by Vicki Delany
“Nope.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“Nope.” He grabbed Mattie’s face between his hands and shook. Mattie’s rear end wiggled in delight. “He’s getting real strong, Merry. Are you going to send him out in the winter with a barrel of whiskey under his chin?”
“Brandy.”
“Huh?”
“The monks in the Alps, who used Saint Bernards to rescue people lost in the snow, supposedly filled the flasks with brandy. Not whiskey.”
Mattie pulled his head free. Kyle lunged for him and Mattie danced out of the way. “I might head out for a walk in the snow and get lost. I’d like to be rescued by this guy. Just remember, I like whiskey better. Catch you later, Merry.”
“If you hear from Jackie, will you tell her to call me right away?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Kyle sauntered away.
I watched him go. I’d always thought Kyle was shallow and not terribly smart, but that really took the cake. Then again, who am I to judge anyone else? Kyle played the tough and macho part to the hilt. I guess appearing to worry about another human being, even his girlfriend, didn’t fit the persona. Poor guy.
I was attempting to sneak around the house and not get waylaid by Mrs. D’Angelo, when my phone beeped with an incoming text.
Vicky: How was the shoot?
Me: Exhausting.
Vicky: Up to a phone chat?
Me: Call you in ten.
I pushed open the gate to the backyard and the leash almost jerked out of my hand as Mattie made a dash for freedom. This time I was ready for him. “Inside,” I said. “Dinnertime. You must be starving.” He hadn’t had his dinner (come to think of it, neither had I), although I kept a tin of dog biscuits at work for times when I’d been working late. Thoughts of chasing rabbits around the yard disappeared at the word “dinner” and he ran up the stairs the moment the door was unlocked. I did not run. I dragged myself up.
I kicked off my shoes, fed Mattie, put the kettle on for hot tea, popped a packaged meal into the microwave, and called Vicky.
“My spies tell me there was a lot of activity outside the shop around six.”
“Erica Johnstone showed up, followed by a stream of reporters. I can’t imagine living like that. Hordes of people watching your every move so if you make a mistake they can put it on the Internet for the world to see.”
“She doesn’t have to encourage it,” Vicky said.
“That’s true. Jennifer lives pretty much under the radar. She could, and usually did, walk down the streets of Manhattan without anyone recognizing her. She loved to try new restaurants, with just a friend or two, and then return a couple of weeks later having had her secretary make a reservation in her name. If the food and service were remarkably better the second time, she never went back.”
“You liked her,” Vicky said. It was not a question.
“I did. I do. Very much. But she’s over eighty, and she’s entitled to enjoy her retirement. Erica didn’t come in to watch the photo shoot though.” I told Vicky about the necklace.
“It was taken at the Yuletide?”
“It went missing at the Yuletide. I can’t imagine for a minute that one of the chambermaids stole it. Besides, Erica’s scarcely been out of the cabin. Hey, there’s a thought. I should check if she left the inn at any time on Saturday morning.”
“Merry, why are you getting involved?” Vicky asked.
“I am involved, Vicky, whether I like it or not. Max was killed in my shop.”
“Let the police handle it. You know Simmonds is perfectly capable. It’s not up to you to be checking the movements of Erica Johnstone or anyone else.”
I thought about that. I thought for so long, Vicky said, “Merry, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m thinking. Right now, it seems as though Jackie is the police’s main suspect. I am absolutely positive that Jackie didn’t kill Max. I’m probably not the world’s best judge of character—I was going to marry Max Folger, after all—but I know Jackie and I know she simply doesn’t have it in her. It’s a good thing the police are looking for her, but if they’re focused on her as the killer, then they are not looking in the right places. I know these people, Vicky. The magazine people, Max’s colleagues, even Erica. I know them far better than Detective Simmonds does or ever will.” I was thinking of the staff gossip about Erica and Max. No one would come right out and tell the police what they really thought of Erica, or what they thought of Max when power began to go to his head. Not if there was any risk of what they’d said getting back to Erica. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting involved. I’m interested in what’s going on, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. I know you. If you need backup when you’re being interested, you know I’m here.”
“I know.”
“Do you think the theft of the necklace has anything to do with Max’s murder?”
“What, the secret launch codes to America’s nuclear arsenal are hidden in the rings of the necklace, and a master criminal killed Max in an attempt to get it? This isn’t a movie, Vicky.”
“Put that way, it does sound silly. But I can’t help but notice the coincidence.”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all. Apparently Erica is always misplacing stuff. Valuable things, too. She makes a big scene, throws a temper tantrum. And then, lo and behold, it turns up.” Although, I had to admit, it would be hard to lose a shiny gold necklace in a two-bedroom cabin.
Mattie yawned and stretched. I yawned in sympathy. “It’s late. I should go. Another busy day tomorrow.”
“Are the magazine people coming back?”
“After closing. They want me to dress like I’m some doyenne of seasonal fashion. I forgot to ask—did they take many pictures in the bakery?”
“Lots and lots. In the front they snapped happy people enjoying their freshly prepared lunches, and in the back, stacks of loaves and homemade baked goods cooling on racks. The photographer, what’s his name?”
“Jason.”
“He said the food editors at the magazine might be asking for my spice cookie recipe to accompany the article. I’m not sure if I want to hand it over. He didn’t take any shots with me in them, though. Perhaps I don’t look like a doyenne of Christmas baking.”
I laughed. “That you don’t.”
We exchanged good-nights and hung up. I let Mattie into the backyard one last time, but I didn’t go outside with him. Instead I got ready for bed. I hadn’t heard from Alan today, and I shoved aside a prickle of disappointment. He knew I was busy with the magazine people. That was all.
I went back downstairs, and called Mattie to come in.
Chapter 10
The next morning we were once again up before the birds. Monday was normally a quiet day in the shop, but it was July and the town was full of vacationers. When I lived in Manhattan I’d done yoga three times a week and went to a gym another two or three days, as well as heading out for the occasional run in Central Park. All that healthful activity had fallen by the wayside once I opened my own business. I’d started running again in the spring, during the quiet season, but I hadn’t been out for weeks now.
As I did several times a week, I vowed that I’d go for a run. Tomorrow.
At least I had the dog, and a good walk was a great way to start the day. Saint Bernards aren’t big on vigorous exercise, and they don’t make good running companions. I found that out quickly enough the couple of times I tried to take Mattie along. But he did love his walks, and the longer the better. In the summer months, the morning was definitely the best time for that. By midday he was too hot to want to do much at all.
I pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and sneakers and we headed out. The sun was an orange streak in the eastern sky, and the streetlights were still on. We walked away from town, toward the lake. A handful of cars
passed us, headlights breaking the gloom. Inside houses lining the shore, lights were being switched on as people began their day. The boat launch, where we’d assembled the marine parade on Saturday, has a nice stretch of empty, rocky shoreline, where I can let Mattie off the leash so he can explore to his big heart’s content. He usually ends up in the water, having waded in up to his stomach, and then simply sits down. He doesn’t try to swim, but he seems to like being in the water. Maybe it’s cool and refreshing on his heavy fur, designed for high mountain passes and fierce winter blizzards rather than New York heat and humidity.
Today we didn’t make it as far as the waterline.
A battered and rusty pickup truck was parked near the dock. The headlights were off, but the shape of a single person inside was outlined by the rising sun. I knew that truck. It belonged to Kyle Lambert. The truck was facing away from me, and judging by the shape of the back of the head of the man inside, it was Kyle himself. What on earth was Kyle doing here, at this time of day, alone?
Nothing good, I was sure.
It had to have something to do with Jackie. Was he meeting Jackie? Good heavens, was he arranging to pay ransom to her kidnappers? Or, was he the kidnapper himself and here to get paid off by Jackie’s family? Had Jackie staged her own disappearance in the wake of Max’s death and plotted to get out of town with Kyle and her family’s ransom money? Scenarios tumbled all over themselves in my head.
“Shush,” I said to Mattie. I reeled the leash in so he was brushing up against my legs and, trying to make as little noise as possible, we crept behind a clump of thick bushes. We didn’t have long to wait. Almost immediately, I heard a well-tuned engine approaching. It slowed as the vehicle turned onto the dirt path leading to the dock. A silver Lexus SUV, polished to a high shine, pulled up beside Kyle’s truck. I couldn’t believe that any of Kyle’s friends owned a car like that, or kept it that clean. Where had I last seen a vehicle like that? Outside Cabin C at the Yuletide Inn. It had to be here for the exchange. Had Erica kidnapped Jackie after all? I found it hard to believe, but the death of Max in my shop was hard to believe. I stroked Mattie’s back, whispering for him to be quiet. He gave my face a quick lick before returning to an intensive examination of the ground beneath a sumac.
I pulled out my phone, snapped a couple of pictures of the two vehicles, and sent them to my mom. Mom doesn’t usually get out of bed for hours yet. If this turned out to be nothing, I’d phone her and tell her to delete them. If not . . . she could take the pictures to the cops.
The door of the pickup opened, and Kyle Lambert stepped out.
The door of the SUV opened, and Muriel Fraser stepped out.
I sucked in a breath.
They eyed each other warily as they drew closer. Kyle carried an envelope, Muriel a plain paper bag. Mattie let out a bark of greeting, and they both jumped.
I snapped a couple more pictures and then clicked “send.” As Mattie was struggling against the leash to reach his friend, I had little choice but to step out of the bushes. “What on earth do you two think you’re doing?”
Mattie’s tail wagged happily. Kyle relaxed but Muriel did not. Eyes wide with fear, she swung around and moved toward her car.
“Hold it right there,” I said. “If you take another step, I’ll set the dog on you.”
As if Mattie would do anything but lick her to death. She didn’t know that, so she froze in place. She stared at the giant dog, clearly terrified.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
She whimpered. I growled. Mattie barked. Kyle chuckled.
“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing.” Muriel started to cry.
Kyle stuffed the envelope into his jeans pocket and clapped his hands. Mattie leapt forward and I let go of the leash. “You going to tell me what’s going on here, Kyle?”
“Nothing to do with you, Merry,” he said as he and Mattie romped.
“Please,” Muriel said through her tears. “Don’t let the dog hurt him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry.” If Muriel had kidnapped Jackie and was holding her for ransom, she made a mighty poor master criminal.
I snatched the bag out of her hand. I pulled a chain out of the bag. The chain was made of interlocked gold rings, with a second smaller chain inside the circle, displaying a wreath of green and red glass beads at the throat. The design was unique, the craftsmanship individual. This could only be the piece of jewelry made by Crystal Wong, bought by Max Folger at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, and later stolen from Erica Johnstone’s hotel room. “What’s the meaning of this?” I said in my sternest voice. Muriel was crying so hard now she couldn’t get any words out.
“Kyle,” I said. “Want to tell me what’s going on here?”
“It’s just a necklace, Merry. Chill. Jackie’s birthday’s coming up and I want to get her something nice. She likes pretty jewelry, but the good stuff’s kinda expensive. So when I heard that this lady was selling, I figured I’d buy.”
“How did you hear that?”
He shrugged. “My cousin Lenny keeps his ear to the ground.”
“You know this is stolen, right?”
“No way.” Kyle lifted his hands and glared at Muriel. “You said your boss gives you her leftover stuff.”
“She doesn’t need it.” Muriel sobbed. “She doesn’t even know what she has most of the time.”
“How much are you paying for this?” I asked Kyle.
“Fifty bucks. She said it’s worth a hundred and ten. She has the receipt.”
What a couple of incompetent crooks these two were.
“Kyle, if this is for Jackie’s birthday . . . Do you know where she is?”
He tapped the side of his nose and gave me a wink. “No need to worry, Merry.”
“If you’re in contact with her, you have to tell her the police are looking for her. Everyone’s looking for her. Her mother’s worried sick. I’m worried sick.”
“She’s okay, Merry. She’s waiting, that’s all.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to sort everything out.”
I almost shrieked. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said to Muriel, “If this is stolen I want nothing to do with it. I gotta go. Don’t know why we had to meet this early anyway.”
“It’s the only time I can find a minute to myself,” Muriel mumbled through her tears. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and gave her nose a blow like a trumpet. “She doesn’t usually get up before noon.”
Kyle gave Mattie a hearty slap on the rump and headed back to his truck.
Still sobbing, Muriel began to head to the Lexus. I grabbed her arm. “Not so fast.” Mattie, forgetting his hard-learned manners, jumped on her. She screamed and flung her arms up to protect her face.
“Down!” I grabbed at Mattie’s leash “You’d better tell me what’s going on here, Muriel. Or else.” I clung to the leash, as though it was taking all my strength to keep the giant slobbering beast from tearing her throat out.
Kyle tooted his horn and gave us a cheerful wave as he drove away.
“Why?” I said to Muriel once Kyle and his truck had disappeared around the bend.
“Keep the dog away from me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Okay. But remember, I have the necklace.”
I tied Mattie to a tree. A small bench sits close to the ramp leading into the water where boat owners slide their craft in. Muriel took a seat and I joined her. We sat in silence for a few moments, watching the small waves lapping against the rocky shore. Farther out, a handful of fishing boats were trying their luck.
“She has so much.” Muriel wiped at her eyes. “She doesn’t need any of it. She doesn’t wear most of what she buys, not even once. She throws it into a drawer and there it sits, forgotten.”
“That doesn’t mean you ca
n just help yourself,” I said.
“How was I supposed to know she’d go looking for that ugly necklace?”
“That’s hardly the point, Muriel.”
Mattie whined and strained at the leash. I shouted at him to stay.
Muriel let out a long, shuddering breath. “My mother’s in a nursing home. It’s expensive, but she loves it there. The fees are going up—again—and I simply can’t manage any more. My brother used to help out, but he lost his job, and he’s got kids still in college. If I don’t find some money somewhere, Mom will have to move. It’s her home. All her friends are there. It’ll break her heart.”
“Have you asked Erica for a raise? Maybe she can give you a no-interest loan?”
Muriel snorted. “Oh yes, I asked. I explained that the money isn’t for me, but for my mom. She said she doesn’t believe in charity. People have to make it on their own, pull themselves up by their bootstraps. I’ve been working for her for eighteen months, which I gather is about a year longer than any other PA she’s ever had. She said we’ll reevaluate my salary at the two-year mark. I can’t . . . Mom can’t wait that long.” She broke into deep racking sobs.
I let her cry for a while. “You’ve been stealing from her?”
“I’ve been putting her unwanted things to good use, yes. I’ve never taken anything really valuable. Once in a while I’ll hide the expensive stuff, things she’ll notice missing. She’ll make a big fuss about it being stolen, and it’ll turn up under a bed or in the glove compartment of her car. Everyone knows she’s a total flake, so they figure she misplaces things. That way, no one pays much attention when the small stuff goes missing. That necklace.” Muriel nodded to the bag I was still holding. “She’ll never wear anything that cheap. She just wanted to make a big show in front of everyone of Max treating her. If he hadn’t died, she never would have given it another thought.”
I wasn’t entirely sure I believed her. Muriel was asking fifty dollars for the necklace. How many fifty-buck deals would be needed to pay the fees at a good nursing home? “How’d you get in touch with Kyle?”