“Go ahead.”
“I think the hair you found at the crime scene was from someone who’d been embalmed already.”
“How’d you know that?”
“My colleague used to be a mortician.”
Detective Adams grunted. “That’s right. Good work.”
“I guess you can’t tell me anything else about it?” I held my hand up before the vent, where warm air was blowing out.
“Not at this time. But I do want to remind you to back off, Gabby. We don’t know who we’re dealing with here. You get that degree, Gabby, and then I’ll put in a good word for you. You can investigate all you want after that with no complaints from me.”
“Thank you.” Warmth filled me. Maybe there was hope in sight. Just maybe.
But until then, we had a twisted killer—kind of—on our hands.
Chapter 6
Deck the Halls with Boughs of Folly
The next morning, Pastor Shaggy called and asked if Riley and I could visit someone from his congregation who’d called him in a panic. Something had happened at their house during the night, and they were hesitant to call the police. The incident apparently had something to do with the whole “war on Christmas” thing.
Just as we pulled into the neighborhood, I thought I saw a familiar face driving away in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Was that Charity? What was she doing in the neighborhood?
“What is it?” Riley asked as I craned my neck for a better look behind us.
I looked back at him, pointing with my thumb over my shoulder. “That looked like Charity.”
“What would Charity be doing here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But didn’t that look like her?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Riley pulled up to the house. I blanched as I looked at the residence. A cheap plastic nativity scene had been placed—no, I should say strapped—to the roof of the house. Mary was on one side of the chimney, Joseph on the other, and baby Jesus was front and center. It looked like the holy family had been taken hostage.
Riley and I glanced at each other before climbing out of the car and knocking at the door. An overweight man in a bathrobe answered mid-knock, introduced himself as Warren, and ushered us inside. A petite, elderly woman with hair that still looked freshly permed—his mother, he said—sat on the well-worn, navy blue couch making angels out of tissue paper.
Riley and I sat on the other side of the couch. Riley leaned with his elbows on his knees toward the woman and in his best attorney’s voice said, “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
“Yes, please explain how the Joseph, Mary and Jesus were taken hostage.”
Warren grunted. “Taken hostage? What are you talking about?”
I pointed above me. “Someone tied them to the roof.”
He glared. “That’s where I put them. On the roof where everyone could see them. I had to tie them there so they wouldn’t fall off.”
I cleared my throat. “Sorry. Continue, please.”
“We were sleeping,” the woman started, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. Her voice sounded as frail and thin as she looked. “Then we heard something up on the housetop.”
I closed my eyes, feeling sure this was a practical joke. It had all the right elements. Still, I kept my mouth shut. “Go on.”
She glanced at us, her eyes red-rimmed and dispelling my fear of being punked. “I’d read in the newspaper about some of the crimes being committed around town, so I worried someone was trying to sabotage our Christmas scene on the roof.”
Warren turned toward us. “As you can see, nothing happened to the scene. But something was dropped down our chimney.”
“It wasn’t a big fat man in a red suit, was it?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Riley elbowed me, and I clamped my lips together.
The woman reached out and lifted a wooden box from the coffee table. “No, it was this.”
She handed it to me. I slowly opened the box and saw the note reading “Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh.” Inside, there were two vials of some kind of liquid I couldn’t identify. A ring box held . . . a gold tooth. I turned to Riley. “How much do you want to bet this is from the same person the hair and the ear was taken from?”
Another paper rested beneath all of it.
The words scrawled there read, “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Folly.”
Folly. That seemed like a good description for what was going on. I stood and shook my head. “Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?”
The man shook his head. “Before I was a Christian, I was into some pretty bad things.”
“What kind of things?” This could be important to the case, I told myself. Or I could just be nosy.
He scowled. “Things like drugs. I did some time. Did some probation. But now I’m clean, and I don’t like to call attention to myself from the police, ever. Never. If I mess up one more time, they’ll throw me in jail for good. This has to stay between us.”
I tried to keep him logical. “But Warren, this could be major evidence. I could help put the bad guy behind bars.”
“No police!” The man sliced his hand through the air. “If you call them, I’ll deny everything.”
I nodded and held up the vials again. Just what was inside? “Okay, how about this? Can I take these with me? I won’t tell anyone where I got them.”
“You’re not going to sell me out?”
I shook my head. “No, I won’t.”
Warren stared at me another moment before nodding. “Fine, then.”
Great, so now I had some evidence. But what would I do with it in order to not implicate Warren or to get myself arrested?
***
Apparently, we had just enough time to make it to church after we visited the family. Despite insisting I was inappropriately dressed for church in my jeans and red sweater—the red sweater not in honor of Christmas, but because I liked red—Riley insisted harder we were fine as we parked outside of a high school gym.
Yes, his church met at a school. I’d pegged Riley as the uptight type before I really got to know him. I thought he’d be all about wearing just the right clothes and acting perfect, but he wasn’t. That had become amazingly clear when his long-forgotten fiancée showed up at my doorstep, just as I’d thought our relationship was taking off.
Go me.
But that was all water under the Christmas tree now.
“Wait!” I yanked on his arm before he exited his car.
“What?”
I pulled the vial out of my pocket and began to twist the top off. “You know I can’t wait. I couldn’t open it while you were driving. I was afraid I might spill it.”
His hand came over mine. “You don’t know what’s inside. Be careful.”
“Of course.” I slipped the top off and slowly brought the vial up under my nose. I braced myself for what I might smell. As soon as the scent hit me, I recognized it. “Formaldehyde.”
Riley blinked. “You mean the chemical that’s used on the frogs we used to dissect in high school?”
“Or in embalming.”
We exchanged a glance before I unscrewed the other vial. I couldn’t smell anything. “As far as I’m concerned, it has no scent, almost like water.”
“What could it be? Besides water?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.” I squeezed my lips together as I put the top back on. “I can’t keep this from Detective Adams.”
Riley shook his head. “No, you can’t. You don’t want to be charged with obstruction of justice. That tooth could belong to the same person whose hair and ear was found, too. Maybe it’s from the same person . . . but maybe it’s not. Either way, you have to hand it over to the authorities.”
“You’re right.” My heart felt heavy as I said the words. I wanted to keep my promise, but I also wanted to keep everything legal. I really needed to think on what to do.
Inside, about one hu
ndred and fifty people filled the auditorium as a band played Christmas carols on the stage—a more updated version of them, at least. After they finished, everyone sat down and Pastor Shaggy came on stage. He preached about the war on Christmas and how our battle was not against flesh and blood, which, of course, made me think of that bloody scalp.
If only I had access to the same information as the police did…that’s why I had to get my degree. Then I could effectively work cases like this and track down the bad guys. I would, in my own way, be able to leave my mark on the world.
After church was over, Riley and I lingered in the back. Charity marched toward us, a bright smile on her face. “Good to see you here, Gabby. How’s the case coming?”
I shrugged. “We’re tracking down some new leads.”
“Did Oliver Nichols turn up anything interesting?”
“No, Oliver Nichols didn’t really give us much information. He seems to think that Marvin Harris might be the guilty one.”
Charity’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. I looked over and saw Pastor Shaggy approaching. The woman was in love. How cute. I really hoped that I didn’t look like that when Riley approached me, however.
I still wanted to ask her if she drove a Yellow Beetle, but I’d wait until later, when Pastor Shaggy was out of earshot.
Pastor Shaggy reached us and extended his hand, a lopsided grin across his face. “Gabby St. Claire. It’s a pleasure, as always.”
I leaned toward him. “What happened on your forehead?”
He touched the scrape there. It hadn’t been visible when he was on stage because his hair covered it. But, now that he was closer, I cringed at the cut that stretched across the top of his head. I remembered forgetting to ask about the scrape on his hand at that meeting a couple of days ago. What was going on?
“One of the stairs leading to my apartment gave out this morning. I crashed all the way down to the bottom of the landing, hitting my head on the way.”
I cringed. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, it was weird. Those steps are new. The landlord had them replaced about a month ago. I have no idea why one would split down the middle.”
He didn’t, but that was because his thoughts were all pure and holy. Mine weren’t. My hands went to my hips. “I want to see these stairs.”
Riley’s eyes met mine. “Why? You’re not thinking . . . ”
“Someone’s trying to destroy Christmas. What better person to target than the person behind the effort to save it?”
***
I stood, brushing some winter-crisp leaves from my jeans, and shook my head. I grabbed ahold of the stair railing to keep my balance and looked down at the three others who were with me.
“Someone definitely tampered with that step, Pastor. You need to watch out. I don’t know what they might be planning next.”
“Why are you so certain?” Riley asked.
I pointed to the area where the step was broken. “Look at the way the wood is split. The lines are pretty clean. If this had happened because the wood was simply weak, then there would be more splintering.”
“Maybe the contractor who put the step in didn’t know what he was doing and used a damaged piece of wood,” Charity offered.
Pastor Shaggy shook his head. He pushed past Charity and got a closer look before standing and frowning. “That might explain the glass in my mailbox.”
“The glass in your mailbox?” I hadn’t heard about that yet.
He reached for the cut across his thumb. “I reached in to get something the other day and found that someone had left a broken bottle in there. I didn’t even see it. It got me good. I guess I really am in danger.”
I’d seen that cut last Friday and planned to ask him what happened. I’d gotten distracted by everything else, though. “You should be careful until this person is caught. All of this seems to be escalating, and now you’re in the crosshairs.”
We lumbered back down the stairs and stood on the crisp grass in front of his boxy, 70s era apartment building.
Charity looked up at Pastor Shaggy with her big brown eyes. “Maybe you should give it up. I don’t want you to get hurt. Is it really worth it?”
I was pretty sure the pastor blushed. “I can’t give up. If I do, I’ll let the bully behind all of this win. Besides, God took care of Paul in prison and Daniel in the den of lions. I know he can take care of me, too.”
I wanted to argue with him, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t one for backing down, so I couldn’t encourage the pastor to do it either. But I didn’t want to see him get hurt.
That made the urgency of the situation even greater. Someone was now trying to hurt people. Real, living people. The glass and the broken stair might only be the beginning. What would they try next?
“Pastor! I’m glad I caught you!” A man came running out from an apartment on the first floor. “Someone stopped by yesterday to see you. He asked me to give you his card.”
Pastor Shaggy took the card and stared at it a moment. “Marvin Harris.”
“The Coalition Against Christmas!” My voice was louder than I intended. But then I found myself deflating as I put the facts together in my mind. “I’d say he was the one who messed with your step, but then why would he leave his contact information and implicate himself?”
Pastor Shaggy’s neighbor shrugged. “He wasn’t the most pleasant man. Rather abrupt and never smiled. I told him I’d pass this along, though.”
The pastor thanked his neighbor and then we wandered down the street to a Mexican restaurant. The church crowd had already come and gone, so we were seated right away. Spanish Christmas carols, “Joy to the World” to be specific, played on the overhead as we slid into a booth. Riley and I sat on one side, and Pastor Shaggy and Charity on the other.
Is this what it would feel like to go on a double date? I mentally slammed on brakes. No, I couldn’t go there. Instead of thinking of my own love life, I would focus on Pastor Shaggy, who looked awfully cozy with Charity.
Good. I was happy for him. He was a nice man, and he deserved to find someone.
I ordered some chicken enchiladas before munching on the crunchy chips and spicy salsa. Charity’s gaze fell on me, and I paused mid-bite.
“So we didn’t finish our earlier conversation. Anything you can share?” she asked.
I wiped my mouth and swallowed. “So far, we don’t have any solid leads. One thing is clear, though. This person is trying to send a clear message that they don’t like Christmas. I don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone.” I glanced at Pastor Shaggy. “Not seriously hurt them, at least. I think they’re just trying to scare us away.”
“What would give someone reason to hate Christmas that much?” Pastor Shaggy asked.
I shrugged. “My guess is they’re either mentally unstable, they had a sad childhood, or both. But I’m no expert.”
Charity took another sip of soda and shook her head. “A sad childhood, huh? I guess I could relate to that one. My dad actually died on Christmas. He was in a car accident.”
My heart pounded in my ears. “I’m sorry to hear that. My brother was kidnapped and my mom died a few years back, so I know how hard the holidays can be.”
She sniffled. “It was awful for the first few years. Every Christmas I would just be reminded of all my losses. I would get depressed. I’d want to snap at anyone who actually looked joyful.”
I understood.
Charity continued. “I knew that I could spend the rest of my life being resentful and hating Christmas for it, or I could use Christmas as just one more way to celebrate his life.”
Pastor Shaggy craned his neck toward her. “And you choose to celebrate. That’s just beautiful.”
She smiled shyly. “Thanks. It’s just one more reason I feel so passionate about this project that you’ve started.”
“I couldn’t have done all of this without you,” Pastor Shaggy said.
I really felt like I should disappear
and let the two of them have some time together. But that was impossible to do, especially with Riley here. Besides, I really needed a moment alone with Charity so I could ask her about this morning. I saw my opportunity when she stood to go to the restroom.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, feeling way too girly for my own good. I was not a “herd mentality” kind of girl.
“Sure thing.”
As we stood at the sink, I looked over at her. “Charity, were you over on Vaughn Street this morning?”
Her face went pale. “Vaughn Street? Why would you ask that?”
“Just answer. No games.”
She sighed and then nodded. “I was. I was afraid you’d seen me.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I’ve been feeling a little obsessed with this whole Christmas thing lately. The pastor told me what happened, and I just wanted to investigate myself. I know it’s terrible, isn’t it?”
I had no room to talk. I shook my head. “No, it’s not terrible.”
“Thanks for chatting, Gabby. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to ask me instead of jumping to conclusions.”
Right, because I never jumped to conclusions.
We slipped back to the table. At least one question had been cleared up. Just as my food arrived, my cell phone beeped. It was Chad. “So, I called a friend of mine who’s a mortician in the area,” he started.
“Why? You think a mortician is behind this?”
“Hear me out.”
“Of course.”
“I asked him if there were any morticians around here who could be behind this, who acted strangely, you know? Sometimes you just get that sense about people.”
“Right.”
“He said there was this one guy who always makes strange comments. My friend said he’s always thought this guy could be guilty of lifting jewelry from dead people or something, you know? Maybe he’s not doing that. Maybe he’s doing something worse. Maybe he’s leaving their body parts at crime scenes.”
It Came Upon a Midnight Crime: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 2.5 (a Christmas novella) Page 5
