Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness: A Witchy Christmas Cozy Mystery (Marshmallow Hollow Mysteries Book 2)

by Dakota Cassidy

  Brett was two years older than us, and he’d lived in Marshmallow Hollow all his life—he was aware of my “debilitating migraines.”

  I held up a hand. “She is. Thanks for asking, Brett.” Turning to Stiles, I asked, “Can I take Uncle Darling to the hospital now, or do you need him for more questioning?”

  “You’re good to go, and I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but tell him not to leave Marshmallow Hollow.”

  I rolled my eyes. “As if he’d ever in a mill leave Monty.”

  Now Stiles held up his hands in defense of his words. “I’m just doing my job, Kitten. I gotta go, but I’ll check on you guys later, okay?”

  Taking a deep breath, I gave him a thumb’s up before I went to gather Uncle Darling and Hobbs and head to the hospital.

  But before I did, I sent out a small prayer to the universe.

  Please, please let Monty be all right.

  Please.

  “We should have stayed at the hospital and waited, Hal,” Uncle Darling sobbed forlornly over a cup of his favorite hot tea Atticus had all prepared as soon as we’d walked in the door. “No! Instead, I should do a healing spell and make it all go away with the snap of my fingers!”

  I reached for his chubby fingers and gripped them, pulling his fist to my cheek. “You know you can’t do that, Uncle Darling. We mustn’t interfere with mortal matters, and Uncle Monty is mortal.”

  His round face sagged as tears rimmed his eyes again. “You’re right, Lamb. I know you’re right, but… I should have stayed with him—waited for him. Healed him.”

  Monty had a hematoma from a blow to his head. I’m not sure if the man in the mask hit him, or he hit his head on the stall in the bathroom, but they had to relieve the pressure on his brain, and that meant surgery and possibly an induced coma to hopefully bring the swelling down.

  The prognosis at this point was iffy, and I was doing my best not to show Uncle Darling how terrified I really was.

  Uncle Darling had been beside himself when Doc Jordan had told him the news, but Hobbs had managed to convince him to come back to the house and at least try to rest.

  Hobbs had gone home to grab Stephen King and take him out, and was due back at any moment, but he’d been an enormous help in soothing my distraught Darling.

  I rubbed his back and pressed another tissue into his hands, planting a kiss on his round cheek. “You know you can’t interfere with fate. Healing him is out of the question, and you heard what Doctor Jordan said, Uncle Darling. Monty’s going to be in surgery for a while. There’s nothing we can do right now. It’s much better if we wait here for the text from the staff nurse when surgery is over than watch you pace a hole in the floor and drive yourself crazy with worry. You can’t be with him right now, so it’s better you’re here with me—with us. He’s in good hands, and so are you, I promise.”

  With a shudder, he took a sip of his tea as another tear rolled down his face. “Thank you for this, Atticus. I’m gagged you’d think of me.”

  “Gagged?” Atticus twittered, settling on the island counter. “Is this some sort of drag queen speak, Andrew?”

  Giving Atti a stern look, I shook my head to let him know now wasn’t the time to pick at Uncle Darling’s slang.

  “In pretentious British speak, it means he’s gobsmacked, Atti. It’s a nice thing. Now hush with all that Brits-do-it-best snobbery.”

  “Gagged,” Atticus scoffed. “What has happened to the English language? We’ve all but trampled it to death. Who’s happy to be gagged, I ask?”

  I glared at Atti, reminding him yet again this wasn’t the time, and he was ruining the perfectly warm feelings he’d created by being kind enough to have tea prepared for us when we walked in the door.

  Uncle Darling, unperturbed by Atti, grabbed my hand, his deep brown eyes searching mine. “Does that walking, talking, bearded fantasy know about you, Sweet Face?”

  That was more like my uncle than he’d been all night. “Nope. We’ve only known each other a little while. I’m not ready to share yet. But he has witnessed a vision.”

  He sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with the tissue. “Still calling your visions ‘migraines’?”

  I gripped his hand and gazed into his swollen eyes. “I am, and that’s what Hobbs thinks they are, too. For the moment, that’s enough.”

  “Tell me about him, Hal,” Uncle Darling demanded. “Take my mind off the sheer torture of waiting for the hospital to call.”

  Grabbing my beer, I took a swig and tried to focus. “He’s my tenant. He rents the cottage in back. He was some kind of financial advisor in Boston, but he’s from Texas, an oddball Southern boy who loves the cold and the snow. After coming here on a daytrip with a friend, he decided to move here when he left his job.”

  Uncle Darling gasped, injecting his brand of drama as he placed his hand over his heart. “He has no job, Sugarbuns? How does he pay his bills? You’re not letting him freeload, are you?”

  I smiled. “I think he made a lot of money and retired really early. I’ve never had a check bounce, and he’s been here full time for a couple of months. No freeloading, though I might let him have the place if he’d let me have his dog, Stephen King.”

  He patted my hand and nodded. “Well, he’s a dish, isn’t he? Or trade, as we’d call him in the drag business.”

  Listen, I’ve watched a lot of RuPaul’s Drag Race in honor of my Uncle Darling so we could talk about it when we chatted on the phone, but I didn’t know what trade meant.

  I squinted at him. “Er, trade? Do I want to know what that means?”

  He gave me his coy-sly smile, one of his specialties, and said, “The meaning’s evolved some, but when I use it, it means I wouldn’t look the other way if he were interested in some hanky-panky. More or less, anyway.”

  Giggling, I wagged a finger at him. “I don’t think I want to know what more or less means. Either way, he’s a nice guy and—”

  “And he likes our Halliday. They’ve been together ever since they were chased down by a deranged killer with a gun last week.” Atti buzzed upward toward the top of the mini Christmas tree and seated himself on a branch.

  “What?” Uncle Darling yelped, jumping up from the stool at the counter, a frown on his face. “If your mother were here, she’d positively hold my feet to the fire for allowing you to be in any danger!”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and sat him back down. “I’m a grown woman, and I couldn’t help the danger. It’s a long story, Uncle Darling. Suffice it to say, we made a discovery together we didn’t want to make and that discovery had a big, bad gun.”

  “And a vicious attack dog Halliday turned into a giraffe,” Atticus pointed out in his deep voice.

  Now Darling sputtered. “Oh, Lamb Chop, no. A giraffe?” he squealed.

  I frowned and hung my head, driving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Yeah. Unfortunately, Atti’s right. I used my magic to get us out of a sticky situation, but you know how fluky it can be when I’m anything but calm. Things got a little out of control.”

  Glancing at his phone, Uncle Darling sighed. “You and your out-of-control magic. It was your mother’s biggest worry. Remind me to introduce you to some calming techniques when this is…over.” And then his eyes filled with more tears.

  I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and rested my head on it, sniffing the scent of laundry detergent. “I love you, and it’s going to be all right, Uncle Darling. I feel it.”

  I didn’t know if that was true—if I felt Uncle Monty was going to be all right—but I also didn’t know what else to say. The only thing I did know? I wish my mother were here. She’d know what to say. She always knew what to say.

  Swiping at his eyes, he dropped an angry fist to the countertop. “I should have never let him talk me into stopping, Hal. He insisted on bringing you flowers—you know how much he loves you. But like everything with Monty, they had to be perfect. Except that blessed fool wouldn’t listen when I told him Feeney’s would h
ave nothing but carnations, and absolutely nothing that lived up to his standards. He insisted I stop, and because I love him more than my own life, I did.” He inhaled then and let out a wail of distress. “Why didn’t I ignore him, Hal? Why? I was driving. I should have listened to my gut. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it!”

  The guilt I felt about those flowers was enough to make my chest tight and my heart throb erratically, and I’m guessing uncle Darling picked up on that because he instantly pulled me into a tight hug.

  He wrapped his beefy arms around me and nuzzled my nose with his. “I’m sorry, Lovey,” he whispered against my hair, his body shuddering. “This has nothing to do with you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  I knew that logically, but my heart ached anyway. “I know that rationally. I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was trying to do something nice for me. I love Uncle Monty. You know I do. He means the world to me,” I said, leaning back in his beefy arms.

  Brushing my hair from my eyes, he gave me a watery smile. “I know that, Lamb. He loves you, too.”

  Then I gathered myself. I had to know what my vision meant, and while I wasn’t ready to tell my uncle I’d had one involving Monty and the killer yet, I needed to try and understand what I’d seen.

  In the meantime, knowing he likely hadn’t eaten, I snapped my fingers and produced a plate of apple strudel, Uncle Darling’s favorite, ignoring the frown from Atti’s direction.

  As he reached for some, and Atti produced a fork and plate, I ventured into the shallow end of the pool. “Listen, Uncle Darling, can you tell me what you remember? I know it’s painful, but maybe I can help.”

  Sitting back down, he grimaced. “How can you possibly help, Lamb?”

  I shrugged, downplaying my interest. “I dunno. You’d be surprised, but the saying two heads are better than one is really true. So what happened?”

  His breath shuddered from his chest as he shivered. I snapped my fingers again and a warm shawl appeared around his shoulders. He gave me a grateful smile and tucked it around his rotund body.

  “I don’t know where to begin, Sugar, but I’ll try. Like I told those police officers and my sweet boy Stiles, we stopped to get flowers. I stayed in the car because I didn’t want to haul my big fanny through the snow. I had my earbuds in, and I was listening to some new music from a fellow drag sister, Helen Highwater, so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything. Monty was taking forever and a day, and if you know anything about my man, you’ll know he’s like molasses uphill in the winter. So I decided to check on him. I was gonna give him all sorts of what for, and then…then…”

  He set the fork for the strudel down and let his chin fall to his chest.

  I grabbed his hand and squeezed it for support. “I know this is hard, but did you see anything while you were in the car, Uncle Darling? Did you see the person who killed Gable go inside?”

  His sigh was ragged and he covered his mouth to muffle a sob, but he shook his head. “It was snowing like somebody’d dumped a box of instant mashed potato flakes on our heads. But I also had my eyes closed while I listened to the music.” He shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone go inside. I didn’t even see the car he was driving, Hal. I should have paid better attention.”

  “So he was driving a car? Are you sure? If you had your eyes closed, how do you know?”

  “When he ran past me to get out of Feeney’s, I saw him get into one. I know I did,” he insisted.

  My heart began to throb all over again. “Did you see what kind of car it was?”

  His round face went slack with frustration under the glow of the twinkling lights in the kitchen. “Aw, Lamb, you know I don’t know cars from a hole in the wall. Now ask me about a brand of makeup, or a dress designer, and you can’t get me to shut my pretty mouth. The only thing I can tell you is it was an older car, without all the finery of the newer models. It was a sedan, maybe dark green.”

  Blowing out a breath of air, I reminded myself this might take some patience. “Why does that make you think it was an older car, Uncle Darling?”

  “Because it looked dull and rusty, I guess. I don’t know! By then, I was so stunned, so shaking in my pantaloons, I thought I might pass out, Hal. He had a gun. A big, long gun. I had no idea he’d just shot a hole the size of the sun in someone with it!”

  His agitation began to make me uneasy and worried. When Uncle Darling gets going, there’s nothing to do but ride out the spiral. I couldn’t afford for him to spiral now.

  “I should have zapped that man when I saw him running from the bathroom! Why didn’t I zap him, Lamb?”

  Boy, did I know that question well. I also knew the answer. “Because you were scared, Uncle Darling. You can’t blame yourself,” I soothed.

  “I froze! That’s why,” he almost howled. “It’s so unlike me, but I froze as sure as I’m standing here!”

  “Andrew!” Atticus belted out, his deep voice reverberating around the kitchen as he buzzed in front of Uncle Darling’s face. “You will gather yourself this instant. There will be no meltdowns in my presence. Hal is trying to help you find the person who caused undue harm to your beloved, and we must help get justice for him. Answer the questions and do it like an adult!”

  Uncle Darling instantly sat up straighter, even if he glared at Atticus. “I’m sorry, Lamb. You know how wound up I can get.”

  I rubbed his back with the flat of my palm and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I do, but I need you to hold it together for just a little bit, please. Now, let’s see what we can figure out, okay? You said you went inside. Was the killer still inside when you went to check on Uncle Monty?”

  He swallowed hard and nodded with a violent shiver. “Yes. I heard them fighting and then…the…gunshot. He came running out just after I came into the store, and he had that gun in his hand, and it was so big, Lamb. I’ve never seen one up close, and I was so terrified, but he paid no mind to me. He just ran out of the store. He’d obviously killed that poor child just after I got into the store, but I don’t understand what happened to Monty. I just don’t understand how he managed not to get himself shot.”

  “Did the killer see you, Uncle Darling?” That sent a shiver of unadulterated fear along my spine.

  “I don’t know if he saw me, but it doesn’t matter if I saw him because he had on a ski mask. A black, knit ski mask. He was dressed in all black. In fact, he was very chic, something I’d envy if he hadn’t slaughtered that poor boy and hurt my Monty.”

  What an odd thing to stand out, but Uncle Darling was like my sister, in that fashion was very important in both their lives, unlike me, who really loved a good flannel shirt and a pair of jeans.

  “Chic? How do you mean, he was chic?”

  “I know this sounds absolutely crackers for me to have noticed something so random and trivial in light of the fact that I was petrified, but I noticed his trousers were clean and pleated down the front to within an inch of their life. Once a fashionista, always a fashionista, I suppose. Even in the killing fields of Feeney’s.”

  “Can you remember any other details like that? Did he say anything? Did you hear anything?”

  That was when Uncle Darling almost jumped off the chair, his aging eyes wide. “Hold on…just hold on! I did hear him say something.” He put his fingers to his temples and squeezed.

  I held my breath and waited as Atticus asked urgently, “What did he say, Andrew?”

  Rolling up the sleeves of his heavy red sweater, he winced. “He said…give me that stupid S…” He paused a moment and bunched his fist in front of his mouth as though he were thinking, and then he yelled, “That SD card! Yes! He said give me that—pardon my colorful language—‘effin’ SD card.’”

  Everyone grew quiet until Uncle Darling asked, “What in all of a Gucci bag is an SD card?”

  I didn’t know a lot about computers and tech, but I knew enough to know what an SD card was used for. But before I could answer…

  “It’s us
ually what stores the memory in a phone or a video surveillance camera.”

  Chapter 4

  Underneath the Tree

  Written by Kelly Clarkson, Greg Kurstin, 2013

  Hobbs’s husky voice gave us the answer as Stephen King grunted his way into the kitchen and placed his thick paws on my thighs for some love. “What makes you ask?”

  I’d told Hobbs to let himself in when he was done feeding and walking Stephen King. Somehow, his presence made the task of talking to Uncle Darling less daunting. He appeared to comfort him in a way I couldn’t.

  I smiled down at Stephen King and stooped to press a kiss on his broad tan and white head. “That’s what the killer said when Uncle Darling first entered the store. Apparently, the killer was fighting with Gable in the men’s room, and if he wanted an SD card, he probably wanted to erase the video of him being there. The question is, why? I mean, sure, it’s a good safeguard to keep from being identified, but he was masked, and I’d bet my life savings he covered his tracks.”

  Hobbs pulled off his rawhide jacket and knit cap, hanging them both on a chair in the dining room before he said, “Mind bringing me up to speed?”

  I repeated what Uncle Darling had told us as I got him a beer and popped the top off, setting it in front of him on the kitchen counter. “And that’s where we’re at,” I finished on a grim note.

  Hobbs cleared his throat. “First, let me say my thoughts are with Monty, Andrew, and I’m here if you need anything at all.”

  Uncle Darling looked Hobbs in the eye and pointed a finger at him. “You, Mr. Dish of a Cowboy, can call me Uncle Darling, and thank you, Presh. You were a huge help to me at the store.”

  Hobbs tipped his beer at him in acknowledgement. “Second, what’s up with the SD card? If he was disguised, why the heck would he want the video from the surveillance camera? That’s a clue if I ever heard one.”

  Blowing out a breath, I shook my head. “Uncle Darling said he was dressed all in black, and he noticed creases in the pants of his trousers, but that doesn’t feel like something that anyone could easily make an identification from. Maybe he had something else on him that could identify him, but Uncle Darling missed it? That’s my best guess.”