A Humbug Holiday

by London Lovett

  "How did you find out about Mr. Weezer?" Jackson prodded.

  "There was finally a lull in the activity at the Nativity scene when most of the festival visitors left to watch the play. I'd brought a book and thermos of coffee along in my car. I took a break from the cold and sat in my car to read and warm up. I was able to park in a place where I could still keep an eye on the Nativity scene and the animals. I didn't know anything had happened until several emergency vehicles sped past. I climbed out of the car and met a large swarm of people heading down the sidewalk away from the theater tent. I saw a few women I knew. Angie, a neighbor of mine, looked close to throwing up. She tried to avoid me, but I caught up to her and asked her what happened. She finally blurted the terrible news and hurried away. I stood frozen in shock for a few minutes, not sure whether to believe the news. Not wanting to believe it. When I finally gathered my wits, I raced for the tent." She covered her mouth to stifle a sob. "It was like a terrible nightmare coming true."

  The coroner's gurney had been moved to the stage steps. The group working on stage was trying to figure out whether to bring the body down or the gurney up. I shot a horrified look at Jackson. Whatever course of action they chose, it didn't seem like something the grieved fiancée should have to witness.

  Jackson stood up. "Miss Fritz, do you have someone to see you home? I could ask one of the officers to escort you or at least take you to your car."

  She shook her head weakly. "Frankly, I think the walk in the fresh air will do me good. My stomach is upset, and my head is pounding. I have a friend meeting me at home in an hour, so I'll be fine. Thank you."

  Jackson offered his hand, which she readily accepted. We were just about to part when Jackson paused. "Miss Fritz, just one more question if you don't mind. You said you were in your car while people attended the play. Was there anyone around who saw you sitting in the car at that time?"

  "Well, no, not that I can think of." A short dry laugh followed. "Detective Jackson, you can't think that I had anything to do with this. Evan was my fiancé. We had a bright future together."

  "Of course not, Miss Fritz. Just doing my job." He smiled politely at her before walking away.

  As we headed back toward the stage something occurred to me. I placed my hand on Jackson's arm to stop him. "I just remembered something." I glanced back to see that Joanna hadn't followed us. She was just exiting through the front of the tent.

  "What is it? Something about Miss Fritz?"

  "Yes. Remember when I told you that the corner of the tent had come loose because someone had removed a stake? Well, Miss Fritz was there that day. When Danny Danforth and I rushed over to help them keep control of the tent in the wind, Joanna was there helping out. I didn't know her at the time, only that she was the woman setting up the Nativity scene. Which brings me to another point, but I don't want to get off track from the first point. While we were out there, helping the crew secure the tent, Joanna included, Evan came out of his trailer to see what the commotion was about. He didn't lend a hand or anything. In fact, Danny snidely told him to go back to his trailer for a nap or some other sarcastic suggestion. What's strange is, I was standing right next to Joanna Fritz. I don't recall Evan saying one word to her. There wasn't so much as a smile toward each other. At least not that I noticed. Of course, I wasn't watching for it either. We were all in the middle of holding onto a tent that badly wanted to take off to the sky like a freed balloon."

  "Kind of strange that he saw his fiancée helping out but didn't offer to join in. But then, from what you've told me, Weezer wasn't exactly the helpful type. I did wonder about the ring."

  "Yes, me too. There was clearly an indentation on her ring finger as if it had been there earlier."

  "There might be a perfectly logical reason for that though. There's no real reason for her to make up a story about being his fiancée."

  "Detective Jackson," the coroner called down from the stage. "We're going to be moving the body if you're ready to be briefed.”

  "Yes, I'll be right there." Jackson turned back to me. "What was the second point?"

  "Huh?" My mind had been swirling about the reasons for the missing ring. "Oh yes, the second point. The first time I saw Joanna, she was arranging the three wise men in the Nativity manger. She looked then as if she'd been crying. I remember thinking it was sort of strange. She was in the middle of all the decorating and festivities, deep in her task, but her face and eyes were puffy as if something had upset her. The next time I saw her was at the tent incident. It seemed as if she'd recuperated from whatever had upset her earlier in the day."

  "Thanks for the scoop. It's always nice to have a little bird flitting around town taking in important details."

  "Do you think that might be significant? I was just mentioning it because it seemed odd."

  "You never know. Crimes of passion are pretty common. I'm going to head up to the stage and get the low down on all of this. Where are you going to be? There's a murderer on the loose, so don't wander away. Keep close."

  "I'll just flit around the tent area to see what I can dig up. My bird's eye view of things might reveal something your evidence team didn't catch."

  "Be careful and if something doesn't look right, don't do anything on your own. Come back here immediately."

  I rested my hand on my chest. "Are you suggesting that I might do something dangerous or reckless?" I asked with feigned outrage.

  "Do you mean like climb a tree to get a look at a crime scene? Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting." His brows lowered, and his amber eyes darkened. He took hold of my hand. His was amazingly warm, but my fingers were nearly numb from the cold. "Sunni, I'm serious. I don't know who the killer is or if they're even still around, but in my years on the force, I've learned that once someone kills, they are far less hesitant to do it a second time."

  I smiled. "I'll be careful, Jax. I promise. I won't wander far either. It's too darn cold out there for adventure."

  "All right. I'll be done here soon, then I can take you home before those fingers break off. How come you didn't bring any gloves tonight?"

  I shrugged and batted my lashes dramatically. "What's the fun of holding hands with someone when you're wearing gloves?"

  His grin helped thaw the chill in my bones. He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. "Hmm, like honey flavored ice cream. I'll see you shortly."

  Chapter 18

  The two officers who had been combing the perimeter of the tent for evidence had finished their work. They'd marked off an area with cones and caution tape just beyond the side entrance. It seemed to be the place where Evan walked into the tent to get to the stage. They had sprayed a thin white line and three dots on the packed dirt. The paint was already trickling away from the cold moisture. A portable light lit up the small area inside the caution tape. I crouched down. The white paint markers made it easy to find the drops of dark blood on the wet ground. A long stream of blood led toward the entrance on the tent.

  I followed the yellow tape and lifted the entrance flap. There were more cones and white paint on the ground inside the tent. Apparently, Evan had been stabbed just as he entered the tent for his performance. I returned to the outside cones and looked around. Not long ago, the killer had been standing close to the same spot, waiting to impale Evan Weezer with a tent stake. It had to be someone who truly hated him, someone whose life had been upset so much by Evan, they had waited in the cold, with the entire town just yards away on the other side of the canvas walls.

  The lights were still on in both trailers. Yellow caution tape blocked the entrance to Evan's personal trailer. I was sure the forensic team had already done a thorough search of the trailer. Scottie and the few people who had been asked to stay were still sitting in the second trailer, waiting for Detective Jackson. I was sure they were anxious to head home. The play would have just been ending, but I had no doubt they were all exhausted from the terrible shock.

  Jackson was still inside being briefed by his te
am and the coroner. I had a few minutes to kill, so I decided to pull out my handy pen light and do a quick survey around the perimeter of the tent. For the most part, the brittle wind had died down. Earlier in the evening, it had caused enough trouble to push over backdrops by blowing against the tent walls. Since the backdrops fell forward, it was easy to conclude that the wind had been blowing against the back of the tent. That meant anything, loose debris, fabric, even fibers from a fake beard would have been blown across the ground toward the tent. And since the tent was only connected firmly to the ground where stakes held it down, it seemed entirely possible that some of that debris would have been pushed just under the bottom edge of the canvas. It was a large structure, but I didn't need to go much farther than the side entrance where Evan took his last few steps.

  I skirted along the edge and lifted the thick hem of the tent with one hand while shining the penlight into the dark space with the other. A chocolate bar candy wrapper was the first thing to flutter out from under the canvas. I stopped it with my toe before it could fly away. I reached into my coat pocket and dug around for the small pack of tissue I kept handy for sneezes, runny eyes from cold winds and any other fiasco requiring tissue. I pulled out a piece and used it to pick up the candy wrapper. I moved along the perimeter and was starting to feel fairly disappointed in my plan when a long, yellow strand of straw rolled out. I picked it up with a new tissue and examined it. It was definitely the straw used in barns and . . . I thought excitedly. Nativity manger scenes.

  I glanced around the area. There didn't seem to be any reason for a piece of straw to be stuck under the tent. It had to have been carried there on someone's shoe or clothing. I tucked the straw away gently into the tissue as if it were fragile and irreplaceable. I doubted it would have any significance in the investigation, but I'd learned not to ignore anything that seemed out of place. And the piece of straw sure seemed to be a long way from home, wherever that home might be.

  "Sunni?" a familiar voice called across the lot. "Is that you?"

  I shaded my eyes against the light pouring through the open door on the trailer. Scottie was standing on the metal steps waving at me.

  "Yes, it's me." I tucked my collected treasures into my coat pocket and walked across to the trailer.

  Scottie had pulled on a scarf and puffy parka. She held up a mug. "We have coffee and cocoa if you're interested."

  I stopped at the bottom step and smiled up at her. "Thank you so much, but I think Detective Jackson is just about done. I'm sorry you all had to wait so long. He should be here soon, so you can all go home."

  "Yes, I hope so," Scottie sighed. "I'm going to steep myself in a hot bath like a bag of tea and soak until all of this night is washed away from memory."

  "That sounds like a solid plan."

  Tim's pale, drawn face poked through the opening. "Will Detective Jackson be excusing us soon? My wife is on her way to pick me up."

  "You know what, why don't I go check on that. I think he was just waiting for the coroner to finish." The sound of the word coroner seemed to wash even more color from his face.

  "Have they removed—have they taken the body—have they taken Evan away?" Tim's voice was rough and froggy as he stuttered looking for the right phrase.

  "I believe that's what they've been doing these past twenty minutes or so. I'll find out and let Detective Jackson know you're all waiting to talk to him."

  "Thank you, Sunni," Scottie called as I headed back to the crime scene.

  I entered through the back exit, making sure to avoid the area near the yellow caution tape. The space behind the stage was dark and shadowy. As I stepped beneath the flap and lifted my face, I gasped as I ran smack into a large, hard body.

  "Bluebird." Jackson sounded nearly as surprised as me. "I was just coming outside." His large hands had curled around my arms to keep me from being knocked back off my feet by the impact. He left them there much longer than needed since I'd clearly regained my balance and composure. (Although his nearness and grasp on my arms nearly made that composure slip away again.)

  He released his hold on me, but I was sure I noted some hesitation. "Weezer is on his way to the morgue. I was just heading over to talk to the few witnesses I asked to stay. They're probably ready to throw hot cocoa and gloves at me for making them wait so long."

  "I think that might be the case. That's why I was heading in to see you. I'll walk back to the trailer with you. There was an offer of cocoa earlier, and I think I might just take it."

  We headed across the lot to the trailer. "Did you find anything interesting while you were out here?" he asked.

  "A couple of things, although interesting is a strong word. I'll show you later. Just don't get your hopes up for much. I'm pretty sure they're nothing of value. How about you? Did the forensics team find anything significant?"

  "Sure, they found all kinds of evidence. We now know that Evan Weezer was stabbed with a metal stake as he entered the tent."

  I looked sideways at him. "I think the entire town knew that."

  "Yep. That's about all we've got so far. They found the blood trail and we have a body with the murder weapon. We just haven't found anything that points to the actual killer."

  Chapter 19

  As we reached the steps outside the trailer, headlights lit up the area. Tires crunched the cold ground as a car rolled slowly around to the back of the tent and parked.

  Jackson turned toward the car. "Who could this be?"

  A woman wearing a bright pink parka and scarf climbed out of the driver's seat. We were the ones stuck in her headlights, but she was the one who paused like a stunned deer. The passenger door opened and a pair of crutches and wrapped ankle appeared. A tall, thin teenage boy with a blue and white striped beanie pulled down low over his head pushed himself out of the car and up onto the crutches. It took him a second to get his balance.

  The woman looked over the top of the car. "Timmy, I told you to stay inside the car."

  "It's too cold. And I want to see what's going on." Timmy answered.

  "That's Tim's wife and his son." I paused to control a grin. "Tiny Tim. I mean Tim Junior. Oh, and look, he's on crutches. Tim works for Evan Weezer and his son who walks on crutches is Tim Junior." I repeated the whole scenario in case Jackson missed the coincidences.

  "Except that Tim Junior isn't the least bit tiny, and Scrooge's mistreated employee was named Bob."

  I waved off his corrections. "Phonetic details. The main context is still there."

  The senior version of Tim came out of the trailer at the sound of his wife's voice. "Helen, I told you I'd still be a few minutes. You might as well come inside the trailer and have cocoa. I still need to talk to the detective." Tim had pulled on his coat and scarf. "Could you talk to me next, Detective Jackson? As you can see, my son's just recovering from a sprained ankle. That's why they missed the play. Now, I'm thankful they did."

  Jackson pulled out his notebook. "I was planning to talk to you next, Mr. Barton. Maybe we could talk out here while your wife and son go inside to get cocoa."

  His wife's cheeks were as pink as her parka. She stopped in front of us and looked up at her husband. "So, it's really true? Evan Weezer is dead?"

  "I'm afraid so," Jackson said.

  "I suppose I'm not too surprised. That man made enemies everywhere he went," she added as she moved past us to climb the stairs. Tim helped his son navigate the few steps up to the trailer.

  Jackson turned to me. "Maybe you should get out of the cold too."

  "Probably a good idea." I lowered my voice, so only he could hear me. "But stay close to the trailer. The small front window is open. I'm not ashamed to admit I plan on eavesdropping."

  "I'm not surprised," he said quietly back.

  "Because I'm not ashamed or that I've already hatched a plan to listen in?"

  "Both."

  "All right, Detective Jackson," Tim said as he trotted down the steps. "I'm all yours. Ask away."

  "Excuse
me," I said politely and hurried up to the trailer to get a spot near the window.

  The small interior of the trailer was warm and steamy from the people and the constant flow of cocoa. A tiny kitchenette stood in the center of the space, acting as a divider between the two makeup and hairstyle stations at the end of the unit and the sitting area at the front.

  "There you are, Sunni," Scottie said from her place at the stove. "I just handed your cup of cocoa to Timmy. Poor kid, there's nothing worse than trying to move around on crutches during winter. Did it myself once when I broke three toes skiing. I'm making you a fresh cup now. You look like the whipped cream type," she added.

  "I'm absolutely the whipped cream type." I was in luck. A fold out bench was positioned right below the open window. I sat down on it.

  "Don't sit there, Sunni. We've got the window open to let some of the steam out," Scottie said. "If you're directly under it, you'll catch a chill."

  "That will only make the hot cocoa that much more enjoyable." I smiled at the other cast members, Carly Gomez, the pet shop owner and former Christmas ghost and Hubert Cummings, the funeral home owner who was playing the ghost of Jacob Marley. They looked tired and ready to go home as they clutched their cups of cocoa.

  The group was pulled into a discussion about Timmy's injury and their own tales of broken and sprained limbs. I leaned my head back hoping to hear the conversation outside over the cocoa chat club going on inside.

  Jackson's voice was deep and smooth, almost too mellow to carry up to the window, but Tim's voice had a high, agitated pitch to it that sliced cleanly through the crisp night air.