A Christmas to Dismember

by Addison Moore

  Mom gives a long blink. “Not if you’re living in another solar system. I doubt a man like that exists in ours, let alone three of them.”

  A man wearing a dark navy suit with a magenta colored tie catches my eyes from across the crowded foyer.

  It’s him! Arthur Silver.

  I recognize that odd hairstyle of his with the shorn look in the back and the moppet up front. He’s handsome enough as he laughs while carrying on a conversation with a man who looks suspiciously just like him. Same hair, similar features. The man he’s with is currently waving a line of girls in white robes through a door. And each of those women has her hair pulled back into a low bun, copious amounts of makeup on, and I’m pretty sure they’re our entertainment for the evening.

  “Save a seat for me,” I say to my mother before threading my way through the crowd before I lose him.

  But I don’t lose him. Thankfully, the two men are still locked in an active conversation by the time I arrive and I end up milling around next to them awkwardly. The last of the robed girls dashes through the door, and I step in her place just as the man Arthur is speaking to waves me in close.

  His eyes ride up and down my body and he frowns as he glances at my clothes. “Honey, you’re late.”

  My mouth opens as I look to Arthur. “Actually, can I speak with you for a moment?” Arthur has a warmth about him, despite his cheesy smile and that lusty look on his face. His cheeks are covered with dark stubble, and it gives him a bit of a bad boy appeal.

  “Not now,” the man snips as he ushers me into the room right along with them. “You can talk to my brother after the show. Get to hair and makeup and make it snappy.”

  “Oh, actually—” I hold up a finger just as a woman dressed in a red T-shirt and green velvet pants yanks me over and gives me a small bag before instructing me to change. I give a quick glance around the well-lit room littered with white robes lying in puddles. Up front there are rows of mirrors lined with clear bright bulbs and seats centered in front of each and every one. Dozens of women are standing around, and each one of them is wearing the same red skimpy dress piped with white feathers—a naughty rendition of a Mrs. Claus costume, I’m guessing.

  “Where exactly would I be changing?”

  “Right here.” The woman in the velvet pants points to the floor, and I give another quick glance around the vicinity.

  Arthur and his brother are off to the side, while another girl rushes in and gets dressed right beside me. So I do the only thing I can. I drop trou and do the world’s fastest quick change into a red skimpy Mrs. Claus outfit of my own.

  An army of women in red and green attack me at once, pulling my hair back, painting my lips. One of them even adheres a Santa hat with a bell to my scalp. And judging by the way she dug those hairpins in, there’s no hope of this bad boy ever coming off. I hope Jasper likes the color red because things are going to be festive for quite some time.

  A whistle blows, and the girls all fall into single file before trotting out onto stage.

  Arthur’s brother claps his hands as he does his best to herd the stray girls around the four corners of the room.

  “Let’s go. Let’s go!” he shouts. “Break a leg! All of you.”

  I cringe just hearing him say it, and watch as he heads off to the side of the stage with them.

  A raucous applause breaks out in the distance, and I’m guessing it’s showtime.

  A woman in red and green comes up clapping my way.

  “Get, get,” she shouts while pointing to the stage.

  “I can’t go out there.” Think—quick! “I don’t have shoes.”

  “Good grief.” The stalky brunette looks genuinely panicked. “What size?”

  “Seven and a half,” I say as she zips off, and I do the same. Only I’m not headed for the stage. I’m headed straight for my number one suspect. The exact man who was missing right after the murder. And I’m going to find out exactly where he went and why. But I think I already know the answer to both of those questions.

  I glance down at his hands and huff at the sight of them. I’m betting an axe would fit in them nicely. And speaking of fit, he looks as if he can bench-press both Quinn Bennet and me. I say he’s plenty strong enough to have wielded those fatal blows.

  He glances up from his phone and does a double take my way.

  “Can I help you?’ He offers an affable smile, and a part of me can’t help but like him.

  Figures. He’s one of those charming killers, the kind that’s extra nice to you just before he brings down the fatal blow.

  “I’m just waiting for my shoes,” I say as I inch my way toward him. “Hey, don’t I know you?” Asking that question has landed me some of the most noteworthy of suspects in my sleuthing career.

  His brows hike a notch. “I’m not sure. But you’ve probably seen me around. I don’t know how many of these shows I’ve been to, I’ve lost count. My brother and I are pretty close. I like to support him in all of his endeavors.” Especially the ones that involve almost nude beautiful women.

  I make a face at him. “That’s awfully nice.” Somewhat. I couldn’t get my sister to come along to see the show, let alone hang out backstage for two hours bored out of her mind while she waited for it to end. Score one for Arthur in the supportive sibling department. “But I think I do recognize you. Weren’t you at the Country Cottage Inn the other night? At the Christmas showcase thrown by Quinn Bennet?”

  His eyes enlarge for a moment when I say Quinn’s name. It was a visceral reaction, that’s for sure, but then I supposed just about anyone could have had it.

  “Arthur Silver.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it.

  “Bizzy Baker.” I decide to omit my brand new last name in the event it sparks to mind the lead detective that’s after him. “I run the inn.”

  “Ah.” His brows hike with amusement. “So you’re the manager there. I’m Quinn’s accountant. Or I suppose I should say, I was his accountant.” He winces. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that. It’s as if it isn’t real. Quinn spent most of his time in England, and to be honest, I’m used to not having him around.”

  A sigh expels from me. “Same here. I feel as if I didn’t even get a moment with him that night. Before I knew it, he was gone.”

  “It’s terrible. What a horrific way to go. I hope they catch the beast who did this to him.”

  “Oh, they will.” I lean my ear his way in hopes to pick up on some errant thought floating through his mind, but so far there’s zippo. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a part of the Silver Collective where I send all of my monthly expenses and invoices, would you?”

  He belts out a warm laugh. “And don’t forget your payroll, too.”

  “Oh wow”—a genuine smile comes to my face—“and here I thought you were a bunch of robots over there. That’s amazing. What a small world. So did you take care of all of Quinn’s holdings?”

  “Not all. Just the inn and a few smaller properties he needed managed. That’s the nice thing about the inn. You were there to manage it for me. Quinn asked me to do it initially, and I did for about three months before I cried uncle. It looks easy enough, but once you get into the day-to-day drudgery, we’re talking hard labor. So I gave him the heads-up and he hired someone right out the gate—eye candy he called her. He said she’d be good to drive in traffic with the twenty to sixty age demographic.”

  “That’s quite a spread,” I say, completely unamused.

  He waves it off. “That was about six years ago. When did you start up there?”

  “About six years ago.”

  We share another warm laugh, and I’m actually enjoying being in his company. If he asked me to hand him a nearby axe, I’d probably do it.

  I lean in a notch. “So did you get a chance to speak with him that night?” I’ll admit, it feels as if Arthur has suddenly morphed into an old friend. In a way he’s more than an acquaintance—we shared the same boss.

  Arthur closes h
is eyes a moment too long. “I sure did speak with him that night.” And I let him have it, too. I shouldn’t have gone. I certainly shouldn’t have gotten so worked up over petty grievances. Not that withholding cash from me was petty. How did the guy expect me to live?

  That sounds in line with what Eve was telling me.

  “So was Quinn one of your largest clients at the Silver Collective?”

  His expression sobers up and his chest thumps with a silent laugh.

  “He was my partner in the management company. Let’s just say he was the silent partner.” Who collected all the coins I managed to scrape up, while I was left with goose egg.

  “So how does that work? Quinn didn’t have a say in any of the business dealings?”

  A laugh cracks from him. “No, that wouldn’t have been Quinn if he did. He put up the capital to get the company going. I came in as a squirrely kid. I met Quinn when he was making the casinos rich back in the day. I worked the blackjack table and we grew to be friends.” Or so I thought. “I always wondered what he saw in me to trust me enough to be the accountant with his personal and business finances.” And now I know it was my naïveté he was looking for. “I was fresh out of college with a dual degree in business and accounting. Anyway, here I am.”

  “So what happens now? I mean, I guess you get the whole company, right?”

  He tips his head to the side. “I don’t know. But I’m not counting my chickens before they’re hatched. Quinn always had an ace up his sleeve.” And it always worked as a loss for me. I can’t believe I went years living off skimpy bonuses. Here I am an accountant without a steady income of my own, still living in my brother’s basement.

  I take a quick breath, sorry for the poor guy.

  “The reading of the will is coming up this Monday at two. It’ll be at the inn.”

  “I’ve been invited by his attorney. I guess I’ll find out all the grisly details that day with everyone else. I suppose you’ll be there, too.”

  “Oh, I will. In fact, I’ll have refreshments on hand.” I press my lips tightly a moment. “Arthur, did you happen to see Quinn, you know when he was—”

  I let my words hang in the air and he shakes his head.

  “No, thank God. After the show wrapped up, I had a few words with him.” Same irate words I had with him before the show. His mind goes gray, and I inch back because I’ve never experienced that before. “Let’s just say things weren’t friendly between Quinn and me that night. I guess I should say I’d take it all back, but that conversation was long overdue.” Thank God for the hot blonde who caught me on the way out and told me she could make all of my troubles disappear—did she ever. Lucky for me, she said she worked there and happened to have the key to an empty room, and boy, did we ever take advantage of it.

  My mouth falls open. How in the heck did this woman get a key? I’m going to have to fire Grady, Nessa, and myself for ineptness. I don’t care if a murder did take place at the inn. That’s no excuse for someone having access to the holy grail.

  Wait a minute…

  I clear my throat. “Well, too bad we didn’t meet that night. My sister works the inn sometimes.” Or at least she pretends to. “Her name is Macy? A touch taller than me, short blonde hair, ice blue eyes, very sassy.”

  He cocks his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” But sounds just like the woman I was with, Tracy, to a T.”

  I make a face just as the woman dressed in red and green comes at me with a pair of size seven and a half tap shoes with heels.

  “Get these on and get out there, stat! It’s almost time for your big moment. You’ve got the hat with the bell that means you’re the pinwheel, remember?” She drops to her knees and helps latch my feet into the shoes.

  “Arthur”—I pant as my body is jostled—“who do you think could have done this to Quinn?”

  He ticks his head back a notch as he scans the ceiling.

  “You know, no one was closer to him than Warwick. Quinn trusted that man like a brother.”

  “I think he trusted you like a brother, too. You were in charge of all the finances.”

  Arthur chuckles at the thought. “Not quite. He had more checks and balances in our company, you’d think he had hired a den of thieves to run it.” And I would have been one if I thought I could have gotten away with it. His expression sours. After that last stunt he pulled, I should have swiped the money anyway. He’s dead now. That’s all that matters. The man can’t torment me a day longer. And I’ve never breathed easier.

  “So Warwick was his trusted friend?” I bet Warwick will know exactly what was truly going on between Quinn and Arthur.

  “Yup. Warwick and Quinn had some business dealings, too, but that’s all kept separate from the Collective, so I don’t know too much about it. Telecommunications stuff. That’s where Quinn’s real payday was coming from. No offense, but that little inn wasn’t keeping him in his jet setting lifestyle.”

  “No offense taken.”

  The girl working on my shoes slaps me on the thigh.

  “Now get! Get!”

  Arthur laughs. “I’ll see you at the reading of the will, Bizzy. Nice meeting you!”

  I’m quickly shuffled onto stage and overcome with a flash of white-hot lights pouring down over me while “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” blares throughout the cavernous room.

  A girl with a white version of the accouterment the rest of us have on links arms with mine and quickly lands me in the middle of the melee as the girls line up to my right and left, with one row facing one way and the other facing in the opposite direction.

  The girls to the right and left of me link arms with mine, and soon we’re moving in a slow and steady circle to the delight of the crowd.

  The crowd! Oh my word. Is it awful to hope that Jasper got a flat on the way? Perhaps a small fender bender that requires an auto shop?

  A couple of girls scoop me up from behind, and before I know it, I’m in the air, moving toward the front of the stage, ten feet off the ground at least.

  “Hands up!” the girl to my left shouts, and instinctively I raise my arms into the sky. And just as the song comes to a close, an explosion of red and green pyrotechnics explodes from either side of the stage.

  The audience is on their feet, and I hear Georgie and Juni screaming my name with glee.

  The song ends, the women remove their arms, and I fall softly into another set of Mistletoettes’ arms.

  We walk off stage in single file, and I jump back into my clothes, much to the screaming chagrin of the red and green brigade.

  “Keep the shoes,” I shout as I kick them off and land in the flats I came in. I rush right out of the side door, only to find throngs of humanity pouring into the foyer as the intermission begins.

  I spot my mother, Georgie, and Juni at the front of the concession stand clamoring for popcorn and T-shirts. Here’s hoping they get me an extra-large in both the popcorn and the T-shirt. Souvenir shirts from the theater are my favorite to sleep in.

  “Excuse me, miss?” an all too familiar voice strums from behind, and I freeze solid before spinning on my heels to see the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life holding out a red bouquet of roses. Jasper dips his chin as he shoots me a look. “Can I have your autograph?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I only give them out naked and in bed. But I’m pretty sure I have a vacancy for the evening. My husband has had it with me.” I bite down over a smile as he hands me the flowers and I bury my face in them.

  His chest rumbles with a dark laugh as he pulls me in. “I’ll take that spot. Your husband sounds like a donkey.” He winces. “Bizzy, you scared me to death. I almost rushed to the stage to catch you. You could have broken a leg.”

  “That sounds like something my husband would say.” I pull him in close by the tie. “Because he loves me. How about we stock up on nachos and M&M’s before the lights flicker?”

  “All right, but I’m taking you to dinner afterwards. It’s the least I can do bef
ore I get that autograph.”

  “Sounds like a delicious plan.”

  “That and I think we’re going to need to fuel up for the big endeavor.”

  We meet up with my mother, Georgie, and Juni who come bearing T-shirts and popcorn for me included. We sit and enjoy the rest of the Mistletoettes pre-performance, and when the show is over, Jasper and I pick up some takeout and make a beeline for the cottage. I tell Jasper everything I gleaned from Arthur Silver, and when I’m done, we make a pact not to speak of the case for the rest of the night. We have far more interesting topics to explore.

  And when all is said and done, I put on a whole other performance, a private show just for Jasper.

  Arthur Silver is still on the suspect list. He has a motive. He said himself that he spoke to Quinn after the show, which could put him right at ground zero when that axe went swinging. Now to corroborate his story about a certain blonde named Tracy.

  Who knows? She might just hold the missing link to this entire case.

  Macy Baker, hold onto your sassy skirt because I’m coming for you next.

  Chapter 10

  Main Street in December in and of itself is magical, but add snow to the equation and it’s as if we’ve left reality and landed in a fairytale.

  It’s almost one in the afternoon and things have fallen just a touch behind for the official grand opening of my mother and Georgie’s new shop. There were delivery issues, shelves that kept falling apart, and the last-minute software glitch on the ultra-modern register system. But it seems as if it’s finally all systems go as an entire mob has gathered outside to help usher in this victorious moment.

  The crowd is thick with mostly women, and mostly women of a certain age, each one rubbing their proverbial hands together looking as if they can’t wait to rush inside and part with their money. Honestly, they’re most likely rubbing their hands together so they won’t fall off. And I’m guessing the reason they want to rush inside has to do with getting out of the elements. But still, the sentiment is nice.

  A refreshment table has been set out front with coffee, hot cocoa, cider, donuts, and mounds of peppermint bark—all provided by the Country Cottage Café, of course. The doors to the establishment have been painted bright red, and there are curtains hung over the windows in an effort to build the suspense of what these shiny new patrons might find inside.