by Vicki Delany
“You might be right,” she said. “I’m thinking of painting the dining room in a neutral color. Richard, that’s my husband, says the blue that’s on the walls now looks very out of date.”
“An excellent decision,” Dad said.
The woman carried her purchases to the checkout and I rang them up.
Jackie relieved Crystal of the stack of jewelry boxes. “Why don’t I put these down over here,” she said to the customer, “while you finish making your selection.”
“Everything’s so lovely,” the woman said. “I simply can’t decide.”
“A gift for your grandmother, perhaps?” Dad said.
She blinked. “Well, yes. Actually, that is what I’m looking for. I don’t think I said that, did I?”
Dad took a wreath brooch set with tiny colored stones to resemble lights off the display table. “Elderly ladies, in my experience, love brooches. Those earrings you were admiring are beautiful but perhaps suited more to a younger woman, such as yourself. This piece would accent your grandmother’s holiday outfit perfectly, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well, yes. I’m visiting my grandmother for dinner tonight, and we’ll open our presents then. She’ll be dressed to the nines in honor of the occasion, as she always does. I’ll take the brooch, thank you. You’re right. She’ll love it.”
Dad handed it to her with a slight bow and a flourish.
“And maybe these earrings for myself.” She giggled. “It is still Christmas, right?”
“In Rudolph,” Dad said, “it’s always Christmas.”
Crystal’s mouth had fallen open. She snapped it shut. “How did you . . . ?” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Ready to go, Merry?” Dad asked.
I exchanged a glance with Crystal and shook my own head. I know my dad isn’t really Santa Claus, but sometimes . . .
Chapter 10
We found Chris and Scott Abramsky huddled over frosty mugs at a small table in the corner of the crowded bar at A Touch of Holly. Scott leapt to his feet when Dad and I arrived.
“Mr. Wilkinson, nice to see you. Merry, hi.”
He grabbed his mug of beer. “I’ll leave you people to it. I’m sure you have family stuff to talk about. Chris, let’s grab a beer while you’re home. Talk about the old days.”
“Sure,” Chris said, without much enthusiasm.
Scott carried his beer to the far side of the bar, where he joined two older people, probably his parents.
Dad and I sat down.
“It’s nice that young people can get good jobs these days if they stay in Rudolph.” Dad waved at a passing waitress. “Roots are important.” He gave me a grin. “Even nicer when they move back again.”
“If that’s a hint, Dad,” Chris said, “there’s not a lot of work designing stage sets in Rudolph.”
I laughed. “I could have used your help with my float in this year’s parade. I thought I had a sure winner with Mattie, a barrel of brandy tied under his chin, and the theme of the Saint Bernard monastery in the Alps. But nope, still not good enough.”
“Bringing in a ringer,” Dad said, “would not be fair.”
“Who said anything about playing fair?”
“Afternoon, Noel. Merry. What can I get you?” The waitress appeared at our table. Dad said he’d have what Chris was having, and I asked for a glass of white wine.
Both the bar area and the dining room were filling up as the dinner hour approached, and the noise level was steadily increasing. I don’t normally care for noisy restaurants, but today that was a good thing. We could huddle together and talk without worrying about being overheard.
Chris took a sip of his beer. His face was dark and troubled, and he’d barely cracked a smile at Dad’s and my banter.
“Have you heard from Diane Simmonds again?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“First things first,” I said. “What were you doing at the Yuletide Inn this afternoon?”
Chris twisted his mug between his hands and kept his head down. His hair stuck out in all directions, as though he’d been rubbing his fingers through it. “Mom and I met for lunch, and she told me you were joining Luanne at the inn at two thirty to meet with Mark about the wedding menu. I . . . decided I needed to talk to her.”
“About what happened last night?” Dad asked.
“Yes. Okay, maybe it was a dumb move, but Luanne and I had been close once. That sort of puppy love might not last, but the feelings it generates toward the other person do.”
“If you say so,” I said. “I don’t even remember the name of my first boyfriend, much less have any warm comfy feelings about him.”
“Carl Estevan,” Dad said. “He was one year above you. His family lived on Oak Street. His parents still do, although Carl’s gone to Los Angeles to try to have an acting career. Which doesn’t seem to be coming to anything. About which I’m not entirely surprised, as he wasn’t what you’d call good-looking. Or even charming. He has a big head, though. That’s an advantage for an actor. Looks better on camera.”
I stared at my dad. “How do you know that, if even I don’t?”
“Your mother told me. A big head looks better on camera.”
“I don’t mean the size of an actor’s head! I mean about Carl. I’d totally forgotten him until now.”
Dad tapped the side of his nose.
Maybe there was a downside to having Santa Claus as a father after all.
“Uh,” Chris said, “can we get back to the reason we’re here?”
“Sorry,” Dad and I chorused.
“Here you go.” The waitress put our drinks on the table. “Tell me, Noel,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “What’s it like to travel the entire world in twenty-four hours?”
“Tiring. I don’t see much because the reindeer don’t let me stop and admire the sights.”
She chuckled and walked away.
Dad likes playing the role of Santa, and he knows how important it is to the success of the town, but recently he decided it was time to hand the job over to some new blood. Unfortunately, Wayne Fitzroy wanted to be the new blood, and Wayne turned out not to have the interests of the people of Rudolph at heart. Dad had stepped back into the role in time to save the Santa Claus parade.
Unfortunately, we weren’t gathered here today to celebrate the Christmas spirit.
I took a sip of my wine. It was delicious: cold and crisp.
“I went to the inn thinking maybe I could try to talk some sense into Luanne,” Chris said. “She’d have been making a big mistake if she married that guy. She obviously doesn’t love him.”
“It shouldn’t be up to you to point out the obvious,” Dad said.
Chris threw up his hands. “Okay, it was a mistake. I get it. When Mom and I finished lunch, we went our separate ways. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened last night. Luanne crying, Jeff punching me. If he’s the sort to take out his anger on a total stranger . . . I decided to talk to her. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. She needed to think the whole thing through, calmly and sensibly, and come to a decision. I guess I hoped I could help her understand that. More fool me.”
I said nothing. Chris, as Mom had told me earlier, had a big heart. He should have realized that any attempt on his part to get Luanne to reconsider her marriage plans would make it look, in her eyes, as though he wanted to be the one joining her at the altar.
“You went to the inn,” Dad said. “What happened then?”
“Mom said Merry and Luanne were meeting at two thirty. I was early, because I wanted to be there when Luanne arrived and get it over and done with, but I went into the hotel to see if Merry’d arrived yet. The receptionist said she hadn’t seen you come in.”
“I probably got there soon after you. I saw Mom’s car in the parking lot. I was also early,
because I wanted to check out the venue before meeting Mark to generate some ideas as to what I could do for the table settings.”
“I stood around the lobby for a couple of minutes,” Chris said. “I can’t say for how long. I decided to get some air and try to think over what I was going to say to Luanne. I didn’t want her . . . misunderstanding the point I was trying to make.”
“She would have,” I said. “Misunderstood. Because she wanted to.”
“I was standing on the steps when this fancy Porsche pulled up. Nice wheels. It parked in a handicapped space, and who got out but the completely unhandicapped Jeff Vanderhaven. He checked his watch, looked around, checked his watch again, and then headed toward the gardens.”
“So you followed him,” Dad said.
“Not right away. I went back inside. I dithered a bit, unsure of what to do.”
“That must have been when I arrived,” I said. “We must have just missed each other. I saw Mom’s car and figured she was visiting Grace. I also saw Jeff’s Porsche. I didn’t want to run into him, so I didn’t go inside. I took a walk in the gardens, thinking maybe I could create something winter-woodsy for the wedding.”
“Do you know what time this was?” Dad asked.
“Ten after two,” I said. “I checked the clock in the car, wondering how much time I had before meeting with Mark and Luanne.”
Dad turned to Chris. “What did you do then?”
“I decided,” Chris said, “that rather than talk to Luanne, I’d talk to Jeff. Ask him if he was sure he was doing the right thing by her.”
It was my turn to throw up my hands. “Oh, Chris. How naïve can you be?”
He lowered his head even farther. “Obviously I can be very naïve. Last night Jeff had been drinking. Some men get overly aggressive when they drink, can’t listen to reason. I hoped that in the light of day, he’d listen to me.”
“Did you see Merry’s car when you went back outside?” Dad asked.
“No,” Chris said, “but I wasn’t looking for it. It must have been around that time, though, I’d guess about quarter after two.”
“And then . . . ?” Dad prompted.
“I followed him, thinking it’d be better if we talked away from where Luanne and her mom and Merry would be meeting. I went down the path after him.”
“How much time passed, do you think,” Dad said, “between Jeff going into the garden and you following?”
“Five to ten minutes, maybe? Give or take one or two.”
“Did you see anyone else in the garden?” I asked.
“There were people around. Lots of people. The Yuletide’s a busy place at Christmas. I didn’t notice anyone going down that particular path. Then again, maybe someone did and I didn’t see them. I was pacing up and down, trying to make up my mind what to do.” Chris kept his eyes, and his hands, on his mug and avoided looking at us. “Then, once I did decide, I was focused on that. Not paying attention to much else around me.”
“Take your time, son,” Dad said. “Tell us what happened next.”
“Once I decided to follow Jeff, I ran. Once I’d made up my mind, I suppose I was afraid I’d change it again. I crossed the driveway and went down the main path that leads to the center of the gardens. I got to the point where the paths diverge and I wasn’t sure which way to turn. The paths had been recently shoveled, so there were no tracks I could follow. I’d pretty much decided to go back to the inn and wait there when I heard someone shout. I followed the sound and came into that small clearing on the other side of the hedge where there’s that statue of a girl and a dog.” Chris took a deep breath. I reached across the table and rubbed my fingers lightly across the back of his hand. “Jeff was there,” Chris said, “next to the statue. He was lying on the snow, on his back, looking up at me. I probably shouted something, asked him if he was okay. Even though he obviously wasn’t. I knelt down next to him, thinking I could do CPR or something. I must have touched his head. And then Merry was there and that gardener.”
“You didn’t see anyone else?” Dad asked.
Chris shook his head.
“Did you tell Detective Simmonds all this?” I asked.
Chris nodded. “I don’t think she believed me.”
“Diane plays her cards close to her chest,” Dad said. “Don’t try to read anything into her behavior or you’ll drive yourself nuts.”
“She told me not to leave town.”
“What did you say to that?”
“I have a job to get back to. A major Broadway production to get ready for opening night. She said, ‘Too bad.’ Or words to that effect.”
I took a sip of my wine as my thoughts tumbled all over themselves. Chris must have arrived on the scene minutes, maybe even seconds, after the person who’d attacked Jeff fled. I’d been nearby, but on the other side of the thick hedge. I hadn’t been paying attention, so caught up was I in planning the wedding ceremony. I suppose Jeff could have fallen and hit his head, but the clearing wasn’t icy and the snow around it was fresh. Despite being deep in my own thoughts, I had been aware of something. “I might have heard Jeff and his killer.”
“Did you recognize anyone?” Dad asked.
“No. I didn’t see them. I heard a shout, that’s about all. And then sort of a groan or a cry, but I didn’t make out any words. I can’t even say if it was a man or a woman. I told Simmonds.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Dad’s face was creased into deep worry lines. “The police will question Jeff’s friends and acquaintances as to their whereabouts at the time in question and arrest the person responsible—if someone was responsible and it wasn’t an unfortunate accident.”
“That’s right,” I said with far more confidence than I felt. “He’s the sort of man who makes enemies everywhere he goes.”
“How do you know that?” Dad asked. “You only met him briefly, although not under the most agreeable of circumstances.”
“Anyone,” I said, “who parks an ostentatious car in a handicapped space they don’t need is the sort to leave a trail of enemies behind him.”
Chris lifted his head and gave me a weak grin.
“I’m sure this’ll all be wrapped up in a matter of days, if not hours,” Dad said.
“But what if it isn’t?” Chris said. “The detective thinks I did it. I can see why she’d think that. I was found with the body.”
“Did you kill Jeff Vanderhaven?” Dad asked.
Chris straightened in his chair. He lifted his chin and looked at Dad; he looked at me. “I most certainly did not.”
“Good. Then it will all get sorted out.” Dad stroked his beard.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I’m thinking it wouldn’t hurt if I did a bit of discreet investigating myself.”
“Investigating what?” Chris asked. “How can I help?”
“Not you. You’re to stay completely under the police radar. The Vanderhaven family is well known in these parts in the business world, and their reputation isn’t entirely positive. They have”—Dad coughed lightly—“sometimes been suspected of not always operating completely aboveboard.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Meaning, where there’s illegal—even just slightly illegal—money, there are often motives for murder. Particularly in real estate development. Rumors have been swirling for months that the Vanderhaven company’s looking to acquire land to build an amusement park in Muddle Harbor.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. It just so happens that Randy Baumgartner, mayor of Muddle Harbor, owns a prime piece of undeveloped land that some say is of interest to the developers. The matter’s come to the attention of the Rudolph town council, although, as far as we know, no contracts have been signed.”
“You think someone killed Jeff over an amusement p
ark?” Chris said.
“I’m not counting it out,” Dad replied. “Once we’re finished here, I’ll get on the phone and start asking around. I have community and business contacts Diane Simmonds does not. If I discover anything I think might be relevant, I’ll tell her.”
“Didn’t someone recently mention that Harvey Ireland is trying to unload a plot of land near Muddle Harbor?” I said. “Might that be connected?”
“It’s possible,” Dad said.
“I can do some digging, too,” I said. “I saw a woman, a young, attractive woman, at the inn earlier. She was highly distraught and interested in the police activity, but she was whisked away before I could find out who she was. Maybe Jeff had more than one woman in his life.”
“That might be significant,” Dad said. “If he did have another girlfriend, when Luanne moved the wedding date forward, it would have put him in a pickle.”
“I have to say,” I pointed out, “that Jeff didn’t seem to care much about the change in plans. Harvey Ireland minded, though. His major concern seemed to be about the increased cost of the wedding. Luanne told me he asked the Vanderhavens to help with the expenses and Louis refused.”
“Best way I can think of to get out of paying for a wedding,” Chris said, “is to bump off the groom.”
“Yes,” I said, “but a lot of the money’s been spent already. The deposit on the hall. The bride’s dress.”
“No point in speculating,” Dad said. “‘It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.’”
My dad was a big Sherlock Holmes fan.
“We should probably get home. I don’t want your mother to find out about this via the grapevine. However, she’ll be with her student for a while yet. Another drink wouldn’t hurt.”
“Sure,” Chris said.
I was about to say Not for me, as I had to get back to the store to help with closing, when my phone rang. I checked the display: Jackie. “I have to get this. In case she’s calling to tell me the store’s on fire.”
Dad peered out the window. “No sign of it.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
“Good.” Jackie kept her voice low. “She’s here and she wants to talk to you.”
