Murder for the Holidays

by B. T. Lord

  “Your dad still keeps in pretty good shape,” she replied.

  “I know. But he’s grayer now. And definitely a bit slower. And Mom doesn’t have the same spring to her step she used to have.”

  Cammie pulled away and looked at him. “You want to spend the holidays with them, don’t you?”

  Leave it to her to be direct. He met her gaze and nodded. “They might live another twenty years, or they might not. Since we’ve been together, I’ve seen first-hand how fleeting life can be. I don’t want to live with this coldness between my parents and I anymore. I need to do all I can to resolve it.”

  “You’ve tried, and they haven’t changed their opinion of me yet.”

  “I haven’t tried hard enough. I’ve always backed down when they start up. But that’s going to end. I love you. That isn’t going to change. They need to understand that.” He paused, then said, “Mom and Dad traditionally celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. We have a big dinner and open presents afterwards. We can arrive on the 23rd, spend the 24th with them and drive back the 25th where we can have our own celebration here.”

  “That’s kind of a drive-by way of spending Christmas,” she murmured.

  “I was trying to make it easy for you.”

  He held his breath, wondering when she would throw the sponge at him. Or the half-empty bottle of wine. Or worse, hold his head under the bubbles until he came to his senses. He watched her carefully and was surprised when she gave a nod of her head.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. They may hate me, but they are your parents. I know how close you all used to be, and I don’t like being the reason you don’t spend more time with them.” She looked up at him. “I’ll go with you if you promise me one thing.”

  “Name it.”

  “You act as my food taster. I don’t need your mom accidentally dropping a laxative or a cyanide pill in my mashed potatoes.”

  Now, as they drew closer to Beachport, Cammie found her hands sweating, and her heart furiously beating. She also found herself annoyed when, in a moment of magnanimous weakness, she suggested that instead of arriving on the 23rd, they instead arrive on the 21st. She’d deliberately ignored the fact that although it would give Jace more time with his parents, it would also give them more time to sharpen their daggers against her. Now, the nervousness of what lay ahead bubbled up. Wanting so much for the holiday to go well for Jace’s sake, she promised herself she’d do everything in her power to keep her mouth shut, no matter what the Northcotts said or did.

  She closed her eyes and prayed to the spirit of Santa Claus, begging that instead of that new virtual reality game she’d been eying, he instead bring her good will and peace from his evil twins, the Krampuses, aka Harold and Pamela Northcott.

  Jace glanced over and took note of the tightness around Cammie’s mouth. Knowing her as well as he did, it wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking about. She’d been silently brooding since leaving Twin Ponds an hour before, ignoring the Christmas songs playing on the radio. She usually sang along at the top of her lungs. The fact that she hadn’t told him she was regretting her decision. Yet, he loved her all the more for being such a trooper. He knew very well what lay ahead, especially after the phone call he’d had with his father when he’d called to tell them he and Cammie were coming for Christmas.

  “I want a drama-free holiday. I don’t want to hear you or Mom insult Cammie. I love her, and I want you both to respect that.”

  “The only way you’re going to have your so-called drama free holiday is if you come alone,” Harold answered curtly.

  “I can’t do that, Dad. We’re a couple. Just as you wouldn’t leave Mom alone on Christmas, I’m not leaving Cam.”

  “She arrested you for god’s sakes. How could you forget that?”

  “We’ve gone over it a million times, Dad. She had no choice.” Harold snorted derisively. “What you keep forgetting is how hard she worked to find any evidence to exonerate me. If she didn’t care, she never would have jeopardized her job to do that. And I don’t need to remind you that she succeeded. Or that she almost died proving me innocent.”

  His father replied by abruptly changing the subject.

  By the time they hung up, Jace knew they’d reached a stalemate.

  He now found himself praying to the spirit of Santa Claus to make up for not bringing him the dirt bike he’d wanted when he was twelve.

  Sprinkle some of that fairie dust or elf dust or whatever you call it on this family get-together. I want this Christmas to be perfect.

  He reached out and covered Cammie’s hand with his.

  “We’ll have a good Christmas,” he said optimistically.

  “Of course we will. And to make sure we do, I had Zee make up a batch of his brownies for your parents.”

  Zee was Bruce Zevon, the owner of Zee’s Bar and Grille, the social hub of Twin Ponds. His cooking prowess was renowned throughout the county, keeping his establishment always filled with satisfied patrons.

  Jace was about to thank her when he stopped short. “You aren’t talking about Zee’s magic brownies, are you?”

  “Only the best for Mom and Dad.”

  Although Maine had recently legalized the use of marijuana, it was still illegal to sell it or use any marijuana products in public. That hadn’t stopped Zee from growing his own plants in the back of the restaurant and discretely making what he called his magic brownies for only his closest friends. He called them magic because the more you ate, the more your troubles magically disappeared. At least until the effects of the drug wore off.

  “Just how many batches of magic brownies did you have Zee make?” he asked, the worry evident in his voice.

  “Six.”

  “Six!” he exclaimed, quickly doing the math. “That’s seventy-two brownies!”

  Cammie nodded. “By the time they come down off their high and realize they’ve been entertaining the she-wolf from Twin Ponds for several days, we’ll be long gone.”

  He gave her a concerned side glance. “I hope you’re kidding.”

  She grinned. “I am. Though I have to admit, I was tempted. But once they realized I’d deliberately kept them drugged for four and a half days, I’d really be on their shit-list.”

  Driving down Route 1, it took a little over three hours to reach the Northcott home.

  Sitting one and a half blocks from the Atlantic Ocean, the house was in the style of an 1800’s farmhouse. It had a wide porch and dormers on the second floor. On each side of the front steps were the dormant flowers and shrubs that bloomed in bright colors during the warmer months. There were boughs of fir with Christmas bows and ornaments hung on the porch and above the entrance. In the front yard stood a six-foot Douglas Fir that had also been decorated for the holidays. From the outside, the house looked warm and inviting, filled with love for the upcoming holiday. Only Cammie knew the nightmare that lay inside.

  Jace squeezed her hand. “Thanks for doing this,” he said earnestly.

  “You’d do the same for me,” she smiled back before adding under her breath, “although my parents weren’t Jack the Ripper.”

  It had snowed the night before, leaving a light dusting over the neighborhood lawns and holiday decorations.

  After parking on the curb in front of the house, the two climbed out into the cold air and walked towards the back of the truck to retrieve their overnight bags and the gifts they’d brought for Mr. and Mrs. Northcott. Jace had no sooner opened the tailgate, reached in under the tonneau cover and piled their luggage onto the driveway, than the front door opened, and Harold and Pamela came rushing out.

  Harold Northcott was a tall man who took good physical care of himself. He had thick salt and pepper hair and wore a dark blue sweater over a pair of fitted jeans. His wife Pamela equaled his height. It was easy to see where Jace had inherited his attractive midnight blue eyes and pert nose. Like her son, she had chocolate brown hair that she wore short and was dressed in a festive red sweater
and jeans.

  “Oh my baby!” she called out as she hurried to Jace and threw her arms around his neck. Harold came up and clapped his son on the back.

  “So happy you could make it, son. How was the drive?”

  “Uneventful.”

  Harold turned and whistled when he caught sight of the F150. “Is this yours?” he asked incredulously as his gaze roamed appreciatively over the gleaming lightning blue vehicle. “Work must be damned good at the garage.”

  “Actually, Cammie gave it to me last week.”

  An abrupt change came over Harold’s face. His features darkened into disgust and dismay.

  “When did you become a kept man?” he growled.

  Jace flushed in anger. Before he could respond, Pamela quickly intervened. “None of that now. It’s Christmas.” She linked her arm with Jace’s and led him towards the house. “So what have you been up to?” she asked brightly. Harold threw Cammie a hostile look before turning his back to her and following his wife and son up the walkway.

  Cammie was left alone in the driveway as they climbed the porch steps and disappeared inside.

  “And so it begins,” she muttered aloud to herself.

  She looked down at the bags at her feet. And sighed.

  She couldn’t be angry at Jace for leaving her outside. For the last three years, his relationship with his parents had been carried on solely over the phone. Of course he’d be happy to be with them again and get caught up in the reunion. As for his parents completely ignoring her, was she really that surprised?

  Deciding to take the high road and ignore Harold’s insult, she flung each bag over her shoulder, grabbed the garbage bag containing the gifts, and struggled up the walkway and the porch steps. Reaching the front door, she grabbed the doorknob and pushed, only to discover she’d been locked out.

  “Really?” she said aloud. That one burst of understanding instantly oozed away, replaced by the desire to drop Jace’s bag and the presents onto the porch, march back to the F150 with her own bag and drive off to Twin Ponds where she could spend a lovely holiday with Zee, stuffing her face with his magic brownies. However tempting the urge was, though, she knew she couldn’t do it. First, if she wanted to prove to the Northcotts that she and Jace had a solid relationship, she couldn’t just trounce off without a word. Second, and more importantly, Jace had the keys.

  Tamping down her frustration, she rang the doorbell and waited, trying very hard not to impatiently tap her foot as her face slowly froze in the cold wind blowing up from the ocean. A few moments later Jace appeared.

  “Shit, Cam, I’m so sorry! I got caught up with saying hello and –”

  “No worries. Just let me come in before I start resembling the frozen plastic Santa on the front lawn.”

  Jace quickly took the garbage bag of gifts and his overnight bag and led her inside.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and let the blessed heat from the house soothe her cold limbs. Taking off her coat and hanging it up on a nearby coat rack next to Jace’s jacket, she turned her head and took in the sight of the six-foot artificial Christmas tree standing near the roaring fireplace. It was decorated with silver ribbons and bows and a wide variety of ornaments. Above the fireplace was a large wreath made of gold Christmas balls, while tacked along the edge of the mantel were a collection of Christmas cards. It was all beautifully decorated and, if she didn’t know better, welcoming to all who entered the front door.

  Glancing about, a pair of stairs before her led upstairs to the bedrooms. To her left was the dining room already set for Christmas Eve dinner. Immediately to her right, standing beneath the window was a credenza stacked with photographs of Jace growing up.

  As Jace went to place the presents under the tree, she paused at the credenza and let her gaze wander over the framed pictures.

  There he was at the age of eight in his peewee hockey uniform, looking as though he would drown in the slightly oversized equipment. Next to that, he was a grinning ten-year-old, playing baseball with the Twin Ponds Little League team. Another showed Harold and Pamela gazing lovingly at their son as he stood in his high school graduation cap and gown.

  In yet another, they were all sitting on the beach, laughing into the camera lens. Her eyes travelled down to the saying engraved on the silver frame.

  We Three.

  Cammie instantly felt an unexpected sadness. Not because of her own fractured upbringing – it would have been ludicrous for her father to ever entertain such a thought of he, his wife and only daughter being ‘we three’ -- but because in that moment, she understood the Northcotts’ antipathy towards her. All this time she’d thought they hated her because of the arrest. But it turned out, the arrest was the perfect excuse. It was something they could latch onto and point to as the reason they despised her. Looking at the photographs made the truth unavoidable. Each picture proclaimed Harold, Pamela and Jace as ‘we three’. There was no room for ‘we four’. Nor would there ever be. She was the interloper – the intruder. They probably would have felt the same over any woman who dared try to wheedle her way into their clan. Her arresting Jace served to reinforce the fact that she would never be good enough for their only son. Jace’s decision to stay in his relationship with Cammie compounded their hurt and loathing.

  “Your bedroom is at the top of the stairs. I thought you’d enjoy the view of the ocean,” Pamela announced as she came in from the kitchen.

  “Great!” Jace replied. “We’ll just put our bags upstairs and wash up a bit.” As he led the way, Cammie shook off her melancholy and followed.

  At the top of the steps, she saw there were four bedrooms. Each had their door closed except for the one standing before them. She entered behind Jace and her heart fell when she saw two twin beds separated by a night table. She looked to Jace, but if he was as dismayed as she was, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked.

  Although she’d promised to behave herself, her patience was wearing thin. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Wow, this is just like those summers at Camp I-Want-To-Kill-Myself when we drew straws to see which bed we’d get.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so whiny, but she could already feel this trip turning into a disaster. Sensing her mood, Jace came over and threw his arms around her.

  “Okay, it isn’t the ideal bed situation, but we can make up for it when we get back home.” He bent down and kissed her. “It will only be for four nights.”

  Yeah. Four long, excruciating nights on the heels of four and a half long excruciating days.

  Once again, she reined in her frustration and forced a smile on her face. “You’re right.” She put her bag down and snaked her arms around his waist. “And if I do get overwhelmed by the Christmas Spirit, there’s always the floor.”

  Jace chuckled. “You always have a back-up plan.”

  “Back-up plan is my middle name.” She reached up and kissed him deeply. He returned the kiss. Just as the floor was starting to look like a viable option, they heard Harold’s voice yelling up from downstairs.

  “Mother made some meatloaf for lunch. Come on down before it gets cold.”

  “Meatloaf isn’t the only thing that’s going to get cold around here,” Cammie grumbled as they pulled apart. The two exchanged glances and despite her ire, they both burst into laughter, which went a long way to easing her tension.

  They freshened up in the hallway bathroom, then hurried downstairs. As they entered the kitchen where a smaller round table was set for lunch, Cammie was surprised to see a woman sitting there. She appeared to be a washed-out version of Pamela. Her hair was grey and stringy, and she wore it flat to her head. Her clothes, from which emanated a smell of cigarette smoke, hung on a slightly emaciated body, while her pale face bore the marks of deep grief. She turned her watery blue eyes towards the pair as she took a sip from a wine glass.

  “Aunt Pru!” Jace exclaimed in surprise as he came towards her and bent down to
give her a hug. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “Your mother insisted I come. Get into the Christmas spirit and all that happy horseshit.”

  “Now, Pru…” Pamela admonished. “I didn’t tell you, Jace because I wanted it to be a surprise. Your father and I went last week to Bucksport to pick her up.”

  Pru ignored her. Instead she turned her attention back to Cammie as she boldly looked the sheriff up and down. “So you’re the cougar who’s out to ruin my nephew, eh?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Oh crap,” Jace whispered under his breath as his parents caught their breath in shock and embarrassment. He studied Cammie, ready to run interference if she went for Aunt Pru’s throat.

  Cammie knew there were two ways to play this. She calmly met the woman’s gaze and grinned. “Yep, that’s me.” She approached with her hand outstretched. “I’m Cammie Farnsworth, Cougar Extraordinaire.”

  Aunt Pru stared at her for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. She took Cammie’s hand and shook it. “Hah! I like you!” She exclaimed in her raspy voice. “That’s the best laugh I’ve had in ages.”

  The two women’s reactions served to diffuse the immediate strain caused by Aunt Pru’s remark.

  After serving the meatloaf, the Northcott family, plus one, sat down to eat. Cammie remained silent as Jace and his parents caught up on all the gossip from Twin Ponds. She’d only met them a handful of times before they decided to move to Beachport, but as she quietly observed them, she became aware of an uncomfortable nuance between Harold and Pamela. They were trying their best to put on a brave face, but as a police officer with years of training and hands on experience, Cammie immediately noted something was wrong. They were trying too hard to be attentive to Jace and Pru, while at the same time they appeared distracted. As if it was costing them to keep their focus on the conversation. Occasionally, when they thought no one was looking, they exchanged worried glances which would instantly disappear if Jace directed a statement at them.