“What does that mean?”
Darla shrugged. “They don’t think she choked.”
“Heart attack?” asked Mariska, clearly preparing to run through the usual list of culprits.
“Or poison,” said Darla in a stage whisper.
“Poison?”
The three ladies turned to stare at Mac, who froze, mid-chew, staring back at them from above the stollen positioned at his lips.
“Poison?” he mumbled, his mouth full. He glanced at the chunk of bread remaining in his hand. “Excuse me a minute.”
As he strode back into the crowd, Charlotte watched him spit the bread he’d been chewing into his hand.
Mariska slapped Darla’s arm to get her attention. “I sold every last one of those stollens. Are you trying to tell me I might have poisoned everyone?”
Darla huffed. “Why do you think I ran here? I wanted to stop you from selling them just in case.”
Charlotte frowned. Alice had been ill for a long time. Chances were good she’d died of natural causes. “Did Frank actually say anything about poison?”
“Only that she looked like her face was bloated or something. Or green. I forget the exact words he used. I just remember thinking, that sounds like poison.”
“Why would anyone poison Alice?” asked Mariska.
Darla squinted. “You tell us. You were her elf. You made the stollen.”
Mariska’s eyes popped wide. “I didn’t poison her.”
“I wasn’t saying that. I was just kidding.”
“It’s not funny.” Mariska shook her head so hard her dangling Christmas bell earrings chimed.
“What do you think we should do?” Darla tapped her front teeth with her fingernail while she waited for an answer.
Charlotte glanced up at the recreation center’s stage, where a microphone used for the morning’s announcements still stood. “I’ll jump up there and ask everyone with a fruit cake to return them. Just in case.”
Mariska rested her head in her palm. “This is so embarrassing.”
Charlotte tried to leave, but Darla grasped her wrist and held her in place. “Charlotte, wait. Make sure you say fruit stollen. Tara sells fruit cake. If you tell people the fruit cake is poisoned, she’ll have a conniption.”
Charlotte sighed. Living in Pineapple Port was a little like being trapped in high school forever.
“Good point. Okay.”
She again tried to make her way to the stage, only to have Darla jerk her back once more.
“Come to think of it, if you tell anyone anything is poisoned, there’ll be panic. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Charlotte frowned. “What am I supposed to do? Stand up there and tell them we accidentally put gluten in them?”
Mariska sniffed. “Gluten isn’t a real thing.”
“It’s like global warming,” agreed Darla.
Charlotte glowered at her. “Darla, I swear. I thought we had come to an agreement. Global warming is a thing.”
Darla waved her away. “I know, I know. We don’t have time to talk about stranded polar bears now. There are people walking around here with poisoned fruit cakes.”
“Stollens,” stressed Mariska. “But I didn’t do it. Make sure you say that, too.”
Charlotte rubbed her temples with one hand. She had to retrieve the stollens and avoid mass hysteria. Once, someone had confessed to accidently leaving one of the bingo balls out of the cage on bingo night and the residents nearly rioted. Implying poisoned stollens would have people apoplectic with hypochondria.
Slipping from Darla’s grasp, Charlotte jogged up the stairs to the microphone, flipped the switch and heard the speakers crackle as she tapped the mike’s wire mesh. The crowd’s gazes swiveled in her direction.
“Attention...um...attention. If you bought a fruit stollen today from Mariska—”
“Why’d she have to say my name?” moaned Mariska, somewhere below her.
Charlotte continued. “Um, we need you to return them. The stollens. We used salt instead of sugar.”
“I would never do such a thing,” hissed Mariska.
“Will we get a refund?” asked a voice from the crowd.
“Yes. Full refund,” said Charlotte.
Mariska moaned again.
Chapter Three
Charlotte slipped under the crime tape looped across Alice’s doorway and entered the house. There was no sign of Alice. A plate sat on the table without a crumb on it. Sheriff Frank stood nearby, supervising as his deputies carefully placed a box of muffins into an evidence bag.
“Those are store-bought muffins,” said Charlotte.
Frank turned to look at her, his thumbs hanging in his belt. “What are you doing here?”
“I was at the Swap and Sell. I got here as soon as I could.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re a private investigator, not a cop. We weren’t waiting on you.”
Frank’s tone sounded gruff, but his eyes betrayed his amusement at seeing her. Charlotte had only recently received her detective’s license, having earned it with Frank’s help. She knew he’d learned the hard way she liked to stick her nose into anything that sounded like a potential investigation.
She shrugged. “I thought I’d come help.”
“Great. I’ll let the boys know they can head back to the station. You’re here.”
“Thank you.”
He looked away and then turned back. “Hey, Mariska with you?”
“No, why?”
“Neighbor said she was here earlier.”
“She probably was, picking up the stollens from Alice for the Swap.”
“She was Bread Elf?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. That ticks that off my list. Thanks.”
“Are you saying I’m useful?” Charlotte cocked her head as her self-satisfied smile began to fade. “Wait, are you saying Mariska is a person of interest?”
“Yes. I mean, no, but technically, yes.”
“If you tell her that, she’s going to have a heart attack.”
“I’ll tell her I’ll be sure the guards treat her well in prison.”
Charlotte slapped his arm. “You’re terrible.” A high-pitched whining caught Charlotte’s attention and she turned towards it. A cardboard box sat in the corner and she leaned forward to peer inside.
A puppy with rust and black fur exploding in jagged points from
