by Krista Davis
Tiffany smiled and repeated the trick for the cute little ball of fur.
I joined her on the window seat and admired the kitty. “She’s so cute. Have you given her a name yet?”
Trixie watched the kitten as though she wanted to play. She behaved though and only smelled her.
Tiffany looked up at me. “I like Snowy or Snowflake, but maybe that’s just too obvious? Dad couldn’t have given her to me at a better time. I’m emotionally hollow. Does that make sense? I’m just drifting around in a state of shock. Losing Grampy is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
I knew how I’d felt when I thought Oma might be ill a couple of years before. Losing her was unimaginable. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know what else is awful? Wondering which one of your relatives could have stabbed him. It had to be one of us. I’m sure of it. But I don’t know which one.”
They couldn’t trust one another anymore. We all relied on family to get us through the dark times, but that had been torn from them, too.
Tiffany dangled the tassel for the kitten. “And I couldn’t be more embarrassed about what happened with Austin. All my life I’ve listened to them say Norma Jeanne is the pretty one and Blake is the smart one. Tiffany was just there, blending in with the woodwork. My mother has been after me for years to bring home a boyfriend. She even set me up with some horrible dates. They were guys she liked, but not my type at all. I was so psyched about Austin joining us for Christmas. Especially since Norma Jeanne was engaged and planning her wedding. My mom was drooling over the idea of a wedding. It was perfect timing to keep her off my back. How was I supposed to know that Austin had dated Norma Jeanne? Huh? In the future, do I have to quiz every man I meet? Excuse me, do you like cats and have you ever met my femme fatale cousin Norma Jeanne?”
Her words came fast and thick in anger and frustration. “At least Holmes and I know the truth about them.” Her eyes widened, and she tore her attention away from the kitten. “Can you imagine if that hadn’t happened until the wedding?”
There wasn’t really much I could say except, “I think you’re right. It’s best that everyone knows now.”
“Holly, am I a terrible person for not grieving about Vivi? I feel so guilty. Dale wasn’t really related to me, but his death hit me like a sledgehammer. Vivi was my father’s mother, my flesh-and-blood grandmother. You’d think her death would be more devastating. To tell you the truth, I think everyone, especially my mother, is breathing a huge sigh of relief that the days of Vivi’s torment are over.”
“I think you just answered your own question,” I said. “It’s harder to grieve for someone who was cruel.”
“My dad is very upset. I have never seen him like this. At least he loved her and is genuinely grieving for her.”
I rose to leave. There wasn’t much I could say. Vivienne had probably lost their love long ago. She had brought that on herself.
“Hey, Holly? I got Austin some Christmas presents. I don’t really want to give him anything, but it’s Christmas and he’s not with his own family, so I feel kind of guilty and think maybe I should give them to him after all. Not out of love or anything, just to make his Christmas a little brighter. Assuming he’s not in bed with Norma Jeanne again.”
I understood her feelings, because I would be thinking the same thing. “What would Dale do?”
Tiffany jumped from her seat and hugged me. When she let go, tears were running down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “You couldn’t have said anything more perfect. If I follow his lead, Grampy will always be with me, especially in the tough times.”
I was feeling a little teary myself when I left. Bundled up against the cold, Trixie and I set out for Aunt Birdie’s house.
The lights on Birdie’s house still sparkled and looked welcoming. I didn’t expect her to be feeling quite as festive as her house looked.
I walked up the front porch steps and knocked on the door. “Aunt Birdie! It’s me, Holly!”
There was no response. I tried again, knocking as loud as I could. “Aunt Birdie! Please open the door.”
Still nothing.
I took a deep breath. She was a stubborn old coot. I slid the key into the lock and turned it.
The house lay silent. I didn’t hear a television or any music. She had drawn the drapes, leaving the house dark. I switched on lights as I went, calling, “Aunt Birdie! It’s Holly. Aunt Birdie, where are you?”
I walked through the first floor, then ventured upstairs. There wasn’t a single sign of Aunt Birdie.
I wished she had a cell phone. Even with the spotty reception in Wagtail, I would feel better if I could at least do something to try to find her.
I phoned Oma, but Aunt Birdie hadn’t shown up at the inn. Standing in her foyer, I wondered where she would go. To church? To the cemetery, maybe, to honor our ancestors? Birdie was very fond of talking to their gravestones. Maybe she felt alone and would find it comforting? A little odd, but not implausible.
Was this how the Thackleberrys had felt waiting for Vivienne? Two people had been murdered. Could Aunt Birdie be next?
My heart pounding, I stepped out onto her porch and locked the door. I walked to the church, noting the happy family celebrations going on inside brightly lighted homes. Families arrived laden with gifts, and notes of Christmas carols floated out when front doors opened. I thought I even caught a whiff of ham baking.
The church was empty. The graveyard was covered in snow. In the dark, a few Christmas arrangements adorning graves took sinister forms.
It felt desolate and lonely. I hurried back to the decorated streets where people gathered. Maybe the bustling streets had made Aunt Birdie feel left out. She had us, but at the moment, visiting with us also meant seeing Dale’s family.
There was one other possibility. One that I had put out of my mind and refused to accept. What if Dave was right about Aunt Birdie? Could she have flipped out and murdered Dale and Vivienne?
Thirty-one
I closed my eyes in pain. How could I even think that? Of course, it would explain Birdie’s disappearance.
I was trudging back to the inn, trying to banish that gloomy thought, when I ran into Dave.
“Percy’s at the Wagtail Springs Hotel.”
I checked the time. Dinner was at eight o’clock. I still had a little time before I had to change clothes. “Can I come?”
Dave gazed at me for a long second. “Sure.”
We walked over to the hotel. Percy waited at the front desk.
He shook Dave’s hand. “The police have never called me for questioning before.”
“I hope you keep it that way,” said Dave. “Thanks for coming in at my request.” He showed Percy the photograph of Vivienne. “Did you see this woman last night?”
Percy’s eyes grew large.
He knew something! I watched Dave, who remained calm and appeared to wait for Percy to speak.
Percy chewed his upper lip. “Look, I want to cooperate, but I can’t afford to lose my job. I didn’t commit any crimes or anything. Can you promise not to tell my boss?”
Dave’s head tilted a tiny bit. “No.”
Percy looked away. He wiped his eye. “She’s been coming to the hotel to see Mr. Oathaut.”
It seemed like I had heard that name recently. But where? I struggled to remember.
“Did she visit him last night?”
Percy took a deep breath and winced. “I don’t know for sure. I left the front desk and ran down to the church to see my kid sing. I saw her coming in this direction, though. She was kind of staggering, like she’d had too much to drink.”
“Thanks. Which room is Mr. Oathaut staying in?”
“Room five. That’s him right there, coming in the door now.”
Dave and I whipped around. The bald man who had told me about the pro
blem with Thackleberry fabric strolled into the lobby.
I saw fear in his eyes when Dave said, “Mr. Oathaut?”
To his credit, he strode toward us, held out his hand to Dave, and said, “Steve Oathaut.”
“Could we speak privately in your room?” asked Dave.
There was a quiver in Steve’s voice when he said, “Sure.”
We followed him to a modern guest room. The lines of the furniture were simple and clean. He appeared to be a neat man. No clothes lay on the bed. Nothing cluttered the dresser.
Dave asked him some preliminary questions. Steve was from Michigan. He owned a company that manufactured pet beds.
“What brings you to Wagtail?” asked Dave.
“I do a lot of business here. Thought it would be a nice place to spend the holiday.” He reached out and scratched Trixie behind the ears.
I wished I could slide Dave a note about the fact that Steve had told me about a problem at Thackleberry. I thought I’d better just shut up and see what happened.
Dave showed him the photo of Vivienne. “Do you know this woman?”
“Vivienne Thackleberry. Sure. I know of her. We’re in the same business.”
“Have you seen her recently?”
Steve glanced around the room. “Yeah. I’m sure Percy told you that she paid me a visit.”
“More than once?”
“Yes. We were, um, talking business.”
“In the wee hours of the morning?” I asked.
“Okay, look. We had a little fling is all. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I knew she was married, but that’s what happened. Nothing illegal about that, right?”
I guessed not, but he had to be ten or fifteen years younger than Vivi.
“Did she pay you a visit last night?” asked Dave.
Steve wriggled uncomfortably. “Yeah. She was very drunk. She came by, but I told her to go back to the inn where she was staying, and she left.”
“By herself?”
“Yes.”
Dave stood there gazing at Steve.
Why did his name seem familiar? I stifled a gasp. Doris had called him Stevie Oathaut. What had she said? That he would buy Thackleberry over her dead body? Something like that.
“Did you have business with Tim Kedrowski?” I asked.
Dave shot me a look of surprise.
“With Dale and Vivienne gone, Tim wanted to discuss the possibility of my company buying Thackleberry.”
Steve Oathaut rubbed me the wrong way. His blue eyes were cold and wary.
“Mind if I look around?” asked Dave.
Steve shuddered just the tiniest bit. “Go ahead. What’s this about?”
Dave didn’t respond. I waited quietly while Dave checked out the bathroom and closet. I noted, though, that Steve glanced at the window several times. Was he planning to make a break for it?
Just to prevent that, I wandered over to the window. It brought back memories of the night I’d played a ghost in the old hotel during a Halloween ghost tour of Wagtail. The backyard had improved dramatically and now appeared to be a lovely garden covered by winter snow.
When I turned around, Steve was watching me carefully.
Dave pulled up a chair and sat down in it across from Steve, who sat on the edge of the bed. “I think you know why we’re here. It would be better for you to come clean.”
“Look, I didn’t kill her. I swear!”
Dave recited the Miranda rights. “Did she take medicine while she was here?”
“No! Nothing like that. She had a drink is all.”
I opened the window and frigid air blew inside. On a stupid hunch, I said, “She went out the window, didn’t she?”
Steve panicked. “My family has wanted to buy Thackleberry for as long as I can remember. Vivienne met with me about selling the company a year ago. We started having an affair. The plan was for me to come to Wagtail when she was here with Dale. She would get him to agree to sell the company, and then Vivienne would come to work with me as the president of Thackleberry. But he refused and then she killed him.”
Thirty-two
“I didn’t want to be part of anything like that. It was never part of the deal. I tried to get a flight out of here, but everything was booked, and then the airports closed, so I was stuck.”
“She told you she killed Dale?” asked Dave.
“No. She denied it, but the timing was too coincidental. I figured they fought over selling Thackleberry and she flipped out and stabbed him.”
“Or maybe you did,” said Dave.
Steve raised his hands in protest. “I had nothing to do with that. I’ve never killed anyone. Honest.”
“Why did you tell me about the Thackleberry fabric?” I asked.
“See? Now I am guilty of that. I wanted to drive down the value of Thackleberry so I wouldn’t have to pay so much for it. I thought it would make Dale more eager to sell if he thought the business was failing.”
“So it wasn’t true?” I asked.
“No. And I admit my guilt about that. It was harmless business strategy. But I did not murder either of them.”
“What happened last night?” asked Dave.
“She showed up drunk. It was late and she was acting weird. Like she was disoriented. She had a drink, and I thought she’d probably just sleep it off, you know? The next thing I knew, she was dead. I swear I didn’t kill her. She just died.”
“And you threw her out the window?” I asked.
“She was already dead. I couldn’t exactly roll her out through the lobby on a bellman’s cart, could I?”
“If you were innocent, why didn’t you call 911?”
“I knew if our plan came out everyone would think I murdered Dale and Vivienne. It just looked bad, even though I didn’t do anything. So I slid her out the window, but when I went outside, throngs of people were coming back from the church. I waited until three in the morning, when everything was quiet, and dragged her to that Christkindl booth.”
Dave arrested him on the spot. He clicked handcuffs on Steve, who continued to protest and insist he was innocent.
People stared as they walked through the lobby.
I left, relieved that it was over. I had seen him around town so many times but never suspected that he could be the murderer. Still, his protests rang in my head, leaving me with a smidgen of doubt.
I raced home, thinking I was running late, but when I walked into the inn, I found Oma, Mr. Huckle, and Doris having cocktails in the Dogwood Room with EmmyLou, Barry, and Maggie.
I sat down and told them what had happened with Steve Oathaut. The Thackleberrys were stunned.
“I knew that Stevie Oathaut was trouble.” Doris shook her finger. “It is in his eyes. Snake eyes!”
“I can’t believe that Vivienne planned everything.” EmmyLou seemed at a loss. “I was so stupid. I played right into her hands suggesting we come here for Christmas. She must have been secretly pleased that everything was working out for her. I hate to say it, but she planned her own demise. She got what she deserved.”
“Did you say Tim offered to sell Thackleberry to Steve?” asked Barry.
“Apparently so.”
Doris scowled. “We have to watch him. He has no power to do that. I didn’t sign anything. Did you, EmmyLou?”
“No. I would never sell the business.”
“Did you find Birdie?” asked Oma.
My heart fell. “I was hoping she might be here. Where could she have gone?”
Barry said wryly, “I would be in a bar. Are there any bars open on Christmas Night? I might join her.”
“Barry!” EmmyLou scolded him. “Maybe she went to a place that was special to her and Dad. Someplace where she could remember him? I took Maggie for a walk down to the lake. It was so peaceful with Canadian geese
swimming around. I felt like Dad was there with me.”
“Perhaps she will meet us at The Blue Boar,” said Oma. “You’d better get dressed, Holly.”
I knew Oma was right, but I felt restless. Aunt Birdie was stubborn and obnoxious, but she was still family. My family. I followed Oma’s advice and walked up to my apartment to change clothes. The Blue Boar was the fanciest restaurant in town. Oma had made reservations far in advance for this Christmas dinner.
I should have gone for something festive, but I reached for the black dress that I called my Audrey Hepburn dress. The sleeveless top was fitted, and the skirt flared with one big inverted pleat in the front. A necklace of rhinestones provided a bit of fun bling. I added a chunky black-and-white bracelet and gold earrings, and slid my feet into open-toed black shoes that made me think of Vivienne. Just like her, I would be walking in the cold in dressy shoes that wouldn’t keep my feet warm.
I tried to pull myself out of my funk. Aunt Birdie would be fine. Actually, I was a little surprised that I cared so much. Even though she was a pill and had pulled some stunts on me that I didn’t appreciate one bit, she had grown on me.
Trixie whimpered as though she understood that something wasn’t quite right. I slid a black velvet holiday collar over her head, and she pranced in circles until I laughed.
We joined the others, and the first thing I noticed in the lobby was Norma Jeanne staring wistfully at Holmes. I guess that was to be expected. The holiday that should have been one of her best ever had turned sour in every way possible. But she was talking with Tiffany and Blake!
Aunt Birdie was still a no-show.
I probably shouldn’t have stared so hard at Norma Jeanne and her cousins. I tried to appear to mingle and sidled toward them, ostensibly in search of something in the desk near the front door. I opened a drawer but positioned myself to hear them better.
“I still think it’s that Birdie woman,” said Tiffany. “It’s just a matter of time before they find the knife that killed Grampy and match her DNA to it.”
