Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “No way.” I felt my chest rise and fall. “That is a very serious allegation, Keith. Are you sure you want to get behind it?”

  I felt Rachel’s glower descend upon my ex-fiancé.

  Keith dropped his voice. “I’ll stand behind what I said one hundred percent.”

  And with that the couple did an about-face, wheeling around on the sidewalk to leave me sputtering in front of the Clark Building.

  “The nerve of those jerk faces!” Rachel’s exclamation drew the curious stare of several passersby. “Keith is full of it, Mallory. You know it, and I know it. You’d think he and Becca would be more gracious after we worked so hard on their various wedding plans.”

  I gulped and tried to gather my composure, which was laying on the sidewalk, dashed to smithereens.

  What if Keith is right?

  I shook my head, scolding myself for taking the bait. I had once been engaged to the odious little man, and he knew how to get my goat. There was nothing more to it.

  “Let’s get this taken care of.”

  Rachel and I entered the building and took a brass medallion elevator to the third floor, where we picked up the rings Olivia and Toby had selected and had sized.

  “And anything for yourselves, ladies?” The pretty clerk patted the gleaming glass cases.

  “Ooh, I think I will.” Rachel accepted the invitation with a bounce on the balls of her feet. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation and asked to see the engagement rings.

  “Do you know something I don’t?” I raised my eyebrow at my sister’s unbridled enthusiasm.

  “Evan is the kind of man who will pop the question within a year.”

  “Okay, maybe that’s true.” I tried to suppress a laugh. “But that’s in about 365 days, Rach.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to figure out what I want early,” she hissed in return. “Not everyone drags their feet in the relationship department like you have. Then you don’t have to worry later if it’s all going to fizzle out.”

  I felt my face fall and the sharp pain of tears starting to form when you try to reign them in.

  “I’m so sorry, Mallory. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Rachel slung an arm around my shoulders, suffocating me with the treacly scent of her cupcake and jasmine perfume. “I’m sure you and Garrett will work things out.”

  Yeah, if it turns out he’s not fixing cases with Judge Frank.

  I shook my head, feeling dizzy. I’d let Keith get to me, and Rachel knew it, too.

  “I think I need some air.” I pushed through the glass doors of the jewelry store and leaned against the wall, taking deep, restorative breaths. A minute later Rachel joined me, and the two of us spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  My cell phone vibrated in my purse, and I plumbed its depths to extract it. “Doug told me you were in Pittsburgh today. As it happens, I’m here with Summer, too. Do you have time to meet?” My heart accelerated at the text from Garrett. I’d stormed off from Judge Frank’s front porch last night in a snit, and here was a chance to make things up. I texted that we should meet soon, and we arranged to go ice-skating.

  * * *

  In half an hour’s time, Garrett, Summer, Rachel, and I whipped around the great big tree at the center of the small rink at PPG Place. It was too small to rival Rockefeller Center, but what it lacked in size was made up for by its location within a black glass castle. It was intimate and ethereal in the waning light, surrounding the skaters with acres of obsidian glass. It was truly a glittering, shimmering space. As the sun set and night encroached, I felt as if we were one with the great, big, black bowl of a night winter sky.

  Summer laughed as her father attempted to catch up with her blinding fast skating speed. Rachel made figure eights in the ice, and I watched the ones I loved. My heart ached. I couldn’t lose Garrett, or Summer.

  “What brought you to Pittsburgh today?” I caught up with a panting Garrett, the wind in his dark hair, and an exuberant smile on his face. I tried to keep the accusatory tone from my voice as I skated with Garrett. It had been a while since I’d laced on a pair of skates, and we kept bumping into each other as we attempted to skate holding hands. I’d forgotten my mittens and was grateful to enclose my small hand in his.

  “Summer and I were picking out some Christmas gifts,” he said evenly. “And Doug told me you were getting Olivia and Toby’s rings.”

  I nodded my assent, willing the creeping doubt Keith had planted in my head to fly far, far away. I didn’t want to press things further, and it appeared Garrett didn’t, either. We skated until we were all hungry and tired, trying to prolong the magic of the early evening. The four of us grabbed sandwiches and made our way to our separate cars. It had been a perfect afternoon, unplanned, with no pressure or ultimatums.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Rachel leaned over and patted my knee as we left the parking garage and headed back on the long drive to Port Quincy.

  “I hope so.” I flashed my sister a smile. But I wasn’t quite so sure.

  * * *

  The next day was blessedly quiet, with nary a dead body discovered or family member accused. Rachel and I got to work finalizing the small details for Olivia’s big day, which was a mere two days away. But before we could wrap up our obligations to the March family, we had one more event to put on.

  “It’s weird throwing a party I’m also invited to,” Rachel said as she tore through her closet.

  I sent my sister a smirk. “So long as you don’t use it as an excuse to wiggle out of your duties.”

  “Like I’d ever do that.” Rachel stuck out her tongue and made me laugh.

  We’d taken on the gig for the surgery department holiday party way back in July. The day after Toby stopped by my office to go over the details and drop off a check, I’d set him up with Olivia. July seemed ages ago, not a mere six months ago. So much had happened for my family, for Olivia and Toby, and the little family they’d created. I felt a wave of emotion surge through me. I was a bundle of nostalgic nerves lately, but that was to be expected around the holidays.

  “Look at this.” Rachel made a face and thrust her phone under my nose. “The Marches are advertising for a new assistant stager, but not a head stager.”

  “So they’re still keeping Mom’s job open for her, even though she’s in jail. But they’ve fired Justine.” I knew the bad news would outweigh the good when we talked to my mom later on for her one allowed call.

  “Wouldn’t you, too, if you’d discovered Alan’s old affair?” Rachel dug through the pile of party dresses on her bed, flinging frocks hither and yon.

  “I guess. Another stager bites the dust.” I shivered. “I guess it’s better that they fired Justine than the alternative.”

  “I need to look perfect tonight.” Rachel bit her lip and continued digging.

  “Just pick a dress.” I was growing impatient. “We need to set up in time. You look fabulous in everything, and you know it, too.” It was true.

  “But none of this is right.” Rachel held up one dress in her right hand, a spangly metallic number with spaghetti straps in a daring purple sequin. In her left was a green chiffon confection featuring a daringly high slit. The dresses were perfectly Rachel. Which wasn’t who she wanted to be when she was with Evan.

  “Can I . . . ?”

  I know where this is going.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Borrow whatever you want. Just make sure to return it this time.” I rolled my eyes and led my sister to my room. She renewed her digging, this time taking marginally better care of my clothes.

  “Okay. I’ve found it. Let me get dressed, and I’ll show you the full effect.”

  I left my sister in my room and paced in the hallway outside. Ramona joined me, thinking walking in endless circles was quite fun. “She’s gone mad, old girl.” I picked up the pug and gave her a snuggle. “And she’s going to make us late to boot, if she doesn’t hurry.”

  Rachel flung open the door. My towering sister was channeling the eleg
ance and demure poise of a petite Audrey Hepburn. She was wearing a dress I hadn’t donned in years, a stretchy midnight blue sheath with a pretty yet modest v-neckline. The dress was solidly tea length on my frame and hit Rachel at the knees. The effect was tasteful and flirty. She’d paired the dress with a pair of simple black velvet heels, a few inches lower than she usually dared. Her honey waves were carefully pulled back from her face, trapped in a smooth chignon. She’d abandoned her usual daring makeup palette for a simple look. She wore muted sable and cocoa eye shadow and simple pink gloss. Her dress was less va-va-voom as it was understated elegance. I noticed she’d helped herself to my string of blush pearls and a few sprays of Chanel Number 19. The woodsy fragrance was the antithesis to the sweet scents she usually favored. My sister didn’t even smell like herself.

  It was a gorgeous look, just not one my sister would have ever picked out for herself unless she was trying to snare her surgeon.

  “You look lovely.” My voice was small. “Like . . .” I searched for words that would be complimentary of her look, yet not critical of the reasons behind it.

  “Like I could be Evan’s fiancée!” Rachel spun around in a circle like a teen in a sixties movie and fell back on my bed.

  “Fair enough. Now let’s just set up for the party.”

  Forty-five minutes later, our work was complete. We’d ferried food out to the carriage house for the party, clad in our snow boots rather than heels. We lit hundreds of candles and placed them on two sideboards, away from areas where passersby could jostle them. The long tables in the back of the room held big bowls of Christmas ornaments in shades of lavender, green, and blue. We’d left the two massive trees in the room simply decorated, the boughs wound with small white twinkle lights. The murals of old-time cars and carriages marching around the room seemed to move in the dancing glow of the flames.

  “This is perfect, Mallory and Rachel. I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with for our wedding.” Toby appeared with Olivia by his side. My friend was flushed with excitement, but exhausted, too.

  “I quit the firm!” She nearly bounced in her low kitten heels.

  “You what?” I was sure I’d misheard.

  “The managing partner stopped by. It’s official. I earned my partnership.” Her face turned bittersweet. “But no matter what happens with Garrett’s decision, whether I practice here with him or take up Rudy’s offer to work for March Homes, I want to be here. I love you, Toby. I choose Port Quincy. I choose us.” My friend turned to her fiancé and he swept her up in a scorcher of a kiss. Several of his colleagues whistled, and the couple broke apart with sheepish grins.

  “Now that’s the kind of speech I hope to hear someday.” Rachel made a beeline for Evan, who took in her new look with appreciative but somewhat cool eyes.

  Uh-oh.

  I wondered if my sister had misjudged. But I barely had time to give it a second thought.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel, but you seem to have gotten the wrong idea. It won’t matter how long we date. You are super fun and drop-dead gorgeous, but I’d never marry you.” Evan gave a callous little shrug that seemed to wound Rachel to her core. “I need a helpmate, a life partner.” His eyes raked over my sister, taking in her transformation. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I need a different kind of woman.”

  I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, when Miles emerged from behind the buffet.

  “You’d be the luckiest man on this planet if Rachel Shepard deigned to give you even a minute of her time.” His white-hot glare melted as he turned to look at my sister. “She’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful, creative, and an amazing businesswoman. She has the biggest heart you’ll ever come across. I’m sorry you can’t see that.” A small smile ticked up the corner of Miles’s mouth. “Never mind. I’m thrilled you can’t see that.”

  Rachel’s quivering lips slowly turned up in a beatific smile. “Miles. That was lovely.”

  The cook traced a thumb across Rachel’s cheekbone, drying a rivulet of tears. “It’s true.”

  My sister linked arms with Miles and abandoned her duties for the rest of the evening. Evan pouted in the corner, and Rachel and her new beau cut a rug. I grinned as I watched.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I’ve been so blind.” Rachel nearly danced out of the carriage house in her heels, forgetting to switch to her boots.

  We broke down the holiday party together. I said nary a word, letting Rachel expound on how she was lucky to have found her real true love match with our redheaded cook.

  “Miles has been chasing you for over a year, Rach.” I couldn’t help but point out the obvious.

  “And I’ve been a fool.” The stars in my sister’s eyes mirrored those above in the impossibly clear black sky. “A darn fool.”

  I bade my sister goodnight. She glided into her room on a gust of puppy love, and I booted up my laptop with a smile. It was just before midnight. Tomorrow would be December 22. And my mother was still not home.

  “Come here, girl.” I scooped up my calico cat Whiskey to keep me company as I delved into some newspaper research in the Eagle Herald’s online archives. I opened up several browser tabs, one for each subject. First up was Andrea Adams’s disappearance. It took reading a few old articles to pinpoint the exact date. It can take a while for a missing person to truly be considered missing. The first article pondering her whereabouts appeared two weeks after Nina Adams had told the police her daughter never came home.

  My second tab sought stories regarding Judge Frank. Keith’s heinous accusations about Garrett and the judge were still bothering me. I’d taken my boyfriend’s word that the woman was above reproach. But I realized I didn’t know much about her. I’d seen her in court, her approach and demeanor formidable. But she didn’t have time to attend a single planning meeting for her son’s rapidly impending nuptials.

  “Oh my.” A hit from a now defunct Pittsburgh Paper, the Pittsburgh Press, appeared in my search. There in a grainy photo were the judge and Goldie March, arm in arm at a gala in Pittsburgh. I had no idea the two women had known each other before their children became engaged.

  Then again, it was no smoking gun. The March family did own property in Port Quincy. It was possible Ursula Frank and Goldie March ran in the same social circles in the 1980s and had grown apart.

  My final tab searched for news about Olivia. She wasn’t called Olivia then, just the baby found in the manger. Goldie and Alan had stumbled upon the softly crying infant outside the Port Quincy Lutheran Church on Christmas Eve thirty years ago.

  The missing link I’d hoped to find wasn’t there. I nearly clapped my laptop closed in frustration, but my purring cat stopped me. A tiny, itchy detail asserted itself in the back of my head.

  Toby had once mentioned following in his father’s footsteps. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

  Pay dirt.

  Another society page took up my screen. The scene was similar to the one tonight, the resplendent holiday party for the McGavitt-Pierce Memorial Hospital’s surgery department. Front and center were the hosts for the evening. The chief of surgery, Dr. Tobias Frank, and his wife, a newly appointed judge, Ursula.

  My mind swirled with possible theories and ideas. I felt like I was getting tantalizingly close, but to what, I couldn’t tell.

  Soda pawed open my door, her little orange creamsicle face peaceful and sleepy. I prepared for bed and nestled up to my cats, the wind roaring all around me in my aerie nest of an apartment. I felt as if the eventful last few days were akin to being in the eye of the storm. I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep, trying not to anticipate what the rest of December would bring.

  * * *

  “I thought she’d be free by now.” The cold reality of a new day came in on the coattails of the arctic front hovering over Port Quincy. My sister buttered a cranberry muffin and took a resigned bite.

  “I thought so, too, Rach.” Our mother was steeling herself to
spend Christmas, her favorite day of the year, in jail. I’d been certain some miracle would appear to prove my mom’s innocence. She was stuck in some weird limbo with evidence that showed her to be Lacey’s poisoner, yet no one really believed it.

  Doug was beside himself. He paced the halls of Thistle Park muttering about antifreeze and plotting to raise my mom’s spirits despite her incarceration. Ramona was resigned, perhaps believing my mom would never return. Yet each night, according to Doug, the little pug curled up in what was my mom’s side of the bed.

  I heard my stepfather conversing with someone as he made his way down the back stairs.

  “It’s not as good as springing her out. But it’ll do.” Doug touched the screen of his cell phone and met our eyes in turn.

  “It looks like Carole is really going to spend Christmas in jail.” His eyes were dejected. “But I did convince Truman to allow us to bring some more of the holiday to her.”

  He detailed that Truman was waiving his moratorium on decorations, food, and music for my mother. We could even bring Ramona in for short visits. The denizens of Port Quincy were largely behaving this year, and my mother was the only person left in the facility’s temporary wing.

  My sister and I got to work prepping food and gathering decorations. We would spend the next few days bringing as much Christmas cheer to my mother as possible. It was an imperfect solution, but it would have to do. Half an hour later, we strung blinking lights around the metal bed frame in my mom’s cell. Doug pulled out a tiny MP3 player and a set of tinny speakers. Soon the makeshift sound system blasted out Bing Crosby’s “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

  “This will help me get in the spirit,” our mom quavered. “Thank you, girls.” She pulled us in for a hug. “And thank you, my love.” She saved her biggest embrace for my stepdad.

  I opened the picnic basket I’d lined with fabric patterned with snowflakes. “And we saved the best for last.”

  Ramona had remained still as we set up the decorations. Now that the picnic basket lid was opened, she bounded out.