Of course, by the time I left the grocery store, I’d learned enough from everyone else to piece together some of the puzzle.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Jamison said, literally clutching her pearls, “it’s really tragic about what happened at Santa’s Village last night.” It figured that the oldest person in the store was the one who finally worked up the courage to pry. My mom always said that you cared less and less about propriety the older you got. I snickered internally because, based on her theory, that meant my mom should be pushing ninety instead of sixty-five.
Santa’s Village? That’s where Gabe and Adrian were called out to last night? Adrian’s response to the call finally made sense then. I thought he was just being sarcastic because the dispatcher interrupted our discussion about my annual Ugly Christmas Sweater party.
Mrs. Jamison leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I nearly panicked when Mr. Shoffsky said that Santa was hung from the flagpole.” She looked around to see if anyone was eavesdropping because she wanted the exclusive from the captain’s man all to herself. “I couldn’t imagine who would want to kill old man Adams.”
I tried not to laugh when she referred to Mr. Adams as old because she was probably only a year younger than him. I had no doubt that she’d swing her purse and knock me upside my head if I called her old woman Jamison.
“Anyway, I called the Adams’s house this morning to offer Eustice my condolences and she informed me that her husband was still alive and kicking. Well, she put the phone down and went and checked to see if he was still breathing. She thought maybe I’d become clairvoyant like that Emerson and had experienced a vision.”
“Emory,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she replied then leaned nearer. Any closer and people would think something hanky was going on between us in the frozen food section of the Sac-N-Save. “Even though it turned out to be a life-sized stuffed Santa scarecrow-type thing, if I was your husband, I would keep an eye out on Eustice. She sounded a little bit hopeful when she put me on hold to see if old man Adams was dead.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on to Gabe,” I told her, trying my best to keep a straight face. “I hate to disappoint you, Mrs. Jamison, but Gabe doesn’t share any details about his investigations with me. I didn’t even know that someone hung Santa from the flagpole until just now. I don’t have any gossip for you.” She dropped her pearls long enough to cover her heart like she was shocked that I would suggest such a thing.
“You wound me, Joshua.” But not enough to stop her from kissing my cheek. “Don’t forget the whipped cream,” she suggested after perusing my cart to see what I had picked out.
“Oh, I make homemade cinnamon whipped cream. That frozen stuff isn’t good enough for my pumpkin pie.”
“Well, aren’t you fancy?” she asked with a sly smile.
“I prefer fabulous, but I’ll take fancy.”
“Go on with you now,” she said, shooing me along.
In the dairy aisle, Mrs. Schulman told me that she had seen an older Buick Skylark cruising near Santa’s Village a few times but hadn’t jotted down the license plate. I couldn’t think of anyone who drove the car she described. “Rust spots on the side shaped like the ones you see on dairy cattle.”
“I’ll be sure to let Gabe know,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, I already told that sweet Officer Wen this morning. He wrote it down.”
As I was checking out, Mr. Beddinghurst was in front of me and he said that Mr. Adams told him that morning on the phone that he had to close the village early the night before because he wasn’t feeling well. Something to do with the sausage and sauerkraut he had for lunch giving him fits. “He took some Pepto-Bismol this morning and is feeling better.”
“That’s good to hear, Mr. Beddinghurst.”
“I heard that several of the shops were vandalized. Is that true? How long do you think the village will be considered a crime scene?” the bagger, Bucky Dillwater, asked me. He sounded a little bit too hopeful, and I knew why. Santa’s Village opened in the middle of October and closed on December 23rd. The rest of the year, the high school kids used it as make out spots. I’d done my fair share of using a fake ID to wiggle a lock loose so I could get into one of the closed shops for a little tongue-on-tongue action back in the day. It sounded to me like Bucky, and probably the rest of the kids, were hoping the village stayed closed a little longer.
“Until the captain clears it, Shaggy,” I replied soberly. “You, Scooby, Freddy, Velma, and Daphne need to stay away from there because there are serious repercussions if you contaminate a crime scene.” I sounded like I knew what the fuck I was talking about, but I got most of my police procedural talk from The Closer. I just knew that Brenda Leigh would be proud of me.
“Yes, sir.” His face turned bright red, and I bet he suddenly wished he was back in English 101 instead of bagging groceries during Thanksgiving break. I let the “sir” shit pass and headed out to my car.
I was down to my final stop and eager to get back home and away from prying eyes and big ears. Luckily, no one at the butcher shop wanted to pump me for information when I picked up my two fresh turkeys and spiral cut ham. I was aware that I was going overboard, but I couldn’t stop myself. At least my friends and family would have leftovers to last them a week.
I decided to stop by Books and Brew on my way home to grab a peppermint mocha hot chocolate. One of the owners, Milo, was behind the counter with Emory’s cousin, Memphis, who was absent from dinner the previous night. I narrowed my eyes as I neared the order counter. He rarely missed dinner since he moved to town after Emory’s brain surgery, so I wondered what had kept him away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, blushing profusely. “I was cataloguing my latest haul of comic books for the store and lost track of time.”
“I guess it’s okay, but don’t forget about Thanksgiving. It’s on Thursday,” I told him.
“This Thursday?” he asked.
My mouth popped open to respond but my thoughts froze. My dinner would be the event of the year and he had lost track of what week it was? I made my turkey gravy from scratch for fuck’s sake. He must really love comics.
“Just kidding,” Memphis said. “I’ll be there at two.”
“Make that one,” I corrected him.
“Got it.”
I accepted my coffee and headed over to the bookstore section to see what new releases Maegan had on display. My heart swelled and tears burned the back of my eyes when I saw Chaz’s latest book front and center. I had my own personalized copy at home, of course, but I couldn’t resist picking it up and holding it in my hands. I turned it over and looked at the photo on the back cover. My beautiful friend had never looked happier than he did in that picture, but I knew it had nothing to do with the photographer, or their photoshopping skills, and everything to do with the wedding band on Chaz’s finger.
I returned the book to the shelf and walked over to Maegan’s store, Curious Things. She was using her online connections to help me find some special items for the moms in my life for Christmas. I was on the lookout for a rare Janis Joplin vinyl record from 1969 and record player for my mom and vintage Tonala Mexican pottery for Martina. “Any luck, Mae?”
“Not yet, cutie. Don’t lose faith; I won’t let you down.”
“Better not,” I said then pointed to her blonde curls she had piled on top of her head in what appeared to be a messy bun, but my trained eye told me she spent at least twenty minutes artfully arranging it to look that way.
“You’re not really threatening my hair, are you?” She pointed at the hot chocolate in my hand. “Because two can play that game.”
“Touché.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something concrete,” Maegan assured me.
“So, maybe in time for Christmas next year?”
“Snark ass.”
“Oh, I love that one,” I told her.
“You’re going to love the items I find for your moms too
. I promise you that I have a few good leads.”
“Too bad you don’t have a few good men,” I shot back.
“Hell, I’d settle for one,” she replied dryly. “I’m not greedy.”
“See you next week.”
“I feel the sudden need to reschedule my hair appointment,” Maegan said then nibbled on her lip nervously.
“You know better than that.”
“You’re right. I’ll see you later,” she said then winked.
When I returned home, my babies were down for a nap and the grandparents were all gathered on the enclosed porch drinking coffee, talking, and enjoying the gas fireplace.
“You want some help putting groceries away?” my mom asked.
“Nope. Stay here and relax. I’m going to start working on an apple pie to surprise Gabe.” I knew apples and pastry wouldn’t fix anything, but I was hoping it would cheer him up after what was sure to be a long day.
My mom followed me into the kitchen anyway. “Gabe’s going to need it if what I heard is true.”
I froze in front of the refrigerator and stared at the picture taken of our family the night Gabe was sworn in as captain. Gabe had Dylan tucked up tight against him in his left arm while pulling Destiny and me to him with his right. He looked so tall and proud in his dress uniform. I loved the smile on his face as I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. I remember the happy sounds our children made as they clapped their chubby hands. Daddy and Papa.
“What did you hear?” I asked my mom.
“Well, Jane told me that Betty talked to Cynthia, who’s married to the coroner who talks in his sleep. Apparently, someone hung a Santa effigy from the flagpole then broke in and vandalized several stores in the village after Mr. Adams closed early due to indigestion from the meatloaf he had at lunch.”
“Sausage and sauerkraut,” I corrected her.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“I heard it was sausage and sauerkraut that made him sick. And why the hell was the coroner called out to the scene?”
“The night patrolman freaked out when he responded to the nine-one-one call. It must’ve been dark or the effigy was really lifelike. I hope it’s not an omen of bad things to come.”
“That makes two of us, Mom.”
I heard the sounds of my children waking up from their nap through the baby monitor, which pulled me out of my funk and shifted my focus.
“What do we know about the timeline of events last night?” I asked Adrian and Wen.
“Well, most of the shops were closed because it was Sunday. Santa’s workshop was supposed to stay open until five o’clock, but Mr. Adams got sick after eating his wife’s leftovers and went home early,” Wen said.
Santa’s Village was just a cluster of small buildings at the edge of town that local residents rented each year to sell their merchandise for the holidays. A person could buy anything from candles, quilts, homemade goat milk soaps, to candies and baked goods. The buildings were constructed to look like small houses and were decorated with lights and other holiday ornamentation.
“You sure it wasn’t Deanna Dorchester’s cooking?” Adrian teased. Poor Deanna couldn’t shake her bad reputation, even though we all knew that her cooking was just fine.
“Dude, you need to save your insults for when John is around or else it’s not as fun,” Wen told him.
“Good point,” Adrian replied. “Anyway, so someone strung up Kris Kringle sometime between two and seven when the call came in to nine-one-one.”
“Who called it in?” Sometimes perpetrators liked to report their own crimes, especially if their handiwork wasn’t discovered right away.
“Mrs. Thompson discovered it after following Mr. Friskies into the village when he pulled the leash out of her hand and took off chasing a stray cat.”
“Can I assume that Mr. Friskies is her pet and not a pet name for Mr. Thompson,” I inquired.
“Affirmative, Captain,” Wen said.
“Of course, she reported a dead body and not a stuffed Santa, so that’s why the coroner arrived on the scene before we did,” Adrian explained.
“I imagined that it looked pretty lifelike in the dark.” I snickered when I thought about Mrs. Adams’s phone call that morning. She wanted to know if the effigy was a voodoo doll in her husband’s image. She sounded disappointed when I told her it wasn’t the case at all. It was a prank, not a death threat or warning to her husband. “Did we find any evidence that connects this incident to the unsolved burglaries and vandalism?” I hated unsolved crimes as much as Josh hated bargain brand fabric softener.
“Nope,” Adrian said, sounding just as irritated. “I can’t believe there are no security cameras or alarms at Santa’s Village, especially after the rash of trouble we had.”
“Folks don’t like change,” I reminded Adrian. “Which means we need to step up our attempts to thwart this asshat before he strikes again.”
“You think it’s just the beginning, Cap?” Adrian asked.
“Unfortunately, I do. Someone went to an awful lot of trouble for a single incident.” I ran my hand absently over my chin while I thought. “This feels like the beginning of something instead of the end.”
“Our neighborhood canvas didn’t really turn up anything new except there was a Buick in the neighborhood earlier that day that stood out because it had rust spots like a dairy cow. There were also some wild ideas,” Wen reported.
“Such as?” I asked.
“The most popular theory is that people are pissed about the village opening before Thanksgiving this year,” Wen answered. “It didn’t use to open until the Saturday after Thanksgiving, but this year the township opened it in the middle of October. That upset quite a few people, Cap.”
“You can say that again,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. I looked up to see our former captain standing just outside my office. “Knock knock, Captain Roman-Wyatt.”
The three of us rose to our feet and greeted Mayor Reardon. “It’s good to see you, sir,” I told him.
“You too,” he replied. “You look good behind the desk. It suits you.” I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck unsure how to respond. It felt like my office until he stood in it, then it felt like I was on the wrong side of the desk.
“Captain, we’re going to canvas over a few blocks from the village to see if we have better luck,” Adrian said. “It’s good to see you, Mayor.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Wen said as they headed for the door.
“It’s good seeing you guys also,” Reardon told them.
“I have an interview with a potential partner for you, Adrian, in thirty minutes. Do you want to stick around a little while to meet him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Don’t you trust your captain?” I joked.
“I just don’t want to waste anyone’s time. I’ll be able to tell in five minutes if he’s a good fit for me.”
As Adrian’s best friend, I wanted him to have a partner he was comfortable with. I wished that could be Wen, but he hadn’t taken the appropriate tests to apply for the job. John was a good fit, but the sheriff’s department paid better than the BPD. I was tasked with finding a partner from a different police department. Quite honestly, moving to a small town isn’t always high on someone’s list. In fact, I had only received one applicant once the job was posted.
“Fair enough. I’ll introduce you when he arrives.” I had a good feeling about the candidate, but I would never force a partner on Adrian that wasn’t a good fit.
I turned my attention back to a man I greatly admired once Adrian and Wen left my office. “What can I do for you today, sir?”
“Unfortunately, I’m here on official town business,” Reardon said with a crooked smile. “Santa’s Village is owned by the township and four of the trustees were in my office first thing this morning asking what you’re going to do about the situation.”
“You’re here to twist the screws?” I questioned. “Surely, you were g
oing to give me past noon to solve this crime.”
“I have every faith that you’ll catch the Christmas Bandit,” Reardon responded with a snicker.
“Christmas Bandit? He has a name already?”
“Yep, which means he’ll step up his game to get more attention. He’ll get sloppy and you can catch him. You’re welcome.”
“I hope it’s that easy,” I replied, but I had my doubts.
“Of course, it’s that easy; just ask the trustees.”
“I’ll be sure to call them if I need additional help from them. Other than this incident, how are things going?” I asked.
Shawn Reardon had never been a talkative man, so I was only expecting a clipped response. Instead, he relaxed into his chair and chatted with me about his new job until O’Malley informed me that Elijah Markham was there for his interview.
Reardon got to his feet. “Well, my work here is done anyway. I’m heading over to the paper for an interview with the editor.”
Instead of a formal handshake, Reardon clapped me on the shoulder and invited me to lunch later in the week.
“I don’t know,” I hemmed. “You can’t trust politicians. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to make your tickets disappear when you get pulled over for speeding.”
Reardon laughed then said, “Wednesday at noon.”
“I’ll be there, sir.”
It turned out that I had nothing to worry about with Elijah Markham. By the time I followed Reardon out of my office, Elijah had made quick friends with Adrian and Wen. They stood chatting and laughing over a cup of coffee, which allowed me to observe the undercover detective from the Columbus Police Department. He was tall, about my height, with dark hair, a square jaw covered in stubble, and a good-natured grin. He wore dark denim jeans, boots, a pressed, black dress shirt, a gun tucked into a shoulder holster, and his badge hung from a chain around his neck. Quite honestly, the ruggedly handsome man looked like a character you expected to see on a television show.
Welcome to Blissville Page 140
