Holly and Homicide

by Leslie Caine

  I shook my head. “Audrey’s already wealthy, and she truly loves this house. In some ways, it’s a larger version of her own house in Crestview. She just wants to have a hand in running a successful B-and-B in the mountains, I promise you. She isn’t in it for the money.”

  “She will be, though, when Barton puts visions of dollar signs dancing in her head. But even if you’re right about Audrey, Mikara made an excellent point earlier. We can’t trust Chiffon not to let Barton pay her off. So I’m giving her a big, splashy ego boost by showing her off to this town. I’m calling Chiffon up, and I’m putting her in charge of the Christmas display outside. She already expressed interest in doing that for us. If you two could please help her with anything she asks, this will all turn out just great.”

  Precisely what the woman who wanted us to move her fireplace said. Immediately prior to the sinkhole that developed. “So …I should hold off on hanging the outside lights?” I asked.

  “For now, yeah. Just till we see if they’ll fit in with Chiffon’s ideas. To keep Audrey from feeling left out, I’ll put her in charge of dreaming up a theme for the interior Christmas decorations.”

  “Should Audrey pick out the tree with me?” Sullivan asked.

  Henry was already saying, “Hello, Chiffon?” into his cell phone and didn’t answer. Once again, Steve and I exchanged glances. Steve mimed having a noose tighten around his neck.

  A few minutes later, while Sullivan and Henry engaged in the manly pursuit of chopping down a tree, I took it upon myself to order a top-of-the-line high-volume water filtration system. Even an inspector hell-bent on flunking this place would be unable to criticize our lead-contaminant levels once the filter was installed. The unit would be shipped immediately and would arrive on Friday.

  Oddly, the plumbers in town seemed to have time available until I identified where the work was to be done, at which point they claimed to be booked solid till after Christmas. I blew up at the third plumber, who’d grumbled about “the Wendell Barton B-and-B,” and I cried, “What is it with you people?! Don’t you all take service calls at Barton’s numerous condos?”

  “Sure we do, lady. Just not at the mayor’s house. He claimed to be one of us in order to get our vote, then the chump sold out to Barton!”

  “Suit yourself. You’re only depriving yourself of a nice paycheck. I’ll get a plumber from out of town, or see if Ben Orlin can install it.”

  “Better to lose one customer than all of the local business. Or to get all my work flunked by the building inspector from here on out.”

  That captured my full attention. “You mean that Angie Woolf is coercing you into refusing to work for Henry?”

  There was a pause. “Not exactly,” he said. “I haven’t talked to Angie in weeks. That’s just the buzz around town. But you didn’t hear it from me.” He hung up.

  Stunned, I mulled the situation and decided to discuss the townies with Ben Orlin, our contractor, who seemed to be one of the only local residents likely to be frank with me. Three months ago he’d forewarned that we were going to be run through the wringer before we’d be allowed to open our doors. At the time, that notion had seemed silly; who could possibly object to a tasteful B-and-B? Obviously we’d underestimated the widespread hostility toward Wendell.

  I dialed Ben’s cell phone and heard it ring nearby. It sounded like he was upstairs. I looked up and called out, “Ben?” from the middle of the hall.

  “Yeah. Just a sec, Erin.” He was leaning over the oak railing now, and waved to me. “There’s someone on my phone.”

  “No, that’s me, too. I didn’t realize you were nearby.”

  “Just fixing the closet door that came off its tracks on the second floor. Be right there.”

  A moment later he came down the stairs. Ben was an unassuming man in his early forties. He always wore work boots, baggy jeans, a long-sleeved thermal, and a flannel shirt. He seemed to shave only on Sundays. This being Tuesday, he had a moderate stubble.

  “Did Angie Woolf have problems with the gazebo?” he asked.

  “No, with our concrete front steps. She says they’re too steep.”

  He grimaced. “That’s going to be a pain in the …neck to fix. Did she leave the specs?”

  “I think so. She said the whole stoop would need to be demolished and rebuilt.”

  He scratched his head through his mop of brown hair. “That means I’ve got to go rent a bulldozer. And hire a demo crew. Might as well get right on it. We’ll have to hope the weather forecast will cooperate for pouring new cement. If so, I might be able to do the job myself.”

  “Do you think you could also install a filtration system for the tap water? It’s supposed to arrive on Friday.”

  He grimaced, but then replied, “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  “Thank you. That’s a relief. When it comes to construction, you’re really a jack-of-all-trades.”

  He shrugged. “You kind of have to be in this business. Plus, I built my own house from the ground up. Gave me something to do during the construction slumps.”

  “Your skills are sure turning out to be helpful for our sake. Angie seems to have it in for us. The plumbers I spoke with wouldn’t even come out for fear of losing customers in town and Angie flunking their future inspections.” I paused, but he had no comment. Still hoping to get his perspective, I prompted, “Everyone in town calls this ‘the Wendell Barton B-and-B.’ I hope all the work we’ve given you here is a good thing for you, ultimately. It’s more than clear that the old-time residents of Snowcap don’t appreciate this project.”

  “It’s no problem. Folks don’t ever begrudge my working on the Goodwin estate. I took over this carpentry business from my father, who headed up many a renovation in this house.” He grinned proudly and gestured at the steps. “He rebuilt this staircase himself, step by step, spindle by spindle.”

  “It’s spectacular,” I said honestly as I gazed at the stunning creation. It was one of the grandest staircases I’d ever seen, suitable for Rhett to ascend with Scarlett in his arms. This was actually the second time that Ben had told me about his father’s handiwork, but it displayed such fine craftsmanship that the story bore repeating.

  “I think I already told you that my grandfather was one of the chief carpenters who built this house for Henry Goodwin’s grandfather, some eighty years ago. So this old house and me have got a bond. Not even Wendell Barton can take that away from me.”

  “It sounds like you don’t like him, either.”

  He squirmed but then answered affably, “He came in and changed the whole nature of this town. I got the same old gripe everyone’s got with him.” He chuckled. “I’m sure Mikara gave you an earful. She’s been catching quite a bit of criticism around town for coming to work here.”

  A drawer slammed in the kitchen behind us. Ben winced. “Oops. That ain’t gonna sit well. I’m gonna catch holy hell myself for talking about her behind her back.”

  “Sorry about that,” I answered quietly. “And for your needing to rebuild the front porch steps, too.”

  “That’s all right. ’Twasn’t your fault.” He started to head toward the front door, then stopped. “Hey, I almost forgot to ask. Where’d you want the bamboo chair?”

  “What bamboo chair?”

  “It was in a box on the back porch. All sealed up, but with no shipping label, beyond ‘The Goodwin estate’ scrawled in marker. I just found it there when I first got here this morning, a little after eight.”

  “Do you have any idea who sent it?”

  “Beats me. Sometimes delivery men leave boxes out there. I brought it in, unpacked it, and left it in the office.”

  “Maybe it’s Mikara’s.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ben said. “That’s probably it. I better go ask before I recycle the box, though.” He left, heading for the kitchen, and I sorted through the tree decorations. Steve and Henry would be bringing the tree in any minute. Although I couldn’t hang the external lights today or trim the tree, my
new plan was to get the preliminary steps done—wire the star in place and hang the tree lights.

  “She says it’s not hers,” Ben said, returning to the room. “Meantime, I really gotta get goin’ on those front steps.”

  “I’ll look into it on my own, Ben. Thanks.”

  Curious now, I went into the office to see the chair for myself. It was constructed from cheap wicker and was round with a high back—hardly the quality of anything Sullivan and Gilbert Designs would select. If someone over two hundred pounds were to sit on it, the thing could shatter into daggerlike pieces.

  Mikara entered the room. “Is this the chair Ben was talking about?”

  “It must be.” I started to run my hand over the cane on the seat. There’s not a whole lot to—” I stopped and jerked my hand back. “A spider,” I said as I watched the arachnid speed across the surface. I spotted two more. Then a fourth.

  “Jeez,” I muttered. “What’s going on? There’s a ton of them!”

  “What the—” Mikara looked inside the large box, which Ben had left just inside the door. “There’s a batch of spiders in the box, too! This is going to be my bedroom! We’ve got to get this out of here!” She ran out of the room, shouting, “Ben!”

  With my skin crawling, I dragged the box over and shoved the chair inside. By then, Ben had rushed to join us.

  “I’m telling Henry he has to pay to have this room fumigated,” Mikara grumbled. “This was a trap, meant for me! I’m surprised they didn’t paint ‘Benedict Arnold Woolf’ on the chair.”

  “Nobody could have known this was going to be your room,” I replied.

  “That’s right,” Ben said. He hoisted the box off the floor. “I only put it here so it’d be out of the way. Tell Henry I’m taking this thing straight out to the Dumpster.”

  Mikara watched Ben carry the chair out the door. “This is too much of a coincidence to be an accident,” she declared. “I’m deathly allergic to spider bites. And Ben Orlin is one of just a handful of people who know that about me.”

  To avoid the rut of hauling out the same holiday decorations year after year, consider completely switching things up every once in a while—employ nontraditional colors and think outside the Christmas box.

  —Audrey Munroe

  Audrey Munroe arrived at the inn around four o’clock that afternoon. By then we had a magnificent blue spruce in place in the center of the lobby. The tip of the star was nearly level with the third floor, twenty-five feet up. Sullivan and I had strung its lights, holding off on decorating it until Henry’d had the chance to ask Audrey if she wanted to trim the tree herself.

  She and I were encamped in a pair of cozy overstuffed chairs in front of a splendid crackling fire in the moss-rock fireplace. We’d decided we deserved a respite from our reasonably productive days, and I was waiting to see if she’d bring up her date with Wendell Barton all on her own. Audrey had completed the last of her December shows to be shot in Denver; her remaining Dom Bliss TV segments would be taped here in Snowcap Village. This afternoon, I’d shared a few reassuringly pleasant hours with Mikara. We’d chosen bedroom furniture and accessories to transform Henry’s former office into her own private retreat. She was so pleased, she got over her fear of spiders and unpacked her suitcases, after all.

  Audrey eyed the tree, which stood in its regal splendor a few yards away and filled the air with a fresh, woodsy aroma. “That’s a gorgeous spruce you selected, and the perfect fit. But why didn’t you hang its decorations? You’d told me you were going to finish off the tree in one day.”

  Not wanting to steal Henry’s thunder, I said, “We thought we’d wait for you. I know how much you love trimming our tree at home every year.”

  “True. I’d be happy to help. In fact, it feels a little strange this season. Here we are, suddenly spending all our time decorating someone else’s home for the holidays.”

  I smiled at her. “Decorating other people’s homes is pretty much my job description.”

  “But being away from your own home so much of the time isn’t. You’re only there on weekends now, and that’s right when I am likeliest to be up here. It’s working out well for Hildi. In fact, the cat-sitter’s had nothing to do. Meanwhile, you and I are never back in Crestview together long enough to put our heads together regarding the house’s holiday decorations.”

  “True, but then again, I don’t recall your ever discussing decorations with me in seasons past. I’d come home from work one day, and the house would be all decked out in red and green.”

  “Well, yes, but that’s just it—I’m not going to go with my standard decorations this year.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “No, every five or six years I like to go with something utterly nontraditional, just to keep things fresh and unpredictable. Instead of the standard candy-apple red and kelly green, I’ll use only magenta and sage, for example, or hot pink and lime green. This year I thought we’d try royal blue and a deep purple, with just a few splashes of silver here and there.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Oh, good! I was hoping you’d approve. Since neither of us will be home all that often till Christmas day, I’m going to do this one on the cheap. I’ll rely heavily on blue and purple ribbons, fabric swatches, wrapping paper … that sort of thing.”

  “That’s a good idea …just so long as the ribbons aren’t dangling at Hildi level. I have visions of her knocking everything off the table as she starts swinging from a ribbon.”

  Audrey nodded. “Point well taken.”

  “You can put blue and purple bows on the lamp shades, though, and she’ll leave those alone.”

  “Which will look lovely. And we’ll use ribbons on the fireplace mantels, and the stair railings, as well.” She paused. “I’ll just have to be sure to zigzag blue and green boas and ribbons through only the upper branches of the tree so Hildi isn’t tempted to play with them. Oh, and I have another idea. You know that deep ceramic bowl I have that looks like a loose-woven basket?”

  “The white one?”

  “Yes. I’m going to fill it with a string of tiny white Christmas lights, then with blue and purple glass marbles. I’ll top it off with a layer of minipinecones …with some fake stemmed red berries mixed in, just for an extra splash of color.”

  “Lovely! Is there anything you’d like me to do, this weekend or the next?”

  “No, that isn’t necessary, really …” Her lingering “really …” made it clear that her mind was racing with possible job assignments for me.

  “It may not be necessary, but I’d feel better if you’d let me help. Unless you’d like to change policies and allow me to start paying you rent, that is.”

  “No, don’t be silly. I won’t accept your money.”

  “Then what would you like me to do toward creating our blue, purple, and sometimes silver Christmas décor?”

  “Oh, well, if you insist …” She leaned forward in her seat. “I’d like you to—”

  “Hang on. Let me get my notepad.” I jumped up to snatch my notepad and pen from my purse, which I’d taken to stashing in Henry’s coat closet by the front door. I returned to my seat. “Go ahead.”

  “We’ll need a blue, purple, and silver wreath for the front door. Nothing too ostentatious.”

  “Any holly or pine boughs on the base, or strictly ornaments … spray-painted plastic fruit, glass balls, that sort of thing?”

  She shook her head. “No greens. You’ll have to wrap fabric or ribbon around the Styrofoam ring.”

  “Got it,” I said with a nod.

  “Create table runners for all the tables in complementary patterns. Don’t overuse any one fabric. And design the centerpieces as well. Just for the kitchen table, dining room, and coffee tables.”

  “Not the end tables, though, right?” I asked.

  “No. Unless you have extra time.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. We are going with a live tree, though, aren’t we? Not a blue or purple one?
I can have the cat-sitter water the tree periodically.”

  “You decide. You and Steve can get the tree on Saturday. Oh, and you know what else would be really nice, Erin?”

  “What?” I was trying to sound casual, but she was getting the sparkle in her eyes that spelled trouble. I had to figure out a way to curtail this conversation soon, or I’d be working nonstop every weekend from now till Christmas Eve and paying hundreds and hundreds of dollars for materials that wouldn’t be used again for another five or six years—if ever.

  “Little trees for each of the bathrooms. Just a foot or so tall. They could sit on top of the toilet tanks. As long as they’re positioned so that they won’t poke into the back of anyone sitting on the john. And we could fasten hooks to all those fancy miniature soaps that people tend to give me …you know, those acquaintances who don’t realize I’d prefer an inexpensive bottle of wine to a batch of tiny pieces of soap.”

  “A soap tree would be unusual, but fastening hooks to soap might prove to be harder than it sounds.” Although I could always enclose each soap in plastic wrap and attach hooks to the wrap. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that keen about the idea of a miniature tree on a toilet tank, so I kept the thought to myself. “Plus, like you were saying, we’re not going to be at the house all that much.”

  “Well, we won’t be there until Christmas, but I’ve got two weeks’ vacation built into my taping schedule, and—”

  I hopped to my feet. “Speaking of wine, it’s closing in on five, and I think I hear a claret calling our names.”

  Audrey chuckled. “Why, I believe you’re right, Erin. And it would be rude of us to keep a fine claret waiting any longer than necessary.”