Crimes Most Merry and Albright

by Larissa Reinhart

  "The building is super old." I placed a comforting hand on his arm. "And we don't know who we're dealing with. It could be anyone."

  "That doesn't console me, Miss Albright. Maybe the whole thing is a ruse by a competitor to prove we can't even keep a dumb movie prop safe."

  "I don't think we have any competitors that savvy," I whispered. "And you're the only PI in town."

  "Everyone's putting in those doorbell camera gizmos now." Nash scowled. "If your mother and Jolene don't put me out of business, those will."

  "Jolene closed her shop when Vicki bought Jolene's shares in your business. It can't be them."

  "Still doesn't help with the doorbell gizmos."

  "If we can't do security solutions, there's always cheating husbands. And cheating wives. And subpoenas. You know how much you like serving subpoenas."

  He flashed me a tight smile. "Thanks."

  "You're welcome." My grin faltered. "So where's your client?"

  "Our client."

  "It could be Ms. Wonderly sneaking around your office, checking things out before we're due to arrive." I wouldn't put it past her. But I didn't say this aloud. My heart still pounded from the "our client" bit.

  Nash heaved a sigh and stepped out of the shadow of the Black Pine Gazette. "There's only one way to find out."

  I placed my hand on his arm again. This time not so much in consolation as in fear. "What if it's not Wonderly? Shouldn't we wait for the police?"

  "It's New Year's Eve. Mowry's sending a deputy, but it's going to take a while, and I don't want to lose the bastard who's rummaging around my business." He narrowed his eyes, then glanced at me. "Our business."

  "What if they're armed?"

  "I've got my .38," said Nash. "And Lamar keeps a shotgun in his office. I've got a key to the Dixie Kreme. We'll grab the shotgun, then wait for the intruder to come out of the office. Catch him on the landing by surprise."

  "What if he shoots us first?"

  Nash grabbed my hand. "Generally speaking, when you open a door to a sawed-off double barrel, you tend not to shoot first. You'll be great."

  "I'll be great?" I stopped, digging my mules into the sidewalk as best I could. "Come again?"

  "Lamar uses the double-barrel for cowboy action competitions, but it makes an effective deterrent if there's any trouble at the shop."

  "Cowboy action competitions whasit?"

  "Hobby. He's pretty good, too." Nash smirked. "Never mind that. You're going to stand in front of the office door and point the shotgun at whoever comes out. I'll hide behind the door and jump them. It's a great plan."

  "Except for the part where I'm standing in front of the office with a shotgun. You know I don't like guns."

  "You grew up with guns. Your dad is the founder and CEO of a hunting apparel company. You own a .38, too." He grinned, flexing his dimple. "Just like me."

  "Except mine is pink and was a sixteenth birthday present that I hoped was a car. Daddy's cabin might have an arsenal, but I didn't grow up in the land of hunting. I grew up in the land of car-jackings. I don't like guns."

  "Alright, I'll stand in front of the door. You jump the guy who's broken into our office. I'll hold the gun on him while you tie him up. Then we'll call the police."

  I glanced at him. Nash had his serious face on. One where the scar stood out against his chin and his dimple hid somewhere in his taut cheeks. His muscular frame had tensed, waiting. Nash would let me do it, too. Tackle a man probably bigger than me, then expect me to hold him down and attempt to tie him up. Kung Fu Kate, Warhead Girl, and Julia Pinkerton never had to deal with real-life issues of size and strength.

  If only I knew that it was Wonderly in our office. The idea of jumping Ms. Wonderly gave me some sort of visceral pleasure I didn't know existed within me.

  However, the thought of someone other than Ms. Wonderly gave me another sort of feeling. One with which I was more familiar. Fear.

  "Fine, I'll hold the shotgun."

  "You don't have to use it. Just hold it. Lamar's only got birdshot for the thing, anyway." Nash kissed the top of my head. "Thank you. I was really looking forward to tackling this guy."

  "There's a lot more violence in my life now," I said sadly.

  Nash lifted an eyebrow. "Says the one who played a character called Warhead Girl."

  Sixteen

  #CowboyAction

  On the second-floor landing, I stood before the old wooden door with "Nash Security Solutions" stenciled on the glass. In the past six months, I had a lot of memories — mostly good — associated with this door. Particularly my first impression, when I found Nash only half-dressed. I learned to always knock first. I also learned a man could have a six-pack and ripped pecs without taking supplements.

  However, this was the first time I stood on the landing holding a shotgun. Waiting on whoever burgled our office. Nash stood poised against the wall where he would jump out and tackle the intruder. Hopefully without getting either one of us shot. It was a situation that required a lot of faith. And hope.

  I needed more of both in my life.

  On the other side of the door, a loud thump accompanied an arc of light flashing from the door to the ceiling. Nash threw me a look as if to say, "get ready," then turned his attention back to the door.

  Standing in a clingy satin gown, matching mules, and a bomber jacket six sizes too big, I was far from ready. My arms shook from holding the shotgun aloft — why hadn't I lowered it until this point? — and my knees trembled as a chilly draft blew up my bare legs. The door thudded. I flinched and Nash tensed. He cocked his head, then frowned. He held up a finger.

  My arms ached, but I lifted the shotgun to eye-level and widened my stance. Prayed that I wouldn't actually have to shoot anyone.

  Then said that prayer again.

  Three more thumps and a muffled groan. The door swung open. A man dressed in a black hoodie and dark pants dashed out. Nash jumped out. The door crashed against the wall.

  "Stop right there." I pulled back the safety, wishing it was the kind of shotgun that had the pump for the sound effect. Not even glancing at the shotgun, the man dodged Nash's tackle. Barreling into me, he knocked the gun aside. My finger slipped. The gun fired. He bounced off me and half-fell down the stairs. Snow showered the landing.

  I stared at the ceiling, now littered with holes.

  Nash rushed over, took the gun, and pulled me into his side. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay."

  "Which one was that?"

  "Oddjob."

  Nash brushed plaster dust off my shoulders. "Go in and see what damage he's done. I'm following him."

  I glanced again at the ceiling. "I did some damage."

  "Birdshot. We'll patch it later." He handed over the shotgun, slipped around me, and ran down the stairs.

  Shaking plaster off my hair, I walked into the office. And stopped. On the floor, next to Lamar's corduroy recliner, lay the elf. This time dressed in jeans and a parka. But even without the striped tights and jaunty hat, I'd recognized his lanky build and wannabe-actor features. Falling to my knees, I scanned him for injuries. His forehead had a cut that wasn't bleeding too badly. But he lay on his side, and I was afraid to move him to check for injuries.

  "Elf," I said. "Elf? Are you okay?"

  He didn't respond. Biting my lip, I laid my fingers against his neck. Warm, but I couldn't feel a pulse. I tried his wrist. My hands were cold and shaking. I couldn't feel my own pulse. His parka was zipped closed. My hand shook pulling on the zipper. I laid a hand on his sweater.

  Was he breathing or not? Why was it so hard to tell?

  Come on, Maizie. Think. CPR? What if he had a neck injury?

  No, ambulance first.

  "I'll be back in a minute." I hopped up and dashed into the office. Grabbed the receiver of the desk phone. Dialed 9-1-1, explained my emergency, then hung up (at their protest) and called Nash.

  "Couldn't catch him," said Nash. "I'm on my way back. Can you tell if he took any
thing?"

  "I don't know," my voice trembled. "I think the elf is dead."

  "It sounds like you said—"

  "I did."

  "I'll be right there. You need me to call—"

  "Already done. Hurry." I turned toward the desk.

  "Maizie?" Nash's voice sounded strained and gruff. Also, panting because he'd been running. "I just want to say…"

  "Yes?"

  The front door creaked.

  "Nash, the EMT's must be here—" I dropped the phone and dashed into the front room. The door stood open. "Hello? He's right here—"

  The elf was gone.

  Seventeen

  #NotGudinoff

  From the stoop of the Dixie Kreme shop, I spotted the elf jumping into an old VW bug. I also spotted Nash sprinting up the street. Sirens blared in the background. They sounded seconds away.

  "The elf," I shouted at Nash, pointing at the Volkswagen. "He's not dead."

  Nash jerked to a stop. "What?"

  The elf glanced up, sighted me, then Nash. The little car's engine started.

  Nash's startled expression turned flinty, and he pivoted toward the Volkswagen. "Come on."

  Lights flashed on the street. An ambulance flew around the corner, siren blasting. A Black Pine police car followed. The bug backed out, and the ambulance pulled up, blocking the VW. Hurtling down the sidewalk, Nash vaulted the curb and threw himself against the driver's door of the yellow bug. Jerking the door open, he grabbed the elf. I rushed down the steps to join Nash.

  "Park it," bellowed Nash. "I'm hauling you out either way."

  The police car pulled in next to the Volkswagen. Getting out of his car, the deputy waved to the ambulance crew to stay in the truck.

  "Who are you?" Nash slammed the elf against the little, yellow bug.

  "Wyatt Nash, let go of that man," said the police officer.

  Nash glanced behind him, then smiled. "We're the ones who called you, Sam. This bozo nabbed Miss Albright at the Winter Market, pretending he had a gun on her. Then he broke into my office. He let Miss Albright think he was dead, for Cripe's sake. Then dashed out when she wasn't looking."

  "She kicked me in the gut at the market and I was attacked here," protested the elf. "If anyone has room to complain, it's me."

  Sam looked at me.

  "It's all true," I said. "I think he got knocked out by the other guy. My hands were too cold to feel his pulse. But it did freak me out, which is why I called emergency services."

  "Other guy?" said Sam. "Who's that?"

  "Oddjob." I shrugged. "But that's just what I call him. He works for a scary man called Gentz. Gentz works for a rich tech dude named HG. And that's as far as we've gotten with names."

  "We're about to get a little farther." Nash tightened his grip on the elf's coat and shoved him against the car.

  "Hey," said the elf. "You're just going to let this knucklehead hold on to me? My feet aren't even touching the ground."

  "Would you rather I hold you there?" said Sam. "Your feet will touch the ground, but your hands will be behind your back."

  The elf glared at us. "I hate this place."

  "What's your name, son?" said Sam.

  "Gordon Gudinoff."

  I blew out a snort. "No, it's not. That's your stage name. What's your real name?"

  "It is so." Gordon the elf directed his scowl at me. "How'd you know I was an actor?"

  "Takes one to know one, I guess." I folded my arms. "Who are you working for? And why do they want my Warhead Girl necklace?"

  "Were you in that movie?" said Sam. "I loved that movie."

  "Sam, get that look off your face," growled Nash. "Miss Albright is no longer an actress. She's a professional investigator."

  "Almost," I said. "Two years of training until my license. Anyway, back to you, Gordon. Talk."

  "How'd you get in my office?" said Nash. "And who's the other guy?"

  Sam pulled out a little notebook.

  "Am I under arrest?" said Gordon.

  "I haven't decided," said Sam. "Tell us what you were doing in that office and how you got in. And the stuff Miss Albright asked."

  "Not without a lawyer," said Gordon.

  "Sam," said Nash. "How about you take a little walk upstairs? Check out the scene of the crime."

  "There was no crime," said Gordon. "Unless you count the guy who knocked me out. I wasn't pretending to be dead. He attacked me and I must've hit my head. And now this guy is attacking me. I should sue all of you."

  "I'm going to check out the office," said Sam. "The EMTs will be with you shortly, Gordon. Mr. Nash will escort you to the ambulance as soon as y'all are done talking."

  "This isn't legal," squealed Gordon. "I know my rights."

  "Miss Albright, would you like to go upstairs with me? You can show me where you found Mr. Gudinoff." Sam shoved his notebook in his pocket. "I have some questions about Warhead Girl for you, too. How old were you when you did that movie?"

  "Nineteen or twenty," I said.

  "Oh good." Sam expelled a breath. "So, how did they keep that bandolier in place—"

  "Sam, Miss Albright is going to stay right here." Nash's jaw tightened. "She wants to talk to Gordon."

  Sam glanced at Nash. "Okey-doke. Be right back."

  "Hey," yelled Gordon. "What kind of Keystone Cops run this place?"

  "Listen, Gordon," I said. "Mr. Nash will set you down. But he's upset about what you did to me earlier today and really upset about you breaking and entering Nash Security Solutions."

  "It wasn't breaking and entering. I had a key and a code. I was given permission."

  "The hell you were." Nash shook him. "That's my office. I didn't give you diddly."

  "Stop." Gordon held his hands up. "Look, the person who hired me gave it to me. They said they owned the place and after I get the necklace from you, I should wait inside for the buyer. I should’ve turned the lights on, but I went in early because it's friggin' cold out here. Aren’t you freezing, dude? You're not even wearing a coat."

  "I'm not cold now." Nash flashed his teeth in a wolfish smile.

  "Nash." Sam appeared on the stoop. "Who shot your ceiling?"

  "I did, Sam," I called. "By accident."

  Nash shook his head. He released Gordon, then held up a hand before Gordon could step away. Turning to me, Nash lowered his voice. "Maizie, we need to get going. Before a certain party realizes you're missing."

  I nodded and Nash called up to Sam. "Mr. Gudinoff is all yours. Miss Albright and I will make our statements at the station in a bit. Tell anyone else on duty to check out the Dukem Inn on Highway 76. The people we reported breaking into Boomer Spayberry's cabin and attacking Miss Albright and her sister are staying there."

  "Room 129," I said. "Rudolph Gentz, two other men, and a woman named JJ something."

  "By the way, I found this on the floor by the recliner." Sam held up something pinched between his fingers. It glittered in the light shining above the stoop. "It's a key. Fits the door to your office."

  I squinted, then walked over to the stoop and took it from him. "Shiztastic."

  "What's wrong?" said Nash.

  My lips pressed together in a firm line. "The keyring is Louis Vuitton. Vicki gave Gordon the key."

  Eighteen

  #HallmarkMovieDreams

  "Where are we going?" I'd insisted on returning Nash’s coat which offended his Southern gentlemanly sensibilities. But I had my own sensibilities — mainly guilt and stubbornness — and had taken one of his giant sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants from the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Wrapped in fleece and Nash's scent, it was almost as good as the bomber jacket. A pity I couldn't borrow a pair of shoes, because the rolled sweatpants, Nash's gym socks, and white satin mules just didn't "do," as Vicki would say.

  Also because my toes were numb with cold.

  "We're going back to Boomer's cabin," said Nash, his voice gruff with worry and Southern gentleman irritation. "Gentz said they'd already se
arched it, so seems like the ideal place to hide the damn necklace. We also need to regroup and get a plan. I want to call Ms. Wonderly and find out why she didn't show."

  It still bothered me that he thought that was her name. Not for a minute, did I believe in that sort of coincidence. Wonderly hadn't even been Wonderly's name in The Maltese Falcon. Probably I was jealous. More than probably.

  "Going to the cabin makes sense. We can also do research there," I said, taking the figurative high road. "For example, I'd like to know how HG, Manganoid, and Vicki could be related."

  "Knowing Vicki, she arranged this whole debacle just to drive me nuts," muttered Nash.

  "Vicki is in Fiji with Giulio. How could she have given Gordon the key to your office?"

  "I'm sure they have a post office in Fiji."

  “It’s so cute you think Vicki would use the post office." I patted his leg. "But really, she's been gone for two weeks. How could she be involved?"

  "The more important question is why. What would she want with a movie prop? She was your manager when that movie was made. Why now?"

  I chewed on my thumb nail, got a mouthful of fleece, and gave up. "To keep HG from getting it? But why would she care if some tech guy wants it? I think she'd be flattered a zillionaire would like the movie that much."

  "Gordon said he was waiting for the buyer. Maybe HG was the buyer."

  "Then why go to all the trouble to force me to give up the necklace? They went to the office to steal the safe.”

  "Why pay for something they could get for free?" countered Nash.

  I sighed. "None of this makes any sense. And if Gordon's working for Vicki and Gentz is working for HG, who is Wonderly working for? Manganoid?"

  "The whole thing is ridiculous." Nash looked over at me. "Gentz is dangerous. I want to get you and your sister out of town until the police can find these guys."

  "What about you?"