Chapter 1
Ettie Smith stood stiffly beside her sister, Elsa-May, staring at the long row of gingerbread houses displayed on the table in the center of the community hall. Christmas lights twinkled from the rafters, wreaths hung from the windows, and the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves filled the air. It was the most festive scene imaginable, and yet Ettie couldn’t relax.
Her eyes darted from one gingerbread house to the next, counting them again in her head. One. Two. Three. Twelve in all. Each one decorated with icing so white it looked like snowdrifts, and candy canes that glistened in the soft glow of the string lights.
“Do you think they’ll notice?” Ettie whispered, leaning toward her sister.
“Notice what?” Elsa-May replied.
Ettie turned to her with wide eyes. “You know what. The repairs.”
Elsa-May’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Not if you stop looking so guilty. You look like you’ve just robbed a bank.”
“Because we might as well have!” Ettie hissed. “If anyone bites into that one on the end, they’ll break a tooth.”
“Ettie, relax. No one actually eats gingerbread houses. They’re just for show.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, of course.”
Before Ettie could reply, the organizer, Nella Simple, bustled up to them, hands clasped in delight as she surveyed the display. “Oh, you ladies have done a marvelous job of displaying all these! They all look wonderful. I can’t wait to see which one the judges think tastes the best.”
Elsa-May gasped. “Did you say, tastes the best?”
Nella blinked at her. “Pardon me?”
Ettie learned forward. “She’s asking if someone is going to taste them?”
Nella grinned widely. “They’ll be tasted, of course. The judges will do that.”
Ettie’s mouth dropped open.
“It’s one of the rules.” Nella tapped her clipboard. “The houses will be judged for both appearance and taste. It’s tradition.” Then she walked to the next stall.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no,” Elsa-May said.
“Just for show, eh?” Ettie asked. “Who’s not relaxed now?”
Elsa-May squared her shoulders, though her voice was slightly higher-pitched than usual. “No, we’re not going to panic.”
“Elsa-May—”
“No. Straighten your shoulders. Smile. We’ll be fine. No one is going to taste these gingerbread houses because we won’t let them.”
Ettie narrowed her eyes. “How will we stop them?”
“We’ll distract them.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“We’ll… I don’t know, knock over the cider table, or set off the fire alarm. Something.”
Ettie could hardly breathe. “You can’t just set off the fire alarm.”
“Why not? It’s better than someone breaking a tooth on that barn or choking on that chimney we stuck together with glue.”
Suddenly, the doors opened and the crowd came in. People of all ages and sizes shuffled closer to look at all the displays of Christmas treats.
“We have time,” Elsa-May whispered. “These aren’t the judges and the judges won’t attempt to taste them until everyone has seen them.”
Trying to distract herself from her racing pulse, Ettie looked around the bustling hall. Rows of festive stalls lined the walls: tables piled high with Christmas cakes, rich fruit puddings wrapped in calico, jugs of eggnog and spiced cider steaming in the corner. One stall sold marzipan figurines shaped like reindeer; another specialized in brightly wrapped boxes of homemade fudge. Children now darted between tables holding paper bags of roasted chestnuts.
Then Ettie followed Elsa-May’s gaze and saw she was staring at the red fire alarm button. “You can’t do it.”
“It’s just one of my ideas,” Elsa-May whispered back.
Every few minutes, a jingle of coins rang from the entry booth where volunteers collected the $5 admission fee. Ettie had noticed a police patrol car parked just outside the gate when they’d arrived earlier; no doubt someone had arranged for a police presence given the size of the crowd.
“They’re going to cut into the houses. Oh why did I listen to you. We should’ve just confessed when it happened,” Ettie whispered.
“Calm down,” Elsa-May murmured. “We’ll—”
The doors to the community hall banged open with a sharp crack. A man stumbled inside, his eyes wild, and yelled, “A judge has been shot! Someone call an ambulance!”
Gasps filled the hall. The crowd surged with frightened murmurs, children ran to their parents. Others ran to the door.
Ettie clutched Elsa-May’s arm. “Shot? Did he say shot?”
Elsa-May’s face went pale for a split second, then she leaned in close and whispered, “Well, at least no one’s eating that glue now. We have our distraction.”
“Elsa-May!” Ettie hissed. “This is serious!”
Nella bolted past them toward the door, followed by several bystanders.
Ettie’s heart thundered in her ears as the chaos unfolded around them. Like everyone else, she craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse through the crowd. “Come on,” she whispered, nudging Elsa-May toward the nearest window.
They pressed to the glass along with half a dozen others.
“It’s George Harmon that’s been shot. He’s one of the judges,” someone near them said.
“Is he dead?” another asked.
“Who is he?” Ettie asked.
“He's worked with Nella on several town projects,” someone told her.
Outside, the scene was already grim. Paramedics knelt beside the injured judge on the snow-dusted ground, their hands working quickly. A police officer was stringing bright yellow tape across the path, pushing back anyone trying to edge closer. Another officer raised a camera and began snapping photos of the area around the judge.
The joyful atmosphere had instantly drained from the festival. The eggnog stall was abandoned, ladles hanging limply over the pots. The fudge vendor stood outside the tape, shaking her head as she clutched her apron. The chatter had quieted to a hushed ripple of voices, punctuated by the distant wail of another approaching siren.
“This is awful,” Ettie whispered.
Elsa-May nodded slowly. “It is.”
As they watched, the paramedics loaded the unconscious judge onto a stretcher and wheeled him toward the waiting ambulance. A small knot of officers began circulating among the onlookers, asking questions.
After the ambulance left, the crowd dispersed and only a third of the crowd came back into the building.
Ettie and Elsa-May went back to their table to guard the gingerbread houses, wondering what to do.
Elsa-May saw Nella and called her over. “Are we closing down?”
“No. We need the money for charity. You will stay for the rest of the day, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Elsa-May said with a nod.
“Thank you. I just hope people don’t get put off by this.”
“Nella, is the man… is he dead?” Ettie asked.
“I’m not sure what’s going on.” Nella hurried away.
Ettie pulled on Elsa-May’s sleeve. “What if there’s a mad shooter on the loose?”
Elsa-May’s gaze dropped to the largest gingerbread house. “We’ll use that one as a shield. We replaced the northern wall with steel.”
Ettie blinked. “Steel?”
“Well, technically it’s that baking sheet we found fallen behind the stove. It’s wedged in behind the fondant.”
Ettie gave an impressed nod. “Good thinking. It might actually stop something or at least slow it down.”
Moments later, Detective Kelly stepped inside, scanning the room with sharp eyes. He spotted them and walked toward them. “Why is it always you two?”
Ettie’s stomach flipped. She stepped forward, wringing her hands. “Detective Kelly… is the man, is he—?”
Elsa-May finished the question. “Is he going to be all right?”
Kelly’s expression softened a fraction. “He’s still alive. He was shot in the shoulder, not the chest. The paramedics are hopeful, but he’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll know more soon. He’s on his way to the hospital.”
Elsa-May pressed a hand to her throat. “Shot at the Christmas festival? How awful.”
Kelly nodded grimly. “Yes. And I need to find out who did it before anyone else gets hurt.” His eyes flicked from one sister to the other. “You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
Ettie’s mouth opened and closed. “Us? No! We—we were just…” She gestured vaguely at the gingerbread display.
“Trying to make sure no one chokes on the barn,” Elsa-May muttered under her breath.
Kelly’s brows drew together. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Elsa-May said quickly, lifting her chin.
“Mrs. Lutz, I heard you say something about someone choking on a barn. What is going on? How can someone choke on a barn?” He folded his arms and stared at her.
Elsa-May’s shoulders slumped. “It’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing then you won’t mind telling me.”
“Detective Kelly, I assure you, it’s not what it seems.”
Kelly folded his arms. “Isn’t it?”
“Not at all,” Elsa-May said smoothly. “You’ll understand when I start at the beginning…”
