The Killer Christmas Sweater Club

by Terry Ambrose

  Alex hung her head. When she looked up, her cheeks were pinched. “Me and Robbie were kinda trapped under a table near where Mr. Grayson and Mr. Malone were talking.”

  “Excuse me?” Rick sat up straight. Blinked. Then shook his head. “Why were you…oh, that’s how you were spying. You snuck under the table to listen in on their conversation.”

  “They looked so serious, so I knew it had to be important!”

  Rick held up a hand, then took a deep breath. “Slow down, kiddo. Why did you think you needed to listen in on their conversation?”

  “Because they were wearing those sweaters they got from Wimpy—Mr. Waldorf, and they hated him.”

  “She has a point, Rick.”

  “Don’t encourage her.”

  “Just saying,” Marquetta snickered.

  Rick huffed, trying to sound displeased, but he couldn’t deny he was relieved. All Alex had done was crawl under a table to listen in on a conversation. He turned back to his daughter, rubbed his jaw, and gave her a reassuring smile. “What happened after that?”

  “I texted Sasha and told her we needed a distraction. That’s kinda why she bumped into Mrs. Murdoch.”

  “Look, kiddo, I can’t say I’m happy to hear you masterminded this little operation, but it’s not like you did anything dangerous. And fortunately, nobody was hurt. Did you think about what could have happened to Isabelle if she’d lost her balance.”

  Alex’s eyebrows narrowed and she shook her head. “No.”

  “Nobody was hurt, Rick. That’s the most important thing.”

  He gazed at Marquetta. She was right. “Alex, I’m going to let this go. But you need to think before you do something like this again. Marquetta has told me about your arrangement with her. We’re in agreement—you need ground rules. If you violate those, the consequences could be severe.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” With wide eyes, Alex nodded solemnly before asking, “Do you want to hear what they said? It’s kinda important.”

  “This wearing two hats really stinks sometimes,” Rick grumbled.

  “But you’re not wearing a hat, Daddy.”

  “It’s an expression, kiddo. It means I’m trying to balance being your father with helping Deputy Cunningham. Right now, those two are at odds with each other.” He raised his left hand and motioned as though he were removing a hat, then did the opposite with his right. “I’ve taken off my dad hat and put on my investigator’s hat. What did you hear, Miss Atwood?”

  “You’re funny, Daddy.” Alex laughed, then straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her. “Mr. Waldorf was threatening Mr. Malone ‘cause he beat up a guy a long time ago and was worried his wife would find out. He said if she discovered he had a police record she might leave him.”

  Marquetta squinted at Alex. “That doesn’t sound like Marianne at all, Alex. Are you sure that’s what Dennis said?”

  She scrunched up her cheeks and stared off into space as though she were trying to recall some tiny detail. “He said he wasn’t sure what she would do ‘cause he wasn’t wearing the sweater she bought him for the party.”

  “Sounds like Dennis is paranoid about something,” Rick said.

  “That’s what Mr. Grayson said! And then Mr. Malone said everything was messed up and he was sure Mr. Waldorf was gonna run everybody out of business.”

  Alex’s news wasn’t far off the mark from one of the theories Rick and Adam were working on. He also wondered how many business owners that might throw into the suspect pool.

  “Did they say anything else, Alex?”

  “They said Mr. Waldorf wasn’t going to stop until he was dead.”

  “But Thorne Waldorf was already dead when you heard them talking,” Rick said. “Alex, this is important. Do you remember which one said that?”

  Alex rubbed her face with both hands and shook her head. “Mr. Malone. But before that Mr. Grayson said they wouldn’t have to worry about Mr. Waldorf anymore.”

  “Wait, he said he wasn’t worried about him? Are you sure?”

  Alex nodded. “Totally. That’s what Mr. Grayson said. And then Mr. Malone said he thought they should bring in a lawyer like Mr. Lane.”

  “Did Ken say why they didn’t have to worry about Thorne?”

  “Nuh-uh. That’s when you showed up looking for me.”

  Rick and Marquetta exchanged a quick look, then Rick said, “If Dennis was considering an attorney, he didn’t know Thorne was already dead.”

  “And Mr. Grayson said he wasn’t worried anymore, so he might have done it?” Alex asked.

  Yes, thought Rick. And Abby had taken away any hope of an alibi she might have provided. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. I have to talk to Adam.”

  A frown creased Marquetta’s forehead and she muttered, “Do you think Ken is capable of killing Thorne?”

  “I hope not,” Rick said. “But he may not have an alibi for Friday night and it sounds like he had motive. Before we go back to Ken, though, we need to tie up Dennis’s alibi.”

  He licked his lips and took a mental step back. Prioritize. He needed to do the most important thing first, and that was consider Alex’s feelings.

  “Have you thought about your mom, kiddo?”

  Alex’s smile turned down and she didn’t answer.

  “It’s okay, Sweetie.” Marquetta reached out and took Alex’s hand in hers. “Really.”

  “I’ll talk to her, Daddy. And then I want her to go away.”

  “I understand,” Rick said. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll do everything I can to see that’s what happens.”

  CHAPTER 36

  RICK

  Rick stood on the sidewalk in front of the sign for the Seaside Cove Inn. Despite the flip-flops his stomach had been performing on the way over, surprising Giselle might be the only way to get the truth.

  He climbed the stairs and entered the office. The reception desk was unmanned, so he strode through the room, then wove his way through the pool area. Along the path, he passed a young man who was standing next to a no smoking sign puffing on a cigarette.

  The man eyed Rick suspiciously as he approached, and when Rick stopped a few feet away and pointed at the sign, the man ground out the final stub and stormed off to one of the first-floor rooms.

  Rick climbed the stairs and went to Giselle’s room. He knocked, waited, and when there was no answer, knocked again. A few seconds later, the door opened and Giselle stood before him wearing the same gown as before. She wore dark mascara and eyeliner, had pulled her hair up into a loose topknot, and wore red lipstick.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” she said with a smile, then stepped to one side and opened the door.

  “I can see you were expecting someone.” Rick walked past her and sat on the desk chair. “Giselle, why did you come to Seaside Cove?”

  Giselle lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and avoided his gaze. “I told you, I came out here to reconnect with you and Alex.”

  “It’s been five years. Please don’t tell me you’ve developed a conscience all of a sudden.”

  “Ricky, don’t be cruel. Things have been so difficult lately.”

  Rick scrutinized her face. The blue eyes he’d once found so beguiling, were dull and tinged in red. “All right. When you were talking with Deputy Cunningham, you said you arrived Friday afternoon. How did you get here?”

  “What are you doing, Ricky?” she demanded. “Why the inquisition?”

  “Because I don’t think you told us everything earlier. Because you’re quite likely a person of interest in Thorne Waldorf’s murder. And because I don’t want you ruining the life Alex and I have here in Seaside Cove. So let’s try this again. When did you arrive in Seaside Cove?”

  Giselle huffed and the coquettish smile she’d worn before was replaced by a grimace, but when she spoke, her voice did not betray her emotions. “Friday afternoon. I left New York Thursday morning and flew to San Francisco. I rented that stupid car and drove down here on Frid
ay morning. The traffic was awful and when I got in all I wanted to do was sleep.” Her gaze flitted around the room, then settled on the dresser. “I haven’t been sleeping well at all.”

  Her delicate fingers shook and Rick was reminded of the young, confident girl he’d married. “You said before that you took a sleeping pill Friday night?”

  She nodded. “They help me get through the night.”

  “Why did you register under the name of Edward Paulson?”

  Giselle shrugged. “It was a name.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Rick hissed. He stood and stared down at her. “Edward Paulson’s your lover. It’s not just a name.” He took two steps toward the door and spun around. “If you can’t tell the truth, I’m leaving.”

  “Don’t go!” She winced and shifted position, crossing one ankle over her knee.

  “Stop lying to yourself,” Rick said quietly. “He set you up in an apartment. You know exactly what he was to you.”

  Giselle hung her head and nodded. “I deserve that. You have to understand, it’s over.”

  “I no longer care who you sleep with. What I want to know is why you registered under his name. Was he supposed to come with you?”

  “No.” Giselle shook her head. “I didn’t want anyone knowing who I was.” Her voice cracked as she added, “I didn’t want to make things worse for you and Alex.”

  Rick returned to the chair and carefully inspected her face. For once, he actually believed her. How many times had her passions flip-flopped from one to another? Maybe for once she’d decided to put Alex first. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me you were coming. Or why you didn’t contact me once you were here.”

  Giselle’s jaw puckered, revealing small lines around the corners of her mouth and a slight sagging under her chin. “I’m…I don’t…I was never very good at being a wife or a mother. And…” She paused closed her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. “And I was having second thoughts about coming to see you.”

  “You? Second thoughts? You’ve never lacked confidence in your decisions.”

  She shook her head. “That’s been my facade, Ricky. You never knew the real me. You knew this little girl who had big dreams and had never thought about what the real world might be like. It’s why we grew apart, because I couldn’t deal with my…insecurity. I didn’t know if I could face you. Or Alex.”

  “So you came here to see me and Alex, but you weren’t sure you could do it. And yet you told Deputy Cunningham you needed local representation. Which is it, Giselle? Were you here to make nice or get ugly?”

  Giselle regarded him with a cold expression. “You always did have a way of making things sound vulgar.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. You spent two hours with Thorne at The Crooked Mast and you were drinking heavily.”

  “How’d you…”

  “This is a small town. I’m working the murder with Deputy Cunningham. Everything is getting back to me. Just tell me if it’s true or not.”

  Giselle’s gaze flitted around the room. Rick let his follow. This place was so different from the B&B. Dings in the cheap laminate furniture exposed the pressboard below; the off-white paint was streaked with scuff marks along the baseboard and corners; and the artwork reminded Rick of holdovers from the sixties.

  “I didn’t know if I could go through with it,” Giselle whispered.

  “Go through with what?”

  “Moving to Seaside Cove. Reconciling with you—and my daughter.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Don’t you see, Ricky? I don’t want a divorce. I wanted to end all this animosity. Thorne was supposed to help me undo all the damage I’ve done.”

  Of all the things Rick had expected, this was not one of them. Divorce? Sure. Kiss and make up? What drugs was Giselle taking? Or was this her Plan B? She always had a Plan B, and this had to be it. A lie within a lie.

  “I need time to digest this.” He stood and started for the door. It wasn’t until he had his hand on the knob that he realized Giselle had successfully diverted him away from the investigation and once again engaged his emotions. He cursed his naiveté and spun to face her. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed looking forlorn despite the expensive makeup and gown. “Just one more question about Friday night.”

  She stood and took two steps in his direction. “What’s that?”

  “You said you were having trouble with the remote on the car and couldn’t get your car locked when you parked at the B&B.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And yet when you took Deputy Cunningham and me down to your car, you unlocked it with no problem.”

  Giselle’s voice cracked when she said, “It was daylight.”

  Rick shook his head. “You never looked at the remote. I was watching you.”

  The tears welled in her eyes again. “Ricky…” she whispered.

  “Save it for the stage, Giselle. I don’t think I can believe a word you’ve said.” He turned, twisted the doorknob and left without looking back.

  CHAPTER 37

  ALEX

  We baked cookies ‘cause Marquetta thought it would be a good idea to put out a tray each afternoon to celebrate Christmas. I think it was an awesome idea, especially ‘cause we had to test each batch to make sure they were okay.

  While Marquetta works on cleaning up the kitchen, I’m in charge of setting up a tray in the dining room. When I push through the butler door, I see Miss Potok sitting at one of the dining tables. She’s working on her laptop like she does a lot of afternoons. She must’ve heard me ‘cause she looks up. Her eyes have circles under them, like maybe she’s been worrying a lot.

  “What have you got there, Alex?”

  “We’re going to put these out every day until Christmas.” I look down at the tray in my hands. It’s filled with chocolate chip cookies and there’s also a stack of little paper plates with Christmas trees on them and some decorative napkins.

  “Would you like one?”

  “Chocolate chip is my favorite.” She closes the lid on her laptop and crosses the room. “Were you going to put them on the buffet?”

  “I figured since we always put the breakfast stuff there, it would be a good place.”

  “Excellent reasoning. And this is a beautiful linen runner. Shall we put those cookies out? I’d love to try one.”

  “Okay.”

  She moves a couple of used coffee cups the guests left and waits while I set out the tray, the plates, and napkins. The whole display totally looks like Christmas.

  “I’ll bet all the guests will be raving about these tomorrow at breakfast.” Miss Potok says as she leans over and picks one out.

  I hand her a green napkin and one of the plates. “You can have more than one if you want.”

  She closes her eyes and smiles when she takes a bite. A moment later, she looks at me. “These are perfect—crispy on the outside, gooey on the inside. Did you make them?”

  My face gets a little warm ‘cause Miss Potok hasn’t ever been this nice to me. “Me and Marquetta made them. She’s an awesome cook, and she’s teaching me.”

  “Well, you’re turning into an amazing cook yourself.” She takes another bite, then looks at me and frowns. “I hear your mother’s in town. How do you feel about that?”

  My jaw scrunches up and my mind kinda goes blank. It feels totally weird talking to Miss Potok about my mom. “I dunno.”

  “That kind of thing creates a lot of uncertainty.”

  “Um, I guess. I don’t know what she wants.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Miss Potok looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “That’s what I’d do if it were my mother.”

  I might not like Miss Potok a lot, but I have to admit she’s really strong. Like Marquetta. And like I want to be when I grow up. “Miss Potok? Did you grow up in a broken home?”

  She smiles at me and shakes her head. “No, my mother and father were together for many years. My father died a few years ago.”

  Wow
. I’ve never thought of Miss Potok as like a real person. But maybe she has feelings just like everybody else. “I’m sorry about your dad. Is your mom okay?”

  She shakes her head. “She’s struggling for money thanks to a series of risky investments my father made. He was a good man, but terrible with money.”

  “Is that why you do what you do?”

  She looks away for a second, then takes another cookie. After she takes a bite, she asks, “Have you had one?”

  “I’m not supposed to have any of these because I already got to sample them, but just one won’t hurt. Right?” I pick up a small one and take a bite.

  “Good girl. Never pass up a cookie opportunity.”

  We both giggle and she leans toward me and whispers, “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Okay.” I’m good with that. I like secrets.

  “My mother was a terrible baker. She burned everything.”

  We both laugh again, but that doesn’t seem like a very big secret. “Do you send your mom money?”

  She looks away and her smile kinda fades. “The company pays me well. It’s enough for me to help my mother out, but with Thorne dead, my job is looking iffy.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Thorne and I were a team.” Her cheeks get all pinched. “Now, the company is looking at other options. They’ve even indicated they might scale back their work on the San Manuel. So I guess you and I are in the same boat. We’re both facing a great deal of uncertainty.”

  Whoa. I didn’t know Mr. Waldorf played such a big part in everything. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to fight for my job. You have to fight for what you believe in, Alex. That means somehow I have to convince my boss this is the opportunity of a lifetime and if the company backs out now they’ll be throwing away a fortune.”

  December 19

  Hey Journal,

  I just got done talking to Miss Potok and I’m super confused. I never thought about her having feelings before, but I guess she does. With this being the season of miracles, maybe she’ll have a change of heart about her company putting their big museum here in Seaside Cove.