Mince Pies to Die For

The Great Elvish Bake-Off Just Got Deadly

Today Candy Cane Hollow smells like butter and bravado. I'm helping at the Elvish Culinary Guild's grand induction and tasting, and Gilbert, our house-elf at Claus Cottage, has made the finalists' bench with his prized mince pie.

Then the celebrity headliner takes one bite of a showpiece pie and drops. Guild security locks the doors while city police sweep the kitchens. Whispers fly: a rival with a temper, an apprentice with something to prove, a sponsor with money on the line, a producer who prefers ratings to recipes.

It doesn't matter what else I hear; the police decide the killer is Gilbert. They circle the pantry, question his spice tins, and treat every crumb like a confession. With Mrs. Claus calming frantic caterers and Nick keeping me in cocoa and courage, I start sifting clues—swapped tins, "secret" blends, alibis that crumble under heat. This isn't bad pastry; it's careful malice.

I'm not letting them pin a murder on my friend. I need answers before the Guild shutters the finals and Gilbert is led out in cuffs.