The Mistletoe Murders

by Laurinda Wallace

  Marci closed her eyes and massaged a sore spot on her forehead. Everything felt like a huge mistake, and there was no way out. She needed to know if more bodies were buried in the woods. It was her property, not a designated cemetery. Replacing the manuscript on the shelf, she grabbed her tablet to Google burial and disinterment laws.

  Gracie tapped her mother’s ID and password into the genealogy website. She had no idea her mother had been hunting down far-flung relatives when she’d mentioned trying to research the Mistletoes. The amount of information available online was staggering. Gracie clicked off her family’s depository of family trees. Despite some checkered history among her relatives, she suspected that they couldn’t be anywhere near as interesting as the Mistletoe family.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Marci was on her second cup of coffee when the sound of a car horn broke the quiet of the kitchen. Fortunately, Rush had dashed off after breakfast to explore the region and take notes for his feature article. She hoped for a quiet day to finish preparations for Friday. She padded into the foyer in fluffy white slippers and peered out one of the front windows of the formal parlor. A large black Escalade had pulled up near the house. Who was that?

  A dark-haired man jumped out, rubbing his hands together. He was of medium height, and his face had a serious five o’clock shadow.

  “Oh no, it’s Carl!” Kristin dashed to the front door, flinging it open. “What are you doing here already?” she demanded.

  “Ma Cherie, don’t worry. I caught an earlier flight. I was so excited to be here, and I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Mission accomplished,” Kristin said, hurrying down the steps. “Let me get some of your luggage.”

  “Leave it. I want to look at the place first. Is my domain ready?”

  Kristin rolled her eyes. “Of course, Chef. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the owner.”

  Marci took a last gulp of coffee and went to greet the incomparable Flambeau. She fluffed her hair and smoothed her embroidered silk tunic, hoping for the best. The kitchen must have passed muster for the most part. He rearranged two drawers, while Kristin hauled in a black briefcase that held his knifes, all sharp and gleaming. Ready to slice chops and steaks. Marci imagined the fabulous meals to come.

  “I think I should stay on site,” Carl announced. If the weather takes a turn, I could be unable to drive over. You do have something? Private of course.” He turned to look at Marci, who stopped her mouth from gaping in horror just in the nick of time.

  “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting you. You said that you had a place at the lake.”

  “It didn’t meet my expectations. What do you have for me?”

  Kristin jumped in to save further embarrassment. “I have the carriage house apartment. It’s beautiful. You can take that. I’m sure Marci can fit me in here.”

  “Oh yes. Yes, that’s right. Certainly. I’ll have Sheila get a room ready for you, Kristin, and prepare the apartment for you, Chef.”

  “Excellent. Kristin, we have work to do.”

  With that, Marci was summarily dismissed from the kitchen and went to find her housekeeper.

  Sheila took the changes in stride and soon had Kristin’s belongings transferred to the Gingerbread bedroom. Marci assisted by changing the linens and towels in the small apartment and had Devon haul three heavy suitcases to the top floor of the restored carriage house.

  “There you go.” Devon plunked the last piece of luggage in the apartment. “He must be staying for a while.”

  “For a month,” Marci said, adjusting the antique candlestick on the highboy dresser. “We’ll see it through. I’m afraid we may have some fireworks when Mr. Cleaver returns.”

  Devon’s forehead wrinkled, his brows drawn together. “Bad blood between them?”

  “Quite a bit I’m told.”

  “Maybe they’ll get in the Christmas spirit here.” He smiled, arranging the suitcases next to the dresser.

  “Possibly,” Marci mumbled mostly to herself. Everything in the last two days was like a bad dream, and she couldn’t wake up.

  “It’ll work out. Is that all you need me to do?”

  Marci surveyed the room and felt satisfied with the results. “All for here, but there is a project I’m wondering if you would be game for.” The mystery of the cemetery in the woods was an irresistible draw. Curiosity and dread of what lay in the pines weighed on her. She had to find out who or what was there. She would also have to ask for Marc’s help. Discretion was required.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Shovels struck the damp ground with force. Devon and Marc tossed decayed pine needles and earth into a growing pile. They’d managed to excavate about three feet down at Lily’s headstone and hadn’t yet found anything to indicate a body had been buried there.

  Marc stepped back, sweat soaking his flannel shirt. Coats had been discarded almost immediately once the work began. They were draped on a nearby evergreen branch. Devon dumped another shovelful on the mound and took a break, wiping his face with a dirty shirt sleeve.

  “What do you think? Should we keep going?” Marc asked.

  “I don’t know.” He scraped the shovel along the sides of the rectangular opening, loosening more dirt. “I do know that grave digging is hard work, especially with all these tree roots.”

  “No kidding.” Marc found his water bottle near another headstone and gulped the cold water. He walked over to the hole, squatting down to look inside it. “In my experience, murderers tend to dig hurried, shallow graves. I’m not sure if going deeper will give us any results.”

  “You know better than I do,” Devon said. “My back is telling me that the hole is probably deep enough anyway. This Mistletoe family was kind of crazy and cursed at the same time. Marci was telling me some of the stories she found in a book about them.”

  “Gracie found quite a bit of their family history on some genealogy website last night,” Marc added. “And you’re right. They have a pretty grim past. This little graveyard only confirms it.”

  Gracie sat in Marci’s apartment, deciphering the faded handwriting of Pamela’s manuscript. She could hear raised voices below. The dreadful Rush Cleaver had returned from his explorations, and a bit of a personality clash ensued with the chef. Poor Marci! Things were going from bad to worse even before the opening weekend.

  Marci whooshed through the door and slumped onto a chaise lounge in front of the bay windows.

  “I quit! I give up. Rush Cleaver is an absolute jerk. I have to get rid of him before everyone arrives. I don’t care if he blasts me in his article.”

  “He’s really that bad?” Gracie squeaked. She’d never seen Marci this angry, not even with Isabelle’s occasional theatrics at Deer Creek Businesswomen Association meetings.

  “He’s worse. Carl is going to leave unless Cleaver leaves, and Kristin will go with Carl. I can’t win in the situation. With no chef for the weekend, I’m doomed with the rest of the guests coming in.”

  “Wow! You are in a mess. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m evicting Mr. Cleaver as of now, I guess. He showed up early and has been insufferable. When the chef takes his biggest knife out to wave it in a man’s face, it’s time for that particular man to find new accommodations.”

  “Need moral support?” Gracie asked tentatively. A cameo appearance in a scene featuring a knife-wielding chef and an incorrigible guest was not one she relished, but if Marci required her help in this hour of need then she’d make an appearance.

  “Thanks, but no,” the beleaguered hostess answered bravely. “I’m in the hospitality business now, and sometimes you have to remove a guest.”

  Marci took a deep breath and smoothed her dark hair away from her face. “Be ready to call 9-1-1 if you hear me screaming.”

  Gracie’s eyes widened. “I’m coming with you. This is a ridiculous situation.”

  “No,” she responded firmly. “It’ll be fine.”

  There were no screams, nor rais
ed voices. Gracie wasn’t sure what transpired, but the squeal of tires heralded the exit of Rush Cleaver. She drew the drapes back and watched a red sports car speed down the driveway. Marci’s face was flushed when she returned but wore a satisfied smile.

  “Success, I see.”

  “Yes. He’s gone and I’ve smoothed things out with Carl.” Marci’s smile faded. “Kristin let me down.” Marci sat on the end of the chaise lounge. “She was supposed to tell him about this guy, but never did. I think she was afraid of Carl’s reaction, which was pretty dramatic.”

  “So, will there be any other guests that might cause combustible reactions?”

  “No. I’ve gone over the guest list with Carl, and there are no issues with him. I expect smoother sailing from this point. Now, what did you find out from that website?”

  Marc and Devon returned shovels and a pickax to the stable. The horses nickered greetings from their stalls. Marc reached in to rub their noses.

  “These are real beauties. What’s Marci doing with them?” Marc asked.

  “They’re here to pull a sleigh, but I’m not sure the weather will cooperate,” Devon said, rubbing Sherlock’s neck, the gelding leaning in for more attention.

  “Good luck with that,” Marc laughed. “This is sure an unusual winter so far. After that early snow in October, we’ve had the longest Indian summer on record, I think.”

  “Pretty mild and not good for the orchard. I’ve seen some leaves popping out, which could ruin next year’s crop unless it turns cold pretty soon.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” Marc stepped away, looking out toward the house. Devon reached for the lead ropes hanging on a wall near the stalls. “I need to take these gentlemen out to the pasture for some exercise. They’ve been cooped up too long today.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll tell Marci the news about the bizarre cemetery.”

  Devon shook his head and whistled. “Bizarre and a little unsettling. Man. I’m glad you were able to help out today. I wouldn’t have thought to check where you did.”

  Marc rapped on the apartment door that was slightly ajar.

  “Come in,” Marci called. She and Gracie sipped at hot cups of mulled cider. The fragrance of cinnamon and cloves was warm and comforting.

  “Good. You’re both here,” Marc said, finding a seat in an overstuffed armchair. He held out a dirty and heavily tarnished locket. “See what we found.”

  Marci rose and took the necklace, examining it carefully. Gracie stood by her, staring at the large silver oval. The heavy chain was still encrusted with earth.

  Gracie let out a low whistle. “Holy cow, husband. Where did you find it?”

  “Well, not in a grave. We didn’t find any sign of a burial when we dug down near Lily’s stone.”

  “Then where?” Marci asked.

  “Under the headstone.”

  “What?” Marci gulped.

  “When we’d gone down about three feet with no sign of a body, I got to thinking. Murderers usually dispose of their victims quickly—in shallow graves. And these disappearances took place in the winter. The ground was probably frozen. Fortunately for us, it isn’t this year, but I thought it was unlikely any graves were dug there. But maybe the stones are a big deal. Like a ghoulish trophy case.”

  “And you found this under Lily’s?” Marci held up the locket before setting it on an end table.

  “Yup. And there’s more.” Marc pulled a handful of objects from his coat pocket.

  Marc and Devon had dug underneath each stone and located a signet ring, a pair of cufflinks, a plain gold band, and a small broken crystal glass. Gracie guessed it must be a sherry glass from its size. He laid them out on the end table with the necklace. All were dirty and in poor shape.

  “We hit the glass with the shovel and broke it, so that’s our bad. But I think that’s all that’s buried in the woods. You probably have two more skeletons hanging around here somewhere.”

  “What a comfort.” Marci scowled and walked to the window, turning to face them with a smile. “When handed lemons, make lemonade,” she declared. “It’s a perfect mystery for the guests to contemplate this weekend. Marc, if you regale the crowd with today’s find, it’ll dovetail with Quentin’s presentation. And if they want to try and find two more skeletons, maybe that’s all right too. I want all of the bodies found, and a team might be what I need. That’s enough mystery to keep this sophisticated crowd interested for the whole weekend. They already know about the wine cellar discoveries, so let’s capitalize on it all.”

  “Are you sure?” Gracie was doubtful.

  “You don’t want strangers poking around in your cellar or knocking holes in walls to look for bodies,” Marc added.

  Marci weighed the negatives and then looked more determined than ever. “Why not? I can’t have the drama of skeletons showing up at odd times, and this may take their minds off old grudges.”

  Marc shrugged. “Sure, I’ll talk about the cemetery. They’ll want to go out there, you know.”

  “No problem. Let them. They can visit the official family cemetery too. Devon has that all spruced up. I have to look at this positively, or I’m going to have a major meltdown.”

  Gracie had to agree. What a unique experience for these travel connoisseurs! It was certainly going to give her and Marc a more exciting weekend.

  “Till Friday then,” Gracie said cheerfully. “The game is afoot.”

  Jim clipped a leash on Dude and led the terrier mix out to his pickup that was running in the kennel’s parking lot. Dude jumped in for the ride, quivering with excitement. A call from Steve had directed him to social services to gain permission to visit Josh. There were no problems with the new foster parents, who’d given permission to bring Dude along. Jim had a feeling that Dude might be a good icebreaker for his visit.

  Walking up the sidewalk to Josh’s temporary home, raindrops splattered against his face. Dude dashed ahead, straining at the leash. A woman with short brown hair answered the door, a little boy no more than three or four hugging her leg.

  “Hi, you must be Jim,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Nancy.” She took the boy’s hand and stepped away so Jim and Dude could enter.

  “Yes, and this is Dude. I hope it’s still okay for him to come.”

  “Of course. We love dogs. We have an old basset hound who can barely get around anymore.” She bent to pat Dude’s head. “Come on in. Josh is working on some homework in the dining room.”

  The house smelled like baked goods with the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from the kitchen. Jim kept Dude on a tight leash. The dog immediately jumped up on the toddler to lick him. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t startled. He laughed and pushed Dude away.

  “Go play, Henry. I have to talk to Josh for a minute.”

  The tow-headed boy trotted obediently into another room off the living room.

  “We have two foster kids right now,” Nancy said. “Henry is our own little surprise. We have two sons in college. Josh and Mike are both in high school, but Mike is at basketball practice right now.”

  She led the way into a small dining room with a bank of windows covered with lace curtains. In the middle of the room was a large round table with six chairs and a circular blue-and-gray braided rug underneath it.

  “Josh, Mr. Taylor is here.”

  The dark-haired teen looked up, his face impassive. Seeing the boy’s cool expression, Jim had a feeling that it might be a tough meeting.

  “Hi, Josh. It’s good to see you,” Jim said warmly. “I’ve brought along a friend today that I thought you might like to meet.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Here he is,” Jim answered, picking up the lively dog that began licking his face. “His name is Dude.”

  “Oh. Looks like a nice dog.”

  “Josh, why don’t you take a break and take Mr. Taylor up to your room?”

  The sullen young man led the way up the staircase to a spacious bedroom furnished with bunkbeds, two dressers,
a desk, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Josh motioned for Jim to take the desk chair, and the teen sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

  “You didn’t have to come and see me,” Josh started.

  “I know, but I was surprised to find out you weren’t with the Lindens.”

  Josh kept his eyes on his worn sneaker rubbing against the carpet. “It wasn’t working out, I guess.”

  “Had a bit of trouble?” Jim leaned forward, trying to make eye contact. “With the church?”

  “Well, yeah. I don’t want to talk about it.” He looked up at Jim and brushed his lanky dark hair from his eyes.

  “I’m sorry that I hadn’t stopped by for so long. I was hoping to take you out to dinner, if you’d still like to go. If you have things on your mind, we could talk about them.”

  “Uh, that’s all right. You don’t need to do anything for me. Mrs. Damon is a pretty good cook.” A quick smile creased his face, and he looked down at the carpet again.

  “I saw your carvings in Mr. Linden’s shop. You’ve done some amazing work.”

  “They’re all right. That’s the one thing I really did like there.” Josh looked up, a glimmer of joy in his eyes.

  “All right? You have a real gift. I could work at a duck decoy for two years and not accomplish what you did in a matter of weeks. I hope you get a chance to pursue it.”

  “That’s what the Lindens said, but it’s not a real job. I’m out of the system after this school year, and I need a job. My parents don’t want me back. I’ll be on my own. My grades aren’t good enough for college, and I don’t want to go anyway.”

  Jim watched the teen’s expression darken. Facing life by yourself at his age had to be terrifying.

  “Maybe we could find something for you at the kennel if you’re interested,” Jim said a little too quickly, knowing that Gracie wouldn’t be in favor of adding staff. He would have to do some fast talking for that to happen.