Hollyberry Homicide

by Sharon Farrow

  “I thought you were retired.”

  “Some things you never retire from.” His Santa grin turned even merrier as our drinks arrived. Hot tea for me, and a boilermaker for Gareth.

  I watched in amazement as he dropped the shot of whiskey into his beer, then downed the contents in seconds. He raised his hand for another.

  By the time our orders of fish-and-chips arrived, Gareth had slammed down three boilermakers. And ordered a fourth. I’d made enough small talk to be polite. Time to ask him pointed questions about Everett Hostetter. Considering how much alcohol he’d drunk, I’d better do it before he became incoherent.

  “You and Katrina May didn’t seem on friendly terms.”

  “She’s used to be being the all-knowing one in the room. Passing on messages from the dead.” He wiggled his fingers in a mocking gesture. “That’s how she got Everett’s attention.”

  “By passing on messages from the dead?”

  “My boss also liked the way she looked.” Gareth’s grin turned lascivious.

  “Everett didn’t seem like a man who chased women.”

  “He was still a man. Especially if there were added benefits.”

  “I don’t understand. Any more than I understand why he asked Katrina to marry him.”

  “Mainly a business arrangement. Katrina’s readings can be remarkably accurate. Too bad she can’t come up with the winning lottery numbers.”

  “I assumed there was a financial incentive for Katrina. But what did Everett get out of it? Aside from the obvious.”

  He chuckled. “There’s nothing obvious about why he married her. But he regretted it. Katrina regrets not asking for a bigger divorce settlement. And it’s hard for a person who claims to be all knowing to now find herself in the dark. She’s angry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know more than she does.” He leaned over the table. The alcohol on his breath made me reel back. “You see, I know what’s in Everett’s will. I drew it up for him. And it looks like none of those spirits she talks to have figured out the details of the will.”

  “What are the details?”

  Gareth hiccuped. “That’s a secret.”

  “Everett’s dead. Don’t his beneficiaries have a right to know?”

  “Who are his beneficiaries, according to the will? They have no idea. But I do.”

  “When will they find out?” I asked.

  “When I file it with the probate court. I’m taking my own sweet time about it.”

  “Anthony and Everett lived together. His uncle must have kept a copy of the will in their house. All Anthony has to do is pull it out and read it.”

  “Everett didn’t keep his will at the house. And I have the only other copy.” His fourth boilermaker arrived. He quickly reached for it.

  “Why don’t you get some food in your stomach before drinking again,” I suggested.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when he grabbed a piece of fried fish from the plastic basket.

  “Since Anthony is his nephew and Janelle his daughter—”

  “Illegitimate daughter,” Gareth broke in.

  “That doesn’t matter. Janelle is Everett’s child. It would be only fair for Janelle and Anthony to be named his heirs.”

  “Who said Everett was fair?” He chuckled. “The man didn’t even draw up a will until this past year. As if death would somehow pass him by. Well, Everett is dead and I’m in charge. And I plan to keep everyone guessing.”

  I understood why Janelle and Katrina didn’t like Gareth. He enjoyed playing games. “I don’t blame people for wanting to know the contents. After all, he was wealthy.”

  “Not as wealthy as he once was,” Gareth said with a mouthful of fish. “That’s why he kept selling off his companies. But he still was rich enough to rule the roost.” Gareth threw his head back and yelled, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”

  This promised to be a long dinner.

  “It’s sadistic not to let everyone know what’s in the will.” With my own stomach growling, I took a big bite of the piping hot fish.

  “Don’t waste your time worrying about the vultures.”

  “Janelle and Anthony?”

  “Don’t forget Katrina. They believe they’ll be compensated for their mighty efforts.”

  “Were they?”

  “Maybe.” He dropped another shot of whiskey into his latest beer. I hoped he’d be able to walk out of here on his own two feet. Otherwise, I’d need a sleigh and eight reindeer.

  “What mighty efforts?”

  Gareth took a long swig of alcohol. “They had to promise to be good little girls and boys. Not an easy thing for that unholy trio to pull off. But money is a wonderful motivator.”

  As I suspected, it was no accident that everyone ended up in Oriole Point nine years ago. “Then Everett asked the three of them to move to Oriole Point.”

  “When Everett Hostetter wanted something, he never asked. He demanded. He took.” Gareth paused. “He threatened.”

  “Did he threaten them?”

  Gareth pointed at me with a greasy finger. “You’re a sharp little cookie.”

  “If Everett threatened all three of his possible heirs, he could only do that if they’d done something bad in the past.”

  He closed his eyes. “Listen. It’s my favorite Christmas song.”

  Michael Bublé’s version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” boomed over the bar’s speakers. Gareth began to sing along with Michael at the top of his lungs.

  Given Gareth’s inebriation, I thought it best to eat dinner and let him finish the song. I kept a cautious eye on him as he swayed back and forth. A few times he almost toppled over.

  When the song ended, Gareth held the final note even longer than Michael, eliciting a wave of cheers and applause from the bar and booths. From behind the bar, Chuck yelled, “That deserves a round on me!”

  I frowned when Chuck brought Gareth’s fifth drink. “I think Gareth has had enough.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Chuck leaned down. “Don’t worry. I always cut him off after six.”

  “Six! You let him drink six boilermakers in a row!”

  But Chuck went off to greet a new group coming through the door.

  “Don’t worry, Marlee.” Gareth patted my hand. “I hardly ever pass out.”

  “Please stop drinking,” I begged as he dropped the whiskey and the shot glass into the latest boilermaker. “And don’t put the glass in your drink. It’s not sanitary.”

  Gareth shook his head and laughed. “You’re so cute.”

  Since I couldn’t dissuade Gareth, I decided I might as well try to get more information from him. Before he died from alcohol poisoning. “Okay. So all three of them have a shady past. I know Anthony framed his friend and business partner, who later killed himself in prison.”

  Gareth squirted half a plastic bottle of ketchup on his fries. “Never liked Anthony. Lazy. Entitled. A real trust-fund baby. A shame. His daddy was a brilliant surgeon. Nice guy, too.”

  “Did his father set up the trust fund for him?”

  “Dr. Thorne didn’t have that kind of money. No, Grandma Hostetter took a fancy to Anthony when he was an obnoxious toddler. She created a trust fund for the brat. Which he couldn’t touch until he was twenty-five.” Gareth’s eyes brightened as “Jingle Bell Rock” boomed from the speakers. “I love this song, too!”

  Before he could start singing again, I asked, “What happened to Anthony after he got his hands on the trust fund?”

  “He blew it all on women, cars, fancy houses. He threw parties that cost a fortune. Then there were bad investments, bogus real estate properties. When the trust fund ran out, he went to old Uncle Everett, asking for a job in the family business. Everett turned him down flat.”

  Hard to blame Everett. Anthony didn’t sound like he’d be a desirable employee.

  Gareth belched. “Lucky for Anthony that his college buddy Justin had money. The two of them started up that company in California. The one An
thony proceeded to loot.”

  “Assuming I’ve got the time line right, Anthony moved to Oriole Point a few months after his business partner killed himself.” I took a sip of tea.

  “Yeah.” Gareth gave me a bleary gaze. “Anthony and Everett moved here together.”

  “Since Anthony’s company went bust, he obviously needed money again. A rich uncle probably seemed like the best option, even though Everett had turned him down before.”

  “Anthony had no choice. After the trial, no bank or investor would come near him.”

  “Why didn’t Anthony go to his mother for help? The other day you said she and Everett had controlling shares in the family company. So she had access to the Hostetter money.”

  “Sarah had given her son money over the years, all of which he squandered. But after his friend’s suicide, she refused to give him another penny. Sarah knew Anthony well enough to realize he engineered Justin’s downfall.”

  Gareth swigged down half of his latest boilermaker. With his nose reddening after each drink, and his fur-trimmed cap askew, Santa looked blotto.

  “I think it’s time to cut you off.” I moved his half-empty glass away from him.

  He yanked it back. “No way, José. You promised to buy Santa dinner. That includes drinks.” Gareth chugged the rest of his beer and whiskey, then held it aloft. “One more!”

  “Oh, Lord,” I murmured as Gareth reached for another piece of fish.

  “Did the Thornes have other children besides Anthony?” I asked.

  “Anthony was their one and only. They did what they could to curb his worst tendencies. But Granny’s trust fund let him be as reckless as he wanted. Good thing his father died before the scandal with Justin. Anthony broke his mama’s heart after he drove his friend to suicide.” Gareth shook his head. “She cut him out of her life. Completely.”

  “Which explains why he came to Oriole Point and danced to his uncle’s tune.”

  “Oh, Everett Hostetter made certain Anthony had no recourse but him. He even convinced Sarah to remove Anthony from her will. Everett told Sarah if she gave her son any financial help—now or after she died—it would ruin her son completely. She believed him.”

  “Did Anthony know his uncle got him disinherited?”

  “Everett told him. Part of his plan, you see.” He giggled. “When Everett dangled the prospect of being named in his will, Anthony had no other options.”

  “Then the price for being his possible heir was that Anthony had to clean up his act.”

  Gareth slammed his hand on the table. “Bingo!”

  Chuck brought over a sixth boilermaker.

  “Who is Janelle’s mother?” I asked after Chuck left.

  Gareth hiccuped. “She died years ago. Car accident in Green Bay. Alcohol-related.”

  I looked at all the empty glasses on the table. Thank heaven Gareth didn’t have to drive home. “How did she and Everett meet?” I thought about the age difference between Everett and Katrina. “She must have been quite a bit younger than him.”

  Pointing at the wall speaker, he belted out, “ ‘Jingle bell time is a swell time’!”

  As the verse ended, I asked again, “Who was Janelle’s mother?”

  Gareth looked puzzled for a moment, as though he’d forgotten where we were. “Candice Walker. A secretary for Hostetter Inc. in Wisconsin. Although we call them admin assistants now.” He seemed to find that funny.

  “And she and Everett had a relationship.”

  He snorted. “Everett didn’t have relationships. Candice was an attractive young woman who worked for him. He also liked brunettes. Women who reminded him of Diane Cleverly.” Gareth wagged a finger at me. “Everett would have found you most appealing.”

  I cringed at the thought. “How long were Everett and Candice involved?”

  “Not long. There were other female employees he demanded sexual favors from. They didn’t have much choice if they wanted to keep their positions at the company. When the women became troublesome, Everett fired them. Or paid them to keep quiet.” Gareth burped once more. “I know because I paid them off.”

  I was starting to lose my appetite.

  “Sometimes I had to threaten them. Scare them so they wouldn’t make trouble. And don’t look so disapproving, Marlee Barley. Things were different back then.”

  “Janelle’s in her midthirties. It’s not like we’re talking about medieval England.”

  “But this was long before that You Too movement.”

  “Me Too,” I corrected him.

  He took another gulp from his boilermaker. “Whatever. Candice got pregnant. Tried to get as much money out of the situation as possible. Everett fired her. He asked me to handle it.”

  I was glad now that I’d never become friends with Gareth. He made my skin crawl. “Was it a sense of guilt that made Everett ask Janelle to move here?”

  He laughed. “You’re funny, Marlee.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “Everett brought her to Oriole Point because Janelle had been naughty. Like Anthony.” Gareth launched into his rendition of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.” All three verses and the chorus.

  “Can we get back to our conversation?” I asked when he finished.

  He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “What conversation?”

  “You said Janelle Davenport had been naughty. But Janelle is a police officer. As far as I know, she’s been one for many years. Here and in Wisconsin.”

  “True.” He tried to prop his elbow on the table, but was too unsteady to pull it off. “But she was a bad cop. Crooked. Took bribes. Stole contraband confiscated from crime scenes. Helped send innocent people to prison. All with the help of fellow bad apples in the department. Right before she came here, Internal Affairs investigated her. Everett made sure the evidence against her went away. When you’re rich, you can do that.”

  I found this troubling in the extreme. “Does Chief Hitchcock know about her past?”

  Gareth tipped back his glass and finished it off. “No reason he should. Janelle has kept her nose clean since joining the Oriole Point police force.”

  At that moment, Janelle and Officer Bruno Wycoff walked past the Sandy Shoals Saloon. Both were in uniform. While Bruno grinned at the sight of Santa and me kicking it back at the bar, Janelle did not look amused. I was grateful neither officer came inside to confront us.

  “What about Katrina?” I asked after they moved on.

  Gareth’s eyes were now at half-mast. “Who’s Katrina?”

  I wanted to hang my head in frustration. “Katrina May.”

  He carefully placed both elbows on the table. “Are there two of you? I see two Marlees.”

  “I’m not surprised. Gareth, what did Katrina do to deserve a place in Everett’s will? Was it because they were married?”

  “More than that. She was his accomplint. I mean, his accomplish. His accompent.”

  “Do you mean his accomplice?”

  “See! You already knew.”

  “His accomplice in what?”

  When he bent forward, his long beard fell into his fish basket. “In scaring his sister.”

  “Why did they want to scare her?”

  “Why else? Money. And they did a good job.” Gareth swayed back and forth, his eyes fluttering. “Too good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought it was obvious, Barney.”

  “Marlee. And what’s obvious?”

  “That Everett and Katrina scared her to death.”

  I gasped. “They killed his sister?”

  Gareth opened his mouth wide, but it was only to yell, “Ho, ho, ho!”

  Then he fell face forward into his basket of fish and chips.

  If I wanted more information, I’d have to wait until Santa sobered up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After several regulars from the Sandy Shoals Saloon offered to take a drunken Gareth back to his house, I gave a stern lecture to Chuck ab
out overserving his customers. I almost threatened to report him to the police, but I didn’t want to interact with Janelle. At least not until I discovered the truth about Gareth’s allegations.

  I also doubted I’d be welcome at the bar again.

  My dinner left me little time to get ready for Everett’s memorial. I sped home to change out of my black jeans and candy cane sweater. On the way to the museum, I called Kit, but it went to voice mail. I debated whether to leave a long message, but thought better of it. A triple homicide outweighed the allegations of a drunken woodcarver who moonlighted as Santa.

  Because Diane had closed the museum earlier, I knocked on the door. While waiting for someone to let me in, I looked at the endless snowdrifts on the museum grounds. Enough snow had fallen to ensure a lavishly white Christmas. With more snow predicted for later tonight.

  The wide door opened to reveal Diane Cleverly. Dressed in black, she looked pale and wan, like a Victorian widow. Even her jewelry was black. At least she stopped short of draping a black veil over her upswept white hair. Her grief must be even greater than I thought.

  “No need to knock,” she said. “I left the door unlocked.”

  “Hi, Diane. I hope I’m not late.”

  “Two board members haven’t arrived yet. They called to say they’re on the way.”

  She ushered me inside. The dimly lit main floor threw shadows on the toy train displays.

  “Where are you holding the memorial?”

  “Second-floor meeting room. Everyone is here, aside from the rest of the board. Oh, and Gareth Holmes.”

  We headed up the stairs. “Gareth isn’t coming.” I told her.

  Diane stopped. “He was Everett’s attorney for decades. Of course he’ll be here.”

  “We had dinner earlier. I’m afraid he had too much to drink.”

  She frowned. “I suspect it was on purpose. Too many people in Everett’s life have a guilty conscience. But it shouldn’t prevent them from honoring his memory.”

  Because I knew she was the only person who genuinely mourned his passing, I didn’t mention that Everett didn’t seem to be worth remembering. Which made the whole memorial service an uncomfortable prospect. And hypocritical of me.