How the Finch Stole Christmas

by J. R. Ripley

  “It comes to just over twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars?”

  “Just over,” corrected Esther from the corner where she’d laid out a dozen or more red and green Christmas stockings.

  I snapped my head in her direction. “Thank you, Esther.” When had the carousel been installed under the floor? When had the floor started spinning?

  How could I make it stop?

  Mom rested her hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right, dear?”

  I gulped. “Yes.” It looked like I would be needing a trip to the bank after all. But not to get small change for the cash drawer—to apply for a huge loan.

  28

  I hate going to the bank. That’s probably because I’m in my thirties and have almost no money in one.

  The Bank of Ruby Lake’s lobby had been elegantly decorated for the holidays with a perfect fake tree covered in silver and gold tinsel. Wreaths hung from every available space. Electronic Christmas music played at an almost inaudibly low level in the background. It seemed to be putting the lone security officer near the door to sleep. He leaned against a marble Ionic pillar, his head tilted to one side.

  After cooling my heels for several minutes, I was ushered into the small office of a loan officer named James Latimore, a lanky man in a gray suit, white shirt, and blue bow tie. I had a loan application in my hand that had taken me half an hour to wade through and fill in the myriad blanks.

  By the time I had finished, I felt like I was swimming in paperwork and drowning in debt.

  I took the proffered chair and sat, my expectations running high. As much as the idea of being an additional twenty thousand dollars in debt scared me, I knew, as my contractor had frequently reminded me, it wasn’t a question of if I made the necessary repairs but when. The key word being necessary.

  “Thanks for squeezing me in.”

  “No problem, Ms. Simms. We are always happy to meet with one of the town’s local business owners.”

  I smiled. That sounded good. That’s what I was, one of the town’s local business owners. An upstanding, hardworking and much-needed, job-providing local business owner.

  I crossed my legs and waited as Mr. Latimore, who didn’t look any older than me, turned each page of my application with slender, manicured fingers.

  Mr. Latimore inhaled deeply as he came to the last page of my application and turned it over in the pile. “I’m afraid it isn’t possible at this time to provide you with the funds you require, Ms. Simms.”

  “Sure it is,” I said glibly. “Don’t you keep all your money right back there in the safe?”

  Mr. Latimore smiled at my weak joke. “Without any collateral—” He arranged my application and tapped the papers against his expensive walnut desk.

  “But I do have collateral. I have my store.”

  He raised a brow. “Already mortgaged. Quite heavily, I might add.” He handed me back my application. “Do you have any other collateral?”

  “We own a trailer,” I said. We being Birds & Bees and Brewers Biergarten. “Shaped like a giant birdhouse. Free and clear.”

  The truth was, it was only half mine and that half I didn’t even want. Without my permission, Paul Anderson had bought it for the two of us. So far, it had proved more trouble than it was worth. Not to mention, that it had once belonged to a friend of mine who had died a violent death. If you asked me, it was cursed.

  The loan officer seemed unimpressed. “Perhaps a cosigner to the loan?”

  The corner of my mouth turned down. I could ask my mom or even my aunt Betty, but they’d both already loaned me startup money.

  I rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Latimore.”

  “Of course.” He stood and adjusted his tie. “If there is anything else we at the Bank of Ruby Lake can do for you, or if your financial circumstances change, please come see me again.”

  My financial circumstances had changed, only not for the better. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. As for the loan I need for the repairs, I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

  I stepped out into the lobby, feeling suddenly drained and morose, but I was determined to look on the bright side. It was the holidays, after all.

  And the truth was, things could be worse.

  The sad truth was, they probably would be.

  To my surprise, I saw several faces I recognized in a small conference room at the opposite end of the lobby. At a long table sat Gertie Hammer, Robert LaChance, the younger man with Gertie at Derek’s office . . .

  And Derek himself. Ben Harlan was there as well, seated at Derek’s side. There were two others who were unknown to me.

  Derek noticed me and jerked his head in surprise.

  I cocked my head in question and he acknowledged me with a nod of the head before returning his attention to the others seated at the table.

  * * * *

  I left the bank and drove to the toy and hobby store. I already had a box of bird plush toys in the back of the van. I spent another hundred dollars buying various educational toys and hobby kits. I took my gifts to Belzer Realty at the opposite end of town.

  There was no sign of Kim’s vehicle but Ellery’s was in its usual spot near the door. I parked and went inside, carrying my box and bags.

  “My client is prepared to pay ten percent over—” Ellery Belzer looked up as I came in. He smiled and held up a finger. “Excuse me, someone has walked in. I have to go. I’ll phone you later. Yes, that’s correct, ten percent. Bye.”

  I set the packages on an empty chair at the nearest desk.

  Ellery waved me over to his desk. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Business is business.”

  “I’m glad you understand. Not everyone does.” Ellery set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his fists. “What can I do for you?”

  I pointed to his chest. “Nice tie.”

  Ellery looked puzzled, then his hand went to the bright green Christmas tree–shaped necktie around his neck. “Thanks.” He smoothed it back down. “There’s a battery tucked into the inside that makes the lights blink. You don’t think it’s too much?”

  “Not if you don’t think this sweater is too much.” I unbuttoned my coat to reveal my Christmas cockatiel.

  “Wow!” Ellery chuckled. “I guess we’re even. Can I get you some hot cider?”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay. I only wanted to drop off some presents for the children’s toy drive.”

  Ellery’s face lit up. “That’s very generous of you.” His look then turned wistful. “I only hope the tradition continues once I’m gone.”

  “Gone?”

  Ellery nodded somberly, splaying his fingers across the papers on his desk. “Didn’t Kim tell you? I’ve decided to retire.”

  “No.” I pulled myself straighter. “She didn’t.” I looked around the office. “What about Belzer Realty?”

  “Closing its doors.”

  “But why? I mean, after all these years.”

  Ellery began to frown. “This is a people business, Amy. People have to like you, trust you . . .” He bit his lower lip. “Respect you.”

  “People around here feel exactly that way about you, Ellery.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not anymore. Business is already suffering.” He raised his arms and let them fall again. “Nope. It’s time to retire. Move away.”

  “But I heard you on the phone just a minute ago, you still have clients—”

  The real estate broker was shaking his head as I spoke. “Not enough to sustain a business.”

  Silence reigned between us, but for the sound of Christmas carols from the speakers and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

  “What about Kim and the other agents?”

  “I’m sure they’ll land on their feet. I
’ve given them all glowing referrals.” He lifted the pile of letters in his hand.

  The phone at his desk rang and his hand leapt for the receiver. “I’m afraid I’d better take this.”

  “Of course.” I rose and buttoned up my coat. “I hope you’ll reconsider.”

  Ellery’s only answer was a brief smile.

  * * * *

  I was relieved to see that the noose and all evidence of it were gone from Birds & Bees on my return. I spent the day dealing with customers.

  Around five o’clock, I telephoned Derek’s cell number and got his voicemail. I dialed his office and got Mrs. Edmunds.

  “Mr. Harlan is gone for the day,” she informed me, with a voice like ice. I pictured icicles where her vocal cords ought to be.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “Mr. Harlan has not authorized me to say.”

  I made a face at the phone, hoping she’d see it. “Please tell him I called.”

  I hung up and telephoned Kim.

  “Hello?” She sounded as if she’d been napping.

  “Hi, Kim. Mom is making chicken potpie and insists you come for dinner. Be here at seven. Bye.” I hung up before she could refuse.

  I ran upstairs. Mom was reading a library book in the living room. “Can you whip up a chicken potpie for dinner? Seven o’clock?”

  Mom pulled her reading glasses down her nose and stared at me. “I don’t have chicken or half the vegetables we need—”

  I waved her off. “Never mind. I’ll pick one up at the market.” Lakeside Market carried freshly made potpies, beef and chicken. “I’ll run to the store and pick up a chicken pie for tonight and a beef one that we can freeze for another time.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing. It’s only a bribe to get Kim here.”

  “Then you’d better pick up a dessert, too.” Mom pushed her glasses back up her nose and returned to her book.

  I grinned and started for the door. “I like the way you think.”

  Downstairs on the sales floor, I found Esther in the act of pulling down a roosting pocket and handing it to a familiar face.

  “I remember you. Swan Ridge. You’re the receptionist at Dr. Ajax’s office.”

  “That’s right. Shirley, Shirley Beagle.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Shirley.” I walked with her to the register. Esther tagged along. “What brings you here?”

  “I thought I would check out your store. Plus, all the talk of Christmas House Village got me thinking that I haven’t been there in years. Thought I’d take one last look.”

  “What’s the news in Swan Ridge? Are you still staring at protestors all day?”

  “No, they’re gone.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Good news for me, great news for you.”

  I knitted my brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it looks like Ruby Lake is going to be getting the new hotel instead of Swan Ridge.” She handed me her credit card and I ran it through the machine and handed it back.

  “Are you sure? I haven’t heard a single soul talking about it. You’d think it would have been talked about in the newspaper at least.” I bagged her purchase and slid it across the counter.

  “That’s the way it is.” Shirley shrugged as she picked up her package. “That’s why the protestors gave up. Rumor has it that Cozy Towne Inn pulled stakes and decided to build here instead. Thanks again. Say hi to your mother for me. I’m off to pay my respects to Christmas House Village.”

  “What a strange woman,” Esther quipped as Shirley retreated through the front door.

  While it was an odd statement coming from the Queen of Strange, it wasn’t any the less true.

  What was also odd was that somebody had told me that Max Poulshot had recently worked at a hotel in Black Mountain. Could that have been a Cozy Towne Inn?

  * * * *

  The store closed at seven and Kim showed up on the dot. The potpie came out of the oven piping hot and I set it down gingerly on the kitchen table between Mom and Kim.

  “Smells good,” Mom exclaimed.

  I cut us each generous servings and we dug in. Kim and I washed our food down with merlot. Mom stuck to water. We ate dessert, fresh cranberry pie, on the sofa in front of the TV, watching Broadway Christmas Musical.

  When the show ended, Mom went off to bed, leaving me and Kim to finish the bottle of wine.

  Kim brought her wineglass to her lips. “I didn’t want to say anything with Barbara here, but my tree is definitely bigger than yours.”

  I threw a pillow at her, missing by inches. She stuck out her tongue at me.

  “What’s this about Ellery retiring and closing the business?”

  Kim shrugged and took a sip.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “There are other real estate agencies in town.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t argue with her there. “Has Dan said anything about closing in on Franklin Finch’s killer?”

  “Not a word.” Kim pulled her lips tight as she picked up the wine bottle and tipped the remaining liquid into her glass. “On another gloomy subject . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I heard from your mother that Birds & Bees needs some TLC.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars’ worth of TLC.”

  “Any idea what you’ll do?”

  “No more than I have an answer to who murdered Franklin Finch.” I stretched my arms overhead, then stood resolutely. I went to the Christmas tree and grabbed a remnant of wrapping paper that lay on the skirt beside a stack of presents.

  I grabbed a pencil from the junk drawer in the kitchen and returned to the sofa. I turned the paper over to the plain side and smoothed it out.

  “What are you doing? I’m not in the mood for tic-tac-toe or hangman,” she added rather pointedly.

  I wrote Max Poulshot’s name at the top and followed with William Sever, Irma Fortuny, Eve Dunnellon, and last but not least, Bobby Cherry.

  “What’s that?” Kim frowned.

  I let go of the paper and it curled up on itself. “Our list of suspects.” I grabbed my mom’s book and laid it along the edge of the wrapping paper to keep it reasonably flat. “Who do you like?”

  Kim sighed as if put out. “I don’t know. Bobby Cherry, I guess. But what’s his motive?”

  I began to frown. I liked him, too, but he didn’t appear to have a motive. I wrote motive and put a question mark next to it at Bobby’s name. “William could have done it. And he was at Christmas House Village. He seems very protective of Irma.”

  Kim tipped her glass and drained it. “He might have been mad enough at Mr. Finch to strangle him for firing her.”

  “I agree.” I underlined both their names. “They could have plotted together.”

  “What’s Eve’s name doing on your list?”

  I doodled on the paper. “It has always struck me odd that her arm was in a sling right after the murder.”

  “You think she injured it fighting with Finch?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. She might have hurt herself hoisting up with that rope.”

  “Exactly.” I rubbed my hands together. “And that leaves Max.” I told Kim how I’d just learned that a hotel that was planning to build in Ruby Lake had once been Max’s employer.

  Kim looked doubtful. “Cozy Towne Inn? That’s a big chain. I’ve stayed in one of their properties a time or two myself.” She pulled her legs up under her. “I’m not sure that means anything, Amy.”

  I leaned back on the sofa and tossed my legs up on the coffee table as I pressed my palms against my temples. “I don’t feel like we are any closer to knowing who murdered Franklin Finch and why than we were the night it happ
ened.”

  “I agree.”

  “Maybe Mr. Belzer is right.”

  “About what?”

  “About closing up shop and moving.”

  Kim picked at some imaginary lint on her sweater. “Maybe that’s what I should do, too. Sell my house and move someplace far away.”

  I slapped my hands on my thighs. “I have a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  I told her.

  She thought it was crazy, but then she thought all my ideas were crazy. It had never stopped her from going along with one before—and it didn’t stop her this time either.

  29

  It was lunchtime at Jessamine’s Kitchen and the gang was all there.

  “Good job,” I said, turning to Kim with my hand shielding my mouth.

  The staff had grouped several tables together and a host of Finley’s Christmas House Village employees had gathered with me, Kim, and Ellery Belzer.

  While two waiters scooted around the collective tables, I stood and began. “Thank you all for coming to lunch today.” Which I was paying for, and would be paying for—for months to come, on my monthly credit card bill.

  “Why are we here exactly?” shot Irma Fortuny, digging into the basket of cornbread. William Sever sat beside her like an armed guard.

  Karl Vogel sat between me and Kim. I had asked him to come and be another set of eyes and ears. With him being a former law officer, he might notice something about one of our guests that I would miss. When I called to invite him, he had filled me in on what he had learned about Irma Fortuny and William Sever, which was very little—and nothing that directly pointed to their involvement in Finch’s murder.

  I started a smile. “I—we,” I corrected, motioning to Kim and her boss, Mr. Belzer, “invited you all here, in the spirit of Christmas, to air our grievances and clear the air.” I turned my eyes on each person in turn. “Isn’t it time to forgive and forget? Let bygones be bygones?”

  “I’d like to be gone,” Max quipped.

  Several other Christmas House Village employees snickered.

  “Where’s Eve Dunnellon?”

  “The police came for her this morning,” one of the employees said.