Dying in a Winter Wonderland

by Vicki Delany

  “I’m sure you’ll find one,” Alan muttered.

  “It’s not too late,” I said. “Want to come with me to take Mattie for a walk?”

  He unsnapped his seat belt. “Sure. Ranger’s waiting at home for me, but he can wait a while longer.”

  Mattie greeted us with his usual boundless enthusiasm. I got his leash off the hook by the door, snapped it on his collar, and we headed out.

  We didn’t get far. Mrs. D’Angelo lay in wait for us on the porch and popped her head up as soon as she heard our footsteps. “There you are, Merry Wilkinson. I thought I heard a car. Good evening, Alan.”

  “Good evening,” he said politely, not slowing down one little bit.

  “I heard the reunion went well,” Mrs. D’Angelo said. “Luanne Ireland seemed to have had a good time, at any event. Not in mourning anymore, is she? That didn’t last long.”

  “She was putting up a brave front,” I said, hurrying after Alan.

  “Chris seems to be unconcerned about being the subject of police attention,” Mrs. D’Angelo called after us. “I hear he spent quite a bit of time chatting to Luanne tonight.”

  I sighed and stopped. I couldn’t let that comment go unchallenged. Alan took Mattie’s leash out of my hand and carried on down the driveway. Mrs. D’Angelo’s network of informants was wider than even I’d believed, if its tentacles reached into Chris’s or my age group. I turned and faced my landlady. She leaned against the porch railings, dressed in her nightgown and slippers, the ever-present phone attached to her belt, the earbuds looped around her neck. Sometimes I wanted to strangle her with those earbuds. But I knew Mrs. D’Angelo had no malice in her. She was a lonely elderly woman forced to rent out the upstairs of her house for some much-needed income, and being the self-appointed center of the Rudolph gossip mill gave her status, at least in her own eyes. She might exaggerate sometimes, maybe stretch the truth a bit, but she never (as far as I knew) lied or deliberately made anyone sound worse than they were.

  I gave her a big smile. “My brother’s always polite, Mrs. D’Angelo. Surely you’re not suggesting he shouldn’t be?”

  “Good heavens, Merry! Of course not. Politeness is a Rudolph virtue. Poor Luanne will be in need of the support of her friends at this difficult time.”

  “He’s going home tomorrow. He had a good visit with our parents and with me, and it was so nice to see him, but he has a show to put on, you know. A big Broadway production they’re saying is going to be the hit of the season. Tickets are already virtually impossible to come by.”

  “That is exciting. I haven’t been to a Broadway show in years. Hard to get away; you know how it is, dear. Enjoy your walk.”

  I rejoined Alan and Mattie.

  “Nicely done,” Alan said.

  “I thought so.”

  “A Broadway hit, Lorraine!” Mrs. D’Angelo exclaimed. “Merry Wilkinson said she might be able to get me tickets!”

  * * *

  * * *

  When I was a child, my mother said my stubborn streak would get me in serious trouble one day. Once I got an idea in my head, I simply couldn’t give it up, whether it was making the basketball team despite being one of the shortest girls in my class (success!) or climbing the cliff face at the old quarry on the outskirts of Rudolph (success! if you overlook the broken arm). When I became an adult, the stubborn streak stubbornly persisted.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the death of Jeff Vanderhaven and wondering who wanted to see him dead. If I’d sensed that Diane Simmonds had been more confident of the state police’s decision to concentrate on Jeff’s wider connections, I might have been able to let it go.

  But I couldn’t.

  I reminded myself I had a business to run and the post-Christmas season was in full swing. I’d sold plenty of gift certificates for Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, and the store was busy with tourists and family staying in town over New Year’s and residents eager to use their gift cards.

  “I had my eye on that lovely afternoon tea service, Merry,” Rachel McIntosh, owner of Candy Cane Sweets, said the morning following the class reunion pub night. “I thought next year I might do a proper afternoon tea rather than host brunch for my family Christmas Day.”

  “Some of the pieces were broken in yesterday’s uh . . . altercation, so I can’t make up the full set for you. I’m going to order more, and I’ll put your name down, if you like.”

  “Would you? That would be lovely. Thanks.” Rachel tucked her gift certificate into her bag. She was dressed in her regular work attire of red and white pants and striped T-shirt, with a string of real candy canes linked together around her neck. “It’s hard enough making a living owning a small store without people coming in and smashing up the place. Imagine Luanne Ireland, of all people, actually brawling. She always was a flighty girl, and her parents were far too indulgent of her. Still, I can’t forget she’s in mourning. Grief does strange things to people.”

  I thought about Luanne last night at the reunion. She hadn’t appeared to be in mourning—if anything, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Then again, according to Detective Simmonds, her parents were keener on the idea of her marrying Jeff than she was. On the other hand, she’d come in here only a few hours earlier, all weeping and wailing about the death of the love of her life, and she’d reacted badly (I eyed the sparse display of glass tree ornaments) to Madison saying Jeff was going to call off the wedding in order to marry her instead.

  Luanne didn’t know what she wanted, but she seemed to enjoy being the center of attention. She certainly had been that at the pub last night. Everyone fussed over her and gave her their condolences; some of the women wept on her behalf, and more than one man offered her a strong shoulder to lean on. Luanne had been the prettiest girl in her year in high school, smack-dab at the center of the popular crowd, girlfriend of the top athletes and the popular boys. That sort of popularity early in life could be a double-edged sword. When the center of attention found herself in the wider world, where small-town high school popularity didn’t account for much, it could be hard to accept that you were nothing but normal.

  Luanne hadn’t killed Jeff, I was sure of it. If she had, she’d be quick to let everyone know how justified she’d been. How wronged she’d been. How forced to act she’d been.

  Luanne Ireland wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about it in the face of all the sympathy and attention she was getting.

  No, Luanne hadn’t killed Jeff.

  I’d initially wondered why Jeff had been at the Yuletide that afternoon anyway. His mother had told Detective Simmonds she’d ordered him to go—to show some interest in his fiancée and her wedding plans. Had that really been what had happened? Or had he gone, as Madison had said, to tell Luanne to cancel the booking? That the wedding was off?

  Fran and Harvey Ireland would not have wanted that to happen. Even if canceling the wedding hadn’t been his intent, had they believed it was?

  More questions for which I wanted answers. “I’m going out for a while,” I said to Jackie and Crystal. “Won’t be long.”

  “You always say you won’t be long, Merry,” Jackie said. “And then you never come back.”

  “I always come back,” I protested.

  “Eventually. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. Crystal, don’t put those cocktail napkins there. They should go next to the tablecloths.”

  “They don’t match,” Crystal said.

  “They match in theme. You know, table settings?”

  “You know, color? Yellow and brown versus red and green.”

  I left them squabbling and went into the back for Mattie. I hadn’t brought my car to work, but the Ireland home wasn’t far, and Mattie would enjoy the walk. He probably wouldn’t be welcome in their sterile, perfectly organized house, but he’d be okay outside for a short while. He never minded curling up in a nice fresh snowbank.
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  As we walked, I thought about what reason I’d give for dropping in. I hadn’t exactly fallen all over myself trying to be friendly to Luanne in the past few days. Chris had specifically told me not to tell her where he lived, so I could threaten her with dire consequences if she bothered him again, but I didn’t know that I could pull off threatening. Plus, if Chris heard of it, he wouldn’t be happy with me.

  I was surprised to see the Porsche parked in the Ireland’s driveway. Had Jeff’s parents given it to Luanne? If so, it was a generous gift.

  I tied Mattie to a tree, told him to stay, and walked up the neatly shoveled path between the burlap-covered bushes to the beautiful house. A huge wreath of intertwined wire covered with glowing pink and purple metal balls hung from a pink satin ribbon on the door. I rang the bell. Chimes echoed through the house, and then the door opened and Fran Ireland peered out. “Merry. This is a surprise. But a welcome one. What can I do for you?”

  “I was out walking my dog.” I pointed to where Mattie was settling himself under a tree. “And thought I’d pop in to check on how you’re doing.”

  She gave me a stiff smile. Her eyes were rimmed red, and the tracks of dried tears carved through the makeup on her sunken cheeks. “We’re bearing up, dear. I’m trying to be a rock for Luanne, but it’s not easy.” She sniffed into a tattered tissue. “Please come in. You’re in time for tea. Would you like some?”

  “Tea would be nice. Thanks.”

  I kicked off my boots and hung up my coat and followed Fran into the living room. The Christmas village was still lined up on the mantel, and the silver and pink Christmas tree still stood in the corner, lights twinkling. The scene was the same as on Christmas Eve, but everything was different: no longer joyous and festive, just sad.

  Luanne flushed and dipped her head when she saw me. The woman sitting across from her was in her midthirties, with sleek blond hair gathered in a high ponytail, heavy makeup, a pale pink leather jacket, and distressed jeans stuffed into high black leather boots. Large gold hoops were through her ears, and a gold tennis bracelet spotted with glittering white stones was draped loosely around her wrist. With the benefit of years spent in the company of the rich and fashionable in Manhattan, I guessed the stones were real diamonds. I’d never seen her before.

  She looked me up and down and didn’t appear all that impressed at what she saw.

  “Merry Wilkinson,” Fran said, “this is Amber Vanderhaven. Jeff’s sister. Amber, Merry’s a dear friend of our family.”

  I wouldn’t quite go that far, but I held out my hand. Amber leaned over to take it loosely in hers. She repressed a yawn and mumbled something that might have been Pleased to meet you.

  “Luanne,” Fran Ireland said, “why don’t you refresh the pot and bring another cup?”

  A tray holding a gorgeous contemporary Wedgwood tea set—teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, and plate with store-bought cookies—of white china with a vine-and-berry motif, rimmed with a fine line of gold, sat on the low table. Three matching cups were next to it. The setting reminded me uncomfortably of my own late and much-lamented afternoon-tea display.

  Luanne eyed me warily. I gave her a nod, but I didn’t actually smile.

  “If you’re here about what happened yesterday,” she blurted out, “I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry.” She choked on the word. “My dad’ll see that you’re compensated for my half of the damage. Good luck getting her share.”

  Her, I assumed, meant Madison McKenzie.

  Amber’s eyes showed a spark of interest. “Damage? Oh dear. What happened yesterday?”

  “Nothing.” Luanne grabbed the teapot and fled into the kitchen. Barely suppressed boredom settled back over Amber’s perfectly made-up face. I recognized that well-practiced look: I’d seen it many times on the faces of hangers-on in the fashion and show business worlds. People who were rich and/or famous because they were genuinely talented and hardworking were, I’d found, usually interested in people. And even if they weren’t, they were far too polite to express it.

  I settled myself next to Amber on the couch. She wiggled over fractionally and picked up her teacup. “Are you visiting Rudolph?” I asked politely.

  I’d dropped in to casually ask Fran Ireland if she or her husband killed Jeff because he was going to break off his engagement to their daughter. Had she (or he) gone for a stroll in the garden with him, tried to convince him to change his mind, and shoved him in a fit of anger when he refused?

  Kinda hard to make an accusation like that in the middle of a tea party.

  “I’m not planning to stay for long, believe me,” Amber said. “I came to see where my brother died and to offer my condolences to his poor dear fiancée.”

  “So kind of you,” Fran said.

  Luanne returned carrying a tray with a fresh cup and the refilled teapot. She put the tray on the table and dropped into her chair with an almost audible thud.

  “And now, Luanne and I will never be sisters.” Amber didn’t say and I’m glad of it, but her tone did.

  “Were you and your brother close?” I asked while Fran poured my tea. “Thanks.” I accepted the delicate cup and used a tiny silver spoon to stir in a splash of milk.

  “Very close,” Amber said. “I live in Dallas, so I haven’t seen nearly as much of him as I would have liked over the past few years, but when we did get together . . .” She sighed sadly.

  Fran passed me the cookie plate and I accepted one cookie.

  “I was so looking forward to the wedding in July,” Amber added.

  Luanne and her mother exchanged glances, but neither of them said anything.

  Silence stretched through the room. I drank my tea and nibbled on my dry and tasteless cookie. I’ve been spoiled by Vicky’s baking.

  “Merry’s a designer,” Luanne said at last. “She was going to do the table settings and the decorations for my . . . I mean Jeff and my wedding.”

  “Is that so?” Amber said. “I’m sure even in a town this size, a local girl like you could get some good ideas.”

  “I did.” She’d insulted me, but I didn’t care enough to mention my years with Jennifer’s Lifestyle.

  Luanne didn’t leap to my defense, either. She just twisted her paper cocktail napkin in her hands.

  “Plus, of course, I need to be with my parents. They’re depending on my support,” Amber said.

  “Your parents?” I asked. “Are they here? In Rudolph? I’d heard they’d gone home yesterday.”

  “They had,” Fran said, “but poor Margaret was so restless and sad in her own house, she called me before I was even up and said they’ve decided to come back. She wants to be close to Jeff until they can take him . . . his body home.”

  Luanne dabbed her eyes.

  “That’s a mistake,” Amber said firmly. “Mom and Dad need to be in their own home, wrapped in the support and comfort of their wide circle of friends.”

  “Margaret and Louis are staying at the Yuletide this time,” Fran told me.

  “Really? You mean where . . .”

  “Where Jeff died, yes,” Amber said. “I can’t think of anything more tasteless. But then again, it is a nice hotel. The nicest in the entire area, they say.”

  “It’s expensive, particularly Christmas week,” Fran said.

  Amber smirked. “My dad can afford it.”

  “Are you staying there also?” I asked, for lack of anything else to say.

  Her face tightened. “No. They got the last room. There’d been some sort of cancellation. I’m . . . staying elsewhere.”

  “Amber’s at the Carolers Motel,” Luanne said, with a noticeable touch of relish.

  I bit back a laugh. The Carolers Motel is nice and clean and centrally located, but it is a motel and it isn’t the Yuletide Inn.

  Luanne abruptly changed the subject. “I had a great time at the reunion last night
. Did you enjoy it, Merry? It was nice to spend some more time with Chris.” I didn’t tell her he was on his way home. None of her darn business.

  “I told you it was not at all appropriate for you to go to that party so soon after your fiancé’s death,” Fran said. “But do you ever listen to me? Of course not. More tea, Merry?”

  “No. I mean, no thanks.”

  “I wanted to go to the reunion, Mom, to see my old friends. I told you. Everyone’s being so sympathetic and supportive. There really are no friends like childhood friends in times of crisis. Isn’t that right, Merry?”

  “Sometimes,” I admitted.

  “And sometimes,” Luanne said, “it’s only with the benefit of maturity that we can see the friends we had all along for who they truly are.”

  “Are you talking about yourself, Luanne? Mature, I mean?” Amber said.

  Fran let out a bark of embarrassed laughter. “You’ll have to excuse Luanne, Amber. She’s naturally under a lot of stress. Brawling in public isn’t exactly the way I raised my daughter to behave.”

  Amber’s mouth almost dropped open. Her eyes gleamed and the air of oh-so-polite boredom fled. “Brawling? Is that what caused this damage you and Merry are being so cagey about? What happened? Did someone say something to upset you, Luanne, dear? If so, I hope you gave them what they deserved.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Luanne snapped. “But if you must know, some horrible woman accosted me in public and told me Jeff was planning to dump me for her. As if! She made a huge scene. Merry saw it all. Didn’t you, Merry?”

  “Uh . . .” I said.

  “This woman’s name wouldn’t be Madison McKenzie, would it?” Amber asked.

  Luanne shot forward in her chair. “Yes! You know her?”

  “I know of her. She was stalking Jeff. They dated for a short while ages ago, and he broke it off because he didn’t have any real feelings for her. She simply couldn’t accept that he’d moved on. He was desperate to get rid of her, absolutely desperate, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She made a total and complete pest of herself. Phone calls in the night. Lurking about in the shadows.”