Around four o’clock Officer Wade escorted Bethany into the house. Muffin raced toward her, tail wagging, and Val invited the young officer in for a snack.
“Thank you. I wish I could, but I have to get back to work.” He turned to Bethany. “I’ll come by for you tomorrow morning. Please stay out of sight, Bethany, until we get this criminal behind bars.” He’d echoed the chief’s sentiments, but with an urgency that sounded more personal.
After he left, Bethany looked down at the dog gazing up at her. “Muffin wants me to take her for a walk.”
“She’s guilt-tripping you. Granddad brought her back from a walk ten minutes ago, right before he left for the supermarket. And that was her second walk of the afternoon.” Val wondered how long her friend could put up with what she’d termed house arrest and the need for an escort. “Are you okay with Officer Wade as a bodyguard again tomorrow?”
“More than okay.” Bethany smiled. “His name is Ryan. He’s really nice, and he isn’t as young as he looks. We’re exactly the same age.”
Both of them looked young to Val, and she was only six years older than they were. Could a romance be in the offing for them? “The chief thinks highly of Officer Wade—I mean Ryan. Did he say anything about the investigation?”
“Not much. On the way back from school, he asked me to show him where I saw the ghost on Saturday night. When we got there, he told me the police had searched that area this morning. I’d described it well enough last night that they knew where to go. They were looking for evidence—a footprint, a piece of clothing snagged on the bush, or anything else the ghost left behind.”
Val wondered if they’d collected a pebble the ghost might have removed from a shoe. She wasn’t sure DNA would stick to stone, but the foot of someone who’d walked on a hard object might have a bruise that matched the object’s shape. Unless the police nabbed a suspect soon, though, the sore would heal. “I’m going to bake tonight’s dessert. Do you want to keep me company and have a snack?”
Bethany glanced toward the kitchen, apparently tempted. Then she squared her shoulders. “To stay on my diet, I have to keep away from the kitchen. I’ll go upstairs so I can’t smell what you’re baking. I need to call my mom.”
“Are you going to tell her about the chocolates?”
“Definitely not. She’d freak out. We’ll talk about Christmas plans.” Bethany left with Muffin in her wake.
Val made a cranberry-apple crisp, popped it into the oven, and went back to the study.
She had an e-mail from her cousin, Monique, who’d attached a zipped file of the pictures she’d taken at the festival on Saturday. Val skimmed them, looking for ones in which the body language of Santa or the person with him suggested conflict. A photo time-stamped in the morning showed exactly that, and the person with him was Granddad as Scrooge.
In another photo from that morning, Jake in his red Santa suit and Franetta in white as the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared amiable. But in one taken later in the day, he was glassy-eyed and she annoyed, probably because he’d been at his flask since morning.
Val got up and checked on the dessert in the oven. She turned it so it would bake evenly and then went back to looking at the festival photos.
Half of Monique’s photos were of posed groups, the rest were candid shots. Val scrutinized dozens of pictures of Santa and Mrs. Claus. Jake and Jewel smiled when they posed, but their candid pictures didn’t suggest a devoted couple. In an unguarded moment a tight-lipped Jewel eyed Jake with narrowed eyes. Jake’s smile was genuine, with crinkles around his eyes, as he presented small gifts to children, but not when he looked at his wife.
Val searched in vain for photos of him with Holly or Shantell. In a picture Monique had taken late in the day, Oliver and Cyndi posed with Santa and Mrs. Claus. All four of them displayed say-cheese smiles.
The doorbell rang. Val went into the hall and looked through the sidelight. Cyndi stood on the porch with her husband. The last time Val had seen the Kenwigs, Cyndi had yelled at her and thrown her out of the Naiman house. Now she smiled tentatively at Val through the sidelight.
Unless Cyndi was a good actress, Val had nothing to fear from the couple. She cracked the door open. “Hi.”
Cyndi looked relieved. She must have anticipated Val turning her back on them. “Hello, Val. I came to apologize for my outburst the night before last. I was extremely upset and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.” A cold gust blew her red hair into her face.
Words weren’t enough for Val. She’d forgive Cyndi only if she made amends for damaging Val’s reputation as a caterer. “Come in, please,” she said through tight lips.
“Thank you.” Cyndi stepped inside.
“I’d like to get on the road home soon,” Kevin said to his wife in an undertone as he followed her into the house.
Cyndi said, “We won’t keep you long, Val. We made a quick trip here to talk to Dad’s lawyer about his estate. Elaine’s already on her way back to her house, but I really wanted to talk to you before we left.”
Without offering to take their coats, Val led them into the sitting room, sat down in the armchair to the side of the sofa, and motioned for them to sit on the sofa. She took perverse pleasure in subjecting them to the most uncomfortable seats in the room. And before they left, she would speak her mind about Cyndi’s campaign against her.
Cyndi settled on the sofa, took off her knitted gloves, and unzipped her parka, though she didn’t remove it. She slid over to make room for Kevin. After taking off his puffy quilted jacket, Kevin laid it over the arm of the sofa and sat down next to his wife.
Cyndi twisted the gloves in her hand. “I’d like to explain why I acted the way I did. I opposed the autopsy because I was afraid it would show Dad had deliberately overdosed on meds to commit suicide. I wanted to accept the doctor’s conclusion of cardiac arrest, but that would have been a mistake. If it weren’t for your suspicions about the chocolate, we wouldn’t have known Dad was poisoned.” She bit her lip, holding back tears.
Kevin reached for her hand. “Bad as poisoning is, at least we won’t wonder forever if he took his own life.”
Cyndi nodded. “And there’s comfort in knowing he wasn’t personally targeted. The police told us his death could be related to another poisoning.”
Val wasn’t sure whether the police had told them about an attempted poisoning with the same kind of chocolates that killed Oliver. She decided to pretend ignorance and mention only Jake’s better publicized murder. “The police must have meant the man poisoned Saturday evening at the festival tea. I wonder why they think your father’s death is related to that. Did he know that man, Jake Smith, or maybe it was John or Jack Smith?”
“I never heard him mention a man named Smith. Did you, Kevin?”
“No.”
“My cousin was the roaming photographer at the festival. She sent me the pictures she’d taken. There was one of your father and you, Cyndi, with Jake and his wife, Jewel.” Cyndi looked baffled, and Val added, “Smith was Santa at the festival and his wife was Mrs. Claus.”
“Ah. I remember posing for that picture, but I didn’t know Santa was the poison victim.”
Kevin said, “At home we get news from Baltimore, not from this area, but I’m surprised Elaine didn’t tell us that.”
Cyndi shrugged. “She and I talked mainly about Dad’s death, not someone else’s.”
Val said, “If you’d like, I’ll send you a copy of the photo, Cyndi. Your father looks really happy in it.” Happier than he looked on his birthday the following day.
“We finally coaxed him to go to the festival in the afternoon. It would have been too far for him to walk, but Elaine drove us as close as she could to the historical district, though she couldn’t park there. Dad enjoyed seeing the decorations and the people in costume.”
Val turned to Kevin. “Did you get to spend any time at the festival?”
“Only in the morning. Then I realized I’d forgotten to take
along the tests and papers I needed to grade by Monday. I went home after lunch on Saturday.”
“Forgetfulness has its rewards,” Cyndi said. “Kevin got to sleep at home that night. He hates the beds at my father’s house.”
“Two nights in a row on that mattress would have done my back in.”
Cyndi handed Val a business card. “My e-mail address is on here. I’d appreciate a copy of that photo. It’s a good memory for me.”
Val tucked Cyndi’s card in her pocket and decided to be blunt. “On Tuesday evening, Cyndi, you threatened to wreck my reputation as a caterer. Since then people have canceled contracts with me. I’d appreciate your walking back the negative things you said about me to your father’s neighbors or anyone else.”
Cyndi blushed. “Okay. I’ll recommend you as a caterer and explain I was mistaken. I’ll see a few of those people tomorrow. My father’s funeral will be small, family only. But tomorrow night Franetta is having a get-together for his neighbors and friends to pay their respects. Will you join us?”
“I didn’t know your father very well, but I’ll stop by. What time?”
“Seven.”
The hall steps creaked as Bethany descended. She came into the sitting room with Muffin at her heels. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company, Val.”
Kevin put his jacket over his arm. “We were just leaving.”
He couldn’t leave fast enough for Val. She was afraid Bethany might mention something the chief had withheld from the Naiman family. If they were suspects in Oliver’s murder, he might not have revealed the type of poison and definitely wouldn’t have told them Bethany had been poisoned in a similar way. He’d kept her name and location a secret.
Val said, “I think Muffin’s food dish is running low. Could you refill it?”
“Sure.” Bethany headed toward the back of the house. “Come on, Muffin, we don’t want you to go hungry.”
As soon as they left the room, Kevin stood up and hurried to the hall.
Cyndi leaned toward Val and whispered, “Kevin’s afraid of dogs. He freaks out if one comes near him.” She stood up, put out her hand to Val, and raised her voice. “I hope you’ll forgive my bad behavior.”
Val shook hands with her. “I understand how stressed you were. I’m glad we cleared it up. I’ll see you tomorrow evening at Franetta’s.”
As they joined Kevin in the hall, he opened the front door and stepped outside. “Sorry to rush off, but the bridge traffic is a bear this time of day.”
Val closed the door behind them and went back to the sitting room.
Bethany bustled in with the dog on her heels. “Muffin had plenty of food. Who were your visitors?”
“Oliver Naiman’s daughter and her husband.”
“If I’d known that, I’d have given them my condolences.”
And Cyndi would have asked how Bethany knew her father. Before long the fact that she’d been poisoned the same way would have come up. “Cyndi’s husband is afraid of dogs and rushed out after spotting Muffin.”
“How could anyone be afraid of Muffin?”
Granddad came in carrying grocery sacks. Val brought in the remaining sacks from his car while Bethany helped him unpack the food. Then the three of them had happy hour in the kitchen.
Muffin stood at the door to the kitchen with a ball in her mouth, apparently wanting a happy hour too. Bethany played fetch with the dog in the dining and sitting room, and Val went back to the computer. This time she focused her search on the Naimans. Twenty minutes of skimming everything she could find online about the father, his two daughters, and his son-in-law convinced her that they, like the Frosts, had no obvious connection to Jake Smith. But if the link between the killer and Jake involved something underhanded, it wouldn’t necessarily appear online.
She sighed. The police had more resources for digging up information than she did. Her time might be better spent figuring out why the killer had targeted Bethany. If the motive stemmed from her encounter with the masked figure on Saturday night, the place to start would be where they’d met—near the intersection of Pine Street and Dixon Lane. Val would go there at night and re-create the scene with someone who could assume the part of the ghost. Not Bethany, who needed to lie low. Not Granddad, who couldn’t easily crouch or bend over as the ghost had. Who else could she rope into this on short notice?
Possibly Bram. He was coming over later to take Muffin on a night walk. Would he mind playing the ghost? Only one way to find out. Val called him.
“Hi, Bram. I need a partner in my crime investigation. Are you willing?”
He said nothing for a moment. “I’m willing to be your partner in . . . anything.”
The huskiness in his voice tempted Val to interpret his words as applying to more than just tonight’s venture. But that was wishful thinking. She reminded herself he was moving away.
She told him her plan and said, “Dress in black, or at least dark colors. See you later.”
Chapter 21
Bram arrived at eight o’clock for the combo dog walk and ghost encounter reenactment. Val thought he’d done a decent job of dressing for his role. His pants, athletic shoes, and gloves were black. His hooded parka was navy. Ideally, he’d have worn a black robe like the ghost’s. Not expecting him to do that, she’d found a substitute for it in the front closet.
“Dress warmly, Val. The temperature’s plummeting.” Accustomed to California weather, his face had turned ruddy in the cold wind.
Bethany looked up from leashing her dog. “Uh-oh. I’d better put on Muffin’s overcoat.” She coaxed the dog upstairs.
Val took the olive drab cloak from the closet.
Bram’s brows rose. “That thing will keep you warm in any weather.”
On Saturday morning, when Val had worn it to the festival, she’d ditched it before Bram saw her in the unattractive garment. Though she now had less reason to care if she looked attractive to him, she still couldn’t bring herself to put it on.
She held it up. “This isn’t for me. I’m hoping you’ll throw it over your shoulders when we get to our destination. Though it will only cover you down to your shins, this big shapeless thing is the closest we can get to the ghost’s robe.”
“Do you have a mask too?”
“No, we’ll just pretend your face is a mask. I have a gift bag for you to put on when we re-create what Bethany saw. I didn’t cut eyeholes because you’ll be standing in one place and won’t have the bag on your head for more than a few seconds. I’ll also bring this bag because the ghost carried one.” She held up a festival shopping bag.
Val donned her parka, a knit hat, and gloves. Bethany came down the stairs with Muffin in his doggy hoodie.
Bram smiled. “Muffin is incognito. In the dark she’ll look like a short-haired, black dog.”
Muffin’s ears moved forward as if reminding him of her silky, reddish hair.
Bethany handed Bram the leash. “Don’t keep her out too long. She might catch a cold even in her hoodie. I’ll also give you some treats as an incentive for her to follow you instead of where she might want to go on her own.” Bethany left for the kitchen and returned with two packets of dog biscuits.
Val put them in her pocket and left with Bram and the dog. Muffin didn’t do as much sniffing around as she usually did on a walk, possibly sensing they were on a mission.
As they walked to Pine Street, Bram said, “Something occurred to me as I was trying to get into character for my role tonight. Don’t assume that the ghost was a woman, just because Bethany heard a female voice. If I were covered from head to toe and wanted to mislead people about who I was, I’d play an audio clip of a woman speaking.”
Val took a moment to consider his idea. “Canned audio would explain the odd exchange between Bethany and the ghost. She said, ‘Are you okay?’ and instead of answering that question, the ghost said ‘Happy Holidays’ and nothing else.” Yet Val wasn’t totally convinced. “Where would the ghost have hidden the device that play
ed the audio?”
“You’d be amazed what you can conceal up your sleeve or inside your glove. There are audio devices tiny enough to fit in the palm of your hand.”
“How did the ghost find the button to play the audio in the dark?”
“I guess the same way I learn a magic trick—practicing until the action becomes automatic.”
Though Bram’s theory on the canned audio had merit, it didn’t radically change Val’s ideas about the murder. “I’ll go back to using he for the ghost. It comes more naturally to me, but I won’t rule out that a woman wore the ghost costume.”
“You shouldn’t. My point is only that you can’t rule out a man.”
The possibility of a male ghost added a new wrinkle to Val’s suspicions about the Frosts. She’d figured out how Franetta might have managed two costume changes and the round trip to the bookshop within ten minutes, but it was tight. Franetta wouldn’t have needed to do that, though, if Thatcher had played the ghost.
Val and Bram took the same route Bethany had taken on Saturday night. They walked along Pine Street past the church with the graveyard behind it. Muffin took the lead as they approached the corner of Pine and Dixon. She turned onto Dixon, possibly because this was a route home she recognized. No one else was walking or driving along Dixon Lane on this frigid night.
Val stopped when they came to a large cherry laurel with dense foliage overhanging the sidewalk. “This must be the shrub the ghost hoped would keep anyone from seeing what he was doing.”
Though the house behind the overgrown shrub had a porch light on, the greenery was thick enough to keep most of the light from reaching the street. The only other illumination came from a streetlight at the corner and another across the lane, half a block from where they were standing. The sidewalk near the bush was in a pocket of dimness.
Bram put on the cloak and took the gift bag from the festival shopping bag. He gave Val the leash. “I’ll stay close to the bush. You take Muffin back to the corner with you and then walk toward me.”
Muffin resisted backtracking. Val reached into her pocket for the dog treat packet and shook it. That was enough to make Muffin trot alongside her. She gave the dog a treat when they reached the corner and then called out to Bram that they were walking toward him.
Gingerdead Man Page 18
