Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  “Would it help to tell me about it? Did you come home from your dinner party and just . . . find her?”

  “We went over all this so many times with the police,” Wilbur said. His voice almost had a sharp edge.

  “I’m sorry.” I felt like a totally insensitive jerk. “I shouldn’t—”

  “It’s okay,” Judy said. “Wilbur, I really don’t mind. Investigating is what Charlie does, you know. Maybe she could help.”

  “Well, I—” I’d told Judy about my brother being a private investigator, and that I was a partner in the firm. I didn’t mean to imply that it was really my field.

  “Yes,” she interrupted. “I want to tell you about it and see what you think.”

  Wilbur picked up his mug and left the room.

  “Judy, are you sure this is okay? I mean, well, Wilbur seems upset by my being here.”

  “You know, I don’t really care,” she whispered. She took a long swig of her cocoa. “I mean, I do care. I’m sorry Wilbur lost his mother. He’s shaken up about it, but I don’t think grief has really set in yet. It’s just that I really felt like the target of all those police questions earlier, and I don’t care whether he wants me to tell you or not. I won’t sleep the rest of the night anyway.”

  “Target? Judy, what do you mean?”

  “I guess I’m their main suspect.”

  8

  It was no secret that Judy didn’t much like her mother-in-law, but to think she would have killed Paula seemed ludicrous. We were only kidding around.

  “You’re not serious—surely.”

  “Well, let’s just say that the questions were going one way when they first got here—what time did we get home, where had we been, was Paula alone when we left, that kind of thing. Then one of the officers who’d been outside came back in the house and there was a little whispered discussion between him and that chubby, bald cop.”

  Kent Taylor.

  “And then the questions started being about my relationship with Paula. Did we ever fight? Did we have words last night? That kind of thing.”

  Oh, boy. I guess I wasn’t the only one Judy’d made little remarks to.

  “Do you want to go over it again?” I asked. “Tell me what happened last night, the sequence of events?”

  She drained her cup and shrugged. “Sure.” She carried the mug to the sink and ran some water into it.

  “Wilbur and I were invited to dinner at the home of some people we know from church. They live off Rio Grande, in that new subdivision west of Old Town.”

  “Okay.”

  “We left here at six. Dinner wasn’t really ready, so we sat around and talked awhile, drank some iced tea. It was actually refreshing to be around people who don’t drink, after the week with Paula’s . . . you know.

  “So, anyway, we ate about seven-thirty, I’d guess. Then we started a domino game that went on for quite awhile. I developed a horrible headache. I thought it might be a migraine coming on. The game was really in high gear and Wilbur didn’t want to leave, so Norma told me to lie down in their guestroom for awhile. I dozed off and must have been in there for an hour or more. But when I woke up the headache was gone.”

  She’d been pacing the length of the kitchen while she related all this. Now she sat down again.

  “We left their house around eleven, eleven-fifteen. When we walked in the front door, there was Paula, on the sofa.” She squeezed her eyes shut like she wanted to erase the picture. “You know, at first I thought she’d passed out there. Her head was on a pillow and one arm and one leg kind of hung over the edge. She was just, you know, sprawled out. Wilbur and I were just talking about whether to wake her up to go to bed when I noticed the blood.”

  She paused and swallowed.

  “Wilbur wanted to revive her. He kept shaking her. I called 911 but she was already . . .”

  “It must have been so frightening.”

  “It was. Charlie, I’ve only ever seen one dead person, and that was at a funeral home. This was . . . really . . .”

  “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

  “I just . . . I can’t figure out why someone did this.”

  “Like robbery? Did you check the rest of the house? Maybe they broke in to steal something.” Aside from the fact that Paula was a real pain in the neck, I couldn’t think of any motives.

  “We glanced around a little. We really didn’t have much chance. The police were here so quickly. I didn’t notice anything missing, though, and they said there was no evidence of a break-in.” She glanced nervously at the back door. “I think I’ll just check everything one more time. What if we interrupted them when we came home? They might decide to come back.”

  I went around the house with her and checked all windows and doors. Everything looked secure, and I didn’t notice anything major out of place—no missing TV set, no drawers left open with clothing hanging out. Wilbur was locked in the master bath with the shower running, but that was the only window we didn’t test. I left a few minutes later, both of us trying to convince the other to sleep well.

  I slid into bed beside Drake a few minutes later but didn’t actually close my eyes until gray dawn began to show at the windows.

  The day after Christmas here in Albuquerque has become nearly the biggest shopping day of the year. Everybody has to rush out to exchange all the stuff they didn’t really want for the stuff they could have just bought for themselves if they hadn’t spent all their money buying other people stuff they really didn’t want either. Knowing this, the last places I’d want to be were the malls or downtown. However, curiosity was going to get the best of me and I knew I’d end up in Kent Taylor’s office at the main APD downtown station.

  I sat in a straight wooden chair across from him, having cruised a four-block area three times to get a parking place. My excuse for coming was that Wilbur and Judy were too upset to ask about the autopsy report and had sent me to do it. My real reason was my usual one—I wanted to know the skinny on what the police were doing.

  “Pretty much what we knew at the scene,” Kent was saying. “Blow to the head with the fireplace tool. The indent matches the hook on the Garfield’s poker. Beyond that, let’s see . . . blood alcohol level pretty high. Way more than is legal for driving. But then, she wasn’t driving, was she? Other drugs—pretty good amount of cocaine. The combination isn’t a good one. But she’d probably been mixing them for quite awhile and it wasn’t enough to kill her. That’s not the full, final report, but it’s the important stuff.”

  “Was there a struggle at the scene?” I hadn’t noticed much out of place, but there’d been time to straighten everything by the time I’d arrived last night.

  “Not much, if any. Couple of chair cushions on the floor. The son told us he wasn’t sure if the front door was locked when they got home.”

  “How could he not be sure?”

  “Said he approached the door, used his key, went on in. Didn’t really pay attention to whether the lock was actually engaged or not.”

  “So, Paula could have opened the door to her killer?”

  “Or it could have been someone with a key.”

  “Who else would have a key but Wilbur or Judy?”

  “Exactly. That, coupled with a few other things are pointing to her as the main suspect.”

  “Really, Kent. Judy?”

  He ticked off points on his fingers. “One, she made no secret of it that she wouldn’t mind seeing her mother-in-law dead. Two, she disappeared from the dinner party she was at for—let’s see, the hostess told us--well over an hour. Three, there were more sets of tire tracks in the snow at the front of their driveway than they can account for. Said they went out twice all day; there are three sets of tracks.”

  “All those tracks are from their car? For sure?”

  “Looks that way. And, four, the only prints on the weapon belong to your neighbor, Judy.”

  “Well, whoever used it obviously either wore gloves or wiped it clean. Of course, there wou
ld be some partial prints of Judy’s. The poker’s in her home.”

  His look told me I was getting a little too argumentative.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. But are you at least looking for other suspects too? Kent, I can’t believe this quiet, mild-mannered woman is a killer. She just isn’t the type.”

  “She’s pregnant, you know. Hormones and all.”

  “Kent! Oh, please!”

  “Hey, I’m just saying there’s a case right now where this woman’s using raging hormones as a defense. Doesn’t deny she did the crime.” He shrugged and gave me a raised eyebrow.

  I gritted my teeth and suggested I better get going. He didn’t contradict me.

  Outside, the sky was a clear, pale blue and the wind was sharp. I pulled on my knitted mittens and zipped my parka up to my chin. I race-walked around the block to dissipate a little energy. Back at the car, I fumbled with the key twice before getting the door open.

  We’d be lucky if she killed herself. Hadn’t Judy grumbled those very words to me at the cookie swap?

  I could just kill her. Didn’t she once say that to me, too? She must have said it to other neighbors too, because the police had obviously gotten some pretty strong ammunition in their queries among the crowd last night.

  This wasn’t looking good. I didn’t have any idea how long it would take Kent to put together enough evidence to arrest her, but that sure looked like the track he was taking.

  9

  I cranked the Jeep’s engine to life and cruised the downtown streets before turning west on Central. Although we weren’t officially open all this week, on an impulse I decided to stop at the office before heading home.

  The gray and white Victorian sits in a neighborhood that’s partly commercial and partly residential, and has been that way for many years. We like being on the quiet side street and the fact that there are some full-time neighbors around who keep an eye on the place. I pulled my Jeep into the driveway that follows the left hand side of the property to the back, where a one-time carriage house serves as storage and the yard as parking area.

  The old house was cool and echoey, lonely feeling in its holiday abandonment. The linoleum on the kitchen floor creaked as I walked across it, switching on lights, heading for the hallway to turn up the thermostat. A pile of mail sprawled on the floor inside the front door and I scooped it up and deposited it on Sally’s desk. Absently, I picked up each piece and sorted them into piles—for Sally, Ron and myself. I’d become so engrossed in the mindless flipping of envelopes that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang.

  Patting myself on the chest, I let it go four times so the answering machine would pick up.

  “Charlie, are you there?” Drake’s voice came through the tinny little speaker.

  I reached for Sally’s handset. “I’m here. How did you know?”

  “Just a wild guess. I tried your cell, but it’s turned off. So I took a chance that you’d stopped at the office.”

  I reached into my purse as he spoke and checked my little phone. The battery had gone dead sometime in the past few days.

  “. . . taking her away right now,” he was saying.

  “What? I missed the first part of that.”

  “The police have just taken Judy Garfield.”

  A ball of lead settled in my stomach. “Damn that Kent Taylor,” I railed. “I just saw him and he knew this was happening. Didn’t say a word about it to me.”

  “Wilbur’s over here now, out in the kitchen with Mom. He doesn’t know what to do next.”

  “Has he called a lawyer?”

  “I don’t think so. They don’t know many people here. Can you recommend anyone?”

  “Let me put you on hold. I’ll check Ron’s Rolodex.” I pressed the red button and trotted up the stairs.

  Ron’s office is on the left, with mine across the hall. His desk, as usual, was a hodgepodge of paper—piles of unopened mail mixed in with telephone messages and sheets from yellow lined pads. I’ll never know how the man finds anything in here. I patted down the mountain of stuff until I felt a hard, square shape resembling the Rolodex.

  Cradling the phone to my shoulder and stabbing the button for line one, I assured myself that Drake was still on the line.

  “Hold on a second while I try to remember Ron’s filing system,” I said. “He doesn’t do anything the way anyone else does.” On a lucky guess, I flipped to the letter L and discovered several cards with Lawyer written at the top. I thumbed through them to see if I recognized any names.

  “Might try Martin Palmer or George Collins,” I suggested, reading off the phone numbers. “Or if Judy would feel more comfortable with a woman, I’ve heard Natalie Rice is good. Don’t know if any of them will be in their offices the day after Christmas, but maybe there’ll be a message with an alternate way to contact them.”

  I closed the Rolodex lid. “Did they actually arrest Judy, or just take her down for questioning?” I asked. I listened while Drake repeated the question to Wilbur.

  “He’s not really sure. They didn’t put cuffs on her.”

  “Well, either way, she probably should have an attorney with her. I’ll get off the phone so you guys can make some calls. There’s not much to do here, so I should be home soon.”

  I switched off Ron’s light, went back downstairs, and finished stacking the mail. After carrying mine and Ron’s upstairs to our respective offices, I scanned the empty rooms to be sure everything was in place, debating the wisdom of driving back downtown to see if I could help Judy. Decided they probably wouldn’t let me see her, since I wasn’t legal counsel. I locked the back door and headed home.

  Wilbur, Drake, and Catherine were sitting around the kitchen table when I arrived.

  “Any news?” I asked.

  “We reached Martin Palmer on his cell phone,” Drake said. “He’s on his way to APD to see if he can straighten this out.”

  Wilbur looked more helpless than ever, clutching an empty mug in his hands and staring at a spot somewhere in the middle of the table. His thin, sandy hair stood out in tufts on the sides, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. Catherine looked up at me with a raised eyebrow, which I took to mean that things didn’t look too great.

  “Would anyone like a sandwich?” I offered, needing something to do besides stand around.

  Catherine jumped up and headed toward the refrigerator. “Yes, that’s a great idea. Let’s put some lunch together for everyone.”

  The phone rang just as I was reaching into the breadbox. We all froze in place. Drake reached for it on the second ring.

  “Martin Palmer,” he said, handing the receiver over to Wilbur, whose hand shook visibly when he took it.

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh.” He nodded his head as the attorney talked. “Is that it then? Uh-huh.” He pressed the button to end the call and set the phone on the table.

  We all stood in our frozen positions while he scrubbed at the sides of his hair some more.

  “Well?” Drake finally asked in a remarkably calm voice. I wanted to scream.

  Wilbur let out a huge sigh. “They’ve charged her.” His voice nearly broke and he swallowed deeply. His Adam’s apple traveled up and down again before more words came out. “She has to stay there until a hearing tomorrow. The judge will decide whether she can be out on bail.”

  Catherine crossed to him and put her arm around his thin shoulders.

  “Surely she’ll be granted bail,” I pressed. “She’s certainly not a flight risk or a danger to society.” I pulled slices of bread out of the loaf and began smearing them with mayonnaise.

  “I can’t believe this is happening at all,” Drake argued.

  That pretty well summed it up for all of us.

  “Let me call Ron this afternoon,” I said. “Maybe we can do a little investigating of our own and get some leads on the real killer.”

  “You know the police aren’t going to take kindly to our interference in an active investigation,”
Ron told me when I finally reached him about four o’clock.

  “Is it really an active investigation?” I asked. “They’ve got a suspect and they’re about to indict her tomorrow. I seriously doubt they’re pushing real hard to find any other suspects.”

  He grumbled a bit but basically agreed. “So, what other leads do you have?”

  I had to admit there really weren’t any, other than my firm belief that Judy just didn’t have what it took to swing a poker at someone and bash them in the head with it. “I’m going to see what I can find out from Wilbur. And maybe from the other neighbors Paula talked to. Maybe somebody can give us some insight. Right now, her life is pretty much a mystery.”

  Drake had done a good job of distracting Wilbur from his problems for the afternoon. The two men had cleaned up the remains of the luminarias from both our yards and were raking a few of autumn’s leftover leaves from our backyard. I donned a light jacket and went out long enough to suggest that I’d warm up the leftover green chile stew and that Wilbur should stay for dinner. In the meantime, would he mind if I took a peek through Paula’s things in their guestroom? My own guess, privately, was that the police would have removed anything of use, but there was no harm in looking for clues.

  The Garfield house felt like a place that’s been suddenly abandoned. There were dishes on the dining table, where Judy and Wilbur had been having breakfast when the police arrived. I carried them to the kitchen and ran some warm water over them in the sink, put away the butter, and wiped off the countertops. Turned on a couple of lamps against the late afternoon twilight.

  Their floor plan was similar to ours, three bedrooms off a hall on the north side of the house. It only took a minute to figure out which one Paula’d used. The rumpled bed had probably remained unmade during her entire visit, I guessed. The disarray of the comforter and blankets was complete. The tight red dress she’d worn to the cookie swap lay draped over a chair back, with her outfit from Christmas Eve piled on top of it. A suitcase was on the floor against one wall, the lid open and lacy underthings spilling over the sides. The bag had been thoroughly rummaged, whether by the police or by Paula herself, I couldn’t tell. Of course, the other possibility was that the killer might have searched her room for something. What that might be, or whether he’d found it, was anyone’s guess.