The Killer Christmas Sweater Club

by Terry Ambrose

  “Not knowingly. But if they tell their friends and they tell theirs…”

  “It’s like the name thing.”

  “Exactly. Plus, a police investigation is a serious matter and all we’re going to do is funnel leads to your dad and Deputy Cunningham. For now, those are my terms. Can you abide by them?”

  This is super awesome. I’m not getting grounded and now I’ve got Marquetta on my side. “I can totally do that.”

  “Then it’s time you tell me exactly what you’ve done and what you heard. Where do you want to begin?”

  CHAPTER 21

  RICK

  Laurel’s eyes were rimmed in red and she stroked her hair as though she were trying to comfort herself. It seemed impossible that she might have killed Thorne, but why else would she have broken into his home two days after his murder?

  “So you believe Thorne had a plan when he gave those sweaters to you, Ken, and Dennis? Is that correct?” Rick asked.

  Laurel held her stomach and winced as she spoke. “Thorne always had a reason for doing what he did. He was a very purposeful man.”

  “And you have no idea what that purpose might have been?” Deputy Cunningham asked.

  “I am as in the dark as everyone else. Look, can I go now? I’m feeling sick.”

  The deputy pulled out a small notepad, flipped it open, and waited with his pen poised above the paper. “I’m afraid we’re not done yet. We believe Thorne was killed sometime Friday evening. Where were you after six o’clock that night?”

  Laurel sat quietly massaging her temples. Finally, she said, “You’re not going to like this.”

  “Let us be the judge of that,” Rick said. “Were you home?”

  “I closed up the shop at five like usual. Afterwards, I went home, fed the cat, and had a glass of wine. I hadn’t seen Thorne in over a week. He spent the night at my place the Friday before. When he left early Saturday, that was the last I heard from him.”

  “Is that when he gave you the sweater?” Rick asked.

  “No. It came to the store on Friday morning via San Ladron Local Delivery. That’s when I thought maybe I had it all wrong. When I saw what was in the package I thought it was a stupid gift, but I rationalized things and chalked it up to bad taste. I mean, why would he send me a gift if he was breaking up with me?”

  “I see,” Rick said. “I didn’t know the man.”

  “Apparently, neither did I—and that was beginning to eat at me…” She paused, took a deep breath, then continued. “So I walked over to his place at about eight-thirty. When I got there, I saw him with a woman. They were in the front room. The two of them looked very friendly, so I left.”

  “A woman? Was it Darcy?” Rick asked.

  “I told you that girl is delusional.” Laurel gave them both a weak smile. “It wasn’t Darcy or anyone else I recognized.”

  Deputy Cunningham raised his eyebrows and made a note. “Please describe what you mean by friendly.”

  “He was touching her. Had his hand on her shoulder. It didn’t look like she was resisting. I told myself it was just a one-night stand.” She paused, shook her head, then continued. “I can’t believe I was willing to accept that.”

  “What did this woman look like?” Rick asked.

  “I didn’t see her face. All I can tell you is she had red hair and was wearing a slinky cocktail dress. From the way she was dressed, I’d say she was from out of town. I even had myself convinced I could win him back when she left.”

  Deputy Cunningham’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “You said you left. Where did you go?”

  “Home. I started to have another glass of wine, but then I got really angry.”

  “Did you go back to his place?” Rick asked.

  “I didn’t want to seem needy, but I couldn’t be by myself either. So I packed a bag and drove to San Ladron to see my sister.”

  “What time was this?” Rick asked.

  “I started packing a little after nine and it took me maybe twenty minutes to get ready. It must have been about nine-forty when I left town.”

  Deputy Cunningham stopped writing and regarded her. “We’ll need to contact your sister to confirm this.”

  Laurel laughed and shook her head. “Don’t bother. I said you weren’t going to like this. All during the drive it just kept eating at me. It was like every mile I drove made the pain that much more intense. I turned around at Murrieta Pass turnout.”

  Although her tears had subsided, the tightness in Laurel’s cheeks remained.

  “So you drove about halfway to San Ladron, then turned around and came back?” Deputy Cunningham said. “What did you do then?”

  “I drove by Thorne’s house.” There was a note of resignation in Laurel’s voice as she spoke. “What can I say? I’m so screwed up.”

  “Did you go inside?” Deputy Cunningham asked.

  “No. The lights were off in the front room, and I figured he was probably with her. I might be screwed up, but I refuse to be pathetic. So I sat there for a little while, then I came home and cried myself to sleep.”

  A heaviness came over Rick as Laureled fidgeted with a strand of hair dangling over her right shoulder. She’d done the same thing off-and-on throughout the interview. It reminded him of something Alex might do with her pigtails when she knew she was in trouble.

  “I could tell you were uncomfortable when Isabelle was bashing Thorne at the party. I never guessed that you were…involved with him, though. You didn’t want to deal with the rumors, did you?”

  Laurel hung her head and muttered, “No.”

  Deputy Cunningham put his notepad and the pen in his shirt pocket. He gazed at Laurel, his lips again forming a thin line. “I don’t have enough to charge you with Thorne’s murder, so you’re okay there for now. But you did break into a crime scene.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?” Laurel leaned back in her chair, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “If this were any other town, I’d take you in for interfering with a crime scene. But this is where you live and, quite frankly, I have no desire to make this all public knowledge. If you come back here again, I will charge you. You know what that will do to your life. Right?”

  Laurel nodded and croaked. “I won’t come back. I promise. What about my things?”

  “They’re part of the crime scene, but we’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.” Deputy Cunningham hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Now, beat it before I change my mind.”

  “Thank you, Adam.” She started to scurry out the door, but stopped when the deputy called to her. She turned to face him, dread painted on her face.

  “Have those sandals Traci ordered come in yet?” he asked.

  Laurel smiled as she clutched her arms to her chest. “They’re in tomorrow, Deputy. And thanks for your understanding.”

  Adam acknowledged her with a raised hand and a quiet, “No problem.” But when she was out the door, he turned to Rick and shook his head. “I don’t think she has any idea how close I came to locking her up.”

  “Do you think she killed Thorne?”

  “On a personal level, I have trouble believing she’s a killer. Then again, under the right circumstances, I think anyone could do it.”

  “So the question becomes, were these the right circumstances?”

  “It’s the one worth all the prize money, isn’t it?” Adam poked the box containing Laurel’s clothes and shook his head. “I hate to say it, but our primary suspect just walked out the door.”

  “I’m sure there are others. For instance, Ken Grayson and Dennis Malone had the same sweaters. Devon said he thought they were some sort of an apology, but given what Laurel told us, that might be a very bad assumption.”

  “Hmpff. The things you miss when you’re securing a crime scene.”

  “The thing is, from what I’ve heard Thorne had a lot of enemies.”

  “Probably half the town.” Deputy Cunningham’s mouth opened and he nodded knowingly. “So
you’re wondering how many others got the sweaters and didn’t wear them.”

  “Exactly. Do you suppose we could find a receipt or a packing slip in this place?”

  “I found it last night. There were six sweaters altogether.”

  “Good work, Deputy.” Rick’s pulse kicked up slightly. If there were names on that packing slip, they had a suspect list.

  “And they were received about a week ago. That’s the good news. The bad news is the packing slip only listed the total number of sweaters. There were no notes about who got what.”

  “Why should this be easy?” Rick snickered. So much for what might have been a suspect list. “And I suppose Thorne’s computer is locked so we can’t see when he ordered them.”

  “Laurel pulled the plug when I walked in, and she refused to turn it back on.”

  “So we don’t know how he paid for them.”

  “Or if he made any notes on his calendar or any of that good stuff.” The deputy shook his head. “All we know for now is there were six sweaters, and he’d had them for a week.”

  “Maybe that’s not all we have. Laurel said hers was delivered by San Ladron Local Delivery. What are the odds Thorne used the same service for all six sweaters?”

  “Good idea. I’ll call them first thing Monday morning. Since the only lead we have is this whole sweater conspiracy, let’s also visit the others who received them.”

  CHAPTER 22

  ALEX

  December 18

  Hey Journal,

  Marquetta said she’s going to help me investigate! Isn’t that awesome? Daddy better watch out ‘cause we’re gonna be like the super girl power duo! I already know some questions to ask Marquetta. But I have to confess something, too. I didn’t tell her about being under the table with Robbie. For sure she’d tell my dad and he’d ground me. Daddy would call that finessing the story. I have to work on that.

  Speaking of Daddy, he’s been gone a lot ‘cause he’s working with Deputy Cunningham. He didn’t wanna talk about it, but he did tell Marquetta it looks like all those matching sweaters at the party on Friday night had something to do with the murder.

  Miss Harris had one of those sweaters, so maybe she’s involved. I’m gonna ask Marquetta what happened when Miss Harris had her meltdown at the party. I don’t wanna be mean about it, Journal, but Daddy’s not as good at thinking outside the box as me. And now that I’ve got Marquetta on my team, we’re gonna rock this thing!

  There’s Daddy’s knock. Gotta go,

  Alex

  CHAPTER 23

  RICK

  Deputy Cunningham picked Rick up on Monday morning at ten-fifteen. They agreed their first stop would be Ken Grayson’s home. The drive there was short—a mere ten blocks—but picturesque. Colorful Victorian homes predominated along the residential streets, and Rick was ever in awe of their intricate paint jobs.

  As they passed the mayor’s home, Rick shook his head and asked, “Do you have any idea how much money Francine has, Adam?”

  “No clue. No desire to know either. Why do you ask?”

  “She named her house.”

  “Cote d’Azur? That was Francine’s grandfather. He built it—along with a bunch of this town.”

  “So tell me, do you think she’s ever going to fill the chief’s spot now that he’s retired?”

  “Just between you and me, I think she’s perfectly happy with letting me be acting chief indefinitely.”

  “A promotion with no commotion.”

  Adam chuckled. “I suppose you could call it that. Right now I’m doing three jobs and being paid for one.”

  “So Del is still out sick? Any word on when he’ll be returning?”

  The deputy parked in front of a single-story home painted in a shade of green as dark as the manicured lawn. The white trim matched the picket fence bordering the sidewalk.

  Adam turned in his seat and regarded Rick. “It looks to me like Del won’t be returning to work, but the town’s not going to cut him off. At least I’ve gotten the go-ahead to hire somebody to answer the phones. I’m still supposed to be reading the water meters and doing the billing, but I may be able to pawn that off at some point.”

  Rick pushed his door open, then looked over his shoulder at Adam. “Well, Acting Chief Cunningham, we’d better solve this case.”

  “Call me that again and I’ll arrest you for something.” Adam closed the driver’s door, strode around the vehicle, and winked at Rick. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Ken Grayson greeted them at the front door and invited them in, but did not offer to let them sit. Deputy Cunningham pulled out his notepad, and his brow wrinkled as he gazed at a photograph of Ken, his wife Abby, and their daughter. “How’s Maxie doing?”

  “Adam, you didn’t come here to ask about my daughter’s health. Let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Okay. The business at hand. I have a question about Friday night.”

  “What does Friday have to do with anything? Were you there with Traci and I somehow missed you?”

  “No. This has to do with Thorne. Was he at The Crooked Mast on Friday?”

  “Was that when he died?” Ken asked matter-of-factly.

  “Yes.”

  Ken grimaced, then let out a deep sigh. “I told Rick this last night. Thorne had dinner on Friday. He was with some redhead. They were there for a couple of hours and were drinking heavily. I have no idea who she was. They left together and that was the last I saw of them.”

  “I don’t remember you mentioning that,” Rick said.

  “Really? Must have been before you joined us.”

  “Could be,” Rick said. “From what I recall, we only spoke in passing at the party, but you seemed very upset with Thorne. And it certainly wasn’t mentioned when I asked you and Dennis if you’d seen Alex.”

  “Hmmpf. Could have sworn I told you,” Ken grumbled.

  What kind of game was Ken trying to play? Rick smiled politely. “No, you didn’t. Ken, my throat’s dry. Would you mind if I got some water?”

  Ken’s brow wrinkled, then he cocked his head toward the hallway. “Kitchen is the second door on the right. You can’t miss it.”

  “You okay?” Deputy Cunningham asked.

  “I’ll be fine. Must be my allergies kicking up.”

  “Hope you’re not too disappointed. Our kitchen’s nothing compared to yours.”

  Rick shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I actually had anything to do with designing ours. That was all Captain Jack.”

  “Actually, he had a bit of help.” The frown on Ken’s face broke into a smile. “Marquetta and her mom had a lot of input. He did show me the design before he started construction. My jaw dropped at the price tag. You may have only inherited it, but it’s yours now.” He stopped and chuckled. “Just close your eyes when you get your water. We’ve got a little mold issue going on.”

  “I promise I won’t critique.” Rick flipped Ken a thumbs-up, but as he walked away, he wondered what had triggered Ken’s sudden mood change. It was not only disconcerting, but suspicious.

  Rick stopped when he entered the kitchen and looked around. Despite Ken’s warning, this was definitely not what he’d expected in the home of a professional chef. There were dirty dishes stacked on the canary-yellow tile, pots and pans on the stovetop, and the sink was filled with soapy water. The padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor grew louder. He turned and greeted Ken’s wife as she approached.

  “Hey, Abby.”

  “I heard you wanted some water. Let me get that for you.”

  Abby brushed back her dark bangs and went to a nearby cabinet. She wore black leggings and an oversized T-shirt. After she’d filled the glass, she handed it to Rick and filled another for herself. Leaning with her back against the counter, she sighed and shook her head. “What a mess.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse.” Rick took a sip, then smiled at Abby. “Thanks for the water.”

  Abby stood ne
xt to him and leaned against the counter. “Please, don’t look. The place is a disaster. But I was referring to this whole mess with Thorne.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Abby rolled her eyes and let out a depressed laugh. “For sure. He did so much damage.”

  “Like?”

  She set her glass on the counter before looking at Rick. “He threatened a lot of the business owners. ‘Sell to me now before you get nothing’—that type of thing. Kenny told him to buzz off more than once.” Suddenly, her cheeks colored and she turned away. When she spoke, her voice was more casual. “Maxie came down with the flu on Friday. It was a really bad day, but her fever broke last night.”

  “I’m glad. That means you’ve turned the corner.” As a parent, he was happy Maxie was doing better. As an investigator, he was disappointed his source had dried up.

  “I hope so.” She seemed to survey the room again. “Now we just have to deal with the aftermath.”

  Abby looked exhausted. It was the same way he’d felt last year when Alex caught the flu. “I’m sorry. It must be rough being married to a restaurateur. Do you guys ever get to see each other?”

  “Mornings,” Abby laughed. “That’s about the time Maxie’s up, so we have no alone time.” She laughed again and shook her head. “Good family planning.”

  “Gotcha.” Rick laughed politely. “So you never work at the restaurant?”

  She nodded. “We all do.”

  “Even Maxie?”

  “That surprises you? She’s the same age as Alex and you have her working,” Abby said defensively.

  “There are times I forget Alex is only ten—or as she says, almost eleven. I guess we have to get the cheap labor while we can.”

  “How true,” Abby’s tone softened and she chuckled. “But they’re still kids and we can never plan for them getting sick. So when Maxie got sick, we fell way behind. Bad timing, too, because this was a busy week. By the time Kenny got home, I was exhausted. Maxie had worn me out, so I never even heard him come in.”

  Rick hesitated before he replied. Abby probably didn’t even realize what she’d just done—Ken was without an alibi for the night of the murder. He smiled at her. “Well, I’m glad Maxie’s doing better. Let’s hope she’s well enough to enjoy Christmas.”