"I helped Evan changed out of his scene one costume and into the night shirt and cap he needed for scene two. He was his usual self, cranky and always snapping his fingers at me to hurry up. A runner came to let us know it was time for him to get back on stage. He walked out of the trailer, and I stayed behind to tidy up. I knew he'd need the frock coat, vest and trousers for future scenes. I hung them up so they'd be ready for a quick costume change."
"Evan's trailer is on the opposite side of the lot, the side where Evan entered the tent. From the pattern of blood outside the entrance, it's also the side of the tent where Evan was stabbed. Did you see anyone on that side when you were in his trailer straightening up?" Jackson asked.
"Here you go," Scottie said. "Complete with whipped cream." She handed me a hot cup that was topped with a swirl of cream. "I put a few mini marshmallows in too," she added.
I smiled and said thank you far too abruptly, but I was missing Tim's answer.
"I'm happy to get rid of some of these goodies. You see I had an after performance cast party planned complete with cocoa and cookies." Scottie pointed at me. "Do you want a cookie? They're iced sugar cookies."
"No, thank you." I lifted the cocoa. "This should be all I need for a proper sugar high."
Scottie laughed. "That's for sure." Thankfully Timmy asked for a refill and Scottie was pulled away. I'd missed some of the exchange, but I was confident Jackson would fill me in if I asked.
"He was a terrible man to work for," Tim's voice drifted toward the open window. "But I have a family to take care of. I figured I would learn a lot about the real estate business if I assisted the number one agent in town. He was demanding and rude and treated me badly, but I was learning tricks of the trade. I was sure if I could stick it out with him, I'd be tougher and far more skilled once I got my license to buy and sell houses. I disliked him more than any person I've ever met, but I would never dream of killing him. Technically, I'm out of a job now. Why would I sabotage my own income?"
"You've been very helpful, Mr. Barton. Here's my card if you can think of anything else I should know. You should probably get your family home now. The temperature is dropping quickly."
Tim climbed up the steps. As he entered the trailer, my phone buzzed with a text from Raine.
"I heard the play was a disaster. I assume the date ended just as abruptly. I'm heading over to Lana's to watch White Christmas with them. I can stop by the inn and pick you up."
I glanced at the remaining cast members who would need to talk to Jackson. It made me yawn with fatigue. Suddenly, a ride home sounded good. I had work in the morning, and it wasn't as if there was any way to hope for a happy ending to our night out.
I texted back. "I'm still in town at the site of the play. Jackson is conducting the investigation. If you wouldn't mind swinging past here, I'll wait out front. And instead of picking me up at the inn, I would love it if you dropped me off there. I'll have to skip Bing Crosby tonight. I'm too tired."
"I can do that," Raine said. "Only if you provide details of the night as we drive back to the inn."
"Not sure there are too many to provide but it's a deal."
Jackson stepped into the trailer and instantly filled the entire space in all his tall, broad-shouldered glory. Carly Gomez was more than happy to step outside for a few questions. The group said their good-byes to Timmy and Susan.
Jackson was handed a cup of hot coffee as he made his way to where I was sitting, finishing my cocoa. "I'll probably be another hour or so," he said with an apologetic curl of his brows.
I stood up. "That's fine. Raine is coming by to pick me up. She'll give me a ride back to the inn. The cocoa warmed me from the inside, but I need a hot shower."
"I'm sorry about all this, Bluebird. It wasn't exactly how I pictured our night out."
"Do you mean you weren't expecting a murder?" I smiled but I was even too tired for a proper one. "You should head home soon too, Detective Jackson. You looked tired."
He lifted the cup of coffee. "Hoping this will give me a jolt."
"I'm going to head out front to wait for Raine."
"I don't want you to go alone. There's a killer on the loose."
I patted his arm. "There are still plenty of people milling about the sidewalks and taking carriage rides. I'll be fine. Get your work done here so you can get home." Just as I finished, we noticed the few people left in the trailer had fallen silent. They watched us with keen curiosity and slight grins.
"Don't let us get in the way of a good night kiss, Detective Jackson," Scottie quipped.
A blush warmed my cheeks, which didn't escape Jackson's notice. That first kiss had eluded us several times. I certainly didn't plan to finally get it in front of an audience standing in a cloud of cocoa steam inside a small trailer.
Jackson pointed out the shiny badge on his belt. "I never kiss while on duty. Miss Gomez, I'll speak to you next if you're ready."
Chapter 20
Raine was pouting like a fish by the time she dropped me at the inn. There were no juicy date details because our night had been cut short. I didn't have much to add about the murder that Lana hadn't already described in dramatic detail. I was sure there were at least a hundred different accounts of Evan's horrifying death scuttling around town and most of them embellished, like my sister's account. Lana apparently decided that Evan stumbled out into the spotlight, clutching wildly at the stake in his back before falling like a stone on the stage. With an eye roll, I told Raine that I must have looked away when he was struggling to remove the stake and standing in the spotlight.
I thanked her for the ride and sent my apologies along for pooping out on the holiday movie, then headed up the front steps of the inn. I was very much regretting leaving my gloves behind when I tried with icy fingers to get the key in the front lock. In my nervous rush to leave the house with Jackson, I'd also forgotten to turn on the porch light, making my task even harder. When the key slipped from my numb fingers, I was just about to give up, circle around to the back and inch my way through the dog door.
"Darn it." I stooped down to search for the key but once again lack of light and feeling in my fingers were working against me. My fingers finally landed on the key just as the wicker chair on the corner of the porch scraped the floorboards.
I gasped as I shot to standing, the key slipping once again from my fingers. My heart pummeled my rib cage, but the breath, caught in my throat, slowly released as Edward floated into view. He had that faraway, extra transparent look on his face. Without a word, he came closer. He moved by me so closely, he passed partially through me. I shivered as the cold vapor crossed my flesh and bones. He easily retrieved the key and pushed it into the lock. The door opened and he waved me in with a bow.
"Thank you." I bustled past him into the entryway. "I was afraid I'd be out there all night stuck in the nightmarish scenario where I struggled with the lock, dropped the key and then stooped down to pick it up, only to start the cycle all over again."
The front door and lock snapped shut behind me as I traveled down the hallway to the kitchen. The cold had left me with a headache. I was in need of some hot tea.
Edward was on his perch over the hearth as I turned on the kitchen light. The dogs lifted their tired heads and then dropped back into their doggie dreams.
"A gentleman would see a lady to the house and make sure she was safely inside before driving away," Edward said. His scowl looked more miserable than usual.
"That wasn't a gentleman. That was Raine. She gave me a ride home."
"Ah, yes, the woman who talks to ghosts. And that makes your gentleman friend even more of a blackguard. Why didn't he drive you home?"
"He was busy with an investigation. I told you, he's a detective.” I put the kettle on and sat at the table. Edward drifted down and joined me. "We went to the town play. They were acting out A Christmas Carol."
Edward looked puzzled.
"That's right. Charles Dickens was a little after your time."
I laughed. "That sounds so strange telling someone that Dickens was after their time."
He didn't look amused.
"What's wrong with you, Edward? You're so grumpy lately."
He pulled a banana out of the fruit bowl and balanced it on his vaporous fingertip. "Not bad," I said. "Of course, it probably helps that you can ignore the law of gravity."
"Gravy?" he asked.
"No, I think we've had this discussion before. I'm too tired tonight. But you haven't answered my question. Is it just the noise in the house?"
Edward tossed the banana back into the bowl. "I suppose that's part of it."
"What's the other part?"
He coasted to the kitchen window and stared out. "As a child, I looked so forward to the first snowfall. The crunch of the ice beneath boots and horse hooves. Flakes landing on your nose and tongue. Then returning to the house to warm myself by the hearth. Olga, our cook, always had a beef pie ready when I came in from the snow."
I walked to the kettle while I listened to him reminisce about being alive just like someone might reminisce about their childhood. But for living people, it was possible to relive the nostalgic memories, to taste and feel and smell the wonders of winter that they remembered from childhood. Edward was bound inside a world without the magic of senses.
"Edward, I'm sorry I've haven't spent any time lately on untangling your reason for being stuck here at the inn. I'm certain it has to do with knowing what happened to your child. I promise first chance I get, I'll return to the records office to see if there is some kind of birth certificate. Now that I know Bonnie's maiden name, it might be easier to find the record."
I filled my teacup.
"Do what you will. I doubt it will make much difference," he grunted.
"Well, bah humbug to you too," I said.
"Bah humbug. Charles Dickens with his ridiculous prose and unlikable characters. He made it seem as if Victorian London was the most wretched, vile place on the map."
"So you do know of him?"
"Mary, the woman whose ludicrous family lived here mid-century used to read those books to her children every night. I told her they would have nightmares and turn into foul adults hearing that nonsense, but she never listened."
"Perhaps because at that time, Dickens was like the rock star of the book world."
"What is a rock star? Someone who shows off rocks?"
"No, they're musicians and singers," I explained and then realized I'd inadvertently trapped myself in one of our endless 'twenty question' sessions.
"These are musicians who use rocks instead of instruments?" Edward asked, predictably.
"No, they play real instruments, but the music is called rock. Rock n' roll to be exact."
Edward's image tightened with interest. At least I'd popped him out of his grumpy mood. "There is music called rock and roll? Does it have anything at all to do with actual rocks? Or rolls, for that matter?"
I smiled at him. "No, no it doesn't. I listen to it on my computer when I'm working."
"Yes, the discordant clamor that makes you wriggle on your chair. Preposterous name for music." Edward moved back to his place on the hearth. "I think you brought it up just to steer me away from our first topic."
I rubbed my forehead. The tea and warmth of the kitchen was slowly melting the ache away. "You mean your dour mood?" I took another soothing sip of tea. It was a special blend of cinnamon and orange, one of my favorites.
"See, you're doing it again. I'm talking about the lack of manners from your gentleman friend." He huffed. "Although, one can hardly use the term on someone with such a wild appearance. Does the man not own a looking glass or comb?"
"I happen to like his hair. There was no lack of manners on his part. A man was murdered, and the detective was doing his job. And now, I'm going to stand in a hot shower until I'm thoroughly thawed out from the long night. Then I'm going straight to bed."
I stopped on the way out and looked back at him. Occasionally, I caught him in a moment of reflection, and it always made him seem lonely, even a little lost. "If I get time, I'll go back to the records office to see what I can find out about Bonnie's baby."
He shrugged. "Do what you want. Makes no difference to me," he said unconvincingly.
"All right, Edward. Good night."
"Good night, Sunni."
Chapter 21
My article about the play had taken an unexpected turn. I'd settled on writing a pedestrian piece about how the business community came together in the holiday season to delight us with their thespian talents. The article would include the obligatory contact information and pleasant write-up about their respective businesses and that would be the end of it. My job for the week would be fulfilled, and Parker would be pleased, all with very little brain energy wasted. But now there was no play to write about. Murder and intrigue were much more interesting to write about, but I had little to go on.
I decided to start with the person who seemed to have the most to gain from Evan's death. With Weezer out of the way, Danny Danforth was sure to have a nice boost in business.
Danforth Realty was a small office just before the Smoky Highway in the town of Hickory Flats. I'd called ahead, and his assistant, Roger, had answered. He told me he expected Danny in any time because he had a meeting with new clients. I let him know I only needed a few minutes of Danny's time and that it was for the newspaper. Which it was, technically. If I happened to gather some helpful information about the murder at the same time, then that would be the cherry on top.
Hickory Flats was a quiet, almost rural kind of town with far less traffic and activity than Firefly Junction. It was also at a lower elevation so the flakes of snow that had fallen the night before had already melted to puddles on the sidewalk.
A mid thirties man with a stylish gray business suit and clean shaven face peered up over the top of his monitor as I walked into the office. The nameplate on his desk said Roger Urban.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
I pulled out my press pass. "I'm Sunni Taylor from the Junction Times. I spoke to you this morning about an interview with Mr. Danforth."
"Right. I'm afraid Danny got called away to show some houses. With Evan Weezer—gone," he said politely. "We've been swamped with calls. Even in realty, the show must go on," he quipped and then turned red with embarrassment. His lips pulled in for a second. "I guess that was not the best phrase to use in this situation."
"Probably not. But I suppose it makes sense that Danny will gain a lot of business with his main competitor—gone." I knew it was a leading statement, but I'd lost the morning's interview. I hoped to save it by prying some information out of Danny's assistant. I'd always found assistants to have far more valuable information than anyone else.
"It's terrible what happened, but yes, it will most definitely mean an uptick of business for Danforth Realty. Evan Weezer always worked as a one man show. He never trained anyone else to take over in case something happened to him. It leaves his business without an experienced salesperson."
It seemed I had a willing interviewee. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the relationship between Mr. Danforth and Mr. Weezer? I was assigned to write an article about the play, but I find myself without a topic this morning. I thought it would be nice to find out a little more about Evan Weezer. You know, make it more like an obituary about one of the area's top business people."
Roger pursed his mouth and wrinkled his forehead at the phrase top business people. He fidgeted with the stapler on his desk. "I'm not sure I should. He was a competing agent."
"Well, not technically," I said. My friskier journalistic side was poking up its head this morning. "After all, Weezer was number one. It seems, if there was a competition, Mr. Weezer won."
I'd caused just enough fluster with my comment to make him sit up straight and roll his chair forward. "It can hardly be considered a win if Weezer cheated to get there."
"He cheated? I haven't heard the details. W
hat happened?"
His phone rang. I shrank in disappointment, sure I'd lose him to a phone call, which would in turn give him time to rethink telling me about the cheating incident. Roger glanced at the screen, released a grunt of frustration and let it go to voicemail. I was in luck.
Roger sat up and straightened his tie, a green silk holiday tie with tiny candy canes. "Five years ago, Danforth Realty was number one in the state. Danny was on a roll, and he seemed unstoppable. There was a waiting line of clients wanting Danny to sell their homes. Weezer was struggling with his business." He said the name Weezer as if he'd just tasted a bitter grape. "He paid a couple to pose as buyers. They came here to Danforth Realty to be represented by Danny. They looked at a few houses but then tried to claim that Danny was trying to force them into signing a contract for a house they didn't want. The claims were false, of course. Danny works hard, but he's never pushy. Not like Weezer is—was," he corrected and then looked contrite about the mistake. "But Weezer paid these people well. They took it all the way to the Better Business Bureau and the Board of Real Estate. Danny's license was suspended. It took him a year and a fortune in legal fees before it was reinstated. In the meantime, Weezer snaked in and stole his client list. And understandably, it took a long time for the local townsfolk to trust Danny again."
"Were the people arrested as frauds? Did Weezer ever get in trouble for plotting the scheme?" I asked. I was working hard to take in the details of his story. I hadn't taken out my notepad or phone out of fear that it would bring the conversation to a dead stop.
Roger leaned back and twirled a pen around on his desk to avoid looking me straight in the eye. "Unfortunately, there was no actual proof of Weezer's involvement. The couple moved to the other side of the country and withdrew their complaint just before it went in front of a judge. That's how Danny got his license back. But Weezer was ready to swoop in and take away clients. It had to be him."
A Humbug Holiday Page 10
