Mayhem & Mistletoe

by Amanda M. Lee

  “So ... Trashtopia instead of Narnia?”

  “Something like that.” I fished in my pocket for my mittens — they were shaped like shark heads and I did perform puppet shows for my boss when he gave me assignments I wasn’t keen to embrace. “What do you have?”

  Derrick looked me up and down. We’d grown up together. He was essentially my best friend — along with the sheriff, Jake Farrell, of course — when I was navigating those tempestuous teen years. He knew me better than most, which made him dangerous to be around right now. Given the way my emotions seemed to be riding a roller coaster through soap opera town, I would’ve preferred giving him a wide berth.

  That didn’t look to be an option today.

  “What’s up with you?” Derrick demanded. “You look ... different.”

  Uh-oh. “I think that’s just wishful thinking on your part.”

  He wouldn’t let it go. “Are you sick?”

  “Sick and tired of stupid questions.”

  “How are things at work?”

  “Fine. Normal.”

  He hitched his thumbs under his utility belt. “I’ve known you most of my life. That first nine months I had to myself before you joined the family was the best ever, but I’ve learned to adjust. Heck, I’ve even gotten used to you over the years.”

  “Should I applaud that revelation?”

  He barreled forward as if he hadn’t heard the snark. “I know you and I know there’s something going on.” To my surprise, he reached over and rested his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not still in trouble at work, are you?”

  He was asking out of true concern. That was a good thing ... at least in his mind. Sure, I would’ve preferred being left to my own devices — to sulk and hide — but I lived in the real world. And, because I was good at my job, that meant I had to deal with him.

  “Work is fine,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “It’s the same.”

  “It can’t be the same. You almost lost your job over that whole Tad Ludington thing. I’m sure you’re still worked up over that.”

  Confusion washed over me. “Are you moonlighting as a psychologist?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Then why do you even care how I feel?”

  His chest heaved and he squared his shoulders. “Because you’re a person. You have feelings and they need to be expressed. It’s not good for you to hold things inside.”

  That was the biggest load of horse manure I’d ever heard. “Um ... I was under the impression that everyone in the family believed emotions should be held in check until the inevitable explosion leveled everyone inside the safe distance. I’m not quite ready for the public humiliation portion of that blessed family event, but the second I am, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Derrick scratched the side of his nose but kept staring. I could tell he was caught between two emotions.

  “What’s up with you?” I opted to take control. “Why are you suddenly trying to Dr. Phil me?” A horrible thought occurred to me. “Did Eliot put you up to this? Is he trying to get me to confide in you? That’s cheating, and I don’t like it.”

  Derrick’s eyebrows drew together and he looked more confused than ever. “Why would Eliot put me up to this? Is something going on with Eliot?”

  I’d overplayed my hand. “No. Is something going on with Devon?”

  “Isn’t there always something going on with Devon?”

  Now we were getting somewhere. He wasn’t questioning me out of concern for me. He was questioning me because of something his pregnant fiancée was foisting upon him. This I could deal with. “What is it now? Does she want you to learn to express your feelings?”

  Derrick’s eyes went wide. “How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess.” I waffled on Devon. Seventy-five percent of the time I hated her. The other twenty-five percent I tolerated her. A few weeks ago, she’d helped me through a difficult time — for nothing in return — and our relationship was on solid ground for now. I didn’t want to rock that particular boat.

  “She thinks I’m closed off emotionally,” Derrick volunteered.

  “So?”

  “That’s what I said.” He shot me a relieved grin. “I told her it was a family trait — we live on caffeine and snark, after all — but she doesn’t think it was funny. The baby is due in two months. She’s decided that I need to learn to talk about my feelings if we’re going to live happily ever after.”

  That was patently ludicrous. “Happily ever after is a myth. It’s something Disney concocted to sell movie tickets. Nobody is happy forever.”

  “Agreed. But she brought up a few good points.” He looked uncomfortable as he shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to be emotionally distant from my kid. I want to be a good father.”

  I took pity on him. “You’ll be a great father.”

  “Devon thinks otherwise.”

  “She’s watched too many Hallmark movies. People say horror rots the brain, but it’s really Hallmark movies. They give people unrealistic expectations when it comes to romance. It’s a bunch of crap.”

  My mini-diatribe earned a smile. “I agree with you, which is terrifying. I guess it doesn’t matter. I was simply trying to be a good listener when I asked you about your feelings. It won’t happen again.”

  “That would be awesome.” I inclined my head toward the deputies working about fifty feet away. “What do you have?”

  “A dead body.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I never would’ve guessed. What kind of dead body?”

  “It will likely lose something in the telling. You might want to take a look for yourself.”

  It was rare he invited me to a crime scene. That had my inner Avery-sense tingling. This story might turn out to be good after all. I fell into step with him. I knew he wouldn’t let me get too close to the body, but he didn’t stop me until I was about twenty feet from the tracks.

  It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. The first thing that rushed to my mind was that I had landed in the middle of a horror movie. I thought the sea of red was blood. There was a light dusting of snow, not enough to cover the scant grass and the railroad ballast, but enough to wash out the color on the ground. That’s why the red was so jarring.

  Then the entire picture came together.

  “Is that ...?”

  Derrick nodded, a grimace sneaking past his barriers. “A dead Santa Claus? Yup.”

  “No way.” I moved closer without invitation. I’d never seen anything like this, not even in a horror movie. I couldn’t tell up from down. “What happened to him?”

  “That’s the question.” Derrick moved closer to me. “We’re not sure. We’re waiting on the medical examiner now. He’s at a crack house in Warren. It looks like they got a bad dose of crank. Three dead.”

  “That’s really sad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I would think this takes precedence,” I prodded. “I mean ... this could be murder, right?” The body was badly mangled.

  “It could be an accident,” Derrick pointed out. “I mean ... it is right next to the train tracks.”

  “Yeah, but ....” It looked as if someone had swiped at the body with a knife. Maybe even a hundred swipes. I was a gore hound when it came to movies, and yet even I found it difficult to look at the remains. “How long do you think he’s been out here?”

  Derrick shrugged. “The medical examiner will be able to give us a better idea. He’s about twenty minutes out.”

  I glanced at the sky. It looked as if it was about to open up with a terrific bout of freezing rain.

  “You don’t have to stay,” he offered. “We’ll send out a news release in a few hours.”

  I thought about the scene I would likely face at the office — a positively giddy Fish teasing me — and shook my head. “No, I’ll wait it out.”

  “I figured.” Derrick’s grin was back. He almost appeared smug as he leaned against one of the police cruisers. “So, t
ell me what’s going on in your life?”

  “Is this more of that psychobabble Devon’s trying to get you to participate in?”

  “No, this is cousin-babble. See, I know you. You’re hiding something.”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” I protested, my temper jumping to my throat. “I’m an open book.”

  “Yeah, you’re a consummate liar when you’re trying to cover up your feelings. Just tell me what you’re hiding. Is it about Tad?”

  I hesitated. Tad Ludington was my college boyfriend, though that wasn’t a stat I would ever list on a rèsumè. I dated him after Jake, and I really regretted wasting time on him. After college, he moved to Macomb County and won a county commission seat, from which he proceeded to build his legacy as my arch nemesis. We’d been at each other’s throats for years.

  Six weeks ago, he’d been shot and left for dead. He could’ve easily died, and was close a couple of times, but he’d pulled through. Unfortunately, during the time he was unconscious I was considered a suspect in his shooting. I’d been suspended from the newspaper until things could be cleared up, and my future looked bleak. Only Eliot’s insistence on working with me had kept me sane. He was driving me to the nuthouse these days, but that was a concern for another time.

  “It’s not Tad, though I don’t suppose you know how he is?” I felt stupid asking about Tad given our history.

  “He’s back on his feet, terrorizing the county government through FaceTime if the stories are to be believed.” Derrick let loose a smirk. “I think he still has some physical therapy in front of him, but I hear he’s coming back to work full time any day now.”

  That was not what I wanted to hear. “He shouldn’t have won that election.”

  Derrick smirked. “He got the sympathy vote because of the shooting.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t make it right.”

  “We’re stuck with him now. He won’t come up for election again for another two years.”

  “I guess I have that to look forward to.” I was momentarily morose. “I know that I shouldn’t wish him ill, but he really is the world’s biggest tool.”

  “He is,” Derrick agreed. “Is that what has you worked up? Are you angry with yourself for wishing bad things upon him? He’s got it coming where you’re concerned.”

  “I don’t feel bad about wishing he would fall in a well and have to live there with the other trolls.”

  “Then what has you so worked up?”

  “What makes you think I’m worked up?”

  “I’ve met you.”

  The inclination to confide in Derrick was suddenly overwhelming, even though I knew it was a mistake. Thankfully, one of the deputies walking the tracks picked that moment to signal to him.

  “That doesn’t look good,” I noted, focusing on the white-faced deputy. He was breathing hard, bent over at the waist, hands resting on his knees. I thought he might vomit. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing regurgitated doughnuts.

  I didn’t ask for permission to follow Derrick — I rarely asked for permission on a crime scene — silently following him to the deputy.

  “What is it?” Derrick asked.

  “Over there,” the deputy rasped out, pointing to a copse of trees. “I ... you ... it’s hell on earth.”

  Oh, well, that was enough to pique my interest.

  Derrick didn’t look over his shoulder or admonish me to stay back. To me, that signaled tacit invitation. I made sure not to crowd him so he wouldn’t remember my presence.

  The second we walked around to the other side of the trees, the bits of red I saw had my heart pounding.

  As if in slow motion, he pushed back the bough of a tree, revealing one of the most horrific sights I’d ever seen ... real world or horror movies.

  There had to be at least five bodies. My brain simply wouldn’t compute what I saw. They were piled on top of each other, almost like a pile of logs, discarded in the middle of the small clearing like the rest of the trash littering the nearby abandoned lots.

  Derrick viciously swore under his breath as he let the tree branch swing back. When he turned and found me standing directly behind him, all traces of emotional empowerment were gone.

  “What are you doing here?” His tone was accusatory. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back. “Get back to the lot. This is a closed crime scene.”

  I didn’t take his change of heart personally. I knew what he was facing. The first body by the train tracks could’ve been a terrible accident, a drunken mall Santa who had fallen asleep on the tracks or inadvertently walked in front of a train. The other bodies told a different story.

  “You have to go,” Derrick insisted, his eyes frantic as he dug into his pocket. I didn’t have to ask who he was going to call. The sheriff had to be apprised of the situation. “You can’t be back here.”

  “It’s a serial killer,” I said. “You have a serial killer.”

  The look he shot me was withering. “I know what I have. You have to get out of here. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  I held up my hands and stepped back. “I guess it could be a spree killer,” I amended. “I mean ... maybe they were drug-dealing Santas or something.”

  Derrick was in no mood for my fanciful imagination. “Go!”

  This time I acquiesced.

  3 Three

  I watched the fallout from the discovery from my car, my phone in hand so I could keep Fish updated. He’d immediately ripped apart the news budget when he heard and dispatched a photographer to shoot from the other side of the railroad tracks. For now, I was stuck watching and waiting.

  I was distracted when my phone rang and didn’t notice it was Eliot until I’d already swiped to answer.

  “Hello, Pop-Tart,” he said, causing me to cringe.

  “I hate it when you call me that,” I muttered.

  Rather than engage in an argument, he chuckled. “What would you prefer I call you?”

  “What’s wrong with Avery?”

  “Nothing. Your name fits you. But I like the idea of having a nickname for you.”

  “It doesn’t have to be Pop-Tart.”

  “Do you prefer cupcake?”

  “No.”

  “Potato chip?”

  That almost made me laugh, which was what he was going for, but I held it together. “No.”

  “Pooky?”

  “Eliot.” I kept my voice low as my temper threatened to come out and play. “Is there a specific reason you called?” I didn’t mean to be snippy with him — honestly, I loved him beyond reason, which was absolutely frightening to me — but my mind was on other things right now and I had no interest in playing games.

  “You’re crabby.” He was quiet a moment. “Is something wrong?” He almost sounded as if he expected me to go off on a tangent. I knew what he was bracing himself for, but I had no intention of giving him what he wanted.

  “I’m by the railroad tracks on Groesbeck.”

  I could practically hear him mentally shifting gears. “That’s a random place to hang out.”

  “We heard notification about a body over the scanner.”

  “Ah.” He was probably nodding on the other end of the call, things coming together. “Did someone get hit by a train?”

  “Maybe. They weren’t sure when I first arrived. The body was ... messed up. The dude was wearing a Santa suit, which was all kinds of weird. We were waiting for the medical examiner when something else happened.”

  “The way you’re drawing it out makes me think you’re talking about something big.” He was all business now. “Do you need me to come out there?”

  Absolutely not. I was more than capable of covering my own stories. Sure, we’d been more of a team than two people working in parallel fashion the past few months, but I was still capable of doing my job. “I know how to cover a story.”

  “I didn’t say otherwise.”

  “You insinuated it.”

  “Th
at’s your busy brain making things up.” His tone never changed and he remained calm. “What else happened?”

  I told him in halting terms. I was still coming to grips with it myself. When I was finished, he was silent so long I thought I might’ve lost him.

  “Eliot?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m still here,” he said finally. “I just ... that is freaky. What do you think happened?”

  “There are only two options: We either have a serial killer or a mob hit.”

  “You think the mob is going after mall Santas?”

  “We don’t know they’re mall Santas. They could be dressed up for another reason.”

  “Sex?”

  I scowled. “That is gross and disturbing. Everyone knows that if you’re going to pick a Christmas theme for role play you go with the Grinch.”

  That got him laughing. “I did not realize that. Thank you for the inspiration, though. I was just going to get some mistletoe and hang it over our bed. Now you’ve given me something else to think about.”

  Despite my best efforts to remain surly, I smirked. “You should put it on the fan so it spins around and keeps us active.”

  “Now I have two things to do before you get home. Seriously, why do you think the mob is a possibility?”

  “Because these guys could’ve been dressed up as Santas to fly under the radar or something. They’re not releasing names just yet, but we have at least six dead guys. I think that number will be closer to eight by the time they sort it out. Derrick kicked me out before I could get a solid count.”

  “Could you see any wounds?”

  “The first guy looked mangled, as if he’d been chewed up and spit out. That’s why I assumed he was at least clipped by the train and dragged for a bit. The other bodies make me think otherwise.”

  “Obviously.” He exhaled heavily. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come out there?”

  It was a sweet offer. His presence of late, however, left me jittery and worried. “I’m okay. I won’t be here much longer. Once I get all the information they’re willing to share, I’m heading back to the office to write my story.”