Hollyberry Homicide

by Sharon Farrow

  At least Janelle had no idea Theo slept upstairs as well. Not that it was much comfort. It only meant I had two people to protect from this crooked cop. This killer.

  “Looking for the will, I see,” I spat out.

  “I’ll find it, too. Because you’re going to tell me.”

  “Why would I? It’s not like you’re going to let me live. Not when I know you’re the one who killed Gareth.” My voice hardened. “And your own father.”

  “I didn’t kill my father.” She twisted my arm tighter. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you moved back to Oriole Point. Why didn’t I find a way to get rid of you long ago?”

  I didn’t answer her rhetorical question. When she pushed me into the living room, Janelle swept her flashlight over the room. It was filled with more Christmas decor than Santa’s workshop.

  “I’m running out of patience. And you’re running out of time. Where is the will? I know you have it.”

  “Because of Katrina’s ghosts?” I gave a mocking laugh.

  “Katrina swears you have it. She’s never wrong. And don’t make fun of ghosts. You’ll be one soon.”

  I kicked backward as hard as I could, landing a solid blow on her shin. She let go of my arm and I scrambled over the loveseat to my right.

  Her flashlight beam followed the sound and found me. “I have a gun, Marlee. And I will shoot. Even if I miss you in the dark, the gunshot will send your friend running downstairs. I’d have to shoot her, too.”

  I stopped. “How will you explain my dead body? And Natasha’s?”

  “I won’t have to. The police will assume there was an intruder. Home invasions are common during the holidays. Thieves eager to make off with all those Christmas presents. And this power outage provides even better coverage.”

  “You won’t get away with it. They’ll trace the bullet back to your gun.”

  She laughed. “Not this gun. I have access to lots of contraband. Some of which never reach the police department.”

  Of course. Once a crooked cop, always a crooked cop.

  “I’d rather not do this in the dark,” I said in frustration.

  “The power is out, fool.”

  “Not the gas.” I slowly stepped back until I reached the gas fireplace. I flipped the wall switch. The gas flames whooshed and slowly grew larger and brighter.

  Most of the room still lay in shadow, but Janelle was close enough for me to see her. And she did indeed hold a gun.

  “Since you’re not in uniform, I assume you’re here as a criminal, not a policewoman.”

  “Why don’t you assume I’m sick to death of you.” She waved at the corner. “Sit in the corner where I can keep an eye on you.”

  I walked backward, never taking my eyes from her. Thankfully, the corner she directed me to held my Tiny Tim display. I removed the wreath, cap, and the Dickens volume Theo gave me from the stool and sat down. But I lay Tiny Tim’s crutch at my feet, within easy reach.

  Now that I was literally stuck in a corner, Janelle felt confident enough to come closer. The firelight revealed her grim expression. “Why do you have to make everything difficult?”

  “And why do you want the will? I assume you’ve already found Gareth’s copy. Did you get the will from him the night he died? The night you killed him?”

  “No, the night I saw you and him at the Sandy Shoals Saloon. I later ran into his bar buddies as they were taking him home. Since I was on duty, they didn’t find it odd when I helped them. After they left, I went through every inch of Gareth’s apartment until I found it.”

  “If you know you weren’t left anything, why do you want the other copy?” The answer came to me. “You want it because you aren’t named as heir. Better for you if no will is ever found. As his daughter, that gives you a legal claim on the estate.”

  She nodded. “I’ve done my homework on probate law. Someone dies without a will, the next of kin are most likely to inherit the estate. And I’m Everett Hostetter’s next of kin. I’ve even got the birth certificate to prove it.”

  “That’s why you killed Gareth. He was the only person who knew the contents of the will. He knew Everett left nothing to you or his nephew. Or Katrina.”

  Janelle snickered. “Katrina thought she was so much better than Anthony and me. She was convinced Everett had chosen her as his heir. But my father was far too suspicious to take people at face value. He kept an eye on all of us. That’s how he learned she never stopped using her ghostly gifts to threaten people and enrich herself. My father respected—and feared—the spirit world far more than she did. That’s why he left her nothing.”

  “But he still had a nephew.”

  Janelle shone the flashlight about the room, clearly looking for possible hiding places. “Everett hoped Anthony might become an honest man if he kept him under his thumb. Instead, Anthony stole credit cards and became adept at identity theft. When I found out about this, I passed on the proof to my father. Which is why I suspected Anthony wouldn’t inherit.”

  “You really did believe you were the sole heir.”

  Janelle flinched, as if the thought that she wasn’t cut deep. “I wasn’t certain. But I should have been. He was my father. And he fired my mother when she became pregnant. Oh, but he did give her a check for fifty thousand dollars. I guess he thought that would cover child support for the next eighteen years.”

  Janelle moved closer to the fireplace mantel. I wanted to tell her she was wasting her time playing the flashlight’s beam over my nutcracker collection. But the more time she wasted, the longer I lived.

  “I don’t blame you for being bitter.” I decided to try being sympathetic.

  “Mom and I moved way past bitterness years ago. He wouldn’t even give her a job reference. And she’d been employed by his company over ten years. My mother worked two minimum-wage jobs to keep us alive. When I was in high school, she got me hired at the grocery store she worked at. So while my father lived in a mansion and flew on private jets, the two of us bagged groceries and decorated cakes in the supermarket bakery.”

  I thought back to Everett’s cookies. “Where you learned how to make gingerbread man cookies.”

  My comment interrupted her search of the mantel. “Yeah, although baking’s not rocket science. But I did bake those cookies. I didn’t bother to bake for Gareth. He met his end with a big plastic cup of alcohol I gave him at the festival that night. One I had doctored.”

  “With methamphetamine crystals.”

  The firelight revealed her smug smile. “Amazing what too much alcohol and crystal meth can do to a man in his seventies.”

  “You’re the one involved in that crystal meth ring.” I felt as stunned as Janelle when she learned her father was dead. “The triple homicide Kit and everyone else has been working on. Is that how you got the crystal meth?”

  Janelle pointed her revolver at me once more. “Don’t waste your tears on those dead men. Fifth-rate drug dealers trying to keep all the money for themselves.”

  “That’s why you weren’t in the will,” I said, more to myself than to her. “You just told me how suspicious your father was. How he kept his eye on all three of you. He obviously learned you were still a dishonest cop.”

  “He couldn’t have. I made sure to cover my tracks this time. In Wisconsin I was reckless and got caught. But I’ve been careful since joining the Oriole Point police force. No one suspected. Not even Chief Hitchcock.”

  “Your father did.”

  Janelle shook herself. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. So is his lawyer. All I need is that will.”

  “Why did you say you didn’t kill your father?”

  “I didn’t love the man, but he was my father. I’d have to be a monster to plan his murder. And I’m not a monster.” She pointed her gun at me, which contradicted her statement.

  Were two murderers involved in all this? Then I remembered something. “You were genuinely shocked when I told you about your father’s death. I was struck by that. And
then you seemed amused. I think I know why.”

  “Tell me, Nancy Drew.”

  “Those cookies were meant for Anthony. He had a sweet tooth, too. You wanted to kill off the only other blood relative, just in case Anthony was in the will.” I shook my head. “That’s why you went from being shocked at Everett’s death to finding it funny. You expected to hear Anthony had died.”

  “So much for my foolproof plan. How irritating when it failed. But funny.” She shrugged. “I have a dark sense of humor.”

  Quite an understatement. “Was that dark sense of humor responsible for the sprig of holly pinned to Gareth’s Santa costume?”

  “I thought it was fitting. Like those fools Scrooge talked about in A Christmas Carol.” She sounded pleased with herself. “I pinned it on him myself that night, right after I gave him his big cup of poison. He even thanked me.”

  To think that Janelle had walked among us for nine years as a police officer. I also realized that if Anthony had been her original target, Janelle probably had no idea her father’s fortune would have been greatly reduced in a year’s time. And I saw no purpose in telling her. She was already in a vicious mood.

  “At least you handed the poison to Gareth. But anyone might have eaten those cookies.”

  “On the contrary. Anthony can’t resist chocolate or gingerbread. I baked him those cookies, put them in a plain paper bag, and left the bag in their mailbox. With a note saying, ‘Merry Christmas to Anthony, from a friend.’ ” She smirked. “Despite his appearance, some women find him attractive. He would assume one of the idiots he dated left the cookies for him.”

  “But you had no way of knowing Anthony would eat them.”

  “Only Anthony and Everett lived there. And Everett’s weakness was donuts; he rarely ate cookies.” She looked disgusted. “Anthony probably never saw that bag. Everett must have picked up the mail first and decided to take the cookies to the exhibit to snack on.”

  Which meant she had killed her own father.

  “You killed your sons’ grandfather,” I said softly.

  She approached me in a fury and smacked me across the face with the butt of her revolver. I briefly saw stars and felt something wet trickle from my nose.

  “It was an accident. The cookies were meant for Anthony. If you say I killed my father again, I will burn this house to the ground. Like I did the Calico Barn. In fact, it may be easier to do just that.”

  I touched my nose, then looked at my fingers. Even in the flickering shadows, I could see the blood. “You followed me downstairs at the museum the night of the memorial. And you heard me tell Odette that I thought I knew where Everett kept his will.”

  Janelle took a couple steps back. “I followed you to the barn, too. That’s when I realized Everett hid the will in there. Only I didn’t have the time or opportunity to search the building. So I used the dress rehearsal as a cover to set it on fire.”

  “Dozens might have died.”

  “People die every day.”

  “Janelle, you’re mad. Or evil.” Horror washed over me. “Or sick.”

  “I’m sick all right. Sick of my own father not caring if me or my mother starved. Sick of my cousin enjoying a soft life because of a Hostetter trust fund. One that might have been given to me. And I’m sick of being forced to live in this stupid town while an old man watched my every move. Living in fear that he’d expose my past to the police department that he forced me to join.”

  She aimed the flashlight directly in my eyes, blinding me once more. “And I’m sick of waiting for the life I deserve. But I’m almost there. It’s within reach. Now give me the will.”

  “Move the flashlight first. I can’t see.”

  With an irritated sigh, she turned the beam onto the floor. “Where is it?”

  I played for time by wiping my bloody nose on my pajama sleeve. If I told her where the will was, she’d kill me immediately. If I didn’t tell her, she’d kill me anyway, then set the house on fire. Which would kill Natasha and Theo.

  “Marlee, where is it?” Her voice had turned cold. As if she was shutting her emotions off in preparation for killing me.

  The only choice left was to throw myself at her. Dangerous with a gun pointed at me. I took a deep breath, getting ready. The only sound was the soft crackle of the gas fire. Otherwise, the house seemed as silent as a tomb.

  Suddenly, I heard a loud clang from the kitchen. Janelle looked behind her. “What the hell was that?” she cried.

  I grabbed Tiny Tim’s crutch and swung at her midsection. The wooden crutch landed with a thunk and she bent over double. I stood up and struck her again, this time on the head. She fell to the floor and I jumped over her.

  She grabbed my ankle and I went down. I kicked and kept on kicking. But Janelle clutched my legs to keep me from getting away.

  “Let go!” I yelled.

  I reached to the right and grabbed for one of my many floor decorations. This one a fiber-optic candy cane. Using it as a weapon, I jabbed her in the face again and again, praying one of her eyes might pop out. Something must have landed because she released me.

  I scrambled to my feet, searching on the floor for the gun. I saw it at the same time Janelle did. We both leaped toward it, knocking it aside. Janelle and I began to wrestle, rolling back and forth on the floor.

  If I could just keep her away from the gun, I had a good chance. Better than good. Because I’d tear her arms off to stop her from killing Natasha and Theo. Only the woman was strong and fighting for her life as hard as I was. I heard another clang from the kitchen. It felt like a cheering section.

  Grunting and breathing hard, we wrestled our way right into the big white Christmas tree, which fell on top of us. Everything became more confused as we got tangled in strings of lights and crushed ornaments.

  “What’s happening?” someone said.

  My heart dropped when I realized it was Theo. I had to get to the gun first. With renewed energy, I yanked Janelle’s hair so hard, some of it came off in my hand. Then I got on top of her and punched her through the tree branches. She yelled out in pain.

  I stumbled to my feet and ran to where I had last seen the gun.

  “Marlee, what’s going on?” Theo asked.

  Frantic, I couldn’t find it. I didn’t see the crutch either. No, no, no.

  In the flickering shadows, I saw Janelle scramble to her knees. With a victory cry, she grabbed the gun from where it had been kicked during our struggle.

  I looked about for a weapon. All I saw was that coffee-table book of A Christmas Carol.

  Before Janelle got to her feet, I grabbed the heavy volume and lunged for her. I swung the book at her outstretched arm, which caused the gun to go off. The gunshot was deafening.

  As Theo yelled for Natasha, I next swung the book at Janelle’s face as hard as I could. I felt something crunch when I did. And she dropped the gun.

  Janelle tried to grab for me. But I hit her twice more with the book, the last time on the top of her head. That one knocked her out.

  Out of breath, I stood over her. I wondered if Charles Dickens and I had actually killed Janelle. Then I heard her groan.

  Before she revived, I picked up the gun. By this time, Natasha had come downstairs. Dasha, too, if all the yapping was any indication.

  “What is all this noise? It wake me up! Why are lights off ?” Natasha demanded. “And who is dead woman on floor?”

  Natasha sounded more irritated than shocked that a dead person was lying beside my fallen Christmas tree. “She’s not dead. And it’s that policewoman I don’t like.”

  Natasha walked over and looked down at Janelle. “You must not like her very much to do this.”

  I felt an urge to laugh. But if I did, I might not be able to stop. A sign of shock. “She killed Gareth Holmes. And her father. She came here tonight to kill me.”

  Natasha gently turned my face to her. “You have nose of blood. Must wash.”

  “Not yet. Theo, please go into my of
fice and get my phone. We need to call the police.”

  “Are you all right, Marlee? You don’t look all right.” He sounded frightened.

  “I’ll be fine. But please get my phone. I’m calling the state police, the sheriff, and Chief Hitchcock.” I started to shake. “Maybe I should call the marines, too.”

  Natasha put her arm around my shoulder as she looked down at Janelle. “What we do with bad woman until police come? I think we tie her up. Maybe with lights of Christmas tree.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  When law enforcement arrived, they found a semiconscious Officer Davenport restrained by a long chain filled with keys, cash boxes, and padlocks.

  “What is this?” Greg Trejo demanded. “What’s going on?”

  I looked up from where I sat huddled on the couch with Theo and Natasha. With the power still off, the only light came from the gas fireplace and the police flashlights.

  “I had a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past.” I felt too drained to say much more.

  “Policewoman try to kill Marlee,” Natasha said. “But Marlee strong like Siberian tiger.”

  “She’s the one who killed the old man in the museum with poison cookies,” Theo added.

  Chief Hitchcock looked shocked to see one of his officers wrapped in Jacob Marley’s chains. “Janelle? Is this a joke? Some sort of Christmas stunt?”

  I shook my head. “Not a Christmas stunt. More like A Christmas Carol.”

  Greg knelt before me. “What happened here tonight?”

  “It’s a long story. But suffice to say, Dickens was right. Ghosts can save your life.” I looked toward my kitchen. “Especially on Christmas Eve.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Later that day, the noise level in my house rose so high, it sounded like Mr. Fezziwig’s Christmas party, minus the jig.

  News of Janelle’s arrest spread through Oriole Point as quickly as the fire had at the Calico Barn. Once everyone heard she had been charged with multiple murders, details soon followed. Those details included the break-in at my house, my physical fight with Janelle, and that I had knocked her out with a copy of Dickens. Then wrapped her in chains.