Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “But maybe not a leap, if Lacey turns out to be murdered.” My stepfather was listening in with the quiet analytical nature of the history professor he’d once been. He looked cowed when Truman sent him a glare.

  “Which we don’t know yet,” Truman carefully reminded us. “And although it’s unlikely that Andrea is alive, it’s still possible. She disappeared without a shred of evidence of foul play. She’d been arguing with her mother and could have just run away.”

  But even Truman didn’t look as if he believed that hopeful theory.

  “In any event, we just need to be patient. The autopsy on Lacey is being performed as we speak.”

  I shivered, imagining the pretty, vivacious stager, now gone from this side of the earth. And through all of this musing, only one thing disturbed me more than the realization Lacey had died at an event I’d hosted. It was my mother’s continued silence, more deafening to my ears than the kitschy cat clock ticking loudly away in the corner.

  I refused to bring up the fact that my mom had basically begged for Lacey’s job mere minutes before she’d collapsed. I took another sip of French roast and coughed as the hot liquid went down the wrong way.

  Mom made Lacey’s last drink.

  I ignored Truman’s eyes boring into me and slowly dragged mine to meet my mom’s. I waited and waited for her to jump into the fray and clear the air, as well as her name. But she remained silent, if not agitated.

  “Not her again.” Truman rolled his eyes as his cell phone trilled out a text notification. He jabbed at the screen with large fingers and shook his head in consternation. “Judge Ursula Frank is used to people jumping when she so much as lifts a finger. I will not, however, open an investigation into the disappearance of her cat Hemingway when I have a possible murder on my hands.”

  We all giggled at the preposterousness of the judge, thankful the tense air had been cleared. I did hope the judge found her cat, though. I’d be worried beyond belief if anything happened to Whiskey or Soda.

  “Do you have any idea who vandalized Olivia’s car?” I thought I’d take advantage of Truman’s sharing mood.

  A dark cloud passed over his face. “We returned Olivia’s car. We weren’t able to lift any prints, and frankly, though the message was disturbing, a relatively harmless prank isn’t worthy of a full-on investigation.”

  Truman bade us goodbye and slipped out the back door.

  “At least Lacey didn’t die here at Thistle Park.” Rachel shook her head in sorrow as she stirred a lump of turbinado sugar into her coffee. Ramona had made her way to her lap and opened her doggie mouth in glee as my sister scratched behind her ears.

  “Rachel!” I pinched my sister, who had the good graces to look marginally chagrined.

  “Admit it, Mallory. You were thinking the same darn thing.”

  Okay, so it’s true.

  For some reason, a few of the events and happenings at my B and B had led to people perishing in the near past. I had to silently agree with my sister. It wasn’t lost on me that Lacey had met her bad fate far from the grounds of my mansion. Still, she’d fallen ill somewhat on my watch, at an event she’d helped plan and one my sister and I officially ran. It didn’t take away from the fact my heart went out to Lacey’s mother.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Mom?” Rachel pivoted and lasered her focus on our mother. Carole jumped in her chair and set her cup down with a start.

  “I’m very sorry that poor girl passed away.” My mom shook her head and pushed her cup away. “But I had nothing to do with it. It’s a pity Clementine wasn’t happy with Lacey’s work when this happened. But I’m sure she’s innocent, too.”

  I cocked my head in thought. It worried me a bit my mother was rushing to defend Clementine March. The eccentric woman seemed poised to be my mother’s patron of staging career comebacks, and I wondered if the possibility of working for March Homes was creating a premature and dangerous alliance.

  My mother’s cell phone blasted out Justin Bieber’s version of “The Christmas Song.” We all jumped with a laugh as she peered at the screen, pushing up the electric blue reading glasses that matched today’s snowflake sweater set.

  “It’s Clementine.” My mom couldn’t tamp down the frisson of excitement in her voice. She slipped into the dining room to take the call. Rachel, Doug, and I exchanged glances as my mother’s voice became more and more obsequious and animated. She nearly bounded into the kitchen mere minutes later on her electric blue moccasins.

  “Clementine would like me to formally interview for the stager position!” My mother’s face fell when she took in the panoply of frowns on our faces.

  “Isn’t that a little . . . rushed?” I said carefully.

  “Yeah, Mom. Lacey’s body isn’t even cold.” Rachel tsked and popped a cardamom cookie soldier neatly into her mouth.

  “I’d be careful, my love.” Doug’s brow was furrowed as he counseled my mom.

  “You are all just being sticks in the mud. That job was posted on the March Homes website before Lacey had her unfortunate accident.”

  Yeah, like a whole five minutes before.

  My mother dismissed our concerns and retrieved Ramona from Rachel. She swept from the room with her pug, Doug chasing after her.

  “This doesn’t look good.” I gathered up coffee cups and ferried them to the sink.

  “Thank goodness that call from Clementine didn’t come while Truman was questioning us.” Rachel trailed her gaze up the back stairs. “I don’t think Mom realizes how this could seem.”

  The optics were terrible. If Truman followed the natural order of the past few days’ events, and if it turned out Lacey’s death was at someone else’s hand, my mom would soon be suspect numero uno.

  Rachel squirmed in her chair and echoed my concerns. “It’s almost as if Mom is being set up.”

  I added to my sister’s anxiety. “Did you know Mom made Lacey a drink?” My voice was small and meek.

  “She what? She has to tell Truman. Like right now.”

  The chief would flip his lid if he knew my mom wasn’t being immediately forthright.

  “I’ll do no such thing, young ladies, and I resent the implication.” Our mother alighted on the last back stair. She must have returned to listen in. My sister and I froze. Carole’s moccasins made for the perfect sleuthing shoes, her footfalls nearly silent as she crept around the mansion. “Whose side are you girls on? Blood is thicker than water, you know.” My mother’s face was a mixture of hurt and anger. “Is your allegiance to your family, or to Garrett and his?”

  I felt as if I’d been slapped. “I don’t like your insinuation, Mom. I just think you need to tell Truman you made Lacey her last drink on this earth before he finds out himself and wonders why you actively kept that information from him.”

  But it was too late. My mother flounced up the stairs, and this time, we heard every angry footfall.

  Rachel shrugged and bit into another cookie figure. I retreated to my office. I wasn’t keen on involving myself with Olivia’s messy family any longer. But I had an upcoming toy drive to facilitate for them, and of course, Olivia and Toby’s moved-up wedding.

  A nagging thought percolated up in my brain as I tried to switch into planner mode. I closed my eyes and recalled Olivia pouring out her drink into a potted plant.

  Almost as if she knew it was poisoned.

  * * *

  An hour later, I tried to put my mother’s machinations out of my mind. I ushered Olivia into the library for an impromptu meeting about her rapidly approaching nuptials.

  “I can’t believe Lacey is gone.” My friend blew her heavy sable bangs off her forehead in a gust of exasperation. She hugged her middle, then waved off the cup of strong tea I offered her. She gazed at a copse of trees outside the window, seemingly lost in thought. “She was so close to my mom.” She shivered. I handed her a cozy crochet shawl I sometimes slung over my own shoulders when I worked in the window seat in the library. Olivia managed a small smile
as she drew the brightly patterned shawl around her. The buttery yellow walls and roaring fire did little to warm our spirits after reflecting on Lacey’s death.

  I broached the next subject as delicately as I could. “It certainly wasn’t the impression your parents and grandparents wanted to make. I could understand if you and Toby wanted to postpone the wedding in light of what happened with Lacey.”

  “No!” Olivia sat up straighter, the shawl slipping down her shoulders. She seemed to have realized she’d nearly shouted her answer and modulated her voice. “What happened to Lacey was terrible.” She gazed at her engagement ring and seemed to steel herself. “But Toby and I are still going to wed at the end of the month.”

  Her answer brooked no discussion. We were going to have a wedding two days before Christmas. I squeezed my friend’s hand and gave her a gentle smile. Olivia seemed to melt with relief.

  “I’m glad you understand, Mallory.”

  I really didn’t understand the rush to wed. But if that’s what my friend wanted, I would do my very best to make it happen. The vision of Olivia hastily and surreptitiously pouring out her drink into the plant, mere minutes before Lacey crumpled to the ground, kept rearing its head. But now didn’t seem the time to play grand inquisitor. I turned to wedding planning instead.

  “Then let’s get started.” I placed my tablet before Olivia on the striped ottoman. “I wanted to show you some ideas we can pull off in—” I paused to gulp, “ten days’ time.”

  Olivia peered at the screen and nodded. “My mother wanted to give me wedding homework last night. It was the only thing that took her mind off of Lacey’s death.” Olivia shuddered again and slid her finger over the Pinterest board I’d compiled for her approval. The first representative board showed a traditional red December wedding. Olivia stared at the screen, her pretty dark eyes impassive.

  “Okay, let’s look at the next one.” I brought up a pale blue winter wonderland of an idea board, complete with white branches and sparkly accouterments.

  Olivia gave a wan smile and nodded. “This could work.”

  I shook my head. “But you’re not excited about it. I want you to fall in love with your wedding, even if it is being put together fast.”

  “What about a simple forest green?” Olivia peered at the oval emerald on her hand. “This was the ring Toby’s dad gave to Ursula. The green seems fitting with the season. Would it be too cliché?”

  “Not at all!” I breathed a sigh of relief and scrolled over to the last Pinterest idea board. “This might be a winner. For this theme, I chose a silver and evergreen palate. We could weave in small angel elements to tie in the theme with your ornament.” I gestured to the tree topper Olivia had retrieved from her purse and placed on the ottoman before us. I observed a kind of hairline fracture where the angel’s wing had been glued back on. “There will be glass angel candelabras at each table. I found a little storefront on Etsy that has ten in stock. Just say the word, and I’ll order them within the hour.”

  Olivia nodded, warming to the idea. “Your choices are lovely. I’ll just go with whatever you’ve selected. You know my taste. And frankly, I just want to get married.”

  I nodded, appreciative that my friend was being so honest, but a little miffed too that she didn’t really seem to care about the minutiae of her wedding details. Then again, maybe she had her priorities in the right place. She was coming up for partner and her family was attempting to win over the town of Port Quincy amidst the death of its stager. I loved planning weddings and crafting memorable details, but there had been times when I wondered if some of my brides were more interested in an intricate and showy ceremony than spending the rest of their lives with the partners they were marrying.

  “There is one thing.” Olivia brightened. “I want to honor my dad in some way.” She grew wistful. “The women in my family can be a bit . . . strong-willed. My dad is more sentimental, and he has a Christmas tradition we hold each year.” She smiled in seeming reminiscence. “Christmas Day itself is a March family affair, with Christmas crackers and all the usual dishes. But the evening before Christmas, my dad cooks a traditional Czech Christmas Eve meal. There are twelve dishes, ones his mother and grandmother taught him how to make.”

  “What a beautiful idea.” I warmed to the tribute to her father and thought it would be a lovely, personal touch to the rushed nuptials, in addition to the subtle angel theme.

  “Mom and Grandma will flip out, of course.” Olivia giggled. “Let’s just keep the menu under wraps until the big day.”

  “It’s a deal.” Olivia and I high-fived with glee at deciding on a menu for her wedding. But my friend’s joy was short lived as her cell phone pinged out an email notice. She frowned as she scrolled through the message and mumbled something about a case she was working on.

  I observed the deep circles resting beneath Olivia’s eyes and her petite frame that looked more slender than usual. Her appearance corroborated the inordinate amount of stress she was under. I would overlook her lack of interest in picking each detail of her big day and give my friend a much-needed break.

  “What I’m really worried about are the logistics of things after we marry,” Olivia admitted. “Toby and I haven’t really discussed where we’ll live, work, and start our married life.”

  Then why the rush down the aisle?

  I pushed my pushy thoughts away and focused on my friend in need.

  “Toby can’t move from Port Quincy since he’s so frequently on call.”

  “You’re not tied to Russell Carey. You could leave and try to find a position closer to Port Quincy.”

  I floated the idea, knowing it was already a loser.

  Olivia twisted her pretty face into a frown. “I could do that. And perhaps I should. Different jobs come up in a lifetime but not the love of your life. Then again, I’ve been working so hard. I’m on the precipice of making partner. I can’t just cast that aside.”

  We sat in amiable if not sad silence for a moment when the doorbell gave its sonorous clang. I beamed as I let my boyfriend Garrett in and he joined Olivia in the library.

  “I don’t want to interrupt.” He smiled as I waved off his concern. “I finished a case this morning. The jury decided in our favor.” He beamed and bestowed me with a fleeting kiss. He loved his work and getting wins for his clients. The contrast between him and Olivia couldn’t be more stark.

  “It sounds like you truly love your job.” Her eyes were wistful as she took in my beaming and energetic boyfriend.

  “It isn’t what I set out to do. I thought I wanted to get a clerkship and teach initially. But transferring from Harvard to Pitt and becoming a small-town attorney was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Garrett alluded to his decision to come home to raise his infant daughter, Summer, fourteen years ago.

  “What kind of caseload do you have?” Olivia asked questions in more than just a polite way. I wondered what she was thinking.

  “It’s too busy, to be frank.” Garrett’s exuberance dimmed a notch. “It’s a good problem to have. But I’m spending too much time away from my daughter and from you, Mallory.” He turned to me with an apology in his lovely hazel eyes.

  It was true. We’d both been too busy for months. Garrett had new clients and old ones to attend to. His business was booming. As was mine. The assistant I’d hired had returned to school, and I hadn’t yet replaced her. Garrett’s natural down time was on the weekends, but even those were becoming clogged up with extra time spent back at his office. I was tied up most Fridays and Saturdays putting on weddings and events. That left Sunday. Garrett and I had fallen into the routine of attending his family Sunday dinner. I got to see Garrett and chat with Summer as well as Truman and his wife, Lorraine. But for the last few weeks, that was our only contact. I’d been looking forward to the month of December, a time when I’d refused to book any weddings. Well, except for Olivia’s moved-up affair.

  A kernel of an idea seemed to percolate as Garrett regarded
Olivia. “I’ve been considering taking on a partner these last few months. I’m at a tipping point where I need to start turning more work away or finding someone else to join my practice.”

  His half-suggestion, half-invitation hung like a pendulum in the air.

  And Olivia grabbed it.

  “As it so happens, I’ve been wondering how I could practice here in Port Quincy.” Her former exhaustion seemed to evaporate with excitement as she pondered Garrett’s idea. “I have experience running my own trials, although in a different county, and sometimes in federal court. But I have had experience with smaller trials and cases with my pro bono work.”

  “You’d figure out the differences between practicing in Pittsburgh and Port Quincy pretty quickly.” Garrett began to pace around the room. “This could really work!”

  His enthusiasm was infectious. I’d been lamenting how to help Olivia out and ease her mind, and my boyfriend had conjured up a solution that would benefit all three of us. Olivia could relocate to Port Quincy to start her married life, Garrett would have immense pressure taken off of him with work, and I would get to spend more time with him and Summer.

  “I could also bring a pretty big book of business to the table.” Olivia cocked her head in thought. “I’m sure I could handle the legal work for my family’s company in Port Quincy. They’ve been groaning about maintaining counsel from Pittsburgh to handle their issues here.”

  Garrett nodded. “I have no conflicts of interest that I know of. I don’t currently represent anyone with claims against March Homes. And while I don’t do a lot of transactional work, it would be a good direction to expand in.”

  “And I already know a bit about your practice. I think my skills as a litigator will mesh well with the needs of your current clients.” Olivia looked more content than I’d seen her in a while. “Now I’ll just need to explain to everyone why I’m walking away from the firm when I’m so close to making partner.” A flicker of doubt marred her happy expression.