“Two bottles of eye drops,” she said, as he knelt down.
“So I see. They’re empty too. Get me a plastic bag and some tongs.”
“That’s how I found them. They were stuffed in this box,” she said, pulling out a quart-sized bag.
Marci handed Marc the silver tongs from the sugar bowl. “Carl rearranged the drawers here. He switched the foil and bags to this drawer.”
“You’re sure?” Marc stood, zipping the bag securely.
“Yes. I was here when he did it.”
“This was done in a hurry though. The box isn’t the best place to hide them for the long haul. I would’ve thrown them in the garbage and gotten them out of the house at least.” Marc placed the bag on the island and pulled out his phone.
Voices caught their attention, and the front door opened. Gracie and Marci stepped out into the hallway to see Neema and Ethan enter, followed by Stephanie and Ward.
Neema waved. “We’re back. Our flight was cancelled.”
“Great,” Marci replied without enthusiasm. “You know where your rooms are.”
Ethan carried both suitcases, and Neema hauled a large tote bag toward the stairway. She stumbled on the first step and the bag dropped, strewing its contents on the floor. Gracie quickly caught sight of a familiar object. A bottle of eye drops rolled across the hardwood floor.
“Is this yours?” Gracie asked, picking up the bottle.
“Of course,” Neema said brightly, taking it from her hand. “Thanks.”
Gracie stepped back and reentered the kitchen. Marc had just ended his phone call.
“Guess who has eye drops,” she said.
“I give up. Who?”
“Neema. A bottle of them just fell out of her bag.”
“Looks like this might be a long night.” Marc sighed and rubbed his forehead.
At Marc’s request, Marci pulled together a late snack with hot drinks. Gracie and Marci scoured the refrigerator for anything sweet. There were a few truffles left, but nothing else. Gracie heated the tea kettle on the commercial gas range and filled a large Christmas teapot when it boiled.
“I guess the muffins and scones have to be recycled,” Marci said topping the plate with the remaining confections.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Gracie said lightly. “Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of things.” She grabbed a handful of assorted teabags, dumping them on the serving tray.
Kristin walked into the kitchen, looking refreshed.
“Feeling better?” Marci asked.
“Yes. I really needed to sleep. What can I help with?”
“Take a break. We’re putting out a snack for everyone. It’s pretty low-key.”
Marci whisked the plate of goodies away and Gracie followed with a tray of cups and saucers and the teapot.
Marc was already engaged in conversation with Neema and Ethan, who were sharing their unsuccessful attempt at driving to Buffalo in a snowstorm. Ward and Stephanie appeared a few minutes later as the rest were helping themselves to the provisions. Marc kept the flow of conversation light, asking about the best B & B’s they’d visited and their most interesting experiences at them. Gracie noticed demeanors change from suspicious and defensive to more relaxed. Now it was her turn.
“I loved watching Carl cook on his show. The dishes he created were impressive. How did he land that job anyway?”
“Oh, that was a real piece of luck,” Stephanie said. “Kristin was instrumental in that. She made the connections for him.”
“Really?”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Kristin poo-pooed. “After the terrible Rush B & B disaster, Carl applied for a sous chef job at my restaurant in New York.”
“Your restaurant?” Marc asked in surprise.
“Well, it was my partner’s restaurant. Landon was the owner, and I ran the kitchen.”
“But you were Carl’s sous chef,” Marci blurted out.
Neema laughed. “Carl needed all the help he could get. He wouldn’t have been anything without Kristin.”
“Not true,” Kristin protested. “Carl had the persona, the drive to be a celebrity. I like to cook, but Carl was an excellent chef in his own right. Neema had a lot to do with him getting the show too. It wasn’t just me.”
“Interesting partnership with you two.” Marc eased into a chair, putting one foot comfortably on a small ottoman.
“It worked for us,” Kristin confirmed.
“But it’s too bad about Landon,” Ward said. “How’s he doing?”
Jim squinted, trying to stay on the right side of the road as the driving snow overtook the windshield wipers. Josh was silent as they moved cautiously down the quiet road that led to the state park. Jim had no idea that the Kaczmareks owned acreage on the park’s boundaries.
“It’s over there,” Josh said, pointing into the snowy darkness.
Jim inched the truck over to the shoulder. The snow was beginning to build on the road’s surface. Josh flicked on the heavy-duty flashlight and shone it out over the white field.
“Back there, close to the woods. It’s in the shed.”
“All right. Let’s take a look.”
They hiked over the crunchy snow, taking long strides to reach the dilapidated building. Boards gapped, and snow had blown into it. Jim took his flashlight and directed the beam inside. He saw the camel first.
The nativity seemed intact except for the smallest sheep, which had been hacked up like kindling. A great deal of anger had been levied against it. Josh looked at the destruction and turned to Jim.
“I didn’t do that. Leon did. He hates his father and the church. He said he was going to burn this whole place down, but chickened out. He had a hatchet with him and did this.” He motioned to the sheep.
“Well, you were right, Josh. Now it’s time to straighten this whole thing out. The right way.”
Kristin tensed at Ward’s question and frowned. “He has a few more weeks to go.”
“What is this? The third time he’s been to rehab?” Ward continued.
“Yes.” Kristin poured herself a cup of steaming water, plunking a teabag into it.
“I imagine that’s a sore subject,” Ethan said. “Did Carl ever make things right with him?”
“I really don’t want to talk about Landon.” Kristin walked to the end of the library, sipping at her tea.
Gracie rubbed at her eye, making little noises of irritation. “My eyes are just so dry this time of year. I hope I brought my eye drops with me.”
“Oh, use mine,” Neema said, drawing them from her pants pocket. “Mine are awful too. I have to use them every couple of hours. I had to pick up another bottle when we went to Deer Creek.”
“Thanks.” Gracie quickly squirted a drop in each eye and placed the small bottle on the table.
“Funny thing,” Marc began. “Rush Cleaver died of tetrahydrozoline poisoning.”
“What’s that?” Ethan asked. His eyes narrowed as he drew his muscular body forward in the chair.
“It’s an ingredient in some eye-drop solutions. Like the one on coffee table.” Marc remained in his relaxed position, surreptitiously looking for reactions.
“How do you know that?” Stephanie demanded.
“Analysis of Cleaver’s vomit.” Marc kept his voice even. “He’d ingested quite a bit. At least two bottles of that stuff there.”
Neema gasped, snatching the bottle from the table. “I did not kill him. I won’t be accused of it. You have nothing on me.”
“A bottle exactly like yours was found in the house this afternoon,” Marc stated. He pulled a plastic bag from his pants pocket. One empty eye-drops bottle was inside. “Can you explain that?” He reached out his hand to take the bottle from her.
Ethan went to comfort Neema, glaring at Marc. “She’s no murderer.”
“I don’t know anything about what you found,” Neema protested.
The others stared at Neema, who put her hand on the arm of the sofa as if vacillating w
hether she should sit or not. Ethan caught her hand, guiding the distraught woman to sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs.
“Anyone else use eye drops?” Marc went to the fireplace, stoking the glowing embers among the ashes.
“That’s a pretty common item,” Stephanie answered, twisting her long hair. “Just because more of us may have them doesn’t mean we killed Rush. You and the investigator are on the wrong trail. It was Carl, I’m sorry to say.”
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Marc,” Ward added. “I don’t know why we’re being harassed.”
“Maybe we should all empty our purses, ladies,” Gracie suggested, pulling hers from under the coffee table and displaying the contents on it for inspection. After everyone had taken a look, she gathered them back into the small quilted bag.
“Sure. Let’s get this over with.” Stephanie frowned. “Mine is in our room. Marci, why don’t you go with me to make sure I don’t flush something down the toilet?”
Marci looked to Marc for affirmation. He nodded, and she followed Stephanie down the hallway. Gracie looked up at Neema and Kristin, who hadn’t made a move.
“You already know I have a bottle. There’s no reason for me to get my bag,” Neema challenged. “What about the guys?”
Ethan huffed in disgust. “They’ve crawled all over my room. I know they didn’t find anything unless someone planted it there.” He stood and dug into his jeans pockets, pulling them out for everyone to see. “There you go.” He stuffed them back in, glowering at Marc.
“Thanks, Ethan,” Marc said crisply.
Kristin finally made a move toward the door. “My bag’s in my room. I’ll be glad to get it.”
“Gracie can go along with you,” Marc directed, his tone prohibiting argument. He slipped the eye-drops bottle into Gracie’s hand as he followed them to the doorway.
As he turned around, Ward stood and pulled out the pockets of his pants, worry lines creasing his forehead, his brown eyes flinty. “Satisfied?”
Marc nodded.
The women swiftly located their handbags and they all met at the bottom of the stairs. Gracie excused herself to visit the facilities in Marci’s small office off the kitchen. Stephanie looked at Kristin’s bag and her own before focusing her gaze on Marci.
“Right,” Marci said, taking the hint. “You follow me to my apartment so I can find my purse.”
“Excellent idea,” Stephanie replied. “It’s only fair.”
“I agree,” Marci said.
Stephanie reentered the library with Kristin. Marci was behind both women, carrying her own purse. Each took a turn emptying out the contents, then replacing them.
“Thank you, one and all,” Marc said.
He received an indignant look from Stephanie. Kristin appeared annoyed, placing her handbag on the coffee table. She began to pick up dishes, stacking them on the tray.
“Let me help,” Marci offered, reaching for the loaded serving tray.
“That’s all right. I need to be busy. Stay here.”
“I insist,” Marci replied, and whisked the dishes and tea things to the kitchen.
“Now what?” Ethan demanded.
“Nothing more,” Marc replied. “Gracie and I will be going. It’s been quite a day. He looked around the room before walking into the hallway. Taking his coat from one of the hooks near the entrance, Marc called out for Gracie, who responded she was coming. The front door slammed smartly.
“Good riddance,” growled Ward.
Marci reentered the room, stifling a yawn. “If you’ll excuse me, I agree with Marc. It certainly has been quite a day. A very long one in fact. I’ll say good night to you all.” She made a speedy departure, hoping the plan in motion would end the long nightmare she was living in. She stood outside her turret apartment door, listening to the voices below. It seemed everyone was following her lead and going to bed.
Gracie held her breath in the dimness of the walk-in pantry, listening to the clink of dishes going into the dishwasher. Silence followed. The pantry door was open just a crack for her to see into the kitchen. If Marc’s instinct was on target, there should be some action very soon. He’d better be coming around to the back door quickly. She had no idea what to expect, but she had begged him to allow her to be the eyes in the kitchen. He was counting on her to hold it together. Voices from the library filtered in, and Kristin pushed open the door, calling out that the kitchen was closing. The lights went off, and Gracie held her breath in the darkness. The house was soon quiet, empty of footsteps and voices.
She didn’t have long to wait, although it felt like hours. A rustling sound caught her attention, and she strained to make out who the shadowy figure was slinking toward the refrigerator.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gracie pushed the door open a bit farther, positioning herself to have a direct sight line on the drawer she’d found the empty bottles in. The figure stopped, as if listening. Her heart pounded in her ears. Willing herself to breathe normally when she wanted to gasp for oxygen, Gracie held the edge of the door in her hand, pushing it open another inch, hoping the door wouldn’t squeak.
The figure opened the drawer, and a thin beam of light illuminated the depths. Still not satisfied with her position, Gracie bent forward, craning her neck to see. The figure tore apart the flimsy storage bag boxes and then rummaged through the rest of the drawer. A small grunt of satisfaction ended the search. Gracie gritted her teeth, flipping the pantry’s light switch on. Simultaneously, the back door swung open, and Marc threw the switches for the kitchen lights.
Kristin jumped back in surprise, flinging the plastic bottle at Gracie and scrambling for the kitchen door.
Marc quickly grabbed her arms, pressing them behind her back, pushing her toward the island. The woman was already sobbing, squeaking out her innocence as Marc handcuffed her. Gracie called 9-1-1.
Jim stood with Brian Damon, Bob Clark, Leon Kaczmarek, and Pastor Minders, watching Leon, Jr. and Josh arrange the nativity into its original position on the church’s front lawn. Snow swirled around them, the wind gusting briskly. Josh maneuvered the kneeling wise man near the manger before standing back to assess the placement. Jim was surprised by the sense of relief that flooded him upon seeing the nativity serenely keeping watch over the village once again.
“All right, boys. That looks good,” Bob said, hunched up in his heavy coat against the frigid wind.
“I agree,” Pastor Minders said, clapping both Josh and Leon, Jr. on the back. “Let’s call it a night.”
Leon, Jr., a reedy, short teen, skittered away from the pastor, but was immediately snagged by his father, who grabbed his son’s coat sleeve. Leon, Sr.’s face was crumpled in humiliation, his eyes boring into his delinquent progeny. Jim hadn’t ever felt too much sympathy for Leon, whose blustery personality could be downright irritating. His company was usually best in small doses. But tonight, he felt the absolute disgrace that emanated from the tall, burly man.
Bob and the pastor were calm and self-controlled when they learned the truth about the theft. They’d both been kind to the boys and hadn’t heaped criticism and well-deserved judgment on them. Wonder of wonders, the pastor and Bob agreed that no charges were to be placed against them. They’d also sworn them all to secrecy. No one would know who had returned the nativity or what had transpired. Must be the Christmas spirit, he decided.
Josh was in a heap of trouble for a multitude of serious violations. The Damons had already decided Josh was beyond their capabilities, especially with a preschooler in the house. The Juvenile Detention Center was in the teen’s future, which didn’t sit well with Jim. He grappled with different scenarios considering how to change the ruinous path Josh had chosen. He desperately wanted to help the teen. Maybe he should talk to the pastor again.
The last of the guests drove down the steep driveway, and Marci leaned her head against the door. How she could continue to run this B & B escaped her at the moment. Even her cozy apartment felt alien
. The Mistletoe legacy lived on in violence and death in her home, which didn’t result in a homey atmosphere. She heard Sheila upstairs busily changing linens and readying the rooms for the next round of guests, scheduled to arrive after New Year’s. She withdrew to the porch, sucking in the frosty air. A dark-blue SUV wound its way up the drive.
Sheriff Hotchkiss stepped out and walked toward her.
“Do you need to search the house again?”
“Oh no. Everything is closed at this point, unless you find another skeleton.”
Marci chuckled glumly. “It could happen. There should be two more, actually.”
“Interesting. Well, let me know if you unearth them.” She offered a wan smile as she stepped onto the porch. “I came by to let you know the status on Kristin Lee, and I also have information about the Mistletoe matter.”
Marci swung the door open, motioning for the sheriff to enter.
“Come on in. I’m all ears.”
The women settled into the comfortable parlor, Christmas music playing softly in the background.
The sheriff began with the mystery of the skeletons in the basement. Research had uncovered three missing-person reports within the time frame of Lily’s disappearance and that of two other men from the Deer Creek area. Stephen had reported his wife as missing. Two other businessmen, one the livery stable owner and another, a banker, had disappeared within a year of each other. Both men were often in attendance at parties held at the mansion, according to old newspaper reports that the sheriff’s clerk had dug up. DNA extracted from the teeth of the skeletons had been submitted to a genealogy website. One match had come back, and it led to an old Deer Creek family, the Bakers, who had started the bank in Deer Creek.
“Really?” Marci exclaimed. “That must be Isabelle’s husband’s family. Wait until she hears this.” She hesitated, putting a hand over her mouth. “Can I tell her?”
Sheriff Hotchkiss laughed. “Not a problem. I’m sure Isabelle will be interested to hear that one of her late husband’s ancestors met an untimely end here. My take on these finds is that Stephen Mistletoe was most likely a serial killer and preferred to murder around the holidays, which made disposing of bodies difficult, owing to the frozen ground, so they ended up in the basement. That’s probably all we’ll be able to figure out.”
The Mistletoe Murders Page 15