 
### Murder Under the Mistletoe

Published by Janice L. Davis  
Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Janice L. Davis

********

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, Raleigh S. Burroughs, who was a talented writer, editor and author, but most of all he was a loving grandparent whom I called "Grampy."

No author, who researches every detail, can pen a book without the help of many people throughout the writing journey. I would be remiss if I didn't thank those who were kind enough to give me their time and expertise.

A special thanks goes to Dr. Dorothy C. Hardy, who has been giving her time free of charge to teach creative writing in her community. I am one who has had the honor of having been in her class for five years, and without it this book would not have been written.

I am thankful to Dr. Stephen Boudrau, director of the Forensics/Medical Examiner Office in Montgomery, AL for his information on the effects of cyanide poison.

So many folks in Bayfield, Wisconsin were kind enough to answer my many questions about the area, including Robert Nelson, local author.

To my husband, Roy Davis, thank you for all of the support you have always given to me in every one of my endeavors. You are the best, and I love you dearly.

My sons, James and Jonathan, and my daughter-in-law, Talissa—thank you for your encouragement that made me push myself.

A very special thanks to Leah Daniels, editor of The Shoals Woman, for your willingness to help me by editing. I appreciate you for taking your valuable time to do this for me.

So many others answered my questions and guided me along the way, including my dear friend, Ann Evans, and my writing friend, Cheryl Morris.

And finally, the most important thank you of all goes to my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, without whom I would have no breath.

### Chapter One

Sunday evening, December 22, 1946

" _Hark the herald angels sing....glory to the new born King...peace on earth..."_

A shadow of a figure crept up the back steps of the mayor's house while most of the town attended the Sand River Lutheran Church Christmas program. Since unlocked back doors were common in the small northwest Wisconsin town of Elkton, it simplified matters for the intruder to enter the home.

" _Joy to the world, the Lord has come...._

A careful search throughout the residence that included the office, in-between mattresses, throughout the kitchen cupboards, and everywhere else proved to be hopeless. What proof did the mayor claim to possess? He must have a safe deposit box at the bank, and if so, it will be impossible to get in there. But no matter what, the blackmail has to cease. Mayor Maximilian Mueller will find out on Christmas Eve at the tree lighting ceremony he will not be getting any more money no matter what he says he will do.

" _Away in the manger, no crib for His bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head..."_

Frustrated, the would-be-thief left the house, assuming nothing had been left out of place in the residence. Even the footsteps in the snow, originally made by the mayor and his wife, were easily traced.

" _Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright..."_

During the last song of the Christmas program, a second intruder broke into another building. The invader seized the needed item, left quickly, and swished the snow in front of the building, covering the tracks. In just two days the blackmail will end. The mayor will get what he deserves.

" _Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace."_

### Chapter Two

Monday Morning, December 23, 1946

The sweet aroma of baked goods wafted throughout the Sand River Bake Shop beckoning it's patrons to sample each delectable pastry. Retired teacher, Agatha Larsen and her daughter-in-law, Erica stood at the counter attempting to limit their selections to no more than one donut each, while Mayor Maximilian Mueller placed an order for a dozen glazed donuts.

"Hey, you ladies did a great job last night in the Christmas program, ey! I especially like it when you play that dulcimer—that what you call it—Mrs. Larsen? Didn't Victor Hall bring that to you when we were kids?" Max said in his usual overly syrupy voice.

"Thank you, Maximilian. Yes, Victor's family had gone to Kentucky for a vacation, and they brought me back the Appalachian Mountain dulcimer. I played it in class for years after that," Agatha replied.

They said their good-byes, the mayor nodded to the bank president, Theodore Olsen and his wife, Selma who were amongst the other customers in line, and left with the donuts in tote.

"Mornin' Elizabeth," Agatha said to the bakery owner. "I think I'll have one with custard filling and a cup of tea. Do you know what you want, Erica?"

"Yes, I'll have an éclair with a cup of tea as well. Say, Elizabeth we loved the cookies you provided for the fellowship after the program last night."

Elizabeth Smith, the shy young widow, with short, straight, mousy brown hair, barely made eye contact from behind her horned-rim glasses as she took the pastries out of the case, and prepared the tea. In a soft-spoken voice she said, "Thank you." She had arrived in town about a year and a half ago, and had purchased the then-flailing bakery situated in the prime location of the town square. She had felt a need for a new start in her life after her husband had been killed in the war, so she left Helena, Montana where she had grown up, and headed east. The success of the bakery had proved to be a good decision for the quiet woman, who kept mostly to herself.

After greeting Theodore and Selma, Agatha and Erica took a seat at a small table in the quaint bakery. In spite of Elizabeth's lack of personal style, she possessed a flair for fine decorating skills. The six round tables that stood on a black and white checkered floor were adorned with table cloths in pastel hues of pink, yellow, blue, green, peach, and aqua. Floor lamps adorned with shades in beige tones lit the room casting a warm glow, and photos of the original bake shop graced the walls.

Agatha, with her short salt and pepper naturally curly hair, and wire rim glasses was still an attractive older woman. Due to her high energy level, she found it difficult to sit still for too long of a period of time. She had taught at the Elkton School for forty-two years, and this, her first year of retirement, offered some challenges on how she planned to spend her time. A mystery enthusiast, she loved Agatha Christie novels, and adored listening to the Ellery Queen Mystery radio program every Sunday night, often with her two grown granddaughters, Mazie and Samara, while the three tried to solve the crimes.

Erica, a former student of Agatha's, taught second grade at the same Elkton School where she had once been a pupil. Slender and very attractive, she wore her chestnut brown hair in a page boy. The daughter-in-law of Agatha Larsen presented herself as a perfect lady, soft-spoken, and kind, with a personality that blended well with those around her.

"The Christmas program really turned out well, don't you know?" Agatha said to her daughter-in-law before taking a bite of the scrumptious pastry.

"Yes, it was great, but I'm glad it's over. Now we can concentrate on this Christmas carnival. By the way, did you notice our esteemed mayor last night? He looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. And he still looks that way this morning."

"Oh, this custard filling is delicious. Yes, Maximilian has often had that look, but it did seem more pronounced than usual. Even when I taught him in the fourth grade, he had that over-politeness about him, constantly the conniver, always full of himself just like he is today. I think his good looks have been a deterrent for him all of his life, and I always felt he would one day meet his match. I don't know how Greta puts up with him."

"I have to agree. I had forgotten that Victor gave you the dulcimer. You've had it for so long. So sad how he died—terrible tragedy. I still can't believe he accidently shot himself while on that hunting trip. What's it been, ten years ago?"

"Yes, it's been that long. To tell you the truth, Erica, I've always wondered about that. It never made sense to me. Victor had always been quite good with guns, and made it a practice to be safe with them. That's why I find it so odd," Agatha said taking a sip of her tea.

Theodore and Selma sat a table next to Agatha and her daughter-in-law where the two sat quietly eating their pastries while he listened intently to the conversation of his former teacher.

"You don't think he deliberately killed himself, do you?"

"No dear, but I've had my suspicions that it may have been something else," she whispered.

"Not murder?" Erica whispered back. "But who? Not anyone around here, surely not!"  
"I don't know. But I can't for the life of me figure out what possible reason someone would have to want to kill him. Max and Theodore were on that hunting trip with him, and were more than devastated for years afterwards. They swore it was an accident, that they didn't see anyone else around. So we must go with that," she spoke softer than her normal whisper.

"Well, I suppose it remains a mystery, even though it was officially ruled as an accident. But we've got to get going on this carnival. Elizabeth is going to help Oswald and Anna Benson decorate the gazebo tomorrow morning. He amazes me with his horticultural skills—a former tug builder with such a talent with flowers. The utility people are putting the lights on the tree today, and the shelters for the snow sculpture contest are almost completed. So far it looks like the weather will be cooperating. Samara is all set with what she thinks is going to be the winning sculpture. "

"Oh, that granddaughter of mine is such a talented artist, and that other one of mine can sing and dance better than the best of them. I can't believe they are grown women already. Mazie is going to sing at the Snow Ball isn't she?" Agatha took one last bite of her pastry following it with the last drop of her tea.

"She is. It's going to be beautiful. We'll start working on the decorations for the dance this morning, but it will take several days to get it all done. What are your plans for the rest of the day, Mother?"

"I'm meeting Maggie May at the Superior Lake Cafe for lunch today."

Theodore and Selma got up to leave and nodded goodbye to the two women.

"Boy, he sure seems angrier than usual, don't you know," Agatha said as she stood to put on her thick woolen coat.

"He is a grump most of the time, isn't he? Was he that way when you taught him?"

"Theodore was a conniver much like Maximilian, but in a more subtle way. He always got what he wanted by using methods that weren't always pure, but not quite illegal, shall we say. Well, let's get going dear. You've got a lot to do. If you need any more help, let me know. I'll be happy to give you a hand."

"I think we've got enough, but I'll call you if we get into a bind," Erica said while slipping on her gloves.

The two hugged, left the bake shop, stomachs and taste buds satisfied, and went on about their day.

### Chapter Three

11:45 A.M., December 23, 1946

The pounding of nails, and the sounds of saws cutting through wood, accompanied with whistling, yelling, and conversations echoed throughout the air broadcasting that the Twenty-first Annual Christmas Carnival was just around the corner. Floats for the Snow Parade were being built, and areas had already been set aside in the school yard for the snowman contest where children ages six to twelve would be vying for blue ribbons. Shelters for the snow sculpture competition were just about finished on the Elk Street sidewalk that ran east to west on the south side of the square in front of the Sand River Lutheran Church. Games, lots of hot chocolate, ice hockey, dog sled races, ice skating, the annual Snow Ball dance, and much more made for plenty of winter fun during the Christmas holiday. Everyone had a part in some form or other, and the folks of Elkton looked forward to the carnival that would commence with the Snow Parade on Christmas morning.

While the utility company placed the lights on the tree that stood tall next to the gazebo located on the north end of the town square, Maggie May Schultz directed her imaginary orchestra in front of it, as she often did. Adorned in her brilliant orange hand-crocheted hat, her vivid purple coat with matching wool slacks, and yellow scarf she had knitted herself, Maggie May could not be missed in a crowd. Even her white hair had hints of yellow strands streaked throughout the frizzy curls.

To say that Maggie May wore the title of the town eccentric would be an understatement. She waltzed around the town square often dancing and singing her original poems that made no sense to those around her, but Maggie had been through so many difficulties in her life. At the age of sixteen, she lost her father when he fell from a tree, dying instantly. Her husband perished while fighting in WWI, her four-year-old son died from leukemia, and her mother, who couldn't take the pain of losing a grandson, died two days later of a massive heart attack. All of this sent Maggie into another world, but the Elkonites treated her with love and respect, especially her best friend from childhood and next door neighbor, Agatha Larsen.

Today, Maggie looked forward to having lunch with her dear friend, but for this moment she found enjoyment directing her illusory orchestra while singing one of her strange poems.

" _The mayor and the masquerader were meeting on the street  
And then the masquerader stomped off on icy feet.  
Fish, fish, fish, fish, there's more than meets the eye  
The fish aren't the only things that people want to buy.  
The past is the past, but it isn't always gone  
Especially for those involved—it keeps on going on."_

Those who were preparing for the Christmas Carnival just ignored her singing, waved to Maggie May and continued with their work at hand. As she glanced at her watch she realized the time had come to meet Agatha at the Superior Lake Café to eat the best pasties (pronounced like "last") to be found Up North, and headed to the eatery located on the square.

### Chapter Four

7:45 P.M., December 24, 1946

The Elkton High School band members stood close together in perfect formation on the deck of the gazebo as they played "Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly," "Jingle Bells," and a whole array of Christmas carols while folks continued to gather in the center of the town square. The lighting of the tree marked the eve of the annual Christmas Carnival that always brought a thrill for all of the Elkton residents. Everyone acted as though they hadn't seen each other in years, and with their thermoses full of steaming hot coffee, cocoa or hot tea, the aromas melded together and floated throughout the brisk, cold air. The chattering, laughter, hugs and kisses revealed a caring community that shared a love for one another.

Maggie May danced around with the children, who mimicked her steps and poems.

"Hey, Agatha, come join us, hey!" she hollered across to her friend.

Agatha and her granddaughters, Mazie and Samara, grabbed the hands of the children who had formed a circle with Maggie May, and they danced and giggled to their hearts content while some of the crowd clapped in unison.

All throughout the town square clusters of teens, elders, and the middle-aged communed, chatting about their common interests, or what they hoped Santa had in his sack for them in the middle of the night.

Erica and Alexander Larsen provided blankets for some of the older folks, and assisted them to seats near the front, closest to the gazebo.

"Hey, Sandra!" Erica called to Sandra Becker. "You and your husband ready for your first Christmas carnival, eh?"

"Oh yes, we're both looking forward to all of the events. Sebastian said every time someone comes into the bank, it's all they can talk about. And, of course, I've been busy working in the bakery. So much to get done, but we're loving every minute of it."

"Do you ever miss Sacramento?" Erica asked the redhead, whose hair color had a little help from a bottle.

"Maybe the weather, but we are so glad to be living closer to my parents in Bayfield. Of course Sebastian loves that we are right next to the Sand River, and so close to Lake Superior since he finds fishing so irresistible. Being able to walk just about everywhere has it perks, that's for sure. It's so much easier now, and I love working in the bakery."

"It's a great bakery since Elizabeth took it over. We waited a long time for someone to come along with the passion she has for baking. So glad you have arrived too. You were a much needed assistant for her," Erica took a sip of hot chocolate from her thermos. "Well, stay warm. I've got to help my husband with these blankets for the elders. See ya later."

Erica waltzed across the snow-covered lawn to where her husband was looking for some more folks who might need the blankets and seats in the front.

"Hey, this should be starting in a bit. Do you see anybody else who needs some extra warmth?" her husband asked, whose greying temples, mustache and black framed glasses provided the appearance of the distinguished lawyer he was.

"Yes, I see old Mrs. Potter over there. I'll take care of her. Your mother is her usual playful self so we don't have to worry about her getting too cold."

"You got that right, don't you know," Alex replied while watching his mother and his two daughters dance with Maggie May and the children. It brought warmth to his heart to see the love his mother always generated toward her lifelong friend. He glanced around at all the people who were enjoying the moment that blended them together as a family. Alex Larsen felt a sense of pride because he lived in such a close-knit neighborhood. Even some of the more grumpy folks like Theodore Olsen and the shy Elizabeth appeared to be enjoying themselves. He spotted his old school chum, Bayfield Police Officer Paul Miller, and walked over to speak to him.

"Hey, Paul, how've you been? Haven't seen you in a long time."

"Say, hey, I've been fine. Just thought I'd join the crowd for the tree lighting. Haven't done this in a while. How's that law practice of yours?" he responded while looking down at his boots that he utilized to create designs in the snow, aiding him in avoiding eye contact.

"Everything is going well. Glad you came over here tonight. We'll have to get together for lunch sometime and catch up."

"Yeah, I don't get to Elkton much since the folks died. Give me a call next time you're in Bayfield and we'll be sure to have lunch, eh," the officer replied. He shook hands with Alex and trekked closer to the gazebo.

As the two old friends parted ways, Alex sensed that something didn't seem quite right. He didn't act like the Paul Miller he knew so well. He seemed a bit off, and deliberately didn't look him in the eye. He watched as Paul blended into the thick crowd where folks were prodding into each other, like they always did whenever they had an event in the square.

Mayor Mueller and his wife, Greta, forged their way amongst the masses, greeting, waving, and stopping to converse as they headed toward the gazebo. Needing to put more holly on the gazebo railings, Oswald Benson, owner of Benson's Hardware and Nursery, Elizabeth Smith, and Sandra Becker rushed ahead of Max and Greta, toting the necessary decorations, and bumping into everyone in their path.

In just a few minutes the Mayor would be turning on the switch to light the tree. The band played one more song, and then Maximilian and Greta stepped up onto the stage of the gazebo, and positioned themselves under a sprig of mistletoe.

A hush spread across the town square, while everyone waited with anticipation for the tree to be lit. The only sounds to be heard were that of a baby crying, and a mother whispering to quiet her child.

"Merry Christmas, Elktonites! Another year has passed and we have much for which to be thankful. The war ended in the summer of '45 and we're going strong today!"

The crowd clapped and cheered.

"Without anything further, let's light up the tree!"

The mayor hit the switch causing the tree to light up in a beautiful array of colors that brought more applauses and roars from the people. The band played, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," and everyone sang along.

When the song ended the mayor leaned in to kiss his wife under the mistletoe. Instead, he went into convulsions, gagged and fell over. Doc Anderson rushed to his side, the band stopped playing, the crowd gasped. Doc opened the mayor's coat, sweater, and shirt to witness a horrifying sight. Max's body had turned a cherry red color and he was no longer breathing.

"Sheriff Lange, you'd better get up here and see this," Doc called. "It isn't good."

Sheriff James Lange darted up onto the stage in about two leaps. "James, I'm certain this man has been poisoned with cyanide. I don't know how it was done, but it could only have happened in the last fifteen minutes or so."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive. The color of his skin is cherry red and not because he's cold either. Look at his chest."

The two beheld the shocked townspeople, and the sheriff knew he had to give them a response. He turned toward Greta, who had lost all color in her face, and shook his head, providing her with an unspoken word that Max was dead. Doc caught her when she started to faint, and James faced the crowd.

"This is not easy to say, but the mayor of Elkton is dead, and it looks as though he's been poisoned."

Cries and screams bellowed across the town square, but for one person in the crowd, a great relief swelled from deep inside. It's over.

### Chapter Five

8:30 P.M., December 24, 1946

Sheriff Lange had the body of Mayor Maximilian Mueller transported to the morgue where he would remain until a medical examiner could arrive from Duluth, Minnesota to perform an autopsy. It would take longer to complete because of the Christmas holiday. Doc Roy Anderson and his wife, Nora brought Greta home, gave her a sedative, and stayed with her for the night. The death of the mayor was one thing, but his murder yet another, producing a dark cloud that hovered above all of Elkton.

The town council called an emergency meeting to discuss what to do about the Christmas carnival. So much planning and tedious preparations had gone into it, so a decision had to be made on whether or not to cancel it.

Agatha Larsen, Theodore Olsen, Alexander Larsen, Sheriff James Lange, Reverend Albert Clark, Talissa King, and Karen Frank made up the town council, sans the mayor.

The sheriff officiated the meeting. "This is a terrible tragedy, believe you me, but we've got to deal with it, and decide if we should cancel this thing."

Agatha spoke up, "The murder of the mayor is unbelievable. I can't get it into my head that this has actually occurred. But the children have had a huge scare by witnessing something they never should have seen. It's too much of a shock. We've got to think about them, and proceed with the carnival."

Beads of sweat had formed across the forehead of bank president, Theodore Olsen as he spoke in harsh tones to the council. "Oh, how do you know Max was murdered? Who in this town would kill anybody? He could have had a heart attack. I think everyone is jumping to conclusions about this thing. We should have waited until the medical examiner performed the autopsy before telling everybody we've got a murder on our hands. Although it is too late for that thanks to you, James."

"I saw the body, Theodore. He was murdered. No one turns cherry red from a heart attack, but they do if they've been injected with cyanide. I do agree that we need to wait until we get the official report from the autopsy, but until then I'm treating this as a homicide. Right now we have to make a decision about the carnival. Anyone else have anything to say?"

Alex searched the faces of the other members of the council, whose demeanors were that of sadness and shock at the turn of events at what should have been a fun-filled evening. Theodore appeared to be the only angry, almost hostile person in the room. "I personally don't think we should cancel the carnival. Too much work has gone into it, and too much money has been spent. I recommend we fly the flags at half-mast, and begin the parade tomorrow with a prayer for the family asking that justice prevail. Do you agree, Reverend?"

"Yes, Alex, I believe that is the best way to handle this situation. We should also dedicate the carnival to Max's memory."

With that, the town council approved the suggestions of Alex Larsen and Reverend Clark, voting unanimously that the carnival still go on as planned. The sheriff and Agatha agreed to call the leaders of the events to let them know of their decision, and the meeting was adjourned.

### Chapter Six

10:00 A.M., December 25, 1946

The crowd, bundled in thick coats, wool scarves and gloves, had gathered once again in the town square, and were amassed on the sidewalks three and four people deep waiting for the parade to begin. In spite of the event of the preceding night, the children were excited, many holding new dolls and trucks that St. Nick had brought to them during the night. The adults, however, put up a brave front for the sake of their offspring, masking the fear they felt that someone near them might be a murderer.

The high school band, the floats and the Snow King and Queen along with their royal court, lined up at the end of Main Street that ran down to the Sand River, where the parade would begin. Each participant wore heavy clothing, including the "royals," whose burgundy robes were an inch and a half thick, trimmed in white fake fur, with matching hats. The route would take them down Main Street, to left on Bear River Road, to Elk Street, to left on White-tailed Deer Road, where they would end up back on Main Street, encircling the entire town square.

Reverend Albert Clark of the Sand River Lutheran Church stood on the courthouse steps where the flag flew at half mast, and led in prayer. Sheriff James Lange then dedicated the Twenty-first Annual Christmas Carnival to the memory of Mayor Maximilian Mueller. A somber moment for all, the band members found it difficult to get started, but they finally overcame it, and began playing "Amazing Grace" while everyone stood still. Some sang it softly, while others just listened, and very few folks were without tears.

"I hope we made the right decision, Alexander," Agatha said to her son, after taking a swallow of hot tea from her thermos. "The people are too emotional to have their hearts in this."

"Give it a little bit of time, Mother. They came, didn't they? It will start to liven up in just a bit, eh. Once everything gets going we'll see that we made a good decision."

"I agree with Dad, Nana. It will keep our minds busy and off of this ghastly thing. How do you think it happened, anyway?" the twenty-three year old blonde, blue-eyed Mazie asked her grandmother.

"Mazie, I don't think we should talk about this here. Do you Nana?" Mazie's younger sister, Samara asked, whose chestnut brown hair peeked out from under her blue woolen hood.

"No, dear, probably not. But I sure have my questions about the whole episode, and I have to admit, I wouldn't mind doing a little snooping just to satisfy my curiosity."

"Mother, this isn't one of your Agatha Christie novels or one of your mystery radio programs. This is the real thing. Let the sheriff handle this. You need to stay out of it," Alex spoke to his mother as if she were his daughter because he knew how she loved to solve a good mystery.

"I'm confident the sheriff is well-equipped to handle this, don't you know. But I think I have a natural talent for snooping, especially after teaching for forty-two years. I can't always tell when somebody has something to hide right away, but upon investigating I believe I can figure it out."

They were interrupted when Maggie May, dressed in cobalt blue woolen slacks, her purple coat, and a reveal of a bright orange sweater that covered her neck, danced toward them, singing a new poem:

" _It's Christmas morning and things are not the same  
No longer, no, no longer, no no no  
They will no longer meet  
Upon their icy feet."_

"Merry Christmas, Maggie May," Agatha said to her friend, hoping to prohibit her from continuing the nonsensical poem.

"And a very merry Christmas to all of you," she bowed toward the family.

"Maggie, we're looking forward to having you spend Christmas day with us," Erica said to the dear lady, who had endured such tragedies in her life.

"Thanks for inviting me. It'll be fun, eh girls?"

The girls nodded in unison while they watched the band lead the way for the floats that were lined up and ready for the parade to begin.

Each float possessed a unique quality that best represented the town businesses. The bank employees had designed a huge snowman donned with a play money-covered hat and matching bow tie, which stood next to a paper mache tree, whose branches were loaded with the same play money. Even the Superior Lunch Café participated with a float that featured a giant cup of coffee with owner, Ingrid Young wrapped in a heavy woolen coat and blanket, sitting next to it eating one of her scrumptious pasties. Benson's Hardware and Nursery came next with some children "building" sleds and skis. The people were starting to relax as each float rolled along the streets, when suddenly, Agatha gasped, and clamped her glove-covered hand over her mouth.

Samara, who was standing next to her grandmother, jerked her head towards her. "What is it, Nana?"

"I'll tell you later," she whispered.

The incident didn't go unnoticed by some of the people who were standing around the Larsen family, and it produced some questions within the minds of a couple of them. What made Agatha react the way she did? What did she see? What did she guess? What did she know in that brief moment? And even more important, did she plan on snooping?

The parade came to an end when the Snow King and Queen, high school seniors, Robert King and Priscilla Clark, stepped off the final float, and walked up the court house steps to take their place on the royal chairs, rather than the usual locale in the gazebo. Everyone cheered. The cloud had been lifted. It was time to start the carnival.

***

9:00 P.M.

The long day had finally come to an end. No one in the Alex Larsen residence had talked about the murder the whole day. Samara left after brunch to work on her snow sculpture, and Mazie's boyfriend, Gary Anderson, picked her up to go sledding, and to eat with his family later. Maggie May stayed for supper, and the four of them played a board game until eight thirty. The convenience of living between Alex and Maggie May provided a quick jaunt home for Agatha, and she made certain her friend got to her door safely. The two waved and went into their respective homes.

While she had enjoyed the day with her family and friend, Agatha felt somewhat relieved to be home and got into bed. She wanted some time to put together her thoughts about the poisoning of her former student. Since Agatha usually made a list of clues while she listened to her mystery radio programs, and was often able to solve the crimes, she started a notebook and entitled it "The Maximilian Mueller Murder."

At the top of the first page she wrote, "Oswald Benson," under which she penned:

Kept cyanide in his shed because of a former rodent problem.

That's what she remembered when she saw Benson's Hardware and Nursery parade float pass them earlier that day.

Oh criminey, she thought.

Oswald was standing behind us during the parade!

### Chapter Seven

Morning, December 26, 1946

After a night of tossing and turning, Agatha got up at five o'clock in the morning and fixed a cup of tea. Her curiosity about the murder was getting the best of her, so she wrote a list of facts about the murder in her notebook.

_Someone murdered Maximilian right before our eyes.  
There had to be a witness, or was it too crowded?  
The mayor was most likely killed with cyanide.  
Oswald Benson had cyanide in his shed.  
Most of us knew that Oswald had the poison because he had made it known about his rat problem five months ago, and Tim Frank, pharmacist, had ordered it for him_.  
_There are very few secrets in this town. Somebody knows something._

She thought about the incident for a few minutes, and began to fear the possibility that another murder could take place especially if someone witnessed Max's murder.

Since sleep was no longer an option, Agatha fixed another cup of tea, and curled up on her faded rose velvet sofa with her Christmas present from Alex and Erica—the latest book by Agatha Christie entitled "The Hollow." Her favorite mystery author knew how to keep the readers guessing by weaving in red herrings and planting clues in very subtle ways. In Agatha's opinion, no one knew how to put a mystery together better than she.

Reading created a good diversion for her, and by seven thirty she got dressed, and then fixed a hardy breakfast of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and another cup of fresh-brewed tea. The hot meal felt satisfying and gave her comfort and energy.

She made her bed, picked up the Christmas tree needles that had given up clinging to the branches, and sat in her deceased husband's worn, overstuffed, brown easy chair to take in the view of the tree. Various ornaments of old hung in an array of colors, many of which were faded, bringing back memories of yesteryear.

When Agatha and Kenneth Larsen were newly married, they were both first-year teachers, meaning that they lived on a limited budget. Most of the ornaments were hand-made, and many of them still dangled on the branches as though that's where they were meant to be. She still smelled the cherry-flavored pipe tobacco that filled the air when Kenneth was alive, and she often longed for the love of her life, who had died suddenly of a heart attack twelve years ago. Kindness had emitted from him toward everyone, and his science students had adored him. He and Agatha had shared many common interests that included a love for the Ojibwe Indian tribe, most of whom lived close by on the Red Cliff Indian Reservation just northeast of them.

Scanning the ornaments, another wave of nostalgia washed over her when she spotted the pine cones that Alex had decorated as a young boy. He had been so proud of his glittered tree ornaments, which had by now lost most of their shine. She couldn't bear to throw them away, so they still made their way onto the Christmas tree every year. Agatha found it hard to believe how fast the years had passed, that her son, no longer a little boy, ran a successful law practice, and had two grown children of his own, whose handmade ornaments of faded construction paper graced the evergreen as well. It may not have won an award for best decorated Christmas tree, but for a teary Agatha the sentiments ran deep into her heart and soul.

Reluctantly, she left behind her thoughts of a bygone era, and went in to clean up the kitchen. The rug at her back door always needed to be shaken, and she could never understand why. She toted it to the small back porch and started to beat it on the railing, when she spotted something bright orange in Maggie May's yard.

"Oh, criminey! Maggie May! Maggie May!" she cried as she trudged through the snow toward her friend, who lay in a heap below her back steps. Agatha stooped down, and curled the lifeless body into her arms, and screamed for her son.

It seemed like time had stood still, but just minutes had passed, when Alex, who had heard his mother's cries, raced out of his backyard toward her. Agatha yelled for him to call Doc Anderson and the sheriff, and to tell them to come right away. He followed his distraught mother's orders, grabbed a coat for her, rushed to her side, and waited for help.

While Agatha sobbed uncontrollably, Alex did his best to assess the situation. "She must have locked herself out of her house," he said in as calm a tone as possible.

"Alexander, that would have been impossible," she cried. "Maggie never, ever, ever locked her back door. If she had done that, she would have come over to my house. I have keys to her front and back doors. This doesn't make any sense at all," she said as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Erica and the girls appeared just a few minutes later, and after the shock of witnessing the still body of Maggie May, they tried to comfort Agatha through their own tears, huddling together.

Doc and the sheriff arrived at the same time. Everyone except Agatha moved out of the way. The doctor gently pulled her away from her dearest friend. He opened Maggie's sweater, and saw that her bare skin revealed the same cherry red color that the mayor's body had shown just the day before yesterday. "Looks like we've got an epidemic of murder on our hands, sheriff."

"Ohhhhh nooooooo!" Agatha wailed, and doubled over in pain. "Who would do this to Maggie May? She's never even hurt a flea. Why? Why? Why?"

Another murder? Maggie May of all people? It made no sense to any of them, and the girls and Erica burst into tears along with Agatha.

Sheriff James Lange asked, "Are you sure about this Doc? Couldn't it be hyperthermia?" He walked up the back steps to discover that the back door was locked. "She must have locked herself out."

"No!" Agatha cried, "I've already explained this to my son. No one in this town ever locks their back doors—including Maggie. Even if she did, she would have come over to my house to get the key. This is murder once again, Sheriff James Lange, and you'd better start investigating this thing quickly before we have another one."

### Chapter Eight

9:00 A.M. December 26, 1946

Maggie's body was taken to the morgue and placed near the late Maximilian Mueller, where both awaited for autopsies to be performed. The medical examiner from Duluth had gone out of town to visit his daughter for the Christmas holidays, therefore delaying his examination until the 31st or even later.

The sheriff sent Agatha to her house to retrieve a key to Maggie's door, but he didn't want Agatha involved in his investigation. He knew that it will be hard to keep her out of it, but he planned on letting her know the danger involved.

Deputy Jonathan King was waiting with James when Agatha, along with Mazie, returned with the key to the front door.

"So sorry about this, Mrs. Larsen. I know how much you cared about your friend. Hey, the whole town of Elkton loved the woman." the deputy said.

"Thank you, Jonathan. It is more than devastating to say the very least," she replied.

"Where's the rest of the Larsen clan, Mrs. Larsen?" asked the sheriff while he slipped the key into the keyhole.

"They didn't want to get in the way, so they're waiting at my house."

They entered Maggie's residence, and began looking around, but didn't see anything that appeared amiss.

The sheriff asked Agatha, "I don't know. Mrs. Larsen, do you see anything that looks like it's been moved or out of place, or doesn't belong here?"

Agatha and Mazie scanned the living room that reflected the old Maggie May Schultz, a room decorated in browns, and beiges, and hints of rust, a room where nothing was out of place. An eerie silence crept throughout the house that made Agatha mourn that much more for her friend. Then they went into the well-kept kitchen, and found a hand knitted navy blue scarf on the floor close to the back door. Clearly that didn't belong there, and Mazie picked it up and draped it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Agatha decided to write it down in her notebook when she got home, even if it may have appeared to be insignificant. They continued to walk through each room, but Agatha and Mazie found nothing that seemed out of the ordinary other than the scarf on the floor, and told the two lawmen as such.

"Let's have a look again on the back porch," the sheriff said. "It does look as if someone cleared off the snow, or did she do that?"

"I'm certain Maggie swept off the snow herself. She tried to keep the porch dry like I do in case she had to shake a rug or throw something out for the birds. This makes no sense at all, James. I can't figure out the purpose of the locked door, unless the murderer locked it by mistake. Although.....where are Maggie's keys?"

The key hook by the door displayed no sign of any keys. Agatha searched through Maggie May's purse, and went through the pockets of her purple coat that still hung on the coat rack in the kitchen, but came up empty.

"This is really strange, gentlemen. I don't understand this."

"Nana," Mazie said, "maybe the killer picked up Mrs. Schultz's keys by mistake, just out of habit when one leaves a house, don't you know."

"That could explain it, but nobody around here locks their back doors, so why lock it?" Agatha said mostly to herself. "I suppose the murderer may have been looking for something, and if so what did Maggie May possess that got her killed? Is he planning on coming back here to search the place? Sheriff, Deputy, you've got to get busy and investigate this thing. We've got to find out what motive someone had to poison Maximilian and Maggie. What did they have in common?"

"Mrs. Larsen, we will handle this, and would appreciate it if you will just stay out of it and let us do our job, eh. If you get involved, you might be the next one to be killed, and we don't want that," James spoke sternly to his former elementary school teacher.

"Of course," she said, but inside she knew she was not going to stay out of it. The murder of the mayor had aroused the armchair detective within her. But since her dearest friend had been killed, it was time to get serious and do some real investigating. No, she refused to rest until she discovered the ugly truth.

Aloud she said, "We should keep this quiet, don't you know, Sheriff. The people are already upset about one murder. If this gets out, I'm afraid we'll have a panic on our hands. Let them have fun at the carnival. Don't you agree?"

The two lawmen concurred, and Jonathan suggested, "Let's tell folks that Maggie died from hyperthermia because she apparently fell into the snow-covered back yard. I'll let the doc know."

They all agreed that would be the best way to handle it for now.

***

"Mother, are you going to be all right?" Erica asked Agatha when she and Mazie walked back into her home.

"Yes, dear, I'll be fine, but this is more than a little upsetting, don't you know."

"I'll stay with you, Nana, if you'd like," Samara said softly to her grandmother.

"We'll both stay," Mazie added.

"I think that will be a good idea, Mother. Just make sure you three don't play detectives, you hear me?" Alex addressed his mother and daughters. "I know you might think you know what you are doing, but you don't."

"Yes, son."

"Of course, Dad," Mazie said, while Samara nodded.

As soon as Alex and Erica left to go back to their home, Agatha got out her notebook and brought the girls up to speed. Then she started a new page entitled, "The Murder of Maggie May" and wrote:

Maggie was still dressed in the orange sweater she wore all day Christmas  
Navy blue scarf on the kitchen floor  
Placed the scarf on the back of a kitchen chair  
Maggie's back door was locked  
Maggie's keys are missing  
The sheriff and deputy agreed to call the cause of death an accident until after the autopsy

"You girls keep your eyes and ears open while you go about your business. I think I'll pay a visit to Greta Mueller. Perhaps I'll be able to learn something from her. I'll stop by the Café and get some pasties to take to her. I'll see you girls later tonight, and we can compare notes then."

The three nodded in one accord. Their investigation was about to begin.

### Chapter Nine

12:30 P.M., December 26, 1946

About to ring Greta's doorbell, Agatha held back when she caught a snippet of conversation coming from the late mayor's wife.

"I can't do this right now. This town is too nosey. You've got to leave."

The mumbling from the other party couldn't be distinguished, so Agatha pressed the doorbell. Greta opened the door, dressed in a flowing lilac satin bath robe. In spite of the fact she had just lost her husband in such a horrific way, her eyes, although sad and teary, were as blue as the sea. Her blonde hair, pulled back in a bun with straying hairs, still looked good. A beautiful woman, she had made a stunning contrast to Maximilian's darker appearance, whose great-great-grandmother had been an Ojibwe.

Hearing the back door close, and the little bit of dialogue she heard before entering, Agatha spoke in an innocent tone, "Oh, dear, do you have company?"

"No, I just came in from out back to throw out some trash, and when I heard the bell, I rushed in. Sometimes that door delays if I try to close it too fast. Please, come in," Greta replied without making eye contact to her former teacher.

"I won't keep you, dear. I just wanted to come by and offer you my condolences and bring you these pasties from Ingrid's café. And I would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

"Thanks, Mrs. Larsen. This has been a nightmare to say the very least. I just can't believe this has happened. Why don't we have a seat at the kitchen table? I'll put a kettle on for tea and we can each have a pasty." Greta hands shook as she scooped up the two half-full cups that were on the table while she spoke, but that didn't go undetected by Agatha. She was already picturing a page in her notebook with Greta's name at the top.

"You are most kind," Agatha answered as she took a seat at the kitchen table, pretending not to notice the widow's uneasiness.

Greta, always the gracious hostess, put a pasty on each plate, served the steaming hot tea, and took a seat across from her guest. They each took a bite of the meat, potato and onion filled baked dough, and sipped their tea before Agatha spoke.

"Ingrid sure knows how to season these things better than any I've ever had. But I didn't come here to talk about pasties. Greta, I'm trying to figure out how this could have happened to Max. If you're up to it, I want to pry into your memory bank during the tree lighting event. Did you notice anything unusual that night before you walked up to the gazebo?"

"I don't think so. It was terribly crowded. We were all bumping into each other, but that's how it is every year."

"Were you with Maximilian the entire time before he lit the tree?"

"Well, no. We were separated for a bit while we each talked with different people. Then we came together just about five minutes before we walked up to the gazebo."

"Hmmmm. Did you happen to see who he spoke with when you weren't together?" Agatha took another sip of the amber liquid.

"Not really. I was too busy talking with others to notice. Do you think he was injected with cyanide while we were in the crowd? Wouldn't he have felt the needle?" Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks while she reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Who would be so brazen as to commit murder in a public place?"

"I'm so sorry to put you through this, Greta, but I feel strongly about finding out who did this to Max as quickly as possible. I'm thinking that he should have felt a needle going into his skin, too, but it was so cold, maybe it wouldn't have been so noticeable. Can you think of anyone who hated Max enough to want him dead?"

"Everybody."

Seeing the shocked look on Agatha's face, Greta continued, "He wasn't loved by most people in town. They voted for him every time because they thought he did a good job being the mayor, but he was an egotistical man, who made a lot of folks angry."

"I'm sorry dear. I know Max was an annoying man, but he didn't deserve to be murdered. Can you give me something specific?"

"I'm not sure I can pinpoint anything. Although, Theodore has never spoken to Max since Victor Hall shot himself when the three of them were on that hunting trip, and that's been at least ten years ago. I've noticed that he sort of glares at Max every time he sees him, or rather every time he saw him."

"That does seem a bit strange, don't you know. They were such good friends growing up. Anything else you can think of?"

"Not right now, but if I come up with anything, I'll give you a call."

Agatha stood to put on her coat, and gave Greta a hug.

"Thanks for coming and for caring, Mrs. Larsen. The townspeople have been so kind to me."

Agatha went back to her house with a lot on her mind and she immediately started another page in her notebook, entitled, "Greta."

_Visited Greta on 12/26  
She had a visitor who didn't want to be seen  
Heard a bit of conversation...Greta wanted the person to leave because she couldn't deal with "this" right now  
Two half full cups of tea were on the kitchen table  
She didn't admit to having company  
She didn't make eye contact when asked about the visitor  
She felt that most people hated Max...but enough to kill him?  
Mentioned that Theodore and Max hadn't spoken since the hunting accident ten years ago, but I'm certain I saw them several times over the years talking to each other in town, although it didn't seem too cordial  
_

None of this seemed that helpful, but Agatha intended to discover who had been visiting Greta when she arrived. There's more to the grieving widow than meets the eye.

### Chapter Ten

6:30 P.M., December 26, 1946

The Larsen's gathered around the dinner table at Alex and Erica's home to consume the leftover turkey along with all the fixin's from Christmas dinner. It seemed like eons ago when Maggie had joined them at the same table, partaking of the same food, and yet she had been with them just yesterday.

"How are the Snow Ball decorations coming along, Erica? Are you ready for tomorrow night?" Agatha asked as she poured gravy on her turkey and dressing.

"Just a few more things left to do. Oswald is going to put up some holly tomorrow over the entrance, and scatter some on the refreshment table. It's going to be beautiful when we are finished. Oh, and Elizabeth is making a huge cake in the shape of a snow ball with cupcakes sitting around it that will also look like snow balls."

Mazie took a bite of a roll while glancing at her grandmother. She felt such sadness for her over the loss of her childhood friend. She knew, though, that Agatha didn't plan on stopping her investigation until she found answers, and Mazie and Samara intended to continue to help her in every way possible. Her thoughts were interrupted when her grandmother asked if she felt prepared to sing at the Snow Ball with the orchestra.

"I'm as ready as I'm gonna be, eh. We're planning on starting with 'White Christmas' and then every now and then I'll sing a host of others. We've practiced a lot."

"I know you'll do well, dear. Samara, how's that snow sculpture coming along? Do you think you'll be set for the judging by tomorrow afternoon?"

"I will if I leave right after we eat to work on it some more tonight. It's so involved, but then so is everyone else's. I'm afraid I'm dealing with some stiff competition this year."

The idle chit chat continued while the unspoken thoughts of the two murders remained in the middle of the dining room table, and Alex kept wishing no one would give in to discuss it. That hope ended when Agatha said, "I went to see Greta today."

Seeing the look of annoyance on Alex's face, she didn't give him a chance to speak and continued to talk about the visit to Greta.

"I only went to see her to offer my condolences and to bring her some pasties. Greta is clearly sad about losing Maximilian in this traumatic way, but she said everyone in town hated him. What do you think about that, Alex? Do you think someone detested him enough to murder him?" Agatha didn't mention Greta's mystery visitor, who crept out unseen when she arrived. She didn't want to get Alex riled up again about her meddling into the investigation, but it was a bit too late for that.

"Mother, you just couldn't stay away could you, eh?" Alex said, shaking his head. "I honestly can't begin to wager even a guess at who hated the man that badly to kill him right there in front of everyone, no less. Someone must have seen something amiss, but we are going to let the sheriff handle this thing, right?"

"Of course, dear," Agatha smiled and quickly changed the subject to talk about the Evelyn Dick murder trial that had taken place in Hamilton, South Ontario just this past October. "That was a brutal murder--her husband all cut up like that. She's going to be hanged unless her appeal goes through. It amazed me that a woman could do something so horrible. Makes me think that our murders could easily have been done by a man or a woman. I'm just thinking, Son. I'm just thinking and wondering if the sheriff thought of that, or is he just looking for a male suspect?"

"Again, Mother, you must leave it to James and Jonathan, trained law enforcement officers. I'm certain they're doing everything they can. Please, please, please stay out of it. And that goes for you girls too!"

"Of course, Dad," Mazie mimicked her grandmother and smiled in the same way.

After helping to clean up the kitchen, and wash and dry the dishes, Agatha and Mazie walked over to her house. Samara left to work on her snow sculpture where the other contestants were sculpting away on their works of art. She would meet up with the two "detectives" in a couple of hours.

### Chapter Eleven

9:00 P.M., December 26, 1946

Mazie reclined in her grandfather's easy chair after grabbing a piece of hard candy from the Christmas bowl that sat on the old cherry coffee table Agatha and Kenneth had purchased when they first got married. "So, Nana, what did you find out from Greta that you didn't tell Mom and Dad?"

Samara had just walked in and said, "Wait for me. I don't want to miss anything, eh." She sat on the sofa next to Agatha, and across from Mazie, who tossed her a piece of the candy.

"Before we get started, why don't I fix us all some hot chocolate. You look like you could use some warming up, Samara."

The girls agreed, and once Agatha served them the chocolaty goodness, they settled in to their former seats, sipping on the hot liquid that contained luscious marshmallows floating on top.

"Well, girls, I'm certain Greta is hiding something, but for what reason, I have no idea.....yet."

Agatha told her granddaughters about Greta's mystery guest, who had left via the back door when she first arrived at the mayor's house.

"Hmmmmm, Nana, that's very interesting, don't you know. You don't think Greta killed the mayor, do you? After all, she was in the best position to jab him with a needle, and no one would be the wiser. Or maybe she hired someone, and that's who you heard leaving her house, eh," Mazie imagined.

"Now, Mazie, let's not get too carried away. We need some sort of proof, at any rate. But I don't think Greta did it or hired someone to do it for her, even though she is keeping something to herself. Plus, why kill Maggie May? Why would anyone kill either of them, even if the mayor wasn't very well liked?" Agatha paused and shook her head. "No, we've got to find a link between the two, and for this moment, I don't know what that is, so let's go over my notes to see if anything stands out."

"Wait, Nana, maybe the only connection between the Mayor and Mrs. Schultz is that she saw who killed him," Samara surmised.

"Maybe that's it, but we were dancing and singing with her right up until the mayor and Greta walked up to the gazebo. I'd be surprised if she saw anything at that time, since she was having such fun with the children. It is a good thought, though, dear."

"Let's go over your notes, Nana," Mazie injected.

The three perused Agatha's notebook studying the facts they had so far, even though she didn't have much.

"I think I'll pay a visit to Oswald Benson at his hardware and nursery tomorrow," Agatha said. "The fact that he had cyanide in his shed makes me very uncomfortable. Of course, it doesn't mean he is the murderer, because everyone in town knows he had that rat problem, and that Tim Frank purchased the poison for him. The whole town knows, too, that he keeps the stuff locked in the shed behind the nursery. I think we need to find out if anybody saw anything that didn't seem quite right on the night of the tree lighting. We'll take any information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, girls."

"I agree. I'll ask some of my friends tomorrow if they noticed anything out of the ordinary," Samara said as she stood to take a closer look at the Christmas tree. "Oh, there's the first Christmas card I made for you, Nana. What was I, about four? Can't believe it has survived all of these years, faded as it is."

"It is amazing that any of these things are still with us."

Mazie had been unusually quiet while she pondered over the events of Christmas Eve. Something odd happened that night, but she couldn't remember what it was. She kept reviewing the scenes of the night over and over in her mind. Suddenly it hit her.

"Nana, Samara, I do remember something that happened probably fifteen or twenty minutes before the mayor lit the tree. I can't believe it didn't cross my mind until now! Oswald Benson walked over to the mayor with the holly in his arms, and it didn't appear to be a very friendly conversation. His red face almost matched his red hair, but the mayor just had that usual smirk on his face and walked away. I'm telling you, Oswald Benson was mad about something."

Samara responded, "Now isn't that interesting. He's a rather gruff character. Didn't he used to build fish tugs in Bayfield before he moved here? Makes me wonder why he opened a nursery. What do you suppose happened that made him mad at the mayor? I'll ask around to find out if anyone heard any of their conversation."

"You know, girls, I remember seeing Paul Miller there that night. He was a good friend of you father's when they were growing up, but when his parents were killed in an auto accident about six years ago, he moved to Bayfield and became a police officer. Wonder what he may have seen. He always had a keen eye for details, which makes him a perfect lawman. Perhaps Elizabeth Smith or Sandra Becker noticed something. Oswald and the two women were doing that last minute decoration with the holly, don't you know."

"Nana, I can't imagine Elizabeth spotting anything. Her head is always bent to the ground. Never met anyone so shy in my life." Mazie took another candy from the dish.

"Well, I'll stop in at the bakery tomorrow after I talk with Oswald. She may turn out to be our best witness."

Samara was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. She had been working so hard on her snow sculpture that she was about to fall asleep on the sofa. With just a few last minute details to add, it wouldn't take her long to complete it in the morning.

"I'm going to turn in now," she said. "Got to get up early to finish that sculpture. See you two in the morning."

She gathered the empty cups to put in the sink.

"I'm so glad you are home with us for Christmas break, dear. I miss having you here. Of course, I know you are missing that young man of yours."

"I know, Nana, I'm almost finished school, and I'll be back here before we know it, and teaching art. The headmaster already promised me the job because Mrs. Simpson is going to go live with her daughter in Wyoming this summer. It's a break for me, don't you know. I do miss Mark, but he wrote me a letter and said he would try to give me call tomorrow evening. He's been a huge help on his father's farm, especially since there is some sort of illness spreading amongst some of the animals. He's working with the local veterinarian and he loves it. Well, night, night."

"I'm going to go to bed too, girls. What about you, Mazie?"

"Me too. It's been a long couple of days, so emotional. I'll fix us breakfast tomorrow, how about that?"

"Sounds good, dear. I'm happy you are off this week, too. It was good of Doc Anderson to close the office except for emergencies, giving his head nurse time to spend with her sister and her grandmother. See you in the morning."

The three went to their rooms, but Agatha found it a bit difficult to sleep again. She took out her notebook, and added to Oswald's page:

Seemed to have had an angry conversation with the mayor before the tree lighting

She scanned the pages just to see if they had missed anything, but her notes didn't give her the answers she required. It would come, rest assured, it would rise to the surface of her mind. She closed the notebook and drifted off to sleep.

### Chapter Twelve

Friday morning, December 27, 1946

The fragrance of bacon frying, tea brewing, scrambled eggs, and biscuits in the oven lured Agatha and Samara to the kitchen without having to be summoned by Mazie.

"This smells really good, Sis. Can't believe you're such a good cook," Samara said as she poured the tea for the three of them.

"Well, we've got a full day ahead of us, eh. We need to start out with a robust meal to get us going. You're sculpture is being judged this afternoon at 3:00, right?"

"Yes. The winner will be announced at four. Have you practiced you songs enough for the Snow Ball tonight, you think?"

"I really don't know why everyone keeps asking me if I'm ready. Yes! I'm ready!" She knew she sounded testy, but, after all, it was becoming the question of the day. "Thought I'd check around this morning with some of my friends to see if they saw anything at the tree lighting. Nana, you be careful when you talk to Oswald Benson this morning. I'm not feeling too good about you going there alone."

"Don't you worry about me, I'll be fine, don't you know," Agatha said taking a bite of a biscuit. "This is delicious, dear. I'll stop in to see him first thing with the painting you gave me for Christmas, Samara, and have him make a frame for it. That will give me a legitimate reason for going to his shop, and I'll try to be careful with my questions. After that I'll go to the bakery to find out if I can learn anything from Elizabeth. How about we meet at the Superior Lunch Café about twelve thirty and compare notes? Will that work for you Samara? You'll be finished with your sculpture by then?"

"That will work, Nana, I don't have much left to do on it. I'll see what new information I can find too."

They cleaned up the kitchen, feeling full and satisfied, put on their coats and gloves, and left the house.

***

Agatha walked towards Benson's Hardware and Nursery with the painting in a large tote. She passed by the tug-of-war game where folks were shouting and applauding for each team. It made her feel warm inside to see people enjoying themselves without a clue that another murder had taken place. She smiled, waved to the crowd, and walked into the shop. She found a note posted on the counter that read:

_I'm in the greenhouse if you need me._  
_Oswald_

Agatha entered through the door that connected the greenhouse to the hardware store, and discovered Oswald bending over some strange looking plants that were under some lights.

"Morning, Oswald."

Startled, he jerked his head up, "Mornin', Mrs. Larsen. You scared me. Guess I wasn't expectin' anyone so early, eh. Do you need somethin' from the store?"

"Yes, I want you to make a frame for this painting my granddaughter gave me for Christmas. She's quite the artist, don't you know."

Oswald moved stealthily away from the odd vegetation. It had an alarming effect on Agatha, and she was certain she had interrupted him doing something he didn't want anyone to see.

"Is this a bad time? I can come back later."

"No, this is fine. We have to go into the shop so's I can measure and so's you can pick out a frame."

Agatha's heart skipped a few beats as she followed the red headed, husky man, whose weathered face revealed he had spent years working outside. In spite of his gruff appearance though, he possessed the capacity to produce beautiful foliage, something one wouldn't expect from a person like Oswald Benson. While he looked for the tape measure, she ignored her fear of the man, and overcame it by making conversation.

"The Christmas carnival seems to be turning out real fine, after all, don't you know. The gazebo decorations are beautiful."

"Thanks," he grunted.

Taking a deep breath, and summoning up courage, she decided to go for it and said:

"Say, Oswald, did you ever get rid of that rat problem you had some months ago?"

She couldn't help but notice his face had turned an even brighter shade of red when he answered, "Haven't had any more problems."

As soon as he located the tape measure, he measured the painting.

"That's a relief, eh? I suppose the cyanide did the trick."

He kept his head down, but she noticed that his shoulders tensed up when she mentioned the poison.

Quickly, she changed the subject.

"What do you think of this painting? Samara really captured the Ojibwe village of old, don't you think? Anna would probably enjoy seeing this. She around?"

"She's not feelin' well today. I told her to stay in bed and get some rest," he said without responding to the painting that represented ancestors of his wife, Anna. He thrust the sample frames in front of her, making it clear he wanted her to leave his shop as quickly as possible.

She opted for the dark cherry frame. "That will look good in my living room. When do you think it will be ready?"

"I can have it for you by the end of next week. I'm overly busy right now. Behind because of the carnival."

"The carnival does keep most folks busy. I'm glad for that. This year in particular. Keeps all of our minds off the murder of the mayor." Agatha was losing fear and becoming braver. "By the way, speaking of that tragedy, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary that night when you, Elizabeth, and Sandra went up to the gazebo?"

"No, I was too busy puttin' up the last minute holly Anna insisted we needed." The edge in his voice grew sharper, but Agatha Larsen prodded even further.

"I noticed you and Max appeared to have words before the tree lighting. You seemed a bit disturbed with him. Of course, many people found him rather irritating to be around."

"Look, Mrs. Larsen, if you're trying to accuse me of killing the mayor, you're way off. I did not kill him, but I applaud the one who did and would love to shake his hand. He got what he deserved."

"Why are you so pleased that Max was murdered?"

"Have a nice day, Mrs. Larsen."

He swung around and headed to the back door, leaving Agatha with a lot to add to Oswald's page in her notebook.

### Chapter Thirteen

11:30 A.M., December 27, 1946

After leaving the hardware store, Agatha strolled along the sidewalk of the town square toward the Sand River Bakery to find the tug-of-war game still in progress. Behind the mob of folks, a group of boys were having a good old-fashioned snow ball fight. Fresh snow had landed during the night and early hours of the morning, and the boys took advantage of the new loose snow that made it easy to fashion the snow balls. Young people know how to find merriment in spite of the circumstances, Agatha thought. It's the kind of thing that brings pleasure to those who witness it.

She ambled over towards her granddaughter, whose gloved fingers continued to work magic as she added some finishing touches to her snow sculpture.

"Oh my, Samara, this is wonderful. I see a blue ribbon in your future. I need to go back home and get my camera. It looks finished to me, but is it?"

"Almost, Nana. I'll have it ready in about half an hour."

"Oh, that's good, dear. Say, have any of your friends stopped by to see you yet this morning?"

"Some have, but they didn't see anything suspicious the other night."

"Well, I'll leave you to your work, dear. I've got some things to report when we meet at the café for lunch. On my way to the bakery. See you later, dear."

"Okay, Nana."

A mass of people filled the bakery, making it difficult for Agatha to spot Elizabeth. She had hired some of the college students to help behind the counter, and to assist with the baking while they were home for Christmas break. Agatha finally spotted Sandra Becker, Elizabeth's assistant, whose dyed cherry red hair peeked through the openings in her hair net. Sandra had haled from Sacramento, California, arriving in Elkton about the same time Elizabeth did, and she had been one of a very few who Elizabeth befriended.

"We'll be with you in just a bit, Mrs. Larsen," Sandra barked over the hoard of people.

"I just need to talk with Elizabeth, but I can see this probably isn't the best time?"

"She's in the back working on the cake for the Snow Ball. If it isn't going to take too long, you can probably go on back."

"Thanks, Sandra, I believe I will do just that."

Elizabeth, hunched over a very large sphere of cake, raised her head just slightly when Agatha poked her head in the doorway to the back of the bakery.

"Do you need something, Mrs. Larsen?" she asked without making eye contact.

"Yes, if you don't mind. I'm trying to figure out a few things about the night Mayor Mueller was murdered. You mind if I ask you some questions?"

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "I don't know how I could be of help." While she spoke, she applied white fluffy frosting to what would soon evolve into a giant snow ball cake.

"You walked through the crowd with Oswald Benson and Sandra carrying the holly, and you were on the gazebo before Maximilian and Greta stepped up there. Did you notice anything that seemed odd? Maybe something that you may not have thought strange at the time, but in hindsight?"

"No."

"I know how busy you are right now, but are you certain? Did you see Oswald talking with the mayor earlier?"

"I'm certain. Oswald finished his conversation with the mayor when Sandra and I got there, and the three of us went to the gazebo." Elizabeth continued to frost the large snow ball.

"I won't keep you much longer, Elizabeth, I know you have a lot to do, but I just want to ask a couple of more questions, and then I'll leave you to your work. How did Oswald seem to you after he talked with Mayor Mueller?"

"He was his usual grumpy self. Do you think he killed the mayor?"

"I don't know, I'm just trying to figure it out. One more thing. Had you noticed any trouble that Maggie May Schultz may have incurred when she walked around this area of the square?"

Elizabeth popped her head up from the work of art in progress. "Maggie May? Why no. I never saw anything out of the ordinary. I'm sorry that I can't help you, but I've got to get this cake finished, and then I've got a hundred cupcakes to frost."

"Of course, dear. I'm sorry to have bothered you, but thank you anyway. If you should think of something, let me know."

Agatha walked back into the shop to find even more folks crowded at the counter. Amongst them stood Theodore Olsen.

"Morning, Theodore. Seems we keep running into each other here."

The bank president nodded his head enough to be sociable, and said, "Morning, Mrs. Larsen. I'm just picking up some cookies for the bank employees and our customers." His order fulfilled, he paid and left the bakery before Agatha had a chance to respond.

What's with him, anyway, she thought. Always grouchy, always seems so secretive. For the first time in her investigation, she opted to start a page in her notebook on Theodore Olsen. She found an empty seat at the table with the pink cloth, and took out her notebook that she kept handy these days.

She wrote Theodore Olsen's name on the top of a fresh page.

He is grumpier than usual  
Was mad at the council meeting, while others were sad and shocked  
I think he knows more than meets the eye

On the page entitled, Oswald Benson, she added:

Had strange looking plants that he obviously didn't want me to see  
Was glad the mayor was murdered  
Wanted to shake the hand of the murderer  
He was hiding something

She started another page on Elizabeth Smith that read:

Saw Oswald finishing up a conversation with Max  
I think she saw something and is afraid to say it

Agatha pondered over her notes, and wishing she knew more. Her son's words kept playing in her head like a constant record turning round and round. This wasn't a story on the Ellery Queen Mystery Radio program that she was so good at solving, and it didn't compare to an Agatha Christie novel either. She dwelt in a real life drama. Two murders in her quiet town where folks were close to one another, always willing to be of help to their fellow neighbors. Things weren't adding up. She had to find answers, and she must find them soon. Her thoughts were interrupted when she looked up to see the sheriff standing over her, not looking too happy.

"Mrs. Larsen," he said in a stern voice. "Why do I have the feeling you are playing detective trying to solve this case?"

"Whatever do you mean, Sheriff?" she responded in an innocent tone.

"You know what I mean, Mrs. Larsen. I can't begin to tell you how dangerous it is for a novice to try to investigate a murder. You might come face to face with the murderer and ask one too many questions. I don't want another murder to solve. Especially yours, eh."

"I hear you, don't you know. Have you found out anything?" she hoped.

"Not yet, but even though you don't think so, we are working on this."

They said their goodbyes and Agatha sauntered over to the Superior Lake Café to meet the girls for lunch.

### Chapter 14

12:30 P.M., December 27, 1946

Ingrid Young, owner of the Superior Lake Café, was an Ojibwe Indian, whose family had left the reservation before her birth to dwell in Bayfield. At the age of eighteen, she met Leo Young, an Elkton native, and ran off to marry him. The family had owned the restaurant for two generations before Leo and his new wife had taken it over. Then fifteen years ago Leo died suddenly of an undiagnosed illness, leaving Ingrid alone to raise their two daughters, and to manage the café. The townspeople would be hard pressed to find anybody who had the cooking skills of Ingrid Young.

Full of spunk and joy, the slightly plump Ingrid had strands of grey that sparkled throughout her dark brownish black hair that she wore pulled back in a bun. Her high cheek bones, natural tan skin, and brown almond shaped eyes reflected her Ojibwe heritage, and made her look younger than her fifty years. She spotted Agatha just as she arrived in the crowded restaurant.

"Hey, Mrs. Larsen, you gonna' need a table or are you ordering out today?"

"I'll be needing a table for the girls and me. I don't mind waiting, though. Good crowd today, eh."

"There are just a few folks ahead of you. Won't be too much longer."

Agatha positioned herself in line behind Doc and Nora Anderson, who stood behind Gertie Bolber, spinster, town gossip and owner of Gertie's Grocery Store.

"Hey, Mrs. Larsen," Nora said to the woman who had given her so much back when she had been her struggling student. "The carnival sure is bringing out the folks, eh. So glad under the circumstances. Saw Samara's sculpture. Looks like a winner to me."

"Yes, I feel certain she will win, or is that just the voice of a proud grandmother? Any hey, I agree the carnival is bringing a calmness to the whole community, don't you know. Say, how are you, Miss Gertie?"

"Doing fine. Had to come pick up an order to take back to the store. We're busier than usual. Love the carnival." Just then Ingrid called Gertie's name letting her know the pasties she had asked for earlier in the day were ready. "Gotta' go. See you later."

As Gertie walked out the door, Theodore Olsen and his loan officer, Sebastian Becker came into the café, and stood behind Agatha.

"Well, Theodore, here we are again. One thing for sure, we know we are both getting plenty to eat. Nice to see you, Sebastian. Enjoying the carnival?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sandra and I are having a great time. Got to see the snowman competition this morning. Those kids did a great job, and were having fun doing it."

Theodore nodded towards Agatha in an attempt to be polite, but the scowl in his eyes indicated that he would have preferred to ignore her.

Amid the idle chit-chat, one by one, the line grew shorter. Since many were ordering food to take out, Agatha soon found herself seated at a corner table where it was quiet. The girls joined her just minutes later, and they each ordered a nice hearty bowl of stew, along with some hot tea.

Eating the savory food, they brought each other up to date on what they had learned.

Mazie said, "I found someone who heard some of the conversation between Oswald Benson and the mayor--none other than my best friend, Tyra King. She told me Oswald said something like, 'No more, Max. I'm done. You don't have anything.' Then the mayor kind of laughed and said, 'Oh we're not done. I have plenty.' That's all she heard, but she thought it was weird."

"That is strange. Sounds like blackmail? What plentiful thing did Max have? Oh criminey, this gets more mysterious as we gather more information."

"I heard something today, but I don't know if it means anything or not," Samara said after swallowing a bite of the stew. "Some of the children walked by while I was putting on the finishing touches on the sculpture, and they were singing their version of one of Maggie May's poems. I felt sad when I heard them, but it made me think she may have known what was going on with Mayor Mueller. The words went something like this:

' _The mayor and the masquerader were meeting on the street,_

But now they won't be walking on icy feet.

Fish aren't the only thing that people want to buy

_There's more than meets the eye_.'

That's all they sang, but don't you think there could be something to it?"

Agatha felt a pang in her heart at hearing the similar words her dear departed friend used to sing in the square, but it brought an even greater determination to find out who killed Maggie May and Maximilian.

"I remember that poem. We've got to see if we can recall the exact words. I'll work on it later today. I had an interesting visit with Oswald Benson too. He was in the greenhouse bending over some strange looking plants that were under some lights. He also said he wanted to shake the hand of Max's murderer because he felt elated over his death."

"Nana, what did the plants look like?" Mazie asked.

Agatha described the green plants with narrow pointed leaves that fanned outward.

Mazie swallowed a sip of the hot tea. "Hmmm, that sounds like marijuana. Did you see that piece in the paper about the drug smuggling? There was a picture of the marijuana accompanying the article. Why don't I stop by the green house and check it out? This could be what the mayor had on Mr. Benson."

"Oh dear, do be careful. Oswald Benson makes me very uncomfortable. Don't go alone. Take Tyra with you. Having the deputy's daughter with you should keep you safe, but if he is into drug smuggling, this could be a very dangerous situation." Taking a pause and eating the last bite of her stew, Agatha then continued, "I almost forgot to tell you about my visit with Elizabeth Smith. Since she is a bit overworked this week and is so shy, it's hard to read her, but I believe she knows more than she is letting on. Just what that is, I don't know. I'm thinking she may have seen something and is afraid to say anything. Also, I think I'm going to pay another visit to Greta Mueller today. I'm certain she is having an affair. Maybe she knows something about Oswald and Max's relationship."

Agatha took a last sip of her tea, when Mazie said:

"Don't worry, Nana, I'll be very careful. Tell me the exact spot where you saw the plants."

Agatha informed her granddaughter where to look, and the three finished their meals. The girls left their grandmother, who had retrieved her trusty notebook from her purse, adding the information they had shared. She tried to remember the exact words of Maggie May's poems, but for the moment could only write what Samara said the children were singing. She closed up the book, waved a goodbye to Ingrid, and left the café.

Theodore had been sitting at the next table with his back to the trio of detectives, and had taken in every word they had communicated. He had to stop them from further investigation. He didn't know how, but he would figure out a way.

### Chapter Fifteen

After lunch, December 27, 1946

Mazie and Tyra walked into Benson's Hardware and Nursery to find Oswald working on a picture frame. He glanced up from his work when they approached him.

"Say hey, Mr. Benson. Is that my grandmother's frame you're building? It looks beautiful."

"It is. Do you girls need somethin'?"

"Um, yes, my mom wanted me to pick up a few poinsettias if you have any left. We need more decorations for the Snow Ball," Tyra answered. Of course, her mother didn't actually send her there. That's just the plan she and Mazie had concocted.

"I got some in the greenhouse. How many do ya want?"

"She said to pick up as many as I can." It hadn't been a complete untruth. They never seemed to have enough décor, even though her mother didn't know anything about this.

"I'll bring ya what I've got," he said as he walked towards the back of the store.

"We'll go with you to help carry them," Mazie said while she and Tyra followed the gruff man.

Upon entering the greenhouse, Mazie's eyes searched for the location where her grandmother had seen the plants. Finding it, she sacheted over to the site, and conveniently dropped her purse. Bending over to pick it up, she looked under the bottom shelf and spotted one lone stem of a marijuana plant. He must have been in such a hurry to remove the evidence, that he overlooked it, she thought. He even took the lights. She stood in time to see that Oswald Benson hadn't missed her actions. Fear began to mount up in the pit of her stomach.

Tyra jumped in to say, "I think these will be enough, Mr. Benson. My mom said to make out a bill and send it to her. She'll pay you later with the carnival allotment. We can carry these. Thanks."

The two girls practically leapt from the greenhouse, each toting poinsettias, and didn't look back until they made it to the street.

"Whew! That was close, but I did find a piece of what looked like the picture of the marijuana I saw in the paper. We've got to let Nana know about this right away," Mazie said, her heart still pounding.

"We should let my father know about this, Mazie," Tyra spoke with fear in her voice.

"Let's tell Nana first. She's keeping a notebook of information we've been gathering. Plus she's checking out a few more things today, and will probably have more to tell him. This is really starting to get scary. Let's go while we still can."

More than relieved when they left, Oswald Benson stood near the window glaring at the two nosey young women. He had seen Mazie deliberately drop her purse right where the marijuana plants had been located when her grandmother had walked in on him earlier that day. The former fish tug builder hurried back to the greenhouse, looked under the counter, and spotted the one little piece of evidence that could put him behind bars. Sheer panic gripped his soul. He had to get out of there right away.

### Chapter Sixteen

2:30 P.M. December 27, 1946

Instead of paying another visit to Greta Mueller, Agatha opted to catch her later, thinking it might be a good idea to go back to Maggie May's house, and give it a more thorough search than the earlier one with the sheriff.

Agatha used the back door key she had withheld, but to her surprise she didn't need a key. The door was no longer locked. She knew without a doubt that the sheriff had locked it before they left yesterday. She went into the kitchen, and found Maggie's keys hanging on the designated hook. Looking through her notes, Agatha was reminded that on the previous day the keys had been missing, both doors had been locked, and a navy blue scarf had been on the floor that Mazie had placed on the back of a chair which had now disappeared.

Outside in the back yard, the new snow which had fallen during the night and early morning blanketed the footprints and the place where Maggie's corpse had lain. But the indentations still acted as a grim reminder of the tragic event.

"Oh criminey," she spoke aloud, but then realized she might not be alone in the house. No, that couldn't be, she thought, it was just fear talking because there had been no new footprints, other than hers, in the fresh snow in the back yard. Had the sheriff come back to the house? Did he take the scarf for some sort of evidence? It didn't make sense. Where would he have found the keys that now hung in their rightful place?

She decided to go through Maggie's closets, and bureau drawers, but the hand-knitted scarf didn't appear in any of them. Agatha then searched through the desk and the kitchen drawer, where Maggie threw miscellaneous items, looking for some sort of a clue as to why this dear woman had been murdered. Apart from the missing scarf, the unlocked back door, and the returned keys, she found nothing.

Agatha sat down at the kitchen table where she and Maggie had often shared a cup of tea, and talked and laughed about their school days. She added the new facts she had discovered to her notebook. The missing scarf seemed to be such an insignificant thing in and of itself. But it must have been important to someone. The murderer?

She turned to the page where she had written the snippets of the poem the children had shared with Samara earlier. Agatha pleaded with her mind to bring all of Maggie's original words to the surface of her memory.

The mayor and masquerader were meeting on the street  
But now they won't be walking on icy feet.

Agatha spoke aloud to break through the unnerving silence that continued to fill the house. "Who was the masquerader? Or was there such a person? And what did Maggie mean about the icy feet? Oh, Maggie, whatever did you mean? Why didn't we take your poems seriously?"

Fish aren't the only thing that people want to buy  
There's more than meets the eye.

"I need to think. I know there were more words to these poems. I've got to remember. What on earth does she mean that fish aren't the only thing people want to buy? And how did Maggie May know about such things? More questions. Less answers. Anyway, I've got to call the sheriff. Someone has been in this house since yesterday, and I'm certain it wasn't him."

She left a telephone message with the receptionist at the sheriff's office for James to call her as soon as possible. Upon placing the handset on the receiver, Agatha Larsen knew she had a lot more thinking to do. For some reason, she felt these poems were important just like the scarf. Once she located the owner of that, she felt confident she would know the murderer. Who else would come back to the scene of the crime?

### Chapter Seventeen

3:45 P.M. December 27, 1946

Agatha spent more time at Maggie's than she expected. Fortunately, she had fifteen minutes before the announcement of the winner of the snow sculpture. She hurried over to Samara's booth, and joined Alex and Erica, along with a host of others. They hugged and waited with anticipation.

The rules were that each sculpture had to be sculpted completely out of snow, and had to reflect something specific in and around Elkton. There were ten entries, but three of them stood out. One was Samara's sculpted family of black bears sleeping in their cozy den. The one next to her displayed a fish tug "floating" on Lake Superior with many fish piled on top. A third sculpture of an elk family standing in front of a background of sculpted pine trees looked to be another stiff competition.

"Have the judges finished looking at everyone's sculptures, dear?" Agatha asked her artist granddaughter.

"They have, Nana. We're all just waiting to hear the results. I really think John Henderson's elk family is the real winner here, eh, but I'm still hopeful," Samara replied, then whispered so her dad didn't hear, "Did you get to visit with Mrs. Mueller?"

Agatha shook her head slightly. She mouthed the word, "Later."

Just then, Mazie arrived with Tyra, but she knew she would have to wait to tell her grandmother what she learned at Benson's Hardware and Nursery. Giving her a hug, she whispered, "I've got something very important to tell you." Agatha gave her hand a little squeeze of acknowledgement.

The three judges were: art teacher, Mrs. Simpson; local artist, Henry Holden; and the winner three years previous, Arthur Drummond. With white, red, and blue ribbons in tote, they approached the podium. Mrs. Simpson spoke for the trio.

"This is the hardest competition we have ever had to judge, eh. But after much deliberation, it is my pleasure to announce the third place winner, Justin Abbot for his rendition of the fish tug industry." Everyone clapped while Justin received the white ribbon.

"Second place is awarded to Miss Samara Larsen for her black bear family." Everyone cheered again.

With a deliberate pause, Mrs. Simpson announced, "And the blue ribbon goes to John Henderson for his depiction of the elk family." The crowd roared with delight while the artists felt a sense of pride mixed with relief the competition had ended.

Proud parents, Alex and Erica hugged their daughter with delight. "You did an amazing job. I suppose they'll take down the shelters and scoop the sculptures away after the ice hockey game, just like in past years," Erica said with her arm around her daughter. "Makes me kind of sad after knowing how hard you all worked on them."

"That's what we've been told. I, for one, am glad to give up handling the snow, but we had fun working together. John deserved the blue ribbon. I'm very happy for him."

"Well, we're pleased with the results, dear," Agatha responded to Samara. "You girls are coming back to my house, right?"

They nodded, and the three sauntered over to Agatha's residence arm in arm. Residing on Superior Lake Drive, just a block over from the square, Agatha could walk to everything she needed. It's what made Elkton such a great place to live, but when she needed to drive her 1938 grey Pontiac, it was there for her.

Pulling off their heavy coats, gloves, boots and scarves, Agatha said, "Let me fix some hot tea. We'll talk in the kitchen."

With the familiar notebook spread open on the kitchen table, Agatha told the girls about her visit to Maggie May's house where she discovered the returned keys, the unlocked back door, and that the scarf was missing.

"Oh, Nana, what is going on?" Samara exclaimed.

Mazie quickly jumped in with her information of what she found at Benson's Hardware. "It was definitely marijuana. I don't think I acted subtle enough because Oswald kept glaring at me. We made it out of there faster than a couple of rabbits being chased by a hound."

"Oh criminey, things are starting to get out of hand. I left a message for the sheriff to call me. He has got to be informed about this."

Samara sat studying the notebook when she came across Theodore Olsen's page. "What is this about Mr. Olsen? What makes you think he knows something?"

"I'm not sure, dear, but I keep running into him and he appears to be aggravated every time he sees me. There's just something that doesn't feel right about him. You know, it's still early. I think I'll try to visit with Greta. You girls go on home and spend some time with your parents. I'll be over in a bit."

### Chapter Eighteen

5:00 P.M. December 27, 1946

Agatha walked the three blocks distance to Greta's house, arriving just as Theodore Olsen, of all people, stepped out of the front door.

"Theodore, we can't keep meeting like this," she said trying to spin a slight bit of humor into the uncomfortable situation.

"Just paying my condolences to Greta, Mrs. Larsen, as I'm sure you are as well. I expect I'll be seeing you again at the ball tonight?"

He left before she could respond, but Greta greeted her at the same time, which eased the moment. Agatha had to wonder if Theodore had been the one who had sneaked out of Greta's back door when she had first visited the young widow.

"Hello, Greta, dear. I hope you don't mind another prying visit from an old woman. I just wanted to know if you had a chance to go through any of Max's things yet."

"Come in, Mrs. Larsen. I'm glad to see you. I still haven't gone through his things, but I did remember something that I had totally forgotten about when you were here the first time. Come, let's sit in the living room."

Greta sat upon a soft blue Queen Anne style chair, and Agatha took a seat across from her on the sofa of the same color.

Greta continued, "I think an intruder came into our house on the night of the Christmas program. When Max and I got here, he went into his study, came out and asked if I had been in his desk. Of course, I never messed with his things because he always put them in a particular kind of order. He told me his papers weren't the way he left them—remember his eye for details? They looked as if though someone had rummaged through them, and then put them back in what was thought to be the same order."

"Do you know what the papers were?" Agatha asked.

"No, but we can go into his study if you would like. Maybe we can find something that might be helpful."

The two women looked through the desk drawers and the file cabinet, but found nothing outstanding. They did find, however, a folder that contained newspaper clippings about a bank robbery that took place in Sacramento, California in 1945.

"What is this about, Greta?"

"Oh that. When we went to visit my cousin, Sheila, in Sacramento back in '45, this bank robbery had just taken place. Every day the newspaper carried more information about it and Max became almost obsessed over it. He told me he wanted to write a fiction book based on the robbery."

"Hmm. May I take this folder with me? Would you mind? It probably has nothing to do with any of this, but for some reason I think I need to look into it."

"Of course."

With a quick change in subject, that would not allow Greta time to prepare an answer, Agatha hit her with, "Are you having an affair with Theodore Olsen, Greta? I know someone was here yesterday, and the two half cups of tea didn't go unnoticed by me."

Her jaw dropped in shock, but she answered with some sort of dignity as best she could. "Not Theodore Olsen! Never! But I was having an affair. I broke it off a few days before the murder. You don't need his name. I know he had nothing to do with this."

"Oh, but my dear, I most assuredly do want his name. He may well have had something to do with it. After all, he was at your home after the murder, so I'm not so sure that the affair is really over. At least on his part, anyway, don't you know. Don't hold it back, dear Greta. I'm not here to judge. I just want answers as I'm certain you do too."

Taking a deep breath, Greta said, "It's true he came to see me yesterday, and he was at the tree lighting. It's all such a blur. I don't know what my feelings are at this point, but I do know that Paul Miller couldn't hurt a flea." She put her head down into her welcoming hands and began to sob.

"Paul Miller? I do remember seeing him at the tree lighting. In fact, I planned on giving him a call to ask if he noticed anything out of the ordinary that night. So, he came to see you. Did you talk to him that night?"

Greta dabbed her eyes, sat up, straightened her shoulders, and answered the question. "Yes. He approached me while Max and I were separated for those few minutes. I told him I couldn't talk to him there. He'd have to wait. I'd call him, I said."

"How did he respond to that?"

"He wasn't too happy, but he certainly understood we couldn't have a rendezvous right there in front of Max and the whole town. Look, Mrs. Larsen, I'm positive Paul couldn't have killed Max. He never went near him because he didn't want to call attention to himself where Max was concerned."

"Greta, I appreciate your honesty, and I will do everything I can to keep this information confidential, but my granddaughters will have to know about it because we are working on this investigation together. I promise you they will not say a word to anyone about it. We just have to ascertain all of the facts, so we have a complete picture. You understand, dear?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Larsen. For some reason I feel better having gotten this off of my chest. If there is anything else I can help you with, please come by any time. The sheriff and his deputy haven't even called me, let alone come to see me, and I find that rather odd."

"I'm sure they will contact you soon, dear. They're probably just giving you a little time to yourself." But Agatha thought _why haven't they been to see Greta_?

### Chapter Nineteen

6:00 P.M. December 27, 1946

Agatha sat at her kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate topped with a marshmallow, and opened her notebook. She started a new page for Paul Miller and wrote:

Having an affair with Greta Mueller  
Was at the tree lighting  
Was Greta's mystery visitor

She added to Greta's page:

Had affair with Paul Miller, but told me she broke it off before Max was killed  
I think she still loves him  
She thought they had an intruder the night of the Christmas program  
Max's papers weren't in the right order  
Max was obsessed with a 1945 Sacramento bank robbery  
Greta gave me the newspaper clippings about the robbery

She fixed a quick tuna sandwich, and considered the facts of this investigation while she ate. None of what she had learned made a whole lot of sense. For one thing how did any of this connect Max with Maggie? Maggie saw something that got her killed, she thought. I've got to remember the exact words to her poems.

Chewing on both her food and the facts she had gleaned, Agatha suddenly remembered she hadn't checked her mail yet. The letter box was full, and it included a letter from an old school chum, the telephone bill, and an unstamped envelope that had only her name typed on the outside.

She opened it to find a type-written note that read:

" _Stop snooping—you could get hurt if you don't. Just might meet the same end as your friend and the mayor."_

Shaking, Agatha telephoned Sheriff Lange at his home. Within five minutes of her call he sat in her living room, and the two looked over the note. Then she told James all she and the girls had learned thus far--the shifting of the papers in Max's study, the missing scarf, the unlocked back door, the marijuana plants in Oswald's greenhouse, his argument with the mayor the night of the murder, and the fact he had cyanide in his shed. Even Maggie May's poems weren't left off her list of facts she shared with the law man.

"Mrs. Larsen, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. This note is the very reason I didn't want you to get involved—you and your granddaughters. But I do have to say you have learned quite a bit of information. I wonder who went into Mrs. Schultz's house. It had to be the murderer returning to see if there was any crucial evidence left behind. The scarf had to belong to our murderer. Did it look familiar to you?"

"No, I can't say off the top of my head at this moment." Agatha had reached a place of irritability and found herself taking it out on James. "Sheriff, Greta told me you haven't even been by to ask her any questions. Why is that? I wouldn't have to snoop around if you were doing your job, James."

"We've been doing more than you think, Mrs. Larsen. We know all about Oswald's cyanide in his shed. We've approached him about it, and he told us someone broke into his shed the night of the Christmas program. Whoever did it, broke the lock, stole the cyanide, and swished the snow in front of the shed to hide footprints. Oswald didn't want to tell us about it, so he replaced the lock and kept quiet, especially when he learned that's what killed the mayor. We are doing our job, Mrs. Larsen, and we don't need your help. Let me have that note. I doubt we'll find any fingerprints on it except for yours, but we'll check it anyway."

"I'm sorry that I got snippy with you, James. This thing is all wrapped up in me and I can't stop searching to find out who murdered Max and my best friend. I must be getting close or I wouldn't have received this note. You've got to let me help you. I'm going to with or without your permission. What do you say, James? I'll keep you in the loop, I promise."

"I have to admit, you have learned more than we have, but I'm hesitant to let you help, even though I see I have no choice in this matter. Just be very careful and make sure you tell me everything, you hear me?"

"Oh, yes, James, I hear you and I will tell you everything," she said as she thought about the affair and the news clippings she had already withheld, and the fact she didn't have a good feeling about Theodore Olsen. She'd let him know when she knew more.

They said their good-byes and Agatha dressed for the Snow Ball.

### Chapter Twenty

7:30 P.M. December 27, 1946

At first, Sheriff James Lange had been a bit put out by his old elementary school teacher when she accused him of not doing his job, but he had to admit he hadn't put into the case what he should have. The whole thing was so overwhelming to him. After all, he had never investigated a murder.

Ten years ago he had been the deputy to the now deceased Jeffrey Holden. The hardest thing they had during that time was the hunting accident of Victor Hall, which had never made sense to him. It still didn't seem possible that Victor could have accidently shot himself in the head, especially since he knew how to handle fire arms. In spite of his feelings on the matter, however, they had no evidence to the contrary, and were forced to rule it an accidental death. And now he had two real murders on his hands with no clear idea of where to look for answers. He actually felt thankful to Mrs. Larsen for her help. She had, without her knowledge, lifted a huge boulder from his shoulders, because she had already uncovered far more than he had.

He drove over to Bensons' Hardware and Nursery to find the store front locked, so he made a quick drive over to Oswald's house. Darkness surrounded the place with no sign of life. Even the parking spot in front of the home sat vacant. James knocked on the door when it opened on its own.

"Oswald, Anna, anybody home?" he called out.

No answer.

He turned on the lights to the living room that exposed newspapers scattered all over the place, an empty box on the floor, and sparse amounts of furniture. The sheriff went into the bedrooms, encountering an even more troubling scene. The closet contained a few shirts and bare hangers, while half-open vacant bureau drawers hung from their designated positions. Oswald and Anna were gone.

Because Oswald had some family in Bayfield, James called ahead to the Bayfield police to be on the lookout for the Benson's, and issued a warrant for his arrest for possession of marijuana and as a possible murder suspect. Then he called Deputy Jonathan King telling him to meet him at the greenhouse.

James Lange brought his deputy up to date with all he had learned from Mrs. Larsen, including the threatening note she had received. "I've gotta' tell you, I'm glad she's looking into this, but I'm afraid for her at the same time."

"I'm thinking I have to agree with you. Do you think we should let her keep investigating? Or do we really have a choice in the matter?" Jonathan said.

"Yeah, right. There's no choice. She's gonna' do what she wants to do and that's that. But we've got to look into some of the things she's found. Although, I have a sneaky suspicion she knows more than she told me, and that's the part that makes me uneasy. Let's take another look into this shed and see what we can find."

The door of the shed stood slightly ajar, and when they looked inside, they weren't surprised to find it completely empty. Then they went into the unlocked back door of the greenhouse, and searched for any remnants of the marijuana, but after an extensive exploration they assumed Oswald had cleared it out.

"I've got to call Mrs. Larsen to warn her. Then we've got to head over to the Red Cliff Indian Reservation right away. Anna's aunt and uncle and two cousins live over there. I've got Bayfield police on the alert. Let's go, eh."

Agatha hung up the telephone after James warned her to lock her doors because Oswald had left town, but he just might try to come to her house. After obeying the sheriff, she sat nervously in her late husband's chair. Surely, Oswald won't come here. He's going to want to get as far away as possible, she thought. Of course, there is a good possibility that he isn't the murderer, that we're barking up the wrong tree. I do have my doubts.

"Oh criminey. I'm not going to sit here in fear. I'm going to finish getting dressed for the Snow Ball and head over to Alex's". And that's exactly what she did.

### Chapter Twenty-0ne

8:00 P.M. December 27, 1946

The Elkton school gymnasium had been completely transformed, and no longer resembled the place where the students played basketball and volleyball. Instead cascades of holly draped every window. White cloths covered the walls. Each cloth hung in soft pleats, and was decorated with a wreath of fresh pine needles, ornaments and bows. A glittering mirror ball danced from the center of the ceiling, encircled by multiple streamers. Poinsettias in pots stood all around the perimeter of the gymnasium floor.

Off to the side a refreshment table covered by a red table cloth had holly spread across it. In the center a large mirror plate supported Elizabeth's huge snow ball cake that was covered in coconut, surrounded by a hundred cupcakes decorated in the same way. A large vat filled with hot chocolate and a sizeable coffee urn along with a variety of ceramic cups, finished off the food and drink table where Elizabeth Smith, Sandra Becker, Erica Larsen, and Nora Anderson officiated.

Mazie and her boyfriend, Gary Anderson, arrived looking like elegance personified. Her gown of silver satin hung gracefully on her slim body, accessorized with a long strand of pearls flattering the outfit. Tall, and handsome, Gary wore a black pin stripe suit that complimented his muscular physique.

Mazie went to join the orchestra located at the north end of the gym. A hush settled across the room when she began to sing "White Christmas" to kick off the dance. Her voice echoed throughout the room with such beauty that folks weren't sure whether to dance or just listen to the loveliness of it all, but the Snow King and Queen got the party started by going to the center of the converted gymnasium and dancing the first dance.

Agatha, adorned in a flowing gold satin dress that stopped just above her ankles, walked over to her daughter-in-law at the refreshment table, and asked for a hot chocolate.

"You and your team did a beautiful job on the decorations, dear."

"Thanks, Mother. It was a lot of work, but we sure did have fun."

"Say, Agatha and Erica, Mazie sure can croon a tune," Nora said as she helped someone to a steaming cup of hot coffee. "I'm so impressed with her ability hey,"

"We're sure proud of her, don't you know. And of course her sister too. They are the apples of my eyes," Agatha responded.

"I'm very impressed with those two girls," Sandra added while helping to cut the cake. "Being my first carnival, I am amazed at the talent in this town. Didn't know it would be so great here. Everyone is so friendly and welcoming. Sure am glad we left Sacramento."

"Well, we're happy to have you here, dear," Agatha responded.

Then Nora asked, "Where is Samara? She is coming to the ball isn't she?"

"Oh yes, she's coming. Should be here any minute," her mother answered. "Alex stayed behind so he could bring her. She received a phone call from her boyfriend just before we left the house. They're missing each other, and can't wait till school starts back up after this Christmas break. We were hoping he would get up here during the holiday, but it isn't going to work out. He's needed at home to help with some sick animals on his family's farm. Mark is taking pre-veterinary classes in Madison, and will transfer to another college when the time comes to get his degree to become a veterinarian." While pouring some coffee her eyes lit up when she saw Alex and a beaming Samara, dressed in a lovely emerald green floor-length satin gown.

"Hey, Mother, let's cut a rug, what do you say?" Alex said when the band started to play "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," a favorite of the community, especially when Mazie sang it.

The mother and son went out on the dance floor, wowing the crowd with their version of the swing dance. Before they knew it, everyone surrounded them, clapping and oohing and ahhing. As she danced with Alex, Agatha considered the Snow Ball to be a good diversion, enabling her to keep her mind off the threatening note, of which she had no intention of telling her son.

The townspeople, dressed in their finest fashions, brought a sense of décor of their own to the gymnasium-turned-ballroom. Reds and greens and silver and gold, and shades of blue aided in lighting up the room, and the joy they felt masked the trauma they had experienced just three nights ago. No one talked about the murder of the mayor. The subject of Maggie May Schultz's demise didn't come up either, but there were small groups of folks who talked about the recent Evelyn Dick murder trial, and how they hoped she wouldn't win her appeal coming up in February. Someone said it was just a little too close to home in Southern Ontario. This subject led to one that often occurred when a community event took place, that of the Victor Hall hunting accident because it had been the worst thing that had happened in the small town of Elkton until now. Snippets of these natters were caught by those within earshot.

"Never could believe that Victor shot himself accidently. Didn't make any sense, eh."

"No, but it sure was awful. Had to be hard on Max and Theodore."

"You think they saw it happen?"

"That's the way I heard it, but I never understood it, myself."

"It never made any sense to a lot of us. I, for one, still have questions about it after all of these years," said Tim Frank.

Theodore stood just a few feet away listening to all of the idle talk. He strode over to the group who were discussing the accident, deciding to set everyone straight once and for all about the death of Victor Hall.

"Listen, you people weren't there, but Max and I were. We were more than devastated when it happened. I was several yards away in one direction; Max was several yards away in another direction. We both heard the shot at the same time, thought one of us had bagged an elk. When we got to Victor, he was hunched over against a tree, blood pouring from his head. There was nothing either of us could do. That's the facts. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm tired of hearing about it." Theodore turned, grabbed Selma's arm, stomped out the door, and left in a huff, leaving behind a stunned audience, which included Agatha Larsen.

Clearly Theodore Olsen had more on his mind than met the eye, Agatha thought. More questions began to fill her mind. What really happened that fateful day ten years ago? And did it have something to do with Max's murder? She determined to add his outburst to his page in her notebook.

### Chapter Twenty-two

10:00 P.M. December 27, 1946

Agatha left the Snow Ball a little early. She had covered a lot of territory throughout the day, and she wanted to sit back on her sofa, and review some of what she had learned. Now donned in her comfortable pajamas, she turned to Theodore's page, and added his outburst, along with a few questions.

Why was he really visiting with Greta today?  
Why did he get so aggravated when he heard folks discussing the Victor Hall accident?  
Why is he more grumpy than usual?  
After all of these years, does the Victor Hall accident have something to do with Max's murder?

Agatha thought for a while. She never believed that Victor accidently shot himself. But what happened? Did Maximilian and Theodore witness a murder? If so, who had reason to kill Victor? Perhaps she needed to look into that incident a little more intensely. It just might possibly provide some sort of an answer as to why Max was poisoned. She made a note to check with Sheriff Lange to ask for the police report that deemed the incident to be an accident.

She picked up the folder that contained the news clippings of the bank robbery that had taken place in Sacramento, California in 1945. Photos of the robbers graced the pages of the Sacramento paper. There were four men in the gang and one woman, who went by the name of Babs Mahoney. One of the men had been shot and killed trying to get away and the other three were behind bars. They had turned against Babs since she apparently had gotten away with the money, and had not been found. She was described as a bleached blonde with blue eyes, a slight frame, and had the ability to change her looks. She was considered to be extremely dangerous. Her picture depicted someone Agatha would prefer not to meet any time soon, especially since Babs had killed the guard, or so her fellow robbers had stated.

Why would Max keep this? Did he really want to write a fiction account of the incident? She found a copy of a letter he had written to Greta's cousin, Sheila, asking her to continue to send him updates on the case. The most recent news clipping had a date on it of November 20, 1946 that expressed authorities were still on the lookout for Babs Mahoney. This provided Agatha with one more thing she didn't understand.

As she pondered over the photograph of Babs Mahoney, she found no resemblance to anyone she knew. For just a fleeting moment, though, Agatha thought about Sandra Becker who hailed from Sacramento, and had dyed red hair. But the photo bore no likeness to the bakery assistant. The article did say, however, that Babs had the ability to change her looks. Sandra's husband does work as a loan officer in the bank, she thought. Perhaps he was a silent partner in the robbery. Come to think of it, she had never heard of Sandra Becker's parents who supposedly lived in Bayfield. Had anyone in town ever met them? And could Elizabeth Smith have witnessed Sandra doing something that indicated her in the murder? Time to make a page about Sandra in her notebook.

And then there were Maggie May's poems. Agatha still needed to probe her brain to try to force out the exact words to Maggie May's poems. Turning to the page where she had recorded the fragments that Samara had given her, she pondered over it for quite some time in the silence of her home. Then she remembered Maggie's song on the day of the parade.

Its Christmas morning and things are not the same

No longer, no no longer, no no no

They will no longer meet

Upon their icy feet.

"I had stopped her from continuing this thing," Agatha spoke aloud to herself. "How I wish I hadn't done that now. Clearly it was the masquerader who wouldn't be meeting on the icy feet. Still wish I knew who that represents or if it is meaningless information."

She needed to talk to some folks around town who may have recalled some of Maggie's poems. The one most likely to remember something word for word has to be the town gossip, Gertie Bolber, owner of Gertie's Grocery Store. Nobody found out things in this town faster than that woman, who possessed the memory of an elephant to boot. Agatha elected to go to the store the next day, and try to pick Gertie's brain. In spite of the evidence pointing to Oswald Benson, she had a sick feeling he wasn't the murderer, and she knew in her heart she had to keep on digging deeper.

She put her notebook and clippings away, got into bed and curled up with "The Hollow" that she still wanted to finish reading. Maybe Agatha Christie could give her some pointers on how to solve this mess.

### Chapter Twenty-three

9:00 A.M. December 28, 1946

Mr. and Mrs. Bolber had purchased the local grocery store when their little daughter, Gertie turned two, naming it "Gertie's Grocery Store." Since their deaths a few years ago, forty-year- old Gertie had been managing the store with an amazing ability, surprising most folks with her business savvy. Short and slightly plump, with a wide forehead that peeked out from under her medium length dark brown permed hair, Gertie looked older than her age. High cheek bones were a remnant of a reminder that her great-great-grandmother was an Ojibwe, a heritage that brought her a sense of confident pride. Remaining a spinster, legend alleged that as a twenty-year- old she had a lover who resided at the Red Cliff Indian Reservation, but he left her broken-hearted, causing her to be gun shy against getting involved with anyone again. It isn't certain if the story is true, but most folks have always sworn it to be an accurate account of Gertie's past.

Gertie not only knew everyone in town, she also knew everybody's business, and never forgot a thing. Therefore, one could always count on Miss Bolber for the latest gossip that she managed to ascertain before anyone else. It remained a mystery to the folks of Elkton where she found her information, but they just assumed she possessed some sort of a gift.

Agatha trekked into the store at nine o'clock a.m. to find a crowd already converging at the meat counter where Gertie, along with two of her employees, waited on customers as quickly and accurately as possible. Since she couldn't get to her at that moment, Agatha decided to pick up a few items, opting to return a little later. Walking away, she overheard Gertie telling someone that the sheriff has been on the lookout for Oswald Benson, that he may have killed the mayor. How did Gertie learn this information?

The next thing she heard stopped her in her tracks. Gertie shouted to a person Agatha couldn't see, "Is that a new scarf? Been knittin'? I like the one you usually wear too."

Just before the mystery person could answer, the whole Elkton ice hockey team charged into the store and chanted, "Whose gonna win? We're gonna win! Bayfield doesn't have a chance 'cause we're gonna melt their ice!" The crowd cheered and clapped, and were looking forward to the ice hockey game to be played later that day, marking the end of the Christmas carnival.

Agatha searched through the mass of people to make a mental list of who stood at the meat counter, but there were too many, most of whom wore hand-knitted scarves. It was hard for her to concentrate when folks kept stopping her to tell her how sorry they were about Maggie May's death, how wonderful Mazie sang last night, what a fantastic job Samara did on her snow sculpture, and when would she be playing her dulcimer again.

The next thing she knew, her old teacher pal, Mary, who played the guitar with her from time to time, grabbed her arm and said, "Hey Agatha. Haven't seen much of you this week. You haven't been to many of the events, although I did catch a glimpse of you at the Ball last night. What you been doin? By the way, I'm so sad about Maggie May. Can't believe she locked herself out of her house like that. Any word on when her funeral will be?"

"Oh, Mary, so many questions this morning. I've been busy spending time with the girls. Maggie May was an only child, but she has a cousin, Ruth Elizabeth, who lives in Milwaukee. She'll take care of things after the new year." Agatha told a partial truth. Maggie's cousin had been told Maggie May had been murdered, but that she must wait for the autopsy to be performed before she could make funeral arrangements.

"Dear me. It's all so sad, what with the murder of Maximilian, and then Maggie's death. I heard Gertie say Oswald Benson may be the killer. This is so awful," Mary wrung her hands in worried fashion.

Wanting to change the subject mainly to get on with her investigation, Agatha told her friend that the funeral arrangements would be listed in the paper as soon as Maggie's cousin could tend to things. Then she added, "Let's plan on playing some music together after these holidays are over. I'll give you a call." To Agatha's relief, that ended the conversation, and Mary left the store looking forward to strumming a few tunes with her friend.

Any chance to speak with Gertie had dissipated because the store remained too crowded for her to get Gertie's attention. She would have to wait until later to find out whose scarf the store owner had complimented, and to be able to ply her memory of Maggie's poems. Agatha suddenly felt a pang of fear when she realized Gertie may possibly be in danger herself, especially if the scarf belonged to the murderer. She would keep looking in all directions, not just at Oswald Benson.

Oh criminey, she thought, I've got to get this thing solved before anybody else gets killed.

### Chapter Twenty-four

Saturday, 1:00 P.M. December 28, 1946

Built in 1922, The Ice Palace remained one of Elkton's proudest amenities. The indoor skating rink had been named for the short story, "The Ice Palace" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, published in The Saturday Evening Post in May 1920. The story told about a Southern woman who became disillusioned with her environment, gave up and moved north in the winter to meet her fiancé's family, but she eventually returned to her southern roots. The people of Elkton who were familiar with the story thought "The Ice Palace" ought to be a good name for their new skate arena simply because they felt that "Up North" wasn't for the weak, much like the woman in the story.

Crowds filled the arena from both Bayfield and Elkton, chattering and bantering with their rivals as they waited for the start of the annual ice hockey game that marked the end of the Christmas carnival each year. Agatha spotted Sheriff Lange and Deputy King, both dressed in uniforms, and looking none the worse for the wear. She locked eyes with James, who signaled her to join them.

The three met in a quiet place outside of the arena. "Mrs. Larsen, you'll be glad to know we have Oswald in custody. Caught him at the Red Cliff Reservation just as he was pulling up to Anna's cousin's house. He had some furniture in his truck, along with the marijuana plants. He swears up and down he didn't kill the mayor.

"The old boy admitted to drug smuggling using the fish tug The Nancy Lou taking it up to Canada. He again swore that when he noticed the lock on his shed had been cut, he went inside to find that the cyanide had been taken. After learning the mayor had been poisoned with it, he panicked, replaced the lock and kept his mouth shut.

"By that time he was spilling his guts all over the place. It seems that Mayor Mueller had seen the marijuana plants in the greenhouse some time ago, and had been blackmailing him ever since. Oswald got so tired of paying him, that he broke into the mayor's house the night of the Christmas program to see if he could find anything the mayor had on him. Didn't find a thing. Decided to let Max know the payments had to stop. That's what people saw taking place the night of the tree lighting—the two arguing about the blackmail. He did threaten Max a bit, but vows they were just words he had no intention of turning into action."

"Oh criminey. While this explains some things, we still don't know who the murderer is," Agatha muttered more to herself than to them. "I wonder if Maximilian was blackmailing anyone else." She had to get the words of Maggie May's poems now for certain. "Did you happen to ask him about the threatening note I received?"

"Yes, ma'am, and he swore he didn't know anything about a threatening note to you or anyone else," the deputy responded. "Which makes me want to say that you cannot keep doing this, Mrs. Larsen. I fear you must be getting a little too close for the murderers comfort, and your life might be in serious danger."

"Yes, Jonathan, but I cannot stop looking into this. My best friend has been murdered in her own home, and a former student poisoned in front of a crowd of people. I'm afraid if we don't find out who did this pronto, someone else is going to be killed too, don't you know."

"Hey, that person might be you," he said.

The trio walked back into the arena where the game had already gotten underway. Mazie beckoned to her grandmother to sit in the seat they had saved for her between Samara and herself.

"What's going on, Nana?"

"They got Oswald. He's in jail. Swears on his life he didn't murder the mayor, and I believe him. Never did have a good feeling about that," she whispered to her two granddaughters.

"Uhhh, which means the murderer is still on the loose then," Samara spoke in her softest voice.

"Yes, dear, I'm afraid it does. Come over to my house after the game. I've got some things to tell you, and an errand for you both to run for me."

They stopped talking about their investigation opting to wait until they met at Agatha's, and found themselves enamored with the game.

The Elkton team was winning by one point when Gary Anderson made another goal.

The crowd screamed, "Score one for the home team!"

***

4:00 P.M.

After the game ended, Agatha and the girls had their meeting where she brought them up to date, even telling them about the threatening note.

"Nana, this is getting way too dangerous. I'm afraid for you," Samara cried.

"It will be okay, dear. We're on to something and I don't even know what that is just yet, but I need the two of you—there's safety in numbers—to go visit Gertie Bolber and ask her who was wearing the scarf she admired this morning. Find out if the scarf she also 'liked' was the navy blue one we saw at Maggie's. Take some paper with you and ask Gertie if she remembers any of Maggie's most recent poems word for word. Write down everything she remembers. Are you okay with doing all of this?"

Mazie answered first. "We'll be fine. What will you be doing in the mean time?"

"I'm going back to Greta's. The two of us are going to search Max's study until we find something that shows us who else Max may have been blackmailing. There's got to be something we've overlooked. I'll meet you back here as close to five o'clock as possible."

### Chapter Twenty-five

4:15 P.M. December 28, 1946

With her notebook in her oversized purse, Agatha went back to see Greta Mueller. The two women sat in the living room as they had previously, drinking some tea that Greta had so graciously prepared for them.

"I'm so sorry dear, but we've got some new information. Did you know that Max had been blackmailing Oswald Benson?"

She gasped, "No! Whatever for?"

"Well, evidently Oswald has been growing marijuana in his greenhouse and smuggling it up to Canada on a fish tug. He confessed everything to the sheriff. Max had seen the plants, knew what they were and decided to make a little money on the side for himself." She took a sip of tea and continued. "Oh, and by the way, Oswald is the one who broke into your house the night of the Christmas program looking for any evidence Max may have had on him. He told the sheriff he did not murder your husband, but he did make an idle threat to him the night of the tree lighting."

"This is most distressful. I am in complete shock. I knew my husband was a bit of a scoundrel, but blackmail? Could he have been blackmailing anybody else do you think?"

"Could have. I think we need to give Max's study a thorough search to see if we can find anything. But first, let me ask you what you know about Victor Hall's hunting accident."

"Oh my. You don't think that a ten-year-old accident has anything to do with this do you?" She placed her cup in the saucer and thought for just a moment. "All I remember is that Max, Victor, and Theodore had gone elk hunting, and had split up as they often did. Max came home earlier than usual quite shaken, wringing his hands. He told me that Victor had accidently shot himself dead. I found it extremely difficult to believe such disturbing news. That's all I know, but I will say that Max and Theodore never spoke to one another again after that."

"I think there is more to that story than we know, Greta. I wonder what Max actually saw. Perhaps he and Theodore witnessed somebody murdering Victor. Although I can't for the life of me think what purpose it served. But then—stay with me for a minute—perhaps Max saw Theodore murdering Victor. I know it seems outlandish to think such a thing, but right after the incident, Theodore received a promotion to vice president of the bank, a position that I believe Victor had been considered for. Theodore gets awfully indignant every time the subject comes up. When he came to see you yesterday, how did he act? Did he say anything that seemed a bit unusual?"

"He told me he was so sorry about what happened to Max, and he offered to help me go through Max's things, especially his papers. I did think that was a bit odd. But then the doorbell rang, and rather quickly he said he'd be going, but for me to call him when I needed him. That was you at the door, by the way. Maybe you saved me from something."

"Let's go into Max's study and see what we can find, dear."

The two went through Max's desk, and found the bank statements neatly stored in the side drawer. There were no indications of any extra monies being deposited, which made them both wonder what Max had done with the cash he had taken from Oswald.

"Perhaps he had a separate account in Bayfield or some other nearby town. Or he's been stashing it somewhere," Agatha suggested.

One wall in the study was filled with books on the shelves that spanned the entire wall space. Agatha was reminded that Max always loved to read and to research a variety of things. A thought came to her when she remembered how much her former student enjoyed the encyclopedia.

"Let's look at the 'B' volume of the encyclopedia. It would be just like Maximilian to hide something like a bank statement right there."

Greta pulled the reference book from the shelf, turned it over to let the pages loosen, and to their surprise a number of bank statements floated to the floor. They were all from a bank in Bayfield under the name of Mike Jones. The balance line revealed a hefty figure of over eight thousand dollars. Two different deposits had been made each month. One for a hundred dollars and the other in the amount of a hundred and fifty dollars. Could this have been from Oswald and perhaps Theodore?

"There's got to be more information in another place where no one would think to look other than you, Greta. Think. Where could that be?"

Beginning to shake, Greta had trouble focusing on anything at that moment. She felt completely helpless.

"What was his favorite book?" Agatha suggested.

"Why, that would be the dictionary."

They took the big volume of words down from the shelf, and discovered another shock. The inside had been hollowed out and contained the following items: more clippings about the Sacramento bank robbery—one of which included a clearer photo of Babs Mahoney, photographs of Oswald Benson's marijuana plants, and an envelope addressed to Greta.

The note inside was dated December 22, 1946, 10:30 P.M.

"Oh my, it's dated the night of the Christmas program. The thought of an intruder going through his papers must have spooked him," Agatha said, and then read it aloud:

Dear Greta,

if you have found this, it means that I am already dead and possibly murdered. I need to come clean about a few things. First, I lied about the Victor Hall hunting accident. I saw Theodore knock him out and shoot him in the head with his own rifle. He did it because he wanted the promotion that Victor was going to get as vice president of the bank. I'm certain that wasn't the only reason he killed him. Selma and Victor had been getting a little too close, and I think Theodore knew it. I told him for$5,000 I would keep quiet and say it was an accident. He paid me monthly in increments of $200 until he paid it off. Recently, I told him I wanted more money and he just laughed in my face and said, "Over your dead body."

I have also been blackmailing Oswald Benson because I found marijuana in his greenhouse—see photos. And I've been blackmailing a woman named Babs Mahoney—see the clippings. I was going to write a fiction book about the robbery in Sacramento until I saw her. I couldn't believe it at first, but there she was.

I have kept a bank account specifically for the blackmail money in the name of Mike Jones at the First National Bank of Bayfield.

I'm sorry, Greta. You deserve better than me. I know you have been having an affair with Paul Miller. He's a good man.

Max

Greta plopped down in Max's chair at his desk and began to sob. "How could this be," she wailed. "How could this be?"

Agatha placed an arm of comfort around the widow's shoulders.

"We've got to call the sheriff, dear."

### Chapter Twenty-six

5:45 P.M. December 28, 1946

Agatha got back to her house later than planned. The girls were just starting to worry when she walked in, and waves of relief washed over them. They sat in the living room while she filled them in on all she and Greta had uncovered, telling them that Theodore was most likely being arrested at that very moment for the murder of Victor Hall, and as a possible suspect for the murders of Maximilian and Maggie May.

"Oh my, Nana, this is unbelievable," Mazie cried. "But it's all starting to make sense. Gertie remembered Maggie May's poems she had been chanting the day before the mayor was murdered. She happened to be helping with some of the carnival preparations while Mrs. Schultz stood in front of the gazebo directing her imaginary orchestra. Here, I wrote it down for us," Mazie passed the hand written page to Agatha who read it aloud:

" _The mayor and the masquerader were meeting on the street_

And then the masquerader stomped off on icy feet.

Fish, fish, fish, fish, there's more than meets the eye

The fish aren't the only things that people want to buy.

The past is the past, but it isn't always gone

Especially for those involved—it keeps on going on."

"Hmmm, the fish part of this poem has to refer to Oswald and his drug smuggling. I'm thinking that the part about the past must have to do with Theodore Olsen. But if that is true, then the whole poem must be based on incidents Maggie May witnessed. So who is the masquerader?" Agatha studied this for just a few minutes.

Agatha had brought home the newspaper clipping from Greta's that had a clearer picture of Babs Mahoney. The three looked it over, but couldn't find a resemblance to anyone they knew. "Max wrote in his letter he's been blackmailing this Babs Mahoney, but she committed the robbery in Sacramento, California. He also said that he saw her, and couldn't believe it. She must live here or somewhere nearby under a different name. One of the articles said she was good at disguising herself. Sandra Becker is from there and she dyes her hair red. She moved here not long after that robbery. I thought of her today, but she looks nothing like the photo of Babs. Plus, I can't imagine that it could be her. Why would she tell everybody she's from Sacramento if she's trying to hide from the law? That wouldn't make sense. Babs Mahoney has to be the masquerader, but how Maggie learned this, we'll probably never know."

"Nana, we nearly forgot. Gertie told us the scarf she complimented was on Elizabeth Smith's neck, and that she usually wore a navy blue one. From what she described it sounds just like the one you found at Maggie's," Samara said.

"Elizabeth is from Montana. She couldn't be Babs Mahoney," Mazie said.

"I don't know. Let me see the picture again of Babs, Nana." Samara the artist studied the face of the bank robber/murdereress. Then she made a sketch of the same face, but added glasses, straight mousy brown hair and a somber expression.

"Oh my goodness. It's her! Elizabeth Smith is Babs Mahoney!" Mazie shrieked. "She's the masquerader! But how did the mayor recognize her?"

Agatha knew the answer to that one. "Max had an eye for detail that far surpassed the average person. He should have been a detective instead of a mayor and a blackmailer. He would have been great at it. However, I must say I never would have picked out Elizabeth in a line up. She is so mousy, and so shy, and she blends in with the woodwork. Though, that's probably how she's been able to pull it off. No one noticed her when she stuck a needle full of poison into Max. Must have put it into his neck when she was walking up to the gazebo with the holly bush in her one hand. He probably thought the holly bush was pricking him. We've got to let the sheriff know right away.

"Oh criminey!" Agatha cried. "We've got to warn Gertie to lock her doors. Elizabeth, aka Babs, knows she saw her scarf. She may have seen me in the store this morning when Gertie blurted that out, and probably assumed I saw her scarf on the floor in Maggie's kitchen. The Sacramento paper noted Babs Mahoney is a dangerous woman." Agatha quickly telephoned Gertie and alerted her. Then she tried to get a hold of the sheriff and the deputy. Not able to reach either one, she left messages with their wives to call her immediately, that it was urgent.

"We need to call Dad, Nana. It isn't safe for us right now," Samara said.

Agatha agreed, so Mazie telephoned Alex, conveying all they had learned. After hanging up the receiver, Mazie said, " Dad isn't too happy with us, but he said he'd be here in a couple of minutes."

The three sat in silence on the comfortable chairs as they each reflected on what they had uncovered. Their thoughts were interrupted when out of the kitchen emerged a woman who had become a stranger to them.

The formerly shy and mousy Elizabeth Smith had disappeared. Her eyes burned through them, and her twisted mouth and furrowed brow had turned Elizabeth into the evil and dangerous Babs Mahoney, who pointed a gun directly at them.

### Chapter Twenty-seven

6:30 P.M. December 28, 1946

"Nobody move. You people really should consider locking your doors in this town. Anybody can walk in at any time. Now, I think you've had your noses into my business way too much," Babs Mahoney continued to point the gun at them.

"I suppose this means you aren't a war widow from Montana after all," Agatha said in a firm voice that made it sound as if she had no fear of the woman, but in reality she was frightened out of her wits. She found it hard to believe how the plain, shy Elizabeth managed to portray the complete opposite of her true demeanor.

Babs, aka Elizabeth, spied the clippings on the coffee table.

"Well, looky here. The newspaper articles about the bank robbery. Oh, and the artist rendition of me! How clever you all are. I don't know how you did this, or how you figured it all out. I've been watching you, all three of you, following you when I needed to. Even sent you that note, Mrs. Larsen, hoping it would scare you and make you stop investigating. I like this town. I like what I do. But you have made it impossible for me to continue living here.

"And that friend of yours, Maggie-- always in the middle of things, always where she shouldn't have been. Chanting those poems that I knew had true meaning. My only mistake was leaving my scarf at her house. I locked the doors and took the keys so I could go back and make sure none of that stuff had been written down. Now, we are all going to go for a little ride. Think we'll take that fancy car of yours, Mrs. Larsen."

"Look, Eliz...I mean Babs, your secret will be safe with us. Why don't you leave town now. You can even take my car. We won't say a word. Just let us go." Agatha knew she wouldn't believe her, but she had to kill some time while she thought about how to get them out of this mess.

"Right. You won't tell anybody. You probably already told your pathetic sheriff all about me, although I'm certain he wouldn't know what to do with that information."

Actually, the only thing Agatha hadn't told James about was the bank robbery that Max had been so enamored with. It wouldn't have made any sense to him, just like it hadn't made any sense to her. What to do, what to do. And where is Alex? He should have been here by now.

"No more of this dilly dallying. Get your coats. We're going to get into your car and drive out to the barrens. I think that will be a good place to drop the three of you off. No one will find you for a long time."

Mazie, Samara and Agatha obeyed the woman with the gun, got their coats and headed toward the car. In spite of the terror they all felt, Agatha knew she had to think of a way to get them out of this thing safely. If only she could get the gun. How would Agatha Christie have written this? Oh criminey, she thought. This is one tough situation.

Standing next to the car, Agatha was about to give up when Alex ran from his house at the same time Sheriff James Lange and Deputy Jonathan King pulled in front of Agatha's car, blocking them from being able to get away.

The sheriff and his deputy jumped out of their car, guns in hands. Babs grabbed Samara, pushing the gun at her head. Agatha, Alex, and Mazie froze.

"Drop your guns, gentlemen, or this girl is going bye-bye," Babs laughed in their faces.

The two lawmen kept their guns pointing at her.

"Let the girl go Elizabeth," James admonished her.

"Elizabeth? Well, well, looks like the old girl didn't tell you about me after all."

"No, but her son did, Babs. Now let the girl go. Nobody needs to get hurt. I've let the feds know you are here. They're on their way. You aren't going to be able to escape this time, madam."

Babs Mahoney twisted her mouth maliciously. She had to think fast. "Look, I'm taking the girl with me. Move your car out of my way."

Agatha spoke up, "Before you go, Babs, tell us how you killed the mayor in the middle of the crowd. We know you are very clever, so we'd all like to hear how you did it."

Babs began to feel a surge of power and loosened her grip on Samara's arm just a little at that moment. "It was a piece of cake, if you'll pardon the expression. Most people in this town rarely noticed my presence, which of course was all part of the persona I created for myself. Anna Benson played right into my hands when I told her at the last minute we were going to need some more holly to decorate the gazebo. So she told Oswald, and I made sure Sandra and I would be helping him.

"The fact that the crowd was so dense worked well for my plan. I had the needle full of the cyanide I had stolen from Benson's shed the night of the Christmas program. No one even noticed I had left the church. They just assumed I had gone downstairs to the fellowship hall to get the refreshments set up—something I had Sandra take care of.

"The crowd was especially thick when we walked past the mayor, so I jabbed him in the neck with the needle, using the holly as a camouflage. He was a bit startled, but I'm sure he never dreamed he would soon meet his demise. I suppose he thought the sharpness from the holly leaves pricked his neck. I got sick of his blackmailing. It cost me way too much money. Enough of this. Sheriff, move your car or I swear I'll shoot this girl right here and now."

Agatha had been slowly edging her way around Mazie who stood between her and Babs. Since she was more concerned about boasting how she had contrived the murder, Babs didn't pay attention to Agatha's movements. But her maneuver didn't go unnoticed by the sheriff and his deputy, and they were prepared to make a move when the right moment would present itself.

Babs loosened her grip, waved the gun to the right indicating to Samara she had to step into the car. That's the move Agatha had hoped and prayed for. She shifted her body quicker than the average sixty-six-year-old woman, stunning the bank-robbing-masquerader as she kicked her behind the knee, causing her to lose her balance. Then she punched Babs Mahoney in the stomach, knocked her to the ground, and snatched the gun out of her hand.

The sheriff and deputy were fast on the take, seized Babs and handcuffed her while Alex raced to the aid of his daughters and his mother.

Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. It was over at last.

### Chapter Twenty-eight

8:00 P.M. December 28, 1946

"Whew!" Agatha said as she and her family sat in her living room recovering from the worst ordeal any of them had ever gone through in their entire lives. Erica had prepared some hot tea for each of them. "By the way Son, what took you so long to come to our aid after Mazie telephoned you?"

"It took me some time to hunt down James and Jonathan. Once I connected with them, I told them about Babs Mahoney and how I feared for your lives." He stirred some sugar into his tea. "Mother, I warned you and warned you to stay out of this. And you two girls, too. Do you have any idea how close you all came to getting yourselves killed?"

"I know dear, but we are all just fine now, and we are the ones who solved everything. Oswald Benson is in jail for drug smuggling, Theodore Olsen is in jail for murdering Victor Hall ten years ago, and Babs Mahoney is now in the custody of the feds for armed robbery and murder. The sheriff couldn't have done it without us. He even told us that. I'd say we did alright girls, don't you know!"

"It wasn't so much fun having that gun poking at my head," Samara said. "Plus she had a grip on my arm, that even through the heaviness of my coat I'm sure there will be a bruise. But I have to admit it feels pretty good to know how we helped to bring some justice into our town."

"Well I was scared at different times, I will admit, but overall, I think I'd like to change careers and become a detective instead of being a nurse," Mazie said, surprising her family, because all she had ever wanted to be her whole life was a nurse. "And, Nana, you are the true heroine in this whole incident. I couldn't believe it when you went for Babs Mahoney. So proud of you, I am."

"Yes, it had its moments of thrills, but the saddest part of all is that innocent Maggie May lost her life because a murderer took her poems seriously, when we were the ones who didn't. If we had paid more attention to her words, it's possible she would still be with us today. That part breaks my heart." Agatha looked toward the home of her deceased best friend while a few tears dripped down her cheeks.

After a few quiet moments, Alex repeated his past admonition to his mother, "I, for one, would prefer that this be the last time you are involved in a murder investigation, Mother. No more snooping!"

"Of course, Son," she said. But to herself she thought, oh criminey, this is just the beginning. After all I do have quite a knack for snooping, don't you know.

****

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