How the Finch Stole Christmas

by J. R. Ripley

  I drove downtown and turned down the long, narrow alley that led behind Christmas House Village. The alleyway served as the delivery entrance.

  I pulled up directly behind Elf House. To my surprise, Max was coming down the back steps. I cut the engine and went around to the back of the van.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t park here,” he said. “It’s for employees and—” He stopped and smiled sheepishly. “Oh, it’s you. You’re the bird lady, right?”

  I smiled back. “I’ve been called worse.” I yanked open the back door of the minivan. “I’m dropping off some merchandise. I’ve got the first box of birdseed ornaments for Christmas House Village.”

  I reached inside and dragged the box closer. “I thought I’d show it to Ms. Dunnellon for her approval.” I lifted the cardboard box and held it against my chest.

  He pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “I’m afraid she isn’t here. She was in late last night. We had some trouble. Don’t spread it around, but a customer practically got herself killed when a stack of firewood gave way.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the guard. Was he trying to tell me something? “I know. I was here last evening.”

  “Oh?” I couldn’t tell if he was playing dumb or really hadn’t seen me.

  I nodded. “In fact, I was the one who got hurt.” I set the box back down in the rear of the van. “Sort of.” My feet still hurt from the firewood running over them, and my hands ached from rubbing along the cobblestones.

  “Sorry to hear that.” I couldn’t tell from his tone of voice whether he’d meant it or not.

  I reached for the box once again. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just run these upstairs to Ms. Dunnellon’s office.”

  Max placed his hand atop the box. “I’ll handle it for you.”

  I looked at him a moment, unsure what to say, but I was getting the feeling I didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Thanks,” I said after a beat. “You’ll be sure that she gets these?”

  “You can count on it.”

  I handed Max the box. “So,” I began as nonchalantly as possible as I shut the rear door to the van, “any rumors on what will happen with Christmas House Village next?”

  Max balanced the box in his arms. “How do you mean?”

  “Have you heard anything about it being sold again?”

  Max eyed me with unhidden suspicion. “What makes you ask that?”

  I struggled for a reasonable response. “Well, as a business owner with a relationship with Christmas House Village, I’m hoping that everything continues to run smoothly.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” His frown deepened.

  “No reason,” I said quickly. “In fact, last night Christmas House Village was as busy as anytime I’ve ever seen. That’s a good sign, right?” I smiled at him.

  “Yeah.” He looked back at the house. “I’ll get this inside.”

  I touched his sleeve. “Before you go, I was wondering if you know Bobby Cherry.”

  “Nope, never heard of him.”

  “That’s funny, he works here, at least he did until fairly recently. And from what I’ve heard about the young man, I would think that you of all people would know him.”

  Max pinched his brows together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You are a security guard. I’ve heard from several sources that he was something of a troublemaker.” The two of them appeared to be close in age, too.

  “Like you?” He smirked. “There are a lot of people working here. Plenty of them seem like troublemakers, if you ask me.”

  “What about Mr. Finch? Did you consider him a troublemaker?”

  “I’m not saying anything about a dead man.”

  “Were you working the night he was killed?”

  “Nope. I was on the day shift.”

  “Oh? I was sure I saw you.”

  “My stepsister was here working that night. I came by to give her a ride home. That’s when I saw the police and stuff.”

  “And you didn’t think to come see what was going on?”

  “I asked the cop on the porch. He told me to stay clear.” Max didn’t sound like he’d been happy about that though. “She never said anything about hearing anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Wait. Your stepsister works at Christmas House Village, too?”

  “Yeah. You met her.”

  “I did?”

  “You were the lady that got tangled up in the firewood?”

  I nodded.

  “My stepsister told me she was the one who went outside to see if you were okay.”

  My eyes grew wide. “That was your stepsister?”

  “Lizzie Poulshot.”

  “I see.” And maybe I did see—more than Max realized he’d given away. Was that what had happened? Were brother and stepsister in collusion? Had he waited outside, hoping for my arrival, and then his stepsister gave him the word and he broke the wood support holding back the firewood?

  Had he been trying to kill me or merely intimidate me?

  “It’s possible that Mr. Finch was strangled elsewhere and then his body was brought back to Elf House, where it was staged to look like he had hanged himself.”

  Max snorted. “Yeah, and it’s possible that Santa Claus is going to come down one of these chimneys.”

  “What were you doing at Ruby’s Diner the night that Mr. Finch was killed?”

  “Eating dinner.”

  “Mr. Finch didn’t mind you consorting with the very same employees who had been demonstrating against him?”

  Max smiled, showing his teeth. “I don’t hear him complaining, do you?”

  I shivered. I was alone in the alley with a possible murderer. It was time to get in the van and drive away. “Thanks for your help.”

  I hopped back inside and locked the door behind me. Max watched me from the back step of Elf House, cardboard box in hand, as I rumbled farther up the alley and rounded the corner with the intent of following the alley the long way around and coming out on the other end of Lake Shore Drive.

  I kept an eye on the rearview mirror in case he tried to follow me.

  Around the bend, I was forced to stop. A pickup truck pulling a trailer covered with yard maintenance equipment was blocking the way. A large shed with double doors hanging open took up the remaining width. The sign over the shed read: Santa’s Reindeer Barn.

  There was a lone man inside. He wore green pants and a green army jacket. A beanie was pulled down over his ears.

  He must have heard my approach because he stepped out of the shed, a long plank in his left hand. He held up his finger to indicate that he’d only be a minute.

  I rolled down my window. “No problem. Take your time.”

  Ignoring my assurance that I was in no hurry, the man tossed the plank next to a couple of others in the trailer, then sauntered over to me.

  “Are you looking for something, miss?” His name badge identified him as Tito. While, like everyone else, he was supposed to be from the North Pole, his accent was all Latin America.

  “No. I was dropping off some merchandise.”

  “Okay, I’ll be out of your way in a minute. I needed to pick up some lumber. I need only to grab the hammer and nails.”

  “Are you the maintenance man?”

  “Not usually.” His breath came out in clouds. The day was getting colder rather than warmer. “I do the landscape. But a wood crib broke last night and the manager asked me to repair it.”

  I nodded and shut off the engine to save gas. I didn’t bother explaining my involvement in the matter.

  He sighed. “It’s always something around here. After Mr. Tyrone died and then Mrs. Johnson . . .”

  “Mr. Tyrone?”

  Tito smiled. “Tyrone Kinley. I called him Mr. Tyrone. Things started to fall apart.
” He held his thumb and forefinger within a hairsbreadth of each other. “Only a little at first, but it was getting worse. The Kinley kids lived far away.”

  “And then Franklin Finch bought the place.”

  “Yes.” Tito made the sign of the cross over his chest. “I was here the night he died.” He looked in the general direction of Elf House, whose gable was visible.

  “You were here working at night?”

  Tito nodded. “Mr. Finch asked me to replace a couple of the Christmas trees inside the houses. They were losing a lot of needles.”

  “Which houses would that be?”

  “Elf House and Santa’s House. Why?”

  “Elf House? The office?”

  Tito nodded.

  “Did you notice anything odd?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Sorry, no. The police have already asked me. I heard a noise in the alley. But it was only one of the cats. We’ve got a couple of black-and-white strays that like to go ratting back here.”

  “A cat? Are you sure?”

  “I saw it myself.”

  “I know this might sound strange, but in the short time that Mr. Finch was here, did you see or hear him arguing with anyone in particular? Was there somebody who wanted him dead?”

  The landscaper smiled at my question. “Nobody argued with Mr. Finch. Not if you wanted to keep your job.”

  I tried another tack. “What about the rope?”

  His brow furrowed. “Rope, miss?”

  “The rope that the killer used to hang him from the rafter tie. Did it come from Christmas House Village, you think?”

  “Ah.” He tilted his head back in understanding. “Come.” He turned and motioned for me to follow.

  I climbed down from the van and accompanied him to the big shed. He pulled a string attached to an overhead light, bringing the musty contents into sight. Inside was a veritable hodgepodge of yard and building supplies.

  The landscaper skirted between a stack of empty pallets and a trash bin to reach the far side of the shed. When he got to the wall, he frowned. “Hmm.”

  He did a slow turn and crossed to the other side of the shed. “Ah. Yes, see?” Tito laid his hand on a coil of rope hanging from a sturdy hook on the wall. “We have plenty of rope.”

  I moved closer. The rope did appear to be the same type of rope that I had seen knotted around Finch’s neck. Tito was right. There was plenty of it, too. Maybe fifty yards’ worth.

  Was this where the killer had gotten the rope used to hang Franklin Finch? If so, that fact pointed even more to the killer being a Christmas House Village insider. After all, who else would have known about a source of rope being out here in the shed?

  The nearest end of the rope had been cleanly cut. I ran my finger along the edge. Something still didn’t make sense. Kim said that when she entered the loft, the body of Franklin Finch was swaying. The police had determined that he’d been killed two hours earlier. Why was he swinging when she found him?

  I felt like I was missing something crucial and I didn’t have a clue what it might be.

  I turned and took careful inventory of the cluttered shed. The largest single object was the pine workbench against the back wall. Its top was about the size of a standard door. A heavy red vise was attached to one end. An electric power strip was screwed into the right side just under the tabletop.

  Various tools of the trade, from saws and screwdrivers to hammers and wrenches covered the pegboard fastened to the wall above the workbench. What fascinated me most was a pair of machetes that hung side by side above a jagged-toothed circular saw blade.

  “Okay?” Tito asked.

  I nodded and we stepped outside. I thanked the landscaper for his time and returned to my minivan as he latched the shed doors. I noticed there was no lock.

  I also noticed Max Poulshot looking down at me out of a second-story window of Reindeer House as I exited the alley.

  15

  Belzer Realty sits at the edge of town out past the Ruby Lake Motor Inn. It is the first structure that tourists see as they come into town, winding through the mountains from the interstate and then onto Lake Shore Drive. I was sure it was no coincidence. While Belzer’s wasn’t the only real estate agency in town, he wanted people to think of Belzer Realty first.

  Like many businesses, including mine, the building that was home to Belzer Realty had started out as a modest family dwelling. After its last owner passed away, the house sat vacant for a number of years until Ellery Belzer had purchased the property some thirty-odd years ago with the intent of operating his then fledgling real estate business from it.

  The sign out front had been repainted a number of times, as had the white clapboard-sided house itself, and a few trees had risen and fallen, but the tall sign at the road still read: Belzer Realty—Come Home to the Town of Ruby Lake, Where Every House Is a Jewel.

  Mr. Belzer was not one for brevity. It was a sign no one could miss, though we, the townspeople, often tried.

  The small two-story Colonial house sits on two acres of lightly wooded land. It is a prime piece of real estate, but Mr. Belzer has held on to it, without parceling it off or expanding. There was a quaint charm to the property that I found calm inducing. Even now, a fire burned in the hearth, as evidenced by the picturesque gray-white smoke trickling lethargically from the chimney and disappearing into the clear blue sky.

  I took pleasure in the sound of my tires crunching over the crushed quartz driveway that curved up the small incline to the house.

  Mr. Belzer’s gray sedan was parked near the front door. A light green minivan sat beside it.

  I parked close to the small, uncovered porch and climbed out. There was no reason to lock the van’s door out here, so I didn’t. If a squirrel or raccoon wanted to take the Kia for a joyride, so be it.

  I banged my boots against the front steps and pulled open the office door. I was immediately struck by the scent of pine and the soft and pleasing sounds of Christmas carols coming from the small black speakers hanging in two of the room’s upper corners.

  The front room, which had once been a living room, now served as the main office. The windows were filled with pictures of the properties currently on the market in the greater Ruby Lake area.

  Three identical wood desks occupied the front of the room, spaced perpendicularly along the main window. A silver-haired agent in a gray tweed blazer sat at the first of the three desks. With her were a man and woman with their backs to me. Ellery Belzer sat at his desk in the far corner, which faced the window.

  A stone fireplace, fire aglow, all but filled the far wall. Christmas stockings hung from the rustic wood mantel. A trio of brass reindeer sat in front of the hearth, as if gathered there for warmth. An immaculate Christmas tree stood to the right. The skirt around the tree was piled high and deep with gift-wrapped packages in all shapes and sizes.

  “Mr. Belzer.”

  The agent looked up from the papers before him as I stepped inside. “Amy,” he said with surprise. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.” I wiped my feet, popped open the top button of my wool coat, and crossed to his antique desk. “How are you, Mr. Belzer?”

  “Ellery, please.” The roundish man circled from behind his desk and gave me a bear hug.

  I pointed to the Christmas tree. “It looks like somebody’s going to have a nice Christmas. A very nice Christmas.”

  Mr. Belzer smiled as he looked at the presents. “It’s from our annual toy drive. Every year we host a party here for the less fortunate children.”

  “That’s really generous of you.”

  The real estate agent shrugged off my compliment. “I only do it because I get to dress up and play Santa Claus,” he said with a mischievous wink.

  He folded his hands over his round belly. “It’s the people of Ruby Lake who have been generous this year. As alwa
ys.”

  Mr. Belzer motioned for me to sit in one of the upholstered chairs facing his desk, then returned to his own leather chair. I settled into the seat nearest the fire, letting the dry heat seep into me.

  “I’m sorry. If I’d known about the toy drive, I would have brought something. I don’t remember Kim mentioning it to me.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” Ellery said. “As you can see, we’ve collected plenty. I expect every child will have a wonderful Christmas.”

  I nodded but made a mental note to pick up a couple of gifts from the toy store and send them over with Kim the next time she came to the realty office.

  “I heard about your accident last night, Amy. I’m happy to see you’re all right.”

  “You heard?” My hand went to my sore knees.

  “Small town.” He leaned closer. “I only hope it was an accident. There have been a number of unfortunate incidents at Christmas House Village.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Oh?”

  “Eve Dunnellon told me that Christmas House Village has been having trouble ever since Tyrone passed away and that it has only increased exponentially once Franklin Finch bought the place.”

  Ellery nodded. “I wouldn’t know firsthand, but I have no reason to doubt her. I warned Franklin myself that he would be facing opposition if he proposed too many changes. Folks around here like their Christmas House Village.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” I agreed. “The people of Ruby Lake do think of it as their Christmas House Village.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s a shame those same people didn’t back up their attitudes with their wallets.”

  “Are you saying Christmas House Village wasn’t making any money?”

  “Not like it used to. There’s a lot of competition, discount stores, the internet.”

  “I suppose.” Christmas House Village always looked so busy whenever I went in or passed by. “You think it was Christmas House Village employees who were behind all the incidents?”

  “I wouldn’t want to say anything negative about my fellow Ruby Lakers. But it is common knowledge that certain employees and other townspeople were unhappy with the situation.”