A Humbug Holiday

by London Lovett

  Jackson glanced around at the stunned faces and moved closer to Danny. "If I could get both of you to clear the stage but have everyone wait. I'm going to need to question everyone to find out if anyone saw what happened to Mr. Weezer."

  "Absolutely, Detective Jackson," Danny said.

  "Was he murdered?" Scottie squeaked hoarsely. She saw me standing nearby and hurried to me. Her hands were shaky and cold as she grasped my arm. "This is such a disaster. I've been worried about so many silly things going wrong with this play but murder . . ." She released my arm and covered her mouth to stifle another sob.

  I placed my arm around her. "I think it might be best for you to go outside and wait with the others. The brisk, fresh air will do you a world of good."

  "Miss Taylor, maybe you could help them clear the stage," Jackson said. "I'm going to search the stage area."

  I looked his direction. He instantly read my expression of disappointment.

  "It would really be a help to me," he said with a pleading pair of amber eyes.

  "Yes, of course."

  I helped Danny and Scottie corral the last few bystanders, and we walked them out the back exit of the tent. Cold night air splashed all of us out of our stunned stupors. Evan's assistant Tim stood with everyone else looking properly dumbstruck. Tim and the rest of the cast and crew had gathered between the tent and the two trailers that had been brought in for the play. I remembered that Evan Weezer had brought in his own trailer, deciding, apparently, that he was too big of a star to fraternize with everyone else.

  I had every intention of slipping right back into the tent to join Jackson for the stage search, but I hung around for a moment to make sure everyone knew they were to stay on site until Jackson could talk to them. Cast members decided to get out of costume and makeup because for most their regular clothes provided more protection from the cold.

  Scottie had regained some of her composure. She and Danny seemed to have things under control. The arcing red glow of police and emergency lights lit up the night sky on the street side of the tent. It wouldn't be long before the evidence team and coroner started their work. I wanted to give the stage a once over before the action started.

  Evan's body lay motionless in front of the stage entrance curtains, the place he took his last step. Jackson's heavy footsteps echoed on the hollow stage floor behind the curtains. I circled around them to the side stage and found him stooped down taking a picture of something on the floor.

  He glanced up momentarily before returning to his task. "How am I not surprised to see you back here, Bluebird? Is everyone settled outside of the tent?"

  I moved closer but he put up his hand to stop my progress. "Watch out. There's a trail of blood on the floor. I need to get pictures of it undisturbed. It will tell us the exact path Evan took and, hopefully, the precise location where someone stabbed him with the tent stake. Judging from the diameter of that stake, it couldn't have been too far away. Death would come pretty fast."

  "Everyone is settled. Some of the initial horror has faded, but shock is setting in and it's pretty darn cold out there for people who have just gone through something traumatic," I added.

  "Yes, I'll get out there in a minute. I'm just waiting for the coroner and evidence crew to get here."

  "I saw red lights, so I think they've arrived." I moved cautiously to the place where he had been stooped over taking pictures. A footprint of black paint stained the floor just feet from the place where Evan stepped through. "Do you think it belongs to the killer?" I asked.

  "Not sure." Jackson straightened. "There's a puddle of black paint in front of the backdrop. Must have happened during that scene change when the set fell over."

  I snapped my fingers only to realize they were too cold to produce sound. "Scottie yelled for someone to get the black paint during the middle of the intermission."

  Jackson moved slowly along the stage. "The footsteps start at the puddle and then circle back and fade away as the paint wore off. There are traces of what appears to be black paint on the bottom of the victim's shoes, but there is also a lot of blood. These prints seem to be purely paint. We'll have to get a sample to make certain. But there is one obvious detail about the shoe prints that makes me certain they don't belong to the victim."

  I looked down at the one below me. It was so clear it was as if someone had painted it there. "These prints are from giant shoes."

  "Massive," he said. "Whoever stepped in the black paint must have been wearing size—"

  "Fifteen," I filled in the blank. "Danny Danforth. He told me his feet were size fifteen."

  "That's the person I was picturing in my head. I guess I'll start with him."

  Voices rumbled through the front of the tent. "I think the coroner is here. I'll get them started and be right out. Tell everyone I'm on my way. Don't want them to get cold feet and leave before I have a chance to talk to everyone. From the trail of blood, it seems Weezer was stabbed just outside the tent or right as he stepped into the side entrance. Could have been anyone backstage."

  "That doesn't narrow the field down much, does it?"

  "Not really. And I think he had quite a few enemies. Now we just have to figure out who hated him the most."

  I felt the smile on my cold face but couldn't stop it. "You know how much I love it when you say 'we' in the middle of an investigation."

  He chuckled. "You're easy to please, Bluebird."

  Chapter 16

  Jackson held a few interviews in a group setting, just asking general questions about people's locations during the scene change. He asked if anyone saw Evan Weezer before he went on stage. He was able to conclude that Evan had gone to his trailer between scenes. He needed to change out of his Victorian frock coat and top hat and into his nightshirt and cap. His assistant Tim had helped with the costume change.

  The bitter temperature outside prompted Jackson to excuse everyone except Tim, Danny, Scottie and a few other cast and crew members who might have seen or heard something significant. The remaining few decided to go inside the makeup trailer to keep warm while they waited for their individual interviews. Jackson complained that it wasn't ideal to have them wait together but there were few other places for them to get out of the elements, and the tent was filled with official activity.

  Danny paced along the back of the tent while talking on the phone, retelling the entire harrowing night to someone on the other end. Jackson waved at him to let him know they needed to talk.

  Danny hung up from the conversation and walked over. He was fairly jovial considering he'd just witnessed a man's murder. He'd changed out of his Ghost of Christmas Present costume, but there were still remnants of beard glue on his wide chin. He kept scratching at it as if it irritated him.

  "I knew you'd be starting with me, Detective Jackson," he said with slight amusement.

  It was rare to see Jackson have to turn his face up to look at someone, but Danny was several inches taller. "Why is that, Danforth?"

  "Everyone knows that Weezer and I were enemies."

  "Were you?" I had no doubt Jackson knew why, but he waited for Danny to explain.

  "Look, I'm sorry he's dead. Terrible end for anyone but that guy has been a thorn in my side for years. My realty business was number one. Then Weezer started using every underhanded trick he could find, even going so far as to malign my reputation as an honest broker. It's pretty hard to stand by and watch a scammer make his way to the top when you've been doing everything by the book. Real life is never like the movies. It seems far too often, the bad guys win."

  "So, in your eyes, Weezer was the bad guy?" Jackson asked.

  "Let's just say no one was shocked that he was picked for the role of Scrooge." Danny shifted on his big feet. He was pretending to act casual, unaffected by the interview, but his fidgety dance told another story. "I didn't like the guy," Danny continued. "I might have occasionally daydreamed about a realty sign blowing off its post and taking off his head or a tree falling through his bed
room window and crushing him but I didn't kill him."

  Jackson nodded. "I appreciate your honesty." He dropped his focus to Danny's shoes. "Can you explain how you got black paint on your shoes?"

  "Black paint?" Danny leaned over and lifted the toes of his shoes off the frozen ground. "I didn't know I had any paint on my shoes. I need to find somewhere to sit and take them off. I don't want my socks to get wet."

  "You don't need to." Jackson crouched down next to the shoes. They were black to begin with, but it was easy to see the black paint smeared along the toes. Jackson rubbed his finger along the smear and pushed back to standing. He showed proof of the black paint.

  "There's an easy explanation," Danny said. "There was some damage to one of the sets after the first scene. And Scottie, who is a perfectionist, called someone to bring black paint and repair the damage. In the confusion backstage, the paint got spilled. And with my big boats—" He rocked his feet back and forth. "I managed to step right into it. I don't see how paint on my shoes is relevant."

  Jackson pulled out his phone to show the photos he'd taken of the shoe print. Danny pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his coat pocket and squinted at the picture. "Yep, I'd say there's only one person who could leave that kind of print. Unless Bigfoot wandered down from the mountains," he added with a laugh. Danny certainly wasn't going to let the somber event ruin his evening.

  "That shoe print was taken right next to the curtain at the left hand stage entrance, the place where Evan stepped through before dying on stage."

  Danny's jovial grin, a remnant of his Bigfoot joke, faded. His mouth flattened, and his expression grew more serious. "That still doesn't mean I killed him."

  "No one's saying that," Jackson said calmly. "If you can just explain what you were doing behind that particular set of curtains. I've seen enough versions of A Christmas Carol to know there were still several scenes before the Ghost of Christmas Present made an appearance."

  Danny's mouth pulled in. It seemed he was trying to come up with a reason for being at the stage entrance at that time. He pulled out a tissue to wipe his red, cold nose and to stall for time. Then he pushed the tissue back into his pocket. "I guess I might as well confess."

  Jackson and I both stood up straight as if someone had just poked us.

  Danny seemed to realize his words were alarming. "Not a confession to murder," he said quickly, once again needing the tissue for his nose. "My goodness, certainly not that." He finished with his nose again and took a deep breath. A puffy white cloud appeared in front of his face. "I wanted to throw Evan off his game. He was in his trailer getting changed for the scene. While everyone was busy repairing the set, I found a hiding place in the heavy curtains. I wasn't going to do anything terrible. Just, you know—" His gaze dropped back to the big shoes. "Just stick my toe out as he walked on stage. I thought if I planned it right, he'd land right on his bony knees in front of the whole town, nightshirt and all." He looked somewhat contrite after saying it aloud. "Just his knees. Who knew he'd end up falling face first instead."

  "If you were hiding in the curtains," Jackson started, but Danny shook his head.

  "Didn't see a thing. While I was trying to stay tucked away out of sight, not an easy feat at my size, I caught a glimpse of Scottie. She was rushing around in such a frenzy, trying to get everything on stage just right, I didn't have the heart to go through with it. I didn't want to let her down. So I stepped out of my hiding spot and left the stage area completely. I never saw Weezer walk in."

  "You didn't see anyone hanging around, maybe someone who shouldn't have been there at all?"

  Danny rubbed his chin, stopping to scratch some of the beard glue off. "Just the crew and they were all busy helping with the set."

  Jackson looked toward the trailer where the others had taken shelter. "Can you think of anyone who hated Weezer enough to kill him?"

  His booming, short laugh got lost in the cold night air. "He was a pretty despicable guy. There are plenty of us in the real estate world who were hoping for his downfall. But I don't know anyone who is capable of murder."

  "Detective Jackson." The coroner's assistant came around the tent. "We need you inside. The victim's fiancée just arrived at the scene."

  "I'll be right there," Jackson said.

  "She's very distraught," the woman added. "She burst into the tent. We hadn't covered the victim yet."

  Jackson nodded. "Well, cover him now. I'll be right there." He turned back to Danny. "Thank you, Mr. Danforth. You've been helpful. I might still have questions for you, but you're free to go for tonight."

  Danny lumbered away with his painted shoes.

  "May I tag along? It's getting kind of chilly out here." I rubbed my hands together and pushed them into my coat pockets.

  "Probably a good idea for you to step into the tent and warm up. Wouldn't want that button nose of yours to pop off in the cold."

  I reached up to touch my nose. "It no longer has feeling. If it did pop off, I probably wouldn't notice."

  We headed to the side opening on the tent. "I'm just an amateur, of course," I said. "But I thought his blatant honesty about how much he despised Evan, even admitting to dreaming about his demise, made him seem more innocent. It seems like the real killer wouldn't be so free with his feelings. Without giving away any of your special, top secret detective knowledge, am I right with my theory? Or at least close?"

  "Well, I don't want to divulge anything top secret," he said with a wink "but I'd say you've got pretty good instinct for an amateur. But that doesn't let him off the hook yet. His highly recognizable footprint puts him close to the scene at the time of the murder. That means he stays on my person of interest list."

  Jackson held open the flap of the tent and I walked inside. A woman's sobs rolled toward us.

  "Who knew there was a fiancée?" Jackson muttered.

  "A better question might be—how on earth did Evan Weezer Scrooge win a woman's heart?" I whispered back.

  Chapter 17

  Even though Evan's highly distraught fiancée was on her knees and bent over the body, which was now, thankfully, draped in the coroner's sheet, I recognized her instantly as the young woman who had been setting up the Nativity manger at the other end of the festival.

  "Who would have done something so horrible?" she asked to no one in particular.

  The coroner, an older woman with frizzy gray hair and thick glasses seemed more than pleased to see Jackson.

  "Detective Jackson, this is the deceased's fiancée, Joanna Fritz," the coroner said with a tilt of her head. "I assume you need to talk to her." She added a brow raise that silently told him to please take the woman aside so their work could get done.

  Jackson walked over to her. "Miss Fritz," he said quietly. "Maybe we could move to the audience chairs and have a talk."

  Joanna lifted her face. Instantly, I was reminded of the day before when I saw her setting up the manger. Her eyes and nose were puffy and red then too. I was convinced she'd been crying.

  Jackson held out his hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet. She swayed a little bit.

  "Can I get you some water or a hot tea?" I asked.

  "No, thank you," she said weakly. "I couldn't ingest anything right now."

  Joanna's legs wobbled as Jackson led her cautiously down the stage steps to the center of the tent where the rows of chairs, once set in perfect lines like crops in a field, were now jumbled into disarray. A few knit hats and the occasional lone glove had been left behind during the abrupt evacuation.

  Jackson picked several chairs far enough from the stage to avoid hearing any discussion between the coroner and her assistants. Joanna reached for the gloves in her pocket. "I'm sorry, my hands are cold. Must be the shock." Her voice wavered as she spoke, but she had calmed down considerably on the short journey to the chairs. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled on the gloves. Oddly enough, there was no engagement ring on her finger, only a slight depression in the skin as if
one had been there not long before. I was sure a boastful, successful man like Evan Weezer would have been the type to buy his intended a large, showy diamond ring. But then I had witnessed him being incredibly stingy with his assistant, wanting back a quarter for change. Maybe he'd been too cheap to buy a nice ring, or maybe it was being fitted better. It was possible Joanna had left it somewhere safe at home while she worked on the festival Nativity scene.

  "I understand you and Mr. Weezer were going to be married," Jackson said after waiting for her to put on gloves and settle on her chair.

  She hesitated rather dramatically before answering. "Yes, yes we were. We had big plans for the future," she said with a shuddering sigh, one that seemed forced.

  "Were you at the play tonight?" Jackson asked.

  "No, I couldn't attend." She turned and stared sadly up at the activity on stage. Several police officers were still combing the set for evidence. She turned back to Jackson. "I still can't believe it," she said.

  "I'm sure this has been a tremendous shock, Miss Fritz," Jackson wrote down her name on his notes. "Are there next of kin we should be contacting?"

  She shook her head. "Evan wasn't in contact with any family members. His parents live abroad, and he hasn't spoken to his brothers in years. But I can get word to all of them." She pressed her arm against her stomach. "I'm not feeling too well, I'm afraid."

  "That's understandable. I'll keep it brief. Could you tell me where you were during the play? And how did you hear about—" He paused for the right words, but there wasn't any particular way to sugarcoat it. "How did you learn about Mr. Weezer's death?"

  Her mouth pursed some, and she shifted stiffly on the chair. It was always interesting to see people's reactions to questions that were slightly accusatory. Danny had taken it in stride, even expecting to be considered a suspect since he and Evan were enemies, but Joanna hadn't anticipated it at all. "I'm in charge of the festival Nativity scene. I had to be there tonight because the live animals, a burro and a goat, had been brought in for the display. It gets pretty hectic, with people wanting to take pictures and all. People try and climb into the display to take selfies with the wise men." She shook her head slightly. "I stayed around to make sure they didn't ruin the display. It takes me a good, long while to set it up just right." She still hadn't answered his question.