Silent Night, Deadly Night

by Vicki Delany

  “Eric moved to the Carolers Motel this afternoon. Noel was able to get him the last empty room. Barbara said she was going for a walk. She does that a lot. Constance wanted to be alone and didn’t invite anyone to join her. Genevieve left about an hour ago. I don’t know where either of them went.”

  “They went their separate ways?”

  “Yes.”

  “On foot?”

  “Except for Eric. Noel drove him to the motel. Other than that, it’s not far to town, so no one needed a ride. The only one of them who brought their own car is Barbara, and she usually likes to walk everywhere.” Mom groaned. “I want this to be over.”

  I got to my feet and poured coffee for Simmonds and myself. I didn’t bother to offer Mom one. She drank one cup a day, at breakfast, and said any more made her edgy. She was edgy enough right now.

  “Do I have a killer staying in my house, Diane?” she said.

  “At this time, it’s too early to come to any conclusions. It might have been a random attack.”

  “As if there has ever been a random attack in Rudolph on a woman standing in her garden at six in the evening,” I said.

  “Always a first time,” Simmonds said.

  She didn’t believe that, and neither did I.

  “Aline, can you call your friends and ask them to come back?” Simmonds said. “Tell them I want to talk to them but don’t say why. I’d prefer to send officers to pick them up, but I don’t have sufficient manpower.”

  Mom pulled out her phone, but before she could use it Barbara burst into the kitchen. “What the heck is going on now?” She was dressed in a midthigh-length black wool coat and hiking shoes. She peeled her gloves off and stuffed them into her pocket.

  Simmonds glanced at me. I shrugged. The person I’d chased might have been Barbara. It might not have been.

  “Your friend Ruth was attacked a short while ago, when she was outside having a smoke,” Simmonds said.

  “Attacked? What sort of town is this? Thank heavens I’m getting out of here tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Simmonds said.

  “What does that mean? You phoned us not more than two hours ago and said we could go. I would have left on the spot, but I don’t like driving on the highway at night, and it’s supposed to snow later.”

  “In light of tonight’s developments,” Simmonds said, “you’ll have to stay awhile longer.”

  Mom groaned.

  Barbara said, “I don’t believe this. Where is Ruth anyway?”

  “At the hospital,” Simmonds said. “An officer is with her now, and I’ll be going there shortly.”

  “Is she badly hurt?”

  “It would appear she was lucky. Thanks to Merry.”

  Barbara glanced at me but didn’t ask what I had to do with it.

  “Where have you been?” Simmonds asked.

  “I went for a walk. I’m restless here. I need to be back home and back at work. My cases are piling up, I’ve missed court dates thanks to you, and my law partner’s struggling with the workload. Walking helps me relax.”

  “Barbara’s a keen hiker,” Mom said.

  “Where did you walk?” Simmonds asked.

  “Into town, down to the lakefront, and along the hiking trail that follows the shore. I’ve been there before, so I knew the way in the dark.” She pulled a flashlight out of her pocket. “And I’m always prepared.”

  “Did you see anyone you know while you were out?”

  “No. It’s fairly quiet in town. Thanksgiving Eve, I suppose. I assume you mean did I see Ruth, Constance, or Genevieve, and I did not. Before you ask, I don’t have an alibi, either. It’s dark, and I didn’t see anyone on the trail. The restaurants are open in town, but all the shops are closed, so not many people are on the sidewalks. Of the few people I did pass, no one paid me any attention, and I didn’t speak to anyone.”

  “Thank you,” Simmonds said. “Please leave that flashlight on the table.”

  Something moved behind Barbara’s eyes. But she said nothing and did as she’d been told.

  “I need you to stay in tonight,” Simmonds said. “I might have more questions.”

  “Tomorrow,” Mom said, “if you can’t go home, move to a hotel. I can’t take any more of this.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Barbara stomped out of the kitchen.

  I watched her go.

  “Merry?” Simmonds said. “What are you thinking?”

  I wondered if I was as easy to read as a dog. “The only one of Mom’s group who’s made friends with Mattie is Barbara.”

  “What of it?” Mom said.

  “Mattie ran after the person tonight. I wonder . . .”

  “Did you begin the chase first, or did he?” Simmonds asked.

  “I did. I remember Mattie tearing past me and going after them. I had no idea what direction to go in, so I followed Mattie.”

  “If you began the chase, then you signaled to the dog that it was something to do,” Simmonds said. “Unlikely he was specifically running after his friend, but it’s something to keep in mind. Good thinking, Merry.”

  I almost sat up straighter, raised my paws, and hoped for a biscuit.

  Simmonds turned to Mom. “Noel tells me you were watching television when you heard a commotion in the yard. Is that true?”

  “Yes, we were,” Mom said. “Noel went to check, and I heard him yelling, so I followed him. We found Ruth, and I called 911.”

  “What were you watching on TV?” Simmonds asked.

  “A documentary on Pavarotti,” Mom said. “We’d DVRed it to watch when we had a quiet moment. There’s been precious few of those around here lately.”

  “Your husband enjoys opera also?”

  I studied Mom’s face. She didn’t seem to realize that Simmonds was asking her for her alibi. I was my dad’s alibi. I’d seen him standing at the back door when Ruth’s attacker bolted for the gate.

  “He likes opera as much as I like his fishing programs,” Mom said, “meaning not one tiny bit. But we enjoy spending time in each other’s company.” She smiled at me. “Even after all these years.”

  “Neither of you left the den in the minutes before you heard Merry and Mattie outside?” Simmonds asked.

  Mom shook her head. “Fortunately, the program had reached a quiet moment. Mr. Pavarotti was resting at his home, not singing. Otherwise, we might not have heard anything. He does have a powerful voice.”

  Simmonds’s phone rang. She reached for it as she said, “Call Mrs. Westerton and Ms. Richmond, please, Aline.” She answered the phone and walked outside. She hadn’t touched her coffee.

  “Is this ever going to end?” Mom said.

  “It will,” I said, with absolutely no conviction whatsoever. Someone attacked Ruth in my parents’ backyard. To think that had nothing to do with the murder of Karla required a stretch of imagination I wasn’t prepared to take.

  Ruth must know something the killer was afraid of her revealing. And so the killer decided to silence her. She was lucky, very lucky, that Mattie and I arrived in time to scare the attacker away.

  Earlier, I’d thought Karla might have been blackmailing Genevieve, and Genevieve killed her to keep her secret. Now I had to wonder if it was possible Ruth was blackmailing the killer?

  I tried to think of anything Ruth had said or done that might indicate she knew more than she was telling the police.

  I came up totally blank.

  “I don’t care if you’ve just ordered another drink,” Mom snapped into the phone. “The police are here, and if you don’t come voluntarily, they’ll be sending someone around to get you.”

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  “Constance. She’s in a bar somewhere.” Mom placed the next call. “Genevieve, this is Aline. It’s important you come to the house the min
ute you pick this up. The police are here.”

  “Voice mail?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “That doesn’t mean anything. If she’s in a restaurant or at a movie, she might have turned it off or not hear it ringing.”

  Simmonds came back. “That was the officer I sent to the hospital. He was able to talk to Ruth in the ambulance, but she was confused and disoriented and had no idea what he was asking her or what had happened to her. The doctor said the injury is not severe, but she needs to rest. She’s been stitched up and given a bed and a sedative. I won’t be able to talk to her until the morning.”

  “Not a good way to spend your Thanksgiving,” Mom said.

  “My daughter’s used to sudden callouts. My mother’s in charge of the dinner, and I’ll be home for that. No matter what happens.” Simmonds’s phone rang again. She listened, said, “Get back here,” and hung up.

  “Drink your coffee,” Mom said.

  Simmonds gave her a tight grin and took a sip as Dad came into the kitchen. “Noel, how long do you estimate it would take to walk at a brisk pace to the Carolers Motel from here?”

  “Twenty, thirty minutes,” Dad said. “Why?”

  “That call was from the officer I sent to the motel. He found Eric Vaughan in his room. It took Mr. Vaughan some time to answer the door. He claimed he was asleep. He said he hadn’t left his room since you dropped him off earlier, but that means nothing. All the room doors on the first floor—where he is—open directly onto the parking lot. They don’t go through the lobby.”

  “You think Eric came here, attacked Ruth, and then ran back to the motel?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t think anything,” she said. “I’m merely commenting. More than half an hour has passed since you called 911. But, it’s important to note, Mr. Vaughan is not in the best physical shape.”

  I agreed. I couldn’t see that overweight, red-faced man running two miles across town.

  “What’s happened now?” Constance came into the kitchen, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into her pocket. She tossed her thigh-length black leather coat onto a vacant chair. “I hope you’re here to tell me I can go home and to apologize for inconveniencing me so much. Did you catch the person who killed Karla? Any wine in the fridge, Aline? I’d say that calls for a drink.”

  “Where were you this evening?” Simmonds asked her.

  “Me? Out. What does it matter?” She opened the fridge door and peered in. “Aline called and told me to get back here, and fast. So I did.” She emerged with a bottle of white wine.

  “Out where?” Simmonds asked. “And with whom?”

  Constance glanced around the kitchen. At last she seemed to read the expressions on the faces of the people in the room. “What’s happened?”

  “Answer the question, please,” Simmonds said.

  “I went to town. As pleasant as this visit has been, it’s long past becoming confining. I couldn’t bear another night in with that bunch. Sorry, Aline, but I’m sure you agree. I went to a bar for a quiet drink.”

  “What bar?” Simmonds asked.

  “The one across the street from her store.” Constance pointed at me.

  “A Touch of Holly,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Have you been there over the last hour?” Simmonds asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I was. I was hardly in the mood for company, which is why I went out.”

  Meaning she had no real alibi. The bars and restaurants would be crowded tonight, the staff on the hop. Jingle Bell Lane was a five-minute walk from the house, easy enough for someone to slip out of the bar unnoticed. If the waiter stopped to ask if the patron wanted another drink and found the seat empty, they’d assume she was in the restroom or had gone outside for a cigarette.

  I glanced at Simmonds in time to see her give my dad a slight nod.

  “Ruth was attacked earlier this evening,” he said.

  Constance gasped. “Attacked? You can’t be serious. Is she okay?”

  “I’m very serious,” he said. “Fortunately, the assault was interrupted, but the person got away. Ruth’s fine, but they’re keeping her in the hospital overnight for observation.”

  When she’d come in, Constance’s face had been ruddy from the cold. Now, all the blood drained from it. She put her hand on the back of a chair to steady herself. She shook her head. “This is too much, I can’t take it all in. I’m going to lie down. I managed to get a flight, at considerable expense, leaving Rochester at ten. I’ll call a taxi to take me and be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

  “You can go up to your room,” Simmonds said. “But I’m afraid you’re not leaving town tomorrow. I’ll have more questions after I’ve spoken to Ruth.”

  “I can’t bear to stay here another day.”

  “Believe me,” Mom said. “I don’t want you to.”

  Dad said nothing. His expressive face said it all.

  “Call Ms. Richmond again, please, Aline,” Simmonds asked.

  This time Genevieve answered. Mom simply told her she was to come back to the house now, or the police would find her and pick her up. She hung up as Genevieve shouted questions. “She got my earlier message but decided not to answer. She had dinner at A Touch of Holly and has just left. She says it’s embarrassing enough having dinner alone the night before Thanksgiving, never mind being stuffed into the back of a police car.”

  “I’d think embarrassment would be the least of her worries at the moment,” Dad said.

  I wondered, but didn’t say, how Genevieve, if she was so broke, could afford dinner at the most expensive restaurant on Jingle Bell Lane.

  “That’s the same place Constance says she was,” Simmonds said. “Is it possible they didn’t see each other?”

  “Very possible,” I said. “If Constance stayed in the bar and Genevieve was in the dining room and they didn’t arrive at the same time. The two areas are completely separate. Are you aware that Constance has been the object of police attention before?”

  “You mean in the death of her husband?” Simmonds replied. “I’m familiar with the case. I’ve been in contact with the police who handled the situation.”

  “What?” Mom said. “You mean Constance really is a killer? I went to his funeral, for heaven’s sake. He’d been killed in a robbery. That’s what we were told. One of the women—I forget who—muttered something about it the other day, and I assumed she was making something out of nothing to get a dig in at Constance.”

  “I’m not saying Constance killed him, or anyone. Her husband was murdered in what appeared to be a break-in at their home. No one was ever charged with the crime. It’s natural enough for immediate family members to be investigated.”

  “Because,” Dad said, “sadly enough, they’re usually the ones responsible.”

  “Which brings us to Eric Vaughan,” I said.

  “‘Usually,’” Simmonds said, “doesn’t mean ‘always.’”

  I cleared my throat. “Speaking of police attention. Genevieve?”

  “Has a shoplifting conviction,” Simmonds said. “I am aware of that.”

  Mom groaned again.

  “If she’s as broke as she claims to be,” I said, “I’m surprised she went to A Touch of Holly for dinner.”

  “I wouldn’t read much into that,” Simmonds said. “People who get themselves into a lot of debt often can’t control their spending. Particularly in times of stress. Which is why they are drowning in debt. They usually have at least one credit card that hasn’t been closed on them yet.”

  A few minutes later Genevieve came into the kitchen. Another black coat, another pair of gloves. She was, I thought, taller than the person I’d chased. Genevieve was the tallest of them all, including Eric Vaughan. I glanced down at her feet. She was wearin
g high-heeled boots that added a couple of inches to her height. The person I’d chased had run easily and smoothly. Could Genevieve have changed her footwear after the attack on Ruth? Tossed a pair of running shoes into the garbage somewhere? Without the high heels, her height would be closer to normal.

  If she’d taken an extra pair of shoes with her, that would mean she’d gone out with the intention of coming back and attacking Ruth and had tossed the running shoes once the deed was done.

  I thought back to what the other women had been wearing on their feet: Barbara had on her usual hiking shoes, and Constance’s ankle boots had low heels.

  Dad told Genevieve what had happened. She expressed shock and then anger when she was asked to account for her movements tonight. Simmonds simply looked at her until she calmed down and said, “I went to that nice restaurant in town. I ate dinner. I’d just finished when Aline called the second time.”

  “Did you leave the restaurant at any time before that?” Simmonds asked.

  “I went to the restroom. That couldn’t have taken more than a minute or two.”

  “Thank you,” Simmonds said. “You can go now.”

  “Where are Barbara and Constance? Are they back yet?”

  “Upstairs,” Mom said.

  “I don’t suppose either of them confessed?” Genevieve asked.

  No one replied.

  Simmonds repeated that the women were not to leave Rudolph.

  “I’m going to be stuck here until I die,” Genevieve moaned.

  “Genevieve,” I said, once she’d left the kitchen, still moaning, “is a professional actor.”

  “She might be,” Mom said, “but she was never a good one. I think she was genuinely shocked when we told her about the attack on Ruth.”

  “Perhaps,” Simmonds said.

  “Did you see her shoes?” I asked the detective.

  “I did. What of them?”

  “The person I chased was not wearing such high heels. I can be pretty sure of that.”

  “Easy enough to change shoes,” Dad said.

  “Officers will be searching the neighboring properties,” Simmonds said. “I’ll tell them I’m interested in any shoes they might find that have been tossed into a patch of bushes. I’ll also have the trash checked at the restaurant.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be off. I have a long night ahead of me. You’ll call me if you think of anything, anything at all? At any time.”