Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum

by Heather Haven

  “William, I have told you repeatedly, that girl is no better than her mother was.”

  “Please,” William Waller said, his only word on the subject. His voice had a futile edge to it, as if he had heard this many times before and would hear it many times again.

  “A pretty damning statement, Mr. Waller,” Percy said to the old man. “Care to explain it?”

  “I do not.” His words were clipped and his voice cold. “Other than to say your services are no longer required. Please leave these premises.” He stared up at her, his expression unyielding.

  “I don’t think so, bub,” Percy replied, crossing her arms across her chest. “You didn’t hire me and you can’t fire me.” She turned to William Waller. “You firing me, Mr. Waller?”

  Waller didn’t reply but shook his head. He turned away from the counter and headed to the back room. Percy followed. Glancing back, she saw the senior Waller remained poised and stiff, almost like a statue, burning eyes flitting from one person to the other, as they left the room.

  Waller shut his office door and crumpled into his chair like a beaten down man. “You’ll have to excuse my father, Miss Cole. He’s not a well man, for all his ranting. He has a weak heart.”

  “Bad ticker, Huh? I didn’t realize that was license to act like a son of a bitch.”

  Waller stiffened. “I’d like to remind you it’s my father you’re talking about.”

  “I’d like to remind you, it’s your daughter he’s talking about. And she’s in serious trouble. You know about the second murder last night?”

  Waller nodded, with a head so low it almost laid on his chest. He looked about to burst into tears.

  “Oh, God,” He said and rubbed a hand over a too quickly shaven face, patches of stubble and a nick on the chin revealing the truth. “Did she do it? I don’t know, anymore.”

  “Well, I do. She didn’t. Lily’s probably guilty of a lot of things, but murder isn’t one of them. Where were you night before last, mister? How do you account for yourself?”

  “I don’t have to--” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, you do. I found out something interesting. Gracie Mansion is only a ten-minute drive from here at that time of night. These are little bits of info cops are only too glad to pass along. And you say you have an iron-clad alibi but I read a detailed police report that states you left the table for about an hour during the poker game.”

  “I took a nap in one of the bedrooms,” he retorted, spittle landing on his chin. “Everybody does that at marathon poker games.”

  “Nobody remembers seeing you during that time. Very convenient, that. Maybe you weren’t there when you said you were. People say a lot of things.”

  I’m making that last part up, buster, but one thing about marathon poker games, nobody can keep track of everybody all the time.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Waller practically yelled. “All the players were going in and out of the poker room, about fifteen of us. How could somebody not see me? Everybody saw everybody.”

  “So you say. An hour would give you plenty of time to sneak out, drive here, shoot the elf, and drive back.”

  His face registered shock and dismay. “How dare you imply that I would --”

  “Again with this imply thing?” She drew herself up as tall as she could and looked down at him. “Don’t you people know anything? Imply means to hint at. Infer means to state implicitly. I’m not hinting, buster, I’m saying it outright. You could have left the game, driven here and shot Connie. Maybe you didn’t, but you could have.” She leaned over him. “Why doesn’t Lily like you? I can see why she doesn’t like the old man; he’s a pip. But you? I don’t get it.”

  He wriggled in his chair, discomfort outweighing embarrassment. “I don’t know.” He looked imploringly at Percy. “Her mother and I weren’t getting along at the time of her death. It had been a bad marriage. The only thing good about it was Lily. I love Lily, as if she were my own --”

  “Wait a minute,” Percy interrupted. “What do you mean, as if she were your own? You mean she’s not your daughter?”

  “Lily was two-years old when Verna and I married. I adopted her and she is my daughter, in the eyes of the law and in mine.” He stuck his chin out defiantly, as if daring Percy to challenge him.

  “She knows she’s adopted, right? I mean, I can’t imagine someone like your father letting that tidbit go.”

  “Of course, she does. As for my father, he’s never forgiven me for marrying Verna and not having children of my own. He thinks I’ve let him down. Maybe I have. Lily, too. I’ve tried my best with her. I loved her mother. Verna’s the one who cheated on me. I was always there for her, always. I tried to shield Lily from all the sordid details. Maybe that was a mistake. She thinks I…I don’t know what she thinks.” He sucked in a deep breath. Even though he’d stopped speaking, his eyes continued to tell a story of betrayal, misunderstanding, and pain.

  “You never talked to Lily about this?” He shook his head. “What are you, a moron? No wonder she’s a nutcase. Does she at least know you and her mother were having problems?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, yes.” He rallied, his voice gaining strength and certainty. “How can she not know? She was there.”

  “Maybe because she was just a kid. She was busy learning how to tie her shoes, not keeping track of what the adults were doing. Jesus, I thought my family was odd. You beat us by a mile.”

  He reached out a shaky hand and poured water from the glass tumbler into a glass. “You know, this is really none of your business. You’re job is to shield Lily. I hired you to--”

  “Yeah, yeah, to find out who killed the elf,” Percy interrupted. “And now who killed the Christmas angel. And possibly to keep Lily from spending time in jail, unlike Danny Deluca -- who by the way -- flew the coop, so he could have killed either of them or both. You know, Mr. Waller, I think there’s a lot of shielding going on around here. Maybe Lily should come forward and take her lumps like the rest of us Joe Blows.” She monitored his reaction.

  What are you going to say now, bub? You going to throw Lily to the lions the way your father would?

  A look of horror struck the jeweler’s face and he put down the glass of water with a clunk. “No, no. Don’t say that, please. She’s afraid of enclosed places. Tell me she’s safe.”

  “She’s safe, for now. But if I keep your daughter out of jail, you owe me five thousand bucks. I got a piece of paper right here that says so.” She tapped the breast pocket of her jacket.

  He sat up straighter in the chair. “I am a man of my word.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “There’s something else,” he said, his voice tentative and soft. He began to play with one of the empty jewelry cases on his desk again, the way he had the first time Percy interviewed him. She sat down, opened her mouth to speak, but waited.

  “We were robbed again. Oh, not much, just some little earrings shaped like a cross, seed pearls and diamond chips, hardly worth three hundred dollars, but I thought I should mention it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘again’?

  Waller seemed nervous and spoke in a rushed, almost a guilty tone. “The day after the …ah...elf was found in the store window, I noticed one of my diamond solitaires was missing, a smaller one, probably worth seven or eight hundred dollars. I was so busy with the murder and all, I didn’t notice it until the next day.”

  “Go on.”

  He cleared his throat. “The funny thing is,” he said, leaning forward, “Both robberies didn’t set the alarms off and I’ve found no evidence of a break in. I had to recheck my stock inventory to make sure I hadn’t miscounted.”

  “And had you?”

  “No. Miss Lorner and I did it together. Every piece is accounted for except those two. They were here and now they’re gone.” He shuddered and sank down in his chair. “I’d hate to think Lily…although they were inexpensive, comparatively.”

  “That’s sad,” Pe
rcy said, in a voice devoid of emotion.

  “What?” he turned to her with a questioning look on his face.

  “That she’s the person who comes to your mind. I think if Lily took the jewelry, Mr. Waller,” Percy said in a voice sharper than she meant, “She would have taken two of the larger pieces in the house. That’s what I would have done.”

  He let out a soulful laugh. “Anyway, their disappearance is a mystery to me, especially as I test the alarms every day.”

  “And they work fine?”

  He didn’t reply but nodded, a sad, wistful look coming into his eyes.

  “You going to report the thefts?”

  He gave a small shake of his head.

  “Still not convinced it wasn’t Lily?” He didn’t reply. “If that’s all, Mr. Waller, I’ll get going.” She turned to leave, but paused and looked back at the man huddled in his office chair, a man who still wasn’t spilling everything he knew.

  “And take it easy. You look like a man who’s lost his best friend.”

  * * * *

  “Business don’t look so good out there, Harry. I guess a couple of murders put a crimp in Christmas at Santa Land.” She walked inside the small office, closing the door behind her.

  “Oy! You again,” Harry said, pivoting in his chair to face her. “Okay, Red, what do you want? Isn’t it bad enough my business is dying?”

  “Like a lot of people around here. The only little kiddies showing up come with armed guards?”

  “Something like that. Leave it to the newspapers to slaughter me. Now I’ll never make any profit.”

  “Poor you.” Percy couldn’t help but laugh at the self-absorption of the man.

  “Yeah, January in Palm Beach is out this year. Happy? Now get out.” Harry turned back to his littered desk and threw a pencil in the corner in frustration.

  “Aw gee, Harry. And here I thought you’d be glad to see me. Where’s the dog?” She looked down at the empty dog basket.

  “He’s out for a walk, if it’s any of your business, which it ain’t.” His voice was gruff.

  “Everybody’s telling me to mind my own business. I must be doing something right.”

  Percy’s light-hearted banter stopped. Uninvited, she plopped down in the chair to the left of the desk and leaned in to Harry. She picked up the five by seven photo of him, his wife and a teenage boy and wiped off what looked like years of fingerprints. “I want to talk to you about Gertie.”

  “What about her? She’s dead.” His words were flippant but Percy noted a slight shake in his voice at the end. He snatched at the framed photo, his hands shaking even more than his voice.

  “Why so nervous, Harry?”

  “What do you think, Red? It’s like someone’s out to get me.”

  “If they were out to get you, they’d have bumped you off, not everybody else in a Christmas costume.”

  He looked startled at first then fear took over.

  “Don’t look so scared,” she said. “Tell me what you’re not telling me. Maybe I can help you.”

  He shook his head, white speckled eyebrows fluttering up and down nervously.

  “What was Gertie doing here after hours, almost at midnight? Pretty late hours to be working.”

  He shook his head again, still not saying a word. He wouldn’t look at Percy. She pressed on.

  “Don’t you count heads before you lock up? How’d she get left behind?”

  “Gertie’s got her own set of keys,” he finally said, then corrected himself. “Had her own set of keys. She’s been working for me for thirteen years. Why shouldn’t she have her own set of keys?” Harry looked up for the first time, his tone belligerent.

  “No reason, Harry. Calm down. I’m here to help you,” she drawled.

  He let out a knowing chuckle. “Yeah, help me, right. You’re going to help me right into the poor house, along with…”

  “Along with who, Harry?” Percy asked after a moment, fixing a hard stare on the man. “Gertie stayed here in this building, didn’t she? Everybody left, but she stayed here and met someone. Maybe she let someone in; maybe they were already here.”

  The fear on Harry’s face was replaced by terror.

  “Someone who killed her.” Percy pushed on. “Maybe blackmail? What’s going on around here, Harry? Who owns this building? And who’s walking your dog, Harry? Who’s walking your dog?”

  Harry jumped up with such force, his chair pushed back and slid across the cement floor with a loud screech. His drew himself up to his full five foot six inch height.

  “Get out,” he commanded and pointed to the door.

  “Nice try. You don’t look like you could pull off an ‘or else’ kind of threat, but I appreciate the bluster.” Percy put down the framed photograph, rose slowly and moved forward on the man. He backed up instinctively. “You know, you’re lucky I don’t smack you one, just on general principles.”

  Harry swallowed a retort and crossed to the door, not looking at the larger woman. “Get out now or I’ll call the police and have you charged with trespassing.”

  “Why don’t you do that, Harry?” The fear returned to the man’s face. “Don’t worry. I’m going.”

  She let out a chortle and strolled to the door. Harry opened the door and pulled his body as far back from her as he could. She stepped over the threshold, but turned back to face the man.

  “I guess this means drinks tonight are off, huh, Harry? Aw, gee, and here I thought we were getting to be such good friends.” He slammed the door in her face.

  Percy dropped the smirk on her face. Her body lost its casual swagger and became tense, nearly rigid. With quiet steps, she hurried up and down the hallway opening and closing doors. She came to one with an older hinged hasp that couldn’t be opened, wearing a fairly new lock. A check in either direction told her no one was around, although she could hear general noise coming from the other side of the double doors leading to Santa Land. One quick look at the rusty hasp told her it could be broken easily. She removed a short, thick screwdriver from her jacket, one carried there for purposes such as these.

  With one strong thrust, she jabbed it in between the door and the hinge and rocked the screwdriver back and forth. Rusted screws broke free of their wooden imprisonment with a minimum of effort and the hinge pulled free of the door. It took less than ten seconds. Another quick glance to make sure no one saw her, and she pushed the door open to reveal uneven, cement stairs heading down, down, down into darkness.

  She put the screwdriver back into her breast pocket, withdrew a small flashlight from another, and turned it on. Percy took two steps down then reached back and closed the door behind her. Aiming the shaft of light on each narrow tread of the staircase, she descended one ginger step at a time.

  Half way down, she discovered a light switch on the wall and struck at it with the palm of her hand. A low-watt naked light bulb, hanging down on a frayed cord from the cement ceiling below, spurted on. She continued downward, her feet crunching on dirt, pebbles and pulverized cement granules, her nose twitching at decades of stagnant air.

  What the hell kind of place is this? It looks like it’s the center of the earth or something Jeesh, what a maze. Where do these passageways lead off to, I wonder? Brrr! It’s colder than a witch’s tit down here. And the word depressing takes on a new meaning. As Bette Davis says, ‘What a dump.’

  The beam of her flashlight scanned more of the darkness below and found a battered chair, small table, and reading lamp in one corner. Percy continued down the stairs and moved toward the lone grouping in the room. Hesitating, but not sure why, she yanked on the pull chain of the table light. The small, cramped area was suffused in a warm glow. Percy, always aware of battery usage, turned off the flashlight and returned it to her pocket. A neatly taped, nineteen forty-two calendar hung on the wall behind the table, the white and black of its pages standing out against the dull, grey cement.

  ‘X’s covered the days of the current month, with December thirty-
first encircled in bright red several times. She shuffled through the pages of the calendar, starting from the beginning. Each month had the days ‘X’d out.

  Uneasy, Percy backed up, about to turn and leave when she noticed something even more peculiar. Above the pitiful arrangement, a once transparent glass window was blackened out by layers of dark-colored paint. It had also been taped shut. Outside light and fresh air were not welcomed here.

  Percy puzzled over what kind of a person would lay claim to this deed and, deep in thought, heard the sound too late to do anything. It came short and fast, more like a whoosh, and then she felt the crack on the side of her head. It was followed by a sharp intake of breath, probably hers, the yip of a small dog, and the hard cement floor rising up to meet her falling body.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Who does she think she is, this fat, nosy, busy-body? I knew she’d come snooping around here. I knew it.” He huffed, pushing her dead weight over and tying the ropes tight around Percy’s wrists. “What am I going to do with her? She’ll ruin everything. I can’t let her ruin everything.”

  His face grimaced and a flood of tears filled his eyes. The dog, nervous and shaking, began to whimper. The man took his anger out on the dog.

  “Shut up, you!” The dog, tail between his legs ran into a corner of the dimly lit room. The man felt bad. “I’m sorry, boy. I’m sorry.”

  He turned and looked at the unconscious woman at his feet. “What am I going to do with you?” He paced back and forth for a moment.

  Percy began to moan.

  “Oh, God! She’s coming to. What’ll I do? Papa! Papa will know.” He turned to leave, the dog began to follow. “No, no, boy! You stay here. You watch her, boy. Stay!” The dog obeyed and sat, confused and anxious, tongue lolling to the side as he panted heavily staring at the inert woman.

  Chapter Twenty

  Percy opened her eyes with difficulty. She was first aware of the cold, hardness of the cement floor, then the stale, stuffy air. She tried to move, get more comfortable, but her bound hands behind her back prevented her from doing so. Her head pounded on the left side and her right cheek, the one on which she’d fallen, burned and ached.