Dying in a Winter Wonderland

by Vicki Delany

  Nancy Manovich. The name, like the face, meant absolutely nothing to me.

  I looked toward where I’d last seen Chris and Luanne.

  They were gone.

  Chapter 18

  I fought my way through the press of people, searching for Chris. A few people tried to stop me and chat, but I mumbled, “Sorry, gotta run,” and carried on. I checked around corners and in the smaller room, but my brother seemed to have disappeared. Luanne wasn’t to be found, either. I hesitated. Did he need me to save him from her?

  On the other hand, were they having a serious talk and would not welcome my interruption?

  Too bad. Time to do the big-sister gig.

  They might have gone out for some air. It was awfully hot in here. The bar was likely far over legal capacity. Worrying about that, like checking ID carefully, was another thing McGinley’s Irish Pub wasn’t known for.

  Outside, a group of smokers had gathered under the bright light above the entrance. They gave me polite nods and went back to puffing away and discussing the Stanley Cup prospects of the New York Islanders.

  A light snow was falling—fat, gentle flakes, swirling in the harsh white glow thrown by the tall lights illuminating the parking lot. Thick clouds had moved in overhead, and outside the circle of light, the dark woods loomed. A car pulled into the lot, and another drove by on the highway, going too fast. Still searching for my brother, I walked around the side of the building. A row of garbage bins threw long shadows in the light cast by the single lamp above the kitchen door.

  A lone figure stood at the edge of the light, watching the dark forest.

  “Chris?” I said.

  He didn’t turn but lifted one hand, palm toward me, telling me to be quiet.

  I stopped walking and listened. A small animal rustled the undergrowth. A branch cracked. Noise leaked from inside the bar.

  I stepped up to my brother and laid my hand on his arm. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s out there.” He spoke in a low voice.

  “People are everywhere tonight.”

  “No. I mean someone’s watching me. You stay here.”

  “Chris, I—”

  My brother stepped out of the circle of light. All I could see was his dark shape in his dark jacket. He crossed the gravel lane lightly and quickly, scarcely making a sound. I hesitated. And then I followed, trying to also not make a sound.

  In the woods snow crunched. A squirrel scrambled up a tree and leapt from branch to branch, setting off a flurry of snow.

  I reached out and took Chris’s hand. He squeezed mine in return.

  We hesitated at the edge of the woods. Wind rustled the branches, snow continued to fall.

  A branch snapped.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “Shush,” Chris said.

  All fell quiet. I was dimly aware of the sound of laughter drifting from the pub and a few cars coming or going. The air smelled of rotting leaves, fresh snow, and traces of frying burgers coming from the kitchen.

  I held my breath. Chris’s hand was warm and strong in mine.

  “I thought I heard something,” he said at last.

  “What sort of something?”

  “I don’t know. Someone . . . watching me.” He pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight app. White light washed the rough bark of the closest trees and reflected off falling snowflakes. He took a step forward.

  “Leave it,” I said. “It was nothing but a squirrel.”

  “Not a squirrel. Too big to be a squirrel. And there aren’t any bears in these parts at this time of year.” He shone the light on the forest floor, and I could see where the fresh snow was churned up.

  A car engine headed toward us and bright lights washed the back of McGinley’s Irish Pub. Chris and I dropped our clasped hands and turned. My eyes stung under the sudden harsh light and I lifted my hand to cover them.

  A car door opened. Then another.

  “Cut the lights,” Diane Simmonds said. Blessed relief and I could see again.

  “Everything okay here?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “Merry and I are getting some air. It’s crowded in there.”

  “So I see,” she said. “Judging by the number of cars, I’m sure there’s some capacity violations going on, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  Chris shifted his weight, planting his legs apart, straightening his shoulders, lifting his head. He’d put himself into the classic fight-or-flight stance. Neither of which would do him any good tonight.

  I found my brother’s hand once again and gave it what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I went around to your parents’ house to talk to Chris,” Simmonds said. “Noel told me where to find you. Some sort of high school reunion, he said.”

  “Some sort,” I said.

  “Seems a strange place to have a reunion.”

  “It was organized at the last minute to take advantage of people home for the holidays. Some of the kids from Rudolph High School used to hang out here, so the place has memories for them.”

  “Still do,” Officer Reynolds grunted. “Kids, I mean.”

  Simmonds stepped into the light from the back of the bar. Snowflakes fell on her red curls. She wore a long winter coat, leather gloves, and heavy boots. “I came to tell you, Chris, that you can go home anytime, if you want.”

  He let out a long breath and I felt his entire body relax. “That’s great. Thanks. Have you arrested someone?”

  “No. The state police are taking command of the file, with my assistance.”

  “Why would they do that?” I asked.

  Reynolds snorted, and Simmonds’s eyes narrowed. “People of interest in this case have been known to have had past dealings with underworld figures.”

  “What sort of dealings?”

  “Not good ones.”

  “You mean Jeff was involved with organized crime?” Chris asked.

  “Jeff. And others. Jeff Vanderhaven took over the running of the company from his father when Louis began hitting the bottle heavily and making bad, very bad, decisions. Jeff borrowed more money than was wise, agreed to some deals that skirt the bounds of legality.”

  “By ‘others’ I’m going to take a leap and guess you’re talking about Wayne Fitzroy,” I said.

  “Who’s that?” Chris asked.

  “A local guy,” I said. “He ostensibly retired and moved to Rudolph recently. He’s shown some interest in the Muddle Harbor development project.”

  “I’m just glad to be out of it,” Chris said.

  “But that doesn’t sound like a reason to kill him,” I said. “Surely whoever we’re talking about here would know they’re not going to get their money back with Jeff out of the picture.”

  “We’ll make a detective out of you yet, Merry,” Simmonds said. “But please, don’t take that as an invitation. I said much the same thing to the state police. That’s not the way organized crime goes about their business. The state police told me things are done differently in Upstate New York than in Chicago. That may be the case. It may not. Their call.”

  “Thank you for coming to tell me, Detective.” Chris said.

  “You didn’t have to track us down,” I said. “You could have phoned. Is there something else?”

  Simmonds nodded at Reynolds. He reached into the back of the cruiser and came out with a file folder. He passed it to the detective and she took out several pieces of paper. “I’m going to show you some photos. Let me know if you’ve seen any of these men in Rudolph.” She handed Chris the pages. “The light’s not too good here. Can I have your flashlight, please, Mike?” Reynolds handed her a big Maglite. She switched it on and held it up so we could see clearly.

  The back door opened, and light and noise streamed out�
��along with the bartender, carrying a bulging, leaking black garbage bag. He saw Chris and me standing in the circle of light with the detective, the watching uniformed officer, the cruiser, its doors open, engine running. “Oookaaay, then.” He tossed the bag into the bin and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Chris flipped through the pictures as I watched. “That one,” I said at the fourth and final photo.

  “Are you sure?” Simmonds said.

  “Absolutely. But not in Rudolph. In Muddle Harbor. Yesterday. Vicky Casey and I went there for breakfast.”

  “Why would you do that?” Officer Reynolds asked.

  I glanced at Simmonds. “Never mind. That man was in the Muddle Harbor Café with Mayor Baumgartner, Jim Morrow, and Wayne Fitzroy from Rudolph, and what passes for prominent citizens in Muddle Harbor.” I’d thought the man in the good suit with the small, dark, watchful eyes hadn’t looked like any small-town New York State businessman. “He called me ‘sweetie.’ I should have known he’s involved in organized crime. Who says that these days?”

  “Is he?” Chris asked. “Involved in organized crime?”

  The edges of Simmonds’s mouth turned up. “A person of interest, shall we say. You haven’t seen any of these men, Chris?”

  He handed her the photos. “No. Never.”

  “You’re free to leave Rudolph at any time. If I need to talk to you again, I know where to find you.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Chris said.

  “I had a long talk with Luanne Ireland earlier today, after the incident at Merry’s store. What she had to say confirmed my feelings that you wouldn’t have killed Jeff so you could have her.”

  “I thought she was still implying that Chris might have done precisely that,” I said.

  “You’re not helping, Merry,” Chris said.

  “Actually, Merry is,” Simmonds said. “Luanne Ireland is a sad, confused, mixed-up woman. She and Jeff dated for a short while before they got engaged. Not long after the announcement of the wedding, she got cold feet and wanted to back out. She dove eagerly into all that’s involved in planning a wedding, but she realized she didn’t love him as much as she should. Her parents wouldn’t hear of her breaking it off. They refused to listen to her protests, insisting it was a good match and she needed to get on with organizing the wedding. Reading between the lines, they convinced her she doesn’t know her own mind.”

  “They sound like a couple of control freaks,” Chris said.

  “Some of that, but they had their own reasons for wanting the marriage to go ahead. Harvey Ireland is in deep financial trouble, and he was hoping his new son-in-law would bail him out.”

  “Does Harvey know about the possible organized crime angle?” I asked.

  “Not as far as I’m aware. Mr. Ireland’s financial problems, although serious to him, are peanuts to the type of people the Vanderhavens got themselves mixed up with. As for Luanne’s mother, Fran Ireland wouldn’t hear of her daughter breaking off the engagement, because she feared it would embarrass her in the social circles to which she aspires.”

  “Poor Luanne,” Chris said.

  “Don’t feel too sorry for her,” I said. “She’s a grown woman with a life and a career of her own. She could have said no.”

  “I believe Luanne did try to say no,” Simmonds said. “In her own way. When she ran into Chris here, she decided she was in love with him. She may, or may not, truly have feelings for you, Chris, but you served as the excuse she gave herself to try to find the courage to get out of the Vanderhaven marriage. You had no reason to kill Jeff. Luanne would have left him willingly. All she needed was a good reason she could give her parents when she told them the wedding was canceled.”

  The door opened again, and Russ Durham and Alan Anderson stepped outside. “What’s going on here?” Russ asked.

  “Merry?” Alan said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said.

  “I was telling Mr. Wilkinson he is no longer a person of interest in the Vanderhaven murder,” Simmonds said. “You can print that if you want, Russell.”

  “I will.”

  “How’s the reunion going?” she asked.

  “Deadly dull,” I said at the same time Alan said “Great.”

  “Fine until Luanne showed up,” Chris said.

  That reminded me. “Where is Luanne, anyway? I came out here thinking she was with you.”

  “She went to the ladies’ room,” Chris said. “So I was able to duck out the kitchen door.”

  “This little get-together is providing me with good copy,” Russ said. “Luanne Ireland wants me to interview her to get her side of the story about the fight with the woman whose name I didn’t know ten minutes ago. Madison McKenzie.”

  “Are you going to?” I asked.

  “I respectfully declined. I don’t need a lawsuit.”

  Simmonds chuckled, and then she turned to me. “As I said, the state police have taken control of the investigation. Some aspects of the investigation. I will still be running things around here. Have a good evening, everyone.” She got into the car. Reynolds joined her, and they drove away.

  “What did that mean?” Russ asked.

  It meant, I thought, that she didn’t buy the outside-organized-crime angle. “Is Luanne inside now?”

  “Yeah, I just left her,” Russ said. “The bartender called Alan and me over to tell us the cops were outside with you and Chris.”

  “Luanne was trying to make arrangements for us to meet up in New York City,” Chris said. “I came out here to get away from her. And then . . . Never mind.”

  “She seems to be having a good time,” Alan said. “All the girls from our class are gushing with sympathy and paying her a lot of attention. She likes that.”

  “‘Glory Days,’” Chris said. “Like in the song. In school Luanne was part of the popular crowd. She was a cheerleader. She was an important person. Now, she’s a bank teller in Rochester. Some people can’t accept that things are different in the wider world.”

  I smiled to myself. Like brother, like sister. I’d been thinking the same thing when I met with Luanne on Christmas Eve morning.

  “Do you have a statement for the press, Chris?” Russ asked.

  “Not what I’ve just said about anyone’s glory days, but you can report that I’m glad the police investigation is over. Not that I was at all worried, of course. I have complete faith in the Rudolph PD.”

  “Except it’s not over,” I said. “No one’s been arrested.”

  “That,” Alan said firmly, “is not your problem, Merry. Not anymore.”

  Chapter 19

  We left the reunion shortly after Simmonds. Russ said he was going home to file a story with the police statement and Chris’s quote. Alan wanted to say good night to a couple of guys he’d connected with. I asked him to bring me my coat and told him I’d meet him at the car. The door shut behind Alan and Russ, leaving Chris and me alone again.

  “You came out here to get away from Luanne,” I said. “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing happened, Merry. I heard something in the woods. I thought someone was watching me, but you’re right. My imagination was running away with me. It must have been a squirrel.”

  “An extremely fat squirrel.”

  “Maybe a deer.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s go. I want to head to the city first thing tomorrow. I can only hope I still have a job to go back to.”

  I took his arm. “You will. If they know what’s good for them.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I wasn’t as sanguine as my brother.

  He wasn’t given to flights of fancy, and if Chris thought someone had been watching him from the woods, then someone had been watching him from the woods.

  I’d forgotten all about the
rustle in the bushes outside the Ireland home on Christmas Eve and the car parked outside our neighbor’s house that had pulled into the road after Jeff Vanderhaven and Harvey Ireland left with Luanne on Christmas night.

  But I was remembering now.

  Alan dropped Chris off at Mom and Dad’s, but we didn’t go in to share the good news. I got out of the car and gave my brother a big hug on the sidewalk. “Thanks for everything, Merry,” he said into my hair.

  “Anytime, little bro. If there are any developments, be sure and let me know.”

  “There won’t be. Oh, and Merry?”

  “Yes?”

  “If Luanne asks for my address, don’t give it to her, please. I tried to help her out and I got myself into a heck of a mess. I don’t intend to make that mistake again. I’m still fond of her. I’d like us to be friends, if she’d let us. But that’s not what she wants from me. Maybe after she gets her head straight, but not yet.”

  “I think that’s wise,” I said. “Imagine that, I’m telling my baby brother he’s wise.”

  “I’m also aware that until someone has been arrested, tried, and convicted for the murder of Jeff Vanderhaven, I’m on the police’s radar. I don’t need Luanne reminding them of me.”

  “Take care,” I said. “Happy New Year.”

  He let me go and rubbed my hair. “Happy New Year.” Chris walked up the driveway. The motion light over the garage came on and I watched until he disappeared around the back of the house.

  I jumped into the car and said, “Home, James.”

  “At your service, madam.”

  Alan parked in the double driveway next to Mrs. D’Angelo’s big old clunker. He switched the car engine off and said, “You are staying out of it from now on, right, Merry?”

  “As you pointed out, I have no more reason to be involved.”