The Snow White Christmas Cookie

by David Handler

  “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” Des replied. “In my opinion the best way to steal Hank’s mail would be by pulling up a few minutes behind him in a second mail truck. Who better to steal the mail than another mail carrier? It would never occur to a resident or passerby that the second carrier was removing the mail as opposed to delivering it. Nor would they think twice if they noticed a second truck pulling up just after Hank went by. They’d just figure that you folks had so much volume during the holidays that you had to add an extra carrier.”

  Paulette poured herself some more wine and took a sip. “I suppose they would,” she acknowledged.

  Des shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Casey must have had a partner on the inside, Paulette. And the only way that any of this makes sense is if that partner was you.”

  Paulette stared at her blankly. “Me?”

  “You,” she stated. “And you were awful damned clever about it, too. You and your year-end Grumman LLV fleet readiness review.”

  Questa frowned at her. “What readiness review?”

  “Oh, it’s all very official, Inspector. She even carries around a clipboard with printed forms that have to be filled out.”

  Questa said it louder. “What readiness review?”

  “According to Paulette, all ten of the branch’s trucks have to be road tested by the end of the year in order to qualify for the postal service’s budgeted retrofitting program.”

  “There is no such program,” Questa said.

  “Correct, it’s totally bogus. You know that. Postmaster Zander knows that. And Hank Merrill knew it, too, because he got real peeved when Paulette mentioned it to him in my presence yesterday. But her other carriers didn’t know it. Didn’t give it any thought either. I’m guessing from the look on your face, Inspector, that not one of them even bothered to mention it to your investigators.”

  “You’re guessing right.”

  “Why would they? It was just a stupid little bureaucratic annoyance. But to Paulette it was everything. It gave her authorization to road test all of the branch’s trucks while her carriers were taking their lunch breaks. No one questioned her authority. She’s the boss. Casey was just a part-timer. No way he could remove a spare set of truck keys from the safe in Paulette’s office. But Paulette could. And she did. Hank told me that three of the carriers have been going to the gym together every day on their lunch break. They leave their vehicles in the Post Office parking lot and walk to the health club at The Works. My guess? She’s been taking their trucks out over and over again. Who’d pay attention to whether she took the same truck out more than once? Who’d even care?”

  “I want to make sure that I’m hearing you right,” Grisky said. “Are you saying that Mrs. Zander concocted a fake vehicle-readiness review so she could go out and steal the mail that Hank Merrill had just delivered?”

  Des nodded her head. “No one suspected a thing. No one questioned a thing. Hell, it was such a petty matter that I didn’t even think of it until Mitch laid something on me just now at Shoreline Clinic.”

  “Laid what on you?” The Aardvark asked.

  “That Tommy the Pinhead’s car has a bad tranny. That’s when I remembered the little spat that Paulette and Hank had yesterday about the tranny on his mail truck.”

  Paulette sat there grim-faced, saying nothing.

  “Hank got way testy when Paulette asked him about it. Unusually so for such an easygoing guy. I couldn’t figure out why. Now I get why—because he knew what you two were up to, didn’t he, Paulette?”

  Paulette still didn’t respond. Just reached for a cigarette and lit it.

  “How did he know, Paulette?”

  “You may as well tell us,” Questa blustered at her. “Your cooperation is all you’ve got going for you right now.”

  Paulette let out a hollow laugh. “I have nothing going for me right now. Nothing and no one. So I’ll tell you. Why the hell not?” She drank down some more wine. “Hank came home early from basketball practice the night before last and overheard us arguing in the kitchen.”

  “This was the night of Rut’s party?” Des asked, remembering how tense Paulette had seemed. Also how reluctant she’d been to call in the postal inspectors.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What did Hank overhear?”

  “Me telling Casey that I couldn’t keep taking the same trucks out over and over again. That people at work would start to notice. And we’d have to find another way or…” Paulette broke off, her chest rising and falling. “That’s when Hank walked in. He got very, very upset. Told us he was going to call the postal inspectors. Have my boy arrested.”

  “Not to mention you.”

  “I didn’t care about myself. I never have. Casey was my son. He needed me. I couldn’t let those thugs hurt him, could I?”

  “You didn’t have any money you could give them?”

  “I’d already given Casey every penny I could lay my hands on. I didn’t have a cent left. So I did what any mother would do—I helped him. I pleaded with Hank to give us a chance. Hank could be such a Boy Scout sometimes. He said he’d have to ‘think it over.’ That was the best I could get out of him. He wouldn’t even look at me after that. Hardly spoke to me except at Rut’s party. And then, like you just said, he got real angry while you were at the Post Office yesterday.”

  “And you got real nervous when you saw me giving him my card. Especially after I told you I’d be looking into the matter while you contacted the postal inspectors. You’d already done everything you could to hold them off. When the folks on Hank’s route started asking where their mail was you ran straight to Rut with it, figuring he’d do his best to keep it local for you. He’s fond of you and you took advantage of that. Tell me, why did you leave all of that torn-up mail on Johnny Cake?”

  “Like you said, folks were starting to ask questions. I thought it created a plausible explanation—that maybe a couple of local teenagers were to blame. I was just hoping to buy some time.”

  “But you couldn’t buy time with Hank.”

  “I asked him what he was going to do,” Paulette recalled bitterly. “He told me that he intended to tell you people everything. He said he had no choice. Which left me with no choice.”

  “So you staged Hank’s suicide and made it look like he’d been the grinch. You murdered him to save Casey. And Casey helped you do it. The two of you pulled it off together.”

  “Yes,” Paulette admitted. “I got the idea after Bryce Peck took his own life. I thought that maybe we could make it look like Hank took his, too. And have him confess to stealing the mail.”

  “Which would wrap the whole mess up in a nice neat bow. And that would be the end of it.”

  “Did Bryce Peck have anything to do with stealing those prescription meds from Hank Merrill’s route?” The Aardvark wanted to know.

  Paulette shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

  Des said, “Casey was your son. You felt you had to rescue him. I get that. But you sacrificed Hank in the process. How could you do that? Didn’t you love him, too?”

  Paulette took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Hank was nice to have around. Good company, handy. But I’ve only been in love with one man in my life—my ex-husband Clint. After Clint left me I’ve never let another man into my heart. It’s just been Casey and me.”

  “Why don’t you tell us how you and Casey staged Hank’s murder?”

  Paulette gazed out the front window at the darkened street. “When Hank came home from work all he wanted to do was play with his train set. He didn’t want to talk to me. I fetched him a beer, like usual. Only this time I added two ground-up Valiums. Within a half hour he was in la-la land. Casey and I walked him out to the garage and got him into the passenger seat of his Passat. I made sure he was slumped over when I backed out of the driveway, just in case one of our neighbors saw us leave.”

  “One of your neighbors did. She saw Hank’s car pull out and head t
oward Frederick Lane. She couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. Assumed it was Hank. And saw no passengers in the car.”

  “Casey left a few minutes later. He went in the opposite direction, like he was heading to the Rustic. He wasn’t. He met me at the boat launch on Kinney Road. It’s a remote spot. I figured nobody would come along for hours. I also knew that the Beckmans and the Shermans were both away.”

  “Wait, how did you know that?” The Aardvark wondered.

  “Because they’d stopped their mail.”

  “Of course.” He puffed out his cheeks. “You’d be in a position to know that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I had an unmarked prescription bottle full of Valium in my pocket. Also a pair of latex gloves. I’d already stowed the hose, the duct tape and box cutter in Hank’s trunk. And a full bottle of Jack Daniels.”

  Des said, “When I asked if you kept any bourbon in the house you marched straight into the kitchen and came back with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Nice bit of playacting on your part. You bought yourself another bottle, didn’t you?”

  “Didn’t have to. One of Hank’s firehouse buddies gave him one for Christmas. It was under the tree in the living room.”

  “What’d you do after you parked at the boat launch?”

  “I got out and asked him to move on over behind the wheel, which he did. He was very compliant. Or he was until I told him to drink down the bottle of Jack Daniels. He had a few sips but then he didn’t want anymore. He became extremely resistant, in fact. We had to force him to drink it. Casey gripped him by the neck while I—”

  “You held a gun to his head,” Des said. “A Smith and Wesson .38 Special.”

  Paulette looked at her in surprise. “Why, yes.”

  “After he passed out you slipped on the latex gloves and got down to business. Tucked the Valium bottle into his jacket pocket and sent yourself that text message from his phone. Am I right?”

  She nodded her head. “I left my cell phone here. I was careful to make sure I did that. Casey got the other things out of the trunk. We duct taped the hose to the tailpipe, then ran it in through the driver’s window and rolled it up.”

  “You thought of every little detail. You even left my business card on the seat next to Hank’s phone. You were very clever, Paulette. But you weren’t smart. You left bruising on his neck and forehead when you forced him to drink that bourbon. You also failed to account for how Hank managed to rig up the hose to his tailpipe without ever getting out of the car. It was pouring rain out. Yet, somehow, his hair was dry. So were his shoes and his floor mat. The duct tape and box cutter were wet when I got there. The passenger seat, too. And the passenger-side floor mat was missing.”

  “I panicked a little,” Paulette conceded. “Actually, I panicked a lot. I guess it was the … finality of it.”

  “Yeah, death is pretty damned final.”

  “I started shaking and couldn’t stop. So I sat back down in the passenger seat to collect myself. I wanted to make sure that we’d done everything right before I turned on the engine and we left him there. When I realized I’d gotten the floor mat all wet I took it along. Figured it didn’t matter if the duct tape and box cutter were wet.”

  “And what about the seat?”

  Paulette took a small sip of her wine. “There was nothing I could do about it. I hoped you wouldn’t notice. That was a mistake.”

  “It wasn’t your only one. You also took the Jack Daniels bottle with you.”

  “That was Casey’s doing,” she acknowledged glumly. “I told him to leave it there. The poor fool thought he was being thorough. He just didn’t understand.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “He tossed it in a Dumpster this morning when he went out to buy cigarettes.”

  “And what about the .38 that you held to Hank’s forehead?” Questa asked. “We traced an identical weapon to one of your carriers, Abe Monahan. Abe is currently on vacation with his family. How did you get the weapon out of his house? Did Tina Champlain help you?”

  “Tina?” Paulette blinked at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Where’d you get the .38, Paulette?” Des asked.

  “Casey bought it last year from some lowlife at the Rustic. It made him feel manly to have a gun.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “In the bottom drawer of my dresser. Do you want me to get it?”

  “That’s okay. We’ll do it.”

  “Whatever,” Paulette said hopelessly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that he’s gone. I was his mother. When you’re a mother you do whatever it takes to protect your child. He was desperate. I gave him every penny I had. And when that still wasn’t enough I did what I had to do. What any mother would do. None of you are mothers. You don’t know what it means. Casey came from inside of me. He was connected to me. And he wasn’t strong. He still needed me. He never stopped needing me.”

  “And now he’s dead,” Des pointed out. “And you got him killed. When you murdered Hank you wrote Casey’s death sentence. There was absolutely no way Slick Rick and Tommy the Pinhead could let him stay alive. Not once they knew that the postal inspectors were grilling him about Hank’s so-called suicide. Casey wasn’t strong, like you said. They were positive he’d rat them out to save his own skin. They had to create some daylight between themselves and Casey. You left them no choice, Paulette. By killing your own boyfriend to protect Casey you ended up getting Casey killed.”

  “I did not,” Paulette insisted heatedly. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened. It’s Josie Cantro’s fault. Every damned bit of it.”

  “Are you implicating his life coach in these crimes?” Grisky asked.

  “I’m saying she led Casey on. He thought she was in love with him. He thought they had a future together. That’s why he started betting so much money on football games. He wanted to make a fortune so that they could run away to Hawaii together. He did it for Josie. She’s the one who ought to be locked up. If it hadn’t been for that manipulative blond bitch, none of this would have ever happened.”

  “She told me she was trying to help him be more assertive,” Des said.

  “How?” Paulette demanded. “By filling his head with crazy fantasies? He was still a child. I should never have brought those two together. That’s what I regret. But after she helped Hank quit smoking I thought that maybe, just maybe, she could help Casey, too. Biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll never forgive her. She’s supposed to be a professional. She should have known that he’d fall head over heels in love with her. Why, he even talked about her as if the two of them were actual lovers.”

  Des didn’t touch that. None of them did. There was no point. Was Josie Cantro America’s sweetheart? Not really. Did Des approve of her methods? Not really. Did trouble seem to have a way of following her around? Yeah, it did. So did lucrative estate settlements. But was Josie legally responsible for anything that had just gone down? No, she wasn’t. Not unless the M.E. discovered that Bryce Peck’s death was something other than a straight suicide. So far, he’d found no evidence of foul play and Des’s gut feeling was that he never would. Bryce Peck was a burn-out case who’d taken his own life.

  “Paulette, we can debate Josie Cantro’s ethics all night,” she said. “But it won’t alter the simple truth of this matter, which is that Josie didn’t steal the U.S. Mail or kill Hank. You did.”

  Paulette said nothing in response. Just stared morosely out the front window at the street.

  “Well, I guess that’s it then,” Grisky concluded, rubbing his hands together.

  “Real solid work, Master Sergeant,” Sam Questa said.

  Grisky nodded his jarhead in agreement. “Good job, girlfriend. If you ask me, your talents are wasted in this town.”

  Des looked at Paulette, who was still staring out the front window, before she said, “You couldn’t be more wrong, Agent Grisky. This is where I’m needed. An
d I’m still not your girlfriend.”

  EPILOGUE

  (ONE DAY LATER)

  THE WORLD-CLASS PISSING CONTEST didn’t stop after Paulette’s arrest for the murder of Hank Merrill. Since Hank was an employee of the U.S. Postal Service his murder constituted a federal crime and the Department of Justice wanted to take the case away from Connecticut’s prosecutors and try it in a U.S. Court. What with Casey Zander being a postal service employee, too, the feds also wanted their hands on Tommy the Pinhead, hoping they could persuade him to flip on Slick Rick Fontanella and the Castagno crime family.

  The case got a lot of media attention in the days leading up to Christmas. Mitch followed it online when he was feeling well enough. Mostly, he stayed in bed with his two cats and his ten toes that ached beyond belief. His fingers weren’t so terrific either. He also had a wicked headache, blurry vision and got so dizzy whenever he tried to stand up that he had to lean against the nearest piece of large furniture. But Dr. Cindie had assured him his head would feel a little bit better every day. Also that he’d suffered no permanent nerve damage to his fingers or toes. He just had to take it easy for a while.

  Des stopped by regularly to fuss over him and to remove her yellow string bikini from his Chanukah bush. Much to Mitch’s delight, she’d found his wallet and his grandfather’s Omega in the trunk of Tommy’s Trans Am. Tommy hadn’t bothered to dispose of the stuff after he and Gigi left Mitch on the beach with Casey to die. Apparently, he’d been more interested in scoring a pizza and boinking Gigi.

  They didn’t call him Tommy the Pinhead for nothing.

  When Mitch started to feel a bit more alert he logged on to the NOAA Web site and computed the temperature, wind velocity and windchill factor out on Breezy Point when the sun was falling that day, to determine just how long he could have survived out there. Near as he could tell, if it had taken Des and Yolie longer than twenty more minutes to find him he’d now be hobbling around with no toes—if he was lucky enough to be hobbling around at all. If being the operative word. If Rut Peck hadn’t called Des from the Rustic when he had. If she and Yolie hadn’t made a beeline to the Rustic, then the Yankee Doodle, then Tommy the Pinhead’s apartment. If Tommy the Pinhead and Gigi hadn’t been home in bed. If …