Silent Nights Are Murder

Book 9: Poppy McAllister Mystery

by Libby Klein

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Female Sleuths; Mystery; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Despite her best efforts, gluten-free baker Poppy McAllister finds herself confounded by a case of murder this Christmas in the latest installment of this delightful culinary B&B mystery series!

Ever since Thanksgiving, when an engagement ring in a velvet box—and no gift tag—was left behind, Poppy and her pals have been left with an unsolved mystery. But at least this mystery isn’t the kind that involves murder. That all changes when the body of a fish supplier is discovered in the kitchen of her ex’s restaurant—and he’s frozen, not fresh.

For once, it’s not Poppy who tripped over the corpse, yet she can’t escape being drawn in since the victim has a note taped to him reading Get Poppy. Figures—an engagement ring isn't labeled, but the dead guy is addressed to her. Now, while Aunt Ginny plans a tree-trimming party and pressures Poppy to decode a mysterious old diary, the amateur sleuth is asked to “unofficially” go undercover at the restaurant to help the police. Until then, the only crime Poppy had been dealing with was the cat Figaro’s repeated thefts of bird ornaments from the tree; now it looks like it’s going to be a murder-y Christmas after all . . .

Release date: September 24, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 448

Sample

“Who wrapped Figaro like the baby Jesus and stuffed him in the manger?”

Aunt Ginny called to me from the dining room, where she was putting away the breakfast china. “He likes it.”

My black-smoke Persian stared at me, his wide, orange eyes unblinking.

“Do you really want to be part of the Nativity scene? ’Cause I can have Smitty take you out to the yard as soon as he arrives to put the lights up.”

Figaro’s eyes bore into mine, and he squirmed.

“I didn’t think so.” I extracted my fluffy cat from the wooden trough and unswaddled him. Fig fled the sitting room, to enact his vengeance upon the next victim who wandered across his path.

Aunt Ginny marched in with a plate of cherry Christmas cookies and placed them on the coffee table for our guests. “You would think a missing engagement ring would strike terror in the heart of the man who suddenly finds his pocket ten grand lighter, but our men are as tightlipped as a Russian spy in the suburbs.”

“I’m sure someone is just waiting for the right moment.” Or in Royce’s case, he’s forgotten he bought a ring.

Aunt Ginny huffed. “Well, Royce had better hurry up and get to asking me before the Senior Center Christmas party. I’m a hot ticket as a holiday date.”

“That’s because you carry peppermint schnapps in a flask for emergencies.”

She gave me some side-eye. “It protects against the flu.” Aunt Ginny threw her hands into the air. “I’m calling an emergency meeting.”

“I don’t have time for an emergency meeting. You wanted me to read your great-great-grandfather’s diary today to see if this family was cursed.” So far, my experience points to yes.

“That curse is a hundred years old. A couple more days won’t kill us. I need to know if Royce is going to propose before I put on my holiday weight. Get the girls assembled while I make some cocoa.”

I sent my best friend Sawyer a 911 text.

You were right. Aunt Ginny was the first to crack. Get over here.

OMW.

Sawyer had discovered the ring box three nights ago after Thanksgiving dinner, while we sat in the wood-paneled library with my Great Aunt Ginny and Georgina, the woman I used to call my monster-in-law.

Actually, it was Figaro who’d discovered the blue velvet box and swatted it to our attention. That was the last time a male had been helpful in this situation. We’d waited for nearly two hours to see which man would return in a panic, giggling over what possible excuse he would come up with as to why he was back so soon. Lost wallet? Missing cell phone? And my personal favorite—intense candied yam craving. We were prepared to act clueless. Something women had been doing to preserve the male ego since the Garden of Eden.

All night, I kept checking my cell phone, sure that Officer Ben Consuelos would call me any minute and ask about the ring, swearing me to secrecy from Sawyer. Or Smitty would appear at the back door and make some excuse about a creaky hinge that needed to be oiled that Georgina couldn’t know about. But not even Aunt Ginny’s eighty-year-old boyfriend showed up with no idea of what he was looking for, but sure it was here.

Nothing.

After three days of strategic hints and cleverly placed engagement innuendos, we’d learned exactly Jack Diddly.

Now Aunt Ginny was herding Georgina into the library so we could discuss our fellas and their irritating sneakiness.

I had just got the logs in the fireplace to catch when Sawyer brought in a silver tray carrying four hot cocoas and gingerbread biscotti. “I thought for sure Royce would crack by now.”

Aunt Ginny took her seat and blew across a steamy cocoa. I caught a peppermint whiff and gave her some side-eye and a little cough. She gave me a prim look, pulled the blue-velvet ring box from the pocket of her sweater, and set it on the tray table in the midst of us. She cracked it open, and we all observed a reverential moment of silence for the one-carat diamond.

Georgina broke the spell. “Have you just been carrying that around this whole time?”

Aunt Ginny looked affronted. “Not the whole time, no. I keep it under my pillow when I go to bed.”

I was a little stunned and a lot nervous. “I thought we were going to lock it in the safe until someone asks for it.”

Georgina reached for the ring. “We don’t know where your crazy cat found it. Smitty could have lost it in the bathroom.”

Aunt Ginny smacked her hand. “Don’t touch it. I’m sure Royce would have come back to look for it by now, but he might not remember where he left it.”

Royce was the front-runner in my mind for our missing groom. His dementia was the strongest argument we had for why a proposer would go silent for this long. I felt like the other three candidates would have spoken up and pulled one of us into his confidence by now.

Of course, that would mean one of the ladies in this room was a traitor and holding a secret we all agreed not to keep just three nights ago.

Figaro pranced into the library with his flat nose in the air, following the scent of drama. He jumped into Sawyer’s lap and settled down like he was going for a cuddle. Sawyer rubbed him under the chin. Sucker. She’d have a fluffy paw in her cup before the whipped cream was gone.

Georgina nibbled the end of a biscotti. “I think we need to give them an opportunity to return to the scene of the crime. Maybe they hid the box somewhere and they don’t realize the ring is missing. Your crazy cat may have ruined someone’s surprise engagement. And that someone may have driven all the way up here from Waterford, and she has a big New Year’s charity event to prepare for and can’t afford to hang around and wait much longer.”

Figaro’s ears pinned down, and he lifted his back leg in Georgina’s direction to start an aggressive bath from Sawyer’s lap.

Sawyer had to use two hands to hold her cocoa steady. “What if we have a dinner party and invite everyone who was here on Thanksgiving, to give the man a chance to look for the missing ring?”

Aunt Ginny nodded and made mm-hmm noises with a mouthful of biscotti. “Let’s have a tree-trimming party next week. Poppy can make dinner . . .”

Why does every plan include Poppy can make dinner?

“And we can invite everyone to decorate the trees for the bed and breakfast. It was going to be a lot of work for just Poppy and Kenny anyway.”

I notice one name is conveniently left off that list, Ginny.

Sawyer stroked Fig’s cottony fur. “That sounds like fun. But is one week enough time?”

Aunt Ginny waved her biscotti. “For a free dinner? I think we could get most of those yahoos with an hour’s notice.”

Sawyer grinned. “I’m sure Ben could make it as long as we can work around his shift with the police department.”

Figaro agreed and plunged his paw into her cup like a furry slingshot.

Sawyer jumped. “Oh, you little brat.”

Fig was vigorously licking the cream from his front paw, clearly full of regret.

After the last few days, my nerves were frayed. I was just getting used to having a boyfriend after being widowed. It was one thing to wait for Prince Charming to drop down to one knee, but these women were ready to throw down a silk pillow and give him a push. “Do you all really want to get married again? I mean, Aunt Ginny, Royce would be husband number six for you. Aren’t you afraid people will talk?”

Aunt Ginny tilted her head in thought. “I don’t care what people think. My life is no one’s business but mine. I’d love to have the ceremony with the dress and the flowers and the cake. Plus, I’m not getting any younger. And I’m almost positive I got around to getting divorced from the last one after he disappeared for that Baby Ruth.”

Georgina shot into the conversation like she hadn’t heard a word Aunt Ginny just said. “There’s no law about how long one needs to wait before remarrying. You need to grab happiness where you can, and I’ve been a widow long enough. My little Smitty is perfect. At least he will be after I throw out all those Three Stooges sweatshirts and his Eagles hat and get him to stop making those ‘nyuck nyuck’ noises. I’d have to return that cute little ring and replace it with the two-carat canary diamond I’ve had my eye on at Valkyrie’s, but I don’t think he would mind.”

I reached for my cocoa. He certainly wouldn’t be surprised.

“You know”—Aunt Ginny had her poke-the-bear gleam in her eye—“Smitty isn’t a rich man, and you’re . . .”

I cut in with, “. . . used to expensive things?”

Aunt Ginny snapped her eyes to Georgina. “Shallow. Are you sure you’re ready to be a handyman’s wife?”

“That’s true, Georgina.” Sawyer picked up a gingerbread biscotti. “Would you really leave your mansion in Virginia to move up here?”

I held my breath as fear washed over me.

Georgina tucked her feet under her and sipped her cocoa. “Definitely not.”

Oh, thank God.

“Smitty would move in with me and start looking for odd jobs in neighboring towns where people don’t know me. And it’s not like I’d have to go to lumberyard meetings. My late husband left me very well off, so I really just want the companionship.”

I whispered to Sawyer. “How long till she thinks about a prenup?”

Georgina stared wistfully at the fire. “It would be unwise to jeopardize my stocks and bonds by combining our incomes.”

Sawyer gave me a wry look. “Two seconds. What about you, Poppy? Is something worrying you about marrying Gia when he asks?”

All eyes were on me, and I squirmed. “Don’t you mean ‘if ’?”

The three of them laughed. Figaro used the distraction and shot his paw into Sawyer’s whipped cream again. Thanks, baby.

Sawyer huffed and put him on the floor.

Aunt Ginny nudged the feline with her toe, and he ignored her. “Don’t be crazy. Gia is smitten with you. I’ve never seen a man so twitterpated before. And that includes all five of my husbands and some of my in-between amours that you don’t even know about.”

Aunt Ginny had raised me from the time my mother rolled up and dropped me off right before my ninth birthday. I’d only ever met husband number five, my Uncle Danny, but some of the flings I’d seen after he disappeared seemed pretty spicy. Don’t even mention the lieutenant governor to her. You’ll learn way more than you want to know.

Sawyer placed her cocoa on the table. “Don’t worry if things seem to be moving fast, Poppy. That’s normal. You’ve only had one serious boyfriend before you got married. My ex-husband treated adultery like he was filling up a punch card to get his twelfth affair free. I’m ready for someone stable who makes me happy. Ben makes me very happy—and I’ve never seen you happier than you are with Gia.”

Georgina put her hand on my knee. “My son loved you very much, but he’s gone now. And you deserve to move on. If Gia proposes, I’ll be thrilled for you. It’ll give me more time to work on Smitty anyway.”

That was the nicest thing Georgina had ever said to me. She obviously thought Smitty bought the ring.

Figaro jumped in my lap, and I covered my cocoa with my hand. This is not my first rodeo, Bucko. “So it’s decided then. Next Sunday, we’ll have a tree-trimming party and get all the men back over here to see if anyone goes on a mad search for the ring box.”

Sawyer giggled. “At the end of the night, we can light up the tree and see whose finger sparkles.”

Aunt Ginny dinged her teacup with her spoon. “Operation Engagement is officially a go.”

A cold December wind blew off the Atlantic Ocean, tickling the few remaining leaves on the red oak outside my bedroom window. The shadows danced above me like a flock of sparrows. My room was toasty warm, due in part to the Persian hat I was wearing against my will.

It had been five days since we’d organized the dinner-party ambush, and it was all the ladies could talk about. Each one of them had their wedding planned; all they needed now was a proposal. I was just trying to enjoy having a light schedule for a change. No more ghost tours. No more gourmet-dinner shows. No full house to cook for or restaurants to help. Of course, if it snowed, we’d be packed. Christmas in Cape May under a blanket of snow was breathtaking. It was also rare. I checked the forecast again. No snow for the next ten days.

There were three seasons to obsess about the weather. Tourist season—when guests considered it a personal failure on my part if it rained during their vacation. Hurricane season—because my creditors don’t care about safety cancellations; they just want to be paid. And Christmas season—because I was delusional enough to want snow like I was living in a Bing Crosby movie. Irving Berlin had set sixty percent of the country up for annual disappointment.

I only had two rooms to get ready for this afternoon. A couple from Philly, and a solo guest named Doris Nightingale who should be pretty low-key. If things stayed quiet, Gia and I could bask in the romantic glow of our first Christmas together. If only I could stop being vexed by a shiny rock the size of a shirt button. That engagement ring.

I tried to roll over, and the fur hat’s bottlebrush tail languidly dropped down to cover my face. “I’m starting to sweat, Figaro. Maybe you could move off my pillow for a while.”

Figaro’s tail curled back around my forehead, and he started to purr. He appreciated extravagant amounts of attention. Don’t we all?

I checked the time and read ten after seven. It’s not often I can have a lie-in like this anymore. Things had slowed down at the Butterfly Wings Bed and Breakfast. Tourists still came to the beach in the winter; they just didn’t flock to it in droves, demanding all-you-can-eat crabs. I was planning on spending my afternoon baking at La Dolce Vita. I didn’t really have to bake in the coffee shop anymore, but I looked forward to any chance I got to spend time with the man I was head over heels in love with.

I saw myself spending the rest of my life with Gia. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to book the church right now. We were in the fun phase, where everything was exciting and new. I still got butterflies whenever Gia said my name. Once you’re married, you fight over which way the toilet paper hangs and whose fault it is that the trash didn’t go out. I wasn’t ready to go there yet.

Plus, I’d only been a widow for eighteen months. Everyone had an opinion about whether that was too fast or too slow to be moving on.

I tried to roll over again, and Figaro batted my nose with a wet paw. Eww.

I wanted to tell everyone to get out of my head and take a flying leap, but years of trying to please people so they would like me had melted my backbone.

What if that ring is for me?

I loved Gia with all my heart. And I couldn’t love Henry more if I’d birthed him myself. I thought motherhood was one of life’s doors that had bitterly slammed in my face, and I would never get to open it again. A little blue velvet box was tempting me to think the door had cracked open.

What if that ring isn’t for me?

I stretched, and Figaro slid down to the mattress. He opened one eye to glare at me.

“You can’t guilt me today, Fig. I have lovely things planned. I might just lie here all morning. Do some Christmas shopping on my laptop. Work on some menus. I think I’ll buy a holiday beauty mask and plan a spa day. You want me to see if Chewy has a Christmas catnip toy for you? Your crinkly chicken is one swat away from total disintegration.”

A familiar flashing blue light joined the dancing leaf shadows on my wall and grabbed my good mood by the hair. I closed my eyes and thought about my happy place. La Dolce Vita, in Gia’s arms, with a cappuccino. My happy place is certainly well caffeinated.

A light rap on the front door made me close my eyes tighter. Go away go away go away. My cell phone played sleigh bells. I opened one eye and looked at the screen. It was Amber.

I need to talk to you.

No.

Come on, McAllister. It’s important.

I’m not home.

Aunt Ginny says you are.

Aunt Ginny drinks.

After a minute, there was a knock on my bedroom door. I nudged Fig, and he gave me a look that said, None of my friends are up yet.

“Who is it?”

“Aunt Ginny. Let me in.”

I grabbed my bathrobe and cocooned it around me, threw the door open, and gave Amber my best glare. “I can see I’m going to have to have another talk with Aunt Ginny about letting the police in without a warrant.”

She sailed past me and pushed her sunglasses up to her blond cop bun. “I guess you’re not entertaining right now, or you would have zhuzhed up a little. At least I hope.”

“What could you possibly want at seven a.m.?”

Amber pulled a cell phone from her uniform pocket. “You’ll want to sit down.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ll at least want to get changed.”

“Not doin’ it.”

Amber sighed. “I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“A body was found in a walk-in freezer.”

“None of my business.”

Amber tapped something on her phone. “It’s a little bit your business.”

“Why do I have to be involved? Can’t I just revel in the glory that, for once, I didn’t find it?”

“There was a note taped to the victim’s shirt.” She held up the screen so I could see the message. It said, “Get Poppy.”

An engagement ring isn’t labeled, but the dead guy is addressed to me. What psycho knows my name and leaves it on their victim in a freezer?

Amber clicked on her police radio and alerted someone on the other end that we were coming in. “So, any plans for the holidays?”

I opened the passenger door of her police cruiser and moved the half-empty jumbo bag of Twizzlers off the seat. “Hmm. Not yet. I mean, other than a dinner party we’re having Sunday night.”

Amber gave me a tight smile and pulled away from the curb. “That sounds fun. What’s the party for?”

“To suss out who’s getting engaged. Where is this place anyway? Do you have any leads?”

“No leads. What do you mean who’s getting engaged?”

I told Amber about the ring box we found on Thanksgiving and how no one had come forward to admit they’d lost it. “So we’re gonna recreate the scene with the same people and see what happens.”

“What time do you want me there?”

Oh right. “Um, we’re thinking five to start decorating, then seven to eat.”

Amber grinned. “Then nine to corner the groom with a shotgun?”

“Something like that.” It looked like we were heading off the island. That would lower the odds considerably that I knew the victim. “Are we going over the bridge?”

Amber turned down her radio. “Listen. There’s something you should know.”

“Let me guess. I’m a suspect.”

“No. At least I think I talked Kieran down from suspect to person of interest. But if we find evidence to incriminate you, it’ll blow that Armani tie right off his neck.”

“Evidence to incriminate me? Who was killed?”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that. And Kieran doesn’t want me to tell you. He wants to gauge your reaction when you get there to give your statement.”

That’s sick and twisted. “Are you sure Kieran isn’t from South Jersey?”

“He’s not, but it looks like he may be staying indefinitely. He put in for the permanent chief position.”

“What happened to Internal Affairs? Isn’t this a demotion?”

Amber shrugged. “I don’t know. For some reason, he wants to stay in Cape May. Maybe it’s the beach and the balmy weather.”

A few snow flurries lazily drifted by. “Is that what you wanted to warn me about? That Kieran is staying?”

We were approaching the marina and the Cape May bridge. Amber glanced my way. “No, I wanted you to know the suspects are not exactly on board with us bringing you on-site.”

“Well yeah. Why would they be? I’m the Cape May Harbinger of Death.”

“There’s something else. Today is not going to be easy for you, and I’m sorry.” Amber put on her blinker and made the left turn at a giant crab in a perky blond wig and pearls.

Oh my God. Please be going anywhere else. How many times had I turned in here to deliver desserts or work in the kitchen? My breath froze in my chest like I’d been stabbed by an icicle. I grabbed for the handle. “Stop the car. I’m going to be sick.”

Amber slammed on the brakes, and I flung the door open and threw up in the clamshell parking lot. She handed me a couple of McDonald’s napkins. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to tell you the crime scene is your exboyfriend’s restaurant.”

Everything was swirling around me like a Van Gogh nightmare. “Is Tim dead? Is that what you aren’t telling me?”

Amber rolled the car deeper into the lot. A white Seymour Veg box truck was parked next to a blue Deepwater Fisheries van that had THIEF painted across it in bright pink graffiti. She spoke softly. “I would have told you if it was Tim.”

Amber got out of the cruiser, but my butt was fused to the seat.

She tapped on my window.

I shook my head no.

Amber tried the handle, but I’d locked it. “Poppy. Will you please trust me?”

Poppy? Since when doesn’t she passive-aggressively call me McAllister? I rolled my eyes to hers through the window.

She softened her expression and bobbed her head towards the restaurant my former fiancé owned. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I opened the door and swung my legs out. I tried to stand. Amber put her hand under my arm and pulled.

The first thing I saw inside was Tim in a crumpled black T-shirt and jeans, backed against the workbench, locked in interrogation by Chief Kieran Dunne. Even though his brow was wrinkled and his eyes were tight with stress, a hundred pounds dropped off my shoulders, and I floated with relief that he was alive.

After breaking up with him for the second time, he didn’t seem to share my sentiment. He turned at the sound of the door, and his expression fell from distress to disgust. He ran his hand through his blond hair and groaned. “I told you to bring anybody but her.”

Kieran adjusted the tiny silver badge cufflink on his tailored shirt as he closely observed Tim’s reaction to me.

I didn’t care. I was so overwhelmed that I burst into tears. Tim and I as a couple may be a thing of the past, but a part of me would always love him. I certainly couldn’t face the thought that he might have been murdered.

Tim watched me, and his eyes softened. They hardened again just as quickly, and he turned away.

Kieran opened a leather notebook and gave me a once-over as sharp as his suit.

Amber took me by the arm and faced her boss eye to eye. “I told you I didn’t agree with this decision because she’d be traumatized.”

His expression remained cold, calculated. “She hasn’t even seen the victim yet.”

Amber gently huffed and led me to the walk-in freezer. A shiny padlock hung from a latch at the top of the door, which was propped open, and a stocky white man with sandy blond hair was on the floor, crammed between an enormous box of chicken tenders and a five-pound bag of peaches that were melting to a soupy, sticky mess. The victim had Tim’s custom chef knife plunged in his chest and the note taped to his sweatshirt.

Amber faced me. “Well?”

I shrugged. I was only now starting to breathe normally. “Well what?”

Amber’s lips twitched. “Do you know him?”

“No. Who is he?”

“Wes Bailey, owner of Deepwater Fisheries. He supplies seafood to the restaurant.”

Recognition dawned, and I called over to Tim. “Hey. Is this the fish guy you were always rushing away to call?”

Tim wouldn’t look me in the eye, but the muscles in his jaw clenched. “You haven’t been here for months. You have no idea who I call.”

My cheeks caught fire, and I looked away.

Kieran glanced at Amber, then consulted his notes. “Mr. Bailey was discovered at six thirty a.m. by the produce vendor, Jackson Seymour of Seymour Veg, who is in the dining room going over his statement with Officer Birkwell. He has reported that the two of them did not usually cross paths.”

“I’m surprised either one of them was here before the sous chefs arrived to receive the deliveries.” I nervously glanced at Tim to see if he was going to bite my head off again. “At least that’s what they did when I worked here.”

Kieran poised his pen over his notebook. “Ms. McAllister, have you ever met the victim?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then why does he have a note on his chest to get you?”

“Well, it’s not likely he taped that note on himself, now is it?”

Kieran flicked his eyes to mine, and they were icier than those chicken fingers Wes Bailey was crushing.

“Did you check the knife for fingerprints?”

“Despite what you may believe, Ms. McAllister, the police in this town know how to do their jobs. They don’t need your help or your interference.”

I turned to the door. “Sounds good. I’ll be going home now.”

Amber grabbed my arm. “Not yet. You still have to give your statement.”

I sighed loudly so they would be sure to know I was irritated. “That lock on the freezer is new. Why is that there?”

Tim crossed his arms over his hard chest and leaned against the workbench. “Gigi thinks someone has been stealing food. She put new locks on both the walk-ins and the back door.”

I looked around. “I see that my chef coat is gone.”

Tim snorted. “Why would I keep it when you obviously didn’t want it.”

“Of course, I wanted it. It wasn’t right for me.”

Tim’s eyes flashed fire. “Then you shouldn’t have strung it along for six months if it wasn’t right!”

“I didn’t string it along. I loved both of you, and you made me choose.”

“You were supposed to choose me!”

Amber put her hand on my arm. “Okay, calm down.”

I muttered to myself. “I haven’t been here since April. A lot has changed.”

Amber turned to face her boss. “What about the security cameras? Did they pick anything up?”

A pink blush climbed up Tim’s neck, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Kieran shook his head. “The lenses are coated from the salt air. The picture is too blurry to make out.”

That’s just like Tim. The food was always his first love. “I thought you were going to upgrade the system.”

Tim growled. “And I thought you were done fooling around with other men.”

We faced each other in silent frustration until Kieran cleared his throat. “Mr. Maxwell, why don’t we have you wait in the dining room with the others.”

Tim glared at me for a few more beats, then stormed from the room.

Amber crouched down to get a better view of the body. “Was the freezer locked when the produce guy found the victim?”

Kieran nodded. “He says it was.”

Amber pointed at the body. “What about the keys in his pocket there?”

Kieran squatted next to her and snapped a couple pictures. From my vantage behind them, they looked like two children playing detective.

Amber approached the body and put on a pair of latex gloves that she pulled from her pocket. Then she pulled a ring of keys from the pocket of the dead guy and tried them in the padlocks and the back door. He had one for each.

“Can I go wait in the car?”

Amber flicked her eyes to mine, then rolled her gaze across the room.

Geez, Amber. You want me to snoop right in front of the chief? Someone’s getting bold. I looked around to see if anything obvious had changed. Apart from the whiteboard full of rules in a woman’s handwriting, everything seemed in the right place.

Amber rose to her full height, which isn’t saying much. “The killer could have followed the victim in here when he made his delivery, but they’d need their own key to the freezer to lock him inside.”

Kieran stood and straightened his leather shoulder holster. “That narrows the suspect pool considerably.”

I spotted a flash of gold partially under the victim’s elbow and nudged Amber. “What’s that?”

Amber picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. It was an earring shaped like a crab. She dropped it in a plastic evidence bag.

A team of officers arrived from the forensics unit, and Amber backed away from the freezer. She took off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket. “Alright. Let’s get your statement.”

Kieran puffed his chest out. “Take her in the other room, and let her give it to Birkwell.”

Amber threw him a glare. “Why can’t she do it in here?”

Kieran gave her a stony look back. “You know why.”

Amber crossed her arms. “And you know why I think that’s a bad idea.”

They faced off silently until Kieran softened his expression. “This is a murder investigation. I can’t protect feelings.”

Amber sighed. “Come with me. You can give your statement to Officer Birkwell. How well do you know Jackson Seymour?”

We walked to the double doors that separated the kitchen from the dining room. “I’ve seen his truck around town, but I’m sure that’s all.”

Amber paused with her hand on the door. “Poppy.”

“What?”

“Brace yourself.”

We pushed through the swinging door into the dimly lit formal dining room. There were a few curvy booths on the left called snugs, and white-linen-covered tables with miniature poinsettias dotted around the rest of the room. On the far right, there was a cherrywood bar decorated in white twinkle lights. The server’s station, with ordering system and water pitchers, was just outside the kitchen. The nervous hum in