Menace at the Christmas Market: A Novella in the Murder on Location Series

by Sara Rosett

  Petrie sighed and repeated his words slowly as if he were talking to a small child. “Hayden hasn’t been murdered. She’s on holiday.” He stood and said, “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if we need more information.”

  We watched him until he turned the corner of the hallway. “Someone poisoned Gina, and the police don’t care one bit,” Louise said, amazement in her tone. “He’s not going to do anything.”

  I blew out a long breath. I hadn’t pictured spending the days before Christmas this way, but when I thought of Gina’s horrible pale face and the pain that had wracked her body I knew there was only one thing to say. “But we can.”

  Chapter 5

  “I’M IN,” LOUISE SAID AS we exited the hospital, and the cold air engulfed us. “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Someone has to do something, but I have no idea what it is that we should do.”

  I turned up the collar of my coat against the stiff wind that had sprung up. It had swept the clouds away, revealing a starry sky. “I suppose we have to do two things. First, we need to find out if Harriet really is in the Canary Islands. If she’s there—and happy—well, then that eliminates Gina’s suspicions about Carrie Webbington. Second, we need to find out if there is a reason someone other than Carrie would try to hurt Gina.”

  Louise unlocked the car doors. We had followed the ambulance from the market to the hospital. “But who would want to do that? I know Gina scared you today, skulking around after you, but that’s only because she’s rather timid. She doesn’t have any enemies.”

  “It sounds as if she’s well on the way to making an enemy out of Carrie Webbington.”

  Louise waved her hand. “No one likes Carrie. She’s one of those personalities…what do they call them on the telly? Caustic? No, toxic. That’s it. She contaminates and damages everyone she comes in contact with. She’s the exception that proves the rule. Everyone else loves Gina.”

  “But Gina did say that she knew a lot of secrets from her job. Maybe someone felt threatened by her.”

  Louise slammed her door with more force than was necessary and sent me a disappointed look. “You don’t know Gina the way I do. She wouldn’t…I don’t know…hold anything over someone’s head.”

  “I’m not saying that she did. But maybe someone thought she was a threat. Maybe Gina knew something that could be very damaging to someone, either their reputation or their livelihood or…I don’t know something else.”

  Louise started the car, her face set. “No, you heard her today. Being pregnant or having marriage problems is no reason to try to poison someone.”

  “Not normally, but someone did put poison in her tea. We should check it out, just to be thorough. We don’t want to be like Constable Petrie, someone who already has his mind made up.”

  Louise’s posture relaxed a bit. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and cracked a small smile. “Comparing me to Petrie, eh? That’s low. But effective. He’s like a horse with blinders, and I don’t want to be like that. Right. So I guess I’m talking to Gina’s friends at work.”

  “Do you know anyone there?”

  “Yes. Shondra Rashid works with her and is part of the book club. I’ll start with her.” Louise checked the dashboard clock. “Ella opens the pub tomorrow, so I can go back to Upper Benning in the morning.”

  “Okay,” I said, flipping through the pages of Gina’s notebook, which I had put in my pocket when Constable Petrie refused it. “Let’s see if Gina knew where Harriet was staying. Here it is. The Royal Palm Resort. I’ll ask Alex if he can check there for Harriet.”

  “Harriet Hayden wasn’t at the Royal Palm Resort today,” Alex said when he called me the next afternoon.

  “Really?” I’d filled Alex in on what had happened last night as soon as I arrived back at my cottage. He had agreed to drop by the Royal Palm Resort. “Any excuse for a break from the family togetherness is a good excuse,” he’d said.

  I’d spent the morning on the Internet, looking for evidence that Harriet had been online recently. She had active accounts on all the big social media sites, which featured her and her books, but none of the accounts had been updated within the last few weeks. I checked the feeds, browsing backward in time, and discovered that the gaps in posts weren’t that unusual for Harriet. She often went several weeks, sometimes a month or more without posting. Then she would put up a message, something along the lines of, “Out of the writing cave. Book is done!” In mid-November, she had posted a flurry of updates about looking forward to her upcoming trip, then nothing.

  Alex continued, “The front desk wouldn’t confirm that she’s a guest, but the bartender knew her. He said Harriet mentioned returning home to England soon, but she also wanted to visit La Gomera before she left. That’s another one of the islands.”

  I smiled, knowing that if the front desk wouldn’t answer his questions, Alex would have used some of his location scouting techniques, which often involved an end run around red tape, to get answers. “So the bartender has seen her?”

  “Yes, said she’d been in for drinks almost every night for the last three or four weeks. I figure she’s either island hopping for the day, or she’s checked out, and the resort doesn’t want to give out info on their guests.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. So the police were right.” I told him about my morning online. “I was beginning to think that Gina might be right about Harriet because she certainly hasn’t been posting updates about her trip on her Facebook newsfeed.”

  “Maybe she’s been writing,” Alex said.

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m heading back to the resort to see if I can spot Harriet myself. Happy hour is only a few hours away.”

  “Do you have time for that?”

  “Sure,” he said easily. “Any word from Louise?”

  “She called me earlier today. Gina is still in the hospital. No change in her condition. Louise spoke to Gina’s coworker at the market. She says that the only customer Gina was especially interested in was Harriet. In fact, Gina was so serious about her search that she missed work a couple of times. Her friend covered for her.”

  “How, um, stable is this Gina?” Alex asked.

  “I’ve been asking myself that question since yesterday. When she wasn’t sneaking around following me, she seemed fine. I got the impression that she’s usually pretty timid, but this thing with Harriet, well, she’s very adamant about it.”

  “Sounds a bit…obsessive.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “But she’s in the hospital after being poisoned.”

  Alex said, “Hopefully, I’ll run Harriet to ground tonight. If she’s still here, I’ll try to convince her to get in touch with Gina.”

  “Thank you for doing this, Alex. I appreciate you taking time out of your holiday for it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m taking my camera. I don’t have to look very hard to find some views that demand a commercial or print ad be shot in them.”

  “It would be just awful if we had to return there for work.”

  “Terrible.” I could hear the smile in his tone. “What are you doing now?”

  “Sitting in your car on the street outside Harriet’s house. I’d hoped to talk to some of the neighbors, see if anyone had seen her, but no one was home. I figured I could stick around a few hours, that someone might come home for lunch, but no luck.” While location scouting, I’d spent many hours waiting for homeowners so that I could make my pitch in person. Sitting for a few hours in a car with Miss Bingley Suspects propped up on the steering wheel was no hardship. “I brought my camera, too, but this street won’t work for anything historical. Too many light poles and wires.” I carried my camera with me almost everywhere. It was second nature to pick it up on my way out the door along with my purse. It was something that my first boss in the location scouting business had drummed into me: Always bring your camera.

  “Tropics, it is then. Glad that’s settled. I should go. The cell phone service
isn’t good at the resort. It may be tonight before I can let you know what happened.”

  “That’s fine. Talk to you then.”

  His voice softened. “Hey, avoid peppermint tea for a few days, okay?”

  “Of course. You know me. Coffee or nothing. Well, most of the time. I did have hot chocolate the other day, but coffee is usually my first choice,” I said, thinking how glad I was that when I decided to deviate from my usual drink choice that I’d picked hot chocolate and not tea.

  I hung up and saw I had a voicemail. I listened to it as I tucked a bookmark into my book. It was the owner of the booth with the prints. “I didn’t have another of the MG prints myself,” he said, and my heart sank. That meant the search for a gift was back on. “But,” he continued, “I have found one that I can order for you.” He reeled off his phone number. I called him back and told him yes, I wanted it.

  “Righto,” he said. “I’ll see if I can get it delivered. You do want it before Christmas?”

  “Yes, definitely,” I said, then hung up and gave the neighborhood a final scan as I reached for the ignition. A flutter of movement at one of the windows on Harriet’s side of the house caught my eye. I released the ignition and watched the house. A few seconds later, I again saw a shadow move through one of the front rooms.

  Perhaps Harriet had returned home? Maybe Alex had just missed her. If she’d left the resort yesterday or even this morning, she could be home by now. And even though I hadn’t seen anyone approach the house, she might have a back entrance like the one at my cottage. If I was returning home from certain parts of the village, I often took the shorter path that ran behind my cottage and entered that way. Perhaps Harriet had done that. Or maybe she’d been home for hours. Small garages bracketed each side of the larger home. The garage on Harriet’s side of the house was closed, but her car might already be in there.

  I pocketed the car keys and climbed out of the car, kicking myself for skipping Harriet’s house when I knocked on all the doors in the neighborhood. Instead of a small yard or garden, the area in front of both her house and Carrie’s was covered with brick pavers. It was a newer home than most of the ones in Nether Woodsmoor, which were built of stone. This one was made of stucco, but it had a completely different look than the Mediterranean-style stucco homes that I was so familiar with in Southern California. These were designed in the cottage style, but this area had a definite suburban feel to it. The doors of both houses were set side-by-side in the center of the building. I reached out to ring the bell of the door on the left, but before I could push the button, the door swung open.

  A woman stopped short in the doorway. Clearly, she was leaving and hadn’t expected to find me on the doorstep. It wasn’t Harriet. “I’m sorry,” I began, thinking I must have mixed up the address that Louise had given me. I took a step back then stopped. “Wait. You’re the woman from the Christmas market,” I said, recognizing dark roots at the crown of her head and the blond ends of her hair that brushed her gaunt cheekbones. Behind her, on the wall of the narrow hallway, I saw several framed book covers with curly fonts and images of women in Regency clothes. “This is Harriet’s house. Is she home?”

  The woman scanned the street behind me, then she gripped my wrist and yanked me over the threshold. I jerked my arm away, but she was quicker than I was and had the door closed before I could get back outside. With her bony hand splayed on the door to keep it firmly closed, she said, “What do you know about Harriet? Where is she?”

  Chapter 6

  “I DON’T KNOW WHERE HARRIET is.” My heart raced, but I tried to make my voice calm. The scruffy woman looked nervous enough for both of us. Her gaze skittered around the room, and her breathing was shallow and fast. The sweaty, unwashed smell was still strong. “That’s what I asked you,” I said. “Do you know where she is?”

  “No. She should be here. She’s always here.”

  “Are you a friend of hers?” I glanced around, looking for a way out through the back of the house.

  The woman made a little noise that was halfway between a laugh and a snort. “No, I’m her sister.” She removed her hand from the door and extended it. “Bridgette Hayden, black sheep of the family.”

  “Kate Sharp.” Her hand was bony, all jutting knuckles, but the strength of her grip surprised me. Despite the woman’s thin face, I could see a bit of resemblance to the photo I’d seen of Harriet. They both had the same generous mouth and natural flush in their cheeks, but Harriet had looked happy and confident. This woman was skittish and worried.

  “I’ve never met Harriet,” I said. “A friend of mine is worried about her, though.”

  “The mousey one with the dark hair that they took away in the ambulance last night?” Bridgette asked.

  “Yes.”

  Bridgette pushed her stringy hair off her face. “I’m worried about Harriet, too. I heard your group mention Harriet’s name in her booth, so I tagged along, hoping to hear more. Kitchen’s this way. Should be some tea.” She turned and walked away.

  The anxious look on her face was the reason I didn’t leave at that moment. I’d been in plenty of uncomfortable situations in stranger’s homes when I scouted for locations. If I got a weird feeling, or felt scared, I got out right away, but I wasn’t getting those vibes here. “None for me,” I said quickly. Then added, “Thanks, though.” I wasn’t about to accept tea from anyone, least of all a stranger who had been near us at the time Gina was poisoned.

  “American, right?” Bridgette said as I followed her through a sparsely-furnished living area to a kitchen with white cabinets and sleek stainless appliances. A sunroom, which was used as an office, extended into the back garden. A desk with a laptop and printer were positioned facing the back garden. Book-lined shelves filled the area under the expanse of windows, and a deep leather chair and ottoman were set off to the side, the perfect reading nook.

  Bridgette had been opening cabinet doors while I looked around. She held up a teapot. “You sure? I’m having some.”

  “Thanks, but no.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I wrapped my arms around my waist. It was very cool in the house. Harriet had probably turned down the heat when she left for her trip. Bridgette, who was still in the same threadbare sweatshirt and jeans from yesterday, didn’t seem to notice. She rummaged around in the cabinets some more as she said, “This isn’t like Harriet at all. To do a bunk. That’s more my line.” Bridgette put a box of crackers on the bar that separated the kitchen from the sunroom and gestured for me to sit at one of the barstools.

  I took a seat but waved off the crackers. “Harriet told Gina that she was going to the Canary Islands back in November.”

  Standing on the other side of the counter, Bridgette had already consumed three of the thin crackers, but she paused. “That’s what? Three, four weeks ago?” She shook her head. “Harriet wouldn’t be gone that long, not without telling me. We don’t get along, but she keeps in touch.” She ate a few more crackers, then went to get the teapot, which had begun to whistle. “She doesn’t agree with some of my ‘lifestyle choices,’ as she calls them.” She closed her eyes briefly. “She sounds just like mum when she says that.”

  Bridgette sat down beside me and heaved a massive sigh, making me think of Slink when she settled down into her cushion after a long sprint. “But Harriet is right.” Bridgette pulled a face. “She always is. Very annoying. Makes being her baby sister quite a challenge. Too much to live up to. That’s what my shrink at the center told me, anyway.” She chewed a moment. “I think it’s true.

  “Harriet always told me that when I was ready to get my life straightened out, she’d help me.” She plucked at her sweatshirt and waved a hand at her greasy hair. “So here I am, looking like a war refugee, ready to admit that she’s right. I lost my flat, but I’m twenty-two days clean.” She pushed the cracker crumbs into a pile. “I can’t do it. Not on my own. She’s right. I need some help.” Her gaze went glassy. “I need Harriet.”

/>   A pounding at the front door made both of us jump. “Police, open up.”

  Bridgette, eyes wide, stood and knocked over her barstool as she bolted out the back door. The last I saw of her was her skinny legs as they slithered over a wooden fence that enclosed the back garden.

  It took about an hour to convince the police I hadn’t broken into Harriet’s house.

  I shifted on Harriet’s oatmeal-colored sofa and said, “I don’t know where Bridgette went. We only talked for a few minutes.”

  The policeman scratched his forehead, pushing his cap up a bit. “Odd, that you’d come inside and chat with a woman you didn’t know.”

  “She said she was Harriet’s sister. I hoped she knew where Harriet was.”

  The officer looked down at his notes. “You said you saw this woman earlier?”

  He wasn’t interested in Harriet. I’d tried to tell him about her, but he only wanted to talk about Bridgette. The front door opened, and another officer said, “We got the runner. Found her three blocks over at a bus shelter.”

  I breathed a little easier as the first officer left to talk to his colleague. Bridgette could confirm what I told them. At least, I hoped she would back up my story.

  “But they are there illegally. I insist you arrest them.” The officer had left the front door partly open, but I was sure I would have been able to hear the shrill voice through a closed door. I could see Carrie Webbington out the front window. She stood on the sweep of brick pavers in front of her house and jabbed her finger at Harriet’s front door. “I heard them. The walls are very thin. I always knew when Harriet was home,” she said loudly. “And she’s not home. They’re intruders.”

  My phone, which was in my coat pocket, rang. Alex’s name was on the display.

  “So glad you called,” I said. “You’ll come home and bail me out, right? You do have bail in the U.K., don’t you?”