Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  My brother’s eyes opened wide. “So, wait. David was here today?”

  Paulie nodded. “He just left about half an hour ago.”

  “When did he get here?” Joe asked.

  Paulie shrugged. “I’m running a bar here. I don’t know the exact time.”

  Joe stared him down. “Ballpark it for me.”

  “He got here about two or three hours ago.”

  “So, let me get this straight. David came in two or three hours ago, stayed here the whole time, then left your bar only about half an hour ago?” Joe said.

  Paulie nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

  Joe stepped away from the bar and began moving toward the exit. “Thank you very much. You’ve been a lot of help.”

  Paulie looked as confused as could be. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Let’s just say that David doesn’t have to worry about George Dolan’s lights anymore,” I replied.

  I followed my brother outside. The true gravity of my disappointment didn’t sink in until I got out to the parking lot. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.

  It turned out that Joe and I left the bar with answers—they just weren’t the ones we expected. After what Paulie had told us, as hard as it was to believe, David had a verifiable alibi for the time of the murder. So, regardless of how suspicious David had behaved around us, we had to reluctantly cross his name off of the suspect list.

  Chapter Eight

  George Dolan’s grumpy neighbor was no longer under suspicion, but there were still a number of people who were. Joe and I drove over to Clover Street to question the next suspect on our list. As we made our way over to Carl Kincaid’s house, I couldn’t happen to notice the various decorations on people’s houses, the way each store that we passed was jammed, and how wrapped up everyone else seemed to be in the holiday season.

  My brother and I were the exceptions. The mood in the police car was far from festive. There was no revelry to go around. Instead, we were intensely focused. That focus shifted as we approached Carl’s two-story Spanish-style house. How could it not? Somehow, the Christmas light display at Carl’s house managed to be just as over the top as the one at George’s house.

  They had both taken a page out of the same gaudy playbook. But unlike George, who annoyed neighbors in different shades of red and green, Carl used only white Christmas lights.

  The effect was still the same. It was like staring at a blinking, blinding blur that was as annoying as it was hypnotizing. I was actually surprised that there weren’t more traffic accidents on this street during the holidays. While I was nearly lulled into a trance by the lights, my brother maintained his tunnel vision and was able to avoid colliding with another car as he pulled into Carl’s driveway.

  After a few knocks, Carl opened his front door, and it became clear that Carl and George had a lot more in common than I had ever realized. In addition to being obsessed with gaudy Christmas displays, they were both heavyset, balding men who had never seen an ugly Christmas sweater that they didn’t like.

  If that wasn’t enough, the capper was that they both had wife-sized voids in their lives that they filled with an unhealthy fixation with Christmas lights. Ironically, in Carl’s case, his obsession with lights probably wasn’t going to land him a wife anytime soon. Carl’s relationship status aside, Joe and I got down to business.

  “Impressive light display,” Joe said.

  “Thank you,” Carl replied.

  “Not as impressive as the one at George Dolan’s place, though,” Joe said.

  Carl had walked right into that one. He had been too busy basking in the compliment to realize my brother had set him up. That was only the first part of the equation. The second part was almost equally as important. Both my brother and I were curious to see how Carl would react to the statement about George’s light display being better than his.

  As expected, it ruffled Carl’s feathers. I saw the fire in his eyes, even as he tried to pretend that it didn’t really bother him. While he didn’t blow his top, he did grit his teeth.

  Carl’s response was very reserved. “Is that so?”

  The more Carl tried to pretend that my brother’s comment hadn’t gotten under his skin, the more obvious it became that it was eating him up inside.

  “Yeah. We just came from there, actually,” Joe said.

  Carl’s forehead wrinkled. “So what, did you just come here to tell me that my lights don’t measure up to his?”

  “My comment really offended you, didn’t it?”

  Carl became defensive. “No.”

  He had a terrible poker face.

  My brother called him out on that fact. “Mr. Kincaid, don’t lie.”

  Carl tried to change the subject. “I’m not lying. I’m just confused as to what this has to do with anything.”

  Joe kept the pressure on. “Admit it, Mr. Kincaid. It really stings hearing that George’s light display is better than yours.”

  Carl shook his head. “You’re wrong. It doesn’t bother me.”

  Joe stared him down. “You’re not fooling me.”

  Carl didn’t back away from his claim. “I’m not trying to fool you. It doesn’t bother me because I know that my light display is superior.”

  He had meant that to be the definitive word on the issue, but it only led to more disbelief on my part. I couldn’t make sense of how someone could be so wrapped up in what people thought about a holiday light display. Yet it was abundantly clear that Carl’s sizable ego hung on every word of praise or criticism that his display received. Knowing that could come in handy later in the conversation.

  My brother decided to toy with him. “I’m afraid you’re wrong about that, Mr. Kincaid. There’s no way this light display of yours is better than George’s.”

  Once again, Carl tried his best to keep a tight lip, but his anger over my brother’s statement seeped out of him long enough for me to catch it. When Carl saw me staring at him, he put on the most stoic expression that he could muster.

  “Officer, we’ll have to respectfully disagree,” Carl replied before trying to change the subject. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to get back to.”

  Wow. Not only was he terrible at hiding his true emotions from us, but he was equally lousy at changing the subject. That might have been the least subtle transition I had ever heard. To make matters worse for him, he had come up with a lousy excuse to justify making such a hasty exit from the conversation. Usually, people went out of their way to avoid doing paperwork. Instead, he had pretended that he couldn’t wait to get back to doing it.

  Joe wasn’t about to put up with such nonsense. He corrected Carl. “It’s detective, and we’re not done here yet.”

  Carl scrunched his nose. “What are you talking about?”

  “We have some questions to ask you about George Dolan,” Joe said.

  “I don’t understand why. I’ve barely ever spoken to the man and don’t really have anything to say about him,” Carl replied.

  Joe fired back at him. “You mean you have nothing nice to say about him?”

  Carl’s patience had worn thin. “What’s the point of all this?”

  “The point is that George was just murdered,” Joe revealed.

  My brother waited for Carl’s reaction. Surprisingly, no remorse came to his face. Instead, I saw a look of terror in his eyes. That did nothing to alleviate our suspicions of him. While Carl was reeling, my brother put the heat on him.

  “Since you and George have built up quite a rivalry over these Christmas light displays of yours, naturally, you’re a suspect in this case,” Joe continued.

  Carl went into hysterics. “This is crazy.”

  Joe remained calm. “Is it?”

  The volume of Carl’s voice kept rising. “Yes.”

  “There’s one way to find out. Where were you between seven and eight o’clock tonight?” Joe asked.

  “I was here,” Carl said.

  “Is there anyone who
can verify that?” Joe asked.

  “Dozens of cars have passed by the house to check out my light display tonight,” Carl said.

  “I don’t doubt that, but they came by to check out the lights. Can any of them verify that they saw you inside your house between seven and eight o’clock tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “It’s a yes or no question. If you can’t produce a witness to verify your alibi, then you don’t really have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  Carl became very defensive. “That’s not true. Like I said, I was here.”

  Joe fired back. “And like I said, your alibi is only as good as my ability to verify it.”

  Carl glared at my brother.

  Joe and Carl were both so wrapped up in the heat of their emotions that they couldn’t see that their verbal tug of war wasn’t going to lead anywhere but to a stalemate. Instead of spending a few more minutes getting nowhere with them arguing with each other, I decided to pivot the topic slightly.

  “Back to this bitter rivalry you and George Dolan had,” I said.

  Carl tried to downplay how competitive things had been between himself and George. “I’d say it was a friendly rivalry.”

  Carl could get as creative with his language as he wanted. He wasn’t fooling me.

  I scoffed. “Friendly? Really? Last year, you called George out during a television interview and warned him that he’d rue the day he dared to take you on.”

  Carl remained dismissive. “That was last year.”

  He made light of my point as if the tension had simmered down since then. I knew for a fact that the competition had only ratcheted up with each passing day.

  I turned his argument on its head. “Exactly. Things have really had a chance to boil over in the last year. Maybe with deadly consequences.”

  Carl looked at me as if I had two heads. “I don’t know where you’re getting that from.”

  I didn’t hesitate with my response. “From looking at your own light display. When the newspaper ran that article about your display a few weeks ago, there were half as many lights up as there are now. Shortly after your article came out, the local TV station ran that story about George’s display. Now, look how much more over the top your display is. Yet you’re going to stand here and pretend like your rivalry hasn’t heated up even more since last year?”

  Carl shook his head and took an argumentative tone with me. “That newspaper reporter came earlier than he said he would. I wasn’t completely done with my display when that story ran in the paper. Since then, I’ve added the finishing touches to my lights. End of story.”

  “Nice cover story. Unfortunately, you have no way to prove that, either,” I said.

  Before Carl tried to refute my point, my brother jumped back into the conversation.

  “When was the last time you talked to George?” Joe asked.

  “Like I already told you, I barely knew the guy,” Carl said.

  I had never seen someone try so hard to keep from answering simple questions in all my life. Despite all Carl’s efforts to deflect, my brother kept the conversation on point.

  Joe stared him down. “That wasn’t the question I asked you.”

  “I’m just saying, if it wasn’t for his light display, I wouldn’t know who George was at all.”

  “You can keep downplaying things all you want, but you didn’t just know George—he was also your competition. Now, answer my question.”

  “I haven’t seen him recently,” Carl said.

  “Your vagueness isn’t doing you any favors. How about being more specific?” Joe replied.

  “I haven’t seen him in person in over a month,” Carl said.

  Joe stared him down and hit him with another question. “When was the last time you drove by his house?”

  Carl searched his mind a little before giving a response to that one. “I would say about a week ago.”

  Joe continued pressing. “A week, huh? Did you see the light display in his backyard?”

  I had to keep from smiling as my brother asked that trap question. Having just come from George’s house recently, we both knew there was no light display in the back yard. The only way Carl would know that was if he had been back there. We eagerly awaited Carl’s response.

  Carl’s face went blank. “I didn’t know George had strung up lights in the back. I’ve only ever driven by the front of his house.”

  So much for trapping him. Even though it hadn’t panned out the way we wanted it to, it had still been worth the effort.

  Once again, Carl remained slippery with us and tried to make a hasty exit from the conversation.

  “I’ve answered all of your questions and don’t have anything else to say on the issue, so as far as I see it, we’re done here,” Carl replied.

  My brother stopped him. “Not so fast. Don’t you go leaving town on us, you hear?”

  With that, Joe let Carl go back inside his house. My brother then assigned a patrol car to watch Carl’s house in case he tried to flee.

  After that, Joe and I headed out.

  Chapter Nine

  As we drove to our next suspect interview, whatever holiday spirit I had left completely evaporated. Questioning murder suspects never failed to sap the joy out of my life. Of course, that was to be expected when confronted with constant lies, backstabbing, and deceit. While that came with the territory of investigating a murder, it was antithetical to the spirit of Christmas.

  In addition to getting justice for George, that was why I wanted to get this case over with as soon as possible. The holiday season was about celebrating, not being filled with despair. Ironically, as we drove down a stretch of Pines Avenue that was chock full of decorations, I didn’t regain any sense of festiveness. Mostly, that was because I saw nothing but jam-packed mini-malls and parking lots everywhere I looked.

  Holiday shopping had reached a fever pitch. In addition, at that late hour of the evening, every one of the shoppers coming and going from the stores looked grumpy. Those sour moods were paired with a symphony of honking horns in the parking lots. Patience was wearing thin as cars nearly collided. There was a tension in the air that mirrored what was going on with my own mood.

  That was why I was glad we ended up driving by a church before reaching Elaine Dolan’s place. There was a sign posted in front of the house of worship that read “Jesus is the reason for the season.”

  Beside that sign was a nativity scene. That was just what I needed to see at a time like this. It was a reminder of what was truly important. Just driving by it brought me a brief sense of peace.

  As surprising as it was to believe, while the mall was as crowded as could be, there were only two cars in the parking lot of the church, even though a service was just about to begin. How sad it was to think that commercialism was winning the night.

  Then again, it was infinitely more important to frantically rush to the mall to buy espresso makers, toys, clothes, video games, and other hot holiday gifts before they sold out, right? Oh, the sarcasm I wanted to drench that statement in. In truth, I could have easily launched into a whole materialism rant, but for the sake of the case, I knew it was more important for me to focus. The case demanded my complete attention.

  As Joe turned left onto Orange Glen Drive, I zeroed in on what questions I wanted to ask Elaine Dolan. When we pulled up in front of her place, I couldn’t help but notice the striking difference between the house she used to live in and the one she had recently moved into after separating from her husband.

  While George’s light display was absurdly over the top, Elaine’s was very understated. There was a single strand of white lights hung around the door and front porch of the ranch-style house. The Christmas tree visible through the window of her living room was tastefully decorated with more thin white strands of lights. Those lights were paired with some white tinsel and some spare white ornaments. While it sounded like a lot of white, the decorations were so sparse that they were in
viting instead of off-putting.

  Joe let out a sigh as he got out of the car and walked toward the front door with me. He didn’t need to say anything. I already knew what he was thinking—there were so many other things he would have preferred to do with his ten o’clock hour than questioning another suspect. Not only did I agree with him, but I was sure that Elaine Dolan would be distinctly lacking in enthusiasm when she opened the door for us.

  When it came to that point, I didn’t really blame her. Ten forty-five at night was not the ideal time to have a pair of strangers knock on the door, especially if one of them was a homicide detective. At the same time, Joe and I didn’t want to wait until morning to get answers from Elaine.

  We could put up with a surly mood. What mattered was getting a leg up on this investigation, and catching Elaine off guard could do that. Not to mention, if we waited until morning to talk to her, it would give her twelve more hours to come up with a cover story.

  Instead, we would be talking to her mere hours after the murder had occurred. In previous cases, that had really come in handy.

  What little enthusiasm I had mustered quickly waned when Elaine didn’t answer my brother’s knocks. The silence didn’t deter Joe. If my brother was anything, he was persistent. He knocked again to no avail.

  After two unsuccessful set of knocks, I briefly wondered if maybe Elaine was out on the town. I dismissed that theory when I peered into her garage and saw her car parked inside.

  She was definitely home. She just didn’t want to answer the door. Next, I wondered if she had gone to sleep. Regardless of the explanation behind her silence, Elaine clearly had no intention of opening up for us.

  As my brother’s patience wore thin, Elaine would quickly realize how futile it would prove to try and avoid us. Joe was determined to do whatever was necessary to roust her. There were questions that we needed answers to, and we would get them whether Elaine liked it or not.

  Joe took a new approach, pounding especially hard on Elaine’s door. He then yelled at the door in order to draw as much attention to himself as possible.