Death of a Dapper Snowman

by Angela Pepper

  The sign read:

  1. All tools must be signed out using the sign-up sheet.

  2. Tools not returned within 36 hours will be considered stolen and replacement value charged to the borrower’s apartment.

  3. No auto body work beyond oil changes may be performed in the underground parking lot…

  There were more points to the tool-borrowing rules list—another ten of them—but I’d learned what I needed to know from the first item alone.

  Now the girl I’d assaulted with a bulk-warehouse-sized jug of laundry detergent was breathing again, and sobbing on my shoulder.

  “I don’t know who killed Mr. Michaels,” she said. “He was my friend. Honestly, I wouldn’t ever hurt him. I only went to his house a few times because I was worried about him. Who told you? Was it that lady with the dog? She saw me at his house and demanded to know who I was or she was going to call the police. I can’t get mixed up in any trouble!”

  “What lady with the dog? Wait. When were you at his house?”

  “Um… I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t.”

  “Harper, did you see something at his house? You have to come clean and tell the police what you were up to. Other people could be in danger.”

  She sniffed and pulled away from my shoulder.

  “I didn’t see anything, I swear. The first time I went over, after I hadn’t seen him in a few days, the snowman was already there.” She sobbed for a moment, then got herself calmed down enough to continue. “I thought the snowman was adorable. I took a picture of myself with it. Can you imagine? Poor Mr. Michaels was inside there, and I was taking my picture with that horrible thing, like an idiot.”

  I patted her back. “You couldn’t haven’t known.”

  “I didn’t go inside the house, though. I walked around and looked in some of the windows. There was a woman out walking her dog. It was a tiny dog, in a sweater.” She wiped her eyes with the edges of her sleeves.

  “I’ve seen that woman around.” My mind raced. Was she the killer? Her and the mailman?

  Harper kept wiping her eyes. “I told her I was his daughter. I forgot this was such a small town, where everybody knows everybody. She said he didn’t have a daughter, and I thought for sure she was going to call the police, so I told her about how he and my mother used to date.” She shook her head. “I’m so stupid.”

  “So, you’re not his daughter?”

  Her body tensed, and she used her feet to slide herself away from me on the concrete floor.

  “Why did you throw that thing at me?” She kept inching toward the room’s only exit. “Why do you care if I’m his daughter?”

  “Harper, I don’t care about that.” I held out my palms to show her I had nothing else to throw at her. “Honestly, I saw you with that hammer a minute ago, and I jumped to conclusions. I guess when you accused me of following you, that was just a joke, right?”

  She nodded. “I figured you were here because you’re friends with Jessica. It was just a stupid joke.” She buried her face in her palms. “I’ll never fit in here, will I?”

  I wanted to reassure the crying girl that she would fit in just fine, but I wasn’t exactly one to talk.

  “Everything is so messed up,” she groaned.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here? Why Misty Falls?”

  She lifted her face from her hands and said, softly, “My real name’s not Harper. I moved here so my sister and I could get a fresh start. We came to this town because my mother really did used to date Mr. Michaels. She’s gone now, but the way she talked about the town… I wanted to see it for myself. See if it could be as good as she said.”

  “And Mr. Michaels is your father?”

  “I don’t have proof, and I don’t have the money to run one of those DNA tests. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. I wanted to meet him first and see if he was nice. To see if I wanted him to be my father.”

  “Oh.” I let what she was saying wash over me. “Well, he bought the place next door to my father back when I was a kid, so I’ve known him for a while.”

  She looked up at me with red-rimmed, hopeful eyes. “Was he a good man?”

  “I think so. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, if that’s what you mean. Sure, he was a little odd, but… my father’s not exactly normal. You don’t get to pick your family.”

  She held her arms across her chest and timidly asked, “What was he like?”

  “Hmm.” I tried to figure out how to best frame what I knew about the deceased man. “He loved books, and he tried to get the neighborhood kids interested in reading.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched up. “That’s nice,” she said. “What else?”

  I thought of the time my sister and I had set up a lemonade stand on the sidewalk in front of our house. He came out and asked us a bunch of questions. We thought he was going to get us to move the stand over, so it wasn’t in front of his house, but he didn’t. Instead, he brought out a calculator and some paper and showed us why we weren’t charging enough for our individual cups of lemonade to cover our expenses. He helped us make a new sign, and then guilted several neighbors into buying lemonade from us.

  I told Harper the whole story, and by the end, her eyes were dried and she was smiling.

  “That’s a cute story,” she said.

  I cleared my throat and blinked rapidly to compose myself. “I never realized it before now, but when he showed us the cost calculations and how to figure out a profit margin, something clicked in my head. I think Mr. Michaels was the first person to get me interested in business.”

  “He was a good man,” she said.

  I nodded in agreement. Now that I was looking for it, I could see the family resemblance between her and Mr. Michaels. There was something in the angle of her chin, the tilt of her nose, and the color of her blue eyes. She resembled the man enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if the DNA tests confirmed he was her father.

  “You do look a bit like him,” I said.

  She gave me a weak smile. “My father, the town’s kleptomaniac.”

  “Is he also your sister’s father?”

  She shook her head. “She’s my half sister.”

  “How old?”

  “Only fifteen. I’m trying to get her enrolled in high school, but I don’t know if we can risk requesting her transcripts. She’s the reason we had to run. She got mixed up with the wrong people, and we had to leave. In a hurry. Please don’t tell anyone, will you?” She gasped, remembering something I’d said a few minutes earlier. “You said something about having the cops look into me, didn’t you?”

  She jumped to her feet and headed toward the door.

  “Harper, wait!” I cried as I got to my feet. “I’ll talk to the police for you. My dad was a cop, and I’m friends with some of them. You don’t have to run. They don’t even know your real name.”

  She stood with her hand on the door knob, her back to me. “Nobody can know we’re here,” she said softly.

  “You can trust me,” I said, and I meant it. “But I just have to ask you one more thing. Why were you at the pawn shop today?”

  She turned and gave me a sad look over her shoulder.

  “I have some jewelry of my mother’s that I’ve been thinking about selling. It would be smart for us to have some cash in reserve, in case we suddenly need to leave town again. Mr. Michaels recommended that particular shop.” She looked down at her feet, like it was too much effort to maintain eye contact with me. “We only spoke to each other three times. I’ve been working at the diner, and he used to come in every Sunday for what he called his Big Dinner. The last time I saw him was during that big snowstorm, and we closed early. He and I sat together and shared a meal. I didn’t know it would be our last one. I planned to tell him about who my mother was the next Sunday, but then he didn’t come in.”

  “Harper, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She gave me a wistful smile. “Maybe this is how it was meant to be. We had
our Sunday dinner together, and I like to think he’s smiling down on me now, and that he’s glad we met.”

  “That’s a really nice thought.”

  She slowly pulled open the door and then slipped out, leaving me alone in the laundry room.

  I leaned against the washing machine for a minute.

  I felt awful, but also great. I’d nearly made a mess of Harper's new life, but I’d also given her some comforting information about the man potentially was her father.

  I reached into the washing machine, picked up the fallen hammer, and returned it to the tool box, as per the posted sign.

  Chapter 25

  After all the excitement in the laundry room, eating pizza and watching TV with Jessica was a welcome break.

  “Wow. You folded everything,” she said. “Is that what took you so long? I thought you’d gotten lost.”

  “I love folding hot laundry,” I said, which was true.

  We put away the laundry, then settled on the sofa with our pizza.

  I didn’t mention my confrontation with Harper in the laundry room, or how I’d hurled a year’s worth of liquid detergent at the poor girl. If Harper and her sister were on the run from someone, it wasn’t my secret to share.

  I could, however, tell my best friend about the insanity with my father’s love life.

  “And Pam’s still at your father’s house?” Jessica looked as stunned as I felt.

  “Still there. Hasn’t said a word to me about the breakup, but by the way she was burning the french toast this morning, she’s not exactly oblivious. What if she won’t move out? Do you think he’ll need to evict her?”

  “I don’t know.” Jessica was so stunned, she sat with her mouth open and the slice of pizza inches away, but not going in.

  “I’ll probably stay over there again tonight. That poor cat needs somebody sane to talk to him, plus I’m not ready to deal with the situation at my place.”

  She gave me a sidelong look. “What situation? Do you mean the cute guy with the beard?”

  “It’s complicated. Logan doesn’t know I’m his landlady. We met at the veterinarian’s office, and he said his landlady was a Type A hotshot from the big city who needed to… you know. With a man.”

  “Forgive me for being blunt, Stormy, but isn’t that exactly who you are, and exactly what you need?”

  I gave her a playful shove. “Nice.”

  “What’s wrong with the guy? Just his beard? I’m sure he’d shave it off. Why don’t you tell him it’s a condition of the lease agreement?” She giggled at her joke.

  “I can’t date my tenant. And even if he wasn’t my tenant, the guy’s too smooth.”

  “Ah.” Jessica nodded knowingly. “You’re afraid you’ll turn into Pam. This guy is smooth, like your father. You know, I’m not surprised he’s hooking up with his physical therapist. Your father always was a rascal.” She waved her slice of pizza around like it was evidence.

  “Rascal?” I laughed as I reached over and helped her get the pizza into her mouth.

  She giggled and stuffed half the slice into her mouth, the way she always used to do when we were kids.

  “My father should start acting his age,” I said. “My father the player. I didn’t see it when we were younger. I took him at his word that whenever he was out for dinner with a lady, he was helping her with official police business. Can you imagine? I helped him and Tony solve actual crimes, but I didn’t clue in that those women were his girlfriends.”

  “Maybe he never settled down with just one because he was always looking for the perfect mother for you and Sunny.”

  I helped myself to another slice of pizza, even though I knew the pepperoni would give me heartburn later. The pizza tasted so good, and giggling with my best friend was wonderful. In my quest to build a financial empire over the last decade, I’d forgotten about these simple pleasures.

  Jessica reached across the couch cushions and patted my knee. “I’m so glad you’re back in town. I’m sorry about everything that’s been happening, with your father’s neighbor and everything, but I can’t lie. I’m glad to have my best friend back.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What do I owe you for my half of the pizza?”

  I glanced at the stack of mail on the coffee table, all of it unopened and looking an awful lot like credit card bills.

  “The pizza was free!” I said brightly. “They made the wrong toppings for another customer, so I said I’d take this one rather than have them throw it out.”

  Jessica clapped her hands. “You have the best luck.”

  I smiled at my sweet best friend. “I am awfully lucky.”

  The music on the movie we’d been watching changed. The slow part was over, and the action was starting up again.

  We turned to watch the movie, and lost ourselves in the tale of action and suspense.

  Later, when was driving home, I kept thinking about the spies from the movie. Even when the bullets were flying, the man and woman kept flirting with each other. Despite the situation being so silly, Jessica and I both ate it right up.

  Now that I was single again, the romance aspects of movies meant more to me. The romantic gestures weren’t just unbelievable things I’d have to roll my eyes at. They now seemed like hopeful possibilities—actual things that could happen to me.

  I drove toward my home, the duplex that I owned but hadn’t been to in days. I’d planned to spend the night at my father’s and maybe talk to Pam. We could discuss things woman to woman, and deal with the situation between her and my father.

  However, the more I thought about breaking up with Pam on behalf of my father, the more appealing sleeping in my own bed got.

  My body tensed as I pulled up to the curb in front of the duplex. I didn’t turn off the engine. My palms started to sweat, making my hands slick on the steering wheel. I wiped my hands on my brown cords and chided myself for being ridiculous.

  Here I was, sitting in my car like a stalker, nervous about going into my own house, that I owned, because I might bump into my tenant, or hear him through the wall.

  During the movie, Jessica had pointed out how much the leading man looked like Logan. She hadn’t officially met him yet, but she’d been well aware of the bearded guy thanks to him trying to get my attention at the Fox and Hound the night before.

  Jessica was single. Maybe I would set the two of them up on a date, since she found him so appealing.

  And he was appealing.

  I sat in my idling car and stared at the windows on the lit side of the duplex. As I was watching, he walked by the living room window, shirtless.

  I gasped and pulled back in my car seat, but I didn’t dare look away. He walked up to the window and glanced left and right, first at the snow-covered lawn, and then at the cloudless night sky. He stretched, rubbed his nice-looking stomach, then pulled the curtains closed.

  Another car drove down the street, slowing as it passed my vehicle. I leaned over and pretended to be digging through my purse for something.

  The other car stopped next to my car.

  Slowly, I straightened up and turned to look out the driver’s since window.

  Officer Peggy Wiggles waved back and signaled for me to lower my window.

  Once our windows were down, she called over, “Is everything okay, Ms. Day?”

  “Great, thanks. I was just heading out to check on Pam and the cat, at my father’s house.”

  “This is your house, right? The duplex? Do you normally park on the street? I would imagine you’d park up there, on the driveway.”

  I gave her a goofy smile and shrugged. “I like to mix it up.”

  She sat up straight and leaned from side to side, like she was visually inspecting my back seat for signs of anything unusual. Seeing her look suspicious made me feel suspicious. I whipped my head around, the nervous part of me expecting to see a killer in my back seat.

  To my relief, there was nobody in my car besides me.

  I turned bac
k to Officer Wiggles. “How about you? Any breaks in the case?”

  “You know I shouldn’t discuss that with you.” She leaned over and looked at either her phone or a laptop screen. I couldn’t see from my low angle, but it glowed blue on her face.

  “Are you going to a call in this area?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered without looking up. “Just checking on your residence, as per Tony’s request.”

  Tony sent her to check on my residence? I didn’t know what to say about that, so I decided to switch the topic back to the Michaels case. She said she shouldn’t discuss the case with me, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t or couldn’t.

  “Tony said you found something interesting in the toxicology report,” I said, totally bluffing.

  She ruffled one hand through her pixie-cut hair, so I did the same, mirroring her. It was a tactic I learned in the board room. You reflect someone’s gestures and it subconsciously primes them to think you’re just like them.

  “Sleeping pills,” she said. “That’s not very interesting on its own, but Mr. Michaels didn’t have a prescription, and these weren’t the over-the-counter kind.”

  “Somebody drugged him, then strangled him?”

  “With the same red scarf that was on the snowman.”

  I took a deep breath as the news washed over me.

  “So, it was pre-meditated. Wow. Do you think the killer was already planning to make him into a snowman? That is cold.”

  “Cold.” She guffawed. “Very cold.”

  She had her arm sticking out of the window and patted the side of her police cruiser with a metallic whack that startled me.

  “Well, have a good night,” she said with a cheery grin.

  “You, too. Be careful out there.”

  She winked at me. “I have a gun,” she said, then she drove off.

  As I watched her tail lights disappear in the darkness, my thoughts moved away from the snowman and to myself.

  Why was Tony even thinking about me, much less sending his rookie by my house? Was he worried about my safety? Or was he freaked out that I was going to crack the case and make him look bad?