The Christmas Walk Caper

by J. B. Michaels

  Everyone has their own methods. If the methodology led to positive outcomes, then so be it.

  He grasped his cane and almost lifted from the chair when he decided to stick to his initial plan and continue to examine the pictures he’d taken once more, and more thoroughly this time. Again, his plan to examine the pictures faced considerable opposition to the chaos of his excited mind. He almost stopped that task to return to the house.

  He clicked through the many pictures of Patricia’s kitchen, put a fist under his chin, and leaned into the screen. He squinted. A reflection. In the glass of the microwave door. He pushed the magnifying glass icon and zoomed in.

  The microwave was raised above the stove framed by the cherry wood cabinets above and to the sides of it.

  He cocked his head.

  He could see a faint image of himself snapping the pic from an angled position on the other side of the kitchen. And…

  It appeared that he wasn’t the only person in the house. Someone stood behind him in the doorway to the kitchen?! Admittedly, the image was very pixelated and blurry at the current magnification.

  Mac rubbed his eyes and tried to discern if someone loomed behind him. His uncertainty bothered him. He immediately cropped the reflective microwave door and sent it to Millie for another pair of eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  Millie’s phone buzzed again. A text message. A pixelated image of Mac’s reflection in a microwave door. She shook her head. No, she didn’t see anyone else in the reflection. She called her eager sleuth of a boyfriend.

  “Mac. I don’t see anyone in the reflection. I think you should just calm down.”

  “Really? Not even in the upper right-hand corner behind me? Look behind me,” Mac insisted.

  “No. No. Stop. Listen, I checked out Patricia’s accounts. There has been some recent activity that wouldn’t necessarily be flagged by the bank but still substantial enough to mention.” Millie typed more on her keyboard.

  “Are you sure? There may be someone behind me in the upper right—”

  “Mac, did you hear what I just said?”

  “I…did.”

  Millie rolled her eyes. She ignored his ignorance and continued. “Patricia withdrew a considerable amount of cash in the last month or so. About forty thousand dollars. All cash. No wire transfers or cashier’s checks. All cash. Why?”

  “That is interesting. If she was planning on selling and thus, making money. Why withdraw? Maybe she was also planning a move out of Geneva or out of her house too? A down payment perhaps?”

  “That could be it. You should really talk to the daughter. Or maybe you have already? And see if she knows anything about the money. A lot of times people take that kind of cash out, family could be involved. Maybe she was using the money to help them out,” Millie said.

  “Funny you should mention that. Her and her husband were at the house earlier. Both of them should have been at work, right?” Mac said.

  “Yes, but when you get a call that your mother died, you don’t have to be at work anymore. Most bosses are understanding.”

  “True. I will have to talk to her at some point. Hey, can you meet me for lunch at the Hennington? I want you to come with me and ask the Lacy’s rep a few questions. Sound good?”

  Millie perked up, excited to get out of the bank and do some investigative work. “I can do that. I will meet you out front. What are we going to ask them?”

  “Just about the transaction, the negotiations, Patricia. Anything that can help us figure out what may have happened to her. With a big withdrawal, a sudden death, possible huge life change selling the stalwart retail palace of downtown Geneva to a big company, we could find motive for a murder in that, Mills. We could be onto something here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  AFTERNOON

  Mac decided he would walk to the Hennington. Walking helped him clear his mind and focus his thoughts, and well, engage in the act of actual thinking. Away from the distractions of his computer and having to actually sit down and write the memoir that was due to his editor in New York soon.

  With his customary for December Santa hat on, Mac walked with a certain pep in his step, and the cane almost seemed unnecessary. He was a man on a mission and not a mission to go and write about past heroics. Along Third Street, there were holiday decorations everywhere. Lights on the banisters of the subsequent storefronts. Garland wrapped around the light posts. Wreaths on every entrance. The courthouse tree stood tall at twenty-five feet, fresh, full, and ready for the lighting ceremony this evening.

  Mac swore he saw various branches moving inexplicably at different spots in the tree. Were there chipmunks inside it? He stopped his brisk walk for a second to examine the tree. As soon as he stopped, the branches stopped moving. He then saw an ornament fall from the tree and then suddenly zip back into position. He rubbed his eyes with his leather-gloved hands. He squinted again, shook his head, and continued his walk.

  “What the heck was that?” Mac said.

  The second time in a matter of minutes, his eyes played tricks on him? First the microwave picture and now an enchanted tree. Mac hoped he wasn’t losing it.

  No snow. Just freezing temperatures at a not too bad twenty-nine degrees with no wind. Thankfully. His Santa hat did much to keep his head warm. The Hennington was about seven minutes away but felt farther in the cold. He’d made it to the main thoroughfare, Rt. 38, and took a right and headed downhill to the inn, which was parallel to the Fox River.

  In the distance, on the sidewalk in front of the inn, she stood. Tall. Blonde. Beautiful. The love of his life. Millie. She waved at him and smiled. His heart warmed. He hadn’t actually told her how he actually felt. It hadn’t been that long, but he knew in his heart. He knew he’d found his person.

  He made his way down to Millie and gave her a big hug.

  “Glad you could make it! Let’s head in there.” Mac let go and put his arm out to indicate she go first.

  “Why, thank you, sir. Do we know who these Lacy’s people are? What they look like?” Millie walked ahead to the door of the pale limestone and wooden construction of the three-story Hennington Inn.

  “We will figure it out. Probably people dressed in suits, one would think. Maybe only one or two. I will flash my badge and ask them a few questions.” Mac opened the door for Millie.

  The lobby of the Hennington was quaint yet posh, with a grand, curved staircase adorned with lit garland. A Christmas tree stood next to the fireplace on the left side of the room across from the staircase. The light tan tones of the lobby were accentuated by the soft lighting and cozy feel.

  “Welcome to the Hennington,” a young woman behind the check-in desk greeted them.

  Mac looked to his right before reaching the staircase. “We’re here for lunch. Thanks. Merry Christmas.”

  “Oh wonderful. Merry Christmas to you as well.”

  Mac and Millie made their way behind the staircase to the small bar that served as the entry point to the ByWater Restaurant, and where Mac assumed the meeting place for the Lacy’s representative and Patricia was.

  There were only two men in the restaurant who sat at a table near a window that looked out to the Fox River. Mac noted the ByWater’s elegance with high-backed Victorian chairs, limestone walls, and the exposed wood beams shooting across the canopied ceiling. A proper place for wheeling and dealing clients.

  “That must be them. Why are there two?” Mac asked.

  “My guess is one of them is probably a lawyer. Makes me think Patricia was looking to seal the deal today. Take the hat off,” Millie suggested.

  “Right. You go over there first. You’re the prettier one.” Mac nodded his head toward the two men as he took his Santa hat off.

  “No, absolutely not. Nope.”

  “Fine, we go together.”

  Mac and Millie walked to the table. Both men were dressed in business suits. One bald and older, the other younger and bearded.

  “Gentlemen, are you waiting
for Ms. Patricia Flaherty?” Mac flashed his badge but kept his index finger over the ‘retired’ moniker.

  “Ah, yes. Yes. You look familiar.” The bald one put down his glass of water.

  “Would you mind if we ask you a few questions? Nothing to be alarmed about. I understand that Patricia was looking to sell her business to Lacy’s,” Mac pushed, hoping to skirt the bald man recognizing him from the marathon incident.

  The bald one looked at Millie then the bearded man as if to see if it was okay to answer.

  The bearded one nodded his approval.

  “Terence Mackey. I am with Lacy’s Department Store. Please have a seat.” Terrence, the bald one, gestured to the seat across from him.

  Mac wondered had Millie not been with him, would he have been so cooperative?

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Mac pulled out the chair closest to the window for Millie then sat down across from Terence.

  Millie took over. “Terence, this may shock you, but Patricia passed away this morning. How long did you know Patricia?”

  “Dear Lord, that is awful. She was so kind. A class-act.” Terence’s brow furrowed. Eyes glistened with tears.

  “We understand. Patricia was wonderful. This is a shock to the community,” Mac said.

  “We have been negotiating for the past two months. We started in October. Today was the day we were going to finalize the transaction. This is David, and he’s the lawyer with the paperwork ready for her to sign.” Terence pointed to bearded David.

  David just jotted down notes in silence. Mac wanted to throw his pen across the room.

  “Did you notice any unusual behavior in Patricia? Or maybe even issues with her health?” Mac asked.

  “No. Not at all. She was as fit as a fiddle, energetic, and one helluva good businesswoman. The deal we made certainly skewed to her benefit more than Lacy’s. We just really value the property here in Geneva.”

  “How exactly did she leverage such a good deal from you?” Millie said.

  Again, Terence looked at David. David nodded and jotted.

  “Well, she did have an offer from another interested party.” Terence leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “She used that offer to drive up the price, and Lacy’s has a much bigger wad of cash to throw around,” Mac said.

  “Yes, that is one way to put it.”

  “Do you know the other interested party?”

  “Fanucci.”

  “Fanucci of Fanucci’s Restaurant on Third Street?” Millie asked.

  “How did you find the identity of the other buyer?” Mac asked.

  “Patricia told me,” Terence said.

  Mac knew there was no way of proving that statement with Patricia dead. Terence probably sent David to investigate the identity of the other buyer. Whatever. He and Millie now had more to do. Still, it bothered him.

  “She just offered that information up?” Mac pushed.

  Terence looked upset. “I like to think we became more than acquaintances and businesspeople. Patricia was a friend.”

  Millie stood up from her chair. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I am sorry your transaction didn’t go through. Please give the family some time before you contact them.”

  “We will. We will.” Terence sighed and rubbed his bald head.

  Mac and Millie walked out of the ByWater and the Hennington.

  Chapter Twelve

  Millie patted her stomach. “I am starving. Luckily, I packed a lunch this morning.”

  “After all that, you can just think of food?” Mac laughed.

  “I don’t think you understand. We Padersons love to eat. I need to eat.” Millie walked back to her small sedan in the lot in front of the lobby entrance.

  “Mills, we have so much more to do. Fanucci. We must go question Fanucci. Don’t leave me.”

  “I need to get back to work, Mac. Do you want a ride back home or to the Wanderer?.” Millie opened her car door.

  “Yes, thank you. To the Tiny Wanderer, please.” Mac opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

  The old car started after a slight delay. She needed a new one. Mac thought that might be a great Christmas present but probably too much.

  “There are a few things at play here, Mac. The Geneva Chamber of Commerce is not especially friendly to big corporations wanting space on Third Street. That is what Randall Road is for. The charm and elegance of Third Street is sort of protected from outside intrusion. There isn’t even a Starbrick’s on Third south of 38.” Millie turned on the radio to a station that played all Christmas music. An instrumental version of “Good King Wenceslas” played.

  “So, the Chamber of Commerce would not have been exactly thrilled at the prospect of having Lacy’s owning an iconic piece of real estate on Third Street for fear of a big-business approach to a predominantly charming small business, old-town feel of that shopping and dining corridor. The corridor that Ellen deemed one of the most charming towns in America. Got it. We have to question the Fanucci family.”

  “My question is would the Chamber of Commerce or Fanucci actually murder Patricia to preserve Third Street? Seems rather extreme. Patricia is within her legal rights to sell to whomever she wants.” Millie turned onto Third Street.

  “Exactly. She did. This may go high into the power players of Geneva, or maybe the Fanucci family was angry that Patricia rejected their offer and offed her. Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Fanucci?” Millie stopped the car in front of the Tiny Wanderer.

  “Yes, wait a minute! They were bootleggers during Prohibition and worked with Capone!”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The other day I walked into the history museum. There was one picture of a few guys sitting on barrels of beer in the 1920s. The caption of one of the guys in the pic’s name was Fanucci! The mob!”

  Millie shook her head. “Mac. You have a very active imagination. Please get out of the car. I am starving. I need to get back to my lunch.”

  “Okay. Okay. Sorry. I am out. See you later.” Mac kissed Millie and left the car to the sidewalk in front of the Tiny Wanderer.

  “Be nice to the Fanuccis. I played softball with their daughter.” Millie leaned over and shot Mac a look.

  “I am always nice!” Mac waved as she drove away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fanucci’s opened at three p.m., if the sign across the street was to be trusted.

  Mac’s stomach growled. Lunchtime. He walked back into the Tiny Wanderer. The store grew busier as the day wore on. More and more people filled the department rooms of the colonial house. He patiently wove his way through the crowd. He went back to the atrium café and ordered a sandwich from Edith.

  “How is it going? Any news?” Edith brought him his grilled cheese sandwich and fries.

  “Yes, actually. Take a seat.” Mac took a big bite of his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Patricia was going to close the deal today with Lacy’s. Lacy’s would have become sole owner of the Tiny Wanderer.”

  “Oh my.” Edith put her hand to her mouth.

  “Yes, which makes my murder theory that much stronger. Lots of money involved. Did you know about another buyer?” Mac grabbed a fry.

  “No. Patricia only mentioned Lacy’s to me. Who is it? Who is the other buyer?”

  “According to Terence, the Lacy’s liaison, the Fanucci family, owners of the finest dining establishment across the street.” Mac took a drink of water.

  “Why would Michael want the Wanderer?” Edith asked.

  “That is what I intend to find out at three when they open. How are you doing? How is the rest of the team doing?”

  “We are upset but keeping it together for work. Keep doing what you are doing, Officer Rickman. We are all very concerned.” Edith stood up.

  “I will do the best I can.” Mac nodded. He realized that he’d probably put undue stress on Edith. A tinge of regret, possibly doubt, comprom
ised his confidence for a few seconds. He was torn. He didn’t want Patricia to be a murder victim, but the hunch he felt was just too strong to ignore.

  He opened his laptop. Opened up the notes application and typed. He reviewed the day thus far.

  The thyroid pills. Patricia facedown on the floor. She was dressed. Ready for work, ready to face the day. The bruise on her neck…

  The bruise on her neck. A small bruise but what could have caused that?

  A needle. A needle could have caused it.

  Mac searched the internet for bruises caused by needles. A bruise could form if no pressure was applied after the needle was removed. The murder weapon: a poisonous needle?

  She was then laid on the floor or fell on the floor. He didn’t know and couldn’t remember if she had a bump on her head or how she could have fallen. He needed more time to examine the body. Damn mayor, and shame on his brother. He needed to know if there were any physical signs of a fall.

  He grabbed for his phone and dialed his brother Vince.

  “Yes, Macadamia Nut, what’s going on?” His gregarious brother’s voice burst into his ear.

  “Where is Patricia? I need to examine her body.” Mac’s tone. Not friendly.

  “Already done. Listen, I had the examiner look at her with me. I did do my job after the mayor left. I also took a blood sample and sent it out to the lab. Full toxicology report will be back in a few weeks. This is not the movies or a TV procedural. These things take time.”

  “Did you check for any signs of falling? Any additional bumps or bruises?”

  “No.”

  “No, there were no bumps and bruises or no, you didn’t check?” Mac persisted.

  “No, meaning there were no signs of bumps and bruises from falling.”

  “She fell to the kitchen floor with zero bumps or bruises?”

  “Correct. That is possible, Mac. She was fully clothed and not a big and tall woman. She didn’t have far to fall,” Vince said.