Murder on Parade

by Melanie Jackson

1 six oz. package chocolate chips (get good ones that aren’t all wax)

  Preheat oven to 350*. Cream the cream cheese, sugar, egg and salt. Add chocolate chips. Mix cake mix as instructed. Fill cupcake tins 2/3 full and add a tablespoon of cream cheese mixture to each cupcake. Bake at 350* for 20 to 25 minutes. Makes approximately 40.

  The morning had crept toward noon and the air was rich with the smells of baking, which leaked into the yard when I took Blue out to answer nature’s call. Blue is fastidious and it took her a moment to find a private spot behind the privet hedge. So I wasn’t surprised when we heard a knock on the door a short time later and I found my dad on the porch, taking off his cross-country skis. Dad has a kind of sixth sense about when I am baking especially with chocolate.

  “I was just checking on the animals at the fairgrounds and had to leave the van downtown. Everyone is just fine— even the chickens,” Dad said with satisfaction. I would have known his location from the wisps of straw in his hair and that all was well because he wasn’t still at the stables holding some ailing animal’s hoof or paw. And speaking of ailing hoofs, I was glad he had come on skis and not Old Luke. On his last visit, Luke had been insulted at my suggestion he wait outside while Dad and I had dinner and had chewed the top rail of my fence. “I smelled something heavenly as I turned onto your street. You’ve been making almond crescents, haven’t you? Is it too much to hope that you have some coffee and almond cookies for your father?”

  “Of course not,” I said, taking his coat and hanging it on the wrought iron hooks by the door where it could drip onto a festive rubber-backed rug. “We just won’t mention it to Mom.”

  “I certainly won’t,” Dad agreed and we shared a smile. He gave me a quick hug and then went to build a fire. Alex and I hadn’t needed one, being near the stove, but I didn’t mind having one. A fire is always cheerful on a cold day.

  “The house looks lovely,” Dad added, giving Blue a pat and then waving at Alex who was mixing up icing with muscular zeal.

  “Thanks. The cats had fun helping with the decorations. They especially love the lights.” They love anything that resembles string and drags across the floor.

  Dad was right about the house. My taste does not run to plastic reindeer on the roof. Or anything on the roof since I get dizzy when I am up a ladder and don’t have a death wish. But I do like to decorate in more restrained ways. Exterior displays are a gift we give our neighbors, so I had hung a giant wreath on the door— made from greens I had collected and I still had the sap stains and holly wounds on my hands to prove it. There were flameless candles in the living room window that worked on a timer so I didn’t need to worry about them. I loved coming home just after dusk and finding them guttering on the sill. Dad had contributed some suet and seed balls hung with red bows to the bare apricot tree in the south corner which the birds were enjoying.

  Inside I have a Christmas tree—a small one with plastic ornaments on the bottom and glass on the top. Really, you can hardly tell the difference between the two and this way Apollo and Aphrodite can play with the tempting eye-level balls and not damage themselves or the decorations. I haven’t traded in my little gumball lights for LEDs yet. I don’t like the cold lights even if they are more energy efficient. Someday all my bulbs will burn out and I’ll have to give in and switch, but not yet.

  Dad sat cross-legged on the floor before the fire with Blue nearby, keeping a careful eye on his coffee mug on the hearth by her tail and the cookies in his hand. Alex had laid aside the icing he was mixing and poured some coffee of his own.

  “A shame about Herb Dillon dying in the middle of the parade,” Dad said and then looked at me. “Strange even. He wasn’t an old man. In fact, he recently joined a gym. I’d have said he was good for another twenty years.”

  “Very strange,” I agreed. “And rotten timing, though from what I hear, Mrs. Dillon won’t be all that upset. And heaven knows that it could have been worse.”

  Now Alex and Dad were both looking at me. Alex had powdered sugar on his cheek.

  “Worse how?” he asked, scrubbing his face when he noticed my stare.

  “Well, it could have been Santa. Imagine the headlines and child trauma if Santa had croaked in the middle of the parade.”

  Dad shuddered. “It’s unthinkable.”

  I nodded and then, unable to help myself, I asked what was on my mind. “Dad, you’re friends with Mickey Drambacher, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. You thinking about getting some insurance?”

  “No. But I sure would like to know if Herb Dillon took out any new policies, or maybe changed his heir recently— just out of curiosity.”

  “Do you think there was foul play?” Dad asked straightly.

  “No, not definitely. But something about the incident is bothering me.”

  “The perfume,” Alex muttered, scrubbing his cheek harder and making matters worse since he had green food coloring on his hand.

  “Yes. He smelled like someone had spilled a whole bottle of gardenia perfume on him. How does that happen right before the parade?” I got blank looks to this question. “It had to have been right before or he would have changed clothes.”

  “Maybe he just liked wearing women’s things,” Dad suggested. “Some men do.”

  “Not lingerie,” I answered, before I realized he was kidding. Now even Blue was staring at me. “The doctor opened his shirt while I was there. I guess there could have been panties….” I cleared my throat. “If there were I’ll hear about it at work. No way will the coroner keep that quiet. His office leaks like a sieve.”

  “Damn, girl. You’re scary,” Dad said before stuffing the last cookie in his mouth, minus the part he broke off for Blue. “I need to get going. Gotta do my shopping. I know I shouldn’t leave it ‘til the last minute, but it’s just you and your mom so I figure I’m safe.”

  “Are any of the stores open today?” I asked.

  “Mundorf’s is.” I nodded. I don’t mind getting practical gifts. Mom would be less than thrilled with a new drill or weather-stripping though. “Lights were on at the Kandy Kounter too.”

  Dad was clearly cruising for trouble. I think Mom has a paid informant there.

  I went to the door with Dad and handed him his coat. He shrugged it on and then reached into his pocket for his gloves.

  “By the way, Chloe, would you know—”

  “Your leather gloves are in the van,” I told him. Mom is freaked out when I know what she’s about to ask me, but Dad isn’t bothered. “Check the glove compartment.”

  “Thanks. Seems like I’m always losing my gloves.”

  I kissed him on the cheek and then let him get into his skis.

  “Will you be checking the animals tonight?” I asked.

  “Thought I’d come out around three when I’m done shopping.”

  “Why don’t you come for dinner after? We’ll eat early so you can get home before dark.”

  “Full moon tonight,” Dad said. “But an early dinner would suit me. Bye, sweetie. See you tonight, Alex.”

  I closed the door and turned to my boyfriend with a green cheek.

  “You don’t mind that I asked him to dinner?”

  “Nope. I know you worry about him eating properly—and we have plenty of cookies to go around.”

  “Speaking of that, Blue and I are going to take a plate of cookies next door. I want to check on Miss Tate.” My neighbor has signs of early dementia and I worried that her nephew might not be able to get to her with all the snow. “If she’s alone I might have her come to dinner too.”

  Alex only smiled. I know he would have preferred it to be just the two of us, but he is too kind hearted to turn away anyone in need. I think this may be why he gave up being a police detective and started working on solving cyber-crime. There is much less call for compassion for those who do high tech law-breaking.

  “Chloe….” He trailed off and looked guilty.

  “What? Did you burn the last batch of cupcakes?” I
knew he hadn’t.

  “No. I was just wondering….”

  Oh no! I thought. We were going to have the ‘L’ discussion.

  “Do you know what your dad is getting you for Christmas?”

  Surprised and relieved by what he asked, I thought about it carefully. I had seen a circular in Dad’s van turned to an ad for Mundorf’s. Most of the items were not things I needed, but one was. My appliances kill themselves regularly and the latest suicide hadn’t been replaced yet.

  “Yes. An electric toothbrush.”

  “And your mom? Do you know what she’s getting you?”

  “Uh-hu, a new cookbook for dummies and a roasting pan.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Do you know what I’m giving you?”

  “No,” I said and meant it.

  “Are you lying to make me feel better?” Alex asked.

  That made me laugh.

  “No. I really haven’t a clue.”

  “Good,” he said and sounded like he meant it.

  Chapter 5

  I’d made spaghetti the night before and that was my favorite show off for company dish, but I had one other fallback recipe I could make. I do a nice savory bread pudding. A quick look in the fridge revealed sausage and asparagus and I had a loaf of sourdough bread so I was good to go.

  We were running low on other ingredients though and if the snow didn’t melt I would have to strap on snowshoes and hike to the grocery store.

  I was feeling quite happy that Althea hadn’t called and then remembered that I had switched off the phone. Feeling guilty and put-upon, I decided that I had better check my messages before I started cooking.

  There were several from Althea, none of consequence except that the rehearsal had been moved to noon the following day and we would have a rehearsal lunch at my aunt’s after. That suited me since there was no guarantee that all the roads would be cleared by then and, full moon or not, I preferred not to be hiking at night. Being a coward, I called and left a message for Althea with Mom who was busy baking and therefore not inclined to visit.

  Miss Tate was fine, watching White Christmas on television. I ran into her nephew at the garden gate as he was leaving for his office and he assured me that he would be back to fix dinner for his aunt and spend the night. He was happy to see the cookies and inhaled deeply. Home baking is a dying art and so many men especially never learn to do it. Miss Tate was sleepy and it was the work of a moment to uncover the cookies and leave them on the coffee table beside the pot of tea. Duty done, I wished Miss Tate a Merry Christmas and then hurried back outside. She feels the cold and her house is always stifling.

  Standing just outside my own gate, I paused for a long breath. The air was clear, piercingly hard, but the scenery was delightfully blurred, the edges of the town softened by snow, except for the distant spire of the red church which was a splash of barn red against the grey sky. A wave of affection washed over me. This beautiful place was my town.

  To the east I could see that square of darker green that were next year’s Christmas trees. Borders Christmas Tree Farm was a family business and I wondered how they were doing. John Donne had it so right— no man is an island. Especially in a small town. They would also be affected by Herb Dillon’s death since he was a silent partner in the business. Herb’s sister Linda had married Tom Borders six years ago. A drought had struck almost immediately and the small business had ended up in financial trouble. There had been talk of selling off the land for development to the Other Falls Foundation but Herb had stepped in with a loan. His interest rates were higher than the bank and had strapped Tom and Linda, but they had kept their business. I didn’t know the details of the arrangement—like was the loan forgiven in the event of Herb’s death?—but I could find out. My ex had handled the arrangements for the loan and though we weren’t speaking, David’s secretary was always willing to talk.

  I let myself admire the view for a moment before going back inside. I felt very cozy; dinner was in the oven, Alex was by the fire catching up on email on his portable and Blue was snoring softly at his feet.

  Looking at this scene of peaceful domesticity, I had a moment of thought for Mrs. Dillon. While setting the table I imagined what she was doing that evening and how strange the day must seem to her. Perhaps strangely good, if her marriage had been as awful as people said. I couldn’t imagine killing someone I had been in love with, no matter how angry, but as the evening news shows us, lots of people can. Mrs. Dillon is smaller than I am and had a hard time muscling open stubborn soda cans. Physically there was little in the way of brute force that she could bring to bear on her philandering husband. But only a very stupid or very frustrated woman would do anything that reckless anyway. She had a lot to lose if she was caught. She was an upright woman in our town. She and Linda Borders were on the school board, singers in Methodist choir and she was treasurer for the garden club. Surely she wouldn’t throw all that away— not even if she was feeling shamed by her husband’s behavior.

  Next I thought of Herb Dillon’s secretary and source of Laurie Dillon’s woes, the flamboyant Chelsea Tower. The lovers hadn’t been seen together as much of late or so gossip said. Was the affair finally cooling? Could there have been some quarrel that led to intense bitterness on her part? Not that merely wishing someone dead would do anything to them. If ill will alone could kill someone than Herb’s death probably laid first and foremost at Althea’s door. But had Chelsea stopped at ill-wishing?

  None of the women in Herb Dillon’s life fit the profile of a killer, but where there is a will to murder, there is always a way.

  And at that thought I slammed on the mental brakes. Why was I thinking murder? There was no reason yet to think that this death had been anything other than an act of God. I would not ruin the holiday by thinking evil things.

  But I decided that I would call the chief. Just to see how things were going at work. And since I didn’t want to disturb Alex, I went into the bathroom to place the call.

  “What’s up, Boston?”

  The chief doesn’t like phones and tends to be brisk.

  “Just checking in. Are things okay? Nothing new happening?”

  Randy Wallace didn’t answer right away.

  “Not as far as I know. Do you know something?”

  “Noooo.”

  “Do you feel something?” The chief trusts my hunches.

  “Um—I was just thinking. Has the coroner determined cause of death?”

  “Preliminary exam lists heart failure. He’ll do the autopsy after Christmas.”

  “Okay.” I shook my head and felt a little embarrassed. “And you’re doing okay?”

  “No lasting trauma, but thanks for asking.” The chief was amused by my concern for his feelings.

  “Okay, well, bye then.”

  “By the way, the Cowboys play the Cardinals on Christmas…”

  “Cardinals. It’s Christmas, how can they lose?” The chief laughed.

  “Take the next two days off. And Chloe?”

  “Yes?” I waited for the lecture about interfering. “If you do start feeling something definite, call me.”

  “Okay.” I was getting tired of saying this. “I will.”

  I hung up and felt a little better.

  If the chief wasn’t concerned then I shouldn’t be either, right?

  Then I looked over at the little embroidered pillow on my bed. It was a gift from Mom. It said: You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free. Maybe I wasn’t done worrying yet. I doubted we knew the truth, let alone the whole truth.

  Dad arrived a little before dusk and accepted a glass of whisky from Alex as he warmed his back at the fire. He sipped slowly. Dad is not a hard drinker and he knew that I would insist he sleep on my not very long sofa if I thought he was too impaired to ski home.

  I thought I might insist anyway. My father was Herb Dillon’s age. If one man could be struck down without warning, why not another? There was no need to take chances with the cold. Dad r
espected my hunches. He would stay if I asked him.

  Chapter 6

  From my street I could see that the main drag through town had been cleared along with other main roads which led to the highway. Experience told me that next they would send the town’s one and only snowplow up to Olympus next and free the rich and semi-famous who would be screaming loudly at having their holiday travels curtailed.

  There were a few bright spots downtown. The post office was open and doing an excellent business. The package and cards going out wouldn’t arrive on time, but some people feel they have fulfilled their responsibilities if their gifts and cards are postmarked before December 25th.

  The market on Market was all lit up as well. Feeling the need for some exercise I went back in the house and told Alex we— including Blue— were going grocery shopping.

  The grocery store is an excellent place to hear gossip, but try as I might I didn’t find any conversations about Herb Dillon’s death. Everyone there was serious about shopping for holiday meals, which made sense. Only the most dedicated or desperate of shoppers would be out in the snow.

  “Chloe, are you okay? You seem preoccupied,” Alex said as he put a giant candy cane in the wagon. I found Blue was staring at me as well. She looked adorable in her orange therapy dog vest.

  “I was just thinking.” More like listening. In fact, if I listened any harder my ears would protrude from my hair. It was time to accept defeat and pay attention to my grocery list. I was preparing a prime rib and Yorkshire puddings for dinner and feeling a little panicked. Mr. Jackman was out of town and I was on my own with a very large and expensive piece of meat. With it I was doing braised cauliflower with capers and brussels-sprouts in browned butter. And lots of desserts, but more about that later.

  “It’s nice that you have some time off,” Alex was saying as I studied my list. “And that you don’t have to do any more safety lectures. I was sure you would be sent out at the last minute to do the usual Christmas trees and fire stuff.”