Mistletoe, Merriment, And Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “Enough about me, for now. This smells divine.” Abby leaned over the simmering saucepan. “What’s going on with you?”

  I picked up the candle lighter from the counter and flicked it on. “I didn’t get the organizing job for the schools.” I’d heard through Abby that the North Dawkins school district was looking for an independent contractor to create and implement paper saving strategies throughout the district to help them cut costs.

  “Why not?” Abby asked. “You’re the best organizer in North Dawkins. How could they not hire you?”

  I focused on the small explosion of flame around the wick of one of the candles as it lit. “No, up until a few months ago, I was the only organizer in North Dawkins. That doesn’t mean I was the best.”

  Abby gave the cider a vigorous stir that sent it sloshing around the pan. “You’re the best. I know how hard you work. And you’re good. Don’t get down on yourself. They probably had to delay the decision, or they lost the funding for it in the budget cuts—that happens all the time.”

  Another wick flared. “Gabrielle Matheson got the job.”

  Abby sucked in a breath. “No! How do you know? She didn’t call to gloat, did she?”

  I moved to the candles in the living room. “No, I don’t think even she would be that tacky.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” Abby murmured.

  Freshly divorced and with two kids in college, Gabrielle had supposedly moved from Atlanta to North Dawkins for a fresh start. I knew her sister, Jean Williams, through the squadron spouse club. Jean’s husband had retired from the air force, but Jean still attended some spouse club events—“the fun ones, anyway,” was how she put it with a smile. Gabrielle had told everyone that she’d moved to North Dawkins so she could be near her sister, but I knew there was another reason. Atlanta was thick with organizers, but there was only one professional organizer between Macon and Valdosta—me. Or, there had been only one until Gabrielle arrived.

  Gabrielle had called to introduce herself. Networking, she’d said. Her southern accent had oozed through the phone line, “Us professional organizers have to stick together.”

  I’d jumped at the idea, thinking it would be great to have someone in town to knock around ideas with. I’d even pitched my latest service to her, consulting with new organizers and helping them set up their businesses. I’d hoped this new venture would take off and I could eventually transition to full-time consulting so that when our next move came, I wouldn’t have to start over from scratch again with zero clients. So far, I had two “newbie” organizers in two different states that I was working with long distance, via e-mail and social networking.

  “Oh, honey,” Gabrielle had said with a throaty laugh. “I don’t need your help. I’m an old hand at organizing.” She’d immediately switched to a new topic. “I think we should start a local chapter here,” she had said, referring to the national association of organizers that we both belonged to. “Since you’re so busy with your established clients—and I know you have little kids, too—I’d be happy to be president. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She’d signed off quickly and I’d been left with my mouth open and a dial tone buzzing in my ear. In the two months since she’d moved to North Dawkins, Gabrielle had managed to vacuum up quite a few of my new client leads and she’d also poached one of my most affluent regular clients, Stephanie, who, at one time, had my number on her speed dial. Two weeks after Gabrielle moved to town, Stephanie had called to let me know she wouldn’t need me anymore.

  “That’s three jobs now where she’s beat me out,” I said, exasperated, as I returned to the kitchen and pulled mugs out of the cabinet for the cider.

  “Here. Let me do that. You don’t want to chip anything,” Abby said. “How did you find out you didn’t get the school district job?”

  “Candy called me.” I’d met Candy when I created storage solutions for a nonprofit group where she worked. She was in her forties, wore huge hoop earrings that always matched her clothes, chomped on gum nonstop, and had a bossy, tough-love kind of personality. She’d left the nonprofit and was now working in the school district office as an administrative assistant. “All she could say was that the director didn’t pick my proposal. She asked me to call her back tonight, but I don’t think I’ll have time.” I glanced at my watch. It was almost six.

  “Oh, go. Call her. I’ll get the door if anyone comes while you’re on the phone,” Abby said.

  Candy answered on the first ring. She sounded slightly out of breath. “Just walked in the door from work. Now, you didn’t hear this from me, and I can’t say much, but I thought you should know what’s going on. You’re a good sort, the kind to get run over in a thing like this, so . . . officially, Gabrielle got the job because she has more hours available to work each week. Theoretically, she can get it done faster and she had a reference from a school in Peachtree City, which never returned my calls, so I couldn’t verify she’d worked for them. She supposedly ran an organizing seminar for the teachers and revamped the school’s workroom, which counted as more suitable experience than the organizing you’ve done for individuals.”

  “But even if I don’t have experience organizing for a school—”

  “I know, honey, I know. I’ve seen you work. You would have known exactly what to do. Anyway, that’s all neither here nor there. What really made the difference was as soon as Gabrielle came in the office she schmoozed old Rodrick. That first morning, she just happened to have brought an extra latte, vanilla and skim milk, no less.”

  Rodrick Olsen was the superintendent. Candy’s voice took on a gushy tone. “And wasn’t that the biggest coincidence in the world? That she’d brought Rodrick’s favorite? And didn’t Rodrick look sharp in his pinstripe?” Her voice lost its sickeningly sweet exaggerated southern drawl. She was spot-on in her imitation. Back in her normal, rather gruff voice, Candy said, “Gawd, it was sickening. And he ate it up, let me tell you. She suggested lunch at The Grille, so she could completely understand all his needs.” There was a clanking, which I assumed was Candy’s big hoop earring clattering against the phone in her agitation. “So there you are. Just wanted you to know what you’re up against—flirty schmoozing.”

  My heart sank. “I can’t do flirty schmoozing. And I don’t want to have to do that to get jobs.”

  “Don’t worry, honey, she’s the type of woman that men fall all over themselves for, but women will see right through her, just like I did. What goes around, comes around. Just be aware of what you’re up against when you’re both competing for the same job and the person making the decision is a male.”

  The doorbell chimed. “I’ve got to go. Thanks, Candy.”

  “Sure thing,” Candy said. “You be sweet now.”

  Despite the plunge in my self-confidence, I had to grin at Candy’s signature southern good-bye. “Bye, Candy.”

  Petite, pixielike Nadia, with her short, brown hair and elfin face, followed Abby into the kitchen. Nadia was one of the most intensely perky people I knew, which I figured was an asset for a first-grade teacher. She and Abby taught at the same school. Nadia was carrying a glass pan of fudge and had her camera bag slung over her shoulder. She was the official squadron photographer, but her photographs went way beyond the amateur level. She’d recently sold some of her photos of the local pumpkin patch to a regional magazine. She wore a cranberry-colored boiled wool jacket with black piping over a snowy white shell and black skirt. Personally, I thought she took coordination of her clothing a little too far—she and her two daughters always matched, down to the hefty bows that she placed in their hair. I was sure that if the girls had been with her tonight, they would have been in some sort of burgundy taffeta party dresses complete with matching bows.

  “There’s been another one, did you hear?” Nadia asked as she handed the fudge to Abby and carefully set her camera bag on the counter.

  “Another what?” I asked.

&
nbsp; “Break-in,” she said, clearly delighted to have the scoop on us. I didn’t know how she did it, but Nadia always had the latest news on . . . well, just about everything. I thought she probably would have made an excellent investigative reporter, if she hadn’t liked teaching so much.

  “Another spouse?” Abby said. “Who was it this time?”

  Nadia’s expression turned somber. “Amy. They got in while she was at the hospital with her mom.”

  Tips for a Sane and Happy Holiday Season

  A niche industry has grown up around holiday organization. There are endless plastic boxes and bins designed specifically to hold holiday decorations. The only downside to these organizing aids is the expense involved. Sometimes it seems you can spend just as much on storing your holiday decorations as on the decorations themselves. Here are some cheap and easy storage solutions that won’t break your budget:

  • Use Styrofoam egg cartons to store small, delicate ornaments.

  • Look for plastic cord wrappers in the hardware section of your local superstore, which will usually be cheaper than the cord wrappers in the holiday section. Use these cord wrappers to wind lights, tinsel, and garland. Or, make your own cord wrappers out of sturdy pieces of rectangular-shaped cardboard.

  • Save original ornament packaging and reuse at the end of the season.

  • Wrap wreaths in plastic trash bags to prevent them from getting dusty, then hang in your storage area.

  Chapter Two

  “How terrible,” I said.

  “That’s low,” Abby said, emphatically. “Can you imagine targeting someone whose mother is in the hospital? Who would do that?”

  Nadia and I exchanged a look. “It has to be someone in the squadron, doesn’t it?” I said, voicing what we were thinking.

  “It could all be a coincidence,” Nadia said, doubt edging her voice.

  “You guys worry too much,” Abby said. “Before this, there have only been two break-ins on base and one in North Dawkins. That’s not a pattern. That’s coincidence.”

  “Still, I don’t like it. Robberies don’t happen on base very often. And, how likely is it that each one of those break-ins was at a house where the husband was deployed?” Nadia asked with a frown.

  “Not every break-in,” Abby countered. “Amy’s husband isn’t deployed.”

  “But she and Cody were away in Atlanta, with her mom, at the hospital. That means someone knew her house would be more vulnerable, like the others.”

  “It is strange,” I said. “When did it happen?”

  “At night, like the others,” Nadia said, raising her eyebrows. “They drove to Atlanta in the evening. Amy came back the next morning to pick up a few things and found the back door open.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that when robberies usually happen—in the dead of night?”

  I ignored her. “Do you know what was taken?”

  “I heard a laptop computer, MP3 players, and some cash,” Nadia said.

  “It does sound like the others,” I said. The other robberies had all taken place during the night and small but valuable electronics and money were taken.

  The doorbell rang and I hurried off to answer it. I swung the door wide and said, “Hi, Marie.”

  Her head was nowhere near the door frame, but she ducked a little anyway as she stepped inside. I guess being six-foot-two probably made you overly cautious about door frames. Marie said hello softly and stopped short in the entryway, like she wasn’t sure what to do. She pushed a swath of her long orangy-red bangs out of her eyes and looked around the house. Her slightly protruding eyes seemed to widen even more. “Your house is lovely . . . so pretty . . . so clean. I don’t know if I want you coming to my house tomorrow, after all,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  Despite being in her late twenties, Marie had the gangly arms and legs of a teen, which didn’t really go with her more stocky midsection. It was horrible, but every time I saw her I was reminded of the Sesame Street character, Big Bird. It had to be a combination of her height, her soft-spoken manner, and the mismatch of her stringy arms and legs combined with her thicker core. I quickly tried to banish that association from my mind. You know you’ve been watching too much children’s television when it starts to influence how you see people.

  “Oh, don’t worry. This is definitely not the normal state of our house. There are usually toys and books everywhere.” I had an organizing consultation scheduled for tomorrow with Marie and I was afraid that with her timid and hesitant manner, she might cancel. “Come have some food and let me take your gift and coat.”

  After a slight hesitation, she reluctantly released the red package. I wondered if she was thinking about leaving, claiming some forgotten appointment or errand, but then she smiled nervously and handed me her coat. I sent her into the kitchen and made a mental note to check on her later to make sure she was having a good time.

  Everyone seemed to arrive at once and soon the sound of conversation and laughter began to drown out Mannheim Steamroller’s “Deck the Halls.” I was in the kitchen chatting laboriously with Marie—yes, she and her husband had been assigned to the squadron almost a year ago; yes, they liked it here; no, she didn’t like it that he was deployed; yes, she was looking for a job—when I heard Abby call my name, I excused myself, glad for the interruption.

  I hurried through the crowded room to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Abby was frowning. “I wanted to warn you. Gabrielle is here.”

  “What? Why would she be here?”

  “Jean brought her,” Abby said. My eyebrows shot up and Abby hurriedly said, “What could I do? They came in with a big group. I couldn’t let Jean in and turn her sister away, could I?”

  “No, but I wish you had.” I knew I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t help it. “Abby, that woman is sabotaging my business. I haven’t even told you what Candy said about her.”

  “Oh, Ellie, sugar,” a syrupy voice, dripping with long southern vowels, sounded behind me, “Your house is—um—charming. So cute and domestic. It must be just perfect for your little family. It’s so nice of you to host this party at the last minute, even though it’s quite a squeeze in here. And I love all this neutral paint. It must make decorating a breeze.”

  Wow—had she just said my house was too small and that it was bland? I gritted my teeth, determined to be nice. I would take the high road.

  Jean was standing slightly behind Gabrielle and I thought I was seeing double for a moment. I hadn’t realized how strong a resemblance there was between the sisters. I’d met Gabrielle at a chamber of commerce meeting, so I knew what she looked like and I’d had plenty of interactions with Jean through the squadron, but I hadn’t seen them together. Side by side, they looked not just like sisters, but more like twins. There were differences in their style of dress and—more prominently—in their attitudes, but they were both the same height and had black hair, green eyes, and heart-shaped faces with high Slavic cheekbones.

  Jean stepped around Gabrielle and handed me a plate of brownies iced in swirls of chocolate frosting. “Hi, Ellie. I invited Gabrielle along tonight so she can meet more people.” Jean’s dark hair, which was threaded through with strands of gray, was pulled back into a low ponytail held in place by a rubber band. Under her quilted down coat and wool scarf of neutral brown tones, she wore jeans and a green sweatshirt embroidered with elves.

  In contrast to Jean’s unfussy clothes and faint makeup, Gabrielle looked incredibly stylish, if a little overblown, in a Christmas ribbon–red wrap dress with a plunging neckline and black heels. Her makeup was thorough and flawless, her dark hair—no glint of gray anywhere—floated about her face in luxurious waves, and the scent of lilies drifted around her.

  “Um, yes, I know. Here, let me put those gifts under the tree. Help yourself to some food,” I said as I escaped. Really, how could I have thought they were alike? Now that I looked at them, I kept seeing differences—Jean had plain, short-trimmed fingernails.
Gabrielle’s long, acrylic nails were polished a glossy red. After introducing Gabrielle to everyone, Jean filled a plate with food and plunked down on the couch beside Nadia. Gabrielle avoided the food, except for a few carrot sticks. There was also a sensual air about Gabrielle that was completely absent from Jean. The plunging neckline of the dress, the flowery scent, and the way she held herself—one hand on her thrust-out hip—looked almost as if she were expecting a photographer to pop out and snap her picture.

  Impatient with myself, I shook my head. Stop being catty, I told myself, and went to get more napkins. I couldn’t help but notice that Gabrielle was the center of attention wherever she was. She drew people to her. There was a sort of energy and sparkle about her. No wonder Rodrick had been captivated by her.

  Everyone had arrived and the party was in full swing. I cruised through the house, chatting and making sure everyone had food. Abby was slowly herding everyone into the living room so the gift exchange could begin. I filled a plate for myself and hurried into the kitchen to get a mug of cider. The kitchen was empty except for Gabrielle and Marie, who were on the far side by the breakfast table. Gabrielle, who had her back toward me, pressed a business card into Marie’s hand. “You should give me a call.” Gabrielle spoke quietly, but I could still hear her. “My hours are much more flexible than Ellie’s and I’ll give you a twenty percent discount on whatever she quotes you.”

  Marie shot a guilty glance at me, then said, “That’s okay—I’ve already got an appointment, with Ellie, I mean. I’ll just keep that.” Marie shifted around the back of the table and quickly escaped into the living room.

  Furious, I slapped my plate and mug down on the counter and marched over to Gabrielle. “I can’t believe you did that.” I was so angry my hands were shaking and there was a tremble in my voice.