Purring Around the Christmas Tree

by Liz Mugavero

What if someone had killed Harold thinking it was Seamus? It was the question Stan had been asking herself since Friday night. Amara had asked it too. And now the word seemed to be out on the street—again, likely in rumor format, but still. She needed to talk to Jessie. First to find out if she’d confirmed this had in fact been murder, and secondly to ask her if she’d given any additional thought to who the real target had been.

  Char wasn’t in any shape for serious conversation after the bombshell. Stan and her mother hovered over her, trying to get her to drink some tea and eat something, but she couldn’t be consoled. Finally, they moved into the kitchen area, leaving Char on the couch.

  “I’ll stay with her and make sure she’s okay,” Patricia said to Stan. “I’m sure you need to get to the store, right?”

  Stan glanced at her phone. “I do. Shoot.” And she needed to shower, and eat something, and figure out who was blabbing this all over town. And if it was true. So much for getting to her baking early. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Tony told me that was the rumor,” Patricia said in a low voice, yanking open the fridge and perusing the offerings. “But do you think they have proof?”

  “I have no idea. I mean, it’s barely eight on a Sunday morning. I highly doubt Abby is on the call list for the tox reports.” Stan sighed. “I have to go talk to Jessie.”

  Patricia found a quiche and popped it into the oven. “This is going to go down as the craziest Christmas season I’ve ever had, for sure.”

  “I think that’s true for most of us.” Stan pulled out a chair. “That darn Abby. Actually, that reminds me.” She went over to where Char lay with a pillow over her face. “Hey, Char. Question.”

  Char moved the pillow slightly and peered at Stan with one eye. “What?”

  “Why does Abby hate Seamus so much? Is it because he wouldn’t date her?”

  Char tossed the pillow aside and sat up. “Date her? Lord, that woman is insufferable.”

  “That’s what Miss Viv said. About when they were kids. Abby got really nasty with her out on the street the other day about Seamus. But she made a comment to me too about him. Something about how he deserved this more than Harold. Do you know why she would say that?”

  Char thought about that. “You know, I remember Raymond telling me back over the summer that Abby’s husband, Bill, had started working with Seamus on something. Some new business venture. Maybe it went wrong? I really haven’t heard, though.” She shook her head. “And I highly doubt she’s holding on to that much of a grudge from when they were kids. Although with Abby, one never knows.”

  Stan’s antennae rose. “Do you know what kind of business venture?” Maybe Miss Viv did know what she was talking about. And maybe the family had been kept out of the loop for a reason.

  “I don’t. I think the only thing I said to Ray about it when he told me was don’t go getting any ideas. Seamus is fine to have as a friend. But my goodness, working with him could land someone in the looney bin.” She glanced around, realizing too late that the house was full of McGees. “Oops.”

  “I think most of them might agree with you,” Stan muttered. She grabbed her phone and texted Jake.

  Rumors are kicking up about this being a murder. I need to go find your sister. Are you ready to go?

  Be right there, he replied.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she told her mother and Char. “Will you be okay?”

  Char flopped back down. “Miserable, but okay.”

  Patricia waved her away. “Go bake.”

  Stan pocketed her phone and slipped out the front door, her mind on Harold. Jake met her by the car.

  “Want me to drop you at home? I’m going to skip the shower for now. Too much to do,” she said. “One of the guests heard this was an official murder. Not sure if your sister put anything out publicly yet, but Char’s freaking out.”

  “Oh boy. Yeah, drop me at home. Are you going to see Jessie? Maybe you should give her some time.”

  “I just want to stop by really quickly,” Stan said. “I have to get to the shop anyway.”

  She dropped Jake at their driveway and drove off. The street was quiet. She drove around the green, heading for Jessie’s house on the east side of town. On the way, she passed Lester Crookshank’s tree farm, where they’d be going later tonight. And swerved into the parking area when she saw a police car parked out front. She pulled up behind it.

  As she’d suspected, Jessie and Trooper Lou were inside. Stan rapped on the window.

  Jessie, in the driver’s seat, turned. And glared before buzzing her window down. “I know you’re eager to win the decorating contest, but you’ll have to come back later for your tree.”

  Lou grinned. “Morning, Stan.”

  Stan ignored Jessie’s comment. “I saw your car. I need to talk to you. I was just at Char’s. Abby stopped by the B and B, dying to spread the news that this is an official murder investigation. Is that true? Do you have evidence? Did you put something out to the public?”

  “We really should hire her,” Lou said to Jessie. “She has a knack for getting information almost before we do. Actually, sometimes you do get it before we do.” He turned to Stan. “You want a second career?”

  “Shush,” Jessie snapped at him. “Don’t encourage her. Stan, do you really think I’m going to discuss the details of this case with you?”

  “But you admit it’s a case,” Stan said triumphantly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You’re questioning Lester.”

  “I’m the one who needs a new job,” Jessie said with a long-suffering sigh. “Since it will be all over town—no, scratch that, you just said it’s already all over town—I’ll confirm publicly that this is an official murder investigation. Harold was poisoned. No further comment. Now, can you please leave so I can do my job?”

  “Not so fast,” a voice behind Stan piped up. “I need a statement from you on that.”

  She spun around to find Cyril behind her, his pencil poised over his notebook. “Man, I have the best timing. I needed some background from Lester on my Christmas tree story and figured I’d get it out of the way before he got busy later. Lucky that I happened on the powwow. So when did you get results? Was there an autopsy already done, or are you basing this off toxicology reports? This is pretty quick for results—how did you get it expedited? What was the method? Do you have any suspects?”

  Jessie held up a hand. “Stop. This is not a press conference. If you want to talk, come by my office later this morning. I have work to do.”

  “What are you doing here?” Cyril asked. “Is Lester a suspect? Are you arresting him?”

  Jessie folded her arms and glared.

  Cyril smiled, not to be deterred. “Fine. I’ll be at your office in an hour. That will give me time to go back to the paper and get the news up online. You sure you don’t want to give me a statement to go along with it? And I assume I won’t be able to talk to Lester now?”

  “We’re doing everything in our power to find out who killed Harold Dewey,” Jessie said through clenched teeth. “And no. I’m first in line to talk to Lester.”

  “And get Christmas back on track?” Cyril prompted. “I think we should definitely mention Christmas.”

  “Christmas is coming on December twenty-fifth, like it does every year,” Jessie said, her finger on the window button. “What we do here in town doesn’t stop time. Bye, Cyril.”

  He turned, still scribbling furiously in his pad as he made his way back to his car. Jessie turned to Stan. “You too. Out.”

  “Wait,” she said urgently. “Before you drag this poor man through the mud. There’s a serious possibility that your uncle was the target here, not Harold. Have you considered that? Even the people at the general store heard that. I’m not sure from where.”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Jessie said. “Gossip does not equal facts. How many times do I have to tell you people this?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The question is out there. Heck, I had the question be
fore anyone said anything. Is that how you’re working the case?”

  “She’s got a point,” Lou said to Jessie. “We need to consider that angle.”

  Jessie rounded on him with a fury that surprised even Stan. “Do you work for her, or me?”

  Lou held up a hand. “Relax, boss. I’m just saying—”

  “I’m just saying.” Jessie turned back to Stan. “Obviously I’m not discussing how I’m working the case with anyone except my boss and our team. But since Harold Dewey is my dead guy, I’m looking into who would want to kill him. Now, don’t you have a business to run?”

  “I do,” Stan said. “But one more quick thing—”

  Jessie buzzed the window up.

  Stan wasn’t getting anything else out of her right now. With a sigh, she headed back to her car.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Stan didn’t know what else to do, so she headed to her shop. First, she stopped at Izzy’s for coffee. It felt like she’d been up for days already. The café buzzed with activity. Izzy was behind the counter. Stan was shocked at how tired she looked. The bags under her eyes suggested a long trip. She moved like a zombie from the coffee machine to the pastry case to the cash register. Luckily, Jana, also working, moved a bit faster and deftly worked around her boss. Either she was used to seeing her this way lately, or she was just that good.

  “Hey,” Stan said when she made it up to the counter. “How’re you doing?”

  Izzy lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Surviving.”

  “Do you have a minute to talk?” Stan asked after she ordered her coffee.

  Izzy surveyed the line. Jana gave her a little shove. “I’ve got this. Go.”

  Izzy made Stan’s drink, then followed her to a table. “What’s going on?”

  Stan leaned close to her friend so she didn’t have to speak loudly. “Jessie’s officially calling this a murder. She’s out at Lester’s farm now, questioning him.”

  Izzy’s eyes widened. “My God. Did she say how?”

  Stan shook her head. “Not officially, but it was obviously some kind of poison. And she’s mad at me because I suggested her uncle might have been the target instead of Harold. For some reason, nobody wants to hear that version of events. At least in the family. But for different reasons. Jake is a huge fan of his uncle’s. Jessie isn’t.”

  “So what does that have to do with anything?” Izzy asked.

  Stan studied her, puzzled as to why she wasn’t putting this together. “Because they’re looking at people who they think might’ve wanted to kill Harold. But if they look at people who might’ve wanted to kill Seamus because they didn’t know he wasn’t Santa, that’s a whole other chain of suspects. Right?”

  “Right.” Izzy nodded as it clicked into place. “Sorry. I need more coffee.”

  “And that chain may even include Seamus’s own son,” Stan said. She leaned forward and spoke softly. “Liam? The older son? He was seen out by the museum earlier in the afternoon Friday.”

  A horrified look passed over Izzy’s face. “That’s not—that can’t be true.”

  “Who knows? Neither of Seamus’s kids sound like they adore him.” She looked more closely at Izzy. “You look like you need more sleep. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. So, are they focusing on Lester?”

  “I guess he’s at the top of their list. It’s a shame. Sounds like he’s spent years helping Harold out, and this is what he gets for it.” Stan shook her head. “I don’t know. My gut is telling me Seamus is the way to go here.”

  Izzy said nothing.

  “Iz?” Stan leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Is Junior okay?”

  Izzy opened her mouth, but at the last minute she stopped. “Nothing. Junior’s a little better. Look, Stan, I have to get back. I need to finish up here and get over to the bookstore this afternoon. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  Stan watched her get up and hurry back to the counter. Everyone was acting so darn weird around here. It was starting to freak her out.

  She rose to leave and paused when she saw Trooper Garrett Colby walk in. He was in uniform, which wasn’t surprising. Colby worked a few days a week in Frog Ledge with Rosie, his K-9 partner. He was probably starting his shift and needed his morning caffeine. But instead of joining the line, he went around the counter and motioned to Izzy.

  Stan frowned and started walking toward them, but Colby and Izzy were already heading down the hall to the door leading up to Izzy’s apartment. She hurried to the counter and grabbed Jana. “What was that about?”

  Jana shook her head and turned her back to the line so none of the customers would hear her. “He wanted to talk to her in private. That’s all I heard.”

  *

  Stan left Izzy’s and called Jake as she headed to her shop. “Your sister is out of control. She’s at Lester’s questioning him, and she has Colby at Izzy’s.”

  He was silent for a moment. “She’s just doing her job, Stan. She’ll get on the right path.”

  “Jake. Neither of you are listening to me, but I’m telling you. Harold is not your answer here. My gut is telling me—”

  “Stan. I’m accepting a delivery at the pub. I’ll call you in a while, okay?”

  Stung, she didn’t respond for a few seconds.

  “Stan?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Call me in a while.” She disconnected and shoved her phone in her pocket. Muttering to herself, she stalked inside and found Brenna already at work.

  “Thank God.” She sighed, dropping her purse on the counter.

  Brenna turned and eyed her. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Everything. I’m so frustrated right now.” She pulled off her coat and tossed it over a chair, then began gathering ingredients. “And so behind.”

  “You’re not, really,” Brenna said. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff in the oven. What’s my sister doing?”

  Stan laughed. “You’re so smart.”

  “Nah, I just know what to expect when she does something that riles everyone up.”

  “She claims to have gotten the official word that Harold was murdered. And she’s got Lester and Izzy being questioned.”

  “No!” Brenna put down her mixing spoon and stared at her. “For real?”

  Stan nodded. “I wish I was kidding, believe me.”

  “But that’s crazy. All of it. I mean …” Brenna trailed off and turned back to her mixing bowl. “Jeez.”

  “Yeah.”

  The oven timer dinged. Brenna opened the door and pulled out three cookie sheets, one by one, and set them down to cool.

  “Those look gorgeous,” Stan said, coming over to admire them.

  “Thanks. These are the tuna treats for the cats.” She pointed to a tray full of smaller treats. “I hope they’re a hit.”

  “I’m sure they will be. Hey, Bren? Do you know what your uncle does for a living?”

  “Seamus?” Brenna chuckled. “He loves get-rich-quick schemes. I would say he has a master’s degree in finding the worst ones.”

  “Seriously?”

  Brenna nodded. “He’s never been one to love hard work. He’d much prefer to have things be fast and easy. Of course, when they don’t turn out that way, it’s even worse than just doing work in the first place, but he doesn’t seem to get that. I mean, I don’t think he would do anything that would harm anyone. I just think he doesn’t always make the best decisions about making a living. And…” She hesitated. “I’ve heard a few times over that he loves to gamble.”

  “That makes sense, if he’s involved in these poker games,” Stan said. “Has he gotten into trouble over it?”

  “I have no idea,” Brenna said. “It’s more like I hear my dad saying something to my mum, but they stop talking around us, you know?”

  “So if someone told you he was coming into some money because of a business decision he’d made …”

  “I’d ask them what the heck they’d been smoking.”

  Brenna went out front to open the door an
d work the counter. When Stan had filled the oven again, she took a quick break to call Izzy. No answer on her cell, but she answered on the café phone.

  “What happened?” Stan asked. “Are you okay?”

  “You mean with Colby?” Izzy snorted. “What a bunch of crap. I mean, he’s nice and all, but was there to do Jessie’s bidding. He wanted an official statement about Friday. Said they might have more questions for me.” She tried to laugh it off, but Stan could tell she was bothered. “If that doesn’t sound menacing, I don’t know what does.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “It feels kind of wrong to be picking out a Christmas tree when there are so many crazy things going on,” Stan said. They were in Jake’s truck, driving to Lester Crookshank’s tree farm. Caitlyn, Kyle, and Eva were behind them in Caitlyn’s car. They hadn’t spoken all day after Stan had raised the question about Seamus with him earlier this morning. And when they’d met at home this evening, Jake had avoided the subject entirely. Stan just hoped the tree farm was open—that Jessie hadn’t done anything foolish, like arrest Lester.

  “You’ll be glad we got a tree once it’s up,” Jake said, pulling into the parking lot. “Plus, you know we have to compete in the house-decorating contest. Especially if your sister is. We need to win.”

  Stan looked at him. “I didn’t know you were competitive.”

  He laughed. “Babe, everyone in this town is competitive when it comes to things like this. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “Looks like I still have a lot to learn about Frog Ledge.” She looked out the window, relieved to see the tree farm open and cars jammed into the lot. The activity level was high at the farm tonight. “I hope this doesn’t have a negative effect on Lester’s business,” she said, half to herself.

  “Lester will be okay. Jessie’s just covering her bases, given his relationship with Harold,” Jake said. “Don’t worry about it, Stan. You don’t need to be involved in this. Jessie will figure out who really did it. Hey, by the way. I called Ted Brahm and he’s going to help Char at the farm until Ray’s back.”

  He sounded like he thought Ray was away on vacation somewhere. Stan shook her head, but forced herself not to say anything. “That’s great. Thanks for doing that.”