A Roost and Arrest

by Hillary Avis

  I tried to salvage the situation. “Sorry, kiddo, he’s not home right now. You know how you have summer off from school? Santa has summer vacation, too.”

  But rather than dissuading the boys, my explanation only made them more interested. Dylan dropped to the blanket, and he and Ollie scooted closer to me, their eyes wide. “Where does he go on vacation?” Ollie asked.

  “We went to the aquarium in Newport,” Dylan added, naming a city on the Oregon coast. “Does Santa go to Newport?”

  Tambra gave a subtle shake of her head, and I attempted to heed her warning.

  “No,” I said. “He goes...well, he goes someplace nobody can visit him.”

  Ollie rolled his eyes, clearly skeptical of my explanation. “We can visit anywhere,” he said. “Like in a helicopter or a boat.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan added. “Or a donkey.”

  “We went to the Grand Canyon last year,” Tambra said, I guess to explain the donkey thing.

  Ollie jutted out his chin, narrowing his eyes at me. “So...where is he?”

  I looked at Tambra, but she just gave a little shrug, like you got yourself into this, so now you gotta get yourself out. Only I had no idea how.

  Ruth came to my rescue. “He went camping in the woods.”

  “The woods in Alaska,” I embellished, hoping the geographic distance would quash their interest further.

  Tambra groaned as Dylan’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “My dad lives in Alaska!” he said excitedly.

  Shoot. Guessed wrong again. Damage-control time. “Well, there are no roads to the campsite; Santa flies way out into the wilderness with his reindeer.”

  “Oh.” Dylan’s face fell. “I hope he doesn’t get lost.”

  Ollie put his arm around his little brother and squeezed comfortingly. “It’s OK, buddy. Santa never gets lost.”

  “Right. He has a magic compass.” I nodded in what I hoped was an authoritative, best-friends-with-Santa kind of way. Dylan scooted closer to me, and for a second, I thought I was off the hook. But I was wrong.

  “Does he shave his beard in the summer?” The six-year-old peered up at me hopefully. “Daddy does. He says it’s to get rid of fleas, but I think he’s joking because he doesn’t have any pets. Does Santa have fleas? I mean, from the reindeer?”

  Tambra stood up and dusted off her lap. “You know what? I think it’s time to go play some games! Come on, kiddos. Do you want to do the ring toss?”

  “OK!” Ollie said. He hopped up and Dylan followed him. They ran together toward the games booth, their little arms pumping as their sneakers pounded the field.

  “They only have one speed, and that’s ‘go,’” Tambra said over her shoulder to us as she started after them.

  Once she left, I flopped melodramatically onto the blanket as Ruth giggled at me. I sat up halfway, propping myself on one elbow. “What? Telling all those lies is exhausting! I don’t know how Tambra does it all day.”

  “Tell me about it. There’s no way I still thought Santa was real at their ages. I think Rusty told me when I was in kindergarten. He was mad he had to do kindergarten twice, and I guess that was my punishment.” Ruth meant Rusty, her older brother. He was in jail but due out around Christmastime, so that must have been why he was on her mind when the topic of Santa Claus came up. A shadow crossed her face. “I feel bad celebrating our freedom today when he doesn’t have any.”

  I nodded. “He’ll be released before you know it. And in the meantime, you need a distraction, too.”

  Ruth’s eyes lit up. “I know—let’s go camping in the woods. You, me, and Santa!”

  “No, I can’t. I have responsibilities,” I said automatically and a little too loudly. Eli, who was strolling the track around the field as part of his security patrol, glanced over and shot me a wink.

  Ruth waved at him. “He’ll be OK on his own for a day or two,” she teased.

  I rolled my eyes at her. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about my birds.”

  “Get a pet sitter. I want to go camping,” Ruth said stubbornly. “Come on—do it for me!”

  I shook my head. The eighty-odd adult chickens and equal number of baby chicks that made up my little farm needed daily monitoring in the form of fresh feed and water, plus free-range time in the orchard and twice-a-day egg collection. And Boots, my sweet house chicken, needed lap time and bedtime snuggles. This wasn’t the job for a typical pet sitter.

  “You’re the one who said I needed a distraction!” Ruth protested.

  “I didn’t mean a camping trip. I meant you should go enjoy the festival, too. I’ll save your spot—go play games with Tambra. Or buy something. I think I saw a booth with handmade incense holders.”

  Ruth’s ears, if I could have seen them through her hair, perked up. “Oh yeah?”

  I knew I had her, but just in case, I doubled down. “They had rainbow-tie-dye silk scarves, too. And those candles you like with the fortunes inside. You should treat yourself to one for your birthday.” That was the kicker. Ruth’s fifty-seventh birthday was only ten days away.

  She stood up from the picnic blanket—or tried to. She got one leg underneath her but then couldn’t get up all the way. “Help!” she squawked, flailing her arms. “I need a boost.”

  I rolled over and used my foot to heave her upright. She staggered to her feet, giggling, and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t lose our spot while I’m gone. I’m serious. Promise me you won’t get up. People are vultures for the good spots.”

  “I promise.” I held up my fingers in a Scout salute.

  “You sure you don’t want to pee first before I go?”

  “No! Geez! Go! I swear, I’ll camp out right here like Santa in the Alaskan wilderness. No roads in or out. I will pee in my culottes if necessary.”

  She finally left to buy herself something pretty, and I laid back down on the blanket, my hands behind my head and my eyes shut, enjoying the blessed quiet and soaking up the sun. Well, semi-quiet. Families were filling in around our spot, setting up their lawn chairs and picnic blankets in preparation for the fireworks later that evening. And then someone cast a shadow over my face as they leaned over me, blocking out the sun.

  My eyes flew open and I saw Eli above me, the blue sky framing his tall, fit silhouette.

  “Hi,” he said. “You look comfy.”

  “I was until someone interrupted my Vitamin D.” I grinned at him and held out my hand so he could help me up. “What’s going on?”

  “Walk with me while I do another lap around the festival,” he suggested, as he pulled me to my feet.

  “Can’t. I promised Ruth I’d camp out here until she got back. She’ll never forgive me if we lose our spot. When does your shift end? Maybe we can meet up then.”

  He grimaced. “Not until after the fireworks. I probably should have warned you—that’s what it’s like being in a relationship with a law enforcement officer. Evenings, weekends, holidays...you’ll be spending those alone.”

  My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t because I minded being alone in the evenings. Quite the opposite, actually. Now that my daughter was grown and my ex-husband was a distant figure in the rearview mirror of my life, I liked having quiet time to myself at the end of the day, without demands on my attention. It was that word he used—relationship.

  Did we have one? Was he my boyfriend now? Was that the right term if the “boy” was fifty-six? Or was he something else—a gentleman friend? Lover? My stomach twisted, and I let out an enormous, nervous hiccup.

  Eli’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you OK? I can get you some water.”

  I shook my head. “Ruth brought enough drinks and snacks for an expedition across the Sahara.”

  Eli chuckled. “Sounds about right for spending all day under the July sun. You should really put on some sunblock.”

  I bristled slightly at his bossy comment—old habits died hard, even though I knew he meant well. “My moisturizer has sunblock in it,” I fibbed slightly. M
y moisturizer did have sunblock in it. I just hadn’t put any of it on this morning. I already had a good farmer’s tan cooking, so I wasn’t worried about getting sunburned.

  Let’s just say that wasn’t the first mistake I’d made this Fourth of July.

  By the time Ruth, Tambra, and the boys made it back to the picnic blanket, their hands full of stuffed animals, inflatable swords, and pickles-on-a-stick, I was hunched over, my quilt spread out over my outstretched arms, using every bit of our picnic gear to shade my exposed skin—skin that was already screaming-hot and sure to blister by tomorrow.

  There’s a reason why farmers are sometimes called rednecks. It’s because we’re too darn stubborn to put on sunblock.

  My bladder was screaming by then, too. I found a porta-potty and then took refuge in the shade of the football bleachers, sipping an oversized lemonade until the sun ducked down behind the hill and someone shut off the field lights, throwing long shadows across the grass. That was my signal to head back out and join my friends.

  I weaved my way through the now-crowded field and tried to avoid stepping on people’s hands or tripping over their tailgating gear. The whole town seemed to have turned out for the fireworks. I started saying “hi” to every group I passed on the way back to my spot, figuring it was more likely I knew them than didn’t.

  When I reached Ruth’s blanket and sat down, I noticed the boys were already drowsy. It was like someone had hit their “off” switch. Instead of running in circles, Dylan was curled up in Ruth’s lap, sucking his thumb. Tambra reached over and popped his thumb out of his mouth, but he just waited until she wasn’t looking and slid it back in again. Ollie leaned against his mom, staring up at the darkening sky where stars emerged, one-by-one, as my eyes adjusted.

  And then...fireworks blossomed over our heads in sprays of orange and pink and white. The show went on and on, each explosion of color and sparks larger and more beautiful than the last. It almost seemed like too much, like we didn’t deserve such a display without more people to witness its glory. How had the city put this all together on its scant budget?

  One look at the fireworks staging area explained it—a huge team of volunteers, including many faces I recognized, was hustling to keep the show on track. My heart swelled with love for my little town and its ingenuity. I got a little choked up, if I’m being honest. I darted a glance at Ruth and saw her eyes were extra-shiny, too. I wasn’t the only one getting emotional. Tambra snuffled into her sleeve beside me.

  “Yay, freedom,” I said, giving a little pompom cheer with my right hand to break the mood. Ruth giggled.

  “Yay, sleeping kids,” Tambra echoed, nodding at Ollie, crashed out on the blanket next to her, and Dylan, drooling on Ruth’s yoga pants. “How in the world am I going to get them to the car without waking them up?”

  “We’ll carry them. I need to grab the tent from you, anyway.” To me, Ruth added, “Tambra’s loaning us her tent for the camping trip.”

  My eyebrows shot up so high I thought they might shoot into the sky along with the fireworks. “Since when are we going camping?”

  She shot me a puzzled look. “Since this afternoon. We talked about it.”

  We did, and I remembered pretty clearly that I said no way. I crossed my arms, my suspicions growing that Ruth had decided well in advance that she was going to drag me out into the woods. “How lucky that Tambra happens to have a tent in the car on the day you happen to decide you want to go camping.”

  “Ruth just mentioned your trip, and I realized that I never took the tent out of the car from when kids and I went to the coast last weekend,” Tambra explained. She edged slowly out from under Ollie’s sleepy arm and rising to her feet. “I’ll go grab it for you before the parking lot gets crazy.”

  “Car’s unlocked. I’m parked over by the east gate,” Ruth said. “You can just throw it in the back seat.”

  I waited until Tambra was out of earshot before turning on Ruth. “I said I wasn’t going!” I hissed, to avoid waking up the kids.

  “I know,” Ruth said mildly. “But you always say no to my ideas. Then you go along with them, and then you have a good time. Case in point, today. Admit it, you had a good time.”

  “I got a sunburn,” I grumbled.

  “But worth it, right?”

  The delicious picnic, the games, hanging out with Tambra’s hilarious duo, bantering with Eli, sipping lemonade, driving my Porsche in the parade...had all been pretty great. I sighed grudgingly. “Yes.”

  “Camping will be, too. You have to trust me.” Ruth grinned at my sulky expression. “I know you better than you know yourself, so you might as well give up now.”

  I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, even though I knew deep down that she was right. “I’ll think about it.”

  She turned her face back up to the fireworks with a smug smile on her face. The display grew larger and louder, and Ruth reached down to cover Dylan’s ears. “Must be the finale,” she said. “What’s taking Tambra so long? She’s missing it.”

  “I’m sure she can see it from over there. She probably just caught stuck talking to someone.” I craned my neck to look toward the parking lot to see if I could spot her, but with the field lights off, it was impossible to see what was going on.

  “Maybe I forgot and locked the car,” Ruth said. She fished her keys out of her purple tapestry purse and dangled them in front of me. “Do you mind going to check?”

  “Why me? I don’t even want to go camping,” I protested. Ruth motioned to the sleeping six-year-old in her lap. I snatched the key from hers. “Oh, fine.”

  “It’s going to be fun. I love nature. The chickens won’t even miss me,” I muttered to myself as I made my way off the field and into the gravel parking lot that served the high school. Built on the side of the hill, the parking area had two levels. The upper level was for teachers, and the larger, lower lot was where students parked. Both were packed with cars tonight.

  Ruth had said she was parked near the east gate, the one that led from the student lot to the street, so I headed in that direction, half watching my step in the dark lot and half watching the sky as the fireworks finale pop-pop-popped its last notes into the night. What a show. It ended just as I reached Ruth’s car. I tried the passenger door and it opened easily. I sighed, sliding Ruth’s keys into the pocket of my culottes. A fool’s errand. I started to head back out on the field, against the tide of people now flooding the parking lot, but then I stopped.

  Where was Tambra? I should have passed her on the way in if she’d managed to drop off the tent. I turned back to Ruth’s car, pressing my hands to the glass to peer inside at the back seat.

  No tent. That meant Tambra had been delayed before she even got there. Great. First I lost her kids, now I’d lost Tambra herself.

  Luckily, I knew where she had parked—the upper lot. I knew because I was parked right next to her. I’d pulled my convertible into the spot next to her green Prius after the parade. Now that I thought about it, maybe she’d left the tent in my back seat instead of Ruth’s, to save time. That would explain why I hadn’t crossed paths with her; she’d taken a different route back to the field. She was probably already back with Ruth and the boys, waiting on me.

  I started back toward the field but stopped when I caught sight of Eli sprinting across the lot toward the ramp to the upper parking area, his arms pumping and feet pounding much like boys’ had earlier. Flashing red-and-blue lights—ones that definitely weren’t just festive fireworks—appeared down the street, accompanied by the wailing sound of an ambulance siren, and the ambulance seemed destined for the upper parking lot, too.

  Tambra.

  I froze, my stomach threatening to evict all of Ruth’s picnic. I knew in that moment—I just knew—that something terrible had happened.

  Chapter 3

  I hustled my buns to the top of the rise, praying the whole time that I wouldn’t find what I thought I’d find in the upper lot: Tambra hit by a teenage driver. Tam
bra stroked out on the ground. Tambra with a broken leg from teetering around on those platform wedges. You get the picture.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her standing next to her open trunk, talking to Eli. She was OK. But someone else wasn’t. A pair of EMTs was—

  What were they doing? Getting the tent out of Tambra’s trunk?

  As I drew closer, my relief turned to horror. They were bending over something—correction, someone—in the back of the Prius. Someone dead, judging from the way they were covering the body with a white plastic sheet. And a pool of dark liquid shone on the ground beneath the car’s bumper as a crowd began to gather, murmuring the question in everyone’s mind.

  Who was it?

  A glimpse of red sequins peeking out from under the blanket told me everything I needed to know. I recognized that dress from a mile away, because I’d stared at it for two hours this morning. McKenzie Masters was in the back of Tambra’s Prius. And judging by the look on the faces of the EMTs as they drew back from the car, she was dead.

  My mouth dropped open as Eli took out his handcuffs and Tambra turned so he could apply them to her wrists. I darted forward. “What’s going on?”

  “Stay back with the crowd,” Eli said gruffly, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” One of the paramedics waved his arms to get my attention. “You can’t come over here, ma’am.”

  “Don’t ma’am me, Aaron Alpin,” I snapped. “I want to know why Tambra’s being arrested.”

  “She’s a material witness to a crime,” Eli said defensively. “I have to bring her in until it’s all sorted out. I’m sorry, Leona! It’s my job!”

  “McKenzie’s been shot,” Tambra explained quickly as Eli led her away from the Prius. “Can you ask Ruth to keep the boys tonight? Don’t tell them where I am, either—I don’t want them to worry. Everything’s fine.” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence.

  She knew and I knew that things definitely weren’t fine. Miss Honeytree was dead. And Tambra was going to jail for it. There was nothing fine about that.