by C Farren
She met Fiona on the way back to the Metropolitan. She seemed to be in a delirious mood, bouncing up and down like she mini trampolines fixed to the bottom of her shoes.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Wren. “Baked more bread?”
“I just talked to Bill on the phone,” Fiona answered. “He’s coming around tomorrow to fix the gazebo in the back garden.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the gazebo.”
Fiona grinned. “Really? Oh well.”
She filled Fiona in on what she’d learned so far. The secrets and lies were starting to pile up once again, but none of them gave her any evidence that anyone had committed murder. Maybe she needed to see the scene of the crime? That had helped with the Garrett case.
Benedict was waiting for them outside the coffee shop. He appeared to be in a bad mood. He was still wearing his Bieber McIntyre wig, though he was still in his male clothes. Something was wrong.
“I think you forgot to take your wig off,” said Wren, grinning.
“We need to talk,” Benedict demanded. He was furious. “Now.”
Fiona headed inside, leaving the two of them alone. Wren’s stomach churned. Something bad was coming.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you really felt?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” said Wren. “Are you okay?”
He showed her his cellphone. Apparently, she’d sent a text to him last night while she was drunk.
“I drunk texted you?” How embarrassing! “I do that sometimes. What awful things did I say?”
She read the message and was appalled. She was almost sick at the bile directed at Benedict in the message. It was homophobic, transphobic, and just plain mean. She’d never seen anything like it.
“I didn’t write that,” Wren insisted, revolted. “It’s disgusting.”
“It came from your phone!” Benedict shouted.
He’d never raised his voice in anger before. It was a little scary.
Chapter 23
Benedict continued to stare at her accusingly.
“No,” said Wren, shaking her head. “I didn’t write that. I’d never write that. Of course I think LGBTQ people are capable of raising children.”
“You admit you blacked out while drunk?” he asked. “That you’ve sent messages while drunk before?”
She nodded and said, “But I’d never write something so vile. Why would I? That’s not how I feel!”
“But you did send it. Now I know your true feelings. I thought you were better than this.”
He walked away, leaving her open mouthed, unsure what was happening. She’d seen the message. It had come from her phone. What if she had sent it while drunk? What if those were her true subconscious feelings?
No.
She knew she wasn’t homophobic or transphobic in the least. Her best friend was gay. She loved Keegan like a brother and wanted only the best for him. There was no way in hell she would ever text such a foul, bigoted message to anyone, let alone Benedict.
“Are you okay?” Fiona asked.
She was shell-shocked, dirty even.
“I sent a message to Benedict saying how he couldn’t be a proper father because he pansexual,” said Wren. “There’s some other stuff too that I refuse to say because it’s so horrible.”
“Oh Wren!” Fiona exclaimed. “How could you?”
“I didn’t do it. I know I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.” She was crying now. “But I had to have done it, right? It was sent from my phone, and it was sent last night, when we were drinking.”
Fiona sat down. “You did forget streaking in the back garden.”
“Even you think I did it!”
“No. I don’t believe you did it. Could somebody have hacked your phone?”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
But why would someone hack her phone and send Benedict such horrible messages? How could anyone be so cruel?
Gracie made weird yipping noises as Wren turned on her phone. She looked through her messages and, true enough, she had sent Benedict a text at 4:30 am. She was definitely blacked out during that time.
“What was I doing at that time?” Wren asked.
“I don’t know,” said Fiona. “I was asleep by then.”
She re-read the message and almost dropped the phone. It was even more horrible seeing it the second time. She gave her phone to Fiona.
“It’s horrible,” said Fiona. “Really horrible, though I admit I don’t know much about transgender people. They weren’t really a thing back when I was alive.”
“They were,” said Wren. “They just had to hide who they were.”
Wren wanted to smash her phone to pieces. The message was abhorrent. Maybe Keegan knew someone in the police who could find out who hacked her phone? She had to prove to Benedict that she wasn’t behind this.
“What’s wrong with Gracie?” Fiona asked.
The cat was behind the counter, making yipping, squawking noises. Wren knew what those noises meant. It meant she’d caught something. Gracie didn’t usually catch wild animals and bring them in, mainly because Wren fed her raw minced meat every day, but sometimes her little cat brought in the odd mouse or two. Gracie was always inordinately proud of her catch, even if Wren was privately disgusted by it.
Gracie had killed a rat – a great big giant brown rat.
Wren wanted to be sick. “What the hell is a rat doing around here?”
“You don’t get rats in Snowflake Bay?” Fiona asked.
“Yes, but not usually in the middle of winter,” said Wren.
She tried to take the dead rat from Gracie but she hissed and scratched her arm, drawing blood. That cat had claws that could slice through steel.
“Look,” said Fiona, pointing.
There was a trail of blood leading from the door to the back rooms. They followed it to the storeroom. Wren almost screamed. There were several rats rushing about the floor, acting like they owned the place. She slammed the door on them and leaned against it, trying not to throw up.
“We have rats,” said Wren. “Oh dear.”
THEY CALLED BILL, WHO came supernaturally quickly. He had a look around the entire coffee shop, searching every room. He couldn’t find how the rats had got in. It was almost as if they appeared in the building by magic. They did find how Gracie got in and out, though. There was a small window in the bathroom that led to the roof. All the cat had to do was nudge it open to get in and out.
“Are you sure the rats didn’t get in that way?” Wren asked.
Bill shook his head. “No. Not likely.”
“Then how did they get in? There’s at least six of them.”
They gave the coffee shop another search which led deep into the evening. When they were finished it was gone seven o’clock and they were tired, but Wren was determined. She had to know how the rats had gotten in. She had to stop it from happening again otherwise her business was ruined before it had even begun.
How can I tell that Jordan that I’ve ruined his father’s legacy in less than two weeks?
“What do we do now?” said Wren, exasperated.
This day just keeps getting worse.
“I’ll set up some traps in the morning,” said Bill, eyes on Fiona. The angel was twiddling her hair, trying to flirt. “Humane traps of course. I won’t kill them unless I have to.”
“Do you have any idea at all of how they got into the building?” Fiona asked.
“I honestly have no idea,” Bill admitted. He was rubbing his beard in thought. “Do you have any enemies?”
“No particularly,” Wren answered. “Why?”
“It seems to me that someone put them here on purpose, maybe to delay your opening.” At her outraged look he added, “I’m going to have to tell environmental health about this. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, understanding. The whole place would have to be cleaned and sanitized now. It would delay the opening for weeks, maybe months. It would open
, though. She was determined to make this place a success, not just for Garret, but for herself.
Wren sat down, shutting out everything else. Today had been a complete disaster. First, she found out Lenny was a diamond thief, then her uncle a cheating scumbag. Then someone had hacked her phone and sent vile texts to Benedict, and now this. If she didn’t know any better she’d think the universe was conspiring against her.
Fiona sat down as Bill left.
“What are you thinking?” Fiona asked delicately.
“Somebody hacked my phone,” said Wren, absolutely certain. “Somebody put rats in my coffee shop. Somebody is out to get me.”
“Maybe it’s Delia’s murderer,” Fiona suggested.
“Why would they do that? All they’re doing is making me upset and more determined to take them down.”
“Then who?”
The only other person who’d want the Metropolitan to fail would be Veronica, but why would she hack her phone? Could Veronica even do something so complicated?
It doesn’t make sense.
“Please tell me today is just some horrible dream that came as a result from getting drunk last night,” said Wren. “Please.”
Fiona patted her hand. “Things might make more sense in the morning.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Chapter 24
The next morning Wren called around all the pet shops in the county, as well as the city, a total of eighteen in all. None of them had sold any rats in the past month. One of them gave her the name of a breeder they knew, but he was in Florida for the winter and hadn’t sold any either.
What if the rats weren’t planted? What if they got into the building some other way and we just didn’t find it? Maybe I don’t have a secret enemy out there.
Wait, am I an optimist after all?
“Just look at how cute your cats are and stop worrying,” said Fiona at the breakfast table.
Gracie and Casper were curled up together under the table, sleeping peacefully. They were just a little ball of innocent fluff.
“I do feel good,” said Wren, determined not to let her problems overwhelm her. “We’re closer to solving Delia’s murder than ever.”
“So, who do we think did it?” Fiona asked.
“I’ve absolutely no idea, but it’s definitely a member of her family. Talk about a den of secrets and lies. I thought my family was mixed up.”
She considered Camden, and the plain tired expression on Jenny’s face. How could she look at them again, knowing what she knew? Christmas dinner was going to be a very awkward affair this year.
My first one without Dad.
“Who do you think stole the diamond?” Wren asked.
Fiona had made them her famous omelets that morning. They were absolutely delicious. If Wren were ever to be stranded on a deserted island the only food she’d want would be those omelets. The angel had even used English cheddar she’d bought from a specialist store in the city.
“I think Everett has it,” said Wren. “He was the only other person who knew about it.”
“There is another option,” said Fiona, looking a little guilty. “Maybe it was talk of the prison that Lenny was going to retrieve the Christmas Diamond. Maybe Wick told his brother and now Camden has it.”
“Or somebody we don’t know came out of prison and took it instead. For all we know Delia’s killer could be some complete stranger who came in, took the diamond, killed Delia, and left. We might never know who it was.” She thought about that, but it didn’t make sense. “No. Lenny said the diamond was gone and the reindeer was already stitched back up just after the crash. Somebody got it in the night. I’m sure the diamond and the murder are completely unrelated. Probably.”
The diamond was taking away the focus from the real crime, the murder. But how could she separate the two until she knew for certain that one had nothing to do with the other? She had to find out.
“We were supposed to look at the crime scene today,” said Wren, standing up. She quickly used her fingers to eat the last of her omelet. “I say we start there.”
“You start there,” said Fiona. “I need to let Bill into the Metropolitan. We really need to get rid of those rats.”
Wren smirked. “You really like him.”
“He’s sweet, and kind, and I love his beard. But I can’t go on a date with him. I can’t start a relationship with him.”
“When you leave he’ll forget you even existed.”
“Nobody will remember me, true, but... there’ll be this tiny thought inside their head, telling them there’s something missing. I don’t want Bill to know he once had love but just can’t quite remember it.”
That sounded awful. It was worse than just forgetting Fiona existed. Did she really want to spend the rest of her life feeling like that? She understood why Benedict’s parents were always confused whenever he brought Brock up now.
“I think it’s too late for that,” Wren told her. “He’s absolutely smitten.”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Fiona sadly. “My crush on Brock didn’t go anywhere, and I can’t do this to Bill. What do I do?”
“Have fun in the moment. That’s all you can do really.”
THERE WERE A FEW YARDS of police tape crossing the disaster site that was once Rickard’s Toys. Snow had settled on the devastation, making it look almost pretty. Toys were sticking out of the rubble, making it look like some weird accident in a Christmas fantasy world.
She looked around furtively. The back half of the building hadn’t collapsed properly yet, but it creaked now and then. Wren had to keep an eye on that. She didn’t want to get buried alive.
Wren ducked under the tape and was about to head inside when she a hand grasped her shoulder.
“You shouldn’t go in there,” Keegan warned her. “It’s dangerous.”
She looked across the road at the Metropolitan. Fiona was staring at her guiltily through the window as she talked with Bill.
How could she snitch on me?
“I just need to have a look at the crime scene,” said Wren. “Give me one minute.”
“I haven’t come here to stop you,” said Keegan. “I’m here to join you.”
Wren smiled. She was actually glad for the company. She didn’t fancy rooting around in there on her own.
“My dad told me what you’ve discovered so far,” said Keegan. “What are we looking for specifically?” Keegan asked, stepping over a fallen display of snow globes. They crunched under his boots.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” she answered.
Various Nutcracker soldiers, buried in a pile under rubble and snow, stared accusingly at them. Wren picked one of them up. It was wet and dirty.
“It was a crude death,” said Keegan. “The blade hit her carotid artery and she bled out and died within a matter of seconds.”
“It doesn’t imply a planned murder to me,” said Wren, staring into the Nutcracker’s dead eyes. “They grabbed the nearest thing to hand, which was Delia’s Nutcracker letter opener. I doubt it happened before the crash, otherwise someone would’ve seen it.”
“Why would a car crashing into the toy store suddenly make someone want to kill Delia?”
She didn’t have an answer to that. It didn’t make sense, unless of course someone used the crash as the perfect excuse to enact their long simmering plans of murder. That also implied that it had to be someone in the toy store at the time.
Benedict. Camden. Chelsea. Everett. Lenny.
As far as she knew, Benedict had no reason to kill Delia. He didn’t even know her.
“What about CCTV?” Wren asked.
“The computer it was stored on got destroyed,” said Keegan.
“Was it backed up to the cloud?”
“The CCTV footage was recorded onto CDs. I don’t think Delia knew what the cloud was.”
They reached the broken shop counter. It was just under the back of the shop so it had less snowfall on it. She was a little of De
lia’s blood, soaked into the wooden flooring. She hadn’t noticed it at the time.
Wren knelt, the cold and wet pressing into her knees. She searched the area thoroughly, looking for clues that maybe the police had missed. It was a small area. There wasn’t really much to look at.
One of the drawers was spilling pieces of paper out. On the front was a cracked lock, which had obviously been smashed open when the ceiling came down. Some of paper was soggy. She picked one up and looked at it.
“Delia sent those letters,” said Wren.
“What letters?” Keegan asked.
“Lenny had been receiving letters in prison warning him to stay away from Snowflake Bay or he’d be killed,” Wren explained, realizing she’d forgot to mention this earlier. “Looks like she had several more printed out, just in case.”
She handed one of the letters to Keegan, who read it.
“The more I learn about Delia the more I realize she was pure evil,” said Wren. “I wish that didn’t shock me but it does. It makes me shiver to think I grew up in a town where such a person should exist.”
“On the outside she presented as a friendly old lady, dressing as Mrs. Claus for Christmas, selling toys.” Keegan pulled a face. “On the inside she was a monster.”
Now she knew Delia was the one sending the letters to Lenny he had even more of a motive to kill her. What if he’d found out it was her and killed her pre-emptively?
“I can see where your mind is going,” said Keegan. “Lenny wouldn’t kill her.”
She told him about the Christmas Diamond. Wren didn’t want to, but he needed to know. He had to see how much Lenny had changed. Could he be a killer? She liked to think not, but she couldn’t be sure.
“He... pulled a gun on Everett?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s not Lenny.”
“I’m sorry,” said Wren. “He told me himself. I’m not even sure the Lenny we once knew is even there anymore.”