Tinsel toffee and troubl.., p.7
Tinsel, Toffee and Trouble, page 7
part #1 of Holiday House-Sitter Mysteries Series
Maybelle did not respond. She simply remained in place, rigid as marble.
Ellie had learned by now:
If Maybelle was being unusually still, she’d detected something.
Before Ellie could decide whether to worry, her phone buzzed.
Jenna: Morning. Are you awake?
Ellie huffed. Barely.
Ellie: Yes. Any updates?
Jenna: Maybe. Ramos wants to come by. He said he’ll explain in person. Ten minutes.
Ellie’s heart fluttered.
That was fast.
Too fast for it to be nothing.
She dressed, keeping her movements quiet, trying not to spook the unsettled feeling in the air. Toffee, still half-asleep, begrudgingly followed her. Maybelle stayed fixed in her position, gaze pinned to the tree line.
“Whatever it is,” Ellie murmured to her, “at least pretend you’re not terrifying me.”
The cat did not comply.
A knock sounded — a familiar three-tap pattern.
Toffee barked once.
Maybelle turned her head but didn’t move from the windowsill.
Ellie opened the door.
Deputy Ramos stood on her porch, hat dusted with fresh snow. He looked like he’d been up as long as she had, if not longer.
“Morning,” he said.
Ellie stepped aside. “Come in. Jenna said you had something?”
Ramos entered, stamping snow from his boots. “Before we get into that… are you all right? You look like you’ve been up half the night.”
“I have,” Ellie admitted. “It’s hard to sleep when you have the lingering suspicion you’re being monitored like a poorly behaved toddler.”
Ramos gave a faint, humorless smile. “Understandable.”
He removed his gloves. “I’m here because the lab finally called back about the spoon.”
Ellie stiffened. “The spoon that sat in the evidence room for—what was it? Almost a week?”
“Yes.” Ramos’s jaw tightened. “And before you ask: yes, I know it’s taken too long.”
“Because the station was understaffed after the storm,” Ellie said gently, repeating his earlier explanation. “And because the message to pick it up got deleted.”
“That’s still being investigated,” Ramos said grimly. “But the result is the lab only just finished with it.”
Ellie sat down slowly at the table. Toffee pressed against her ankles, and Maybelle finally hopped down from the windowsill, coming to sit beside her chair like a silent guardian.
“What did they find?” Ellie asked.
Ramos pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat. “They did a full residue analysis on the spoon. There were three notable findings.”
Ellie’s stomach clenched.
“One,” Ramos said, “there was trace cinnamon — expected. Marian used cinnamon in everything.”
“Two, there was trace ginger — also expected.”
“And three…” He hesitated.
“Three?” Ellie prompted, breath catching.
“There was a substance that shouldn’t have been there,” Ramos said quietly. “Something not used in baking.”
Ellie’s heart lurched. “What substance?”
“A stabilizer,” Ramos said. “Something used in food manufacturing, but not something Marian would’ve had reason to use. Not in her home kitchen. And definitely not in hand-mixed spice blends.”
Ellie’s mouth went dry. “A stabilizer… for what?”
“To extend shelf life,” Ramos said. “Or to mask spoilage. Or to keep altered ingredients from clumping.”
She felt dizzy. “Altered?”
Ramos nodded once. “Someone tampered with something in her kitchen. Or someone handled her tools with something on their hands. We don’t know which.”
Ellie pressed a hand to her chest. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“We’re not jumping to conclusions,” Ramos said slowly. “But this finding does… complicate things.”
Ellie stared at the table, her pulse pounding.
“Ramos,” she whispered, “what if the reason the spoon sat uncollected so long wasn’t an accident?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was very quiet.
“That’s one of the possibilities I’m looking at.”
Ellie swallowed hard. “And the missing spices? The missing notebook? The erased recipe note?”
“They’re all connected,” Ramos said. “Or someone wants us to think they are.”
Before Ellie could respond, another knock sounded.
This one lighter.
More hesitant.
Jenna.
Ellie opened the door, and her daughter stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the cold but eyes sharp and focused.
“Morning,” Jenna said, glancing between Ramos and Ellie. “I figured you’d want help explaining everything.”
Ramos nodded for her to go on.
Jenna pulled out her phone. “I checked the evidence logs again. The message asking for the spoon to be collected was sent… but the record shows it was ‘viewed’ by someone who wasn’t on shift that day.”
Ellie felt her heart skip. “Is that unusual?”
“Yes,” Jenna said. “Very.”
Ramos added, “We can’t jump to conclusions until we confirm the timestamp, but the system shouldn’t have allowed anyone to view that message outside the duty roster.”
Ellie’s hand shook a little. “You’re saying someone could have deleted it deliberately.”
Ramos met her eyes. “We’re saying we’re treating it seriously.”
Jenna sat beside her mother. “Mom… we’re not telling you this to scare you. We’re telling you because transparency protects you.”
Ellie took a shaky breath. “But why hide evidence about a spoon? A spoon? What threat could that possibly pose?”
Ramos sat across from her again. “Because whoever messed with Marian’s spices wasn’t finished. They needed time. Time for logs to be erased. Time for you not to find the crate in your cabin. Time to move things. Replace things. Or remove what Marian recorded.”
Ellie felt cold, even with the fire going.
“Whoever did this,” Jenna added softly, “is nervous. And nervous people make mistakes.”
Ramos looked toward the window again. “Which is why we need to talk about last night.”
Ellie’s chest constricted. “The person in the trees.”
“Yes,” Ramos said. “Deputies swept early this morning. They found footprints leading away. Very faint. The snowfall weakened them. But what we could see matches the boot tread on the glove you found.”
Ellie’s breath hitched. “They were watching me.”
“They might have been watching the cabin,” Ramos corrected. “But yes — they were close.”
Maybelle bristled, tail doubling in size for a moment before settling.
Toffee whimpered softly.
Jenna reached over and took Ellie’s hand. “We’re not letting anything happen to you.”
Ellie swallowed thickly. “What do I do now?”
“Exactly what you’ve been doing,” Ramos said. “Observe. Report. Stay surrounded by people as much as you can. Do not walk alone. And Ellie…” He leaned forward slightly. “Whatever Marian was trying to tell you? Keep looking. But don’t do it in the dark.”
Ellie nodded slowly.
Ramos stood. “I’ll return with the updated logs this afternoon. Someone is going to slip. And when they do, I intend to be paying attention.”
Jenna rose too. “I’ll stop by later. Patrol shift changes, but I’ll be around.”
Ellie stood with them, trying to anchor herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”
Jenna squeezed her hand gently before following Ramos outside. Their voices faded into the snow.
Ellie closed the door quietly.
Toffee pressed against her leg.
Maybelle leapt onto the table and sat deliberately on Marian’s torn recipe note as if claiming it for her.
Ellie rested a hand on the cat’s warm fur.
“Marian,” she whispered, “what were you trying to tell me?”
Outside, the snow continued falling — quiet, steady, relentless.
And inside, Ellie felt the first solid certainty settle in her bones:
This wasn’t just a mystery.
This was a warning.
And she wasn’t leaving it behind.
Chapter 11
Sugar, Silence, and Something Missing
(1,600+ words — polished, cohesive, with natural Jenna placement)
The cabin felt too quiet after Jenna and Ramos left.
Ellie sat at the table for a moment longer, one hand resting on Maybelle’s warm fur, Toffee curled tightly against her feet.
She wasn’t shaking, exactly — but a faint tremor lived beneath her skin. One part fear, one part adrenaline, one part hardening resolve.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Tea. We start with tea.”
She moved slowly, deliberately, filling the kettle, setting it on the burner. Toffee followed her like a caramel shadow, nails clicking gently on the wooden floor. Maybelle hopped down from the table and padded to the window again, posture alert.
Snow still drifted down, but softer now — a delicate veil that blurred the forest into watercolor.
“Maybe whoever was out there is gone,” Ellie murmured.
Maybelle did not concur.
Her ears stayed pinned toward the trees, whiskers flared.
Ellie’s stomach tightened again.
The kettle whistled. She poured steaming water over Earl Grey, forcing her hands to move at a steady pace. The scent of bergamot filled the kitchen, warm and grounding.
She cupped the mug, feeling heat seep into her fingers.
She needed to do something — move, think, check, anything to keep from spiraling into the void conjured by the idea of someone deleting evidence about Marian’s death.
She reached for Marian’s recipe box.
A Missing Page
The box sat exactly where she’d left it, the lid slightly ajar from Maybelle’s earlier inspection. Ellie lifted it and placed it in front of her.
The familiar weight steadied her.
Inside were Marian’s neat index cards, written in her small, angled handwriting. A lifetime of cookies and pies and breads. Christmas recipes old enough to be called traditions.
Ellie flipped through the tabs — L for Lemon Meltaways, G for Gingerbread, C for Cinnamon Swirls. She drew comfort from the rhythm of her aunt’s handwriting, the tidiness of her notes.
Then she reached the Cinnamon Swirl card and her breath halted.
One card was missing.
The one that described the final stage of Marian’s cinnamon blend — the ratios she’d perfected last year after a long string of “needs adjusting” trials.
Ellie froze.
She wasn’t imagining it.
She knew that card had been there. She had seen it the week before Marian died when they baked together.
Now the tab sat empty.
Maybelle hopped onto the counter beside the recipe box and sniffed the opening.
“You too?” Ellie murmured. “You smell something off?”
The cat’s whiskers twitched.
She pawed lightly at the front of the box.
Ellie took a shaky breath. “Someone was here.”
Toffee whined softly.
Ellie looked around the cabin — nothing else seemed disturbed. The cinnamon crate in the corner remained untouched. Her kitchen counters were clean. No drawers open. No muddy footprints.
But Marian’s recipe card was gone.
Grief and anger tangled at the base of Ellie’s throat.
“What were you trying to tell me?” she whispered.
Had Marian suspected that someone was altering her spice blends? Had she written something on that card that someone didn’t want found?
Ellie’s pulse hammered.
She needed to talk to Becca again.
She needed to talk to Jenna.
She needed to think.
A Knock and a Pause
Just as she reached for her phone, a knock sounded on the door.
Two taps.
Soft.
Familiar.
Ellie’s breath caught. “Jenna?”
Toffee whined and nudged her ankle, but less anxiously this time.
Ellie opened the door slowly.
It wasn’t Jenna.
It was Gabe.
He stood on her porch, hair dusted with snow, cheeks pink from the cold. A wrapped wooden frame was tucked under one arm — gift or repair, she wasn’t sure.
“Morning,” he said, giving her a warm, slightly tentative smile. “I was passing by and saw your lights on.”
Ellie blinked, caught between surprise and relief. “Hi. Come in. It’s freezing.”
He stepped inside and stomped snow from his boots. Toffee trotted over and bumped her head against Gabe’s knee.
“Hey, Toffee,” he murmured, rubbing her ears.
Maybelle stared at him from the counter with a regal tilt of her head, as if determining whether he warranted acknowledgment.
“You brought something?” Ellie asked, gesturing to the frame in his hands.
“Oh — yeah,” he said, unwrapping it carefully. “This was one of Marian’s. It fell during the storm and cracked. I figured you’d want it fixed.”
Ellie stared at the small wooden frame. Inside was a photograph of Marian kneading dough, flour in her hair, laughing at something outside the frame. The crack had run diagonally across the glass.
Her throat tightened. “Thank you. That’s… kind of you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes softened. “Ramos came by early this morning asking about unusual activity near the woods. I wanted to check on you.”
Ellie hesitated. “There’s a lot happening.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”
That gentleness almost undid her.
“I found something missing,” she said instead. “From Marian’s recipe box.”
Gabe’s brow furrowed. “Missing?”
“A recipe card. One I know was there. The Cinnamon Swirl ratios.”
“That’s odd,” he said. “Would anyone throw it away?”
“No,” Ellie said firmly. “And Marian was meticulous. She didn’t lose things.”
Gabe nodded. “Then you’re right — it’s odd.”
He hesitated, then took a step toward her. “If someone is coming into your cabin, Ellie—”
“I don’t think they’re coming in,” she said quickly. “Not while I’m here. But someone was watching last night.”
Gabe’s jaw tightened. “Ramos tell you that?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled hard. “You want me to check the locks? The windows? I can reinforce them. I have spare deadbolts.”
Ellie blinked. “You’d do that?”
“In a heartbeat,” Gabe said. “You don’t have to be afraid here.”
Warmth flooded her chest — not romantic yet, but steady, reassuring warmth. The kind that came from someone who didn’t shrink back from problems.
“I’d like that,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He set the frame on the table. “Let me finish coffee with you first. Then I’ll check everything.”
Ellie nodded, grateful beyond words.
Jenna’s Call
Ellie put on fresh water for tea, and Gabe set up at the table, gently examining the frame he’d brought. His fingers were careful, respectful — the way someone handled the belongings of a person they’d admired.
Maybelle traced a slow circle around him before settling like a guardian sphinx.
Ellie had barely sat down when her phone buzzed.
Jenna: Are you home? I’m coming back between assignments.
Ellie messaged back:
Ellie: Yes. Gabe’s here helping check the cabin.
Jenna’s typing bubble popped up immediately.
Jenna: Gabe? As in Gabe Gabe? Should I schedule the wedding now or wait until you finish solving the murder?
Ellie groaned and typed:
Ellie: Please focus.
Jenna replied with three laughing emojis and:
Jenna: Be there in ten.
Ellie slid the phone away, cheeks warm.
“Jenna?” Gabe asked with a small smile.
“She’s… enthusiastic,” Ellie said. “Ignore any matchmaking attempts.”
“No promises,” Gabe said, smile deepening.
Toffee gave a delighted bark as if encouraging this line of conversation.
Reinforcing the Cabin
By the time Jenna arrived — cheeks flushed, hair pulled into a quick-duty ponytail — Gabe had already tightened the door frame, checked the windows, and was inspecting the back latch.
Jenna stepped inside, stamping snow off her boots.
“Okay,” she said. “Before you say anything else: yes, I approve of the reinforcement plan. And yes, I’m keeping an eye on your location in case you go wandering off again.”
“I don’t wander,” Ellie protested.
“You wander,” Jenna said.
Gabe grinned as he adjusted the hinge. “She wanders.”
Traitor.
“Anyway,” Jenna said, pulling off her gloves, “I only have ten minutes before I have to meet Ramos. I wanted to check something with you.”
She reached into her patrol jacket and pulled out a small evidence bag.
Inside was a printed inventory sheet — the one from the town storage division.
Ellie’s breath caught. “The logs.”
“Yes,” Jenna said. “Ramos isn’t ready to show this officially yet, but… I know you. If I don’t show you now, you’ll stay up all night imagining something worse.”
Ellie blinked hard. “Thank you.”
Jenna tapped the sheet through the plastic. “Two keys were checked out the night Marian died. One by the assigned driver. One by… an unidentified ID. The system shows it was logged by a generic placeholder account. Something tech will have to dig out of the archive.”
