Death of a Dapper Snowman

by Angela Pepper

  “Sounds smart,” she said.

  “And when I do get time to throw a dinner party, at least I already have my napkins and the rings to control them.”

  They finished up the transaction without noticing me, to my relief.

  He finally left, and once my employee was distracted with another customer, I opened the curtain, crept out from under the counter, and slipped away out the back door.

  Chapter 28

  On the walk over to the costume shop, I kept glancing around to see if I was being followed. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Logan was somewhere nearby, watching me.

  Something seemed off about his visit to the gift shop. What kind of man goes out on his lunch break and buys napkins and napkin rings when he’s busy with work and doesn’t even have a dinner party planned?

  He might have been checking out his new landlady, or…

  Maybe he’s not straight, I thought.

  That would be interesting. An attractive, gay lawyer would certainly add some more personality to the town.

  I chuckled and chided myself for stereotyping Logan based on him buying napkin rings. Sure, some of my gay friends were into decorating and dinner parties, but not all of them.

  I reviewed the few conversations we’d had. Recently, he’d tried to get me to buy a drink for him at the Fox and Hound. And, before that, he’d said he landlady needed a night with a real man, but he hadn’t said she needed a night with him.

  Maybe Logan really was gay.

  I stopped and looked at my reflection in the big mirror on the corner. I ruffled up my spiky hair, unbuttoned my new wool jacket, and looked over my outfit. I wore the same brown cords as the day before, but paired with a turquoise blue cowl-neck sweater. My figure looked appealing these days. I’d gotten thin during my time in the city, working too hard and eating over the sink. Now, thanks to some delicious lunches at the diner up the street, plus pastries from the two wonderful bakeries, I had some meat on my bones, and I liked how I looked.

  I hadn’t put on much makeup that morning, but the chilly winter air in Misty Falls made my lips and cheeks look rosy and youthful.

  As I leaned in toward the mirror, I suddenly remembered that it was also a window, and Ruby could be sitting on the other side having a cup of tea.

  I gave my reflection a knowing smile and a wave, just in case, then I looked up at the decorative tile mosaic surrounding the mirror.

  The most prominent message was the curled letters proclaiming YOU LOOK SUPER TODAY!

  I kept smiling to myself as I turned around and waited for the light so I could cross the street. As far as town secrets go, a mirrored window that makes people smile is the good kind of secret.

  I crossed the street and walked into the costume shop with a bounce in my step.

  Mr. Jenkins greeted me with a guilty look on his face and a decapitated foam snowman in his arms.

  “You’ve killed him,” I said with a laugh.

  “He was asking for it,” Mr. Jenkins joked.

  “You’ll have to kill me next. You can’t go around leaving witnesses.”

  “Oh, but I’m so busy this afternoon. I have to change this window display and then get to the bank for coins.” He gave me a crooked grin. “This could just be our little secret.”

  “Sure.” I stepped back and let him by with the foam snowman, which he placed in a cardboard box marked DAPPER SNOWMAN.

  “What brings you by?” he asked. “Did Pam send you in her place since she couldn’t make it in to change the display around?”

  “Pam? No, I haven’t even talked to her in a couple of days. Was she supposed to be doing your window for you today?”

  He kept packing up the snow-related things from the window. “It was short notice, so she said she might come by between errands, but I think I’ll just do it myself. I’ve got everything to switch over to the New Year’s display. I would have done it sooner, out of respect for the community, but then I had to go and get myself arrested.”

  I reached into my purse and pulled out the cufflinks I’d bought back from the pawn shop. “Here you go,” I said as I handed them toward him. “This should cheer you up. It’s your cufflinks. The ones Mr. Michaels shoplifted. I had to get them back to their rightful owner.”

  He frowned at the cufflinks, which made his thin face look practically skeletal.

  “Just toss those on the counter,” he said, then he went back to rolling up the white felt carpeting the window display.

  I walked slowly over to the cash register and set the cufflinks down. They clinked on the counter.

  Why would Mr. Jenkins break in to someone’s house looking for cufflinks he didn’t seem to care about?

  I slowly turned around and pretended to be interested in the circular display unit covered in eye masks.

  Mr. Jenkins continued tidying up the window, pulling snowflake decals off the glass with his long, strangling fingers.

  Something was definitely odd about the man. He’d been released by the police after providing an alibi for the entire window of time during which Mr. Michaels must have been killed, but wasn’t that, in itself, odd? Was there even another person in the entire town who had an alibi for that exact same period?

  It seemed highly unlikely to me, so I slowly reached down into my purse, located my phone, and set it to record a memo. I used to use this app all the time, to take down worries that hit me while I was driving, or just as I was falling asleep. The voices would be muffled by my purse, but if the costume shop owner said something damning, I could pass it along to the police.

  “I set the cufflinks by the cash register,” I said. My voice sounded squeaky, compressed by the tightness in my throat.

  He didn’t even glance up at me. “Thanks for doing that. I wish you wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh? Why?” I edged my way around the displays so I had a clear escape route to the door.

  He didn’t answer my question, so I pressed on. “Why shouldn’t I have gotten your cufflinks back? Didn’t you want them?”

  “They’re not worth much.”

  “But you wanted them, didn’t you? Why else would you break into Mr. Michaels’ house?”

  He turned his body so his back was to me, and I couldn’t even see the edge of his face to gauge his expression. He slumped over and groaned.

  I took two more steps toward the door. “You can tell me,” I said.

  Softly, just loud enough for me to hear, he said, “No. I can’t tell anyone. It’s too awful.”

  My skin turned chilly, and the urge to run for the door became almost unbearable. But I had to stay calm, stay present. I’d been in stressful situations before, on the brink of losing huge financial deals, and I knew that the secret to success was pressing on beyond the point where most normal people would give up.

  Just a little further. Just another nudge.

  “You can tell me,” I said. “Besides, I already know. I was next door at my father’s house, and I called in the robbery. I saw you.”

  He hunched over further and sighed.

  I took a risk and bluffed, “I saw what you were doing inside his house. I already know. I know everything. Why don’t you just let it all out? Tell someone. You’ll feel better.”

  “Okay,” he said softly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  I reached down and tugged my purse open wider. I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I would certainly share the recording. With the police.

  “I promise. Start at the beginning.”

  He reached for something on the platform next to him. A box cutter.

  My heart pounded. He had a box cutter in his hand, and he was going to whip around and kill me. I could make it to the door in five steps, but he had such long legs, he could make it there in three.

  I held still, ready to bolt if he so much as twitched in my direction.

  “The weight loss started in the summer,” he said. “I didn’t mind, because it was swimming season. My wife actually admired me and said I was looki
ng younger.”

  “Okay,” I said softly, waiting to hear what this had to do with killing Mr. Michaels.

  “By the fall, though, I kept losing the weight, and I finally went in to see my doctor. They ran all the tests they could think of, plus a few more, but there was nothing they could do. I must have had a bad reaction to some medicine I took earlier this year for an ear infection. They said it could take years for my digestive system to recover, but there was a treatment.”

  “A treatment?” While I listened, I kept a lookout for people walking up and down the street. I hoped someone would come in and provide some safety, but not before I got a full confession.

  “I had to fly to the clinic. It was very expensive, not covered by my insurance, and when I got there, I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t do the treatment. I stayed in the hotel the whole time and then flew back home. I told everyone I was feeling better, but I wasn’t. I kept losing weight.”

  “And… did Mr. Michaels know about this? Is that why you killed him?”

  The man straightened up and slowly turned his head to look at me.

  “Why I killed him? What do you take me for?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. What were you doing in his house that night? You weren’t there for the cufflinks.”

  He blinked at me, looking sad and confused. I almost felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to stop my phone from recording his confession.

  “I was looking for my wedding band,” he said. “It slipped off my finger the day I banned him from the store. I was sure he’d taken it, but I didn’t want to cause a scene on the sidewalk in front of the store. I knew he was selling things to make some money on the side to supplement his pension, so I planned to buy the ring back from him, as soon as I got the money.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police about the ring?”

  His face went pale. “I did, finally, after they arrested me.”

  “Ohhh,” I said slowly. I only knew about the cufflinks, so I’d assumed that was the reason he gave the police. He hadn’t mentioned the ring, and even though I’d seen it at the pawn shop in the city, I hadn’t connected it to Mr. Jenkins.

  He continued, “And I told them about how I went to see my sister and begged her for money, so I could go and pay for the procedure a second time.” He looked down at his hands and rubbed his ring finger. “My wife’s going to kill me when she finds out I didn’t take the treatment the first time. Now we’re broke, and we’re in debt to my sister, and everything’s a mess, but…” He looked up at me, and I saw the smallest sparkle of light in his eyes. “The treatment worked, I think. I’ve gained a pound already.”

  “That’s great news.” My mind was whirling, but I still couldn’t quite make sense of his story. “Why do you think it’s so terrible? Why is it such a secret if you’re feeling better?”

  He gave me a look of annoyance. “I guess the whole town’s going to know eventually, so I might as well tell you. After being suspected of murder and arrested for burglary, my reputation can’t exactly get worse, now, can it? People still need their tuxedos. They’ll have to come here and rent them from the poo-poo eater.”

  I staggered back, more shocked by what he’d just said than by anything so far.

  “Pardon me? I thought you said…”

  He groaned and rubbed his forehead with one long-fingered hand, then he explained the treatment to me. He hadn’t eaten the stuff, exactly, but the experimental treatment involved doctors putting a tube down his throat and then sending down live bacterial cultures, harvested from living donors.

  I reached into my purse to surreptitiously stop the recording, but my stubborn phone wriggled out of my reach.

  The funny thing was, even though he’d seemed so horrified and ashamed about the treatment, the more he talked about it, the more animated he became.

  I had only myself to blame, because I was the one who’d gently coerced him into talking to someone.

  After a few minutes of hearing the extremely graphic explanation of how the doctors harvest the live bacteria, I was practically begging him to shut up. I inched toward the door, trying to make my escape.

  He reached for a sealed cardboard box, used the box cutter to open the lid, and started pulling out New Year’s Eve noisemakers and sparkling party hats.

  I lost track of how many times he used words that should not be uttered during normal retail interactions.

  Finally, when I thought I was going to have to fake a medical emergency myself to get out of there, some other customers came in the door to pick up dance recital costumes.

  I gave Mr. Jenkins a cheery wave and tried not to think about him being the thing he’d called himself. Sure, it was embarrassing, but if the procedure had saved his life, there was nothing wrong with that. At least he wasn’t a murderer.

  Chapter 29

  I was so eager to get away from Mr. Jenkins and his medical stories, I forgot to tell him I had located his wedding band, at the pawn shop. It would be fine to tell him in an email, I told myself, and I crossed the street.

  What a strange day it had been. First, I’d cowered behind my store’s counter and listened to my tenant and employee talk about me like I wasn’t there. Then I’d gone off on a good deed errand and ended up accusing a local business owner of murder. As my karmic reward, I’d found out way more about his eating and personal care routines than any person should have to know.

  Now what would I do for my encore?

  Whatever I did next, it would involve miniature cupcakes.

  I walked past the jewelry store and its big mirror, and into one of the town’s wonderful bakeries, where I bought two dozen adorable tiny cupcakes.

  Armed with the treats, I pulled open the spotless glass door for Ruby’s Treasure Trove and went inside. The young girl cleaning the display cases looked up with wide eyes, then softened when she saw it was me.

  “Hello,” she said politely. “May I help you with anything?”

  I walked over to where she stood and pulled out my phone to show her the picture of the panther broach I’d taken at the pawn shop.

  “Do you carry these?” I asked.

  “We had some up until a couple weeks ago. We had a big clearance sale on a bunch of things.”

  I looked into her pale blue eyes and saw the family resemblance to her half-sister, Harper.

  “A big clearance sale?” I asked. “Did you have a bunch of things out of the display cases? And a big crowd of people in here?”

  She gave me a sidelong look. “Maybe.”

  “So, someone could have shoplifted this broach during the sale.”

  “I suppose.” She frowned and bit her lip. “We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  I nodded. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything, because you wanted to protect him.” I leaned on the counter to get closer to her and said in a hushed tone, “I talked to your sister last night. I know about why you two came to this town. Don’t worry. I won’t let it get out.”

  “Um, okay,” she said.

  I leaned further over the counter and glanced down to make sure nobody was hiding under the counter, the way I had done at my own store earlier that day. When I was satisfied we were alone, I looked into the girl’s eyes and said, “Was that your sister I heard you arguing with the last time I was here?”

  The girl didn’t seem eager to talk, so I opened the box of miniature cupcakes and let the heavenly sweet scent float up to her nose. They were fresh, and even my mouth watered.

  With some urging, she finally picked out a chocolate cupcake with white chocolate-peppermint icing and ate it. I helped myself to a flavor I hadn’t yet sampled—raspberry and almond.

  The sugar did its job deliciously and broke the ice between us.

  “My sister did come in when you were here the other day,” she said. “Do you know she drives me crazy?”

  “That’s what sisters do. My sister used to drive me crazy, too. Still does, actually.”

  I pushed the
box toward her and jiggled it until she picked out another—ginger caramel with coconut flake frosting.

  “At least you two have each other,” I said.

  She stuffed the cupcake in her mouth and rolled her eyes upward in enjoyment.

  “Is Ruby in today?” I asked. “We can’t eat all these cupcakes by ourselves.”

  She waved for me to head on through the doorway to the back room. I walked past the filing cabinets and store shelves, and on to the secret tea room.

  Ruby Sparkes had a stack of invoices on the round bistro table and was tapping away on a sleek laptop. Her purple-red curls spiraled out in every direction, and she wore a plain cream blouse under a smart-looking leopard print vest.

  She looked up at me over her purple-framed reading glasses and smiled.

  “Stormy! Just the excuse I need to take a break.” She closed the laptop and patted the case, which was the same shade of purple as her glasses. “I don’t know about this technology. It used to take much longer to do the bookkeeping the old-fashioned way, with the paper ledgers, but what have we done with the time we’re saving? Pile on more work, that’s what.”

  I took a seat across from her and set the unopened tray of cupcakes between us. I’d left the other dozen up front. Ruby looked at the cupcakes and sighed happily.

  “What are you up to on that laptop?” I asked.

  “More like what am I not up to.” She re-opened the laptop and turned the screen to share it with me as she did a run-down of all the social networking sites she was involved with. There were a few sites I hadn’t even heard of before—new ones, sprung up in the last few months. And Ruby was on all of them, posting inspiration photos and style tips. The woman was thirty years older than me, and more up-to-date than most people my age.

  “Wow,” I said. “Should I get hooked up on some of these things, for the gift shop? You make me feel like a slacker.”

  She pushed the laptop al the way over to me. “You could start with this site on the screen now. Have a look while I go get us some tea.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble, Ruby.”