Mistletoe, Merriment, And Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “You go. I’ll distract Cecilia.” She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Cecilia? Could it really be her? Why would she break into my house?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she found the purse somewhere or someone gave it to her—if she has it. That’s what we’ve got to find out, first—if it’s here.”

  The doorbell chimed again and Cecilia’s living room and kitchen filled quickly. Abby nodded and made her way through the crowd. I eased toward the door to the garage, which was down a short hallway from the kitchen. I made eye contact with Abby. She nodded and engaged Cecilia in conversation, then shifted around so that Cecilia’s back was toward me. I slunk away down the hall, hoping that no one noticed me. I could always claim I was looking for a bathroom. I suddenly thought, what if Cecilia’s husband—what was his name? George? Greg?—what if he was around? Or what if he’d taken the white Kia?

  This spur-of-the-moment plan wasn’t a very good one, but it was all I could think of, so I turned the knob and eased the door open. I was relieved to see the white car filling half the garage directly in front of me. The other side of the double garage was empty except for an oil stain and a row of makeshift shelves. It looked as if Giles?—Gavin? Yes, that was it. Gavin. It looked like he was gone.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the garage. I didn’t want to turn on the overhead light because the top fourth of the rolling garage doors were windows. If the lights were on, a late arriver might mention it to Cecilia. The glow of the street lights filtered through the windows, providing some light. I waited until the items on the shelves resolved into the miscellany that accumulates in garages—cardboard boxes, tools, and plastic bins of who-knows-what.

  The white Kia was parked close to the wall and I edged along it to the driver’s door. I’d upped my ibuprofen dosage, which dulled the soreness from my tumble down the stairs and allowed me to move fairly easily along the tight space. The door opened when I pulled the handle—thank goodness. My pulse was already pounding. I wasn’t up to the challenge of going back inside and trying to locate Cecilia’s keys.

  The interior light came on and an artificial pine smell mixed with the scent of Armor All wafted toward me. She must have just had the car cleaned. I could see the vacuum tracks in the carpet on the passenger side. The fresh coat of oily protectant on the dashboard glistened in the low light like sunscreen on a sunbather. There was nothing on the front seat.

  I patted around until I found the trunk release. It sprang open with a pop that seemed unnaturally loud. I cringed, gently closed the door, and made my way to the back of the car. I tried to ease by the rolling trash bin positioned in the corner near the garage door. Black trash bags were piled so high that the lid couldn’t close.

  As I shuffled by, I hit the trash bin with my foot. It tottered and one of the black trash bags slid off the stack. I snatched a handful of black bag and steadied the rolling bin with my other hand. That was the last thing I needed—to set off a resounding crash. I gathered up the bag, which only had a few heavy things in it that strained at the plastic. Metal and plastic clunked against each other inside the bag as I hauled it back onto the top of the rolling bin. It began a slow slide to the side. I braced my hands on the plastic, repositioned it, and eased back, then waited a second with my hands poised in the air, but the bag didn’t move. I blew out a breath. I hadn’t even opened the trunk and I was a nervous wreck. Maybe Abby should have been the one to do this, after all.

  I didn’t even have to search the trunk. There was absolutely nothing there. Totally empty. I patted the sides to be sure there wasn’t a storage compartment, but other than the spare tire, there was nothing. I pressed the trunk down until the latch caught, then I moved to the passenger side and checked the front and back seats. Nothing there, either. I turned, slowly looking around the garage.

  There were too many places to look. If Cecilia had Abby’s purse, it could be anywhere. I retraced my steps and opened the door to the house just a crack. The light seemed glaringly bright after the gloom of the garage. A flicker of a shadow darkened the slit of light and I drew back, but it was someone moving quickly down the short hall. I quickly stepped through the door.

  Did I have a scarlet letter on my shirt, maybe an S, for Snoop? It sure felt like it. I took a hesitant step into the kitchen. Abby handed me a small plate with a cupcake, a few cheese straws, and a deviled egg on it. “Anything?” She was clutching her plastic red cup so tightly that it was indented. She looked more nervous than I felt.

  “No. If it was in there, it’s gone now. It could be anywhere out there . . . or in here, for that matter. I guess I will be talking to the police again.” And all I’d be able to say was that I thought I saw it in Cecilia’s trunk. I was dreading it already. However, on the plus side, no one seemed to have noticed my absence. I didn’t feel quite so conspicuous as when I first emerged from the garage. The murmur of chitchat filled the room. I spotted Cecilia in the living room, seated with her hand poised on her barely rounded belly. She threw back her head and laughed at a comment from Hannah.

  “Eat,” Abby said. “Look natural.”

  “That’s one way to guarantee I’ll look anything but natural. There’s nothing to worry about now,” I added before licking a dollop of green frosting off my finger.

  “Yes, there is,” Abby said, turning so that her back was to the room. Quietly she said, “Well, there might be. What if Cecilia did take my purse? Then that means she broke into my house to get it and took the other things, too, the GPS and my cell phone. What if it wasn’t the first time she did it?”

  I kept peeling back the paper liner around the cupcake as I said, “You mean Cecilia could be the person who’s been breaking into houses?”

  Abby looked slightly uncomfortable, but continued. “It would fit. She’s part of the squadron. She knows the schedule. She would know when certain spouses were going to be gone. We thought it had to be someone in the squadron, right?”

  “Well, yes, we did, and the same thoughts have crossed my mind . . . but she’s pregnant!”

  “Ellie, I’m surprised at you. You’re usually the first person to point out that pregnancy doesn’t incapacitate women. You hated it when people treated you like you couldn’t do anything when you were pregnant.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. That whole delicate-condition-thing drove me crazy. “Okay. So, pregnant or not, she could have done it. She’s certainly in good enough shape to climb in and out of windows. She can lap me when it comes to the stroller brigade workouts. But why would she do it?”

  “I don’t know,” Abby said. “I’m completely mystified on that. Does she need money? The thrill?”

  “Neither one of those things seem to fit,” I said, glancing around the house. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was a nice three-bedroom house in a great neighborhood. The furniture was basic, but not shabby. Framed posters hung on the walls interspersed with wedding and other family photos. It looked like the house of a young couple who were just starting out. “Their house looks perfectly normal. They both drive nice cars. And Cecilia doesn’t seem to be the type of person who thrives on excitement or danger.”

  “Well, maybe it’s Gavin,” Abby said.

  I thought about it a moment, then said, “But wasn’t he deployed when most of the break-ins happened?”

  “He was gone when some of them happened, the more recent ones, I think. He came back around the same time as Jeff,” Abby said, then returned to her thoughts on Cecilia. “I know that she doesn’t seem like a . . . thief, but once I started thinking about it, it made more sense. Even the break-in at Amy’s house.” I popped the last bite of the cupcake into my mouth as Abby said, “Remember how Hannah called the whole squadron spouse club to let us know that Amy was with her mom in Atlanta and that the meeting would be at your house?”

  That cupcake suddenly tasted too sweet. “That’s true,” I said. “But even if Hannah only called the squadron spouses about Amy being out of town, I’m sure other
people probably knew, too. I told Mitch about it. The whole squadron probably knew by the end of the day.”

  “Right, but it does explain why Amy was targeted. It was common knowledge, in the squadron spouse club especially, that she was out of town. And then I started wondering if there was a connection between the robberies and Jean’s death.” Abby watched my face as I shot a quick look around the room. No one was paying any attention to us. Before I could say anything, she sucked in a breath and said, “You thought the same thing! Why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “Because I didn’t know for sure. I wasn’t even positive it was your purse I’d seen in the trunk of her car. I couldn’t go around insinuating that she’d committed murder.”

  Abby looked slightly mollified. “Well, we still have to be careful—”

  “Let’s get started, ladies,” Hannah called, and we moved to seats in the living room. I couldn’t concentrate. My gaze kept resting on Cecilia’s bright, rather plain face. Could she have broken into Abby’s house? And done all those other things we were speculating about? It was all guesswork, I reminded myself. I didn’t contribute much to the discussion, but Abby made up for my lack of participation, throwing out ideas and thoughts with a little too much sparkle and energy. And if she glanced at Cecilia a little too often, I think I was the only one who noticed. Suddenly everyone was standing, picking up purses and pulling on coats. I’d completely missed the choice for the next book but wasn’t concerned. As I belatedly stood up, I noticed Nadia’s cell phone was still on the end table in the living room and she was almost out the door. “Nadia, wait!” I called, and held it up. “Your phone.”

  I responded to her thanks automatically, thinking about the feeling of her phone in my hand . . . the shape of it in my palm. I’d felt something just like that earlier . . . in the garage, I realized. When I’d pressed my hands down on the black trash bag to keep it from slipping, I’d felt the same flat, rectangular shape. I could be wrong, but if I wasn’t . . . I was sick of all the endless speculation constantly circling in my head.

  I looked around. There were still about eight or nine women in the room. Plenty of people to distract while I made a detour. If I made it quick . . . before I could mentally talk myself out of it. I swept up the plastic cups and a few lingering paper plates off the coffee table. I hurried into the kitchen and dumped the trash into the tall kitchen trash can. I pulled the plastic trash bag out, quickly yanked the handles into a knot, and scurried into the garage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I slithered down the space between the car and the wall of the garage to the rolling trash bin in the corner. I set down the bag of kitchen trash at my feet and patted the black trash bag on the top of the stack. The rectangular pieces that felt exactly like Nadia’s phone were there. The ties at the top of the bag were cinched so tightly I couldn’t pick them apart. I gave up and dug my thumbnail into the black plastic of the bag and pulled the opening wide, angling it toward the small amount of light filtering through the row of windows at the top of the garage door.

  Opaque screens of cell phones, a GPS, and a few iPods reflected back the dull light. It looked like a clearance bin at Best Buy. There had to be about fifteen items in the bag. I swished my hand over the ones on the surface, revealing two small notebook computers at the bottom of the bag. In the cascade of metal, plastic, and glass, one phone caught my eye. The striped navy, green, and pink phone cover looked familiar. I fished it out and held it up for a better look. A group of women clattered by outside the garage, their boots clicking on the driveway as they called good night to each other. I barely noticed as I searched for the power button on the phone. A chime sounded, then the screen filled with a picture of Charlie.

  “Ellie!” a voice hissed, and I spun around, nearly dropping the bag and the phone. “What are you doing out here? I thought I saw you disappear through this door, but then I thought, no way would Ellie be so silly and go back into the garage. Come on, almost everyone’s left.”

  I held up the phone. “Look what I found.”

  “That’s my phone.” Abby stepped into the garage, quickly shut the door behind her, and burrowed down the aisle between the car and the wall toward me.

  “I know. I found it in here.” I handed her the phone, then held the ripped opening of the bag so she could see inside. “Along with all this other stuff.”

  “Oh. My. God,” Abby said as she stared at me, her mouth literally hanging open. “Then that means . . .”

  “I know.”

  Abby was pawing through the stuff in the bag with one hand. “I think that’s our GPS . . . and, I don’t believe it!” She pulled out the duck decoy. “She took the white elephant gift, too?”

  “I don’t think that’s the biggest issue we have to deal with right now. We’ve got to get out of here—” I broke off as the overhead fluorescent lights flickered to life. Abby and I both spun toward the door. Cecilia had a baffled look on her face. “Abby, I saw you come out here . . . what’s going on? Ellie, is that you, too?”

  I grabbed the bag of kitchen trash which was listing against my foot. “Just taking out the trash,” I said, trying to use the bag of kitchen trash to cover the ripped bag I held in my hands.

  “Oh, thanks,” Cecilia said, then her gaze fell on the phone Abby had clutched in her hand.

  And the duck decoy in her other hand.

  My heart did that plunging, lunging thing that made me feel like I’d just taken the express elevator from the top of a high-rise to the basement. Cecilia stared at the phone Abby held clutched against the decoy for a long moment. Then Cecilia’s face went an unhealthy chalk-white shade that I’d only seen on my kids’ faces seconds before they threw up on my shoes. Cecilia gripped the door frame and swayed.

  Abby lunged for her. “Cecilia, are you okay?” Abby steadied her and helped lower her to the floor. “Put your head between your knees, if you feel like you’re going to faint. Should we call your doctor?”

  Cecilia shook her head emphatically back and forth, then moaned and gripped her head. She took a few deep breaths before slowly sitting up. She leaned her head against the door frame. “You know, don’t you?” She touched the phone that Abby still held in her hand. “You found them.” Her eyes were glassy with tears and her complexion had a pale, washed-out tone. “Please, let me explain. I can explain everything.”

  A few minutes later, we were seated around her oak kitchen table. The ripped black trash bag was the centerpiece. Cecilia took a sip of the glass of water Abby had brought her. “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” I leveled a look at Abby, who’d gone into nurturing mode as she’d helped Cecilia into the kitchen, then had brought her the glass of water and a damp paper towel to press to her forehead. “We should call the police. Right now,” I said.

  Abby shot a look right back at me. “We need to make sure she’s all right.” She turned to Cecilia. “Just take your time. Tell us all about it.”

  Cecilia ignored me. “I didn’t want to do it. It was Gavin’s idea.”

  “Stealing?” I asked. “Breaking into homes and stealing electronics?”

  Abby raised her eyebrows at me and, after a quick, scared glance at me, Cecilia shifted so that her blond hair fell forward, hiding most of her face.

  How did I become the bad cop in this scenario?

  “It was Gavin’s idea,” she repeated. “We needed money. We tried to sell our house in Nevada before we moved here. We’d bought a house there. Everyone said property was a good investment,” she said bitterly. “Anyway, we did everything so that it would sell. We knew it was a tough market so we painted, landscaped, even hired one of those staging consultants, but it didn’t work. We needed a house here. We’re having a baby. We could swing two house payments for a couple of months, right?” she said as she closed her eyes and shook her head, conveying that she thought the idea was absurd now. “Now, after a year, we’re stretched to the breaking point. We couldn’t do it an
ymore. We’d used up all our savings and when I saw that Gavin had used our credit card for the house payment, I lost it. We had to do something.”

  “And what did you do?” Abby asked, speaking softly, coaxing the information from Cecilia.

  Cecilia shrugged. “You know . . . took stuff. Gavin checked the schedule for the deployments and figured out which houses to go to. He’d wait until it was late, really late, then get inside and take a few things. Nothing big—just small stuff that wasn’t hard to replace.” I could tell Abby was doing her best to keep her face blank and nonjudgmental, but I knew she was thinking of the invasion of her privacy, the threat and fear she’d felt when she was alone with Charlie, and the hassle of filing a police report and an insurance claim. Cecilia must have seen the flicker of disapproval on Abby’s face because she said, “It’s not like we were stealing cars or hugely valuable things . . . just little stuff . . . it was nothing.”

  She seemed to realize that it wasn’t exactly the right tone to take with us. She brushed her hair out of her face, pushed her glasses up on her nose, and leaned forward. “Look, I feel terrible about all this.” She appealed directly to Abby. “I realize now that I shouldn’t have taken anything—it was wrong. Let’s just forget the whole thing. I promise I’ll return all these,” she said, pointing to the black bag. “Anonymously, of course. You see what a horrible position we were in. You can understand, can’t you?”