A Christmas to Dismember

by Addison Moore

  “Here’s my baby.” She gives him an enthused snuggle before she looks my way. “You do realize that I plan on kidnapping him one day soon, right?”

  Fish mewls sharply at her, Nobody touches my rambunctious little runt.

  Eve shakes her head. “Excuse her, Bizzy. I promise you, I didn’t raise a dognapper.”

  “Not to worry.” I drop a kiss to Fish’s ear because I meant it just as much for her. “How are you doing? Has it sunk in yet that Quinn gave you so much? And those kind words. Clearly he loved you.”

  Tears come to her eyes instantly. “I don’t think it will ever sink in. But we’re excited.”

  “Especially about the beach house,” Elsie adds. “And about dinner tomorrow night at the inn.”

  “Oh”—Eve holds out a hand—“I hope you don’t mind. Macy just extended the invite.”

  I spot Arthur across the street speaking to Macy right this very minute.

  “No, not at all,” I tell her. “In fact, I look forward to seeing you both there.”

  Elsie hands Rudolph to me. “I can’t wait. Just spending Christmas Eve with my sweet Ruddy will be a present in and of itself.” She shoots a glance to her mother. “But not the only gift of the day.”

  I give a little laugh. “Enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  A crowd bustles past me, and by the time I thread my way through it, Macy is back in her shop and Arthur is walking up the street.

  “Arthur,” I call after him, and he turns my way.

  “Hey, Bizzy.” He gives a wistful tick of the head as he quickly gives both Rudolph and Sherlock a scratch behind the ears. He’s wrapped in a plaid jacket and has a thick green scarf bundled around his neck, making him look perfectly cozy for the frosty weather. “Congratulations on getting the inn. You must be thrilled. I’ll keep the account with my company going for as long as you like. And if you have any questions, feel free to contact me. I’m pulling for you.” He dots Fish’s nose with his finger.

  “Thank you, I really appreciate that. And I think I just saw you speaking to my sister.”

  “Tracy?”—he winces—“I mean Macy. I guess I misunderstood her the night we met.” Or she wanted to give me an alias, and I couldn’t blame her for that. “Anyway, I hope it’s all right, but Macy just invited me to the inn for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “It’s more than all right. Can I ask you a question about Quinn?”

  “Anything.”

  “That night he was killed, you were in the garden with him. Did you happen to mention that detail to the sheriff’s department?”

  He winces. “I think so? Honestly, I can’t remember anymore. I was in shock that night. Like I said before, at the start of the evening I was angry with Quinn. The guy was squeezing me financially, and I was at a breaking point. And then I happened to bump into someone I really liked. After I had a few words with Quinn, I bumped into her again.” He glances in the direction of Macy’s shop. “Let’s just say I thought the night was ending on a good note for me.” And personally, I’m glad I couldn’t recall it at the time. The last thing I need is to be pinned for another murder I didn’t commit. I hope whoever did this to him suffers just the way they made him suffer.

  I give a solemn nod.

  And just like that, Arthur Silver, my sister’s date for Christmas Eve dinner, is wiped off the suspect list. If he had said those words to me, I would have doubted him. But he said it with the utmost sincerity—to himself.

  My head juts forward. “Did Quinn ever mention Angelica?”

  He offers a vacant glance to the crowd. “He did. He said his job that night was to avoid her at every cost. She was costing him money. Quinn had a low tolerance for two things—breaking the law and money-sucking leeches. He strongly believed in people making their own way in this world and keeping it above board while doing so.”

  “He was a wise man. I wish I had saved some of the emails he sent me instead of deleting them. Looking back, they’d be invaluable to me now.”

  “I have full access to his email account. I have the login information if you want. He kept a log of his online access codes with me. Just let me know when and I’ll shoot it over to you.” His phone rings and he chuckles. “I’d better take this. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Will do.” I watch as he walks away and whispers my sister’s name into the phone.

  Figures. Macy is smitten and she can’t go two minutes without talking to the guy.

  I scan the crowd and see the very woman I was hoping to find standing near the refreshment tables just a few doors down and head on over.

  The blonde with the dark-framed glasses looks my way just as she snaps up a piece of peppermint bark.

  “It’s not the holidays until I’ve had my fill of candy parading around as a cookie.” She gives a jovial wink. “How are you doing, Bizzy? Excited about the inn?”

  “I’m thrilled,” I say as I examine Angelica Chatfield in this murderous new light. She’s wrapped in a cheery red wool coat with a red and white striped scarf and it looks like the perfect Christmas pairing. “The inn was a nice surprise. You didn’t seem too pleased with what he left you. I’m sorry about that.”

  She sighs as she blows a kiss to Fish.

  “You win some, you lose some. I guess Quinn didn’t owe me nothing.” He did, but saying it out loud makes me sound entitled. And so what if I do? Quinn was my best friend for a time. He knew I made bad choices with men, in business, and with my money. He had one job—to be there for me at every cost.

  Fish mewls her way, She’s the killer, isn’t she, Bizzy?

  Rudolph gives a sharp bark. It’s the woman from the garden.

  My blood runs cold as Sherlock whimpers.

  Where’s Jasper? Sherlock barks. We’ve gone down this road one too many times. I think we should call Jasper to the scene. All we’ve got to defend ourselves with is bacon.

  Fish yowls, Bizzy doesn’t have bacon. You’re thinking of Georgie. But there are cookies nearby.

  I want a cookie! Rudolph chirps.

  Angelica laughs. “My, you’ve got a rowdy bunch. Mind if I throw the dogs a chocolate chip cookie?”

  “No thanks. Chocolate can actually kill them.” Just like she killed Quinn. “Angelica, I know you were in the garden that night.”

  “No.” She shakes her head, her eyes wide with horror. “I wasn’t in the garden. I swear it.”

  “We have a witness. Warwick saw you there. You were arguing with Quinn. There was physical evidence you were at the scene. There was a red crystal in the garden that night—the sheriff’s department has it as evidence. It came off of your dress.”

  Her eyes close tightly and the peppermint bark snaps between her fingers.

  “Angelica, I know that you’ve hit hard times,” I say it softly. “That night you told me that it was exhausting to run in your socialite circles—and it’s because it’s taking all you’ve got to keep up appearances, isn’t it? You’ve mismanaged your money, and you were trying to shake Quinn down that night for cash, weren’t you?”

  A fire ignites in her eyes. “So what if I was? So what if I lied about being in the garden that night? When they asked, I had no idea what that area was called. It was an innocent misstep on my part at first, but by then I didn’t want to change my story. Who would? I’ve already got a major strike against me if anyone finds out I’m struggling—and they will. I don’t exactly hide my employment. A few very important people I know have come by the Davenport Steakhouse. Word is already getting out.” She glares at a horse-drawn sleigh as it zips on by, leaving the happy chime of bells in its wake. “Quinn knew if he left me any more money I would have squandered it.” Her shoulders sag. “He would have been right.”

  “But he did leave you something. Maybe this will force you to manage your money better. That’s not a bad thing. Quinn didn’t have to give you anything. And I’m betting that’s what he was telling you in the garden that night when you struck him.” />
  “Struck him?” She inches back.

  I nod. “That’s why you slipped some diazepam in his coffee earlier, isn’t it? You wanted to weaken him?”

  Both Rudolph and Sherlock growl in unison.

  “Weaken him?” Her eyes spring wide open. “Bizzy, Quinn forgot to bring his anxiety medication. He emailed me earlier that day and asked if I would bring my own.”

  “Then why did you slip it into his drink when he wasn’t looking?”

  “He wasn’t looking?” She looks almost as amused by my line of questioning as she does terrified. “Maybe he turned his head? Look, I’m not liking what you’re implying. If Quinn had a bead on him from my dress, it’s because he embraced me in the garden once we met up. And his anxiety is highly documented with his doctor, I’m sure—as is mine.” For heaven’s sake. And to think I came here to get my mind off of things. “I’m leaving now. Hopefully, the next time we meet, the killer will have been apprehended and you won’t be moved to entertain such lunacy.”

  “Wait!” I call out after her. “What about the white glove?”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing white on any part of my body after September,” she shouts back with a clear note of exasperation in her voice.

  Fish growls, How dare she yell at you. And she’s wearing a red and white scarf, isn’t she?

  “She is, but I’ll be the last person to point it out.”

  She stalks off just as the carolers stroll this way singing a cheerful rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and Rudolph jumps and dances once he hears his name.

  Fish lands her paw over my chest. What do you think, Bizzy? Is she innocent or guilty?

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But I think there’s a way to find out.”

  I text Arthur and ask if he can send me that access list to Quinn’s email, and in less than a few seconds I have it.

  My fingers work quickly as I pry into Quinn’s account. If I can’t read his mind, maybe I can read his emails. And sure enough, they populate my screen one by one. An exchange between Angelica and Quinn corroborates her claim. Quinn forgot his meds and wanted her to bring her own—stating he can’t swallow pills. He requested capsules.

  But I’m not deterred in the least about that, because it’s what I find in Quinn’s other email exchanges that sends a chill up my spine.

  I glance up at my mother’s shop across the way.

  I know who the killer is.

  Chapter 16

  Downtown Cider Cove has never felt so joyous, so merry and bright. It’s almost seven in the evening, the carolers are belting out their spirited Christmas tunes, and the sound of bells chiming liven up the atmosphere with just the right measure of holiday cheer as the crowd grows thicker by the moment.

  It takes a heroic effort to thread my way through the thicket of bodies as I head across the street to the shop where I last saw my one and only remaining suspect.

  I’m about to step back into Two Old Broads when out bursts a man clad in a black wool coat, and Fish gives a rather aggressive meow his way—Warwick Tully.

  “You play the saxophone,” I say, breathless, and he gives a curious tilt of the head.

  “Hey, Bizzy”—a small laugh bumps from him as we step off to the side to allow for the flow of shoppers elbowing their way into the shop—“that I do. Don’t tell me the high school band needs someone to pinch-hit for them.” He winces just as a sleigh full of screaming children flies by.

  “No, I just remembered something. That night at the bistro, you had mentioned it to Georgie.”

  “Ah yes. She had thought I played the tuba. Not my style. Soprano sax is where I can really lose myself.”

  “Were you going to play for the showcase the night that Quinn died?”

  “Actually, I was. One of the acts was running late, so Quinn had me bring my instrument. I’ve always got it with me in the trunk of the car regardless. You never know when the mood is going to strike.”

  Sherlock nudges my leg and gives a soft bark. Call Jasper, Bizzy. Don’t do this.

  Do what? Rudolph’s tail wags back and forth at supersonic speeds.

  Fish mewls, Oh, for Pete’s sake, Sherlock Bones, she’s fine. Would you look at all the people here? What could possibly go wrong?

  My sentiments exactly. Or at least I’m hoping nothing goes wrong. Besides, I texted Jasper as I crossed the street and told him I needed him asap in front of my mother’s shop. And lucky for me, that’s exactly where I’m planted.

  “No, the band is fine, I’m assuming.” I try to muster a laugh but can’t seem to initiate it. “I dated a guy once who played the sax. He really blew a gasket when I reached out to touch it one day.”

  “Oh, I get it. I never touch my girl with bare hands.” A cheesy gurgle expels from him. “The brass can muck up pretty easily, and they are a beast to clean.”

  I nod. “And that’s why he had a pair of thin white gloves in the case along with the instrument.”

  “A true musician after my own heart.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a thin white glove—identical to the one I saw at the scene of the crime.

  If the information I just gleaned from Quinn’s emails is true, then he had a solid motive to want Quinn Bennet dead.

  My breathing picks up as I examine the glowing glove.

  Don’t do it, Bizzy. Sherlock barks up at me.

  “You don’t have the other one, do you?” It comes out more of a fact than a question.

  Sherlock whimpers, And here we go.

  Warwick’s head hitches back a moment.

  He checks his pocket for a moment before ceasing all movement.

  Yes, the glove. He gives a long blink.

  “I’m sorry, Bizzy. I have an engagement I need to get to.” He tries to push past me, but I quickly hop in his path and both Sherlock and Rudolph growl and bark up at him.

  “What’s this?” A dull laugh pumps from him as he looks down at the two of them. “Easy, boys.” He flashes a tight smile my way. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was dinnertime.” And I’m on the menu. He squints over at me. It looks as if I’m on Bizzy’s menu as well—and she’s hungry with suspicion.

  And I have every reason to be.

  “Warwick, you were in the garden that night with Quinn. In fact, you were the last to see him.”

  His eyes harden over mine. She can’t prove it.

  I nod. “You were eating chocolate. The glove had both chocolate and Quinn’s blood on it.”

  He cocks his head playfully. “But did it have mine?”

  Fish yowls, He’s got quite an attitude for a killer, hasn’t he?

  I’d have to agree. But I have a feeling I know how to wipe that smug look off his face.

  “You know, Warwick, one of the first things I heard Quinn say to you that day was regarding Telenational. He asked if you had the latest Sky phone for him.” I nod.

  “And I did.” That came out of left field. “Sadly, I was unable to give it to him. Still have it, brand new in the box. Don’t tell Georgie, but I thought she might like to find it in her stocking. We’ve got a hot date later.” He gives a sly wink.

  Fish mewls, Over my dead body. My claws have been itching to pluck out an eyeball or two. There’s still time to get on Santa’s naughty list yet.

  “I heard a little bit more of the conversation that night,” I say as I harden my gaze over him.

  “You were eavesdropping?” His face smooths out with amusement. I’m not about to be bested by an innkeeper.

  “No, not eavesdropping. You were having the conversation right in front of me. And then Quinn asked if you heeded his words. He was giving you advice, I take it?”

  “When wasn’t Quinn giving anyone advice?” His eyes flit to the crowd, and I can feel him plotting his escape.

  “He was giving you advice on Telenational, wasn’t he?”

  “Telenational? Why yes. Were you looking for more business advice?” I can’t get a read on this girl. She�
��s all over the place. I never did understand women. I think it’s time to cut my losses in Cider Cove. That’s too bad. Georgie knew how to throw a hell of a party for two.

  “No.” My mind swims with thoughts. “That night of the Christmas showcase, Quinn thanked you in front of the crowd. He said you were the sharpest knife in just about any room. He warned the audience not to turn their back on you or you just might cut them with it. And now I wonder if he meant that literally or figuratively.” Obviously both.

  His eyes round out.

  “He was teasing, Bizzy. You can’t be serious. I would never hurt a friend.”

  “But you did. Quinn didn’t want you to taint Telenational's reputation any more than you did. He asked you to do the right thing. And you repaid him by going after him with an axe.”

  “Bizzy.” He staggers back a few steps, looking genuinely stunned. “You can’t prove it.” I have to get the hell out of here. His eyes flit to the street once again.

  “Yes, Warwick, I can. After you had the cookies that night, you went to get the axe, didn’t you?”

  “Bizzy, this is entirely out of your imagination.” He takes another full step back toward the street, and I follow along.

  “I should have known the day you came by to see the inn you weren’t there to pay respects to Quinn. You were sizing up the inn because you thought it would land in your lap just like Telenational did.”

  His expression sours. “Indeed. I’m still baffled why he’s given it to you. But I wish you and yours a merry Christmas.”

  He takes another step toward the street, and I throw myself in front of him once again.

  “Telenational was a fledgling company when you took it on,” I pant. “But you turned it around with misleading financial accounts. You exploited anyone and everyone who was willing to do business with you. There were so many schemes and scams you had running, I bet it took Quinn a while to catch on, but when he did, he was horrified. Quinn Bennet knew enough to stay above board when it came to business, and you were so far beneath it you might as well have been on the ocean floor. You established numerous limited liability special-purpose entities.”