Tinsel toffee and troubl.., p.1
Tinsel, Toffee and Trouble, page 1
part #1 of Holiday House-Sitter Mysteries Series
Tinsel, Toffee and Trouble
Holiday House-Sitter Mysteries
Holiday House-Sitter Mysteries
C. A. Phipps
Contents
1. New House, New Hope
2. The Cookie Trail
3. Whispers in the Snow
4. Whispers and Warnings
5. Sparks, Snow, and Suspicion
6. Whispers in the Snow
7. Loose Ends and New Threads
8. Grief, Lemon Meltaways, and Lingering Questions
9. Shadows on the Path
10. The Spoon That Should Have Been Collected
11. Sugar, Silence, and Something Missing
12. Old Invoices and New Suspicions
13. A Trail of Crumbs
14. The Lines We Cross
15. Gingerbread, Guard Cats, and a Carpenter at the Door
16. Snowfall, Secrets, and a Thread Too Thin to Ignore
17. Cora’s Window to the Past
18. Shadows on the Trail
19. Flour, Footprints, and a Flicker of Joy
20. The Rep Who Didn’t Exist
21. Cookie Maps and Fraying Nerves
22. A Knock, a Clue, and an Unexpected Visitor
23. Lines on Paper, Footprints in Snow
24. The Man Who Didn’t Want to Be Seen
25. Cracks in the Calm
26. Cracks in the Calm
27. The Ledger in the Cellar
28. The Shape of a Threat
29. Setting the Trap
30. The Cookie Trail Begins
31. Circling Shadows
32. Circling Shadows
33. The Root of It All
34. Hearth & Home
Chapter 1
New House, New Hope
Snow fell like sifted sugar over Misty Pines, softening the world into something bright and expectant. Ellie Prescott eased her car up the narrow lakeside drive, the windshield wipers squeaking across glass already peppered with flurries. She’d been house-sitting for nearly a year now, but this place—this cedar cabin tucked at the end of a quiet lane beside a frozen lake—felt special the moment it came into view.
“A new home for the holidays, Toffee,” she murmured.
Her toffee-colored toy poodle perked up from the passenger seat, nose twitching as if the cold pine air was personally inviting her for a sniff inspection. She gave a dignified, approving little huff, the kind reserved for places she deemed worthy. This was a good start to their stay.
“See?” Ellie parked in front of the cabin, heart lifting despite the cold. “I told you this was worth the drive. Peace, fresh air, and no one to judge if I bake twelve dozen cookies in one night.”
Toffee tilted her head like she was already planning to judge her. It made Ellie laugh—something she didn’t do nearly enough lately.
Outside, the air smelled of pine needles, woodsmoke, and the freshness that came with snow. Misty Pines always carried a hint of Christmas, but now with fairy lights strung along the lake path and wreaths on every lamppost in the small town, it felt like she’d stepped into one of the winter postcards she used to tape to her refrigerator back in Portland.
Back when her home smelled more like printer toner and disappointment than sugar cookies.
She shook her head. A trip down that particular memory lane wasn’t on her agenda. Not today. Or any other if she could manage it.
She found the Mathers’ spare key under the terracotta pot just as Cora Mather had promised and opened the door. Warmth greeted her instantly, the cabin’s soft-lit interior welcoming her with open beams, a stone fireplace with dying embers, and an old pine table that practically begged for gingerbread dough.
“Well,” Ellie breathed, turning on the lights, “this’ll do nicely.”
Toffee trotted in proudly, nails tapping on the polished floors, tail wagging in delighted arcs. She made a sharp left into the kitchen as if guided by instinct. Within seconds she sat in front of the oven, ears perked, expression expectant.
“You’re impossible,” Ellie laughed. “We have to unpack before any baking can happen.”
Even as she said this she began to trudge back to her car to unload baking supplies before her bags. Priorities had changed considerably since her corporate days she acknowledged with a grin.
Flour, sugar, spices, butter, cookie cutters shaped like stars and trees—her comforts, her constants. Every house-sit came with new surroundings, but these things stayed the same. Measuring, mixing, rolling—quiet rituals that grounded her, even as the rest of her life continued to shift beneath her feet.
Halfway through unpacking, she paused. “Where’s the cat?”
Toffee’s ears twitched like she was silently saying: Who cares? I’m the only baby you need.
But Ellie wasn’t just a house sitter this time. The Mathers had left her a long note about their “highly sensitive, occasionally dramatic, deeply beloved” ragdoll cat named Maybelle. Ellie checked the bedroom, the laundry cupboard, under the quilted sofa throw—nothing.
“Well, she’ll turn up,” Ellie murmured. “Cats always do.”
Toffee grumbled, not so happy at sharing the limelight, or cuddles.
By the time Ellie pressed her first batch of gingerbread shapes onto a baking tray, the cabin had warmed, the oven glowed gently, and the scent of nutmeg and brown sugar wrapped around her like a blanket. Toffee hovered at her feet. Her small body vibrating with expectation .
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ellie warned teasingly as she stepped over her tiny companion. “You know gingerbread isn’t for dogs.”
She slid the tray into the oven just as Toffee let out a sharp bark at the window.
“Someone here to welcome us already?” Ellie wiped her hands on her apron and peered out.
A bright red coat trudged up the drive, snow clinging to its hem. Kayleigh Osborne—Ellie’s oldest friend, a dynamic craft shop owner with a sunny outlook—even in midwinter.
Kayleigh knocked once and pushed open the door, stamping snow from her boots. Stopping just longe enough to fuss over the ecstatic poodle, she cooed and made kissy sounds before turning her attention to Ellie. “You’re really back!” she announced, rushing Ellie into a hug. “Thank heavens. I was terrified you’d change your mind and spend Christmas alone in Portland binge-watching noir dramas while eating boxed chocolates.”
“Rude,” Ellie protested. “This year I plan to make homemade chocolates.”
“Yes!” Kayleigh sniffed the air and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, praise the cookie gods—you’re baking already. I’ve missed you and Misty Pines hasn’t smelled right since you left.”
Ellie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Tell me all the news.”
Kayleigh leaned against the counter with the air of someone bursting to spill that news. “First, the Misty Pines Christmas Cookie Trail is officially happening, and you are absolutely participating.”
Ellie blinked. “I’m… what?”
Her friend waved off any confusion, her eyes twinkling merrily. “You’re a baker, Ellie. A brilliant one. And this year the Cookie Trail has a brand-new layout—heated tiny cabins donated by a new developer, lights everywhere, and cookie passports for visitors to enter for a huge basket of donated goods. It’s going to be magical.”
“That sounds intense,” Ellie said cautiously.
“Intense? It’s war,” Kayleigh whispered with theatrical dread. “Marian Devereux is already complaining about competition.”
Ellie snorted. “She can’t own Christmas.”
“Try telling her that.” Kayleigh lowered her voice. “She’s still sore your cookies were such a hot favorite at the meet and greet last year.”
“I didn’t intend to compete with the towns famous baker!”
“Exactly!” Kayleigh snorted gleefully. “That’s why she’s threatened. You don’t even care.”
Before Ellie could protest more, a white blur shot between her legs.
Ellie shrieked. Toffee barked bravely, then dove behind her.
Kayleigh chuckled. “And that would be Maybelle.”
The ragdoll cat sat by her empty bowls, looking regal, offended, and starving—an impressive combination.
“Maybelle,” Ellie breathed, stepping carefully toward her. “You scared me half to death.”
The cat flicked her tail and stared pointedly at her dish.
Toffee gave her a suspicious side-eye as Ellie filled both bowls. The moment the food hit ceramic, the rivals eyed each other’s portions before diving into their own.
Kayleigh watched with fond amusement. “Looks like feeding time will be a competitive sport for these two.”
By the time the animals settled—round-bellied, smug, and apparently not too bothered by each other, the cookies were done and the women sat at the kitchen table to enjoy a taste with fresh coffee.
“You picked the perfect spot to spend Christmas.” Kayleigh plucked another cookie from the plate. “Besides it being close to town and therefore me, look at that view. ”
The snow had eased and through the kitchen window they could just make out the frozen lake beyond the trees which edged it like a picture frame and glittered with snow. The whole scene felt quietly magical.
Ellie breathed it in, her chest warming. For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel heavy. It felt… hopeful.
Then Toffee’s ears perked sharply. She jumped up on the sofa to stare out the window, low growl rumbling.
“What
Dark trees. Quiet snow. Nothing unusual.
“Probably just the wind,” Kayleigh told them.
But Toffee didn’t look convinced.
Chapter 2
The Cookie Trail
The first night in a new bed could be problematic, but the guest bed was a perfect blend of softness from the matter and warmth from the home-made comforter.
Ellie woke to the soft crackle of snowflakes tapping against the window and snuggled down a little. There was no rush. It wasn’t as though she had any appointments to keep.
Toffee, curled into a warm lump at Ellie’s feet, lifted her head the moment Ellie shifted. Her little curls were squashed on one side, eyes blinking as if questioning whether breakfast was imminent.
“It’s still early,” Ellie whispered. “But yes… coffee first, then breakfast for you.”
A blur of cream and gray launched itself onto the quilt. Maybelle sat primly at Ellie’s hip, tail curled around her like a winter stole, enormous blue eyes fixed in silent demand.
“You too?” Ellie sighed. “I haven’t even stood up yet.”
Maybelle blinked without remorse. She really was royalty.
After shrugging on a sweater, Ellie shuffled into the kitchen and set up the fire. Next she put out fresh water, then scooped kibble into the cat’s bowl and then stood back to see how it would be received, by her highness. Maybelle inspected every piece, as though Ellie might have attempted treason by offering the wrong brand.
Toffee inhaled her own breakfast in three unapologetic bites, then trotted to the back door and pawed it once.
“You should try using the cat door,” Ellie said as she unlatched it, but Toffee stared at the door, clearly reluctant. “Fine, but I’m not leaving it open. It’s freezing out there.”
Toffee stepped onto the frosty porch with the reluctant dignity of someone forced to attend an event far beneath her. She ventured only as far as was absolutely necessary, performed her business, then scampered back inside with a dramatic shake.
Maybelle darted through the pet door with surprising grace. A burst of snow swirled in behind her before she disappeared around the corner of the house.
“She’s braver than both of us,” Ellie murmured as she shut the door and hurried to add a log to the fire.
With everyone fed and accounted for, Ellie made coffee and toast before setting about her morning baking. The scent of butter and warm spices soon filled the kitchen, weaving into the cabin’s wooden beams in the most delicious way. There was something about Christmas baking that never failed to steady her. It was rhythm and memory, comfort and control, and she needed all of those things.
By the time she packed a tin of star-shaped cookies for the community meeting, the sun was high enough to send sparkles across the snow like scattered diamonds. Ellie wrapped herself in her warmest coat, tugged a tartan jacket onto Toffee—who bristled with pride—and stepped outside into the crisp morning. Maybelle was nowhere to be seen. Clearly the diva had her own plans.
Downtown Misty Pines was a ten minute walk that ended in delight. The town gleamed like a Christmas village postcard. Icicles glittered beneath fairy lights. Garlands wrapped each lamppost and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted from a corner vendor.
“This town really leans in,” Ellie murmured as Toffee trotted beside her, leaving tiny paw prints in the powder.
When she reached the community hall, she paused in the doorway, momentarily overwhelmed. Decorations spilled from every direction—paper snowflakes, evergreen swags, hand-sewn bunting. A long table overflowed with baked goods, steam rising from hot cider urns.
Kayleigh spotted her instantly and waved as if summoning a passing ship. “Ellie! You came—and you brought sparkles!”
“I take cookie-related events seriously,” Ellie said, setting down the tin.
“You take everything with sugar seriously.” Kayleigh giggled and wiped some sparkles off Ellie’s cheek.
A man in a Santa sweater—Doug Peterson, longtime resident and self-appointed Holiday Chairman—stepped up to the podium, beaming.
“Welcome, bakers and cookie enthusiasts! This year’s Misty Pines Christmas Cookie Trail will be our biggest yet!”
Applause erupted and Ellie was unprepared for how contagious the excitement felt.
Doug continued, “As many of you know, we’ve upgraded the format. Instead of sending visitors freezing from shop to shop, we’ll host the trail in a circular route around the town square. Heated cabins with individual displays of holiday themes. Visitors get a Cookie Passport, and each cabin stamps a page when they sample your creation—cookie or otherwise. At the end, pages will be placed in a barrel and the Mayor will draw a winner for the grand prize which everyone will contribute to and bring to me before the event begins.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the hall.
Ellie turned to Kayleigh. “Heated cabins sound adorable.”
“And practical,” Kayleigh whispered. “Last year’s cookie hunters turned into human popsicles by cabin eight.”
Doug added, “We’ll also host entertainment in the hall, a sleigh photo booth, and a holiday craft tent for the children—thank you, Kayleigh!”
Kayleigh gave a proud little wave.
Ellie’s attention drifted forward, where a woman in a bright green scarf sat rigidly, chin lifted. Marian Devereux. Her posture was so perfect it could have been carved from ice. A holly brooch pinned to her scarf sparkled beneath the hall lights, and her silver hair gleamed like polished steel. Her gaze swept the crowd like a scanner—and landed on Ellie.
Ellie offered a polite smile.
Marian did not smile back.
“Brace yourself,” Kayleigh whispered. “She’s in a mood. Something about a delayed shipment for her spice cookies.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Ellie whispered back.
“Ellie,” Kayleigh whispered, “this is Marian. She can turn anything into something.”
When Doug opened up the tables for tasting, Ellie’s cookies disappeared faster than she expected. A few locals asked for the recipe, which warmed her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. After years of holding herself small, this kind of appreciation felt… nice.
Marian approached her table with all the warmth of dry ice. “You’re the house sitter,” she said, tone clipped.
Ellie nodded. “Ellie Prescott. Lovely to see you again.”
“I remember who you are, Mrs. Prescott.” Marian eyed the cookies. “These are pleasant, I suppose. But I must say, the spice balance is suspiciously familiar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“These resemble my Winter Citrus Stars. Which I debuted fifteen years ago.” She leaned in, voice lowering. “I’m sure that’s just an unfortunate coincidence.”
Ellie blinked. “I assure you, these are my own recipe—cranberry and lemon. No citrus spice mix.”
Marian’s lips tightened. “We’ll see.”
She turned sharply, leaving Ellie with the faint scent of expensive perfume and bafflement.
Kayleigh swept in. “You survived. Barely.”
“I think she hates me.”
“She hates anyone who threatens her reign,” Kayleigh said cheerfully. “But don’t take it personally. Anyone who bakes well is a threat.”
As they stepped back outside into the early twilight, the town glittered with lights reflecting off the lake. Toffee bounded through snowbanks with determined enthusiasm, her nose collecting tiny flakes.
Ellie’s breath fogged into the cold air. “At least the meeting went well.”
Kayleigh snorted. “You mean apart from Marian’s death glare?”
“I don’t think she glared.”
“She glared. Her glare has levels. That was level four: polite loathing.”
