Purring Around the Christmas Tree

by Liz Mugavero

  “Eh, depends. Not when he was drunk, like I said. And he was kind of drunk a lot. My dad tore into him once when he came to the farm to push cows and was completely plastered.”

  Stan suddenly felt a strange camaraderie with Harold Dewey. She’d had some experience pushing cows for the Hoffmans too, and in retrospect, being drunk might’ve made it a better experience. But she’d also known Hal Hoffman, Tyler’s dad, a bit before he was killed a year ago, and he’d had his own anger issues.

  “Only reason he got to come back was my mom felt sorry for him,” Tyler went on. “Anyway, I gotta go post my pictures. See ya, Stan.” He clattered the rest of the way down the stairs and into the newspaper offices. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Stan to wonder if Jessie’s and Amara’s theories about Harold were true after all. Had Harold made a fatal enemy during one of his drunken binges?

  Chapter Six

  Stan and Scruffy left the bookstore and hurried a few doors down to McSwigg’s. A light snow still flew, glittering in the air as it caught the holiday lights lining the lampposts all along the downtown area. It was wild, really, how welcoming and innocent the town would look to someone just passing through. Someone who had no idea of the fate that had just befallen Santa Claus.

  Stan scooped up Scruffy, shoved open the heavy wooden front door, and stepped inside, taking in the familiar smell of beer and comfort food. McSwigg’s was jam-packed. Apparently everyone whose plans included holiday strolling had decided to shift that to holiday drinking instead. Especially with the promise of some gossip and a big story. Every table and bar stool was occupied, and people who had no place to sit stood around in small groups holding drinks and talking. Stan scanned the bar area until she spotted Jake. His back was to the door as he searched for a bottle of something on his wall of liquor. She made her way over.

  He turned as she reached the bar, his face lighting up when he saw her. “There you are. I tried texting you. Hey, Scruff.” He ruffled the little dog’s ears. “What’s going on out there? I’ve been hearing some wild stories.”

  As usual, she felt better simply looking at him. Despite the long workday, he still looked as good as he had that morning when he’d left the house, aside from the usual wear and tear of the day. He’d tried to tuck his longish hair into a short ponytail, but strands of it escaped. Five o’clock shadow darkened his jawline, and it looked like he’d had a fight with some mustard. His T-shirt had lost.

  “Sorry. I know, that’s why I came by. There’s a lot going on. Can you talk?”

  “Let me make this drink. Two minutes. You doing okay?” He deftly mixed up a whiskey sour, added a cherry and lime wedge.

  Stan shrugged. “As okay as anyone at the tree lighting, I guess.”

  Jake finished the drink and presented it to a grateful patron. Then he leaned over and said something to one of his bartenders before motioning Stan to come with. He slung an arm around her shoulders and led her upstairs to his old apartment, where Brenna lived now with her boyfriend, Scott. The place was empty.

  “Is Brenna at your shop?” Jake asked, pulling out a chair for Stan at the kitchen table.

  She set Scruffy down on the floor and sank into the chair gratefully, realizing how exhausted she was. “She is. I haven’t been back there yet. What are you hearing?”

  “First of all, tell me what happened.”

  Stan debriefed him on the events of the night, from the time the sleigh pulled up with an unresponsive Santa, to the surprise unveiling of not-Seamus, to Jessie’s suspicions about the cup, and finally Amara’s observation about the cider and its effects on Harold. Jake listened to the entire story without a word. When Stan finished, he was silent for nearly a full minute.

  “Harold Dewey,” he said, his face grim. “I’d hoped it wasn’t true.”

  “You … were fond of him?” Stan asked. Given Tyler Hoffman’s assessment of the man, she wondered what it was about him Jake had found endearing.

  Jake let out a long whoosh of air. “Yeah. I was. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I felt bad for him. He worked for me at the pub sometimes, when he was in town. I paid him in drinks, and I threw him a few bucks here and there.”

  Which Stan figured meant he’d basically been taking care of the guy when he was in town. Same as Emmalee Hoffman, according to Tyler. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  He shrugged. “Me too. He wasn’t a bad guy. Just a little adrift, you know? Sort of homeless, just down on his luck.” He paused. “Does my sister really buy into this idea that his death was anything other than natural causes?”

  “You know your sister, Jake. She’s a good cop. I’m sure she’ll explore every angle.” When had she started to sound like a cop show? “Like I said, she took the cup before Amara said anything. But it could be nothing.”

  Jake stood up and went to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water and handed one to Stan. “So that leaves the big question. Where’s my uncle?”

  “That’s what everyone wants to know,” Stan said. “And wherever he is, Ray Mackey is with him. Which is why Char is freaking out. She hasn’t heard from him.”

  Jake’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth with the water bottle. “Oh man. I forgot all about Ray.”

  “Yep. Char was hysterical. Said she hasn’t heard from Ray at all and they were supposed to be back this afternoon.”

  Jake leaned against the counter. “I don’t like that.”

  “Me neither. Do you think …” She didn’t want to finish the sentence, but it was the natural next question: Did something happen to them that would make them unable to call home? “Although, if Seamus made arrangements for Harold to take his place, he had to have known he’d be tied up, right? But then I wonder why Ray didn’t call.”

  “Ray’s not exactly a technology guru. I’d be surprised if the guy knows how to use his cell phone,” Jake said.

  “That’s not a good excuse. I don’t know, Jake. It seems irresponsible. And unusual.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason. We just have to figure out what it is. Have you seen Liam or Declan?”

  Jake’s cousins were staying with them for the annual McGee holiday festivities. Jake’s parents’ house was full of other relatives, and the rest of the crew was at Char’s B and B. Jake had figured they were the most normal of the clan to foist on Stan for a few weeks—at least, that’s how he’d positioned it to Stan. She thought they were both delightful. And they had those adorable Irish accents, thanks to Seamus moving them to Ireland when they were very young after their mum died.

  “I saw Liam. Luckily he was there when Miss Viv realized what was going on. Although we didn’t know it wasn’t Seamus then. I lost track of them after that.”

  “Poor Miss Viv.” Jake shook his head. “She’s such a nice lady.”

  Stan thought about what Cyril had just told her about Miss Viv and her sister blocking Kyle’s restaurant application, but decided not to mention it to Jake right now.

  “Listen, you better get over to the shop and get it closed up,” Jake said. “I don’t want you walking home too late. I’m getting out of here as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Seven

  But when Stan and Scruffy got to the patisserie, they found a full house. Brenna was indeed keeping the shop running. As Stan watched, she presented a doggie cannoli to a Boston terrier, who grunted in anticipation of the treat. In honor of tonight’s celebration, she wore her long brown hair in two pigtails garnished with red ribbons. Blinking Christmas lights dangled from her ears. Despite her festive holiday garb, she looked troubled. Scott, her boyfriend, rearranged pet pastries in the case to fill empty spots. He looked even more troubled. Then again, he was the sensitive type, so he often looked troubled. A social worker by trade, Scott was taking a hiatus from his work after a difficult situation with one of his clients a few months back. He hadn’t seemed to have recovered yet, either. He’d lost weight, and he looked a bit pale—a switch from his usual outdoorsy, tanned, healthy appearance.
Char and Jessie sat at a back table on the human side of the store, deep in conversation. Marty Thompson sat at a nearby table in the pet area with Jessie’s daughter, Lily, helping her color a picture. Stan sighed a little at the sight of all this company. Why did Jessie need her place as a command center? She really just wanted to go home.

  But she pasted on a smile, pushed open the door, and set Scruffy down. The sweet, spicy scent of hot apple cider filled the room. Normally the smell would make Stan’s mouth water, but tonight it made her feel a bit sick. She scanned the counter area anxiously, but Brenna had removed everything. Thank goodness.

  “Hey there,” she said, lifting her hand in a wave when all eyes turned to her. Scruffy made an excited beeline to all the guests, eager to say hi to everyone.

  “I hope you don’t mind we’re using your shop to talk for a bit,” Jessie said, in a tone that indicated she didn’t much care if Stan minded.

  “Not at all,” Stan said. “Talk away. How are you doing, Char?”

  Char sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “My husband’s missing and no one will put in a missing persons report.” She glared a little at Jessie before her eyes drifted to the cell phone clenched in her hand, probably checking to see if she’d missed a call or message from Ray.

  Stan’s heart ached for her friend. She’d barely ever seen Char without Ray, even around town.

  Jessie, however, looked unfazed. “Char. I told you to stop panicking. You know my uncle as well as I do. They’re out carousing.”

  Now Char stood up, nearly upending the table with her bulk. She thrust her hands on her generous hips. “My Raymond does not carouse!”

  “Hey, can I get anyone anything? Tea? Coffee?” Stan broke in. Then she remembered refreshments were a no-no tonight. Jessie and Char both looked at her like she’d lost her mind. She threw up her hands. “Fine. Jessie, can I talk to you for a second out back?”

  Jessie looked like she was about to argue, but instead she got up and stalked to the kitchen without a word. Stan raised her eyes to heaven, squeezed Char’s arm, and followed, sharing a pained glance with Brenna as she passed the counter.

  “What?” Jessie snapped once they’d reached Stan’s brand-new kitchen and shut the door. Scott, who’d come into the kitchen and was carefully boxing the specialty doggie Christmas cookies slated for the grand opening, froze. He took one look at Jessie’s face, then mumbled something and fled to the café area. He was still a little unsure of how to deal with his girlfriend’s fiery sister.

  Stan waited until the door closed behind Scott, then turned to Jessie, who looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. “Take it easy on Char. She’s worried about her husband.”

  “Her husband is with my crazy uncle. Anything can happen when Seamus is running the show. Char should know that. Ray’s been friends with him forever. Can I go back to my investigation now?”

  “What are you investigating if you think they’re just out carousing?” Stan pressed.

  “Gee, I didn’t realize you’d been promoted to lieutenant,” Jessie said. When Stan didn’t react, she sighed. “I need to know when my uncle commissioned Harold to do his job. So I can figure out who else knew about Harold being in that suit. In case he didn’t just die of old age or hard living. You see? Am I done answering questions now?” She started out of the room, then her gaze fell on the tray of pastries Brenna had removed from out front. “Are those from Izzy’s?”

  Stan nodded.

  “Don’t touch them. Did anyone eat any of these tonight?”

  “I asked Brenna to put them back here.”

  Jessie reached for her phone. “Lou. Come to Stan’s shop. I want the food and drink—the human stuff—tested.”

  Stan watched her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious. And Harold’s just dead. Is there anything else she made?”

  Stan shook her head. “I got the main dishes from the new Italian place.”

  “Make sure Lou gets everything she brought.” Without waiting for a response, she pushed through the door and disappeared.

  Stan watched her go, then headed back to the café, stopping at the counter. “Thanks for helping, you guys,” she said to Scott and Brenna.

  “No problem,” Brenna said. “What a mess, huh? And I’m so worried about Uncle Seamus.”

  Scott squeezed her hand. “I’m sure he’s fine, Bren.”

  Brenna watched Char and Jessie resume their conversation. “I hope so.”

  Across the room, Char started to cry. Stan hurried over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Listen. Ray is okay. I’m sure of it. There’s just been some kind of communication breakdown. Right, Jessie?”

  Jessie ignored her and focused on Char, waiting for her to gain some control. “So you were about to tell me their plan when we were interrupted.”

  A fat, fresh tear ran down Char’s cheek. “I thought I knew the plan. And Raymond. But apparently I was mistaken.”

  Jessie’s face said she had no time for the added drama, but she maintained her calm. “Let’s take it step by step. When did they leave?” she asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “And Ray told you where they were going.”

  “Yes. They were going to their annual Christmas poker game with the group Seamus knows.”

  “Do you have names of the other players? Or a location?” Jessie asked.

  Char shook her head. “It’s top secret.”

  “Okay. Were they doing anything else? Dinner first?” Jessie asked.

  “They usually go to the North End for cannoli. It’s not an Irish thing, but they’ll eat anything. Especially sweets,” Char said.

  “Cannoli?” Marty’s ears perked up from across the room.

  “Sorry,” Jessie said. “The food’s going to the lab.”

  Marty sat back, deflated.

  Jessie ignored him. “What time was the poker game? Did they make it there? Did you hear from Ray after that?”

  Char shook her head. “Those games usually go on for so long. I tell him, you go out once a year. Don’t spend all your time calling home. Usually he calls once or twice,” she added. “But it’s not like I was expecting it.”

  “So did he call?”

  “Once. When they were finishing up with dinner last night. He said he’d see me t-today,” she said, dissolving into tears again. “If he didn’t talk to me again.”

  “And you haven’t heard from them since.”

  “No.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He set up for someone to come in and take care of the alpacas this morning. And I was busy cooking for my guests—the B and B is full, you know, all these people wanting to come for the festivities tonight, and the McGees—and then I went to the library to help Betty set up for the Christmas craft show, and before I knew it, it was time to leave for the tree lighting. And then I realized Raymond hadn’t come back. He always came back from these outings in the early afternoon the next day.”

  “Where were they staying?” Jessie asked.

  Char looked blank. “I don’t know.”

  Jessie bit back whatever impatient reply threatened to burst off her tongue and tried for a softer tone. “Well, they had to be staying somewhere, right? Did they stay with a friend of my uncle’s? A hotel? Where do they usually stay?”

  Char thought. “I … I think last year they stayed at the Marriott. You know, the fancy one by the water? I remember that because Ray talked about how he wanted to go to the aquarium, but they never made it.” She brightened. “Should we call there?”

  Jessie scribbled a note in her pad. “I’ll call the Boston PD and see if they can make an inquiry. So when you talked to Ray, did he mention Seamus finding a replacement for the Santa gig?”

  Char shook her head. “Not a word.”

  She looked so despondent. Stan wished with all her heart she knew the right words to help her friend through this situation. After all the times Char had helped her, comforted her, Stan felt grossly inadequate.
>
  “Do you think something … bad happened to them?” Char asked, her voice breaking.

  Jessie said nothing, so Stan felt compelled to answer.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I promise we’ll figure it out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stan’s cell phone chimed in her pocket. She excused herself and rose to check her text messages. Scruffy followed her down the hall into the kitchen. She closed the door behind her and checked her phone, almost swooning with relief when she saw Izzy’s name.

  Don’t want to walk into that crowd. Can you let me in the back?

  Stan opened the door a crack and peeked into the hallway. Jessie was still occupied with Char—she could see them at the table. She quietly shut the door again before she unlocked the back exit. Izzy slipped inside, pulling her slouchy hat off her head and shaking her long braids free. In her all-black garb, she reminded Stan of a cat burglar from some trendy Hollywood movie. Izzy Sweet could’ve been a model without even trying. Her caramel colored skin and trademark head of braids gave her an exotic look. Especially in Frog Ledge, an old, rural farming town where diversity was not the norm. But she’d always held her head high, even with the people who’d been less than welcoming.

  “Are you okay? The entire town’s looking for you,” Stan said, throwing her arms around her friend.

  Izzy squeezed her back. “I’m fine. I just had a couple of things to take care of. What the heck is going on, though? What happened to Santa? And why do I have two messages from our esteemed state trooper about my cider?”

  Stan glanced over her shoulder at the door, hoping Jessie hadn’t realized yet that she’d vanished. “Didn’t you hear—Harold’s dead?”