by Kathi Daley
“That explanation works for me, but how are you going to prove it?”
“I’m not sure. Yet. But I do plan to continue to work on it until I catch a break. It’ll happen. It always does. Eventually.”
“Have you spoken to any of the men’s mutual friends? Maybe Ford wasn’t the only one who knew what happened to Buford, assuming that is even what is going on, which at this point is pretty much nothing more than a shot in the dark, I suppose.”
“I’ve interviewed everyone who is a member of the lodge both men belonged to as well as everyone who hung out at the bar they frequented. I’ve found that there are a lot of theories as to what is going on and who might be involved, but so far, I haven’t found a consensus of any sort. Ford ended up in a frozen lake, so if there was ever any physical evidence on his body, it is most likely long gone, but I do have people looking for anything that will better define what happened.”
“He must have been transported to the lake, assumedly in the trunk of someone’s car or in the bed of a truck. I guess you can check out everyone’s vehicle and look for blood.”
“Actually, Rafe is already doing that. So far, every vehicle he has checked is clean, but not too clean, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. If the vehicle had recently been scrubbed top to bottom, that would be suspect. What if the killer wrapped him in a blanket or a rug before transporting him? I suppose there might be something like that to find.”
Cass nodded. “Perhaps, but unless someone left a bloody rug out with the weekly garbage, I doubt we’ll find it without a search warrant. The same with the clothes the killer was wearing. They must have gotten blood on them.”
I got up and began pacing around the room. I paced at times when I had something heavy on my mind, and the death of two men in the community was heavy indeed. “Rupert seemed to have been a witness to the altercation between Ford and Buford. Maybe he knows more than he said.”
“I tried to talk to him again after Ford’s body was found, but he’s flown the coop. He does that. Fairly often, in fact. I called and spoke to Naomi, and she said she would keep an eye out for him. If he shows up, she’ll call me.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with Ford’s death? The fact that he disappeared right after his body was found seems suspect.”
He shook his head. “Not really. Like I said, it is Rupert’s way to come and go. If I really had to guess…” Cass’s cell buzzed. He looked down at the number displayed. “It’s Rafe. I need to get it.”
I nodded.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
I watched as his eyes grew wide. “How much did you say?”
He whistled. “Okay. I’ll be right over.”
He hung up and looked at me. “That was Rafe. I think I know who was behind the Secret Santa money.”
My eyes grew wide. “Who?”
“Buford.”
“Buford,” I narrowed my gaze. “But at least half the gifts have been delivered since he died.”
“I know. There is a bit of a story to it. I need to go, but if you want to ride along with me, I’ll explain along the way.”
I stood up. “Okay. I’m game. I can’t wait to hear how is it that a dead man has been playing Secret Santa long after he died.”
As it turned out, after Ford’s body was found, Cass had been provided with a tip that it was possible that Ford might have a large amount of money hidden in his house. Cass had sent Rafe to check it out, and even though the crime scene guys had already been through the house, Rafe noticed a wall at the back of a closet that looked to have been painted recently. It wasn’t really obvious that the paint was fresher than the rest of the paint in the home, and it was the same color, but it did look to be slightly brighter. On a hunch, Rafe took a sledgehammer to the wall and found more than fifty thousand dollars hidden inside.
“Wait,” I said after Cass explained all of this to me. “If Buford was providing the money used for the Secret Santa gifts, why was the money in Ford’s closet?”
“My source suspects that after Buford was gifted the money from his sister, he decided to simply cash it in and get rid of it. My source isn’t sure why he would do that, but that is the theory. My source believes that, for some reason, Buford might not have wanted the money, but perhaps he didn’t want his nephew to have it either, so he came up with the idea to give it away. Assuming that Buford knew the nephew would be looking for the money, he might have decided to liquidate and then hide it at Ford’s place.”
“So Ford continued to play Secret Santa even after Buford died.”
“According to my source, Buford simply provided the money to someone else in the community who had the relationships and knowhow to select the recipients and arrange for the gifts. My source also said that they believe that the money was kept at Ford’s place until it could be distributed.”
I raised a brow. “Who is this source you keep talking about?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
I held my hands out in front of me. “Okay, wait. Let me make sure I have this straight. Buford is gifted a fortune from a sister he hadn’t spoken to in forty years. We don’t know why the siblings hadn’t spoken or why the sister left the money to Buford in the first place, but that seems to be what happened.”
“Yes. That is correct.”
I continued. “For reasons we also don’t understand, Buford didn’t want the money, so he decided to give it away. He enlisted the help of someone in the community with connections who would identify the Secret Santa recipients and make the arrangements for the gifts to be delivered.”
“Yes, that seems to be what happened.”
“So selecting recipients and delivering gifts would take some time, but Buford must have known that the nephew would come looking for the money, so he liquidated and hid the cash at Ford’s house. The money was distributed by Buford to the person in the community who was selecting the gift recipients for use in the Secret Santa campaign until he died, and then Ford continued to dole out the money in his stead.”
“Sounds like you understand what we believe has occurred.”
“And what is left of the money was still in Ford’s wall?”
“It seems so.”
I took a minute to let this sink in. “Okay, so if Buford trusted Ford enough to let him hang onto his money while it was being spent, why did the men fight on the day Buford died?”
“I don’t know.”
I bit down gently on my lower lip. “I do remember hearing that Ford and Buford had disagreed about something having to do with a favor Buford had asked of Ford. Maybe Ford no longer wanted to hold the money. Maybe the nephew had come around looking for it, and Ford felt that having it put him in danger.”
Cass gently bobbed his head. “I suppose that could very well be. The problem is that the only two who would know for certain if that occurred are Ford and Buford, and both are dead.”
Cass had a point. This was a theory that could never really be proven. “We know that both men had been drinking, so I suppose that a simple squabble could have escalated into something more.” I looked at Cass as he pulled off the highway onto the mountain road where Ford had lived. “So, what does this mean? Does knowing that Ford had all that money help us to know who killed him?”
“No, not for certain, but it does seem to me that the money might have been the motive behind the deaths of both men, and if that is the case, my money is either on the nephew or someone from the bar that the men confided in who decided he wanted his cut of Buford’s windfall.”
Chapter 24
Tuesday
The snow gently drifted on air currents toward the ground outside the attic window. As I did on most nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d curled myself up inside the window with Alastair and a heavy blanket, and tried to focus on the beauty outside the window rather than the warring thoughts in my mind. The story Cass had come up with as to how the money had ended up in Ford’s wall was a good one.
He refused to tell me who tipped him off to the possible existence of the money at Ford’s house, and who had been helping Buford and Ford with the Secret Santa gifts, but I’d given the matter a lot of thought and had come to my own conclusions. The question was what to do with that knowledge. I still hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Dex. He’d been super busy yesterday, as had I. He did send along an email letting me know he loved the articles I’d turned in, and was looking forward to the third article in the series next week. He’d also asked me if I’d be willing to take on some extra assignments while Brock was out. I’d answered that I would be delighted to take on any extra work he might have, but for reasons unbeknownst even to me, I never did bring up my hesitation with the Secret Santa story.
The more I thought about things, the more certain I was that I had the information I needed to pen the big reveal, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to follow through with the story. In fact, the more I thought about it, the less certain I was that revealing the identity of the person who’d arranged for the gifts was the right thing to do. I knew I needed to make a decision sooner rather than later, which probably accounted for my state of insomnia.
“I could simply reveal that Buford was behind the Secret Santa gifts without naming his helper,” I said to Alastair.
“Meow.”
“Yes, it has occurred to me that Dex will want more, and yes, I suppose that without confirmation from the helper, I don’t even have proof that it has been Buford’s inheritance that has been used to purchase the gifts. It does make sense, however. I’m not sure who Cass’s source is, but it seems that it is someone who knows what they are talking about.” I paused to roll the situation around in my head. “I’m not sure why this source didn’t come forward after Buford died if they knew what was going on. Of course, I suppose the source might not have realized that the money was the most likely motive for Buford’s death until after Ford died as well.”
I pulled the cat to my chest and leaned back against the wall behind me. The lights in the trees illuminated the exterior of the yard enough to see the new snow as it fell to the ground. It really was lovely. So pretty and serene. I wished I could still my mind enough to really enjoy it.
“Cass is working on a warrant to bring Buford’s nephew in for questioning. He tried to speak to him over the phone after the money was found yesterday, but the man refused to cooperate. Cass thinks that the nephew who I seem to remember is named Jason, came to Foxtail Lake on the day Buford died to confront him about the missing money. Cass is assuming the men argued, which led to a physical altercation, which led to the head injury, which resulted in Buford passing out in the snow.”
“Meow.”
“Yes, Cass does have a solid theory,” I agreed with the cat. “He also thinks that after Jason couldn’t find the money, he left town, but when he heard about the Secret Santa gifts, he might have realized what must have happened to the money. Neither Cass nor I are sure how Jason knew about Ford’s involvement in the whole thing. The two men were good friends, so I suppose he might just have put two and two together. We are assuming Jason confronted Ford about the money, Ford refused to tell him where what remained was hidden, and this resulted in yet another altercation, leading to another death.”
Alastair wiggled out of my arms and jumped to the floor. I continued to speak, since talking to the cat really did help me to work things out in my mind.
“Yes, Cass will need to prove all of this, and no, as far as I know, he doesn’t have any physical evidence to back up his theory.” I crossed my legs under my body and leaned forward just a bit. “If the nephew was in town when Buford died and when Ford died, someone may have seen something. I imagine Cass has been asking around.”
I uncurled my legs and slipped around, so my back was to the window, and I was facing the attic room. I’d turned on the white lights I’d hung everywhere, which gave the room a fairytale feel. The room was open and airy since Paisley and I had cleaned it. I’d set up a desk near the window where I liked to sit so I could work and look out at the lake. The old piano was on the wall closest to the door, and stacks and stacks of boxes were labeled and stored near the far wall. The boxes that had held the Christmas decorations had been pulled out and set to the side. Gracie had gone through them and removed the decorations she wanted to use this year. There were still a few items in the boxes, but overall, it seemed as if almost everything had found a place to be displayed.
There were a few items too large for boxes, such as an old artificial tree, a life-size plastic Santa that used to be in the yard, a candy cane fence that at one time lined the walk, and a walking cane disguised as a candy cane. I remembered that Gracie had used the cane in a play she’d participated in at least twenty years ago. I picked up the cane and held it in front of me. The cane was more of a staff I supposed since it was taller than your average walking cane and a lot heavier. It was made from a dense wood and painted red and white to give it a holiday look. I smiled when I remembered the Christmas Gracie had first obtained the cane for the play. When the play was done, she let me play with it, and I remember using it as a magic portal to the North Pole and Santa’s Village. At least it served as transport in my mind. I really had had an active imagination as a child. I guess that came from spending so much time alone up here in the attic.
I took the cane with me as I called to the cat and headed toward the door. I supposed I’d try to get a few hours of sleep before the sun came up. I wanted to head over to the library and speak to Hope first thing. I supposed I’d bring the cane along. We might be able to use it as a prop in Santa’s House.
Chapter 25
My late-night chat with Alastair had been helpful. I knew he was right in his assertion that if I had a question for Hope, I owed it to her to ask instead of harboring unconfirmed suspicions. I wanted to catch Hope before she got busy, so I decided to go to the library before I had breakfast. The library didn’t open until nine, but I knew Hope was usually there by seven-thirty to shelve books and get the place ready to open. Hope was the library’s only paid employee. Everyone else who staffed the place was a volunteer, so Hope made sure that she did everything she could to justify her salary.
When I arrived, the front door was open, which should have alerted me that something was up but didn’t.
“Hope,” I called out. “It’s Callie. Are you here?”
I didn’t see or hear anyone, but Hope’s car had been in the lot, and the door had been open, so she had to be here somewhere.
“Hope,” I called again. “I found a candy cane walking cane that I think will make an awesome prop for the Santa House. Are you here?”
I noticed the door to the room which held the reference books was open, so I headed in that direction. When I entered the room, I saw Hope tied to a chair with a piece of duct tape over her mouth. I started forward, but something in her eyes alerted me that I should actually drop and roll, which I did before I’d even had the chance to think it through. After I ended up on the floor on my back, I sat up and turned quickly, only to find a short and chubby man with a bat standing over me.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“A friend of the library here to do my volunteer shift.” I held out a hand as if the gesture alone would somehow ward the man off.
“You’re early,” the man replied.
“I am. I like to arrive early to help get things ready for the day. Sometimes it’s tough in the winter, it’s just that… duck,” I shouted after feigning a shocked expression and crossing my arms over my head.
The man must have responded to the panic in my voice since he lowered his head and crossed his arms over his head as if to protect himself from whatever was about to fall on him. This gave me a split second to jump up and scoot behind one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“Very clever,” the man said once he realized that something falling on his head had never been a possibility. “I won’t fall for that again. Now, come on out.”
I
could see the man or at least portions of the man between the books that were lined on both sides of the stack. I slowly made my way around to the end of one of the rows. I circled around to the next row and waited. I could hear the man breathing, and occasionally, I could hear the scuffle of his boots. I knew if I was going to get out of this alive, I needed to keep my wits, so I continued to move slowly through the maze created by the rows and rows of bookshelves. Once I’d made my way to the end, I knew I’d need to double back. I needed to figure out a way to both escape and help Hope without getting either of us killed.
I tried to still my breathing so that the man with the bat wouldn’t hear me and hone in on my location. Of course, all I really wanted to do was hyperventilate, so keeping my breath shallow and quiet was a challenge. Eventually, I was in the position I wanted. I could sense the man several rows over. The bookshelves were stacked back to back, so I knew that if I pushed on the books on my side of the stack, they would fall to the floor on the other side of the stack. Preparing to make my move, I set my body and then used my cane to push the books from the far side of the row onto the floor. The man came running toward the sound of the falling books. I only had a second to respond, but I managed to keep my wits as I looped my way around from the row where I’d been hiding, which allowed me to sneak up behind him. I raised my cane and hit the man as hard as I could while he was standing with his back to me. It didn’t knock him out as I’d hoped, but it did divert his attention long enough for me to shove a book cart into his legs. That had him on his knees. I grabbed my cane and hit him again. It seemed to do the trick, and he fell helplessly to the floor.
“Are you okay?” I ran over to Hope.
“Tie him up. Hurry, he won’t be out long.”
I untied the ropes that had been secured around Hope’s hands and feet, and then used them to tie up the man who I was sure had planned to kill both of us. As soon as he was secure, I called Cass, who promised to be right over.