The Skeleton Stuffs a Stocking

by Leigh Perry

  “Good,” Sid said with a satisfied expression I could see, even if she couldn’t. “As a matter of fact, I think you’re right about her.”

  “Then why did you mention it?” she asked indignantly.

  “Because it could speak to why Ms. Mitchell left Bostock so suddenly. Being accused of theft might have frightened her, or she might have known who the real thief was.”

  “Right, that makes sense,” she said, mollified.

  “That leads me to my next question. Can you give me the names of the other people from your dorm?”

  “Seriously? There were over two hundred people living in North House,” she said. “Like I said, I knew some of them, but I definitely don’t remember them all.”

  “I don’t suppose there was a student directory.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Are you in touch with any of the ones you do remember?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m close to a couple and Facebook friends with a few more.”

  “Then if you’ve got time, I’d like you to crowdsource and come up with a list of people who were at your dorm. Maybe we can figure out who accused Ms. Mitchell of stealing.”

  “It won’t be any of my friends,” she said. “They all liked Annabelle, too. But there were some jackwagons who treated her like dirt because she was ‘the help,’ or made fun of her, or just ignored her.”

  “Send me the names of anybody you can track down, especially the jackwagons, and I’ll take it from there.”

  As soon as they hung up, Sid messed around with his computer and started it playing the Twisted Sister version of “Deck the Halls.” Then he jumped up and spun around a couple of times. “Dance party time!”

  “For what?”

  “For progress. Motives! A suspect list in the making!”

  “Sid, I am not going to dance for a potential suspect list!”

  “Sure you are!” He grabbed me by the hands and pulled me to my feet.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I’m not dancing.”

  “If you don’t dance, I will twerk. In fact, I will do the “Single Ladies” dance and then twerk.”

  It was a good dance party. Sid has a surprising number of rocking Christmas songs.

  As I explained to him later, I wasn’t entirely against the idea of a celebration dance, but I wanted to be sure there was something worth celebrating. He countered that if we got bad news later on, at least we’d have had a good time first. I had to admit that he had a point.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day was Saturday, meaning my date with Brownie was set for that night. It was hardly our first date, so there was no reason to watch the clock all day, get so distracted while grading papers that I barely got any done, or to allow three hours to shower and get dressed. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t do all of those things.

  I’d picked out a nice-but-not-fancy outfit, but when I got back to my room after the shower, there was a wrapped package on my bed. The tag said Don’t Open Before Christmas, but the Don’t had been emphatically crossed off, and I opened it to find a sapphire blue blouse I’d eyed longingly at the mall the other day. Now I knew why Mom had snuck off. After her efforts, of course I had to wear it along with black velvet slacks and my good black boots that were both stylish and moderately winter appropriate.

  Madison had spent the day working with Deborah but got back home while I was doing my hair and makeup, and I found myself using a lot more beauty aids than I’d intended. Though my daughter spends ninety percent of her time in jeans and T-shirts, years of theater and cosplay have taught her more about makeup than I’ll ever know.

  Despite the extra primping, I was ready well ahead of schedule and went downstairs to show off the new blouse and Madison’s artistry. Phil said, “Very nice, very nice,” which is his go-to compliment for any occasion, and Sid produced a wolf whistle despite being lip-free. As for Mom, she looked exceedingly pleased with herself.

  When I thanked her for the blouse, she said, “I never have understood why they market holiday clothes as gifts when you really want them before Christmas. Consider this my act of revolution against the man.”

  “You’re such a rebel, Mom.”

  She raised her fist and said, “Rage against the machine, Georgia!”

  I only had to wait a few minutes for the doorbell to ring, which was a relief. I’d been afraid to sit down for fear of picking up some of Byron’s fur on my clothes.

  Sid dove for the armoire where he could hide and listen, and Madison let Brownie in while I got my coat and my purse. There was an exchange of handshakes, cheek kisses, fist bumps, and head rubs between Brownie and Phil, Mom, Madison, and Byron, respectively.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, Brownie,” Mom said.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” Brownie said. “I hope it won’t be such a long time between visits from here on out.”

  Everybody turned to look at me, but I just smiled. So did Brownie, and while the blouse from Mom was part of the reason, I also thought he was feeling optimistic about our relationship.

  I was feeling pretty good about it myself until Phil said, “If you’re free tomorrow, perhaps you’d like to join us. We’ll be putting up our Christmas tree.”

  I tried not to react, but all I could think of was how much Sid loved decorating the tree, and I was almost certain I heard a pained gasp from the armoire. Fortunately, Brownie said, “I’d love to, but unfortunately the only way I could get off tonight was to promise my parents I’d work the zoo lights tomorrow night.”

  “Another time then,” Phil said.

  I nudged Brownie out the door before any other invitations could be offered. Obviously my family approved of my seeing Brownie, which was lovely, but they were pushing just a bit.

  We went to Irvine’s, a nearby restaurant that has a habit of redoing the menu every year or so. Its current incarnation was rustic French, and we both ordered the special of cheese and smoked ham in puff pastry. Service was slower than usual because the place was filled with a combination of exhausted shoppers and people celebrating early, but I didn’t mind because we weren’t in any hurry.

  When we were waiting for our food, Brownie said, “Have you heard the latest from Bostock?”

  I shook my head. “I left campus early.”

  “As of Tuesday morning, the union is officially going on strike.”

  “Picket lines and everything?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Good luck to them, I guess. For their sake, I hope it doesn’t snow.”

  “Speaking of Bostock, I finally had lunch with Charles yesterday. He seems to be doing okay, though it’s hard to tell with him.”

  “He’s a private kind of guy,” I said. “It was nice of you to make the trip to Bostock again. The shuttle bussing alone was a major sacrifice.”

  “Actually, I had an appointment out there.”

  “Did you? Wait, you didn’t take a job, did you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means I want to keep it a surprise for now.”

  “Surprises can be good.”

  “Well, if this one works out, starting Tuesday morning I’ll be in the vicinity if you need any assistance with your investigation.”

  “You’ll be what now?”

  “I’ve told you that I find this sleuthing stuff fascinating, and I thought having an ally close by might come in handy. Not that you can’t work the case on your own, of course, and I don’t have your experience, but I might be useful.” He paused. “Are you mad?”

  “As an independent woman and staunch feminist, I should be, but honestly I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  He exhaled in what I took to be a sign of relief. “I promise not to get in your way, but if there’s anything I can do, I’m at your service. Part of the time, anyway. I’ve still got classes at McQuaid to teach, plus the carni
val. But other than that, I’m ready to help.”

  “You know, you don’t have to do this. It’s not a prerequisite for dating me.”

  “I know, I just thought…” He fiddled with his fork for a minute. “I just thought that we were getting along really well for a while, and then suddenly you drew back from me.” He reached over and laid his hand on mine. “I want to get back to where we were, maybe even beyond that.”

  Our eyes met like couples’ do in the Hallmark movies Sid wouldn’t own up to watching, and for a moment, I was tempted to tell Brownie everything about my skeletal best friend. Then I started trying to imagine the resulting reaction and the moment passed. So all I did was smile without speaking, and hope that I’d imagined that flash of disappointment I saw on Brownie’s face.

  Our food arrived, an interruption that I appreciated, even if Brownie didn’t.

  To keep away from topics I wasn’t ready to talk about, I spent the next few minutes eating and making appreciative noises. When I thought he might speak up again, I said, “I did get some new information on the case. It turns out the police in West Litchfield didn’t bother looking for Annabelle because they thought she was stealing from Bostock.” I explained what Oscar had told me and how it had been thoroughly denied by Lauri Biegler, concluding with, “I may be being hopelessly naive, but my gut says Annabelle wasn’t a thief, and that it would have been easy to frame her. So far, the Annabelle-was-framed and Annabelle-was-a-thief scenarios are the only possible murder motives I’ve come up with. I was thinking my next step will be to try talking to some of the custodians, if any of them were there when Annabelle was. Charles said he’d check for connections, but he hasn’t been in touch yet. I don’t suppose your secret plan could help with that?”

  “If that’s a serious question, then the answer is no. If it’s a cunning ploy to try to find out what I’ve got in mind, I’m not saying a thing until I’m sure I’ve got all the pieces in place.”

  He resisted my blandishments, even though I used the exact tone Madison used to use on me to get a new toy. Then again, it rarely worked for her either.

  We decided to split an apple tart for dessert, and conversation shifted to a grant proposal Brownie was working on for a study of sideshow gaffs like Fiji mermaids, shrunken heads, pickled punks, two-headed turtles, and giant rats which were actually capybara. “If that doesn’t work, I might do something more specific about Homer Tate, who was called the King of Gaffs because of the so-called artifacts he created.”

  “If you like fake artifacts, you should check out the McClelland Museum at Bostock.” I told him about it, adding, “It’s actually kind of linked to the case.”

  “It is? How so?”

  “Annabelle was part of the crew that cleaned out the Nichols house after Mrs. Nichols died, and the contents of the house were left to the museum.”

  “Then I’ll have to pay a visit.”

  By then the tart had arrived and been eaten, and after Brownie paid the check, we went back out to his car.

  “What would you like to do now?” Brownie asked after he’d started the engine and more importantly, given the bitter cold, turned on the heat. “Movie? Bar? Bookstore?”

  “It’s hard to talk during a movie or at a bar.”

  “Bookstore it is!” When we’d been seeing each other more frequently, we’d often ended up at the Barnes & Noble to browse through the books and then drink coffee at the cafe while we discussed and/or argued about those books. On most occasions, we could easily spend a couple of hours there, but it was so crowded with Christmas shoppers jostling us that we’d only been there half an hour when Brownie noticed my growing annoyance and said, “Maybe we should get coffee elsewhere.”

  “We could go back to my house, but it’s not exactly private.” I really appreciated my parents letting Madison and me live with them and allowing us to pay much less than I had for our previous apartments, but at least with an apartment, I only had to wait for Madison to sleep over with a friend to be able to have quiet moments alone with a guest.

  Brownie said, “We could go to my place.”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s a long drive to the zoo, and as much as I enjoy the hurly-burly of a carnival lot, maybe not tonight.”

  “As it happens, I’m not staying at the lot. The commute was getting to me, so I’m housesitting for a friend of mine here in Pennycross. He’s gone away for the holidays.”

  “No parents, kids, pets, or carnival rides playing Taylor Swift songs?”

  “Nope. Just quiet, an excellent coffee maker, and a nice selection of DVDs and streaming services.”

  As it turned out, I was unable to vouch for the coffee or the videos, but I could say with authority that the guest bedroom wasn’t nearly as cramped as Brownie’s carnival trailer.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’d been sorely tempted to stay with Brownie overnight but instead slunk back home at two in the morning, hoping that everybody was long since asleep. Byron did come downstairs as I came in the front door and reset the alarm, but once he saw it was me, he trotted back to Madison’s room. I was more than ready for my bed, but I saw the light was on in the attic. Sid doesn’t sleep, of course, so his light is usually on, but seeing it reminded me of my father’s faux pas earlier in the evening.

  I knocked on the attic door, and when Sid buzzed me in, I headed up the stairs to address the reindeer in the room.

  I said, “Sid, I’m really sorry about Phil inviting Brownie for the tree trimming. He should have known better.”

  “No, it’s okay. Mind you, Madison was about ready to bean Dr. T with a candy cane after you guys left, but his apology was pretty terrific.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that I’m such an integral part of the family that sometimes he forgets that others aren’t aware of me.” He beamed. “That’s right, I’m integral.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “So, how was your date?”

  “Very nice.”

  He looked pointedly at his wrist, despite not having a watch. “I don’t eat out often, but it seems to me that it must have been awfully slow service at the restaurant.”

  “The restaurant was fine. We just went to the bookstore afterward.”

  “Wow, they really stay open late during Christmas season. I had no idea.”

  I started to dodge the issue again but decided to go with a full-frontal assault instead. “I could tell you what Brownie and I did after we left the bookstore if you like. In detail. In fact, I took a few photos. Let me get my phone.”

  “Fa la la la la! I can’t hear you! I refuse to hear you! Or look at any pictures!” he said, slamming his hands over his ears and bending in a particularly impossible way to cover his eye sockets with his feet.

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” I said, thinking that I should have tried that approach years ago. I would have avoided a whole lot of ribbing.

  When Sid finally put his hands and feet back where they belonged, I said, “There are a couple of things you might actually want to know. Bostock is definitely going on strike, and Brownie has some sort of scheme so he can be around to help with the case.”

  “Really? I’d have thought he had plenty to deal with between McQuaid, Fenton’s, and ‘bookstore visits.’”

  “He says he wants to nose around on our behalf.”

  “You mean your behalf.” For once, Sid had no expression on his skull.

  “Are you okay with that? You know I didn’t ask him to help.”

  “It could be useful,” he said, which wasn’t really an answer.

  “Any progress here?”

  “Nope, not a thing.” He turned back to his computer. “I’ve just been gaming. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?” But he was already tapping away. “Goodnight, Sid.”

  He didn’t answer, and before I went back down, I saw that his bones seemed looser than they s
hould have been. I was too tired for it to keep me awake, but I was concerned.

  The first part of Sunday was filled with the errands and chores I’d neglected while getting ready for Saturday night’s date: grocery shopping, laundry, and grading papers. I’d decided to give Sid some space but was relieved that he seemed fine when he came down that afternoon. Together we brought the Christmas decorations up from the basement, and when Deborah and Madison got off work, they came to the house for our dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato bisque before Phil and Deborah took their annual trip to the tree lot.

  Long ago we’d realized that Deborah had a knack for picking the freshest trees, and it became a ritual for her and Phil to do the honors while the rest of us hung garland and mistletoe and put up the other holiday decorations.

  When they got back, it turned out Phil had taken an extra step in apologizing to Sid for nearly making him miss the tree trimming. After they’d brought in our tree and wrestled it into the stand, Phil brought in a second, much smaller tree, which he carried up to Sid’s attic. So after we’d decorated the family tree, we all trooped upstairs to the attic and helped Sid adorn his own tree. Madison must have been in on the plan because she’d bought a batch of Christmas ornaments with Marvel superheroes and Nightmare Before Christmas characters. As Sid declared when we were done, it was just like a Hallmark Christmas movie if they ever made one starring the Addams Family.

  We spent the rest of the evening watching A Miracle on 34th Street, Frosty the Snowman, and A Charlie Brown Christmas, and talking Phil out of trying a fruitcake recipe he’d found. My father is a really good cook, but the rest of us weren’t convinced that even he could make a fruitcake we’d want to eat.

  Murder was the last thing on my mind that night, and didn’t even take up much of my mental bandwidth the next day at Bostock, which turned out to be a long one. I had several meetings with students, including one with a freshman who’d apparently just realized that he wasn’t going to pass my class without taking extreme measures. He showed up with three papers he’d neglected to turn in earlier in the semester and then tried to talk me into giving him full credit because of excuses that were far more creative than his papers were. I wouldn’t budge, which took him an inordinate amount of time to accept.