There was a gruff response and Hank plowed through the curtain holding his Santa pants up with one fist. His jacket hung from one shoulder, but finally his cheeks were back to rosy.
Miriam cast her eyes to the ceiling, and hurried toward him. “Don’t wrinkle that velvet, I didn’t have any velveteen.”
“Heck, Miriam, they’ll fall down if I let go.”
Miriam lifted her chin toward the other seamstress. “Elsbeth, you take the right side and I’ll take the left. Now, Hank, let go. And don’t move.”
Reluctantly Hank let go of his pants. The women caught each side of the waistband and began pinning fabric at an alarming rate, somehow communicating without speaking as one tightened and the other loosened, and vice versa.
Liv watched in amazement as the shapeless fabric turned into a pair of trousers in front of her eyes.
Miriam and Elsbeth moved on to the jacket, and within minutes, Hank was encased in red velvet, held together with shiny metal pins, including one that somehow had become stuck in his beard. He looked like an advertisement for Punk My Santa.
“Okay, just let me measure the trim.” Miriam pulled over the second unopened box. “This just came in today, perfect timing.” She rummaged in the pockets of her work smock. “Darn, I forgot my utility knife. Elsbeth, look over there and find something to open this box with.”
Elsbeth went over to the shipping table, rummaged through the drawers, and brought a box cutter back to Miriam, who sliced through the tape with quick efficiency.
Real efficiency, thought Liv, thinking of the ugly red slash across the TAT Santa’s neck. She looked away.
“There,” Miriam said, opening the box and pulling out a roll of white fur. She and Elsbeth began tacking it to the edges of the Santa suit.
Then as quickly as they’d pinned him into the suit, they unpinned him. The jacket opened, and they slipped it off, carefully folding it into the plastic bag. But when Hank attempted to go into the dressing room to remove the pants, Miriam grabbed him by the back of his long johns.
“Nobody’s looking and we’re going to have to go through this routine several more times tonight. Drop those trou now.”
Hank glowered at her but turned his back and let the ladies pull them off. Then he scuttled, as quickly as a man his size could scuttle, behind the curtain.
“Think we’d never seen a man in his long johns before.” Miriam picked up the bag. “Don’t get too comfy, Hank. We’ll be back.”
While they waited in between fittings, Hank paced like a caged bear. Ted found a tattered copy of Forever Amber and sat down to read. Nancy closed the store, stopped to say good night, and went home. Liv began writing a press release that would be the basis, she hoped, of Chaz’s human interest story. Hopefully front page center.
It was after two o’clock and several more fittings that Miriam was satisfied the suit fit properly. They’d been through several pots of coffee and made short work of the platter of sandwiches. Several seamstresses surrounded Hank, admiring their handiwork and looking for flaws.
Liv looked up bleary eyed. Red suit. She stifled a yawn. “What about his hat?”
“Hat’s finished. We can do the buttons and the rest of the finishing ourselves. You and Ted can go on home and try to get a few hours’ sleep. Hank, you, too. You just lie down now and stop worrying. You’re going to have the finest Santa suit in the state come tomorrow morning. Or I guess I should say later this morning.”
“You’re sure?” Liv asked.
“Everything is under control,” Miriam assured her.
“Take my card, just in case. Call me if you need anything.”
Ted hid a yawn behind his hand and closed his book. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Liv gladly accepted. She lived only two blocks west of the park, but she was in no mood to brave the cold or the dark. Or lurking murderers.
The big Victorian was dark; her landladies must have given her up and gone to bed. But they had left the back floodlight on, for which she was grateful.
Whiskey didn’t rush to meet her when she let herself in the carriage house. He barely looked up from his plaid doggie bed when she looked into the bedroom to make sure Miss Edna and Miss Ida had brought him home. He yawned and put his head back down on his paws. He was fast asleep when she climbed into bed a few minutes later.
Liv didn’t feel slighted. Between Christmas festivities, too many treats, and an unexpected cat to chase, Whiskey was tuckered out. Between Christmas festivities, a missing Santa suit, and a murder, Liv was pretty tired herself.
She was still tired when her alarm went off at six. She let Whiskey out, waiting with her head resting against the door until he reappeared. She put down food and water for Whiskey and staggered into the shower. She felt somewhat revived when she stepped out again . . . until the steam cleared and she was faced with the Ghost of Christmas Past in the mirror. Like several days past its prime.
She was pale, her eyes were puffy, and her hair that Dolly said was the color of burnt sugar looked dull and was headed for a ponytail. With Breakfast with Santa, a trip to the Clarion office, and a meeting with the head of Bayside Security on her to-do list, she didn’t have time for a prolonged poof and coif.
She pulled a pair of slacks out of the closet, topped them with a greenish sweater, threw a pair of loafers in a bag, and went to fortify herself with snow boots and winter outerwear.
Whiskey met her at the front door, bow tie in his mouth.
“You know,” she said, as she knelt down to clip the tie around his neck, “for a dog—yes, that’s you, a dog,” she emphasized, “who won’t wear a thing I buy him, who refuses all bows and furbelows from the best groomers in New York City, who has suddenly taken to wearing a red bow tie—” She stood up. “You’ve definitely been spending too much time with Ted.”
“Ar-roo-roo-roo,” Whiskey said.
“He’s really a bad influence.” She clipped on his leash and they went outside.
It was cold. Really cold. She just hoped it didn’t deter people from coming out for the festivities and the shopping. This was her first winter in Celebration Bay. Ted assured her the cold wouldn’t make a difference as long as the roads were clear.
But she wondered. She was certainly inclined to crawl back into bed and wait for spring. And it wasn’t like people could hop on a bus or a taxi and be let out at their destination. They had to warm their cars, find a parking space, and walk, sometimes several blocks. Like she was doing. She could have taken her car and parked behind town hall, but by the time it was defrosted and warm, she could already be at work.
She ducked her chin against the wind and speed-walked her way down the sidewalk where patches of ice waited to knock her on her butt.
Fred Hunnicutt and his crew were already out de-icing sidewalks and curbs when she reached the village square. Businesses and residents would be out clearing their own sidewalks long before the stores opened. As she waited to cross the street into the park, the town’s salt truck rattled past. The driver waved a salute.
Liv loved Celebration Bay. She loved almost everything about her new town, the fact that she could walk to work, and Whiskey had open spaces to run in and two sitters who loved him and would take him any time of the day. She even loved the nosey town busybodies. Most of them anyway.
The locals could be fiercely territorial. They held deeply ingrained opinions. And they were perfectly happy to duke out an argument when words failed. They were taciturn. More than a few were set in their ways . . . just like any town, large or small.
But they sure knew how to pull together when it counted. She just hoped this latest murder wouldn’t put a damper on their tourist business.
Liv’s nose began to grow numb from the cold. Time to hit the bakery and then BeBe’s for coffee. As she crossed the street, her cell rang. She considered waiting until she was inside to answer it. But phone calls this early in the morning were generally bad news, and she knew this one would be no excepti
on.
She didn’t even have to look at caller ID to know who was trying to reach her. Across the way, BeBe Ford stood on the sidewalk in her barista’s apron, waving her arms to get Liv’s attention.
“Come on, boy, looks like our day has begun.”
Chapter Seven
BeBe grabbed Liv as soon as she reached the sidewalk. A brief scuffle ensued while Whiskey headed toward the bakery, their normal first morning stop and where Dolly kept doggie treats, and Liv and BeBe headed for the Buttercup.
For a change, Liv won the test of wills.
“Grace Thornsby is at the back door of TAT arguing with the policeman in charge. Come on.” BeBe propelled Liv through the coffee bar and to the back door, which, like the back doors of all the stores, opened onto the delivery alley.
Liv and BeBe both stuck their heads cautiously out the door only to see Grace Thornsby marching toward them. They ducked back inside.
“Whew,” BeBe said. “Do you think she saw us?”
“I don’t know.” Liv opened the door just enough to look out. Grace had disappeared. “She’s not there.”
“The pedestrian walkway,” they said together and hurried back to the front of the bar just as Fred Hunnicutt walked in.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?”
“About to take place on the sidewalk.” Liv opened the door, and Whiskey, having caught on to the new game, trotted outside, pulling Liv with him.
BeBe and Fred followed them out.
They reached the sidewalk just as Grace came out of the walkway between the Bookworm and Bay-Berry Candles and turned left toward TAT.
She stopped at the door, tried to open it. She scowled at it, then grabbed the knob with both hands and shook it to no avail.
“Bill changed the locks,” Fred said. “So he wouldn’t have to use tape and start tongues wagging any more than they were already. Somebody oughta stop her before she tries to break a window.”
“Looks like she doesn’t know about what happened,” BeBe said.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Liv said.
“’Cause if she knew, she’d also know that she couldn’t get back in the store until the crime scene people are finished with it,” BeBe said.
“You’ve been watching CSI,” Fred said. He turned to Liv. “Maybe someone should tell her what happened.”
Liv huffed out a cloud of air. “I suppose someone should. Better get it over with.” She started down the sidewalk, Whiskey trotting ahead of her and her entourage of two.
“Grace,” she called when she was a few feet away. She didn’t want to take her by surprise. The woman was in a fury.
Grace swung around. “You! You said get rid of the Santa, I got rid of him, now I’ll thank you to unlock my store before I sue.”
Whiskey growled, or his version of a growl.
Liv hushed him. “You must not have heard. Your store is a crime scene. The police sealed the premises, not me.”
“Crime scene? What kind of crime? Have I been vandalized? Robbed?”
“You’ll have to talk to the sheriff.”
The door to A Stitch in Time opened, and Miriam stepped out wearing her coat and carrying a bucket of de-icer. She quickly broadcast the pellets on the sidewalk in front of her store and came over to join the growing crowd around the door to TAT.
Grace turned on the newcomer. “And I suppose you did nothing to stop them?”
“Me?” Miriam said indignantly. Her hand tightened on the handle of the bucket, and Liv rushed to intercede before de-icer pellets flew.
She angled herself between the two women. “Everyone was busy with the Celebration of Lights.”
“Everyone but you, Grace,” Miriam said.
“Ladies,” Fred said, stepping into the fray, “let’s not lose our tempers. There’s been enough violence already.”
“Would someone please tell me what happened to my store?”
“Someone broke in during the Celebration of Lights,” Fred told her. “And unfortunately, your Santa must have interrupted him and was killed.”
Liv frowned at Fred. Did he know this for real? Or was he just guessing.
Grace’s dark eyes changed from full of anger to wide-eyed disbelief.
“Killed? Not possible.”
“It is possible,” said a new voice. And in spite of its softness, everyone turned toward it. Penny Newland clutched a lunch bag and a plaid thermos in front of her tattered down jacket. Her cheeks were splotched pink from the cold, and Liv wondered how far she’d had to walk to get here.
Grace practically pushed Fred out of the way to get to the girl. “What was he even doing here? And where were you? You were supposed to turn on the lights, not Phil.”
“I—” The girl’s lip trembled.
Liv was getting tired of Grace’s bullying and Penny’s subservience.
“He came for his paycheck,” Liv said.
“I told him I would send it.”
“Well, he came anyway.”
Grace glowered at Penny. “So what happened?”
Penny shrugged.
“Well, you must have seen something.”
“He said he’d stay and turn on the lights since I was supposed to sing in the choir. If you remember, I asked if I could take the afternoon off. You said you would mind the store.”
“And if you remember, I called to tell you I couldn’t make it and you’d have to stay.”
Penny cowed back. Really the girl was too timid for the twenty-first century. But Liv had seen it before. Women so beaten down by parents, husbands, life, they were practically comatose.
“I couldn’t let everyone down.”
“But it was okay to let your employer down, and I suppose you expect me to pay you anyway.”
“Grace, it’s academic at this point,” Liv said. “The man was killed. You should be glad that at least Penny was out of harm’s way.”
Grace snorted. “And if she had been there—”
“She might have been killed, too,” Fred said.
“And if the ole witch had been there, maybe we wouldn’t have to listen to her now,” BeBe mumbled under her breath. Then looked shocked at her words. She covered her mouth belatedly. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I heard that.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” BeBe countered. “But you make it awfully hard to care what happens to you or your store.”
“Grace, why weren’t you at the store?” Liv asked. “Besides promising to give Penny the afternoon off, you also promised Ted that you would be there to make sure everything ran smoothly.”
“None of your business.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m sure Bill Gunnison will want to know.”
“It’s none of his business, either. And he can’t just keep my store closed. It’s Christmas. I run a Christmas store. What am I supposed to do?”
Fred stepped forward, took her by the arm. “I’m sure the sooner you talk to Bill, the sooner you’ll know what to do. Why don’t you let me walk you to your car?”
“But where’s Tinkerbell?”
There was dead silence as everyone turned to look at her.
“Come again?” Fred managed.
“My cat. What have they done with Tinkerbell?”
Fred’s mouth went through a series of twitches. “I’m sure the sheriff has not forgotten the cat.” He took her arm and propelled her down the street to the pedestrian walkway that would take them to the parking lot.
“Can things get any weirder?” BeBe asked. “Grace Thornsby has a cat named Tinkerbell?”
Miriam shook her head. “Wonders never cease.”
“A misnomer if there ever was one,” said Liv. “That’s the unfriendliest cat I think I’ve ever seen.”
“Took a page from its mistress, if you ask me.” Miriam hunched her shoulders inside her coat. “Brr. I hadn’t planned to be out here this long. I’d better get back inside.”
“Oh, Miriam,” Liv said. “I was going to come by to ask if y
ou’d seen Hank.”
“Yes, he was dressed and looking fabulously Santa, if I do say so. The ladies really pulled it out of a hat. Dexter picked him up and drove him over to the community center in the wagon.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. Please add up the cost of materials and the hours and I’ll have the Events Office reimburse you.”
Miriam waved her off. “I’ll take the reimbursement for the fabric, but as far as the time goes, don’t worry about it. It was time well spent and for a good cause.”
Miriam hurried back into her store, leaving BeBe and Liv standing with Penny.
“What should I do now?” Penny said, tears starting to spill from her eyes.
You should start looking for another job, thought Liv. She glanced at BeBe.
“Maybe by tomorrow TAT will reopen,” BeBe said.
“Maybe.” Penny didn’t look too happy about the prospect, and Liv couldn’t blame her. “But I’m afraid she won’t—I needed that job.”
“I’m sure somebody will be looking for extra Christmas help,” Liv said.
“I already tried. I’ve been looking for something on weekends to supplement what I make at TAT, but no one’s hiring. At least not hiring me.” Penny hung her head.
BeBe glanced at Liv. “Uh, I don’t have need for a full-time employee, but I was intending to hire someone to clean the back room and sometimes help out at the counter during the rush. It would only be for the weekends, but you’re welcome to it, if you want.”
“I could use the extra hours even if I still have a job at TAT. I can start right now if you like.”
BeBe glanced at Liv. “Great. I’ll show you what to do.”
Liv followed them into the Buttercup.
“But first we’re all going to sit down for a cup of coffee before I open officially. All that standing around in the cold. And Liv hasn’t had her coffee yet.” BeBe stepped behind the counter. “How do you like yours, Penny?”
Silent Knife (A Celebration Bay Mystery) Page 8
