Murder Under the Mistletoe

Murder Under the Mistletoe

Published by Janice L. Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Janice L. Davis

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Smashwords Edition License Notes

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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,