Hark the Herald Angels Slay

by Vicki Delany

  “Me! Why would I figure anything out?”

  “You did those other times, Merry,” she said.

  I studied Jackie’s face. She trusted me. Those other times she referred to, I’d pretty much stumbled onto the solution to a murder. But Jackie thought I was some great private detective. Sherlock Holmes himself, maybe.

  “Why my shed?” was all I could say.

  “Kyle said the cops might be watching his place. If I went home, my mom would call the police. Anyone would call the police, once they heard about the murder. Remember that time in the spring when you were sick and I brought some of the vendor catalogs around for you to look at? I noticed the shed then. You’re always complaining about having a yard and not having any time to look after it, and with it being the Christmas in July weekend and all.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea. It was a good idea. How’d you find me anyway?”

  “I was possessed by a sudden, overwhelming desire to trim bushes.”

  “Really?”

  “We’ll take my car,” I said. “Better not walk into town or we’ll have everyone we pass calling 911 to report seeing you. All you have to do is tell Detective Simmonds what you told me, and everything will be all right.”

  She lifted her head and gave me a tight smile. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

  I thought it best to call Diane Simmonds ahead of time and give her some warning that we were coming. All she said was, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Do you think she’s going to be mad at me?” Jackie asked when I put away the phone.

  “I think,” I said, “she’s going to be absolutely furious. They’ve been wasting valuable time searching for you, time they could have spent trying to find Max’s killer.”

  “I’ll say I didn’t know about any of that. I was only hiding from you.”

  “Hiding from me in my own backyard? Jackie, tell them the truth. Okay? Nothing but the truth. Anything else is going to make this much worse, believe me.”

  Chapter 12

  I told Mattie I’d be back for him soon and drove Jackie to the police station. Detective Simmonds, looking as though a thunderstorm was brewing behind her green eyes, met us at the front door. She instructed a colleague to escort Jackie to an interview room.

  The moment they were gone, she turned to me and said, almost biting off the words, “You expect me to believe she was hiding in your backyard for two days.”

  “Yes, I expect you to believe it. Because it’s the truth.”

  “And you didn’t notice.”

  “I didn’t have reason to go into my shed, and I don’t sit at my bedroom window at night with a pair of binoculars in case someone happens to break into my property, no.”

  “I have a BOLO out for her. The border guards have been notified. The coast guard. Police forces all over New York and into neighboring states.”

  “That is not exactly my problem.” When Diane Simmonds came into Mrs. Claus’s Treasures with her mother or daughter, we laughed and chatted and were almost like friends. When she was in cop mode, she intimidated the heck out of me. Now I was just mad. Jackie had played me for a fool, first by sneaking out of the store, and then by hiding in my backyard. I was the aggrieved party here, not the police. “I could have just shooed her away, you know. Or told her to go and hide someplace else. But I convinced her to come here and tell you her story. And I brought her myself. So there. Now, if you don’t need me anymore, I have a business to run.” I marched out the door, head high, steps firm. I almost expected Simmonds to call me back and tell me I was under arrest. But she didn’t.

  I headed straight to Victoria’s Bake Shoppe, which happens to be almost next door to the police station. The breakfast and bread-buying rush was over and the lunch one yet to begin, so Vicky came out of the back to say hi. I pulled her to one side and told her about Jackie.

  Vicky let out a bark of a laugh. “Wish I’d been there to see Simmonds’s face.”

  “It was a sight to frighten small children, I can tell you.” My sense of righteous indignation was fading rapidly. I was starting to feel bad about yelling at Simmonds. She had a tough job to do and Jackie O’Reilly had not made it any easier.

  “Let’s hope it frightens Jackie into getting some common sense,” Vicky said. “She didn’t see Max at all that morning? No mysterious person hanging around waiting for him?”

  “That’s what she says.” I debated with myself whether or not to say anything to Vicky about Muriel. Not about the theft, because I’d decided to keep that to myself, but about my suspicions that Erica’s PA had reason to kill Max. Of course, I couldn’t say anything about that without revealing what I knew about the missing necklace. I was still undecided when Marjorie yelled, “Vicky, phone call.”

  “Take a message.”

  “It’s the chef at the Yuletide wondering when he can expect his next delivery.” Marjorie, who was also Vicky’s dad’s sister, shouted much louder than she needed to. The waitress, one of Vicky’s numerous cousins, paused from laying out sandwich ingredients. “I’m sure bread’s the only thing on his mind.”

  Vicky was a great blusher. She always had been. These days it was not a good match to her lock of purple hair. “I should probably take that,” she said. She grabbed the phone out of Marjorie’s hand and went into the back. Marjorie wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  Everyone, Vicky most of all, had been telling me not to get involved in the police investigation. The harder I tried not to be involved, the deeper I seemed to sink, through no fault of my own. In that case, I thought, might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. “I’ll have two coffees to go, please. And two of the blueberry muffins.”

  Marjorie selected the muffins and put them into a bag. “Blueberries come straight from Uncle Bobby’s place. Picked yesterday.”

  “Which,” I said, “is why they’re so yummy.”

  It was almost eleven o’clock. I should have opened the shop long ago. However, instead of turning left, back to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, or even going home to drop off my car and pick up Mattie, I turned right. The offices of the Rudolph Gazette are on the other side of the street and only a few doors down from the bakery.

  Once upon a time, the Gazette had been a bustling, thriving concern. Now, like small-town newspapers everywhere, it was barely holding on. Most of the building had been sold off as staff was cut back and their offices no longer needed. Russ, the editor in chief, didn’t even have an office. Just a battered desk at the back of a warm, musty, overcrowded room. Russ was from Louisiana by way of New York City. He’d arrived in Rudolph about a year ago, around the same time I came back. The paper he’d worked for, he told me, had been sold, and he’d decided to seek fresh pastures in a small Upstate town. I’d thought nothing of that story: everyone knew the owner of the Gazette wanted to retire, and he was searching for someone to take over the day-to-day running of the paper.

  This morning, in light of what I’d recently learned, I wondered if there was another reason Russ left New York City.

  “Hi,” I said to the woman behind the reception desk. “Is Russ in?” I could see him at his desk, hammering away at his computer, but I thought it polite to ask.

  “I’ll check,” she said, picking up her phone. I watched as Russ answered the phone on his desk. He looked over and saw me. His handsome face broke into a huge smile. I lifted the cardboard tray with the mugs.

  “You can go on in, Merry,” the receptionist said.

  Russ got to his feet as I approached. I put the coffees and the bag of muffins on his desk.

  “Not,” he said with a grin, “that it isn’t a pleasure to see you, Merry, but that looks perilously like a bribe.”

  “Perhaps it is.” I’d decided there was no point beating about the bush. “Tell me about Erica Johnstone.”

  “Ah, the fair Erica.” Russ dropped into his chair. “Take a seat. We
were . . . friends once. I’m assuming you know that already. What else do you want to know and why?” He bit into a muffin. He watched me as he chewed. He didn’t look like a man with something to hide.

  “Curiosity, maybe.”

  “It’s all a matter of public record.”

  His cell phone was on his desk. It chose that moment to buzz with an incoming text. He glanced at the screen, dropped his muffin, scooped up the phone, and jumped to his feet. “This, whatever this is, will have to wait, Merry. I gotta run.”

  “What? Why? What’s happening?”

  “Jackie O’Reilly walked into the police station about fifteen minutes ago. She’s talking to Simmonds even as we speak.”

  “Oh, that,” I said.

  “I have to get over there and see what’s happening.” He eyed me. “You don’t seem all that surprised to hear the news.”

  “I’m not.” I gave him a smile.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “In that case, this conversation will have to wait. We might do an exchange. Jackie for Erica.” He stuffed the phone into his pocket and grabbed his camera. He picked up the muffin and ran out the door, leaving me none the wiser about him and Erica.

  Whoever the snitch in the police department was, they’d obviously spread the news far beyond just the newspaper offices. As I walked back to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, heads popped out of shops and businesses to ask if I’d heard that Jackie had been found.

  “Arrested for murder,” Rachel McIntosh from Candy Cane Sweets said.

  I stopped. “Is that true? Or only a rumor?”

  “Irene Wozinski told me.”

  “Jackie has not been arrested. She’s answering police questions.” I continued on my way.

  Margie Thatcher pounced on me the moment I arrived at the door of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures. “Witness protection program.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I hear she’s going into the witness protection program. She witnessed a mob hit and now they’re after her.” As the business next door to the scene of the crime (and considering that the owner of the actual scene of the crime—me—wasn’t talking), Margie was the center point for gossip these days.

  “Whatever.” I put my key into the lock.

  “Why are you late anyway?” Margie said. “It’s after eleven.”

  “I’ve been arranging a close protection detail for Jackie.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She scurried into the Nook.

  My father fell through the door shortly after. His breath was coming in ragged spurts, his hair was wild, his beard unkempt, his shirttails hanging out, and he wore one dark brown sock with beige stripes and one green one with red dots. He also wore sandals, and it was definitely not an attractive look. My heart leapt into my mouth. I could only think that something had happened to Mom or one of my siblings. “What’s wrong?” I cried.

  “You’re alive,” he cried back.

  “Huh? Of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He lifted one finger telling me to hold on for a moment, pulled out his phone, and pressed buttons. It was obviously answered immediately as he began to talk, gasping for breath all the while. “She’s here. At the shop. She appears to be fine. Yes. I’ll find out.” He hung up and put the phone away.

  “What’s going on?” we said at the same time.

  “Your mother found some pictures on her phone when she turned it on this morning,” he said.

  “And so? Oh shoot. I forgot all about them.” I’d sent Mom pictures of Muriel and Kyle’s furtive meeting to do the “exchange” down at the boat launch, intending to tell her to delete them if everything turned out okay. Which it had. But then with the excitement over finding Jackie’s hiding place, lying in wait for her to return, pouncing on her, taking her down to the police station, arguing with Simmonds, and then confronting Russ over his relationship with Erica Johnstone, I’d totally forgotten.

  It was barely eleven o’clock, and all that had happened today. No wonder I’d forgotten a minor point. “Sorry,” I said. “I meant to tell her to ignore them. Why are you in such a tizzy anyway? They’re just pictures.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  “Right here.” I dug into my pocket and pulled it out. I pushed the button. Nothing happened. “Oops, I must have forgotten to charge it.” I found a spare charger in a drawer and plugged it in. Sure enough the box showing the strength of the battery power was an exceedingly thin red line.

  “Merry, your mother and I have been frantic. You’re not answering the phone at the shop.”

  “That’s ’cause I just got here. Busy morning.”

  “You’re not answering your cell.”

  “Because it ran out of juice.”

  “After sending your mother photos saying you need help.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I wanted her to have them in case . . .” In case I’d been kidnapped or murdered and needed her to take the evidence to the police.

  “While I went to your house and then came here searching for you, Aline’s been on the phone to Eve, Chris, and Carole asking if they’ve heard from you. Also Vicky and anyone else she could think of.”

  “But I was in the bakery earlier. Didn’t Vicky tell her?”

  “Marjorie said Vicky was unavailable. That worried us even more. Your mother tried to remain calm so as not to worry anyone but . . .”

  But, my mom the opera diva, didn’t do calm.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But it’s just a couple of shots of the boat launch.” The phone had enough power now that I could use it. I pulled up the photos page. I’d taken the pictures quickly and sent them off without looking at them. I had to admit, they weren’t going to be used in Rudolph tourist brochures anytime soon. I’d been facing into the rising sun, so the people and vehicles were nothing but ominous black blobs against the bright light. In the foreground, branches crisscrossed the frame, and my finger could be seen in a couple of the pictures.

  Without context (like Mattie happily sniffing under the bushes) they could have been used for publicity stills for The Nightmare Before Christmas. (Not that I knew anything about movies of that ilk, of course. They were banned in Rudolph as well as in my family.)

  I looked up to see my dad glaring at me. It had been a long time since I’d last seen that look directed my way. “Sorry,” I mumbled again.

  “Can you explain?”

  “I thought I’d stumbled across . . . two people who might have had something to do with the death of Max or the kidnapping of Jackie. In case I was . . . detained . . . I took pics and sent them to Mom so she could go for help. I sorta forgot to tell her all was okay.”

  His face relaxed fractionally. I gave him a tight grin.

  “Don’t do that again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Now that that’s settled, and your mother is no doubt collapsed on her chaise lounge trying to remember to breathe, I heard Jackie has popped up hale and hearty.”

  “She’d been hiding in my garden shed. Not out of fear of a ruthless killer but an angry boss.”

  Dad merely shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll get the full story later, whether I want to hear it or not. Right now, I could use a few minutes on the chaise lounge myself.”

  He held out his arms, and I snuggled into him. There’s nothing in the world as wonderful as one of my dad’s hugs. We stood there for a long time before he patted my back and I pulled away.

  “Don’t ever frighten us like that again, Merry.”

  • • •

  Jackie walked through the doors of the shop a couple of hours later. She didn’t exactly look happy, but at least she wasn’t in jail.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

 
“Simmonds said I could be charged with interfering with a police investigation, but I won’t be.”

  The shop was busy at the moment. Ears pricked up, and two women developed a sudden interest in examining the North Pole teacups on the shelf nearest to where Jackie happened to be standing.

  “Go home,” I said. “You need to clean up and rest. Have something to eat. Have you called your mother?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, do that first. I’ll expect you here tomorrow at noon, as per the schedule.”

  “Thanks, Merry.” The bells over the door tinkled as she left, and the listening customers went back to what they were doing.

  Sometime later two women approached the counter, ready to pay. The larger one had a stack of festive table linens. “You have so many marvelous things, I scarcely knew where to start looking.”

  “I’m pleased you like them. Much of the stock changes regularly depending on what our local artisans are making, so do check back.”

  She leaned over the counter. Instinctively, I leaned toward her. “I was, well, I have to confess that I hoped to see Erica Johnstone around town.”

  “She was in yesterday,” I said, “but not since.”

  “Such a tragedy, isn’t it? Her fiancé being struck down mere weeks before their fairy-tale wedding.”

  “Tragic,” I agreed.

  “I was so looking forward to the wedding issue of Jennifer’s Lifestyle, wasn’t I, Ruth?”

  “You sure were, Joanie,” her friend replied.

  “I was keen to see what Jennifer planned to wear to an outdoor summer wedding. My granddaughter Ashley’s getting married, you see, dear, and I was hoping to get a sense of what’s appropriate for grandmother of the bride.”

  “This is Ashley’s third marriage,” Ruth said. “Or is it her fourth? Hard to keep track. No one else bothers to buy a new outfit for the fourth wedding, Joanie.”

  “I like to keep up with fashion,” Joanie snapped. “Even if some people don’t.” She snatched her shopping bags and stomped out of the store. A chuckling Ruth followed.

  I glanced toward the curtain leading to the back of the building. Anyone who’d been in town on Saturday knew that Max had been found in Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, but that detail hadn’t, thank heavens, made it to the national press. If word got out, it might help with business, but I didn’t need crime scene groupies or the truly ghoulish hanging around.