Crimes Most Merry and Albright

by Larissa Reinhart

  I took a step into the street, slipped, and grabbed the door. Steadied myself as the sleet rained into the car. (What Tiffany did not have in her car was a towel.) Shoved the car door closed, turned (carefully), and shimmied across the road. The umbrella protected my face. My back, however, was soaked by the time I made it onto Martha Mae's porch. Shaking off the umbrella, I set it to the side and prepared my "I'm not wet and cold but happy to meet you" face. It used to be my promo face. Very useful when you do thirty back-to-back interviews during a release.

  Past acting experience can be useful when applied discriminately.

  The older, bearded man opened the door halfway. "Yes?"

  "I'm Maizie Al—" That hadn't worked well with Martha Mae's neighbor. I tried again. "I'm Maizie, and I work for Martha Mae's sister, Celia Fowler, up in Black Pine. Are you a relative of Martha Mae?"

  "Why?" His eyebrows knitted and lowered.

  Small town people were a lot more suspicious than I imagined. I thought they'd be more open and trusting, offering me cookies and gossip. Like in The Hallmark Channel's small-town movies. What was up with Halo?

  "Mrs. Fowler's granddaughter, Krystal, may try to contact Martha Mae. I wanted to speak to Martha Mae. Is she home?"

  "She's resting."

  "I see. Did she do a lot of shopping today? With this weather, the shopping must have worn her out." I forced a hearty chuckle. But fell flat. He was not amused. "Can I get your name?"

  His gaze shifted behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder but didn't see anything.

  "What do you know about Krystal?" he said.

  "Are you related? Because I'm—"

  "Distantly," he said. "But I know Krystal and Celia Fowler. You can speak plainly."

  I wasn't sure if I could speak plainly. I had a flashback to an early Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective episode. Julia's basketball-star boyfriend was involved in a drug ring. She had snuck into the boys' locker room looking for him. His friend, Will, asked more questions than answered. Julia took that as a tipoff and learned Will had been double-crossing Xavier. This man seemed as suspicious as Will.

  "Your name wouldn't be Will, by chance?" I gave him my Covergirl smile — girl-next-door friendly — hoping to relax him.

  He shook his head. "No. Are you looking for a Will, too?"

  "Not really." Broadening my smile, my teeth gleamed (I hoped) in the porch Christmas lights. The lights not yet frosted in a coating of ice. "Have you heard from Krystal?"

  No reaction from Not-Will.

  I rubbed my arms and blew on my mittens. "I'm super cold. Could I come in for a minute?"

  Not-Will considered, then opened the door. "Just for a minute. Martha Mae is resting."

  "Of course." I quick-stepped past Not-Will, took a fast gander around the living room, and slid a few steps toward the doorway into the hall. "So, Martha Mae's sleeping?"

  "Did the gal next door send you?"

  "The pregnant one?" I considered his question and took another step back toward the hall. "No. I just saw her leave. Mrs. Fowler sent me."

  "But you know the gal next door. The sick one."

  "I'm sorry I don't." I half-turned and glanced down the hallway. Light shone through the cracks around the door in a room at the end of the hall. "I'm from Black Pine, not Halo. That's where Mrs. Fowler lives. Anyhoo, could you check to see if Martha Mae is awake? I'd really appreciate it. I'd like to drive home before the weather gets any worse."

  He nodded. "Why don't you check out the tree while you wait?"

  Odd request but okay. Maybe he or Martha Mae was super proud of their tree decorating abilities. I wandered to the tree in the far corner of the room, glanced at the colored balls and bubble lights. Spun around.

  Not-Will stood right behind me.

  I hopped back, bumping the Christmas tree. The tree shook, splashing colored light across his face.

  "I thought you were checking on Martha Mae? Tell her I only need to talk a few minutes."

  The man nodded and retreated to the hall. He needed a lesson in personal space. Also in creepy house guest behavior.

  A door creaked. The man returned.

  "Martha Mae's real tired," he said. "She's sleeping. She don't have nothing to do with Krystal anyway. Hasn't seen her in years. But maybe I can help. Have you seen Krystal recently? Her family'd really like to know where she's been keeping herself."

  "Me, personally? No. Mrs. Fowler has been looking for Krystal for five years. So sad." I didn't feel comfortable adding our recent news about her arrest. If he were family, he'd find out soon enough. "How are you related to Krystal?"

  He shrugged. "Blood's blood. Just about everyone is related in these parts."

  Probably true. "And I already forgot your name. What was it again?" Because you didn't tell me in the first place.

  "Jay." He folded his arms. "You need to get back to Black Pine. The weather's turning."

  "I thought it already turned." I chuckled, and getting me no reaction, handed him a Nash Security Solutions card. " If you see or hear from Krystal, can you call me? Please share it with Martha Mae, too. Krystal may be in some trouble, and Mrs. Fowler thought she might turn up in Halo."

  "Why's that?" he said. "Krystal's never lived in Halo."

  "Krystal asked about Martha Mae."

  "Did she now?" He rocked back on his heels.

  "Um, yes. Mrs. Fowler really just wants to see Krystal. She's worried about her. It's been five years and—"

  "Celia Fowler don't care nothing about Krystal. She didn't take her in when Krystal needed her. She's the reason Krystal is in trouble now." Jay shoved me toward the door. "Now get yourself outta this house and don't come back."

  Six

  Cherry Tucker

  Mrs. Boyes's living room remained lit. I watched Not-Santa's blurry form retreat to the back hall and disappear. The overhead gleam of her living room, spangled with the blinking tree lights, shone against the gloom that had descended between our homes. In comparison, my bedroom felt cold and starkly lit. If Luke ever got off work, I thought, it'd be nice to sit in that warm glow with him. Even if I was sick.

  When Casey returned, I asked for a string of Christmas lights. If she could find a spare.

  "You want a what?" said Casey. "You hate Christmas decorations. You're feverish."

  "Maybe so," I said. "But I can't get warm, and I thought…"

  I didn't know what I thought. I just wanted a string of lights. And could no longer remember why. "Maybe I am feverish."

  "We'll assume so. I ain't going to touch you. Lie down and stop watching Mrs. Boyes's house. It's making you crazy."

  "It's the flu."

  "But now that you mention it," said Casey. "This house needs a few Christmas touches."

  "No."

  "You're real sick, and I don't see you making it to the farm on Christmas day. We'll come here. Therefore, we need to bring Christmas with us."

  "You know I don't do Christmas."

  "You give gifts. You go to church with us. You definitely eat my Christmas dinner every year. That's doing Christmas, ain't it?"

  I groaned. "Please don't mention Christmas dinner. I was going to bring Luke to the farm this year. If his family will let him go. But I guess not anymore.”

  "Put that out of your mind." Casey rubbed her arms. “Just plan on us coming here. I'll take care of everything. But I ain't cooking Christmas dinner without Grandma Jo's Christmas china. And a few other things. You're just going to have to put up with a little Christmas in your house this year."

  "No more talk about cooking. Who was that man next door?"

  "Mrs. Boyes's nephew. He's visiting her for Christmas. She's fine. Slipped. She's flat on her back."

  "You saw her?"

  “She was sleeping. Anyway, she can’t get up." Casey stretched and rubbed her belly. "I'm having the same problem lately. Nik has to pull me out of bed. Also out of Mr. Max's hot tub. But that was worth it—"

  "You're going to make me si
ck again."

  "All this talk makes me want to call Nik. And I need to check on…something," said Casey. "You rest."

  Casey left and I turned my attention to the window. Sleet pounded the tin roof and frosted the edges of my window. I let the rain lull me for a moment, but blinked at movement in the house next door. The nephew had reappeared from the back hall and strode across the living room.

  I glanced toward my bedroom door, heard Casey's murmur, and turned my attention back to Mrs. Boyes's house.

  He'd opened the door partially, blocking my view. A minute or two passed, the door widened, and a young woman walked in. She wore expensive looking knee-high boots, jeans, and a puffy silver coat. Looked like she'd gotten the worse end of the weather. Long, red braids plastered to her jacket. She didn't look like Halo, although she looked vaguely familiar. Hard to tell through the wavy glass of our wet windows. She had that long-legged model way of walking that didn't match the heavy, country trod of folks around here.

  While she talked — and her mouth didn't seem to close — the woman openly looked around the room and peeked into the hallway. Pretty brazen for a guest, at least in my neck of the woods. With that swishy walk of hers, she moved toward the tree, and I got a better look. Even drenched like a drowned rat, she was pretty. More than pretty, if I was honest. Not Shawna Branson-pretty, either. Too pretty for Halo, that was for damn sure. Not the kind of beauty I liked to paint, though. Her features were more suited for a camera lens than a painter's canvas.

  Maybe the flu was making me catty. But what was someone like her doing in Mrs. Boyes's house? Looking around like that?

  The nephew had crossed the living room in three, quick strides to stand behind the woman. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my hands clenched. Hadn't this happened before? Santa and the reindeer? My heart sped up. I hollered at the woman. Stupidly. She couldn't hear me. I could barely hear me. My throat was parched, so my voice barely rose above a hoarse, exaggerated whisper.

  Before the nephew reached for the tree lights, the out-of-towner pivoted and found herself eyeball-to-eyeball with the man. I couldn't see her reaction, but she backed into the tree making the lights shudder and flicker.

  My stomach rolled, kicked my other organs to the side, and crawled up my throat. I made a quick passage to the bathroom.

  When I returned, the beauty was gone. I added the movie star to my sketchbook and flipped back through the drawings, trying to sort the oddness in the house next door.

  Seven

  Maizie Albright

  #Everybody'sWaitingForTheMenWithTheBags

  * * *

  In the Waffle Hut, I held a fresh cup of coffee. And (if you want to get technical) I ordered another red velvet waffle. I told myself I was preparing for the drive back to the mountains. I was also piecing together what I knew.

  Mrs. Fowler wanted Krystal to come home. Every year for the last five years. Krystal asked for money and never came home. But this year, Mrs. Fowler might have been Krystal's one phone call. The money she’d wired could have been for Krystal's bail.

  Jay — whoever he was — had said Krystal was in trouble because of Mrs. Fowler. Because Celia Fowler had abandoned her and not cared for her? Or did it have to do with Krystal's recent arrest? For a distant relative, he knew a lot about Krystal, Mrs. Fowler, and Martha Mae.

  And why hadn't Mrs. Fowler taken Krystal into her home if her mother had been a junkie?

  That really bothered me. I didn't have a grandmother. Daddy's mother had died when he was in college. Cancer. And Vicki's had been hit by a bus sometime when I was a toddler. Which always unsettled me, so I didn't like to think about it. Vicki never encouraged me to ask about her. I’d imagined my dead grandmothers as a cross between Mrs. Werther and Mrs. Butterworth.

  Maybe because I spent a lot of my childhood forced to resist candy and carbs.

  A pony-tailed waitress stood before me, coffee carafe in hand. "Warm you up?"

  I wish. The last time I'd been this cold had been Sundance. I had been invited to a cast party and ended the night passed out in a snowbank.

  "Thanks." I shoved the cup toward her. "I guess it's pretty quiet today because of the weather."

  She nodded. "That and the bank robbery. Spooked everyone."

  "Robbery?" I tipped my head back to get a good look at the server. "What happened?"

  "Local bank. Everyone was cashing in their Christmas bonus today, too, since most are off work tomorrow and Christmas."

  "Wow," I said. "Just like in the movies."

  She gave me a look that told me she thought I was about as smart as my waffle. "Cop was taken hostage, too."

  "Oh no," I said. "Is he or she okay?"

  "He. They've still got him as far as I know. Been trying to listen in on the local radio, but they don't like to interrupt the Christmas music for news much. And they don't let us keep a TV in here."

  "Why don't you use your phone?"

  She gave me another look.

  "I hope the police will save him," I said. "That's just terrible."

  "Local boy, too." She shook her head.

  "Sorry to hear about his girlfriend. Still, terrible."

  She refilled my coffee.

  "By the way,” I asked. “Do you know Martha Mae Boyes? An older lady living in Halo?"

  "We've got a lot of older ladies living in Halo." She gave me the side-eye. "Why?"

  OMG, these Halo people were suspicious. "I'm working for her sister, Celia Fowler, who lives in Black Pine. Her sister called Martha Mae to say I was coming. I left Martha Mae a message myself, but she wasn't at home when I arrived. I waited, but now there's a man at her house. Jay. Jay said she's resting, but I don't know. It just seemed odd."

  The waitress set her hands on her hips. "I don't know Miss Martha. But I doubt she'd get up to anything odd around here. Although it's been an odd day all around. This weather is terrible. And a robbery. Just don't seem like Christmas."

  "Maybe it'll snow," I said helpfully.

  "Good Lord, I hope not."

  When the waitress had returned to lean against the counter and talk to the cook, I slid to the end of my booth and flipped open my phone.

  "Where are you?" Nash's normal low rumble had pitched higher. "Did you slide off the road? I checked the reports and Atlanta's a mess. Do you need my help?"

  "I'm in a Waffle Hut. I haven't left Halo."

  He gusted a sigh. "Don't wait much longer. Get your coffee to go. Take it slow. I'm not sure if you should risk local highways. Stick to the interstate, but don't go through Atlanta if you can avoid it."

  "You're worried about me." My toes curled inside my boots.

  "Of course, I'm worried about you." He'd been pacing because his heavy tromp suddenly stopped. "There's weather."

  I grinned at my phone. Why did I love that he was worried? Vicki would say it was chauvinist — women doing it for themselves, you know — but I thought it adorbs. Renata would probably have something to say about that, too. “Father absence syndrome.” But I didn't care. Totally adorbs.

  Also, I was totally off track. Still sitting in an overheated Waffle Hut in the middle of nowhere with a suspicious man in an elderly lady's house. I told myself to focus. "Here's the thing."

  "What happened?"

  "There's a man at Martha Mae's house. He said Martha Mae was resting and didn't want to talk. Kind of strange, right?"

  "I don't know Martha Mae, so I can't say for sure."

  "Just believe me, he was strange. And he said Mrs. Fowler was the reason Krystal was in trouble. Nash, Mrs. Fowler didn't take Krystal in."

  "I'm not following." He paused. "Trouble now or trouble earlier?"

  "I don't know. I'm worried."

  "Let's get you home, then worry. I don't like this weather."

  "Nobody does. I don't think I'm ready to leave just yet. I don't like what's going on here. Did you ever check into Mrs. Fowler? Did Krystal have an arraignment yet? Could she be out on bail?"

  I waited a
beat. "Nash?"

  "I never vetted Celia Fowler," he spoke slowly. "And I only looked up the arrest. I didn't check to see if Krystal had made bail. Dammit." Nash swore again. "Miss Albright. Maizie. It's not our problem."

  "Can you do some research? I'd really like to know what Jay meant by Mrs. Fowler causing Krystal trouble. Why wouldn't a grandmother take in her grandchild if she didn't have a father and the mother was a junkie? Why would a grandmother not help her granddaughter?" I checked my rising pitch and lowered my voice. "And what about Martha Mae? She knew I was coming. Why wouldn't she talk to me? Nash, I'm—"

  "I know. You're worried." The deep voice steadied into a soothing murmur. "Listen, give me a minute. I'll see if I can find anything about Mrs. Fowler for you. You might need to camp out in Halo. Is there a motel?"

  "I can't afford a motel."

  "We'll expense it."

  Wow. Nash didn't expense anything that couldn't be billed to a customer. I felt a flush heat the back of my neck. "But I think I should continue to watch Martha Mae's house."

  "What are the roads like?"

  I glanced out the window next to me, watching the wind pelt icy rain against Tiffany's Pontiac. "Not too bad. And it's cozy in Tiffany's car."

  "Don't forget to fill it up. Sometimes gas stations in small towns close down for the holidays and bad weather."

  "Right." File that under things I never thought about. "Good idea. And Nash?"

  "Yes, Miss Albright?" His low drawl caressed my ears.

  "If I'm late getting back, I'm sorry."

  "Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

  "Yes." The flush heated my cheeks now. "I meant late for that other thing you mentioned earlier. For when I returned…"