Hijinks and Holly - A Paw Paws Pet Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 4, Chapter 1
Read Chapter 1 of this cozy mystery.
“I’m so excited,” I said. Missy and I closed early and headed to the square, where the official opening of the Sweet Haven Holiday Jubilee was taking place.
My name’s Tillie Moore. Tillie is short for Myrtle, but as you can imagine, I adopted the nickname pretty quickly in life. I currently reside in Sweet Haven, Michigan, but I spent most of my life in Alabama before catching my scoundrel of a husband cheating. He decided to leave me for someone newer.
Shortly before that happened, my great-aunt had left me her house and a little bit of money. She also provided for my children’s college education, under the stipulation they attended her alma mater, the University of Michigan. So that was how we all ended up here.
This was my second Christmas living in town. I had only arrived a couple of months before the last one and didn’t know people well then. Now, I felt ingrained in the community and had been looking forward to the Sweet Haven Holiday Jubilee, honestly, since right after the Fourth of July.
I was a Christmas fanatic and loved the decorations, even the snowy weather. Though, once the holidays were over, I wasn’t a fan of winter in January and February.
“The Jubilee has gone on for as long as I can remember,” Missy said.
She had lived and grown up in Sweet Haven but had moved away, gotten married, and returned many years later, single. I had hired her a while back, a little nervous about the expense. Being a business owner wasn’t for the faint of heart. But with the encouragement of my friends, I took the plunge, and Missy proved to be a valuable person on my team. She had really helped me grow the business.
“I think it’s exciting. That’s why I didn’t mind closing the bakery for a couple of hours to watch the kickoff of the festivities.”
When I moved here, I opened a pet bakery. I had always loved to bake but found I preferred to do so for animals rather than people. Not that I didn’t enjoy making meals, and if I did say so myself, my coconut cream and chocolate pies were out of this world. I simply combined my passion for animals with my love of baking.
Back in Alabama, when my kids were younger, I had baked treats for all the pets. They were always a hit and even won a couple of prizes at fairs. After the kids reached high school age, I set up a little business trying to actively sell my goods, something my now ex-husband always made fun of.
I got divorced and moved to Michigan, but the little bit of money my great-aunt left me and my divorce settlement wouldn’t last forever. Plus, I wasn’t one to just sit around, so I decided to bite the bullet and open the bakery. The rest, as they say, was history.
I wasn’t making a ton of money, but since my great-aunt had left me the house free and clear and I owned my Jeep outright, my expenses were mainly utilities and food, though my animals ate far more than I did.
“You made the right call closing. I don’t think you would’ve had any customers. All the locals and any tourists in town are going to be just as excited to see the jubilee as the rest of us. As long as we’re back after the celebratory hot chocolate toast, we won’t miss anything.”
I agreed with Missy. Sweet Haven, which was located on the Michigan shoreline, was very much a tourist attraction. The small, sleepy town with an actual population of about 10,000 would swell to quadruple the size during tourist season, which was Memorial Day through Labor Day weekend.
However, there were quite a few people who had vacation homes here and would stick around. If one liked outdoor activities, there were some good cross-country trails, and then all through the holidays, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Eve, a lot of events happened on the weekends, such as this one.
It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving—the initial kickoff of the holiday season, starting with Santa giving a holiday toast over hot chocolate. The Boy Scouts were in charge of making the beverages, which was one of their yearly fundraisers. For a donation, one would get to sip hot chocolate, listen to Santa make a toast, and then either enjoy all the festivities or go about their merry way.
“I just hope the Boy Scouts don’t run out. I heard last year they did, and it caused quite a commotion.”
Missy laughed. “Nothing upsets this town like messing with its traditions, intentional or not.”
“I see people are bringing their pets,” I noted when we approached the town square. There were more than a few dogs on leashes.
“I wish we could bring Daisy, Beans, and Mr. Cuddles.”
“I know. Honestly, I feel guilty for leaving them behind. They would love the attention they’d get here, but we wouldn’t have enough hands to hold them and our hot chocolate. And you know how rambunctious they would be with all these people around.”
Beans, my pig, was well-trained and minded most of the time, but I understood where the phrase “pigheaded” came from. He could be very obstinate when he put his mind to it. Daisy, my St. Bernard, and Mr. Cuddles, my Cane Corso, were very obedient.
Like I had just said to Missy, their size, combined with the fact there were three of them and only two of us, would have made it hard to handle them along with our hot chocolate. I would definitely bring them back another time, though. They loved being around people, and while some were sometimes put off by their size, most, once they got to know the animals, loved them.
We walked up to the hot chocolate stands, where there was a long line. That was no great surprise, given the huge turnout. The Boy Scouts were working as fast as they could, and they were doing an efficient job. It didn’t take long for us to get up to the counter.
“We have milk chocolate hot chocolate, dark chocolate hot chocolate, hazelnut chocolate, and white chocolate,” one of the Boy Scouts said. He had to have been around ten or eleven, with a cute smattering of freckles across his nose, which was red from the cold.
“I think I’ll take the hazelnut,” I said.
“Me too,” Missy agreed.
“Whipped cream or no whipped cream?” the boy asked.
“What would you recommend?” I said in a very serious tone.
“I would recommend extra whipped cream. And if you don’t mind me being bold, I would also recommend chocolate sprinkles.”
The boy was so earnest it was hard not to laugh. He was taking his job seriously, and he was so adorable. I remembered when my kids were his age. They were in school now, and I missed them. Both were studious, which I loved, but they were going home to Alabama this year. While I never wanted them to not have a good relationship with their father, I selfishly was glad to have them all to myself for a couple of weeks.
“I think we should definitely get whipped cream and sprinkles, don’t you think?” Missy’s expression was earnest, though her tone was playful.
“Absolutely,” I said, handing over my credit card and waving away Missy’s objections as she reached for hers.
“Company outing. What’s the point of business expenses if we don’t use them?” I said with a grin.
“Thank you.” The boy placed our drinks on the counter and handed me back my card. He then gave us each a little spoon.
“This is vacation. You don’t want to eat your whipped cream and get messy,” he said solemnly.
“Good,” I replied as he walked away. “The stage is that way. I believe that’s where Santa will make his grand entrance. Should we head in that direction?” I asked Missy.
“Sure, but if I see something tempting to eat, stop me. I’m not hungry right now, but I swear this is the first Christmas season where I don’t gain weight.”
“Oh, please. You look just fine. But I’ll be glad if you help me out by doing the same for me. I’m a sucker for fair food. And even though this isn’t a fair, based on the smells already in the air, I can tell they have some of my favorites.”
“On second thought, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go without grabbing sugar donuts and hot apple cider from Shepherd Farms. Nobody grows apples like those folks.”
“Maybe we can split donuts,” I suggested.
Missy nodded. “Good plan.”
We walked to the other end of the town square, where the stage was, choosing to stand on the outside of the crowd rather than taking a seat in one of the chairs they had set out for the occasion. It wasn’t really cold—still only in the forties—and the sun was out.
Missy and I both thought it was better to keep moving, so we decided to walk around until the event started. I glanced at my watch. Santa was going to appear in about five minutes. I couldn’t believe how many people were here.
It was nice there was such a crowd. Maybe after the event, they would go shopping downtown and spend some money. Since the end of October, business had really slowed down unexpectedly. I had hoped it would stay a little busier.
“Five minutes till Santa kicks us off,” a man’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. It wasn’t one I recognized, but it got the message across.
“I’m going to run to the restroom really quick and get back before it starts,” Missy said.
“Good. Just hurry. I heard the opening song is the best part.”
Missy nodded and headed off in the direction of the bathrooms.
The seconds ticked by. A nervous energy electrified the crowd, which was exciting. I had spent most of my adult life in a town that wasn’t nearly as lively. Even though this community had been around for a long time, it still seemed full of life, and I appreciated that.
I felt a little anxious and hoped Missy would get back in time, but I forced myself not to dwell on it. She was grown, and she still had a couple of minutes before the start.
Just as the thought went through my mind, what I assumed was the master of ceremonies stepped up to speak.
“Friends and family. Though, as mayor of this town, I consider you all family. And I’m so glad you’re here to celebrate the kickoff of Sweet Haven’s holiday season. Please join me in a round of applause for Sweet Haven traditions. Now, without further ado, I’d like to announce our brand-new Santa for this year. He’s going to say a few words, and then we will make our toast. Santa, come on out.”
Everyone looked expectantly at the stage, wondering if Santa would appear from the left or right. A few seconds went by, but there was no answer and no sign of anyone in the wings.
“Maybe he didn’t hear me. He’s probably busy checking his list,” the mayor said in an attempt at humor. “It’s time to come on out!” he called again. “Your fans are waiting.”
Just then, a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, ran onto the stage.
“Something’s happened to Santa,” she explained breathlessly. “He might be dead.”
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