We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  Ashen-faced and trembling, the older woman gratefully accepted the offer. Handkerchief in hand, it took several attempts before she could tell Claire what happened.

  “The phone rang. I thought it might be Donald, and I was so excited to tell him about the television people. But, it was a police officer, calling about…”

  Claire hugged the sobbing Delilah while hoping that her husband had been involved in a fatal accident, or had been arrested. She tried to look very concerned when she said, “Poor Mr. Prescott, I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not Donald. He’s fine, not at all bothered by this.”

  Hopes dashed, Claire poured more tea and spooned a hefty amount of sugar into Delilah’s mug. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “He thinks I’m silly to react this way, but it has been quite unsettling. Poor Ms. Fischer.”

  “Did something happen to her piece?” Claire braced herself for another visit from the distraught lunch lady. “Can it be replaced?”

  “No, it’s Ms. Fischer herself. She passed away. I’m sorry, I thought you may have heard, since she was a friend.”

  “What happened? She was so full of life when I saw her Sunday.” Now it was Claire’s skin that paled, remembering she uttered eerily similar words upon hearing that Karen Dirch died just a few months prior. When her friend Traci was named a suspect in that murder, the shop owner acted as an amateur sleuth to investigate. But, surely, those days wouldn’t repeat themselves, she thought. Her urge to knock on the wooden table for prevention proved that Peggy’s superstitions were contagious.

  Delilah was still sobbing as she continued, “I don’t really know. It was such a shock to receive a call from the police, asking my name and why I called the deceased, Ms. Fischer. I couldn’t even think of who she was to save my soul.”

  “I’m sure I would have reacted the same way,” Claire said, just recovering from the news herself. “They should be more sensitive when delivering news like that.”

  “Officer Vert kept asking why I couldn’t remember who she was when our number was the last to appear on her phone. Finally, I realized who she was, but I didn’t know what to say. Oh, Claire, it was so awful.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would suspect you of anything improper,” Claire said, knowing all too well that NHPD’s most junior officer would, in fact, suspect anyone.

  “He said it looked like I was trying to cover up my involvement with the dead woman. My involvement,” she repeated, looking even paler with each syllable.

  Claire added more tea and sugar to Delilah’s cup. “Drink all of this, it will make you feel better. It’s too bad that Donald wasn’t here to get that call.”

  “He would have known just what to say. I wanted to be honest with the police, of course, but it was such a dilemma. I didn’t want to tell him about that whole dreadful misunderstanding about the entry. Ms. Fischer was so upset and I’m sure she didn’t mean the things she said.” Delilah stopped stirring her cup and looked up at Claire. “Did she?”

  “No, I’m sure not,” Claire lied. From what she remembered of her high school years, Ms. Fischer was not someone to mince words. “Besides, what difference would that have made, anyway?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. So, I decided not to tell the police about it. Then, after the call, I worried that the stress of it all might have caused her to have a heart attack.” Delilah broke down again.

  “Oh, you poor dear. How awful!” Claire tried to be sensitive, but curiosity was getting the best of her. She mused aloud, “Seems like quite a bit of attention for a death by natural causes. Unless it was…”

  “That’s what I thought. The officer finally admitted the call was simply a formality. But if that’s true, why were there so many questions?”

  “I suppose they have to get all the facts, for their report.”

  “I hope you’re right. I can’t imagine we would ever be involved in a mur--, a mur--, oh God!”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure it will be fine. If it will make you feel better, I’ll check with my friend, Bob. He knows people on the force.”

  “Yes, please.” She hugged Claire tightly, dampening her shirt sleeve with tears. “I better go.”

  Claire opened her own shop, stunned by the whole situation. She tried calling Bob, but had to settle for leaving an extended message on his voicemail. A thousand scenarios flooded Claire’s imagination, most of them ending wistfully with Donald’s being led away in handcuffs.

  A sudden flurry of customers ended her speculations. She helped them with questions of what to get for grand-dogs, dogs with wheat allergies, bored cats and the proper bandana size for a guinea pig. Barbara arrived at noon, helping ring up orders. When the last customer had left, Claire pulled Barbara to the side.

  “Barbara, did you know Ruth Fischer?”

  “Oh, that poor woman who passed away? The ladies at the beauty shop were talking about it this morning. Jo Ann said she was only in her early fifties.”

  “Any word of the cause of death? Delilah is so worried,” Claire said to a bewildered Barbara. “That’s how I heard. She was in hysterics when I arrived. I made a cup of chamomile tea for her, but she was still shaky.”

  “Was she close to Ms. Fischer?”

  “Not at all.” Claire shared with her manager a brief overview of the misunderstanding followed by the weekend’s events.

  “Poor Ms. Fischer, just about to start a new life,” Barbara said. “That’s why I keep working. The moment you retire, it seems your body follows suit.”

  “As if I’d ever let you leave!” Claire hugged her friend. “In better news, did you see the write-up in the paper?”

  “Of course, I did. Everyone was talking about it under the dryers. I think both events will do very well.”

  “I do too,” Claire said, brightening. “The phone has been ringing all morning. I’ve advised each rescue group to send an extra volunteer or two. I hope the weather continues to cooperate.”

  As if to mock her, the skies turned cold and grey with occasional bouts of turbulent wind and snow. With few customers, the two ladies were able to prepare several batters to scoop, pipe and roll out for baking. Barbara sang along with Bing Crosby’s Christmas album, while Claire contributed reworked, baking-themed choruses.

  During the extended lull, Claire thought about calling Ernie. He would probably know how Ruth died, or at least if it appeared to be natural causes. Rolling balls of chilled pumpkin-gingersnap dough, she debated with herself about calling the fire station. Not only was there the ghost of romantic entanglement, but this very action also led to her involvement in the last murder cases. She definitely didn’t have time for that during this time of year, and decided to leave well enough alone…until she remembered Delilah’s tear-streaked face. Claire dialed the familiar number, but hung up to take Bob’s incoming call.

  “Another death involving another neighbor and you haven’t solved it yet? You’re letting your fellow Mystery Mavens down,” the newspaper editor scolded.

  “I’ve been a bit busy,” Claire said. Baron woofed in confirmation. “So, do you know anything or not?”

  “That lacked Marti’s authoritarian tone, but I’m glad the hypnosis CD is helping.”

  “Baron says your status as favorite uncle is waning,” Claire threatened.

  “Okay, I can’t jeopardize that. According to my source, no foul play is suspected. The estimated time of death was sometime Sunday night, but no word on the cause of death yet.”

  “The high school planned a retirement rally for her yesterday, I wonder what they’ll do now.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath; Principal Blummer was furious with her. I was none too happy myself after wasting my and my best photographer’s time waiting for her to show up.”

  “Speaking of cameras, a little birdie told me that Channel Nine is sending out a film crew to our mall this week.”

  “I heard. Don’t worry, we’ll do a better job of pre- and post-co
verage than our television counterparts.”

  Claire thanked him for the update and began dialing Delilah’s number to tell her the good news, when a call came in from the North Haven Fire Department.

  “Everything okay with North Haven’s prettiest business owner?” Hunter asked.

  “Baron prefers to be called handsome,” Claire said, hoping he would take the hint. “I was calling to see if you knew anything about Ruth Fischer’s death, but I got the answer.”

  “Then, you know that the cause of death is pending postmortem results.”

  “An autopsy? I thought it was natural causes.”

  “No need to break out your P.I. kit, it’s procedure when a seemingly healthy person dies at home.”

  “I was just asking for a friend,” Claire said. A timer beeped, providing her an excuse to end the call. Before Hunter hung up, he offered his service as a bodyguard, should she change her mind about investigating.

  “Men,” Claire harrumphed. “The one you want doesn’t call and the one you don’t does.”

  Baron jumped up and licked her cheek before jingling the bells on the back door, signaling a walk was in order. As they made their way around the block, Claire focused on Ruth’s death. She replayed Sunday’s scene, when the retiring lunch lady was very much alive. “This doesn’t feel right; what do you think?” she asked her dog.

  Baron tilted his head to look at her before burrowing into a fresh pile of snow.

  “You’re right, a little digging couldn’t hurt.” Claire agreed.

  The baker rubbed her arms as she stood outside the antique shop back door, weighing the options whether or not she should share the news of the autopsy. She began singing the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go”, attracting her neighbor’s attention.

  “You have such a lovely singing voice,” Delilah said.

  “I didn’t realize I was so loud. In fact, I hardly realized I was singing aloud. I do that when I’m deep in thought.”

  “Do you have news?”

  “I called Bob, but got his voicemail,” Claire said, truthfully. “From what I’ve read, an autopsy is standard procedure for a death at home.”

  “Oh, God!”

  “There’s really nothing to be worried about,” Claire said, unconvinced herself. Delilah leaned against the door frame, wringing a pink lace handkerchief in her hands. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again.

  “You can tell me,” Claire encouraged. “Maybe I can help.”

  “It’s just that…maybe I shouldn’t say this…but I’m so worried that Donald’s story may not be entirely accurate. You know how it is when you’re nervous, not that he should have any reason to be, but the police can make anyone fret, can’t they?” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Claire cut to the chase, “You’re worried that Donald wasn’t really in Lexington Monday night, aren’t you?”

  A mixture of shock and relief showed on Delilah’s face. “How on Earth did you know?”

  “Something’s been nagging me about that night. Then, I remembered crunching a de-icing crystal the next morning.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was testing a new product, safe for pet’s paws. I sprinkled the crystals over the front and back paths that night, in case it snowed, which it didn’t.”

  Delilah dabbed her eyes, their expression changing to confusion. Claire realized she was obfuscating, despite her long-held desire to bust her ill-tempered neighbor. Breaking Donald’s alibi meant not only that he had lied to his wife, but that he may be having an affair or, was somehow involved in Ruth’s death. Still, Delilah had a right to know.

  Claire continued, “The next morning, Monday, I saw some of the green crystals by your back door. It took a while for me to realize what that meant. You weren’t in yet, so someone else came into your shop between the time I left Sunday night and returned Monday morning. See?”

  “But, you might have tracked it in yourself.”

  “I parked in front yesterday, so it couldn’t have been me. If it wasn’t you, or a burglar, then it had to have been Donald.”

  “Oh dear,” Delilah said, wiping tears from her eyes. “When I asked Donald about the collection, he said they were knockoffs. That seemed very unlikely, as he said they wanted an expert in Civil War relics. Given his expertise and reputation in the industry, why would forgers chance it?”

  As the realization set in, Delilah gripped Claire’s shoulders. “What if he went over to Ms. Fischer’s home and scared her to death? When he feels threatened, he attacks. I don’t mean attack in the physical sense, but he probably raised his voice to her. If she had a weak heart, maybe he, he…” Her voice dissolved into tears.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Claire hugged her.

  “Then where was he?” she wailed. “What else could he be hiding from me?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this all out. I’m sure it’s all simply a big misunderstanding.”

  “Will you, will you investigate?” she pleaded. “I don’t think I can wait until the autopsy results are in, and who knows when they’ll tell us anything anyway. I’m an absolute wreck.”

  Claire wanted to kick herself for telling Delilah about the cases she had been involved with in the past. “I’ll try my best; maybe I can at least find out about Ruth’s recent health.”

  Delilah hugged the amateur detective tightly, then used her mangled handkerchief to wipe away more tears. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself enough to return to her shop.

  “Don’t you have enough to do around here?” Barbara asked when Claire returned to the back office.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I overheard your conversation.”

  “Barbara O’ Reilly, you were eavesdropping? I don’t believe it!”

  “I was concerned when I heard crying, so I opened the door slightly. Do you really think you should get involved? Donald is trouble enough without being spiteful, Lord help us.”

  “I’m not going to poke the bear, believe me. I just thought I would ask a few general questions about Ruth’s health. Maybe I’ll also find out how she was able to retire so early; I think that’s been bothering me from the start. But, I’m not going to investigate Donald at all. I promise!”

  “I hope not,” Barbara said, ending the conversation with one of her looks that transcended speech.

  “Even that will have to wait, as I have plenty to do,” Claire said, sitting down at the computer. She began by sending an email blast to everyone who had reserved a place for Saturday’s event, reminding them to ask for their VIP bag. Then, she checked her VIP bag checklist against items collected and found they didn’t correlate.

  “Barb, do you mind if I run out quickly, while it’s quiet? We’re short eleven spa day certificates from the groomer, seven photography package flyers, and three paw charms from the jeweler.”

  “While you’re out, why don’t you see if you can get some more holiday collars from the Golden Oaks seniors? I sold the rest of our medium-sized stock and we’re running low on the others too.”

  “You should have been in real estate; you would have been a millionaire by now.”

  “I’ll take Baron’s kisses over commissions any day. Though, I wouldn’t say no to a lemon bar, if you’re passing the bakery.”

  Claire called the Golden Oaks Manor, asking if it would be convenient if she stopped by to pick up a few collars. Along the way, she made her other stops, including picking up treats for Barb. She arrived at the home earlier than expected, but was warmly greeted by John and Jean. They invited her back to the craft room to peruse a tote of collars, marked up for the holiday rush. Since Claire had saved the pair from Lydia’s deadly scheme that summer, they considered her family, though not immune from the occasional price gauging.

  “You’re keeping us busy this month,” Jean said. “We made these today, figuring you would sell a lot at your big event.”

  “Yes, you’ll sell a lot,” John said. “We’ve bee
n very busy.”

  “I just told her that,” Jean said. “We saw your article in the paper; it sounds like such fun. I requested a group trip there, but the warden wouldn’t go for it. Apparently, it’s too late for some of the old fogeys here.”

  “Old fogeys,” John parroted.

  “I’ll show you pictures next time I come,” Claire promised.

  “We’ve got Facebook here, dear,” John said. “We’re old, not dead.”

  “Old, not dead. Good one, hun!”

  “Understood,” Claire said. “I’ll take all these collars and place an order for as many as you can make next week.” Claire paid her bill in cash, along with a deposit for the next order.

  John’s eyes twinkled as he took the funds. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked. “We’ve increased production with the help of some naïve volunteers. Tell her, Jeanie.”

  “One of us acts dotty and pretends to forget how to make the collars. The volunteer shows us how, and then someone else says she couldn’t see. So, the volunteer has to make another one.”

  “We place bets on how many we can con out of them,” John added. “Today, we got eight extra collars.”

  “And I won the pool, so we’re ordering Hawaiian pizza tonight,” Jean said.

  “You are evil geniuses,” Claire said. “Agnes must be proud of her acting leaders while she’s out. I shudder what to think what else you get up to here.”

  The teapot on the table rattled from their laughter.

  “People assume you’ve lost the plot when you’re here,” Jean explained. “Just because we’re less active physically doesn’t mean our minds aren’t sharp.”

  “You’ve got to stay active in some way, or you die,” John agreed. “We’ve seen it first-hand here.”

  Claire sensed her opportunity to do a bit of investigating. Unlike the gullible volunteers, Claire knew how tuned-in the seniors were.

  “Like that poor Ruth Fischer,” Claire said. “She seemed to be in perfect health.”

  “She was,” Jean said. “Do you remember Mable? She worked in the lunchroom when Ruth started.”

  “Yes, she was there when I went to school,” Claire said. “We all loved her.”