Sugar plum ploy, p.1
Sugar Plum Ploy, page 1
SUGAR PLUM PLOY
FURRY FAIRY HOLIDAY HIJINKS
BOOK 2
CATE LAWLEY
CONTENTS
About Sugar Plum Ploy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Cutthroat Cupcakes Excerpt
Also by Cate Lawley
About the Author
ABOUT SUGAR PLUM PLOY
Sugar plum shortages cause gnome naughtiness.
The gnomes are demanding sugar plums from Sticky Tricky Treats, a popular local witch-owned candy store. With the store owner, Lina, on her honeymoon, her business partner, Sabrina, turns to Trixie for help handling the unruly customers.
Trixie’s keen to help, but she has questions. What’s a sugar plum? Why are the gnomes so crazy about them? And why have they suddenly descended upon Sticky Tricky Treats for their sugar plum fix?
When International Criminal Witch Police lead detective Sylvester Wendell gets a new murder case, it doesn’t take long for Sylvester and Trixie to recognize their cases are connected.
Trixie and Sylvester join forces to find the killer in this magical cozy mystery!
1
Boise had been invaded by gnomes.
Not the inanimate kind that silently stood guard in gardens. That sort was polite.
Granted, that variety of gnome—a.k.a. the garden gnome—didn’t cause problems because that kind wasn’t alive.
The magical kind that had invaded my adopted town weren’t still, quiet, or interested in any sort of guard duty.
They were a rowdy bunch with tendencies toward schoolboy rudeness. Mooning wasn’t out of the question, for instance.
Unlike their more circumspect nonmagical brethren, they weren’t all little old men less than a foot tall. Not unless they chose to camouflage themselves that way.
When they moved among society, they looked like some odd combination of a hipster and a frat boy. Their uniform was skinny jeans, tennis shoes, ragged T-shirts that frequently advertised beer, and beanies.
On the plus side, they all seemed to have green thumbs and had situated themselves in jobs that allowed them to utilize their expertise and tend to the local flora. Boise had never been greener or the bees happier. It had been a gorgeous summer.
The less pleasant result of their relocation was tied to their shared unquenchable thirst. A thirst that had grown rather than diminished as the cooler weather had descended. With the holiday season upon us, I’d seen two changes: the donning of sweaters and the drinking of liquor.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what a gang of sweater-wearing, whisky-drinking, drunk gnomes got up to.
The gnome invasion, however, wasn’t news. They were here, and they didn’t look like they were leaving any time soon. A state of affairs for which most magical folk, myself included, blamed me.
Gary, the gnomes’ scout, had landed in Boise in the spring, recognized my magic, and decided that I was the person to “register” with.
Gary was a sneaky, underhanded jerk. He knew darn well I hadn’t understood the transaction I’d entered into with him.
He’d asked to register, I’d declined as my favorite furry fairy squirrel trio had chittered and pitched a fit, he’d refused to be put off, and then he’d slipped me a precious gem as he’d shaken my hand.
In so doing, he’d “registered” his people’s imminent arrival in my town.
I’d learned last Christmas that there were all sorts of magical travelers who’d chosen to live on this side of the veil. Visitors from a magical land who’d stayed and made my world their home. While crossings during this century and the last had diminished greatly, there had been a time when it was easier to, well, immigrate, for lack of a better word. For murky reasons, many of the people who came did so under specific conditions.
Fairies had entered into a pact that prohibited them from committing murder, among other things.
It seemed that the gnomes had arrived in this world with a requirement that they register their presence in whatever locale they wished to inhabit.
And I’d made it easy for them. Despite my fairy friends trying to warn me, I’d let Gary register.
If Fiery, Fluffy, and Tubby would just use their words—preferably in full sentences—then communication would be much clearer between us. But they continued to be brief to the point of incomprehension and confused when I didn’t immediately understand their vague warnings.
And all of that was why Sabrina, my friend and occasional coworker at Magic Beans, was currently pointing a finger at me. “You have to fix this, Trixie. They’re a menace.”
“Menace is a strong word.” Peeing on shrubs—their go-to behavior when displeased—wasn’t menacing. And in this instance, they hadn’t even done that. “They’re trying to buy something you don’t offer. Just tell them that.”
“For three days in a row. And there are more of them every day.” Sabrina scowled. “Today, there were five waiting at the door when I arrived. It took me fifteen minutes to explain that we don’t carry sugar plums, and no, I couldn’t start because our candymaker wasn’t in town. And those were just the early risers. I had a steady stream of skinny jeans and scruff in the store all day long.”
“Not menacing,” I reiterated. Mostly because I was busy with a complicated drink and didn’t want to flub it.
The woman who’d ordered it was recovering from a rough day. I could tell from the droop of her shoulders. Just like I could intuit what drinks the majority of our patrons most desired, I could also tell when they really needed exactly what they’d ordered—made to perfection, of course. I had what was known at Magic Beans as the “feel.”
Sabrina got the hint and backed away from the counter. She even went a step further and took a seat at one of the small round tops near the back.
We closed every evening but Sunday at nine. Since it was eight fifty on a Wednesday, she’d only have to wait ten minutes until she had my (almost) undivided attention. Wiping down counters and appliances, checking stock, and mopping hardly provided the same mental energy a patron did. I’d save reconciling the till for after she’d finished her tale of woe, because that did take most of my concentration.
Fifteen minutes later, I locked the door behind the last customer.
Turning to lean against the closed door, I said, “Tell me all about your gnome problem.”
“My sugar plum problem,” she corrected with a baleful look. “And it’s only a problem if you don’t sort out your gnome problem.”
That was the kicker. When I’d unknowingly allowed Gary to register his clan of troublemaking gnomes with me, I’d become the liaison between them and the rest of the magic community.
If I was honest with myself, Gary had been drawn specifically to me and not some other magical inhabitant because I had an affinity for magical creatures. They felt a pull toward me. As Boise’s lone creature whisperer, I’d probably seemed like the perfect dupe.
Several days later, I’d tracked down Gary and tried to hand over the gem he’d provided when we’d struck up the contract—a contract I hadn’t realized I was entering into. Gary refused to take it back.
Then I’d tried to pawn off the big blue stone on Sylvester, thinking maybe an actual ICWP employee, a true representative of the law rather than a mere consultant, should be both the bearer of the stone and the other half of the gnome contract.
He’d declined.
Sylvester and I were sort of dating—maybe? I wasn’t entirely sure—but that hadn’t given me any leverage with him. Not in this instance.
He’d explained that giving away the gem didn’t alter the contract, and whether I liked it or not, I was now tied to the local gnome population. His parting shot had been, “Might as well keep the pretty bauble if you have to do the work.”
So I’d kept the darn gem, and I’d tried, in a limited fashion, to rein them in.
My friend was reaping the results of my poor performance as liaison, unfortunately. To be fair, I doubted anyone else could do a better job. They were unmanageable and generally pigheaded.
“Put that scowl away, Sabrina. You know I can’t control them.” The few attempts I or anyone else had made to change their behavior hadn’t been successful. In fact, it was possible those attempts had made things worse. Hence my hesitation to become involved in their various exploits beyond an attempt to smooth local feathers.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, can you talk to them? Because I don’t know what they want, and they’re not going away.”
“Have you tried asking them? Maybe Sticky Tricky Treats offers some other type of candy that’s similar.” I started flipping the chairs to rest atop the tables.
Sabrina moved to help me. She knew the routine as well as I did. “They think I should know what a sugar plum is. Even though I’m not the confectioner, which I explained, and even though I’ve told them we have never sold sugar plums.”
I nodded. Lina, the original owner of Sticky Tricky Treats and the current senior partner to Sabrina’s junior, was the candymaker. If anyone could whip up something to order, it would be her. But she was on her honeymoon.
Yes, December was the beginning of the shop’s busiest time of year, but she and Bastian had tried for a spring wedding and it hadn’t worked out. Fate had intervened. There’d been some family drama, time had passed, and the two decided that they didn’t care when they got married as long as they did.
The poor woman had been up to her eyeballs in chocolate and miscellaneous holiday-themed candies before she left. Even with Sabrina running the entirety of the web shop and taking over all admin, accounting, and marketing for the physical location, Lina had still been working insane hours to make enough stock to last through her honeymoon.
“I could call Lina, but—”
“No.” I walked behind the counter and started to clean, first the appliances, then the counters.
Lina deserved her week of honeymoon bliss.
“What then? They’re disturbing my real customers. The ones that Lina and I need to buy candy so we can pay the store’s rent and cover seasonal advertising…oh, yeah, and pay ourselves.”
It wasn’t that dire. Sticky Tricky Treats had developed an exceptional reputation for high-quality, fun candy with excellent service. A few unruly customers wouldn’t undo that.
Almost definitely.
Unless they started mooning customers.
“You’ve already tried to sell them current stock.” I was going through solutions in my head and thinking out loud was part of the process, even when I knew the answer.
“Not just that.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not completely useless. I tried to buy some sugar plums online and resell them, but they just got huffy and said rude things.” She raised her eyebrows. “Loudly, when other customers were in the store.”
Gary was getting a call. Disturbing customers and potentially damaging Sticky Tricky Treats’ reputation was bad. But it would help if I had something to offer in trade, like hope that they might get their stupid sugar plums.
“What exactly are sugar plums?” I recognized the name from the classic children’s story, but I’d never seen one. Certainly never eaten one.
“That’s just it, there’s not a good answer to that. They used to be sugar-covered hard candies, but then at some point they became this weird sort of fruit ball with sugar.”
I wrinkled my nose at her description.
She pointed at my expression. “Exactly.”
I set aside my cleaning rag and pulled out my phone. Not that I was looking for an excuse to talk to Sylvester…
Okay, maybe I was. But he was a great resource for the weird foibles of the magical members of the community. He was a daimon; he came from the same place. Unlike other magical transplants, he’d traveled between the worlds with some fluidity before he landed in Boise. Most of the magical residents of our world came here a long time ago and had lost contact with the other side.
Long story short, Sylvester knew a lot about that other world and this one. He was a great translator of weird behavior and strange customs.
I wasn’t brave enough to call him, not given the current state of unresolved affairs between us, so I sent a text: Do you know what a sugar plum is?
He didn’t reply immediately, which meant his phone wasn’t near or he was busy with a case.
It didn’t mean he was on a date.
Just because I’d heard that he’d been seen lately with another woman out and about town, that didn’t mean that he was dating her.
Not that it would be a problem.
We weren’t exclusive.
Or even really dating.
A year ago, we’d had dinner and discussed, in vague terms, pursuing a personal relationship. And then…
Then we’d had several dinners and even more lunches together. We’d worked a handful of low-key cases. We’d certainly learned more about each other. We’d even kissed. Once, about a month ago. So I knew there were—or had been at one time—romantic feelings on his part.
But then…nothing. For weeks.
And now, there was a woman. One he took to lunch and other places. One he hadn’t mentioned to me.
I thought we’d been on the same page, moving toward a mutually desirable goal: each other. Slowly, yes, but steadily.
Maybe I’d been wrong?
“Earth to Trixie.” Sabrina snapped her fingers in front of my face.
I lightly smacked her hand away. “Quit that.”
“You looked like you’d checked out.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Thinking about your demon hottie?”
I looked away, because Sylvester wasn’t a topic I was interested in discussing at the moment—or longer. Probably not until I got the details of this mystery woman.
Was she his latest fling? His friend? A work colleague?
Not the last one. I’d have heard about her from Sabrina and Miles, both of whom still worked for the International Criminal Witch Police in addition to their day jobs. They were part-timers, unlike Sylvester.
Sylvester’s full-time position was as the local lead detective for ICWP. Though sometimes it seemed like he was more of a diplomat or a cultural anthropologist. He’d applied through an exchange program, one that he’d created and that had the law enforcement agencies from both sides of the veil in limited communication. It was a pretty big first step in establishing an official connection between the worlds.
A second glance at my phone revealed no new notification.
“Looks like he’s busy,” Sabrina said with a hint of sympathy in her voice. She must have heard about the mysterious woman as well.
I nodded, again without making eye contact.
“You know what you have to do.”
I sighed. “Talk to Gary.”
“That’s right. And when you do, tell that hipster horticulturist that if he doesn’t get his mob of sugar-plum-addicted buddies under control, I’m going to ban them.”
I didn’t even try to convince her that was a bad idea that would result in a lot of bared bottoms and rose-bush watering.
Because with just a pinch of luck I’d get them under control, and Sabrina wouldn’t have to take extreme measures.
Also, I made a mental note to pick up the two large pots outside the storefront that contained miniature roses.
Just in case.
2
My phone alarm went off much too early. When I closed Magic Beans, I didn’t usually open the next day. I must have forgotten to change my alarm.
I covered my eyes with my spare pillow and reached blindly for my phone.
Only after I was holding it in my hand did I realize it was a call coming through and not my alarm.
Chucking the pillow aside, I blinked blearily at the screen.
Sylvester.
He didn’t usually call when I texted. He was funny that way. I called; he called back. I texted; he texted back.
“Hello?” I croaked before clearing my throat.
“Sorry to wake you, but we need to talk.”
I sat up and immediately regretted it. My head was heavy with a combination of too little sleep and the effects of the half bottle of wine I’d consumed the night previous. I went a few months without drinking much and apparently all it took was a few glasses of wine to affect the quality of my sleep. Or I was just getting older and couldn’t bounce back from a tipsy night like I used to.
“Give me five and I’ll call you back?” My voice was still deeper than usual. I needed caffeine and a shower badly.
“How about five and I’ll be there with a cup of coffee for you.”
I swallowed a groan. “You’re already on the way.”
“I’m in your driveway.”
There was no silencing my reaction to that. The sound I made was somewhere between an “eep” and a squeak.
Sylvester just chuckled. “I thought you’d prefer the extra sleep, but we really do need to talk.”
I agreed and told him it would be more like ten. I needed a shower to wash away the fog of late-night wine and too little sleep, not that I told Sylvester that.
I cursed Gary as I pulled myself out of bed.
