A Humbug Holiday

by London Lovett

  The woman's name made me trip on the long toe of my boot as I headed down the hallway. I stepped into my room feeling slightly discombobulated. Why had he answered if he knew it was another woman? And why was he making no effort to hide that it was someone named Trina? And are Trina's generally pretty?

  I took my time getting my coat from the closet and managed to catch snippets of his conversation.

  "We can talk about this tomorrow," he said. "I'm just heading out to the festival with a friend."

  Well, that defined my position for the evening. I was a friend and not a date. I pulled the coat on, all the while chastising myself for getting worked up about it. None of it should have been a surprise. He never said the word date, and I certainly knew he had many women friends. I stopped for a second and drew in a breath. It wasn't worth ruining the night over.

  Jackson was just hanging up as I stepped into the kitchen. I forced a smile as I buttoned my coat.

  "I just noticed you don't have a Christmas tree," he commented as we headed to the front door.

  "Not this year. There's just too much happening in the house. Decorating around the clutter seems sort of laughable. I know, I'm a Scrooge."

  "No, you're not. Just seems like if it's your first year here, you should put up a tree."

  I locked the door behind us. "Now I definitely feel like Ebenezer. Speaking of Scrooge, the man playing the part, Evan Weezer—"

  Jackson grunted at the sound of his name. "That guy is always in the middle of things."

  "I can tell but that's not what I was going to say. He matches the character so much it's as if Dickens himself created Evan Weezer right off a story page."

  "I can see what you mean. He's chewed out officers who were enforcing rules about where realty and open house signs can be posted. Can't tell you how often he's come barreling into the station, nostrils flaring, because his signs had been confiscated."

  "Maybe this play will help him see the error of his ways and turn him warm and fuzzy like the fictional Scrooge," I said with a laugh.

  The breeze blowing off the mountains carried the scent of snow with it. I pulled the collar of my coat up higher, but it did little to block the chill.

  "Hope you don't mind driving to town in my work car. I'm on call. We're still short people. At this rate, it looks like we'll be short all the way through the holidays." He opened the passenger door and I climbed inside.

  Jackson slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. He fidgeted with the dials. "Unfortunately, the heater isn't great in here."

  "That's all right. It's a short drive." I sat back and debated whether or not to ask about the phone call from Trina. It would probably chew at me all night, but I decided to let it go.

  Chapter 13

  The curtains were still drawn on the stage. They fluttered back and forth with the crew's frenetic activity backstage.

  People had marked their seats with hats and gloves but everyone milled about, chatting with neighbors and friends. It took a good twenty minutes for heads to stop turning our direction after Jackson and I arrived at the play. I received a scrutinizing look from more than one woman, but eventually, the curious glances faded and people got back to their own business.

  "Sunni," Emily called across the rows of chairs. She waved for us to join them. Nick was wearing a fuzzy red Santa hat, and Emily had pulled on a green and white striped beanie. Lana was standing nearby talking to Mom and Chris.

  Mom spotted us and added her enthusiastic wave to the mix. "Sunni, over here," she called.

  I kept a smile on my face as I spoke from the corner of my mouth. "Did I mention my family would be here? Please tune out if my mom starts talking about my childhood or teen years or anything in between or after."

  "So all topics are off limits?" he asked. "I confessed to you that my parents had to ship me off to my grandfather's farm every summer just to keep me out of trouble."

  "Yes, but somehow that only makes you cooler. The stories that my mom hangs onto make me the premier nerdy tomboy."

  "I happen to like nerdy tomboys." Jackson said just as we reached the group.

  Mom was wearing a chunky bracelet with red and green baubles. She'd added a silver bow clip to her hair. She hugged me and then instantly reached to hug Jackson. He didn't seem to mind.

  Mom turned to my sister. "Lana, you need to find two more chairs so Sunni and Brady can sit with us."

  Lana held out her purse. "Not sure if I brought along extra chairs but I'll check."

  Mom waved off her sarcasm. "I'm sure we can ask the people sitting in our row to move over."

  "It's all right, Mom," I said. "We've got our seats already."

  Chris pulled away from his conversation with Emily and came toward us. "You must be the detective Maggie was talking so animatedly about this afternoon when we toured the town. Chris Burner, nice to meet you."

  "Brady Jackson, nice to meet you."

  Chris smiled at me. "Your sister tells us we're in for a treat tonight. Looking forward to it. Can't remember the last time I attended a live play."

  "I know they've been working hard to put on a nice production." I thought about my article and how incredibly dull it would read, like a long list of advertisements. In a way, I was almost glad not to be working on a lengthy article. It was sort of like taking a holiday from work. Hopefully, the play would go off without a hitch so I could just fill in specific details about the cast and crew and send it off to Parker.

  Mom squeezed between Chris and me. "I was just telling your sister about this gorgeous brooch I saw at a local pawn shop. Lawson's or something like that."

  "Larson's Pawn Shop on Butternut Crest?" I asked.

  "That's the one. What a cute name for the road too. The brooch was antique. It was in the shape of a sunflower and the yellow petals were made from amber." Mom smiled up at Jackson. "I thought about Brady's unique eye color when I saw it." I nearly sank to the ground in embarrassment, but Jackson just smiled. I was sure it wasn't the first time someone had mentioned his unique eye color.

  "I tried to buy it for her," Chris interjected.

  Mom turned and patted his cheek. "Far too extravagant a gift. Besides, we were just window shopping. Oh look, Nick has some cups of hot cider. I think I'll have one. My face is so cold. It's certainly a blustery night." As if on cue, the canvas panels of the tent dipped down, then billowed out. "I hope this thing holds," Mom laughed and hurried off to get her cider.

  Chris moved closer to me. He had tossed a thick gray scarf around his neck which hid his chin. He pushed it down with his fingers so I could hear his lowered voice. "I bought the brooch while she was busy looking at vintage record albums. Unfortunately, I couldn't sneak it into my pocket before she lost interest in the records. Do you think you might have a chance to pick it up for me?"

  "Of course. I'll swing by the pawn shop tomorrow. She'll be so excited, Chris."

  "I hope so."

  Scottie's voice suddenly blurted through a megaphone. "Please start making your way to your seats. We are about to start the play."

  "We'll see you guys later," I said just a touch too eagerly.

  We said our good-byes, and Jackson and I made our way around the people and chairs to the front row.

  "I'm feeling very important right now," I said as we sat down. "Like I've got first class tickets on an airplane."

  "I don't know if I'd go that far, but it is nice to sit up front. Only, I'm kind of tall." He turned around to the couple sitting behind us. I recognized the man as one of the pharmacists from the local drug store. "Can you both see the stage well enough around my big head?" Jackson asked.

  The woman laughed cheerily. "We can see just fine. Thank you for asking, Detective Jackson." Her tone was practically gushing.

  Jackson turned back around, and we settled in for the play. The clamor and voices behind the curtains had quieted. The only sound was the occasional stretching of the canvas as the outdoor elements played drums on the tent.

&
nbsp; Quite an elaborate stage had been set up for the performance. The center stage area where the actors would say their lines was highlighted by warm glowing lights. Heavy dark blue curtains concealed the stage and would no doubt be closed during set changes. There were two side entrances onto the main stage, one from each end. Those areas were also hidden by a layer of curtains. A small high school orchestra had been arranged just off to the right of the stage. They were anxiously checking their music and instruments before the curtain went up.

  Jackson leaned his head over. "The only thing bad about up front seats is it will be hard to leave during the middle if the play is bad."

  "That's true. Let's hope old Evan Weezer Scrooge delivers. Maybe that way he can redeem himself some for terrible behavior."

  "He seems nice," Jackson said.

  I snapped my face his direction. "I thought you said he comes into the station angry about his signs."

  "No, yes, I mean Weezer is terrible. Sorry. I guess I should have prefaced that. Your mom's friend, Chris. He seems like a nice guy."

  "I suppose he could be worse. He could be like Weezer."

  Jackson shook his head at my tiny concession. "He went out of his way to buy her the brooch she wanted," he noted.

  "That's true."

  The orchestra started up a melancholy tune and the curtains parted. The audience murmured about the nice set decorations. Bob Cratchit sat at a table, bent over a ledger, trying to read it by the light of a candle nub. The curtains fluttered on the left side of the stage, and Ebenezer Scrooge walked out.

  We relaxed back to enjoy the show.

  Chapter 14

  As scene one concluded, the curtains rolled shut and the breeze outside rattled the tent enough to knock over a few of the cardboard backdrops. The backstage crew hurried to save them from damage, but I could hear Scottie yelling for someone to get the black paint.

  In the first act, Ebenezer revealed his nasty, greedy character. I had to admit Evan Weezer did a pretty good job. He certainly upstaged Bob Cratchit, or Nevin Graham, the local jeweler, who kept forgetting his lines and mumbled the ones he remembered.

  Jackson stretched out his long legs and slouched down some. He leaned his head over and his thick hair brushed my cheek. "I'm no theater critic," he said, "but Weezer was good in his role. Or maybe it just seemed like it because Graham couldn't remember his lines. When he tripped over the leg of the table, I thought he was going to land in our laps."

  "I have to agree, Weezer nailed his part. But then maybe it wasn't such a big stretch for him to get into character." I glanced around and my gaze locked with my mom's all the way across the tent and through a sea of moving heads and shoulders. She winked and waved. I waved back.

  "My mom just found us with her mother laser beam. I wonder if she's watching the play or watching us."

  Jackson elbowed me lightly. "Guess I won't try any hanky panky with ya if Mom's watching."

  I laughed. "Probably a good idea since we are up front and everyone behind us is well aware that the tall head sitting in the front row is none other than the town's detective. And just what kind of hanky panky are we talking about?" I peered over at him.

  A teasing smile crossed his face. "I've got a number of tricks up my sleeve."

  "I'll bet you do." It was the most flirtatious moment we'd had in a long time and to think it had all been spurred on by my mom. Ugh, that just took the red hot spark out of it.

  A sharp wind gust collapsed and puffed the tent like a ship's sail. A few gasps made their way around the audience. An equal amount of gasps flew up from behind the curtain.

  "I think they're going to have more trouble with that wind than they realized," I said. "The set was damaged during dress rehearsal too. But it feels like it's getting sort of rough out there."

  "I think it might snow later. It's definitely stay close kind of weather." He shifted on his seat and placed his arm around my shoulder. I stiffened for a second, stunned by his move, but then quickly relaxed, stealing some of the nice heat rolling off of him.

  Things backstage seemed to be getting more chaotic, but out in the audience, at least in the front row, things were moving along smoothly. With the exception of my suddenly erratic heartbeat.

  The audience grew somewhat restless. The curtains split and Scottie stuck her head out. There was a smudge of black paint across her forehead. She looked beyond frazzled. "Play a Christmas song," she barked hoarsely at the orchestra, which was also getting restless.

  "Which one?" the boy with the cello asked.

  "Oh my gosh, Darren, can't you see I'm busy? Just pick one." She disappeared back behind the curtain.

  "Poor Scottie," I said, all the while resisting the temptation to lean my head against Jax. "She's worked so hard on this. Gave up her winter break and everything. After talking to her a few times, I got the sense that she likes everything to be perfect." The audience grew louder. "Although, she might be wise to just leave the damaged sets and get on with the next scene."

  "I'm just waiting for the first rotten tomato to come sailing over our heads," Jackson said. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at it before putting it back into his coat.

  I wasn't sure what compelled me to ask the question I'd talked myself out of asking just an hour earlier but it spurted right out before I could rethink it. "Who's Trina?"

  "Trina?" he repeated. "That's right, she called while I was in the kitchen. She's one of the clerks at the station. We're paying her overtime to do some filing of old evidence. Her dad lost his job recently, and they're having a hard time of it."

  I felt my cheeks darken as he leaned his head over to look at me. "Were you jealous, Bluebird?"

  I scooted on the chair and sat up higher. "Nope, just curious." I was saved by an announcement that the show was about to begin again.

  Jackson took his arm down so he could scoot lower on the seat and not block the view of people behind him. I was sorry to lose that extra layer of warmth.

  The curtains slowly opened revealing the interior of Scrooge's dark, dismal house. My stomach knotted as I realized it looked a little like the inside of the inn. Not a holiday decoration in sight. Somewhere off stage, a clock chimed. It seemed Scrooge was about to climb into bed and be woken by a midnight visit from the ghost of his dead partner, Jacob Marley.

  The audience fell silent. The orchestra played a quiet, ominous tune, letting all of us know that the story was about to take a grim turn. The long pause seemed unplanned as we waited silently for some kind of action on stage.

  The curtains on the left stage entrance fluttered and moved erratically. A figure stepped through. Evan Weezer was wearing a long sleeping cap and a night tunic as he stepped slowly onto the stage.

  Jackson stiffened next to me and sat forward. "Something's not right," he muttered.

  He'd barely finished the last word when Evan Weezer fell lifeless and face first toward the stage. Jackson was out of his chair and up the steps before the first screams erupted.

  Chapter 15

  I shot up the steps to the stage, hoping to help with the commotion. Ironically enough, through the horrified, stunned ruckus, just outside the tent someone's phone went off with a merry version of Jingle Bells. It sounded so out of place, yet the evening had started as a holiday town event. Only now the merriness had taken a dark turn. I caught a glimpse of Evan's body as Jackson crouched down next to him to search for a pulse. Blood covered the back of his sleeping gown and a long metal object jutted out from his back.

  The audience members were on their feet. Pale, shocked faces were locked toward the stage. My gaze shot toward the seats where my family had been seated. Mom had her face hiding against Chris's shoulder, and Nick held Emily and Lana under each arm. The woman, who had sat behind us, sank to her knees and her husband was waving his hand in front of her face to revive her.

  "Shut the curtains," I yelled. "Shut them quickly." The crew and actors were in too much shock to understand my simple command
. I raced over to the ropes and pulleys and drew the curtains shut to block the scene from the horrified audience.

  However, the people backstage had an unobstructed view. Several people raced off looking as if they might throw up. Others followed, no longer wanting to see the grisly sight. The sets that Scottie had taken so much care to paint were broken and bent and tossed around like garbage as people hurried to get off stage.

  "Everyone, remain calm," Scottie sobbed and then grabbed the curtain rope to keep herself from collapsing.

  Jackson was on the phone calling for backup. I walked over and he peered up at me. "He's dead," he said quietly. "And unless he somehow fell backward on a tent stake, it wasn't an accident."

  I looked down at the rod of metal jutting out from the night shirt. "The tent stake." I looked at Jackson. "When I was here on Tuesday, I was talking to some of the cast members and the back corner"—I pointed to the left, rear corner of the tent—"it broke free. It caused quite an uproar. It wasn't easy to catch the ends. It took several of us to hold it in place while someone found another spike. The original one was gone. No one could find it."

  Jackson stared down at the body. "Looks like that mystery's been solved." He turned to the remaining people on stage. Scottie was among them, being comforted by Danny Danforth. He was still dressed in costume but had pulled the holly wreath from his head.

  "Are you in charge of these people?" Jackson asked Scottie.

  She was so shaken, I thought she might crumble at his question. She'd worked so hard to make it a night to remember. Well, she'd succeeded in that. I doubted anyone would forget this evening's play . . . ever.

  "This is Scottie Sherman," Danny spoke up for her, since she seemed incapable of responding.

  Jackson nodded. "Danny Danforth, right?" he asked.

  "Yes, I own Danforth Realty. You probably recognized me from the signs. Although I'm not usually wearing a beard or a big robe." Danny didn't sound the least bit distressed by the murder but then he and Evan weren't exactly buddies.