A Humbug Holiday

by London Lovett

Cinnamon, cloves and the rich, deep scent of molasses permeated every inch of Lana's vast kitchen. Her long maple work table was dusted with flour and scraps of gingerbread dough. Plump ginger people lined one side of the table waiting for their turn in the oven. Jackson, Mom and I had settled at Lana's white porcelain kitchen table to squeeze creamy glaze in the shape of buttons and bows. Jackson was far better at nibbling off arms and legs than adding in details.

  Just like his easy going smile had calmed my nerves back at the inn, his laid back, confident manner also quickly wiped away the first few moments of awkwardness and overly polite greetings when we walked into Lana's house.

  Emily was rolling out the last ball of dough, and Lana was standing ready at the oven, waiting for the next batch to be done. This was going to be a crunchy batch. Lana and I liked the crispy gingerbread. While Emily and Mom preferred theirs just a tad under-baked so they stayed soft and chewy. I quickly discovered that Jackson was not picky and gladly ate either kind of cookie.

  "Just how did you two meet?" Mom pointedly referred her sudden question to Jackson.

  Jackson put down the cookie he'd been nibbling, sat back and favored me with a teasing gaze. "I was called in to investigate a murder scene at a park in a nearby town. Let's just say there was a highly curious and tenacious journalist at the site."

  "Tenacious," Lana laughed. "Perfect word choice."

  I tossed a few red sprinkles at her. "I'm sure I could come up with some perfect word choices for you too."

  Lana brushed a red sprinkle off her shoulder. "I should hope so. You are a journalist after all."

  "Quiet, you two," Mom said and turned her gleaming smile back to Jackson. "Go on," she prodded.

  "Believe it or not, our first real conversation happened while I was standing in the park, and Sunni was perched up in a tree overlooking the scene."

  "Sunni," Mom said with feigned shock. She knew darn well that I wouldn't have given a second thought to climbing a tree to get a news scoop, but it seemed she wanted to pretend she raised much more of a lady. "You could have been hurt. You're not a little girl in blue jeans and sneakers anymore."

  I laughed. "Did you think I climbed the tree in a dress? I still wear blue jeans and sneakers every chance I get, by the way." I turned to Jackson. "And to think I was mortified that my mom or sisters would come up with some embarrassing tale about my childhood, when, all the while, my guest had the story to tell."

  Jackson shrugged. "She asked. It's not as if I had to embellish it." He bit the head off the cookie he was holding. "I think I'm leaning toward the crispy now. But I'll probably change my mind with the next batch of soft and chewy."

  Nick and Chris walked into the kitchen with the quart of milk they'd taken a good hour to buy. "Where did you go for the milk?" Emily asked. "Wisconsin?"

  "We got sidetracked," Nick said. "The ice cream store was giving away free samples of pumpkin spice ice cream."

  Emily wiped the flour from her hands. "Yum, did you bring some for the rest of us?"

  Both men fell sheepishly quiet as they exchanged 'oops' glances with each other. It seemed Nick and Chris were becoming fast friends, which I'm sure made my mom happy. Of course, everyone got along well with Nick. He was always pleasant and generous and humble. He was the exact opposite of Evan Weezer. That thought reminded me of my visit to Weezer Realty.

  I finished the bow tie on the last gingerbread man and dropped my pastry bag into the bowl. "I think I could use a little break from the heady scent of clove and ginger." I motioned toward the door as I looked at Jackson. "Care to join me on the front porch, or will you find it too hard to drag yourself away from warm cookies?"

  Jackson wiped his hands on his napkin. "Actually, that's a good idea. I think I need some gingerbread intervention."

  Mom burst into an exaggerated laugh at his quip. She had been shining with sparkly school girl winks and smiles all night. It was kind of fun to watch.

  I pulled my coat tightly shut as we stepped onto Lana's porch and sat on her swing. It was a clear, crisp night. The sky looked as if someone had thrown a net of diamonds over black slate.

  "I love this kind of weather," I said as Jackson pushed with his long legs, sending the swing rocking back and forth.

  "I do too. Snow's been pretty light this year too, which makes the whole winter thing a little easier. I like your family. I hardly ever see mine. Everyone is kind of spread out, so this was nice. Think I ate ten holiday's worth of gingerbread tonight."

  "You were munching those poor, unsuspecting guys down pretty fast. Reminded me of my brother, Neal. He used to eat the cookies faster than Mom could lift them to the cooling rack."

  "I didn't know you had a brother," Jackson said. "Guess there are a lot of things we still don't know about each other."

  I swung my feet back and forth as the swing rocked. "I'm not all that big of a mystery. You pretty much get what you see."

  Jackson put his arm around my shoulder. "That suits me just fine."

  Emotion and a slight case of the jitters swirled through me. Don't get hooked yet, Sunni, I told myself. As much as you weren't a mystery, the tall handsome guy next to you was certainly a big one.

  "I invited you out here to tell you a few things I found out today at Weezer Realty."

  "Darn, I was hoping you asked me out here for that first kiss."

  "Hmm, with my mom and sisters right inside? It's still not the right kaboom moment."

  "Point taken," he said. "What did you find out?"

  "Tim is not the slightest bit distraught about Evan's death. In fact, I think he was feeling pretty good today. He even made an executive decision to give everyone the day off. He's got plans to get his real estate license, and he has Evan's database on his computer to give him a big stepping stone into the business."

  Jackson reached up with his free hand and combed his fingers back through his hair, providing me with a nice view of his perfectly chiseled profile. He was waiting for me to continue, but that was all I had.

  "I guess that might not have been worth pulling you away from the gingerbread, eh?" I asked.

  "I spoke to Tim last night, and he admitted that he wasn't sad. I think he felt somewhat guilty about it, but he was being honest. I didn't get the sense that he was a killer but then I didn't spend too much time with him. He does have a motive, not a strong one but it's there. Sounded like Weezer was a really awful guy to work for."

  I was feeling somewhat deflated. "Then I guess there's not much else to say about my visit. However, I did add another significant cast member to my more macabre version of A Christmas Carol. Turns out Evan Weezer had a late partner, and I don't mean the tardy kind. He's dead, a goner, just like the story." I turned slightly toward him. "And here's the kicker—his name is—"

  "John Marlin," Jackson finished for me.

  I blew a puff of air from my mouth that left behind a white cloud. "You really know how to take the steam out of someone's kettle."

  "Sorry. We've been looking into his past for possible suspects. My team came upon John Marlin's name as Weezer's partner." He titled his head toward me. "Deceased, or as you put it, a goner." He took my hand in his. His slightly callused fingers were warm as they wrapped around mine. "If it's any consolation, when I got the report about the partner, I immediately thought about you and your Christmas Carol comparison."

  "That does help," I admitted. "Just out of curiosity, was that the only time you thought of me today?" My cheeks warmed at my own brazen question. It had popped out before I could rethink it.

  He squeezed my hand tighter and gazed at me so intently, I felt the warmth of his hand all the way up my arm. "You know it's not, Bluebird" he said quietly.

  The front door burst open. Lana's laughter broke the heat that had filled the air between us. Our gazes pulled reluctantly apart.

  "You've got to come back inside, Jackson. Mom's about to tell Chris the Christmas story when a four-year-old Sunni snuck downstairs in the middle of the night and opened e
veryone's gifts and stockings."

  "Must she," I complained.

  "Think I'm going to need to listen in on that." Jackson got up and offered me his hand.

  "Must you," I complained.

  I trudged to the door. "It was Mom's fault. She sat me down in front of the television to watch The Grinch that night. I was sure he was going to come in and take the gifts before we had a chance to open them." I smiled back at Jackson as we walked inside. "That's my alibi, and I'm sticking to it."

  Chapter 27

  Jackson had so much work and on top of that he was going to be spending a good portion of his day in court testifying in another case. There were other people working on the murder case, but I decided it was my civic duty as a journalist to continue looking into Evan Weezer's death.

  I decided to return to the scene of the crime. The festival was still going strong despite the catastrophic end to the play. The sky was clear above, making the air below nearly brittle with cold. I decided a mid morning cup of hot apple cider was just what I needed before exploring the crime scene. I pulled my gloves off and shoved them into my pocket to warm them around the cup. I stood sipping the cider, watching the horse and carriage team go past. Aurora, a woman I knew only because of her unusual name, was dressed in plush green velvet livery with a matching top hat. The two horses were thick with their winter coats and adorned with tiny silver bells. Red ribbons had been braided through their black manes. A young couple sat in the carriage snapping selfies with their cameras. Apparently, the experience was less about the charming, old-fashioned ride through town and more about getting a good shot for Instagram.

  With cider grasped tightly in my hand, I headed down the block and around the corner toward the theater tent. I stopped abruptly in disappointment, splashing a few drops of hot cider on my thumb. A team of four people had just finished loading the folded tent onto the back of a large truck. The only things remaining at the site were a few pieces of leftover trash and the trailer Evan Weezer had brought in for his personal use. The yellow caution tape had been removed from around the steps, which meant the police were done with their forensics search.

  As I got closer, I noticed the trailer door was ajar. Someone was inside, possibly the person in charge of hauling it away. I was just in time. I tried to come up with a good excuse for searching inside the trailer, but my mind was drawing a blank. When in a pickle, I always resorted to pulling out my press pass.

  I walked up the steps, and the sudden notion that I might be about to surprise the murderer returning to the scene dashed through my head. I was relieved to find Scottie inside stuffing Evan's Scrooge frock coat into a plastic garment bag.

  Her eyes rounded and she pressed her hand to her throat. "Sunni, you scared me. I didn't expect anyone to come up those steps." She giggled. "It's silly but for a second I worried that the murderer had returned to the scene."

  I smiled. "Then you and I think alike. When I heard someone shuffling around in here, I thought the same thing."

  "But that didn't stop you from walking in." She shook her head. "I've got to say, you journalists sure are gutsy when it comes to getting your story. Unfortunately, it's just me. I needed to pick up Evan's costumes. They belong to the theater department at the city college." She took hold of the zipper pull on the garment bag while holding the hanger with the other hand. Like most zippers, it was stubborn.

  "Here, let me help you with that." I stepped forward.

  Scottie released the zipper. "I'll hold the hanger if you wouldn't mind zipping it shut."

  "Absolutely." Just as I lifted my hand to the zipper, I noticed something on the lapel of the frock coat. It was a wiry brown strand of fake hair. I pulled it free and shut the zipper. I held the fiber up to the light coming through the small window.

  "What do you have there?" Scottie squinted at it. "That looks like hair from a fake beard or wig," she noted, confirming my first guess.

  "I don't recall—" I said, only I did recall perfectly. "Was Evan wearing a brown wig or a beard with his costume?"

  "No. There were a few wigs in the costume collection but none of them brown. That looks like a strand of hair from Danny's fake beard." Again, Scottie settled my hunch.

  "I wonder how Danny's beard hair got on Evan's frock coat." I tossed it out there, hoping Scottie might have some insight. It was entirely possible the strand was blown loose, and it just happened to adhere to the lapel of the coat.

  "It does seem strange considering the two men always made a point of walking a wide berth around each other. That is, when they weren't on stage. Close proximity was unavoidable during rehearsal." Scottie set to work putting the top hat back into its box. She stopped and tapped her chin. "Although, there was a slight, sort of physically combative moment between the two men during dress rehearsal." Her shoulders dropped. "Why, I'd forgotten all about the incident until just now."

  "Combative? What happened?"

  "Well, combative might be too strong of a term, but Danny and Evan clashed shoulders as they walked past each other on stage. I think it was accidental. The stage was small, and Danny takes up more room than the average person. But rather than apologize to each other, they both glowered at each other for a tense moment before moving on with the rehearsal. Boy, if looks could kill, those two would have dropped right where they stood." She covered her mouth. "That sounded terrible considering Evan did drop where he stood."

  "I suppose there's never a right way to talk about a murder victim." I walked over and pulled a tissue out from the box on the shelf of the trailer. I tucked the hair inside of it and pushed it into my pocket. "Do you mind if I snoop around? I won't move anything."

  "Go ahead. They'll be hauling away this trailer today. The police took Evan's computer and phone and the clothes he was wearing before he changed into costume. And, of course, the night shirt and cap he was wearing when—Well, you know."

  "Yes." I browsed the table and mirror area where Evan must have sat to get ready for the stage. There was a compact of pale foundation and dark charcoal pencils for adding wrinkles and rings under the eyes. Nothing looked out of place. The police had already determined that Evan had been stabbed just outside the tent, so his trailer was not technically part of the murder scene.

  Scottie's phone went off with a Deck the Halls ringtone. She pulled it out. I perused the rest of the trailer. Nothing stood out as important, but the holiday ringtone spurred another question. In the midst of the chaos, the seconds after Evan collapsed on stage, I'd heard Jingle Bells playing on a phone somewhere outside of the tent. I hadn't thought of it again until Scottie's phone rang.

  Scottie's phone conversation ended quickly.

  "I noticed your festive ringtone," I said as she returned to her task of packing up the costume.

  "Yes, my daughter did that to my phone. I didn't even know she changed it until it rang one day. I thought it was someone's radio. Then I realized it was my phone."

  "Does it change to other songs or is it just Deck the Halls?"

  "Just the one song. Although, if she had asked, I would have preferred Have a Holly Jolly Christmas. That's my favorite."

  "This might seem like an odd question, but do you know if anyone else on the cast and crew had a holiday ringtone? Specifically Jingle Bells?"

  "Hmm, I think I heard a few holiday ringtones during practices, but I'm not sure I heard Jingle Bells. And with all the holiday music blasting through the festival speakers and in the department stores and markets, it's all kind of a blur."

  "What about Danny Danforth? Any chance you heard his ringtone?"

  "I'm not sure." Her mouth pulled into a grim line. "Is this about the strand of beard on the coat?" Scottie was connecting the dots of my questions.

  "No, not at all. I'm just finding out details about that night because I need to write an article about the incident."

  Scottie folded up a gray cravat with a look of concern. "I know Danny disliked Evan, but he's really just a big teddy bear. I can't imagine hi
m killing anyone."

  "No, of course not, and I agree. He seems like a big teddy bear. Well, I'll get out of your way. Have a good holiday."

  "Same to you. I hope you find what you're looking for. And I hope the police find the murderer soon. It's sort of hard to think about celebrating with a killer on the loose."

  "Very true. Good-bye, Scottie." I walked out of the trailer with the strand of beard and a new line of thinking. Would a Jingle Bells ringtone lead us to Evan's killer?"

  Chapter 28

  Myrna had taken an extended lunch break to do some shopping. Parker left early for a meeting with Jerold Newsom, the owner of the paper, and Chase was out for the day. He told Parker he was working from home, but Myrna texted halfway through her shopping trip to say she saw Chase walk into a jewelry store. She was sure he was looking at engagement rings. All I knew was that I had a rare hour to myself in the newsroom.

  I pulled a clean sheet of paper out of the printer and decided to sketch out a quick diagram of evidence and possible suspects and motives. The middle circle was easy to fill. Evan Weezer was the victim. He'd been stabbed with a tent stake. Since I happened to be on site when the corner of the tent broke free and whipped wildly around, nearly collapsing the entire structure, I knew who was in the vicinity when the stake was pulled free. It seemed logical to conclude that the corner whipped up soon after the stake was removed, which narrowed down the suspect list. I started enthusiastically with that assumption, only to then theorize that the person who took the stake probably didn't hang around. Which brought me back to square one.

  I surrounded the center circle with boxes and wrote in a few names, people who had a heavy connection with Evan. Number one on the list was Danny Danforth. Danny had motive. Evan ruined his career, and his death would help Danny rebuild his business. Black paint and shoe prints put Danny close to the stage entrance where Evan took his last few steps. It didn't match up with the blood evidence that showed Evan was stabbed outside of the tent. A fiber of beard from Danny's costume was on Evan's lapel, or, at least, I was going with that assumption. Forensics would still have to match the fibers to make sure. But then Scottie's recall of the two men clashing shoulders during rehearsal was a suitable explanation for how the beard hair got stuck on the lapel. I put a big question mark over the box with Danny's name because there were just too many holes to fill.