Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “That’s right,” I said. “It was really kind of Edgar to invite my colleague and me.” Actually, it had been Allison who invited us, but that didn’t seem important now.

  For a moment, Tucker regarded me from beneath his bushy eyebrows. Then he dropped his eyes. “Such a damn shame,” he said, almost under his breath. “I still can’t believe he’s gone, the old blowhard.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sympathetically. There wasn’t much more to say. Death was tricky like that. Always hard to believe, regardless of the circumstances.

  Of course, in this case, the circumstances weren’t exactly clear. And that fact weighed on my mind like a sack full of coal: heavy, dirty, and downright unpleasant.

  After saying good-bye to Tucker, I continued through the funeral home. I figured I must have missed Beverly. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, she rounded the corner in front of me. She was with Crenshaw and they were carrying their coats. I hurried over.

  “Oh, hello, Keli,” said Beverly. “It was nice of you to come.”

  “How are you doing, Beverly? Are you taking off?”

  “Yes. I’ve already been here quite a while. Crenshaw and I are going to grab a bite to eat. Care to join us?”

  “I’d love to.”

  I was eager to speak to the only two people besides me who knew Edgar was being blackmailed. That is, the only people other than the blackmailer him-or herself.

  Chapter 15

  Crenshaw and Beverly voted for Gigi’s Bar and Grill, a classy but low-key restaurant known for its steaks. With its wood-paneled walls and tea candles on every table, it had a warm, romantic atmosphere. We settled into a booth in the back and placed our orders. I opted for salad and a glass of wine.

  Crenshaw steepled his fingers at his lips as he tended to do when he wanted to wax poetic. “The true measure of a man is in the number of lives he touched. Edgar was clearly a great man.”

  Beverly smiled sadly. “He was incredibly generous. Whenever any of his friends would ask for a favor, he’d always say yes. And if you ever found yourself at a restaurant or bar with him, you’d know he always insisted on buying, no matter who he was with or what the occasion.”

  Crenshaw nodded. “Someone told a story tonight about Edgar’s bottomless wallet. Evidently, if anyone needed a loan, Edgar would open his wallet and produce the cash on the spot, no questions asked.”

  Beverly chuckled. “He was never without cash, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s another way he was old-school,” I remarked. “He must have preferred paper money just like he preferred paper records.”

  “That’s true,” said Beverly. “He even had a safe in his office to make sure he’d always have cash on hand.”

  “Really?” I said. “How fascinating. Was it behind a painting?” I thought of the blackmail letter, demanding $60,000 in cash. I wondered if the blackmailer knew about the safe.

  “As a matter of fact, it was behind a painting.” said Beverly. “Someone even tried to break into it a couple years ago.”

  “Oh? I don’t remember hearing about that.” I glanced at Crenshaw, and he shook his head. He hadn’t heard of it either.

  “Edgar didn’t want the publicity. Besides, the burglar wasn’t successful,” said Beverly. “They broke the lock on Edgar’s office door, then apparently tried to pick the lock on the safe. When that didn’t work, they made a mess of Edgar’s desk searching for the combination. Ultimately, they gave up and left. Still, the building hired a twenty-four-hour security guard after the incident. Nothing like that ever happened again.”

  “So, about Edgar’s will,” I began.

  “I already filed it with the clerk,” said Crenshaw. “I did it as a favor for Beverly on Monday.”

  “How thoughtful,” I said, trying not to make a face. Brownnoser. “But I was curious about Edgar’s businesses. Is it true that Annabelle will take over the real estate company?”

  “Annabelle? Heavens no,” said Beverly. “She’s only eighteen. Where did you hear that?”

  “From Zeke, the IT guy.”

  Crenshaw scoffed. “Not a very reliable source.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, each absorbed in our own thoughts. I was still wondering about Allison. She was definitely upset about something. If it wasn’t over who would take over the business as Zeke had said, then what?

  The waiter came to refill our drinks. After he left I decided to try to steer the conversation back to the blackmail letters. Beverly had promised me she wouldn’t destroy the letter I’d lifted from the mailroom, but she wouldn’t let me take it, either. I looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, then lowered my voice and leaned in.

  “Beverly, did you tell Crenshaw about the letter we opened last night?”

  She put her fork down and gave me a warning look.

  “What letter?” asked Crenshaw. “What do you mean ‘last night’? Did I miss something?”

  “I found another blackmail letter at Edgar’s office,” I explained. I told Crenshaw what the letter had said, then turned to Beverly. “Can you tell us more about the Cornerstone project? What is it that the blackmailer claimed to have over Edgar?”

  Beverly sighed. “I honestly don’t know. Edgar never told me the details. All I know is that it was going to be a self-financing development, which of course is valid and legal. The down payments from the first buyers would pay for the initial construction costs. There was also another source of funds, an investment company called American Castle Fund. That funder was going to cover the costs of getting the land ready, as well as some of the other initial outlays.”

  “American Castle Fund?” said Crenshaw. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I wasn’t Edgar’s financial advisor,” Beverly said, somewhat defensively. “Perhaps Edgar didn’t make the wisest choice in selecting it. The fund went belly-up when the market crashed. Around the same time, a lot of the real estate buyers backed out, and that was that.”

  “Any idea who the buyers were?” I asked. “Any local folks?”

  Beverly thought for a minute. “I do remember when Edgar was courting investors. He held a lot of luncheon meetings around that time. There were definitely a few locals, including the chief of police—he was one of the first to back out. There were also a few local business owners.”

  “Was Lonnie Treat one of them? Of Treat Mattresses?”

  Beverly nodded. “Now that you mention it, I do recall Edgar mentioning he had lunch with the mattress fellow.”

  “I saw him at the visitation,” I said. “He told me he was business partners with Edgar. He must have been referring to Cornerstone. I wonder if he backed out, too, or if he ended up losing money on the deal.”

  Beverly gave me a stern look. “Now, don’t go inventing motives. I’m telling you, if anyone held a grudge against Edgar, it was Fern Lopez.”

  “I know,” I said. “I went to see her this morning.”

  “Who?” asked Crenshaw. “What are you talking about?” He clearly didn’t like being left out. Beverly repeated to him what she had told me about Edgar’s history with Fern.

  “I can confirm the fact that Fern didn’t like Edgar,” I said. “She made no secret of that. But she also mentioned she was under a restraining order. So, I don’t see how she could have been privy to any information that might be used to blackmail Edgar.”

  “As I said before, there was no information. It was all fabricated.”

  Crenshaw looked from Beverly to me and back again. “What do you propose we do?” he asked. I could tell he was torn between a desire to please the boss and his belief that this was all a wild goose chase.

  “We do nothing,” said Beverly.

  “What?” I looked at Beverly in surprise. “I thought you agreed with me that Edgar’s death is suspicious.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” said Beverly. “Perhaps I was just trying to find someone to blame. I was trying to make sense of the senseless.”


  “Perfectly understandable,” Crenshaw murmured.

  “I think,” Beverly continued, “the best thing now is simply to move on. Gretta is the executor of Edgar’s estate. I’ll see if she needs assistance. Perhaps she’ll want to commission a memorial or have a building named after Edgar. I can help with that.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” said Crenshaw. I wanted to kick him under the table. Instead, I turned to Beverly once more.

  “Beverly, extortion is still a crime. I think we should—”

  “The point is moot,” Beverly interrupted. “What we should do is let sleeping dogs lie.” And she said it with a finality that left no room for argument.

  * * *

  After dinner, I left the restaurant and headed for home. It had been a frustrating evening. I had really hoped to get Beverly’s blessing to share the blackmail note with the police. It seemed unlikely that would ever happen. Now I could only hope the police would be able to get more out of Bob than I had—such as the name of the person Edgar had been planning to meet.

  I was so absorbed in my own thoughts and disappointment, I didn’t notice anything wrong when I unlocked my front door. I flicked on the light and kicked off my boots in the foyer. It wasn’t until I stepped into the living room and became aware of my surroundings that I froze in my tracks. My place was a wreck.

  Someone had broken into my home and torn it apart.

  Chapter 16

  With my heart thudding in my chest, I backed out of my house and ran over to the St. Johns’. I pressed their doorbell, then punched 9-1-1 in my cell phone. Through chattering teeth, I gave my name and address and explained why I needed the police. I had just hung up when Mrs. St. John came to her door.

  “Why, Keli! What are you doing over here without shoes?”

  I looked down at my stocking feet. No wonder I was so cold. “Someone broke into my house, Mrs. St. John. Did you hear anything? See anything unusual?”

  “Oh, my! Oh, dear. It must have happened while we were out. Otherwise, Chompy surely would have raised the roof. We took him for a drive and only just got back a little bit ago.”

  I glanced over at my front door. Whoever did this probably came and left through the back. Surely they were long gone by now. I was itching to get back in there and assess the damage.

  “Come inside and have some cocoa,” urged Mrs. St. John.

  “Thanks, but I need to wait for the police.”

  “Well, at least let me get you some shoes.”

  While Mrs. St. John went in to find some shoes, I called Farrah and told her what had happened. She said she’d be right over. I was just slipping into Mrs. St. John’s yellow rubber boots, when a police car pulled up. Two officers, a man and a woman, stepped out and met me on the sidewalk.

  “You had a burglary?” asked the male officer.

  I nodded. “Someone trashed my place. I don’t know if they stole anything. I haven’t looked yet.”

  “Wait here,” said the female officer.

  I fiddled with my purse strap and bit my lip as I waited for the officers to search my house. I wasn’t worried the burglar might still be in there. I was sure he or she must have left before the St. Johns had returned home. I wasn’t too worried about Drishti, either, expert hider that she was. No, I was worried about the state of my altar. I was queasy at the thought of some crook pawing through my magical tools and sacred objects. Or even seeing my Wiccan things. God, what will the police think when they catch sight of my cauldron and witch’s broom? My wand and chalice? My Book of Shadows?

  Finally, the female officer poked her head out and called me over. I tried to remain calm as she told me what they’d found. “The back door is busted in,” she said. “It would’ve made quite a lot of noise, so I’m guessing the perp knew your neighbors weren’t home.”

  The other officer came downstairs. “Could you do us a favor and check to see if any valuables are missing? Your TV and computer are still here, and your silver candlesticks and decorations. If you could just check on any jewelry or money you might have had hidden away, we’ll go ahead and write up the report. We’ll need you to sign it.”

  I did as I was asked. Thankfully, nothing appeared to be missing, though I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. My house looked as if it had been shaken like a snow globe. It would take hours to sift through the debris.

  Farrah arrived as the police officers were leaving. She had an overnight bag on one arm and a hunky guy on the other. “This is Trey,” she said. “He’s the handyman in my building. He agreed to take a look at your back door.”

  “Aw, thank you. That’s awesome.” It paid to have such a charming friend.

  “Also, I’m staying the night,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t want to leave with your place a mess, and it could be late by the time we get everything cleaned up. Plus, you said Wes is bartending tonight, right?”

  “Yeah, I haven’t even called him yet. He’ll be too busy to take a phone call, and I don’t want him to worry.”

  While Trey worked on my door, Farrah and I began to restore order, picking things up and putting them away. We started in my home office, which seemed to be the worst.

  Farrah reached for a book splayed open on the floor, then hesitated. “Did the cops dust for prints?”

  “No. They shone their flashlights at the back door and various surfaces to see if there might be any prints to lift. They said it looked to them like the intruder wore gloves. Figures, huh?”

  “Hmm. Too bad.” She slid the book in my bookcase, then snapped her fingers. “Ooh, we should watch out for clues while we clean. Like . . . pieces of cloth that might have ripped from the burglar’s clothing, or footprints, or some piece of identification the crook might have dropped.”

  “Like his driver’s license, maybe? That would be helpful.”

  Farrah made a face, and I smiled. The truth was, I hoped for a clue, too. I kept a sharp lookout as I retrieved items from the floor, one by one, like in a game of pickup sticks.

  Working methodically, one room at a time, Farrah and I refiled papers, stacked magazines, and returned cushions, pillows, and blankets to their rightful places. When we reached my bedroom, Farrah froze at the sight of my altar. There, in the midst of the candles, bottles, and Solstice charms, sat Drishti, still as a statue.

  “Who’s this? Your guard cat?”

  I walked over and gently stroked the top of Drishti’s head. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m a pet sitter now. This is Mila’s cat.”

  “If only she could talk,” said Farrah, as she looked around. “Hey, did you cast a protection spell in here? Is there, like, a force field around your altar?” Farrah’s voice held a tinge of awe.

  I laughed. “No, but I think I will now.” I was grateful the police had made no comment about my Wiccan things. Some of my supplies were locked away in the cedar chest at the foot of my bed, and luckily the vandal hadn’t broken into it. As for my craft tools out in the open, the police must have assumed they were just decorations. Either that, or they were professional enough not to care. I did find it interesting, though, that the vandal hadn’t messed with my altar or knocked over my Yule tree. In fact, it didn’t appear as if anything was broken or torn. Perhaps destruction wasn’t the goal. The person just wanted to make a mess. Or send a warning?

  By the time Farrah’s handyman friend left and we had finished with the cleanup, it was almost 10:00. I told Farrah she could go to bed if she wanted, but I still needed to make cookies for my office holiday party.

  “I’m not tired,” she said. “Got enough ingredients to make a double batch? Then I can take some to Trey tomorrow.”

  “Great idea. In fact, we can make two kinds: date-nut and oatmeal chocolate chip. They’re both vegan, gluten-free, and delicious.”

  While I set out the ingredients, Farrah wandered into the dining room to check out the tulips on the shelf. The vase of flowers was another item untouched by the burglar. “Want me to refresh the water in this vase?” asked
Farrah. “It’s looking a little cloudy.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “Wes really is a sweetheart, isn’t he,” said Farrah. “You guys are so cute together.”

  “He is,” I agreed. “Those flowers weren’t from him, though. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  I told Farrah about running into Mick at Edgar’s holiday ball and the fact that he had admitted sending me the chocolates and tulips. “Mick also told me he had something that belonged to me. That’s why I was going to see him that night when I, you know, found Edgar’s body.”

  “What? You said you were at the hotel to pick something up. I thought it was something you’d forgotten at the party.”

  “No. Mick had called me later and asked me to come back to the hotel. I guess I forgot to mention it, because it didn’t seem important anymore. Mick is ancient history. He was just in town to vet Edgar for his PAC. Now that Edgar is gone, I doubt I’ll see Mick again anytime soon. Although . . .” I trailed off as I realized I didn’t really believe what I was saying. My intuition told me I probably would see Mick again.

  “What is it?” asked Farrah.

  I shook my head. “I’ve been so preoccupied between work and worrying about Beverly. And thinking about Edgar’s death. I told you I stopped at the hotel again yesterday, right?”

  “Yeah. You found that note which you gave to the police. Was there something else?”

  “Um, maybe.” I told Farrah about calling Mick and then hearing a phone ring behind his hotel door.

  “Are you kidding me?” said Farrah. “I can’t believe I’m just now hearing about this! What if he didn’t actually check out?”

  “What do you mean? That wouldn’t make sense. He said he was leaving the morning after the party. And there was caution tape blocking off the whole hallway.”

  “So? Maybe he lied. Maybe he’s crazy . . . like a crazy, jealous stalker. He could be the one who ran you off the road! And broke into your house!” Farrah grabbed her phone. “How do you spell his last name?”