by Vicki Delany
“I am.” I gave him a smile. “See?”
Alan shuffled his feet. “You were engaged to that guy, Max. No matter how things between you stood, you have stuff to deal with here, Merry.”
“Why don’t you come around to my place tonight for dinner? I have a feeling I won’t want to be alone.”
“I’d like that.” The boat ramp wasn’t far from town, but it was in an undeveloped patch of land consisting of a rocky beach, a circle of small trees and scruffy shrubs, the boat ramp, a rickety dock, a circular gravel road, and a rough parking lot. Most people had left, although a few of the teenage elves still stood about, waiting for parents to collect them, or perhaps not wanting the day’s fun to end. We were standing beside my Honda Civic. Alan’s battered pickup truck, which he used to haul raw wood and finished furniture, wasn’t far away. I got into my car, started up the engine, gave Alan a wave, and drove home.
• • •
“Ecstatic” is the best word to describe Mattie whenever I arrive home after leaving him all day. I have to confess, I’m pretty pleased to see the big guy myself. After we exchanged sloppy, effusive greetings, I took him into the backyard for a romp. He really needed a long walk, but that would have to wait. I tried calling Jackie again, and once again I got voice mail. By now, I was seriously worried. Jackie’s the sort of modern young woman for whom her phone is a physical appendage. She would no sooner leave it someplace than she’d forget to take her arm. Mattie galloped about the yard, sniffing under bushes, around the equipment shed, and at the bottom of the fence. I’m not much of a gardener, to put it mildly, and my patch of garden was starting to look more like an Amazon jungle than a New York State backyard. I share property duties with Wendy and Steve, who have the apartment on the other half of the top floor. They both had busy jobs and a baby, and even less free time than I did. We’d had a lot of rain over the past weeks, intermixed with hot weather, and the grass and weeds were reveling in it. I made a mental note to cut the grass later, but right now I had more important things on my mind. I found a well-chewed tennis ball in a patch of weeds and threw it across the yard. Mattie galloped after it, grabbed it, and dropped it, soaking wet, at my feet. I picked it up, threw it again, and the game was on.
Deep within my pocket, my phone rang. I checked the display before answering. Mom.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask how you are doing, dear.”
“No, but you will.” Mattie dropped the ball at my feet. When I didn’t immediately pick it up, he nudged it with his nose.
“Yes, I will. I heard about Max, of course. Everyone’s talking about it. Are you sure you’re fine? Where are you now?”
“I’m home. I’m playing with Mattie in the backyard. No one can be sad when they’re throwing a ball for a dog.”
“A dog is well and good, dear. But if you need to talk . . .”
“Thanks, Mom.” My mother and I had never been particularly close. I’ve always been much closer to my dad. Mom had had a big opera career that saw her traveling the world and spending a lot of time in New York City, where she kept an apartment. My dad stayed in Rudolph, and he did most of the raising of me and my three younger siblings. Mom came home between gigs. Dad is spontaneous, fun-loving, affectionate, full of fun. Mom is much more reserved. As a child, I’d found her intimidating with her big voice and flamboyant clothes and wide gestures. Now that for the first time Mom and I were living in the same town, I was enjoying a renewed relationship with her.
“They say you found him in your shop. Do you have any idea what he might have been doing there on his own?”
I scooped up the ball and threw it. Mattie dashed in pursuit, tongue lolling, tail wagging. “It’s possible he wanted to talk to me without everyone else around. He said we had unfinished business between us. I didn’t agree.”
“Is that why you were out for dinner with him the other night?”
Mom might not be a longtime Rudolphite, but she had connected to the gossip mill fast enough.
“If you heard about that, you also probably heard that I walked out when Erica showed up.”
“Good for you, I must say. It does no one’s reputation any good to be caught in the middle of a public fracas between two prima donnas.” And that was something Aline Steiner Wilkinson would know all about.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I repeated. “I’m sad about Max’s death, but I’m not broken up about it.”
“I’m here if you need me, dear.”
“Thanks, Mom.” We hung up.
I called a disappointed Mattie back inside and hopped into the shower. Then I dressed in capri-length jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, and headed out. Mattie looked mournful at my leaving him again, but this wasn’t a job I could do with the dog in tow. It’s a short walk from my place into town so I didn’t take my car, but I walked quickly.
As I walked, I placed a phone call.
It was answered before the first ring died. “Jeez, Merry. What the heck is going on?”
“Did you get my text?”
“Yeah,” Vicky said. “Letting me know you’re still alive, that’s about all. The cops are all over your store. People say Max Folger’s dead. Your Max?”
“He is not my Max, but yes. Someone killed him in the back of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures.”
Vicky let out a long breath. “You okay, sweetie?”
“I’m sad about Max, yes, but right now I’m worried about Jackie. She was working at the time it happened, alone in the store while I was on the boat with Dad, and she’s gone missing.”
Vicky let out a whistle. “Look, it’s almost five. We’re closed here and cleanup is just about finished. Can I meet you somewhere?”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’m almost into town now. I’m going to Jackie’s place.”
“See you in a sec.” Vicky hung up.
Jackie lives in a small walk-up apartment above Candy Cane Sweets, not far from my store. I’ve never been there, but as her employer, I know her address. Vicky was waiting on the bakery steps, and she ran across the street when she saw me approaching. Cars screeched to a halt to avoid running her over, and she gave them a cheerful wave.
“I know you and Max were long finished,” she said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you were in love with each other once. If you need help dealing with this, I’m here for you.”
“I know that.” I gave her a big hug, blinking away tears. Vicky and I had been close since the first day of kindergarten when she marched up to me in the playground and announced that I was going to be her best friend. Even over the years we were apart, at college and then when I lived in the city, the bond had remained strong. When I stepped away from the hug, she patted the top of my head. I still hate that as much as I did when we were in junior high and she sped past me, height-wise.
I peeked into the window of Candy Cane Sweets as we passed. The cheerfully decorated shop was crowded. “How’d you do down at the beach earlier?” I asked Vicky.
“Great. The town’s got to be pleased with the turnout. Everyone says the boat parade was a huge success. They’re already talking about doing it again next year, instead of the more traditional Santa Claus parade.”
“Did the . . . uh . . . excitement in town draw people away?”
“Not so as you’d notice. Today was all about kids and families. Most parents with children and babies aren’t going to drag them away from the beach in hopes of seeing the police in action.”
“It was crowded enough outside my shop.”
“Celebrity junkies,” Vicky said with a disapproving sniff.
A small door was set into the wall between Candy Cane Sweets and the butcher shop. I tried the knob and it opened easily, admitting us into a dark, musty stairwell. We climbed the steep steps. Two doors led off the landing, presumably to two apartments.
I approached the door
marked A. I wasn’t sure what I hoped for. Best case would be to have Jackie answer my knock, red-nosed and sneezing into a well-worn tissue, having “forgotten” to tell me she was going home sick. If she didn’t answer the door, I was prepared to break it down. Not that I know how to do that, but judging by TV, all it needed was a good strong kick. I am her employer, and I did have a valid reason to be worried about her.
I hammered on the door. “Jackie! It’s Merry. Open up!”
To my considerable surprise the door swung open immediately.
Not my employee, red-faced or otherwise, but Detective Diane Simmonds.
“What are you doing here?” Vicky and I said in unison.
“Have you heard from Jackie O’Reilly since we last spoke?” Simmonds asked.
“No. I’ve been phoning but no one answers. I thought I’d better come around. See if she’s sick or something.”
Simmonds spoke over her shoulder. “Back in a minute, Roger.” She stepped into the hallway. Vicky, taller than I, craned her neck trying to see what was going on inside the apartment. Simmonds shut the door firmly. Vicky tried not to look disappointed.
I noticed the detective was wearing thin blue gloves. Acid rose into my throat. “Jackie. She’s not . . .”
“We have not yet located Ms. O’Reilly,” Simmonds said.
I let out a long breath. For a moment there, I’d feared they’d found a second murder scene.
“We’ve searched your store thoroughly and can’t find her purse. Are you sure she brought it to work this morning?”
“Positive. One day pretty much blends into the next sometimes, but not today. She was not happy at having to work, because she wanted to join the parade. When she came in she made a big deal of huffing and puffing, and I remember that she slung her purse over her shoulder. Is that important?”
“If Ms. O’Reilly’s purse was in a cupboard in the back, and she took it with her, then we can assume she didn’t flee the scene in a panic when the killer of Max Folger came in. Did Ms. O’Reilly normally carry her phone on her person when she was working?”
“No. I’ve forbidden it after I caught her sneaking some texts while we had customers on the floor. She had to keep it in her purse, tucked away in the back.” Of course, every time I left the premises, I was pretty sure she made a dash for it.
“She’s been kidnapped,” Vicky said.
“We can find no signs of a struggle anywhere in the shop or the immediate vicinity, which indicates she was not taken by force.”
“Maybe she was drugged or knocked unconscious and that’s why she wasn’t able to put up a fight,” I said.
“I shouldn’t have to explain my thought process to you, Merry, but I will. If Ms. O’Reilly was a witness to the killing of Max Folger, it is highly improbable the killer went to the trouble of subduing her and carrying her off. He, or she, did, as you noticed, make no attempt to hide Mr. Folger’s body.”
“Unless he was killed someplace else and dumped in my office for some reason.”
“There is no evidence of that.”
“It’s still possible though, right?”
“At this time, anything is possible.”
Simmonds was, of course, right. If Jackie had seen the person who killed Max, either in my office or before, that person surely would have killed her, and left her where she fell.
“You said she wasn’t happy about working today,” Simmonds said. “How angry was she?”
“Not angry. Just unhappy. It happens to everyone. Haven’t you ever not wanted to work when you had to?”
Simmonds gave me a long look.
“Jackie didn’t take out her anger, I mean her annoyance, at me or on an innocent customer,” I said firmly. I was glad Vicky was standing beside me. I’ve always been the shy and timid one, while Vicky rushed where the brave fear to tread. It made us a good pair. I calmed her down—sometimes—and sometimes she made me bold.
“So you keep saying,” Simmonds said. “Ms. O’Reilly had time to collect her purse and apparently walk calmly out the door. You told me the front door wasn’t locked when you got there, Merry. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I mean, no, it wasn’t locked. That’s why I was sure Jackie was inside.”
“Does she have a key?”
I nodded. “She often opens or closes the store.”
“As far as you are aware, had Jackie met Mr. Folger before Thursday?”
“No. They didn’t know each other. I’m positive of that.”
“How did they seem to get on when they did meet?”
“Fine. Jackie was thrilled that they were here. Jennifer’s Lifestyle is a major publication, and here they were in our town taking pictures. It’s always been Jackie’s dream to be discovered.” I put quotes around the word.
“Is that so? Were Mr. Folger and his magazine interested in discovering her?”
“No. It’s not a fashion mag and has no use for models. They feature things mostly, people only rarely, and then farmers, artisans, landscape architects. Max was dismissive of Jackie. Insulting almost. He wasn’t a nice man. I . . .” Too late, I realized that I’d stepped right into a trap.
“Not,” Vicky said quickly, “that that means anything. Small-town people take that sort of thing in stride, don’t we, Merry?”
“Uh, yes. We do. Jackie did. I mean she would have. When she realized what was happening. We’d better be going. Let you get back to work.”
“If you know anything, Merry, you are required to tell me.”
“I don’t. Know anything, I mean.”
“What do you think happened, Detective?” Vicky asked.
Simmonds didn’t speak for a long time. In the silence I could hear someone moving around in Jackie’s apartment, and cars passing on the street. Then the detective said, “We are presently acting on the assumption that, for reasons unknown, Jackie O’Reilly murdered Max Folger, collected her phone and purse, and calmly walked away from the scene.”
Chapter 7
Vicky laughed. I did not. Detective Diane Simmonds was not one for making jokes.
“You must be joking,” I said.
“I never joke,” she replied calmly.
“You can’t possibly believe that in reaction to an offhand dismissal, Jackie killed Max?”
“Fortunately, it’s not my job to worry about motive. I was about to pay a call on you, but now that you’re here, let me ask. Where would Ms. O’Reilly be likely to go if she wanted to hide?”
The very idea of Jackie being a killer was preposterous. But then, where was she? By now, everyone in Rudolph knew Max Folger had been murdered in the back of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures. Even if, for some reason, she’d not seen the killer or the killing, she had to know the police would want to talk to her. I shoved down the question of why and turned to where. Where she might be. “Her parents live in Rudolph. Her mom’s phone number is in my files as the emergency contact if you can’t find it.”
“I’ve spoken to Mrs. O’Reilly. She says she hasn’t heard from her daughter in several days.”
“They’re not close,” I said. “There’s Kyle, I guess.”
“Kyle?”
“Kyle Lambert is Jackie’s boyfriend,” Vicky said.
Simmonds pulled out her notebook and pen. “Do you have an address for him?”
“I do,” I said. “I’ve been to his place once, to visit him after the exploding hot dog cart incident.”
“Oh yes,” Simmonds said. “That.”
I told her where Kyle lived. “He was down at the park most of the day. At least he was when I was there.” Which, admittedly, wasn’t much. “He was working at the ice cream parlor. I asked him if he’d heard from Jackie, and he said no.”
“Anyone else you can think of. Girlfriends?”
“Jackie and I aren’t friends. We don’t socialize.
She’s just my employee. I don’t know anything about her private life.” And when she did chatter about this friend or that, her plans for tonight, or what she’d done over the weekend, I usually tuned her out.
“Her mom’s good friends with my aunt Marjorie,” Vicky said. “And I think my cousin Paula hangs around with Jackie sometimes. That’s Marjorie Brewster. She works at my bakery. She left after closing, so she’s probably home now.”
“Thanks,” Simmonds said. She made no move to go back into the apartment, and I realized she was waiting to see us leave.
“Have you spoken to the people from Jennifer’s Lifestyle yet?” I said. “There was certainly dissent in the ranks there. I think they should be your prime suspects. And Erica was mighty quick to accuse me, don’t you think?”
“Erica accused you of killing Max?” Vicky said. “Wow. The nerve of the woman.”
“Thank you so much for your suggestions, Merry,” Simmonds said. “But I am capable of conducting an investigation. If you must know, Erica Johnstone and her assistant are waiting for me at their hotel under instructions not to leave the premises. The rest of the magazine crew are similarly locked down, as they say on TV, at the Carolers Motel.”
“They have to stay at a motel? Standards sure have slipped since my day.”
“Is that so?” Simmonds said. “Reason perhaps for discontent. Go home, Merry. I shouldn’t have to advise you not to interfere in my investigation, but I will anyway. I don’t want you putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. And that goes for you as well, Ms. Casey.”
“Perish the thought,” said Vicky, all wide-eyed innocence. Somehow the look didn’t match the cropped black hair, the purple lock falling over her right eye, the multiple piercings in her ears and one through her left eyebrow, and the tattoo of a gingerbread cookie on her wrist.
“Just one thing before we go,” I said. “My shop? This is a busy weekend, and I’m losing money every minute it’s closed.”
“You should be able to open tomorrow. We were lucky that the forensics people with the state police didn’t have anything pressing on their plates so could send extra help. Phone me in the morning to check.”
