Mrs. Bennet flipped a switch and the train moved to a track that took it in a slow, winding descent down to the front counter. “The engine has a gingerbread glaze, the car in the middle is an eggnog cream, and the caboose is an old-fashioned chocolate donut with crushed candy cane sprinkles.”
“Yes, I’ll take that,” Ernesto said, his grin childlike and infectious.
I needed to bring the conversation around so I could see what Mrs. Bennet knew. “Maybe I ought to get a cookie for Cecelia,” I said, pretending to consider it, though she was the last person I would buy a treat for. “She’s been quite off since Paolo’s murder.”
Mrs. Bennet perked up, just like I’d hoped she would. “Were you there when it happened, Anne?”
“Yes, I was the one to find the body.”
Mrs. Bennet’s slight nod told me that she already knew this information. “And how are you holding up, dear?”
“Everyone is sad, of course, but Cecelia seems to be the most troubled, and I’m not sure why,” I said, hoping Mrs. Bennet would jump in to tell us everything she knew. She obliged.
“Yes, I imagine that would be difficult for her, considering the fact that they were dating.”
I blinked. “Paolo and Cecelia were together?”
She smiled smugly. “Yes. Didn’t you know? They did keep their relationship hidden from the public, but they knew each other from high school and recently reconnected and started dating.”
How did Mrs. Bennet always know everyone’s secrets? It was as though people paid for her enchanted baked goods with gossip.
Lydia came back to the front counter with a tray of fresh cinnamon rolls that were tying themselves in knots and then straightening out again.
“They broke up, Mom,” Lydia said, jumping into the conversation.
Mrs. Bennet straightened, apparently unaware of that information. “Really? When did that happen?”
“Last week. Cecelia caught him cheating.”
Neto and I exchanged a meaningful look.
“How about Walter Bramwell?” I asked, abandoning my manners and turning to blatant gossip. “Do you know anything about him that might be suspicious?”
“Walter? No. He’s rich, comes from a respectable family, and is currently unattached. He’s the sort of young man my daughters would be lucky to be better acquainted with.” Her eyes gazed upward, to the top floor where the family lived.
Sleigh bells jingled, announcing Mayor Pembroke as she hurried through the door in a sweater that looked like it was made of actual pine needles and strung with multi-colored Christmas lights. A headband wreathed her head like a crown and featured a large star. Only Mayor Pembroke could dress like a Christmas tree and get away with it. I shuddered at the idea of how the pine needles would feel on my skin, though I knew they were only designed to look real and were likely made of a softer material.
“Thanks, Mrs. Bennet,” I said, turning away.
“You’re very welcome. Oh, and Ernesto, the next time you see George Wickham, please give him our regards.”
My thoughts drifted to the conversation I’d had with Elizabeth in the garden the night before. I’d been trying to help my cousin out, but I couldn’t help but feel that Elizabeth was even more unhappy with him after my efforts.
Ernesto grabbed the tray with our food and we walked through a mini snowstorm of enchanted snowflakes that fell from the ceiling and turned to glitter before they hit the floor. I grimaced. They looked spectacular but left a mess that would be a nightmare to clean up.
“Sounds like we found a motive,” Neto said, tearing off the roof of the steam engine donut and popping it in his mouth.
Mayor Pembroke hurried over to us, her pinecone earrings swinging erratically. “Anne. I’m in a bit of a pickle and I’m hoping you and your friend can help me out.”
Neto extended his hand. “I’m Ernesto. We’d be happy to help.”
Her eyes lit up with recognition. “Yes, you’re the Garcias’ son. We’re glad to have you and the Grey Doors in town.”
“Thank you. What do you need Anne and I to do?”
“A busload of children are about to be dropped off here to see Santa Claus, but our Santa and his elf canceled at the last minute.”
Neto’s eyes widened. He was no doubt regretting agreeing to help without finding out what it would entail.
