Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  Voices from the lobby drew my attention, so I jogged back toward the front of the suite. I met up with Crenshaw and Allison in front of the conference room. Crenshaw appeared startled to see me. Before he could ask how I got upstairs ahead of him, I turned to Allison. “Was there a fire in the building?”

  She shook her head. “False alarm.” She checked her phone. “Listen, it’s almost five o’clock. We’re going to be closing up here soon. You can stay as long as you’d like. The front door will lock behind you when you leave.”

  Crenshaw and I took our places at the conference room table and picked up where we had left off. A few minutes later, Allison and Zeke breezed by, calling out good-night. As soon as we heard the front door click shut, we looked at each other and spoke at the same time.

  “Shall we go?” said Crenshaw.

  “Shall we snoop?” I said. Then I grimaced. We really were not on the same wave length.

  Crenshaw stood up and grabbed his coat and scarf. “I don’t know about you, but I have other clients to attend to. I’m going back to the office.”

  “Right,” I said. “Actually, I have something to do at home, so I’m not going back to the office tonight. You go ahead. I’ll leave soon.”

  For a moment, Crenshaw stared at me. Then he donned his Scrooge hat, tossed his scarf over his shoulder, and grunted, “Farewell.”

  Alone in the conference room, I tidied up, stacking the files we had already reviewed and pushing them to one end of the table. It was too bad we weren’t able to speak to Edgar today. How did he expect us to help him when we still didn’t know exactly what the blackmailer had found? Plus, if it was electronic files the blackmailer had accessed, shouldn’t we be reviewing those instead of all these hard copies?

  I wandered out into the hallway and thought about poking around Zeke’s cubicle. After all, he was the only suspect Edgar had identified so far. I also couldn’t help wondering if Zeke had had something to do with the fire alarm. But when I tried opening the door to the workstations, it was locked.

  Oh, well. The snooping could wait. I had higher priorities right now anyway. I had a date to get ready for.

  * * *

  After leaving Harrison Properties, Inc., I walked to the parking lot near the law firm and retrieved my car, a silver-blue Ford Fusion. Carefully navigating the dark streets, I drove the few short blocks to my brick town house on Springfield Lane. As I fumbled with my keys, I heard the front door open at my neighbor’s place to the right.

  “Yoo-hoo! Hi, there!”

  “Hello, Mrs. St. John,” I said, smiling at my gray-haired neighbor.

  “Home early tonight?” she called from her stoop.

  “A little bit.”

  “It’s a good thing. I hear the roads are nasty.”

  “They’re pretty well salted downtown,” I said, opening my door. “Well, have a nice—”

  “Hold on, I have something for you,” she said. “It arrived this afternoon. I knew it wouldn’t do to leave it outside, not in this weather.” She disappeared into her home. I dropped my bag on the floor inside my house and grabbed the shovel I kept in the foyer. Quickly, I shoveled off my stoop and front steps, then cleared a path on the walkway and up the steps to the St. Johns’ front door. As soon as I reached their doorstep, I heard a spastic yapping from the other side of the door.

  “Chompy, hush!” said Mrs. St. John, as she came outside again. Then she glanced at the shoveled steps. “Oh, how nice. Now Oscar doesn’t have to get dressed.” She handed me a tall rectangular box. “Here’s your flowers. I’d invite you in for cocoa, but we’re about to sit down to supper.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, taking the package. “Thanks for holding these for me.” I was kind of surprised she didn’t insist I open the box and read the card in her presence, but when I got home I saw why. The tape on the box had been pulled up. She already had a peek, the Nosy Nellie. Chuckling, I found some scissors in the kitchen and cut through several layers of plastic to reveal a lovely bouquet of red and yellow tulips in a green metal vase.

  “Pretty,” I murmured. But . . . tulips? In December? Wes usually made a point to bring me flowers that were in season. I opened the card and read the message: See you soon. Like the card with the chocolates, this one was unsigned. It had to be from Wes, though. I’d be seeing him soon—really soon, in fact. He was due to arrive in little more than an hour. I needed to hurry.

  I set the flowers in the center of my dining room table, then ran upstairs and took a fast shower. After putting on makeup and drying my hair, I pulled on a soft blue knit dress and lacy black tights. Finally, I slipped on my silver pentagram necklace. I usually wore this particular necklace under my clothes, hidden from view, but that wasn’t necessary tonight. With Wes I could be myself.

  I walked over to the table under my bedroom window and looked outside. The backyard was dark, except for a small patch of light from the St. Johns’ patio to the right of my yard. My neighbors to the left were out of town for the holidays. I closed the blinds and focused on the objects on the table: two pillar candles, one green and one red; a silver chalice; a gold-colored wooden wand; a mortar and pestle; and several sprigs of holly, mistletoe, and pine.

  This was my altar, the symbolic focal point of my spiritual practice and a constant reminder to be present within my own spirituality. It was the place where I cast spells, honored the God and Goddess, and accessed the sacred. As a Wiccan, I didn’t need a priest to act as an intermediary between me and the Divine—I could be my own priestess. Wicca was an experiential religion. No leap of faith required.

  I lit the candles and took a slow, deep breath. I didn’t have time for a full ritual right now, but I could still set an intention for my date. My relationship with Wes was going strong. We had been dating for about a year and a half and were growing closer all the time. I had even invited him to fly home with me to Nebraska to visit my family over the holidays. He would have come, except he had already booked a job shooting wedding photos the day after Christmas. Still, I loved it that we were at the point where it was natural to spend holidays together.

  In the beginning, things were a little uncertain—I wasn’t entirely sure of his true feelings, and he had some insecurities of his own to work through. Then, earlier this year, we finally opened up to each other, and that sealed the deal. Turns out communication really is the key to a successful relationship.

  However, there was one thing Wes didn’t know. He didn’t know we were about to reach an important milestone. In just a few days, Wes would officially be my longest-term boyfriend. Previously, most guys never lasted more than a few months—largely because I couldn’t bring myself to share with them my deepest, most personal secret. I once went out with a guy for more than a year without so much as hinting at my Wiccan leanings. That was way back in college, nearly a decade ago. The relationship had fizzled when I decided to move to Illinois for law school, and he went another direction. In hindsight, I knew we probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. Wes and I were a much better fit.

  The question was, where were Wes and I headed? We were an exclusive couple, but we rarely talked about the future. Every time I thought about bringing it up, I became tongue-tied. What I needed was some courage. I needed to be open with Wes again, just like when I first admitted my feelings for him.

  Closing my eyes, I whispered a prayer to the Goddess Aphrodite and vowed to be honest and forthcoming. No sooner had I finished when the doorbell rang. Right on time. I smiled, extinguished the candles, and went downstairs to let Wes inside.

  “Wow!” he said. “You look amazing, as always. Was I gone only a week? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  I laughed and took the bottle of wine and gift bag from his hands. “Why, Wesley Callahan. It’s great to see you, too.” With his sparkling eyes and rugged good looks, Wes still took my breath away. He leaned in for a kiss, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around him. In spite of the wintery cold outside, the kiss was
hot enough to melt ice. We pulled back and gazed at each other for a second.

  “I am one lucky guy,” Wes said.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said. “Except for the ‘guy’ part.”

  Wes chuckled and took off his coat. “Want me to open the wine?”

  “That would be great. Dinner will be ready soon. I made the soup last night, so I just need to heat it up on the stove.”

  Wes followed me into the kitchen and found the corkscrew. “Is it that delicious vegetable soup with butternut squash and coconut cream?”

  “Yep. Over brown rice.”

  “Mmm. I’ve been thinking about that soup ever since the last time you made it.”

  “I know,” I said, smiling. “That’s why I made it.” Wes wasn’t a vegetarian, but he always gamely went along with my food choices.

  I put the soup on the stove and took some bowls from the cabinet. “How was Seattle?” I asked, as I set the table.

  “Chilly and wet, but still pretty cool. Rob is excited to be there.”

  “I’d love to go with you to visit him sometime. Maybe next summer?”

  Wes brought me a glass of wine. “Definitely. Let’s plan on it.” He took a sip from his own glass, then set it on the table. “I brought you something from this neat little chocolate shop in Rob’s new neighborhood.” He handed me the gift bag. “It’s cacao nibs. I think you like to bake with these, right?”

  “Awesome,” I said, inhaling the luscious chocolate aroma from the bag. As I did so, I realized my original doubts about the Godiva candy had to be right. They weren’t from Wes.

  At that same moment, Wes noticed the tulips. “Nice flowers,” he said. “Where’d they come from?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure.” I showed Wes the card. “Maybe there was a mix-up at the flower shop. Lots of people are sending gifts at this time of year. Maybe this message wasn’t intended for me at all.”

  “Could be,” said Wes. He shrugged and walked over to stir the soup.

  Yeah, I thought. It was entirely possible that both deliveries weren’t meant for me. But I didn’t really believe that. One was sent to my office and one to my home. And the messages were too similar to be a mistake. Someone was being deliberately mysterious.

  For some reason, I found this to be very disconcerting.

  Chapter 4

  By the next day, I had put my secret admirer out of my mind. Wes and I had spent a lovely evening catching up. In fact, I enjoyed my time with him so much, I failed to bring up the question of our future. Again. At least I had suggested that trip to Seattle in the summer. I supposed that was something.

  Saturday morning I went to a yoga class with my best bud, Farrah Anderson. We had become fast friends in law school and stayed close after graduation. She had worked for a couple years in a large law firm, then left the traditional path to become a legal software salesperson. It better suited her vivacious personality and gave her more freedom for extracurricular pursuits. Some of my most fun times were with Farrah. Besides Wes, Farrah was the only other non-Pagan to know about my secret Wiccan identity.

  “Did you hear my stomach growling in there?” she asked, as we rolled up our mats. “All I could think about for the past ten minutes was the Hungry Farmer Platter at the Cozy Café.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, God, you wouldn’t really eat that, would you? Isn’t it, like, two of everything on the menu? Bacon, sausage, ham, eggs . . . a vegan’s nightmare.”

  Farrah snorted. “I could try.”

  A short time later, we sat across from each other in a red vinyl booth at one of our favorite restaurants in downtown Edindale. Farrah ended up ordering an omelet with a side of bacon, while I chose a black bean burger with French fries. While we ate, I told her about my invitation to Edgar Harrison’s holiday ball.

  “Lucky!” she said. “I got to go one year, back when I was dating that mortgage broker. He turned out to be a bore, but the ball was great. I’ve always wanted to go again.”

  I had a sudden thought. “You know, I could actually give you a ticket. I have two, but Wes doesn’t need one. He has to take photos of the event for the newspaper, so he can use his press pass to get in.”

  Farrah’s eyes lit up. “Really? But . . . solo? Do I dare show up without a date?”

  “Of course! You can keep me company when Wes is working. Plus, I’m sure you’ll know some of the other guests.”

  “Ooh, I wonder if Tucker Brinkley will be there.” Farrah finished her bacon and licked her lips.

  “Why does that name sound familiar?” I asked.

  “He’s been on various city commissions over the years, and he just announced he’s running for mayor. He’s probably Harrison’s most viable opponent.”

  “Right. I must have read about him in the paper.” I took a sip of lemon water and tried to recall what I had read. “‘Tucker Brinkley. Doesn’t he own a hunting lodge or something?”

  Farrah nodded. “Stag Creek Hunting Club. They have a lodge at Diamond Point Lake. It’s quite nice, actually. Decent restaurant.”

  “And this guy wants to be mayor?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Hmm. So, why would he be at Edgar’s holiday ball?” I paused and narrowed my eyes. “More importantly, why do you care?”

  Farrah grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s kind of a known guy in certain circles, involved in local politics and such. He also happens to be one of Edindale’s most sought-after eligible bachelors . . . probably because he’s got this cool, Sam Elliott–cowboy vibe going on.” Farrah paused and looked wistful. “He asked me out once, but I was with Jake at the time.”

  “Ahh, I see. Speaking of—”

  “Don’t ask,” Farrah said.

  I shook my head. “Okay. If you say so.” Farrah was on the outs again with her longtime on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jake. Last time they were together, I had really thought they’d make it work. Then Farrah backed away again. Maybe they weren’t compatible after all.

  Suddenly, Farrah slapped the table, causing me to jump. “What is it?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Look at the time! Come on, Cinderella! We have a ball to prepare for.”

  * * *

  The Harrison Hotel was Edindale’s version of The Plaza, only on a smaller, slightly less opulent scale. Stress the slightly. Built in the 1920s, it retained much of its classic charm. The lobby was an open, elegant affair featuring marble columns, an oversize fireplace, and a crystal chandelier. Beyond the check-in counter and through an arched doorway, the lobby opened into a spacious balcony-ringed atrium complete with gurgling fountain. On the far end of the atrium, a majestic ten-foot spruce tree took center stage, surrounded by a cluster of smaller silver and white trees. Through another doorway was the grand ballroom, a favorite space for weddings, parties, and galas of all sorts.

  Farrah and I oohed and ahhed our way through the hotel, from the gaily decorated lobby all the way to the wine bar set up in the back of the ballroom. A five-piece jazz band played upbeat Christmas tunes, while dolled-up guests laughed and mingled.

  I helped myself to a glass of pinot grigio and surveyed the room. In some ways, the festive scene reminded me of an adults-only wedding reception. Many folks wore formal attire, like a bridal party would—or prom-goers, for that matter. Other guests wore less fancy versions of their Sunday best. Based on a few familiar faces, I gathered that the latter group included some of Edgar’s employees. I spotted Zeke, wearing a nice trim suit with a skinny red paisley tie. He was chatting with a group of people that included the receptionist at Edgar’s office. Zeke must have sensed me staring at him. He looked straight at me and winked.

  Nice. I raised my glass in acknowledgment and looked away. He is a cutie, I thought. But I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him. The wink didn’t help. I once knew a young lawyer who had a habit of winking at me, and he turned out to be up to no good.

  Farrah nudged me. “Check out Fred Astaire over there.” She nodd
ed toward Crenshaw, who soared across the dance floor in time to the band’s hopping version of “Jingle Bell Rock.” With coattails flying, he swung his partner so rapidly her hair came loose from its complicated updo.

  “Whoa,” I said, then laughed. “Poor Sheana. I wonder if she had any idea what she was getting into.”

  “I doubt it,” said Farrah. “Who woulda thought your buddy could be so light on his feet?”

  We moved along the perimeter of the dance floor, saying hello to fellow attorneys and acquaintances along the way. At one point, I noticed my boss, Beverly, head-to-head with Edgar Harrison. They seemed to be engaged in a serious dialogue. I wonder if they’re discussing the blackmailer. Maybe there’s been another threat. I thought about going over to find out, when another couple approached them and they drifted apart. I watched as Edgar joined his wife, Gretta, near the side wall. She was wheelchair-bound during a months-long recovery from hip replacement surgery, but she still looked elegant with her silver-blond hair and emerald gown.

  Just then I spied Wes across the room. He had come early so he could take lots of photos before I arrived. Our eyes met and my heart did a little flip. His smoldering gaze heated me up from ten paces away. I had never seen him in a tux before.

  “My, he cleans up nicely, doesn’t he?” said Farrah, at my elbow.

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmured in agreement. I fanned myself with my free hand. “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?”

  Farrah snickered and took my empty wineglass. She grabbed two more glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to me. As we made our way toward Wes, I heard Farrah whistle softly beside me.

  “Hey,” I joked. “You’re not still eyeing my boyfriend, are you?”

  “Huh-uh. Take a look. My cowboy is here.”

  I turned to see who had captured her attention. No one was wearing a cowboy hat, boots, or Western wear, but I still knew exactly who she meant. Maybe it was the thick mustache. Or perhaps it was the permanent squint on his tanned face, as if he had stared into the sunset on too many a lonely evening.