by Vicki Delany
Muriel bustled over. “Erica needs to rest.” She tucked in the edge of Erica’s collar. Erica swatted at her as though she were a pesky fly. “Get your hands off me.”
“I’m only trying to help,” Muriel puffed.
“Do you plan on staying in Rudolph for long?” Vicky asked.
Erica walked to the window. James watched her, but he didn’t make another attempt to tell us to leave. The sun streamed through the trees, casting dappled shadows onto the deck at the back. “It’s nice here,” she said softly. “Quiet, peaceful. That horrid policewoman told me I can’t leave until she says I can. James asked her when I can take Max home, but she said she didn’t know. Will you speak to her for me, Merry? Tell her I want to lay my beloved Max to rest.”
I shoved away a horrible image of a Jennifer’s Lifestyle special edition funeral issue. “She doesn’t listen to me. Sorry.”
“I hope you enjoyed your time in Rudolph,” Vicky said, with what I thought a shocking lack of taste. “Did you get down to the beach earlier to see the Santa Claus parade?”
“No,” Erica said. “Max and the rest of the crew had their work to do. I try to stay out of their way as much as possible.”
Respectfully, I didn’t laugh.
“The press were arriving, and they’re always such a nuisance. I decided to stay in the room and rest. Muriel and I were here together until we got that phone call.” Her voice broke. “That terrible phone call.”
Good job, Vicky! She’d been prodding Erica for the details of where she’d been when Max was in my shop.
James suddenly realized that Vicky wasn’t simply making polite conversation. “Now, I must insist . . .”
“It turns out we have a mutual friend,” I said. “Russell Durham?”
Erica turned with a genuine smile that made her almost pretty. “Darling Russell? I thought I saw him yesterday, but he disappeared before I could talk to him. You remember Russell, don’t you, James?”
The expression on James’s face indicated that he remembered Russ all too well.
“Is he living here now?” Erica said with a light laugh. “How charming. Imagine, fleeing to this hole-in-the-wall town to recover.”
“Recover?” I asked.
“I’ve always adored the name Russell. It puts me in mind of trees in fall. Autumn at my grandmother’s country house has always been my favorite time of the year. You must get wonderful fall foliage up here. Do you, Merry?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said.
“I’d like to come back then.” She sighed.
At a signal from James, Muriel moved in. She slid up to me and attempted to herd me toward the door. I moved a fraction of an inch. She followed.
Erica continued talking. “The poor dear was absolutely devastated when I told him it was over between us. I’d met Max, you see, and I knew right away that he was my one true love. I thought it best to make a clean break with Russell. He was furious. He said so many horrid things, made such terrible threats.” Her eyes opened wide. “You don’t think he had anything to do with what happened to Max? I couldn’t bear to think that Max died because of me.”
“I must insist that you ladies leave,” James said. “Erica is very tired.” He didn’t quite grab my arm, but the intention was clear.
We all jumped at a loud knock on the door. “Ms. Johnstone. Police.”
James stepped back and put his impassive lawyer face on. Muriel rushed to let the police in. Vicky and I switched on friendly, welcoming smiles.
Detective Diane Simmonds did not look happy to see us. “What are you two doing here?”
“Paying a condolence call,” I said.
“Being supportive,” Vicky said.
“Out,” she said.
“We’re leaving,” I said. “Any news on Jackie?”
“No.”
“If you need anything, Erica,” I said, “feel free to ask. Anytime.”
She enveloped me in another huge hug. “You are such a darling, Merry. I’m so glad we’re friends again.”
Again?
• • •
“She’s certifiable,” Vicky said as we walked up the Hansel and Gretel path back to the bakery van.
“Just spoiled and confused, I think. I’m starting to feel sorry for her, if you must know. She loves the press attention and everything her grandmother’s fame and fortune can bring her, but she’s having trouble realizing that attention can’t be turned off when she wants it to be.”
“You’re too nice sometimes. She’s loony tunes.” Vicky twirled her index finger in the air beside her right ear. “What do you think of the fact that her lawyer arrived lickety-split?”
“Nothing to think. It’s not significant. Press attention’s going to be ferocious, never mind the police’s questions. Jennifer, Erica’s grandmother, has a team of lawyers on standby waiting to spring into action.”
“I hope you noticed the way I got her to reveal her alibi.”
“Lack of alibi, rather.”
“She was with Muriel,” Vicky said. “And isn’t she the creepy one? I expected her to rub her hands together and walk backward out of the room, bowing all the while.”
“Exactly. Muriel is no alibi. Muriel will say they were making plans for an expedition to the North Pole to discover if there really is a Santa Claus, if Erica tells her to.”
“Still, I can’t see Erica strangling anyone, Merry. She might have hit him over the head with a frying pan in a fit of rage. But then she’d run straight to the press to whine that it wasn’t her fault, dragging her lawyer along behind.”
That made a lot of sense, but I wasn’t entirely convinced, and I was silent as we drove back to town. Erica had been raised by Jennifer Johnstone, after all, whom I admired and respected, not only for her business acumen but her people smarts. That must have had some influence on her. Erica played the fun-loving celebrity and ditzy party girl to the hilt, but how much of an act might that be?
How much of her real self did Erica show to the world? Or even to her so-called friends? Was there more depth to her than there appeared? Max had told me Erica didn’t love him and wanted him only to play a part, to give her a big flashy “fairy-tale” wedding and future children. Was Max lying to me? Wouldn’t have been the first time, and he’d fooled me before. Perhaps he wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. Maybe there had been no agreement between Max and Erica that he could live his own life separate from hers after their wedding. Maybe she really did love him and was looking forward to their life together, as any bride should be.
She certainly seemed to be grieving. I didn’t think it was all an act. But what was she grieving for? The man or the end of her plans? Did it matter? Not if they were one and the same in Erica’s mind.
Had he told her he didn’t love her, expecting her not to care, and found out that she did care? That she cared enough to kill him. Did he tell her he wanted to set me up as some sort of Victorian-era mistress? Did she follow him to my shop, where they argued? If anyone would have been able to get close to Max while holding a string of red wooden beads painted to look like cranberries, it would have been Erica.
While all that was happening, where was Jackie? I might believe Erica capable of killing Max in a fit of rage, but I couldn’t believe she kidnapped Jackie and was holding her hostage someplace. Then again, Erica had a heck of a lot of money. I didn’t know if she had her own money or if her grandmother gave her an allowance, but regardless, it would be infinitely more than I, and certainly Jackie, could imagine. Had Erica bribed Jackie to disappear? I wished I’d thought to ask her if she’d seen Jackie today. If she had, she might have let something slip.
“What do you think about what she said about Russ?” Vicky put on the breaks as the van pulled into Jingle Bell Lane. Traffic was stop-and-go all through town.
“I think Simmonds arrived at a heck of a
bad time. Erica had just gotten the idea into her head that Russ might have been jealous of Max . . .”
“Because you brought him up.”
“Thank you so much for pointing that out, Vicky. A year has passed since Russ was dating Erica. I honestly don’t see him getting revenge after all this time.”
“Maybe he hoped Erica would come back to him if Max was out of the picture. She said she’d only had a glimpse of him. Suppose that’s not true. What if they ran into each other and she led Russ to believe she still had feelings for him?”
“Come on, Vicky. Can you really see Russ, our Russ, killing a man for love of Erica Johnstone?”
Vicky pulled up behind the bakery. She switched off the engine and turned to face me, her face dark and serious. “Thing is, Merry, people will do just about anything for love. Throw in Jennifer Johnstone’s money, and you have a heady mix of motives.”
Chapter 8
“Alan’s coming around for dinner,” I said to Vicky. “Want to join us?”
“No! What’s the matter with you? You’ve been playing hard to get for months. You finally have him coming over, and you want me there?”
“I have not been playing hard to get. I’ve been sorting out my feelings. And yes, I do want you there. I’m not in the mood for a date, Vicky. I just want to spend some time with my friends.”
She gave me a smile. “Sorry, sweetie. I understand. Let me go home, change, take Sandbanks for a walk, and I’ll pop over.”
The police station and the town hall share a complex tucked in behind the library. The bakery is located on the other side of a small walkway that carries on toward the lake. A satellite van pulled into the lot behind us. “Russ said the mayor and the police are having a press conference at seven thirty.” I glanced at the clock on the dash. “I wonder if I should go.”
“We just saw Simmonds with Erica. She might not be finished in time.”
“Sue-Anne would like that better. If Simmonds is late, she can have the microphone all to herself.”
“Don’t bother with it, Merry. If Sue-Anne gets out of control, your dad will be there to settle her down.”
“That’s true.”
“You need to go home and put your feet up. You’ve had a heck of an emotional day. Your dad’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
“You’re right.” I hopped out of the bakery van.
• • •
If Alan was disappointed to see Vicky waving at him from my living room couch when he arrived for dinner, he didn’t show it. He handed me a bottle of wine and gave me a peck on the cheek. Mattie then demanded his full attention, so I took the wine into the kitchen and set out a plate of cheese and crackers in the living room.
Alan played tug-of-war with Mattie over a stuffed rabbit missing one ear. By the time the game was over and Mattie was running victory laps around the apartment, the rabbit was missing both ears as well as his tail.
As soon as I got home, I’d tried calling Jackie again. This time, her voice mail informed me that the box was full. I phoned her mother, who hadn’t heard from Jackie, but said she was sure she’d show up soon, laughing at everyone’s concerns and delighted to have been the center of attention. Not to worry, she said, in a very worried voice that ended in a broken sob.
Being with my friends, casual and comfortable, was exactly what I needed tonight. We ate cheese and crackers, drank wine, ordered in a pizza, and chatted about nothing in particular. By unspoken agreement we didn’t discuss Max and Jackie.
Vicky gets up early to get started on the day’s baking; by ten o’clock she was yawning heartily. She refused a top-up of her glass and pushed herself to her feet. “I’d better go. We’re hoping for another busy day tomorrow with that kids’ concert.” A popular children’s entertainer from TV had been hired to put on a show, and there would be clowns and balloon artists and other kid-friendly festivities at the beach, in the park, and around town. Santa wouldn’t put in a formal appearance, but he’d be popping up most of the day. Fortunately, he didn’t need the help of Mrs. Claus.
Alan stood also. “I should be off, too.” He turned to give Mattie a pat.
“Anyone want to come with me to walk the dog?” I gave Vicky a get lost gesture, and she grinned in understanding.
“Not me,” she said. “My bed beckons.”
The four of us walked downstairs together. I had Mattie on his leash, and when he made a dash for the yard, I called him to heel. He came, reluctantly, and I praised him to the skies. We split up at the end of the street; Vicky headed in the direction of her house, and Alan and I walked with Mattie toward the lake. A full white moon hung in a cloudless sky, and the night air was heavy with humidity. Mattie trotted obediently at my side, only occasionally veering off to sniff at something he found interesting. The moon threw a band of glistening silver across the dark, still waters of the lake.
“His training’s coming on well,” Alan said.
My chest swelled with pride. “It’s been easy. He’s very smart.”
Mattie woofed in agreement. Alan took my free hand and we walked in companionable silence through the quiet streets. One of the things I like most about Alan is that he never feels he has to fill moments of quiet with meaningless words.
When we got back to my place, Alan pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket. We stood in the dark shadows of the driveway, the tall house on one side, its old bricks still warm from the heat of the sun, a row of heavy bushes on the other. “That was a nice evening. Thanks, Merry.”
“I enjoyed it. It was good to forget about my troubles for a while.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me close. He kissed me deeply, and I melted into him. I dropped the leash and Mattie galloped off.
We leapt apart as a burst of bright white light lit up the driveway. “Merry Wilkinson, is that you? What are you doing out there in the dark?”
“Just coming home from a walk, Mrs. D’Angelo,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.” I dropped my voice. “Please, please, don’t worry about me.”
Alan smothered a laugh.
“I’m glad I caught you. What on earth is this I hear about one of those magazine people being murdered in your very shop? I don’t know what this town is coming to. I said to Alison Bracken, Alison, I said, it’s those city people. Oh, I know the tourists are good for the town and all, but at the end of the day we’re better off without them.”
Alan lifted one hand and touched the tip of my nose. I snatched at his fingers with my teeth and he laughed.
“Is someone with you, Merry? I can’t see you.”
“Just me, Mrs. D’Angelo. Alan Anderson. Good night.” Still laughing, he got into his truck and drove away. I walked to the end of the drive and into my own yard, the sound of Mrs. D’Angelo’s voice following me. I briefly considered setting the timer on my phone to see how long it would be before she realized no one was there, but decided I had better things to do. Like go to bed. I’d left the gate open and the light above the door on. Mattie was sniffing at the edges of the garden shed, the leash dragging behind him.
I called him to come, and he ignored me. I called again, in my sternest voice. “Mattie! Here!”
He looked over his shoulder at me and whined.
“Mattie! Here!”
He gave the shed one last look and then he came as instructed. I praised him effusively, and we went inside.
• • •
Jackie didn’t work every day, of course, but this morning the shop seemed strangely empty without her.
I’d woken early, disturbed by dreams of Max and me in happier days, and had the time to take Mattie for a good long walk. Once again, he seemed interested in the garden shed, and I wondered if a mouse family had taken up residence in there. Get the children’s weekend over, and I’d clean out the shed as well as attack the grass, which was growing so fast I could
almost see it getting taller in front of my eyes.
I checked in with Diane Simmonds, and she said they were finished with my store and I could have it back. That was certainly a relief. I’d brought in extra stock of children’s things for this weekend, and I’d already lost most of a day’s business. Although, I could hardly complain after almost selling out the entire store on Friday. Next, I phoned Crystal and asked if she could fill in, “just until Jackie gets back.” She agreed, and at ten o’clock I was in the shop.
The door to my office was closed. I stood in the hallway, reluctant to venture in. I looked down at Mattie, sitting calmly by my side. I wondered what he’d make of all the strange and unusual smells in the room. I took a deep breath and threw the door open. Mattie dashed past me. He ran from one spot to the next, nose to the ground. To my feeble human senses, everything was as it had been yesterday morning when I’d left for the boat parade. It might even be neater and tidier than normal. Some thoughtful person had dusted and vacuumed. Not a trace of Max Folger and what had happened here remained.
I left Mattie with a fresh bowl of water and went to the front of the shop.
Business was brisk in the morning. My dad, today dressed in red Bermuda shorts and a green golf shirt with the traditional long-tailed red and white Santa hat on his head, popped in to check if I was okay. We didn’t have an opportunity to talk as a pack of wide-eyed and openmouthed children poured in after him. I gave him a smile and a nod to let him know all was okay. I’d considered handing out the unused candy canes, but decided that might not be a good idea, them spending the day at a crime scene. I’d dumped them into the trash, basket and all.
My mom came in, gorgeous in a blue and white striped jacket with a nautical theme over a plain blue T-shirt worn with white capris and blue and white espadrilles. She pulled me to one side, and we stood in a corner whispering while Crystal waited on customers. “Your father says you want to know if the magazine people were at the beach yesterday.”
