The Killer Christmas Sweater Club

by Terry Ambrose

  “Okay. But I gotta tell you something first. This afternoon when I was putting out the cookies, Miss Potok was in the dining room. I kinda think I was wrong about her. She’s really sad about Mr. Waldorf getting killed.”

  Daddy smooths out the covers again. He looks like he might be trying to figure out what to say. “Reese will find herself another attorney. I just hope it’s not Jordan Lane. She’s one of those people who always lands on their feet.”

  “Kinda like a cat?”

  “Exactly. Now, it’s time for you to get some sleep.”

  “Daddy?”

  “What, kiddo?”

  “Could me and Marquetta work on the puzzle?”

  “I thought we’d settled that.”

  “Not the bookcase. Mr. Waldorf’s calendar. You said it’s all written in code. Maybe we could figure it out. We don’t have to leave the B&B and it would probably help me with math!”

  Hey Journal,

  Daddy just left and he thinks I’m asleep, but I wanted to let you know I asked him about helping him figure out Mr. Waldorf’s calendar. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no! I’m gonna ask Marquetta and see if she wants to help me.

  I don’t know if I can sleep, Journal. This is awesome! It’s like a Christmas puzzle.

  xoxo

  Alex

  CHAPTER 43

  RICK

  It was after ten, the house was quiet, and Rick sat in the dining room, the only illumination coming from the lights of Weissville. He dared not run the train at this hour, but the miniature lights in the town were a colorful reminder of the approaching holiday.

  He raised the glass of wine he held to his lips and took a small swallow. It was the same pinot noir he and Marquetta had been drinking at dinner tonight. The last couple of days were turning into a jumble of confusing thoughts and emotions. Between Thorne’s death, Giselle’s appearance, a new competitor, and Alex’s news tonight about Reese—there were so many things to think about.

  His time here with Alex and Marquetta was the anchor. The one thing that kept him sane. He had to preserve that at all costs. There was nothing he could do about Reese. Whether she got fired and left town was strictly between her and Exploration International.

  And what about Agnes Chambers? Not only could he not stop her from opening a B&B, he didn’t want to. She was entitled to make a living. One thing he could do was wish her well when he talked to her tomorrow. Finally, something he could handle without any negative repercussions.

  Rick took out his phone, turned off the flash, and shot a photo of Weissville. He smiled as he checked the result. The train crossing signal was slightly out of focus, but in the background you could clearly see the red brick bank building, the two-story hotel, and the mountains behind the town. This photo would be a nice reminder tomorrow of what awaited him as he dug into the darkness of murder.

  Rick drank the last of his wine, pulled the plug on the model train set, and put the chairs back in their places. Then he headed up to his office. He flipped on the overhead lights and sat in the leather monstrosity Captain Jack had called his chair. His grandfather had been so proud of this office, and in many ways Rick found himself becoming deeply attached to the Brazilian mahogany on the walls and the elegant coffered ceiling. As it had been his grandfather’s, this was now his own sanctuary.

  He took a pad of paper from the top middle drawer, turned on his laptop, and made a list of the people he knew had received a sweater. The list included Dennis Malone, Ken Grayson, Laurel Harris—and Giselle Atwood. He put a question mark by Giselle’s name. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he wanted to know whose name really belonged there. He’d figure it out the way he’d always handled a story—run down the leads.

  A search on social media quickly turned up Dennis Malone’s profile. He was a graduate of UC Santa Cruz. Had a degree in Philosophy. There were photos posted of him, his wife, the surf shop, and more featuring the entire family. He’d done a few posts about how good life was in Seaside Cove. As far as social media was concerned, Dennis led an idyllic life in Seaside Cove along with his devoted wife and daughter.

  If Alex was correct, Dennis’s problems happened long before he settled in Seaside Cove. Rick navigated to a newspaper archive site he’d used in New York. His search turned up dozens of results, but the only exact match was a ten-year-old arrest for possession with intent to sell. Was this Thorne’s leverage on Dennis?

  Rick began the same process all over for Ken Grayson. Unlike Dennis’s profile, Ken’s was largely focused on business. He had a business page for The Crooked Mast and posted little in the way of personal details. When Rick did a search of the newspaper archives for Ken Grayson he found nothing but stories about The Crooked Mast, including a couple of interviews with the San Ladron Daily News.

  It was all rather boring, actually. Nothing like what Alex had heard. According to her, Thorne had been intent on putting people like Ken and Dennis out of business. He’d heard the same thing from Abby Grayson. According to her, Thorne had also said the business would eventually be worth nothing. The only way he could pull something like that off would be to destroy the reputations of his targeted businesses.

  Rick had heard of online smear campaigns before, but had never seen one in action. Could that have been Thorne’s plan? He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. Maybe Thorne had something completely different in mind.

  He went to the property tax records next. Ken owned the building for The Crooked Mast, but Dennis wasn’t so lucky. His shop was owned by San Ladron Realty Investments. Rick checked a few of the other properties and discovered the same firm owned several buildings along the water, a few of which had been subdivided into smaller stores.

  San Ladron Realty Investments had owned those businesses for years—long before there had even been a hint of the San Manuel. Rick found the company website and read that they’d been in business for twenty years. He also checked to see who the principals were. There appeared to be no connection to Thorne Waldorf.

  He could play the ‘what if’ game all night and come up empty. There were just so many variables in play. So much manipulation. Giselle. Thorne. Reese. They’d all been trying to manipulate others, but Thorne was dead, Giselle was a suspect in his murder, and Reese could lose her job. Maybe Reese wasn’t the great mastermind he’d always believed her to be.

  Marquetta had told him Thorne loved to incite confrontation. Which could mean Thorne was the mastermind behind this latest Exploration International scheme. It was devious—precisely the kind of thing he expected of Reese. The two of them could undermine Dennis’s reputation, hurt his sales to the point where he couldn’t afford the rent, then convince the investment company to sell the building. But why not do things the easy way? Make an exorbitant offer to buy the buildings and terminate the leases? There had to be a piece of the puzzle that was still missing.

  The clock on the bookshelf said it was ten-thirty. He had to be up in six hours. Just as he hadn’t replaced many of the books in this room when he’d taken over, he’d kept the clock. It needed to be wound daily, so he went to it and turned the key on the back.

  If only his other problems were so simple. If only…it was a dreamer’s fantasy. He had no time for fantasies. It was up to him to figure out how Giselle was linked to this whole small-town drama. To determine if she was merely a distraction.

  A scapegoat.

  Or something more.

  CHAPTER 44

  RICK

  Rick pushed through the butler door to the kitchen shortly after 5 a.m. The aroma of brewing coffee filled his senses, causing him to stop and take a deep breath. “Oh, please, tell me that’s ready.”

  “You look terrible.” Marquetta shook her head as she handed him a mug.

  “Now I understand why Adam was so tired yesterday afternoon. This case keeps your mind moving on overdrive.”

  “Rather than having coffee, why don’t you go back to bed?”

  “No way. I will not
leave you with this. Besides, I doubt if I could do anything other than toss and turn. Speaking of which, one of the many things that kept me awake was Dennis Malone. I think I found out what leverage Thorne supposedly had over him.”

  “Really? That’s good news. Right?” Marquetta picked up her mug and leaned back against the counter, watching him over the rim.

  He described what he’d learned the night before. When he finished, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “It makes sense. A rumor started circulating this past week about Dennis. Nobody believed it, but it was that he had been seen in the company of a drug dealer. If proof of an old arrest surfaced…”

  “It could be just the proof someone might need to convince a landlord like San Ladron Realty Investments to terminate the lease. Especially if they had an offer on the land.”

  “But what about the other businesses? You said they’re landlords for several of the businesses down there.”

  “My guess is Thorne was working on the low-hanging fruit first. If he got rid of Dennis, that could hurt the business next door. Once the dominoes started to fall, it was only a matter of time before he could convince the landlord to sell. Then he could terminate the rest of the leases.”

  “Dennis has always been a bit paranoid,” Marquetta said. “He went so far as to install security cameras throughout the store to stop shoplifting. Thank God Marianne put her foot down when he started talking about putting them in the dressing rooms.”

  Rick winced. “Cameras in dressing rooms wouldn’t have been a very wise move.”

  “Understatement.” Marquetta sipped her coffee and winked at him. “All he would need to do was deny the accusations about the old arrest and the town would have backed him.”

  “Unless the accusations are true.”

  “Dennis? Deal drugs? Here in Seaside Cove?” She paused and took a deep breath. “He might have done that once, but he’s got a wife and child to think of now. I can’t see him jeopardizing his family, especially because there are rumors he and Marianne have been having some problems.”

  “Would he sell the store if he were under enough pressure?”

  Marquetta paused and seemed to consider her answer. “Maybe. Dennis is kind of flighty. He tends to believe every conspiracy theory he hears. So…yes. I could see him thinking life would be better somewhere else.”

  “Speaking of leaving,” Rick said. “I’ve got an appointment with Jordan Lane this morning at nine. I’m going to see if we can’t do something about the divorce while she’s in town.”

  Marquetta stared at him for a moment, then her jaw tightened and she nodded. “I see. It’s getting late. You’d better get the coffee out to the guest stations.”

  Rick stopped himself from reaching out to her. His life was a mess right now, and he was kidding himself—and not being fair to either of them—by pretending otherwise. “I’ll get to it.”

  By the time he finished stocking the dining room and upstairs coffee stations, the first guests had gathered and were milling around the coffee and juice. Rick began herding them to their seats while Alex helped Marquetta in the kitchen. The service went smoothly and quickly. When they closed down at eight, Rick, Alex, and Marquetta assembled in the kitchen for their breakfast. Rick downed a quick bowl of cereal and excused himself to prepare for his appointment with Jordan.

  He was in his office and ready to leave when he saw his note about San Ladron Realty Investments. He dialed their number. The woman who answered forwarded Rick to the broker handling Dennis’s lease, a man named Johnson.

  “My name is Richard Atwood and I’m working with the Seaside Cove Police. We’re looking into the death of a local attorney, Thorne Waldorf.”

  “Wait. Back up,” Johnson said. “Thorne is dead? When did this happen?”

  “Friday night. I understand he’d been talking to you about the building currently leased by Dennis Malone. I really only have one question. Had Mr. Waldorf submitted an offer to buy the property?”

  Rick waited patiently while he listened to the sound of Mr. Johnson’s raspy breathing. When Johnson spoke, his voice had the texture of sandpaper. “I guess that deal’s off the table. Yes. Thorne submitted a standing offer to buy the property.”

  “What were the conditions of sale?”

  “You said one question.” Johnson chuckled. “No problem. The man’s dead. I guess it doesn’t matter now. He wanted us to terminate the lease, something we couldn’t do without cause. There were allegations about illegal activities being conducted. We were still investigating. If the allegations turned out to be true, we would have terminated the lease prior to its expiration. I’m sorry, but I can’t really say anything else.”

  “What would have happened if the allegations were unfounded?”

  “Thorne could have raised his offer and we would have sold anyway.”

  Rick thanked Johnson for his help, picked up his copies of Thorne’s calendar, and took them downstairs. He handed them to Marquetta and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like you and Alex to see if you can figure out Thorne’s coding system.”

  “Is this a priority, boss?”

  “No. This is for after your other work is done. I’ve thought about it and decided this might satisfy Alex’s curiosity. I hope.”

  “No problem,” Marquetta said as she put the pages on top of the refrigerator. “They should be safe up there. Are you walking to Jordan’s? It’s turning into a beautiful morning.”

  “You’re right. And yes, I am.”

  Rick left the B&B and breathed in the cool morning air. The trip only took ten minutes, but by the time he arrived at his destination he felt his tension ebbing.

  Jordan’s office was located in an old Victorian with dark green siding and white trim. The porch posts were white with dark gray accents. The same color scheme had been used on the entire exterior, including the antique double front doors.

  While Jordan had spared little expense on the home itself, the furniture inside was strictly utilitarian. Jordan’s receptionist, Beth Lee, sat behind an old metal desk. There were several matching filing cabinets behind her, all with the same original gray paint and dings acquired through years of use.

  “Hey, Rick. Long time no see.”

  Beth stood, came around from behind her desk, and gave Rick a warm hug. She looked out the front window, then cocked her head in the direction of a coffee pot sitting on top of a two-drawer filing cabinet.

  “Jordan’s running a few minutes late. The baby’s not sleeping well.”

  “So neither are mom and dad,” Rick said.

  Beth nodded, then snuck another peek out the front window. Rick turned around to see if his suspicions were correct. And there Thorne’s office was, directly across the street.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee while you’re waiting?” Beth asked.

  “No thanks. But I do have a question for you. It’s about Thorne Waldorf.”

  Beth’s smile dimmed and she averted her gaze. When she looked back at Rick, she fingered her silver necklace. “Terrible thing. What about him?”

  “You’ve got a view of his house and I was wondering if you remember seeing anyone come to his office last Friday.”

  The color in Beth’s cheeks brightened, and she bit her upper lip. She turned around, picked up her mug, and went to the coffee pot. Her hand shook slightly as she poured. When she was done with hers, she looked at Rick. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

  “I’m sure. Thanks. From your reaction I assume you saw something.”

  She wrapped both hands around her mug and eyed Rick. “I guess you think I’m a busybody.”

  “We’re investigating Thorne’s murder, Beth. I’m interested in talking to anyone who might have information that can help us reconstruct his last few days. I don’t think any less of you because you happen to have a perfect view of his front door. Now, please. Help me out if you know something.”

  She cocked her head to the side again and shrugged. “Thorne n
ever had a lot of visitors. I think most people in town distrusted him. The only person I saw go into his office on Friday was Joe Gray. That was about two-thirty.”

  “Are you sure?” Rick croaked. “Joe is hardly the type to do business with Thorne.”

  “Maybe Thorne wanted to rent a boat.”

  “Beth, it’s the week before Christmas. I seriously doubt if Thorne was arranging a sailing charter.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you know how long he was there?”

  Beth shook her head, then returned to her chair. She sat and placed the mug on the desk blotter that was lined with a series of overlapping coffee rings. “No. I didn’t see him come out. I had to run into town to meet Darcy.”

  “Darcy Willoughby? What did our resident romance writer need?”

  “She needed to talk about something.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Just girl talk. She was having her latest mom-crisis.”

  Rick regarded Beth for a moment, then smiled and asked what time she’d returned to work.

  “I didn’t. I took the rest of the afternoon off. It had been a stressful day and I’d been fighting a headache all day. When I went home, I took a couple of pain relievers and soaked in a hot tub.”

  Rick nodded. Okay, a little too much information there. “You’ve probably heard about the sweaters Thorne sent out.”

  “Yes,” she said tentatively. “What about them?”

  “They were delivered by San Ladron delivery last week.”

  Beth again averted her gaze, and Rick felt sure she wasn’t telling him everything. “Did you see one?”

  She sat at her desk wringing her hands, her brows furrowed. Tension seemed to surround her blue eyes and the longer it took for her to respond, the more Beth fidgeted. Finally, she gulped down a mouthful of coffee and sniffled.

  “Look, I don’t want to get Jordan into trouble. That’s why I did it.”

  “Did what?” Rick narrowed his gaze, fixing Beth with a level stare.

  “On Friday morning, a San Ladron Delivery guy dropped off a package for Jordan. I opened it like I usually do. I handle all the mail and that kind of stuff. There was an apology note inside from Thorne.”