Marry Christmas Murder

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “My sweet baby!” Mom held the pug to her, Ramona yipping and trying to lick her face. We’d dressed the pup in one of the holiday sweaters my mom favored. This was a new one, a blue number with a wooly abominable snowman embroidered on the back.

  I laughed and brought out the cooler that contained the food we’d brought. “Truman also allowed us to bring you some holiday goodies.”

  “We can bring them every day until . . .” Rachel began, trailing off when my mom’s face fell.

  “It’s wonderful. I just really thought I’d be home for Christmas.”

  Truman’s footfalls resounded in the hallway. “Mallory, a word please.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I followed Truman to his office. It was pretty spare, with pictures of his family along his desk, but no nods to the holiday.

  “I wanted to apologize in person. This is an abomination, but as it stands, Carole did use the antifreeze, and her prints are all over the bottle, the perfume, and even Alan’s glass.”

  I groaned at the last tidbit of information. “And they would be. She helped us get glasses ready for Olivia’s shower before she left for work. This just keeps getting better and better. When you and I both know she didn’t poison Lacey.” I frowned in thought. “Did you ever trace the call that made the tip about finding the antifreeze in Mom’s purse?”

  “Of course!” Truman nearly boomed. “It was a disposable cell phone. It had been used to make just the one call. Probably abandoned by now.”

  We sat in weighty silence. I broke it with my theories.

  “I can think of a million people who had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill Lacey. And none of them are Mom.”

  Truman nodded. “And if I could make an air-tight case against any of them, we could release your mother.”

  “There’s Clementine March. She butted heads with Lacey. But Goldie wouldn’t let her mom fire the stager. Maybe she took matters into her own hands.” It was weak theory and I knew it.

  “Goldie herself is a better candidate. She has said herself she felt bad she kept Lacey on the payroll even after she had evidence that the woman was harassing Olivia’s boyfriend. Maybe the guilt ate away at her.” Truman folded his hands in front of him.

  “Especially after someone vandalized Olivia’s car. Goldie probably thought it was Lacey.”

  “But if Goldie March killed Lacey, she did a bang-up job framing your mother for it instead.” Truman took a sip of coffee and seemed to weigh his next words carefully. “The only other person I can think of who has motive to kill Lacey is your bride.”

  “I know.” I had to agree. “But just because she had a reason didn’t mean she did it.”

  “She must have been crushed to have found out Toby was still in contact with the woman who was stalking him. And right after she found out she was carrying his child. It could be enough.”

  “But Olivia must’ve found out she was pregnant back in September or so,” I mused, doing the math in my head. “Why wait all that time to kill Lacey?”

  Truman frowned. “I admit the theory is imperfect. But I don’t like the detail you told me, that she poured out a drink at Paws and Poinsettias. I don’t know if you noticed, but each potted plant in a large tub in the lobby of March Homes is now gone. Your mother told me Clementine changed her mind and ordered them to be removed the day after Paws and Poinsettias.”

  Interesting.

  But it was no matter. None of these theories truly exonerated my mother. Whoever had wanted her out of the way, bearing the torch of suspect numero uno, had done a good job.

  The landline on Truman’s desk rang impossibly loudly. I jumped and stared wordlessly at the chief. He nodded, giving me permission to stay.

  “Mm-hmm. Okay. I wasn’t aware you could do it with such granularity. Perfect. Well, this is the first good news all December.”

  He hung up, including me in his grin. I couldn’t imagine what would make me as elated as him.

  “That was the crime lab. First, I apologize this took so long. But I have good news. The antifreeze in the rental car had silicates and phosphates as part of its chemical composition. It’s more of a traditional blend. It matches the liquid in the big jug your mother and Doug brought to Thistle Park, precisely, just as you would expect. It also matches the antifreeze in her perfume.” He couldn’t tamp down his excitement and stood from his swivel chair. “But the antifreeze that killed Lacey and the antifreeze found in Alan’s drink doesn’t contain any silicates. It’s the kind of stuff European cars use.”

  “In plain English?” I was excited with where this was going.

  “The antifreeze used explicitly as poison does not match the original antifreeze that was in your mother’s possession.”

  “So this proves she didn’t do it.”

  “This proves she didn’t do it!”

  Truman and I practically raced down the hall. Rachel, Doug, and my mom were engaged in the saddest Christmas carol sing-along I’d ever heard. My mom barely lifted her head when we appeared at her door.

  “Carole, you’re free to go.”

  “Pardon?” My mother looked up from petting Ramona with a confused look on her face.

  “This had better not be a joke, sir.” Doug rose to his feet.

  “This is for real. What are you waiting for?” I flung open the door while my family cheered. Ramona barked and turned around in a circle on her hind legs. The little pup led the way, her head held high, and my mom triumphantly followed as we all trooped out of the jail and into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Olivia and Toby were going to have a magnificent day. The layer of snow from the earlier storm remained on the ground, providing a quintessential white backdrop. Yet the sun bathed the mansion in pretty, clear light. All was calm, all was bright. It was two days before Christmas. My mother was home, and I was about to facilitate a ceremony and party for one of my dearest friends. I was surrounded by the ones I loved.

  Except Garrett.

  We’d made plans at least to see each other on Christmas Day. Springing my mom from the clink had filled me with courage and cheer. I’d called Garrett as soon as my mom was settled back in and invited his whole family over for a Christmas Day visit, after the Davieses had their own delicious meal, of course. Garrett had run the idea by Lorraine and accepted. It would be our first official Christmas together as a couple, with his family and mine assembled. I felt better. No matter what was going to happen with his possible relocation, I was making my intentions known. I wanted to spend more days, and especially the important ones, with Garrett and Summer and his family.

  I smiled at the thought as I lit the last candle in the final angel candelabra in the carriage house. After the surgery department’s party, Olivia and Toby had requested that we move their ceremony and reception to the same space. It was no trouble to set up the six tables for the small number of expected guests with the star mirrors, wreaths, and angel candelabras. Rachel and I transported hundreds of poinsettias into the space, and it looked just as festive as it had for the work party, but decidedly different.

  Guests began to filter in, exclaiming over the magnificent space. Pastor Millen arrived and shook my hand, awaiting the couple under a trellis we’d brought in and stationed at the front of the carriage house. The white wood was adorned with holly and boughs of fresh evergreens. I’d affixed the very angel ornament that had accompanied Olivia in the manger to the top of the trellis, in keeping with her theme.

  “It’s almost go time.” Rachel cast a nervous glance at her watch. No matter how many weddings we had under our belt, I still experienced a welcome frisson of excitement at the start of each event.

  Miles sent my sister a wink from the back of the carriage house, and she sent him one in return. He’d recreated all twelve of Alan’s Czech dishes for guests to dine on after the ceremony. Toby walked his mother to her seat and took his place under the trellis to await his bride.

  “Are you ready?” I opened the door to
the Marches’ Land Rover. Olivia hovered inside the warm vehicle, awaiting her turn to go in.

  “More than ever, thank you Mallory, for making this day possible.” She wiped a set of tears from her eyes, her makeup flawless despite the tears, thanks to Rachel’s expertise.

  Alan offered Olivia his arm, and the bride swept from the car, resplendent and ethereal. She walked into the carriage house and beamed when Toby caught her eye.

  The ceremony itself was spare and heartfelt. The pastor blended elements from a traditional sermon while Toby and Olivia made their own declarations to each other before all assembled. And when Toby leaned in to kiss his bride, the room erupted in cheers.

  “We should throw smaller weddings more often.” I leaned in to share my opinion with my sister. The party was in full swing, all fifty guests chatting, dancing, and merrymaking. It was intimate and festive, low-key and wonderful. Alan’s twelve dishes-inspired dinner was a hit, as was the cookie table groaning with confections.

  “Mm-hmm.” My sister sent Miles a dreamy look and then left me to join him without another word. I usually cautioned my sister to put on the brakes, but in this case, I just laughed.

  “Nice work, Mallory.” A woman who looked familiar shook my hand. “I’m the organ transplant coordinator for the hospital.”

  “Oh! And your daughter is getting married here next June. Clarissa Fields, right?”

  The pretty, plump woman beamed. “Yes. We’re going to have an outside ceremony near the gazebo. But,” she turned in a slow circle, “after seeing this space, I’m going to ask my daughter to reassess. This wedding planning is more complicated than I thought.” She gave a chuckle. “The medical industrial complex has nothing on the wedding industrial complex.”

  We chatted amiably for a few minutes, turning to what made us love our jobs most.

  “I get to make brides and grooms’ dreams come true for their big day, but you get to literally save lives.” I gushed to Clarissa after she explained the procedures of matching up organs, facilitating their transfer on ice, and arranging for the long operations to follow.

  “It’s a unique position, for sure.” The woman nodded. “But the doctors are the real miracle workers. I do admit it gives me a thrill each and every time I contact a family with news that there’s a match. Especially around this time of year.”

  “I’d imagine that would be extra special. I’ve just heard of a woman who got the news on Christmas and had her transplant on the following day. But I’m sure she had it done up in Pittsburgh.”

  Clarissa’s bright visage dimmed as if a cloud had passed overhead. “I’ve had one of those, too. A long time ago.”

  I couldn’t resist. “It wasn’t Goldie March, by any chance?”

  “Oh! Excuse me.” We leapt back as Clarissa dropped her drink. The pretty cut glass goblet miraculously held and rolled toward the corner. She made a move to chase after it, when I placed my hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll get you a new one.”

  Clarissa looked around as if she were afraid someone would hear her. “In fact, it was. I don’t like to talk about that one.” She gave a little hiccup, and I realized she was a bit tipsy. “That one was . . . not per protocol.”

  I raised one brow, hoping she’d fill the silence. “She was desperate. We typed her and waited for a match. Just like everyone else. And one day, Christmas Day, a kidney magically showed up. It was a perfect match for Marigold March. This kidney had no provenance. It was from nowhere. But I pushed it through.”

  “So Goldie got her kidney, and there were no more questions to ask.”

  Clarissa nodded miserably. “But a year later I was reading the Eagle Herald. There was a piece about a woman who’d gone missing the year before. I must not have seen it the first time around.” Her voice quavered. “I recognized the woman. She’d been typed in a bid to help her cousin. She wasn’t a match.” She hungrily grabbed at a new goblet of holiday punch as a server went by with tray held aloft. She took a fortifying swig and went on. “She disappeared a few months after she was typed. Just before Christmas a year prior.”

  “Andrea Adams.” I made a statement, not a question.

  Clarissa nearly dropped her second drink. “Yes! How on earth did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Clarissa looked ill. “I thought about going to the police but a year had passed since that girl disappeared. I convinced myself it was just a strange coincidence and put it out of my mind. Excuse me, I think I’m going to be sick.” She left to find her husband, who thankfully seemed to have just been imbibing water as their designated driver.

  I felt a prickle of dread trill down my spine. Goldie March stared at me from across the room, gripping her drink, her face a mask of stone.

  * * *

  I tried to run my revelations by Rachel as we broke down Olivia’s wedding. The happy couple had ridden off in a carriage bedecked in holiday greenery, to the whoop and hollers of the guests. I’d put away the delicate angel tree topper first, for safekeeping until the bride and groom returned from their honeymoon. Then I commenced with the rest of the decorations.

  It was early Christmas Eve before we were done. Rachel yawned when we got back to the main house and held up her hand for me to stop. “You’ll have to let Truman know. But maybe give it a rest for one day, y’know? It’s Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake.”

  “You’re right. We can just take the cats to the veterinarian later today when we wake up and relax the rest of the time.” We went to bed soon afterward.

  I awoke several hours later with the sun now above the horizon. It had been a whirlwind two weeks. I loved Olivia like my own sister, but I was relieved to have her wedding in the rearview mirror. I felt safer with the March family and all their shenanigans out of my hair. Our mother was weighing whether to return as their stager in light of Justine’s firing. Nevertheless, Rachel was finally with a gem of a guy, and I’d decided to lay it all bare with Garrett. I’d tell him tomorrow, on Christmas, that I wanted to take our relationship to the next level. I was nervous, but relieved as well. I hoped it would be a very merry Christmas.

  But first I needed to take the kitties to the animal hospital. I apologized to Whiskey and Soda as they meowed in their carriers.

  “I know this isn’t the nicest way for you to spend Christmas Eve.”

  “Don’t worry.” The veterinarian opened the door to the waiting room and beckoned me back. “It’ll only take a minute. We use a tiny needle to insert each chip, and that’s it.”

  He was as good as his word. The kitties sent me mutinous glares as their chips were slipped into their ears subcutaneously, but within minutes they were no worse for wear. They spent a few happy minutes sniffing all of the surfaces in the room, no doubt catching whiffs of other kitties and doggies.

  “You’re the second customer of the day, actually.” The veterinarian smiled. “Judge Frank brought in Hemingway to get him re-microchipped. She gushed about how you found him.”

  I smiled in response. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “It’s funny, he really could be a Hemingway cat.” The vet gave a chuckle.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I pulled his original microchip records before placing the new one. You can still access the information in the database, even when the chip itself is missing. Anyway, that kitty originally came from a shelter in Key West.”

  I blinked my confusion. The vet must have noticed.

  “I asked the judge if she’d lived in Florida. She said the cat had been a gift from some dear friends, ten years ago this Christmas.”

  I only knew of one couple who vacationed regularly in Key West. My mind cycled back to my mother’s initial conversation with Clementine when the spirited yoga instructor had regaled her with tales of the Florida community.

  “Thank you so much for helping me take care of these two.” I loaded my curious cats into their carriers and wished the vet a merry Christmas. Then I hightailed it ou
t of there, itching to investigate.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I settled my cats in with treats and conciliatory catnip. Mom, Rachel, and Doug were chatting in front of the fire in the parlor.

  “Come join us, sweetie.” My mom held her mug of eggnog aloft.

  “I will in a bit. I just need to check on something.”

  I closed the door to my shared office and flipped my laptop open.

  “Okay, what are you sleuthing now?” Rachel appeared in the doorway. She carried two glass mugs of eggnog and pressed one into my hands. “You need to put that thing away, cuddle our cats, and join us.”

  “I think Goldie March bought a black-market kidney, and somehow Judge Frank is involved.”

  Now I’ve got her attention.

  “Okay, spill it.” Rachel sat down for the juicy details.

  “I heard last night from the organ donation facilitator at the hospital where Andrea Adams was typed to give her cousin her kidney. But she wasn’t a match. She disappeared a few days before Christmas. Then bam, a kidney showed up for Goldie. One without a provenance. Goldie lived, Andrea never came home. It fits.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rachel held up her hand. “It does fit, but it doesn’t have to. It could all just be a coincidence.”

  “True.” I chewed my lower lip. “But I just found out that Judge Frank was gifted Hemingway on Christmas ten years ago. This would have been when Goldie had her transplant. Hemingway came from a shelter in Key West, where Clementine and Rudy vacation.”

  “This is getting murky.” Rachel took a swig of eggnog and sat down in front of my desk.

  “I just want to see if there are any connections before I bring this all to Truman. And—” I held up my hand before my sister could protest, “I definitely won’t bother him with this now. Not even tomorrow when the Davieses come over after Christmas dinner.”

  My sister was pacified. My fingers flew over the keyboard. I called up the tabs I’d closed the other day and brought out a yellow legal pad to mark my notes.

  “Fact. Ursula Frank’s husband was a surgeon. He passed away eight years ago. So he was still around when Goldie had her transplant.” I reran the search for the judge. An article on the third page, a link to an archived newspaper story, caught my eye.