How the Finch Stole Christmas

by J. R. Ripley

  “Came for her?”

  “Arrested her for the murder of Finch.” Irma Fortuny pulled a tube of lipstick from her glittery gold purse and applied it roughly to her lips.

  “First I’m hearing of it,” snarled Karl.

  “You’re kidding! Eve?” I’d had a few doubts about her but hadn’t put her high on my list of suspects. “Why would she murder him?”

  “Maybe because he fired her,” quipped one man at the other end of the table.

  “And after having sex with the woman, too,” Irma sniped.

  “Sex? Excuse me?” I felt myself blushing.

  Karl chuckled. “I’m sure glad you invited me to lunch, Amy.”

  “I caught them going at it myself,” Irma purported. “Upstairs in his loft. On the carpet. Can you believe it?” She looked to William, who shook his head.

  I looked to Kim for help, but none was forthcoming. She had turned pale and was staring at her empty plate. Ellery was fingering his necktie.

  We were interrupted by a young woman who burst through the door, tossed off a red wool scarf, hung it from the coat tree, then threw her coat on top of it. “Sorry I’m late.” She squeezed in across the table from Max. “Car wouldn’t start.”

  “That’s okay. Lizzie, right?” I said.

  The young raven-haired woman nodded and picked up her glass of water.

  “We were just starting. Listen, everyone.” I cleared my throat. “Christmas House Village has been sold. We can’t do anything about that.”

  Grumbles and a few swear words followed my statement. I raised my voice above the others.

  “But especially now that it appears Franklin Finch’s killer has been caught. Let’s let that be the end of all this unpleasantness. I mean, can’t we?” I gazed around the table, then stopped on Max’s stepsister.

  “I suppose—” one older woman grumbled.

  “Wait.” I held up a hand and turned to Lizzie. “I thought you didn’t drive, Lizzie.” I looked questioningly at Max, her stepbrother.

  Lizzie’s brow went up. “Only when the car won’t start. That’s what I get for buying a junker.”

  Which probably meant she’d bought it at LaChance Motors. I turned to Max. His face had turned bright red and he refused to make eye contact with me.

  We both knew that he had lied to me about being at Christmas House Village the night of Franklin Finch’s murder because he had to give his stepsister a lift.

  But I wanted to rub it in. “So Max doesn’t give you a ride to and from work?”

  Lizzie snorted. “Max? Please, like he’d lift a finger to help me.”

  “That’s no way to talk about your brother, Lizzie,” Irma Fortuny snapped.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Lizzie flicked her hand toward Mrs. Fortuny. “Just because he’s your favorite nephew doesn’t make him a favorite of mine.” She took a swig from her class. “And that’s stepbrother.”

  I put a hand on the back of my chair to steady myself. Max was Mrs. Fortuny’s nephew? Why didn’t I know that?

  Before I knew what was happening, the entire restaurant erupted in raised voices, accusing one another of all things imaginable. I couldn’t decipher half of what was being said because of the babble.

  Kim and Ellery Belzer hunkered in their seats, looking miserable. I couldn’t blame them. I had failed.

  I felt a tug at my sleeve. It was Karl. “I hate to say it, Amy, but, if you ask me, any one of these folks is off their rocker enough to be a killer.” He lifted his hand to catch our waiter’s attention.

  Jessamine Jeffries hurried over, looking hot and bothered. “Please, Amy,” she implored. “Your group is creating quite the disturbance.” She motioned for me to look around the restaurant.

  Jessamine was right. People were looking at us and whispering to each other. So much for the Christmas spirit. I had to put a stop to it. “I’ve got this,” I assured her. She nodded and went to have a word with a customer at the door.

  I picked up an empty glass and slammed it against the table. “Listen, everybody. The police are wrong.”

  All eyes turned to me and everyone stopped talking.

  “Eve Dunnellon did not murder Franklin Finch.”

  “But the police said—” Ellery piped in.

  I shook my head at him. “The police are wrong, Mr. Belzer.” I planted my palm on the table. “Because I know who the real murderer is.”

  A murmur of wonder and disbelief went around the table.

  “And I intend to prove it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” replied Mrs. Fortuny. “The police are far more capable than you, young lady.” She stared hard at me. “The police have their killer, and I say you should mind your own business.”

  “A murder in Ruby Lake is all of our business,” I answered.

  Kim whispered, “Amy, what are you doing?”

  “How are you going to solve Finch’s murder, assuming the police are wrong? Not that I think they are.” That was William.

  Max was noticeably quiet.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “But I’m not prepared to reveal that just yet.”

  Mrs. Fortuny chuckled and several others joined her.

  “You’ll all see. By the end of the day.”

  “Impossible!”

  “I think not. Because the real killer has left evidence behind. Enough evidence to hang himself for murder.” Which was only fitting.

  “Him?” Lizzie asked.

  “Or her.” I opened my purse, pulled out my wallet, and threw way too much money down on the table. “Enjoy your lunch, everyone.” I’d had enough Christmas spirit for the day.

  Karl, Ellery, and Kim followed me outside to the sidewalk.

  Karl scratched his head. “Eve getting arrested is news to me. You think Jerry’s wrong, Amy?”

  “I think something is wrong, Karl.”

  “What are you up to, Amy?” Kim asked.

  Ellery leaned into a gust of wind that had sprung up. “Have you got something up your sleeve?”

  “Yeah, just what do you have planned?” Karl’s eyes danced with interest.

  I sighed and looked back at the folks seated inside. “I wish I knew.”

  But I didn’t have anything up my sleeves but bony elbows.

  30

  The first thing I wanted to do was verify what I’d been told about the police arresting Eve Dunnellon for the murder of Franklin Finch.

  Chief Kennedy was on the phone at his desk when I walked in. Dan was typing at his computer. I went to his desk and he spent thirty seconds trying to pretend he didn’t see me.

  “I can see you, Dan. So I’m pretty certain you can see me.”

  Dan pulled a face and looked over his monitor at me. “We’re kind of busy around here, Amy. Now is not a good time.”

  “Is it true that you have arrested Eve Dunnellon for the murder of Mr. Finch?”

  Dan’s hands hovered over his keyboard. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on an open investigation. Sorry, Amy.”

  “I get it.”

  “How’s Kim?”

  “Miserable. Did you know she’s thinking of quitting?”

  “She did mention it. I don’t think she’s serious.”

  “You don’t know Kim as well as I do. She’s even talking about leaving town.”

  “Permanently?”

  I shrugged. I glanced toward the back of the office. “Jerry’s off the telephone. I think I’ll go wish him a Merry Christmas.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  I shot him a wink and extracted his promise to give Kim a call the first chance he got.

  “Go away, Simms,” Jerry snarled at me from six paces away.

  I didn’t let it stop me. I reached his desk and plopped down in a chair across from him. “Is it true that you arrested Eve f
or Finch’s murder?”

  “I can’t talk about that.”

  “Why not? Half the town is already talking about it, Jerry!” We glared at one another.

  “Fine.” He thumped his elbows against the desk. “Yes.”

  “And you have proof?”

  The corners of Jerry’s mouth turned down in a decidedly ugly manner. “I am not in the habit of arresting people without proof. If I did, I’d have locked you up long ago!”

  “For what?”

  “For the fun of it!”

  I tried a fresh approach. Juvenile antics were getting us nowhere. “Has she confessed?”

  “No,” admitted Jerry. “She hasn’t. But she has no alibi and we found rope that appears to be the same type used to hang Finch in her potting shed.”

  “Did she say what it was doing there?”

  “She said she never saw it before. She claims it must have been in there when she bought the house along with a bunch of other stuff the last owners left behind. And, she has no alibi for the time of death. The lady says she was home alone. With her cat.” The chief shook his head. “Oldest, lamest excuse in the book.”

  “It could be true.”

  “It could be a bald-faced lie!”

  I made an effort to keep my voice calm and steady. “Why would she have killed Mr. Finch?”

  “Lover’s spat. Plain and simple.” Jerry reached for his mug and walked to the coffeepot. “She strangled him, which explains her sprained arm, then hanged him.” He filled his cup and brought it back to the desk. “Women can be downright ornery.”

  While I was fuming on the inside over the sexist remark, I decided to let it slide. “She told me she fell taking out the trash.”

  Jerry snorted. “Yeah, she took out the trash, all right! Get it? That trash was Franklin Finch, who took her to bed and then fired her.”

  According to Irma Fortuny, he’d taken her on the rug, not the bed, but it was a technicality not worth quibbling over with Jerry.

  “Why did she strangle him and then two hours later string him up? And why didn’t anybody see her at Christmas House Village?”

  “Maybe she was wearing a disguise.” Jerry ran his fingers through his scalp. “I don’t know. As to why, she isn’t talking. She’s called a lawyer.”

  “Derek or Ben?”

  “Nope. Somebody’s coming over from Charlotte.”

  “I still don’t understand why she waited maybe two hours to hang him. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does if she wanted to give herself an alibi,” countered the chief. “And my guess is that she wanted it to look like Finch hung himself. What better way to do that than to have him swinging from that beam when he’s found?”

  “Yeah, but how did she know Kim would be coming?”

  Jerry could only shrug. “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she only waited until she saw somebody coming and roped him up to make it look like suicide.”

  “A rope!” A light bulb went off in my head.

  “A rope?” Jerry turned his chair sideways, avoiding my eyes.

  “A rope, Jerry. That’s how it was done.”

  Jerry harrumphed like a dyspeptic cow. “Of course, it was a rope,” he said, spinning back around. “Most hangings are.”

  “You know those bits of rope that I saw on the window ledge and on the floor?”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “I think somebody, not necessarily Eve,” I said, wagging my finger at him, “used a rope to make Finch’s death appear to be a suicide.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes. “Just how did they manage that?”

  “Our killer tied one end of a long rope loosely around a leg of the stool, placed Finch on the stool, tossed the rope out the window to the attic below.

  “Think about it. It explains the strands of rope, the stool lying on its side, the open window. Everything!”

  “Sounds farfetched to me, Simms.”

  I ignored him. “Then, when our killer figured somebody was on their way upstairs . . .”

  I put my hands together and made a violent jerking motion with my arms. “Our killer pulls the rope and BOOM!” I slapped his desk. “Finch goes for a swing.”

  It made sense. But I still didn’t believe Eve was guilty of anything—except poor taste in bed partners.

  “Preposterous!”

  “Have you got a better theory?”

  “I’m working on it.” He jabbed a finger toward the back. “I’m holding Eve Dunnellon on suspicion. I’m figuring by morning she’ll be ready to confess.”

  “Oh, please.” As far as I was concerned, we had the how but not the who or the why.

  “Max’s stepsister—her name is Lizzie—drives, Jerry. She said she drives herself to work every day. Max lied to me. He told me he drives her to and from work every day because she doesn’t drive. There’s no love lost between those two either. And there’s rope at Christmas House Village just like the kind used to hang Finch.”

  “So is the one in Eve Dunnellon’s potting shed. If anything, you’re making your friend look guiltier.”

  I waved off his comments. “And Max was at Christmas House Village the night of the murder. I saw him myself, Jerry.”

  Jerry went through his case file. “I have no record of him being there or one of my officers speaking with him.”

  “He told me that the police told him to stay away.”

  “Then why don’t I have a record of it?”

  Incompetence came to mind, but I knew better than to suggest it. Besides, Max had probably lied to me about talking to the police, too. “Can I see Eve?”

  “No.”

  “Just for a minute?”

  Jerry held up his index finger. “Not for one second.”

  “What about Bobby Cherry?”

  “Still on the loose.”

  “Don’t you think it’s important to catch him?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a word with him.” Jerry rubbed his jaw. “Though, so far, the boy hasn’t done anything wrong, except run from you, and I can’t say that I blame him.”

  “Eve told me he’d been sabotaging things at Christmas House Village. That’s why he was fired.”

  “The word of a murderer.”

  My blood was hotter than Jerry’s steaming coffee. I stood. “Merry Christmas,” I cursed.

  “Thanks,” Jerry replied. “I’ll take a new shotgun or maybe a new set of golf clubs.” He threw his feet up on his desk.

  I threw myself out the door.

  * * * *

  When I returned to work, the store was busier than usual.

  “Good news,” said Esther, grabbing me as I came through the storeroom door. “I managed to sell that big purple-martin house that’s been gathering dust instead of birds.”

  “That’s great.” I smiled, removed my coat, and tossed it over a box.

  In one of my more optimistic moments soon after opening Birds & Bees, I had ordered the deluxe twenty-four-gourd purple martin kit. It came with an eighteen-foot pole that employed a winch and pulley system to raise and lower it. It retailed for over five hundred dollars and, as Esther so aptly put it, had been gathering dust and little interest, since arriving in the store.

  I followed Esther out to the sales floor. There were several customers wandering the aisles. The big space where the purple-martin gourd rack had hung suspended on its pole was blissfully empty. “The store practically looks twice as big with all that space now.”

  Esther nodded.

  I rubbed my arms. “Why is it so cold in here?”

  “That’s the not-so-good news.” Esther followed me to the thermostat.

  I read the display. “Sixty-two? Esther,” I said, reaching for the controls, “that’s practically freezing. You’ll chase all the customers away.”

  “Don’
t blame me. The heater’s broken again. I set the dial to eighty and still nothing.” That explained the thick knit cap she had pulled down over her ears.

  I squinted at the tiny gray display. Sure enough, it called for eighty. We should all be toasty and warm and we were chilled to the bone instead.

  I sighed. “Let’s make sure there’s plenty of hot beverages for the customers.”

  “Already done,” snapped Esther, turning on her heel to come to the aid of a customer who was ready to ring up his order.

  I went to check on the other customers and make sure they were finding everything. I still was not quite sure how I was going to make good on my promise of catching a killer that day. Unless he planned to walk in the door of Birds & Bees and introduce himself, Kim and I were going to have our work cut out for us.

  And we’d possibly be putting our lives on the line.

  I was considering the wisdom of my big-mouthed boast at that afternoon’s disastrous lunch get-together when Derek surprised me with an appearance at the store.

  He looked elegant and handsome in a dark blue suit and long black wool coat. He waited with his hands behind his back as I rang up a short line of customers.

  I went out from behind the counter then, and kissed him. His lips were warm. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I had a few minutes and thought I’d stop by. It looks like business is good.”

  “We’ve had a good day.”

  “Why is it so cold in here?”

  “There’s a problem with the furnace.”

  “Again?”

  I shrugged. “How about a hot drink to warm you up?”

  “You warm me up enough.”

  I grinned and took his hand, leading him to the kitchenette, where he chose a cup of hot tea with local honey. I took a cup as well.

  Derek removed his winter coat and laid it over the bookcase. We sat in the rocking chairs. I filled him in on my failed détente between Kim, Ellery Belzer, and the Christmas House Village staff.

  Derek nodded but remained oddly quiet as I talked. I set my cup on the floor, reached over and rested my hand on his knee. “You’re awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah, sure.” He raised his cup and drank.

  “What is it?”