Hark the Herald Angels Slay

by Vicki Delany

  “He was in love with me?” Erica said. “I didn’t know. I truly didn’t know. It gets difficult sometimes, believe it or not, having people always hanging around wanting to flatter you, get your attention. I thought nothing of it when Jason was always taking my picture. Max said Jason was out of line. But”—her voice broke—“I dismissed it as the same old thing. Max told me he was going to tell Jason to respect my privacy. I forgot all about it when Max died. I never thought for a minute that might be what got him killed.”

  “More than that, I’d suspect,” Alan said. “I heard what Jason said on the way out. He loves you, Erica, in some twisted way.”

  I typed, He said Max wasn’t good enough for Erica.

  Erica’s eyes filled with tears. She twisted the engagement ring on her left hand. “Max loved you more than he ever loved me, Merry. I knew that. I knew he was only marrying me for my money. I knew he’d rather be with you. I’m sorry about the way I behaved when I first came here, but I really believed—I tried to make myself believe—that in time he’d come to love me the most.”

  I was also crying. Alan’s hand was against my back. Solid, warm, loving. I typed, You didn’t have an arrangement, you and Max?

  She looked blank. “An arrangement? You mean other than our wedding plans? We had a prenup of course. Grandma insisted on that. Why do you ask?”

  No reason. I was sorry Max had died, and Erica had a lot of grieving ahead of her, but I couldn’t help thinking she was better off. Marriage to Max would have brought her nothing but heartache.

  As we’d talked, people had been coming in and out of the shop, climbing over Alan’s box, stepping over broken glass. Now a man said, “You going to be much longer, Detective? We need to get into this room.”

  “I’m done here for now. I’m sorry, Merry, but we’ll have to treat this entire place as a crime scene. Again.”

  “I’ll take Merry home,” Alan said. “And we’ll see that Erica gets back to the hotel.”

  “There’s a lawyer outside,” the officer said. “Wanting to see Ms. Johnstone.”

  “Do you mind, Merry,” Erica said, “if I come to your house with you? I don’t want to be alone, not right now. And being with James is much the same as being alone.”

  I nodded.

  “Go out the back,” Simmonds said. “It sounds as though the ladies and gentlemen of the press are gathering.”

  Chapter 16

  As Alan’s truck was parked out front, surrounded by the frenzied, braying pack of reporters and photographers, we left through the back and walked to my house. Totally unaffected by the trauma he’d just witnessed, Mattie sniffed under bushes and used his nose to follow invisible trails along the sidewalk. Alan and I put Erica between us, and I slipped my arm around her thin shoulders. Her whole body trembled. Or that might have been me.

  We said nothing, each of us wrapped in our thoughts, trying to absorb all that had happened.

  Eventually Erica broke the silence. “I’d say that I’d kill for a cigarette, but I think that would be an inappropriate metaphor.”

  Simmonds had told us we could take nothing out of the shop, not even our own bags. Fortunately, I’d slipped my cell phone into my pocket after using it to call the police.

  “It’ll get you started on quitting,” Alan said.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that,” she replied.

  “Where’d you . . . throw . . . ball?” I croaked.

  “Where did I learn to throw a baseball, you mean? I was the pitcher for the team all through high school. I was pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

  As we turned into the driveway of my house, a curtain at the front window twitched, but Mrs. D’Angelo did not leap out to verbally accost me. Perhaps she had the sense, this one time, to read the expression on my face.

  “This is so charming,” Erica said the moment I opened the door to my apartment. Not expecting company, I hadn’t cleaned up this morning, but it didn’t look too bad.

  “Small but comfy,” I croaked.

  “No talking, Merry,” Alan said.

  “I absolutely adore it,” Erica said. “You must be so comfortable here. The privacy you have!”

  I’d never before thought that I had all that much privacy, not with Mrs. D’Angelo downstairs charting my every move (and reporting it to her network of snoops), or sharing the staircase and backyard with Steve and Wendy and their rapidly growing baby. But, compared to how Erica must live, I suppose I did.

  I pointed to Erica and then to the bathroom.

  “She’s telling you to freshen up first,” Alan said. “The bathroom’s through there.”

  I imitated taking a drink.

  “While you’re doing that,” Alan said, “would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I’d love one,” Erica said.

  “You sit down, Merry. I’ll get it,” Alan said.

  When Erica came out of the bathroom, I went in. I turned the water to hot hot hot and washed my face and hands thoroughly. My throat felt as though I’d swallowed a bucket of flaming coals, but it looked worse. I changed out of my designer diva duds and put on tracksuit pants, T-shirt, and a heavy sweater. It was a warm evening, but I was chilled to the depths of my bones. Guessing that Erica would be feeling the same, I took a wrap out of the back of the closet where the winter clothes were stored.

  She was sitting on the couch, with her legs curled up beneath her, cradling a glass of white wine. She’d scrubbed her face and twisted her hair into a high ponytail. I draped the wrap over her shoulders and she gave me a grateful smile. I settled next to her on the couch. Mattie found a favorite toy and dropped it in Erica’s lap. She looked at it.

  “He wants . . .” I said, “. . . throw it.”

  “How sweet,” she said. “I’ve never had a dog.”

  Poor little rich girl.

  I leaned over and gave her a hug. She threw the toy and Mattie scampered after it.

  “Once only,” Alan said. “He needs to learn that we don’t throw things in the house.” Alan handed me a glass of wine. When Mattie brought the toy back to Erica, Alan snatched it up and they engaged in a fierce tug-of-war.

  Erica watched them, sipping her wine, a small smile on her face.

  The doorbell rang.

  Alan gave me a look.

  I shook my head firmly.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  He didn’t take care of it very well, because when he came back he was followed by my parents. Mom let out a long screech when she caught sight of my bruised and swollen throat. She swept across the room and enveloped me in her arms. Dad’s face was set into tight lines, making him look nothing at all like Santa Claus tonight.

  “You heard what happened,” Alan said.

  “Police activity at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, again,” Dad said. “Sue-Anne phoned me. She had no details, but looking at Merry, I’ll assume she was in the thick of it.”

  “That she was,” Alan said. “You can thank Matterhorn here. He was tonight’s hero.”

  Dad gave the dog a hearty pat, and Mattie preened.

  Alan introduced Erica to Mom and Dad.

  “I believe we’ve met before,” Mom said.

  Erica’s smile faded slightly. She was getting comfortable pretending to be a normal person relaxing with friends.

  “I performed once at your grandmother’s home in Westchester,” Mom said. “It was a fund-raiser for Doctors Without Borders. I never do private concerts, but darling Jennifer was such a true fan, and she begged and begged me, so how could I say no? Such a wonderful organization as well. You were maybe thirteen years old. You were allowed to join us, and I must say I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a vivid expression of total boredom in all my life.”

  Erica laughed. “I remember that. What can I say? I was thirteen.”

  “Didn’t k
now . . .” I said, “. . . knew Jennifer.”

  Mom waved her hand. “I know a lot of people. I don’t think you should be talking, dear. Tomorrow I’m calling my doctor in the city for an appointment. He’ll check for damage.”

  “Not a singer . . .” I croaked. Which was true. I inherited all of my musical talent from my dad. Meaning I had none. To my mother’s continual disappointment.

  Mom didn’t hear me. Either that or she chose to ignore me. “I’ll have a glass of wine. Alan, be a dear.”

  The door opened and Vicky and Mark Grosse came in. “Sounds like a party to me,” Vicky said. “Although I’m guessing it has something to do with the crush outside your shop. Wow, that looks nasty. What on earth happened to you?”

  “Come on in,” Alan said.

  I got to my feet to give Vicky a hug and managed to whisper in her ear, “Tell Mark not to say anything too rude about recent guests at the inn.”

  “Gotcha,” she said.

  My little apartment was getting seriously overcrowded. Mom joined Erica on the couch, I sat next to her, and Vicky took the chair. Alan turned the barstools around to face into the living room, and Dad and Mark sat there. Mattie ran from one person to another in sheer delight.

  “Spill, Alan,” Vicky said.

  “What happened?” Mom said.

  “Unless you’d rather not talk about it,” Dad said.

  “No reason not to,” Alan said. “It’ll be in all the papers in the morning.” He was interrupted by another ring of the doorbell. “Be right back.”

  This time he was followed by Jackie, Willow, and, of all people, Mrs. D’Angelo. Mark hopped off the stool to give the seat to my landlady.

  “Wow, Merry, you look awful. Does that hurt?” Jackie said.

  “Only when . . . talk . . .”

  “I told you not to attempt to speak,” Mom said. “You need to keep that warm. Noel, find a scarf for Merry.”

  “Any beer in the fridge?” Jackie said.

  “Help yourself,” Alan said.

  “That wine looks lovely,” Mrs. D’Angelo said, making herself comfortable. “I don’t normally indulge after dinner, but as this is a special occasion . . . I was on the phone to Rosemary Cooperman, when I saw Jackie and her friend coming up the drive. What’s this about a gun battle raging on Jingle Bell Lane?” I didn’t think she recognized Erica, small and quiet in a corner of the couch.

  “I heard the cops and went to see what was happing,” Jackie said, twisting the top off a bottle of beer. “I told them I worked at the shop, but they wouldn’t let me in. I didn’t see any bodies on the street or bullet holes in the windows though.”

  “No bodies,” I said. “This time.”

  “Don’t talk.” Mom accepted a scarf from Dad and wrapped it tightly around my throat. It did feel good, lovely and warm. She put her hand lightly on my shoulder, and I smiled at her.

  “They wouldn’t tell me anything, either,” Willow said. “So I asked Jackie what was going on, and she suggested we come here to try to find out.”

  “Amber?” I said.

  “Still at the hospital. A bad break to her ankle. I left her there and hurried into town so we could continue with the shoot, and I arrived to find the place locked down.” She studied the faces in the room. “So, what is going on? I note that Jason isn’t here, and no one is weeping.”

  I’d taken my phone out of my pocket and put it on the kitchen counter when we came in. It rang, and Dad grabbed it. “Noel Wilkinson speaking.” His eyes flicked toward me. “She is. That would be fine.” He hung up.

  Another rap at the door. This time I could tell who it was before they came in by the way Mattie, who’d been running from one guest to another, dropped immediately into the sit position. Diane Simmonds was followed by Russell Durham.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the size of the crowd staring at her.

  “Join the party, Detective,” Mark said.

  “I can’t stay, but I thought Merry and Erica deserved to know what’s happened.”

  “And I,” Russ said, “just happened to follow her.” He spotted Erica. “Nice to see you, honey. You okay?”

  She nodded. He bent over and gave her a hug. They held each other for a long time. When they separated, Erica’s eyes were wet. Russ went into the kitchen and found himself a beer.

  “Would you like a drink?” Dad asked the detective.

  “A glass of water would be welcome, thank you.” Mattie sat on the floor at her feet. His whole body vibrated but he didn’t move. “Matterhorn,” she said, “sit by Merry.”

  He trotted across the room, to the amazement of everyone present. He sat, and I gave him an appreciative pat.

  Simmonds spoke to Erica and me. “Do you want to talk in private?”

  I glanced at Erica and shook my head. Erica nodded. “It’ll be common knowledge soon enough,” Alan said. “Noel, pass me Merry’s phone. If she has anything to say, she can type and I’ll read.”

  Simmonds turned to Russ. “I’ll be making an official statement in the morning. This is all off the record, and if I see anything in print before that time, you will be in a mountain of trouble.”

  “Perish the thought,” he said.

  “Mrs. D’Angelo,” Simmonds said, “you are not to use your phone until tomorrow at noon.”

  “What!”

  “Police orders. I can access your cell phone records, you know.”

  Mrs. D’Angelo sputtered.

  “Jason Kerr has been arrested for the murders of Max Folger and Muriel Fraser. He is, as they say in the movies, singing like a canary. He seems to be under the impression that I am interested in his sob story, and I’ll set him free if only I understand his motivations.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Johnstone,” Simmonds said to Erica. Mrs. D’Angelo and Jackie let out a collective gasp as they realized who was sitting among them. “But it would appear that Jason killed Mr. Folger because he wanted to be with you.”

  Silent tears ran down Erica’s face. Mom put her arms around her shoulders and gathered her close. Russ watched them, a soft expression on his face, but he made no move to comfort his ex-girlfriend.

  “Jason overheard Max and Merry talking on Friday afternoon,” Simmonds said. I remembered the noises I’d heard in the alley when Max made that ridiculous proposal to me. Fortunately, the detective didn’t tell the group precisely what Jason had overheard. “He decided that Mr. Folger would not be a suitable husband for you.”

  “I barely knew the man,” Erica said. “Max hired him a couple of months ago to take photos of me and my bridesmaids shopping for dresses. He did a good job, so Max invited him on this trip. He was always watching me, always taking pictures, but that’s normal behavior for a photographer. Isn’t it?”

  “No,” Russ said. “It’s not. Not when it becomes obsessive and intrusive.”

  “I remember one time in Milan,” Mom said. “Early in my career. We were singing Tosca, I believe, or perhaps Madama Butterfly. A nasty, rat-faced Italian and his camera followed me everywhere. It was . . .”

  “You can tell us that story another time, Aline,” Dad said. “Please continue, Detective.”

  “Not without me!” came a cry from the door. Sue-Anne Morrow burst into the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Detective Simmonds. My phone has been ringing nonstop. It’s my job to comfort and reassure the citizens of this town. How can I do that if I don’t know what’s going on?”

  I typed a message on my phone for Alan. Maybe you should go down and lock the door?

  “Be right back,” he said. “Don’t start without me.”

  Simmonds took a sip of her water and then repeated her warning about off the record. I stroked the top of Mattie’s head. He looked as interested in what was being said as any of us. When Alan returned, Simmonds cleared her throat.

  “
Jason decided Max wasn’t suitable for Erica, and he planned to tell her so. But before doing that, he wanted proof to take to her. So he set about following Max, hoping to find him in a compromising position. On Saturday afternoon, Max came into town, saying he was going to the park to watch the boat parade along with his colleagues. Jason followed him. Instead of going to the park, Max went to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures. I can only assume he did so because he wanted to speak to Merry and wasn’t aware she’d left. The door to the shop was open, and Max walked in. Jason followed, no doubt trying to be unobserved. He found the shop empty.”

  Simmonds and I couldn’t help looking at Jackie. She took a deep swallow of her beer. “He heard a noise from the back, went through, and found Max opening the door to the office. Again, I can only assume that Max thought Merry was in her office, having sent her salesclerk down to the park. Max turned around and saw Jason standing there. He told Jason to get lost, and the men argued.” Simmonds shrugged. “Jason says it was an accident. That Max struck him, he pushed back, and Max fell.”

  “No!” I croaked. My throat seized up and I was left sputtering.

  “Type, Merry,” Alan said.

  The cranberry string.

  Simmonds grinned. “Precisely. As it’s highly improbable that Jason just happened to be admiring one of the ornaments and forgot to return it to its place, we will attempt to prove he picked it up with the intention of using it when he passed through the shop.”

  “What cranberry string?” Mom, Jackie, and Willow chorused.

  “You can’t put that in the paper!” Sue-Anne shrieked. “Russell, don’t you dare.”

  “I’ll say ‘rope,’” he said.

  And Muriel? I typed. She was blackmailing Jason. She was with Erica much of the time; she would have noticed Jason’s behavior.

  “You’re right, Merry,” Simmonds said. “Muriel was Erica’s personal assistant. That means Muriel and Erica spent a great deal of time together. Am I right, Ms. Johnstone?”