NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  That was another reason the detective suspected me. Insurance money. Why hadn’t Samuel added his wife’s name onto the documents rather than wife, and what kind of insurance person allowed him to do that? Never mind. I knew the answer to the last part of the question. A cheap one. Samuel liked to spend as little as possible for any service.

  Unless it came to his daughter–then cost wasn’t an object. Cassie dressed impeccably. Hair professionally cut and colored. Nails manicured. Then why had Samuel conceded to Bonnie? I was having a hard time believing Samuel would kick his daughter out, but the fact was Samuel had signed over the RV to someone. Cassie. Instead of his daughter signing the registration card, she left it blank and sold it to me, writing over her father’s signature. Had Bonnie tricked Samuel into signing the document, killed him, and told Cassie the RV was her new home, thereby getting rid of Samuel and his daughter. But why? The two-word question drummed itself in my head.

  Bonnie cleared her throat and a glint flickered in her eyes. I didn’t know if she read my thoughts or if she was wondering what was taking me so long to answer her. Bonnie wasn’t a woman who like being ignored.

  “I’m taking it the silence means no,” Bonnie said.

  “I was thinking of all the places that would require a marriage license. I’m surprised it didn’t come up earlier for you and Samuel. Did the insurance agent say what was wrong with it? Something typed incorrectly?” The truth was I didn’t have a copy of my divorce decree. Samuel signed it after me, and I had been wrapped up in completing enough crafts for orders and the craft show that I hadn’t made it a priority. I was divorced. That was all that mattered to me.

  “I guess now that I actually want to get the life insurance benefits, the agent is double checking all the documents.”

  “Chances are he’s trying to find a reason not to pay out. Especially if it’s a large policy.” I tried to sound nonchalant. Uninterested. But I really, really wanted to know how much insurance we were talking about.

  “I’m hoping I won’t have the same problems with Samuel’s employer. That’s why I’d like a copy of the divorce decree. I looked everywhere for Samuel’s and can’t find it. You could make me a copy.” She crossed her arms and stared into my eyes. It was calculated.

  Had her tears been real or fake? The quickness of it evaporating and the anger returning had me thinking Bonnie was up to something. “I don’t travel with it.”

  “You are going back to Season’s Greetings tonight. Right? You can call me when you get home.”

  Now I was even more suspicious. Why tonight? Were a few hours going to make a difference? Why not wait until morning rather than driving ninety minutes, during a snow storm, to ask your husband’s ex-wife for a copy of her divorce decree. “It won’t be until late. I’ll be tired. I’ll look for it in the morning.”

  “How about the RV? Maybe it’s in there. Samuel was haphazard with his paperwork. I wouldn’t be surprised he placed it in the glove compartment or somewhere else.”

  So that was it. She wanted to get into the RV. Was she hoping to find something, or plant evidence against me? I was no longer buying she needed the divorce decree. The woman thought I had such a soft heart that I was an idiot. The person with the opportunity to kill Samuel—and motive—was Bonnie. I had to get Brett to make Detective Grayson see it.

  “Cassie and I made sure there wasn’t anything of Samuel’s in the RV when I bought it from her.”

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  “I triple checked,” I added. “The last thing I wanted was a reason for Samuel to see me. We both made sure there was nothing that belonged to him in the RV.”

  “Cassie might’ve left it on purpose.” There was disgust in her voice when she said her stepdaughter’s name. “She’d do anything to get you two back together.”

  Involuntarily, my hands clenched. “Cassie wouldn’t have deliberately left something important in the RV. She’d never do that to her father.” And yet, I was contemplating if she’d killed him. Who had Samuel intended to give the RV to?

  “A piece of paper she hated? I wouldn’t put it past her. Matter-of-fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the girl found the divorce decree and ripped it up. Nothing she’d like better than to make my life difficult.”

  A bitter laugh escaped me. I pressed my fists into the table. “Your life is difficult? Her father just died. She has no idea where her mother is. Cassie is now an orphan.”

  Bonnie waved her hands in the air as if my concerns for her stepdaughter were of little concern. “She’s eighteen.”

  “And her stepmother dislikes her,” I continued speaking, my hands turning white with the pressure I was placing on them. I hadn’t hurt Samuel, but I wanted to physically hurt the woman in front of me with every fiber of my being. “You are responsible for her well-being. She’s your child now. Step up and do right by her.”

  Bonnie stepped back, face whitening. “She’s not mine.”

  “Yes, she is. The marriage certificate with your and Samuel’s name on it says so. She’s legally your responsibility.” I wasn’t quite sure about that, considering Cassie’s age, but I’d ask Brett. The idea of Bonnie collecting insurance money and leaving Cassie penniless enraged me. Someone had to protect the teen’s interest. She needed Brett’s help more than I did. If he couldn’t help her because of me, conflict of interest, I’d fire him. There was no way I’d leave her unprotected.

  “No, I’m not.” Bonnie said, voice even and deadly. “I married Samuel. His adult daughter isn’t my problem.”

  Problem. Another word I tucked away to share with Brett. The woman was a real piece of work, a shoddy pieced together handcrafted item: crooked, peeling, and made from inferior materials. “You married a man with a child so that makes that child yours. That house is just as much hers, maybe even more so, than yours.”

  “She can move in with her grandmother.”

  “Or her grandmother can move into Cassie’s house.” I decided I wasn’t going to bother with getting a copy of my divorce decree. If Bonnie wanted it so bad, she could ask the judge for it. I smiled at her.

  Bonnie stepped away from me. I couldn’t see my expression but something in it chilled Bonnie. I saw the fear in her eyes. I pressed my lips together, wanting to force the look from my face.

  “I won’t help you,” I told her. “I don’t care if you get the insurance money, bury Samuel, or whatever else you need to do for him or for you.” I dusted my hands. “I’m releasing this. It’s yours.”

  She stomped forward, rage turning her face red.

  This time, I stepped back. Away from the pure hatred, and terror on her face.

  “You think you’re helping but you’re not. You have no idea what evil that girl hides. How hateful she can be. You’ll find out. You left her. You told her you loved her, mothered her, and then left her. Don’t you dare judge me. At least I didn’t pretend to like her, give her hope, and then smash it.”

  Sorrow wrapped around me. She was right. I had. I chose myself over Cassie. Now the girl was left with a stepmother who loathed her and a grandmother who was just recovering from a battle with cancer.

  “You think Samuel played you and your mother,” Bonnie continued. “Just wait until the truth smacks you. He wasn’t the only one.”

  I snagged her arm as she turned away. Fear gripped my heart, twisting it painfully in my chest. “What do you mean by that?”

  Bonnie laughed again, a high-pitched, bitter tone. She raised her hands, placed them near my nose and copied my earlier motion of dusting them off. “Not my business anymore. We could’ve helped each other, instead you wanted to pick sides.” Bonnie tugged her coat back on. “Good luck navigating whatever Cassie has in store for you. Defend her all you want, Merry, all that’s going to happen is you’re going to suffer for whoever killed her father.”

  Eleven

  A mechanical s
creech filled the air. I grimaced and covered my ears. Bonnie tugged her hat down to her chin and glared in the direction of the speaker. The sound stopped then started again, a pulsating static that gripped onto your spine and tensed your muscles. The few shoppers in the venue stopped milling about and looked up.

  Grace’s voice floated throughout the building. “Good morning shoppers. The organizers have made the decision to end the craft show at noon. The Governor plans on declaring a state of emergency around 4 p.m. today, and we want our vendors to have plenty of time to pack up and arrive home before the worst of the storm hits.”

  Shoppers scattered, not toward the exits but to the booths. The woman nearest me had a telltale gleam in her eyes. Sales. The bargaining was about to get intense.

  Bonnie sent a sympathetic glance in my direction. She picked up the stack of decals she had branded with her nails. “How much are these?”

  “Those are all the same.”

  “They’ll make great office gifts.” She smiled at me. Kindly.

  The mood shift baffled me. What was she up to? I fought back a frown. She was a customer. Not my dead ex-husband’s wife who thought I had something to do with his murder. I fixed my customer smile on my face and quickly calculated the total on my phone and then knocked off a few dollars for a bulk sale. “Twenty-five dollars.”

  She pointed at my sign. “That’s less than the price states. I can afford to pay full price.”

  I drew in a deep breath to steady my temper, nearly choking on cloying flower perfume scent. “I’m not insulting you, Bonnie. I usually give a discount for bulk items.”

  “I think a business should be paid what they’re worth.” Bonnie took a small wallet out of the coat of her white coat. “I’m able to afford it.”

  “Fine.” I told her the full price total. “Cash or credit?”

  “Cash. I hate using credit cards.” She handed me two twenties.

  “It’s easier to keep records with a card.” I gave her change.

  “Exactly.” She pocketed the money and twirled around, tossing the end of her twelve-foot-long scarf. It trailed down her back as she glided away.

  “Would you take twenty for the tree?” A woman was hunched over, her hand possessively around the base of one of the wooden trees. Her blue wool trench coat puddled around her feet. Her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her heavy, bold makeup choices distorted her features rather than enhanced them.

  I swallowed down my ire. Half off. I’d have been willing to bargain if she asked for a reasonable discount. Now, I’d rather lug the thing through the snow than offer a price break. “No. It’s forty.”

  “Do you really want to take it home?” Her eyes gleamed behind her tinted glasses, making it hard to tell her natural eye color. “You do have a lot of them still available. Isn’t it better to sell one?”

  Not at that price. “I have other craft shows coming up. It takes a long time to perfect those trees.”

  She stood, eyebrows raised. “Perfect them? Really? There’s one that has a slight blemish on it. Would you sell that one at a discount?”

  “Which one?” I had inspected the trees before I loaded, and when unloading, and hadn’t noticed any damage. Then again, it had been dark during the removal of the trees and finding Samuel dead had thrown me off. I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed something. I choked back a cough. The heavy flower scent lingered in the area. Someone was generous in the perfume department, or the essential oil vendor was scenting the air with lilac, trying to sell some of her product. She should’ve chosen pine, matched the Christmas theme better.

  “The one with the red splotch on the tip of the tree.” The woman walked into the booth and tapped the spot. “I noticed it yesterday.”

  Yet, she hadn’t mentioned it. This was one of the bargain hunters who browsed and took notes on Saturday, then asked for large discounts on Sunday on imperfections they saw or created. Last year, an attendee was caught scratching up vendors items, or snipping threads, and then requesting discounts on the “inferior” items, as a favor to the poor crafter who hadn’t noticed the flaw before putting the product out for sale. It was why the organizers had requested all vendors keep track of discounts for damaged items, noting them on a sheet that was included in our packet. They wanted to investigate if vandalism was becoming a huge problem at the show. Some people were willing to do anything to get a deal.

  “That’s interesting.” I kept my voice in neutral. “I didn’t use any red paint when I was making the trees.”

  “It’s right here.” She pointed, using her cherry red painted nail, at some pin point size drops of red on the top of the tree.

  I wondered if there was any red nail polish in her purse. For touch-up purposes. “Let me take a closer look at it.” I leaned forward, first trying to sneak a peek into her large bag, then examining the spot she indicated. There were four tiny spots on it. I frowned. It was a blackish-red color.

  The color swirled in my mind. Red. Blood. My stomach clenched. How in the world—I slammed the question down. Not now. I’d think about it later. If I contemplated too much now, I’d either break down crying or throw up all over the customer’s tennis shoes.

  She poked me in the shoulder. “Do I get a discount or not? I don’t have that long to shop.”

  “That’s my tree, Merry Christmas. I put it in the back. Please don’t sell it.” Abraham’s beseeching voice came from behind me.

  Abraham was shifting from foot to foot, biting his lip. “Mom told me to remind you that you promised a tree. I got first pick. That is the one I want.” He pushed past the woman to guard his tree. He covered the spot with his large hand.

  I frowned. Abraham had declined the gift.

  “I was here first. You can pick another tree.” The woman placed her hand on top of Abraham’s. He flinched and jerked back, nearly knocking down the wine shelf behind him.

  He straightened, panic clear on his face. “It’s mine. Not yours.”

  “I’m discussing purchasing it with the vendor.”

  “My mom told me to get it. She’s in charge. You’re not.” Abraham challenged the woman. His voice growing angry. A flicker of concern crossed the woman’s face.

  I wasn’t sure what was causing Abraham’s distress, which was coming out as anger, but I needed to calm him down. I faced the woman. “I can give you a discount on one of the other trees.”

  The woman shook her head. “No, I want that one.”

  “A discount on an undamaged tree. Why pay full price for a tree with an obvious imperfection on it?” I asked.

  “Why can’t I have it?” The woman crossed her arms and glared at me. “I was here first.”

  “I did promise my helper he could have the first pick of trees. I bet he marked the trees with those dots. I just hadn’t noticed it. He’s been very busy helping his mother who’s one of the organizers.”

  Abraham nodded furiously.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “We were making a deal on that tree.”

  “No, we weren’t.” My temper was sparking to life. “You wanted me to sell you a handcrafted wooden Christmas tree for half price, and when I said no, you then said I had a damaged tree you wanted a discount on. A tree I know for certain wasn’t marked with a red color similar to your nail polish.” My voice rose with every word. Okay, the red on the tree had a darker hue but I wanted her out of my booth and the quickest way was to offend her.

  Instead of leaving, she hunkered down, planting her feet apart and jamming her fists onto her hips. Her eyes snapped with anger. “Are you saying I marked it?”

  “Is there a problem here, ladies?” A security guard stood near my booth.

  Abraham clenched his fists, readying to defend me. I had to stop this. Now.

  “Someone has been vandalizing items to get a discount,” I said, moving in front of Abraham. If nothin
g else, I’d slow him down for a bit.

  The woman blushed and looked away.

  “I am aware of that. The organizers asked me to keep an eye out for it.” The guard crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared at the determined customer.

  “My helper reminded me that I gifted him choice of tree and that was the one he picked. He must’ve marked it.”

  “Yep, that’s it. I marked it. With those dots. My tree. Mom said it was okay. To say it was mine,” Abraham spoke in a halting manner.

  Compassion shone on the guard’s face. “It’s a good choice.”

  “I offered the customer a choice of another tree at a discount,” I said. “For some reason she wants the one that belongs to Abraham.”

  The guard smiled and winked at the woman. “I’m sure there’s another tree to your liking. As a bonus, I’ll carry it to your car.”

  She blushed. This time it was a slow pinkening of her cheeks rather than a rush of red. I do believe the customer was developing a crush on the kind-hearted, and rather cute, security guard.

  “I’ll buy one if you carry it for me.” An elderly, gray-haired lady scurried into my booth. She wrapped a hand around the officer’s bicep and squeezed. “With those guns I bet you could carry two trees. Mine and hers.”

  The guard’s cheeks turned a dusty rose. Poor guy. He came over to help and was now being pawed at by a woman old enough to be his mother.

  “I have a helper. I’m sure he…” Before I offered Abraham’s service, he fled, heading for his mom.

  “Not a problem,” the security guard said.

  “Wonderful, because my daughter wanted one of these and there just wasn’t a way for us to carry it. Her having a broken arm.”

  The insist-on-a-discount shopper rolled her eyes. She wasn’t happy that she was being ignored for the older woman. “I changed my mind.” She huffed out a breath and stomped away.