Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2 (5 page)

We went another twenty miles on the
interstate before I caught another glimpse of that dark sedan. By
the time we crossed over into Vermont, I was having trouble keeping
the pain of all those bruises at bay, but at least I wasn’t
fighting exhaustion. All that agony was helping to keep me wide
awake. Beside me, Nettie was dozing fitfully, shaking herself awake
every ten minutes or so. Finally, taking pity on her, I told her to
go ahead and sleep.

“At least one of us will get a little
rest.”

“No, Gabby. I should keep you company,” she
insisted, struggling to keep her eyes open. I glanced in the
rearview mirror and saw the familiar headlights, keeping their
distance.

“It’s okay, Annette. I’m fine.” Frankly, if
there was trouble, I was probably a lot safer if Annette was
asleep. I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting in the way, at
least not until she was awake.

There’s an old gag line you sometimes hear on
construction sites when someone who’s less than helpful volunteers
to help. “Go wait in the truck.” That’s because in the time it
takes to explain what needs to be done and how it should be done,
you could already have it finished the job. Sometimes it’s not
practical to waste time trying to teach a dog any new tricks.
Annette and law enforcement weren’t really a good mix. She was too
anxious about criminals to appreciate that cool heads prevail, too
easily panicked to realize that incidents could be avoided if
people were handled safely. Even though she managed to smuggle
those documents out of Frist and Company under the noses of her
bosses and the security guard, I was pretty sure that if the
bullets started flying again, I’d be worrying about her sticking
her foot in her mouth yet again. Annette had always been a very
bossy kid, and that hadn’t changed with the decades. She often told
people what to do and how to do it, even if she didn’t know what
she was talking about. Normally, that wasn’t a problem. Most people
shrug that kind of thing off. But in cop circles, sometimes a big
mouth can get you into a lot of hot water.

Watching Nettie fall back to sleep, an idea
popped into my conscious mind. Maybe part of the reason she was now
in trouble wasn’t because she was involved in the bid-rigging
scheme, but because she was such a busybody. What if Joe Fortuna
was an FBI agent by the name of Mike Alves? What if he was worried
she’d shoot her mouth off? Maybe he knew she had a deputy sheriff
as a cousin, just like he knew that when things got complicated,
she would call me to help her. Had he been counting on that? How
else could you explain why the guy gave her his personal cell
phone, even though he knew he would be using his real name, which
would cause some confusion? Maybe he romanced her and then blew her
off on purpose, leaving her in the lurch with the hope I would step
in and take over the babysitting job. The more I thought about it,
the more it made sense. If Annette thought there was something
illegal going on at Frist and Company, she’d feel the need to fix
it. And if this was part of an organized crime game, that might
make her a victim. A victim with a brand new pair of shoes, made
with the very concrete that was now in question. Had Alves had us
tailed to make sure I got my cousin to Black Forest Farm safely? An
FBI agent discharging his weapon during a convenience store robbery
would be a problem, so that might explain why the guy made such a
fast exit. Had Rufus gotten the FBI call as a way to ratchet up the
pressure on me to take care of Nettie on my home turf? I was
transporting her across state lines. If the bad guys came after
her, it was likely they, too, would have to cross those same state
lines. Was the FBI killing two legal birds with one stone and
saving some budget money in the process? The bad guys would be
compounding their crimes by coming after her in Vermont, allowing
the Department of Justice to add charges to the indictment, and the
FBI would skip witness protection procedures and costs, thanks to
me.

Normally, I’d be pretty riled up about such a
cheesy move, but ever since Paul died, Annette really did need the
support of the Grimm family. I had little doubt that my dad and
stepmom would be thrilled to take her into their home and keep her
safe on the farm. And who knows, maybe she’d even enjoy it. After
all, Christmas was fast approaching. What better place to be than
on Black Forest Farm, where Ervina was baking night and day and
Gerhard was about to harvest the frozen grapes for his ice wine.
There was plenty to keep Nettie busy and there were lots of farm
hands to deter any effort to kidnap her.

Just before six, I pulled into the driveway
of Black Forest Farm, and it was a good thing. My right leg was
stiff and cramped. I drove past my carriage house and headed for
Gerhard and Ervina’s place. Driving up the back door, I put the car
in park and turned off the ignition.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” I softly encouraged
Nettie, hoping to rouse her from her slumber.

“Are we there?” she wondered, stretching out
in the seat as she came awake.

“We are.”

Pablo came out of the cow barn and gave me a
wave.

“Gabby, we have a new calf!” the dairy worker
announced. “Healthy and hungry.”

“Wonderful,” I said. It was. There was
nothing more delightful than an animal birth, whether it was a kid,
a calf, a foal, a puppy, or a kitten. There was new life on the
farm and we all took pleasure in watching the antics of the young.
I introduced Annette. “My cousin is visiting for a few weeks.”

“Want a hand with the luggage?” he offered.
It was too good an opportunity to turn down, especially with my
fanny feeling the bruises of my roof tumble. I popped the trunk as
Annette wiggled her sleepy limbs.

“What the....” The gingerbread house was
gone. “Oh, come on!”

“What’s the matter?” Pablo wanted to know.
Those accented words rolled off his tongue like a purr off a cat.
He was Argentinean, raised on a cattle farm on the plain, and with
his brown hair and dark eyes, he arrived at Black Forest Farm with
the smoldering good looks of the soccer star he once was, a degree
in animal science, and ten years of experience as a livestock
expert. He and Steve handled the dairy business for Gerhard.

“We ran into a little trouble on the way
here. Someone tried to rob a convenience store when we were getting
coffee. Now it looks like someone took advantage and stole
Annette’s gingerbread house. Damn!’

“It’s gone?” Annette came in for a closer
look. “No way!”

“Way,” said Pablo, nodding as he used what he
thought was still a popular American phrase. I caught the look pass
between the widow and the cowboy. They were about the same age.
They were both healthy, attractive people. Were those sparks I
saw?

“Oh, shoot! Why would someone steal....” Even
as her words trailed off, I could see the realization dawning in
her eyes. Those documents were gone, too.

“Shall I?” Pablo pointed to the luggage.

“That blue one,” I answered. He lifted
Nettie’s bag out of the car. I led the way up the back steps and
into the kitchen.

“Nettie!” Gerhard was sitting at the big pine
table in his work clothes as we entered. Ervina, in her bathrobe
and slippers, was flipping pancakes. “What are you doing here?”

“I had some trouble at work,” she began to
explain. I cut her off. There would be plenty of time to get into
it later.

“She’s here for a few days. Feel free to put
her to work,” I told them. “Make her a farm girl and maybe we’ll
get her to give up her life in the city.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice!” my stepmother
sighed. “Gerhard, Annette could help at the winery. We have so many
orders to fill at the gift shop.”

“Well, maybe she doesn’t want to be a shop
girl. I could put her to work in the office. She’s used to doing
paperwork. I’ve got invoices to send out.”

As they discussed the best way to utilize
Nettie, I watched my cousin. She took it all in, listening to the
comfortable banter. I noticed Pablo helped himself to a mug of
coffee before leaning back against the counter as an observer. He
definitely had eyes for my cousin.

“First things first,” I broke in. “We both
need some sleep. Any chance you have a bed for her?”

My carriage house is a lovely little place at
the foot of the farm’s main gate. It has all the charm of a tiny
chalet in Germany, but it’s not really equipped for guests at the
moment. I was using the second bedroom as an office, and I didn’t
really want to pull out the sofa bed for Nettie, not if I was also
going to have to work on the case and get her Frist and Company
mess sorted out. The main farm house had lots of guest rooms, a
couple of dogs, a trio of cats, and a kitchen that never closed. It
was the perfect place for Annette.

“How about the yellow bedroom?” Gerhard
suggested. “The green room is being used for packaging. Oh, that’s
another possible job for Nettie. Ervina has all those knitted
orders to go out.”

“Boy,” I laughed as we climbed the stairs,
“you’re going to need your beauty sleep. It sounds like you’re
going to be busy!”

“That will be nice,” she decided. “It’ll get
my mind off worrying about...you know.”

We were in the cheerful bedroom with walls
the color of fresh creamery butter, introducing my cousin to her
home away from home when my cell phone rang. I had retrieved it
from the bottom of my purse and turned it on when we were ten miles
from home.

“Deputy Grimm,” I answered when I saw the
Albany area code.

“Hey, this is Sergeant Rushmore. Any chance
you lost a gingerbread house? We found it at the Mobil
station.”

“You have it? Is it broken?”

“Nope. Everything looks good. Of course, I’m
not an expert baker, but I think it still looks like a viable
holiday decoration. You want to come get it?”

“I do. Any chance you can hold it until I can
get a little shut eye? I’ll pop down later this afternoon.”

“Great. In the meantime, we’ll put it in the
dispatch room, to keep it safe. If I’m not here, that’s where
you’ll find it.”

“I appreciate this, Sergeant. Thanks for
calling.”

“My pleasure. Merry Christmas, deputy.”

“You, too.”

Even as I hung up, the questions were
rattling around in my brain. What in God’s name was going on? Had
the FBI retrieved those documents and arranged for the safe return
of the gingerbread house? Or was that guy in the dark sedan not an
FBI agent? I needed to get that cookie confection back here, so I
could go over it with a fine-toothed comb.

“Gabby?” Annette looked at me
expectantly.

“The cops found the gingerbread house. I’ll
go down this afternoon and collect it.”

“What a relief!”

“A gingerbread house?” Ervina’s interest was
tickled. “Do you bake?”

“I do,” Nettie admitted.

“Gingerbread?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Do you like to bake?” my stepmother
wondered.

“I do.”

“Gerhard,” Ervina said, turning to my father,
“you know what I am thinking?”

“Yes, my love. I do,” he laughed, patting her
shoulder. “You’re putting her to work in the kitchen.”

“I am.”

“Am I making a gingerbread house?” Nettie
wanted to know.

“You are going to decorate the cookies. Oh,
this will be wonderful,” said the lady with a twinkle in her eye.
“I will bake while you sleep. We’ve sold out three times in the
past week. Everybody loves gingerbread cookies.”

“And when the gingerbread house returns, you
might want to display it in the shop,” I suggested. “Wait till you
see it, Gerhard. It’s architecturally accurate, with trusses and
braces. Utterly charming.”

“I am looking forward to that,” my father
agreed. “Perhaps we will hire you to do a gingerbread village next
Christmas.”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I wish we had
thought of that earlier!” Ervina sounded positively wistful over
the lost opportunity.

Chapter Six --

“There might still be time,” said my cousin.
I could see her already considering the possibility.

“Gerhard, you could help her make the
templates, couldn’t you?” That was my stepmother, taking advantage
of the chance to add some more dazzle to the display at the winery
gift shop. “I could roll out the dough and bake it.”

“Wow, you people lose no time,” I laughed.
“On that note, I’m off to the carriage house. I’ll call you before
I leave for Albany.”

“We will take good care of Annette in your
absence,” said my stepmother, patting her guest on the shoulder.
She pulled back the covers on the big brass bed, beckoning Nettie
to get some rest.

Just outside the door, I grabbed Gerhard and
pulled him away for a private conversation. We huddled by the linen
closet.

“Dad, Nettie’s had a spot of legal trouble
we’re trying to sort out. Keep an eye on her and be wary of
strangers. Rufus and I are going to see if we can help her, but I
need to get that gingerbread house back. We hid some documents in
there.”

“Will I need my shotgun?” he wanted to know.
My father’s a crack shot.

“I don’t think so. Just watch out for
her.”

“Okay, Gabby. I am glad you are helping her.
Your cousin has had a tough time of it since Paul died. She needs a
good man to look out for her interests.”

That was Gerhard’s philosophy of life. People
need people. Love makes the world go ‘round. Walk on the sunny side
of the street. That comes from the hard lessons learned. My mother
was murdered several years ago. She returned unexpectedly and
interrupted a robbery at their home. Life changed in the blink of
an eye. In that split second, our whole world turned upside down.
One moment she was full of smiles and hugs, the next she was lying
on a slab in the morgue and I was standing there identifying the
body. It didn’t help that her killer was sorry. There was no
do-over. Dead is dead. The pain never really goes away. It may dull
with time, but it’s always still there.