Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen

by Vicki Delany

  “No. No. I wouldn’t think of it. I want no favors.” Sue-Anne lowered her voice and leaned forward. Jackie and I bent our heads into the circle. How could we not?

  “I have been undecided for a long time,” she whispered, “about taking the plunge and declaring my intention to run for the office of mayor. When I realized how badly Fergus has handed this . . . incident . . . my mind was made up for me. My phone’s been ringing all week with people begging me to run. I hope you’ll remember our chat today at election time, Merry and uh . . .”

  “Eleanor,” Jackie said.

  “And you, too, Eleanor. Merry, your father’s support would be invaluable.” Sue-Anne pulled her gloves on. “Now, I really must run. I want to check on the other shops, see how everyone’s doing. Give them moral support.”

  She sailed out the door with a wave of her fingers.

  “Eleanor?” I said to my shop assistant.

  “I was going to say Clementine, but that might be going too far. It doesn’t matter, she’s forgotten my name already.”

  “Are you going to vote for her?”

  Jackie shrugged. “I don’t vote. Waste of time. It’s almost six. Are you leaving?”

  “In a minute. What do you know about Sue-Anne?”

  “Me? Nothing. Almost nothing.”

  “She’s not local,” I said. “She moved here when I was in Manhattan. Where does she live?”

  “Not far from you. Willow Trail, I think. Somewhere near the lake, anyway. Why do you ask?”

  “She’s married, right? Any kids?”

  “Yeah, she’s married. No kids, far as I know. Her husband doesn’t get out much. At least he’s never seen around. It’s rumored he has no political smarts, so she keeps him out of sight. Chained to a wall in the basement, probably.”

  “Do most people know Sue-Anne’s thinking of running for mayor?”

  Jackie’s eyes glinted. “That’s why I never vote. They’re all such hypocrites. All that stuff about people begging her to run, and being forced to make a decision. She’s been hinting so loudly for months, she might as well hang a flashing sign around her neck: ‘Sue-Anne for mayor.’ She’ll be back, all right, and she’ll buy something, too. Probably right in the middle of our biggest crush of the year so we don’t notice that, after making sure everyone knows she’s here, she buys an ornament for a dollar ninety-nine.”

  “We don’t sell any ornaments for a dollar ninety-nine.”

  “Whatever. You get the point.”

  “I do.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten to six. Crystal would be here soon to help Jackie staff the store until closing at nine. I was looking forward to a hot bath, a thick robe, warm slippers, a good book, and an early bedtime. Tomorrow was going to be a heck of a day. I had to open the store at nine, and we would remain open until midnight. Jackie and Crystal would be here in the afternoon and evening to help, but I was facing a solid fifteen hours on my feet.

  The mere thought of it made me yawn.

  “Early night?” Crystal asked as she came in.

  “I must be getting old,” I said. “It’s six o’clock and all I want out of life is a bath, a book, and bed. The three b’s.”

  “You are old.” Crystal unzipped her coat. She was one of those people: so talented and intelligent they didn’t sometimes realize that not everyone wanted to hear their heartfelt opinions.

  “Yeah,” Jackie piped up. Now she, on the other hand, always knew exactly what she was saying. “Old and responsible. Ugh.”

  “I’ll be at home if you need me.” I headed for the back to get my own coat. “But it had better be an emergency with a capital E.”

  My phone beeped with an incoming text. I pulled it out.

  Russ: Reservation at A Touch of Holly for seven. Meet you there.

  I groaned.

  “Something wrong?” Crystal asked.

  “An appointment I forgot,” I said.

  She peeked over my shoulder at the phone in my hands. I jerked it away, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  “An appointment!” she squealed. “Merry has a dinner date with the hottest guy in Upstate New York and she calls it an appointment.”

  “You’re going out with Alan at last?” Jackie said. “Good.”

  “Not Alan,” Crystal said, “Russ Durham.”

  “You think Russ is the hottest guy? No way. Alan is. After my Kyle, that is. But I’m thinking of men more Merry’s age.”

  I left them arguing over the merits of men “Merry’s age” versus the younger ones they dated, and went home.

  I couldn’t believe I forgot all about dinner with Russ. I couldn’t believe I wanted to go home and have a bath before crawling into bed rather than eat at the best restaurant in Rudolph with the “hottest guy in Upstate New York.” I had less than an hour to get home, walk Mattie, shower, and dress for an evening out. I broke into a run.

  I tended to Mattie before leaping into the shower. What to wear, what to wear. When I lived in Manhattan, I’d bought plenty of clothes suitable for dining at good restaurants, but I didn’t want to look like I was putting on airs. I also didn’t want to look as though I was deliberately dressing down to fit into Rudolph.

  I tossed clothes onto the bed.

  No one would ever accuse my mom of dressing down. Then again, I am not my mom.

  I held up a sleek black linen dress. Nah, I had to wear something that would go with boots. I hate carrying my shoes in a little bag. The dress joined the pile of discarded garments on the bed. Mattie watched the proceedings with a tilt to his head and a question in his eye. He hadn’t realized yet that he was being abandoned once again. When he did, the question would turn to a look of pure heartbreak.

  I finally decided on black slacks with a blue and green jacket over a black silk shell. I could wear that outfit with my ankle boots. I debated between a chunky green necklace or a green and blue scarf, and decided on the scarf in case the restaurant was chilly. I applied a light coat of pink lipstick and dusted some blush across my cheeks. I studied myself in the mirror, gave my black curls one last fluff, and decided I’d done the best I could with what I’d been given by God and my parents.

  By the time I got to the restaurant, Russ was waiting. He spotted me as I came in, and his face lit up. He got to his feet as I crossed the room.

  “You look lovely,” he said. He moved in close, helped me slip off my coat, and handed it to the hostess.

  I mumbled my thanks at the compliment. His physical presence seemed to fill the room. I was aware of the closeness of him, of the scent of aftershave and male hormones. He wore close-fitting tan trousers, a crisp open-necked white shirt with a thin blue stripe, and a black jacket. The jacket stretched over the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. He fixed his hazel eyes on me and smiled. My heart raced.

  “Madam?” the hovering waiter said.

  I dropped into the offered chair. Russ rounded the small table and took his own seat. My heart settled back to something resembling its normal rhythm and I found that I could breathe again.

  I leaned back to allow the waiter to place the menu in front of me. The place was about half-full. The lights were low, and a single candle in a glass bowl burned on our table. The table was covered in a cloth of starched white linen, the napkins matched, the flatware was silver. Wine and water glasses sparkled in the clear, soft light.

  “Shall I order a bottle of wine?” Russ asked. “Neither of us are driving anywhere tonight.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. Then, just in case he had ideas about sleeping over at my house, I asked, “Where do you live, anyway?”

  “East Street. Not far from the lake.” Walking distance from downtown.

  I unfolded my napkin.

  We chatted comfortably about life in Rudolph and our past lives in New York City. He’d been with one of th
e smaller city papers and when the paper was bought by a multinational the usual round of layoffs began. Russ wasn’t let go, but he figured the writing was on the wall, and so he started looking around.

  “Newspapers are dying everywhere. Those that aren’t closing shop are being bought out or implementing efficiencies, whatever that means. I got a tip about the editor in chief job at the Gazette coming open. One of my dad’s old friends had owned and run the paper established by his father for almost forty years. He had one heart attack and made noises about cutting back on his workload, but the second attack forced him to listen to his doctor. He wanted to keep the paper in the family but hand over the day-to-day running of it. Some of the longtime staff, I knew because my dad had told me, weren’t too happy at an outsider coming in, but my dad thought it was a good idea. The newspaper world was changing, and fast, and the Gazette needed someone who’d bring new ideas and a fresh way of doing things. Not the sort to say, ‘But we’ve always done it that way.’”

  Russ grinned at me over the rim of his wineglass. He’d ordered an excellent pinot noir from Oregon. “Not a lot of newspaper people want to move to a small town or work for a local paper, but it came at the right time for me, and I don’t have a wife or kids to worry about uprooting. My family’s from Louisiana . . .”

  “I noticed.”

  He gave me a grin. “. . . and my parents figure New York City, New York State, it’s all one and the same. Foreign. Might as well be in France.”

  I laughed.

  “It’s been a heck of a learning curve, I can tell you. From New Orleans to New York City to Rudolph, but I’m glad I made the move. There’s something about this town . . .”

  “I know. I don’t think I realized how much I’d missed it until I came back.”

  The waiter delivered our first course. I’d ordered a salad, and Russ had the potato and leek soup. As this was Rudolph in December the menu featured a roast turkey dinner “with all the trimmings” and prime rib. Desserts included candy cane cheesecake, traditional plum pudding with brandy sauce, and plenty of homemade pies.

  “Do you have a sense,” I asked, “about the upcoming local election?”

  “That question came out of nowhere,” he said.

  “Something happened today that got me thinking.”

  “Fergus is planning to run again, but he’s facing some stiff competition. Mostly from Sue-Anne Morrow.”

  “Does she have a chance?”

  Russ put down his soup spoon. “Last week I might have said it would be a close race. Fergus is a known quantity. Solid, reliable. Dull as dirt, but people like that in a mayor. If things are going well they don’t want someone who will upset the apple cart. That’s Fergus. On the other hand, there are people worried that things aren’t going to keep going well. That if the tourists are going to continue coming, we have to innovate, make some changes. That’s Sue-Anne.”

  “You said ‘last week’?”

  “This Nigel Pearce thing has changed the dynamic. Even the slightest hint that tourists will stop coming has people in a panic.” Russ waved his hand, indicating our surroundings. “This is probably not a bad turnout for a Thursday night, but they’d rather be full. What’s this week been like in your shop?”

  “Quiet, I have to admit.”

  “I made a few phone calls before coming to meet you, and it seems like the Twitter campaign and Renee’s pictures on the Times web page have done some good. A bus company rebooked at the Yuletide Inn, and the Carolers Motel says they have a couple of new reservations.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “It is. But people, some people, are saying Fergus should have acted sooner, and faster.”

  “Some people are always complaining. We should give him credit for what he did do.”

  Russ lifted his wineglass. “I’ll drink to that.” The candlelight picked out the green specks in his hazel eyes. He hadn’t shaved before coming to dinner, and the stubble on his jaw was dark.

  I took a quick drink. “So,” I said when I had my thoughts back on track, “Sue-Anne Morrow stands to gain from the disruption of the Rudolph Christmas season.”

  “What are you getting at, Merry?”

  “I don’t know. She was in my shop earlier. She’s going public with her run for mayor. She’s openly saying that Fergus’s reaction was, and I quote, ‘too little, too late.’ That a strong mayor would have handled things differently.”

  Russ put down his wineglass. “You think Sue-Anne poisoned Nigel Pearce?”

  All around us conversation hummed, people laughed, cutlery clinked against china, and glasses and serving dishes rattled.

  “Someone did,” I reminded him. “You’re the reporter. What are the police thinking?”

  “One of two things. That someone came to Rudolph with, or in search of, Pearce. They took advantage of the situation at the party, added the drugs to the cookie, and left town.”

  “And the other theory?”

  “The poisoning was random, no victim in particular, just a chance sort of thing.”

  “That would definitely not be good news for a tourist town.”

  “Exactly. Far better that Pearce brought his enemy with him. And thus, of course, the enemy is long gone.”

  “Easy enough to have happened that way,” I said. “I was at the party. So were you. The place was full of outsiders. That’s the entire point of the post-parade reception. It’s not a party for townspeople, it’s to get tourists in the Christmas mood. Otherwise known as spending money.”

  “The police have been through the pictures I took that evening,” he said. “Looking for someone”—he made quotation marks in the air—“‘acting suspiciously.’”

  “I’ve been thinking about that anonymous phone call,” I said. “The one telling you the results of the autopsy.”

  “What about it?”

  “Did you think it odd?”

  “Not really. We get plenty of anonymous calls in my business. Sometimes people want to stir things up. Neighbors tattling on neighbors, fathers trying to get their daughter’s boyfriends in trouble, women reporting the woman they think their husband’s having an affair with. Sometimes the calls are legitimate. People who have something to say but for whatever reason don’t want to come forward publicly. That call was definitely the latter. It was a piece of solid info.”

  “You didn’t recognize the voice?”

  “No. It was disguised.”

  “Could it have been a woman?”

  “It could have been a talking horse. Why are you asking, Merry?”

  “Pasta?”

  I jumped at the voice over my shoulder. The waiter had our main courses. He placed a bowl of fragrant pasta, rich with seafood and herbs, in front of me. Russ was having steak and fries.

  “Russ,” I said when we’d enjoyed our first few bites, “do you remember the parade? Remember my float?”

  “I remember that you caused a traffic jam and Candy Campbell was ready to throw the book at you.” He grinned.

  I opened my mouth to tell him about the tractor. About George discovering that someone had switched the wires.

  “Merry, dear. How lovely you look.” My mom bent over and brushed my cheek with her lips. “And Russell. How nice.” Russ leapt to his feet and took her gloved hand.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. “Dad.”

  My dad gave me a nod. He was not in his Santa Claus attire tonight, but was instead wearing a hideous and totally tasteless red and green Christmas sweater over jeans. Mom wore a sparkling gold tunic over loose matching trousers, with diamonds in her ears and a thick gold chain around her neck.

  “I’d invite you to join us,” Russ said, “but . . .” He indicated the table for two.

  “We wouldn’t dream of interrupting you,” Mom said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  The hostess was stil
l waiting to seat them. Mom followed her across the room, smiling and waving at people she knew as though she were doing her sixth encore at the Met.

  “What brings you guys here tonight?” I asked Dad. My parents rarely went out for dinner together. In this, like so many other things, they were total opposites. Dad liked to eat at home. Mom loved to dine in restaurants, the fancier the better. They compromised, as they usually did, and Mom met up with her friends once or twice a week, leaving Dad to eat his reheated meal on a tray in the company of a good book.

  “Aline suggested that we, as prominent citizens of the town, be seen supporting local businesses. She was right, as always, so here I am.”

  “Good for you, Dad,” I said.

  “Did you see the pictures on the Times web page this afternoon?” Russ asked.

  “I did.” Dad grinned. “I think we nailed it.” He glanced around the restaurant. “Let’s hope we can get through the next two weeks without any more tragedies or mishaps.” He went to join my mom.

  “Your father’s a great guy,” Russ said. “Is Noel his real name? It’s just that he does look like Santa Claus, in or out of costume.”

  “He was born on Christmas Day, thus the name,” I said.

  “And your mom. Aline Steiner. Wow.”

  “You know who my mom is?”

  “I’m not a total philistine, Merry.” He tried to look offended but the laughter in his eyes gave him away. “My parents are classical music lovers. I even own one of your mom’s CDs.”

  “Ask her to autograph it one day,” I said. “She’ll be thrilled. She gave up the opera world when she retired from singing, but I suspect she misses it sometimes.”

  “I’ll do that. But right now, I’m going to have a slice of that candy cane cheesecake. Something for you?”

  “Just coffee, thanks.” We went on to talk about other things, and it was only as I was putting on my coat prior to heading out into the cold, bright night, that I realized I’d intended to tell him about the sabotage to the tractor. But he’d started talking about winter, and how surprised he’d been, as a Louisiana boy, to find he liked it so much.