by Laura Durham
"I'm sure she'll be there," I said, feigning more confidence than I felt. "She probably heard that Kris's suit was found and is shaken up."
There were mumbles around the table that told me not everyone agreed with me, but Fern sat up straighter. "Maybe you're right. The old girl never misses her hair appointment. It's when she fills me in on all the Georgetown gossip."
"So is that how you know what everyone in Georgetown is up to?" I asked.
Fern smiled. "Of course. Jeannie sees everything that goes on around here."
Mack lumbered over to me and Reese, handing both of us steaming mugs. "We've been talking about what could have happened to Kris. We have quite a few theories about how his suit could have gotten blood on it."
"It could be tomato sauce," a woman with frizzy gray hair said. "Kris loves spaghetti."
I noticed Reese's eyebrow lift. Even the most rookie cop wouldn't mistake spaghetti sauce for blood, but he didn't respond.
"Or he might have gotten a bunch of paint on him and thrown out the suit," someone else called out.
"Does anyone know where he might have gone if he did get hurt?" Reese asked. "Does he have any family in the area?"
"Kris didn't have any family that I know of," Mack said, then turned to the people gathered around the table. "Did he ever mention family to you all?"
Head shakes and low murmurs told us no.
"If he had any family that was still alive, they didn't live here," Prue said. "I think he was originally from somewhere up North. The last time he was in the shop he mentioned that he'd never gotten used to the heat south of the Mason-Dixon."
Reese took his notebook out of his jeans pocket, flipped it open, and began scribbling. "Did he say anything else about his past?"
"Kris didn't focus on the past," a man said from the end of the table. "He always said he was moving forward."
"And paying it forward," a woman with bushy brown hair said, blowing her nose into a tissue. "That's why he put on the costume and sang to people. He liked to give back."
“Not everyone agreed with him on that,” a small man with a grizzled beard said almost so quietly I couldn’t hear him.
I stepped closer to the man, who seemed to shrink into himself as I approached. “What? What do you mean?”
The man’s gaze darted around the group. “I’m saying what we all knew. Not everyone thought Kris should have been taking all the attention and making us look bad.”
Heads dropped around the table, and there was a murmur of both agreement and dissent.
“How did he make you look bad?” Reese asked.
The man shrugged, not lifting his head. “He didn’t ask for money, so it made it harder for those of us who did. And the Salvation Army bell ringers really didn’t like him.”
I stared at the man even though he wouldn’t look up at me. “The other Santas had it in for him?”
Another shrug as he shifted on his stool. “You know they get part of the money they collect. It was hard for them to compete with Kris’s singing. I’ve seen a few of them try to run him off or try to drown him out with their bell.”
I exchanged a glance with my fiancé. I’d never given a thought to how Kris Kringle Jingle might impact other Santas or other homeless people, but I supposed it made sense. You could never make everyone happy.
“Thanks,” Reese said. “That’s helpful. I can also check if he's in the system," Reese said, "but I'm guessing Kris Kringle Jingle wasn't his legal name."
"It's all I ever knew him as," a heavyset, balding man said, his voice high and chirpy.
"I'm assuming you didn't put him on your payroll," Reese said to Mack, "so you never needed any official documents."
Mack shifted from one foot to the other. "That's right. He was strictly freelance and paid in cash."
Reese nodded. "Don't worry. The metropolitan police department has bigger things to worry about than a flower shop helping out the local street population with under-the-table payments."
"That's why you're our favorite cop." Mack let out a breath, but I noticed several of the people at the table stiffen.
"Don't worry," I said. "He's only trying to help figure out what happened to your friend."
"That's right," Reese said. "I want to find Kris."
Fern nudged the bushy-haired woman next to him. "I've worked with him on more than one murder case. He may look like a pretty face, but he'll find our Kris."
Reese ignored Fern's comment, but a flush crept up his neck. "Now, which one of you is Stanley?"
Mack scanned the room, then exchanged a look with Buster. "He was here earlier. Where did he go?"
"Are we talking about the guy who discovered the suit?" I asked, glancing at Reese's pinched face. "Didn't you tell him we needed to talk to him?"
"We did," Buster said, disappearing through the doorway that led to the back office and designer workspace. After a minute, he returned shaking his head. "He's not in the back or in the loading dock or alley."
Mack ran a hand over his bald head. "He looked nervous when we mentioned that a policeman would be stopping by to take his statement. Maybe we shouldn't have mentioned the cop part."
"I don't know why that would be an issue," Buster said. "He already talked to the cops when he gave his statement. Plus, an officer was there when they found the Santa costume. Helped calm him down. An Officer Rogers, I think. I remembered because it reminded me of Mr. Rogers."
"We watch a lot of Mr. Rogers reruns with Merry," Mack said, pressing a hand to his heart. "We love Mr. Rogers."
Reese flipped his notebook closed. "It's all right. Maybe he didn't want to give his statement twice. I can review what he said when I get back to the station."
"That's two people," Fern said.
"Two people?" Prue asked as Merry slapped her chubby palms on the table.
"Two people connected to Kris who are now missing," Fern said, holding up two fingers. "First, Jeannie who said that Kris was nervous because he saw something suspicious, and now Stanley, who was the first person to find the bloody suit."
"We don't know they're missing missing," Mack said, his voice quivering.
"Maybe you don't," Fern said, shivering and making the sign of the cross over his chest, "but I have a strong premonition that they're both in trouble."
"He's dressed up as a priest one too many times," I whispered to Reese.
"Agreed," my fiancé said, his voice low so only I could hear him. "But, for once, I agree with your dramatic friend. I have a bad feeling that there's more to this whole mess than we know."
Chapter 11
“Where have you been?" Richard's head popped over the divider between my living room and kitchen as Reese and I walked into the apartment. "Didn't you get my texts?"
I dug my phone out from the bottom of my purse, cringing when I saw that my ringer had been off and the screen was filled with Richard's messages, which were punctuated with significantly more exclamation points and question marks as I scrolled down. "Sorry. We were preoccupied."
Richard's head disappeared into the kitchen with him mumbling something I was glad I couldn't hear, as his tiny black-and-brown dog scampered over to us, sniffing our legs and yipping happily.
I was surprised to see that our apartment had been returned to its usual state, and impressed that Richard had packed up every linen, plate, and fork. Even the plastic glass racks were gone, which meant that some unhappy delivery guys had carried everything down three flights of stairs. The chic and uncomfortable furniture had vanished, and my old furniture was back in place, although the room did look a little frumpy in comparison to its earlier look. At least Richard had left the Christmas tree decorations up, so the overall look was festively frumpy.
Perfectly embodying the theme, Leatrice sat on the yellow twill couch in a green sweatshirt printed with a fake pointy collar and wide, red belt to make it look like she was an elf. The green cap on her head, however, was genuine, and the bells jingled as she moved.
&nbs
p; "What are you doing here, Leatrice?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound unhappy to find her parked in my living room. "I thought you'd be with your hubby."
Since her wedding over the summer, Leatrice and Sidney Allen had become even more inseparable, which meant I saw much more of the quirky entertainment diva, but it also meant that my nosy neighbor spent much less time poking into my life. It was a trade-off I'd take any day of the week.
"Returning Hermès," she said. "Besides, my love muffin has a party tonight. A troupe of sugar plum fairies down at the Willard Hotel. I thought I'd see what you were up to."
Richard's head reappeared over the divider. "I told her we were insanely busy."
"Hey, Hermès." Reese leaned down and rubbed the dog's furry head. "Your daddy doesn't seem to have calmed down much."
"I heard that," Richard called out. "How could I have calmed down when you abandoned me for hours to do everything solo?"
"Hey!" Kate leaned out from the office down the hall. "You weren't solo, and you also didn't do that much work, unless you consider chopping food work."
"Actually, I do," Richard said, "and so do my many cooks and pantry staff." He waved a wooden spoon in my direction. "You know cooking calms me, darling, and with everything going on, I thought I'd whip up a little grouper with tarragon shallot cream sauce to help me think."
Some people used meditation apps or miniature sand gardens to calm them. Richard cooked.
"Well, it smells amazing." Reese headed for the kitchen. "I was expecting to order takeout for dinner."
Richard shot me a look. "Please tell me that you and Annabelle do more than order takeout every night."
"We do," I said. Sometimes we went out to eat, and sometimes we ate cereal on the couch.
"Good news." Kate walked down the hall waving her phone. "I just heard back from Autoshop."
"Is your car in the shop?" Reese asked. "Brakes again?"
Kate was unquestionably a horrible driver, and slammed on her brakes so often when driving around downtown DC that she went through brake pads like some people went through paper towels.
"No." Kate laughed. "Autoshop is an event venue down at Union Market."
"It used to be an actual auto body shop, so it's got a cool industrial vibe, and has been completely refurbished," I told him then turned to Kate. "I can't believe they're available on New Year's Eve."
"Cancellation," Kate said. "We got lucky. How did it go with Jeannie?"
"Not so lucky." I saw my fiancé's brow crease. "Jeannie hasn't shown up at her usual place today."
"Do you think she heard about Kris's bloody Santa suit and wanted to be alone?" Kate asked.
"I might think that if she hadn't disappeared before the suit was found," I said. "And then the homeless guy who was one of the ones who found the suit was gone when we went to find him at Lush."
Kate put one hand on her hip. "That's weird."
"Did you say bloody Santa suit?" Leatrice moved faster than any eighty-year-old I'd ever met and was standing next to us in mere seconds, bouncing up and down on her toes.
"Oh, no." Richard joined us, pointing his wooden spoon at each of us. "I know exactly where this is headed, and I won't have it."
"What are you talking--?" I began, but Richard silenced me with a flourish of his spoon.
"Don't play coy with me, Annabelle. You know perfectly well what I mean. First it starts with a seemingly innocent discussion of the case, then it moves to someone thinking it sounds suspicious, and before you know it we're running amateur sting operations and running for our lives from deranged murderers." He heaved in a breath, his face red. "I'm telling you right now, we barely have time to pull off these weddings and your engagement party. There is no room in our lives for a murder investigation."
"Murder?" Leatrice's eyes danced. "I was wondering when you'd get another one."
"There's no murder," I said, although I didn't have high hopes the police would find Kris alive considering how much blood he--or someone--had lost.
Richard swung his spoon around, nearly whacking her in the elf cap. "Exactly. There is not, I repeat not, 'another one'."
"Of course not, dear," she said. "You seem very agitated. Do you need to lie down for a second?"
"If I'm agitated, it's only because Miss Marple here can't seem to stop meddling in investigations."
"If you remember," I said, "I was the one who insisted that we didn't have time when Fern first mentioned that Kris was missing."
Richard glared at me and ignored Leatrice. "It always seems to start out that way, and then you slowly get sucked in. You can't resist the urge to fix things. You never have. Mark my words, this case will be just like the others. You hunting for clues while you pretend you aren't, all of us ending up in danger, and me a nervous wreck."
That did sum up the last few criminal investigations we'd been involved in.
Reese put a hand on Richard's shoulder. "Now you know how I feel."
Richard sighed. "She used to be much worse, you know."
"Hello?" I waved my hands. "I'm standing right here."
My fiancé steered Richard back into the kitchen where I could hear them commiserating about how stubborn I was. I was sincerely regretting all the effort I'd put into getting them to be friends. Apparently, I'd done too good of a job.
Leatrice tugged me by the sleeve back toward the couch. "Where did you find the victim?"
"There is no victim," I said, keeping my voice low. "It was just his Santa suit covered in blood."
Leatrice tilted her head, and her bells jingled as the cap slid down her jet-black hair. "So you don't know if Kris Kringle Jingle is dead or not?"
I shook my head. "We're hoping he abandoned his suit, but there was a lot of blood."
"Who would want to hurt a man who dressed up like Santa and made people happy?" Leatrice asked.
"Well, according to some of his friends, not everyone was happy with all the attention he got, especially the bell-ringing Santas.” I glanced toward the kitchen. "And Richard's right. This Santa turf war—if that’s what it is—is one case we need to leave to the police. We have our hands full as it is."
"So are you going to tell Richard or let him twist in the wind a little longer?" Kate asked.
"Definitely twist," I said with a grin.
Kate grabbed her pink purse from the overstuffed chair and slung it over her shoulder. "As much as I'd like to watch him spiral out of control, I have a date tonight."
"A date?" Leatrice rubbed her palms together. "Tell me about your young man."
"Well, for one, he isn't all that young."
"You're going out with the older guy?" I asked, my interest immediately piqued. "I thought you weren't going out with him because you didn't want to settle down."
She held up both palms. "It's just a date. We're not hitting a wedding chapel after dinner." She pulled out her car keys. "You want me to pick you up tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning?" I thought for a moment before snapping my fingers. "Delivering our icicle-themed gift bags to the hotels in eighty-degree weather. Yes, pick me up. I have a really great parking space I don't want to lose."
"Have fun, dearie." Leatrice waved as Kate walked out, closing the front door behind her.
Reese emerged from the kitchen and gave me two thumbs up, which I took to mean that he'd calmed down Richard.
"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," Richard called out, confirming my assumption with his chirpy tone.
I walked over and took my fiancé's hand. "You're the Richard Whisperer."
"If only that was a paid position," he said with a wicked grin. "I feel like I could pull in a decent amount of overtime."
My phone vibrated in my hand and I glanced down at it, surprised to see Kate's name pop up. "Second thoughts about the date?" I joked when I answered.
"No," she said. "But I won't be able to pick you up tomorrow morning after all."
"Why not?"
Kate exhaled loudly. "Because someo
ne flattened all my tires."
Chapter 12
“Can you believe that?" I asked Reese after we'd returned back upstairs from waiting with Kate for a tow truck. We'd deposited Leatrice in her first-floor apartment just in time for an episode of Matlock, and I was looking forward to some quiet time with my fiancé.
"What's not to believe?" Richard asked, walking out from the kitchen holding a plate in each oven-mitted hand. "Potential murder? Sabotage? Just another day in the life of Wedding Belles."
I exchanged a look with Reese. From his expression, I suspected it had slipped his mind that Richard was waiting with dinner.
Richard hesitated when he saw us staring at him. "What? You don't think I'm going to let this perfectly lovely sauce go to waste, do you? Even if you did take so long the fish could now be mistaken for high-end jerky."
"It still smells great," I said, in an attempt to mask my surprise.
Richard put the plates on my dining table, which was devoid of the elaborate decor from earlier. The handblown crystal had been replaced by my basic wine glasses; the eight pieces of sterling silver flatware per plate had been pared down to my stainless steel knives and forks, and instead of silk napkins in gilded napkin rings, there were plain plaid napkins folded in rectangles. The only reminder that there had been a photo shoot was the colorful floral arrangement that stretched down the middle and gave off the faint scent of lilies.
"I suppose you got Kate off to her date and her car off to the shop?" he asked, oven mitts on his hips. He seemed oddly calm about the whole thing, which made me nervous.
I nodded. "She was late for her date and pretty upset about having to get four new tires, but her car should be ready some time tomorrow."
Richard spun around and headed back to the kitchen, talking over his shoulder. "Any idea who did the deed, detective?"
"No clues that would pinpoint who did it," Reese said. "Definitely intentional, though. It looked like a sharp object--like a screwdriver--was used to poke a hole in each tire."
"I wouldn't have been surprised if Kate had popped one tire, considering how many curbs she runs up onto and potholes she nails, but even she couldn't have hit four all at once," I said. "This was definitely the work of Brianna."