Bernie looked sideways at me.
I nodded. “We’re on the record as being here voluntarily, so just tell the detective what happened.”
Bernie scrubbed both gnarled hands down his face and shuddered, telling Pierce the same series of events that he’d told me.
Pierce watched him without expression, but his eyes held more than a hint of intimidation. “Why did you threaten to kill the deceased last week?”
Ah, crap. Pierce was already hot on Bernie’s case.
Bernie swallowed, his white beard moving against his collar. “It’s like this. There are only a few of us authentic Santas left who do this with purity, and Lawrence was one of those guys, as am I. I heard that he was going to be in that movie they’re filming in town, and he wasn’t going to charge anything. He just wanted the glory. That’s the opposite of what we do, man. The Kringle Club is better than that.”
Pierce lifted one dark blond eyebrow and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket. “The Kringle Club?”
“Yeah.” Bernie sighed. “We formed an LLC about twenty years ago, which made it so we didn’t need to compete for the good jobs around here, Silverville, and Spokane. The businesses contract with the LLC, and all money goes into the account. We work the same amount of hours, so it doesn’t matter where, and then we split the kitty at the end of the season.”
Why hadn’t Bernie told me that? I had to work on my questioning skills.
“Huh.” Pierce opened his notebook and a shiny silver pen rolled out. He caught it and tapped on the paper. “Give me the names for the members of the Kringle Club.”
Bernie scratched his jaw beneath the white beard. “We had ten of us when we first created the group, and now we’re down to five who have survived the last few years. Well, I guess four now.” His gaze turned far away for a moment. “Who knew that getting old would be the goal?” He named five men, including Lawrence. I recognized two of them; Donald McLerrison, who was a farmer outside of town, and Rodney Springfield, who was a doctor that had patched me up more than once. Springfield really did look like Santa. The final man, Jocko Terezzi, was new to me. I’d have to look him up.
“Do any of these men have a reason to kill Lawrence besides the fact that he was going to work for free and not make money for your group?” Pierce asked.
Bernie shook his head. “No.”
I sat back. “As a motive, that’s weak, Pierce. Come on.”
Pierce lifted his green gaze to me. “Agreed.” Then he focused back on Bernie. “How about we discuss the fact that Lawrence has been sleeping with your ex-wife and took his portion of this year’s kitty and bought her an engagement ring?”
A boulder dropped into my stomach, and I partially turned to look at Bernie, whose ears had started to turn red. I’d never understood why clients hid material facts from their own lawyers. He’d obviously wanted to keep that fact from Thelma and Georgiana, but I needed all of the facts to keep his butt out of jail. “Detective Pierce? I’d like a moment with my client.”
Pierce snorted. “Yeah. You take one. I have Florence, Bernie’s ex-wife and Lawrence’s current fiancée in the other room right now, and I have no doubt she’ll have plenty to say.” He snatched the phone and knife off the table and stood, heading for the door. “I’ll log this into evidence so we can get prints and DNA off it. Let’s hope we find more than your client’s on here or on the body.” He opened the door and slipped gracefully through.
Bernie turned toward me. “I guess I should’ve mentioned that, huh?”
I walked outside with Bernie, the snow falling gently down to add to the foot already accumulated on the flowers around the justice building. Flashbulbs instantly went off, blinding us.
“Did you kill Santa?” Jolene O’Sullivan asked, stepping closer to Bernie.
I shoved my body between the two of them as her photographer, a medium-sized guy with a goatee that belonged in the nineties, kept snapping pictures. “We have no comment right now.”
Jolene smiled her catlike grin. “Come on. Doesn’t Santa want to defend himself?”
Why was Bernie still in the darn Santa suit? I should’ve had him change into anything else before we walked outside, but I hadn’t thought the press would have the story so quickly. “Come on, Jolene,” I muttered, not wanting to deal with the Timber City Gazette yet. Well, ever.
She angled her blonde head around me. “Santa? You want to get the truth on the record, don’t you? What if all the kids think Santa is a murderer?”
Irritation prickled my Irish-Italian temper. Jolene had been a witch in high school who’d dated the guy I was currently dating, had slept with my sister’s date on prom night, and more recently had tried to make my life even more difficult than it already was—and it looked like she wasn’t stopping in her efforts now. “Like I said, no comment.”
I grasped Bernie’s arm and tugged him to Thelma’s older Buick, where the ladies were already waiting. “Go home and don’t talk to the press.” I opened the back door and all but shoved him in. Then I marched back to Jolene. “Watch yourself. Libel is a good area of practice these days.”
She smiled, her blue eyes glittering. “How’s Aiden? Does he miss me?”
I wasn’t sure how Aiden was doing right now, considering he was undercover somewhere outside of Idaho. “Nobody ever misses you,” I retorted.
She tucked her notebook in a black Coach bag. “Don’t tell me he’s already gotten bored with you? It was bound to happen. That’s not a man who’ll settle down. Ever.” She leaned in, the shade of her lipstick a little too red for her skin tone. “Have fun with him while you can, but when he’s out the door, don’t pine. It’s not a good look on you.”
I calculated the battery charge I’d get if I punched her in the nose and then decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. “Have fun chasing ambulances today, Jolene.” With that, I turned and walked toward the courthouse, not having time to return to my office before my morning hearings.
During the misdemeanor hearings, I managed to settle three cases and set five for trial, my mind on Jolene’s words the entire time. There might be some truth to the fact that Aiden wouldn’t settle down, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that, either.
It was difficult building a relationship when one party was out of town so much pretending to be somebody else.
I finished the hearings and walked out into a frigidly cold day, tucking my hands in my wool coat before reaching my car. The ride back to my office was quick, and my stomach was growling by the time I walked inside to see Oliver Duck behind the reception desk. Oliver was around eighteen with short reddish hair and a wide smile. He did a great job with the scheduling and filing, and I wasn’t sure what we’d do without him. He was also getting pretty good at tracking down information. “Howdy. Tell me that somebody ordered lunch.”
He rolled his eyes. “Pauley ordered lunch.”
I sighed and my chin dropped to my snowy coat collar. Pauley was my cousin, and I adored him, but he’d been on a kick lately to try different types of food. I should be ecstatic about this because Pauley was autistic and usually mired in routine, but lately, my stomach had been unhappy on more than one occasion. “What did he order?”
Oliver winced. “It looked green?”
Ugh. I took off my coat and gloves, wandering through the doorway to the hub of the office. Clark’s office was right in front of me, and I turned since mine was at the very back. On the way, I passed vacant offices and then the conference room, where Pauley had already set out lunch.
He looked up, his brown eyes focused, his hair perfectly in place. “I purchased lunch.” He rocked back and forth. “Not true. Not true. Not true.” His fingers tapped on the table in a familiar three, two, three rhythm. “You purchased lunch. I ordered lunch with the firm’s credit card. You bought lunch. Thank you.”
I looked at the offerings, forcing a smile into place as I sat. “What do we have here?” Did I still have antacids in my desk? If not, I’d need to replenish
my stock if this continued any longer.
He swept out his hand. “Salads with quinoa. It’s healthy for people under stress. You are under stress. Santa was murdered and you are representing another Santa. There are two Santas and one is dead. Quinoa is good.”
Well, it was healthy at least. I reached for a fork, wondering if Clark had any antacids. My stress level was rapidly rising, and it was just noon. I had several meetings later in the afternoon, not to mention a deposition right before suppertime. Hopefully this stuff wouldn’t make me all gassy because that’s all I needed. “Looks good, Pauley.”
I took a deep breath and dug in, my mind already on the dead Santa case. It should be hitting the online news right about now.
Chapter 3
My temples ached when I trudged from my garage to the front door of my cottage through a couple inches of snow. It had been a long day of not getting many answers about Bernie, although I did have interviews set up with the remaining Kringle Club members the next day. I looked at my too snowy porch, which had icicles hanging from the wood to the white blanketed brush. It was time to shovel, whether I liked it or not.
I didn’t.
But I did love my place. I rented the small cottage that was part of a much larger estate overlooking Tamarack Lake, which was smaller than Lilac Lake but still big enough to waterski, jet ski, and sail. The main house was far enough away through fir and spruce trees that I couldn’t even see it. The place was like my little slice of paradise, and with my Christmas lights twinkling merrily thanks to being set on a timer, it felt peaceful.
Although at the moment, it was too quiet.
I missed my boyfriend.
Not that the word fit Aiden Devlin, considering he was all man. But he was also an ATF agent with expertise in undercover work, and I hadn’t seen him since Halloween. We’d been dating since June, more seriously since August, and he’d really only been in town for two weeks in October before having to leave again.
He called when he could, but sometimes I didn’t hear from him for a couple of weeks. I had his Christmas present, a new wallet, in my purse. Was that a dumb gift? I’d bought it on impulse the other day and was now rethinking the purchase. Although, the leather was smooth and handcrafted.
I opened my door and dropped my bag inside, grasping the shovel and getting to work on the porch, walkway, and then the driveway. The manual labor perked up my heart rate and let my mind wander to my current cases.
The Santa murder was the most interesting, although I didn’t have a good feeling about poor Bernie. While I believed he didn’t kill Lawrence, the more I talked to him, the more the situation looked problematic.
Hopefully Detective Pierce would find the real killer fast. As an investigator, Pierce was one of the best, although he was grumpier than a raccoon shooed away from a nice can of garbage. He’d asked me out once, but work had interfered, and then Aiden had jumped right into my life, and that was that. Although I wouldn’t mind fixing Pierce up with somebody nice just to see the guy smile once in a while.
I finished and set the shovel against the side of the door when my phone buzzed from my pocket. “Albertini.”
“Hi, Aingeal,” Aiden said, his barely there Irish brogue sounding unusually thick. “You staying safe?”
Merely hearing his voice heated my abdomen and made me feel all fuzzy. I sank to the porch swing, letting the cold wood cool my butt and watching the reflection of the Christmas lights wander across the snow. It was a legitimate question, based on some of my earlier cases. “Yeah. Are you?” An even more legit question, considering he was undercover with yet another drug running club. I started to gently swing in the cold night.
“Yep.” Movement sounded behind him and then gunfire, which was close but not too close. It was sad I could gauge the distance of gunfire through the phone, but there you go. “I’m fine and trying to close this situation fast so we can spend the holidays together.”
There’s nothing I’d like better.
“It’s our first Christmas. Any idea what you’d like?” His voice deepened.
I liked that the word ‘first’ promised more to come—if neither of us got shot and killed. “Just you home safely,” I said honestly. The man hadn’t even had enough time to move into the cabin he’d bought around the lake, and while I said I’d take care of it for him, he wanted to be there. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d decorate the place with antique dolls and pink curtains.
Well, probably.
Okay. He had a point.
I cleared my throat. “Um, do you have a wallet?”
“Yep. I have my grandpa’s and I love it. Why?”
“No reason.” Shoot. Well, maybe I could give the wallet to Oliver Duck at our office. Yeah. Good plan.
Headlights shone down my driveway, and I watched a battered SUV approach—one I didn’t recognize.
“Anything interesting happening there?” Aiden asked, sounding like he’d settled back and relaxed. Was he in bed? I didn’t know where he was, but it was possible he was on the East Coast, which would put him three hours ahead of me in Idaho.
“Just the usual,” I said, not mentioning Santa. Not yet.
The SUV stopped, and a twenty-something man with long blond hair jumped out, grabbing a vase of roses. He hustled toward me along the freshly shoveled walk and up the steps, handing them over. Light snow had already dropped on them, making them look magical. “Tip’s already covered.” He winked and jogged back to his car.
I put my phone on speaker and set it on the arm of the porch swing, holding the heavy vase and tingling throughout my body. The roses were beautiful. “You shouldn’t have,” I murmured. It was just like Aiden to arrange for a delivery when he knew we could be on the phone. My silly heart went all pitter-patter.
“Shouldn’t have what?” he asked, sounding sleepy and relaxed.
“Sent me roses. They’re beautiful.” I blew snow off the top of one.
Quiet came across the line for a minute. “You like tulips—not roses. I didn’t send them.” He didn’t sound as relaxed all of a sudden.
I stiffened. He was right—roses weren’t my thing, but these were beautiful. “You didn’t?”
“No.”
Oh. Well, this was awkward. I pushed the flowers around, looking for a card, but there wasn’t one. I bit my lip. “No card.”
He sighed, and the sound held an edge. “You received roses without a card?”
“Yeah.” I looked around the darkened property at the snow-covered trees. Snow fell lightly, adding to the heavy accumulation on their branches, but the wind was calm and the night felt peaceful. Even so, I shivered. So I stood and moved inside the cottage, kicking my boots off on a thick rug before securely locking the door. My tree glittered with colorful lights from the corner of the room, failing for once to provide a sense of peace.
“Who delivered them?” Aiden asked, his tone alert.
I should’ve paid better attention to the blond guy. “Don’t know,” I admitted. “The guy came in a plain SUV with no logo. I’ll call the local florists tomorrow and see what I can find out. For now, I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Liar,” Aiden said gently. “The card was probably dropped by the delivery guy. This isn’t Jareth Davey. It’s not his MO.”
I sat the flowers on my table near the kitchen. Jareth Davey had briefly kidnapped me as a child, gotten off on a technicality, and then sent me two cards a year: one on the anniversary of the June day he’d kidnapped me and one right around Christmas, which was coming up way too fast. “I’m fine, Aiden.”
The gunfire sounded closer over the phone line.
He groaned. “I’ve gotta go. Call me if you have a nightmare, and I’ll answer if I can.”
“’Night,” I said, hanging up and staring at the innocuous flowers. “I’m not going to have a nightmare tonight.”
The flowers didn’t answer.
The nightmare hit after several hours of peaceful sleep, and somehow, I wasn’t ready f
or it. I was ten years old again, skipping rocks at the river when a man grabbed me from behind. I—
The ringing of the phone jerked me wide awake, and I sat up, gasping for breath. Hoping I wasn’t having a heart attack, I fumbled for the phone on my bedside table and yanked it to my ear. “Hello,” I ground out, reaching over and flipping on the antique milk glass lamp next to me.
“Hi,” Aiden said, sounding exhausted. “You okay?”
How did he know? I tried to calm my racing heart rate. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” Covers rustled as it sounded like he slipped into a bed. “It’s about nightmare time, so I thought I’d call. I’m sorry if I woke you out of a good sleep.”
I settled back down, looking at the picture of the two of us next to the lamp. It was taken around Halloween, outside of my cottage, with the nearest trees full of red and gold leaves and the ones behind them thick with pinecones. My sister had caught us holding hands, and the scene was natural and right. Aiden looked tall and broad next to me, his unreal blue eyes piercing through the day. I loved that picture. “The nightmare had just started.”
“Did it start in the cabin or at the river this time?” he asked, prodding me to talk about it like he always did when I got scared. It did help.
“I was at the river skipping rocks with Lacey, and Jareth grabbed me,” I said. Lacey was both my cousin and my best friend, and right now, she was a cop in a big city. After Jareth had picked me up, he tossed me into a four-wheeler and drove up the mountain to a cabin, stating we were now married. Before he could hurt me, a sixteen-year-old Aiden had plowed into the building, beat the crap out of Jareth, and saved me.
He’d been my hero ever since, even though we’d lost touch for about twelve years.
Now he was home. Well, usually. When he wasn’t gone pretending to be somebody else. “I’m okay now,” I said, partially meaning it. “I’ll figure out who sent the flowers and we’ll go from there.” Chills still swept my body, so I snuggled down in the covers, leaving the soft light on to illuminate my feminine bedroom.
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