by Nic Saint
“Have you always known you were… a Christmas tree?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. For as long as I remember I didn’t feel good in this body. There was a Christmas tree inside of me screaming to get out. I told my parents, I told my friends, I told my teachers—heck, I shouted my truth to the world. They all mocked me. Said I was nuts. Well,” he said, holding up his arms and rattling the strings of lights, “who’s laughing now, huh?”
“Did you have… the operation?” Calvin asked, almost causing me to dump my hot cocoa in his lap. I refrained from doing so, however, sufficing with a scowl.
“I talked to Doctor Jennsen,” Huppert confirmed. “But he said there isn’t much he can do for me at this point. It’s hard to turn a human into a tree, apparently. The science isn’t there yet. He told me that for pioneers like me patience is all he can advise.” He produced a brave smile. “One day I hope to have my feet firmly planted in life-giving soil, my twinkling lights inspiring people to spread love and happiness and a message of peace and joy. Until then, I’ll just keep on caroling—want more eggnog?”
“No, I’m fine,” said Calvin, licking his lips. “Thanks, buddy.”
Huppert smiled. “Good stuff, huh?”
My eyes flitted to the crown of Huppert Bach’s head. “I don’t see a star on top,” I said.
Huppert’s face darkened. “That’s what I had a fight with Mariana about the other day. I was at The Roxy Revolution, blinking away in a corner, minding my own business, when she came up to me and snatched away my star! And a very pretty star it was, too, all glittery and stuff, just the way I like it. I told her to give it back but she wouldn’t. Said I had to snap out of this ‘silly phase,’ as she called it, and I wasn’t getting back my star until I did. So horrible when like turns against like. We were both fighting for the same cause and then she went and treated me like that! No fair.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mr. Bach,” I said. “But where were you last night?”
“Shopping. At Elves & Bells. It’s a specialty store that sells Christmassy stuff. It’s over in Hampton Cove. I’m a regular. I practically live in that store. Just ask Jack. He’s the owner. He’ll vouch for me.”
Calvin had flipped out his notebook. “That would be Jack…”
“Frost,” said Huppert.
“Of course.”
“You know who you should be talking to?” asked Mr. Christmas, snatching a pine cone from his head and using it to scratch his nose. “Mariana’s parents.”
“She didn’t get along with her folks?” I asked.
“They hated her. Had cut all ties. In fact I seem to remember they once told her they’d rather she were dead than a blight on the proud Piney family name.” He smiled. “Hey, what about that? Mariana and I had more in common than I thought.” He held up the pine cone. “We’re both piney.”
Chapter 13
We left the apartment feeling pretty cheerful. Whether it was the Christmas music softly playing in the background, or the Christmas movies on TV, or Huppert Bach’s bubbly personality, I didn’t know, but he did manage to spread holiday cheer. So when we stepped from the vestibule and saw Detective Munroe leaning against a Happy Bays PD squad car, the difference was marked. No Christmas cheer here, only that cold hard stare.
“Saffron and Calvin Diffley. Interviewing Huppert Bach, I presume?”
“Just visiting an old friend,” said Calvin amiably.
“And a murder suspect,” Munroe said, pushing himself away from the car and ambling over. As he did, he took out those dreaded handcuffs.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You’re not going to—”
“Arrest you? Yes, I am, Miss Diffley.”
“But why?”
His eyes turned even colder, if that was possible. “I seem to remember concluding our last meeting with a warning and a promise. A warning to butt out of my investigation, and a promise that I would arrest you if I caught you near any of my suspects again. Well, I’m here to tell you that I’m a man known for keeping his promises. Turn around.”
“You can’t arrest us,” said Calvin, incredulous.
“Watch me,” he said acerbically, slapping one cuff on my wrist, and the other one on my brother’s. “Saffron and Calvin Diffley, you have the right to remain silent—”
“This is an outrage!” cried Calvin.
“—and refuse to answer questions.”
“You can’t do this. We have rights.”
He fixed Calvin with a sardonic look. “If you would just shut up for a minute, Mr. Diffley, you’d notice I’m reading you your rights.”
“I mean, my family made a deal with Chief Whitehouse a long time ago. You can’t ignore a long-standing tradition of cooperation and, and…”
Detective Munroe gave us a slight shove in the direction of his squad car. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”
When he pressed down my head to avoid hitting the metal door frame, I’d had enough. I moved back up like a coiled spring, catching him by surprise. “I’m not doing this,” I announced, facing him.
“Oh, you are doing this,” he promised me.
“Nope. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t trust you.”
He eyed me with incredulity, his tan face flushing slightly. “I just arrested you. You are coming with me.”
“And then what? You’ll grope me in the car? Oh, yes. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You can’t wait to get your hands all over my business, can’t you?”
“What? That’s crazy! I don’t want to get my hands all over your… business.”
As he said this, his eyes dropped to my chest, and his flush deepened, as did mine. I don’t have an ample chest like Marelda Morato. My boobs compete in the ping pong ball category, not the bowling ball class. Still, they were assets I felt needed exploiting at this point. I was not going to ride in that car like a common criminal, and I was definitely not going to do a pimp walk down the police station to have my mug shot taken. No way. So I shoved out my meager assets, tenting my Princess Leia slave T-shirt, and gave Detective Munroe my best glare. Judging from his hesitation, I knew I had a shot at this. Well, I’d better, as I had twenty-three years of practice under my belt, applying the stare on my brothers.
What I hadn’t counted on was Detective Munroe having a lot of practice handling recalcitrant criminals refusing to get into his car. With a grunt, he growled, “Just get in the car already,” and before I knew what hit me, he’d expertly shoved me onto the back seat, my brother a close second.
“Damn, the man is good,” was Calvin’s only comment as the cop slammed the door shut, directing a final glare at me through the window.
“I thought I had him,” I said, feeling disappointed.
“Guess he wasn’t as interested in getting all over your business as you thought.”
“You told me he liked me,” I said. “You said I should put the moves on him.”
He laughed loudly. “Oh, was that what that was? You putting the moves on him?”
“Pipe down back there,” snarled Detective Munroe from the front seat.
“Or what?” I challenged him.
He turned and gave me an icy look. “Or I’ll add resisting arrest to your rap sheet.”
“Rap sheet?” I cried. “You’re giving me a rap sheet? But I don’t want a rap sheet!”
“Well, you’re getting one now.”
“No way. You can’t do this to me,” I said.
“You should have thought of that before ignoring a direct order.”
“A direct order?” asked Calvin. “What is this, the army? You can’t go around giving insurance agents orders. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Works fine for me,” said Detective Munroe. And then he slipped a pair of sunglasses onto his nose, giving him that ruggedly handsome look all cops aspire to but few achieve, and put the car in motion. To add insult to injury, he popped the flashy light on top and even fired up the siren.
“Oh, this is rich,” said Calvin, pressing the tip of his tongue into his cheek. “This is just great. Treated like a common criminal.”
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” I asked, directing an anxious look at my brother, who seemed about to blow a gasket.
“I might,” he said, nodding furiously. “I just might. This is no way to treat Karma Corps agents. I’m going to give this knucklehead a piece of instant karma.”
“Don’t kill him,” I whispered. “I’m sure he means well.”
Calvin gave me a curious look. “So you do like this guy. I knew it.”
“I don’t like him. I just don’t think we should go around murdering every cop who gets in our way. We’re the Diffleys, not the Corleones.”
Calvin seemed amused. “I wasn’t going to kill him. I told you already. That’s not what we do.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Have a little fun. A little payback.”
“Just leave him be, Calvin. He’s not wrong. We are interfering with police business.”
“Of course we’re interfering with police business! How else do you think we can conduct our business?!”
“There must be another way,” I said stubbornly.
“Trust me, there isn’t.”
“Um, Mr. Detective, sir?” I asked, scooting forward.
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Detective Munroe grumbled.
“I’m sorry about what I said before,” I said sweetly.
He gave me a glance. “About me molesting you in the backseat of my squad car? Or about that stick I had surgically inserted into my butt?”
“Both. I was out of line, sir. But my brother has a point. This is our business, too, and you’re kind of interfering with our business the same way we’re interfering with your business, if you see what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Investigating a homicide is police business, not insurance business. If you wanted to know more about this crime, you should have gotten in touch with the police station, just like I told you the first time we met. They would have given you everything you needed to determine the insurance claim.” He paused. “Who’s the claimant?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who’s the beneficiary of Mariana Piney’s policy?”
“Um…” I directed a look of panic at Calvin, who rolled his eyes.
“I’m afraid the claimant insists on absolute discretion, Detective,” Calvin lied smoothly. “They’re not prepared to come forward at this point.”
“I can get a court order and force you to divulge the name.”
“I know you can, Detective, but even then I’m not at liberty to reveal the claimant’s name.”
“Have it your way, Mr. Diffley,” said the cop amiably. “I’ll just add obstruction of justice to the charge, and if you insist on going down this road, I can tell you right now you’re looking at contempt of court as well.”
Calvin settled back, his jaw working. It was obvious he had murder on his mind, and I didn’t think I’d be able to stop him this time.
Chapter 14
By the time we arrived at the police station, it appeared Detective Munroe had called in our arrest, for we were greeted by Chief Whitehouse, a stocky man with a buzz cut and a fleshy face twisted into a scowl, and… our own grandmother!
The police station is a low-slung one-story blocky structure in the heart of town, and the Chief and Grandma were waiting for us in the entrance, where Officer Louise Rhythm, a dainty woman with impressive cornrows, manned the front desk. She gave me a jolly wave, then looked away when Munroe fixed her with a reproachful frown. There was to be no waving at the perps, apparently.
“My office. Now,” Chief Whitehouse growled, and stalked off, Grandma in his wake, and the rest of us following behind.
Calvin and I exchanged curious glances, but didn’t dare speak, for fear it would give Munroe another excuse to add more charges to our charge sheet. Or rap sheet. Or whatever sheet he was going to give us.
Once we were inside the Chief’s office, he closed the door, and snapped, “For God’s sakes remove those cuffs, will you, Logan?”
Logan did as he was told, though it was obvious he wasn’t too happy about it. I massaged my wrist and Grandma threw me a worried glance. I gave her an ‘I’m fine’ look and she nodded, not completely convinced.
“And now you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on,” the Chief growled, and to my surprise he wasn’t talking to Calvin or me but our arresting officer.
“These two were interviewing Huppert Bach, who’s a suspect in the Mariana Piney murder,” Logan explained, taking a seat in front of the Chief. “I caught them twice before, the first time when they were snooping around the crime scene, and a second time at the coroner’s office, peppering Angela Jacobs with questions.”
“We weren’t peppering anyone with questions,” said Calvin. “We were just doing our jobs, namely investigating an insurance claim, the way we always do, and the way Diffleys have done for over two hundred years.”
It was obvious the arrest still rankled.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave the Diffleys alone?” asked the Chief.
“They’re interfering with a murder investigation, sir,” Logan insisted stubbornly. “They are breaking the law.”
The Chief sighed and leaned back in his chair. On the wall behind him, I saw a picture of a chicken, and I wondered if she was on the department’s Most Wanted list. I also saw a picture of the Chief’s family, his wife Demitria and his daughter Alice, who works at her uncle’s mortuary.
“Law, shmaw,” the Chief said surprisingly. He cast a warm look at Grandma. “How long have we known each other, Margaret?”
“Long enough to remember you as a rookie,” said Grandma, directing a scathing look at Logan, which the detective weathered with remarkable poise.
“I think you even knew Chief Trass, didn’t you—Trass was my predecessor,” he explained for the sake of the rest of us.
“I knew Charlie Trass,” Grandma confirmed. “He was a great friend of Ansel’s—God rest his soul. Used to visit us all the time. We never had any cops arresting us back then. Or making all kinds of accusations against my family.”
“The thing is, Logan,” said the Chief, “that the Diffley family is like an institution in this town. In fact they probably helped found Happy Bays.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Grandma stiffly.
“Heck, Diffley & Sons are one of the biggest contributors to the police pension fund, and the Mayor’s Fund, and pretty much every other fund there is. They’re a very big benefactor, and they’re well-liked, well-respected and as upstanding and supporting as they come. Ansel Diffley—that’s Margaret’s late husband and these two kids’ grandfather—even received the Freedom of the City!”
“And so did his father, and his father before him, and so on back to the very first Diffley who ever lived on these shores,” said Grandma, still regarding the detective with that same unwavering, scathing look. A lesser man, subjected to that look, would have shriveled and died. It was a testament to Logan Munroe’s character, therefore, that he refused to back down or be cowed.
“Look, I don’t care how long the Diffleys have lived in this town,” said the detective. “Or how much they donate to the police pension fund or how many Freedom of the City awards they’ve received. All I care about is the law, and the law will back me up on this. No civilians getting involved in police investigations. Period.”
Chief Whitehouse smiled. “You know, I was a lot like you, son. In fact I used that same line, and against my own daughter, no less. You haven’t met Alice yet, have you? She’s got this stubborn streak, and likes to stick her nose where it don’t belong, just like Saffron and Calvin here. Alice runs one of those neighborhood watch committees, and by God she can be like a dog with a bone once she sinks her teeth into a juicy mystery.” His face hardened. “Diffley & Sons—”
“And Daughter,” I mu
ttered.
“—and daughter,” the Chief added, with a nod in deference to me, “will not be interfered with from now on. They can run any investigation they like. And if Senator Munroe doesn’t like it, he can kiss my big, hairy—”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Detective Munroe, holding up his hand. “I’ve never played the uncle card and I’m not going to start now. In fact, if you think I got this job because of my uncle, I might as well hand you my badge and gun right now, cause that is not how I operate, sir. Not at all.”
His voice had taken on an indignant tone, and judging from that vein throbbing at his temple, I could see that he was fed up with this whole business. He rose to his feet, took his gun and badge, and plunked them down on Chief Whitehouse’s desk.
“Have a good day, sir,” said the detective, and made for the door.
“Just a minute,” I said, and Logan Munroe halted, his hand on the door handle. He slowly turned to me. I also got up. “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “I think you’re a great detective, Mr. Munroe, and I would hate to be the cause of you quitting the department. Lord knows we need every able-bodied and dedicated officer we can get in this town.”
“So?” he asked, not giving in one inch.
I held out my hand. “So I propose a truce. Please accept my apologies for ignoring your order—twice. And please accept my family’s help in solving the murder of Mariana Piney. We’re not the enemy, Detective. We’re your friends.”
All in all I thought it was a pretty great speech. Maybe not as great as JFK’s ‘ask not what your country can do for you’ but not too shabby. It came as something of a surprise, therefore, when he grunted, “Thanks but no thanks,” and strode out.
“Logan Munroe!” Chief Whitehouse’s voice boomed. “You stubborn son of a—”
“Please, Chief,” said Grandma. “There are children present.” And she cast a look at me!
I emitted an indignant huff. “I’m not a child! I’m twenty-three!”
“Logan!” the Chief bellowed. “Come back here at once!”