“Trisha?” I asked in a surprised gasp. “What are you doing here?”
She looked frantically around before hurrying over to me. “Do you mind if we talk inside? It’s cold, and well . . .”
I nodded and led the way to my front door. “I’m surprised to see you here,” I said. “You vanished during practice yesterday and I thought . . .” My hands shook as I tried to get the key into the lock. I quit talking so I could not only focus, but try to decide what it was I did think about her flight from the theatre after Chuck’s murder.
Trisha stood so close behind me, I could feel her body heat. It was mildly uncomfortable and made it that much harder for my frozen fingers to maneuver the key into the lock. Eventually, I got it and pushed my way inside, gently using my foot to scoot Misfit away from the door. Trisha followed me in without a word, and deep down, the paranoid part of me started screaming that she could very well be the killer, come to finish me off, just like she did Santa.
I squashed the little voice as I closed the door, shutting out the cold. I turned to find her with her hood pushed back, staring at me, panicked.
“He didn’t do it,” she said, practically pleading. “He couldn’t have. I know him. Robert would never do such a thing.” Her words came out rapid-fire, very near hysterical.
“Coffee?” I asked, moving to the kitchen to put a pot on for myself. “I always find it calming.” I smiled at her in the hopes it would cause her to relax. She looked just about ready to blow.
Trisha nodded vigorously before moving to sit on the stool where Robert had sat last night. She didn’t say anything more right away, choosing instead to pull off her gloves and worry at her fingers, which were red from the cold.
I kept myself busy getting the coffee ready, mugs down, sugar out. I wanted Trisha to have time to calm down. I wasn’t sure why she’d come to me, but was willing to let her talk through it. Maybe it would help me set my own mind at ease about Robert, though it’s never a comfortable feeling to be alone with your ex’s current girlfriend.
The coffee finished percolating. I filled two mugs, carried them to the island counter, before grabbing the sugar and cream. Sadly, I was out of cookies—a travesty during Christmastime—and was relegated to doctoring my coffee like everyone else.
Trisha thanked me and sipped her coffee black. She visibly relaxed and gave me a shy smile. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I worked myself up while I waited for you to get home and lost my head a bit there.”
“That’s okay,” I said, taking a sip of my own coffee with a grimace. It just wasn’t the same.
“Robert told me to come to you if something were to happen to him. He knew they’d blame him for Chuck’s death.” Her jaw clenched for an instant before releasing. “He said you would be able to help.”
“I’m not sure how,” I said. “Robert stopped by last night before he was . . .” I reddened since I was the reason he was currently sitting in jail. “The police will work things out,” I finished, lamely.
“That’s the thing,” Trisha said. “He’s positive they won’t. They’ll claim they have evidence against him, and he’s pretty sure it’ll be hard to shake on his own.”
“He was seen fleeing the scene,” I said, blushing again since I’d been the one to see him running away and had tattled on him. “And there was a bloody print next to the body that matched his shoe size.”
“I know.” Trisha leaned toward me, eyes pleading. “That’s why we need your help. You’re the only one he trusts to get to the truth.”
Flattered as I was—not to mention, surprised—I didn’t see how I could help him. Robert not only fled the scene and left a bloody footprint, he’d also fought with the victim mere minutes before the murder. It was all circumstantial, sure, but without any other evidence, it might be enough to convict him.
But I couldn’t turn Trisha away without hearing her out. As much as Robert annoyed me, we did have a history. I didn’t want him to be guilty.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Trisha breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. “He was with me when it happened,” she said. “I know no one will believe me since I’m his girlfriend.” She glanced at me then, as if checking to see how I’d react to the declaration. I merely nodded at her to go on. “But it’s the truth. We were together, so there was no way he could have killed Chuck.”
“Was it his footprint?” I asked. “I saw him leave without his elf shoes. Everyone else still had theirs on.”
“It was.” Trisha frowned, and then shuddered. “After the fight with Chuck, we found a quiet corner to calm down together. Robert was still angry and no matter what I said, I couldn’t get through to him. He said he needed to say one more thing before he could practice that night, so we went to find Chuck.” She paused, swallowed. “He was dead when we got there. Robert ran over to check his pulse and . . .”
“And he stepped in the blood,” I finished for her.
She nodded. “He kind of freaked out then. He took off the shoes and told me to go, that we needed to get out of there. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know he wasn’t either. I went to the car and started it. He came out a few minutes later and we left. I don’t know what he did with his shoes.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I asked. As much as I wanted to believe her story, it seemed strange she wouldn’t have at least called the cops or yelled for help when they’d found Chuck.
“I was scared. Robert was saying they’d blame him right from the start. He watches CSI all the time. He said we needed to lay low for a little while because you’d figure things out and would clear his name. I wanted to call someone, I really did, but since Chuck was already dead . . .” She shrugged. “It wasn’t like there was anything anyone could do to save him.”
“If you were laying low, then why did Robert come here last night?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He didn’t think we should hide together.” She made a face like she thought the idea of hiding at all disgusted her. “I was at home, waiting for someone to come knocking on my door, when I heard he’d been arrested. I knew I’d have to come see you.”
She stood suddenly, like she just realized she’d left the stove on at home. “Please help him,” she said. “He didn’t kill Chuck.” A pair of tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t catch the real killer and end up putting Robert away forever.”
I took a long drink of my coffee to give myself a moment to think. While I wanted to believe Trisha, she was Robert’s new fling. She could be lying to protect him. Chuck had been pretty rude to her, and their argument had centered around her.
But even I had my doubts about Robert’s guilt. Didn’t he deserve a fair shake? Just because he was often a jerk, didn’t mean he was guilty.
I set down my coffee mug, resigned.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll look into it.”
Trisha squealed, her misery forgotten. She hurried around the edge of the counter and wrapped me in a hug. “Thank you so much.” She pulled away, wiped at her eyes. “I promise we won’t forget this.” She snatched up her gloves and hurried to the door, presumably to tell Robert the good news.
I slumped onto a stool and thumped my head down onto the counter. I was pretty sure she was right when she said neither of them would forget it. I was just hoping that by the time it was all said and done, I wouldn’t be regretting it.
8
It’s one thing to say you are going to do a thing, and another to actually do it. After Trisha left, I didn’t immediately jump to looking into Chuck’s murder. I had no idea where to start, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure I should be sticking my nose into it. I was too close to this one, and had once had a personal relationship with the accused killer. Even if I did find evidence that Robert was innocent, there would be quite a lot of people who would wonder if I was supporting him because of our past.
Then again, if I found him guilty, there’d be just as many people won
dering if I’d planted evidence to convict him. I’m not sure there was any way I could do this without looking bad.
Besides, it wasn’t like I knew everyone involved at the theatre. I still thought of the murdered man as Santa half the time. I couldn’t simply waltz up to the cast on the streets and start asking questions. I imagine most of them had no idea who I was and wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion.
And then there was the police. If anyone would hate my involvement, it would be officers Paul Dalton and John Buchannan.
I was so screwed.
I spent the rest of the day puttering around the house, watching Christmas specials and baking cookies. It felt good not to have to worry about anything for a few hours. Even Misfit behaved himself, choosing to nap under the tree, rather than in it.
I was just settling in to watch Home Alone with a hot mug of cookie doctored coffee when there was yet another knock at my door.
“Getting popular,” I muttered, rising from where I’d just sat down. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so many visitors in such a short span. Usually, my house was populated by me and my cat with a guest stopping by once a week or so. I was normally the one who went out to visit others.
I opened the door and was surprised to see Jane Winthrow shivering on my stoop.
“Hi, Krissy,” she said, rubbing her hands together. She wasn’t wearing gloves. “I noticed you were home this evening and thought you might like to have that sit down we’d talked about.”
“Tonight?”
“If you’re free.” She glanced past me, toward the TV. “If you’re busy, we can always do it another night.”
“No, tonight would be great.” I wasn’t sure how much I’d enjoy having a chat with Eleanor Winthrow and her daughter, but it had to be more interesting than watching a movie I’d seen at least a dozen times before. “Give me a minute to grab my coat and lock up.”
Jane smiled. “Take your time. I’ll head back over and tell Mom the good news. Come right in when you’re done here. There’s no need to knock.”
“Will do.”
Jane gave me a thumbs up and then turned to head back to her mother’s house.
I closed the door to the cold and took a big drink of my coffee. It was still on the hot side, but I refused to let it go to waste.
“No movie tonight,” I told Misfit as I rinsed out the mug. He had yet to move from beneath the tree and had barely lifted his head when I’d opened the door. I guess the cold was getting to him, too.
I shut off the TV, threw on something that didn’t have smears of chocolate and batter on it, followed by my coat, and then headed out for dinner with the Winthrows.
It had grown steadily colder as the day progressed, and when the sun went down, it only got worse. The sky was darker than it should have been, thanks to heavy cloud cover, but at least there was no snow yet. It sure felt like it would be starting up soon, however.
I felt strange just walking into Eleanor’s house, despite the invitation to do just that, so I knocked on the door before pushing it open and calling out, “It’s just me!” to let them know I wasn’t a burglar or anything.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Jane called as I closed the door and took a quick look around.
Eleanor’s house was small, and felt even more so from the inside. A blue armchair that looked to have been made in the ’70s sat by the window, turned so she could easily see outside. A folding TV tray stood beside that, stacked with at least twenty newspapers. Eleanor’s binoculars sat on the arm of the chair. The TV was one of those old box sets that needed rabbit ears to work. More newspapers sat stacked atop it. The orange shag carpet was dirty and faded in a path leading from the kitchen, to the chair, the door, and then down the hall, toward the bedrooms. It was brighter along the edges, as if something had been stacked there, but had recently been removed.
As I moved to the kitchen, I glanced down the hall. There were only three doors that way. The first on the right looked to be the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of stacks upon stacks of newspapers in the room on the left. There had to be hundreds of them.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Jane said, meeting me just outside the kitchen. “Mom’s a little uptight this evening, so don’t take anything she says personally.”
“I won’t.” Eleanor had never liked me much, not that she ever truly got to know me. Most of what she knew came from watching my house constantly. I’m sure she meant well when she called the cops on me all those times. I suppose I could see how she could misinterpret a lot of what goes on at my house. Maybe sitting down with her and hashing things out would put an end to all those misunderstandings.
Jane gave me a reassuring smile as she led the way into the eat-in kitchen. The appliances all looked to have come from sometime before Nixon was president, as did the old flower print wallpaper on the walls. Eleanor was seated at a table covered in a ragged tablecloth, scowling at me like I’d forced my way in.
“Hi, Eleanor,” I said, hoping to break the ice by calling her by her first name. “It’s good to see you.”
She harrumphed and glared at her daughter.
“Please, sit,” Jane said, playing the part of the hostess. “Meatloaf okay? It’s all I could convince Mom to eat.”
“Meatloaf’s fine.” I sat. The chair was rickety and an ugly yellow color.
Jane went about getting the food ready, so I focused on Eleanor. She looked older than when I’d last seen her, as if having her daughter around had aged her a decade. I guess having someone fuss over you could have that effect if you were used to living on your own. I knew Eleanor’s husband had died of an aneurysm some years ago, though I’d never learned his name, or even how long ago he’d passed. She could have been living on her own for the last twenty years.
Jane served the meatloaf with a side of lumpy mashed potatoes. She sat to my left, watching both her mother and I, as if waiting to see which of us would snap first. Eleanor sat across from me, doing her best to look as if we’d conspired against her.
I guess, in a way, we had.
After a long, silent few moments, Jane asked, “Mom, do you have anything to say to Krissy?”
Eleanor snorted. “The neighborhood was nicer when she wasn’t around.”
“Mom!” Jane looked to me. “I’m sorry about that. She’s angry with me and is taking it out on you.”
“It’s fine.” And it was. Eleanor felt trapped, and was lashing out. I’d have done the same thing if it was me.
“No, it’s not.” Jane turned back to her mother. “Tell her what we discussed.”
Eleanor huffed, before looking down at her liver-spotted hands. “I shouldn’t be so nosy all the time.”
“And?”
Eleanor responded by shoving a heaping helping of mashed potatoes into her mouth.
“This isn’t necessary,” I said, feeling awkward. It was obvious there were issues between mother and daughter, and I’d somehow been dragged into it.
Jane sighed. “I know, but I thought it might help if you two got along better. Mom has been . . .” She frowned. “She’s been having a tough time as of late. She’s always collected newspapers, but used to keep them in order. She was proud of them, treated them like relics. I’m sure you saw some of them when you came in.”
I nodded. “She has quite the collection.”
“They were stacked halfway up the wall when I showed up,” Jane went on, disapprovingly. “I’ve spent nearly every last waking moment here trying to tidy up. It’s as if she stopped caring.” She bit her lip, went on. “I’m starting to get worried.”
“I’m fine,” Eleanor grouched. “And I’m sitting right here, you know?”
“She doesn’t get out anymore,” Jane said, patting her mom’s hand. “Her hip has been bothering her more and more as she gets older. I keep telling her it’s because she sits in that chair all day, watching the neighborhood. She needs to exercise, needs to spend more time with friends.”
Come to think of it, I
couldn’t remember the last time I saw Eleanor away from her property. It had to be lonely sitting around the house, without anyone to talk to, day in and day out. No wonder she was always peeping through my window with her binoculars. Seeing her TV, it was likely I was the only source of entertainment she had left.
“What about Judith Banyon?” I asked, focusing on Eleanor.
She shrugged. “She’s too busy for the likes of me these days.” She looked down at her plate, jaw working before going on. “Only calls once every two weeks or so anymore. Usually to complain about something. Doesn’t care about me.”
“It’s why I keep saying you need to get out more,” Jane said, before turning to me. “I was going to take her to a Christmas play, but I heard on the news one of the actors was killed and she refuses to go.”
“Yeah, I was there.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible. I heard they caught the man who did it, but that doesn’t make it any better, does it?”
“No,” I said, glad it didn’t appear she’d put two and two together and realized that was why the police were at my house last night. “We’re still going to try to have the play. I think they’re casting a new Santa, so if you want to come, you’re welcome to.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re not considering Randy Winter again.”
Her comment caught me by surprise. Apparently, Eleanor wasn’t as sheltered as it appeared. “Why’s that?” I asked, though I had a pretty good idea why. No one wanted Santa to be a slurring drunk.
A fire lit in Eleanor’s eye as she leaned forward. It was the same sort of look Rita got when she was about to reveal a juicy piece of gossip.
“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had a role in that man’s death,” she said. “He’s a no good scoundrel who will ruin the sanctity of Christmas if allowed to portray one of its icons.”
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