There was a pause while Claire thought about it, and finally decided. “Okay, if it isn’t too big,” she said, and Scott gave a whoop of delight.
“Great,” he said. “Let’s go back to the tree lot at the hardware store. I’m always happy to support the Boy Scouts and they have fresh trees that are cut every day.”
“Fresh?” She’d gotten used to her artificial tree in Arizona. Real Christmas trees were horribly expensive there, and when her husband had suggested getting a fake tree she’d thought it was a great idea.
Scott scoffed at her question. “Of course, fresh. You’re in Washington State now, missy. Have you seen how many fir trees grow around here?” he said, with a broad sweep of his arm.
Of course, he was right. Not only were there forests surrounding the small town, but most yards and even some stores had firs or pines growing by them.
The tree lot was packed with last-minute buyers, poking through the upright stacks of leaning trees, sorted by type and size. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to pick out the perfect tree, and there was a lot of laughter and scrutiny as Scott suggested specimen after specimen. He held the top of each candidate and pointed out its attributes while Claire would walk around it, making sure there were enough branches and it would fit in her little front room. Scott seemed to have the idea that bigger was better when it came to Christmas trees, and Claire had to remind him that she’d still need space to walk by the tree and actually get into the kitchen.
When they’d finally decided on a six-foot-tall noble fir, she almost clapped her hands together with excitement. It was beautiful, clean and perfect, and had a soft, fresh smell that somehow reminded her of her childhood. Scott bought a simple stand to put it in, and then jogged a few blocks to retrieve his car. By the time he was back, Claire had already made friends with Fred, the scout master, and had learned the names of the two boys who were helping her. They’d put the tree on a mechanical tree shaker, which fascinated Claire when it vibrated so hard that any loose needles fell into a ring-shaped pile under the tree, When the scouts had offered to tie it to the top of Scott’s SUV, Scott made sure to tip the boys five dollars for their effort.
Just as Scott was doublechecking the knots and pulling them tight, Claire spied Lucy, the owner of the Dogwood Café, walking through the assortment of small trees. She seemed to be considering a little three-foot specimen when she saw Claire and Scott.
“Scott, I thought you already got your tree,” she said as she pulled out the little fir in front of her and looked it over. “Think this one will do for the counter in back of the register? I kind of need something cheery right there.”
“I think it would be great,” Scott said. “Not too big.” He pulled the last rope tight. “We’re getting one for Claire. How are things going at the Dogwood?”
“Could be better,” Lucy said as she gave a snort of disgust. “If you see that policeman of ours, would you have him give me a call or stop by, please? I know he’s busy, working with the sheriff’s department and all , but I still need him to do the paperwork he promised me.”
“What paperwork?” Claire asked, and Lucy pulled out the little tree and walked toward the cash register. “The paperwork about the break-in at the Dogwood. I need to get the police report before I can file a claim with my insurance company, and right now that’s not happening. I’ve still got a sheet of plywood up over the broken window.”
Scott looked surprised. “He still hasn’t stopped by?” he said, shooting a glance at Claire. “Maybe Officer Bell can get you the paperwork,” he suggested, but he still looked troubled. “Darryl’s been really busy with this Orrin Cable investigation, so I’d bet he just forgot.”
“Probably,” Lucy said, but her expression said she doubted it.
Chapter 10
“Hey, Edgar! Does this look straight to you?” Scott poked his head out the front door of Claire’s little house, the upright Christmas tree in the background. Claire was standing beside it, hands on hips, with her head tilted to one side.
Edgar was wearing a thick brown coat and a handknit scarf and hat with green stripes. He walked up the steps and tilted his head, too. “It’s crooked.”
Claire burst into laughter. “I told you!” she told Scott. “It’s leaning toward the kitchen, when it should be straight up and down.” She grinned at Edgar. “I don’t think we’ve met, yet,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Claire. Scott says you’re the best cook in town and after eating your pancakes, I’d have to agree. Nice to meet you.”
Edgar gave a broad smile as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. I make ‘em from scratch, you know. The pancakes.”
“Thought so,” she said.
Scott had scooted under the tree, making some adjustments with the long bolts holding the trunk in place. “How’s it look now?” he hollered, as if they were in the next room, and Claire stifled a giggle. She glanced at Edgar, who shrugged noncommittally. After checking it over carefully, she told Scott it was finally straight. As Scott hauled himself out from under the dense branches, Claire smiled at Edgar.
“I’m sorry we kind of shanghaied you like that, but we definitely weren’t agreeing on whether it was straight or not, and I’m glad you were walking by. Heading to work?” she asked, and Edgar nodded.
“Late shift today. It’s kind of nice to sleep in for a change, and my wife likes it better. We’re going to be doing a full Christmas dinner at the Dogwood for people who don’t want to cook at home, and starting prep work on it today. You should come by.” He smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Bring Scott if you want. He likes a ham dinner with all the trimmings.”
“I—” Claire began, not sure how to respond to Edgar’s invitation, no matter how well-meaning it might have been. “I’m sure he’s got places he needs to be on Christmas.”
Edgar grinned. “Probably, with his family. We’re doing the dinner Christmas Eve, too, if that makes a difference.” He pulled his hat down further on his head and stepped toward the door. “I hope you’ll come by. It was nice to meet you, Claire,” he said, then looked up at the sky as he walked outside. “Smells like snow. I’ll bet we’ll get some today.”
Claire followed his gaze, as if she could assess the snow content of the dense clouds overhead. She didn’t know how to drive in snow, and if they got enough it would be just one more reason she was going to be stuck in town over Christmas.
***
It didn’t take long to wrap a couple of tinsel garlands around the tree and to plug in the lights. Claire couldn’t help but squeal like a little girl when Scott flipped on the tiny, colored lights and the tree seemed to come to life. He was watching her, a look of sheer satisfaction on his face, until she caught him looking.
“What?” she asked. “It’s my first real Christmas tree in a long time. I have a right to get a little sentimental about it, don’t I?”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Scott commented, trying to suppress a smile. “It’s just nice to see you so happy. How about a break? I think we earned it, even if we did need Edgar’s help.” He pulled a thin, folded newspaper out of his jacket pocket. “We can prop up our feet for a bit and see what’s going on locally.” He sat down on the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles, and flipped the newspaper open. He gave a low whistle of surprise. “I guess Darryl was wrong about that information being in the afternoon edition. Looks like the medical examiner already released some of the news this morning.”
Claire sat down next to him. “What does it say?” she asked, leaning over and trying to see.
Scooting over, Scott shared the front page with her. He was scanning the text, and finally said, “Looks like the gun that killed Orrin was a .38. The rest of the info is pretty much what Portman told us. There’s not much else here…” He paused, still reading, but Claire was peeking over his shoulder and a name in the article instantly caught her attention.
“They’re talking about me.”
Scott nodded, still reading. “It doesn’t look like anything bad. Just says you discovered the body when you opened your front door. I don’t see anything in here about the police questioning you or thinking you had any involvement beyond that, but from my experience, the cops don’t always tell the papers everything that’s going on.”
It still gave Claire an uneasy feeling that her name had appeared in the paper. If this little hometown paper was like so many around the United States, it would also have an online edition. That meant her name would be searchable by anyone looking on the Internet, and it gave her a very uneasy feeling.
She tried to change the subject. “So, a .38, huh?” she said, and Scott nodded.
“Lots of people around here with guns--” Scott said, “--including .38s.”
“Including the police force, apparently,” Claire said, then instantly regretted it when Scott gave her a funny look.
“What do you mean by that?” he said, and Claire felt a pang of guilt for even bringing it up.
“Just an observation,” she said as she got up from the sofa to refill her mug of tea.
Scott wasn’t pacified. “No, I’m serious. What did you mean by that?” he asked, following her into the kitchen and leaning against the wall while she fussed with the teakettle.
“Look, where I come from nobody would be above suspicion for a murder like this. That includes the police.”
Scott gave a huff of disagreement. “From what I hear, murder needs three things.” He held up his fingers and started ticking them off. “Motive, method, and means. You’ve got to have all three.”
Claire nodded. She’d read dozens of mystery novels, and discovering the clues that led to finding the killer was always her favorite part. “I agree. It’s just that we don’t know what everybody’s motivation is, do we? Orrin Cable wasn’t exactly the most open person about his life, it sounds like. He also had just gotten out of prison, so who knows what sort of baggage he brought from that, or what had been unresolved from when before he was arrested?”
Scott still didn’t seem pleased. “I’m not sure I’d like where you’re from. I understand that no one’s above the law, but I know all the cops around here. I wouldn’t suspect them of doing something illegal, unless I had evidence that absolutely confirmed they had.”
Mug in hand, Claire stood in the kitchen, looking at him but not knowing what to say. “Sounds like your experience with people is different than mine, I guess,” she said. “Maybe I’m just more suspicious.”
“Maybe.”
Chapter 11
When Claire got off her phone, her first instinct was to throw it across the room and see how much effort it would take to break it. The conversation she’d had with Detective Warren had been frustrating beyond belief. She’d felt like the detective hadn’t believed a word she said, even when she’d done her best to explain what had happened as honestly and evenly as possible.
Just when she thought she was making progress it seemed like she kept taking steps backward. Her first instinct was to grab her little dog and her suitcase, throw them both in her newly-repaired car, and roar out of Brightwater Bay without a backward glance. Unfortunately, the detective had made it very clear that she needed to stay in town, and when Claire asked if that was a demand, she was told in no uncertain terms that it was “a strong suggestion”. Maybe she wasn’t under arrest, but she certainly was under suspicion, and she’d gone from feeling scared about it to being downright angry.
Roscoe had watched his owner’s agitation with a wary eye. He’d always been very sensitive to when she was upset and, even if he didn’t understand the words, he knew something was wrong. As Claire calmed down she could see his little, brown eyes following her as she paced around the room, muttering angrily, and realized the effect she was having on him.
Reaching down, she picked him up and stroked him reassuringly as he snuggled against her body. “It’s okay, Roscoe,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
She just wished that she believed it herself.
***
Even if she and Scott hadn’t seen eye to eye on whether a policeman could be a suspect, she needed someone to talk to. But when Molly’s phone went straight to voicemail, she dialed Scott’s number. He picked up on the first ring and she gave a sigh of relief. “Hey, it’s Claire. I hate to ask this, but do you think you’d be able to come over? I’ve just gotten off the phone with the detective and it was awful. I need someone to talk to, and maybe bounce some ideas off of. You up for that? I’ll make lunch.”
Scott was there fifteen minutes later, his still-damp hair and freshly shaved face showing that he just had a shower. He was careful to stay calm while Claire told him the details of her conversation with the detective, then gave his opinion.
“The problem is, the cops think that you’re involved because of Orrin’s phone. There had to be some reason he had your address.” Scott looked rueful, even as he said it, Claire bit her lip in concentration.
What little contact she had with Orrin Cable had been unpleasant and much more impersonal than he had wanted. She looked at the little row of tiny cottages, wondering for the hundredth time why Orrin had wound up on her porch, and suddenly a lightbulb went off in her head.
Eyes wide in realization, she turned to Scott. “What if the address in the phone wasn’t actually mine?”
Scott shook his head, disagreeing. “I saw it. It was—” he began, but Claire interrupted him, her hands waving in excitement.
“Don’t you see? All of these four cottages have the same address! The only thing that’s different is the unit number. I’m in the third one, the yellow one. It’s unit number three.”
Scott’s face registered his surprise. “I’d forgotten that. Daisy used to complain about how the mail for the different renters would get mixed up sometimes because they all had the same address, and if somebody didn’t put the number of the exact house on the letter it would go to the wrong person.”
Claire nodded, excited. “Right now, two of these houses are vacant. That’s the one I was in at first, and the second one. The only two houses with people in them…” Claire’s voice trailed off as the answer to the puzzle became obvious. It was obvious to Scott, too.
His voice was hollow. “Besides you, the only other person who lives at this address is Daisy Monroe, in the first unit. My old friend.”
***
“What do you mean, he was coming after me?” Daisy’s eyes were huge, her knees pressed together as she sat on the edge of Claire’s sofa. She’d come over as soon as she got Scott’s text, but when they laid out their suspicions that Orrin had Daisy’s address instead of Claire’s, she’d turned chalk white. “What did I ever do to him? I hardly knew the guy!”
Scott shook his head. “We don’t know anything about that, Daisy,” he said, his voice trying to be reassuring. “We only know that we can’t find any reason he would’ve been coming after Claire, who was a complete stranger to him. If you look at the blood trail that the cops were looking at on the first day the investigation, it’s from the sidewalk, and it looks like he was heading toward your house.”
Daisy frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”
Leaning forward, Claire tried to explain. “It means that Orrin was shot on the sidewalk and then staggered up to the nearest cottage, which was the one I was staying in. I think that was probably not his intention. We know that he was trying to go to this address but that he hadn’t put any unit number in on his phone.”
Scott nodded in agreement. “I know you just moved into one of the cottages a few months ago, right?” He asked. “What if Orrin had somehow gotten your address, maybe off a piece of mail or a forwarding address, and he wasn’t sure where that was off the top of his head. He would’ve looked it up on his phone.”
“But why in the world would he be coming after me with the gun in his pocket?” Daisy’s voice had an edge of hysteria to it, and Claire put a reassuring hand on her sho
ulder. She remembered how she’d felt when she thought that Orrin had been coming to do her harm, and she had absolute sympathy for how Daisy was feeling.
“I don’t know, Daisy,” she said, “but I do think that we need to tell the police our suspicions on this. If you are the focus, then they’re going to want to look at why. Why would he be coming to your house instead of mine?” Claire had to admit that shifting the focus of the investigation to Daisy instead of herself wasn’t going to bring her any comfort. If she had a harder heart, she would’ve been happy about it, but seeing the anguish on Daisy’s face was awful.
“You think it’s because I used to date his stepbrother Dexter a long time ago? Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but I’ve got nothing else,” Daisy said, her shoulder slumped in defeat. “That’s the only thing I can think of. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”
“Maybe,” Scott said. “Let me do a bit of checking. Do you know where Dexter is these days, Daisy?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“Last I heard he was staying up at his parents’ old cabin, by the Mill Creek. I’ve done my best to not talk to him ever since we broke up.” She looked up at Claire. “That man’s got a terrible temper. I never want to be on the bad side of it again.”
From the tone of Daisy’s voice, Claire had an idea of just what sort of violence Daisy might’ve experienced with Orrin’s stepbrother, Dexter. She laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” Claire said. “We’re here to help you as much as we can, so don’t forget you’ve got friends.” She was actually surprised by the words that came out of her mouth. It was the first time in a while that she promised something as a friend to someone else, and it felt good.
Scott was already picking up his jacket and shrugging into it. He looked at Claire and said, “I’ll go check out the cabin and give you a call as soon as I know anything.”
Three Carols of Cozy Christmas Murder Page 7
