by Donna Doyle
“Well, of course! It’s not every day you get a special invitation because of your outstanding contributions to the community. I know that some people have opposed my developments, but it’s good to see that the logical minds have prevailed. Have you had a chance to look over the plans for the new restaurant with your partner?”
“I did,” Sammy admitted, “but she’s not sure she wants something that big or that fancy. We’ll talk about it some more, and I’ll get back to you.” She had shown the plans to Helen, who had laughed at them as Sammy had expected.
“There’s no way I could operate a place like that,” Helen had chuckled. “I wouldn’t even know where to find the silverware.”
“As soon as you say the word, I can get things going on it,” Herzog promised. “I have a few bankers in my pocket, so it’ll be no problem to get the property, tear down that old building, and break ground on the new one. Oh, and I forgot to give you the name of that marketing guy I know. I’m afraid I don’t have any of his business cards on me.”
The poor man had fallen completely for her scheme, and it made Sammy feel guilty. But she had to do this to get justice for Maureen, and she wasn’t really hurting anyone so much as she was wasting a little bit of their time. “You can just email me the information when you get a chance.”
The Radical Grandmas were the next to show up, and they whispered excitedly to each other as they walked in the door. “This is so exciting,” Agnes said as she wrapped an arm around Sammy. “It’s like something straight out of a movie.”
“Be quiet, Agnes,” Viola warned. “Someone is going to overhear you.”
“I didn’t say anything that would give it away,” the blonde woman argued. “And I know you’re jut as excited as I am.”
“We all are,” Linda amended, “but we need to behave ourselves and let Sammy do her job. Sammy dear, tell us where we’re supposed to sit.”
“Right there.” Sammy pointed to a round table that was front and center to where a makeshift staging area had been set up on one side of the room right in front of a wall of windows. Puffy flakes of snow drifted slowly downward on the scenery outside, and Sammy realized this could become an annual event—minus tracking down a murderer, of course.
Just as the Grandmas got settled, Mr. McLaughlin came through the front door.
“I’m so glad you could come, and I can’t tell you how much we appreciate what you’re doing,” Sammy said as she took several packages from the store manager. “These are going to bring in a good amount of money on auction.”
“I couldn’t really turn it down when Sheriff Jones called me personally, and I can afford to donate a few things from the store if it’s going to benefit needy kids during the cold season. Plus, I think bringing along Santa to help with the auction was a great idea.” He turned to the man he had brought in with him and patted him on the shoulder of his Santa suit.
Santa nodded but said nothing behind his fake beard.
“I’ll get these set up on the table, and you two have a seat. Things will be getting started shortly.”
“Thanks again, Ms. Baker.” Mr. McLaughlin smiled, apparently having forgotten their awkward conversation, and sat down at the table next to the Radical Grandmas.
Sammy’s stomach fluttered nervously. She knew this was the right thing to do, and it was the best way to find Maureen’s killer. There wasn’t a single piece of evidence she hadn’t covered with Sheriff Jones, and while he might be reserved about the pretense of the party, he had completely agreed with her as to who the killer was. And Sammy had to admit that the idea of confronting the murderer face-to-face was scary, but she knew the sheriff and his brave men and women were all around her. She had to have faith in them and in God to keep her safe, because she was doing the right thing.
With a final look around the room, Sammy looked at Sheriff Jones and nodded. The doors to the break room were closed, two officers stationed in front of them. A few of the guests turned around to look, and Sammy tried to ignore them as she went to the front of the room. Her palms were sweaty as she clasped her hands in front of her and smiled at the small audience.
“As we wait for the rest of our guests to arrive, I just wanted to thank those of you who are here for everything you have done to contribute toward this fundraiser. Sunny Cove is a wonderful town, but sadly there are some children who are left behind. They will benefit from the generous donations that you have brought tonight.”
A straggling round of applause went through the room, mostly headed up by the Grandmas.
“I would also like to take a moment to remember Maureen Bradshaw, who would have been delighted to be here tonight. Maureen was a spunky, energetic woman who was always interested in helping people, and I have no doubt that she would have jumped right in to help plan this fundraiser. Sadly, she was taken away from us far too soon, and I suppose it’s no small secret that her death wasn’t an accident.”
The guests looked unsettled, but Sammy had expected that. She stepped away from the front of the room and began walking amongst the tables. “It’s interesting that when you start looking for a killer, you begin to see numerous people who could have done the deed. You find reasons to suspect them, good solid reason that are hard to refute. People who might otherwise seem innocent suddenly seem capable of doing such a thing, such as Carly Anderson.” She paused in front of the table where Carly sat.
Her face paled, and she looked as though she was about to pass out. “Me?” she squeaked. “I wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
“Maybe not,” Sammy agreed, “but you have to admit that your behavior the night of the fundraiser was rather odd. You were hanging out by the Christmas puddings far longer than anyone else who had come to get a slice of dessert. Maureen’s throat was swollen, and everyone knew she was allergic to nuts. You might not have appreciated the fact that my baking business seemed to take customers away from you, and it would have been an easy task for you to slip a nut into one of the puddings and let me take the blame.”
“But…but I didn’t!” she exclaimed, one hand coming to her mouth. “I wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing.”
“Then would you care to explain what you were doing that night?” Sammy had a feeling she already knew, and she hated to embarrass the woman, but putting these people in the hot seat was going to be the best way to get the truth.
Carly hung her head. “I was very jealous that you had been asked to do the desserts. It was bound to be one of the biggest events of the season and very good for your business, but you already do so well. I know nothing about making Christmas puddings. I was just looking at them, trying to figure out how you made them, but…”
“Yes?” Sammy urged softly.
“I stole one,” she admitted glumly. “It was a terrible thing to do in any case, but especially at a Christmas fundraiser! But I thought I could figure out the recipe and start making them on my own. I was sure you had found out and that was why you showed up at my bakery, and then I felt even worse when you offered to help me.”
Sammy laid a hand on her shoulder. “If there’s anything you ever need, all you have to do is ask. Those puddings were a challenge, and I’d be happy to share the recipe later.”
The baker smiled up at her through her tears and nodded.
“That crosses one person off the list.” Sammy took several steps across the room, sliding past the Grandmas. “But it turns out that Ms. Anderson wasn’t the only one with a secret to hide. Mr. McLaughlin could have just as easily had something to do with Maureen’s death.”
The store manager’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” he asked. “I wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
“But Maureen knew that your specialty Christmas items had come from a sweatshop,” Sammy pointed out. “She made a big scene in your store and very likely cut into those precious holiday profits. That had to make you very angry.”
“It did,” Mr. McLaughlin admitted, “but I was more angry w
ith myself than with her. I was the one who had ordered that shipment of cheap clothing, only thinking about making money and not who might be hurt in the process. I should have looked into the clothing more before I ordered it.”
“So you weren’t so angry with Maureen that you strangled her at the fundraiser and threw her in the pool?”
“Absolutely not! In fact, I ended up donating the entire lot and taking a loss. The items had already been made, so there was no point in throwing them away, but at least this way someone gets some use out of them.”
Sammy smiled at him, glad that he had seen the error of his ways. She believed him when he said that he had nothing to do with Maureen’s death. He was a good man at heart. “I’m sure there will be quite a few people who will really appreciate that.”
Sheriff Jones cleared his throat and stepped forward. “With all due respect, Ms. Baker, I think that’s about enough. The police department is doing everything it can to find Mrs. Bradshaw’s killer.”
She smiled at him, grateful that he had not only remembered his role in this charade but that he was willing to carry it out. “Would you like to tell us about one of your main pieces of evidence?”
He tucked his thumbs into his belt. “As I’m sure everyone saw, there was a rather large set of wet boot prints that led away from the scene of the crime.”
“And about what size would you say they were?”
“About a thirteen or so,” he replied, “but I’m not sure what that has to do with any of this.”
Sammy nodded. “That’s a fairly large shoe size. It would take a tall man to wear a boot like that, someone like Andrew Herzog, perhaps?” She turned to the land developer.
He put his hand in the air, palms out. “Now, just hold on a second. I thought I was being brought here because of what I’ve done for Sunny Cove, not to get falsely accused of murder.”
“But you did have an argument with Maureen at the rec center fundraiser, and the two of you had been battling over the piece of property that the land sits on.”
Mr. Herzog gave her annoyed look. “Yes, that’s true, but I would never hurt a woman, and especially not an older woman like Maureen.”
“Then would you care to tell us what size shoe you wear?” Sammy asked.
He pressed his lips together so hard that the skin around them turned white. “Thirteen,” he finally answered.
“Well, there we have it. Matching shoe sizes, a motive, and he was even at the scene of the crime. What more could we need?” Sammy spread her hands in finality.
“Now wait just a minute!” Mr. Herzog was on his feet, towering over her. Sheriff Jones took a step forward, but Sammy wasn’t intimidated, not this time. “It’s true that Maureen and I didn’t get along very well, but I had come to that fundraiser so I could try to see her side of things. I had been complaining about the deal to my wife, and she convinced me that I should go to the rec center and try to understand why she wanted so badly to save it. I hardly even had a chance to look around before the old biddy picked a fight with me just because I was there. I can see why she did, and I can’t really blame her, but I left as soon as the argument was over.”
“Mr. Herzog, you can have a seat,” Sammy said calmly as she returned to the front of the room and addressed the crowd as a whole once again. “I suppose that just leaves us with two other pieces of evidence, one of which comes from Mrs. Linda Travelstead. Linda, would you care to tell us what you remember about the night of the fundraiser?”
“Quite a bit,” she replied proudly. “I may be up there in my years, but my old brain still works like a steel trap. But what stood out to me the most was the number of Santas who were there.”
“Oh,” Sammy replied. “I guess you’re talking about the waitstaff. It was a rather nice effect, don’t you think?”
Linda shook her head, her jewelry glittering. “No, I’m afraid it wasn’t. You see, there were seven Santas when we arrived, but only six later in the evening. I would know. I used to be an accountant, and it’s all about the numbers to me.”
“I see. And who knows more about being Santa than Santa himself?” Sammy pointed across the room, where the Santa from Gibb’s was slowly sidling toward a side exit.
He stopped in his tracks and shook his padded belly. “Ho ho ho! Now, now. We wouldn’t want to accuse Santa of being on the naughty list. I wasn’t even there that night.”
“But you’re the only other one in this room that could fill the boots that left those prints,” Sammy pointed out.
“Then perhaps you can explain why Maureen had this article about a master of disguise who had posed as a security guard and robbed the hotel in Oak Hills last year? The same hotel where she had been staying when she was robbed? The police never caught him, but they suspected that he pulled this scam on a regular basis to steal from his employers.” Sammy produced the wrinkled article from the pocket of her dress. With Viola’s help, she had found the original article in the library archives, one that hadn’t been nearly ruined by pool water and was much easier to read.
“There’s no proof that I was involved in either that crime or this one,” Santa objected, taking another cautious step toward the door.
Mr. McLaughlin was on his feet now, looking back and forth between Sammy and Santa. “Maureen had approached me just before the fundraiser,” he said in a trembling voice. “I thought at first she was just going to yell at me about the cheap clothing again, but instead she said she wanted to talk to me about issues with some of my temporary staff. She mentioned something about a newspaper clipping.”
“And that could also explain why Maureen was so upset about the waitstaff being dressed up like they were,” Sammy asserted. “She already suspected this man, and the red suits made her rather uncomfortable.”
Santa made a run for it. The police officers jumped to action, but the other guests at the party got to him first. Mr. Herzog easily blocked the door with his large frame. Viola and Agnes grabbed Santa’s toy sack and whipped it over his head, while Linda grabbed the back of his jacket and dug in her heels. The cops soon had him in their custody with shiny silver handcuffs slapped on his wrists.
“All right. Let’s take that beard off,” Sheriff Jones commanded.
One of the other officers removed the white fluff, revealing numerous scratches on his cheeks.
“What’s that all about?” Jones asked.
“It’s from wearing this silly beard all day every day,” the man protested. “It’s giving me a rash.”
“No way,” Agnes asserted, shaking a fist in the air at him. “I saw you the night of the fundraiser, looking all scraggly with your skinny legs and your big boots and bits of fluff stuck to your face. I thought you were homeless, and I was going to ask you to come in and enjoy the food with us. But by the time I got outside, you had run off into the night.”
Santa’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. You caught me. I was posing as the store Santa with a plan to rob the place once everyone went home. I’d been taking a little every night, and this was going to be my last shift. I didn’t expect Mr. McLaughlin to ask me to extend my shift by a couple of hours to come here, but I figured it wouldn’t matter since I wasn’t in costume.”
“And my assistant manager has just informed me that his locker is full of jewelry and electronics,” the store manager confirmed, sliding his cell phone back in his jacket pocket. “None of it was purchased.”
Sheriff Jones had fished the man’s wallet out of his pants pocket and was studying his driver’s license. “Darrell Burns, you’re under arrest for the murder of Maureen Bradshaw and for stealing goods from Gibb’s Department Store.”
10
Have a Merry Christmas
Viola’s house was one that befitted a former librarian. While she had a proper study lined with bookshelves, every room in the house seemed to have books in it. They were either on a shelf amidst knickknacks, stacked on a table, or proudly presented as a focal piece on the mantel. It was her turn to host the annu
al Radical Grandmas Christmas party, and Sammy had been invited to celebrate with them.
“I don’t know that I can keep up with you ladies!” she laughed as she slumped down onto the couch after a rousing game of charades. “Between the songs, the dancing, and the games, I don’t know where you get all your energy!”
“Straight from the good Lord himself,” Agnes assured her with a smile. “If it weren’t for our faith, we never would have made it through the trials and tribulations that made us who we are today. We might not have our husbands, and many of our families are far away, but we always have each other and Jesus.”
“You’re very lucky,” Sammy said with a smile.
“We think so, too,” Linda agreed. “And we’re also very lucky that we’ve had you come into our lives. As devastating as it was to lose Maureen, I really felt like I was alive again while we were tracking down her killer. You did most of the work, of course, but it was exhilarating nonetheless.”
“To be honest with you, I feel bad about deceiving some of those people. Granted, we did have the rest of the guests come in for the youth fundraiser at the police station, so that wasn’t a complete lie. And I really will refer some business to Carly. The cupcakes she brought were wonderful! But what about Mr. Herzog? He took all that time and trouble to plan out a new building for Just Like Grandma’s, and I know full well that we won’t be having him build it.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Agnes said with a laugh. “I happen to know that he’s been trying to sell that exact plan for the past year! He’s presented it to every restaurant and store that has even considered coming to his county. You didn’t waste any of his time, dear.”
Sammy felt a certain sense of peace in knowing this. Maureen’s killer had been found, the stolen goods from Gibb’s had been returned, Carly had improved her business, Mr. McLaughlin had learned a good lesson, and the most recent news they had received was that the Sunny Cove Recreation Center would be remodeled and kept open. “I’m so glad to hear that.”