herself. Iphy already had this frustrating tendency to take on more than a woman her age should.

  Leadenby put his box on the large table, which had been cleared of anything that had been on it. He huffed and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I’ll help you with the other boxes, girl.”

  It was endearing that he still called her “girl” when she was racing toward the big 4-0. She smiled at him. “Fine. I’d better spread the lace table runner across before I set up the cake.”