We don’t want it ‘cause it will change everything. I want Miss Potok to be able to keep sending money to her mom, but she’s gonna have to find another way. She’s totally right about needing to fight for what you want and that’s why we all have to get together to fight her company.
I’m not gonna leave Seaside Cove. What my mom wants doesn’t matter. She hasn’t been around for almost as long as I can remember, and now me and Daddy are settled. I’m totally gonna fight to keep my life here. I just hope Daddy’s gonna fight for me, too.
xoxo
Alex
CHAPTER 38
RICK
Rick took the most direct route back to the B&B, which was along Front Street. The Crooked Mast was a half block to his right. He breathed in the damp chill of the late afternoon air and let his senses absorb the faint scent of salt from the sea. To the left was the wharf—it was a great place to find solitude and think, but he didn’t need to sort things out today. He needed a resource for town gossip and the best one in town was just up the street.
If there as one thing Mayor Francine Carter did especially well, it was gossip. She did have a good handle on running the town, but much of that prowess came from knowing every detail about every person. Francine was a veritable encyclopedia of information about the locals, and right now Rick felt like he needed a good old-fashioned info dump.
Francine glanced up from her task of wiping down counters when the bell attached to the front door tinkled to announce his entry. She gave Rick her standard mayoral smile—cheeks raised with no teeth showing. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I was hoping for a little information.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows went up and she pursed her lips. “Is this for the investigation?”
“It is. Adam and I have been striking out so far.”
Francine nodded and rolled her eyes as she placed the towel on the counter next to her. “So I’ve heard. Deputy Cunningham has been keeping me updated in meticulous detail.”
“Then I won’t bore you,” Rick said. “You know about all the sweaters. We know there were six, but we’ve only accounted for five. Do you have any idea who might have the last one?”
“Well…” Francine stretched out the word and her eyes lit up. “While I don’t know for sure, there are some likely candidates. It would appear to me that Thorne was using the sweaters as a way to embarrass those who stood in his way. Therefore, one should ask, who were his major opponents?”
“Interesting theory,” Rick said.
Francine patted the back of her perfectly coiffed hair, a look of self-satisfaction on her face. She raised her chin and held Rick’s gaze. “There are, after all, a number of people in this town who would have been better off with Thorne out of the picture, so to speak.”
“Who do you think those people are, Francine?”
“One might look to any of the business owners on Main Street.” Francine made a sweeping gesture with her hand, but gazed pointedly toward one storefront in particular, Hot Feet.
“Francine, we already know Laurel got a sweater. But what about you? You said ‘any of the business owners on Main Street.’ Does that include you?”
“Most certainly not,” she snapped. “I had no reason to kill Thorne Waldorf.”
“Okay, so who might have gotten the last sweater?”
Francine huffed, then said, “I have no idea. Actually, I’m quite surprised at Thorne. He was quite the skinflint—as tight with a dollar as he was information.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Thorne Waldorf seldom spent a dollar in this town unless it was a necessity—or brought him personal pleasure.” Francine emphasized the last two words and raised her eyebrows at Rick.
He bit back a snide comment and kept his tone level. “Are you referring to Giselle?”
She made some sort of noncommittal head motion—a cross between a nod and a denial. It was typical Francine, thought Rick. Stir the pot, then move on.
“Did you ever hear about an argument between Dennis Malone and Thorne?”
“Such old news, Rick. That happened back before Thanksgiving.”
“Do you remember the date?”
Francine’s cheeks, which always reminded Rick of a chipmunk’s, bunched up as she gazed at the ceiling. “Let’s see…it was about the second week in November. Yes, the storeowners were just starting to put up decorations.” She flipped her wall calendar back one month and added, “The ninth.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. It was the same day I put up the garland and lights outside.”
“Do you remember the time?”
At the sound of the high-pitched bell, Francine turned her attention to the front door and the middle-aged couple who entered. “Welcome folks! Is this your first time in Scoops and Scones?”
Rick didn’t recognize the couple, which meant they were either staying at the Seaside Cove Inn or were only here for the day. He walked away from the counter to let Francine perform her proprietor duties and went to Homer the Turtle’s tank. As the story went, Homer was a rescue turtle who had washed ashore. Whether the story was true or not, he’d become a fixture in Francine’s shop. Alex loved stopping by to say hello to Homer. She also claimed she could tell when Homer was having a good day or a bad one.
The couple each selected a single scoop of ice cream in a cup, then the man engaged in some sort of discussion with Francine. The woman glared at her partner and hissed at him as they made their way out the front door.
When the couple left, Francine harrumphed, then said, “I thought they’d never leave. Cheapskates from San Ladron. They’re only here for the day and everything is outrageously expensive.”
“At least you made a sale.”
“Pfft.” Francine shook her head and rolled her eyes dramatically. “And he complained about every penny. He left no tip, either.”
Winning this discussion—or any other for that matter—with Francine would be impossible. “So, we were talking about this altercation between Thorne and Dennis Malone. What time did you say it happened?”
“It was middle of the afternoon. Right about three.” Francine’s eyes lit up again and her smile broadened. “Do you have a lead?”
“I won’t know until I can look back at Thorne’s calendar. But I seem to recall some entries about that time. If we could figure out Thorne’s coding system, we could start putting together who he saw and when. Did you ever meet with Thorne?”
“No. The man was impossible to deal with. He seemed to think he could ramrod through whatever plan he and Miss Potok were working on without the town council’s support—or mine.” Francine’s eyes narrowed and her voice hardened. “He was not about to get away with it.”
Rick borrowed a piece of paper from Francine and made a note of the date and time for the altercation between Thorne and Dennis. When he was done, he asked, “Do you know of any others who met with Thorne?”
“I have no idea. The only reason I know of that particular altercation is it took place right out in public. Dennis was quite upset. He did make several threats, unfortunately. I’m afraid several passersby overheard them. Laurel could not have missed it. It happened right outside her store.”
“Did she talk with Thorne at that point?”
“Not that I know of.”
Rick added Laurel’s name with a question mark to his note. If Thorne’s calendar did include an event on that date and time, he supposed it could be under the code for either of them. Then again, if Laurel was the woman who barged into Thorne’s house on the night of the murder, would she even be on the calendar?
“I just saw the wheels begin to turn,” Francine said as she eyed Rick with a smile.
“It’s only a theory, but Thorne’s calendar used only numbers. Adam and I are sure those numbers are codes referencing people, but we haven’t cracked the code yet. Do you know of anyone in town who’s good at code breaking?”
Francine’s earlier interest suddenl
y seemed to fade and she flipped one hand dismissively. “You could try Howie Dockham, but his thing is stamps and ‘collectibles’. I don’t know if he ever dabbled in all this code rigmarole. I can’t see how spending resources on silly puzzles while you could be investigating is going to help.”
Rick cleared his throat. “Francine, when we made our deal for me to help Adam, I never thought we’d be looking at another murder. However, I made a promise to you and I’ll keep it, but you need to let me handle things in my own way. And right now, my instincts are telling me to dig deeper into Thorne’s business.”
“Well,” Francine huffed. “I never forbade you from doing things your way.”
“Thank you.” Rick counted to himself as he held Francine’s gaze.
After a few moments of silence, she blurted, “I just think there might be a more efficient solution.”
“Such as?”
Francine grimaced, glanced away, then huffed. “I don’t know. But I’m sure there is one.”
“Please remember, Francine, that I’m a volunteer. Are we on the same page, Madame Mayor?”
Before Francine could answer, they were interrupted by the tinkling of the entrance bell. Rick considered leaving rather than waiting out another of Francine’s customer interactions, but the person entering the shop was Deputy Cunningham.
“I was driving by when I saw you coming in here, Rick.” Adam eased the door shut behind him, then grinned at Francine. “Don’t want to hurt Mr. Jefferson’s bell.”
“Thank you, Adam. Our third president would be pleased.”
How many times had he heard the same tall tale? The bell had once been owned by Thomas Jefferson and had been handed down through Francine’s family over the generations. Rick had no way of knowing how much truth there was to it, but Alex had certainly loved the story.
The deputy crossed the hardwood floor, his gait slower than it had been earlier in the day. His five o’clock shadow had aged a day and his eyes were bleary.
“Adam, you need to get some sleep,” Rick said.
“Can’t. This thing with Thorne is giving me insomnia. Besides, isn’t that what the big-city cops do? Work the case till it’s done?”
“They work in teams. You don’t have a team. You have me. And I have other obligations.”
The deputy rubbed his chin, grimaced, and nodded wearily.
“Deputy, why are you here?” Francine looked at him expectantly.
He seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot.”
“You need sleep, Deputy. And a shave. In that order. And, if need be, you can consider that a direct order.”
Adam regarded the mayor for a moment, then his shoulders drooped. “I’ll try and get some shuteye tonight, Madame Mayor. And I’ll catch a shave, too.”
“You said you were driving by and saw me, Adam. Does that help?”
The deputy blinked twice. “I remember now. Have you got some time to go back to Thorne’s office? I’ve been going through the evidence I collected and there are some things that don’t make sense.”
“Such as?” Francine asked.
Rick bit his tongue. So much for the mayor keeping her hands-off.
“I’m not sure,” the deputy said. “It’s one of those I’ll-know-it-when-I-see-it type things.” He peered at Rick. “Can you?”
“It’s four-thirty, Adam. I’ve been gone most of the day and I feel like I need to get back to the B&B.”
“Tell you what. Give me thirty minutes.”
The deputy’s eyes locked onto Rick’s. What sort of message was he trying to convey? Maybe he’d tell once they were outside and away from the mayor.
“Okay. Thirty minutes. After that, I need to get home.”
“Works for me.” Deputy Cunningham gestured toward the front door with a wide sweeping of his arm.
Rick led the way out of Scoops and Scones, and turned to face Adam when they were standing on the sidewalk. “There’s something you didn’t want to say in front of our esteemed mayor. Isn’t there?”
Deputy Cunningham didn’t stop and continued on to his 4x4. When they were inside the vehicle, he said, “Let’s just say I’m hoping I’m wrong.”
CHAPTER 39
ALEX
Marquetta says we’re having a simple dinner tonight. We’re gonna make broiled salmon and veggies, but Marquetta doesn’t do simple. We’ll be putting a mustard-honey glaze on the salmon and then we’re gonna roast some butternut squash with red and yellow peppers and onions. Marquetta chopped up the squash, but she’s letting me take care of the onions and peppers. Right now she’s watching over my shoulder and nodding.
“Your knife cuts are perfect, Sweetie. There’s going to be a lot of prep work for the open house, so you’ll be getting a lot more practice. By the end of the week, you’ll be a professional.”
“Awesome.” I don’t know why, but Marquetta’s compliments always make me feel all warm inside. I think it’s the way I’d feel if I had a real mom. I let myself lean back against her and smile. “I love you, Marquetta.”
She leans over and kisses the top of my head. “I love you, too. So tell me, have you given up on your investigation? You haven’t asked me any questions in the last hour or so.”
“I’ve been kinda distracted.”
“About what?”
My heart is racing ‘cause I wanna tell her. I’m worried about what she’ll say if I tell her everything. But I can’t keep this inside anymore. Ever since I wrote those last words in my journal, I’ve been worried Daddy won’t fight my mom. I swallow hard before I ask, “Why do you think my mom’s here?”
With a hand on each of my shoulders, she turns me around and kneels down so we’re eye-to-eye. “I don’t know. Are you still going to talk to her? If so, you could ask her then.”
“I don’t want to make things harder for Daddy.” I look up at her. “Or you.”
“Don’t worry about us. You’re the one who’s most affected and all we want is for you to feel comfortable.”
“But that’s the problem. Daddy says he’s okay with me talking to her, but I don’t think he is.” I always thought he could do anything, but what if he’s not as strong as Miss Potok?
Marquetta puts her arms around me and pulls me close. Her voice is soft and warm. “What’s really bothering you, Sweetie?”
My face is hot and my throat’s all tight and I have to swallow hard to talk. “He followed my mom to New York when she left us.”
“I know, but that was so you would have a mother.”
“But I didn’t. He pretended everything was okay when it wasn’t. He should’ve made her stay home more.”
She sniffles and pushes me away so I can see her face. Her cheeks are wet, just like mine.
“Sometimes our choices aren’t as easy as they seem. Your dad did the best he could because he was deeply hurt.”
My stomach is all in knots. I’ve never said what I’m about to say. Not even to my journal. “What if he still can’t do enough?” I cross my arms in front of me and hang my head. This whole thing is super confusing. I lean closer to Marquetta and stare at the floor. She hugs me and I just wanna stay in her arms.
“Marquetta? Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t, Sweetie. This is your decision. Just because you told your dad it was okay doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. But I want you to remember that she is your mother. How she ever pushed you this far away, I’ll never understand. I could never, ever let you go if you were my little girl.”
I throw my arms around her and cling to her. “But I am.”
Even though I can’t see her face, I can feel her nodding. “Yes, Sweetie. You are.”
CHAPTER 40
RICK
Rick stood in the middle of Thorne Waldorf’s office. Whoever had killed Thorne had left the room looking like a hurricane’s aftermath. They’d strewn papers around, swept everything from the bookcase onto the floor, and even cleared most of the desk. B
ut prior to the actual murder, this room had to have been a model of secrecy and organization.
“You said you had a theory, Adam. Are you going to tell me what it is?”
The deputy scratched his ear, then gestured around them. “Someone was incredibly angry when they did this.”
“Or very methodical in their attempt to hide evidence.”
The deputy nodded, went to the desk, and picked up a glass paperweight. It was the only thing that hadn’t been thrown on the floor. “Then why leave this here? My theory is this was a crime of passion. And I think we have two primary suspects.”
“Laurel Harris and Darcy Willoughby. Could be. When I was just starting out as a reporter my editor told me never make a judgement until after the story was in print. Otherwise, your opinion colors the facts.”
“I guess rock-paper-scissors is out then.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I figured if we couldn’t agree on a motive that could be the tiebreaker.”
Rick regarded Adam, then chuckled. “Man, you are tired.”
“Exhausted.”
Rick snickered as he gazed at Deputy Cunningham. “You need to follow the mayor’s orders and get some sleep.”
The deputy gazed out the side window; his voice soundly oddly distant. “Have you ever seen the abominable snowman?”
“Uh, no. Have you?”
Adam shook his head as he continued to peer outside. “I thought maybe, but it could have just been a reflection. You know, an optical delusion.”
Rick took him by the arm and guided him to the front door. “You know what? You’re done here. Go home, go to bed, and sleep for about twelve hours.”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “I thought we were going to search the crime scene again.”
“Lend me a pair of gloves and I’ll take a look around. If I find anything, I’ll let you know. Traci’s house is just a few blocks. Right?”
“Two blocks down, one over. Yellow Victorian with white trim.”
“Wow.” Rick opened the door and gave the deputy a gentle shove on his back. “Walk there. You should not be driving. Have her read Dr. Seuss to you until you fall asleep.”
The Killer Christmas Sweater Club Page 15
