Six Merry Little Murders

by Lee Strauss et al.

  Officer Bouchard was the only one to laugh at her joke. No wonder she had a bit of a crush on him, despite their vast age difference.

  “I’m going to go find Charles,” I said as I tightened Octo-Cat’s leash in my hand and scanned the store for any signs of my boyfriend and his two hairless cats. Normally, they’d stick out like sore thumbs, but the crowd made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead at a time.

  Of course, several other acquaintances stopped me for a quick hello, including Pearl from the animal shelter and Harmony from the new day spa that had just opened in town earlier that fall. It took a while, but at last I found Charles standing near an impressive wall of bird cages with an even more impressive variety of birds flittering about behind the bars. He stood beside an extra-large pet carrier that no doubt contained his inseparable duo of Sphynx cats.

  Much to my surprise, he wore a sweater that matched Octo-Cat’s, bells and all. “Hey, you,” he said with a flirtatious grin. “Come here often?”

  I couldn’t help but giggle as he wrapped me in his arms and gave me an enthusiastic kiss hello. Surprised that my long-suffering cat didn’t make a comment about how disgusting we humans were, I shot a worried glance his way.

  He stood on his hind legs like an over-sized meercat as his wide eyes watched a particularly plump parakeet hop along its perch. No wonder Charles had chosen this spot to wait with his cats.

  “Any idea what the holdup is?” I asked, turning back to Charles.

  “No idea. Maybe they’ve just had a better turnout than expected.”

  Well, that didn’t make much sense. This was my first time coming myself, but from what I knew, the popular photo-taking event was packed every single year since the pet shop first started offering it. And since they only had a limited amount of time to get the many pets photographed with Santa, they should definitely want to start on time—or at least make some kind of announcement about the holdup.

  A feeling of discomfort rose in my chest.

  What if something was wrong?

  I was just about to say something about this niggling new worry to Charles when an ear-piercing scream rose from the employees-only area in the back of the store.

  We both took off running.

  4

  The screaming continued even after we pushed through the doors into the stockroom.

  Several other patrons ran toward the back room as well but hesitated outside the door. It seemed they preferred that Charles and I handle the potentially dangerous situation ourselves.

  Good thing we made a heck of a team.

  In the poorly lit space, we found a young curly-haired girl wearing the shop’s uniform of a green polo and khakis standing rooted to the spot while tears streaked down her reddened cheeks. Seeing us, she stopped screaming and began to sob and shake violently.

  When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from her, I saw exactly what had made her so terrified. There, sprawled across the floor, lay a fat figure dressed entirely in red, save for the white trim on his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants.

  It seemed we had located our missing Santa Claus.

  “Poor schmuck,” my cat said, wrinkling his nose as he approached the holiday icon.

  “I-I-I didn’t…” the girl sputtered, hardly speaking above a whisper now. Poor thing was probably a high school kid who worked here on the weekends. Not that anyone was ever truly prepared to stumble upon a dead body, but being younger could turn the unfortunate experience into a formative one for the unwitting witness.

  “It’s okay,” I said, crossing the small distance to wrap her in my arms. She accepted my hug eagerly and continued crying into my scarf. At least she wasn’t screaming anymore.

  Charles bent down and pressed his fingers to Santa’s neck. His mouth became a grim line while he waited, while we all waited.

  “Dead,” he confirmed a moment later.

  “Hands off my crime scene, please,” Officer Bouchard commanded with a hint of agitation as he joined us in the back room. “In fact, go lock up and keep anyone from leaving. Also find someone to keep an eye on my cats.”

  I turned to leave with Charles and the store employee, but the police officer stopped me by placing a strong hand on my shoulder. “Looks like you’re my partner in this.”

  “What?” I asked in disbelief. Sure, Officer Bouchard and I had connected on a couple of cases in the past, but generally I was either the witness or the victim—never a partner.

  “I already alerted the local police, but it seems they’re tied up with a five-car pileup on the highway. They’ve got all their officers on it and asked if I could handle whatever it is we’ve got here while they finish up there.”

  I continued to stare at him with equal parts excitement and anxiety.

  He cleared his throat. “You are a P.I., aren’t you?”

  Technically… yes, I was.

  But no one had ever actually hired me as such. Of course, this small fact hadn’t stopped me and Octo-Cat from solving multiple crimes, including more than our fair share of small-town murders.

  “C’mon,” the tabby urged. “We haven’t had a mystery to solve in a few weeks, and we need practice to stay on our game. Besides, it’s better than waiting in that circus out front.”

  This wasn’t a game to me, even if it was to my cat. Sometimes I felt like he was a little devil sitting on my shoulder; other times he was more like an angel. Even if his reasoning wasn’t the best right now, he had reached the necessary conclusion. Officer Bouchard needed us, which meant the victim needed us.

  “Yes, I am a P.I. And I’d be happy to help,” I answered at last.

  He nodded but didn’t even attempt a smile.

  “Who is this guy?” I asked, jumping straight to business. “Besides Santa, I mean.”

  “Let’s see.” He stooped down and dipped his hands into the deceased’s pockets. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem to have any ID on him. We’ll need to get the store manager back here to answer some questions. She hired him, so hopefully she knows enough about him to get us on the right track.”

  I bit my lip and watched as Officer Bouchard did another quick search of Santa’s pants and suit jacket. “Is it possible he died of natural causes, like a heart attack?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose, but somehow I don’t think so. Look at how red his neck is.” He pointed with two fingers, then lifted the fake white beard up. He had to yank it harder than seemed strictly necessary and even grunted a little before the fake beard finally came away, revealing the telltale signs of a strangulation.

  “Actually, I take that back,” the policeman said. “We’ll confirm with an autopsy, but I’m pretty certain this poor guy died of asphyxiation.”

  It took a few moments for me to tear my eyes away. I’d never actually seen a dead body up close before. All the murder investigations I’d become involved with in the past had happened after the body had been taken away and the crime scene cleared.

  “Ask your Nan if she can find the store manager while I secure the area,” Officer Bouchard instructed without looking up to make sure I was paying attention.

  I did as I was told, and Nan eagerly agreed to help in whatever way she could. It took less than five minutes to debrief my grandmother and get her on board, and most of that time was spent fighting my way through the surge of nervous pet shop patrons. When I returned to the crime scene, I saw a very different picture than when I’d left.

  Octo-Cat sat close to the victim, watching thoughtfully as the policeman continued his inspection. He almost appeared sad, and that didn’t fit his tough-as-tacks personality at all.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked him, knowing Officer Bouchard would just assume I was addressing him rather than my cat.

  Luckily, Octo-Cat knew who my words were meant for. “It smells fishy, but not the good kind of fishy,” he said in a nasally tone.

  At the same time, Officer Bouchard murmured, “I’m wondering about the murder weapon. Look at that indentation.�
� He pointed again.

  “Oh, the murder weapon’s easy,” Octo-Cat supplied. “I can smell it on him, and I can smell it…” His voice trailed off as he trotted deeper into the supply room and stopped near the back exit.

  “There,” he said, sitting in front of a discarded dog leash with a smug look taking over his face.

  I glanced back toward Officer Bouchard, but he was still entirely absorbed in his inspection of the corpse. Luckily, I still had my purse with me, and inside I had a small roll of plastic bags that Nan and I used whenever Paisley had to potty on one of our outings. I tore one off from the end, flipped it over my hand, and brought the presumed murder weapon back to the policeman. “Look at this. It was by the back door, and the markings seem to match up. The width, too.”

  He turned toward me. “Got any more of those bags?”

  I nodded and ripped a second one from the roll. Once his hand was covered, he took the leash and held it near the victim’s neck. Nodding, he bunched the leash into the bag and tied the top. “Well, that’s one way to avoid contaminating the evidence,” he said with a chuckle.

  Nan and Paisley joined us then.

  A heavyset woman with dark hair wearing the same green polo as the worker we’d met earlier came in right after them. Instead of khakis, she wore a floor-length skirt with diagonal red and white stripes, just like a candy cane. “I cannot believe this,” she murmured. “This is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.”

  “Murder is most definitely not wonderful,” Nan added while bobbing her head.

  “I know this must be very upsetting for you,” Officer Bouchard said with a stoic expression that could only come with years of experience. “But we need you to identify the victim.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she mumbled, widening her eyes as she took in the gruesome scene.

  “Ma’am, can you confirm this is the man you hired to play the role of Santa Claus for your store today?” he asked, yanking down the beard to show the dead man’s entire face. Despite being dressed as an elderly Christmas icon, the victim was quite young. Early thirties at the most. I didn’t personally recognize him, but that didn’t make the situation much easier.

  The store manager brought both hands to her mouth but didn’t say anything. It seemed she was fighting back tears. I couldn’t blame her for that.

  “Ma’am?” Officer Bouchard prompted again. “Is this the man you hired?”

  She sucked in a deep gasp of air and shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  5

  “I’m sorry. What?” I asked the manager in complete disbelief.

  “I don’t know who this is,” she said slowly, cautiously. “I hired Andy Crenshaw to be our Santa, and this definitely isn’t him.”

  “Then who is it?” Nan asked.

  “Why is he here dressed as Santa?” Officer Bouchard asked.

  “And why is he dead?” I added to the rapid-fire barrage of questions.

  She shook her head without stopping to look at any of us. “I have no idea. I can’t answer any of those questions for you. I’m sorry.”

  We all stood quietly for a few minutes, completely at a loss as to where to take the investigation next. We had a body, a murder weapon, but no idea who our victim was or what motive someone might have to kill him or to do it at the pet shop.

  It was the store manager who spoke next. “I need to go do some damage control,” she squeaked, heading back toward the front of the shop.

  Octo-Cat nudged my stockinged leg with his paw to get my attention, then said, “The door. It’s where we found the murder weapon. Ask her about it before she gets away.”

  “Wait,” I cried with a startling amount of passion in my plea. “This door back here. Is it accessible from outside?”

  We all walked toward the rear door, and the manager pointed to a keypad on the wall.

  “It’s alarmed,” she said. “We added that system in after the third theft this fall. Anyone who wants to get in or out needs to know the code.”

  “Thank you,” I said, wondering why she seemed so upset by my innocent question.

  “Are we done here?” the manager practically barked.

  “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions,” Officer Bouchard said, motioning toward the door that led back to the front of house.

  “Oh, but don’t let anyone out or in!” he called after her, offering me and Nan a dispirited shrug once the store manager was out of view.

  “I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t grandma who got run over by a reindeer this time,” my grandmother said in a misguided attempt to lighten the mood.

  I wanted to ask Octo-Cat if he smelled anything else worth noting on the victim’s body but couldn’t risk being discovered by Officer Bouchard. That meant we’d be solving this crime the good old-fashioned way. “Should we start questioning suspects?” I suggested.

  “Oh, that’s a good idea, dear,” Nan said warmly.

  The policeman stretched from side to side and then cracked his neck. “Yes, but there must be at least thirty people here, and almost everyone brought at least one pet with them. That’s a really full house.”

  “And it will take a long time to question all of them, too,” I said with a sigh. “Hey, what if we get Charles to help? He’s great at examining witnesses in court, so why not at a pet shop? That way, each of us can take ten.”

  Officer Bouchard nodded. “Sounds like the best option we’ve got at the moment. Let’s do it.”

  “What about me?” Nan asked, then placed an affectionate kiss between Paisley’s giant triangle ears. I’d forgotten Paisley was with us, seeing as her holiday jumper blended in perfectly to Nan’s. She’d also kept strangely quiet since their arrival at the crime scene. Of course, this was all new to her. I hoped she wasn’t scarred by the discovery of the dead body in the same way the teen employee seemed to be.

  “You help the manager and the other employee keep everyone in line. Make sure no one comes or goes, and also make sure everyone is brought back for questioning,” the officer instructed.

  “You’ve got it.” Nan offered a quick salute, then marched away while chattering happily to the dog in her arms.

  “Where are we going to set up to give us all some privacy?” I asked, eyeing the Christmas corpse wearily once more.

  “Probably not back here,” he said with a frown. “We don’t want to march folks through our crime scene. I do believe the cat room offers some privacy.”

  “Good call. And I think there’s a little free flight area for the birds, too.” I’d noticed the small plexiglass enclosure on the other side of the bird cages. Presumably it was a place where people could interact up close with the small parrots before deciding whether or not to take one home. “Now we just need one more place. An office maybe?”

  He motioned toward a messy desk shoved in the corner of the stockroom. “An office? I’m pretty sure that’s it.”

  “Ugh, okay.” I fiddled with a hangnail on my thumb, resisting the urge to bring it to my mouth. Whatever comfort the nervous habit brought would be far too gross given the circumstances. “Why don’t you and Charles go ahead and get set up in the bird and cat rooms, and I’ll find somewhere to do my interviews.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. There’s gotta be some place that will work. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” he said with a hesitant smile. “If you’re sure. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll go see if Mr. Gable would be willing to make sure no one comes into the back room and disturbs Santa here.”

  “I’ll wait for you to come back, then I’ll go catch Charles up on the plan.”

  He left, which meant I was alone with an unidentified dead body. Well, at least I still had Octo-Cat at my side.

  “Why didn’t we take the bird room?” he asked in annoyance, his striped tail flicking spasmodically. “That would have been a nice thing to consider for your feline partner, you know.�
�

  “Yes, and that’s exactly why we didn’t take it,” I whispered, just in case anyone was nearby and might overhear me carrying on a conversation with my cat. “I need you to focus, not to be distracted by birdwatching or gossipy cats.”

  “Fair enough,” he said with a shrug. “Can you at least take this sweater off me now?”

  I needed to give him at least this much or he’d give me the silent treatment, and that was never very conducive to solving mysteries. “Fine,” I said with a sigh. “But you’re keeping the harness.”

  “Why?” he ground out, the beginnings of a tantrum coming on. “The exits are all blocked. Where exactly am I going to go?”

  I groaned but ultimately agreed to let him go naked, save for his God-given fur coat. “There,” I said, once I’d finished undressing my expert manipulator of a kitty. “You’re free.”

  “What was that?” Officer Bouchard asked, returning at that precise moment.

  “There you are,” I said with a smile. “Was Mr. Gable free to help?”

  “Of course, and he’s happy to,” he said. “He’s right outside.”

  Pffhew. I’d managed to evade suspicion once more—not that talking to my cat was a crime, but sometimes it sure felt like it given the number of lies I needed to tell in order to avoid being discovered.

  “Great. I’ll go get Charles,” I told him with what I hoped looked like an easy smile.

  “I’ll go get my interrogation room ready,” he said, then we left the storage room together. While I continued straight ahead, Office Bouchard swerved toward the right, presumably to set up shop in his choice of the bird or the cat room.

  I found Charles easily enough. He, Nan, and the two store workers stood together in a small huddle, blocking the exit from the rest of the crowd. But before I could weave my way through the foot traffic and join them there, someone from outside pounded on the door.

  All I saw was red—not angry red, more like holly jolly red. The manager moved to the side and quickly unlocked the door to pull the newcomer inside.