by Cat Clayton
“I’ll walk them out, Chief,” Jackson said, ushering us down the hallway.
Pop jumped out of his chair as if it were on fire and rushed over, meeting us at the front counter. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Stoney said.
The desk clerk’s phone rang, and Lenora answered it. “Buckleville PD, Lenora speaking.”
“Y’all ready to go?” Pop asked.
Jackson touched my arm. “I’ll swing by after my shift.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Officer Jackson, could you let the chief know the preliminary autopsy is complete on Lloyd Madden,” Lenora said, holding her hand over the phone receiver.
Stoney grasped the edge of the counter, her eyes widening in horror. “Did you say, Lloyd Madden?”
Oh crap.
Lenora’s head bounced from Stoney’s to Jackson’s.
“Thank you, Lenora,” Jackson said, steering us away from her desk.
Stoney broke free and dashed back to the counter. “Lloyd’s dead?”
I rushed to her side.
“How? When?” Stoney shrieked, her voice bouncing off the walls.
Lenora froze, realizing she’d made a huge mistake.
“Come on, sis. Let’s go home,” I said, taking her by the arm.
“Wait!” She yanked out of my hold. “Did you know about Lloyd?” Wincing, one hand moved to the underside of her belly. “Did you?” Her voice escalated.
“Yes.”
Nostrils flaring, she skirted past me and marched up to Pop. “And, I’m assuming you knew as well? Ha! It was probably your idea to keep it from me, wasn’t it?”
Pop blinked behind his glasses, his lips moving, but no words emerged.
Still supporting her belly, she stood stock still. “How did he die?”
“Stoney, come sit down with me,” I said, motioning with my hand.
“Not until you tell me how!” she yelled at me, inches from my face.
“It happened last night. He... was murdered.”
“How could you keep it from me?”
Her accusation and sadness killed me.
Pop tried moving in between us. “Don’t blame Steely. It was my decision not to tell you yet.”
Her eyes glazed over. She stood motionless, and at the top of her lungs, she screamed, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. The primal wail that ensued pierced my heart.
She backed herself up to the opposite end of the counter. “Why is it that the two people in my life who’re supposed to love me and always tell me the truth decide when and if I get to know things? Why?” She belted out another shriek and clutched her stomach, doubling over, grunting in pain.
Chief Becker burst through the swinging doors. “What in the hell is going on out here?” His voice boomed.
“Stoney!” I hurried over to her, leaning down. “Is it the baby?”
She squished up her face, growing flushed. “Uuuggghhh! I... I don’t know. But it hurts! Help me.”
“Call 911!” Jackson told Lenora.
Chapter 22
An hour later, Pop, Gertie, and I sat in the urgent care clinic’s emergency room, waiting to hear an update on Stoney. Every five minutes, Pop would leap out of his chair, pace the room, and stop by the front desk to see if they had any news. He’d collapse back into his chair with the same message. The doctor will come out when they’ve finished examining her and talk to us.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I jumped up and took it outside. The shop’s phone number. I swiped it to answer.
“Hello?”
“Oh my gosh! How is she?” Daniel asked. He’d called three times in the past hour.
“Nothing yet.”
“Do you think she went into labor?”
“Let’s hope not, Daniel. It’s way too early.”
But they’re taking so long. It’s a possibility, right?” he asked.
I meandered down the sidewalk, the chilly air not even phasing me. “Yeah, unfortunately, it could happen. How’s the shop?”
“Girl, I canceled this afternoon’s appointments. Said we had a family emergency. I can’t groom in the state I’m in! I’m sitting here pulling my hair out!”
“How’re Cuff and Taffy?”
“They’re fine. We’re sitting in the lobby, watching Animal Planet. Did you know they like the show, Meerkat Manor?”
Pop stuck his head out of the door and whistled. I glanced up, and he motioned for me to hurry back.
“I gotta go. As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know.”
“You’d better, or I’m coming up there. Bye!”
I disconnected the call, hoping it didn’t come to that.
Back in the waiting room, the doctor, Pop, and Gertie gathered in a small circle. Gertie caught sight of me, furrowed her eyebrows, and snapped her fingers. I rushed over.
“Now, this means Stoney is to have a completely stress-free environment,” the female doctor with sandy brown hair said. She lifted her head when I joined them.
“Is she in labor?” I shot the question out.
“No!” Gertie snapped. “Had you been here and not on the phone you’d know that.” She turned to the doctor and pointed at me. “This is Stoney’s younger sister.”
Good grief. I bit my lower lip, restraining myself from blasting back a retort.
The tall doctor glanced back and forth between Gertie and me to make sure we were done. The stern expression on her thin face told me we’d better be. I read her nametag before peering down at my shoes. Dr. Witting.
She cleared her throat.
I glanced back up.
“As I was telling your father and grandmother, your sister is not in labor. She is under an extreme amount of stress. Some stress is normal, but Stoney’s seems to be major and ongoing. She and I have discussed the past six months and how she’s dealing with it. Her blood pressure is elevated. High levels of stress can increase the chances of having a premature birth. Stoney is only twenty-four weeks along. We want her to carry to at least thirty-seven weeks. I’m extremely concerned about her and the health of her baby. She’s resting now.”
“Oh thank goodness she’s not in labor though,” I said.
“Yes, that’s the good news,” Dr. Witting said.
“And the bad news?” Pop asked.
Dr. Witting inhaled a sharp breath and exhaled. “I’m keeping Stoney under observation for twenty-four hours, and she’s requested absolutely no visitors.”
“But I’m her—”
Dr. Witting shut Pop down with a flash of her hand. “I’m sorry. I have to agree with my patient, and her well-being is my top priority.” She addressed us as a group. “And you as her father, and you as her sister and grandmother should respect her wishes. You need to put her well-being and the health of her baby above your need to see her.” She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “Questions before I return to the care of my patient?”
It hurt knowing Stoney refused to see us, but even worse, the realization we’d played a part in her excessive stress hit me hard. I hoped she knew our intentions of keeping Lloyd’s death a secret was to help her, not cause her grief.
Pop opened his mouth to reply to Dr. Witting, but Gertie nudged him aside. “Please take care of our dumplin’. We will call and check on her tomorrow. Thank you, doctor.”
“Yes, thank you, Dr. Witting,” I said.
Pop grunted a thank you.
We climbed into Pop’s Jeep and he drove me to the shop in silence. On the way, I texted Daniel and Jackson that they were keeping her overnight for observation, no labor. Pop pulled up to the curb opposite of Scrubadub.
As I opened the passenger door, Gertie unsnapped her seatbelt. I leaned back. “We don’t have clients this afternoon. See you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said and snapped her belt back in.
“Bye,” I told them.
“Goodbye, Steels,” Pop said as I shut the door.
With a great deal o
f shame, I watched them drive away.
I found Daniel, Cuff, and Taffy in the lobby still watching Animal Planet. The meerkat show was no longer on, instead, a show about cats who terrorize their owners.
“So, how is she?” Daniel asked, sitting cross-legged on his yoga mat in the middle of the floor.
“I guess okay. I can’t believe she refused to see any of us.”
“I’m sorry, Steely. I know this is hard on you.” He sighed a weighted exhale. “Wait, you didn’t tell me, how is the baby? Why are they keeping Stoney overnight? And who’s staying with her?”
Standing under the TV, Cuff growled, the hair on his back raised as he watched a huge ginger cat swatting at a man. Taffy sat on the floor next to him with her head twisting back and forth as she stared up at the show.
Chiquita, this is why I don’t like cats. They are like clawed, furball monsters!
“Daniel, you know shows like this fuel Cuff’s dislike for cats. For him, it’s probably the equivalent of us watching a horror flick.” I collapsed in one of the lobby chairs. “So, about Stoney. Because of her stress level, the doctor believes her pregnancy may be at risk. Did you know a high-stress level can cause premature birth?”
“I had no idea,” Daniel said.
“Me either.”
“The situation is scary and heartbreaking,” he said.
Hissing and an awful yowling bled through the TV’s speaker. I glanced up in time to witness the same ginger cat leaping from a second floor to the first floor through a staircase banister and landing on his owner’s head, scratching and clinging.
Ouch, that had to hurt. Cuff turned his head. I cannot watch anymore!
“Daniel, please change the station.”
“Fine.” He flipped the stations using the remote and landed on Scooby-Doo. “How’s this?”
I love me some Scooby-Doo! Cuff barked.
“Cuff approves.” I padded to the other side of the counter and grabbed the eraser and chalk from the drawer.
“How about helping me try to figure out a few things?” I pulled the chalkboard over toward his mat and plopped down on the floor with him.
“Such as?”
I erased the cute quote: Happiness begins with a wet nose and ends with a tail. “Well, I thought we could discuss a few details about the Secret Santa gifts and Lloyd’s death. Like clues, suspects, and motives. I need to get my mind off Stoney being in the hospital, and her not wanting us there. I feel useless.” I took a piece of chalk out of the box. “With everything that’s been going on, I think the police department is overwhelmed. Maybe we can help by doing a little brainstorming.”
“Okay,” Daniel said, rubbing his hands together. “What’s first?”
Using the chalk, I drew vertical lines, dividing the chalkboard into two equal sections. At the top, I drew a horizontal line across. In the first section, I wrote Lloyd. In the second space, I wrote Creepy Santa gifts.
“What about the peeping Tom incident?” Daniel asked, drawing his knees up closer to his chest.
“Let’s assume it ties in with the gifts. Don’t you think?”
Chiquita, you remind me of Daphne on Scooby-Doo. You are smart and stylish and a clue hunter.
Why, thank you, little buddy.
But you also remind me of Thelma. Because you are short and little.
Pot, kettle, I thought.
Daniel nodded. “Probably the same person, I agree.”
“Regarding Lloyd’s murder, let’s come up with suspects. Jackson and I discussed his murder, and more than likely it has something to do with Stoney.”
I wrote: Cranky Santa, Stoney’s stalker.
“Why do y’all think it’s about her?”
“Because they left the 8th day of Christmas gift on his body.”
“Oh my.” Daniel shuddered. “So, I guess we can rule out a disgruntled art buyer.”
“Well, we don’t know of one yet, but let’s not rule one out.” I wrote a disgruntled art buyer under Lloyd’s murder column. Under Creepy Santa gifts, I wrote: Cranky Santa, Stoney’s stalker, “Larry” the abductor.
We studied the board, both of us in thought.
“I can’t help but think it definitely involves Cranky Santa. It’d be too obvious if he were Stoney’s Secret Santa, right? I mean, he’s not even trying to hide his identity.”
Daniel shrugged. “You remember our run-in with him yesterday at the car lot? If you ask me, I’d say he’s that bold and doesn’t care.”
“Good point. It was so crazy yesterday after I discovered Lloyd dead, I haven’t told you. The Cranky Santa guy snuck away from the others during the stampede. When us girls headed to the bathroom stalls, we caught him hightailing it from the area with a large, black bag over his shoulder. Moments later, I found Lloyd.”
“Are you thinking the Santa guy killed Lloyd? And why?” Daniel asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. And I can’t figure out a motive yet. But he’s a stranger in town, and you heard Earl, he’s trouble. Not to mention, we found Christmas lights and one of those Christmas greeting signs at the scene. And Lloyd was wearing a Santa hat. When Cranky Santa fled the area, he didn’t have one on.”
“Oh dear, how morbid!”
“Yeah, I know. Do you think it’s possible Cranky Santa is only with the group as a cover?”
Daniel drummed his fingers on a folded knee. “I don’t see why not. He doesn’t make good Santa material, for sure. But I don’t see him being Stoney’s original abductor, this Larry person. Do you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “The guy she described for the sketch artist is tall and has thick, dark hair. Mr. Cranky-pants is squatty and balding on top. And he’s so foul.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought of him.
“He reminds me of Danny DeVito when he played The Penguin in a Batman movie.”
I cringed, recalling the disgusting, raw-fish-eating madman.
“I don’t find DeVito repulsive. But you’re right. He played a nasty character in the movie and his character does sort of resemble cranky Santa. But let’s get back on track. So, Jackson went to question the Santa guy after his peculiar behavior at the stampede, but the entire Santa group had left town.” I studied the board a minute, trying to figure out if any of the three had similarities. “That would connect the creepy gifts and Lloyd’s murder, right?”
“I guess,” Daniel said. “What about the scary guy at the pickleball courts, the one who tried to assault you?”
“Kramer. But he’s a dead end for Lloyd’s murder. He’s still in jail. He can’t be the Secret Santa either. Two gifts showed up while he was in custody. Unless...”
Daniel chewed on his lower lip and glanced up. “Unless what?”
“Well, it was Jackson who mentioned the possibility, but what if Kramer hired Cranky Santa to do his dirty work to throw suspicion off himself? Remember, Earl told us he’s mixed up with Kramer, and they were seen together at Dickie’s bar.”
Chiquita, you make good points.
“Now, what about a motive?” Thinking, I tapped the piece of chalk on the board. “The creepy gifts, the Santa hat on Lloyd, and the strand of Christmas lights strung around his neck. We can connect Cranky Santa to these. But as for a solid motive, I don’t know.” I stared at the board, racking my brain. I tapped the end of the chalk again on the board. Tap, tap, tap... I observed a tiny cloud of chalk dust drift to the floor. “We know the baby gifts center on Stoney. Lloyd was murdered, and the 8th day of Christmas gift was left on his body. So, this tells us Lloyd’s murder is about Stoney, right?” Tap, tap, tap... “And even though we believe the Santa’s involved with the crimes, we’ve established Santa isn’t the Larry character, but could Kramer be Larry? Maybe he used the name Larry as an alias. Jealousy would be a motive.” I peered at Daniel to find his mouth gaping and his head twisted like a curious puppy. “Why are you staring at me like I’ve lost my mind?”
Tap, tap, tap...
Daniel snapped his jaw shut, leaned ove
r, and snatched the chalk from my fingertips. “I think you’ve inhaled too much chalk dust. You’re rambling, and I’m having a difficult time keeping up,” Daniel said.
“Sorry. I’m trying to connect the dots.”
“Well, it makes sense.” Daniel nodded.
“But do you think it’s a possible scenario?”
Daniel crossed his arms. “Steely, when’s the last time you ate something?”
“I had a cup of Earl Grey this morning.”
“Tea isn’t food,” he said, both eyebrows arching. “Well, I don’t know about you, but all of this thinking has made me hungry.” He jumped up from the yoga mat. “You in the mood for some pie?”
I need to eat, I thought. “When am I not in the mood for pie?”
Taffy and I could go for some bacon.
Glancing between my pup’s begging-for-bacon eyes and Daniel’s parental expression, I held out my hand. “Help me up, friend.”
Daniel pulled me up. We dug in Gertie’s swear jar, locked up, and hit the sidewalk with the dogs in tow.
While enjoying two scrumpdillyicious slices of Mrs. Orsack’s heavenly pecan pie and one side of bacon for the pups, I watched the car lot across the street. All appeared quiet. I began replaying all the details we’d come up with earlier inside my head.
Daniel clanked his fork on my plate, causing me to jump.
“I see what you’re doing,” he said.
“I’m eating pie.”
“No, I mean with your brain.” He pointed to the top of my head. “Up there.”
I smirked. “You can’t see my brain. I was thinking about the blue Bug for Stoney.”
“Sure you are.” Daniel’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and read a message.
Hey, Chiquita, how about that last piece of bacon? Cuff sat perched in my lap, and Taffy in Daniel’s. But split it in half so we can share it. I snatched the last slice, tore it in two, and handed each to the dogs.
Another buzz from Daniel’s phone, and he swiped it open. His blue eyes sparkled, the hint of a smile emerging. He typed a reply to someone and set it on the table.