The Mistletoe Murders

by Laurinda Wallace

  “Got another one,” Devon called out from the edge of the clearing near a thicket of brambles.

  Marc joined him in exposing yet another small limestone slab. This one was crumbling and sat crookedly, thorny branches overshadowing it. Although the date was barely legible, the group agreed it appeared to be 1889.

  Another half-hour of work revealed two more headstones, bringing the total to five. Marc leaned against the rake handle, staring at each of the grave locations. He gave a low whistle.

  “Do you see how they’re laid out?”

  “What do you mean?” Gracie asked, moving to stand by her husband.

  “I think it’s a pentagram. The graves are laid out in the shape of a pentagram.”

  Marci joined them along with Quentin and Devon.

  “You may be right,” Quentin exclaimed. He quickly sketched out the pattern on a notebook page and began drawing lines between the small rectangles representing the headstones. “It’s a pentagram all right.”

  He held out the notebook to show them. Gracie shivered suddenly, feeling an eeriness settle in around her. Marci groaned.

  “That’s the symbol of witchcraft or black magic, right?”

  “Sometimes, but the five-pointed star has been used by many religions and organizations. The Order of the Eastern Star, for instance, uses it, but in the 1800s, it was a generally recognized symbol of magic and the occult.” Quentin paused and walked around the area, glancing at the notebook and back to the headstones. “It’s definitely a pentagram, which would connect this with Stephen Mistletoe.”

  “What do you mean?” Marci demanded, leaving the group and walking over to the historian. “Was he an occultist? There’s nothing in my records if he was.”

  Quentin cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I—uh, well, I thought you were aware that he and Lily dabbled in spiritualism like séances, trying to communicate with the ‘other side.’”

  Marci face fell. “Oh, wait a minute. There’s something about this in the old manuscript I found. Pamela’s book about the family. I’d forgotten about it. It read more like fiction than non-fiction. Séances and reading tea leaves and chicken livers. That sort of thing.” She frowned at Quentin. “And you didn’t speak about it in your presentation for the staff.”

  “I didn’t think to include it. You wanted an overview of the Mistletoe family. You hadn’t mentioned it, so I assumed it was off-limits. It might be disturbing for some guests, and others might consider it pretty corny.”

  Marci took a step back, pondering this new information. “Yes. I can see that. It disturbs me right now.” She turned around to look at Gracie and Marc. “Did you know about any of this? Are there other Deer Creek legends or something?”

  Gracie shook her head. “I’ve never heard that, just the stories about Lily’s disappearance and some other folks. Isabelle and Midge believe Lily’s ghost hangs around, but that’s it.”

  “That’s right,” Quentin confirmed, his voice exuding confidence once again. “Two workers at the Mistletoes disappeared one fall. In 1889, I think. A man and a woman. It was reported they ran off together. Beyond those, there were three others that we know of.”

  “What others?” Devon asked, resting his rake against a small blue spruce. “I was late for your talk the other day. Held up with extra work at my other job.”

  Quentin tucked the small notebook inside his jacket. “The other three were businessmen in the area. The disappearances took place over three years or so.”

  “Did they do business with this Stephen character?” Marc asked.

  “They did, but nothing was ever discovered about their disappearances. Each one of them was scheduled for a business trip and then was never seen again.”

  “Interesting.” Marc rubbed his cheek. “Sounds like an intriguing cold case. I had no idea that Deer Creek had such a sordid past.”

  Before anyone could respond, they were all startled by the cheery Christmassy ring of Marci’s phone.

  “Hello. What? All right, I’m on my way.” Marci’s face glowed fiercely red with temper. She shoved the phone into her coat pocket. “That was Sheila. Rush Cleaver has arrived and expects to begin his stay today. Unbelievable!”

  “Oh no,” Gracie commiserated. “Are you ready enough to do it?”

  “I want to say absolutely not, but I don’t think I can. This guy is the most difficult of the bunch coming. I’ve got to get back to the house She cast a pleading look at everyone. “Please don’t say anything about this find. Please.”

  “Of course not,” Gracie assured her. “Our lips are sealed.”

  The kennel staff had finished up for the day, and Gracie sat down with Jim to go over the rest of the month’s schedule. Dude had insinuated his way into Jim’s good graces and was now sleeping in the recliner, with Haley lying splayed out on the floor beside the chair. At least the terrier mix had found common ground with the Lab over the last couple of days.

  “I thought you didn’t like that dog,” Gracie teased him.

  “I don’t, but he’s homeless and never going to see his owner again. It’s Christmas, you know,” Jim replied gruffly.

  “I know. His owner’s sister called me today and said she can’t take him. Her husband’s allergic or she’s allergic—something like that. I guess there isn’t anyone else in the family who wants him either. We’re supposed to ship him off to a shelter, and she paid his tab. I didn’t charge her for the extra days though.”

  “We can’t send him to a shelter. Let’s make some calls and see if we can find him a new home.”

  “I agree. I’ll put it out on Facebook too.”

  “Don’t do that. I want to make sure he goes to a good home, to someone we know.”

  Her eyebrows rose at Jim’s insistent manner. Her business partner loved animals, but he kept emotions in check when it came to making decisions for them. Long years on a dairy farm caring for cows and sometimes an extended menagerie of livestock had given him a realistic perspective on emotional attachments.

  “All right. Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “Give me a day or two. I just might. So, you’re off to the gala opening of the Mistletoe place this weekend?”

  “So far. Marc isn’t very eager to go, but I promised Marci. She’ll need all the support she can get with the travel celebrities that are coming. One already showed up five days early.”

  “Looking for a free vacation,” Jim speculated, lifting Dude from the recliner and setting him on the floor. The dog stretched sleepily and yawned, flopping next to Haley, who ignored him.

  “Probably, Gracie dryly surmised. “We’re going over Friday afternoon for a wine-and-cheese thing. Quentin will be dressed up to give his spiel on the history of the house that night too.”

  Jim chuckled. “Good old Quentin. He’s really good though. You won’t be disappointed. He did a bang-up job giving the history of Deer Creek at the Historical Society’s fundraiser last year.”

  Gracie feigned shock at his hearty endorsement. “I had no idea you were a history buff.”

  “Well, I’m a man of many secrets. I play it close to the vest.”

  “Really,” she responded, giving him a side eye. “At least we’ll have something to look forward to on Friday. I’m not so sure about the rest of the weekend.”

  “I’m babysitting Haley and Max the whole weekend then?”

  “Yes. Please. And if you want to commandeer my guest room, go ahead. It might make things easier if anything comes up here.”

  “Maybe. The dogs would probably be better off at home. My yard isn’t fenced, and I don’t want Frick and Frack running off into the woods on me.”

  “No. That wouldn’t be good. We’ve got the NFL channel, and there’s even food in the refrigerator. You’ll be all set here.”

  “Yeah. I’ll plan on it then.”

  The pair continued reviewing the calendar. Gracie penciled herself in to handle feeding and exercise times on Christmas Day. Jim took New Year’s Day, and t
hey decided to give the staff a couple of extra days off before Christmas. The kennel had had an excellent year, so bonuses were allocated for the staff. Gracie tapped away on the keyboard, entering the information, and then sent an email to Cheryl, the kennel helpers, and Marian, the groomer who’d been with them through thick and thin. She clicked the send button and leaned back in her chair.

  “There. Done. It’s a good feeling to hand out these bonuses. We’ve got a good team at the moment.”

  Jim nodded. “Cheryl’s really stepped up, and so have Katrina and Rich. I hope we don’t have to replace anyone for a good long time.”

  “Amen, brother. I hate the hiring process. Well, let’s call it a day.”

  “I’m with you, Chief. Gotta a couple of things to do tonight.”

  Gracie looked at Jim, assessing what she’d just heard. “Do I detect more mystery?” she teased.

  “Helping out a friend is all,” he said firmly. The inflection in his voice shut down any further questions.

  Gracie let it go, but her mind raced with the possibilities of just who the friend might be.

  Jim drove his black Ford pickup out of the kennel driveway, down Kennedy Road toward Deer Creek. The squeak of the windshield wipers lessened as he squirted fluid on the dirty windshield. His vision cleared as he entered the village limits. He was playing a hunch and would have to tread carefully, but it might just get the church’s nativity back. If he was right.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He pulled up in front of a white clapboard house with a large yard and two-story garage at the rear of the property. Jim walked around to the back of the house, where a swing set and sandbox sat near an old maple tree, now just a skeletal figure, stripped of its leaves. The milder temperatures of the day had dropped, and Jim searched the sky for signs of snow.

  A man with white hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee to match came to greet him from the garage. He was wiping his hands on a red shop rag.

  “Hey, Jim. Good to see you. Looking for a Christmas present?”

  Jim paused. “I might be, Steve. Is Josh still staying with you? I was hoping to take him out to dinner and have a talk with him just to see how he’s doing.”

  Steve shook his head, stroking his beard. “No. That boy went back into the system. He’s probably at another foster home by now.”

  “What happened? Was he getting into trouble again?”

  Steve motioned Jim into the garage, where he pulled out a couple of battered metal stools.

  “He didn’t settle into school very well in September, but you knew about that. I thought he’d get used to things. He took to my workshop and made some beautiful birds for a beginner. Here, let me show you.”

  Steve walked back to a wall of shelves that held a collection of hand-carved duck decoys. He took a mallard down from the top shelf and handed it to Jim. The distinctive emerald green head and the detailing of the gray and black feathers were astonishing for a novice carver. The paint job was at what Jim considered an expert level.

  Jim marveled at the decoy, turning it over in his hands. “He did this?”

  “He did. Josh is talented but pretty messed up. He has a lot of anger in him. Kate and I tried to help, but maybe we’re getting too old.” Steve sighed and sank onto the stool, its legs scraping grittily against the cement floor.

  “I don’t think so,” Jim demurred graciously. Josh is just a troubled kid. I should’ve come over more often, but I’ve been caught up with work. Looks like I’ve let him down. I just realized today that I hadn’t been by to see him since early November.” Jim examined the decoy again, finally setting it on the workbench.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Steve said. “You came over as much as you could. You’ve helped a lot of our boys over the years. Spending time with them by teaching them to fish and hunt made a big difference in their lives.”

  “I’ve been glad to do it. My folks took in some foster kids when I was about ten. It was tough for them and us, but I’m glad we had them. My dad taught them how to work in the barn and drive a tractor. Some even came back to help out during haying season after they went home to their parents. Even the girls.” He grinned and took a seat next to the older man.

  Steve smiled. “Your parents actually got us interested in fostering, a long time ago now. It’s been a good experience, but you have some failures along the way. Josh may be one, which breaks my heart. Even Pastor Minders tried to talk with him, but it didn’t do any good.”

  “You know, I saw Josh working around the church—must have been late October or early November.”

  Steve rubbed his face, nodding. “He was working at the church then. Now that I think of it, that’s when his attitude really changed. I’m sad to say it wasn’t a good experience for Josh. We have some people in the church who are pretty quick to judge others without hearing both sides of the story.”

  Jim bit back his stock reply that that the church was full of hypocrites anyway. The heavyset man rose and stood at his workbench that was covered with fresh wood shavings. He picked up a small object, cradling it in his big hand. Steve held it out to Jim.

  “Josh did this just about three weeks ago.” He handed the figurine to Jim, who examined it. A sheep carved from balsa. The tiny details of the curly wool and delicate hooves were perfect.

  “The boy’s got a lot of talent, that’s for sure,” Jim mused, turning the sheep over and handing it back. “You don’t have any idea where he might have gone?”

  “Social services doesn’t always notify us, but most likely he was sent to another family in the school district. There’s one in Castile we know that takes some of the more difficult teens. I could check.”

  Jim stood, zipping up his jacket. “Would you? If Josh is there, maybe I could visit him if they’d let me.”

  Steve smiled and clapped Jim on the back. “Sure. I’ll let you know.”

  Marci flopped into a deep armchair with a groan. The safety of her turret apartment was a relief. The circular space was cozy and decorated in a more modern style that suited her tastes. As much as she loved the elegance of the Victorian era, a more contemporary living space was her personal preference. She turned off her cellphone and laid it on a walnut-and-black steel end table next to her.

  Rush Cleaver was a big problem. Marci felt like a big old pigeon had flown over her and dropped a load. Not only had he expected to find a room ready for him, but he also demanded three meals a day. Kristin had obliged for today, but she’d told him that lunch and dinner were offsite until Friday. Rush hadn’t exactly responded in a gentlemanly fashion to the sous chef, but he’d conceded. Then the man had thrust a list of prohibited foods into Kristin’s hand. He said he was sensitive or allergic to several food items. Of course, those particular items, running the gamut from cream cheese to crabmeat, were on the menus for the weekend. It meant a complete menu overhaul, which didn’t bode well for Carl staying or Kristin either for that matter. None of the guests had special dietary requirements as far as she knew. No one had mentioned any in response to her previous emails about the subject. Marci’s gut feeling was that Rush had decided to take some sort of revenge against Carl. Maybe revenge against some of the others that were coming too. How could she get rid of him before Friday?

  Marci decided to take a break from worrying about the unwelcome guest and review Pamela Mistletoe’s manuscript again. She pulled the water-stained document from the bottom shelf of the end table. The headstone pentagram in the woods gave her a queasy feeling. All the tales about the house had been wonderfully intriguing, inspiring plans for mystery dinners and seasonal events around its history, but now she wondered if evil remained.

  Carefully, she turned the yellowing pages, some stained with splotches of brown. The handwriting in blue ink had grown faint over more than half a century. Pamela had written in a fine and looping cursive, sometimes hard to decipher. Finally locating the section on Stephen and Lily, she began reading. The narrative spoke of Lily’s fascination with attempting to con
tact Ziba Parkhurst, her first husband. Ziba, a wealthy banker, had purchased the house from Serena Mistletoe’s estate, only living there a couple of years. He had succumbed to tuberculosis, and Lily was left to manage the huge property. She had invited the Fox sisters, who were renowned spiritualists from Rochester, New York, to try and contact Ziba for assistance in running the estate. Other mediums came and went until Stephen Mistletoe appeared on her doorstep in 1888. He told her of a séance he’d hosted at his home in London, England, attempting to contact his cousin, Serena. The tragic Serena had deigned to voice instructions through the medium, who had charged Stephen to find his way to Deer Creek. How strange that Stephen had stepped from the shadows at that time. Why hadn’t he made a claim on the estate when Serena died?

  Marci turned attention back to the manuscript. A quick marriage and Lily’s disappearance two years later gave a load of fodder for the rumor mills. Pamela’s opinion was quite low of her ancestor’s behavior. She called him a fraud, a womanizer, and most disturbing of all, a habitual murderer. It was clear from Pamela’s inferences that she believed Stephen had been apprised of Lily’s predicament through the medium community which was in its heyday at the time. He’d hustled off to woo a rather weak-willed widow for her property and substantial bank account. He hadn’t sailed from England, but was living in Hydesville, New York, which was a hotbed of spiritualist activity in the mid-to late-1800s. Pamela had even included Stephen’s Hydesville address. She’d done her homework.