I’m about to tell her how adorable I think that is when she lifts a hand my way.
“Don’t look at me like that, Bizzy. Everyone knows it’s good luck to sit on a man wearing a red velvet suit at least once a year.”
“At least.” Georgie honks out a laugh while elbowing my sister in the ribs.
“I’m not sitting on a stranger’s lap tonight. And if that Santa is who I think it is, I’m pretty sure it would be the opposite of good luck,” I say, squinting over at the man in the big red suit, and sure enough I see it’s Dexter Bronson himself.
Georgie lifts a finger my way. “If I were you, I’d buy Jasper a red velvet suit just in case. Macy is right. You’ve made quite the hobby out of finding dead bodies. I think you need to do everything you can to get your hands—and maybe a few other body parts—on for some good luck.”
“I’m not sure I believe in luck,” I say as I glance across the street and note that all of Lincoln’s decorations are lit up. The fake snow on the front lawn is a little askew and the throne is barren, save for a few families taking their own pictures around it. I suppose Lincoln has the whole thing set on timers. At least his home will be appreciated one last holiday season.
A light goes on in one of the upstairs windows and immediately snatches my attention.
Huh.
I wonder if Trixie is home?
Fish meows until Georgie opens the mesh liner to the stroller and all three cats are happily craning their necks at the bushes before us.
Is this it? Fish cries out happily. Is this the catnip farm?
“Georgie, Fish wants to know if there’s any catnip around.” I point to the oversized bush with long dagger-like leaves.
“Heavens no.” Georgie tosses her hands up and quickly zips the cats back up in the event they decide to hop on out an indulge on the first leaf they see. “That’s oleander. It’s a death trap for cats and people alike. None for you either, Sherlock.”
A thought comes to me. “Georgie? Maybe you could hop in line with Macy. I bet all the animals would love to get their pictures taken with Santa.”
Sherlock barks and the cats mewl, suddenly taken with the idea of sitting on a red velvet suit themselves.
Georgie leans in, following my gaze. “Good idea, Bizzy. You go across the street and break into old man Brooks’ house and see if you can find a clue that will lead you to the killer.”
“I’m not breaking in. That’s illegal.” Although, I don’t think I’ll have to stoop to breaking the law. Something tells me Trixie Jolly-Golightly just might act as my willing accomplice.
I make my way across the street, threading through the crowd all bundled in their scarves and matching mittens as white plumes blow from everyone’s mouth and nostrils. It’s supposed to dip below freezing tonight once again, and there’s a storm pushing through, so the chances of snow are in our favor.
Lincoln Brooks’ home looks a little more sorrowful up close than it did from across the street. The wind has left the cotton batting snow curled up on one side and a string of white lights dangle from the eaves down to the lawn, creating a rather sad line right in front of the living room window.
I make my way up the porch and give a few quick knocks. I can hear the sound of something shifting from inside as footsteps draw in this direction.
“Hello?” a friendly female voice calls from inside before the door swings open, revealing a woman with her hair in a bun, dressed in a red silk blouse and houndstooth trousers. I can’t help but note she looks office chic with her oversized tortoise-framed glasses. I recognize her from the night of the murders. She has the same open face and same friendly eyes that I remember.
“Julia?” I blink back. “It’s me, Bizzy Baker. I was here the night of the—” I stop shy of saying murder.
“Oh, that’s right.” She widens the door and motions for me to come inside. “Nice to see you again, Bizzy. I was just in the office, closing out some accounts the best way I knew how. You work at the Country Cottage Inn, right? I remember hearing about you and those awful murders. I don’t know what’s happening in this sleepy town. It’s just terrible.”
“I agree with you,” I say as I cautiously step in. “You mentioned you were his secretary, right?” I ask as she closes the door behind me, dampening the sound of the revelry and it’s a welcome relief to my ears.
“Yup.” She ticks her head at the thought. “And sadly, I really am out of a job. Believe me, the reality stings.”
“Sorry about that.”
It’s warm and toasty inside and the lights are all on downstairs, giving the home a cheery appeal. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner strung with bright white lights, and I suppose that’s set on a timer, too. I feel terrible that Lincoln isn’t around to enjoy the holiday he seemed to love so much.
I clear my throat. “I was just across the street with my friends and I saw a light on. I was thinking I might catch Trixie here. Is she home?”
Julia all but rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? She hasn’t been back since the night she killed him.” She pulls a pin from her bun and her hair dislodges loosely around her shoulders.
“You think she killed him?”
“You think she didn’t?” There’s an amused undertone in her voice. “I talked to the sheriff’s department and they think he was poisoned. I’ve been telling Lincoln for the last solid year that Trixie was trying to poison him with her cooking. It looks as if she got him with the eggnog instead.” She gives a little shrug. “You want to take a seat? Or you can come with me into the office and we can talk in there. I only have a few more things to button up before I call it a night, and I’d appreciate the company. Being alone in this place has always given me the creeps, but even more so now that he’s gone.”
“Absolutely. I’ll head to the office with you.” Something in me soars and I can’t help but think I’ve won the investigative lottery. I follow along as we make our way across the hardwood floors, past cozy rooms filled with oversized furniture, a dark stained table and chairs in the dining room. We pass the kitchen, which looks like a modern marvel with its stainless appliances and expansive island. The kitchen is spacious enough to have a working restaurant in this room alone.
Finally, we make our way down a small hall and into an office about the size of my entire cottage. There are Bankers Boxes stacked on one another in the corner and a large steel desk with two computers sitting side by side, both lit up and running.
Julia plops down in the seat in front of one and begins clicking away at the keyboard.
“You can take a seat if you want. I’m just logging out.” She motions to a stack of books in a Bankers Box. “Lincoln was big on horticulture. You can take any of those. He was about to have me send them to the library for donation.”
I peruse the small pile of hardbacks and paperbacks on gardening. The Necrotic Botanist, Holistic Horticulture, Life in the Garden.
“If you don’t mind, I know my friend Georgie will go wild over these,” I say, picking up the first three.
“Please take the entire thing. You’ll save me a trip.”
“Great. I will.” I pull the Bankers Box to the side.
“I’m letting all of his fellow investors, clients, friends, and anyone who I think will care know that he’s passed away. He didn’t have any kids, or family to speak of, and I doubt Trixie will be springing for an expensive funeral for him. I’m afraid these emails will be as close to a memorial service as he’ll get.”
“Poor guy. Do you think maybe Mary Beth will want to take care of the arrangements?”
She shoots me a look as a tiny laugh sputters from her. “Doubtful. If anything, she’s the next person I’d blame his death on, right after Trixie. I mean, it’s obvious both women hated him.”
“That’s probably true on Mary Beth’s part.” I didn’t sense any sorrow when I spoke to her the other day. She was cold and unfeeling. Heck, I might just bump her to the top of the suspect list.
“It’s
true for sure,” Julia says as the computer in front of her darkens and she moves on to the next one. “I called the Trident Society and they said they’ll collect him from the morgue and cremate him for a nominal fee. I still have access to the small slush fund I used to pay incidentals with. There’s only about six hundred dollars in there, but I’m sure that will be enough to take care of everything for him.” The second computer grows dark as she spins in her seat.
“Julia, what makes you so sure Trixie did it? I would love for whoever did this to get caught.”
“Oh, they will.” Trixie isn’t that good at hiding. “And it will be Trixie.” She shakes her head. “At least I’m fairly certain of it. She threatened him a time or two right in front of me. I let the sheriff’s deputy who was interviewing me know that. Trixie and Lincoln had a big blowout in the living room two weeks ago and she said something to the effect of ‘you can’t make me do it.’ They were both charged and heated. I thought they were going to come to blows, so I crept out of there. I was actually hiding in the kitchen because I didn’t want to embarrass them, but I felt like I might be needed to stop something. You know, in the event they started throwing vases at each other. Anyway, she was really coming at him. She said she’d end him if he ever thought of threatening her that way again.”
“What do you think he was threatening her over?” My heart leaps into my throat, because suddenly it feels as if the layers to the mystery are about to be stripped away.
Julia picks up a stack of mail and shoves it into a bag.
She takes a moment to grimace my way. “You don’t know much about Trixie, do you?”
I shake my head. “I was actually hoping to extend my condolences and see if she needs anything.”
A sharp laugh belts from her. “Oh, she doesn’t. A woman like Trixie knows exactly how to get her needs met while meeting the needs of others. She worked at some strip club out in Edison for years. Eventually, she aged out of dancing and started taking on personal clients.”
“Clients?” My cheeks heat because I have a feeling I know exactly what kind of clients she’s referring to.
“Yup. And I know exactly what you’re thinking because I’m thinking it, too. Trixie once told me she just accepts payment for her company. And seeing that most of the men she chooses to keep company with are much older, that might be the case. I guess Lincoln wanted to keep her to himself exclusively. I’m not sure why she wouldn’t oblige him. I mean, they took trips all around the world, ate at fancy restaurants almost every night, and he even bought out a diamond mine to outfit her with sparkling jewels. Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but he was very good to her. All he wanted was some exclusivity. I think he wanted to believe it was real—that a woman like Trixie could love him.” She takes a deep breath as she cinches her purse over her shoulder. “But it all came to a head,” she says, helping me pick up the box full of books I’m taking for Georgie before leading the way out of the office and flicking off the lights. “She wanted her freedom, and he wanted to own her. He could be very possessive. But he was vibrant. Far more than those other men Trixie showed me pictures of. I guess she liked things status quo. If they pin her for this murder, she’s going to have a serious change of lifestyle in prison.”
We make our way to the living room and Julia holds the door open for me as I step out with my Bankers Box full of books. A few of the women minding their children on the lawn do a double take my way.
“I must look like a vulture coming out of a dead man’s house with a box of his things,” I whisper to Julia.
She titters a small laugh. “You’re helping a friend out. And that friend would be me. If you’re still looking to offer your condolences to Trixie, she likes to hang out at the City Limits Bar and Grill. I think it’s in downtown Seaview.”
“Great. I’ll actually be in Seaview tomorrow night for a family dinner at Maximus. Maybe I'll stop by and see if I can spot her.”
“She’ll be easy to spot, all right. She likes to wear glittery gowns when she’s out trolling for men. She thinks it makes her look classy.” She says classy with air quotes as we make our way down the porch. “I live in the carriage house in the back. If you need anything at all, stop by again. I’ll be hanging around for another week or so until I can get something lined up. I applied for a job down in South Carolina, and I’m crossing my fingers I get it. I just love the South, and the weather is to die for.”
A dark laugh rumbles through me as we part ways. “On a frosty night like tonight, I’m tempted to join you.” I stop short. “Oh, Julia? There’s a benefit and silent auction coming up for needy families at the inn. It’s the night before Christmas Eve, and if you don’t have any plans, please come as my guest. I’d love for one of your last memories in Cider Cove to be a good one.”
“Thank you, Bizzy. I will do that.”
And they’ve all been good memories so far. She warms herself with her arms as she heads for the back.
Nice lady. Too bad Trixie isn’t a nice lady.
But is she a killer?
I’ll do my best to find out exactly that tomorrow night.
Chapter Eleven
The very next morning, the inn is bustling with out-of-towners ready to stay through the holidays as they visit local friends and family. It’s so cozy at the inn this time of year. I wish the season would last forever. I spent the morning hanging stockings above the enormous stone fireplace in the grand room with each employee’s name written across the front in gold glitter paint. The whole inn is lit up with the scent of those gingerbread whoopie pies the Country Cottage Café is baking nonstop. And just a few minutes ago, the Sugar Plum Tree Lot delivered those evergreens I ordered the other day and the entire front of the inn holds the scent of a fresh cut pine forest.
Jordy laughs as he shakes his head my way. “Bizzy, you’ve got enough to put two trees in every room.”
“That sounds like my kind of decorating,” I say as I do my best to cinch my coat. It’s freezing out here—literally and we finally have a sheet of white frost that’s sticking to the ground. All of Cider Cove looks like the inside of a snow globe with the trees surrounding the inn dusted with snow and the roofs of the cottages covered in a sheet of white. Sherlock strides up beside me as I make my way to the delivery truck.
Are the cookies here, Bizzy? Are the cookies here? That’s a big truck! That means there are lots of cookies.
A laugh bubbles from me. “I hate to break it to you, Sherlock, but the cookie exchange isn’t until tomorrow.”
A hard groan comes from him, but his disappointment is short-lived as he licks the side of a rock and eats the frost right off it.
It tastes like ice cream! Fish, come quick! He barks as he speeds back into the inn to spread the news to his furry friends no doubt.
I’m about to head back myself when Calvin St. James strides up in his well-worn jeans and black and red buffalo flannel. He wears an easy smile, and there’s a warmth in his eyes you can’t deny.
“Hi, Calvin!” I give a cheery wave. “You brought the whole forest,” I tease.
He nods my way. “I thought I’d throw in a few extra. You are, after all, hosting the Christmas charity event.”
“Thank you,” I say. “The more trees, the merrier.” I look to Jordy. “Go ahead and set them up wherever you can fit them. We have boxes and boxes of twinkle lights to decorate them with. They’re going to look beautiful.”
Jordy gives me a mock salute. “You got it, boss.” He takes off and helps the men off-load the trees from the back of the delivery truck.
Calvin nods my way. “Nice to see you again, Bizzy.”
“Likewise. And this is more Christmas cheer than I expected. I just want you to know I’m grateful for every last branch. Thank you, Calvin.” Julia crosses my mind. “I hear Lincoln’s secretary is trying to help contact everyone he’s done business with. Have you heard from her yet?”
“She called me a few days ago. I told her not to worry about anythi
ng. I contacted everyone Lincoln and I were dealing with and asked them to forward any future inquiries my way.” Now that Lincoln isn’t around to complicate things, I might actually turn a profit for a change.
Interesting. He virtually had the same thought the last time we met. At least he’s consistent.
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad you spoke with her.”
He ticks his head to the side. “Julia’s a good person. She always had everything lined up and squared away for him. She was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to Lincoln. Now if he could have only had a romantic connection with her, he might still be alive. But Lincoln always did like his women with a slice of danger on the side. It looks like this last one was a bit too dangerous.”
That’s two strikes for Trixie. It looks like Julia and Calvin can agree she is capable of murder.
“Well, I hope the sheriff’s department makes an arrest soon.” I warm my arms with my hands. “I think we could all rest a little easier this holiday season if they did. It’s chaotic enough without a killer running loose.”
He glances skyward a moment. “Or maybe that’s what the killer wanted—to throw a little more chaos into an already chaotic season.”
Now there’s a thought. “Intentional or not, this season certainly comes with its distractions.” And one distraction after another might just help someone get away with murder. “What do I owe you?” Calvin has already made it clear he’s donating these to the inn, but I would love to pay him for the time and trouble.
He holds up his hands as if it were a stickup. “I meant what I said. The trees are a gift. You can’t stop me. I’ll be back for the event. See you in less than two weeks. And as it turns out, I’ll be bringing a guest, but I still need to buy her a ticket. You didn’t sell out, did you?”
“Actually, the ticket sales are run through the city, but I have a handful to give out. Wait right here. I’ll run in and grab one. You can’t stop me,” I tease as I head back up the cobblestone path that leads to the entry.
Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3) Page 9