“What’s going on? Nobody will tell me anything, just asked if you could sit here for a while. Which you’re welcome to do. Was there an accident? No one was hurt, were they?”
Her questions were interrupted by the sound of a truck rattling down the alley outside. They’d turned off the siren, but the telltale red light that pulsed through the closed shades of the windows pretty much announced what it was.
“Was that an ambulance that just passed?” Nancy rushed over to the window and yanked at the shade; the shade snapped out of her hand and wound itself around the top bar, flapping like a panicked bird, just as another truck rattled by, this time one belonging to the county medical examiner.
Nancy froze, then slowly turned around. “It was a crime. Where?” She looked around the room, frowning. “Where’s Hank? It isn’t Hank, is it?”
“No,” Ted said. “It isn’t Hank.”
“Then who?” For the first time she seemed to notice Officer Meese. She turned on him. “Who?”
“Now, Nancy, leave the boy alone,” Fred said. “We just have to answer a few questions and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’ve been ordered not to say anything, haven’t you? Oh dear, there was a crime. Excuse me.”
She disappeared behind a madras curtain. They heard the door to the store open and close. It opened and closed again, and Nancy pushed through the madras curtain, holding a bunch of dried herbs in one hand and a cigarette lighter in the other.
She held the lighter to the stalk until it began to smoke.
“Uh, ma’am?” Meese began. Ted laid a hand on his shoulder.
Ignoring everyone, she moved toward the corner of the room, swinging the burning herb in an arc much like a priest at high mass. She circled to every corner and around the windows and doors, paying particular attention to the delivery door where they’d entered.
“There, much better,” she said. “There’s coffee and tea in the cupboard and a coffeemaker on the counter. Help yourselves. I have to get back to the front.” She disappeared behind the curtain again. A door opened and closed. This time she didn’t come back.
“Whew,” Fred said. “I was afraid she was gonna expect us to smoke that thing.”
“Sage,” Ted told him. “It drives out evil and protects those inside.”
“Hmmph,” Fred said. “No offense, but I’ll take my sage with turkey.”
“Might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Ted said. “We might be here for a while. I’ll make some coffee.”
Ted filled the carafe from a standing water cooler; Fred pulled the shade back down; Liv sat in a straight-back chair and watched Chaz Bristow wander aimlessly around the storeroom. One wall was covered with shelving and stacks of boxes. A shipping table ran halfway across the side wall, and was set up with string and tape dispensers, brown paper, box cutters, and mailing labels. A rack of broken-down boxes sat next to the table. The rest of the room had been turned into a lounge area, with several beat-up but comfortable-looking chairs, a cot, and a counter with minifridge, hot plate, and coffeemaker.
Chaz turned back to the room, and Liv, realizing she had been staring at him, looked away, but not quick enough.
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. He’d thrown his coat on a chair and pulled off the knit hat he’d been wearing. It left his dirty blond hair spiked and incongruous in the cozy, homespun room.
Fred eased himself down into a faded wingback chair. “Well, son, aren’t you going to start interviewing us?”
Meese started. “Uh, no sir. I’m just to wait here until the sheriff comes.”
Fred huffed out a sigh. “Well, I hope he hurries ’cause I really need to be out overseeing traffic. And I need to check on Dolly. What’s the world coming to, somebody going and murdering Santa. Even if he wasn’t the real one.”
Ted pulled a stool to the counter and sat. “Not Santa. He wasn’t in costume. And I think we should get away from calling him Santa. That would make headlines from here to Seattle.”
“I didn’t think about that.”
Liv, to her discredit, had. It was not because she was callous and unfeeling, she told herself. It was an ingrained response to disaster—something that every successful event planner was blessed with—the instinct to fix the problem before it got worse. The death of a person was terrible any time and worse when it was violent. She felt sorry for the dead man, but the livelihood of hundreds of people was in her hands.
She was already planning triage measures for when the news got out. Because it would. News always got out in Celebration Bay. And from there it would spread.
“What was his name?” Fred asked. “Does anybody know?”
“Penny called him Phil,” Liv said.
The minutes ticked by, Nancy didn’t return, and Liv just hoped she wasn’t speculating with her customers about the presence of so many official cars and trucks in the alleyway.
A knock at the delivery door made them all jump. Ted went to answer it. Another young police officer, holding a cellophane-covered tray of pastries, stepped inside and put the tray down on the coffee counter. “Sent these from the bakery.”
Meese shot him a desperate look. The other young officer shrugged and left.
They all had coffee, including Ted, the inveterate tea drinker, and the young Meese, who took his cup to a corner and tried to make himself invisible. Chaz was the only one of them who had any appetite, and he helped himself to a huge bear claw, which he ate while he poked around the room.
“I wonder how much longer Bill is going to be,” Fred said.
Officer Meese shrugged apologetically.
“I just wish he’d hurry.”
So did Liv. The night’s events were going on without her. The choir had stopped singing soon after the tree lighting. But there were sleigh rides, carolers, and church services. Fred should be out managing traffic flow. The officers should be out patrolling the streets. And why was the head of the security service she’d hired assisting Bill? Who was running the security team while he was examining the crime scene?
The crime scene. How could this even be possible. In all her years in Manhattan, she’d never been involved in a crime scene, though knowing some of her former clients, there may have been a few she just hadn’t heard about. But not here.
Chaz finished his pastry and sat down on the stool in front of the counter to peruse the bakery platter. “I wonder what’s happened to Hank?” he said to no one in particular.
Liv started. “What do you mean?”
“Just that he should have ditched the ceremony and been home by now.”
“How do you know he isn’t?”
“There’s no Santa suit.” He chose a cranberry scone and gestured with it. “See, coat hangers and street clothes, but no suit.”
The others looked at the hanging clothes rack, where a pair of overalls, a sweater, and a thick hunting jacket hung in a row.
“Maybe he got waylaid by children on his way,” Fred said. “He usually does. Little tots can’t wait for tomorrow for Santa Village to open.” He smiled. “They just get so excited.”
“Hmm.” Chaz bit into the scone.
They fell into silence.
The back door opened. A shock of cold air preceded Hank Ousterhout still in his Santa suit. He shut the door but stopped just inside the room.
“Guess you’re wondering what we’re doing here,” Chaz said.
Hank pulled off his Santa hat and tossed it toward the clothes rack.
“I guess you’d say I am. But nothing would surprise me tonight.”
Just wait, thought Liv, but she said nothing.
“As long as you don’t mind if I get out of this suit, you’re welcome. I see Dolly’s been here with some supplies.”
“Help yourself,” Fred said.
Hank reached past Chaz and took a jelly donut, which he polished off in three bites. Brushing his hands, he walked over to the clothes rack and saw the patrolman sitting on a box in the corner.
�
��You catch whoever stole my Santa suit?”
Meese shook his head.
Hank turned back to the group. “Then what are you all doing here? Has something happened?”
No one spoke.
“What?”
They must have all seen it at the same time, but Ted was the only one who voiced their question.
“Hank, what the hell do you have on your suit?”
Hank looked down. “Dang it, I knew better than to eat a jelly donut.” He brushed at the rusty spot on his stomach. Brushed it again.
“Hank, that’s not jelly,” Ted told him.
“So help me—it must’ve got dirty in that Dumpster. When I get my hands on the kids that pulled that stunt—they almost ruined the Santa Parade, not to mention it cost me fifty bucks just to get it cleaned in the first place. It’s on the sleeve, too.” He raised his arm to look at the cuff.
Against the white trim, it looked suspiciously like dried blood.
Ted moved slowly toward the annoyed man. “I think you’d better get out of the coat, Hank. It might be evidence in a crime.”
Hank looked at him like he was crazy. “The hell you say. What kind of crime? If some kid stole my suit to shoplift . . .”
“Not shoplifting, Hank,” Ted said gently. “The TAT Santa was found dead less than an hour ago.”
“The TAT Santa? I thought you were supposed to get rid of him.”
“Someone did,” Chaz said.
Liv glared at him.
“I don’t get it.” Hank rubbed his bearded cheek. Jerked his hand away and looked at the cuff. Brought it to his nose and sniffed. “That’s blood.”
“Let’s just get you out of the suit,” Chaz said, pushing himself away from the counter. “Bill will probably want to take a look.”
“Why?”
“Because someone may have worn your suit to commit a murder.”
“Are you saying someone killed that fella?”
“It looks like it,” Ted said.
Hank shook his head. “That’s sick. And I was out there talking to kiddies wearing—” He tugged the black belt off and threw it toward the clothes rack. Tore open the snaps of the jacket.
Officer Meese jumped up.
Ted got there first. “Hank, wait, just calm down.” Ted began to help him out of the jacket. Chaz silently scooped the belt from the floor and laid it on the counter.
“This is not how Christmas is supposed to be,” Hank said. “Not at all like it’s supposed to be.”
Liv couldn’t agree more. She didn’t know much about Hank Ousterhout, but she didn’t want him to be involved in what was obviously murder. He’d seemed so jolly—except when he’d come to her office complaining about Grace Thornsby. The manager of TAT, the woman who employed the ersatz Santa, and Hank’s ex-wife. The woman who was missing in action.
“This is just plum crazy.” Hank sank down on the cot.
Ted reached for his cell phone.
Bill Gunnison showed up two minutes later.
He stood just inside the door and looked around the room. His eyes finally came to rest on Hank.
“Bill, they think someone wore my suit to kill that hired Santa.”
“We did not say that,” Chaz said quickly. “Just that it’s something you should probably look at.”
Bill leaned over the counter where Chaz had gingerly folded the Santa jacket. “Meese, radio Johnston and tell him to get over here with an evidence bag. Hank, we’re gonna need those trousers, too.”
Hank looked down at the red velvet pants, pushed himself off the cot like an old man, grabbed his overalls from the clothes rack, and stepped toward the madras curtain.
Bill jerked his head toward Meese, who hurried after Hank. When they came back, Hank was back in his coveralls and Meese was carrying the Santa pants. He added them to the jacket and belt, just as two more officers came inside. They went straight to the red suit.
“When can I get them back?” Hank asked. “I need the suit for tomorrow morning. It’s Breakfast with Santa, then the official opening of Santa Village.”
He looked at Bill, then Ted, then Liv, and finally Chaz, but Chaz had turned his back and was watching the officers bag the Santa suit.
“Hank, I’m afraid you’re not going to get it back. It’s possible evidence in a crime.”
“But where the heck am I gonna get another Santa suit by tomorrow morning?”
Bill didn’t answer. Neither did anyone else.
Hank looked around at each one of them. “What? Am I missing something? Ms. Montgomery? You must be able to get stuff at the last minute.”
Liv swallowed.
Bill let her off the hook. “Hank, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come down to the station.”
“Why?”
“Just to answer some questions.”
“Because someone stole my suit? Is that what it is? Someone wore my suit to commit murder?” Hank’s ruddy cheeks drained of color.
Bill stepped toward him. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now, I just need a detailed account of your activities earlier this evening.”
“I was home all day. I brought the suit in yesterday, and when I came back tonight, it was gone. I found it in the Dumpster right out there in the alley.”
“So you don’t know when the suit was taken?”
“No. I told you. It was gone when I got here. You should ask Nancy. She keeps the back room locked. I have a key to let myself in.”
“Hank!” Ted said so sharply that the man jumped. “I think you shouldn’t say anything more without a lawyer.”
Hank frowned. He wasn’t catching on.
“I was getting to that,” Bill said. “Officer Meese will take Nancy’s statement with these others. I’m only taking you in for questioning, Hank, but I think you should have a lawyer present.”
“A lawyer? You mean—you don’t think I killed that man?”
“I’m not thinking anything except that your Santa suit has blood on it and it needs to be tested. But that’s gonna take a few days.”
“A few days? But what about tomorrow?”
Yeah, what about tomorrow? Liv wanted to ask. One Santa dead, the other possibly suspected of murder, his Santa suit bagged as evidence. Where the hell were they going to get another Santa in full regalia by tomorrow?
She looked around the room. Ted had the hair and twinkling eyes, but she needed him in the office. Bill’s back would probably go out if he tried to lift a child on his knee. Besides, he had to investigate and keep the community safe. Ditto the other officers. Fred had the stomach, but he had to control traffic flow. She reluctantly looked at the only man left in the room.
Chaz Bristow looked back at her, not a care in his sleepy, unused little heart. Yet.
She smiled, grim though it was. “How soon can you get your butt into a Santa costume?”
His blank look became blanker. She was looking straight at him, but he turned to look over his shoulder at the row of boxes behind him. Slowly, he turned back to Liv. Even more slowly, he shook his head.
She nodded just as slowly.
Suddenly galvanized, Chaz sprang to his feet. “Sheriff, you can’t put Santa in jail. He has to be here to talk to the kiddies tomorrow morning.”
“How many times do I have to say this? I’m just taking him in for questioning.”
“Yeah,” Chaz said. “Great. And when it gets out that Santa is a suspected murderer, do you think anybody is going to bring their child to sit on his lap? They’ll go to some other town to do their shopping. The local businesses are going to love that.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Hank said.
“Remember what happened in Miracle on Thirty-fourth Street?”
Bill frowned at Chaz.
“They put Santa on trial. Parents were in an uproar. Children were brokenhearted. The judge was on the hot seat.”
“I didn’t do it,” Hank reiterated.
Bill looked toward heaven. “If you just let m
e take him to the station and don’t talk about what’s happened, he may be back in his sleigh before anyone knows he was gone.”
“Just like with Joss Waterbury?”
Low blow, Chaz, thought Liv.
“I wasn’t the one who arrested Joss.”
“Do you think people are going to remember that it was those jerks from the state? No. They’ll just remember that you’re trigger-happy when it comes to arresting local citizens. And that you arrested Santa Claus.”
“That’s not fair, Chaz.” Fred hoisted himself out of the easy chair. “But he may be right, Bill. Hank has been the town Santa for over a decade. Do you think he would go off and kill someone right before the Santa Parade? He’d have to be nuts.”
Everybody looked at Hank.
“I’m not. I didn’t.”
Liv had seen him jolly and seen him angry, but now he just looked tired, resigned, defeated. His round cheeks had lost their roundness, his eyes were dull. His shoulders stooped like an old man’s. Even his beard seemed to droop.
“I’m not saying you did, but the sooner we get out to the station, the sooner you’ll be back looking for a new Santa suit.”
“I’ll get on it right away,” Liv said. There had to be a costume shop she could rouse at nine o’clock on a Friday night. Sure. And reindeer could fly.
“Come on Hank. Get your coat. We’ll call your lawyer once we get there.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“I’ll call Silas Lark,” Ted said. “But don’t say anything until he gets there.” Ted was already scrolling through his cell phone for Silas’s number.
“Can’t afford no lawyer.”
Bill took Hank’s coat off the hanger and helped him into it.
“Officer Meese will stay and take your statements here and then you’ll be allowed to leave. I don’t have to ask that you not talk about this situation.”
He escorted Hank toward the door.
Chaz jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “I think I’ll make my statement at the station if that’s okay with you.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the door.
“I know where you live,” Liv said sotto voce as he passed by.
“Chaz was sure in a hurry to leave,” Fred said. “Do you suppose he knows something he didn’t want to share?”
Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) Page 5
