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  Death of a

  Dapper Snowman

  Stormy Day Mystery #1

  Angela Pepper

  WWW.ANGELAPEPPER.COM | SECOND EDITION

  Chapter 1

  The hand-painted snowman on the vase kept his coal-black eyes trained on me. Sweating and breathing heavily, I was getting my morning workout by pushing the accent chair from one side of the living room to the other.

  I stepped back to assess my handiwork. The room was still off-balance and bare. The little snowman looked embarrassed to be there as the sole decorative item in my new-to-me house.

  The doorbell rang.

  I picked up the vase and turned it around on the coffee table, so the snowman faced the window, and only the painted mountains would be visible to my guest. That tweak made all the difference. One lone Christmas decoration would be pathetic, but a single piece of ceramic art made an elegant centerpiece.

  I opened the door and invited in the perky blond real estate agent who’d sold me the place.

  Samantha Sweet glanced around the interior as though appraising the value added by my decorating, or the lack thereof. She was frowning. I had a table and four chairs, plus a sofa, accent chair, plants, and lamps, but no curtains, no art on the walls, and nothing personal other than the vase.

  “Good start,” she said with enthusiasm.

  “I know it needs softening up,” I said. “Everything’s square, and I need more roundness, more texture.”

  She said, “Stormy, you could get a pet.”

  “To decorate? That seems a bit selfish, to buy a pet just to accessorize my living room. Then again, fluffy white cats and dogs look great with everything. Or should I go brown? What colors are in style these days for pets?”

  Her mouth pinched. Sadly, her lack of appreciation for my particular brand of irreverent humor immediately took her off my shortlist for potential new friends. That narrowed my list down to zero, which was a shame. I tried not to let my disappointment seep into my voice as we continued to make small talk about throw pillows and decorating.

  She took a seat on the upholstered living room chair, refused coffee but accepted water, and we got down to business.

  I’d already bought the house we were currently sitting in, as well as an established retail business on Broad Avenue. Both were sizable commitments, but when managed well by yours truly, they promised to be cash-flow positive. That left me with enough capital to acquire a few more investments, possibly a nice round ten. If I had ten, there’d be security. Even if a few flopped, the diversity of my portfolio would spread out the risk.

  Samantha’s green eyes had nearly popped out when I’d told her my intentions. She was no slouch and had gotten to work immediately, scouring the town for more deals.

  For today’s presentation, she had three prospects, each in its own folder. I sat kitty-corner to her, on the sofa.

  Samantha opened the first folder and composed herself with a professional smile that didn’t quite extend to her eyes.

  Before she could speak, I said, “Pass.”

  She gave me a wounded look. “But I haven’t even told you what it is.”

  “I can see you’ve only got five sheets of paper in that skinny folder. You and I both know this one’s no good, which is why you’re presenting it first. Classic sales technique. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be honest with you, as long as you promise not to play the usual games.”

  Her lips pinched again. She set the first folder aside. “You’re right,” she said. “It was for a micro-brewery they’ve been trying to unload for years. Nobody else wants it, either.”

  “I saw it listed online,” I said. “The building has some value, but the equipment’s outdated. The beer itself is decent, but I’m guessing the margins are wafer-thin.” I nodded to the other materials on her lap. “What’s behind door number two?”

  She opened the next folder, tipping her head from one side to the other as she handed it to me.

  “Katrina Court is a three-story, twelve-unit rental block,” she said.

  I closed the folder after a cursory glance and set it aside. “Pass.”

  She sputtered, “Bu-bu-but you said you were interested in more residential rentals.”

  “I’m not some overseas investor taking properties by the bulk, sight-unseen. I’ve been inside Katrina Court. If the cash flow looks good, it’s only because of deferred maintenance. The current owners keep patching pinhole leaks in the pipes to delay repiping, and I’m sure that’s just the tip of the iceberg. A lack of spending may help today’s income statement, but they’re devaluing the infrastructure, which is where the only value is because that land isn’t zoned for redevelopment, as I hope you would already know.”

  She blinked, her green eyes professionally inscrutable. “Of course.”

  “What else have you got?” I leaned forward, reaching for the final folder. My lower back was stiff from my furniture-pushing workout, and my hand moved jerkily upward.

  Samantha flinched away from my hand, as though I’d been about to slap her.

  “The last one’s no good, either,” she said. “It’s no use. I’m sorry.”

  I took the final folder and looked over the contents. “Samantha, this is a low asking price for a retail business with such high volume. What makes you think this coffee shop won’t be of interest to me?”

  She bit her trembling lower lip. “Just a hunch. Honestly, I don’t know. I’m much better with houses, not other investments.”

  “You can learn the basics, though.”

  Her hands flew up to her face, and within seconds she was wracked with sobs. “It’s no use,” she cried. “I’m terrible at math. I have to use a calculator for everything, even for splitting a stupid lunch bill. They should take away my license.”

  I perused the contents of the final folder, waiting for her to pull herself together. A minute later, she was still sniffling and rambling about her incompetence, eyes hidden behind a chipped manicure. At first I’d been mortified, embarrassed on her behalf, but with each passing minute, I softened. Her purse was open enough to reveal the stuffed animal that likely belonged to one of her young children. She was trying to raise a family while building a career, and she had found her breaking point, in my new living room.

  “Samantha,” I said gently.

  She continued to berate herself, sobbing, “Last week I put a contract into the system with a comma instead of a decimal point, and I nearly blew the whole deal.”

  I handed her a tissue. “Mistakes happen.”

  She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes dry. “I’m the mistake. This whole career is a mistake.”

  “How much sleep did you have last night?”

  She looked as if she might start sobbing again.

  “Sleep helps,” I said. “But the real issue is Imposter Syndrome. It’s surprisingly common, from academia to the business world and pretty much everywhere in between. It’s that fear you got where you are by the skin of your teeth, and everyone’s going to find out you’re a phony.”

  She swallowed hard. “That’s me.”

  I shook my head. “That’s most of us. And the only cure is to know your stuff, inside and out.”

  “But I don’t know anything,” she said, the water welling in her eyes and ready to go again.

  “You weren’t born knowing,” I said. “So you have to learn. Educate yourself, and that feeling will go away.” I took the papers from the folder and spread them across the coffee table between us. “For example, this place has a low asking price because it has no intangible assets, no competitive advantage. They
don’t even have a single secret recipe because their baked goods come from a supplier. They’re in a great location, sure, but I see here the lease is up for renewal next year, and the demolition clause is not in their favor.”

  I flipped through the papers, picking out numbers and doing quick calculations on the pages, even though I could have done them in my head.

  She nodded, almost smiling as it sank in. “So, you’re saying secret recipes would be a valuable asset, along with, um, customer goodwill?”

  “That’s right,” I said, flipping over a sheet to write a list on the back. “Here are some good books you might want to check out.”

  When I finished and closed the folder, Samantha was leaning back in her chair, a stunned but pleased look on her face.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re not so scary after all.”

  “Someone told you I was scary?”

  Her eyes widened, and she mumbled something about being on her way.

  “Your last name is Sweet,” I said. “You’re married to Michael Sweet?”

  She nodded begrudgingly.

  “High school was a long time ago,” I said. “I’ve changed a lot since then, and I don’t throw food on people anymore. Not even if they’re bullying little kids in the cafeteria.”

  She said, “That was all that happened?”

  “Yes. Michael more than deserved a tray full of mashed potatoes and gravy in his lap.”

  Her posture stiffened. “He says you dumped food on him several times.”

  “Your husband was a slow learner.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “True enough.”

  “How’s he treating you these days?” I chuckled as I sipped my coffee. “Do you need me to come over and talk to ol’ Mikey about anything?”

  She met my smile with one of her own, a genuine grin. “Things are great, thanks. He’s a wonderful husband and a great father to our kids. I shouldn’t have let your reputation get to me, since you’ve always been as nice as pie in our dealings.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “My reputation?”

  She jerked into motion, tapping the electronic device on her wrist to check either the time or her messages or both. “I’ll be in touch again soon,” she said. “I’ll read those books, and I’ll get better. Is there anything specific I should keep an eye out for?”

  I handed her the folders. “Let’s look wider,” I said. “Let’s not limit ourselves when there are plenty of other towns nearby that are equally good, or better.”

  “Better?” Her voice rose up sharply. “Better than Misty Falls?”

  I walked her over to the door and passed her the wool winter jacket she’d worn in. It smelled of sweet perfume and was the same green as her eyes.

  “Let’s broaden our search,” I said.

  We exchanged a few more details about pricing and other criteria, and she left.

  I finished my coffee and jotted down some errands for the day. My stomach felt unsettled, even after eating a healthy breakfast muffin.

  When I’d suggested looking wider for investments, Samantha had been crestfallen, as though I’d written off the entire town. She wasn’t wrong. The idea that I had a reputation in Misty Falls as anything other than a savvy young businesswoman rankled me.

  Why would I keep trying so hard to fit into a place that wouldn’t love me back?

  Chapter 2

  Broad Avenue runs through the center of picturesque Misty Falls. Like the main streets of other charming small towns, Broad Avenue is lined with colorful storefronts topped by hand-lettered signs and striped awnings. Above the shops, Oregon’s snow-capped mountains rise majestically to frame the sky. If you’re standing in the center of town when snow is falling, and you squint your eyes just right, you’ll feel like a tiny figurine inside a snow globe.

  Snow had started falling by the time I steered my car onto Broad Avenue. I turned off the radio to better enjoy the view and the tucked-in-bed feeling of fresh snowfall.

  My employee had already opened my store that morning, so I was in no rush to get to Glorious Gifts. I parked behind the building and took a leisurely stroll up Broad Avenue to get a takeout coffee. Things did not go well at the cafe because the little bundle of evil known as Chad had been working. Then I burned my tongue on the latte, but I was determined to look on the bright side for the rest of day.

  With a smile on my face, I walked into my store and greeted my employee, Brianna, with her beverage of choice: a mocha.

  Brianna squealed and declared, “Stormy Day, you’re the world’s greatest boss! I award you this prize.” She took from the shelf a ceramic mug decorated with the phrase World’s Greatest Boss and handed it to me.

  “You shouldn’t have!” I clutched the mug to my chest for a moment before returning it to the shelf. “I’ll keep it right here, with my other ones.”

  A trio of customers came in. Brianna went over to see if they needed help. I checked that everything up front was in order, and then went back into the small office to receive the recent orders into the computer’s system. The shop’s inventory wasn’t entirely computerized yet, but I was working my way through the huge undertaking. I anticipated the job being lighter after the busy Christmas season, when much of the existing stock had been sold through.

  I’d lost myself in a soothing stream of numbers when a sound startled me. I sat up straight and listened while a loud woman in the store made unreasonable demands.

  Her shrill tone carried all the way back to the office with perfect clarity. “When was the last time you dusted this top shelf?” she demanded.

  I rubbed my temples and listened as Brianna said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m too short to see the upper level, so I didn’t realize it needed dusting. I’ll get to it right away.”

  “Being short is no excuse,” the woman said. “Get yourself a ladder. Chop chop.”

  I heard the ladder squeak as Brianna put it into action. Slowly, I rotated my swivel chair to face the door of the office. So much for my attempt at an enjoyable day. There wasn’t enough room under the desk for me to hide, and soon she’d be coming for me.

  The woman in the shop wasn’t just any local know-it-all. She was my father’s girlfriend, Pam Bochenek. The two had met earlier in the year, at a fundraiser where she was handling the decorating. The relationship hadn’t been serious until an injury had him immobilized at home, and Pam moved in “temporarily” to help him with errands. We both thought she’d move back out once I returned to town, but it hadn’t happened yet.

  I’d accepted that maybe this was a sign from the universe, and it was finally time for Finnegan Day to settle down with a woman. I would have preferred that woman not be Pam Bochenek, with her wild mood swings and her strange ideas about what types of foods were best pickled, but there was no point in denial. Pam was part of our lives, and I could fight and make things worse, or try to befriend her.

  Or I could sneak out the fire exit.

  I tiptoed to the office door to check the line of sight to the back door.

  “Stormy!” Pam yelled.

  Busted. I shook my fist in the air.

  She called out, “I know you’re here, so stop screwing around. I saw your car parked in the back. Don’t you think that car is awfully flashy for Misty Falls? People will talk about what a big city hotshot you think you are.”

  “And a good morning to you, too,” I said with a pasted-on smile as I emerged from the office.

  Pam threw her spindly arms in the air in mock surprise. “She’s come out of her cave!”

  “You say that like I’m some hibernating bear.”

  Pam squinted at my face. “Have you been sleeping? You have bags under your eyes. That new haircut really draws my attention to them.”

  I rubbed the back of my head, my fingers moving easily through my new pixie-cut hairstyle. After years of fighting my naturally curly hair and spending vast sums on straighteners, I’d finally found the haircut that suited me. Unfortunately, it didn’t meet Pam’s ap
proval. Never mind that her own light brown hair was barely inches longer than mine.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “How about you? With my father off to Portland, are you bored? Should we wander over to the paint-your-own ceramics place again?”

  “I’m busy.” She picked up a plastic pet carrier and set it on the counter with an angry clunk. “I have to get the cat fixed before she goes into heat.”

  I peered into the cat carrier, expecting to see her new Russian Blue cat, but the container was empty.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late,” I said to Pam. “Your cat has slipped into invisibility mode. The vet won’t be able to fix her if they can’t find her.”

  Pam gave me a blank stare. “That sounds like something your father would say. You people are so weird.”

  “I’m weird? You’re the one with an invisible cat.”

  “Obviously we’ll have to catch the cat first. I need your help. The stupid thing won’t listen to me. I’ve been yelling for her to come home for the last hour.”

  I suppressed a smirk. “I can’t imagine why that didn’t work.”

  Pam shoved the pet carrier along the counter toward me. “Your father should have taken care of everything before he took off on his trip. He’s got a lot of loose threads he needs to tie up before he goes gallivanting around.”

  I bit my tongue. My father hadn’t “taken off” on anyone. He’d left town the day before to get a hip operation done in Portland. He would be laid up in bed for the next few days, hating every minute of it, but to hear Pam talk, you’d think he was off gambling and watching showgirls.

  Pam stepped away from the counter and pulled on her winter gloves. “We’d better get moving. The cat is due at the vet right now.”

  Again, I bit my tongue. Most people in want of a favor have the decency to ask nicely. Pam, however, had helped me get a discount on my new furniture a month earlier, and ever since, she’d been acting as though one phone call had been an immense sacrifice, and I owed her countless favors.