The Killer Christmas Sweater Club

by Terry Ambrose

  Deputy Cunningham nodded as though he understood, but none of this made sense to Rick. In New York, Giselle had kept late hours and equally late mornings. It hadn’t been unusual for her to sleep until ten. Could she possibly be telling the truth? He waited as Adam made another quick note and then regarded Giselle.

  “Mrs. Atwood, one of the towels from your room was found in the trash by the maid this morning. It had blood on it. Can you tell me how that towel got there?”

  Giselle’s lips formed a thin line and she glared the deputy. “Are you accusing me of something? Do I need an attorney?” Her lower lip trembled.

  “I’m merely asking how one of your towels ended up in the trash this morning. According to Mr. Villari, the room key holder from your room was in the same bag.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Giselle said defiantly.

  “I’ll remind you again, Mrs. Atwood. This is a police investigation. You’ll need to sign your statement under penalty of perjury. Are you sure you don’t know how that towel wound up in your trash bag?”

  Giselle glared at Rick. Her jaw was tight, her teeth clenched. “You and your backwater town. Why couldn’t you move to someplace civilized?”

  “Did you somehow come across the sweater, throw it away, and realize you had blood on your hands?” Rick asked.

  Adam shot a cautionary glance at Rick. Although Rick despised what Giselle had done to his life, she was the mother of his child. He couldn’t just abandon her. Nor would he apologize for helping her story.

  “Yes,” Giselle said.

  “Excuse me?” Deputy Cunningham asked. “Yes, what?”

  “Someone threw the sweater in the back of my car while I was on my walk. I never saw them. And I didn’t know it was there until this morning.”

  “How do you know it happened while you were on this walk?” Deputy Cunningham asked.

  “Because I left the car unlocked. I was having trouble with the stupid locks that night. I kept thinking I was locking the car and I was unlocking it. It’s a rental. I didn’t know.”

  Giselle stood in the doorway with her arms closed around herself, and her blue eyes locked onto Rick’s. How easy it would be to take on the role of her knight in shining armor, to shoulder her problems, solve them—but he’d spent too many years living through her deceit. And in the end, the excuse he’d so willfully provided wasn’t for her, it was for Alex.

  “Can I see your car, Mrs. Atwood?”

  “I cleaned it up. I wiped up the blood with the towel and threw them both in the trash.”

  “There are tests we can run. It will help to corroborate your story.”

  Giselle chewed on her lower lip again. “Fine. I’ll get my keys.”

  CHAPTER 30

  RICK

  Although Giselle had volunteered to cooperate, she hadn’t yet moved. Instead, she held her position in the open doorway and shivered against a sudden gust of wind. The air carried a distinct chill, yet Deputy Cunningham seemed in no hurry. Rick’s pulse quickened. What did Adam want to do? Grant Giselle a reprieve? Probably not. To find the truth, the deputy had to push harder.

  “Why don’t you get your keys, Giselle?” Rick asked.

  Deputy Cunningham glanced at Rick, then at Giselle. “Actually, I’d like to take a look around your room first, Mrs. Atwood. If you don’t mind.”

  “Do…do you have to?” Giselle stammered. “It’s a mess and I…”

  “I won’t be judging you based on what the room looks like. It’s just a precaution to make sure you don’t have any weapons.”

  Giselle’s lips tightened into a thin line, then she said, “I have no weapons. I abhor guns.”

  “Then this should be very quick, Rick will stay out here and we’ll leave the door open. Will that be okay?”

  “I suppose.” Giselle kept one hand on the door as she stepped to the side. “You can both come in, though. It’s cold out there.”

  Rick’s feet anchored him in place. His thoughts were equally heavy as he followed Adam into Giselle’s room. He passed within inches of Giselle, then turned and said, “Thanks.”

  She started to close the door, but Deputy Cunningham held up his hand. “Please, leave it open. This will only take a moment.” He did a quick visual scan of the room, then asked permission to look into the drawers and Giselle’s luggage.

  While Adam worked, Rick stood to one side. This was awkward. Giselle wore no wedding ring. Her luggage looked new. As did her dressing gown. She had to be getting her money from someone. He forced a smile. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. And you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Politeness dictated telling her she hadn’t changed either, but nothing could be further from the truth. Lines were forming around the corners of her eyes. And without the layers of makeup she normally wore, Giselle resembled someone whose life was quickly catching up to her.

  “Small-town living appears to agree with you,” Giselle said. “How’s Alexandra doing?”

  “She prefers Alex. And she’s adjusted well to Seaside Cove. She’s in a good school and has friends. She’s happy.”

  Giselle nodded, then grimaced. “You were always much better with her than I was.”

  Rick’s jaw tensed. Should he say what he really felt, or let the excuse go? He breathed easier when Deputy Cunningham returned. There was no need for a response now—it was back to business.

  “I’m satisfied,” the deputy said. “Now, Mrs. Atwood, if you could show us where your car is.”

  “Let me get dressed first.”

  Rick and Adam stepped outside and shrugged down into their jackets to wait. Overhead, dark gray clouds driven by the onshore breeze made their journey inland. Rick leaned on the railing and took a deep breath.

  “One of our guests saw someone they thought was a woman looking through the front window on Friday night. I think Giselle’s telling the truth about going to the B&B for a walk.”

  “That may be, but it doesn’t mean she didn’t kill Thorne and then go for a walk to clear her conscience. All I’m saying is there’s a large block of time in there that’s not accounted for. I’m sorry, Rick.”

  “I wasn’t trying to give her an alibi, Adam. Just pointing out that at least one part of her story appears to be true.”

  “Got it.” He gestured at the door to the room. “How long’s it take to throw on a shirt and pants?”

  “For her, it always took a long time.” Rick leaned on the railing. Below was the pool area. Without a cover, the water had become a home for brown pine needles and dead leaves. He rubbed his temples and watched a cadre of gray clouds drift onshore. “What am I going to tell Alex?”

  “The truth,” Deputy Cunningham said. “She’s strong, Rick. She’ll handle this just fine.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” If only.

  The door opened and Giselle appeared wearing a T-shirt, a short denim jacket, and jeans. Deputy Cunningham’s eyebrows rose, and Rick suppressed a snicker. Giselle might be aging, but her sense of fashion hadn’t changed at all. Nor had her effect on men.

  “Let’s get on with this,” she said. “I have things to do.”

  They went down the back stairs to the parking lot. At the far end, three large fir trees swayed in the breeze. Beneath them, the asphalt had buckled up from the roots. Weeds poked through cracks in the asphalt and there was a sign that read, Do not leave valuables in car.

  Giselle led the way to her rental car, a red Ford Escort. As they approached, she raised her hand, aimed the remote at the car, and pressed a button. The door locks popped open. Rick pressed his lips together, but couldn’t take his eyes from the small plastic device in Giselle’s hand. Something wasn’t right. She hadn’t even glanced at the remote.

  “I thought you said you were having trouble getting the car locked last night.”

  “It’s much easier in the daylight,” Giselle said nonchalantly

  Deputy Cunningham looked as skeptical as Rick felt.

  “Where was
the sweater?” the deputy asked.

  “In the back seat.” She reached for the door handle, but Deputy Cunningham stayed her with a motion of his hand.

  “We’ll handle this, Mrs. Atwood.” He opened the door and began taking pictures. “Was there anything else left with the sweater?”

  “No. That was all.”

  The seat material was a gray cloth and there were red stains right where Giselle had said they would be. Deputy Cunningham pointed at the stains. “These stains look smudged. Did you try and remove them with anything?”

  Giselle hugged herself and gazed skyward. “I tried to wipe them away, but they were already in the material. The rental car company’s going to have a fit.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police when you found the sweater, Mrs. Atwood?”

  There was a long pause, then she said, “I didn’t know it was something important.”

  Rick suppressed a snort. Seriously? Not important?

  “But you did realize someone had broken into your car?”

  “Well…yes.”

  Enough was enough. This was classic Giselle. Embellish the tale as you went along. “What did you do yesterday, Giselle? Why didn’t you report the break-in?”

  “I…I…”

  “You said you slept late.” Rick snapped. “Did you leave town?”

  Deputy Cunningham regarded Rick with raised eyebrows. Rick swallowed and took a breath. Point taken—get the emotions under control.

  Giselle looked up at one of the giant fir trees waving in the breeze. She seemed so lost. So vulnerable. “A lot has changed, Ricky. Since you left, I mean. When I was looking inside your B&B, I saw how nice you have it decorated…I realized how you’ve made a home here and…I guess I wanted to be a part of that. It was stupid. After everything I put you and Alexandra through, I knew you’d never forgive me. That’s why I left town.”

  “Mrs. Atwood, you haven’t answered the question of why you didn’t report the break-in.” Deputy Cunningham cleared his throat. “Or the sweater you say someone left in your car.”

  Rick stroked the sleeve of his jacket absently. “So why’d you come back?”

  “I stopped for lunch at some roadside diner. It was an awful place. Old. Dingy. But it smelled like heaven. Apple pie and cinnamon rolls. There was this family there—a husband and wife with their little girl. She was about the same age as Alexandra—Alex. I saw how much her mother doted on her, and I saw the love in the father’s eyes. It made me realize what I’ve been missing.”

  “So you turned around and came back.” Rick glanced at Adam, who had backed away slightly.

  “Here I am.” Giselle smiled weakly and shrugged. “I came all this way and was actually standing outside your front door, but then I left town because I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid I’d be a terrible mother. Isn’t that what they call a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

  Rick didn’t answer as he waited for Deputy Cunningham to inspect the trunk. “Finding anything, Adam?”

  “Nope. Clean as a whistle. Mrs. Atwood, I’m going to need you to sign your statement. Can you come by the police station tomorrow morning?”

  Giselle sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself tighter. “Is that your way of giving me my don’t-leave-town warning, Deputy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I suppose it is.”

  “What time?” Giselle asked.

  “Say nine?”

  “Can we make it ten? You may have heard, I tend to sleep late.”

  Something in Giselle’s tone was just a bit too flip. Could her entire filled-with-remorse behavior be an act? If it was, her acting skills had improved greatly.

  CHAPTER 31

  ALEX

  It’s been a couple of hours since Mr. Van Horn put up the mistletoe. Me and Marquetta are going to have a late lunch at the kitchen island, and that will give me a chance to ask questions about the murder.

  Marquetta is letting me use her big Demeyere skillet. It’s like a three-hundred dollar pan and I used to be afraid to even touch it, but I’ve learned a lot since then. She put me in charge of the grilled cheese sandwiches while she heats the tomato soup. I must be getting really good at this ‘cause Marquetta just said the bread is a perfect golden brown.

  Yay! Perfection is awesome.

  While I’m putting the sandwiches on plates, Marquetta’s ladling the soup. She’s been in and out of the kitchen a bunch of times and I guess my plan is solid ‘cause she never looks up. Daddy’s still not back, but I bet he does the same thing. We’ve got super tall ceilings, so it’s gonna be a big shock when they’re standing under the mistletoe, and I tell them to look up.

  After we sit, I take a bite of my sandwich. The bread is nice and crispy on the outside and the cheese is all gooey. Marquetta’s right. These are awesome. Before I take my next bite, I ask, “Marquetta, can I ask you another question about Mr. Malone?”

  “Okay, but I’ll only tell you what I think is relevant.”

  “After we talked, I got to thinking. What if there are other people Mr. Waldorf was trying to blackmail?”

  “Slow down, Alex. Who said anything about blackmail?”

  “Well, you didn’t call it that, but isn’t that what Mr. Waldorf was doing? He wanted people to do things they didn’t want to do. Isn’t that blackmail?”

  “You know what, it scares me how much of this stuff you understand.”

  “I’m gonna be a detective when I grow up.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a chef.”

  “I can do both, right?”

  “In your case, I’ll bet you can.”

  “So what about Mr. Waldorf? Do you think he was blackmailing other people, like maybe Mr. Malone?”

  “Maybe you should be an attorney.” Marquetta takes the first bite of her sandwich and rolls her eyes. “Good job.” She raises her hand, and we high-five each other.

  “Thanks. So what do you think?”

  “Yes, he probably was trying to blackmail Dennis. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something in Dennis’s past that Thorne must have uncovered.”

  “Something from here in Seaside Cove?”

  “I suspect it’s from before he came here. Dennis has only lived in town for about five years. He came from Santa Cruz and married Marianne. They had Olivia a couple of years later. To my knowledge, he’s been a model dad and citizen since the day he arrived.”

  “So if he had something bad in his past would the people in town stop doing business with him?”

  “I can’t imagine what that could possibly be. Besides, most of his business comes from tourists. Then again, I suppose it would depend on what he’d done. If anything.”

  “It seems weird that Mr. Malone would have killed someone over something from so long ago.”

  “I know, Sweetie. Let’s hope he didn’t do it. I like Dennis and I’d hate to think of him ruining his life. Not to mention what it would do to his family.” Marquetta looks over her shoulder at the butler door. “Your dad is here.”

  “Really?” I turn around on my stool. “Daddy!”

  Whoa. He’s got Deputy Cunningham with him. What’s up with that?

  CHAPTER 32

  RICK

  Alex stood before Rick, her arms extended up. He leaned over, picked her up, and exaggerated a groan. “You’re getting too big for this, kiddo.”

  Alex kept her arms wrapped around his neck as he put her down. “Hi, Deputy Cunningham.”

  “Hey, munchkin.”

  Rick’s stomach growled as he breathed in the aromas filling the air. “What are you cooking?”

  “Grilled cheese!” Alex chirped.

  “Have you two had lunch?” Marquetta asked.

  “No. We’ve been too busy” Rick rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Adam and I are fighting the chasing the clues blues.”

  Deputy Cunningham snickered and mimicked a musician playing a violin. “And let me tell you, it’s a sad, sad song.”

  “Gotcha.” Marquetta got up from he
r seat and went to the stove. “I can fix you a couple of sandwiches. Unfortunately I’m out of soup.”

  “I’ll be good with whatever you have,” Rick said.

  “Same here.”

  “You two look so serious,” Marquetta said. “Have a seat. This will only take a few minutes.”

  “That would be terrific.” Rick kept one hand on Alex’s shoulder as he followed her to her stool.

  Deputy Cunningham plopped down on the remaining stool. “Thanks, Marky. It’s been a long morning.”

  “What’s going on, Daddy? Did you find Mr. Waldorf’s killer?”

  “No, kiddo. Not yet. All we’re finding so far are questions.”

  Marquetta turned on the burner and adjusted the heat. “So, how long do you two have? Are you just taking a lunch break?”

  Rick rubbed the back of his neck, then rested his elbows on the countertop. “We’re here to strategize. There’s been an unforeseen development in the investigation.”

  The room was filled with daylight from the French doors and the bank of windows along the outer wall. The bright and airy atmosphere did little to lift Rick’s spirits. Nothing could change the news he had to deliver. “We found a sweater,” he said. “It’s the same as the ones Ken, Dennis, and Laurel had.”

  “We also know there are a total of six sweaters,” Deputy Cunningham added.

  Marquetta set the pan on the burner, then looked over her shoulder at Adam. “So you’ve accounted for four of them?”

  “Five, actually. Thorne had one.”

  Marquetta raised her eyebrows, then turned back to the stove.

  “Awesome,” Alex breathed. “The ugly sweater murders.”

  “Something like that.” Rick pressed his lips together and smiled at Alex despite the heaviness in his chest. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

  “But, Daddy, the sweaters could be the key. This could be huge.”

  Rick reached out and stroked Alex’s cheek. “There’s something bigger. You see, the discovery of the fifth sweater is significant for two reasons. First, it’s got blood on it.”