by Vicki Delany
“I’ll hang around for a while,” I called after them. “Come and find me when you’re finished with Detective Simmonds.”
The door shut.
I went into the lobby to wait for Chris. I debated phoning my parents to fill them in, but decided not to. If Chris needed help, and I assured myself he wouldn’t, then I’d let them know. The lobby was empty and quiet. The receptionist glanced up from her computer, gave me a nod, and returned to what she was doing. The beautiful decorations made everything appear so calm and peaceful. A contrast to what was happening outside, to what had so recently happened in the small pretty clearing behind the holly hedge.
Most of the people who’d gathered on the steps had dispersed. On the far side of the lane, a cop stood by the path leading to the gardens, his feet apart, his hands resting on his hips, the scowl on his face daring anyone to try to get past him.
Russ Durham stood at the edge of the yellow tape trying to talk his way through. Kyle Lambert was beside him, taking pictures of police cars and the burly, scowling officer. From their vantage point, they wouldn’t have been able to see anything on the other side of the row of holly. Kyle, boyfriend of my assistant, Jackie, had recently started working freelance as a photographer for the paper. I’d had reason to tell Russ that wasn’t a good idea—poor, dumb Kyle had been manipulated into attempting to use the paper’s camera to take pictures that would imply I was on the side of a newcomer to town by the name of Wayne Fitzroy as Fitzroy tried to unseat my dad as town Santa Claus.
Only in Rudolph would the position of Santa be a hotly contested political battle involving bribery and subterfuge.
I probably didn’t need to tell Mark the menu-planning meeting was off, but I called him anyway. He answered right away, and it was obvious he was in the hotel’s kitchen. In the background water ran, pots and pans clamored, people yelled. Someone shouted, “Watch it there.”
“Grace called me to tell me,” Mark said, “but I’d already heard. The staff are talking about nothing else, and the dead man’s name’s flying around. I recognized it from my diary, ‘Ireland/Vanderhaven wedding,’ so I figured no one would be coming in to discuss canapés and dessert options. Tough on the bride.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You take care, Merry,” he said.
“I always do.”
“That’s not what I’ve been told.” Mark hung up with a chuckle.
I decided I had more important things to worry about at the moment than what Vicky had told Mark about me. I stood on the steps for a few moments longer, watching the police activity. Not that there was any activity to watch. No officials went into or emerged from the grove. A few cars passed, going slowly as the occupants strained to see what was happening, but none of them stopped.
Time to go back inside and find a comfortable chair close to the fire, but before I could turn around, my attention was caught by a car tearing down the driveway, going far too fast for the slow-moving traffic and the pedestrian-dotted grounds, never mind the watching police. It screeched to a halt behind an unmarked white van I recognized as being from the state police forensics department, and a woman leapt out without bothering to switch off her engine or close the car door behind her. She wore a knee-length black wool cloak, which flapped around her like the wings of a bat as she ran toward the yellow tape. The cop stepped in front of her and lifted one hand. She yelled and waved her arms, making her look even more like a bat. I caught the frantic tone of her voice on the wind but couldn’t hear her words. At last she seemed to realize she wasn’t going to be allowed past no matter how much she protested. She ran back to her car, leapt in, and sped toward the inn, coming to a screeching halt at the bottom of the steps in the no-parking zone. Once again she left the car running when she got out. She ran up the steps, which, I thought, couldn’t have been easy with the height of the heels on the knee-high boots pulled over her fashionably distressed jeans.
“You!” she yelled at me. “Do you work here?”
“Uh . . . no.”
She ran past me.
For no other reason but that I was getting cold, I followed her inside. Okay, maybe I was also curious.
“Who’s in charge here?” she yelled at the receptionist.
The receptionist blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“The cops. I need to speak to the person in charge.”
“I . . .”
“Maybe I can help you,” I said. “I’m Merry Wilkinson.”
She whirled around. She was in her midthirties, about Vicky’s height, meaning she towered over my five foot four. Under the heavy cloak she appeared to be model-thin. She was genuinely beautiful, with deep brown eyes, long black lashes, perfect cheekbones, flawless olive-colored skin, and a waterfall of sleek dark hair that fell around her shoulders and down her back. The lovely eyes were full of panic.
She reached out and grabbed my shoulders. “Is it true? Tell me it isn’t true!”
Startled, I stepped backward. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
She dropped her arms. Her body shuddered. The receptionist’s eyes flicked between the unknown woman and me, and one hand rested on the desk phone.
I hadn’t told the woman I was with the police, but I hadn’t said I wasn’t. I’d deal with Simmonds’s wrath later. I was trying to be a helpful citizen here.
But before she could say anything more, Candy Campbell, as unwelcome as ever, chose that moment to walk into the lobby.
The unknown woman abandoned me and ran toward Candy. “Officer, you have to help me. I heard . . . I heard that Jeff’s had an accident. Is he okay? Where is he? No one will tell me.”
Candy’s eyes flicked toward me. I shrugged.
“Why don’t you come with me,” she said to the unknown woman. “And we’ll find someone who can answer your questions.”
“Yes, yes. I can do that. Thank you.”
Candy led the way down the hall. I was considering following them when Grace Olsen came through the door behind the reception desk. “Oh, Merry, you’re still here.”
“I’m waiting for Chris.”
She rounded the desk and touched my arm lightly, asking me to come with her. We found a quiet corner next to the wide, curving staircase. Grace spoke to me in a low voice. “I hear it’s Jeff Vanderhaven. The man we met last night at your parents’ house. The . . . unpleasant one.”
I nodded.
“After that display, Luanne was still intending to go ahead with her wedding plans?” The corners of Grace’s perfectly lipsticked mouth turned down. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, Merry.”
“A moot point now.”
“So it is.”
“I’m wondering what Jeff was doing here,” I said. “Luanne and her mom and I came for a meeting with Mark about the wedding menu.”
“Maybe Jeff wanted some input into that.”
“Maybe.” But that seemed unlikely. Jeff had been pretty clear that he intended to have nothing to do with plans for the big day.
“It was a lovely evening,” Grace said. “Until it was so rudely interrupted, anyway. I sent your mother flowers this morning to thank her, but if you’re seeing her or Noel today, please give them my thanks again.”
“Sure. Did you hear from Jack? What did his doctor have to say?”
“He’s home now and resting. The doctor said he overindulged last night. He’s not straight out saying ‘I told you so’ to me, but he’s strongly implying it.”
As we chatted, people came and went through the lobby. Kids in snow-covered snowsuits ran up the stairs and passed others coming down, ready for their outdoor adventure. A couple, smiling at each other in that way new love has of cutting the rest of the world out, carried a pair of skates over their shoulders.
“Hi, Grace,” the young man called. “It’s another beautiful day.”
“Have
fun.” Grace gave them her full professional smile.
They wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and went outside. The colored lights of the Christmas tree reflected off the freshly sharpened blades of their skates.
“Is the pond open for skating?” I asked, thinking I’d like to go skating. I hadn’t been on skates for years, but I’d enjoyed it enormously when I was younger. I’d taken figure-skating lessons when I was a preteen. Let’s just say I turned out to have as much grace on skates as I had singing ability.
“Not yet,” Grace said. “The ice is still too thin and soft to risk it, and the weather forecast is for warming temperatures later in the week. They’re going to the rink in the town park. I suggested it to them at breakfast.”
Chris walked into the lobby and I let out a long breath of relief. He didn’t have an officer with him, which had to mean they weren’t taking him in for . . . further questioning.
“Chris!” I called.
He turned, saw me with Grace, and nodded. He didn’t smile, and his dark expression made the bruising on his face look worse.
“Gotta run,” I said to Grace. “I’ll pass on your message to Mom.”
When I reached Chris, he said, “Let’s get the heck out of here, while I still can.”
I kept my voice low. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer. He left the inn at a rapid trot and I hurried after him, pulling my gloves out of my pocket and putting them on.
We ran down the steps and crossed the parking lot. “Chris! Wait. What happened in there?”
My brother stopped moving only once he’d reached Mom’s car. He flicked the fob to unlock it and the headlights flashed in greeting. He took a deep breath and turned to face me. “She’s not arresting me. At this time. The detective made it clear that she might change her mind when and if it suits her to do so.” He let out a long breath and his shoulders slumped.
I gathered him into my arms, and he let me hold him. We hugged for a long time, and I thought of the ten-year-old boy who’d fallen out of a forbidden tree. Our parents hadn’t been at home, and Chris had counted on his fifteen-year-old sister to comfort him and not tell Mom or Dad why he was limping so badly.
At last he pulled away. His eyes were very wet, and I wondered if he was also remembering the tree incident. “Let’s go to town to talk it over,” he said. “I’m not ready to go back to Mom and Dad’s place yet.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” As if he, or any man, would ever say he wasn’t okay to drive absent a limb in a cast or bandages covering both eyes.
“How about a drink at A Touch of Holly? I can pop into the store and make sure everything’s okay and meet you there.”
“That’ll work.”
“I’m going to ask Dad to join us.”
“Might as well. He’ll hear about it soon enough. Maybe better not to involve Mom? Not yet, anyway.”
“That’s probably wise.” Our mother, operatic diva to her core, could sometimes get a touch . . . overdramatic. I gave Chris another hug and he got into the car. I stood watching as he drove away. He didn’t slow as he passed the line of police vehicles, the watchful cop, and the yellow tape blowing in the cold wind.
Chapter 9
As I trotted across the parking lot toward my own car, I called Dad to tell him the plan. “I don’t want to go into it too much on the phone, but something’s happened, and Chris and I need to talk. I think you should join us.”
“You mean the death at the Yuletide?”
“News travels fast.”
“This is Rudolph,” Dad said. “I didn’t, however, realize you were involved.”
“I’m not, but Chris is. The dead man is Jeff Vanderhaven.”
Dad sucked in a breath. “I was not aware of that. Why was Chris at the Yuletide?”
“That’s one of the things we need to find out. He’s heading for A Touch of Holly, and I’m popping into the store first and then joining him.”
“On my way,” Dad said.
“Don’t tell Mom.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t want to worry her, that’s all.”
“But you can worry me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t keep secrets from Aline, Merry. Don’t you know that after all these years?”
“Well, yeah, but . . .”
“Fortunately for you, she’s teaching at the moment. One of her students has an important performance on New Year’s Eve and her nerves are eating her alive, so your mother agreed to see her today to get in an extra practice.”
I didn’t say I was glad to hear it.
“I’ll come to the store first,” Dad said. “We can go to the restaurant together so Chris doesn’t have to repeat what he needs to say.”
* * *
* * *
Things were hopping at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, and Jackie and Crystal were both helping customers when I came in. A woman put a turkey platter and cake plate on the counter. She tapped her feet, impatient to be served. I ran behind the counter, checked her purchases out, wrapped them in tissue paper, and popped them into a paper bag with handles and the Mrs. Claus’s logo. She thanked me and left.
Jackie straightened a teacup that was part of the display on the main table in the center of the room. The table was set as for a full afternoon tea for six, with a holly-patterned cloth and napkins; two short square glass candlesticks; a centerpiece of wooden cranberry balls in a large glass vase; a full set of Lenox Embassy red, gold, and white china teacups, saucers, and side plates; and a holly berry–patterned three-tiered serving tray. “Have you been this busy all afternoon?” I asked.
“Yeah, we have. A madhouse in here. But don’t worry about it, Merry. I’ve got everything under control, with Crystal’s help. We don’t need you.”
I didn’t much like the sound of that.
“I took Mattie for a walk about half an hour ago,” Jackie said. “I must say, he attracts a lot of attention when he hits the streets. I can’t tell you how many people stopped to admire us. I mean, admire him.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Other duties as assigned, isn’t that what you always say, Merry? He’d spilled his water all over the floor, so I refilled his bowl. Your carpet’s soaking wet, though.” It usually was.
Jackie leaned in closer to me. Instinctively I leaned toward her. “There’s been another murder at the Yuletide Inn, and people are saying you’re involved. Again.”
I jerked back. “I am not involved. I happened to be on the hotel property when the body was discovered. Besides, the police aren’t saying it was a murder. He might have slipped on a patch of ice and hit his head.” I didn’t think that for one minute—the paths at the inn were scrupulously cleared and sanded—but I wasn’t about to encourage the spreading of rumor.
Jackie gave me a broad wink. “Yeah, right. That’s what we’ll tell the tourists. Don’t worry about me, Merry. My lips are sealed. I can keep a secret.”
Maybe she could, but I had my doubts. As for Kyle: I had no doubts at all about him. He would have called Jackie the moment he got the news. Kyle liked to make himself sound important and would have wanted to be sure she knew he was speeding to the scene of a crime to get a scoop for the newspaper. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize–winning photo to go along with it. Good thing Chris and I’d left the garden before Russ and Kyle arrived. Russ was a friend, but he was a journalist above all.
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “You know the success of our town depends on it having the reputation of being a safe, family-friendly destination. And the success of this store, where you work, depends on the success of Rudolph. We wouldn’t want wild rumors about people being murdered to get around, now, would we?”
“Oh no, Merry. We wouldn’t wan
t that.” She avoided my eyes.
“Good. I have to go out again—”
“Again!”
“Something’s come up. Something to do with my family.”
“Your family? Is everyone okay?”
“They’re all fine. Just a . . . business matter.”
“You go, Merry.” She scrunched her face up and gave me one sharp nod. “Nothing’s more important than family. I can run the store while you’re away. Again. I’ll check on Mattie if you don’t get back soon. Speaking of family. Hi, Noel. Are you okay?”
“Me?” Dad said. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Jackie smiled at him. He smiled back. Today’s sweater was black, white, and red, with a row of grinning snowmen holding hands across Dad’s round belly.
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jackie said. “I did. Thank you.”
More smiling. Jackie and my father were starting to look like the snowpeople on his sweater.
“Crystal seems to be trying to juggle a lot at the moment, Jackie,” I said. “Maybe you should give her a hand.”
“Oh, okay.” Jackie went to relieve Crystal of the stack of jewelry boxes she was holding while a customer studied each piece and dithered over which would be best.
“Excuse me,” a woman said as Jackie passed. “Do you have this in blue?”
“Blue?”
“Yes, blue.” She was pointing to a red and green linen tablecloth. We didn’t have it in blue. This was a Christmas store; we carried almost nothing in blue.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” Dad said. “But I couldn’t help but overhearing. If I may say, madam, you don’t want blue for your holiday table setting. The red and gold would go much better with the new decor you’re planning for your dining room.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely.” Dad lifted a red tablecloth trimmed in gold off the display and handed it to her. He added a box of matching napkins.
