Cinderella: Slay Bells for Santa, A Cindy Nesbit Mystery

By J. Lee Taylor

Cindy Nesbit doesn’t consider herself an amateur detective. She owns Finders Inc., a computer search company, and gets paid to locate missing documents, pets, deadbeat dads and the occasional separated-at-birth sibling. When her trusty ‘puter, Watson, runs out of leads, Cindy will “go on location,” traveling from her home in Reno, Nevada, to Northern and Central California and Oregon. Her only self-proclaimed flaw is an overabundance of curiosity. And that’s where her stories begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Lee Taylor
• Release date: Jan 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452450698

J. Lee Taylor

J. Lee Taylor enjoys living in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains with her in-corgi-able red and white Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Hooligan. She is currently working on the next Cindy Nesbit mystery.

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A JLT Publication

Cinderella—Slay Bells For Santa

A Cindy Nesbit Mystery

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Copyright 2011 by J. Lee Taylor

All rights reserved

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Cover Artist:

Katrina Kirkpatrick

Cover Design:

Katrina Kirkpatrick

Published by JLT Publications

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author. This is a work of fiction. All incidents are imaginary.

CONTENTS

Begin Reading Cinderella—Slay Bells for Santa

About the Author

More Cindy Nesbit Books

Cinderella—Slay Bells for Santa

J. Lee Taylor

Twin Coves, Oregon

The Week Before Christmas

Here he comes. Same time. Every damn day. Misty Nesbit smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her white chef jacket and prepared for the inevitable battle with Todd Ethridge. She watched him catch his reflection in the restaurant window, adjust his fake Santa Claus beard and pull the red hat over his receding hairline.

Fool. Doesn’t he know his vanity is showing?

The bell over the door tinkled when he pushed it open. Ethridge, the mayor and owner of the Twin Coves Bank, ho-ho-ho-ed his way between the tables and booths, meeting and greeting the late-morning breakfast crowd.

I can’t believe the town elected such a phony. By twelve measly votes, but he acts like he won by a landslide. Thinks he owns the town. Any more forecloses and he will. Thank the good Lord for steering me to a Portland bank for my loan instead of Ethridge’s.

The Santa-clad banker/mayor sauntered to the counter, pushed aside the poinsettia plant, and set his thermos on the Formica top.

Fill ‘er up, darlin’. I’ve got to open the bank in a few minutes.

Are you going to pay this time, Todd? Misty crossed her arms over her chest. I donate coffee to the bell ringers. Where’s your bell? The Santa outfit doesn’t qualify. But every morning you expect me to fill up your thermos, no charge.

Ethridge glanced over his shoulder and lowered his volume to a menacing growl. Fill it, and don’t make a scene. You don’t want your customers thinking you’re cheap, do you?

I’m not the cheap one here, and everyone knows it. I want to see some money this time. Misty unscrewed the cap and filled the container with the last of an old pot.

No sense making a fresh pot for him.

Here’s the sugar, she said.

"Pour some in for me, will ya, sugar. He laughed at his supposed cleverness and waggled his black fingers at her. These gloves are clumsy."

So take them off.

Make nice for your customers, sweet lips. Wouldn’t want to do anything that might be bad for business. Don’t want to miss a mortgage payment, do ya?

If I did, you’d push your banker friend in Portland to foreclose. You’d snap up my restaurant faster than a shark on chum.

Misty ladled several spoonfuls into the container, silently wishing Ethrdige a diabetic coma. She gestured at his red outfit. Are you getting any new customers at the bank because they love your fake beard and funny hat? She recapped the thermos and slid it toward him.

Ha, ha, ha. He leaned his bulk across the counter and closed the distance between them. Have you reconsidered my offer? Changed your mind about selling this dump?

Ah, here it comes, your real reason for being here every morning. She refused to show weakness and stood her ground. It’s not the coffee, no, that’s just an excuse to get in my face, isn’t it. Well, I haven’t changed my mind. Not since you asked me the same question yesterday, or last week, or last month. The answer is no. It always will be no.

His lips, visible through the white cotton moustache and beard, thinned to a flat line.

You’re stubborn, Misty, plain bull-headed stubborn. Everyone knows you’re standing in the way of progress.

"Don’t pull that crap with me, Todd. Everyone knows your property up the street isn’t big enough to hold a multi-story hotel. You need my restaurant and the place next door to close your deal."

He grabbed her hand pretending to shake it but twisted instead. I’m tired of waiting. Hear me good, Misty. From now on, my offer goes down a thousand bucks a day. No one plays me for a fool.

She drew back her other arm and made a fist. Let go, or so help me, I’ll make a scene. She tilted her head toward a booth in the corner. See Carl Bishop over there? I bet he’d love to write a story for the newspaper about how the mayor strong-armed a defenseless woman. Not that it’s your first offense, either.

Ethridge shifted his body to block the journalist’s view. Misty used the distraction to wrench her hand free.

You’re a bully, Todd. You can fool some of the folks some of the time, but not me. Your mother and father would be ashamed if they could see how greedy you’ve become. I’ll never sell. I’ll see you dead and buried before I do.

I shouldn’t have said that so loud.

The mayor faked another ho-ho. What a kidder, Misty. Thanks for the coffee. Merry Christmas, all.

The argument had drawn more attention than Misty wanted, but it didn’t seem to bother Ethridge. In fact, he acted pleased when he tucked the thermos under his arm and walked outside.

Without paying. Dammit!

He waved at her customers through the window and took a long drink from the bottle.

*****

Reno, Nevada

‘Twas the week before Christmas and Reno nestled under a foot of new snow. The wind rattled the tree limbs outside my window and roared around the eaves. If the cold weather held and the wind didn’t blow the snow to Idaho, we’d have a white Christmas, the first in years. I, Cindy Nesbit, some-time insomniac, snuggled deep into the covers and ignored the elf ringing his little bell in my ear. I mentally brushed him aside and pulled the pillow over my head.

The twerp returned with a cow bell.

I jerked upright, heartbeat racing, and stared at the ringing phone. The clock on my nightstand glowed three-ten.

I knew it was bad news.

Finders, Incorporated. Note to brain – business response not needed after midnight.

Cindy?

Is that you, Nell? Why was my widowed sister-in-law calling me at this hour? Are Elizabeth and Robby okay? Please, God, don’t let anything have happened to my niece and nephew.

They’re fine. It’s your sister. Misty’s in jail and needs a lawyer. If she doesn’t get one right away, she’ll be in a cell over the weekend. She’s worried for her restaurant.

Omigod. My perfect sibling, in jail? Can’t she hire Todd Ethridge? He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?

She can’t use him. She’s charged with poisoning him.

Misty poisoned the only lawyer in Twin Coves? The mayor and owner of the town bank? I couldn’t be hearing right. I must be in a nightmare.

Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.

What an inane thing to say. Everything was all wrong.

I hung up the phone and immediately dialed the one person I knew who could help. Ty Rhodes, my long-distance boyfriend, was the west coast editor of a major financial magazine. He came from an old California family with more connections than the ocean has fish. If anyone could find a lawyer for Misty, he could.

Ty, it’s me. Misty’s in trouble. I didn’t waste time on small talk. She’s been arrested for poisoning the mayor of our hometown. She needs a lawyer to be at her arraignment this morning.

Cindy? He mumbled and yawned. Your sister?

Misty needs a lawyer.

Right. He cleared his throat. Because she poisoned the mayor. Is he dead?

I stopped throwing clothes in a bag, stared at the speaker phone and collapsed on the bed. I don’t think so. He pressed charges. Does it matter?

Of course not, Cinderella. Did she do it?

Ty! You know better than to ask.

Calm down. I haven’t met your sister, remember? And who is Nell?

My brother’s widow, mother of my niece and nephew. She lives down the street from Misty.

Over the phone I heard him turning pages.

Twin Coves, Oregon?

Yes.

Is Coos Bay nearby?

An hour away.

Brian Leitner, a buddy from Harvard, has a practice there. I’ll call him.

Thanks, Ty. I’m not sure what I can do in Twin Coves, but I can’t sit around here. I’m leaving for the coast as soon as I hang up.

I guess that means you won’t be coming for Christmas.

Ty’s sister, Liz, had invited me for the holidays. We’d been roommates in college and remained best friends. At the same time, the Wolf family in Vacaville, California, whom I’d met a year ago, wanted me to visit them, too. I’d put off making a decision, but the mess with my sister decided things.

Looks like I’ll be spending Christmas in Oregon. Would you tell Liz? I’ll call her as soon as I find out what’s going on.

Call me, too, I can fly to Eugene and be there tonight, if you need me.

His offer gave me a warm glow. Thanks, Ty, I appreciate your help. I’ll know more when I get there. We said our good-byes.

Misty would probably resent my butting in. She hadn’t called me. Instead, she’d called our sister-in-law. Five years ago when I’d gone home for my brother’s funeral we’d had a huge fight. Neither of us apologized. We never mentioned it again, but it was always under the surface whenever we talked on the phone. I shook off a desire to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head.

Families. Ties that bind and chafe. But Misty was the only blood family I had, besides my niece and nephew. My father left town the day I was born. My mother died of complications from breast cancer when I was nineteen, and a speeding drunk driver killed my brother. Sis and I can fight ‘til the Pacific dries up, and sometimes I don’t like her, but I do love her. Blood is thicker, and my mother knew that. She’d made me, the youngest and least tall, promise to look out for the family. Me.

Logically, I knew the accident that killed my brother was beyond my control. Emotionally, I felt I had failed Rob and my mother. Doing nothing for Misty wasn’t an option. I had to be there.

Artoo, (Rusty the Second, R-2), my seven-month-old Golden Retriever, stuck his head out of the covers. He gave me a sleepy yawn and plopped his big head on my pillow. The dog was a thank-you from Dane Wolf, a furry dividend for solving a dognapping case we’d worked together last January.

What was I going to do with sixty-five pounds of adolescent dog? Misty’s house was too small, and she didn’t have a yard. My vet didn’t open until seven. I couldn’t dump him in my neighbor’s back yard since she was out of town visiting a cousin. I finished packing, mind racing for another solution. I spotted the envelope from Judith Wolf on the kitchen table. It included an invitation to Richard’s (her youngest son) wedding on the thirty-first of December. Her note mentioned Dane and Richard were on a bachelors’ ski trip at Mt. Shasta and included the phone number in case I was up that way.

The ski area was on my route to Oregon. For months, Dane had postponed making good on his promise to give Artoo free obedience lessons. Time to remind him of his offer.

Twenty minutes later, we were on our way. Artoo rode shotgun, tongue lolling, smiling his silly grin, not a care in the world. I envied him.

The idea of seeing Dane temporarily sidetracked my worry for Misty and, as always, sent my thoughts spinning into a lop-sided orbit. Artoo’s sire, Champion Monarch Rustler (Rusty), had been in danger from a vicious dognapping ring. Rusty’s owner hired me for extra security. Rusty’s handler, Dane Wolf, disliked, to put it mildly, the arrangement. After he understood we had the same goal (to protect Rusty), we developed a friendship of sorts. A couple of passionate kisses held the promise of more, but I continued to see Ty. Since I was a close-to-thirty-year-old-semi-novice at the dating game, I found juggling two boyfriends overwhelming. In my typical-Queen-of-Denial-mode, I handled it by not thinking of either man and concentrating on work.

My company, FINDERS, INC. is a one-woman operation. I find things for clients—pets, wandering spouses, missing documents and the occasional deadbeat dad. I work out of my house and handle most jobs from a laptop I call Watson. Occasionally, I go on-location if Watson’s leads fail me. Out of habit, I’d packed the laptop behind the front seat of my ten-year-old blue Jeep.

It was a few minutes before eight when I stopped at a gas station near the base of Mt. Shasta. With the hose on automatic fill, l lean against Old Blue and stared at the snow-covered dormant volcano glittering in the early morning sun. The teepee-shaped mountain seemed to pop out of the surrounding flats. The view always surprised and pleased me.

I called the number Judith included in her note. Richard answered and gave directions to a faux Swiss chalet-style condo at the edge of town. I pulled into the drive. Dane appeared from the side of the cabin with an armload of wood. Artoo clambered over me, struggled through the partially open car door and dashed toward Dane.

Stop!

He didn’t.

I squinched my eyes shut, afraid to see the inevitable collision.

I didn’t hear firewood hit the ground, just a single word command.

Sit.

I opened one eye. My dog sat in front of Dane. He wiggled with restrained joy. His tail swept the dusting of fresh snow and pine needles from the path.

Humph. Artoo never minded me like that.

I stood beside the car and absorbed the spectacular image of Dane Wolf. My libido seemed to have increased in the ten months since I’d seen him. Places that weren’t supposed to be awake yet tingled. Maybe time and distance made me more susceptible to his bad-boy good looks. The first time we met, I hated his pony tail. I never liked men who had hair longer than mine. The antagonism had been mutual. Dane didn’t approve of the way I carried a loaded gun in my car. Against the law, he said. Bullets were supposed to be locked away at least six feet from my weapon. A lot of good that would do during a carjacking, I argued.

His family liked me, his kennel of dogs liked me, and after a brief turf war, Dane and I came to an understanding. Sort of.

Artoo looked over his shoulder at me, gave me a look that said I should attempt some semblance of composure and get a move on. My dog has an expressive face.

Hi, Dane. I would’ve call first but it was too early when I left Reno. And I know you don’t like people talking on their cell phone while they drive, so I didn’t call until I got here. I was babbling. Anyway, here I am.

Lame, so lame.

Come on in.

Artoo followed us inside, whining with delight. I can’t stay but a minute.

Hi, Cindy. Richard, Dane’s younger brother, gave me a hug. Sit and have a cup of coffee. Mom sent a batch of her lemon bars. Have one?

Judith Wolf made the best cookies. I took a seat and repeated my need to hurry.

Not that we aren’t happy to see you, Richard said, but what are you doing in this part of the world?

I explained my trip to Oregon adding, I thought this would be a good time for Dane to give Artoo his obedience training. He promised.

If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would’ve missed the slight widening of Dane’s eyes and the tinniest quirk of his lips. He knew I was using him as a puppy sitter.

I can pick him up when I come to your wedding, Richard, when my sister is cleared. I choked on a sudden lump in my throat. "I don’t know how long I’ll be in Twin Coves.

We’ll keep him until you settle things. Richard passed me another lemon bar.

Thanks. About Christmas?

The invitation is open, anytime. Try to make the wedding. Chelsea thinks I never would’ve asked her out if it hadn’t been for you.

Dane didn’t say a word concerning my matchmaking ability, but Judith told me he approved. He believed Chelsea would see to it Richard went to his Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. I knew her love would help, too.

I finished my second lemon bar and looked at my watch. I don’t want to eat and run, but it’s at least a five hour drive to Twin Coves.

Dane broke his silence. Six, if you stick to the speed limit.

Yeah, yeah. Mr. Dane-By-the-Book-Wolf. Son of a cop. Stickler for adhering to the laws. All of them.

I told Richard to give my regards to Chelsea and promised to be at their wedding. Perhaps Misty’s problems would evaporate by the time I arrived in Twin Coves. I hugged Artoo and told him to behave.

Dane walked me to my car. His features hinted at his distant Sioux heritage. He had sharp cheekbones, black eyes, and ebony hair tied in a tail with a piece of black leather. He seldom smiled or betrayed his emotions. Definitely the strong silent type. Dane put his hand on the door to keep me from opening it.

I didn’t get you a Christmas present yet. He pulled me against his whip-lean body and lowered his head. Our lips met, and rockets exploded in all the right places.

Good Golly Miss Molly! What a kiss!

I wrapped my arms around his neck and temporarily forgot everything.

When we came up for air, Dane had the hint of a bemused grin in his coal-black eyes.

Bad timing again, Girl Scout.

That’s his nickname for me and another story.

I warned you not to begin something I couldn’t finish, but you did it again. He nuzzled my neck before he took a step away.

Me? I teased back. I don’t think I started that lip-lock.

One of these days . . . .

Dane’s mock threatening tone stimulated each and every one of my erogenous zones. Is that a threat or a promise?

Three guesses and the first two don’t count. He reached behind me and opened the door.

I slid inside and lowered the window.

Dane leaned over, palmed the back of my head and crushed his lips to mine in a quick but powerful kiss. Get out of here. Go save your sister.

It’s all a big mistake. She doesn’t need saving. I’ll call.

He slapped the roof of Old Blue to send me on my way.

The taste of Dane’s kiss lingered, making it difficult to keep my mind on the road for the next fifty miles. My body continued to feel the imprint of his. Guilt for forgetting my sister’s plight, however temporary, fought with my over-active hormones.

More guilt slapped me alongside the head. How could I like Dane’s kisses so much when I was supposed to be in love with Ty, the man I’d had a crush on since I saw him help Liz, his sister and my roommate, move into the dorm? He didn’t think I was the right sort (too poor) to room with his sister. I pegged him for a rich snob.

Liz, the peace keeper and matchmaker, convinced her brother to ask me out. On our one date, things got out of control, and I’d gifted Ty with my virginity. He committed the unpardonable sin of not calling. Ten years later, Liz phoned to tell me Ty had dropped out of sight. Neither of us knew he was on an undercover assignment for his magazine . Turns out he was investigating a tip on a rustic Club Med for vampire wannabes, part of a suspected real estate scam. I’d gone looking for him. We ended up in the bottom of a mine shaft, at the wrong end of a gun and in love.

I thought.

Ty had issues.

I carried a gun for self-protection. Had ever since I’d been in the repo business. I’d learned the hard way that some people didn’t want their cars and bikes repossessed. I’d been out of that game for a few years, but being a female with a lack of vertical achievement in an increasingly violent society necessitated carrying a weapon.

Ty wanted to do the protecting. At times, his attention felt suffocating.

The more I tried to sort out my feelings for Ty and Dane the more confused I got. One cure-all for my mood? Music. I popped in my favorite CD, Eric Clapton’s Unplugged and concentrated on my sister’s problem.

CHAPTER TWO

Misty was the most mild-mannered person I knew, except when we rubbed each other the wrong way, which, like some (all?) siblings, was often. She never left Twin Coves, ran a successful restaurant, and wouldn’t or couldn’t hurt a soul. Poison? Something was wrong with that picture, and I intended to find out what it was.

I turned west off I-5 and headed for the Pacific Ocean. I wished I’d asked Nell more questions. Was the mayor in the hospital or had he died? What kind of poison? Were there any other suspects?

I needed more information to discover who actually poisoned Ethridge. I put my driving on automatic and dredged up memories of the Todd Ethridge I knew before he became mayor.

The summer before my junior year in high