Santa's Subpoena

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Florence stiffened and straightened her back.

  Bernie sighed and rubbed both gnarled hands up his face. “Sure.” He slumped in his chair, his white hair now standing on end. “We had a poker night, and we had too much to drink. I vaguely remember Sharon coming inside, and I think we even dealt her in?” His head bowed. “The next thing I remember was waking up at her place in her bed.”

  Florence pressed her lips so tightly together they turned white.

  I frowned. “Have you been able to recollect anything else since this has been on your mind so much? Do you remember having sex with her?”

  Bernie jolted. “Geez, Anna. Come on.”

  Florence slowly turned to face him. “Do you?”

  His chest concaved when he exhaled heavily. “No. But we were naked that morning, and she said we did, so I believed her. Plus, I had a raging headache, one of the worst I’ve ever had, and I needed to get out of there.” His voice lowered. “I needed to confess to you, and that was the only thing on my mind.”

  Florence’s gaze met mine. “You think?”

  I shrugged. “Totally possible.”

  Bernie looked from her to me. “What are you two talking about?”

  I tried to find the right words when I truly had no clue what had happened. “What if Lawrence set you up completely and not just by introducing you to Sharon? Do you have any idea how long he’d held a torch for Florence?”

  “No,” Bernie said, looking at Florence.

  She blushed prettily. “Truthfully, I played the field a bit before Bernie and I settled down, and I did go on a few dates with Lawrence. But no romantic sparks ignited until Bernie and I split and Lawrence was there for me. He was a shoulder to cry on that turned into more.”

  Hope and a flare of anger lit Bernie’s cloudy eyes. “You agree with me that I didn’t break my wedding vows and was set up?”

  “Maybe?” I said. “Have you ever gotten so drunk you lost time like that?”

  “No,” he burst out, an alarming red staining his wrinkled face. “Never. Sure, I get toasted sometimes, but I’ve never woken up not knowing how the heck I got there. Do you think I was drugged?” Without waiting for an answer, he slammed his hands on his thighs. “That bastard. I wish I could kill him—that he wasn’t already dead.”

  Well, crap. “That’s a heck of a motive to kill him,” I said quietly.

  “But I didn’t know,” Bernie protested. “I had no clue it was a setup or that I didn’t really have relations.”

  I reached for a legal pad. Would a jury believe that he hadn’t known? “Who was there playing poker that night?”

  “It was a big poker night—we hold it annually to benefit the CASA organization in town. There were several tables, and I could try to track down the guest list, but no guarantees.” Bernie leaned forward and tapped his finger on my desk. “I played at two different tables, and I mostly remember who played at those. It was me, Lawrence, his son Hoyt, Donald McLerrison, Earl Jacobson, Doc Springfield, Jocko Terezzi….” His voice trailed off. “That’s only seven. I need one more person—we played four at a table.”

  “What about Micky Sala?” Florence asked, tilting her head.

  Bernie’s eyes cleared. “That’s right. It was Micky.” His chin lowered. “Mick had prostate cancer and only lived a couple of months beyond that. He was a good Kringle. Yes, he was.”

  I examined the list. “I’ve met Hoyt, Earl, and the doctor.” Although I’d need to speak to them each about this. “But I haven’t met Jocko Terezzi. Who is he?”

  “He’s a good guy and a great Santa,” Bernie said, which seemed to be his barometer for judging most friends. “He owns the Irish gift store on the other side of Spokane. They have lots of china and jewelry, and he really does a good business during the holidays, which makes it even more impressive that he takes time to be an authentic Santa.” Bernie smiled, revealing smooth dentures. “He also gets the best whiskey from his ex-brother-in-law, but he doesn’t sell that.” Bernie added the last hastily.

  “He’s divorced?” I asked.

  “No,” Florence said. “He was married to a nice Irish gal for forty years. She died, what? Maybe two years ago? Time flies, doesn’t it? Saoirse had fast-acting Alzheimer’s, and she went quickly.” She blinked away a tear.

  Saoirse? Now that was an Irish name. “So they sold items from her homeland?” I asked.

  Florence nodded. “Yes. Jocko always said he took the girl out of Ireland but wanted to bring as much of it home to her as possible.” Her lips trembled. “She was a good friend. I miss her.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, knowing the words were inadequate but feeling for her. “Is there any chance any of these men know Sharon Smith?”

  Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know. That was the first time I’d ever seen her, and to be honest, I haven’t seen her since.” He shook his head. “I got out of that apartment as fast as I could, and then I went home, trying to figure out how to save my marriage.” His voice broke. “I failed.”

  “Oh, Bernie.” Florence reached out and patted his hand.

  “Where was the apartment?” I asked.

  Bernie squinted as if trying to remember. “It was one of those in the brick buildings on the Idaho-Washington border? It’s a pretty big complex.” He rattled off an address and apartment number.

  I knew the the place. Aiden had been undercover with a motorcycle club that had owned apartments closer to the freeway, down the same arterial road. “I’ll figure this out, Bernie.” My stomach still hurt. Right now, Bernie had a good motive since he was still in love with Florence. If I proved that he’d been set up and had his marriage destroyed by Lawrence, then he had a phenomenal motive. “If this was a set up, is there anybody else out there who wanted to hurt you? Anybody who wanted you divorced?”

  “Not that I can think of,” Bernie said. “I mean, Thelma has always thought I was cute, but she likes Florence a lot.”

  Florence turned quickly toward him. “Thelma thinks you’re cute?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Humph.” Florence reached for her purse. “To think I paid their retainer for this case.”

  Bernie smiled again, turning his hand over to hold hers. “Don’t be mad at her. She never made a move, and she won’t. Besides, I am cute.”

  Florence giggled. Actually giggled. “Well, I guess that’s true.” Then she lost the smile and focused on me. “You’re going to keep him out of jail, right?”

  I was going to do my best, but he wasn’t making it easy. “I’ll try. Are we still on for shopping today?” I needed Bernie to smooth the way with Jocko.

  “Sure. I’ll be back around two,” Bernie said. “What about you?”

  “Right now, I have to find Sharon Smith.” The only good news I had at the moment was that the woman’s name really was Sharon Smith, considering she’d been named in Lawrence’s Last Will and Testament. It was a start, anyway.

  I just had to find her before Thelma and Georgiana did.

  Chapter 22

  The box arrived just after Violet, Oliver, and I finished eating pizza in her temporary office. Clark was in court, and Pauley had gone to his class at the college, while Bowser had grudgingly eaten his dog food in his new plastic bowl decorated with doggie bones, looking imploringly toward the pizza on the desk after every few bites.

  I was cleaning up the mess when Oliver brought back a red foil-wrapped box decorated with a shiny silver ribbon that left sparkles in a trail all the way down the hallway.

  “Present for you,” he said, putting it on the desk.

  I finished shoving the pizza box into the garbage bag and straightened, looking at the box. “Who’s it from?”

  “Dunno,” Oliver said, scratching his head. “It was right outside the door. Must’ve been delivered while we were eating pizza.”

  I crept closer, leaning over to look at the ribbon. “There’s no card.”

  “It’s very pretty paper,” Violet said, her voice hushed. “Do
you have a secret admirer?” Her face grew animated, making her eyes nearly glow. “Or is this from Aiden? Does he give you surprises like this?”

  “No,” I said, frowning. “Aiden is more of an ‘I’ll grill you a steak’ kind of guy.” Although, I was dying to know what he’d already bought for Christmas. Knowing us, it was a new gun for me. Maybe one with a pink slide. I leaned in even closer, turning my head to listen.

  Oliver took three steps back, putting himself in the hall. “Is it ticking?”

  Violet gasped.

  I couldn’t hear ticking. “I don’t think so.” A shiny metal clip on the ribbon caught my eye, and I gingerly reached out to capture it. “Earl’s Jewelry?” Oh. “I know Earl.”

  Oliver didn’t move. “Well enough to have him sending you a big box?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  Oliver’s freckles stood out on his pale face. “That box is the right size for a head. Do you think it’s a head?”

  I looked sideways at him. “Nobody sent me a head.” Probably. So far, I’d only received red roses and a painted heart from my weird admirer. Even so, I reached for my cellphone on the desk, had Siri conduct a search, and made a call.

  “Earl’s Jewelry Store—Spokane’s longest standing store,” Earl answered almost instantly, sounding like he was stacking boxes at the same time.

  “Hi, Earl. It’s Anna Albertini.”

  “Oh, Anna. How nice to hear from you. Are you happy with the cross necklace?”

  I blinked. Oh yeah. “I am.” But Aiden had a cross already. Then I mulled over the pretties in his store. “You know what? I think I might want to buy one of those watches you showed to me.”

  Earl’s small gasp sounded delighted. “That’s excellent. Even if a man uses a day watch, every man requires one for special occasions. I have so many from which to choose.”

  I frowned. “Okay. I’ll take the silver and black one to the far left in that case you showed me.” I finally relaxed. That was a good present. “For now, did you send jewelry my direction?”

  Earl was quiet for a minute, no doubt ringing up sales in his head. “No. Why?”

  “Because I’m looking at a box that would fit a head. The wrapping paper is red with a really pretty and glittery silver ribbon with a metal plate having your store name.” I motioned for Violet to get out of the room. She grabbed her belongings and the dog’s collar, heading out to stand by Oliver.

  “Huh,” Earl said. “I’ve never had red paper—it’s only green for me. But I did have silver ribbons last year, and I had to get rid of most of them after customers complained that they left stripper-like glitter all over the place. Can you believe that? That someone would take pretty glitter and say it came from dancing boobs.”

  I edged away from the box until I stood in the doorway and took a quick glance down the hallway. Yep. Glitter had created quite the trail. “Okay. I’ll be in to pick up the watch tomorrow, and I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to chat about Bernie McLintock.”

  “Sure,” Earl said. “I’ll be here all day. Let me know if there’s a head in the box.” He ended the call.

  “There’s no head in that box,” I muttered, slipping the phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

  Oliver hovered behind me. “Should we call the police?”

  “Probably,” I agreed, moving for my office, grasping scissors, and heading back to the spare office. “But my new secret admirer has been careful, and I’m sure there won’t be prints on this thing. I don’t hear ticking, and nothing is leaking.” Even so, I edged them both out of the way. “How about you two wait outside of the building?”

  “Not a chance,” Oliver said, his wide-eyed gaze on the box.

  Violet slowly nodded, her focus completely on the present.

  This was getting out of hand. Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer to the red and silver package.

  The dog barked.

  Violet shrieked, Oliver yelped, and I jumped three feet. My heart pounding, I turned to see the dog flop flat, putting his nose on his paws, yawning.

  “Not cool,” I snapped.

  He yawned bigger.

  Violet giggled nervously.

  I gently snipped the ribbon, making sure not to disturb it too much. Then I sliced through the plain red paper to see a normal brown shipping box taped at the top. Holding my breath, I cut the tape away and gently lifted the flaps.

  “What is it?” Oliver whispered, pressing closer.

  I looked down. “Two wrapped presents.” They were both wrapped in silver paper, expertly ribboned with a narrow green and sparkly ribbon. I pulled them both out.

  Violet stepped inside. “Jewelry?”

  “Maybe?” I cut open the first wrapping paper to reveal a black felt jewelry box. The snap was easy to open, and I flipped it up, revealing a stunning gold and garnet bracelet.

  “Wow,” Violet breathed. “That’s beautiful.” She angled closer. “No card?”

  I doubled-checked the inside of the bigger box. “No. Nothing.”

  “Maybe the other box has matching earrings,” she said.

  “Maybe.” This was so weird. My admirer was spending some serious money on this campaign. Did Jareth Davey have money? Or was this somebody new and creepy? I wasn’t sure and I didn’t like it. With efficient movements and more confidence this time, I cut the other paper and pushed it off the box.

  It was another black felt box. Probably earrings or a necklace.

  I opened it to reveal a finger on cotton batting. A real, bloated, bloody finger.

  Violet shrieked. Oliver grabbed her arm and yanked her back and away from the packages.

  My stomach turned over, and I scrambled into the hallway with the kids, trying not to throw up.

  Oliver leaned against the far wall, gagging. “Well, at least it wasn’t a head.”

  Detective Pierce finished with his questions after the techs had bagged the evidence, smelling like lavender and looking as pissed off as usual. “Why the hell did you open that box?”

  “You’ve already asked me that three times,” I snapped back, not having a good answer. Except I’d wanted to know what was in it and was fairly certain it wasn’t a bomb. “Any clue whose finger that is?”

  “Nope. We don’t have any reports of a person losing a finger or of anybody missing a digit in the morgue.” He stood from my guest chair and loped toward the doorway, looking long and lean in jeans and button-down with green tie. No doubt he had a sports coat somewhere, but he’d been the first to arrive when I’d called, so he’d obviously been away from his office. “Any chance you want to take a vacation from this mess while I figure it out?”

  I sighed. “The mess would still be here when I got back.”

  He turned, his green eyes veiled. “That’s the truth. All right. I’ll send over a uniform to watch the office during the day, but I can’t get you any cover at night. The flu is going around, and we’re understaffed.”

  I had held it together as long as I could and needed him to leave. “I appreciate the uniform here at work.” It eased my mind since Clark, Oliver, and Pauley could be caught in the middle of whatever this was. “Any word on Jareth Davey?”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Pierce admitted. “We know he was here earlier in the summer, so I’m trying to track him from that point. Devlin has better resources and must be doing the same thing.” He put his notebook in his back pocket and looked down at the silver glitter on his shoes. “Have Devlin call me if he gets a hit. We should coordinate.” With that, Pierce turned and walked down the hallway, kicking up glitter as he went.

  My cell phone buzzed, and I paused before answering. Just in case. Then I glanced at the screen and scrambled. “Hi, Aunt Yara,” I said breathlessly.

  “Hi, sweetie. Sorry about the delay in getting back to you—business at the antique store has been crazy. The holiday rush is on,” my aunt said, Christmas music in the background. “What’s up?”

  Taking a deep breath, I told her all about Violet and
her situation. “I need her to find a safe place where she’ll stay, and since you used to foster kids, I thought of you. I know it’s a long shot, but…” I held my breath.

  Aunt Yara hummed quietly. “A sixteen-year-old girl? Well, that’d be interesting. If she needs a place to live, then she needs a place to live. I’m swamped tonight with special shopping hours. Why don’t you bring her over for dinner tomorrow night, and we can meet each other?” The music decreased in volume through the phone. “We might as well see if we’re compatible before calling in favors with the state, right?”

  Relief buzzed through me so quickly I sagged. “She has a dog.”

  “We have ten acres, so a dog is fine. But Anna, don’t get your hopes up because if Violet doesn’t want to be here, she won’t stay. I won’t force her. I learned that through the years.”

  “I understand,” I said. “We’ll see you for dinner.”

  “I’ll make my taco bar,” Yara said. “Be here by seven and bring dessert, would you? Oh. Gotta go. Bye.” She clicked off.

  I sat back and tried to calm myself. The image of that finger, a pinkie as it turned out, wouldn’t leave my mind.

  Violet appeared in the doorway. “Are you okay?”

  No. “Yeah, I’m fine. How about you?” I’d been trying to help her and now had probably just terrorized the girl.

  Her black hair bobbed around her shoulders as she walked inside and took one of the guest chairs. “I’ve never seen a cut off finger, but really, I’m fine. You’re amazing. I can’t believe how cool you were.”

  Cool? I’d nearly puked. Twice. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  She waved her hand. “Seriously. I’m fine.” Then she cleared her throat. “We haven’t had a chance to really talk, and I wanted to say thank you. For taking me and for breakfast today. That was fun. This morning with Aiden, I mean.” A light pink infused her cheeks.

  I grinned. “I know. He’s something else, right?”

  She nodded vigorously. “I, um, wanted to ask you. How do you get a guy like that?”