This would have to make do for the moment.
Following the sheriff into the front lobby, a hallway with a straight staircase going up to the second-floor landing and a small desk built into the floor, they paused and rang the bell.
“Just a minute. I’ll be out in a second,” a voice rang from the back room. A minute later, an older woman who looked like she must be in her nineties emerged from the door at the end of the hall, just under the balcony.
“Hello, Mrs. Tate.”
“Why, Sheriff. What are you doing here tonight?”
“I need the Henderson Suite for this nice lady.”
The woman raised an eyebrow and smiled. “And who is this special lady?” she teased.
“This is purely police business. Now, if you please.”
She shook her head. “Oh, poo. You’re never any fun.” She turned her back to them as she went through a series of little wooden boxes that were nailed to the wall until she came out with a brass key. “Here ya are, darling. I assume you can show her the way.”
“That I can,” he confirmed, guiding Margo up the stairway and to the left. Reaching the large hard wood door, he slipped in the key and stepped inside. The room was small, with a queen-sized bed on one side, a sitting area with a table and two chairs, and a door into what was presumably the bathroom. A large armoire held an old clunker of a television.
However, a Christmas tree sat atop the table with its lights glowing, and a string of lights ran along the window as well.
The room was chilly, maybe not heated at all by the feel of it.
Almost as if reading her mind, the sheriff walked over and turned a knob near the fireplace. The gas came on with a pop, lighting up the room with its orange glow. “Now, once my deputy gets here with your daughter, I’ll be off to do some necessary digging. If you look across the town square here, you can see my office above town hall. I’ll be in and out of there.” He moved over to an old radiator that Margo had missed upon her first inspection. With a twist of his wrist, he turned it on. It made the familiar hissing noise, followed by the clicking of the metal expanding. “One of my deputies will be positioned outside your door at all times, just in case.”
“Great,” she responded, a little too sarcastically. If she didn’t know better, it felt like she was the one being held on suspicion of murder.
“I’ll probably be back in the next few days to ask some follow up questions.”
“A few days? But it’ll be Christmas in a few days.”
“I’m aware of that. I don’t want to be digging around in murder during the holidays any more than you want to be here in this room, but we don’t exactly got a choice, now do we?”
Margo wanted to argue, but refrained. “You will be contacting the Culver’s Hood police, correct?” she asked, a hint of begging in her voice. In her opinion, the city’s police would be her only hope of getting her out of this situation. Holed up in some boarding house, under some makeshift police protection, was hardly a way to spend the Christmas holiday.
Not to mention, her mind was reeling with the possibilities of who of her employees could possibly be a murderer.
She didn’t like the answers she was coming up with.
All her dreams of a quiet and comfortable holiday were crumbling around her into dust.
7
Saturday, December 23rd – 2 Shopping Days Until Christmas
After her daughter arrived that night, they’d flipped through the channels (only local broadcasts were available) and found a rerun of an old Christmas episode of a western television show. Margo had refrained from talking about the murder at all, not wanting to upset her daughter who was clearly disturbed by the ordeal. Between the growing warmth of the fire, the quiet hum of the TV, and the pure exhaustion they both felt from the day, they were quickly asleep.
It was at about five in the morning when Margo found herself sitting up and awake in bed. All the horrors from the night before came flooding back and she was inundated with thoughts of who the killer could possibly be.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, even if she wanted to, she slid out from under the covers and sat in one of the chairs.
Maybe if she just made out a list of all her thoughts, it would help declutter her mind and lower her current stress levels. Opening the little drawer on the table, she found a notepad with the boarding house’s name on it, as well as a pen. Pulling them both out, she instantly got to work.
Who were the most likely people on her employee roster who would have a reason, any reason, to commit theft or murder? Scribbling out names one at a time, Margo carefully considered each option, feeling insane for doing so.
These people were some of her most trusted friends. It was nearly impossible for her to imagine any hidden ill intentions.
Sighing, she decided to take a different approach to this whole thing. Maybe just stick with facts, rather than wildly speculating and driving herself mad.
Margo had seen Henrietta on Thursday the twenty-first. They’d worked the closing shift together at the shop and then had had dinner. They’d sat around for a few hours discussing the sales of the newest Christmas Peppers—a blend of jalapenos and greens peppers that were brined in a sugar and cinnamon candy sauce. There were blazing hot but deliciously sweet all at the same time. The new product had been a hit, but it had also been one of the items stolen from the factory according to the readout.
Afterwards, Margo had even dropped her friend off at home that evening, since Henrietta had one too many cocktails at the restaurant.
So, Margo deduced that her friend couldn’t have found herself at the cabin anytime that night. It was probably sometime in the morning or afternoon of Friday the twenty-third—yesterday—that Henrietta was murdered.
But why was she at the cabin? Margo’s private cabin? Despite being friends, she’d never been out to the cabin. In any case, Margo would have to worry about those little details later.
For now, she needed to consider any of her employees who weren’t at the shop or factory for some or all the previous day.
Sandra hadn’t arrived until the afternoon that day, but Margo refused up and down to even consider her own daughter as a possible suspect.
Who else could it have been? Margo had a few other people she’d hired to work in the shop during various shifts, but most of them were high schoolers. Most likely, they weren’t forward thinking enough, or invested enough, to plan a whole murder. She scribbled out their names. They were off the list.
Next, she considered the factory workers, the men who ran the whole operation. They were all much closer to Margo’s office—and the keys. They were also closer to large quantities of the product if they wanted to slowly steal the items one by one.
However, every single one of her factory workers had put in a full shift the day before, some of them even doing overtime to get a little extra cash for the holidays. However, they were all there the day before, weren’t they?
Then Margo remembered. Pete Hoorish, their delivery man, hadn’t come in at all. He’d called in sick. Could he be the one behind this all? Had he taken the day off so he could hide out in the cabin, just waiting around to pop someone off?
Pete was a quiet guy. He was always sort of on the outside of the factory’s social circle. It was partially a result of his being gone most of the time making deliveries.
Then Margo gasped.
“Of course. Diego,” she whispered. Her foreman had been away from the factory for most of the day making the deliveries in place of Peter. Also, Diego would have the easiest time swiping product and selling it for a profit.
She shook her head. It had to be one of those two men.
“But why?” she wondered aloud.
“Mom?” came the voice from the bed. Sandra slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Morning, sweetie.”
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m just trying to write some things down while I remember them.”
Sliding up to the head of the bed so she could lean against the headrest, Sandra folded her arms. “Do you think we’re being kept here because the sheriff thinks one of us could be the killer?” she came right out and asked.
“Seems like you’re over your initial shock, hon,” Margo pointed out.
“Doesn’t feel like it. I’m just awake enough to actually think about everything that happened last night, now.”
“I understand.”
“So, do you?” she pressed the subject.
“Honestly, I don’t know. He says it’s for our protection, but he could very easily just be using it as an underhanded tactic to keep us under wraps until he can dig up clues.”
“But it wasn’t one of us, Mom.”
“I know that, sweetie,” she replied, ripping off the sheet of paper from the pad and stuffing it into her pocket—the same jeans she’d worn the day before. Standing up, she walked over to the coat rack. “That’s why I’m going to do a little digging on my own.”
“You’re leaving?”
“If I can get past that guard in the hallway, I am. I’m not just going to sit around here while some killer is running around.”
“I’m coming with you then.”
“No, you’re not,” she ordered, pointing a finger for her daughter to stay still.
“Why not?”
“It’ll be hard enough as it is for me to sneak out of here. We can’t both do it. Besides, I don’t want you getting in trouble with the police.” She pulled her coat off the hook and slipped it on. Getting her scarf tied around her neck, she fitted her hat upon her head. “I’m going to at least try and get in contact with the homicide division of the Culver’s Hood police. I trust them to figure this out more than this sheriff.”
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” she asked, hugging the pillow to her chest.
Margo paused, her hand on the doorknob. “No, I don’t.” With that, she cracked the door open and peeked out into the hallway.
8
Much to Margo’s surprise, the young deputy outside the door had fallen asleep. He’d been there since late the night before, and he was probably exhausted. He looked almost cute cuddled up against the floral wallpaper for support—sort of like a child.
Now, all she needed to do was walk past him and down the stairs without waking him from his slumber. Tiptoeing out the door, she shut it behind herself with only the slightest tap of the lock going into place.
The deputy stirred slightly, but thankfully didn’t wake.
Trying not to breathe too loudly, she moved past him to the stairway where she made her way down into the tiny lobby. Now, all she needed to do was locate a telephone and call herself a cab to drive her back to the city, or at least to the cabin to pick up her own car. The sheriff had taken her cellphone as a “precaution,” he’d said.
More and more, she was wondering if Sandra’s question was a valid one. Perhaps they were really trying to pin this murder on them. And why not? After all, it was her cabin. Who else would have easy access to just waltz in, grab a gun, and shoot someone?
She hadn’t done any of that, of course, but she could see why the sheriff was taking these measures to keep them in one place. By law, she knew, they could easily just refuse the protection.
There was nothing that said they had to stay there, so she didn’t feel like she was breaking any laws by sneaking out this way.
If that was the case, why did she feel so sneaky for doing this?
“Why, young lady, where are you going?” came the voice from the end of the hall.
Margo froze in place, stiff as a board. Turning her head slightly, she spotted the old woman who owned the boarding house standing there.
“I’m just about to set out breakfast for this morning. Cinnamon waffles, scrambled eggs, candied bacon, and some good hot coffee. I always serve at six-o’-clock sharp.”
Margo glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was ten to six. “Oh, yes, I see that. However, I have an appointment in the city this morning that I have to be at.”
“Oh? That’s too bad. You’d love my candied bacon.”
“I’m sure I would.” She waved and started heading for the door, sure she could find a phone somewhere else.
“Hey, wait a minute.”
She froze again, sighing. If this woman went on talking, she was sure to wake up that deputy. She didn’t want to have a conversation about what she was doing with him, and definitely didn’t want to have to face the sheriff.
“Does the sheriff know you’re leaving?” she asked, shaking a finger at Margo.
“Yeah, he knows,” she lied, hoping it would buy her some time.
She nodded. “In that case, I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure,” she beamed.
Margo let out a little sigh of relief. It seemed the sheriff had neglected to share any details about the murder case with the old woman. As far as she knew, the sheriff’s guests were nothing more than that—guests.
She intended to keep it that way. “See, ya,” she called again, turning to exit. Then she paused, remembering looking out the window the night before as the sheriff pointed out his office, which was directly across the street.
Turning back to face Mrs. Tate, she put on her best saleswoman smile. “Actually, do you have a back door?”
The whole town was a silent winter wonderland. The snowing had stopped, leaving at least a foot of white fluff over everything. Not a soul appeared to be out on the streets yet, so Margo attempted to be as sneaky as possible, only walking along the back streets.
It only took a few minutes to locate a little greasy spoon café tucked away on a side street of the tiny town. A cheap string of garland and some lights, that looked like they had been sitting in a box since the seventies, decorated the window. Additionally, all the tables had mini Christmas trees on them. Somehow, it made the place feel quainter and more inviting.
There was a phone tucked away in a nook near the service counter, which looked almost as equally aged as the Christmas decorations. A large bound copy of the yellow pages sat on a shelf nearby. Grabbing the book, which had collected a good amount of dust from disuse, she blew off the dregs and opened it. Soon, she found the Culver’s Hood cab service’s number.
Dropping a few quarters from her purse in the phone, she dialed out.
She knew this was going to probably cost her a pretty penny, but it would be worth it to figure out what exactly was going on.
After ordering her taxi (it would be at least a thirty-minute wait for them to arrive) she took a seat in the corner booth, farthest back from the front windows and door. It was strangely cozy, and a little exciting, snuggled up like that. In a way, it felt like being a child on Christmas morning, waiting for everyone else in the house to wake up.
Only this time, she was waiting for a cab to arrive so she could investigate a murder related to her employees. That sort of took some of the warm fuzzies out of the situation.
“Can I get you something to eat, hon?” The waitress in a pink dress and cream apron drawled, chewing on a piece of gum.
“Oh, sure. Start me off with a cup of coffee.” She noticed the menu, a single sheet of paper, leaning against the Christmas tree on the table. Picking it up, she showed it to the waitress. “I’ll just glance over this while you grab the coffee.”
“Sure, thing,” the woman said, heading off behind the counter.
Feeling starved after hearing Mrs. Tate go on and on about candied bacon and waffles, Margo decided to order a full-sized breakfast plate (which contained bacon, sausage, eggs, and a waffle) while she waited for her cab to arrive.
Devouring her meal, and being pleasantly surprised by the quality, the only thing she wished for was a bottle of her favorite habanero sauce to top it off with. She’d just have to go without this time, she decided.
Just as she was paying her tab, and finishing off her third cup of black joe, she spotted the white and black checkered cab pull up outside.
“That’s me,” she told the waitress, leaving a tip on the table.
Heading outside into the bitterly cold morning, she got into the back of the taxi and asked to be taken to the Spicy Senora factory in Culver’s Hood.
“I know the place,” the driver confirmed, shifting the car into the drive and heading down Main Street and out of town. She kept her eyes peeled for the sheriff or any of his deputies, planning to slide down in her seat so not to be seen.
However, she didn’t have to resort to any such tactics as they left the town behind.
Spicy Christmas Murder Page 4