3 Claus of Death

by Gayle Trent

  A CLAUS OF DEATH

  Myrtle Crumb Mystery

  By

  Gayle Trent

  Claus of Death: A Myrtle Crumb Mystery

  All Rights Reserved © 2013 by Gayle Trent

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  For Nicholas and Lianna, as always.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Other Books by this Author

  Connect with Gayle Trent/Amanda Lee Online

  Chapter One

  I was all snuggled up in my recliner with a blanket over my legs and Matlock beside me when the doorbell rang. I’d been watching my show—The Young and The Restless—and they were right in the middle of something dramatic. It was Friday, and they always do something overly dramatic and then leave you hangin’ over the weekend.

  I heaved a big sigh, which made Matlock heave a big sigh—he wasn’t one to go barking every time somebody came to the door—as I put down the footrest and got up to peek out the window and see who was there. You remember Matlock, don’t you? He’s the chocolate Labrador retriever I got at the animal shelter a few months ago. He’s my buddy—that’s for sure. When I first got him, I thought I’d lost my mind. Now I don’t know how I ever got along without him.

  Anyway, back to who was at the door. I looked out the window, and there stood Tansie and her sister Melvia. I know you remember Tansie—she’s my big, mouthy neighbor that throws money around like it was confetti. Melvia is also my neighbor, but she’s nice. She can’t help who her sister is. And, like myself, Melvia is on a fixed income.

  I turned off the television before I opened the door. I didn’t want Tansie and Melvia to think I just sit around watching soap operas all day because I don’t. I watch one, and that’s only because I’ve watched it for years. And me and Matlock enjoy some of them old shows they have on sometimes like I Love Lucy, The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Big Valley…that kind of thing. And we watch talk shows sometimes. We have to keep up on what’s going on in the world, you know. But we don’t spend all day in front of the television. We have things to do.

  “It’s about time,” Tansie said, when I opened the door. She brushed past me. “I thought you were going to let us stand out there in the cold all day.”

  “Well, no,” I said. “I hadn’t planned on it, Miss Impatient. Hi, Melvia.”

  “Hello, Myrtle,” Melvia said.

  “Here. Give me your coats, and I’ll hang ’em up,” I said.

  Tansie wriggled out of her long wool coat and handed it to me. Melvia said she believed she’d leave her jacket on.

  “I took a chill when we were at the mall, and I’ve not got over it yet,” she said.

  “Is it that cold out?” I asked. It hadn’t snowed or anything, but I knew it was in the low thirties or the high twenties…about right for early December in southwest Virginia.

  “It’s not so much the cold as what happened at the mall,” Tansie said.

  “Can I get ya’ll some coffee?” I asked.

  “I’d like a cup,” Melvia said.

  We all went into the kitchen, Matlock included. He was as eager as I was to find out what happened at the mall that had given poor little old Melvia a chill.

  I poured Melvia a cup of coffee and handed her the sugar bowl, the creamer, and a spoon as she sat down at the table.

  “How long has that coffee been settin’ there?” Tansie asked.

  “Not long. I made a fresh pot at lunchtime. But if you don’t want any, it won’t hurt my feelings.” I poured myself a cup as Tansie said she believed she’d pass. Hateful thing. Like her coffee don’t taste as thick and strong as motor oil no matter when it’s made.

  I took my coffee and sat down at the table with Melvia.

  Tansie sat down across from Melvia. “You gonna tell her, or do you want me to?”

  Melvia shook her head. “I don’t want to. You tell her.”

  “Well, I wish somebody would,” I said. This was getting worse than one of them soap opera cliff hangers. I put sugar and creamer into my coffee and stirred it up. I didn’t have all day.

  “Melvia and I went to the mall to do a little Christmas shopping. I needed to finish up.” She looked down her nose at her sister. “Had you even started before this morning?”

  Melvia shook her head. “I told you. I had to wait on my Social Security check to get here.”

  I told you Tansie was hateful. She didn’t have to bring that up in front of me or anybody else. She just wanted me to know—and Melvia to be reminded—that she didn’t have to wait for money to come in. She could go shopping whenever she wanted.

  “I do mine a little bit along,” I said to Melvia. In fact, I had mine pert near done, but I didn’t say so. No sense in making Melvia feel even worse.

  “Will ya’ll please stop interrupting?” Tansie huffed. “Melvia and I were going through the mall. Belk had their pantsuits on sale, and we were headed down there to look at them when we saw a commotion at Santa Land.”

  She was waiting for me to ask what happened, but I didn’t say a word. She’d just told us to stop interrupting, so I’d be dogged if I was going to now.

  Since neither me nor Melvia said a word, Tansie just blurted the rest of it out.

  “Jackson Barnard, who was playing Santa Claus, killed himself.”

  “And he was on the throne when he did it,” Melvia said softly. “Oh, I don’t mean in the bathroom. He was on his Santa Land throne.”

  “He killed himself?” I asked. “With what? A gun?”

  “No. It was poison. He’d put it in his coffee,” Tansie said.

  Melvia looked down at hers like it might have poison in it, so I took a sip of mine to reassure her.

  “Are you sure?” I frowned. “Maybe he just had a heart attack or something. No self-respecting mall Santa would kill himself right there in Santa Land in front of all those little kids.”

  “It wasn’t too bad crowded today,” Melvia said. “I reckon most of the young ‘uns were in school.”

  “Still, what makes y’all so sure it was a suicide?” I asked.

  “Because we heard the police talking about it with the woman who works at the Bagel Barn,” Tansie said. “She saw the whole thing. She said he was fine as frog hair, said ‘good morning’ to her as he passed by, went over to Santa Land and sat down on his throne, took a drink of his coffee, and five minutes later he was dead.”

  “But why do you think it was suicide?” I wasn’t letting this go without some hard evidence.

  “We know because one of the police officers said there were signs of poison,” Melvia said.

  “Then how do you know it was suicide and not murder?” I asked.

  Tansie rolled her eyes like I was stupid. “Because people get depressed this time of year. Besides, who’s gonna kill Santa?”

  * * *

  When my granddaughter Sunny (y’all know I don’t call my little Sunshine by Crimson, that hippie name her Mama hung on her) got home from school, she called me.

  “Hey, Mimi,” she said. “What can I get Matlock for Christmas?”

  “I reckon he’d lik
e a visit from you more than anything,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I want to get him something and wrap it up.”

  “All right.” I looked down at Matlock. “He likes them little dog bones and those treats that look like beef jerky.”

  Matlock raised his big head off his paws and looked up at me.

  “He knows we’re talking about him,” I told Sunny.

  She giggled. “What’ve y’all been doin’ today?”

  “We had a surprise visit from Tansie and Melvia,” I said. “They were going on about Santa droppin’ dead at the mall today.”

  “I heard about that,” she said. “Monica Krenshaw had been to the orthodontist, and her mama took her to the mall to get her some chicken strips from the food court, and she said the police were there and that they’d roped off Santa Land. It’s closed for the time being.”

  “For how long?” I asked. “That’s awful for Santa Land to be closed three weeks before Christmas.”

  “I know. But then, who’d want to take their kids there knowing some guy died there?”

  “Melvia said he died right there on the throne,” I said. “Did the young ‘un with the braces say anything about what happened to the guy?”

  “She didn’t know. She said the only thing the people at the Chicken Coop knew was that he fell over dead and that he had definitely not had anything to eat from the Chicken Coop,” said Sunny.

  “Tansie and Melvia heard he was poisoned…but keep that to yourself for now,” I said. “I don’t know any of the details yet.”

  “That might be why the people at the Chicken Coop were doing damage control,” she said. “If I ran the Chicken Coop and somebody got poisoned, I wouldn’t want people to think my chicken made them sick.”

  “Me either.” My little Sunshine has a good business head on her shoulders, don’t you think? “Still, I can’t figure out why the people at the mall would automatically assume he killed himself if he was poisoned. You’d think it was either accidental or that he was killed. How many people kill themselves with poison?”

  “I don’t know, Mimi. Want me to look it up?”

  “Yeah. If you don’t care and have time,” I said.

  “I’ve got my laptop right here. Hold on a sec.”

  After a sec, she came back to tell me that she couldn’t find any exact statistics.

  “Poisoning oneself is listed as a way of committing suicide,” Sunny said. “It’s listed right there with vehicular collisions, jumping off bridges, firearms, and hanging.”

  “Well, eww…. I wish you hadn’t looked that up now,” I said. “I don’t want you going around with that kinda stuff on your mind.”

  “Puh-leeze, Mimi. I’m almost fifteen. And I watch Supernatural. I’m not going to let something a little icky creep me out.”

  Supernatural is a good show, but it’s full of haints, boogers, spooks, and monsters. Me and Matlock started watching it to see what Sunny was going on about. I believe she watches it because she thinks them boys on there are handsome. But she’s right. If she can watch that and not be scared as all get out, looking up an article on suicide methods shouldn’t bother her. And them boys are awfully nice looking.

  Still, I told her I’d prefer that she didn’t mention what I’d had her look up to her mama. Faye don’t like for me to get Sunny involved with my investigations. In fact, Faye don’t like me getting’ involved with my investigations. And I reckoned that’s what this was now. I was probably going to have to go undercover to find out whether or not Jolly Old Saint Nick committed Hari Kari. Hey, I guess that’d make me Mata Hari Kari.

  I’m having dinner with Sheriff Cooper Norville this evening. We got to know each other when I was investigating Flora Adams’ disappearance. I’ll see what he knows about the Santa suicide…the Santa situation…the Santa Land takedown…. If I ever decide to write books about my investigations, I’m going to have to get better at coming up with catchy names for my cases.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Cooper came to pick me up, I’d bathed and changed into one of them new-fangled color-block dresses. It was black on the sides and red in the front and back. And I wore black hose and shoes—the black pumps I’d got at that consignment shop that reminded me of the ones Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I’d done my nails in a French manicure, and I wore a jet pendant with matching earrings. I might be sixty-five—a young sixty-five, mind you—but I still like to look nice. I’ve been compared more than once to a mature Jackie-O.

  Cooper got to the house about ten minutes early—that’s his norm—and I came from the kitchen to let him in. I’d been feeding Matlock and putting fresh water in his bowl.

  He gave a little wolf whistle when I opened the door. “Don’t you look pretty?”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Just let me grab my pocketbook, and we’ll go.”

  Matlock hurried into the living room at the sound of Coop’s voice.

  “Hey, big fella,” Coop said, scratching Matlock’s big square head. “Whatcha doing, buddy?”

  I got my pocketbook, and we went out onto the porch. I locked up the house, and then Coop had to help me up into that big white pickup truck he drives. He’s tall—I reckon about 6’3” or so—so it don’t bother him. I’m only about 5’7”, plus I didn’t want to have to hike my dress up and embarrass myself, so I was glad to get a little boost.

  “Have you had a nice day?” I asked as Cooper got behind the wheel and started the truck.

  I noticed Tansie peeping out her window, and I gave her a big friendly wave. She’s as jealous as all get out of Cooper because she’s not seeing anybody. The mailman likes her, but she won’t let on that she’s interested. She’d better. I’d about say he’s Tansie’s last chance if she doesn’t want to be a widow the rest of her life.

  I’m a widow too, you know, but I’ve been alone for a long time now. It doesn’t bother me. I like Coop, but I wasn’t really looking for a man when he came along. Now that he’s around, I enjoy his company, though. And he is a nice looking man with that thick white hair and those clear blue eyes. He’s enough to make you turn your nose up at Sean Connery…but if you know Sean Connery, don’t tell him I said that. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings or anything. And if it wasn’t for Coop, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at Mr. Connery at all.

  “I had a pretty good day,” Coop said. “Did you?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Heard something interesting, though.”

  Cooper didn’t say a word, and he stared straight at the road…hard…. He didn’t want to know what interesting thing I’d heard. I imagined he could guess. He’s not real crazy about me being a detective. He thinks I should leave the sleuthing to the police. But I just can’t. How could I have this gift and not use it to the greater good? It would be a sin…probably. I know Coop’s just afraid I’ll get hurt, but I’m sturdier than he realizes.

  “I heard that Jackson Barnard keeled over on the Santa Land throne,” I continued.

  Coop nodded. “Yep. That’s what they say. The mall’s not our jurisdiction, so I don’t have all the details on that one.” He sounded relieved about that.

  “Still, Melvia and Tansie said people at the mall think Jackson killed himself…that he drank poison. Have you ever heard anything any stupider than that?” I asked. “Who drinks poison?”

  “Lots of folks,” he said. “Socrates—”

  “Not on the throne at Santa Land,” I interrupted. “Besides, what Santa Claus is going to kill himself and traumatize a bunch of kids?”

  “People do crazy things, Myrtle. You know that.”

  “I know, but still…. It just doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

  He patted my hand. “The police will figure it out. From what I’ve heard already, though, Mr. Barnard had lost his job this year and I believe he and his wife had separated. Things were pretty bad for him.”

  “I heard Santa Land is shut down,” I said. “When will they reopen it?”

  “
Probably tomorrow. The investigators will finish going over the area today, the mall will hire a replacement, and Santa Land will likely be back in business tomorrow or the next day,” he said.

  “That’s good.”

  He grinned. “You’re awfully sweet to worry about the children the way you do.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile. I could tell Cooper was done talking about the death of Jackson/Santa. I’d go to the mall tomorrow and see what I could dig up there.

  * * *

  We went to the local steakhouse. There are a bunch of restaurants about twenty to thirty minutes away, but not so many in our little corner of the world. Our steakhouse is called The Mesa, and it’s really good.

  Cooper pulled into the parking lot, parked the truck, and then came around to help me out. He’s quite the gentleman. You don’t see many men today opening car doors for women. Then again, lots of women don’t want them to. I don’t know why. I figure I can have equal rights and pay and feminism and all that stuff, and still get treated like a lady.

  The Mesa was pretty crowded being that it was Friday night, but we didn’t have to wait but about five minutes to be seated. They have a pretty good-sized dining room. The hostess took us to a cozy little table for two. There was a lantern like you’d use if your power went out at the side of the table, and that made a nice glow.

  The hostess gave us our menus and said our waitress would be around in a minute. It was more like two minutes; but the way Coop’s blue eyes were sparkling in the glow of that lantern light, I didn’t mind the wait.

  The waitress was Bobbie Jean Fairstock. She’s about thirty or thirty-five, with blond hair and green eyes, and she’s as talkative as they come. She’s as sweet as can be, and I guess all that talking gets her some decent tips.

  Anyway, Bobbie Jean came up and told us she would be waitin’ on us tonight and asked what we wanted to drink. Coop and I both got iced tea. It was Friday night, and I doubted either of us had to get up particularly early the next morning so a little caffeine tonight wouldn’t hurt us.