Merry Christmas Cozy Mystery Gift Set

by Meredith Potts

  “I’m pretty sure I only heard George.”

  My brother moved on to another line of questioning. “Did you see anything?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Wait. Why not?”

  “To start, when I first heard George yell, I didn’t have my glasses on. As I reached for them, I accidentally knocked them off my bedside table. By the time I reached over and grabbed the glasses then rushed to the window, George was the only person who was still in his back yard.”

  What a discouraging answer.

  Even so, my brother didn’t give up hope of gleaning more information from her. “So you didn’t see anything then that could help us identify his killer?”

  Florence shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Did you hear anything coming from the front of the house, like maybe a car peeling out of the driveway?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t hear a car at all.”

  “How odd,” I replied.

  “I don’t know that odd is the correct word. It was absolutely horrifying. I mean, I actually heard George’s dying gasps as he was being murdered. Then, as I looked out the window, I saw his body there on his patio,” Florence said.

  “Again, I’m so sorry that you saw that,” I replied.

  “So am I,” Florence said. “I just wish that I had seen who did this to him. If only I hadn’t knocked my glasses off my nightstand—”

  I tried comforting her. “You did your best.”

  Unfortunately, Florence’s best didn’t get us very far. Talking to her had provided us with no leads. That left us right back where we started.

  We talked to a few of the other neighbors but had no luck. None of them had any additional insights for us. It was highly discouraging, but that was the reality we were faced with.

  To me, the only useful piece of information that I got out of all our interviews was that no one had heard a car pull out of George’s driveway. Obviously, the killer had taken a number of steps to remain as quiet as possible. In addition, with the light display being so bright in George’s front yard, to avoid being spotted, the killer most likely had parked on the street behind George’s house and had snuck through the neighbor’s yard on foot before killing George on his back patio.

  Given that new theory, Joe and I headed over to Cardinal Drive, which ran parallel to my street. Unfortunately, after questioning the neighbors on Cardinal Drive, we were unable to turn up any leads from them, either.

  Staring down that latest round of bad news, we realized that all the easy avenues had led us to dead ends. Suddenly, we were back to solving this case the long way. That meant formulating a list of suspects was in order.

  Chapter Five

  “Who would want to kill George Dolan?” Joe asked.

  I didn’t have to think for very long before a name came to my mind. “Maybe Carl Kincaid,” I replied.

  “Right. The other resident Christmas light fanatic in Hollywood.”

  I nodded. “The key word there being ‘fanatic.’ Carl and George were fierce rivals, always trying to one-up each other with bigger and better light displays. What if their rivalry turned deadly?”

  “It’s a possibility. Carl already had a crazy obsession with Christmas lights. Maybe his fanaticism didn’t stop at just lights. What if he went completely stark-raving mad?” Joe replied.

  “It’s a theory that deserves investigating.”

  “Did George have any other enemies that you can think of?” Joe asked.

  Another name instantly sprang to my mind. “You should probably pay David Donohue a visit.”

  “Of course. Your cranky neighbor,” Joe replied.

  “Yeah. Every year he complains about George’s lights, that they’re too bright, that they’re a nuisance, that George should be forced to take them down—”

  “Oh, I know. His reputation precedes him. He practically has police dispatch on speed dial. If it’s not Christmas lights he’s complaining about, it’s Halloween displays or that the marching band at the high school is practicing too loud.”

  “He’s an old codger, all right. There is almost nothing that he won’t complain about.”

  “Carrying around that kind of anger can really take its toll.”

  “Maybe it finally boiled over,” I said.

  “We’ll see,” Joe replied. “Anyone else?”

  I could tell that my brother wanted the answer to be “no.” Unfortunately, it was a resounding “yes.”

  “George recently separated from his wife of seventeen years. I heard that things were about to get really bitter in divorce court.”

  “Is there such a thing as a smooth divorce?” Joe deadpanned.

  “There has never been one that I know of.”

  “Exactly. Take a jaded spouse then mix in a bitter court battle, and you have a potent recipe for revenge.”

  I agreed. “Go figure. George had more enemies than I thought.”

  My brother was reluctant to ask a follow-up question. “Is that it, or is there more?”

  “I can’t speak to George’s work situation, but for the sake of being thorough, you should talk to George’s boss. You never know what trouble might have been brewing at his workplace.”

  “Hopefully, none,” Joe replied.

  “You can hope all you want, but we both know the truth is often full of surprises.”

  My brother groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He tallied up all the names I had given him. “That’s more suspects than I thought.”

  “Isn’t there always?” I said.

  Joe sighed. “Yeah. There aren’t a whole lot of single-suspect murder cases coming across my desk.”

  “Or any for that matter.”

  “True.” Joe took a deep breath. “All right, time to get to work.”

  Chapter Six

  After I had given my boyfriend a call to let him know that I wouldn’t be untangling my Christmas lights anytime soon, my brother and I walked over to David Donohue’s Spanish-style brown house. It was then that a dour feeling threatened to take over my entire mood. During the holidays, with George’s gaudy light display, my street had always been a spectacle.

  Regardless of how over the top the lights were, they had always put me in a festive mood. But now, the only lights I was focused on were the red and blue lights that were flashing on top of all the police cars lining the street. Instead of Christmas songs, I heard the sound of police sirens going off. That was a difficult reality to come to grips with.

  While the police lights were surreal to look at, David’s house was an odd sight of its own. If George’s house had been over decorated, David’s was under decorated. Actually, I wasn’t sure that was the correct phrasing. David’s house wasn’t just under decorated—there were no decorations of any kind at his place.

  I had never seen a house more barren of holiday spirit than David’s. No lights had been strung up, there was no wreath hanging from his front door, nor was there a Christmas tree visible in his window. If I didn’t know better, I would think that David didn’t even realize it was the holiday season. At the same time, his lack of seasonal accoutrements did not surprise me.

  His curmudgeon ways weren’t just relegated to Christmas. He was the only person on the street who didn’t do anything for Halloween, either: no decorations, no spooky music, and no candy. As a matter of fact, he was such a crabby guy that when all the neighborhood kids were out trick or treating, David turned all his lights off so the children wouldn’t even knock on his door.

  With that kind of antisocial behavior, it was no surprise that the neighbors referred to him as the Fun Police. It was one thing to be a real “get off my lawn” type of guy. It was another to wear that moniker like a badge of pride, which David definitely did. That didn’t make a lick of sense to me.

  The greatest mystery about David was why he was so irritable in the first place. Unfortunately, he disliked talking to people so much that no one ever had a long enough conversation with him to get a
n answer. With such a grumpy reputation preceding him, it wasn’t shocking when he didn’t answer the door after a few rounds of knocks.

  Joe grew frustrated and decided to call out to David while pounding on the door.

  “Mr. Donohue, this is the police. We need to ask you some questions,” Joe yelled.

  Joe again received no response. As Joe prepared to knock on the door again, I walked over to David’s driveway and peered into the window of his garage. When I didn’t see David’s light-blue sedan parked inside, I started to think that maybe he wasn’t just ignoring our knocks. Perhaps he truly wasn’t home.

  That gave my brother and me a difficult decision to make. As much as we needed to question David, there were plenty of other suspects to interview. In addition, the first few hours of the investigation were crucial, so we wanted to make the best of them.

  Joe sighed. “We can’t wait around all night.” He then switched gears. “I’m going to call a patrol car to watch the place and put out an all-points-bulletin in case he has made a run for it.”

  Joe and I walked back to his car, feeling discouraged. While my brother picked up his police radio to call in the all-points-bulletin, we caught a break.

  David’s light-blue sedan pulled into the driveway beside us and stopped. He rolled down the passenger-side window and glared at my brother. “I don’t like visitors, especially uninvited ones. What are you doing here?” David snapped.

  So much for holiday spirit. He looked as if he’d just braved mall traffic and was ready to pull his last hair out. Not that he was ever in a good mood, but he was especially grouchy tonight. The seventy-three-year-old was tall and lanky with an oval head that really stood out, given how close he was to going completely bald. There were stress lines all over his face which weren’t the least bit surprising to see, considering how much of his life he had spent complaining.

  Even so, I couldn’t believe how brazen he was being with his sour attitude. With it so dark outside, David apparently didn’t notice me in the passenger seat of Joe’s car. Although, I wondered if my presence would have tempered his mood in the least. Regardless of whether he spotted me, he must have noticed that my brother was driving a police car. Yet, his gruff exterior showed no cracks. Did David not back down from anyone? He clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  My brother got out of the car and exerted his authority. “My name is Joe Hadley.” He pulled out his police badge as I got out of the passenger seat and joined him.

  “You know my sister, Hope,” Joe continued.

  David scrunched his nose. “Hope, what are you doing here?”

  Joe took control of the conversation again. “We’re the ones asking questions here.”

  Usually, even the most menacing of suspects showed some respect for my brother after they saw his badge.

  David went in a completely different direction by beginning to lecture Joe.

  “I’ll tell you what you need to do. My inconsiderate neighbor, George Dolan, needs a stern talking to. Those Christmas lights of his are a nuisance. He should be forced to take them down,” David demanded.

  Joe smiled. “It’s funny that you say that. We’re actually here about George Dolan—”

  David interrupted my brother. “What do you mean you’re here about George Dolan? You’re at the wrong house. He lives next door.”

  My brother narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Donohue, if you’d let me finish, you would understand what I meant. We’re here to ask you some questions.”

  “Me? What are you wasting your time with me for? George is the one causing trouble with his infernal lights.”

  My brother hated being patronized. He was done taking lip for David. “Mr. Donohue, I already told you, we need to ask you some questions. Now we can either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  “I just don’t see why we have to do this at all. You’re talking to me like I’m some kind of criminal.”

  “Actually, that’s what we’re here to ask you about,” Joe said.

  David glared hard at my brother. “I don’t like where you’re going with this one bit.”

  My neighbor and my brother were like battering rams on a collision course. Neither showed any sign of backing down. I couldn’t believe that I of all people would have to act as the voice of reason. But for the sake of our sanity, I wanted to see if I could get them to simmer down a little.

  “David, we just have a few quick questions for you. If you answer them honestly, we’ll be out of your hair in no time,” I said.

  So much for me having a calming neighborly influence. David suddenly responded with just as much suspicion and distrust for me as he had for my brother.

  “What kind of questions? I still don’t understand what business the police would have with me.”

  My brother stepped back in. “You’d understand if you’d stop interrupting us. Now let’s get down to the meat of the matter. Mr. Donohue, where did you just return from?”

  It was such a simple question that it was hard to believe that David couldn’t give us a straight answer. Yet he didn’t.

  “That’s none of your business,” David replied.

  “Actually, it is my business. Have you forgotten that you’re talking to a police detective?” Joe asked.

  David remained argumentative. “Why does it matter where I was? A man has a right to privacy.”

  “Mr. Donohue, I’m not trying to invade your privacy. I’m just trying to find out if you have an alibi,” Joe said.

  “An alibi for what?”

  “Your whereabouts at the time of George Dolan’s murder.”

  That shut David up in a hurry. His eyes opened wide as he processed what my brother had just said. Instead of giving him enough time to let everything sink in, Joe went right after David while he was back on his heels.

  “Now where did you just return from?” Joe asked.

  David tried to backpedal. “Wait a minute. George is dead?”

  Joe didn’t buy David’s look of surprise in the least. “Are you really going to pretend that you didn’t know he had been murdered?”

  “I didn’t,” David insisted. “Who would do something like that?”

  Joe scoffed. “You have nerves of steel to ask a question like that.”

  David stared deep into my brother’s eyes.

  “No. Wait. You can’t honestly think that I could have done something awful like this,” David replied.

  I saw a completely different side to David. It didn’t fit him, nor did it ring the least bit true. He kept trying to appear baffled, but it came across as nothing more than just an act.

  “Really, David? Over the years, no one has complained more about George than you,” I said.

  He argued with me. “What about his estranged wife?”

  “Fine, maybe her. Either way, you can’t pretend like you didn’t have a bone to pick with George. You started this very conversation complaining about him,” I said.

  “I just said his lights were a nuisance and that they should be taken down. I never said anything about wanting him dead,” David replied.

  “Clearly, George had no intention of taking his lights down. Maybe you just sat here stewing night after night about how bright they were, how they disrupted your life, and how they cut into your sleep schedule. Perhaps you couldn’t bottle your frustrations up anymore, and they came out all at once,” Joe speculated.

  “You’re really reaching here, Detective,” David replied.

  “You say that, but you still haven’t answered my simple question. Where did you just return from?” Joe said.

  “I was at Paulie’s Bar on Third Street,” David replied.

  “Do you have any proof of that?” Joe asked.

  “What kind of proof?”

  “Someone who can verify that you really were there.”

  “There were half a dozen people at the bar. You can ask any of them,” David said.

  “I need names,” Joe demanded.

  “You can
start with Paulie. I’ve been sitting at the bar, talking to him for the last two hours,” David said.

  “You’d better not be lying to us,” Joe replied.

  “Trust me, I’m not.”

  “All right. We’ll see if your story checks out. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere,” Joe said.

  Chapter Seven

  Joe assigned a patrol car to keep watch on David’s place. My brother and I then headed out. I had to admit, it was hard to contain my skepticism as Joe and I drove over to Paulie’s Bar. Even in the midst of a murder investigation, for most of the interview, David had kept up his confrontational streak. While that was true to his personality, it also didn’t make him look innocent. When he’d briefly stopped arguing with us, he looked as if he was just putting on an act. Either way, it was hard to have any confidence in the story he had told us.

  Our trip to Paulie’s would be the deciding factor. As we arrived at the bar, I realized I had forgotten how much character the place had. Granted, it happened to be the character of a grumpy old man, but that was fitting, given the clientele of the bar. If the faded paint on the rickety wooden sign that hung over the front door wasn’t an apt indication of what we would find inside, the full extent of what a dingy place it was quickly became apparent as we swung open the door.

  The phrase “dive bar” had never been more accurate. The wooden bar top had cracks, the old barstools were creaky, the felt on the billiards table was ripped, the light fixtures were hanging from the ceiling by a thread, and every table had at least one wobbly leg.

  The half dozen barflies scattered throughout the joint weren’t faring much better. A few years back, I had driven my father to one of his urology appointments. These were exactly the kind of world-weary people that I saw in that waiting room. The only difference was, back then, I was in a doctor’s office, so I understood why there were no smiles to go around.

  I figured the mood would be a little more upbeat here. After all, this was a bar, a place typically associated with revelry. There was just none to be had here, even though the alcohol was flowing freely. Instead, the barflies just muttered to themselves as they nursed their beers.