by Meg Macy
“I want a Santa Bear,” the younger girl said, clapping her hands.
Amy laughed. “Lily had her heart set on seeing Santa Bear in the parade. So what really happened? We were surprised that Santa Claus was there instead.”
“An unexpected incident came up,” I said carefully. The older girl stood admiring our Beary Potter wizard bears in black robes. “We’d be happy to order one for you.”
“Emily, would you like that?” When she nodded, Amy turned to me. “Done.”
“Fill out this form and we’ll make sure you get it before Christmas.”
Once she pushed the completed form over the counter, Amy leaned toward me with a hand shielding her mouth. She whispered low, “Is it true that Cal Bloom was murdered?”
“Only a rumor.” I held out a hand to Lily. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see Santa Bear, but let’s see what we can find here for you.”
I spent almost an hour with the Monroe family, showing them all the various bears and special Christmas outfits—from Santa suits to red and green plaid or satin dresses, plus their accessories. More customers arrived, which made for a hectic morning. Thank goodness for our lunch hour. I was grateful when Renee Truman, a college student I’d hired for the season, arrived to cover for me in the shop. I rushed to feed Rosie and take her outside, dropped her off at the groomer’s, and then zipped back to the factory. Dodging a flurry of snowflakes, too.
After I stamped my feet on the mat inside the door, I hung my parka with the others in the coatroom. Once I visited the restroom and smoothed my sweater with its applique teddy, I was glad I hadn’t worn one of my “ugly” Christmas sweaters. Most of the Red Hat Society ladies would be dressed to kill. Urp. To the nines.
Aunt Eve stood among the group of women, who crowded together waiting for me to guide the tour. They all wore various red hats with purple ribbons or flowers, red or purple vests or sweaters. A few had gone hog wild in their attire wearing red or purple elaborate feather boas, enormous hats, sequined clothing or shoes, handbags, plus all kinds of pins and other bling-y jewelry. They oohed and aahed when my aunt twirled in her suit and red cloche hat.
“How do you pull off that vintage style, Eve?” one woman said.
“I’m handy with a needle, Vera,” my aunt replied with a wink. “Plus, I visit vintage clothing stores every chance I get. Ross says I can’t resist a good bargain.”
“I’d love to go with you. Is this one of the nieces you always brag about? What a darling sweater with that teddy bear on it.”
My cheeks burned in embarrassment. I had no idea Aunt Eve had boasted about me and Maddie, but I thanked her and then greeted the rest of the ladies. Shea Miller had paired her deep purple sweater with a red poinsettia-festooned hat. Vera Adams’s jacket sparkled with red sequins in a fancy Christmas ornament pattern. A huge red bow fascinator perched on her blond hair. And her infectious laugh set the whole group off to join in the merriment.
“I skipped Home Economics,” Vera said with a wink. “Eve worked as a seamstress at a wedding shop long ago. That’s why she can turn a dowdy outfit into a showpiece.”
I smiled. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, hemming gowns or taking in seams. That wasn’t much,” my aunt said. “And it’s not hard to rework an old piece of clothing.”
Shea laughed. “You told me that skirt was falling apart!”
“It was a bit moth-eaten, and I could only use part of the fabric. I saved the pleats and tailored it down. The jacket was perfect, though. How’s my new cloche?”
“Lovely. I hope there’s plenty of red hats for our bears,” Vera added.
“We ordered extra for today, but you can purchase them after the tour.” I beckoned the ladies forward. “If you’ll follow the bear paws, we can start.”
“Is it true someone was murdered here at the factory?” another woman asked, her eyes wide. She wore a red pillbox in a heart shape, trimmed with glittering white rhinestones. “That he was choked to death with stuffing?”
“The police solved that case in September. Shall we begin?”
“I heard there was a second murder in the village,” a third woman said.
Vera spoke up. “Don’t forget the mayor, who died right before the parade.”
“Ladies, please! That’s only gossip,” Aunt Eve said. “The police haven’t determined what happened yet. I know we love to talk, but settle down and listen while Sasha explains how we produce our teddy bears. The whole process is really fascinating, and if you don’t pay attention, you’ll miss the steps.”
“I have to say that three murders in Silver Hollow are three too many.” Shea sniffed. “Who’s next, that’s what I’d like to know.”
“Oh, stop.” Aunt Eve pointed at me. “Go on, Sasha.”
“All right, ladies, we’ll start here at the cutting machine.” I raised my voice when one woman signaled that she couldn’t hear. “This is where we stack the layers of fabric—”
They listened for the most part while we continued through the factory. I told them how each bear was lovingly sewn together inside out and then stuffed, before the final hand-sewn details of eyes, nose, mouth, and logo tags were added before being stored or shipped. They watched our staff workers closely and asked questions, but many of the ladies whispered together in between stations. I also heard Cal Bloom’s name several times.
Clearly the Red Hat Society ladies were far more interested in Silver Hollow’s growing reputation for homicide.
Chapter 6
I switched the sign in the shop window to CLOSED and locked the door. The week had been nonstop action—preparing our float for the parade, the tree-lighting ceremony, dealing with the holiday rush of customers, producing the Keepsake wizard bears, shipping them out to shops around the country and overseas, along with fulfilling our own local orders and the last-minute details for our Bear-zaar table. I was also due at the church in fifteen minutes.
And I had tickets to a string quartet concert. Laura Carpenter and I planned to relax, listen to excerpts from Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker, Vivaldi’s Christmas concerto and The Four Seasons, plus a medley of carols. I’d been looking forward to it all week.
In the office, I found Aunt Eve filing receipts. “Wow,” I said. “That tour was a huge success, and we’re nearly out of our largest size bags. Better order more.”
“I already did. I’m pooped.” She’d long ago abandoned her red hat and now kicked off her flats. “These puppies need a massage.”
I eyed her wiggling toes. “Don’t expect me to volunteer.”
“I’m hoping Ross will do the honors.” My aunt winked. “He’s been wanting to see a movie for a while now, but we’ve been so busy.”
“Which one?”
“Whatever’s out there. Later this month he wants to catch—”
A hard rapping on the side door interrupted our conversation. I waved Aunt Eve to stay seated at her desk and found Detective Mason outside, bundled in a heavy coat, his cell phone plastered against one ear. Poor Rosie would be so disappointed to miss his visit. She loved the detective and fawned over him every time. Mason held up a finger at me while he listened intently, turning halfway around for a measure of privacy.
“When does he plan to get here? Great. I’m late getting back to Ypsilanti—I know, okay. Keep me posted. Thanks.” After pocketing the phone, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther onto the bridge of his nose. “Good evening, Ms. Silverman. I’ve got a few questions about the parade Wednesday night. Is your mother also available?”
“No, sorry. I think she’s visiting Alison Bloom.”
“I talked to them both earlier. I had a few more questions about the mayor, though, how you two found the body, that kind of thing.”
The detective glanced at Aunt Eve, who waved a hand. “I wasn’t there Wednesday night. I helped the staff who were working overtime at the factory.”
“Yeah, Judith Silverman told me. But thanks.”
While he pulled out his
notebook and pencil, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Mom and my ex-husband found Mr. Bloom on that bench, actually. I was a ways behind them.”
“She didn’t mention Flynn Hanson being there.”
“How about Cheryl Cummings, the weather forecaster? She was with us, too.” I grabbed my coat. “I’m supposed to be at the church in a few minutes for a Bear-zaar meeting. Can we chat on the way? It’s a few blocks.”
Mason checked his watch. “I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind. Won’t take more than five minutes, tops. Chief Russell asked the county to handle this investigation, given the mayor’s position and importance. A good idea, although we’re swamped with other cases. So explain what you saw Wednesday night.”
Frustrated that I might be late, I led him to the table by the door. This chat, no matter how quick, was bound to affect me getting to the concert on time. Mason scribbled fast while I told him how I’d followed my mother to the bench, how she shook the mayor’s shoulder, which then caused him to roll off onto the ground. And how we’d taken off his gloves and peeked inside the costume to discover the blackened skin on his fingers and chest.
“Mrs. Silverman didn’t mention that,” Mason said wryly. “And Hanson dodged my questions when I dropped by his office. He acts like an ex-con. You’d think a lawyer would be accustomed to dealing with the police.”
“Flynn can be squirrely, that’s true. But I think he was bothered by being a suspect in Will Taylor’s murder.”
“So who’s this weather forecaster?”
“His fiancée? Oops, that’s supposed to be a secret. Maybe you’ve seen her on television? Cheryl Cummings, the weather forecaster for FOX4.”
Mason scribbled for several minutes. “I’ll track her down. Sounds like she’d make a good witness, at least better than Hanson. Did you see anyone else in the area? Any sign of a car driving away? No? Too bad.”
“My guess is the killer moved the body.”
“You don’t think it was an accident, like your mom?”
“Well, I suppose Cal Bloom could have been electrocuted by the generators. But then, how did he end up on that bench, so far away?”
Mason ignored my question. “Any idea if Mayor Bloom stopped to talk to anyone after you saw him last? And when was that, if you recall the time?” He kept his eyes on the notebook while he talked, but glanced at me when I hesitated too long. “You did talk to him, before he got into his costume. Right?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember what time. I was busy prepping for the parade.”
“Okay. Any idea where he went?” Mason checked his notes again. “He was the parade mascot, right? Wearing a big furry head, white suit, gloves.”
At his skeptical tone, I couldn’t help feeling defensive. “The kids are always excited to see Santa Bear. Most Christmas parades have Santa Claus, but ours is unique.”
“Okay. So where did he go to change into the costume?”
“Probably at home. The funeral home, that is. The family lives upstairs.” I checked my watch, worried about how long this was taking. “It must have been four-ish. The mayor always stopped to talk to people on the way, but I didn’t pay attention after he left.”
“Hmm.”
“Like I said, I was focused on our float. How was I supposed to know someone would murder him? But I’m planning to find out who.”
Mason raised an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. “Oh? Remember the cat.”
Confused, I crossed my arms over my chest. “The cat?”
“Yeah, and how curiosity killed it.”
“You know he was electrocuted. He couldn’t have walked over to that bench, all happy and calm, and then keeled over dead.”
He snapped his notebook shut and glanced at the ceiling. I could tell he’d given an involuntary sigh, as if praying for patience. “We won’t know for sure what killed Mayor Bloom until the full autopsy report.”
“But it was murder.”
“Sasha.”
“I know, I know. It’s a dangerous business.”
“You of all people should know that by now. You nearly ended up as a corpse the last few times you decided to sleuth.”
“I didn’t decide—”
“Whatever. No need to go over all that again.”
I breathed deep, hoping my own impatience didn’t show. “I’d like to know what was in the flask we found with the body. Brandy, or coffee? Mayor Bloom had a DUI on record, from what I heard, and once attended AA.”
“The lab will check that out.”
“But who would want to kill the mayor? I mean, everyone liked him.”
“The police will find out. Not your job, remember?” Mason grinned. “It’s possible he touched a live wire by accident, and then asked someone to drive him to the hospital. Maybe whoever did dropped him off on that bench after he died, instead of calling for assistance. Some people don’t want to be accused of wrongdoing.”
I snorted in disbelief. “I can’t believe anyone would be that heartless. If I’d volunteered to drive him, I would have gone straight to the hospital. Or called the police. That would be the only responsible thing to do.”
“Not everyone has the same values you do. Your ex-husband called anonymously from his office back in October, remember, hours after finding that body in the parking lot. In this case, we’re hoping Mrs. Bloom and her daughter will give some pertinent information.”
“So that’s why the police dragged her in for questioning late at night?”
“I’m not actually assigned to this case, so I don’t know.” He saw my skepticism and shrugged. “I’m only here to start the ball rolling. But Mrs. Bloom said she was at the Silver Birches Retirement Home Wednesday. We’ll have someone check the sign-in sheets.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “Most people walk in and out all the time. Even if they sign the sheet, they leave and return whenever they want with no one the wiser. I’ve done it myself, in fact. Hardly anyone pays attention until closing time. Then they make sure all the visitors are gone for the day.”
“So security is pretty lax overall?”
This time I shrugged. “It’s a small town. People come and go, visiting their relatives whenever they get a chance. Or whenever they need something.”
“Alison Bloom said she’s there every day.”
“Her mother has Parkinson’s, and I think dementia as well. Mom said Mrs. Bloom helps feed Mrs. Jackson at every meal. One of my friends works on staff as a nurse. She says the staff is always swamped, and they appreciate any help.”
My friends, both nurses, had chosen differently. Laura Carpenter worked at a hospital, while Rachel Furness had chosen elder care. Some of her patients refused to take their meds, or waited for home-cooked food from family instead of eating the dining room’s offerings. My grandmother expected her favorite Ham Heaven sandwiches, so Dad dropped them by once or twice a week. I explained all that to Mason.
“I doubt if my father ever signs in at the desk.”
“Okay, thanks.” Mason headed for the door. “By the way, Detective Hunter’s on the case. If he ever shows up. But remember, Sasha, stick to selling teddy bears.”
The detective tucked his notebook away and headed outside to his SUV. I followed, since I’d have to drive to church, set up the cookie table, and then race to make the concert. Shivering, I slid behind my car’s wheel and revved the engine. The temperature must have dropped below freezing. Mason turned onto Kermit. I wondered about the twinge of either regret or sarcasm in his tone when he’d mentioned the other detective. So who was Hunter?
“Sounds like Mason doesn’t like him.”
I parked across from the church. Digger Sykes wouldn’t be thrilled about a new county detective working the case. But no doubt Chief Russell didn’t want to risk any mistakes during the investigation. Back in October, I barely prevented Digger from touching a murder weapon without gloves. I hurried into the church, down the hall to the pastor’s office where lamp light glowed, and then yanked open the door.
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“Sorry I’m late. Ready to—”
I stopped short, shocked to see a stranger sitting behind the pastor’s large walnut desk. The committee members sat or stood in the corner. Marianna Lovett sat on a folding chair, and drummed her fingers on her large purse; even her blond messy bun looked messier than usual, and she kept blinking. She sported a cute navy Christmas sweater with a huge snowman in a red hat and scarf, juggling snowballs, plus navy slacks and sensible shoes.
Marianna had an efficiency that amazed most people. She was always on top of things at the church, planning events and keeping the food pantry stocked, and seemed unfazed by any unexpected changes. But tonight, she looked perplexed.
“Have a seat, Ms. Silverman.” The man’s voice was low and commanding. With dark hair slicked to one side, and icy blue eyes that bored into mine, he pointed to the one empty chair. Straight brows gave him a stark expression that added to his watchful manner.
“Who are you? And where’s Pastor Lovett?” I directed the second question to Marianna, who shook her head. Everyone else looked uncomfortable.
“Out of the office. I am Detective Hunter, from Dexter County Homicide.”
“I just spoke with Detective Mason about the investigation. You just missed him. He had to return to Ypsilanti—”
“Good.” He sounded pleased by that. “Now you can tell me what you told him.”
“I’m supposed to set up for tomorrow’s Bear-zaar. Everyone else is, too.”
His mouth thinned, as if my daring to question him was a sin. His tone sharpened, too. “It’ll have to wait. Mayor Bloom’s death is more important, of course. So I hear you’re the local amateur sleuth. Mason warned me about you.”
Baffled by his hostility, I took a seat and studied Hunter while he consulted his notebook. His stark black suit coat, with sunglasses tucked into his white shirt pocket, matched the severity of his personality. He didn’t wear a necktie, either.
“So. Looks like I’m in luck, interviewing a number of villagers in one spot. Who was at the parade on Wednesday, and spoke with the mayor?”
No one raised their hand except me. “I did, but I already told Detective Mason everything I saw and heard.”
