by Teresa Trent
My father’s gaze was earnest as he put together the facts I had just laid out for him. “It does sound like it’s worth a look-see, Boyle. What could it hurt?”
Boyle let out a snort and put both hands up in the air as if giving up. “Whatever. I enjoy going on your daughter’s goose chases. Let’s get Ruby back in here to pick out Baldwin in a picture lineup. Then we’ll track him down.”
“Can I come along? He’s at Wilhelm’s Bed and Breakfast.”
Boyle gave me a look. “This is police business, missy. We don’t need a ride-along right now. Besides that, you are a member of the press.” His statement made it sound as if I belonged to a leper colony and wasn’t just the local helpful hints columnist.
“I won’t relay any information until you tell me I can. How does that sound?”
“Highly improbable,” Dad said. “Rocky is not gonna let that happen.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Chapter 19
Twenty minutes later we pulled up to Wilhelm’s Bed and Breakfast, owned by Wilhelm Mueller and his wife, Josephine.
“Willkommen, Betsy, Judd, man in a trench coat.”
It was obvious Boyle had not made his way out for some delicious Wienerschnitzel and German beer. I still couldn’t believe this place ended up being my wedding destination. Fond memories.
“What can I do for you today?”
Dad leaned closer. “You can cut the German accent, Wil. Boyle lives here now.”
“Oh, okay,” he answered in a thick Texas drawl. “Like to give the tourists an authentic experience.”
“Do you have somebody staying here named Sammy Baldwin?”
“Oh, yes. He’s been here for a couple days.”
“Is he here right now?” I asked.
Wilhelm yelled to the kitchen behind him, “Honey, is Mr. Baldwin here?”
“I sink so. Not sure, though, my Liebchen.”
“It’s okay. It’s just Judd and Betsy,” Wilhelm assured her.
“Well then, howdy folks,” said Josephine, coming out of the kitchen. She had braids pinned to the top of her head and was holding a large tray of cookies. “Anybody up for some of my Christmas apple dumplings?
“Those look delicious,” Boyle said. “Could you wrap up about half a dozen for me? I’ll take them back to the police department.”
The other officers would be thrilled to eat food without a hole in the middle.
“Why don’t you go right on up the stairs, and I’ll see if Mr. Baldwin is here. He’ll be getting some visitors on Christmas. Hope it’s not anything bad.”
“It could be.”
Boyle looked out of the dining room that had just a few customers. “We’ll try to keep all the action upstairs. And, Mr. Mueller, you need to come with us.”
I wondered if Sammy Baldwin was in the honeymoon suite. I also wondered if he was paying his bill with counterfeit money. “Did Mr. Baldwin give you any cash to pay for his room?”
“Not yet,” Wilhelm said.
“Don’t take it. Better yet, if you have one of those counterfeit markers, put it in your pocket.”
Wilhelm swore something in German. “We should have known. That guy was just too smooth, and he leaves his gum wrappers everywhere. How much gum does that man need in a day?”
“It’s the sugar, not the gum,” Josephine said.
When we knocked on his door a few minutes later, Sammy Baldwin opened it wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and dress pants. The smell of beer and holiday baking wafted up, and I could hear accordion music blaring from downstairs. It was a Bavarian Christmas.
“What can I do you for?”
“Can we come in for a minute? The music is a little loud,” I said. My father winked at me, pleased that I had found a way to get access to the room without a search warrant.
“I guess,” Sammy said, his voice edged with anger.
After we entered the room. Wilhelm said, “Excuse me, Herr Baldwin. My wife is a little hard to deal with—it’s the end of the year, and she wants all the payments in. We need you to pay for your room now.”
Sammy Baldwin raised an eyebrow on the right side, suspicious of the sudden request for cash.
“But when I checked in you said I could pay the bill at the end. What’s the deal? And now you come to my door with the police?”
Dad stepped forward. “Well, after that little exchange at the Christmas parade, let’s just say the citizens of Pecan Bayou are a little wary of you, Mr. Baldwin. You were going to pay the bill anyway, so what’s the big deal?”
“This is highly unusual, and I was promised I could pay upon leaving. Now that I know this is the way you do business, I will gladly pay my bill and pack up and leave.”
I pushed my way forward between my father and Doyle. “But what about the business opportunities that have opened up for you here in Pecan Bayou? What about that?”
Boyle gave me a butt out of it look, but I flashed a smile.
“What about it? And why do you care?” He snapped his gum at me. Baldwin walked over to his dresser and pulled out a brown leather wallet. He quickly peeled off a couple of hundred-dollar bills. “Here. That ought to pay off my visit to your sausage stinkin’ joint.”
Wilhelm took a marker out of his pocket and held it up. “Couldn’t take cash without doing this. Not if I want to face my lovely bride.” He ran the marker along the bill, and his pen turned it a deep blue-black. Every time I had seen one of these pens used on my own money, the ink was a yellow-brown.
“Mr. Baldwin, you are under arrest for passing counterfeit currency.”
Sammy Baldwin looked sincerely surprised. “What the hell? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you saying those bills are counterfeit?”
“Let’s see the rest of the money in your wallet,” Dad said. He grabbed the wallet, pulled up a stack of hundreds, and laid them across the bureau. Wilhelm made a line with his marker on each of the bills.
Baldwin spoke a little too loudly. “I just don’t understand it. The bank gave me those bills.”
“And you always carry a thousand dollars in cash in your wallet?” Boyle asked.
“I’m innocent,” he yelled loud enough to drown out the accordion playing “Jingle Bells” downstairs.
“Are these the bills you gave Ruby? That was what she said after spending the money you gave her,” I said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who’s Ruby?”
“Give it up, Baldwin. Ms. Green already identified you in a photo lineup. You have a record in Dallas—something I’m sure you didn’t want to come out here in Pecan Bayou.”
“You are also now under suspicion for the death of Joe Nelson,” Dad said as Boyle put the cuffs on Baldwin.
“Hold on. I didn’t murder that guy. That’s a bunch of lies. Sure, he was stopping my advertising circulars to this town. This town is crammed with old people. I don’t know who shot him. But …” He stopped abruptly, as if he suddenly realized he had said too much.
I finished his sentence, “But that was when your business opportunities opened up. Am I right?”
“Mind your own business. Who are you?” Once again, the Happy Hinter was not appreciated for her amateur police work.
I looked at my watch on the sly. It was still Christmas Eve, and the sooner I could get home, the sooner I could get back on track with the holiday preparations. Coco would need a bath before church, and I still had a pile of gifts to wrap in the back of my closet. I remembered the vow I made at Thanksgiving, promising myself I would have all of the kids’ gifts wrapped and labeled by December 15. That never happened. I tried not to feel overwhelmed by the deadline of Christmas Eve. There was no way I was going to make it, and with everything else going on, I could feel a midafternoon exhaustion setting in. When had I eaten lunch? Had I eaten lunch?
I drove in silence to my house as my mind kept returning to the scene at the Christmas festival. I had to contend that Karen couldn’t be Joe
Nelson’s murderer. She loved the man, although she had never made it known. Yes, she had been angry when she thought Joe was withholding her daughter’s letter, but her anger didn’t seem to outweigh the feelings she had for him. Joe was a boring elderly postman, the exact opposite of Karen’s family members, who reminded me of a flock of buzzards swooping down on the unexpected money she had received.
So, if it wasn’t Karen, who killed Joe Nelson? For that matter, why was Joe sneaking around at night? How long had there been complaints of a peeping Tom in town? This was a question to pose to my father somewhere between the eggnog and the single present we would open that night as part of our Christmas Eve tradition.
It would hardly feel like the magic of Christmas, but I just couldn’t help myself.
Chapter 20
Once I was back in gear for Christmas Eve, and was trying to pull Coco’s hair into a ponytail and attach a glittery red Christmas bow, the murder of Joe Nelson slipped to the back of my mind. Once the bow was in place, Coco ran off like an animal newly released into the wild. Just how many pieces of Christmas candy had she consumed today under her father’s not-so-watchful eye? Butch, our oversized Weimaraner barked loudly in the background, making me wonder if the windows would hold as he broke the sound barrier. Even our favorite canine was excited for Christmas.
Christmas carols rang through the house on the stereo, and Leo was thoroughly enjoying the afternoon. He pulled on the navy-blue suit I loved seeing him in and added a blue-and-green tie with just a few strands of glittery red running through it. It had been a present from Tyler last Christmas, and if he showed up to Aunt Maggie’s Christmas dinner without it on, his son would be extremely disappointeded. That’s the problem with getting a gift to be worn at Christmas. You have to wait a whole year to wear it.
Leo came up behind me to fasten a clasp on the ruby necklace I saved for special occasions. As he attached the two ends, he leaned over and nuzzled my neck with warm kisses. “Merry Christmas,” his voice was husky, making me warm to his touch.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered back, turning into his arms. It had been such a crazy day—a crazy week, for that matter—and taking just a few moments off the ho-ho-ho hamster wheel felt intoxicating.
“Ew,” Zach said, standing in the doorway. “You guys are disgusting.”
Leo pulled away, “Yes, well, we do like each other, you know.” I had filled Leo in on what happened at the Christmas festival with Danny. We both agreed we needed to talk to Tyler about the situation but had decided to wait until after Christmas.
“I’ll say,” I said under my breath with a smile that wouldn’t go away.
“Aunt Maggie is on the phone. She wants to know if you can bring over an extra platter for dinner,” Zach reported. He had dutifully put on a white dress shirt and khaki pants. He ignored the tie I’d laid out for him, and his hair, the same shade of brown as mine, still needed brushing.
“Okay. I’ll bring her our turkey platter.”
Zach turned on his heel, leaving Leo and me alone again, although the mood between us had fizzled somewhat. “You had quite a day, didn’t you? Coco and I came home and took a nap after the festival.”
I yawned. “I wish I could have joined you. Ruby was so sad. I can’t believe she signed over her house to them. I hope they catch whoever it was that did this to her.” I still didn’t have proof it was Sammy Baldwin, but he was at the top of my suspect list.
“Sure, they will. All the police have to do is wait for this company to take over Ruby’s house then they can nab them. It’s like they’re holding on to stolen goods and have no way to fence them.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m thinking they might not even try to claim her property now that she’s been caught with their counterfeit money.”
“It would seem pretty stupid of them to try,” Leo said.
I pulled a pair of black heels out of the closet. I was wearing a deep-red dress; Aunt Maggie always said the color complemented my hair and my eyes. I grabbed a black wrap to go with it and slipped on the heels when a thought occurred to me. “You don’t think these reverse mortgage people might have had something to do with Joe Nelson’s death, do you?”
Leo scowled. “I don’t know. That seems pretty far-fetched to me. It’s one thing to rip off old ladies, and quite another to kill someone.”
Somehow, I felt like the two crimes were equal in severity. Old ladies do not always have the ability to bounce back.
“Mom, we need you to drop me off at Crazy Eddie,” Zach informed me before we left for dinner. He slipped that little demand in as if it were perfectly normal to hit a sale on Christmas Eve while the rest of his family was gathered for the holiday.
“Thanks to you, we’re Number 38. I’ll be in and out in time for turkey.” He held the ticket up in the air just in case I hadn’t seen the number on it, forgetting I was the one who procured that ticket for him.
“Zach—”
“Please, Mom. Just this once,” he begged. “I’ll never ask you again for anything that takes me away from important family bonding time.”
I looked over at Leo. “I’ll probably just drop in there, but then again I might just stay. You know, see if everything’s okay?”
“Sure, and if you don’t stay, how is Zach getting home from Crazy Eddie?” Leo asked.
“Just put my bike in the back of the car. I can make it to Aunt Maggie’s in ten minutes. I’ve done it millions of times,” Zach reassured him.
“What about Tyler? Does he want to go?” Tyler was upstairs getting ready and dragging his feet about it too. He was still sulking after losing the girl of his dreams. I hated to tell him, but he never had her in the first place.
“No. He said he doesn’t even want to do Christmas. Can you believe that?” Zach stated in shock.
“I can believe it.” I reached out and pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Go brush your hair, and I’ll go with you.”
To my surprise, Zach jumped and let out a high-pitched squeal. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He ran off to neaten his appearance.
Leo touched my arm. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asked.
“No, but I do want to see the inside of Crazy Eddie’s store. I’ll yank him out of there if I don’t think it’s safe.”
When we arrived at Crazy Eddie, located at the end of Main Street, I was surprised to see about a hundred people neatly lined up along metal gates on the sidewalk. Didn’t anyone celebrate Christmas with family anymore? Were these all last-minute shoppers hoping to score that tech gadget and get it under the tree before anyone noticed they hadn’t been scouring the stores since Thanksgiving? A fierce-looking young woman in a low-cut black T-shirt stood at the door holding back the ever-encroaching line. She raised a hand to her mouth to amplify her sound.
“Please stand in number order. If you get to the door and you are out of order, I won’t let you in.”
The crowd, chattering with the excitement of the impending holiday, hushed somewhat before the talking resumed. Zach counted the waiting customers in line and then approached a harried-looking woman who was holding a tired baby.
“Are you 37?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’m 38.”
Zach and I scooted in line behind the woman, who was rocking the baby on her shoulder, attempting to comfort it. The baby’s eyes met mine, and I instinctively smiled. The cherubic face smiled back, bobbing slightly from the rhythmic step her mother was performing. She had on a little red-and-green stocking cap with yarn braids on each side.
“Do you have to smile at every baby we meet?” Zach asked, embarrassed. The line began to move as the doors opened.
“We are letting in five people at a time. When one person exits, another may enter,” the young woman announced in a monotone voice over the crowd. She looked like she would have been much happier hanging out at the local bar than doing crowd control at Crazy Eddie.
“All right. We’ll be in and out
in no time,” Zach said, still trying to convince me that shopping on Christmas Eve for your own present was a good idea. We waited for about another ten minutes, all the while happy shoppers exited the store with their treasures in plain plastic store bags. When we finally entered the premises, the eclectic collection of merchandise already looked picked through. It looked like Bill Gates’s garage sale inside. At first glance, the items looked gently used. Nothing was in packaging, and it seemed more like a pawnshop than a retail outlet. Zach began searching the small store for the item he wanted so badly. Finally, he went to a young man who was standing behind the counter, focusing on his cell phone. He was smiling, so that was good, but the smile quickly faded when Zach tore him away from his phone.
“Do you have any PlayStation 4’s left? I don’t see any. Are there more in the back room?”
The young man, who had a black crocheted beanie pulled down to his ears, snorted. “Dude. Those went first thing. Sorry.” He went back to his phone. The smile returned as he watched kittens tumble across his screen.
Zach crumpled his ticket and threw it on the ground. Crazy Eddie’s promises had indeed been too good to be true. It was a life lesson for sure, but not one I wanted my son to experience on Christmas Eve. I stepped up to the counter.
“How many of these units did you have for sale?” I asked. The young man didn’t look up at first. Finally, he sighed and switched off his phone.
“I don’t know, lady. One, maybe two? What does it matter?”
His attitude was beginning to grate on my nerves. That and the crushing disappointment I felt coming from my son. “It matters because you placed a large ad in the Gazette, and this whole operation is beginning to feel like a bait-and-switch con.”
Something I said registered with the distracted sales clerk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re a legitimate business. Now, if you’re not going to buy something, we have plenty of people waiting in line who will.”