December Dread (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries)

by Jess Lourey

  I reached behind me without looking, sliding my hand down the cool wood of my Louisville Slugger. Stumbling across seven murders in as many months had shaped me into a strange cross between paranoid and desensitized. It had also forced me to start pursuing my PI license before I earned a nickname, like Mortuary Mira. Plus, I’d figured the PI knowledge and skills would help me to handle the lousy hand I’d been dealt in terms of my recurring proximity to murder.

  The bat felt solid in my hand. I left the interior door open in case I needed to beat a quick escape and inched toward the spare bedroom, keeping my back to the wall. While walking, I reached into my coat pocket with my free hand. I touched two Nut Goodie wrappers, a hair tie, and a calculator I’d borrowed from the library so I could balance my checkbook. Bingo. I pulled out the black plastic rectangle, made some movements on it with my thumb, and held it up to my ear.

  “Drake? Yeah. No, definitely come over. You’ll be here in two minutes? Perfect. Come right in. I left the door open.” I slipped the calculator back into my pocket. “Drake” had been a good choice, I thought, considering my heart was beating so loudly I could hardly remember my own name. “Thor” or “Brutus,” the first two options that came to mind, might have given me away as a fake. Sure, it would’ve been nice if I owned a real cell phone and if someone was actually on their way here to save me, and if wishes were pennies, I’d be rich. Then I could afford a real cell phone.

  Sweat was trickling down my neck. I still wore my winter coat, but with the door open, the room was chilling quickly. Fear provided its own furnace, however. If not for my concern for Luna, I’d be halfway to Battle Lake by now. Funny thing, I wasn’t worried about Tiger Pop. Cats really do land on their feet.

  I reached the hallway that led to the spare bedroom, bathroom, and office. I couldn’t see around the corner into the bathroom, but the office door was wide open in front of me. Winter sunshine poured into the room, spotlighting all the angles. Nothing more evil than dust bunnies in there. Before I could chicken out, I whipped around the corner and into the hall, my back still glued to the wall. The bedroom door was partially closed, but I could see into the bathroom. The only illumination filtered in from the snowed-over skylight, but it was enough to reveal that the tiny room appeared empty. I darted forward and used the bat to push aside the blue and green shower curtain. Nothing. My breath was coming in shallow bursts.

  I heard the whining again, this time closer. It was definitely coming from the spare bedroom, and the sound was so mournful that it twisted my heart. I attempted to weigh stealth against speed, but Luna made another sad sound, and my instincts overrode my brain. I kicked open the door and charged in, landing in the middle of the small room and swinging the bat like a helicopter blade. I tried to see everywhere at once. A bed. Pivot. An empty dresser. Pivot. A chair. Pivot. A cat. Pivot. A closet. Pivot. That was it.

  “Tiger Pop?” He was lying in front of the closed closet door, licking his front paw in a patch of sunlight. He did not seem particularly agitated. I, on the other hand, appeared to be a crazy lady. I could feel my eyes wide and the fear vein throbbing on each side of my forehead. “Where’s Luna?”

  Tiger Pop tossed me a cool stare. I forcibly slowed my breathing. As I did so, awareness dawned on me. I knew what was happening here, and it had nothing to do with a serial killer. I’d actually witnessed Tiger Pop practicing for this. He would stroll into a room, completely relaxed and cool. Luna would follow, always up for a good time. Tiger Pop would hang out just long enough for Luna to lie down before darting out of the room. And if the door opened out, he’d rub his back against it, trying with all his might to close it before Luna wised up and escaped. It was a mean trick, one that hadn’t trapped her. Until now. How had the cat convinced the dog to check out the spare bedroom closet?

  I nudged Tiger Pop out of the way with my foot. “You’re a bully.” I had barely turned the closet knob a full rotation when Luna leapt out, pushing me to the floor and licking me like I was on fire. “S’okay, Luna. I’m here now.” I couldn’t help but smile, my blood pressure returning closer to normal with each lick. “You gotta stop trusting that cat. Really.”

  I’d been scared for nothing and felt more than a little foolish. Just to be on the safe side, however, I examined every corner of the house, peeked under every piece of furniture and in every closet, until I was satisfied that it was only me and the animals inside. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember not locking that front door, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. After a stern lecture to Tiger Pop, I retrieved the now-creepy candy cane card from the garbage and made my way back to my car.

  The thing was, I couldn’t shake the tingly sense that I was being watched the entire time.

  Four

  By the time I reached Battle Lake, the crowd had mostly returned to their ordinary routines, all except for Gina and two other women. Judging by the angry set of Gina’s shoulders as she spoke with an officer outside the station, he’d had the poor judgment to get on her bad side.

  I parked my car and ambled over. I didn’t recognize the officer she was arguing with, but thanked my stars that it wasn’t Chief Gary Wohnt. He and I’d had a series of run-ins since I’d moved to town. I could understand why he’d take a professional interest in me, given that the murder rate in the county had increased 700 percent since I’d relocated here, but had the man never heard of coincidence? Plus, he always wore those mirrored cop shades that drove me to confess irrelevant and often personal facts. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d lost a pile of weight a few months ago and now bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Chief Wenonga, the sexy-hot 23-foot fiberglass statue that graced the north side of town. Good thing I had a boyfriend and was as loyal as the day is long.

  “… don’t know that,” Gina was saying.

  “Yes we do. Look, Gina, I realize that you’re worried, but you have Leif at home. He’ll protect you.”

  I think I spotted smoke wisping out of the knit holes in her ski cap. I put my hand on her shoulder, hoping to ward off a fistfight. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up,” Gina said, crossing her arms but not taking her eyes off the officer, “is that Rodney here says the candy cane cards are legit, not connected to the killer, and that we should all go home and bake something nice for our husbands so they can continue to protect us from the big bad wolf.”

  “Now, that’s not fair. I didn’t say all that.” He reached under his hat to scratch at his scalp. The other two women puffed up behind Gina, and he glanced at them uncomfortably. “But yeah, we did get a hold of the Healthy Holidays office, and they confirmed that they’re running this candy cane promotion right now. There’s no reason to believe the killer is anywhere near Battle Lake.”

  His words didn’t appease Gina. “Maybe if he was killing off policemen with more hair than brains, you’d be a little more concerned.”

  The officer gave in to the strain. “Unless you’re planning to lose 100 pounds, grow four inches, and dye your hair brown, you don’t have anything to worry about, either. Large blonde nurses don’t fit the profile.”

  Gina balled her mittened hands into fists. I stepped between her and the cop. “Come on, Gina. None of this is his fault.” It was only when I was up close that I noticed the tears in the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t just angry. She was scared.

  She looked at me before staring at the ground. “We just found out he killed her dog,” she said quietly. “The woman in White Plains? He slit both their throats, her and her dog.”

  I sucked in the icy air and looked over my shoulder at the police officer and then at the other two women. They didn’t deny it. I felt the blood drain from my face.

  A woman had been murdered only two hours away. I’d known that, and I’d imagined her last moments had been horrifying. Then, I’d pushed any thoughts of her out of my mind and returned to the regular programming that made up my stupid, mundane life. So what was it about this new detail that made the murder seem suddenly per
sonal? I’m not one of those people who believes her animals are her children. I’d imagined that the victim had friends and family suffering terrible grief. But somehow, it was the detail about the dog that really drove it all home.

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Gina agreed. “Jesus.” Her shoulders slumped, all the fight knocked out of her. “I should probably go home.”

  I nodded, feeling deflated myself. “And I should get to work,” I mumbled. “You’re gonna be okay?”

  She shook her head as she walked away. “None of us are gonna be okay, Mira. Not until this guy and every one like him is caught.”

  The other two women followed her. I stood my ground for a moment, feeling the eyes of the officer on me. I couldn’t meet them. I knew what he was thinking. Brunette, 5'6", around 130 pounds. Watch your back. I walked to my car and drove it the four blocks to the library.

  Five

  Normally, the Battle Lake Public Library was soothing, a haven of leafy green plants, seasonally appropriate twinkle lights, and the inky, promising smell of books. Not today. I felt like I was dragging bricks as I entered. I flicked on the lights, grabbed a stack of novels and two DVDs out of the book return bin, and made my way to the front desk. The library was scheduled to open in ten minutes, and I didn’t have the energy to do much more than sit. I kept picturing the last moments of that poor woman and her dog.

  Acting on the theory that knowledge is power, I fired up the front desk computer and went online. The White Plains murder was front page news on every major site. I clicked on the least grisly headline:

  Candy Cane Killer Strikes in Minnesota

  A serial murderer, nicknamed the Candy Cane Killer for his practice of either sending candy canes to his victims before his attack or leaving candy canes at the scene, is believed to have struck in White Plains, Minnesota. On Wednesday, December 12, 34-year-old Lisabeth Hood was found dead in her home by police after a co-worker alerted them that Ms. Hood had missed two days of work. The body of her dog was found next to her.

  The Candy Cane Killer’s first victim is believed to be Monica De Luca of Chicago. Her body was found two years ago this December, in her apartment, under a pile of candy canes. Since then, police have tied eight more murders to the Killer—four, including Ms. De Luca, in the Chicago area during the same month, four more a year later in December in central Wisconsin, and now the single killing in Minnesota. All of the victims of these murders were women, aged 27–46, brunette, of average height and build. The murder weapon in all cases was a knife. With the exception of Ms. De Luca, all victims are known to have received an unexplained candy cane 12–72 hours before they were killed. In the case of Ms. Hood, it appears that six other White Plains women also received candy canes, resulting in a curfew being placed on the town, population 9,814.

  There appears to be no connection between the murder victims. Police have no leads at this time. The FBI’s Violent Crimes Task Force, headed by SAC Walter Briggs out of Quantico, is working closely with local law enforcement to catch the killer.

  The blood was thumping so loudly in my ears that it was difficult to concentrate. No wonder Gina had been so freaked out. Some nutjob had declared open season on Midwestern brunettes, and the police had no leads? If his past murder sprees were any indication, the monster had three more women to kill before he met his grisly quota in Minnesota. I closed out the news site and headed to the stacks to reshelve books, but it was difficult to concentrate. I was grateful when I heard the front door open and walked to the front to see who it was.

  “Mira James! I do declare, you get prettier each time I see you.”

  I scowled at Kennie Rogers, Battle Lake mayor, faux Southern accent-wielder, busybody, constant schemer, repeat winner of the “most likely to dress like a zaftig Britney Spears” award. She was hardly a reprieve from dark thoughts. She and I had formed an uneasy truce the past few months, but we mixed like orange juice and toothpaste. I also knew her well enough to know that if she was being nice to me, she wanted something. I stepped behind the front desk to put it between her and me. “I have hat hair. Otherwise, I look exactly the same as the last time you saw me.”

  “That must be it, then,” she said, pinning a conservative smile to her face. The expression complemented her sensible down jacket, matching hat and gloves, and plaid-rimmed Sorel boots. Wait a minute.

  “Why are you dressed for winter?”

  She fluffed the platinum hair peeking out from under her hat. “Because last time I checked, it is winter.”

  “Last time I saw you, you were wearing a tiara with ear muffs, a pink pleather coat, and three-inch-heeled boots.”

  “That pink pleather coat was lined.”

  I stared her down, ignoring the cloud of yeasty gardenia perfume that seemed to habitually envelop her.

  “Fine. Times are tough. I didn’t want to appear extravagant while I was laying people off.” She removed her gloves, one finger at a time. “I’m caring that way. You might want to take notes from me on proper people management. If you ever want to promote yourself beyond your current station, that is.”

  I had stopped listening three sentences ago, right after she’d said “laying people off.” As mayor of Battle Lake, there were three jobs Kennie held in her manicured little hands: manager of the municipal liquor store, Chief Gary Wohnt’s job, and mine. Since rumor had it she was knocking boots with the chief, and since the liquor store was the town’s linchpin on sanity in the winter months, that left the library. “You’re laying me off?’

  “Hmmm?” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes. “Did I say that?”

  “You pretty much did.”

  She slapped her gloves on the counter between us and huffed. “I certainly did not. I wouldn’t lay off a friend, would I?”

  She paused.

  I said nothing.

  “Nope, I wouldn’t,” she said with faux hurt in her voice.

  I was suspicious. There was more to this. “For real?”

  “Real as Rice Krispies. Only thing is, I do need to close the library for two weeks. Budget cuts and all that. This book shack isn’t too busy over Christmas, anyways. Close up after today, re-open on January 2. Easy peasy.” She grabbed her gloves, swiveled on her heel, and scampered toward the door like the yellow-livered ferret she was.

  “Wait! Two weeks without pay? How am I supposed to cover my bills?”

  She shrugged without stopping. “With your savings?”

  “Savings? I barely make above minimum wage. The city council voted to keep me at an assistant’s salary because I don’t have the librarian degree. You know that.”

  “Go home and visit your mom for the holidays, then, and be glad you have a job to return to,” she said as she sailed out the door.

  I watched her go, knowing I had no recourse. “Curse words.”

  Money was tight all over Minnesota, I knew that, and we’d all have to do our part. Yet, I’d thought I already was by accepting slave wages. I sighed. Go home, indeed. Kennie knew better. I couldn’t have escaped Paynesville any faster after I’d graduated high school if I’d had a jetpack strapped to my back. My dad had been the town drunk. One of them anyway. He’d gone out in a blaze of shame, killing himself and the two people in the other car in a head-on collision. I imagined his blood alcohol level must have been so high that he hadn’t felt a thing. At least, on my good days I did.

  I’d had to endure my junior and senior years of high school after my dad’s accident, during which time I became the town pariah, Manslaughter Mark’s daughter. Hunh. Guess death had marked me at a younger age than most. I spent those two years hurrying past the tin can wreck of his car, purchased as a cautionary example for the driver’s ed students. I grew wild and bitter pretty quickly, shunned by people I’d called friends, whispered about behind hands, judged wherever I turned.

  Once I’d graduated high school, I’d flown to the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis without looking back. None of it had been m
y mom’s fault. She’d always been the quiet, consistent housewife and stable mother. Except, she also hadn’t left him, which I’d begged her to do for the year leading up to the accident, the year his drinking had really spiraled out of control. I had a hard time forgiving her for that. She’d visited me in the Cities a few times and even came up to Battle Lake in August. We’d been phoning each other regularly since then, rebuilding our relationship. I found I liked it, but at a distance. No way could I spend two weeks in a row with her, in the hometown I hadn’t seen in over a decade. I’d get the reverse-bends.

  As soon as lunchtime rolled around, I hoofed it over the snow-packed streets to the Battle Lake Recall office, a new plan percolating. Maybe Ron could give me more work during the lean times. It could help me to cover my heating, phone, and electric bills, keep me in groceries, and allow me to make the minimum payment on my school loans.

  The earthy smell of ink and paper greeted me when I entered the office. “Knock knock!” I hated when people said that when walking into a room. That just demonstrated my current level of stress.

  Ron grunted from behind the front counter where he was tapping away on a computer. He and his wife ran the paper. He was the editor, publisher, layout guy, and head writer. His second and current wife sold ad space, and together the two of them spent an inordinate amount of time making out in public. I’d come to terms with this tic of theirs but was always deeply grateful when I caught one without the other.

  “Nice to see you, too, Ron. You heard about the candy cane card scare in town?”

  “Not much of a scare,” he said, not glancing up from his iMac.

  “I don’t know about that.” I ran my hand across his counter. “Seems like there’s a story there, if someone wants to do some digging.”