Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  He narrowed his eyes. “I never heard them arguing.”

  Now I was the one who frowned. “I thought when you went up on the ridge to get rid of the hitchhiker and help the couple with a broken-down car-”

  “Whoa!” he said and put his hand up telling me to put on the brakes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t go up there to see about a hitchhiker or a couple.”

  “You didn’t go up to the ridge yesterday?”

  “I did,” he said. “But not for the reasons you’re talking about.”

  “Why did you go up there?” I asked.

  He shook his head and drew in a breath. “I went up to the ridge to see about a stranded car, but there was only one guy in it. And there wasn’t a hitchhiker. There was a hiker, but he wasn’t having any trouble that needed my assistance.”

  I thought about that for a moment. I guess the discrepancy in those two things could be explained by the rumor mill. No information is ever the same when it goes in as when it comes out. And this little town is nothing but a gossip haven.

  But I got the information first-hand that Mr. Greely and Joe were heard having an argument. Supposedly about dogs.

  That information had come from the sheriff.

  The same man that didn’t have a problem locking up Joe Lanese for what he said happened.

  Something that evidently never happened.

  “Is that all you wanted?” Pete asked. “I need to get inside.” He jerked a thumb back toward the building.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s all. Sorry to take up your time.”

  His walkie talkie went off, and he held up a finger telling me to hold on. “Go ahead,” he said.

  But I couldn’t say what else was said on that call. My mind was inside that town hall. Inside the sheriff’s office. To where I was beginning to think the real killer sat.

  Why else would the sheriff lie? Why else would he arrest someone?

  I had a new reason for waiting for Clark and Bobbi. I needed to know what kind of evidence the sheriff had on Joe. I knew whatever it was. It was manufactured. Just like the story I’d heard about why he arrested Joe in the first place.

  And how did he think he could get away with the lie? Didn’t he know that Deputy Pete Sanders would tell the truth if called to the witness stand?

  Or would he . . .

  I narrowed my eyes at Pete, still on his call, and I took a sharp inhale of cold air. He noticed my stare and smiled, holding up that one finger again.

  But that wouldn’t make sense, not that anything did, but if he and the sheriff had conspired to lie about what happened, why would Pete tell me the truth?

  “Okay. Sorry about that,” Pete said putting his walkie-talkie back in its holster. “So, what were we talking about?”

  I smiled. “You were telling me you had to get inside. We were finished talking.”

  “Oh. Okay,” he said and nodded. “But it looks like I’m not going inside. Gotta go up over to Miss Nowak’s. Her cat got up a tree again and she’s walking around in her robe asking for help.”

  I laughed. “Protect and serve,” I said.

  “Someone needs to serve her with commitment papers. She’s getting loonier by the day.”

  “Poor Mrs. Nowak,” I said.

  “Poor me,” he said. “I gotta go.” He started off and then turned back to me. “It’s not like you to get caught up in gossip. The story you hear is never right.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I know better. Just when it was about murder,” I paused, “and my best friend’s husband, it made me listen.”

  “Alright then,” he said. “See you.”

  “See you, Pete.”

  I went back over to my car to continue my stakeout. This time with more purpose.

  I wasn’t in position more than ten minutes when there was a tap, tap on the window and it startled me, which made the dogs start barking.

  It was Richard Young. He was pointing at the lock on the door. My five-speed vintage truck didn’t have electric windows. I had to reach over and roll the window down.

  “Hi,” he said smiling. “You have a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Do you mind if I get in? It’s cold out here.” I could see his breath as he spoke.

  “Sure,” I said and waved him in. “C’mon in. It’s not locked.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He opened the door and climbed in. “I’m not used to all of this cold.”

  Dressed almost identical to how he had been the evening before—overcoat, leather gloves—today the only difference was his suit was brown.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Arizona,” he said. “Where people come to get away from weather like this.”

  I laughed. “So, all of this outerwear is new, huh?”

  “Yes. But I think I should have opted for the Eskimo gear.”

  “You should have at least gone for a hat,” I said. “Heat leaves your body through your head.”

  “Is that true?”

  I put my hand up like I was taking an oath. “I swear on my Cold-Weather-Resident Honor.”

  “It’s warm in here.”

  “Yep, gotta keep me and the girls warm.”

  He turned and looked at the dogs. “I remember them from last night,” he said.

  “One used to belong to your father,” I said, and waited for a reaction.

  “Oh, really? Which one?”

  “The golden retriever.”

  He turned, looked again at her, then turned back to me and nodded his head. “So, do you always hang out in your car?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face. I took it that he didn’t want to talk about Bean. “I saw your truck when I drove in. I sat and waited in my car for you to get out, but you never did.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t usually just sit in it. I was just . . . Waiting.” It did sound silly when I said it out loud.

  “Oh,” he said. He seemed amused. “Well, I’m glad you were ‘waiting’ here this morning. I was planning on trying to find you today.”

  “You were?” I said. “Why?”

  “I have something for you,” he said. He pulled off his gloves and placed them on the dashboard then reached inside his coat.

  “I found this under the Christmas tree at my father’s house.”

  It was a gift, wrapped in paper that had snowmen and Christmas trees on it and was topped with a red bow.

  “What is it?”

  “A present for you,” he said. “From my father.”

  He pushed the box toward me and I took it from him.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said.

  “It’s true,” he said and pointed to the little tag that was hanging off the bow.

  I looked at it, and it read, “To Lynley Richardson.”

  “That’s me,” I said, my eyebrows rising. “But I don’t understand.” I shook my head.

  “You know, last night when I met you at his house, I got the impression you and my father weren’t really friends,” he said.

  “We weren’t.”

  “Now I’m the one who doesn’t understand,” he said. “How well did you know my father?”

  “Not well,” I said. He tilted his head and looked at me out of the corner of my eye. “I didn’t.” I chuckled. “I really didn’t.”

  “He must have liked you,” he said and pointed at the box.

  “Must have,” I said and held it up.

  “Did you talk to him?” he asked.

  “I mean . . . We did talk some. But not a lot.”

  “About what?”

  “My land isn’t fit for growing anything. It’s too alkaline.”

  He frowned. “Wasn’t that your property I passed by that had a sign that read Christmas Tree Farm?”

  I chuckled. “You did,” I said. “I didn’t know about the problem when I bought it. And your father, I guess when he found out, came and told me he could help me.”

  “Help you how?”

  “I
don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Know how he could help me. What he could do? He said it to me more than once, gave me the impression he thought he could help.”

  He put his head down and stared at his fingers for a moment. “I didn’t really know him.”

  “Who?” I was confused.

  “My father.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “He was actually a stranger to me. The limited conversation you describe is more than I’ve said to him all my life.”

  “Oh.” I put a sympathetic look on my face. “I’m sorry.”

  “You say that a lot,” he said. “Stop telling me you’re sorry.”

  “Oh, I’m sor-,” I laughed. “I guess I don’t know what to say. I feel bad for you, and the more you tell me the more I feel . . . you know . . .”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Don’t be,” he said. “I guess we were supposed to make up for lost time. Me coming here and all. And I was looking forward to it. But, I guess I’ll never find that out now.”

  “What did you do? Hire a detective or something to locate him?” I asked.

  “No. He found me. Said he had always kept up with me, and now was the time to tell me what happened and what he had for me.”

  “A Christmas present?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I held up my box. “Did he have a Christmas present for you like he did for me.”

  “I was thinking just being able to finally meet my father was going to be my present this year.” I saw a weak smile edge around the corners of his lips. “It’s silly,” he said. “I was as excited as a small boy. Waiting for his father to come home from work.”

  “Sorry that didn’t work out.” He held up a finger. I laughed. “I did it again, didn’t I?” I said. “Said I was sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said and smiled at me. “I’m not sorry at all. I got to meet you.”

  “Meet me?”

  “Yes.” He turned and locked eyes with me. “I’ve enjoyed that.”

  “And . . . uhm . . . I enjoyed meeting you, too,” I said. I tried to muster some sincerity into my words.

  “And I got to stay at his house. The sheriff said it would be okay since they’d already caught the killer.”

  I wanted to say they hadn’t caught the killer, but he was still talking, and I didn’t want to be rude.

  “I can get to know him now, I guess, from going through his things,” he said still talking. “As much as I can.”

  “You sticking around?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “I’m going to the hotel now and get my things and head back up there.”

  “That’ll be nice,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said, a rueful look on his face. “The only thing I did look at was the presents under the tree thinking I’d find out who his friends were and talk to them.”

  “How did that go?” I asked.

  “One present was yours,” he said and pointed. “All the others were to Bean. Just need to find that person, I guess.”

  I pointed in the back seat. “That’s Bean.”

  He laughed. “I’ll have to get those to you, too then.”

  “Guess so,” I said.

  “So, are you going to open your present?”

  I looked down at it, still in my hand. “I think that I’ll wait,” I said. “Maybe when I get home.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “You’ll let me know what you got?”

  “I will,” I said.

  He acted as if he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. Neither did I.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  He grabbed a hold of the door handle but didn’t get out right away.

  “Something you want to tell me?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth then shut it. “No,” he said, but seemed disappointed that that was his answer. “No. Nothing.” He opened the door and got out.

  I watched him as he walked over to his car and got in. It was a light blue Impala. He didn’t leave right away, but as he drove by, I saw that his license plates were from Pennsylvania.

  Wonder why a car from Arizona had tags from PA . . .

  Chapter Ten

  I looked down at the Christmas present from Mr. Greely that I was still holding in my hand.

  “And what are you?” I said out loud. I put the box up to my ear and shook it.

  “Mr. Greely you are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I turned the box over in my hand. “And you wait until you die to spring them on me.”

  I plucked the ribbon off and stuck it on the dashboard. That’s when I noticed Richard had left his gloves. I chuckled to myself. “You thought you were cold before, Mr. Young. Just wait until that cold gets into your fingertips. You’ll think they’re about to fall off.”

  I tore the wrapping off and discovered a little cardboard box inside. It had a white bottom and gold top, like the kind they put earrings in at department stores.

  “I know it isn’t jewelry,” I said. “That would really be awkward. Jewelry is pretty personal, and like I just told your son we were not that close.”

  I opened it up and found a small zip-lock bag and inside were seeds. Lots of tiny seeds.

  “What the heck . . .”

  Bean started barking. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw her looking at me. I turned and looked at her. “What do you know about this?” I asked. I reached back and gave her a scratch behind the ear. “Did Mr. Greely tell you anything about this? Anything you want to share with me?”

  She gave out another bark, and I let out a chuckle. “Yep, now all we need is a translator.”

  When I faced forward again I caught Bobbi sight heading into Town Hall.

  “Oh shoot!” I muttered. “Did I miss Clark going in?”

  I laid the seeds on the car seat, turned off the car, then thought better of it. “Sorry you two,” I said.

  I do say sorry a lot . . .

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to my dogs. “Won’t let you out of my sight!” I scrambled out of the car to catch up with Bobbi. “Bobbi!” I called out. “Bobbi! Wait up!”

  “Hi Lynley,” she said when I got over to her. She was out of breath and I could see that she was flushed.

  I hugged her. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m running a little late,” she said and looked over her shoulder at the building. “Mr. Bingham talked to the prosecutor. I have to give a statement and then Joe’s going to be arraigned. Oh fudge!” she said. “I forgot Joe’s suit. He wanted it for court.”

  “Where is it?” I asked. “I’ll go and get it.”

  “In the car,” she said and looked again at the building. “I-I can get it.”

  “No. Go do your statement so you can get Joe into court.”

  “Okay. You have to take it to the . . . uh . . . Jailer,” she said. “Can you do that for me?”

  “No problem,” I said.

  “Okay. I’ll be in the prosecutor’s office,” she said turning and trotting off, she looked over her shoulder. “Come let me know you got it to him, so I won’t be worried.”

  “Okay,” I yelled behind her. “But, don’t worry!”

  I glanced over at the car at my dogs then down the street to see where Bobbi had parked. Her silver Honda Accord was nowhere in sight. And, I hadn’t seen her drive up, although I was occupied watching Richard Young as he left and opening my Christmas present.

  I didn’t want to leave the truck running with the dogs in it, and it was too cold to leave them in it without heat.

  “C’mon, girls,” I said opening the door and putting down the seat so they could get out from the back. “You guys will have to wait with Matt.” I thought about that. I still didn’t like the insinuations Matt had made the day before. “Or maybe Molly,” I added.

  Molly was available, thank goodness. I told her that I wouldn’t be go
ne more than fifteen minutes, but I’d pay her for her time. It was two days in a row that she’d watched them for me.

  “No way,” she said. “I liked Old Man Greely and I like Joe.” She put her hands on her hips. “I feel like doing this is, in some way, helping them.”

  I found Bobbi’s car where the downtown area ended by the road that led back up the ridge, behind an old empty commercial building. “Why in the world would you park down here?” I mumbled. “No wonder you worried about the time.”

  I hoped, since she was seemingly hiding it, that she hadn’t locked the doors. It wasn’t the usual in town, but just like I had had second thoughts after finding out about the murder, maybe she had too.

  The door opened easily. The suit was in a plastic cleaner’s bag. The pants had slipped out somewhat and were on the floor of the car. I picked the suit up and when I went to pull the thin covering down, I noticed something on the bottom of the pant legs. It looked whitish.

  “Oh shoot,” I mumbled. “That won’t be good to go into court like that.”

  I laid the suit back down on the seat and tried to brush the white particles off. And then I smelled it. It was lime. It was just like what I’d found on Bean’s coat when I took her to Doc Nance.

  Why would it be in Bobbi’s car?

  Chapter Eleven

  I ran the suit back to the jail but couldn’t find Bobbi when I went upstairs to the law department. I didn’t see Clark Bingham, either. I left a message with the receptionist to let Bobbi know my mission was successful.

  Afterwards, I went to collect the dogs from Molly and ran, literally, into Doc Nance.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I was lost in thought.” He had come around a corner of the corridor at full speed. “But you are just the person I wanted to see.”

  “I am?” I said.

  “Yes. I’ve been puzzled ever since your visit yesterday.”

  “Oh,” I said nodding. “About what?”

  “I know that dog had cancer. Sure of it. And unless she went into remission on her own, without any intervention, which is highly unlikely . . . Well, I just don’t know what to say.”

  I hunched my shoulders. “A Christmas miracle?” I proposed.

  “Well, like I said, it got me thinking. So, I did some research.”