Rick began to recite the poem the others had received. “A Christmas elf has intervened. And changed my course, which did careen…”
“That’s the one,” Beth muttered. “How’d you know?”
“Ken Grayson got the same note.”
Beth leaned back in her chair and ran her palms over her face. “Holy guacamole. What a mess. I didn’t realize…”
“What did you do with the sweater, Beth?”
“I threw it out. Jordan hates—hated—what Thorne was doing to this town. I figured the sweater would only make him angry and I didn’t even want him to know about it.”
“Does Jordan know what you did?”
She shook her head and made a face much like the one Alex made when she’d done something very wrong. Rick waited. When Beth didn’t respond, he decided to press harder.
“We have to let him know—preferably before I tell Adam.”
Rick again waited for Beth to say something, but she wasn’t uttering a word. Instead, she appeared transfixed by something out the front window. He turned just as the door opened and Jordan entered.
CHAPTER 45
RICK
Rick stepped forward and clasped Jordan’s hand “Hey, Jordan. I’m going to ask you to make the same promise I sometimes have to make to my daughter. You can’t get mad in the next few minutes.”
Jordan turned his gaze to Beth. “What have you done?” Then, he pulled away from Rick and stood in front of Beth’s desk.
“You know those sweaters Thorne sent out?” Beth asked.
“What about them?”
“One showed up here on Thursday. I threw it in the trash.”
Jordan snorted and then laughed. “You’re worried about that? Good job, I’d say.” Turning to Rick, he asked, “What’s the problem?”
“There were six sweaters and we’ve been trying to find out who got the last one.”
“Ah.” Jordan’s eyebrows shot up and he nodded knowingly. “So the one Thorne sent me is number six?”
“Yes, and Beth threw yours away because she thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with any kind of Team Thorne perception at the sweater contest.”
“She’s right on that count.” Jordan paused and let out a little huff. “However,” he said as he turned back to Beth, “you should have told me about it. I hate being blindsided by these kinds of surprises.”
Beth mumbled, “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Whether that’s enough depends on how big of a deal this is, Beth. What are we looking at, Rick? Am I a person-of-interest because of this sweater?”
“I hope not. But I can’t tell you until you answer a few questions. Have you got time?”
“For you, of course. Besides, you had an appointment. I just won’t charge you for this part.” Jordan winked, then picked up his briefcase. “Shall we go into my office?”
Rick started to respond, but stopped when his phone rang. He checked the display and saw it was Devon. “Now what?” he muttered. “Hey, Devon, what’s up?”
“Having some trouble getting that tree for you Rick. It’s going to be tomorrow.”
“We’re running out of time.”
“I know. But I have you covered. See you tomorrow.” Devon hung up abruptly.
Rick followed Jordan and closed the door, then sat. How different this office was from his own. Architecturally, the room was beautiful. It had intricate crown moulding which was painted a bright white. The wallpaper was a blue diamond pattern over a background of tan tulips. The windows had been restored rather than being replaced. The entire appearance was very nineteenth century.
But where Rick’s desk was a beautiful Brazillian mahogany, Jordan’s was similar to Beth’s—utilitarian metal. The visitor chairs, much like the one behind the desk, also looked like they’d come from an office supply store.
Rick sat in one of the visitor chairs, doing his best to keep his demeanor easy-going. “Look Jordan, I’m sure this is easy to clear up. Beth said she was sure you wanted nothing to do with any kind of Team Thorne perception. Why was that? Because of what he was doing to this town?”
“Of course. The man was a master at creating dissension. His goal, at least in my opinion, was to create enough distrust to start turning people against each other. I don’t think I’m telling you anything new when I say Thorne had targeted both Dennis Malone and Ken Grayson as his first victims. He must have seen them as the most vulnerable.”
“Any idea why?”
“No. Thorne operated on some weird wavelength nobody else understood. If I stepped back and put myself in your shoes, I’d want to know why he sent me a sweater. And my answer would be because he wanted to compromise me. If he could make it look like I was somehow cooperating with him, who’d want to use my services to fight him?”
“Makes sense. From what I heard at the party, it sounded like you might be working with Ken and maybe Dennis.”
“You know I can’t talk about clients, but I would suggest you talk to both of them. Let me ask you the same question. Who are you looking at?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know if I should be telling you that at this stage.”
“Touché. See how it works?”
Talk about awkward. Rick forced a smile. This was his attorney, the man he was supposed to be able to trust.
“The secrecy approach does exactly what Thorne would have wanted, so I don’t want to go there. We’ve talked to Ken. I still need to get to Dennis. And then there’s Giselle. We found a blood-stained sweater in the back of her car.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry, Rick. I had no idea.”
“Nobody does. She was seen having dinner with Thorne at the Crooked Mast on Friday night. She went to his office on the night of the murder. Then she claims she went for a walk at the B&B.”
“Wasn’t it raining that night?”
“Exactly.”
“So her whole alibi is weak and Adam is probably under pressure to close the case.” Jordan tapped a finger on the desk as he seemed to consider what to say next. “I heard Thorne died from a blow to the head. Does that mean the weapon was something readily available in his office?”
“We don’t know for sure, but I suspect you’re correct. The weapon probably came from his bookshelf.”
Jordan whistled and brushed his hand through his short-cropped, black hair. “I guess you realize from a legal perspective, the case could be made that she had means and opportunity. At least she didn’t have a motive.” He paused, then quickly added, “She didn’t, did she?”
“Maybe. Laurel Harris said she was watching through the front window when Thorne got overly friendly. Giselle’s always been a flirt, so it’s possible she went back after her walk. If Thorne came onto her again—or if things went sideways for some reason—maybe she really did kill him.”
“I can see why you’re worried.”
Jordan leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands, his face an impassive mask on the other side of the desk. Rick hadn’t intended to bare all his troubles, but once he’d started, he hadn’t been able to stop.
“You need to find that weapon, Rick.”
“I have a possible solution. I hadn’t wanted to use it, but my options are rapidly disappearing. What can you tell me about Ken and Dennis? Anything at all?”
Jordan shook his head. “It’s not because the information is privileged. I just wasn’t with them the night of the murder.”
“What about Saturday at the party?”
“There again, I don’t know what help I can be. Dennis and Ken and I were at the Crooked Mast until midnight. Actually, Dennis left about twenty minutes before Ken and I did. But in all that time, neither of them said anything to indicate they knew Thorne was dead.” Jordan contemplated Rick with a narrowed gaze. “Have you considered Laurel? You said she was watching through the front window. I can only think of one reason she’d do that.”
“And that would be?”
“Jealousy. Beth has told me she heard a rumor about Lau
rel and Thorne having a fling. Can’t hardly believe it myself, but if it’s true, her being jealous of Giselle would make sense. Have you checked into the jealous lover theory?”
“Yes. And Laurel doesn’t have a very solid alibi either. She says she started to go visit her sister that night, got halfway there and turned around. If it’s true, she was probably out of town when the killer struck. Unfortunately, there’s no one to corroborate her story.”
Jordan shook his head. “You really are up against it on this one, aren’t you?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Look, Jordan, there’s something else.”
“There’s more?”
“Assuming I can find a way to prove my wife didn’t kill Thorne, I want to ensure I keep full custody of Alex. I’ve put this off for too long and, quite honestly, Giselle coming here has made me realize not dealing with this before was a very bad choice.”
“I can try and get her to sign a settlement agreement.”
“How’s that going to look? I start pushing a divorce while my wife is a suspect in a murder investigation I’m involved in? Talk about looking like the biggest jerk on the planet.”
“Then you, my friend, had better find that killer very soon.”
CHAPTER 46
ALEX
“Daddy wants us to work on Mr. Waldorf’s calendar?” I can hardly believe he’s asking for help with the investigation. “This is so awesome!”
“I know, Sweetie. Your dad didn’t tell you because he wanted to make sure everything else got done first, but we’ve taken care of all the chores. Are you ready to get started?”
“Totally.”
Marquetta pulls some pieces of paper off the top of the refrigerator and lays them on the countertop. She hands me the last one.
“I realize you may not have seen one of these before, but that’s a copy from Thorne’s day planner. It’s a paper version of your phone’s calendar.”
“You mean you have to carry all this stuff with you all the time?”
Marquetta gives my shoulder a little shake. “I know. It seems antiquated, but the desk calendar was very popular for many years.”
I scrunch up my face and shrug. It seems lame to me. “So what do the numbers mean?”
“That’s what your dad wants us to figure out. If Thorne really did use this for his appointments, then those numbers are people. That means this entry, 107, is the code for somebody’s name, and 413 must be someone else. Our job is to figure out who these people are.” She points at the page for last Friday. “It’s possible this last one at six-thirty is your mom. If that’s the case your mom is either seventy-one or…”
“Three hundred thirteen.”
“Right.”
“Marquetta, I like puzzles, but math isn’t my best subject.”
“You do struggle with it a bit.” Marquetta smiles, then she winks. “But we can do this. Right?”
“My friend Sasha is super good with math. Maybe we could ask her.”
“I didn’t think about Sasha. Why don’t you text her? Ask her about the one at six-thirty. Also, tell her we know it was your mom.”
“Can I just send her a picture of the calendar?”
Marquetta shrugs and says sure, so I send the text. While we’re waiting, we try to think of what kind of code Mr. Waldorf would have used. I suggest birthdays, but Marquetta says the numbers would need to be longer.
We both wonder if the code is just made up of random numbers. Marquetta says that would make sense for someone like Mr. Waldorf ‘cause he was super paranoid. But if the numbers were random, there would have to be a record of them somewhere. Otherwise, how would he have kept track of who was who?
“It’s also possible the code has nothing to do with names,” Marquetta says. “I suppose it could tie to his cases. On the other hand, your dad said he couldn’t find anything with these numbers in Thorne’s files.”
“This is like the hardest thing ever! We totally need more information.”
“I am so stumped,” Marquetta says. “No wonder your dad gave up.”
My phone pings. It’s Sasha and she wants to know if I have copies of any other days. I ask Marquetta and she says its okay to share what we have. I take pictures and send them. Me and Marquetta keep looking at the calendar pages, but we’re totally blocked. This is like so not fair.
“It’s been awhile since you sent those photos to Sasha. She must not be having any luck either.”
“This is totally depressing.” If Sasha can’t figure out the code, nobody can. I look up at Marquetta. “Daddy’s gonna be super disappointed.”
“I think he realized this was a long shot, Sweetie.”
My phone pings with a message.
—Got it! Each number equals a letter of the alphabet. 107 is really 10 and 7 or J and G. 413 is 4 and 13 = D and M. Last one is 71 and 313. G and A and C and M.
Marquetta is reading over my shoulder, and she lets out a little laugh. “Well, I’ll be. Tell Sasha she did a great job, Sweetie.”
While I’m texting Sasha, Marquetta is writing the letters on our copy of the calendar. Her eyes get wide and she raises her hand to give me a high-five.
“Alex, these initials are definitely for people.” She points at the letters JG, DM, and GA. “Thorne had dinner with your mom at the Crooked Mast on Friday night at six-thirty. And since that’s the only entry with a hyphen and two sets of letters, I’m guessing the CM has to be where he was supposed to meet her.”
“The Crooked Mast!”
“Exactly.”
“Could the DM be Mr. Malone?”
Marquetta gives me a thumbs up. “I think you’re right. The DM probably is Dennis. Your dad should find out if he met with Thorne on Friday.”
“What about the JG? Could that be Mr. Gray?”
Marquetta winks at me. “Math might not be one of your strengths, but you’re doing just great with picking out names.” A couple seconds later, she says, “What’s the matter? You look kind of sad.”
“There’s nothing for Friday night. We still don’t know who the killer is.”
“Maybe not, but we know two more people who met with Thorne on that last day. We have to tell your dad about this. Maybe he can talk to those people and shed some light on what happened.”
CHAPTER 47
RICK
When Rick left Jordan’s office, he crossed the street, turned left, and walked one house down to the future home of the Happy Daze Bed & Breakfast. While many of the town’s old Victorians were painted in bright colors, Agnes and her husband had chosen a color scheme of earth tones—beige siding, tan trim, and white accents.
Strands of white Christmas lights outlined the windows and spiraled around the intricate columns lining the porch. During the day it didn’t look like much, but Rick imagined it probably created a stunning display at night.
Rick rang the bell and waited. After a short wait, a woman with gray hair worn to the shoulder opened the door. She had thin eyebrows and a pale olive complexion. Her eyes, dark brown and set wide, lit up in recognition.
“If reindeer could fly! Mr. Atwood, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”
“Please, no formalities. Call me Rick.”
“Agnes.” She smiled and held out her hand. A moment later, she glanced over her shoulder, grimaced, then gestured inside. “Sorry. I haven’t adjusted to not having Herb around. He was always very particular about visitors and insisted on the place being picked up before we let anyone in.”
“I’m sorry. How long ago did he pass?”
“Three months. He was always good about keeping up the maintenance until his last year, then it became too much. For the first time in my life I had to hire the work out. I never realized how valuable my husband was until that last year!” She laughed and stepped to one side. “Please, come in.”
Rick nodded his thanks and stepped inside, but stopped in the entryway. The interior of the home looked like a refuge for lost Christmas items. He’d never seen so
many dolls, toys, and decorations in one place. The tree, which stood in the middle of the far window, was about eight-feet tall and so densely hung with ornaments that Rick wondered if it might collapse under the weight. “Wow, Agnes. You really go all out.”
She gazed around the room and smiled. “I guess you didn’t know Herb and I were both very into Christmas.” She stepped back and extended her arm. “I’ll give you the grand tour. She took a few steps into the room and pointed at the mantle over the fireplace, which was filled with snow globes, miniature Santa statues, and a gingerbread house.
“I feel like a piker,” Rick said. “Our decorations are so paltry compared to this. Oh, by the way, we’re having an open house on Friday. It would be wonderful if you could come.”
Agnes raised a hand to her chest and smiled. “What time is it?”
“It starts at five.”
“Let me think about it.” She directed his attention to the antique coffee table on which there were more snow globes and statuary, explained the history of a few of the pieces, then said, “These were Herb’s favorites. He never let me unpack them for fear I might drop one. I’m proud to say I did not break a one when I unpacked this year. Anyway, I’d love to come to your open house, but getting out after dark is difficult for me. Thank you, though. What brings you here?”
“I had some questions about Thorne, but don’t you want to finish the tour?”
She gave him a polite smile, then put a hand on his arm. “You’re a busy man, Rick. I’ve heard how you’re consulting with the police, so you don’t need to indulge me any further. What did you want to know?”
Rick’s cheeks felt warm under her intense stare. “Then before the holidays are over, I’m coming back for that tour.”
She clucked a couple of times and smiled. “That would be lovely.”
“I’ll definitely be back. Can I bring my daughter?”
“Of course. Now, how may I help?”
The Killer Christmas Sweater Club Page 18
