Merry Market Murder(20)

And, there was Sam. Our first Christmas together as a couple. What in the world would I get him? I hadn’t been able to come up with the perfect gift yet. We were only a week away, but I wasn’t going to get him just anything; my gift to Sam would have to mean something, though I didn’t even really quite know what I wanted it to mean.

I laughed at myself. Allison would roll her eyes. She’d said many times lately, “You two are like teenagers experiencing their first love. You’re cute and adorable and kind of annoying.”

I pulled onto my gravel driveway and waved at Hobbit, who was sitting up on her pillow on the porch, her tail wagging and her short front legs anxious for the truck to stop so she could greet me properly. Once the truck was in park, she left the porch and met me halfway with a few kisses and some full-body wags.

“Hey, girl! Anyone bother you today?”

The house, barn, and grounds seemed undisturbed. Not long ago, I’d found them disturbed to the point that afterward I’d become concerned about leaving her alone. I still had surges of concern, but I was getting better. And Hobbit loved her home, her pillow, and her porch; although she enjoyed the people she’d been able to spend extra time with during her time away from the farm, she was pleased to have her routine back.

We walked around the property and did our daily inspection. There were no signs of the pumpkin plants, the vines having been pulled and composted in early November. The strawberry vines were there, dormant and waiting to bloom again in the spring, but they looked exactly how they were supposed to look, so there was no reason not to think another good crop was on its way.

A new habit I’d formed whenever I arrived at home was checking the door on the refurbished barn/kitchen just to make sure it was locked securely before I ventured inside the house. Today it was locked, and it looked like no one had tried to enter since I’d worked in there the night before. For part of the evening, Sam had helped me with jelly and cookies. He wasn’t as skilled in the kitchen as he was at police work, but he was getting better. I didn’t think canning or preserving or baking cookies for that matter would become one of his favorite or frequent activities, but his help had been appreciated.

“I’ve got lots of kitchen work today,” I said to Hobbit. This caused her ears to first perk then sag. She wasn’t allowed into the kitchen and though she was pretty patient about work I had to get done, she’d rather we just hung out together and ignored work altogether.

I laughed. “I’ll try to hurry.”

I grabbed the egg from the truck and took it inside, placing it safely in a bowl on the kitchen counter—the kitchen inside the house, which was used for personal meals and recipe experiments that weren’t intended as sellable products. My aunt and uncle had left me the house, farm, and fancy barn kitchen. Uncle Stanley had originally planned to can jellies, jams, and preserves as a retirement activity. Neither of them had planned on being killed in a horrible car accident, but somehow Uncle Stanley must have known that he was creating something that someone would use.

Having paid bills and sorted through all the junk mail a few days ago, I’d cleared all the paper off the old, long dining table. It was now half-covered with jars and lids that were clean and ready, even though I would sterilize the jars in the barn before I filled them.

The dining room was bright with four big windows that faced the side of the property. Mostly, diners could look out to hilly countryside that backed into some thick woods, but in the fall, right before the pumpkins were harvested, you could see long green vines, big green leaves, and big orange gourds creeping over the hills. I hosted October family dinners just so everyone could enjoy the view.

I loaded the jars onto a tray to transport them to the barn. On the way out, I stopped at a big pot on the front porch and plucked some sprigs of fresh mint. I still had plenty and it was still growing well outside, though I thought I’d have to soon move it in to the back porch where it would get better winter sun.

More than anything, my short time in Arizona had taught me to be careful when working with jalapeño peppers. Once I was in the kitchen, I pulled on some disposable plastic gloves, grabbed a box of peppers from the refrigerator, cleaned them, and placed about ten on the worktable. Since I pureed the peppers it wasn’t technically necessary to also slice them, but I liked the end texture better when I did. Once the stems were removed, I cut each pepper into three or four rings and then put the slices into a food processor. I poured a cup of apple cider vinegar in with the peppers and then pureed until only small bits of pepper remained.