Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “A party you hosted, let’s not forget.” Ire flashed in her pretty green eyes.

  A gentle cough sounded in the doorway. The three of us Shepard women jumped. My mother quickly rearranged her expression to one of calculated pleasantness and genuine relief.

  “Oh, I thought we were alone. No matter. Justine, I’d like you to meet my lovely daughters.” My mom lingered over the word lovely, as if to remind us to behave.

  “Nice to meet you.” The woman before me was small and dark and delicate boned, almost like a sparrow.

  “I’m your mother’s assistant stager, Justine Bowman.” Justine beamed and shook my hand. She had a pretty heart-shaped face, one that almost looked familiar.

  “What brings you to March Homes?”

  “We’ve taken over the toy drive,” I said smoothly. “Almost every item has been gathered for the children’s wish lists.” I brought the printout of items amassed and showed it to Justine.

  “That’s phenomenal.” Her pretty whiskey-colored eyes sparkled. “The kids will love this.”

  “Do you have kids yourself?” Rachel continued our small talk with the pleasant woman.

  Justine’s eyes shuttered, then took on a wistful look. “No, I don’t.”

  My mother walked us to the elevator.

  “Be good, girls.”

  Her statement wasn’t a simple goodbye, it was a command.

  * * *

  That night I aimed to redeem myself and have a nice evening with my boyfriend. I hadn’t been so worried when we’d parted ways yesterday because I knew we could make up at dinner. I nearly bounced up the steps to the neat brick ranch house where Garrett lived with Truman, his mother Lorraine, and his daughter Summer.

  “Hi, Mallory.” Summer flung upon the door and gave me a hug.

  “Hi, sweetie.” It astounded me to no end that I now had to look up to peer at Summer. She was fourteen and growing like a weed. Garrett and Truman were preternaturally tall, and Summer’s mom Adrienne was willowy and no slouch in the stature department. I was five foot nothing, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  “Grandma made a Christmas dinner dry run so she could try out a new stuffing.” Summer nearly pulled me into the formal dining room.

  “It smells heavenly.” The table was set with the normal floral dishes the Davieses always used, but there was a fancy turkey with festive sides.

  “Summer spilled the beans.” Lorraine, Truman’s wife, bustled out from the kitchen carrying a large baking pan. “And it’s all for this.” She set down the hearty looking dish of stuffing on a trivet. It was dotted with cranberries and almonds.

  I helped Lorraine ferry a few more dishes to the table and grinned when Garrett arrived home from work to give me a tender kiss before he took his seat. The misgivings I’d felt yesterday on the sidewalk began to melt away. I took a bite of the stuffing that was being auditioned and closed my eyes in satisfaction. It was a mélange of savory sage and thyme, sausage and cornbread, with the unexpected sweet kick of cranberries.

  “I think this is a winner.” Truman nodded to his wife.

  “Well, you found the recipe.” Lorraine winked at the chief. I smiled at their rapport. I could only hope to have a marriage so fun and harmonious someday.

  “So, Mallory. If Dad and I move to Pittsburgh, will you be coming with us?” Summer’s elfin face was filled with a confusing mixture of mirth, trepidation, and downright curiosity.

  Thank goodness I don’t have anything in my mouth.

  I stammered and fell silent. Garrett sent his daughter an exasperated look.

  “Is there something you haven’t told us?” Lorraine beamed and stared openly at my left hand. I felt a furious blush consume my face.

  “No. Not that I’m aware of.” I turned to my beau, who looked pretty miserable. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Are you officially moving to Pittsburgh?”

  Garrett cleared his throat. “No. I’ve been exploring with the dean whether I could have earlier hours for the clinic, so I could be home here in Port Quincy at a reasonable time.” His face softened. “For you, Summer, and Mallory, and everyone.”

  Truman and Lorraine shared a look of relief.

  “But the dean thought it would be best for the clinic to keep normal hours.” And just like that, the helium balloon Garrett had handed his parents was viciously popped. “Summer has been pressing me for a decision.” Garrett glanced at his watch and stood. “I need to get back to work for another hour or more. I’m sorry, everyone.” He seemed genuinely contrite as he ducked out. He gave me another kiss and smiled fondly at Summer.

  “That went great.” Summer frowned miserably and picked at the rest of her stellar stuffing. Her frown hid her magenta braces. Lorraine tsked and bustled back into the kitchen.

  “It’s time for the nuclear option.” Truman raised one bushy brow at his granddaughter, and Summer perked up.

  “Tell her the plan, Grandpa.”

  What?

  Tiny alarm bells began to sound in my head.

  “Mallory, we’ll be frank. No one wants Garrett to take that offer teaching up in Pittsburgh. Summer and I have devised a way to keep him in Port Quincy. And we need your help.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What about following your dreams and autonomy and all that?” I didn’t want to be a roadblock to Garrett’s decisions.

  “But what about me?” Summer appeared truly flummoxed. “I just started ninth grade. I love it here. All of my friends are in Port Quincy.”

  “And I don’t think we’d really see much of Garrett,” Truman truthfully put in. “So it’s time for you to take one for the team, Mallory.”

  Uh-oh.

  “What do you have in mind?” This had better be good.

  “You’ll propose to Dad!” Summer crowed out their solution with teenage exuberance.

  “It’s about time, Mallory.” Truman was smug about his solution and sat back as if to rake in all my adulation.

  “I hate to break it to you two, but absolutely not.” I stood and scraped my walnut dining chair against the floor. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Oh, come on.” Truman stood and gently placed his hand on mine. “I thought this would appeal to your sense of feminism.” He blanched as I retracted my hand. “I know you’re the one for my son.”

  Lorraine reentered the dining room with her eyes shining with mirth. “I told these two schemers you wouldn’t go for it.” She took in my mouth opening and closing in shock. “Though it is a clever idea.”

  “It’s too late to just wait for Dad to make a decision.” Summer sounded downright scared. “What if he really wants to move? What in the h-e-double hockey sticks will I do?”

  “Summer!” Lorraine scolded her granddaughter for her language and resumed her dinner. She was more affronted by Summer starting to spell out the word hell than she was by the personal hell I was currently in.

  “What’s up with you guys?” Garrett popped his head back into the dining room, and we all jumped. “I forgot a file.” He retrieved the redweld folder from a credenza and carefully studied our nervous movements. I bent over to pick up the fork that had slipped from my hand and clattered to the ground.

  “N-nothing.” Truman stuttered for the first time I’d ever heard.

  “Okay. Have a good night.” Garrett frowned as he left again, sensing something was up. We waited until the front door of the ranch clicked closed, and all of us collapsed into a fit of nervous laughter.

  Dinner continued, the tension broken. It was a fun meal, but I wasn’t entirely present. My mind strayed to thoughts of marrying and having my own children. I remembered how hot and bothered everyone had been to see Garrett and me get engaged in the spring and summer, about a year after we’d met and started dating. We’d decided to slow things down and go at our own pace. But now the pressure was turned back up for a different reason.

  My cell phone beeped out a text alert, and I sheepishly checked it under the tablecloth. “This is Justine. I
wanted to tell you some things about March Homes. Meet me now at the Greasy Spoon?”

  I gave the excuse of needing to work on the toy drive and ducked out of dinner just as Lorraine started to serve her huckleberry pie. I usually loved dining with the Davies family, but tonight, I couldn’t wait to leave.

  * * *

  I escaped from the pressure-cooker environment of the Davies household largely unscathed. But my mind was swirling with ideas and not a small amount of panic as I guided the Butterscotch Monster back downtown. My stomach grumbled in protest. After my initial forkful of stuffing, I hadn’t been able to consume another bite of Lorraine’s gourmet Christmas dinner tryout.

  I scanned the interior of the Greasy Spoon, but Justine wasn’t present. No matter. I didn’t think she was punking me, but I could eat either way. Instead of picking something sensible like a salad, I opted for a double-stuffed BLT, chicken noodle soup, and a slice of apple pie.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Mallory.” Justine’s appearance made me jump. The slim woman slid into the yellow vinyl booth opposite me and ordered a black coffee and a slice of gourmet fruitcake. The Greasy Spoon had gone all out with kitschy decorations. I slid the miniature pink tinsel tree that doubled as a ketchup and saltshaker holder back toward the window so I could focus on Justine.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Carole.” She sheepishly set her cup of coffee down and blinked. “But I do think there are some interesting anomalies going on at March Homes.”

  “Go on.” I finished my delicious soup, the liquid warming and fortifying.

  “I haven’t worked for your mother long, but she’s wonderful. I wouldn’t want her to get into anything sticky.” She seemed to consider how much to tell me. “Alan likes to spend money lavishly. It wasn’t just the cabin.”

  I snorted. “The cabin itself would be enough.” And now it was gone, up in a fiery inferno.

  “Alan incurs many business expenses that are questionable. Clementine chews him out, and Goldie tries to smooth it over. I’ve already seen this happen several times in the week I’ve worked for March Homes. You didn’t peek into his office while you were there. He redecorated it to the tune of twenty thousand dollars, a sizable chunk of the renovation budget for the whole headquarters squandered on one little room.”

  I felt my eyes bug out in my head.

  “Clementine made him absorb some of the costs. One of the accountants told me he bought a Lexus to use as a work vehicle but really intended it for personal use. Clementine made him return it, so Goldie bought it back for his birthday.”

  “Okay, but Alan’s overstepping and misuse of funds doesn’t necessarily make their whole business hinky, does it?” I took a satisfying bite of my sandwich and leaned back into the booth.

  Justine took a big breath. “There’s more. Our passwords for the internal system work for the accounting software, too.” The woman bit her lip as twin spots of pink graced her high cheekbones. “I did a bit of snooping myself after you and your sister left today. March Homes has made a cash payment of three thousand dollars each and every month for the past year. It’s mailed to a post office box here in Port Quincy.”

  “How is it documented?” A post office box was weird but not necessarily a concern.

  “It’s entered generically as ‘charity.’ But I went a step further and looked at March Homes’s tax returns. They didn’t itemize this donation.” Now Justine’s blush had overtaken her full force.

  “It could be hush money,” I mused. “And they just brokered the deal to buy the land for their housing developments three months ago. They’ve had land here in the family for years, according to Olivia, but they just used it for hunting and their Christmas Eve and morning celebrations.”

  “Right. So why make a payment of three thousand anonymously each month? And I could only access the last year of accounting records. Who knows how long they’ve made this payment?”

  We chewed and sipped in pensive silence for several minutes.

  “Fresh coffee, ladies?” Our server reappeared. I’d left my purse too close to the edge of the booth and it tumbled to the ground.

  “Oh!” I gasped as Olivia’s glass and ceramic angel made another tumble to the floor. Thankfully, the repaired wing held. I gratefully placed the tree topper on the table.

  Justine laid her fork down on her plate and picked up the piece. “This is so pretty. Where did you get this?” Her tone was even and unaccusing, her pretty whiskey-colored eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

  “It belongs to Olivia.”

  “It’s a common piece.” Justine flipped the piece over and traced the seam of the repaired wing. “I come from a family of glassmakers.” A soft glow of pride graced her delicate face. “My father was the head glassmaker at the McGavitt factory before it shut down in the seventies.” Her gaze grew wistful, seeming to stare into the past.

  We chatted amiably for a few minutes about the legacy of the glass factory. Thistle Park was built by the owners, and the woman who had bequeathed me the house had been the last person helming the glass company.

  Justine bestowed a kind smile on me. “I think I should go. Thanks for listening to my concerns about March Homes. I’ve met their daughter, Olivia, and her fiancé, Toby. Such nice young people. I wouldn’t want them to get caught up in anything.”

  Once again, someone seemed to be vouching that Olivia had no idea whatever her family was into.

  “And I’m so grateful to your mom. Carole beat me out fair and square for the staging position. But then she lobbied for me to be hired and at a higher starting salary than I’d negotiated. I want her to be above reproach.”

  “And you don’t think she is?” A knot formed in the pit of my stomach, right before I took my last bite of pie.

  “It does look like someone wants her to seem guilty, doesn’t it?”

  “She didn’t do anything to Lacey.” I set down my fork and stared beseechingly at Justine.

  “I know that, but who would go to the trouble to cast doubt on your mom?”

  “You didn’t see anything else in the business records to give a clue?”

  Justine shook her head sadly.

  A crazy idea began to percolate in my head.

  “I wish I knew what we needed to look for.” I clapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to voice the beginning of a preposterous plan.

  But Justine nodded, slowly warming to the bad idea. “It wouldn’t hurt to go back in and take a peek at the physical records. I’m kind of upset I looked at the financials digitally. I don’t think anyone will notice, but I can’t be sure. But as for the physical records, I know some went up in flames in the cabin fire, but there are plenty in accounting.”

  No, no, no!

  The more sane part of my brain put its foot down. But the curious side of me got the upper hand.

  “I suppose we could just take a little peek.”

  “And if Carole finds out, I’ll tell her it was my idea.”

  “No way, Justine. I don’t want my mom to fire you. I’ll tell her it was my idea.” Which it technically was.

  Justine and I agreed to meet in an hour’s time at March Headquarters. I justified this silly mission by thinking of those I loved. Truman hadn’t charged or arrested my mother, but she wasn’t off the hook yet. And Olivia was trying to decide what to do with her life. The judge’s hints at impropriety almost seemed like an invitation to snoop. A lot hung in the balance.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  CHAPTER TEN

  An hour later I found myself staring up at the back of March Homes headquarters. Rachel rubbed her hands next to me, as much to ward off the cold as from excitement.

  “This is so much fun!” My sister nearly whooped and I clapped a mittened hand over her mouth.

  “Shh. The point of this mission is to look for things without getting caught.” I saw the condensation appear in front of me as I spoke. It was a frigid evening, the temperature dipping down int
o the teens. Rachel and I had dressed in our reconnaissance outfits, hastily assembled black garb.

  Our mother had been pretty suspicious as we attempted to slip out of the third floor apartment. We’d told her we were going to buy her and Doug Christmas presents, but she didn’t believe us. Doug had sent us a mirthful look over his glasses and returned to his biography of Benjamin Franklin.

  So here we were, freezing our butts off, dressed head to toe in black.

  “Hi, girls.” Justine giggled as she took in our outfits. She was still dressed in what she’d had on when we’d met at the diner. I suddenly felt ridiculous.

  “Um, hi.”

  She inserted a thick key into the lock and ushered us into the building. We were in the basement where the toys had been stored and made our way across the empty chamber to the elevators. All three of us seemed to breathe a collective sigh as we made it to the office floor of the building seemingly unscathed.

  “I’m glad the building isn’t outfitted in some fancy modern security system,” I noted.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel hissed at Justine as the woman flicked on a switch, flooding the space with light.

  “Oops. Snooping 101—don’t turn on the lights.” Justine sounded cowed as she turned them back off.

  “Here.” My sister rummaged around her large, tasseled black leather bag and handed out three flashlights. “You’re welcome, ladies.”

  I started giggling as I turned on the beam and moved to the accounting files. We looked like some modern-day Watergate snoopers. I didn’t want to get caught, but the preposterousness of the situation got the better of me.

  We spent a frustrating hour digging through financial files.

  “It would just make it so much easier if we knew what we were looking for,” Rachel lamented. I had to agree with her.

  “Maybe it’s time to call it a night.” Justine wearily rubbed her eyes, unwittingly smearing a trail of mascara.

  “Let’s just take a peek in the owners’ offices before we go,” I suggested.

  “Ah, this is so sweet.” We started with Goldie’s office. She’d had it painted a neutral gray. Shots of Olivia, Alan, and Goldie covered the walls. On her desk was a pile of bridal magazines and a sweet note from Olivia on top.