Dying in a Winter Wonderland

by Vicki Delany

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” I said. At least that’s what I tried to say—my teeth were chattering so loudly, I couldn’t be sure.

  Another golf cart pulled up next to us. A security guard was driving, and a second man sat in the back with a firm grip on Scott Abramsky’s arm. A blanket was tossed over Scott’s shoulders and his hands were behind his back.

  He glared at me, and I was suddenly cold again.

  “I told you people what happened,” he yelled. “The stupid woman fell in. I tried to help her and this is the thanks I get.”

  Alan took a step toward him. “That’s not what I saw.”

  Mark put his hand on Alan’s chest. “Let him tell it to the cops. You need to get inside.”

  “I’m okay, really,” I said to the young paramedic who was trying to get me into her ambulance.

  “You obviously are not,” Grace said. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then you need to come with me, both of you. I’ve got a bath running and a fire lit.”

  My parents descended on me. My mother wrapped her arms around me and burst into tears. My dad slapped Alan on the back. Alan threw me a grin.

  My body was cold, but my heart was, once again, warm.

  Chapter 24

  I woke to gentle winter light, soft sheets, and a warm duvet. I struggled to sit up, blinking against the morning light. Confused, I looked around me; I’d never seen this room before. The drapes fell to the floor in a river of sage green, the walls were a pale peach color, the furnishings feminine and expensive. A six-light chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a fireplace, a real wood-burning fireplace, was set into the far wall. Red embers glowed in mounds of white and gray ash.

  Where the heck was I?

  I pushed back the covers. I wore a pair of men’s pajamas, flannel, heavy, far too big for me. I swung my feet over the side of the high bed and then I remembered.

  Cold and water and drowning. I’d been saved. Hadn’t I?

  I looked around for my phone, but nothing was on the night table except a carafe of water and a glass.

  First things first. I headed for the open door that appeared to lead to the bathroom.

  It did, and when I came out, Vicky was sitting on the bed, grinning at me. She wore the same clothes she’d had on last night, minus the festive purple hat. “Morning, sleepyhead. Coffee’s on the way.”

  “Morning. Where are we?”

  “Grace and Jack’s guest cottage. What do you remember about last night?”

  I dropped down next to her on the bed. “Most of it, I think. Scott Abramsky killed Jeff Vanderhaven. He tried to kill me. I fell into the duck pond. Alan pulled me out.”

  “That’s about right. Gave us all a heck of a scare. The medics said you didn’t need to go to the hospital, if you didn’t want to. You hadn’t been unconscious at any time, but you needed warming up, and fast. So Grace dumped you in the bath in here, while Jack and Mark took care of Alan. Who, by the way, is in Grace and Jack’s house. I called to say you were up, and he’s on his way over.”

  “You haven’t been home?”

  “No. I’ve been out there.” She nodded toward the open door leading into the small living room. “On the couch, checking on you regularly. You slept well. Did you know you snore?”

  “I do not.”

  “Do, too.” She grinned at me.

  “What about Grace’s guests? I didn’t take their room, did I?”

  “You did. They’ve gone to your parents’ place. Once you’d had your bath and warmed up enough that your teeth had stopped chattering, we decided you shouldn’t go back out in the cold, so you stayed here overnight.”

  A light tap at the door announced the arrival of a waitress with a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a plate of croissants and a bowl of fruit. She put the tray on the small table in the kitchen alcove, gave me a sideways glance, and left.

  “I could get used to living like this.” Vicky poured the coffee. “Room service straight to your door.”

  I pointed to the green leather couch, covered with a blanket. A pillow lay on the floor next to it. “How was that to sleep on?”

  “The floor wouldn’t have been any worse.” She handed me a cup.

  I accepted it, took a sip, and felt the welcome rush of hot caffeine hitting my system. “I ruined your New Year’s Eve.”

  “That you certainly did. Mark has a bottle of champagne chilling in his fridge, along with oysters and a special tray of canapés.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Everything will keep.”

  The door burst open and Alan came in. His blond hair stood on end, thick stubble covered his jaw, and he was dressed in the shirt and pants he’d had on last night, although now badly wrinkled.

  He looked at me. I looked at him.

  I got to my feet. He rapidly crossed the room and gathered me into his arms. We stood together for a long time, just holding each other.

  Finally Vicky said, “Coffee?”

  * * *

  * * *

  My mom had a spare key to my apartment, and she arrived at the inn with jeans and a sweater and sneakers, as well as a spare winter coat, so I could get out of Jack Olsen’s pajamas, which I’d been given, Mom said, because Grace’s nightwear was not exactly designed to keep a lady warm.

  Mom wept a bit. Dad frowned a lot. Grace fussed. Mark brought more breakfast pastries. Russ Durham asked me for a statement for the press. I said not at this time and asked where he’d been last night at the time I was being dragged out of the duck pond. He blushed and looked away. Alan sat next to me, my hands in his, his eyes on my face. He said nothing; he was simply there, and that was enough.

  After I’d had my coffee and croissant and reassured Mom and Dad and Grace that I was okay, Dad told me he was under orders to call Detective Simmonds as soon as I was able to speak to her. Dad also assured me that he’d fed Mattie and Ranger and let them out for a romp in the backyard.

  I had a long hot—very hot—shower and dressed in my own clothes. When I came out, Diane Simmonds and Candy Campbell had joined the others. It made for a very crowded room.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Merry.” Candy was out of her party dress and back in uniform this morning.

  I was genuinely surprised at the sincerity in her voice. “Thanks.”

  “As this isn’t a public performance, will everyone leave us, please?” Simmonds said. “Except for Merry and Alan.”

  Gradually, they did so.

  Alan and I sat together on the couch. Simmonds pulled a chair out of the kitchen nook, and Candy leaned against the wall, her arms folded over her chest.

  “What’s Scott saying?” Alan asked.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Simmonds said. “Merry, how much do you remember of last night?”

  “All of it. Or most of it, anyway.” I was suddenly very cold. Alan felt me shiver and he said, “One minute, please.” He went into the bedroom and came out with a blanket. He wrapped it around my shoulders and sat down again.

  Simmonds gave him a nod.

  I told her the story. How I’d come to realize Scott had killed Jeff, and why, and what happened then. I studied Alan’s warm blue eyes. “I was sure I was done for. And then you were there.”

  “Almost too late.” He pulled his eyes away from me and looked at the detective. “I saw Merry talking to Scott. I didn’t think anything of it, so I went to join Vicky and Mark and watch the fireworks. Something was niggling at me, and I realized Merry wouldn’t want to be with Scott when the clock struck midnight. She’d want to be with her friends. It was dark, and lights from flashlights and phones were bobbing around the edges of the pond and on the hillside. I was looking in the right place when the fireworks started and it gave me enough light to see that Merry and Scott were walking away, not watching the fireworks.” H
e grinned at me. “I don’t think I’m a jealous sort of guy, but I really, really didn’t like the way you were standing so close to him. Or, I should say, he was standing so close to you. I knew you’d been, as you tend to do, poking your nose into the murder of Jeff Vanderhaven, so I wasn’t inclined to let you go off alone with Scott. Although, I have to say, I had no idea what Scott Abramsky had to do with any of it. I told Vicky and Mark I had a bad feeling and we went after you.”

  “You have good instincts,” Simmonds said.

  “What’s Scott saying?” I asked.

  “He claims you were flirting with him all night—”

  “Hey!”

  “That’ll be easy enough to disprove,” Alan said.

  “He says when Merry suggested she and he get away from the crowd to watch the fireworks privately, he was happy to agree. But you started making wild accusations about him killing Jeff Vanderhaven. He had no idea why you’d think such a thing, and he suggested you turn back and rejoin the others, but you started to hit him. You slipped on a patch of ice and fell into the pond. He was trying to save you when Alan and the others arrived and completely misunderstood the situation.”

  I sputtered.

  Candy snorted.

  “What do you say to that?” Alan calmly asked the detective.

  “Load of absolute rubbish. I spoke to Luanne Ireland at some length last night, and far from confirming that Merry had been flirting with Scott, she told me Scott had been bothering her with his excessive attention. She also told me Merry had some questions for her about Scott’s behavior moments before the fireworks started.”

  “Last night,” I said. “You were called out last night. I’m sorry. I ruined your New Year’s Eve.”

  She grinned at me. “I’d say you made my New Year, Merry. I promised Charlotte she could sit up with Mom and me to watch the ball drop on TV, but she was sound asleep before ten. Mom and I opened a bottle of champagne, had a single glass, and Mom went to bed before the cheering had stopped. A couple of minutes after that, I got the call. Scott has been charged with your attempted murder.”

  “I can’t actually say he tried to kill me,” I said. “I don’t even know if he pushed me into the pond or I fell.”

  “He wasn’t leading you away from the rest of us to have a nice long chat about his wedding plans with Luanne,” Alan said.

  “We’ve recovered the steak knife he used,” Simmonds said. “It’ll have his fingerprints on it. And traces of your blood.”

  I shuddered and touched the side of my neck.

  “Whether he pushed you or you fell in an attempt to get away is irrelevant if you had justifiable cause to fear for your life.”

  “Is he saying anything about the death of Jeff Vanderhaven?” Alan asked.

  “As you might imagine, I’ve had a long night. He’s clearly obsessed with Luanne Ireland. He claims he knew Luanne didn’t want to marry Jeff, so he was trying to help her get out of the marriage. He’d been following her for several days.”

  “I heard him. I didn’t know who it was at the time, though. He was lurking in the bushes outside the Ireland home on Christmas Eve and then sitting in his car the next night when Luanne came to Mom and Dad’s place.”

  “He knew she was meeting you, Merry, at the Yuletide at two thirty the day after Christmas. Fran Ireland remembers telling him. He called on Luanne that morning, wanting to take Luanne to lunch, but Luanne was still in bed, and Fran answered the door. Fran told him Luanne would be busy most of the day, as she had wedding plans to take care of. Fran had no idea who Scott was, other than a casual friend of her daughter, so she thought nothing of it.”

  I mentally slapped my head. “I never even thought to ask Fran or Luanne if they’d told anyone where they were going that afternoon.”

  “I did,” Simmonds said. “Fran told me about it, but Scott Abramsky was nowhere on my radar for killing Jeff, and no one had seen him at the Yuletide.”

  “I had a piece of the puzzle,” I said. “You had a piece of the puzzle. But we weren’t putting the puzzle together on the same table. That’s why you need my help, Detective.”

  “No!” Alan shouted. “She does not need your help. Not ever again.”

  Simmonds suppressed a grin. “According to Scott, he went to the inn to talk to Luanne. Instead, he saw Jeff heading down a garden path. He decided to talk to Jeff instead. To explain, calmly and reasonably, that Luanne didn’t want to marry him. So he should call the wedding off.”

  “That went well,” Alan said.

  “Scott says he tried to talk to Jeff. But Jeff got angry. Yelled at him to go away. Jeff, he says, took a swing at him, but Jeff slipped and fell. He hit his head on a rock.”

  Candy snorted once again.

  “Scott panicked and ran off,” Simmonds continued. “He got in his car and left the Yuletide without anyone knowing he’d been there.”

  “Do you believe his story?” Alan asked.

  “No. He’s been charged with murder, and I’m confident I’ve got enough to take to court. The rock that killed Jeff didn’t belong in that clearing. I intend to prove that Scott picked it up when he followed Jeff with the express intention of using it. The same way he took a steak knife off the table in the dining room last night with the intention of using it.”

  “On me,” I said.

  “On anyone who got in his way in his pursuit of Luanne. As I said, the man’s obsessed. He’s asking to see her. That won’t happen.” Simmonds stood up. “Take care of yourself, Merry. I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and then I’ll try and get some of the sleep I missed last night. Can you come into the station tomorrow morning and make a formal statement?”

  “Sure.”

  The moment Simmonds and Candy left, Mom, Dad, Grace, Jack, Vicky, Mark, Russ, and Elisabeth Landen, plus a few people I didn’t know, poured into the cottage.

  I stood up. “I’m okay, everyone. Thank you all for your love and support, but now I need to go home.”

  “I’ll take her,” Alan said.

  “I’ll come around later,” Mom said. “And bring you something for dinner.”

  “I can do that,” Vicky said. “I’ll find some leftovers at the bakery.”

  “No need,” Mark said. “I can rustle up something.”

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

  “No.” I remembered something important and cursed myself for not thinking of it earlier. “Mom, did you call Chris?”

  “I did. Last night and again this morning. Their show was a hit and the reviews are effusive in their praise. The set design was favorably mentioned in several of the reviews. He was pleased, and even more pleased when I told him Scott has been arrested for the murder of Jeff Vanderhaven.”

  “You mentioned last night your son’s a set designer,” Elisabeth said to Mom. “I intend to see that play as soon as I can.”

  Mom tucked the older woman’s arm into hers and they left. My dad gave me a wink and followed.

  “You take your time, dear,” Grace said. “Leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I’m thinking a thin-crust pizza with a combination of cheeses, sautéed onions and mushrooms, topped with a generous handful of arugula and fresh basil,” Mark said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Vicky said. “She needs hot and comforting. I have my special three-mushroom soup in the freezer in the bakery. That with a good baguette warmed up will be perfect.”

  “At least we’ll be well fed,” I said to Alan when we were alone again.

  “They express their love with food.”

  Mom had brought my evening bag and left it on the table. “I’ve been ignoring my phone,” I said. “I suppose I have some messages.”

  “I’m guessing you do,” Alan said.

  My voice mail, so my phone told me,
was full.

  “Maybe not,” I said, putting it away. Fortunately, all the stores on Jingle Bell Lane were closed for New Year’s Day, so I didn’t have to explain to Jackie that, once again, I’d be late.

  A light tap sounded at the door. Alan went to answer it. “Luanne. Hi.”

  “I saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson leaving. They told me where I could find you and Merry. Is it okay if I come in?”

  “Sure,” I said. “We’re just leaving. Time to go home.”

  “More excitement last night,” Alan said, “than we planned on.”

  “People are saying Scott killed Jeff.”

  “Looks like it,” I said.

  “Because of me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know you didn’t. Don’t blame yourself, Luanne, not one tiny bit. Scott clearly has a screw loose.”

  “If I hadn’t been so mean to him in school—”

  “If he wasn’t obsessed with you,” Alan said, “he’d be obsessed with something, with someone, else.”

  She took a deep breath. “I didn’t sleep last night. I had a lot of thinking to do. About Jeff and Scott and about obsession, yes, but also about simply wanting something so much, you can’t accept that it isn’t going to happen. I won’t call Chris. He doesn’t want to hear from me. But will you tell him I’m sorry?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Alan handed me my coat. “Come on.”

  We left the charming little cottage together. The sun had come out and the day was cold. A light coating of fresh snow had fallen overnight, and laughing children ran across it, dodging snowballs or dragging their sleds behind them. A couple of families were trying to make snow sculptures out of the sparse amount of snow available.

  “I called my boss,” Luanne said, “and asked for my job back. I said I’d been confused after Jeff’s death and didn’t know what I was doing. He said he hadn’t even put the paperwork through yet. I’m going to stay in Rochester, but I hope to come back to Rudolph a lot. It’s where my friends are.” She peeked at me out of the corner of her eyes. “Right?”