Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  The waitress came by our table and took Farrah’s order: a German lager and a grilled vegetable panini. I asked for a plain water. I needed to cleanse my palate. As soon as the waitress came back with our drinks, I told Farrah I had just met with Edgar’s driver.

  Farrah clapped her hands together and leaned in, her eyes glistening. “Well? Did you, you know, charm him?”

  “You could say that,” I said.

  “Oh, wow, I wish I would’ve gotten here sooner. What did he say? Did he spill his guts?”

  “Sort of. He told me the truth and nothing but the truth . . . but not the whole truth.”

  “Qué? What do you mean?”

  I told Farrah everything. In spite of Bob’s admonition not to repeat the secret, I had no qualms about telling Farrah. We were like an old married couple—telling one of us a secret was the same as telling both of us. I knew she’d keep it on the down low. Besides, she was the Sherlock to my Watson. Or vice versa.

  Farrah sipped her beer thoughtfully. “I wonder why Edgar went back to the hotel immediately after leaving.”

  “Maybe he had an early-morning meeting the next day and just decided to stay the night in town,” I speculated.

  Farrah wrinkled her nose.

  “Well, maybe he wanted to personally oversee the party cleanup, or check up on his staff.”

  Farrah shook her head. “Why go through the whole pretense of leaving and then return through the back entrance?”

  The waitress returned with Farrah’s panini. I snatched a French fry from her plate and blew on it to cool it off. Farrah poured some ketchup on her plate, then set the bottle down and looked at me. I could tell we had each come to the same conclusion.

  “It can be only one thing,” she said.

  “He was meeting a woman.”

  “That’s got to be it.”

  “Poor Gretta. I wonder if she knew. I mean, she had to know he never came back to the ranch, yet she lied to the police about that.”

  “Who knows?” said Farrah. “Maybe she thought she was protecting his reputation—and her own.”

  “Could be. If he really was meeting another woman, it would be embarrassing for his wife, even if she knew what was going on.” I shook my head. “Can you imagine? I don’t understand women who put up with philandering husbands.”

  Farrah shrugged. “They have their reasons.” She sipped her beer and gazed around the bar. It was filling up and, along with the influx of people, came an increase in the noise level. “Who do you suppose he was having an affair with?” she asked.

  I thought back to all the women I had seen at the ball. “It’s hard to say. I’m gonna assume it wasn’t one of the ladies who left with Cowboy Tuck.”

  “Hey,” said Farrah. “You make us sound like groupies.”

  I grinned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Anyway, who all went with you to the nightclub?”

  “Let’s see. There was Sheana Starwalt.”

  “Wait. She left the party? Poor Crenshaw.”

  “Yeah, she was really miffed at him for some reason.” Farrah took another bite of her sandwich, then wiped her mouth. “There were also a couple of women from Harrison Properties: a receptionist and a real estate broker. There was some other woman whose name I never caught, and . . . darn it. I guess Tucker was the only man. But it’s not like we were his fangirls or anything. He and I snagged a table in the back as soon as we got there, and the others went up front to watch the band.”

  “And then you and he left together and walked back to his car . . . and he took you home?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Was Farrah blushing? I sipped my water and held my tongue. Apparently, the truth serum was wearing off. Otherwise I might have pondered whether Cowboy Tuck was too old for her and advised her to give her old boyfriend, Jake, another chance.

  Farrah slapped the table. “I know. Edgar’s assistant. The one with the sleek hair and power makeup. She reminded me of an Amazon, all fierce and beautiful. What was her name?”

  “Allison Mandrake. She made me think of a TV news anchor more than a warrioress. Powerful nonetheless.” I recalled how Allison had appeared upset at Edgar in one of the photos Wes had taken. Could it have been jealousy? Or some kind of lovers’ spat? “I suppose it’s possible,” I said.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard to find out,” said Farrah. “People who have affairs think they’re being sneaky, but someone else almost always knows about it. The hotel staff probably knew. Heck, maybe even his wife knew.”

  “You’re right. At the very least, a friend of one or both of them probably knew.” I thought for a moment, then had an idea. “Hey, how well did Tucker know Edgar? Weren’t they golfing buddies? Is there any chance he would know who Edgar was going to meet that night?”

  Farrah didn’t hesitate. “I can find out. He invited me to come out to his hunting lodge anytime. They have cross-country skiing out there, as well as hiking, fishing, and horseback riding. You’d probably like it, other than the hunting and fishing part.”

  “You really do have a thing for this guy, don’t you?”

  “What can I say?” she said, with a sly grin. “I guess I’m a sucker for an old-school man’s man. Strong, handsome, and chivalrous to a T. You know?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I know.”

  * * *

  It was well past sunset when I left the Loose and headed for home. Farrah had tried to persuade me to stay and celebrate the winter Solstice with another round of Jimi’s homemade wassail, but I told her I needed to get going. Wes was coming over later and I still had my own private ritual to conduct.

  Two blocks from the Loose, I stopped for a red light at the intersection of North and Main. As I waited, I tapped on my steering wheel and whistled to the tune of “Let It Snow.” Not that I wanted it to snow, but I was in a cheerful mood after hanging out with Farrah. Truth be told, I had started to second-guess my suspicions about Edgar’s death. Maybe I had been reading too many detective novels. Just because I had found myself involved in more than one real-life mystery over the past year and a half didn’t mean that everything was a mystery. For all we knew, Edgar might have sneaked back into the hotel to have another round of drinks. His death was probably just a tragic accident like the police had said.

  At that moment, the streetlight above me burned out. Hmm. That was the second time in two days. When things like that happened, I paid attention. It was usually a sign. Like a finger snap from the Universe.

  When the traffic light changed, I turned right instead of left and headed back downtown, away from home. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but when I approached the Harrison Hotel I knew I had reached my destination. I parked in the lot and went inside.

  I walked past the front desk and gave the clerk a pleasant smile without stopping. Maybe I’d just pop into the lounge for a minute, I decided. I pushed open the atrium door, half expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t. I took a deep breath, mustered up my courage, and entered.

  It wasn’t entirely empty. A few people loitered by the fountain, while chattering voices drifted down from the second-floor bar. I noticed that the evergreen trees had been rearranged to block the area where I had found Edgar’s body. For good measure, a velvet rope cordoned off the area as well. I wandered over to the trees and casually looked around. I hoped no one would think I was being morbidly curious. There didn’t seem to be anything to see anyway. I backed away, then, almost against my will, I looked up.

  How far had he fallen? My eyes scanned each floor from the top down. Something caught my eye. It was a piece of torn yellow tape, stuck to a railing directly above. I counted the floors from the bottom up. It was on the fourth floor.

  Before I could change my mind, I trotted up the stairs to the second floor and took the glass elevator another two levels. The fourth floor appeared to be empty, and no wonder. Yellow caution tape blocked the entire east hallway. Apparently, anyone occupying the rooms in that section had to check out or relocate. Th
e hotel was probably conducting its own investigation for insurance purposes. I ducked under the tape and wandered down the hallway to the point where Edgar had fallen, outside Room 428. From a safe distance, I examined the railing. It was approximately waist high and appeared to be intact. No clues there.

  I took a few more steps to the end of the hall, opposite the emergency exit, and peeked around the corner. I expected to see an ice machine or vending machines, but was surprised to find the doorway to another room instead. A sign said it was the Guest Reading Room. The door was unlocked, so I went inside.

  “How cute,” I said to myself. It was a quaint little room with plush chairs and bookshelves on one side and computer tables on another. A small poster listed the Wi-Fi password and explained the rules for using the hotel computer and printer.

  After a quick look around the room, I sighed and dropped into one of the chairs. What was I doing here? This might be the longest night of the year, but it wasn’t like I had unlimited time. I fished into my overstuffed purse to find my phone, and in the process managed to tip my purse right off my lap. Smooth. As I leaned over to pick it up, something caught my eye on the floor. It was a crumpled slip of paper behind a table leg, out of sight from any vantage other than the one I happened to be sitting in. Curious, I reached for the paper and uncrumpled it. I gasped when I read it:

  MEET ME AT 1 AM, 4TH FLOOR READING ROOM. E

  “E” had to be Edgar. This confirmed it, at least in my mind. He was meeting someone the night he died! Was it a romantic rendezvous like Farrah and I had speculated? Or was it something else?

  Chapter 11

  I slipped the cryptic note into my purse and hurried back out to the hallway. I would take it to the police station first thing tomorrow. Surely this would prompt an investigation into Edgar’s death. Wouldn’t it? True, the note was somewhat obscure. It was undated, so there was no way of knowing how long it had lain on the floor, out of sight and beyond the reach of vacuum cleaners. And, of course, “E” was not necessarily Edgar. Still, the timing was all too coincidental.

  Standing near the spot where Edgar had fallen over the balcony to his death, I pondered again what might have happened that night. So what if he had snuck back into the hotel to meet someone? He still could have accidentally fallen over the railing. He was drunk. It was dark. Maybe he was in a hurry so he wouldn’t be seen, so he ran down the hall, bumped into the railing, and fell over. Perhaps he never made it to the reading room.

  But what if he did make it? What if he had argued with whomever he was meeting? What if there was a scuffle? Wouldn’t someone have heard? I turned and looked at the closed doors along the hallway. Rooms 422, 420, 418, and 416. Surely the police would have questioned everyone staying in those rooms.

  Hang on. Room 418! How could I have forgotten? It was Mick’s room. That was where I was headed when I stumbled upon Edgar’s body. Maybe Mick had heard something that night.

  I searched my recent calls for Mick’s number and dialed. As it rang, I became aware of a faint ringing behind one of the closed doors. When Mick’s voicemail picked up, I ended the call. I walked toward Room 418 and pressed REDIAL. Again, the moment Mick’s line rang in my ear, a cell phone sounded behind the door to 418. What in the world?

  I backed away and almost hung up, when I remembered Mick would see my number as a missed call. So I left a brief message: “Mick, it’s Keli. Sorry I missed you the other night. Please give me a call when you have a chance.”

  I hung up and stared at the closed door to Room 418. Did Mick leave his cell phone behind when he checked out? Given the yellow caution tape, it was quite possible the rooms hadn’t been cleaned yet. That would explain why the cleaning staff hadn’t found and returned his phone. But wouldn’t Mick have called the hotel as soon as he missed it? Maybe they were serious about not letting anyone down this hallway for any reason. Which meant I really shouldn’t be up here myself.

  Feeling suddenly nervous, I made a beeline for the exit.

  * * *

  A short time later, I was safe and sound inside my home. I still had an hour before Wes was due to arrive, just enough time for a solitary Yuletide ritual. As soon as I locked up, closed the curtains, and fed Drishti, I took a shower and dressed in my new white gown and cape. For fun, I accessorized with a large gold necklace, dangly earrings, and several gold bangles, then spritzed myself with a light frankincense perfume. Standing in front of the mirror, I struck a regal pose, then laughed at myself. Add an Egyptian headdress, and I’m all set for a masquerade.

  Ever since I had dedicated myself to the Goddess back when I was a teenager, I had forged my own spiritual path. One of the things that most attracted me to Wicca was its lack of rules. As long as you vowed to “harm none,” in accordance with the Wiccan Rede, you could pretty much practice your religion however you saw fit. For me, that meant honoring both the masculine and feminine aspects of divinity, though I connected most deeply with the Goddess. Whether maiden, mother, or crone, she went by many names and appeared in many guises. But, for me, her most significant aspect was as the creator. She was the first mother, as primordial as the fertility goddesses of yore. Perhaps that was why I always felt like she was looking after me.

  I grabbed a few things from my bedroom and went downstairs to set up a temporary altar on the bricks in front of the living room fireplace. Front and center was a statuette of the Goddess Isis holding her son Horus on her lap. Around this, I placed offering bowls and candles. As I did, I spared a glance at Drishti, who was curled up on a blanket in my easy chair, her eyes half closed in a pose of relaxed indifference. I chuckled. As Mila’s familiar, Drishti was probably well accustomed to the magical workings of a dedicated Wiccan. Once everything was arranged, I lit the Yule log and settled back onto my meditation pillow.

  Gazing at the fire, I took a deep breath and let it out. I continued to inhale and exhale through my nose until I felt myself transition into a calm, receptive state. As I relaxed my body and shed the day’s pent-up tension, my mind flashed again to the question of Edgar’s death. Why couldn’t I let it go? Taking another deep breath, I resolved to stop obsessing over someone else’s loss and worry about my own issues. Such as my relationship with Wes. In two days we would surpass the length of my relationship with Mick. If that was so significant to me, shouldn’t I tell Wes? Wasn’t it time we talked about our future together?

  I shook my head to clear it. Back to the task at hand. Trust the Goddess.

  I directed my attention to the figurine in front of the fire and bowed. Out loud, I recited my opening prayer:

  Mother Isis, shining star, hold me in your power

  By your light, your endless grace, this is your blessed hour

  Year by year, you birth the sun, with hope my heart to fill

  I’m here for you, my mind wide open. Show me what you will

  I closed my eyes and surrendered to a deep, tranquil peace. In my mind’s eye, I visualized a blank screen. In an instant, I saw a bright white light. I imagined myself walking toward it until it opened into a wide, sweeping expanse. Before me was a beautiful panoramic scene featuring snow-capped mountains and towering glitter-covered trees, like a postcard picture of the Swiss Alps. The whole experience was dreamlike—I felt I was really there, but I wasn’t cold. As I admired the view, I zoomed in to ground level and found myself on a snow-covered path in the midst of an endless forest. At first, the trees appeared barren and gnarled, as if they were dead. Then I saw something shimmering in the air, fairy lights or will-o’-the-wisps. I followed them to a large clearing and beheld a circle of magnificent standing stones. It was an exact replica of Stonehenge.

  In real life, I knew there would be a crowd of people at Stonehenge on the winter Solstice. Tourists and locals, Pagans and curiosity-seekers, would all gather to witness the sun’s perfect alignment between the stones at both the sunrise and sunset. Yet, in my vision, I was alone.

  Only, I wasn’t quite alone. In the midst of the peace and quiet,
I felt a presence. The will-o’-the-wisps appeared again, so I followed them back into the trees. In the glow of their effervescent green light, I saw the truth of things. I saw within and beneath and through everything. I saw the seeds of life within the trees and under the frozen earth. I had the sense I was receiving an important message. A powerful, reassuring message of hope and joy.

  All at once, I felt it was time to leave. I headed back up the path, then I halted as a powerful feeling washed over me. It was a premonition, a visceral certainty that something was coming toward me, just around the bend. It would be a horse. I didn’t know why, but I knew I would see a horse. Moments later, there it was: a gorgeous white mare. I patted the horse, then mounted it. We galloped off, so fast I felt I was flying. Then the earth fell away, and I floated effortlessly in space. The horse became a constellation, and I became a star.

  After some time, I didn’t know how long, my eyelids fluttered open and I found myself staring into the fireplace once more. Slowly, I pushed myself to kneeling, put my hands together, and bowed in gratitude for the vision. It had been a powerful mystical experience, filled with layers of meaning. I knew the Goddess had sent me a message, and I considered what it all meant. Perhaps she was telling me to be patient with my relationship with Wes. The seed had been planted. All I needed to do was nourish it and let it blossom in its own time.

  But that wasn’t all. There was more to the message. Before I could analyze the vision further, I heard a noise outside. And suddenly the peace was shattered by a raucous barking in the backyard, followed by a banging on the back door and a ringing at the front.

  Then someone called my name.

  “Keli! Open the door! Hurry!”

  Chapter 12

  The front door was nearest, so I ran over and peered through the peephole. It was Wes. I let him in, then dashed to the back door, where the pounding continued.