by J. R. Ripley
He waved and pulled open the driver’s-side door of his big, black 4x4. As he put one long leg inside, he turned and said, “As for who was asking questions about Christmas House Village, I can tell you this, they are always happy to kiss a baby or two!”
What on earth did that mean?
13
And that was exactly the question I asked Derek when we met at his place, then walked over to Jessamine’s Kitchen for dinner that night. The homey, Southern-style restaurant was a recent addition to the Town of Ruby Lake.
The pleasant owner, Jessamine Jeffries, is a retired accountant from Greensboro now following her passion for cooking. She has a real flair for it, too. She’s a zaftig woman of sixty-some years with shoulder-length brown locks and matching brown eyes. Divorced and unattached, she receives the attention of many of the older and even some of the younger men in town.
The restaurant’s décor, with its simple Shaker style tables and chairs, was as cozy as the food. Soft blue-and-white-checkered tablecloths covered the tables. The floor was reclaimed wide-board pine.
A beeswax candle on the tabletop in a small cut-glass bowl shaped like a tulip flickered between us. We had a table near the black cast-iron woodstove glowing in the center of the room.
“Cash Calderon came by Birds and Bees today. He told me someone had been asking him questions about Christmas House Village.” I wasn’t going to bother Derek with my own house’s troubles. He had enough going on in his life without having the extra burden of worrying over my financial situation.
“He’s a contractor. What sort of questions?”
I could only shrug. “Contractor-type questions, I suppose. He really wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did he say who was asking the questions?”
“Nope, only that they liked to kiss babies.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what he said. That, whoever they were, they were happy to kiss a baby or two.”
“Cash actually said ‘kiss a baby or two’?” Derek had ordered a bottle of merlot that our waiter now poured.
“His words exactly.”
Derek leaned back, glass in hand. He shook his head and took a drink. “A pediatrician, maybe?”
I nodded. “That could be. But why would a pediatrician be asking about Christmas House Village?”
Derek didn’t have a clue and neither did I.
“While I was having lunch with Karl at Ruby’s Diner, Tiffany mentioned that there were a number of disgruntled Christmas House Village employees and ex-employees at the diner the evening that Kim was there with Mr. Finch.”
I sipped my wine and ran my tongue over my upper lip. “Apparently it was practically a mob, right there and then.”
Derek sighed. “It’s a nasty business, all right. I don’t like to imagine that anybody in this town murdered him. Especially the way they did it.”
“I know, it’s weird, but it would be nice if it turned out to be a stranger.”
“Yeah,” Derek agreed, “but I don’t think Franklin Finch’s being strangled and strung up in his own loft was the act of a stranger. That sort of crime strikes me as being very personal.”
“I agree.”
We paused in our conversation to place our dinner order. After the waiter left, I picked up where we’d left off. “I asked Karl to see what he could find out about Mrs. Fortuny and her friend William.”
“What?” Derek teased. “You think because the woman hit Kim in the head with her purse that she might have strung up Franklin Finch? I don’t think she has the muscle power. In fact,” he added, “I don’t recall Kim complaining of the blow leaving so much as a bruise, let alone a concussion.”
“Very funny.” I pointed my fork at him. “But I do believe William—whatever-his-last-name is—could provide that muscle.”
“I’ve seen him, remember? He was with Mrs. Fortuny at C Is For Cupcakes. The gentleman walks with a cane.”
“Maybe it’s made his arms stronger.”
Derek chuckled. “So,” he said, rubbing his hands, “let me see if I have this right. We have a seventy-something-year-old woman and an equally old man with a cane as our chief suspects in the strangulation and subsequent hanging of one Franklin Finch.”
Two servers arrived with food-laden trays, saving Derek from my shrewd yet pithy reply—and saving me from having to think up one.
After a meal of family-style skillet-fried chicken, green beans, cheese grits, and biscuits, I suggested that we take a stroll around town.
“Sure,” Derek agreed amiably. “The downtown looks great this time of year.”
“I agree. Just enough Christmas lighting and decoration to make it pretty.” I knotted my scarf and placed a knit cap on my head. “But not so much as to be gaudy.”
The town does a really good job of setting up the town square, too, with a thirty-foot Christmas tree, a giant wooden sleigh, Santa’s throne for the kiddies, and a petting corral wherein the ponies wore fuzzy brown antlers.
Derek settled the bill and we walked to the door.
“Let me guess,” Derek said, bundling up his black peacoat. “This little stroll of ours is going to take us right past Christmas House Village, isn’t it?”
I tilted my head and smiled. “Why, now that you mention it, we will be walking right past it. Would you care to do some holiday shopping?”
Derek laughed.
“What? I did promise Karl I would buy him something.”
Derek shook his head as we stepped out into the chill night air. “Amy Simms, I’ve heard a lot of stories from clients, but yours is one line I’m not buying.”
“Hey!” I protested.
“Don’t worry,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’m not vetoing the idea.”
“Good.” I locked my arm with his.
“Besides, with me along, you just might stay out of trouble.”
“Ha-ha.” I gave him a hip bump. “You are quite the comedian tonight, Counselor.”
“I try.”
We strolled companionably across the town square, and up Lake Shore Drive. The lure of Christmas House Village’s lights was like the draw of a moth to a flame. Shoppers swarmed the well-lit houses and many carried bags and gaily wrapped packages.
We walked up the main path, our eyes climbing to the big yellow star atop the outdoor Christmas fir. The streetlamps cast a pleasant glow that lit the path.
“Do you know what you want for Christmas?”
Derek squeezed my hand. “I’ve got all I need.”
“Okay,” I said, “but all you want?”
“What about you?” he asked, turning the tables. “Anything special that you’d like?”
“No way, mister. You answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”
Derek’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll give it some thought. You do the same.” He kissed me in front of the Christmas tree and I blushed.
“It’s a deal,” I said after he’d kissed me again. I’m easy that way. “Hey, you don’t even have a Christmas tree for your apartment,” I said, running my hands through the fir needles. “We have to get you one!”
“Whoa!” Derek held up his hand. “First a bird feeder and now a Christmas tree? I don’t know . . .” He shook his head.
“Come on,” I nudged, “what’s Maeve going to think if her own father doesn’t have a Christmas tree?”
Derek pulled a face. “You’re right. Okay, you win. We can pick one out together at one of the tree lots.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “you need to go Christmas-tree shopping with Maeve. Think what fun she’ll have. You can’t leave her out.”
“You’re right.” Derek nodded.
“Of course I am.”
“But only if you’ll come with us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. It will
be fun.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. What about—”
“Amy?”
The Amy in question wasn’t me. It was the other Amy—Amy Harlan. Amy-the-ex, as I liked to call her. She was Maeve’s mother and Derek’s ex. She was no friend of mine, not that I hadn’t tried to be civil to the woman. I had a hunch she wanted Derek back.
Maeve, their eight-year-old daughter, lived mostly with Amy-the-ex at her place out at the Apple Mountain Country Club.
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t think she’s going to want me shopping for a Christmas tree with you and Maeve.”
“You misjudge her,” he said, as we strolled the path around the Christmas tree. “Amy’s not a witch.”
“No, but she’s something that rhymes with it,” I muttered. “Sorry,” I added quickly. “That was a cheap shot.” We rounded the far side of the circle. “Hey, look who’s here,” I said softly.
“Who?” Derek stopped.
“Gertie Hammer. She’s sitting on the bench on the right.” I nodded ever so slightly. “I wonder what she’s doing here.”
The elderly woman sat bundled up at the far bench, her lips pulled tight. As usual this time of year, she had wrapped herself up in her puffy, lime-green, three-quarter-length down jacket that appeared two sizes too big for her.
Her plus-size green coat made her look like a big green holly shrub. With the near-freezing temperature, she had an appropriately berry-red face. The coat’s floppy, cocoon-brimmed hood draped over her forehead, hiding the gray-black hair that lurked beneath. Her sharp blue eyes followed the shoppers as if she was stalking each and every one. Her hands were stuffed into puffy black mittens.
“Shopping?” Derek said.
I frowned. “I don’t know. She could be, I suppose. I just always thought of her as more the Grinch type than the gift-giving type.” If every small town had its curmudgeon, Gertie was ours. “And I don’t see any packages.” As we watched, she clumsily pulled a stubby pen from one pocket and a notepad from the other and scratched something down.
“Do you want to say hello?”
“No, let’s not.” I wasn’t in the mood for a sparring match with Gertie. “There’s somebody I’d like to say hi to, though.” I tugged Derek’s sleeve.
“Oh? Who?”
“Him. That’s Max. He’s one of the security guards.”
Derek turned and studied the uniformed young man in question. “So I see. What do you want to talk to him for?”
“When I first met him, I got the impression he was Finch’s flunky. Then Tiffany mentioned that Max was at Ruby’s Diner with the rest of the disgruntled Christmas House Village employees.” I bit my lower lip. “I wonder what he’s up to.”
“Maybe Finch sent him to the meeting at the diner.”
“Like as a spy, you think?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
The security guard seemed to take note of us. He then turned and entered Sugarplum House. Ignoring Gertie and whatever she was up to—and, knowing Gertie, she was always up to something—I pulled Derek along toward the front entrance, not wanting to lose sight of Max.
Sugarplum House was chock-full of Christmas ornaments. Each room of the house was devoted to ornaments of a particular European country or sometimes subdivided into several countries. These nations ranged from ones you’d expect, like Great Britain, Germany, and France to smaller nations like Denmark and Switzerland.
Inside, we weaved through the crowded rooms. I caught a glimpse of the back of Max’s head, a dark jacket and green trousers, as he squeezed between a family of four and headed up the narrow stairs to the second floor. “Come on,” I urged.
By the time we got upstairs, there was no sign of Max. “I don’t get it,” I complained. “You saw him come up here.” I looked across the hall to the room we’d just left. “Where did he go?”
Derek shrugged. “He’s probably back downstairs. We must have missed him. There are, what, four display rooms up here? And we’re practically shoulder to shoulder. I can’t believe how busy this place gets. Christmas House Village really is a gold mine, isn’t it?”
“It has always been very popular. More so than ever, I’d say.”
“Look at this.” Derek’s hand fell on a glass snow globe with a porcelain base. He picked it up and gave it a shake. The scene represented a quaint farmhouse. A boy and girl dressed for winter teeter-tottered on the front lawn as the snow fell silently around them.
“It’s very pretty.”
“Do you think Maeve would like it?”
“Definitely.”
“I think I’ll take one.” Derek set down the snow globe and picked up one already wrapped in a red and green gift box with gold ribbon.
“Come on.” Derek took my hand. “Maybe Max went next door to Nutcracker House. He’s probably making his rounds. I’ll pay for this downstairs. You can go over if you want to, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Good idea.”
While Derek went to pay, I went out the door through the kitchen. I knew from having come to Christmas House Village many times as a girl that this led out to the cobblestone path that connected Sugarplum House with Nutcracker House. There was a small porch and a wooden stairway leading down to the path. Firewood was stacked high against the wall. I paused and searched the shadows for movement but saw no one.
As I stepped onto the path from the stairs, I heard a horrible crack, followed quickly by a booming crash. I glanced over my right shoulder. A wall of firewood was tumbling toward me. I hollered and ran.
“Amy!” Derek shouted over the rumble of the falling wood.
Several pieces of firewood slammed into my feet and I felt myself falling. I threw out my hands.
As quickly as the thunder had started, it subsided.
I was on my hands and knees. Firewood was scattered around me and all over the yard between the two houses. The strand of white holiday lights lining the narrow path had been smashed by the rolling wood. Several shoppers stopped to ask if I was okay as Derek helped me to my feet.
A clerk stepped out on the porch and hurried down to assist us. “My goodness,” exclaimed the young woman. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Just a little shaken.”
“What happened?” Her eyes took in the scene of destruction.
Another employee appeared and inspected the wood bin. “It looks like one of the supports gave way.” He pointed to a splintered old two-by-four. He sighed. “We’d better call someone.” He turned to his coworker. “Who’s in charge of maintenance around here, anyway?”
The young woman shrugged. “I have no idea. I just started less than a week ago.”
“Me, too,” the young man replied. “I guess I should call Ms. Dunnellon.” He kicked at the nearest log, then went inside, presumably to make the phone call.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Amy?” Derek eyed me solicitously. His package was on the ground beside him.
I looked at my hands. “I’m glad I was wearing gloves.” I glanced at my corduroys. “And slacks.” Though there were fresh holes in the knees, and it wasn’t a fashion statement. I stuck my finger in one of the jagged holes. “I’ll be fine.” I had a feeling my bump-free future was a thing of the past.
The young woman wrung her hands. “Do you need a doctor, ma’am?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. Really, I’m fine.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” the young woman went on. “If you’d like, I can get the manager over and—”
I raised a hand to cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.” I turned to Derek. “I think I’d like to call it a night.”
“I’ll take you home.” Derek picked up his present for Maeve.
Several Christmas House Village employees stepped out in winter coats and gloves and began cle
aring the firewood from the path and restacking it loosely at the side of the house.
Derek held my arm and led me back to the front path. My hands and knees throbbed but I was sure no permanent harm had been done.
Gertie was sitting on the bench, same as earlier.
There was no sign of Max the security guard, but I had a hunch he’d been trying to tell me something.
14
Feeling only a little worse for wear the next morning, I took a steaming hot shower—or at least tried to. The hot water sputtered out after a mere thirty seconds.
Cash Calderon was right. I was going to have to do something about all the long-overdue repairs on my house. Without them, the house would be unlivable and my business would suffer. It’s hard to run a store when the electricity goes out, which it occasionally did.
Robbed of the wickedly hot shower I’d dreamed of, I consoled myself with a cup of coffee hot enough to scorch my tongue and strong enough to burn a hole in my stomach.
Max of the North Pole had eluded me and Derek the night before, but in the light of day I wasn’t going to give him the chance to do it again.
Derek had driven me home and tried to convince me that the episode had been nothing more than an accident. Call me suspicious, but I wasn’t so sure about that. The wood crib might have been old and it might have broken . . . but it might have had some help in the form of a pair of strong arms, or perhaps a foot, that had caused the wood pile to come crashing down just as I was passing.
Mom and Esther were working the floor at Birds & Bees and Cousin Riley had shown up to hang the outdoor holiday lights. I knew he’d be available to help inside if the two needed him.
That left me free to take care of other business. I loaded up the minivan with a cardboard box of individually wrapped birdseed ornaments. I had selected six each of the snowmen and gingerbread men. I wanted a second look at the scene of my “accident.” I also wanted a word with Max.
I climbed into the Kia, started the motor, and cranked up the heater. The birdseed ornaments in the back of the van gave me the excuse I needed. I would take them to Christmas House Village for Eve Dunnellon to get a look at.
