Hollyberry Homicide

by Sharon Farrow

  “The tree’s toppled over three times,” I said. “The last time it nearly fell on the FedEx guy.”

  “Then why are we standing so close to it?” Dean offered me his arm.

  But we’d only taken a few steps when a gust of wind almost knocked us over. Snow blinded us and we bent our heads.

  “Are there hurricanes in Michigan?” he shouted.

  Because the wind was so strong, we turned our backs to it. Just in time to see the giant Christmas tree fall again.

  We exchanged puzzled looks. “Should we tell someone?” I asked.

  “No. They’ll figure it out soon enough.” The blast of wind mercifully died down. “Besides, this time it fell where there’s nothing but a park bench and the rose garden.”

  “Then let’s go. The songbooks await.”

  Linked arm in arm once more, we set off for city hall. We had just reached the group when a scream rang out.

  Everyone froze as the screams continued.

  One of the carolers gestured in the direction we came from. “The tree fell again.”

  Dean and I looked at each other. “Maybe it did fall on someone,” I said.

  We ran as a group back to the tree. Over a dozen others already milled about the village square.

  A woman pointed at the pile of snowy branches. “There’s someone under the tree!”

  A mob of us grabbed the branches and trunk to lift it.

  “It’s Santa!” someone yelled. “We need a doctor!”

  As soon as the tree was lifted and placed off to the side, people clustered about the motionless figure of Santa Claus. It had to be Gareth.

  Dean and I pushed through the crowd to kneel beside him.

  “Is he okay?” Dean said.

  I heard more than one person call EMS on their cell phone. Others reached for his pulse. But Gareth’s half-open, unblinking eyes told me it was too late.

  And why was a sprig of holly actually pinned to his chest?

  “ ‘Buried with a stake of holly through his heart,’ ” I murmured.

  “What did you say?” Dean asked me.

  I sat back, shaken. “I said Gareth Holmes was murdered.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The crowd grew so quickly, I wondered if the whole thing had been posted on YouTube. Dean seemed stunned. I was pretty stunned myself. Someone shoved me out of the way before I could get a closer look at Gareth’s body.

  Janelle Davenport ripped open Santa’s jacket and began to give him CPR. Officer Bruno Wycoff squatted beside her. He called for an ambulance on his phone.

  “About ten people already called 911,” I told them.

  They ignored me. But no one could ignore Piper’s distressed arrival.

  “Move aside!” she ordered. “Let me through. What’s going on?”

  Someone shouted, “The Christmas tree fell on top of Santa Claus!”

  A mother in the gathering picked up her toddler and hurried off. Smart move. This wasn’t a Christmas memory I’d want my child to have.

  Piper caught sight of Janelle giving CPR and gasped. “Gareth!”

  “I’m afraid he’s dead,” I told Piper.

  This caused a ripple through the crowd. I didn’t understand the shocked reaction. It seemed evident to anyone paying attention.

  “Impossible.” Piper waved me aside. “He can’t be dead!”

  “I think he can,” I said. “The question is why.”

  “A heart attack caused by the shock of being knocked over,” Dean suggested.

  Janelle shot Piper an accusing glance. “Sounds likely. After all, what amounted to a redwood fell on top of him.”

  Bruno examined the body. “Looks like he hit the ground hard when he fell. Cause of death might be a closed-head injury.”

  Indeed, the square had been kept cleared of snow for the festival. When Gareth fell, he landed on cement, much of it iced over.

  I scanned the paved circle where the festival tree had been set up. It normally held a statue of Piper’s ancestor Benjamin Lyall, who founded Oriole Point in 1830. But Piper had been so determined to make this the best Hollyberry Festival ever, she’d arranged for the statue to be temporarily relocated to the adjacent rose garden. It required a dozen men to move it. And to transport the Christmas tree.

  In addition, a park bench stood within the circle. I estimated how far Gareth’s body lay from the edge of the wrought-iron seat. He could have hit his head on the bench as he fell to the ground. My first thought was that Gareth had been murdered. However, his death might be a tragic example of wrong place/ wrong time.

  Piper grabbed my arm. “This is terrible!”

  “I know. Gareth was so happy earlier today. It’s tragic.”

  “Yes, sad. Very sad. But what an appalling way to end the festival. Santa dead under the town Christmas tree!” She yanked her beret off in frustration. “No one will ever forget this.”

  Katrina May pushed to the front of the crowd. Upon seeing Gareth, she covered her mouth with her hands. I stepped back to allow her through.

  She knelt beside the body. “I knew it. I felt something bad would happen.”

  “Let’s everyone move back,” Janelle ordered. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

  “Please do as the officer says.” Piper waved everyone in the opposite direction. “Just an unfortunate accident. Please move along.”

  But more people joined the crowd, including Suzanne, Gillian, Theo, and a fur-clad Natasha. Street lamps revealed everyone’s alarmed expression. Except for that of Anthony Thorne, who appeared exasperated.

  He stepped around the huge branches of the tree that now covered most of the paved circle. A stray ornament lay in his path and he kicked it aside. “What the hell happened, Janelle?”

  “What does it look like?” she said with a sneer. “Gareth is dead.”

  “No way.” Anthony squatted down beside Katrina. “How did he die?”

  Janelle snorted. “Look around, Einstein. A giant tree fell on top of him.”

  Dean cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Marlee and I were here when it did.”

  Janelle shot to her feet. “I should have known people from the berry store would be involved. What were the two of you doing here?”

  “Dean and I were supposed to meet the carolers at the tree,” I explained, “but they changed the meeting place at the last moment.”

  “Good thing I did,” Piper said. “The tree might have fallen on the carolers.”

  “I sensed death around him.” Katrina laid a hand on Gareth’s chest. “Poor man.”

  Anthony didn’t even pretend to be shocked. Instead, he brushed snow off the dead man’s white fur collar. I thought he should have been instructed to not touch the body, but Janelle had fixed her attention on Dean and me.

  “Did either of you see Gareth before the tree fell on him?” Janelle asked.

  Dean shook his head.

  “I thought we were alone,” I added. “There was a gust from the lake and the tree collapsed.”

  “And what did you do?”

  Dean and I exchanged sheepish looks. “Nothing,” I said. “We left to meet the others at city hall.”

  “Why didn’t you report it?”

  “Report what?” I gestured at the mountainous pile of evergreen before us. “This thing has fallen over at least once a day. We figured someone in authority would eventually notice.”

  “And who were we supposed to report it to?” Dean sounded exasperated.

  “How about the police?” Janelle asked.

  “Maybe the police should have kept a closer eye on things,” Piper said. “I believe this is a case of vandalism.”

  “Don’t try to place the blame on us,” Janelle snarled.

  “Piper, this wasn’t vandalism,” I said. “Winter gusts from the lake keep knocking the tree over. Count yourself lucky Gareth was the first person it fell on. Otherwise, the town might be in for a lawsuit.”

  Janelle’s bellicose attention once more f
ocused on Piper. “Oh, I think legal action is still in order. This tree was far too large for the space intended. And it was never installed correctly. Your negligence is to blame for this accident.”

  Piper’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon. You have no right to—”

  “I have every right,” Janelle snapped. “If Mr. Holmes’s relatives choose to sue the town, you will be at the center of it.”

  “Marlee, tell her I had nothing to do with this.”

  Although I didn’t like Janelle, everyone had complained the stupid tree was too big. “The tree was a danger to the public.” I pointed down at Gareth. “Obviously.”

  “I refuse to take the blame for this,” Piper spluttered.

  “No one is to blame.” Katrina stood up, brushing snow off her coat. “My guides warned me that death was near. It was written. Nothing could have been done to prevent it.”

  Janelle rolled her eyes.

  “None of us want to hear from you, Katrina,” Anthony said.

  “I want to hear what she has to say.” Diane Cleverly squirmed through the curious crowd.

  “Mind your own business, Cleverly,” Anthony said. “Unless you want to pretend Gareth Holmes was in love with you, too.”

  “That’s not fair,” I began.

  Diane held up her hand. “Let them babble, Marlee. I know how Everett felt about me. And I know exactly how he felt about them.” She glanced down at the dead man. “Gareth knew, too.”

  “I tried to warn Gareth.” Katrina sighed. “But he refused to listen.”

  She, Anthony, and Janelle exchanged a long look between them.

  In the distance I heard sirens.

  “What I want to know is, which one of you killed him?” Diane asked in a loud voice.

  Dean started beside me, but the trio she directed her question at simply stared at her. If I’d been Diane, I would have taken a step back at such open hostility.

  Chief Hitchcock now strode through the crowd. Even though he wasn’t in uniform, everyone moved aside. Our six-foot-five police chief had that effect on people.

  Bruno and Janelle snapped to attention as they told him what had happened. Katrina and Anthony moved closer to the police officers in a blatant attempt to listen in.

  I leaned closer to Diane. “So you think Gareth’s death is suspicious?”

  “He knew too much. And he foolishly tried to keep his secret too long.”

  “You mean the contents of the will.”

  “Yes. Now he’s taken his secret to the grave. As Everett did.” Diane suddenly looked ten years older. “So much unhappiness and death, all due to greed, greed, greed. They’ve learned nothing.”

  “But the will might still be found,” I said in a low voice. “There were two copies.”

  She shook her head. “It’s possible one of them already found a copy. Only it didn’t mention the right name as beneficiary, so it’s been destroyed.”

  “Without a will, what happens to the estate?”

  Dean had been listening closely. “Who’s the closest blood relative?”

  “Anthony Thorne.” Diane virtually spat out his name.

  “Don’t forget Janelle is his daughter,” I reminded her. “A daughter outweighs a nephew.”

  “As far as I know, Everett never publicly acknowledged her as his child. But I have no idea what her birth certificate says.”

  “A DNA test can confirm paternity,” Dean said.

  “Everett’s dead, and his body cremated.” I kept my eyes on Katrina, Janelle, and Anthony to make certain they weren’t close enough to hear us. “How would paternity be proven?”

  “Anthony,” Diane said. “After all, he and Janelle are first cousins. But I doubt Anthony will be willing to provide a genetic sample.”

  I wondered if he could be forced to.

  Chief Hitchcock had finished his discussion with his officers and went to inspect the body. “The ME will tell us if the blow to his head when he fell was the cause of death.” he announced after he was done.

  As the ambulance arrived, Dean turned to me. “Not the way I thought the Hollyberry Festival would end.”

  “It’s what I feared,” Diane murmured.

  Piper paced back and forth as she spoke on her cell phone. I’d bet the call was to her attorney.

  After Hitchcock conferred with the medical team, I held up my hand to get his attention. “Chief Hitchcock?”

  He walked over, looking tired. “What is it, Marlee?”

  “I spoke to Gareth earlier today. He’d been eating from a bag of chestnuts.” I pulled out the crumpled bag I’d stuffed earlier in my parka pocket.

  “You’re not giving me another bag of food to test?”

  Katrina heard this. “Are those the chestnuts I gave him? If so, both Natasha and I ate from it. No reason to be suspicious. Neither of us is lying dead on the sidewalk.”

  I ignored her. “I thought you should know. After all, the squirrel died after eating the cookies.”

  “Is she talking about that squirrel again?” Janelle shook her head.

  “Let’s put the dead squirrel to rest, shall we?” Hitchcock said.

  “Have you gotten the results from the test?” I asked.

  “Marlee, you gave me the cookie pieces only yesterday. I’ve sent them to the Department of Public Safety. It could be quite some time before the results come back. When I have them, I will let you know. Only I don’t want to hear about the squirrel until then.” He turned to leave.

  “But it’s not really about the squirrel. There’s Everett’s death.”

  Diane squeezed my arm. “Marlee’s right. He may not have died from natural causes.”

  “Like the squirrel?” Janelle asked mockingly as Bruno chuckled.

  “Chief Hitchcock, why is this shopkeeper still going on about my uncle’s death?” Anthony said. “Uncle Everett was ninety-five!”

  “We need to let Everett’s soul find his peace,” Katrina added.

  “I can’t listen to this any longer,” Diane said, before hurrying away.

  Chief Hitchcock took a deep breath, as though trying to control his temper. Not a good sign. He was a remarkably even-tempered man. “I am not interested in testing your bag of chestnuts. Now excuse me while I take care of the deceased.”

  He returned to the EMS team, now loading the body onto a stretcher.

  “You’re pathetic, Marlee,” Janelle said. “Trying to insinuate yourself into every death in the county. You may want to see a therapist about that.”

  She left to join her boss. But Katrina continued to scowl at me.

  “Did you really think I tried to poison Gareth?” Katrina snatched the bag from me. She popped a chestnut into her mouth and made a big show of chewing, then swallowing, the nut.

  “I guess that’s that,” Dean murmured.

  “Keep the rest.” Katrina pushed the bag back into my hands. “If I die unexpectedly tonight, you’ll have evidence to prove I was poisoned. Until then, happy holidays.”

  Dean turned to me after she left. “I’d think twice about giving the police another bag of food to be tested. Or the entire department will view you as a crank.”

  “Point taken. But there’s another strange thing I noticed tonight. And it has nothing to do with food.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “When I first reached Gareth’s body, I saw a sprig of holly pinned to his Santa jacket. Right over his heart.”

  “Seems Christmas appropriate,” Dean whispered back. “Like a candy cane pin.”

  “No, this was a real sprig of holly.”

  “So?”

  I sighed. “Never mind. It’s A Christmas Carol thing.”

  “You may have spent too much time studying that play.”

  “At least it paid off. I know my lines. In fact, I suspect no one in the company knows the entire play as well as I do.”

  I also suspected the sprig of holly had been left there by the killer.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  An hour later, I got an e
arly Christmas present. Kit called to let me know he’d be able to spend the night. But we’d be having even less privacy than usual.

  After the Christmas tree debacle, Tess, David, Theo, Dean, Gillian, and Piper decided the night couldn’t end without us parsing this latest death. Although I suspected Piper’s real reason for attending was to escape from the negative attention now drawn to her giant tree.

  When Kit arrived, he was met by a small gathering in the living room. Everyone munched on Christmas cookies I brought from the shop. Even Dasha had eaten a couple. Good thing Natasha hadn’t come home yet; she’d recently put her Yorkie on a canine diet.

  Kit scanned the room, now the picture of holiday cheer. Countless Christmas lights twinkled. The gas fireplace crackled. A fiber-optic Santa or angel dotted every table surface. My collection of nutcrackers marched along the fireplace mantel and any open wall space. Minnie warbled “Jingle Bells” from her perch, occasionally throwing in a refrain of “Ba-ba-ba ba-ba ba-ran.” A contented Panther lay beneath the big white tree, playing with the manger scene.

  Dean pointed at Kit’s carry-on bag in the hallway. “It looks like you don’t travel light.”

  I gave Kit a curious smile. “You already keep a lot of stuff here. What did you bring?”

  Kit hugged me. “A change of clothes for my overnight trip.”

  Because my friends had already laid claim to the sofa and chairs, with Theo choosing the floor, Kit and I sat on the tartan loveseat. It was the closest to the fireplace and toasty warm. Something I knew Kit would appreciate after his drive from New Bethel.

  “A work-related trip?” I asked.

  “Nope. My parents arrived in Detroit this afternoon to visit Aunt Rose. Because of the snowstorm, they said the last hour of the flight was a real white knuckler. They intended to rent a car and drive to this side of the state to spend Christmas with my sister Ivy and me. But the snow is freaking them out.”

  I laughed. “They’ve lived in Texas too long.”

  “It freaks me out sometimes and I was born here,” Dean said.

  “Not surprised with that toy car you drive,” Gillian said. “You need a four-wheel drive.”

  Dean owned an orange VW Beetle, which he loved with a passion.