by Vicki Delany
Speaking of Erica. With a pang, I remembered that the magazine people were due to come in at six to photograph me as the arbiter of all things holiday decorating. With everything that happened today, first discovering that Muriel and Kyle were partners in crime, and then finding Jackie hiding in my backyard, that was another thing I’d totally forgotten. I glanced down at my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. I’d thrown on what clothes were at hand to bring Jackie into town. The store had been busy since I opened, and I hadn’t had time to get my car from the police station, take it home, and pick up Mattie, never mind change, fix my hair, and put on some makeup.
It was after three now, and the shop was busy. No time to go home to get myself smartened up and ready to be photographed at six. I’d sent Jackie away, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to have her working today anyway. Who knows where her mind would be? I could probably call Crystal and find out if she was free, but the last thing I felt like doing was posing for Jason’s cameras trying to look fashionable. Willow had given me her number last night, and at the moment no one in the shop needed my help. I dug in my bag and gave her a call.
“Hey, Merry,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in. Something’s come up and I’m going to have to cancel tonight’s shoot. Do you think you’ll still be in town tomorrow?”
She groaned. “I’m beginning to think I’ll be in this town until I grow old. Which won’t be much longer, the way things are going. That cop was here again. She’s just left. More questions. Usually it’s the same questions over and over, all asking the same thing: who would want Max dead? And every time we give the same lying answer: no one, he was such a sweetie, everyone who knew him loved him to bits. This time the detective wanted to know if we’d met your shop assistant before Saturday. What on earth that meant, I’ve no idea. I told her she was there on Thursday when we came in to scout things out, but we didn’t exactly engage in intelligent conversation. We’re still under orders not to leave town. James has been on the phone nonstop, trying to get hold of someone, anyone, who can order Simmonds to let us go. Let Erica go anyway. I doubt he cares much about us, if he even knows we’re alive. I hear Erica’s climbing the walls. At least they have nice walls at that place. I’ve memorized the pattern of cracks in the ceiling at this dump.”
“You hear? You mean you haven’t seen Erica?”
“No, she’s all in a snit.”
“Willow, her fiancé has just died. She’s allowed to be upset.”
“Whatever,” Willow said. “Jason’s been over at the inn, trying to be all sympathetic. Rather him than me. Oh, she found that necklace she was making such a to-do about.”
“Is that so?” I said casually.
“It had fallen onto the floor and somehow got itself under the rug. Muriel found it. How anything that long and bulky could accidentally disappear under a rug is beyond me. But that’s Erica. She could lose an elephant in her shoe closet.
“Anyway, it’s not going to be a problem, about tonight, I mean. We were going to cancel you anyway.”
“Gee, thanks for telling me.”
“I would have. We want some pictures of the inn and the grounds in the evening. You know, dusky shadows and the pretty lights coming on. All that romantic hogwash our readers love. I was there earlier, checking it out, and it is a nice place, so we’re going to give it a good amount of space in the feature. The weather forecast for tonight is clear with a good-sized moon, and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow in the afternoon and evening. The gardens have to be tonight. We can do you tomorrow, because that’s indoors.”
She hung up without bothering to ask if the change of timing suited me at all.
• • •
Shortly before six my dad arrived, followed by Alan carrying a large box containing a new product we were planning to feature in the store. A Santa Claus version of a toy farm. The main house at the North Pole, smaller outbuildings for the workshops and the elves’ dorms, the reindeer barn complete with reindeer, one of which had a big, cheerful, red-painted nose, and figures of Santa and Mrs. Claus and the elves. The entire collection was large and expensive—every piece was hand-carved and hand-painted, after all—but Dad and Alan’s idea was that proud grandparents could buy a couple of pieces as they could afford them and build the set over the years of their grandchildren’s childhood.
I made space for the box on the table next to the live Douglas fir. I was excited about this project although all I knew so far was the concept.
“Where do you want it to go?” Alan asked.
I studied the room. “I’m thinking of moving the angel choir. They need to be more at eye level to emphasize the height differences. We can put the village there.”
“Okay,” Alan said.
“No,” Dad said. “The angels are fine where they are. The village needs to be at a child’s eye level. We’ll put it here, under the tree.”
“We only have one of each piece,” I said. “If the pieces start selling individually, it’ll leave holes.”
“Then you can fill the holes,” Dad said firmly. “But not with the angels. Leave them where they are.”
Alan shrugged and gave me a grin. What can you do?
“Now, that’s settled,” Dad said. “Go into your office, Merry.”
“Why?”
“So you can be surprised when you see the entire set assembled.”
I headed to the door to lock it, but before I could do so, Russ came in. “Hi, y’all.” He nodded to Dad and Alan. “I thought we might continue our talk, Merry, but it looks like you’re busy.”
“You can talk later,” Dad said. “Give us a hand here, Russell. Shoo, Merry.”
“Shooing,” I said.
My office is a small, overcrowded, disheveled space, but today I thought how big and empty it was without Mattie snoozing on the floor. I didn’t have to wait long before Dad called, “You can come out now.”
I smiled to myself. He sounded exactly like he had when we were kids, calling us to come downstairs and see what was under the tree.
The moment I saw what was under the tree in my shop, I did feel exactly like a child on Christmas morning. “It’s marvelous!”
Alan beamed, and Dad looked as proud as if he’d made it himself. Russ, who’d had nothing to do with it, was all smiles.
Even on a hot, humid evening in July, there is nothing as wonderful as Christmas magic. Alan’s village wove that magic into physical form.
Every miniature building was perfect, every person, reindeer, and elf lovingly carved. The wood gleamed and the paint shone. Alan cleared his throat. “I see this as something kids can play with and when they’re past playing, it could be used as a holiday decoration. Placed on the mantel beside the nativity scene, for example.”
“How many sets have you made?”
“One finished, so far. This is it. I have one in progress for the toy store, then I’ll work up a few more of the main buildings and some of the smaller pieces. I need to see what the market’s like, before I invest much more time.”
“I’m sure it’ll sell like hotcakes,” I said.
“I’ve always wondered,” Russ said, “why anyone would want to eat their cake hot.”
“I’m off home,” Dad said. “I’ll leave you young people to do whatever young people do these days.”
“In a shop in Rudolph, New York, at six thirty on a Monday night? Not much, Dad.”
Dad headed for the exit but stopped abruptly. The small table beside the door is piled with soft toys, stuffed Santas and reindeer. “Hum,” he said. He gathered up the toys and carried them into one of the alcoves. He came back with a large crystal vase filled with an assortment of glass balls. The balls ranged from clear to deep red and were about the size of a baseball.
“Dad,” I said, “I can’t have that sitting so close to the door. They’re fragile, a
s is the vase, and people sometimes barge in with kids or dogs without watching where they’re going.”
“It makes a statement,” Dad said. “Better than the dolls. Night all.”
I considered putting the things back once he was gone, but what the heck. It was late and I was tired. “Night, Dad.”
Dad waved and left. Russ and Alan eyed each other.
“You have excellent timing, Alan,” I said. “The magazine people are coming tomorrow after closing to do more pictures of the shop. I’ll make sure the village is front and center.”
“My timing isn’t an accident. This has been a rush job. But I thought they were coming tonight.”
“Change of plans.” I turned to Russ. “Erica Johnstone is still in residence at the Yuletide. Are you thinking of going around to see her?”
“I am not.”
“Why would you do that?” Alan asked. “I’ve heard the press are camped out front and not being allowed on the property. Although they say the crowd’s rapidly dwindling as nothing more seems to be happening.”
“It’s a very short story,” Russ said. “One better told over a drink at the Holly. Anyone interested?”
“I could use one,” I said. “But I can’t stay long. Mattie’s been home alone all day.”
“Great idea,” Alan said, not sounding as though he was as wildly enthusiastic as the words implied. I moved closer to him and touched his arm. “Give me a sec, and I’ll be right out.”
I went into the back for my bag. My phone buzzed.
Vicky: Photos tonite?
Me: Changed to tomorrow. Off to Holly for half an hour. Wanna come?
Vicky: I’m in!
Back in the main room of the shop, the two men were glaring at each other. At the sound of my footsteps on the old wooden floors, they pasted on strained smiles. Nice to be wanted, I thought with a small shiver of pleasure. I gave Alan a private smile, and then turned to Russ with what I hoped was a friendly, not flirtatious, grin. Not that I really know the difference. I hoped I’d gotten it right.
I switched off most of the lights, leaving only the ones in the windows and behind the counter on. The men left first, and I locked the door behind us. I slipped my hand into Alan’s. He squeezed it lightly in return, and we ran across the street at a break in traffic.
A Touch of Holly is an upscale restaurant with a comfortable bar and lounge that’s perfect for popping in for a quick drink after work. It’s a winter place: all dark wood paneling, red carpets, black leather chairs and stools, a long, smooth mahogany bar. In summer the mood is lightened with giant glass vases of fresh flowers in lighter shades of yellow or pink and plenty of white, and the bartenders and waiters wear a more casual uniform with an open yellow shirt over their black pants, rather than the strict black and white and bow tie of the holiday season. Tonight, the room was crowded and every seat taken. Russ spotted a group of guys he knew at the end of the bar. He went over and told two of them to vacate their stools. They hopped off, and Russ made a deep formal bow to indicate I could take a seat.
Chivalry isn’t entirely dead. I was glad for the chance to sit down. It had been a heck of an emotional day, not to mention a busy one, and even though I was wearing sneakers, my feet were killing me. I spotted Vicky coming through the door and waved to her. She wore a pretty white summer dress dotted with blue and yellow flowers, with a thin blue belt around her tiny waist. “New dress?” I said once she’d joined us. “Fabulous. And check out those shoes.”
She bent her knee and tilted her leg to show me. Strappy blue sandals with high heels. Russ whistled and Vicky grinned. “Mark has the night off. So I only have time for a quick one.”
I ordered a glass of wine and my three friends had beers. When the drinks were in front of us, and the bartender had moved on, Russ and I spoke at once.
“Erica?” I said
“Jackie?” he said.
“What?” Vicky and Alan said.
“Jackie walked into the police station this morning, looking, so my sources said, as though she’d been sleeping rough,” Russ said. “She was, again my sources said, brought there by you, Merry. Where’d you find her?”
“She’d been hiding out in my shed, of all places, on the advice of none other than Kyle Lambert. Her criminal instincts are not as highly refined as they might be. What did Simmonds have to say?”
“Not a lot,” Russ said. “I hung around for an awful long time, and when they finally came out, Simmonds told me Jackie was facing no charges and had been unable to contribute to the investigation into the murder of Max Folger. I took Jackie for a coffee and she told me she’d left the store before Max came in, and she was hiding because she’d skipped off work and was afraid of you, Merry.”
I nodded. “That’s about it. She came back to the shop to find cops crawling all over the place and assumed we’d had a theft. She was afraid of me being mad at her, so wanted to keep her head down for a few hours. When she heard that a man had been killed and the police were looking for her, she didn’t know what to do. When the Chronicle article said she was the police’s prime suspect, she really panicked.”
“What’s your story going to be tomorrow, Russ?” Vicky asked. “Police find terrified suspect on run from ogre of a boss?”
“Very funny,” I said.
“I was thinking of something along those lines.” He took a sip of beer. “But I’ll just run a small story saying Jackie turned up unharmed, having not been a witness to the killing. Unless you know something more, Merry.”
“Nope. That’s it.”
“Are you going to keep her on?” Vicky asked.
“Why the heck not?” I said. “I doubt very much she’ll ever try to sneak off work again. Ironically, if Max hadn’t died, and she hadn’t bolted into hiding, I probably would have fired her for skipping out, never mind leaving the shop unlocked. As it was, I’m giving her another chance.”
“You’re too nice for your own good,” Vicky said.
“Who knows, perhaps it turned out for the better. If she’d been in the store when Max and his killer, whoever that might be, came in . . .” I let the words trail off and took a sip of wine. A sudden somber mood settled over our little group. Jackie didn’t seem to have realized that she might have had a lucky escape. I wasn’t going to enlighten her. Better she not think skipping off work had positive consequences.
Alan put his hand on my shoulder. I rested mine on it and smiled into his blue eyes. Russ looked between the two of us. He took another drink of beer.
“Your turn, Russ,” I said. “Erica Johnstone. You dated her. Spill.”
“You did?” Alan said. “Wow, that’s a shocker. How’d that work out?”
“Not well, as you can see,” Russ said. “Me being here and all. I didn’t go out with her for long. We met when my paper sent me to cover a story on a charity event her grandmother had been the patron of. I interviewed Erica, and she was somber and serious and sounded very much involved with her grandmother’s cause.” He shrugged. “On the spur of the moment, I asked her out. She said yes, and the whirlwind began. I won’t lie, it was a thrill at first. Walking into restaurants that have reservation lists a year long, weekends in the Hamptons at the sort of houses I’ve only ever seen in magazines, being admitted to private rooms at the hottest clubs, going to the best parties. Schmoozing with celebrities. I danced with Kim Kardashian once.”
“Sounds tough.” Alan’s fingers lightly stroked my shoulder.
“Believe it or not, it soon was. Tough. My work started suffering. I wasn’t a celebrity journalist, and I didn’t want to be. The charity event was a last-minute thing because the regular guy got sick. I was supposed to be a crime reporter, but I could scarcely drag myself out of bed in the mornings after those weekends and all those parties. But most of all, Erica was so much work. ‘Needy’s’ the word I’d use. She needed attention, all the ti
me. She soaked up attention like other people breathe air. That dance with Kardashian? Erica had a screaming fit on the way home. She’d been left alone when I got up to dance. What would people think, seeing her sitting by herself?”
“Sad,” Alan said.
“That’s the word I’d use. In hindsight I feel sorry for her. So much money, so many expectations. She just can’t cope. Her parents died in a car crash when she was a baby, and she was raised by her grandmother. Raised by a network of servants, more like it. By all accounts her grandmother’s a good person, but she had a business empire to build. Erica has no brothers or sisters, not even any cousins. She lived in a big empty house with people paid to love her. All the dolls and toys she could possibly ever want, but no kids to play with other than children of the staff.”
Russ sipped at his beer. We said nothing and waited for him to continue. “Our relationship ended at her birthday party. Someone gave her some minor slight, I don’t even remember who or what it was, and she had a hissy fit, right there at the table. Which was, of course, in the center of the room. I yelled at her to get herself under control. I’d had enough of it all; I got up and walked out. She phoned me the next morning, full of apologies, but I told her we were finished. Over the next two days, she left about a hundred messages on my phone, tears mixed with threats, but I didn’t answer. I never spoke to her again. Next thing I knew, I read she’d taken over her grandmother’s magazine and was photographed on the arm of a new guy. This Max Folger. The paper where I worked folded not long after that, and I found myself out of a job. I came here, and never gave Erica Johnstone another thought. It was one heck of a shock, I can tell you, to see her in Rudolph.”
“Sounds to me,” Vicky said, “that you, like Jackie, might have had a lucky escape. Do you suppose Max was killed because he was engaged to Erica? Or was it for some reason that had nothing to do with her?”