Curse Me Under the Mistletoe

by Kennedy Layne

  Has the alien hunter texted back?

  “No,” I murmured after passing the same mother who’d been chasing her after her son. It appeared that he’d successfully made it to the snowman, if the smeared chocolate around his mouth was anything to go by. “We should hear from him soon, though.”

  Piper and I had decided to split up so that she could talk to the boutique owner who played bridge with the Boonevilles every Thursday, while I took a short stroll to the real estate office on the other side of the street. I understood why Orwin thought it best to follow Gracie Lynn to the police station. She’d been our number one suspect, but we also knew how quickly that could change.

  As quick as the drop of a snow flurry, Miss Lilura. Speaking of which, we shall have to take a moment to enjoy this winter wonderland. I do believe I see St. Nick taking his seat. I do not have to ask what it is you want for Christmas, so you’ll have to come up with a more achievable present.

  “You know that a snow flurry takes forever to land, right?”

  We crossed the cobblestone intersection by ourselves, although only I was visible. Most of the shops were behind us, whereas the real estate office and some of the related businesses were down on this end of town. This allowed me to speak freely, as I still found it hard to talk with Pearl only using my thoughts.

  Not in a blizzard, dear hexed one. Those fluffy white flakes fall at a rapid pace with those gusts of winds. I fear that this murder mystery has us smackdab in the middle of one, what with all these not-so-obvious suspects popping up left and right.

  “Let’s see if we can’t take a name off that list,” I suggested, thinking back to what Pearl said about Patrick. We put a lot of stock into the online research we do before arriving at a crime scene, but what if Patrick’s decision to move hadn’t been a secret? For all we knew, the family had discussed this thoroughly before Edgar’s murder. “I’ll try and—”

  Patrick Lincoln stepped out of the realtor’s office, buttoning his black wool dress coat. He was in his mid-forties, though he did have a receding hairline. The rimless glasses made him appear a little older, but maybe that was a good thing in his profession.

  “Excuse me,” Patrick said without really looking at up as he slipped past on the sidewalk.

  I suppose I can give him a pass since he remembered his manners. I didn’t particularly care for his dismissive attitude, but that doesn’t make one a killer.

  I’d hoped to have a word with Patrick, but his rushed exit told me that now wasn’t the time. He had been a bit dismissive, and I highly doubted that I would have gotten any details out of him.

  “May I help you?”

  I’d turned to watch Patrick walk back to his black Mercedes, understanding exactly where Esther and Sandra had been coming from when they’d mentioned what type of vehicle he drove. This town didn’t have a lot of BMWs or Mercedes driving up and down Main Street. The high-pitched voice came from an older woman who couldn’t have been taller than five feet. Her blond hair was piled high on top her head, and I’m pretty sure that there were at least two pencils in that beehive.

  Takes me back to the 1950s. I do miss my Elvis.

  “Um, hi. My name is Lou,” I replied, quickly figuring out which story would garner me the most information. The fact that Pearl knew Elvis had me stumbling a bit. “My friend and I are in town to do some Christmas shopping, and I overheard someone mention that a storefront might be available to rent at the beginning of the year.”

  “Oh, you must be talking about Spiritual Readings & More,” the woman replied, nodding toward the other side of the street while locking up her own storefront. She finished up, dropping her keys in her purse before holding out her hand. “My name is Susan Hatley. What kind of shop were you thinking of opening? The space won’t be ready for show until the first of January, but we can certainly go ahead and set up an appointment. Does nine o’clock on the first sound good to you? I have someone else who is scheduled for a showing at eight o’clock.”

  Ms. Hatley is very proficient at her job, is she not? I do so like the go-getter type.

  “If you could just let me know the price of rent, I’ll then be able to pass it on to my friend,” I said, keeping things vague. I had no idea if Susan Hatley was possibly friends with Roy Eisaman. “She keeps talking about opening up a craft store. Not knitting, of course. She saw that you had one of those already.”

  “Oh, yes,” Susan exclaimed, reaching into her coat pocket to pull out a pair of gloves. It didn’t surprise me to see that they had been knitted in cream-colored yarn. “Knitting has made a comeback, and Norma’s shop has just been making a killing.”

  Our little Ms. Hatley might be a go-getter, but she speaks before thinking. She should work on that.

  The little squeak that came out of Susan’s mouth revealed that she’d heard her own words. She rested one of those knitted mittens on her cheek in dismay. Seeing her eyes dart to where Patrick had been parked was the perfect opening in the conversation for me to finally step in.

  “That was Patrick Lincoln, wasn’t it?” I said with a sympathetic tilt of my head. “Don’t feel bad. He’s long gone. I heard about what happened to Mrs. Booneville’s husband. It’s just horrible, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw her son-in-law walking out of your office.”

  “Patrick is a good boy,” Susan shared, seemingly feeling a bit better that I hadn’t taken offense to her slip. It didn’t take long for her to go from relief to full-on suspicion. “You aren’t from here. How do you know Patrick?”

  “I’m actually friends with Vanessa Carlisle,” I explained, wondering how my nose hadn’t frozen off yet. The random flurries were beginning to turn into a snow globe-type burst, but it was just enough to have the children in town square giggling and cheering in delight. “We’re having dinner with her later this evening, but my friend and I thought we’d get some shopping in while the sales were still going on.”

  Quick thinking, dear hexed one. You are at the top of your game right now, aren’t you?

  “I feel so bad for Norma, but she’s going to be so happy to know that Patrick finally signed the lease,” Susan said, having no idea she was helping with our investigation. “They’ve been talking about it for a while now, but you probably already know that. It was supposed to have been a birthday surprise for Abigail, but now…well, I guess there isn’t any need to wait, now is there? Life reminds us daily that it can end in the blink of an eye. We shouldn’t waste precious minutes of happiness when they’re ours to take.”

  Not only do I like Ms. Hatley’s hairstyle, I love her outlook on life. You should take notes, dear hexed one.

  “None of us could believe it when we heard that Mr. Booneville had been murdered.” I turned as if I was going to walk back toward town square, hoping that Susan would fall into step. She did, and I was able to keep the conversation going in the direction I needed to gather more information. Pearl wanted me to take notes about not wasting time, and I couldn’t agree more. I wanted this case solved and allow everyone the chance to enjoy a nice and relaxing holiday for once. “It feels odd to be Christmas shopping, but the world doesn’t stop turning, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Susan replied, pulling up the hood on the back of her winter coat. She adjusted her oversized purse as we continued down the sidewalk. “Poor Norma. I’m sure she’ll try to have Edgar’s service this weekend, but the holidays will never be the same, will they? I’m heading home soon to bake her a casserole. The bridge club devised a meal plan, and today is my turn. I know this sounds horrible, but I wouldn’t eat anything that anyone brought me if my husband had been poisoned.”

  Ms. Hatley does have a valid point. I’d be having the alien hunter test my spot of warm cream if you happened to be poisoned, dear hexed one.

  “I heard the police took a woman in for questioning,” I said, wanting to know what Susan’s thoughts were on Gracie Lynn’s involvement. “I believe it had something to do with her threatening Mr. Booneville’s life
in the middle of the diner. At least, that’s what I overheard in one of the shops.”

  “You’re talking about Gracie Lynn.” Susan slowed her steps when we came to the cobblestone path that went directly from the sidewalk to town square. It was coming up on lunchtime, and the children were lining up to visit good ol’ St. Nick. “That is the shop owner who is vacating her space in two weeks. She claims that she had an addendum in her contract to extend her lease, but she misunderstood the fine print. She wasn’t happy that Edgar didn’t think she’d stand a chance in court. Obviously, she shouldn’t have caused a scene at the diner, but that woman doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. I don’t believe for a second that she poisoned Edgar. Hold this.”

  What is with the people of this town? Just when I believe they have the most modest sense of etiquette, they go and do something rude.

  Susan basically shoved her oversized purse in my arms while she dug through it with her knitted gloves, pulling out a business card and pen. She scribbled something on it before taking back her purse, though I wasn’t certain her handwriting would be legible. Who wrote while wearing gloves?

  Apparently, the throwback to the 1950s. For the record, she doesn’t deserve that hairstyle.

  “That is the monthly rent on a year’s lease for the storefront,” Susan said, shoving her pen into her beehive. She flashed me a harried smile. “I’m off to show someone a house before making that casserole, but do keep in touch!”

  It was clear that Susan had a bit too much on her plate, and she definitely wasn’t taking her own advice about enjoying the time given to her. Although, I changed my mind once I glanced down at the back of the business card in my hand. That was a hefty monthly rent. Good ol’ Susan must be rolling in the commissions.

  Speaking of rolling, you might want to—

  A big fluffy snowball came out of nowhere, covering half my face after the rest exploded all over my scarf and jacket. I stood there in shock, blinking rapidly to clear my sight. The tricky thing about telekinesis was that it only came in handy when I was prepared. I heard giggling and falsetto voices of several boys and girls blaming one another, with a few of them yelling out apologies as they continued with their snowball fight.

  I did try to warn you, dear hexed one.

  I wasn’t sure if Pearl was talking about the snowball or the fact that Knox stood in front of me with that charming crooked smile of his.

  “Playing without me?”

  Oh, my heavens! Have we discussed flirting, Miss Lilura?

  Chapter Eight

  “Let’s go inside the diner and get you warmed up,” Knox said, stepping forward and using his thumb to wipe away the snow that was still attached to my eyelashes. “I leave you alone for an hour and you’re getting into snowball fights with the local kids.”

  Please tell Mr. Emeric that he’s stealing my line. It’s rude to borrow without permission.

  “What can I say?” I replied wryly, tucking the business card in my pocket. The snow that had tucked in behind my scarf was starting to melt against my neck. “I thought I’d start their training young.”

  You’re quick on your feet after that hit, dear hexed one. It’s good to know that you haven’t lost your touch.

  “That was quite the hit,” Piper interjected, coming up behind Knox. Her blue eyes were filled with laughter. Not even a smidge of concern was shown that the entire left side of my face was still covered with snow. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me over the caroling. Knox, aren’t you supposed to be over at the Boonevilles?”

  Wolves. They get so easily distracted, don’t they?

  “About that,” Knox said with caution, taking a look around before gesturing toward the diner. “Let’s go and have an early lunch. Even though there are a lot of out-of-towners, I’d rather not draw attention to ourselves by standing around talking about an unsolved murder.”

  I wasn’t going to argue about walking into a warm place for more than five minutes. Uncontrollable shivers were beginning to set in as the snow had pretty much melted into very cold water against my skin. Piper led the way, a small bag from the boutique swinging in her hand.

  Maybe my sweet Piper has moved on from the knitting craze. You know, it’s my experience that those fads don’t last for long.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” I muttered, having no doubt that we’d be wearing matching hats come Christmas morning. “I think you’re becoming more optimistic in your old age, Pearl.”

  “I definitely don’t want to know what the two of you are talking about, do I?” Knox inquired, falling into step beside me as we crossed the street.

  “Not if you want to end up with a knitted hat that includes dog ears,” I replied with a smile, grateful that Pearl and I weren’t the only ones who were going to be on the receiving end of Piper’s gift exchange. “Would you please grab me a coffee? I’m going to use the restroom to try and dry out.”

  We’d finally reached the diner, and the warmth of the heat blowing down from above near the door was a welcome respite. I stood there a moment longer while Piper picked us out a table. The delicious remnant scent of bacon still hung in the air, but even I didn’t need Knox’s sense of smell to breathe in the mouthwatering coffee aroma.

  One would have thought you had enough caffeine running through your veins by now, but your lack of reaction when hit in the face with a snowball says otherwise. Oh, look! My sweet Piper was able to get us a table in the back. I’ll have another spot of warm cream, dear hexed one, along with a tuna sandwich, hold the bread. I have a feeling I might need it after hearing what our resident werewolf has to say.

  I, too, wanted to hear what had Knox leaving the Booneville residence to return to town, but I first had to dry off. The restroom was off to the side, so I didn’t waste time. Thankfully, the diner had installed one of those powerful air dryers. By the time I was done, I was warmer than Knox on a good day, though my hair now had a bit of static to it.

  That’s debatable, dear hexed one. A werewolf’s internal temperature runs near a hundred and four degrees.

  “Okay,” I said with a renewed sense of purpose after hanging my winter coat on the back of my chair. I kept the scarf around my neck now that it was dry and warm, sliding into the chair next to Knox. We were both facing the door, which made my disposition even sunnier. “Is this about Patrick?”

  “Patrick?” Knox slid the sugar over my way, looking a bit perplexed. Whatever information he’d gleaned at the house hadn’t been about Patrick Lincoln. “What did you find out about the son-in-law?”

  “Pearl was the one who actually realized something was amiss when she saw him walk into the realtor’s office down the street.” I added the two packets of sugar and stirred in a bit of cream, not surprised when my stomach grumbled. Those two small bits of chocolate weren’t nearly enough to fill me up. “I just followed up on the lead.”

  I do so appreciate you giving me credit where credit is due.

  “And?” Piper asked, dipping a tea bag into a cup of hot water. She’d removed all of her winter outerwear, only leaving on her hat. Her blonde ponytail was just as perfect as when we’d vacated the RV. I couldn’t say the same about mine, especially when some of the strands had gotten wet from getting hit in the face with a snowball and then blown dry by a wall-mounted hand dryer. “What did you find out about Patrick?”

  “Susan Hatley made it seem that Norma already knew about Patrick signing a lease for an office here in town,” I said, setting down my spoon so that the wet end rested on a used sugar packet. “It was supposed to have been a surprise for Abigail, but then her father was murdered.”

  Death does tend to ruin the entire surprise aspect, dear hexed one.

  “So there goes Patrick’s motive for killing his father-in-law.” Piper reached behind her, collecting her cell phone. She entered a long string of numbers which allowed her to access that special murder app of hers. “Patrick and Abigail moving back to town to be closer to her parents doesn�
�t scream guilty party, and they also weren’t the beneficiary of Edgar’s life insurance policy.”

  My sweet Piper has become a tad bit paranoid after being around the alien hunter this past year. How do you remember all those numbers, my sweet?

  “It’s called being cautious,” Piper replied without pause. “And I’m not the one who decided to tell Orwin that there was evidence of alien life in the pyramids. You realize that you have Orwin mapping out a trip to Egypt to check that out, right?”

  Pearl remained suspiciously quiet, so much so that we all stopped to look at one another. I’d always maintained that Piper’s familiar was a shrewd one. Her two thousand years had bestowed upon her more knowledge than we could ever hope to gain in our short lifespans. A part of me was in awe at her ability to work a situation.

  “If you wanted to go back to Egypt, all you had to do was tell me,” Piper said with a frown. I hid a smile at her protectiveness over Orwin. “Pearl, are there really depictions that prove UFOs exist in those pyramids or were you just pulling a fast one on Orwin to get him to take you back to Egypt?”

  I do believe my charge is upset with my tactics, dear hexed one.

  “Better fix it,” I muttered behind my coffee cup, sharing an amused glance with Knox.

  He couldn’t hear Pearl, but he definitely got the gist of the conversation. I didn’t want to ponder why I was more relaxed with him here with us than at the Booneville residence. Something had clearly happened for him to want to discuss it in person, but my stomach was beginning to grumble and we needed a break from all the walking around town. Besides, there were only so many snowballs to the face I could take without waging an all-out war on the children. I’m sure that would be frowned upon by the parents of my fellow combatants.