Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “She is making an effort to tend to her wedding.” I smiled at the note. “There isn’t much time, and Olivia knows her mom is a bit disappointed that things are rushed.”

  “What’s this?” Rachel held up a slender silver key on a length of red velvet ribbon. We tore through the rest of the office, poking the little slip of metal into several slots, to no avail.

  “How about this?” Justine found a small wooden box behind a big-potted ficus.

  It fits.

  The slip of silver turned effortlessly in the box. Out fell a small leather book.

  “Bingo.” The book was a rudimentary ledger, detailing a single three thousand dollar payment, made once per month for nearly thirty years.

  “Thirty years?!” Rachel made to grab the delicate leather book when I tucked it back into the box.

  “Okay, that was something we definitely were not meant to see. Justine, what was the post office box address again?” We plugged the numbers into Google but came up with nothing.

  “I doubt the post office would reveal who owns that box.”

  We moved on to Alan’s office to see what juicy secrets it might contain.

  “Nada.” My sister shut the final drawer on his big desk and shook her head. “Not much paperwork in here at all.”

  “I guess he keeps it all in the cloud,” Justine mused. “Or he has nothing to hide.”

  I peeked into his trash can on a whim and plucked out a napkin.

  “Ew.” Rachel was a bit of a germaphobe and let me know she disapproved of my action.

  “Um, I think you’ll have an even stronger reaction after you read this.” I spread the napkin on Alan’s desk, and the three of us shined our flashlights on the smeared paper.

  It appeared to be a brainstorm about who may have killed Lacey.

  “Mom is at the top of the list!” Rachel recoiled in horror.

  “These may not be his musings about who killed Lacey—this may be his plan to frame Mom.” Clementine was also on the list, in the number two slot. I was furious. I had an appointment to bake with Alan the next day, and now I wasn’t so sure I could spend the afternoon with the man who seemed to be trying to frame my mother.

  “Who is number three?” Justine squinted in the near darkness.

  “I can’t tell. It just looks like a smear of ketchup.” That was the trouble with brainstorming a killer list on a napkin. “No matter, there are no bullet points for motive, means, and opportunity for anyone else on his list. Just Mom.” An icy bath seemed to pour over my shoulders.

  “Too bad we can’t have the pleasure of kicking Alan out of Thistle Park.” My sister sighed.

  Olivia’s family had just moved out of the B and B yesterday. The first model home had been finished, and they were using it as their temporary living space until they could rebuild the cabin in some iteration. Before my discovery today, I was sad to see them go, but it had been a bit cramped with four unexpected guests.

  “Let’s get the heck out of here.” Rachel’s eyes got wide as we heard footfalls. The whole office floor was suddenly drenched in revealing light. We dropped the offensive napkin into the trash and hightailed it down the hall.

  “What’re you guys doing here?” Olivia stared at us with surprise in her eyes.

  Thank goodness.

  I gestured toward Goldie’s office, where we’d just been caught. “We wanted to surprise you for the bridal shower. I knew you’d been showing your mom some ideas. I thought we could take a look without either of you knowing.”

  I held my breath as Olivia seemed to ponder my explanation. A wide grin broke out on her delicate face. “You guys are the best!” She leaned in and pulled my sister and me in for a hug. I tried not to look too obvious as I turned around to find Justine. She was gone.

  My sister, Olivia, and I chatted excitedly as we left the building. I felt my heart beat so hard in my chest I feared Olivia would see, but she seemed none the wiser. Rachel and I made a big show of climbing into the Butterscotch Monster and starting the engine. We waited a few minutes after Olivia drove off in her Acura.

  “Ahh!” I screamed as Justine gently tapped on my window.

  “That was too close.” The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry I dragged you two into this.”

  I clasped her gloved hand. “No way, this was all my idea.”

  Justine made her way to her car and drove away. And not a moment too soon.

  “Uh-oh.”

  My mom’s rental car screeched to a halt behind us. I took in a deep breath as she slammed the door and appeared at the window. She was clad in her own all-black ninja outfit, the better to out-sleuth us.

  “What in heaven’s name are you two doing here? Performing some impromptu surveillance?”

  She doesn’t even know the half of it.

  “I suspected something, and I was right.” My mother’s superpower was definitely her special ESP that was attendant to her daughters’ nefarious hijinks.

  “I have tried my whole life to take care of you girls.” My mom was just getting started. “I built up my business after your father disappeared. It wasn’t just a hobby. I want you two to respect my work. And this isn’t a good way to show it.”

  I slid down in the worn leather of my station wagon, utterly crushed. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered.

  But Rachel wasn’t having it. “But Mom, we found—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, girls! You broke your mother’s trust.” Tears coursed down Carole’s face. She turned back to her rental and drove away.

  Rachel’s voice grew small. “She’ll be okay.”

  But I wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  “This is gonna be fun.” I glanced at the cuckoo clock in the kitchen and nervously awaited Alan March’s arrival.

  “Yup. Not too cozy sharing a kitchen with the dude who thinks Mom is a stone-cold killer.”

  I sighed and took inventory of the ingredients Alan had asked me to amass. I was going to learn how to make some of his family’s Czech recipes. I’d spent the morning vacillating between feeling guilty for picking through Alan’s trash and feeling vindicated by discovering his accusatory thoughts about my mother.

  “And Miles said he’ll be late.” Our sweet cook was smitten with Rachel. He’d be upset if he knew he’d missed a chance to talk to her today. He was going to taste Alan’s recipes and discuss any changes or adaptations for Olivia’s big day.

  “Well, I’m sorry I’ll miss all of the excitement. But now that Rudy’s on the mend, Clementine has resumed teaching her yoga class.” Rachel tucked her mat under her arm and sailed out the back door in her big silver parka.

  Moments later the doorbell clanged.

  “Come on in, Alan.”

  Olivia’s dad advanced into the hall and stopped short. “Whoa. What’s in the tree?” He stared mystified at the colossal evergreen.

  “What do you mean?” I tried to follow his line of sight. Two glittering, ochre eyes caught the light from the chandelier just so and glowed an incandescent green.

  I burst out laughing. “That’s just my cat, Soda. She loves sitting in the big tree.”

  Alan relaxed with a chuckle and shrugged off his overcoat. To my surprise, he approached the tree and talked softly to its feline inhabitant. Soda stretched one orange paw out, then another, and calmly advanced down a thick branch. Alan finished coaxing my cat from the Christmas tree. I could hear the little orange fluff ball’s purrs from three feet away.

  “Aw, she likes you.” Soda was actually a pretty good judge of character. I considered reassessing him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad?

  Alan followed me to the kitchen and gently deposited Soda in the window seat. He washed his hands, rolled up his blue shirtsleeves, and donned an apron. He certainly did appreciate the finer things. His fine suit pants and Italian leather shoes looked too nice to cook in.

  “Thanks for getting all this.” Alan gestured toward the ingredients amassed on the island. He got to work, nimbly adding ing
redients and stirring with gusto.

  “We’ll have twelve dishes in keeping with the Christmas Eve tradition, albeit one day early.” Alan stopped and ticked dishes off on his fingers as he named them. “First up is rybí polévka, which is fish soup. Then smažený kapr, the fried carp. And of course, potato salad, bramborový salát.” Alan continued to mention various dishes. My head was spinning as I tried to observe and write down his methods and ingredients. His hands flashed as he assembled the dough he’d asked me to make ahead of time, and twisted ropes of the stuff into an elaborate braid. The gorgeous braided dough reminded me of Judge Frank’s crown of hair.

  I found myself warming to Alan as we chitchatted. He might like the finer things, but he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, either.

  “I’m delighted that Olivia wanted to honor my heritage.” Alan spoke while his fingers helmed a flurry of chopping knives. “I was Alan Krylenko once, before Clementine and Rudy convinced me to take their family name.” He gave a bitter laugh and neatly slid some green onions into the stockpot bubbling away. “My heritage may not be Olivia’s explicitly, but she has always honored it.” His expression turned pensive. “I guess we’ll never know exactly how Olivia came to be with our family. But it was the greatest thing to happen to us.”

  “Finding her in the manger,” I said.

  “Yes.” Alan looked up from his food ministrations with a surprised look on his face. “Olivia’s actually not too fond of the story of how she was found. It was in all of the papers all over Pennsylvania, but that was nearly thirty years ago. She must’ve told you, though. I’m not surprised because you two are so close.”

  I squirmed a bit, not wanting to reveal that the judge had spilled the beans to me first.

  “Olivia is so stressed. I just want my daughter to have a lovely wedding, and even better, a wonderful life with Toby. He’s a great guy. I wouldn’t have picked anyone else for Olivia.” He stopped breading a piece of carp and frowned. “Now if they could just sort out the mess about where they’re going to settle down.”

  I decided to wade into it. “Then why don’t you help her make her decision and let her take on the legal matters for March Homes?” My heart sped up in anticipation of his reply. I didn’t want to seem impertinent, but he’d opened the door.

  Alan wiped his hands on his apron, but not before giving me a shrewd glance. “Our business is aboveboard, make no mistake about that.”

  I almost believe him.

  “But we can be aggressive,” he continued. “We drive hard deals, and we can be very . . . persuasive. Olivia doesn’t need to see that.”

  I tried hard to suppress my eye roll. I wanted to say Olivia was a big girl but settled on highlighting her professional experience. “I’m sure your daughter could handle seeing how your business is run and not think less of you for it. Have you forgotten how much she’s recognized as a litigator?”

  Alan began to blush. “That’s true. I just want to protect my baby. When you have your own kids, you’ll understand.”

  We stood in pensive silence finishing off the dishes. A thought floated through my brain. I wondered if he was aware of the three thousand dollar deposit his wife had been making all these years.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Our shaggy-haired cook, Miles, closed the back door against the cold December air. “Good to see you again, Mr. March.”

  “Please, call me Alan.”

  The pair had met when Alan was staying at the B and B. Alan quickly caught Miles up on the dishes he’d made and the bread and cookies he was making. Miles didn’t seem to make notes as he nodded and asked questions validating his culinary expertise. The clock struck three and Miles glanced up.

  “Is Rachel around?” He seemed so hopeful I wanted to give him a hug.

  “Nope, she’s at her yoga class. But she should be back soon.”

  Miles glanced at the door in anticipation. I wish my sister would give the sweet cook a chance, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted, and Rachel’s scheme du jour was to be with a doctor.

  “Hi, guys.” Rachel sailed in and shucked off her giant, puffy silver coat. Her curvy and toned frame was on full display in her skintight yoga gear, leggings and a tank top with a snowflake pattern. “Evan has invited me to be his plus one at the surgeon’s Christmas party!” Rachel waved her phone under my nose so I could read the text.

  “Asking you out over text, how romantic,” Miles said drily.

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Evan happens to be hopelessly romantic, I’ll have you know.”

  “I do know. We were roommates at Quincy College. We were both chemistry majors.”

  Rachel did a double take. “You were a chemistry major?”

  Miles nodded. “I was premed and finished with a grade point average of 4.0. But I realized after I’d gotten into med school that my real passion was cooking. So I started culinary school the day I was due to start med school, and the rest is history.” Miles raised his brows at my sister and took his leave.

  Rachel seemed lost in thought, her hand resting on her chin. It took a lot to render my sister speechless.

  Alan caught my eye, and the two of us giggled as we finished up his recipes.

  Maybe I was wrong about him.

  * * *

  Later that evening I caught up with my sister. We had an hour until the March family would descend upon Thistle Park to sample the meal Alan had made for an impromptu tasting. I found Rachel poring over her laptop with a dreamy expression in her green eyes.

  “Whatcha looking at?” I caught a flash of diamonds and metal.

  “Nothing!” Rachel clapped the lid of the laptop down with startling force and cringed. “None of your beeswax, that is.”

  “Come on. You’ve been hankering for me to get married for ages. And I even told you about Truman and Summer’s ridiculous plan for me to propose to Garrett.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes and flipped open her laptop. “Fine. I’m perusing my options.” She turned the laptop toward me, and I took in Tiffany’s iconic robin’s egg blue background.

  “Your options?” Confusion clanged in my head.

  “I need to see what kind of ring I want, so I can give Evan some hints.”

  “Um, what?” I stared at my sister with alarm. “Is there something you’re not telling me?!”

  Rachel relaxed into a fit of giggles. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. I can just tell that Evan is the one. So I’m getting a head start on our happily ever after.”

  “So where will you wed, Rachel?” Our mother appeared at the top of the stairs to our apartment. She seemed weary from her day at work.

  “Don’t encourage her, Mom,” I said.

  Our mother offered a warm smile. “Rachel can be very persuasive, Mallory. If she sets her sights on this fellow, there’s a good chance anything could happen.”

  Rachel beamed, and the two of them began to chat about the merits of Rachel and Evan tying the knot at Thistle Park or elsewhere. Their frenzied matchmaking attempts were amazing, like some kind of crazy modern-day Jane Austen novel.

  “They’re ridiculous!” I roped my stepdad into the fray. “Aren’t they?”

  “I think they’re just fatigued from fixating on your relationship,” Doug said evenly. “But you take things at your own pace, Mallory.”

  I felt like tossing my hands in the air in frustration. “I’d love to make a decision about what to do, if Garrett and I were on the same page.”

  My sister and mother stopped their excited planning and turned to me expectantly. It was a trap. Now they were all ears, waiting to put my relationship under the microscope. And I wasn’t sure I was even ready to see that.

  “I guess I want more.” My voice was small and timid. “I was okay with things the way they were before. But now I want a bigger commitment. But why do I need that? Our relationship should be able to thrive on the weekends, even if Garrett moves to Pittsburgh.”

  I gulped, not even believing myself.

  “Swee
tie, have you told him this?” My mother moved to sit next to me on the poofy striped couch.

  “No,” I said softly. “I’m just figuring it out as I go along. And in keeping with the way it’s been the last year, we’re both too busy to have a serious talk.”

  “These modern relationships.” My mother made a tsk sound. “You and Olivia both. One thing I’ve learned is you can’t have it all.” Her face grew soft, and she reached across the coffee table to give Doug’s hand a squeeze. “You really do need to prioritize love and people first.”

  “Then it was all a lie,” Rachel said glumly. “You even taught us, Mom, to go for the careers we wanted, to dream big, and try to cram in as much life as possible. Are you saying we can’t manage careers and family life, too?” Rachel’s speech was accusatory.

  “Well, it would help if you young people decided to live in the same town, for starters.” My mother made her pronouncement in a dry voice. I motioned for my family to follow me down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was time to warm the dishes Alan had showed me how to make.

  “Yup. No offense, Mallory, since I know Olivia is your friend.” Rachel seemed to tread carefully, both in her conversational accusations and as she made her way down the creaky stairs. “But come on! How can they have a real relationship when they both seem to work a bajillion hours, and they don’t even live within an hour of each other? Why even bother being together if you never spend any time together?” She made her last breezy pronouncement with an air of dismissiveness.

  “It’s different working at the firm.” I tried to stand up for my friend, or at least explain where she was coming from. I slid the carp into the oven to warm and heated the fish soup on the stove. “I’d worked for some partners who bragged they hadn’t seen their kids in a few weeks because they left before they woke up and got home after they went to bed. And women who spent most of labor on their phones in the hospital answering email.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t the life for me. So when I inherited this place and had a chance to trade it in, I did. Olivia might not be so lucky.”