Hobbs cupped his bearded chin. “And here’s something else, why would a guy who was going to commit a crime in a raging snowstorm wear dressy pants, and not boots or snow gear?”
“Is there a fashion rule against wearing dressy clothes to commit a crime?” I asked. “Like a dress code amongst criminals?”
“Still hopin’ to kickstart that standup career, huh, Hal?” Hobbs asked with a laugh. Then he shrugged, his wide shoulders lifting under his white-and-blue-checked flannel shirt. “I just mean, it’s dadgum cold out there at thirteen degrees. What criminal wears dress pants anyway? Maybe it has something to do with who he is or what he does when he’s not committing murder. Just stuck out to me.”
Wincing, I clenched my fists together when I remembered Gable’s body being carried off to the ambulance. “You have a point, let’s put that away for now because I have another question.”
I had to be careful how I asked this. I didn’t want to lie to Hobbs about how I knew, but I guess I really didn’t have a choice. There’s never been another human soul I’ve told about my magic.
In fact, if you’re wondering, I never even told my ex-fiancé, and even though I could never figure out why I wasn’t entirely honest, now I’m glad I wasn’t.
Our breakup was ugly, and he was angry that I’d left him with nothing but the bed he’d cheated on me in. He sent me ugly texts for a long time after. Imagine how that would have gone, had he the kind of ammunition knowing I was a witch would give him.
The only two humans who know are Stiles and Uncle Monty, and I didn’t know how long it would be before I could tell Hobbs—or if I ever would. I needed complete trust, and that took time.
Yet, if I wanted his help… If I wanted him to help me figure out who’d hurt Uncle Monty, and if this person was out there lurking around, looking to shut him up entirely because he might have information that could identify the killer, I had to reveal everything I knew.
“Uncle Darling, did you or Monty have any lipstick on you tonight? Pink, specifically?” I knew the forensics team was going to find it, and if my vision was inaccurate, I’d make something up. But I had to know.
He flapped his hands at me, still looking miserable. “Not a stitch of makeup, Lamb. Nothing. I’m on the sauce when it comes to anything drag. It’s been a nice break since I retired. And of course Monty wants nothing to do with makeup. He’s a lighting engineer. He likes sounds systems and stage lights, not foundation and eyeshadow. Why do you ask?”
Shrugging, I pretended it was no big deal. “I heard one of the officers mention they’d found one, I think. Could be a customer dropped it. No big deal.”
“Dropped it in the men’s bathroom?” Hobbs asked.
I turned my face away and went to find a plate of the cookies I knew Hobbs liked and a treat for Stephen King, to keep from looking him in the eye. Food always quieted Hobbs—especially cookies.
“Did I say it was in the men’s bathroom? No. I did not.” Crud. I’m a really bad liar. “And why can’t a man have lipstick?”
“I’m not at all sayin’ a man can’t, but no matter the killers gender, it still could mean the killer dropped it,” Hobbs suggested, not appearing to notice my irritability.
I put the white plate of cookies down in front of him and agreed. “Maybe so. But if we go with the law of averages, and he was a man, he wouldn’t likely have a lipstick. I thought it seemed more likely Uncle Darling would have it, or maybe Monty was carrying it for him. That was where my train of thought was going.”
Uncle Darling rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if he’s a drag queen like me—or a cross-dresser…or a very sturdily-built woman?”
“Are you sure the person you saw was a man, Uncle Darling?”
He shuddered again, rubbing his hands over his arms when he looked to Hobbs with his answer. “I’m pretty sure, Good-Lookin’.”
Grabbing my uncle by the hand, I pulled him upward. “C’mon. Let’s go sit by the fire while we wait for news. It’s beautiful by the fireplace and the tree is so pretty this year. The cowboy here helped decorate it.”
I picked up his special Christmas mug, the one my mother insisted we each have, with a picture of a snowman holding a gingerbread man’s hand, and pulled him with me, tilting my head at Hobbs to encourage him to join us.
Uncle Darling stopped in front of the tree and said, “There’s a light out in the middle of the tree, Lamb, shall I—”
I squeezed his hand and shook my head, reminding him with my eyes we were among mortals and he couldn’t use his magic. “I’ll fix it later. You shouldn’t be worrying about anything but resting and having your tea.”
Pulling an icy-white blanket with red pom-poms off the back of the couch, I turned on the sound system, piping some instrumental Christmas music through the house before leading him to a chair, covering him and dropping a kiss on his forehead.
But he held my hand tight when I tried to sit opposite him. “What if…” he asked, his voice trembling.
“What if you tell me how you became a drag queen?” Hobbs asked. “Ever since Hal told me about what you did for a living, I’ve been fascinated. I even watched some RuPaul’s Drag Race in honor of your visit.”
I smiled to myself. If there was anything Uncle Darling liked to do, it was talk about himself and his career, and Hobbs was very good at picking up on what made people tick.
A text buzzed from my phone in my back pocket, and when I pulled it out to see Stiles wanted me to call, I decided it might be better to do so out of Uncle Darling’s earshot.
“You guys mind if I go feed Karen? I didn’t have time earlier, and I already know about how Uncle Darling clawed his way to the top and became the best lip-syncing eyeliner ninja in all the land.”
My uncle blushed. Two bright spots appearing on his rounded cheeks, spots I was convinced he’d somehow taught himself to make appear when he wanted to come across as humble.
“Oh, you. It wasn’t like that, Lamb, and you know it.”
“Well, you tell Hobbs about your adventures while I go feed Na— Karen. I’ll be right back.” I plopped another kiss on the top of his head of thick hair.
As I left them, chatting amicably, Uncle Darling’s hands animated, his voice less fraught with worry, I sighed a little. Hobbs was really good with people, and he was really good at making everyone around him feel comfortable.
Especially me.
Whistling to Atti, I trudged to the mudroom and pulled on my jacket and hat, pushing the door open to make my way to the barn. Atticus clung to my shoulder, nestling against the length of my hair to keep warm.
The bitter cold stung my eyes as the tang of the ocean crashing against the rocks settled in my lungs.
The barn wasn’t far from the house, a big red structure with a loft and a few stalls. The way was lit with a million Christmas lights wrapped around the split-rail fencing and the mini arborvitae trees that bordered the path, but it was freezing, and that put some pep in my step.
Pulling out my phone as I pushed my way into the red door, I wandered over to my Nana. In case I haven’t mentioned, my Nana Karen is reincarnated in a reindeer’s body, and she’s a handful, to say the least. To make everything that much more complicated, on top of her shenanigans, she talks.
Leaning down, I kissed the top of her velvety soft head. “Evening, Nana. How goes your night so far?”
She reared her head upward and nuzzled my hand. “Well, it’d be better if you had some candy canes.”
I chuckled softly. “You know they’re no good for your digestive system, Nana. It’s not the same as a human’s anymore. Also, they’re high in sugar and Dr. Francine says no. So absolutely no candy canes.”
“Dipsy doodles, you’re a tyrant, Suzy Q,” she groused at me.
Smiling, I stroked her head and straightened the harness on her back while I grabbed her some feed to fill her trough. “Just call me head tyrant. Now, other than that, how are you? Warm enough?”
“I’m no
t the one we need to be worrying for here, kiddo. How’s Andrew and Monty?”
I looked up at the high ceiling and rasped out a sigh, the cold air puffing from my lips. “You heard?”
She bobbed her head and snuffed a snort. “Atti told me. Poor boy. Just found the love of his life and now this.”
I gulped and swallowed hard with a shiver. “Things aren’t looking good, Nana. Monty’s in surgery as we speak and Hobbs is with Uncle Darling, but I’m worried. I’m really worried about him,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m trying to keep it together for him, stay positive, but I’m scared.”
“Hobbs’ll fix Andrew right up. He could fix up the Titanic, that hottie could.”
“Karen,” Atti scolded in his deep voice. “The child is trying to keep her wits about her while supporting poor Andrew, whom, I might add, is a bloody wreck. Surely you have something more to comment on than the state of Hobbs’s appearance.”
“Atti’s right. Shame on me. Sorry, sorry, sorry, honey. How can I help?”
Wrapping my arms around her, I gave her a tight hug she leaned into. “You can behave while he visits and we sort this mess out. That means no breaking out and running hog wild through town so I have to pick you up from animal control.”
She stomped her hooves. “Anything for you, Sunshine. Tell your old nana what happened, while I eat, why don’t ya?”
As I explained to her what Uncle Darling had witnessed and the details of Monty’s surgery, I felt a little better. Talking to her always eased my mind—even if we didn’t come to any conclusions or find any answers. It was just nice to be heard without the restrictions of leaving my magic out of the conversation.
When I was finished, she said, “Yee-haw, kiddo. A second murder in just a few days? What the heck’s goin’ on ’round these parts? Poor Gable’s wife and baby. Sure do feel sorry for ’em. You make sure you take somethin’ to her, will ya?”
“Of course I will, Nana and I’ll check to be sure they have enough to care for the new baby until she gets on her feet. Don’t worry.”
My phone buzzed again, reminding me why I’d come out to the barn in the first place.
“I have to call Stiles, Nana. But if you have any ideas about this mystery, you let me know. I’d welcome anything, because I’m fresh out.”
With those words, I pressed my BFF’s number.
Stiles picked up on the first ring. “Fitzsimmons,” he answered curtly.
“Hey, Fitzi. You okay?”
“I’m okay. How’s Uncle Darling and Monty?”
Tucking the phone under my chin, I grabbed the rake to muck Nana Karen’s stall and give her some fresh hay. “Well, you know Uncle Darling. Still as dramatic as ever, but this time, he has good reason, and Uncle Monty…” My voice hitched before I took a deep breath. “He’s not great.” I explained what the doctor’s said and that he was in surgery and, at this point, all we could do was hope.
There was a crackle on the phone line, a bit of static before I heard his deep voice say, “I have a question for you.”
His tone made my heart stop dead its tracks. I know Stiles almost as well as I know myself, and this was serious. “Okay, what’s up?”
“That lipstick you saw in your vision?”
Stopping in front of Nana’s stall, I stiffened. “What about it?”
“Where did you say you saw it again?”
Leaning back against the stall, I dragged a hand over my nana’s head and smiled at her. “The men’s bathroom at Feeney’s. Why?”
“Secret squirrel?”
That meant I couldn’t ever tell anyone, which was getting harder by the minute with Hobbs in my life. “I’m afraid to say yes, Stiles. You know Hobbs is in the thick of this, right? I already mentioned the lipstick to both Hobbs and Uncle Darling.”
“Then you have to tell them secret squirrel, too, because I could get into a stink pile of trouble for this, Hal, but if you have another vision about the lipstick or anything, I need to know,” he all but whispered in my ear.
I cocked my head, my stomach turning flips. “Stiles, we’ve been friends for a thousand years. I’d tell my secret before I’d tell one of yours. What’s going on?”
There was a heavy pause and then he said, “That lipstick had fingerprints on it.”
Blinking, I dropped the rake and inhaled with a sharp breath. “The killer’s fingerprints?”
I heard him sigh and probably cup the phone with his hand to muffle his response. “No. The fingerprints of a seventeen-year-old girl who’s been missing for three days.”
Oh, holy night…
Chapter 5
It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Written by Edward Pola and George Wyle, 1963
I gasped, realizing not only was the lipstick real, but that my vision had been more accurate than I’d first thought. “The fingerprints… Doesn’t she have to be some kind of criminal to be in the system?”
At least that’s what the explanation always was on one of my true-crime shows.
“She was in the system because of a background check for a position as a part-time babysitter. When I heard the forensics team did, in fact, find a lipstick and it had prints lifted from it, I asked what color it was, and it was for sure hot pink. Actually, it’s called Flamingo Flame, made by Christy of Paris, according to the label.”
I gripped the phone tighter, my knees shaking. “Do you want me to ask Darling anything else about it? He said it isn’t his. He claims he didn’t bring any makeup with him this trip.”
“He said the same thing to the cops on the scene.”
“Wait. Uncle Darling knew about the lipstick?”
“No, Kitten. Because he was a drag queen, I asked him if he had one after I knew it was found, and he said he didn’t have any makeup with him.”
“So who’s the girl, Stiles? Is it anyone we know?”
Dear Goddess, it was horrible that a girl was missing, but if we knew her… Though, that was unlikely. If she was someone missing from Marshmallow Hollow, I’d have heard about it.
“We don’t know her. She’s from Chester Bay.”
The next town over. Chester Bay was bigger than Marshmallow Hollow by at least twenty thousand people, and not nearly as touristy. Though, most folks who wanted to experience my little town but couldn’t book a room during the busy holiday season, often opted to stay in Chester Bay.
So close to home, it chilled my already chilled bones. “What’s her name, Stiles? Can you tell me?”
“Secret squirrel again?”
“Till death.”
“Kerry Carver. Last seen walking to the local bus stop from her after-school babysitting job three days ago. Her parents reported her missing, but as usual it got back-burnered because she hadn’t been missing long. Even though, according to the report I got from Chester Bay’s guys, her parents were adamant she always came home from work without fail. She wasn’t, in their words, the kind of girl who stayed out late or partied.”
My heart crashed against my ribs. This felt so close to home—so close. “Anything else?”
“Just that the shotgun the killer murdered Gable with might have been Mr. Feeney’s. We finally located him and had him come to the store. He was understandably distraught, especially when he found out his gun is missing and it could be the one Gable was killed with.”
“He kept a shotgun at the store? A shotgun?” I asked in surprise. I knew Mr. Feeney was a hunter, so were his sons, but I guess I never realized he kept a gun at the store.
Though, it made complete sense to have a gun at a convenience store—even in little old Marshmallow Hollow—because hello, Hannah, look at how many murders we’d had in just a few days.
“He did. He was licensed to carry, though in Maine, you don’t need a permit to own one—or carry it, for that matter. But you know he and his boys loved to hunt in Iowa, and you need a permit to cross state lines with a gun.”
Grimacing, I bit my lower lip. “I think you know my spe
cialty is tinsel and talking Santas, not guns. So I didn’t know that. But how did the killer get his hands on it?”
“I don’t know. Though Mr. Feeney says Gable knew where it was and he had access to it. Our best guess is, Gable pulled the gun on the killer, but he wrestled it away from him in the fight that ensued, ending in the bathroom. And that’s pretty much all I have.”
I blew out a pent-up breath with a shiver. “Okay, so I have some info for you from Uncle Darling that’s worth investigating. Did he say anything in his statement about the killer demanding an SD card? And have you looked at the store’s surveillance tape yet?”
There was a moment of silence where I heard the sound of papers flipping, and then he said, “No. Nothing about an SD card. But, to be fair to Darling, he was in a state of total shock. Maybe more will come back to him as the night progresses. As to the video itself, I can’t say for sure, but I am sure forensics is on it. They always are.”
I explained to him what Uncle Darling told me about what the killer had said, and then I wondered out loud, “Do you think this a robbery gone bad? Did the killer have his own gun? I mean, did he hold up the store not realizing Gable had a gun, too? And did he steal anything from the register? And why didn’t Gable push the silent alarm? Doesn’t every convenience store have one?”
The questions came spilling out of my mouth, having built up while trying to keep my thoughts contained with Uncle Darling.
“I don’t know about the alarm. I mean, I’m sure Mr. Feeney has one, but I can’t figure why Gable didn’t press it. Maybe he thought he could handle the guy because he had the shotgun? But the killer also didn’t take a single thing,” Stiles responded. “The register was never touched. No money missing, and Mr. Feeney said it didn’t seem like any items were missing, either.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness: A Witchy Christmas Cozy Mystery (Marshmallow Hollow Mysteries Book 2) Page 4
