We walked closer and listened for a while.
“They do this every hour, until Santa gets here, Mercy.”
“We’ve got to get them in the parade, Ruby. It’s too late to build a float for them, but maybe they can walk and sing.”
“No worries, Mercy. Your assistant producer will get the lumberyard to loan us a flatbed. We just need a small tree and some white sheets or something to look like snow. I know the teacher who organized this, so consider it done!”
“That would be terrific! We’ll put them next to last, right before Santa Claus. You’re the best, Ruby!”
“No, Deloris is.”
“What? But you weren’t there when…”
“Oh, that’s right. Let’s go see Babs. I could use a bite.”
Everything was fine at the Old School booth, so we had a nibble and decided to see how the hay wagon was coming.
“Hi, guys,” I said to Jake and Junior, who were both kneeling next to the old wooden wagon, which they had standing on its side now. “I brought you a little snack.”
“And I’ve got two fresh-squeezed lemonades for you from the Moonbucks booth,” Ruby added, setting them down on top of an old 55-gallon drum.
“Looks like you’re making some progress, boys.”
“Well,” Jake said, getting to his feet and brushing off his overalls, “we’ve pretty much completed the demolition portion.”
“Yup,” Junior agreed, his mouth already full. “We cut all the rusty parts off with the acetylene torch. So, now we just gotta put on the sleigh runners. Mm. These are good.”
“I’ve been checking, Junior, because I was hoping for a white Christmas too. But it doesn’t look like any snow is coming our way. Wheels might be a better idea.”
“Well,” he said, halfway through his lemonade now, “there was just a big storm in the Gulf the other day, so I figure all that moisture should come up this way and run right into that cold front coming in from Minnesota. We could get a foot of snow if everything comes together just right.”
I looked at Ruby. “I guess Junior is a meteorologist now.”
“Sounds like it could work,” Ruby said with a shrug.
“But, you guys, I think St. Louis is supposed to get the snow, and maybe Chicago.”
“Don’t worry,” Junior told us, taking the last bite of his snack. “I talked to Ed Bear. He’s a Chickasaw chief. He’s going to take care of it. They’re having a powwow tonight in front of the Christmas tree. His rain dance ended the draught two summers ago, so it should work for snow too.”
“Well, tell him to take it easy. We don’t want to have to cancel the parade on account of too much snow,” I said with my tongue in my cheek.
“Oh! Yeah, good idea. I’ll tell him.” Junior walked over to a few loose bales of hay by the wall, yawning as he went. “I’m going to take a little nap and then get into my new Santa suit.”
“The kids are going to love it,” I said excitedly.
“Yeah, the kids loved Snata in the red pajamas. Hopefully the parents won’t be mad at me tonight.” He sat down and fluffed up some of the hay for a pillow.
“Trust me, Junior. Nobody will be mad at you tonight – and the kids are going to be more excited than you’ve ever seen them.”
He nodded and went to sleep.
Junior was on fire tonight in his new Santa suit. He really did seem to be the genuine jolly old soul, and he was attracting a lot of attention. At one point, when the band was playing, he even got up on the stage and did some terrific break dancing, spinning on his back and head. He even did the splits!
“This might be my favorite night ever at the festival, Ruby,” I told her as we heard the tom-toms start beating for the powwow. “Whoville was terrific, Junior is amazing, and now they’re starting the powwow. We should get Ed Bear in the parade too. I can’t think of anything that could make this night better!”
“Hi, girls. Got room for one more in your group?”
Well, maybe Brody could make the night even better. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, wearing his Sheriff’s uniform.
“I think we can squeeze you in, Brody. Looks like you’re on duty. How’s the case coming?”
We all sat on a bench not too far from the Chickasaw bonfire and dancing.
“Theoretically, I just got off, but you know how it is when there’s an active case. We really need to get this guy before he kills someone else, but the evidence is not really adding up to anything yet.”
“Did you try to find out who bought those canes and the blades he used to modify them?”
“Well, that’s just it, Mercy. He stole the canes from people here at the festival. They are a well-made novelty item that someone is selling in the Christmas Village. We know there are at least two other people who said they bought one and it was stolen, but nobody saw the thief.”
“But the festival just started yesterday. He had to put those blades on the canes first, and that must have taken some work.”
“True. The vendor said he had a boxful stolen a week or so ago too, at a flea market a half hour south of here.”
“How many are in a box?” Ruby asked him.
“Six. Just not sure what ties Ed Greely and the professor at the college together, though.”
“Well,” I said, “Ed was in TV news, and the professor taught media, didn’t she?”
“Oh, yeah, mass communications. Is that media?”
“So, look for one of her students who went to work at Channel 7.”
“And who has some woodworking skills and knows how to engrave,” Brody said with a pensive nod. “The professor’s name, Andrea Hern, was engraved on the blade that killed her, just like Ed Greely. I think you’ve given me some direction now, Mercy. Thanks.”
Brody’s phone rang, and he listened for a long moment. Then he hung up and jumped to his feet. He shook his head and exhaled.
“Another body, Mercy. Same MO. This guy is on a killing spree.”
“Oh, no. Where? Who?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he looked at me.
“The reporter, Maria Brown-Calderon. At the Channel 7 Christmas party.”
Chapter Six
The next day Brody called me just as the noon bells started ringing at St. Catherine’s.
“Hi, Brody! Got time for lunch? The empanadas are made, Babs is off and running to the festival, my produce order is emailed in, and I’m ready for a nice soup and salad. Meet me at Rocco’s?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I just wanted to tell you that there’s been another incident.”
“Oh, no. Another murder already this morning, Brody?”
“Not exactly. The victim got away.”
“Ooh! Well that’s a relief. Please tell me it wasn’t in Paint Creek.”
He paused for a while. “Well…okay, then…it was in Whoville.”
“Whoville! You mean the little village at the festival? Are the children okay?”
“Everybody’s fine, Mercy. They were just starting to set things up around 10:00 a.m. when the maniac attacked.”
“Who? Who did he attack?”
“He went after the Grinch, just after he had gotten into his costume. Fortunately, they had used some kind of papier-mâché form and lots of padding to shape and reinforce costume. The blade got stuck halfway through and gave the guy time to react. Never broke the kid’s skin. It just said The Grinch on the blade.”
“Well, that was lucky.”
“The kid in the costume was a football player from the high school, and he took a couple of swings and kicks at the assailant. Without the shielding from the costume, he said the surprise attack probably would have killed him.”
“Wow. Can he identify him?”
“The attacker flipped the lights off in the dressing room, and there were no windows. So, all he can say is that it was a male, average height, maybe in his 20s or 30s. He was wearing a hoodie.”
“Well, let me know when you can take a short break. And Brody…”
>
“Yes?”
“Catch this guy.”
The next few days were very tense for the little town of Paint Creek, and I’m sure for the whole area. A serial killer was on the loose, and it was really putting a damper on the Christmas mood.
The close-call in Whoville may have been what caused the killer to take a break for the past three days, but everyone was still on high-alert. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and I prayed we could make it through the holiday without any more tragedies. And I had a lot of practical matters to worry about.
The sleigh was still a work in progress with the big parade just a day away, and still no sign of an impending blizzard. I dropped into the big barn in mid-afternoon to see how the guys were doing and offer some moral support.
“Brody!” I said happily. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I’m not sure, Mercy. I guess I’m just everywhere you want me to be.”
The old wagon didn’t look much different than it did a few days ago, except for the addition of a couple of steel runners so it could glide through the, well, pavement. I was thinking that Santa might have to walk through the parade.
“Are you going to get this thing ready on time, guys? The parade is tomorrow. It’s not even painted yet.”
“It’ll be done,” Junior said confidently, but his dad just shook his head and shrugged.
“Hey, Mercy, did you bring any food today?” Junior asked.
“Sorry, actually, no. But I can run to the booth in a while.”
“That’s okay. I need something different for a change. I really wish I had a nice ham sandwich.”
I looked at his Santa suit lying in the corner. “Try your front pocket,” I said, pointing to the suit.
“Huh?”
I brought the suit jacket to him and held it open for him to slip into. His hair and beard grew white and long, and I patted his front pocket, where he had gotten my Kit Kat bar from.
“Here,” I said.
He reached in and pulled out the ham sandwich of his dreams.
Brody looked confused but seemed afraid to ask about the white hair. “You keep a ham sandwich in your pocket, Junior?”
“Not exactly,” he said, sliding it back in the pocket, but still holding onto it.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked him.
“Adding mustard and tomatoes.”
He took the completed sandwich out and tore it neatly into two pieces. “Here, Pops.”
“We’ll let you two eat,” I said, grabbing Brody’s arm and heading out the door. “Bye!”
“Did anything in there seem odd to you, Mercy?”
“Nothing is odd when the Carter men are involved,” I said, deflecting the question as best I could. “Let’s find a bench, and you can tell me where you’re at with the case.”
We must have talked for half an hour. He felt like he was making headway, but he couldn’t find the evidence he needed to make an arrest.
“I did find a guy who was interning at the station for Greely,” Brody told me, “and he did have Hern for a semester. She gave him a grade of D for the class.”
“That sounds like a good lead.”
“I thought so too, but we raided his little apartment in town and found nothing. No candy canes or blades, no receipts, no woodworking or engraving tools.”
“Does he have an alibi?”
“He was working the camera here for Ed the night of the first murder, and he was at the Channel 7 Christmas Party, so yes and no.”
“Hmm. Did you check his laptop or Facebook page?”
He nodded. “Nothing.”
“How about his phone? And is he a local kid? Maybe he still has a room at his parents’ place.”
He looked at me. “Are you sure you’re a nurse and not a detective, Mercy Howard?”
“Just your humble assistant, Dr. Watson, at your service, Sheriff.”
“Well, I’m going to get a warrant for his phone and for his parents’ house, if they live in the area. Are you planning on staying here all day, or do you want to meet me at Rocco’s at 7:00 or 8:00?”
“Rocco’s at 8:00! I’ve got some final inspections to do for the parade.” I answered enthusiastically. “We can share a family platter of spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Now you’re talking! See you at 8:00!”
Ruby had been a huge help in making the final preparations for the Parade of Lights tomorrow. I checked the last five floats, which were in a big hangar across from the park. I tested their lights and made sure they would fit under the footbridge over 4th street. When I checked off the last detail, I called Ruby to see how she was coming along with her list.
“All done!” she said. “Isn’t it exciting? Just one day left till Christmas, and the parade is all set to go!”
“It is exciting! I thought this parade was going to drag down my mood, but it’s really made Christmas better than ever. Ruby, put on something nice. I’m going to go home and change, and I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Since we got everything finished up early, I’m taking you to the Oasis in Calhoun for Happy Hour, and then you’re going to join Brody and me for spaghetti and meatballs at Rocco’s!”
Silence.
“Spaghetti? You mean like carbohydrates all covered with, um, red meat?”
Oh, boy. “You can have the lentil soup and a Caesar’s salad with no dressing, if you prefer.”
“Oh, that sounds good!”
It does? Maybe if you’re a rabbit.
“Great!”
Before I knew it, Ruby and I were making our grand entrance at the Oasis. She was in a ruby red over-the knee vintage Valentino dress with cherry-bomb red lipstick and red Jimmy Choo heels. I opted for the LBD that I wore to the County’s Christmas party at the Radisson a couple weeks ago.
“You are classic Audrey Hepburn in that little black dress, girl,” Ruby whispered to me as we strutted past the stares and leers of half the businessmen in Calhoun.
“Except she was a petite brunette, and I’m…not. But I think we got their attention,” I told her. “Let’s sit at the bar and flirt with the bartender.”
“Mercy! No! Well…okay! It might be fun.”
We were both engaged and totally loyal to our men, but we were looking good, and it felt good to be noticed.
The bartender walked right up to us the moment we sat and locked eyes with Ruby.
“Good evening, Miss. What can I get for you and your mother?”
I slammed both hands down on the bar without even thinking. “Let’s move to the table in the corner, Ruby. We’ll order from the waitress.”
We moved, and Ruby was all giggles.
“Mother!” I said indignantly. “Do I look like your mother, Ruby?”
She shook her head but continued to laugh.
“I’m 33 years old…”
“You’re 34 now, Mercy.”
“And you’re 26.”
“I’m 27.”
“How in the world could I be your mother? Am I wrinkled? Are my fashions that out of date?”
“Relax, Mercy! I think you just made him say that because you felt guilty about wanting to flirt.”
“What? Made him say that? That’s crazy talk. And how on earth would he know what I was thinking or feeling, Ruby?”
“We all do! One Strawberry-Appletini, please.” She said to the waitress.
“And I’ll have an Old-Fashioned. Wait!” That sounded like a drink for old people. “Make it two of those sickeningly sweet strawberry thingies that she just ordered.”
We talked for an hour, nursing one drink. Ruby told me that her fiancé, a famous rodeo cowboy, would be coming in for New Year’s. She was really excited about that, of course.
“What did you get Brody for Christmas, Mercy?”
“I never know what to get that man. I got him tickets for a show at the Civic Center Auditorium.”
“Tickets? You got your man tickets?”
“Yup – for a monster truck show and a barbecue fest
ival in the parking lot there, first week of April.”
“Well, I guess that’s not so bad. I got Justin a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots. His old leather ones are kind of worn out.”
“Nice. And I also got Brody a spendy little putter he’s had his eye on for a while.”
“Lead with the putter, Merse. Guys like real…things.”
“He’s going to like the monster truck show too, Ruby. It’s kind of like a rodeo, but with trucks.”
We got to Rocco’s a little early and ordered an appetizer.
“A nice bruschetta sounds good,” Ruby said, perusing the menu.
“It does – but isn’t that bread? You know, carbohydrates?”
“Yeah, but it’s crunchy and covered with fresh herbs and veggies.”
“Ooh! The Cali-Terranean sounds good. It’s got the Roma tomatoes and basil and parmesan with Kalamata olives and feta, like the Mediterranean, plus a little avocado. And, of course, balsamic.”
“Yum! Sold!”
It was delicious, and it wasn’t easy to save one for Brody, who walked in at 8:00 sharp.
He was whistling silently and had a bounce in his step I hadn’t seen in a while. And he wasn’t in uniform!
“Hey, hey! Both of my favorite ladies are here!” He gave Ruby a little smooch on the forehead and I got the usual peck on the cheek. “Is that bread thingy for me?”
He took a bite without waiting for a response.
“Mmm. Tastes like pretentious Millennialism and West Coast snobbery all rolled into one.” He tossed the rest in his mouth and practically swallowed it whole.
“So, you seem to be in a particularly good mood tonight, Brody,” I said. “Did you have a good day, or are you just happy to see us?”
“Well, I’m always happy to see you, of course, but…” He smiled deviously and raised his eyebrows twice.
“Was there a break in the case?” Ruby asked with a tone of excitement.
“You might say that. Acting on a tip from a brilliant diner owner, we searched his parents’ house about 30 minutes from here. Actually, very close to that flea market the cane guy was at last week.”
“Really! What did you find?”
“Well, his dad is a woodworker and had a garage full of table saws, routers, and hand tools of every kind. But the motherlode was in the basement in a trombone case under the kid’s bed.”
Candy Canes & Corpses Page 33