by Meg Macy
“Lucas moved here this summer from Grand Rapids or Holland. His parents own a dairy farm, somewhere close to Lake Michigan, and they’re sending him fresh cream and whatever else he needs to make specialty products.”
“He’ll need to rent a shop. Somewhere.”
“He wants his dairy bar built close to the park.”
“That’s bound to triple the business in summer,” I said. “Smart move. I’ve never seen him around the village, but we’ve been swamped lately. What’s he like?”
“Nice, polite. Tall, blond, and he speaks a few languages. Lucas used to participate in all the Tulip Festival events in spring, dressing up and dancing in wooden shoes.” Isabel smiled with a wistful sigh. I wondered if she had a slight crush on him. “He’s awful cute. Anyway, Kristen’s opening her yoga studio in that little Cape Cod house on Kermit—”
“What?” I’d yelped so loud, everyone around turned to look at me. “Uh, sorry,” I said and then whispered to Isabel, “the one that Mrs. Davison rented to Harry and Lois Nichols? But she said it wouldn’t be ready until February.”
“Guess she changed her mind.”
I banged a fist on the table in disgust. Despite being a close friend with Mom, Barbara Davison had rejected Maddie’s request to rent the Time Turner shop. But Maggie was family and took precedence. That I could understand. But now she hadn’t even given Jay Kirby a chance to ask before Kristen Bloom snapped it up. Resentment spilled into anger. Not that she’d promised anything, but still. I repressed a few choice curse words.
Maddie clapped her hands. “Attention, everyone! I’d like to present the winner of our Teddy Bear Cookie Bake-Off contest. Amanda Pozniak, come over here. Looks like most of you tried her fabulous cookies. They’re almost gone.”
More cheers rang out. Red-faced, Amanda walked over to join my sister. “Um, thanks for awarding my Cranberry Walnut Snowballs first place.”
“And here’s your three-hundred-dollar grand prize!”
When Maddie handed her the check, Amanda waved it high. “I’m donating this to Great Strides, the therapeutic horseback riding program.”
“Amanda works there part-time, it’s a great place,” Maddie said.
“What is it?” someone called out.
“It benefits people with disabilities and challenges, like kids with cerebral palsy or vets with PTSD. Volunteers lead the horses around the corral, and side-walkers help the riders keep their seats.” Amanda smiled. “Fifteen horses need a lot of feed and fresh hay for their stalls.”
Everyone applauded, while Deon and Tim both stomped their feet and whistled. Isabel and I devoured frosted cupcakes from the Pretty in Pink bakery, unable to resist the buttercream swirled on top, and tiny red and green sprinkles. I wished I’d worn sweat pants. Once again, I’d eaten way too much. The games might help, or a long walk with Rosie later. She had to be getting restless, cooped up in the kitchen all this time.
The kids rushed to greet Santa Claus, who arrived with a bag of gifts. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, and I hope you’ve all been good boys and girls.”
I’d hired a nonlocal performer for today’s party. Dad deserved to enjoy the festivities, and had pulled up a chair to Uncle Ross and Aunt Eve’s table. Maddie danced her way over, red tennis shoes flashing their lights.
“Plastic cups and forks don’t work. We should have hung mistletoe.”
“Huh?” My uncle leaned back, puzzled.
She waved her arms. “Kiss! Kiss!”
“Ross, lean this way.” Aunt Eve planted a smooch on him, to the cheers and whistles of our entire staff. “There. Don’t expect any more, though!”
“Then it’s time to cut the wedding cake,” Maddie announced.
Mom led them over to a pub table that held the single-tier wedding cake, covered with white fondant and a tiny house amidst sparkly green trees. Mary Kate had baked it and Wendy added the decoration. I loved the design. The photographer directed the newly remarried couple to feed each other a bite, snapping several shots, before returning to take other photos of the staff. Mom had certainly outdone herself in planning everything.
Isabel peeled off a second cupcake wrapper. “Looks like that Santa Claus scared a few kids. He’s a little too enthusiastic.”
I thought I’d recognized that crying baby. Mary Kate hushed Julie and carried her back to the Hot Chocolate Bar. “Poor thing.”
“Your dad did a better job when I saw him in Christmas Alley. The day of the parade.”
“Did you see Dave Richardson that day?”
“You mean before he went home? Yeah.” Isabel licked frosting from her fingers. “He didn’t look that sick to me.”
“Really.”
“I mean, he wasn’t coughing. He only said he had a headache, but isn’t that part of the job? Listening to kids about what they want for Christmas. I ought to volunteer, if they’d let me. I wouldn’t get a headache. I love little kids.”
I wondered once more whether Dave faked his illness. Dad had accepted his excuse and took over as Santa Claus. Maybe Leah would know whether her husband was really sick or not. But would she tell me the truth?
The Reindeer Races had begun, so I focused on watching groups of four straddle the awkward, unbalanced hobby stick “reindeers.” They lined up inside the long strips of shiny duct tape that marked the slippery floor. Uncle Ross and Aunt Eve took turns being the judge, although it wasn’t even close in some races. Two of Evelyn Dolan’s older grandsons raced against Pam and Joan, which resulted in a tie. I slid and fell in the next race, tangling legs with Garrett and Deon, so Tim Richardson did win after all.
“I’m such a klutz! Sorry, guys.”
“Bet you did that on purpose,” Deon teased. “It’s okay. Next year I’ll win.”
I flexed my arms and legs, but only my elbow felt sore. Lucky me. Deon helped Garrett to his feet. Mary Kate rushed over to check on her husband, who crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
“No concussion. Wait, who are you again?”
“Your wife, who’s gonna clobber you.”
“I won a prize!” Tim held up a 100 Grand candy bar with a wide grin.
Maddie and Elle helped Cara and Celia straddle the “reindeers” on their short sticks, while two seasonal workers, Bryce Miller and Dallas Peterson, kept watch over Harriet Amato’s grandsons. I covered my ears from the girls’ raucous screams and yells from the encouraging crowd. Celia won, only because Maddie plucked her up and half-carried, half-ran to the finish line. Aunt Eve gave miniature candy bars to all four children.
“Again, again,” Celia begged.
Elle shook her head. “Let other kids have a turn.”
“But I wanna—”
“We’ll go home if you can’t settle down.”
Both girls obeyed. My friend had always followed through whenever she gave them a warning, and I filed that away for future reference. Harriet’s grandsons ran wild through the factory despite her frequent threats. What a difference.
I turned back to Isabel. “So how did Kristen talk Mrs. Davison into renting her that house on Kermit Street? Jay Kirby hoped to live there. He wanted to use the garage as a studio for his woodcarving business.”
She shrugged. “Once Kristen heard the Nicholses moved out, she volunteered to clean it up if Mrs. Davison would rent it to her. She’s gonna live above the yoga studio, and I guess she couldn’t get away fast enough from her stepmother.”
“So that’s why.”
“Yep. I guess the Nicholses totally trashed the place. Ripped the chandelier from the dining room, stole the drapes and blinds. All the light fixtures, the wall switch plates, whatever they could carry off. I’m surprised they didn’t take the appliances.”
“Wow,” I said glumly. “Wouldn’t be worth going to claims court.”
“The Nicholses never did say where they planned to move, either.”
Tracking them down would be near impossible. Despite my deep disappointment, and dread in relaying the bad news to Ja
y that night, I changed the subject back to Alison Bloom, Dave Richardson, and the funeral home.
“Dave brought the Blooms a gift basket for Christmas,” Isabel said, “with wine, cheese, crackers, and fruit. I guess he was trying to schmooze a bit. Didn’t work, though.”
“I’m surprised he bothered to visit.”
“I know, right? She really doesn’t like him at all. And now Mrs. Bloom is too sick to do anything. What if she dies? Kristen will inherit the works. The business, all of her dad’s money, and everything that would have gone to his wife first.”
“Plus his life insurance payout.”
“Yeah. Kristen doesn’t care who buys the funeral home. She’d sell it quick.”
How interesting. I wondered if Dave knew that. “Maybe it does seem odd that Alison came down sick after that visit.”
“Kristen doesn’t drink wine, but her stepmom opened the bottle for dinner that night. Then Alison got an important phone call. That’s what Kristen told me. She was so distracted, she forgot to finish her glass.”
My gut instinct didn’t just ring a bell, it clanged aloud. “You mean—”
“Who can say for sure? Kristen dumped the rest of the wine down the sink, and stuck the bottle in the fridge.”
“And then Alison got sick. Right away, or a few hours later?”
“I’m not sure, but she passed out before the EMT’s could get there.” Isabel waved a hand. “The cops questioned Kristen, of course, but she only put two and two together after they asked what they’d eaten for dinner. I should say what Mrs. Bloom had, but the only difference was that wine.”
“Huh. And Dave Richardson gave it to them.”
“You can guess why the cops collected the bottle, then.”
I didn’t have to guess. I knew without a doubt they’d test it for poison.
Chapter 24
“The staff party last night was wonderful, all around,” Mom said, “but I’m glad we didn’t clean up afterwards. I was too full from the food and that fantastic cake.”
“I should have hired our cleaning crew.” I stacked the last chair in the rack with a sigh and pushed the heavy cart toward the door. Dad had left the folded tables leaning against a wall earlier. “The rental company will pick these up tomorrow morning.”
Maddie finished sweeping the floor. “Now that we’re finally done, I’m taking an afternoon nap. I am bushed.”
“Party leftovers for dinner tonight.” Mom headed for the door. “I’m going Christmas shopping, although it’s bound to be a madhouse. Sunday’s no better than Saturday, I suppose. Your dad has some kind of meeting this afternoon, girls. See you later.”
I followed my sister home from the factory and greeted Rosie. Once she visited the yard, my dog followed me upstairs to my bedroom suite. After powering up my laptop, I browsed online and ordered a few last-minute items. What joy to avoid parking hassles, crowds, and lines. I saved so much time and effort. And delivery was guaranteed before Christmas. I added a few books to my Amazon Wish List while I browsed.
My cell buzzed with a text. Jay had sent an attachment of a student’s finished project. Then he called to share the news of his latest commission. A new seafood restaurant in Ann Arbor had asked for a huge carving of a marlin to mount above the door.
“Congratulations!” I was delighted to hear his voice again, and sensed a touch of underlying pride. “What kind of wood will you use?”
“Mahogany, or kiln-dried pine. Depends on the size they want. I’m pumped. Once I get my studio ready in that garage, I can start.”
“About that—” I hated to burst his bubble, but Jay took the news well. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night, but I totally crashed.”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll ask my brother about that outbuilding at the lumber yard. All I’d need is a space heater.”
“Kind of dangerous, with all that wood lying around.”
“Yeah, but Paul will figure it out. So tell me about the staff party.”
We shared laughs over the Reindeer Games video that Garrett had uploaded to a private YouTube channel. I texted a video attachment of the “Wrap A Bear” contest while I related the party and wedding details. Despite the niggling doubt I had about Pam, I didn’t bring her up. We had so many other things to talk about, and I had plenty to accomplish before Christmas Eve. Maddie and I hadn’t had time to put up the tree yet. Baking, decorating, plus working.
And I had yet to find the perfect gift for Jay.
My dad’s sharp rap on the door startled me, and I almost dropped the phone on Rosie’s head. “Say hi to Kirby from me,” he said, “and don’t forget Mr. Cullen’s funeral visitation. After dinner, like seven o’clock. I’d like us all to go as a family.”
“What meeting do you have?” I asked, while Jay patiently waited.
“Dave Richardson wants to see me, so I’m going to Quinn’s pub. I never had a chance to talk about his dad. Grandpa T. R. was good friends with Tom Senior, you know.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll be ready.” I returned to my conversation with Jay. “Sorry about that. I’ve got to take Rosie for a long walk. Poor thing deserves it after spending yesterday afternoon cooped up in the house. And this morning, during church.”
Jay chuckled. “I bet she’s lying in the sunshine right now.”
“Bingo. She just rolled over, belly up.”
“We’ll talk later. Take her out while it’s warm.”
After ending the call, I slid Rosie off the bed. “Okay, you need some exercise before you turn into a stone dog. Do I have to carry you again?”
Downstairs I slipped her Sherpa-lined coat over her head, set her on the floor, and then fastened her harness. She did perk up, given the sunny weather. I wound a scarf around my neck, hoping to elude the bitter wind, and pulled up my hood. Tugged on fur-lined gloves, and then walked briskly down Theodore Lane with Rosie.
I’d also thought of a brilliant plan.
With Dave Richardson gone, I could drive over for a quick chat with Leah Richardson. She was bound to tell me the truth about her husband. How desperate was he to buy the funeral home? Enough to tamper with that wine bottle? The lab results might not be back for a while, but another possibility had come to my mind. If Dave suspected Alison of killing her husband, and was truly loyal to Cal Bloom, could he have meted out a form of justice?
Dave Richardson is more loyal than anyone I’ve ever known. My dad had said that with conviction, and I believed him. I only hoped that loyalty hadn’t led to murder.
Leah was sweet and a good friend. I worried about Dave mistreating her, and my gut instinct wasn’t usually wrong. She acted deathly afraid of him. I had to discover the truth. I only had so much time before Dave returned, though. If he found me with Leah, who knew what he’d end up doing? I ignored that. I couldn’t pass up this chance.
Once Rosie had her fill of sniffing the entire Village Green, we hurried home. She shook herself hard and then curled by the fireplace with her teddy bear. I was tempted to join her with a mug of hot chocolate and a book, but I plucked up my car keys and cell phone. Hopefully Dad would keep Dave Richardson occupied for a few hours.
I drove over to Archibald Street. No cars sat on the small side street beside the funeral home, and the van wasn’t in its usual spot. Had Leah accompanied Dave to the pub? I should have called first.
Instead, I walked to the picket gate. That reminded me. I took off a glove and groped in my coat pocket. My fingers closed over the piece of glass I’d found here, on the sidewalk, and it had fallen deep into the pocket’s bottom. I held it up and examined it close, letting the sunlight shine on the surface. It wasn’t a cat’s-eye, like I’d first thought, given the boy who had dropped a whole bag before the parade. No marble could have bounced this far from the curb.
Not to land by the gate.
The glass piece resembled more of a pebble, flatter on one side, white with a large black spot on it. I’d seen something similar, recently. Dad, wearing his S
anta Bear costume, with the same kind of big glass eyes. And that brought back the memory of seeing Cal Bloom near the Quick Mix Factory. Slumped to one side, his gloves wet, his red suit damp also. Wearing the furry white polar bear head that hid the mayor’s face.
One glass eye had been missing.
“This is it. The eye,” I said aloud and glanced at the picket gate. “So Cal Bloom changed into the costume here, but then what? Did he lose this before or after that? Did Dave confront him here, and not at the parade? Or maybe he dragged the mayor to the van, and the eye came loose. Dropped on the ground and he didn’t notice.”
My dad’s words replayed again in my memory. Dave wouldn’t harm a fly . . .
What about a pesky fly? Maybe Dave had gotten so mad, he’d lost all sense of right and wrong and swatted that fly. Everyone knew that Cal Bloom bullied the Richardsons into doing menial volunteer work. He’d angered plenty of vendors by refusing to pay bills. Worst of all, he’d reneged on his promise to sell the funeral home.
Maybe Dave forced Leah to help him kill their boss, and then dump his body. Especially given the bruise I’d seen on her neck. She might be hiding other such marks, in fact. Victims of domestic violence often made excuses, believing their abuser’s lies.
That they deserved being beaten, that they were ugly, or stupid. That they brought all the punches, slaps, and kicks on themselves. I’d never encountered that before and didn’t know how to help. But the way Dave watched his wife’s every move was proof of his fear.
That Leah would let the truth slip.
Maybe I should let Mason question her. I rejected that. He was sure to be miles away in Ypsilanti. Precious minutes had already passed. I couldn’t waste more time. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward the funeral home’s entrance. A delivery of flowers sat on the wooden bench outside, so I carried it inside the foyer. A great excuse if I needed one. Leah wasn’t in the office or the parlors.
I returned to the office and set the box down on the desk. Was she in the basement? The elevator near the front door could only be summoned with a key. I tried other doors marked “Private,” but the knobs were all locked.
