Mistletoe and Mayhem

by London Lovett

  I stood in front of the wall space where all my ribbon spools hung in a rainbow colored waterfall. I tapped my chin as I glanced from the bough to the wall of ribbon. "Blue and silver," I said, confidently.

  "What's that?" Ryder asked. He was at the potter's bench on the other side of the store arranging some floral bouquets in silver and gold vases.

  "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud about ribbon choice." I pulled out a strand of blue and a strand of silver ribbon from their respective spools. I snipped them off and held them up. "What do you think of this color combo for our kissing bough?"

  "I like it. Reminds me of winter."

  "That's what I think too." I turned to my work island and tied the ribbons around the top wire of the bough. As I worked, my mind drifted to the murder scene and more specifically the murder ribbon. I'd seen a similar ribbon or possibly even one just like it adorning the carolers' bonnets.

  Something big clicked in my mind, and I nearly rolled the kissing bough off the counter. One of the caroler's was named Ruxley. Was it just a coincidence? The woman's name was Charlene. I'd have to let Detective Briggs know immediately. And then, as if Briggs had been reading my mind, the phone rang.

  "Hello."

  "Miss Pinkerton, I've arranged for Tim Ruxley to ferry us out to his boat on his inflatable dinghy. Is this a good time for you?"

  "Absolutely. I'll get my coat and scarf and head right over. And, Detective Briggs, I forgot to mention, one of the carolers has the last name Ruxley."

  "Yes, I know. You already gave me that clue before the actual crime."

  I fell quiet as I tried to go back through the dozens of conversations I'd had with people in the past few days. It dawned on me just as he reminded me.

  "On Wednesday, we ran into each other and you were surprised to hear me say Ruxley because you had seen it on the carolers' list."

  "Yes, that's right. I don't know why it didn't occur to me this morning."

  "I spoke to Tim Ruxley about it. He seemed to be dodging the question some but then admitted that Charlene Ruxley was Chad Ruxley's ex-wife. Tim insisted he wanted to be the one to tell her about the murder. He is expecting my visit though. I've assured him it's just to get some further information. I'll wait for you here at the station. Then we can head out on our sea adventure."

  "I'm on my way."

  I didn't actually run to the police station, but I walked the two blocks at a very good clip. Detective Briggs stepped out as I reached the door.

  "That was fast," he said. "I'll fill you in some on the way to the beach. Tim Ruxley has offered to wait on shore with his inflatable boat to take us out to the sailing sloop. Just to warn you, the water is kind of choppy today."

  I patted my thick winter coat. "Waterproof and warm. Although my shoes and jeans, not so much."

  "I know what you mean. I keep meaning to buy some of that spray to waterproof my work shoes for this weather." We headed around the corner. "Nate finished the examination. He stands by his first theory that the murder took place around eleven last night. And as you so cleverly surmised, he was struck in the head first."

  "So when the murderer wrapped the ribbon around his neck to cut off his oxygen, there was no struggle. Maybe the person did that because they knew they weren't strong enough to fight him off otherwise. It seems that might be a check in the ex-wife column. Which brings me to the ribbon. I saw the carolers in full costume yesterday, and the women had ribbons on their bonnets that looked similar to the ribbon on the victim's neck."

  Briggs pulled out his notebook and wrote down the information as we climbed the steps to the wharf.

  The morning's grim discovery had cast a shadow over the festivities, and the marina was as quiet as a morgue. (No bad taste humor intended but sometimes it just works.)

  I gazed out at the water. "I'm surprised the boats have all stayed anchored at Pickford Beach. I expected them to turn around and head back to their home ports."

  "Apparently there was a brief meeting at the mayor's office this morning about the weekend's events. Tonight, the other boat owners are gathering on the beach for a small memorial for Mr. Ruxley, and they've agreed to keep the boats dark."

  We had to walk a wide berth around a massive group of gulls and pigeons who were thrilled to have their pier and their fish bits back, free of the people stampede.

  "So the light show is over?" I asked.

  "No holiday lights tonight. But tomorrow night they are back on. Port Danby is the last stop for the flotilla. Local news crews will be here Saturday to film the activities. The boat owners go to a great deal of trouble and expense for this. It seems they didn't want to miss out on their annual fifteen minutes of fame."

  Tim Ruxley, the victim's brother, had toned down his holiday attire, replacing his red Santa hat with a black cap and his reindeer sweater with a plain gray sweatshirt. Timothy had a nicer, less stern looking face than his brother. This afternoon, just hours after learning that his brother was dead, he had a somber but not altogether anguished expression.

  Several of the other boat owners were standing with him, hands deep in pockets and faces shielded by the cold with tall coat collars and parka hoods. There was a deep, serious quiet on the beach today, that was for sure. The other boat owners seemed to size up Detective Briggs, almost looking angry about his interference, as we reached the inflatable boat.

  One man wearing a fishing hat and a yellow rain slicker stuck around as the others dispersed. "If you're looking for the killer out here on this beach, none of us, not even Tim here, had a beef with Chad Ruxley. We've all been meeting once a year for this event for ten years and each and every one of us looks forward to the reunion. Chad was as good a guy as any. Even his brother here will tell you that."

  Detective Briggs, who never lost his cool, quietly listened to the man's somewhat pinch faced lecture. When the man was finished, my smooth as melted butter detective friend nodded politely.

  "I'm truly sorry about your friend, Chad Ruxley. I assure you I'm not out here looking for a killer. I'm out here looking for evidence, anything that might lead us to the person who strangled Mr. Ruxley. It's my job."

  "Of course," the man muttered something and was just about to walk away.

  "Uh, Mr.—" Briggs waited for the man to fill in the blank.

  "Mr. Collins," he said, now looking a little more put off than strident.

  "Yes, Mr. Collins.” Briggs pulled out his notebook and wrote down the name, which made the man's brows pinch together. "Mr. Collins, if you don't mind, please let the other boat owners know that I'll probably be talking to each one of them at some point today."

  Mr. Collins was most assuredly not happy about that, and it seemed he wished he'd kept his earlier opinion to himself. He hurried away.

  "Mr. Ruxley, this is my assistant, Miss Pinkerton. She'll be coming along with us."

  "Not that I have anything to hide, but don't you need a search warrant to check the boat?"

  "I just want to ask you a few questions about your brother and get a look at your boat. I won't be doing any searching. Unless you think I should get a warrant. Then I'll be happy to oblige, but you'll need to commit to staying anchored here for several more days."

  "No, I can't commit to that. I need to make arrangements for my brother. He had no other family." He sounded slightly disgusted that the burden fell on him. "Let's go. You can look. I've got nothing to hide."

  Tim Ruxley, who was obviously not thrilled about the intrusion on his boat, begrudgingly secured the inflatable raft. Briggs held out his gloved hand for me to take as I stepped inside.

  As his fingers squeezed around my hand, I silently cursed the winter weather and the need for gloves.

  Chapter 15

  The choppy waves splashed against the inflatable boat, but driven as it was by a motor, we managed to go up and over the rambunctious tide with no more than a heavy spray of salty mist. The temperature dropped rapidly out on the ocean, but it seemed to warm up again as we neared
the anchored boats.

  Tim Ruxley hardly made eye contact with either of his passengers as he kept a keen eye on the surf. Like a true captain, he moved the rudder to steer us safely to the stern of Cloud Nine. A ladder was hooked to the railing. Its metal rungs trailed off below the surface of the water. I didn't relish climbing onto the ladder of a boat that was rising and falling with an agitated sea, especially because I was starting out from an inflatable boat that was bobbing on the surface like a beach ball in a pool filled with wild kids.

  Mr. Ruxley held the inflatable boat as steady and securely as possible at the stern, while Briggs supported my arm and back. My gloved fingers gripped the metal ladder. It lifted slightly away from the boat as I hoisted myself up and out of the raft. I managed to climb on board without making a fool of myself, and for that, I was thoroughly relieved. Ruxley and Briggs followed at a much breezier pace.

  Ruxley was still eyeing me with a decent dollop of suspicion. I decided to make my presence minimal, all the while twitching my nose back and forth hoping to pick up a match to one of the two smells I'd noticed on the victim. It wasn't going to be easy, especially because it had been several hours since I'd breathed in those scents. And since they weren't anything familiar or obvious, they were a little scrambled in my olfactory cells.

  Briggs and Tim Ruxley walked to what I believed was referred to as mid ship. They were halfway between the bow and stern. Since the boat was anchored, the sails were down. But the holiday lights and decorations still twittered, shook and swayed with the motion of the sea and the perpetual wind.

  Briggs had out his notepad, and the men were deep in conversation. I pretended I was admiring the decorations. They were, as both Lola and Ryder had mentioned, somewhat worn out. The coat of varnish had added a layer of vibrancy back to the original colors on the tall wooden nutcracker, but what he really needed was a complete makeover. I casually leaned next to the nutcracker and breathed in. The varnish was dry. A normal nose would no longer detect any of the volatile molecules but, even muted by the moist, ocean air, I could still smell it.

  My shoulders dropped. The pungent chemical fumes clinging to the fibers of Chad Ruxley's sweater and the ribbon did not match the varnish on the Nutcracker. I scooted with small steps here and there to take in deep breaths. Just as the varnish hadn't matched the chemical smell, I couldn't find anything that had a fresh wood scent. The opposite in fact. Even the bits of odor coming off the boat's teak deck smelled more of mildew and stale ocean water than the original wood.

  I finished my nasal inspection and returned to where the men were standing. The conversation seemed amiable enough. Tim Ruxley's stiff, defensive posture on the beach had relaxed some. From the bits I could hear, it seemed he was telling Briggs about his relationship with his brother. The general noise on the boat, the churn of the ocean and the intermittent screech of the seagulls out on the water hunting for fish made it impossible for me to hear much.

  After a short while, Ruxley leaned to look past Detective Briggs. Some of that earlier suspicion returned. Briggs and I hadn't taken enough time to define my reason for coming along. It seemed Tim Ruxley was beginning to wonder just what my role was on the case.

  Detective Briggs glanced back in the direction of Ruxley's questioning glower. He caught me in a weak, awkward smile, and came to my rescue.

  "Mr. Ruxley, Miss Pinkerton is an olfactory expert." I knew he used the scientific terms to make it sound more official. I rather liked the sound of it. "She detected a chemical on your brother's clothing. I brought her along to see if she could find the same scent on your boat."

  Briggs shot me a questioning glance. I shook my head to let him know there was no match.

  Briggs' sudden admission seemed to fluster Ruxley, and his nostrils widened. He wasn't at all happy about it but then who would be pleased to find out they were under suspicion for killing a sibling. "I think it's time I took you both back to shore," he said tersely.

  "Yes, we are done here," Briggs told him. "Although, I might have more questions at another time."

  Ruxley's demeanor made me instantly uncomfortable. I fidgeted my feet on the deck, wanting nothing more than to be taken back to shore. I only hoped that Ruxley wouldn't stop halfway and toss us both out. I was sure that notion had gone through his head once or twice.

  But Detective Briggs didn't seem the least bit concerned about Ruxley's tense, tight posture and the flaring nostrils. He was, once again, calm and composed. With one exception. Occasionally, and I was sure I was the only person to ever notice it, (which said a lot about how much time I spent looking at the man's face) a tiny muscle in his cheek twitched when he was irritated. It was especially hard to see from the distance I stood and beneath his winter beard stubble, but I was sure I saw it now.

  Before taking a step toward the stern, Briggs stopped and looked at Ruxley. "Mr. Ruxley, I will be honest with you, in homicide cases like this, we generally look to a family member or friend first. So, you'll excuse me if this intrusion on your boat has caused you personal offense. You've admitted yourself that you and your brother rarely ever spoke, and you lost a great deal of money when he pushed you out of the family business. I admire your fortitude for getting your business life back on track and congratulations on that. But your brother was brutally murdered in Port Danby, a town that is under my protection. I will find his killer, and I expect complete cooperation from you."

  Tim Ruxley's lips twisted and turned as if someone had just shoved a sour lemon in his mouth. He nodded hesitantly and without another word, he brushed past Briggs and me and headed to the stern.

  Detective Briggs reached my side and we walked together.

  I leaned my head closer to him and whispered, "Boom."

  He tapped me with his elbow but kept his face serious as stone.

  Ruxley climbed down first to hold the inflatable boat steady, or at least that was what I hoped. Briggs stood by to help me onto the ladder. I gripped the sides and threw my first leg over. As I looked down, I noticed a small piece of fabric fluttering off the rough, splintered edge of the railing. I pointed to it. Briggs leaned over to look at it. It was the same as the khaki fabric from Chad Ruxley's coat. He reached down and pulled it free from the splinter and stuck it in his pocket.

  I climbed down into the boat. Briggs quickly joined me. Going with the tide, the ride back to shore was fast and just a touch more thrilling, especially as we rode a steep, churlish wave to shore.

  Briggs gave me a hand out of the boat. The buzz of the outboard motor vibrated the air as Ruxley turned right around and headed back toward his boat.

  We watched him for a second and then hiked through the wet sand back to the pier.

  I stomped my boots on the bottom step to rid them of sand. "It seems Mr. Ruxley is not our biggest fan."

  Briggs shook off his boots as well. "You noticed that too. Most people aren't too friendly when they think they are under suspicion for murder. Their parting of ways in business happened quite a few years ago. Ruxley Plumbing had been handed down to Chad Ruxley, the eldest son. Tim was treated like a partner, but he was never a partner on paper. And when they had a falling out ten years ago, Tim left the company for good. They rarely spoke anymore. He admits he chose the company name T. Ruxley Plumbing just to aggravate his older brother. But they operate in different parts of the country, so I don't think it's been a problem. And I couldn't get much out of him about his brother's divorce. He claimed not to know why or how it fell apart."

  The wharf was still unusually quiet. I wondered if anyone would even show up tomorrow night for the news crews and the light show. It seemed no one wanted to think about something as unpleasant as murder in the peak of the holiday season.

  We continued on to Pickford Way. "Did he say what the falling out was about?"

  Briggs pulled the zipper up higher on his coat. "He was pretty vague. Said it was just the usual sibling rivalry stuff."

  "Like a table war?"

  He looked over at me
with the cutest look of confusion.

  I laughed. "I've never had a sibling, but the geography of my shop, located between Elsie and Lester, is giving me a pretty good idea of what sibling rivalry looks like."

  "Ah, I see. Is that why every time I go to have a coffee or a muffin, they've added some new trinket of luxury to the sidewalk tables?"

  "You've noticed?"

  He shrugged. "It's kind of nice to have your rear end cradled in a soft cushion while you're drinking coffee."

  We stopped in front of the police station. "Well, I guess I'll take off my detective hat and put back on my florist hat."

  "Thank you for letting me borrow your nose for the afternoon."

  "Anytime. I'm just sorry Evangeline couldn't be more help." I blinked up at him for his reaction. He shook his head. "You're right. It's too long." I was just about to walk away. The awkwardly silent ride back to the shore had pushed the last moments on deck from my mind. "Wait," I said. "What about the fabric? Isn't that the missing piece from Chad Ruxley's coat?"

  "I'd say so. I'm going to go check the coat right now."

  "Is it important?" I asked with an edge of optimism.