Murder for the Holidays

by B. T. Lord

  “Shit,” she muttered as she pulled her hands through her hair. She hated feeling helpless. Yes, she could call Dale, but he’d already told her all he knew. Damn it, what was she missing?

  An unbidden voice rose up, sending a shiver down her spine.

  Was there anything to miss?

  Did Knowlton arrest the right man? Was Harold Northcott a cold-blooded murderer?

  Or had he arrested the wrong person? Was the true killer upstairs in her room?

  Cammie sat back on the couch with a thud. She was going to drive herself insane if she didn’t find something to redirect her thoughts.

  Her eyes fell on the photo album. Hoping the pictures would distract her, she leaned over and grabbed the 8 x 10 album. She opened it up to the first page and saw that instead of belonging to Pamela and Harold, it was actually Pru’s. She slowly flipped through it and was startled when she saw a photograph of Pamela with her arms around the waist of the same handsome young man she’d seen in the other photo. They were smiling into the camera and Cammie instantly knew the man was Walter. They looked happy and very cohesive as a couple.

  With suspicion mounting, she continued to flip through the album, seeing several more pictures of Pamela with Walter. In one, she was sitting in his lap and they were kissing. In another, he was standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her torso, his left cheek pressed against hers. Then the subject of the photos changed. Walter disappeared, and Pamela was now shown with Harold. The first showed the couple standing on a forest path. He looked deliriously happy as he posed with his arm around her tiny waist and his face turned towards her. Pamela’s smile was intact, but as Cammie carefully studied her face, she realized it wasn’t nearly as bright and blissful as it had been in the photos with Walter. She quietly considered what she was seeing. It only deepened her depression. Here was proof positive Pamela had once been in love with Walter Long.

  Was she still in love with him?

  CHAPTER NINE

  “She settled,” she said aloud to herself. “Something happened between her and Walter, and Harold was there to pick up the pieces. So she figured what the hell, he loves me. What more do I need? So she settled.”

  Cammie had no proof, but her instincts were telling her she was on the right track. Which led her back to the hardware store. Instead of Harold starting the argument, had it been Pamela? Was she the married woman Long was supposed to be involved with?

  She’d said Walter approached her first while Harold was off in another part of the store. Had she said something to start the fight? Or had Harold come upon them and knowing that she was talking to a man she’d once been in love with, and may still be in love with, become jealous and started the melee?

  She thought back to what Pamela told her.

  What a loathsome man he is – was. You didn’t know him, Cammie. He was incredibly sanctimonious. Carried himself as if he was better than everyone else. I knew when I first met him, he was trouble.

  Yet was that why she was attracted to him? Because he was trouble? And that was erotic to her?

  You could say many things about Harold Northcott, but dangerous and erotic were not anywhere on the list.

  She turned the page and saw a photograph of Pamela and Harold. They appeared to be dancing. But it was the look in Pamela’s eye that caused her consternation. In that photo, she appeared to be gazing up at him with nothing short of adoration on her face.

  Okay, what the hell is going on? In one picture, she looks like she’s trying her best to love the guy. But in this one, she’s obviously besotted with him.

  Cammie flipped back and forth between the photos, wondering if the one on the dance floor was taken long after the one in the forest. But the two participants looked exactly the same. Same haircut, same type of clothing. No signs of aging.

  She didn’t know what to make of it. Could Pamela have suddenly awakened one morning and realized she was madly in love with Harold? She supposed it was possible. Yet…

  Before she could ponder it further, she heard a step on the stair. Turning, she saw Jace coming downstairs. He still looked as though he’d been hit by a truck, but his emotions appeared to be under control. He came and sat down next to her.

  “What’s that?” he pointed to the album.

  “It’s Aunt Pru’s photo album. She was flipping through them when I came downstairs.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She went to lie down. This morning took a lot out of her.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  He reached over to take the album, but she put her hand on his.

  “I’m not sure you should see this. Especially in the state of mind you’re in.”

  He met her eye silently, then leaned over and took the album from her lap and placed it in his. He wordlessly went through the pictures, his jaw tightening as he came to the photos of his mother and Walter. He abruptly slammed the book shut, threw it back on the table, got up and strode to the front door. He grabbed his coat and went outside, slamming the door after himself.

  “Hate to say I told you so,” Cammie said aloud to the empty room.

  A moment later, the door opened and Jace poked his head back in. “Come with me. I need you to help me make sense of all of this.”

  A half hour later, the two were walking along the beach, Cammie’s arm linked with his. She discussed what she’d discovered so far, amazed that despite his pain, he was closely listening to her every word.

  “What do you make of the photos of Mom with Walter and Mom with Dad?” he asked.

  Knowing he wanted and needed complete honesty from her, she said, “At first I thought she’d settled when she involved herself with Harold. The photos with her and Walter look as though they were deeply in love. Yet when I looked at the other photos, it seemed as though she was okay with your Dad. Not so much in love as she appeared to be with Walter, but content, you know?” He nodded. “But then I found a photo of her and Harold at some kind of dance. She’s looking at him the same way she’d looked at Walter.”

  Jace shrugged. “So she ended up falling in love with Dad.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “What do you think broke Mom and Walter up?”

  “Could be anything. He seemed to be a bit of a bad boy. That’s okay for a little while, but eventually it wears on you. Maybe she just got tired and decided to be with a man who’s more settled and who obviously loved her, and still does.”

  Jace fell into a silence as he ruminated over everything she’d said. Finally he replied, “Even if Mom isn’t the married woman Long was sleeping with, it seems to me this just makes it worse for Dad. He killed Walter in a fit of jealousy.”

  “I don’t know,” Cammie answered slowly. “Your parents have been married for forty-six years. She chose Harold, not Walter. From what you’ve told me, they appear to have a good, solid marriage. So why would bumping into Walter in a hardware store cause your dad to suddenly flip out and kill him? What kind of trigger would cause that? I mean, even if Walter walked up to your mom and propositioned her in the paint section, your Dad knows she wouldn’t follow up on it. Unless…” her voice trailed off.

  Jace glanced at her. “Unless she is the woman he was supposedly sleeping with.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ah, it’s just my mind going in circles.”

  Jace abruptly stopped walking and turned to her. “You’re seriously considering the possibility that Mom is the one who killed Long under the Christmas tree? Good Lord, if we had a dog, you’d probably think the dog did it next.”

  “Jace, I’m just—”

  He stepped away and threw his hands up in the air. “This is so screwed. I don’t know what to think, what to say.”

  “Then we won’t say anything more.” She reached out and put her hands on his arms. “We just won’t.”

  Her words did little to calm him. “Let me walk a bit on my own. I just need to wrap my mind around this.” He took out the keys to the
truck and handed them to her. “Why don’t you go get warm in the truck. I’ll catch up in a bit.”

  She watched him walk along the shore, his wall up as he struggled to process everything.

  Faced with the choice of standing on the beach and freezing to death or sitting in a warm truck, she chose the latter. She’d no sooner reached the vehicle and climbed inside than her cell rang. She saw it was Rick. She answered it as she turned the ignition.

  “How’s it going?” he greeted.

  “They arrested Harold this morning.”

  “Shit. Jace has got to be in a state.”

  “And then some. What have you got for me?”

  “Well, Em was able to trace Walter’s work history. He bounced around a lot. Never seemed to stay at a job more than two years. He moved around New England for a bit, went down to New York, Pennsylvania and Maryland before landing up in Beachport. We were able to talk to a few of the bank managers. More than one got all weirded out when we asked the reason for Walter leaving and whether it had anything to do with his personality. We hit pay dirt when I pressed one of the managers and they told me Walter was let go because he’d been doing the horizontal with the wife of one of the bank’s most important clients.”

  “Wow. Looks like Walter put the bad in bad boy. Which bank was this?”

  “Gramercy Savings and Loan in Manhattan.”

  “Did Walter ever get married?”

  Rick snorted. “Why would he need to? Seems he was having the time of his life with his clients.”

  “Come on,” she scoffed. “You think he moved on each time because he was sleeping with a client?”

  “No. But I think it was more than just his winning personality in some of these cases that made him pack up his bag and hit the highway. Em’s emailing you the list of banks and the length of time he was there. Don’t know how it’s going to help, but hey, if anyone can figure out whether Harold is really innocent or not, that would be you.”

  “No pressure, huh?”

  Rick laughed and hung up.

  It was two-thirty in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. The sun was shining outside, its rays filtering through the windows and sending up dancing dust motes. Normally, the aromatic smells of a turkey roasting in the oven would have wafted throughout the house while the voices of Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams and Bing Crosby rang out with both solemn and happy Christmas carols. Yet the atmosphere was anything but joyous. Pru and Pamela were still in their respective rooms, and there seemed to be a dark, silent presence waiting to pounce on anything even remotely cheery.

  Jace tried his best to avoid looking into the dining room where everything had been set up for their Christmas Eve dinner. Cammie offered to fix him something to eat that didn’t involve cooking. The Northcotts were having enough problems without her burning down their house. But Jace demurred. He had no appetite.

  Cammie couldn’t blame him. She had no appetite either.

  They were now seated on the couch, trying to concentrate on the TV, but it was useless. Their minds were both swirling around the events of that day. Finally Jace stood up.

  “This is crazy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I need to get out of here before I explode.”

  “Go on and take a nice long drive. I’ll stay here in case your mom and Pru come downstairs.”

  He nodded. Grabbing his coat, he let himself out of the house. A moment later, she heard the sound of the truck pull away from the curb.

  Cammie sat alone in the living room, the silence caving in on her. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. What a complete mess this had all turned out to be. Here she was, trying her best to save Harold, but he’d been arrested anyway. And now she was consumed with the possibility that it was Pamela who pulled the trigger. Yet her biggest worry was Jace. Would he be able to live with the fact that his father was a killer? If Pamela was innocent, how would she survive? Would she end up going to live with Pru down in Bucksport to escape the infamy that her husband took the life of another man? Under a Christmas tree, no less?

  How ironic that Harold hated her for arresting Jace for murder when the exact same thing had happened to him.

  She absently chewed on her fingernail. Her instincts told her there was more to this case, but she just wasn’t grasping it. There were nuances here that were doing too good a job of escaping her notice. Unfortunately, no matter how she looked at it, lives had been ruined today. A man was dead. And there was nothing she could do about it.

  She opened her eyes and looked about the room. Her stomach turned at the sight of the Christmas tree, waiting to be plugged in so the festive lights could come on. Since that was the last thing she wanted to do, she once again grabbed the photo album. It had helped distract her earlier in the day. Hopefully it would do so again.

  In the age of digital photography, she knew she was basically looking at an antique. She didn’t know anyone who kept photo albums anymore. Family photos were framed on a wall, on a computer or phone, or in one of those frames where the pictures changed every few seconds.

  Starting at the beginning, she saw Pamela kneeling down in front of a house holding a little white poodle. She looked to be about sixteen years old. Below that was a photo of Pamela leaning against a vintage 1968 mustang. In each picture, Cammie again took note of how beautiful she was, with her silky black hair, lean body and bright smile.

  As Cammie continued to flip through the thick pages, she suddenly realized something. She went back to the title page and saw Prudence Nichols written in ink. Okay, this was obviously Pru’s photo album.

  So why were there no pictures of Pru?

  With this in mind, she slowly went through the pictures again. She was drawn back to the one of Pamela dancing with Harold. She was in profile, but the wide grin on her face and the expression of love as she looked up at Harold was unmistakable. However, flipping one page back, she saw the same look on Pamela’s face when she was looking at Walter. Flipping back and forth to compare, Pamela appeared to be the same age. The only difference was her hair. In the photo with Walter, her hair was up. In the other with Harold, it hung down around her shoulders.

  What was it about this photo that kept calling out to her? What was she missing?

  She’d learned long ago to let things go. If she tried too hard, the information she was seeking would prove elusive. She had to relax her mind and focus it somewhere else.

  Cammie turned back to the album which ended with a picture of Pamela and Harold on their wedding day. They were standing in front of the justice of the peace’s office and were smiling into the camera. It took her a moment to realize that Pru may very well have served as a witness for her sister, and had taken this picture of the happy day.

  She closed the album and was about to put it back on the table when she felt herself drawn to once more look at the picture of Harold and Pamela dancing. She didn’t know why she needed to look at it again, but her instincts were pushing her to study it closely.

  She took the picture out of the photo album and sat back on the couch studying it. The dress and hair were straight out of the 60s. When she turned the picture over, she saw the year 1967 scribbled in pencil on the back.

  “This was during college,” she murmured to herself as she looked at the photo.

  Nothing. She was getting nothing. She reached over to put it back in the album when she paused. Wait a minute. She’d been so busy looking at Pamela, she hadn’t really studied Harold. When she did, she frowned. Rather than gaze at her with love and affection as he’d done in all the other photos of the two, he appeared distracted. Uncomfortable, even.

  Abruptly, a piece of the puzzle clicked into place, causing her to bolt upright on the couch.

  “Holy crap!” she yelled aloud. Thoughts swirled through her mind as more pieces of the unfathomable puzzle suddenly made sense. She didn’t like the direction the puzzle was taking, but she had no choice but to follow the train of her thoughts.

  Jumping up from the couch, she ra
n upstairs to Pru’s bedroom. She knocked on the door but received no answer. Not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping, she hurried on to Pamela’s door. She took a deep breath, let it out and gave a sharp rap. Without waiting for a response, she entered.

  Pamela was laid out on the bed. The shades were drawn, and a small nightlight threw a tiny bit of light into the room. She looked up as Cammie entered.

  “What the hell do you want?” she asked angrily.

  Cammie ignored the tone. She walked over to Pamela and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Pamela instantly covered her eyes as the light blinded her.

  “What is wrong with you? Can’t you see how upset I am? I want to be left alone.”

  “Is this you in the photo?” Cammie asked as she shoved the picture towards Pamela. It took a few moments for the woman’s eyes to adjust themselves to the light. She stared up at Cammie in disbelief. “Please. This is important. I need you to tell me if this is you in the photo.”

  She gingerly took the photograph and looked at it. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was in Pru’s photo album she left on the coffee table downstairs.”

  “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Pamela seethed. “You push yourself into my family and now you’re spying on us by going through Pru’s private photo album.”

  Cammie tightened her hold on her emotions. “Is that you in the photo?” she repeated.

  Pamela saw she had no choice but to answer what she considered Cammie’s impertinent question. She shoved the photo back at the sheriff.

  “No it’s not.”

  “It’s Pru, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “Pru was in love with Harold, wasn’t she?”

  Pamela looked away. Cammie sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “What happened, Pamela? What happened to make you end your relationship with Walter?” Her face hardened, but she refused to answer. Not sure of the truth, Cammie decided to take a chance. “You found out Walter was cheating on you, didn’t you? So you broke it off with him and took up with Harold who you knew was in love with you. The problem was, Pru was in love with Harold as well. But that didn’t stop you and Harold.” She paused, then said, “You never stopped loving Walter, did you? Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with him?”