The Iced Princess

Praise for
Snow Way Out

“A promising debut! Delights with charming characters, lots of heart, and a clever whodunit.”

—Christy Fifield, national bestselling author of
Murder Ties the Knot

“
Snow Way Out
 . . . is everything I love in a cozy mystery . . . [This series is] off to a magnificent start. Christine Husom's unique story line using characters who own a snow globe shop and joint coffee shop is one that is different than most I have read and it works . . .
Snow Way Out
 . . . is an absolutely delightful story to cozy up on the couch to.”

—Fresh Fiction

“This was a wonderful debut to a promising new series . . . I look forward to spending more time with this great cast of characters.”

—Melissa's Mochas, Mysteries & Meows

“This is a pleasantly appealing and delightfully charming addition to the cozy mystery genre, and I can't wait for my next visit to Brooks Landing.”

—Dru's Book Musings

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Christine Husom

SNOW WAY OUT

THE ICED PRINCESS

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

THE ICED PRINCESS

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Christine Husom.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information, visit
penguin.com
.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-13701-1

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2015

Cover illustration by Julia Green.

Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my faithful readers who make it especially fun for me to craft tales. And to my family and friends for their unwavering love and support. I am truly blessed.

Once again, thank you to my agent, John Talbot; to Michelle Vega, senior editor at the Berkley Publishing Group, who is a delight to work with; to my proofreaders, Edie Peterson and Elizabeth Husom for all their help; to Timya Owen for going on a fact-finding trip for me; and Yvette Grant in Production, Marianne Grace my copyeditor, Julia Green for my lovely cover and Danielle Dill, the publicist for Berkley Prime Crime.

The idea for a story starts with the writer, but it takes a team to turn that story into a book. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“C
amryn Brooks, you and your antics cost me the election. My career is ruined.” I envisioned the irate woman on the other end of the phone line, thankful she wasn't standing there in person. And if she was calling from Washington, D.C., it was a safe distance from where I was standing in Brooks Landing, Minnesota.

“Senator Zimmer, I—”

“Don't even try to give me one of your lame denials or excuses. I know exactly what happened. I saw it with my own eyes and in my own office. You had your hands all over my husband.” That was true. I was doing my best to push him away from me, trying to find the most effective spot, which was difficult since I only had two hands and he seemed to have somewhere between six and ten.

“Senator Zimmer, I—”

“What everyone here in Washington and back home in Minnesota has been talking about is how I had no control over my staff and certainly could not be effective in the senate if they weren't doing their jobs. And they kept bringing up the whole moral issue besides. I did not do one single thing to deserve it.” That was partly true. What the senator couldn't control was her husband's errant behavior. As far as I knew, everyone on her staff was professional, had high work standards, and did not cross ethical lines.

In my opinion, Ramona Zimmer should have known better than to marry a man who had suavely moved in and swept her off her feet after his previous wife had dumped him for two important reasons, infidelity and laziness. When he was courting her, Peter Zimmer somehow managed to land a good job that meant a transfer from Illinois to Minnesota.

But it wasn't long after Ramona was elected to the United States Senate that he quit his job to “spend quality time with his wife” in Washington, D.C. Ha. He must have laughed all the way to the bank when Ramona was elected. He had his sugar mama back where he liked her: gainfully employed. People had tried to warn Ramona about his character, or lack thereof, but she'd put her blinders on and earplugs in.

I felt a bit sorry for the woman. She had an inflated ego when it came to her political knowledge and negotiating skills but had little confidence in her personal relationships with men. She had trouble believing one would find her attractive, much less sexy. She was not homely by any means, and she looked pretty when she smiled. It was her large frame and the extra weight she carried that made her self-conscious. And her flat feet unfortunately caused her to walk with an awkward gait.

I'd first gone to work for her when I lived in Illinois, after I finished college at the University of Illinois in Chicago. I can't say that I regretted following her to Washington, D.C., to serve as her director of legislative affairs, exactly. But had I known the personal humiliation and career damage I would suffer because of her husband's inappropriate behavior, I would never have taken the job. My parents were called into question by the local townsfolk, and we learned in the fallout that people in small Midwestern towns took things to heart more than the big city folks in our nation's capital.

Everyone in Brooks Landing, Minnesota, had rooted for me when I'd landed the prestigious position, but it had all come crashing down a few short years later. I returned to my hometown the worse for wear. As it turned out, my mother had been diagnosed with a serious illness at around the same time, and I stepped in to run my parents' shop. Curio Finds wasn't where I'd planned to be at that stage of my life, but it was where I needed and wanted to be.

“Camryn Brooks, did you hang up on me?”

I wondered what else she might have said while I strolled down memory lane. “Of course not, Senator. You know me better than that.”

“It wouldn't be the first time you did something I thought was out of character, am I not right?”

Not right, but there was no convincing the woman her sleazy husband had lied about the incident. I had tried to explain what really happened to no avail. And to top it off, she had a photo to support what she believed was true. Another senator had come into the room with her and snapped a picture of Peter and me with his cell phone. That senator later claimed he had no idea how the media had gotten their
hands on it. But it was more than a little suspicious since he sat on the opposite side of the aisle from Senator Zimmer.

My friend and business neighbor Alice Nelson, whom we all called Pinky, stuck her head through the archway that divided our two shops. She mouthed the word “Senator?” and I nodded. That was enough to compel her to swoop in and plop down on the stool sitting next to me, behind the checkout counter. She leaned in close, and one of the feathers from her pink headband tickled my cheek. I held back a reflex chuckle and flicked a finger at the feather. Pinky took the hint and moved back.

“I'm sorry, Senator, but I need to get off the phone. Someone just came into my shop.” I felt a slight touch of guilt leading her to believe it was a customer who needed my attention, but Pinky was someone and a special one at that. Plus, there was only so much tongue-lashing I would tolerate from her.

“Camryn, this is not settled. What am I going to do now? I
needed
that position.”

“I can't talk right now, but call again, Senator, anytime. 'Bye for now.” Why had I told her she could call anytime? I no longer worked for her, and we were barely on speaking terms. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Pinky took the phone from my hand and hung it up. “So that was that the soon-to-be-unseated Senator Ramona Zimmer?”

“It was.”

“Honestly, Cami, I can't believe you're so nice to her after what she did to you.”

“We were close friends for a long time, Pinky. I try to focus on that and our good years together, before she was bowled over by that creep, Peter.”

“What did the fallen politician want?”

That made me smile. “Pinky, you are certainly full of all kinds of descriptive terms this morning.”

She shrugged. “I guess. So what did the
senator
want? My snoopy side is dying of curiosity.”

“She scolded me for costing her the election. I'm sure she's been stewing about it for the last six days since the results came in, and she finally reached her boiling point. She honestly thinks I'm to blame.”

“As if. Did you tell her the guilty party is much closer to home?”

I shrugged. “You know I tried to back when the whole thing happened last spring. She wouldn't listen, and you can't beat a dead horse. Aside from all that, you know what bothers me almost as much?”

“What's that?”

“She acts like it was only her career that was ruined when her husband—who can do no wrong in her eyes—ruined my career, too.”

“She should be begging your forgiveness for throwing you under the bus like that instead of blaming you and yammering on about it.”

“That won't happen until Peter moves on to his next victim. And that's the main reason I don't want to completely shut the door on Ramona. She doesn't have all that many friends, and she'll need a shoulder to cry on.”

“I think I'm going to be sick. I mean, really, Cami, you cannot be serious.”

“It may sound a little goofy to you, but I can't help it. She meant a lot to me for a long time, starting back in Chicago when she was a state senator there. She hired me twice, after
all. I believe the best thing to do when it comes to Ramona is to forgive and forget.”

“I was taught the same thing growing up. But in this case none of us will ever forget what you went through.”

I nodded. “I was working alone in the senator's office when Peter barged in. I should have run out the back door that connected our offices and locked it behind me. But I'd never been alone with him before, and I honestly did not expect him to do what he did.”

Pinky snapped the dish towel she was holding. “You should have slapped him with a harassment suit from the get-go, long before he ever grabbed you.”

“He didn't do anything glaringly obvious. He'd make little innuendos that I wasn't sure how to interpret. You know, a comment here and there, leaning in maybe a little too close when he talked to me. I was so focused on my job and doing it well that I didn't pay enough attention to the signs that said something was brewing and about to explode.”

Pinky jumped up. “Brewing! That reminds me, I have more beans to grind before the coffee hour rush. We'll talk more about the senator later.”

Her long, skinny legs carried her out of sight in seconds. I took an assessing look around the curio shop, trying to shift my attention back to what needed to be done in the present, not on what had happened in the past. The Christmas shopping season was right around the corner. Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, was the traditional start.

The explanation I'd heard growing up was that Black Friday was the day retailers started showing a profit for the year, moving from being in the red to the black. Personally, I'd avoided shopping on that day like it was the Black Plague
since I'd had a bad experience years before. On that shopping day from hell, I was a young college student on a modest budget hoping to find some great deals on my family's Christmas gifts. I looked for a long time in a few stores for the perfect gift for my mom.

When I spotted a pale baby blue cashmere sweater at half price, I almost jumped for joy. I picked it up, envisioning what it would look like on my mom, and then someone snatched it out of my hands. My natural reaction was to grab it back. The woman actually pried my fingers loose from the sweater and took off with it. I stood there with my mouth open, stunned that anyone would be that aggressive over a good sweater deal. I went home and made a pact with myself that I would never shop on Black Friday again. So far, so good.

Now I was a retailer and needed to be open on the day after Thanksgiving. The downtown business association had been promoting a “shop locally” campaign and had encouraged all of us to offer sweet deals to bring in buyers. I had been mentally preparing myself, wondering how to gracefully handle rude shoppers, if it came to that. The citizens of Brooks Landing were, by and large, a nice, polite bunch of people, but there were some notable exceptions.

Curio Finds specialized in both new and used snow globes from around the world and other unusual, fun, one-of-a-kind items. In addition to online inquiries with their contacts around Europe, my parents also frequented auctions and garage sales where they collected any number of things people enjoyed. I personally loved the snow globes the most, and in moments when there was some free time, I'd pick one up, give it a shake, and watch the flakes float over the scene and settle on the ground.

When I heard Pinky's grinder, I went next door to offer my help. She had a large assortment of beans from North, South, and Central America and Hawaii. She whipped up creative concoctions and offered daily specials served with or without the variety of muffins and scones she baked.

There was a large open archway between her aptly named shop, Brew Ha-Ha, and Curio Finds, so my customers usually followed where their smellers begged them to go. And her clients often wandered into my place.

I headed to the back of Pinky's shop, on the other side of the tables where she did her grinding. “It seems like you've been selling more coffee lately,” I said behind her.

She looked over her shoulder. “It always happens when the weather cools. It's going to be near freezing again tonight. And getting busier is what I wanted to talk to you about. I think we should hire some temporary help for the holidays.”

“What for? We're managing.”

“But we're both worn-out. At least I am. It's not always easy keeping both shops going with just the two of us.”

“I don't know. It seems complicated, especially when it comes to finding the right person, someone we can trust.”

Pinky handed me a can of freshly ground coffee. I took a whiff before I put the cover on it then carried it to her counter. She followed behind me. We both looked up when the bell on her entrance door dinged. It was Molly Dalton, one of our high school classmates. Molly had run with a different crowd than Pinky and I had.

Molly opened the top buttons of her stylish dark burgundy wool coat and smiled. “Good morning, girls. I just had to run over and get a cup of your Cin-ful Guatemalan, Pinky. I've
been craving it since I woke up this morning. It was so yummy when I tried it for the first time last week.”

I'd observed Molly during her visits to the coffee shop in the months since I'd returned to Brooks Landing and wondered who she really was, under the surface. It seemed that she was hiding her true self, whomever that may be, underneath her glamorous exterior.

Thinking back to our first three years of high school, Molly had been on the quiet side, serious and smart. She wore plain-looking clothes and kept mostly to herself. Then in our senior year she made a dramatic change. It was weird. We ended junior year with plain Molly and came back in the fall to a whole new model. Her stepfather had died that July, and there were all kinds of rumors going around the school.

One group figured she had gone off the deep end with grief. Another group thought her stepfather had been overly strict and hadn't allowed her to wear cute clothes and makeup. Still others thought she'd had a surprise makeover and liked the results. Her outside appearance was one thing, but what I couldn't figure out was the change in her personality. She'd gone from shy and studious to bubbly and ditzy. None of us had actually asked her what had prompted the change, so we just kept making up stories about what we thought it might be. Typical teenagers.

I smiled and Pinky said, “Have a seat, Molly, and I'll have your drink ready in a flash. You want it here or to go?”

“Here, thanks. I have nothing but time.”

Pinky poured chocolate milk in a metal container, sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon on top, then held it under her special mixer and turned it on. She whipped it until
it was frothy then set it down while she filled a cup half full with her Guatemalan blend.