Season of Danger: Silent Night, Deadly NightMistletoe Mayhem

by Alexander, Hannah; Alexander, Hannah

  She got on the phone to the Milton residence. Chelsea answered on the first ring. The tenor of her greeting betrayed this was a day the woman was being quiet around the house to keep from annoying her hungover husband.

  “Want to get out for some fresh air?” Kelly infused cheer into her tone. “I’ll bring coffee from the convenience store, and we can enjoy the sunshine on a walk around the neighborhood.”

  “Make mine cocoa, and you’re on.” The woman sounded pleased. “But park out of sight. I don’t want Nick to know I’m meeting you. He’s not too happy with your family right now. I’ll watch for you.”

  Kelly stripped off her lab coat and grabbed her jacket. She stopped in the convalescent room and looked in on Tim, who was cleaning the vacated cage of a recently spayed feline. Two other animals, not yet ready to go home, lifted their heads and gazed at her.

  “I’m going to be out for an hour or so,” she told her assistant.

  He rounded on her. “You’re up to something.”

  “Nothing earth-shattering. I’m going for a walk with Chelsea.”

  Tim frowned. “You’re nuts to put yourself within ten feet of anyone in the Milton family. I don’t like it.”

  “Chelsea? C’mon! I’ll stay away from Nick, and Greg is in jail.” A place she was determined her sister would never see.

  Tim’s glower followed her out of the building. Fifteen minutes later, she parked her car a block down the street from the Miltons, and spotted Chelsea watching for her from the corner of their yard. The older woman waved and tromped up the sidewalk. A bright day and mid-forties temperatures had dried the cement from recent snowfall, except for small, damp areas that steamed under the sunshine. Kelly handed Chelsea the insulated cup of cocoa, and they fell into step on a course away from the Milton house.

  “I’m glad you called,” Chelsea gushed. “I’m so upset about Greg, and I needed to talk to someone. Who better than the person who can put in a good word for him with the judge? You will, won’t you?”

  The woman stopped and gripped Kelly’s arm. The waitress’s dark eyes pleaded with her. Kelly opened her mouth, but an appropriate answer wouldn’t come. What had she expected? Kelly’s priority might be Brenda, but Chelsea’s concern would naturally be her son.

  Kelly took a deep breath. “Tim’s looking the worse for wear. Greg frightened me, but he didn’t hurt me. He could have, though.”

  “I know.” Chelsea dug a fist into the pocket of her well-worn coat. “I’ve tried to raise that boy right, but he’s got his father’s temper, and he loved that dog.” She led the way up the sidewalk. “Can’t say I cared much for the dirty thing, but Greg thought the wiggle of its tail stub hung the moon.”

  “Believe me, I understand the attachment people have for their pets.”

  “I figured you would.” A smile darted across the woman’s face. “That’s why I hoped you might drop the charges. It’s a lot to ask, but I don’t want my boy saddled with a record like his daddy. Nick has applied all over town, but no one will hire him because he’s an ex-con.”

  Kelly bit her lip. The man’s lack of work wasn’t the fault of his past as much as his present behavior. Evidently, Chelsea didn’t see it that way.

  “I know everybody thinks he’s a worthless drunk.” The waitress kicked a stone off the sidewalk. “Those Simms sisters had the gall to say out loud to guests at Brenda’s Christmas party that we Miltons are trash.”

  Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You heard them say such a thing?”

  “I didn’t, but Nick did. That’s what set him off. A guy can’t let folks talk that way about his family. Then he’s the one who got kicked out of the party, not those mean old biddies.” Chelsea’s eyes shot sparks. “Someone ought to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  Kelly’s mouth went dry. Maybe someone had tried. Chelsea looked hot enough to be the hand of retribution. Kelly would never have guessed the long-suffering head waitress at Brenda’s Kitchen had so much fire in her. Maybe the Simms sisters were the target of the poison, but because of their unexpected company that day, they never showed up at Brenda’s Kitchen to indulge in their treat of sweet tea and slices of pie.

  “What did you say?” Kelly shook herself.

  “I said, Nick used to be the sweetest guy. Then stuff happened to sour him. When Greg was little, and we lived in California, we ran into some bad money problems. Nick did things he shouldn’t have done, in order to make a fast buck, and got caught. He did his time. Me, too.” She stared up at Kelly. “Five long years, I raised our boy alone. Then he came home, and we moved to Abbottsville, where Nick grew up. He figured folks he knew would give him a break. I thought things would get better, too, but a con’s past follows him around.” The woman dropped her gaze toward the cement passing beneath their feet.

  Kelly refrained from reminding Chelsea of all the time Nick had spent cooling off in the county jail over a drunk and disorderly charge or a domestic disturbance. She knew a fellow who worked over at the feed store and had a criminal record for some pretty rough stuff, but he’d straightened out after his release and was a valued employee, a decent family man and accepted in the community.

  “It must be hard with the restaurant closed, and no one bringing home a paycheck,” Kelly said as they rounded the corner onto another block.

  “Tell me about it.” Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Nothing to do, nowhere to go and no money to do nothing with.” She let out a brief chuckle at her play on words.

  Kelly laughed with her. At least circumstances hadn’t annihilated the woman’s sense of humor. “It’s in everyone’s best interest to catch whoever slipped the mistletoe into the tea.”

  “Yeah, I heard the rumor that the poison was discovered in the sweet tea.”

  “Did you notice anyone in the kitchen who didn’t belong? Or maybe someone who belonged but was acting unusual?”

  The waitress squinted toward the white-capped mountain humps on the horizon. “Honestly? I can’t recall a thing out of the ordinary during my shift on the day people started getting ill. Brenda’s particular about who she lets into her kitchen. Of course, the sweet tea is kept in a refrigerator behind the server’s counter. But that’s out in the open, and it would be almost impossible to slip something into the pitcher in full view of every patron in the place.”

  Kelly frowned. Unfortunately, Chelsea’s words pointed strongly to the poison being mixed into the tea during its preparation—before it was placed into the public eye for serving. Brenda prepared the sweet tea every morning, which limited the possibilities to personnel on duty early in the day. Greg did dishes before and after school, which gave him opportunity. But she had a hard time picturing the volatile teenager as sly and calculating. He could sling a fist in the heat of the moment, but plot and plan and slip the town a lethal Mickey? The act seemed out of character. Hadn’t she said poison was a woman’s weapon?

  Kelly shot a sidelong look at her companion. The woman’s expression seemed puzzled but open. Had the waitress missed her calling as an actress? Maybe Kelly was trying to pry information from the person who knew exactly what had happened. Chelsea’s anger with the Simms sisters gave her motive, and she would have had opportunity to steal the Iscador from Brenda. As a friend, as well as her employer, Brenda often welcomed Chelsea into her home. She would probably be aware of the nature of Iscador, because Brenda would have discussed her treatment options with Chelsea. The logic made horrible sense. Cold fingers danced down Kelly’s spine. Had the Simms sisters guessed right? Could she be on a stroll with a murderer?

  “Maybe we should head back toward your house,” she suggested.

  “Fine by me. I’m done with this cocoa, anyway.” The waitress tucked the empty cup into one of her coat pockets. “About Greg, I know you’ll decide the right thing. You and Brenda are the salt of the earth. Can’t say I’m so sure about Tim, but you’ve got pull with him. I’ll make my boy get on his knees and apologize, if it’ll help get those charges dropped.”


  “I’d like to talk to Greg about the things I’ve discussed with you. Maybe I’ll stop by the jail and visit him.”

  Chelsea eyed her soberly. “You might not like this, but I need to tell you about Greg.”

  “That’s a bull’s-eye, all right.”

  Art frowned down at Ben while Matt held the squirming pup for inspection. They stood near the Saint Bernard’s outdoor pen behind the garage. Ben was about jumping out of his skin trying to make sniffing acquaintance with the police chief.

  “What are the odds the same person who slashed my tires did this, too?”

  “It’s a possibility we’ll take seriously.”

  Matt sent Art a half smile. Even small-town police played their cases close to the vest.

  “I get the sense that the message is a threat toward me, not my dog.” He shoved the wiggling animal into the pen and latched the gate. “Sorry, boy. I know you wanted to make a new friend, but I think he’d rather not be slobbered on.”

  Art chuckled. Ben whined after them as Matt fell into step with the police chief on the sidewalk leading toward the front of the house.

  “There’s a malicious pettiness about the crazy things happening in Abbottsville,” Matt continued. “Even the poisoning. I doubt the culprit expected anyone to die. The point seemed more to make people suffer. He…or she…was probably as shocked by Mr. Clemson’s passing as anyone. Maybe more so, because the death took their crime to a whole new level.”

  Art gave a noncommittal grunt, but his gaze was anything but disinterested. “You sense a connection between the threats toward you and the poison case? Why?”

  They stopped next to Art’s vehicle, idling at the curb. Matt glared through the window at the envelope of dog hair that sat, bagged and labeled, on the passenger seat.

  “I’ve been a player in this investigation since the beginning, and I’m spending time with Kelly. She and her family are keys in this case, but I haven’t figured out the angle yet.”

  A slow smile spread across the chief’s face. “If you ever get tired of chasing germs, you should consider chasing crooks. You think like a cop.”

  “I’ll take that as a high compliment.” Matt laughed. “If Greg weren’t already in jail, he’d be my chief suspect.”

  Art frowned. “Guess I’d better tell you about Greg.”

  “He made bail this morning?” Kelly blinked at Chelsea.

  “It’s a miracle.” The woman beamed. “The bail bondsman received an anonymous cash donation designated for Greg’s bail. He gave us a call, and Nick was out the door to pick up his son like his tail was on fire.”

  “Greg is home?” Kelly stopped walking.

  They were in sight of the Miltons’ house from the opposite direction in which they’d started. Why hadn’t she noticed that the route they were walking would make it necessary for her to pass their place to get back to her car? She eyed the front steps, half expecting the teenager to barrel out the door toward them.

  Chelsea had gone suspiciously silent. Kelly gazed down at her.

  The woman grimaced. “He’s not exactly home. He and his dad started fighting before they got back. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Greg took off on foot.”

  “Your son is loose on the town somewhere?”

  Chelsea let out a titter. “You make it sound like he’s public enemy number one. He’s been a good worker for Brenda. He loves that woman like a second mom, and the feeling is mutual. Maybe she’s the anonymous donor. I’m not worried about Greg. He’ll come home when he gets hungry.”

  A bellow drew their attention toward the Milton home. A burly figure stood swaying on the top step. The heat of his glare shot icicles through Kelly’s insides.

  Matt shook his head. “With Greg sprung, we’re left with no suspects eliminated.”

  “That’s about the size of it.” Art went around to the driver’s-side door of his vehicle. “I’ll run this envelope to the station, then pay a visit to the Milton house.”

  Matt watched the police cruiser glide up the street then pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Ben’s hair had been shaved to stubble in wide swaths like the tracks an electric shaver would make. He needed to ask Kelly if his dog’s skin was in danger of frostbite. At least he could thank the creep who did this for another opportunity to speak to a certain lovely redhead.

  Tim picked up on the third ring. The man’s greeting was professional but curt.

  “I have a question for Kelly,” Matt said. “Is she free to come to the phone?”

  “She’s not here at the moment. May I take a message?”

  “Oh.” A pregnant pause followed. Uneasiness passed over Matt. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “I know exactly where she’s gone, and if I didn’t have to man the fort, I’d go after her.”

  Dread deepened its grip on Matt. “Feel like sharing?”

  “Not really, but somebody’s got to save her from her madness. She went to talk to Chelsea Milton. Something set her off, and she feels like she’s got to single-handedly solve crime in Abbottsville.”

  Matt didn’t bother to say goodbye as he sprinted to his car.

  “I’d better go.” Chelsea squeezed Kelly’s arm and then gasped.

  Kelly followed the waitress’s gaze. A husky figure stalked toward the Milton home from another direction. The teenager and his father exchanged curses as the distance closed.

  “Oh no they don’t! They’re not going to start another public scene!” Chelsea released Kelly and began trotting toward her house.

  Kelly’s gaze traveled from Nick to Greg to Chelsea. A perfect storm was forming before her very eyes, and inserting herself into the mix would only make matters worse. She couldn’t stop any action Nick or Greg decided to take and would probably get hurt in the process, while helping no one. The best thing to do was to call the cops—pronto! Unfortunately, she’d left her cell phone in her vehicle. Kelly let out a groan. She’d have to hustle and take a circuitous route that didn’t carry her into the thick of the fray forming in the Miltons’ front yard.

  She turned on her heel and hastily retraced her steps. Up another half block, she found a convenient alley to shorten her trek. The angry voices from the direction of the Miltons’ house abruptly cut off. Had hostilities ceased? More likely, Chelsea had shooed her men inside. Who knew what could take place behind closed doors?

  Kelly broke into a run. A precious eternity passed—though probably only a minute or two—and then her vehicle finally came into view. While she beelined toward it, she dug in her jacket pocket for her keys. Puffing, she unlocked her door, whipped it open and grabbed her handbag off the front seat.

  Bang!

  The shot whipped her head around. Her eyes went enormous.

  That was no gunshot. It was the Miltons’ van backfiring. The sun’s glare on the windshield prevented her from seeing who was behind the wheel. But unless they swerved, they were going to hit her.

  Her open vehicle door stood between her and a dash for escape. She had a split-second chance to dive headfirst toward the passenger side of her vehicle.

  She took her chance.

  SEVEN

  The screech of agonized metal reached Matt’s ears as he neared the final turn onto the Miltons’ street. His foot tromped the accelerator, and he skidded around the corner. All was quiet in front of the Miltons’ house, but a few blocks away a van sped from the wreckage of a familiar vehicle. Matt’s pulse rocketed, and red haze edged his vision.

  Seconds dragged as he roared toward Kelly’s crippled SUV. That dinosaur of a van was built like a tank. It had swiped the driver’s side of the Explorer and ripped the door off. Pieces of metal and glass were strewed on the road. Had Kelly been behind the wheel? Would he find her body in the same shape as her vehicle?

  Matt slammed on his brakes and charged from his car before the chassis stopped rocking. “Kelly!” Debris crunched beneath his shoes as he flew toward the Explorer.

  Impossibly, wonderfu
lly, the passenger-side door opened, and a flame-haired figure tumbled out and collapsed to her knees. Matt threw himself down beside her. He resisted the urge to squeeze her tight. Not until he assessed the nature of her injuries. She appeared whole, but her green gaze stared through him, unfocused.

  “Kelly?”

  “Oh, Matt!” She flung herself at him.

  He wrapped her close. “I’m here, honey. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  As soon as he throttled the life out of the driver of that van.

  Kelly wiggled away. “We have to call the police. They might be dead.”

  “Who could be dead?”

  “I have no idea who left the house in that van, but Chelsea, Nick and Greg were fighting like cats and dogs when they went inside. I’m scared of what might have happened, especially since one of them just tried to kill me.”

  “I see your point.” Matt felt along his belt for his phone, then froze at the blare of a siren almost in his back pocket. He turned his head to see Art’s vehicle pull up behind his car. That’s right. The chief had intended to pay a visit to the Miltons, anyway.

  Art hustled toward them. “What’s the story here?”

  Matt helped Kelly to her feet, and she swiftly sketched events following a walk in the fresh air with Chelsea. “But that’s not all,” she finished, “I’ve discovered a motive Chelsea—or any of the Miltons—might have had to slip poison into the sweet tea at Brenda’s Kitchen.”

  “I’ll be asking you about that further.” The chief pointed a finger at Kelly. “But first I’m going to call for backup and put out a bulletin on that van.” He trotted to his cruiser.

  Kelly sagged, and Matt wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He gazed into her pale face. “Looks like you have a goose egg forming on your forehead.”

  She touched the spot near the part in her hair. “I banged my head on the dashboard when I leapt to get out of the path of the van.”