We Woof You a Deadly Christmas

by Laura Quinn

  A police officer interrupted, asking to speak with Mrs. Prescott. Claire groaned when she saw the familiar face and told her friend she would call her back later. She led Officer Vert to the backroom, offering to sit with Delilah. The look on his face told Claire she should wait outside. She hugged her neighbor and excused herself from the office, hovering outside the door in case Delilah needed saving.

  At first, Delilah’s voice was eerily controlled. She stated her full name and supplied various details such as their home address, phone, birthdates, wedding date, and health details. She remained steady as she provided the timeline since she had last seen her husband. Twice she had to explain that she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t been home, for she thought he was still out of state on business. She answered the officer’s questions as to whether this was routine behavior by explaining the unique nature of being an antique dealer, having to travel often to estates and auctions, and being at the whim of sellers and buyers. Only when Delilah described opening the antique shop that morning, did she break down. Through heart-wrenching sobs, Claire heard how the devoted wife tripped over her husband’s outstretched leg as she walked to the cashwrap. When Delilah gasped for breath, Claire burst into the office.

  “I think she’s had enough for now. Can’t you finish this up later, after she’s had some time to grieve? She’s just lost her husband!”

  Officer Vert scanned his notepad and snapped it shut. “I think I have all I need for now. We’ll contact you if we need anything more.” He turned to Claire and said, “Now, I need to take a statement from your manager, then I’ll ask you a few questions.”

  While Barbara provided her account of the morning for the record, Claire sat with Delilah. She learned the grieving woman had a sister, Tallulah, who was flying in from New York to stay with her. Barbara came in with a fresh pot of spirited tea and whispered to Claire it was her turn to talk with the police.

  “So, Ms. Noble, you’re involved in another death,” Officer Vert said.

  “I wasn’t even here,” she protested. “Just a minute, you said death, not murder. Was it natural causes?”

  “I’m asking the questions here,” he said, flicking open his notepad. “I’ll need the times you left last night and arrived this morning, and the names of anyone who can collaborate your story.”

  “I need an alibi?” Claire scoffed, but complied by giving the details of her movements since the evening before. She mentioned the sighting of the strange man she observed earlier, but Officer Vert paid little heed.

  “If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch,” he said, then snapped his book closed, put on his NHPD jacket, and left.

  Barbara came downstairs to report that Delilah was asleep with Baron. They shared a cup of tea, sans spirit, and discussed the shocking event until customers began arriving. Both women stuck to their story that they heard there was an accident next door, but didn’t have details.

  Claire printed a sign advising customers that the antique store would be closed for the next several days, due to a family emergency. She was about to post it in the window, when a gold Maybach pulled up to the front door. The chauffeur opened the door and a rush of pink and blonde hair burst through the doors.

  “Where is my poor, dear Lila?” the woman pleaded, a blend of perfect allocution and southern drawl.

  “You must be Tallulah, I’m Claire. Your sister is resting upstairs.”

  “Call me Lula, dear. Thank you for watching over sis. She thinks the world of you, you know.”

  “The feeling is mutual. I’m so glad she can stay with you for a while. I can’t imagine what she must be going through.”

  “She’s been through it before, and that time it was a real loss. This one is better gone, if you ask me,” Lula opined. “Still, she loved him, don’t ask me why, and she’ll need to be watched over. My summer penthouse has a lovely view of the lake, very soothing. She’ll be finer than a frog hair split five ways soon enough, as our daddy used to say.”

  Claire couldn’t help but smile; Lula’s gregarious nature was infectious. Even Delilah seemed to perk up a bit at the sight of her sister. The driver, dressed in a tight-fitting uniform, helped both ladies into the sumptuous car and sped off to the Gold Coast condominium.

  As word rippled through the community, mall traffic increased. Many went to the coffee shop to swap stories after peering through the antique store windows and reading the sign. Those in the know stopped by the Posh Pup to see if Claire was investigating. The shop owner told everyone the same thing, that as far as she knew it was a natural death, probably a heart attack. She kept to herself the detail that Delilah’s sleeves were stained with blood.

  Baron, bored with the gossipers, curled up in his bed until Zac began his shift. Claire called the teen to the back to brief him on Donald’s death, which of course he knew about already.

  “Christmas came early,” he concluded. “Good thing Peggy’s not here yet, or she would blame me for bringing on some curse or other for saying that.”

  “She’s not coming in tonight,” Claire said. “I suggested she take the night off, considering the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, she would really freak with Scrooge’s spirit lingering.”

  “It’s probably going to be mostly lookie-loo’s coming in anyway, which is just as well. We have a few things to catch up on tonight.”

  Claire tasked Zac with inventorying the holiday stock while she finished Lana’s order. As expected, few actual customers came in to shop.

  “Good grief, can you believe people left flowers outside the antique shop? He’s still conning people in death,” Marti said as she burst through the door. “How are you? I’m sorry to get here so late; that judge took forever to call my case.”

  Claire suggested they have dinner at her house, promising to leave within the hour. Marti left to pick up carry-out from Grandma’s Kitchen, while Zac and Claire finished their tasks and closed the store.

  By the time Claire and Baron walked through the back door, Marti had fed the finicky felines, set out Baron’s favorite food, unpacked several containers of takeaway from Grandma’s Kitchen, and opened a bottle of wine.

  “You are an absolute saint!” Claire declared, surveying the plethora of calorie-laden comfort foods. “This is exactly what I needed!”

  “I figured you probably didn’t eat lunch, so I double-ordered. I also have a second bottle of wine chilling, as something tells me we’ll need it. I brought a change of clothes, since I don’t have any appointments until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Great! Let me run upstairs and change out of these clothes. In fact, I’m going to get into my jammies right now. Why don’t you do the same?”

  Wearing their flannel best, the girls made a substantial dent in the smorgasbord. Claire piled macaroni and cheese on top of mashed potatoes on top of meatloaf. Creamed spinach and coleslaw bordered the tower.

  “I’m going to gain at least five pounds between last night and tonight,” Claire lamented, as she eyed the chocolate cream pie at the end of the table.

  “Speaking of last night,” Marti introduced, while replenishing their glasses to the rim with wine.

  “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Anywhere. I’ve been dying to hear about it all day, pardon the pun.”

  “It’s a little fuzzy. I may have had a bit too much to drink, I’m embarrassed to say”

  “That’s not like you, not on a work night anyway. Were you drinking shots or something?”

  “No, actually we only had a bottle of champagne at the restaurant. It must have been a combination of the bubbles and lack of sleep, I suppose. I just remember feeling so giddy.” Claire stopped short of sharing the details of slow-dancing with Ed under the moon, or maybe it was the overhead heat lamp, in front of the restaurant. “Then, when the valet pulled up his car, a BMW roadster just like the one James Bond drove in Golden Eye…”

  “Now I get the attraction; JP and 007 rolled into one.”

  �
�Do you want to hear the rest or not?” Claire asked.

  Marti answered by miming the locking of her lips and throwing away the key.

  “Well, that’s it,” Claire said, holding up her hands.

  “That’s what?”

  “That’s the end of my scintillating story. He drove me home, we had a nightcap and apparently, I fell asleep on the couch while watching a movie.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Sad, but true,” Claire confessed. “He carried me to my room and stayed the entire night, in the spare room, to be sure I was okay.”

  “I hate to be a killjoy, but how do you know he didn’t try anything while you were asleep?” Marti asked. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I have to play the devil’s advocate. It’s my nature to be suspicious.”

  “Well, first, Baron was with me, and you know what an excellent guardian he is. Second, when I awoke, I was still wearing my tights and Spanx. Believe me, that combination is stronger than any chastity belt.”

  “Okay, you convinced me,” Marti said. “Maybe he is a decent guy, though he’ll have to go a long way before he reaches Nick’s status.”

  “He even made me breakfast and tried to protect my honor by making up that story about the car trouble.” Claire paused, realizing Ed’s actions were very thoughtful, and maybe she had misjudged his note.

  “Too bad he’s a terrible liar,” Marti said. “Barbara wasn’t fooled for a moment. When she called me, she let it slip that you had spent the night together.”

  “I thought as much; that’s why I didn’t call her back right away. I felt like that time we were sent to the principal’s office after we liberated the butterfly from the killing jar.”

  “That was a terrible injustice, maybe what made me become a lawyer,” Marti reminisced. She got up and walked to the bathroom down the hall. On her way back, a loud crunch sounded, followed by a stream of obscenities. Claire rushed over to find her friend pulling out a large plastic splinter from the bottom of her foot. Remnants of the smashed cat toy lay in the center of the floor.

  Claire couldn’t help but laugh, confessing the same thing happened to her several times already.

  “I should sue you, and the company who makes these danger balls,” Marti said. “I thought you only sold responsible products.”

  “I don’t sell them. My brother thought it would be funny to send a package of jingle balls for Hercule and Penny as a Christmas joke,” Claire said. “I can’t tell you how many times we nearly broke our necks after our cat left them on the staircase.”

  “Be sure to thank Brad for me,” Marti said as she limped back to the living room. “Why didn’t you throw them away?”

  “I did, but you know how cunning cats can be. I keep finding them around the house.”

  Marti had a talk with the felonious felines about responsible behavior, a subject they had little interest in hearing. “Maybe you’ll take it seriously when you find yourself facing a purrrsonal liability action.”

  Claire brought out a bottle of iodine to clean the cut, a pair of cushioned slippers, and a large glass of wine for her friend. Settled back on the couch, they returned to the headline of the day.

  Claire recounted what she knew. “Delilah said she found him sprawled out on the floor. She thinks it was a heart attack, but I noticed blood on her sleeves. I don’t know if the police noticed that, and I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “I thought you knew; Bob said the back of his skull was smashed. The question is whether he hit his head in the fall, or if someone hit him.”

  “Wow, how did I miss that? I just assumed, I mean she seemed to know it was heart failure, the same way her first husband died.”

  “It probably was, though I was hoping for murder. If he were killed, the police could investigate the evidence we found in the back room,” Marti said. “Maybe I could still call in an anonymous tip about his illegal trade, though I suppose that would only bring trouble to his wife, financially, I mean.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Claire said. “Delilah is loaded. Apparently, she financed the shop and all the collections sold in it. Her sister filled me in on the whole story.”

  “What did she ever see in him?”

  “Apparently they connected because they had both recently lost their spouses. Delilah’s husband, quite wealthy in his own right, died of a heart attack just a year before she met Donald. His wife died after being hit by a drunk driver. Donald was attending a grief support group at a hotel, when he saw Delilah leaving a charity luncheon.”

  “It almost makes me feel sorry for him,” Marti replied. “Almost.”

  “Yes, he must have had some shred of humanity in him once. Who knows, maybe it was that tragic loss that made him the way he was.”

  “Still, he seemed quite comfortable with using Delilah’s money and treating her like the hired help,” Marti observed.

  “Poor Delilah. Twice widowed without warning; I can’t imagine what she must be going through. I hope the police don’t give her any trouble. You know, they always look at the spouse first. Especially now that this is her second late husband.”

  “The coroner probably won’t waste any time signing the death certificate,” Marti predicted. “With Donald’s acrid nature, I’m surprised he lived as long as he did; especially, if karma had anything to do with it.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to shed a tear over him,” Claire confirmed. “Delilah will be devastated for a while, but she’ll be better off in the long run. Maybe we can even find a suitable suitor for her in the future. Third time lucky?”

  “I only wish I could have used that evidence to bust him while he was alive, Marti lamented. “We could have brought down a syndicate.”

  “Maybe it’s not too late for the mystery mavens to put together an exposé on this, we’ll just have to be clever about it.”

  They sealed their plan with a shared slice of pie before watching a black-widow movie, a black-humor tribute to the late Donald Prescott.

  Chapter 13

  Wednesday, December 13th

  Crime scene tape still decorated the front door of the antique shop, guaranteeing another day of gawkers, augmented by Bob’s article about Donald. As Claire read the advance copy, she was glad to see the story featured Delilah’s work with the fundraising contests and her vow to continue running the store. She hoped the publicity, morbid as it was, would help keep the business running. Although the wealthy widow obviously didn’t need the money, the increased patronage might help her feel better.

  As Baron ate his breakfast kidney pie, disguising a serving of kibble, Claire gathered her notes for the early-morning meeting with her product rep. Many of the holiday suppliers were sold out by now, but some of the smaller companies offered two-day delivery on their remaining stock. She called her friend in Wisconsin, who produced his own line of all-natural rawhide, and ordered as many candy-cane and braided wreath-shaped bones as he could send.

  Ordering for her first holiday season back in July had been tricky for the new shop owner. Having just opened a few weeks prior, Claire had to forecast what her sales would look like months in the future. From her former life in marketing, she knew the precarious balance retail owners faced: order too little and miss out on sales during the busiest time of the year; order too much and you were faced with holiday overload no one wanted to see during the slowest time of the year. Prudently, Claire kept a list of last-minute providers to save her when the sales soared past her estimates.

  Baron wagged his tail when he smelled his favorite salesperson walk through the door, expecting the usual offerings of toys and foods to sample.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly, you’re like my fairy godfather,” Claire said, escorting Dean to the office. “There’s been a lot going on around here, and I feel like I’ve lost complete control.”

  “You’re one of my favorite customers, and Baron my favorite tester. How could I say no?” He opened his rolling briefcase and slipped a larg
e piece of beef jerky to his furry friend. “You caught me on my way to preview the new dog string bikini lines at the Mart, so I was grateful for the detour.”

  “Good grief,” Claire exclaimed. “Some people take it too far. I hope they don’t offer a dog waxing service next.”

  “Maybe I should write that down,” Dean teased. “So, I brought catalogs of the items still available. We can even get some of them here by tomorrow, the rest by the weekend, if you order this morning and don’t mind paying the rush fees.”

  Barbara arrived just in time to help Claire decide on an order of rubber chicken Santas. The raucous squawk was so obnoxious, the manager said, dogs and kids loved it. An assortment of other hot sellers was ordered, guaranteeing restocked shelves by the end of the week.

  While Barbara handled a wave of visitors asking about the late antique dealer, Claire joined Baron in the back office for a quick lunch. Between bites of her salad, she called in rush orders to the few companies Dean didn’t represent, and contacted her local crafters to see if they had any additional stock available. Barbara took her lunch afterwards, returning to a steady stream of customers and nosy-bodies. When Peggy arrived for her shift, Claire left with Baron for the senior home.

  She first stopped at the bakery to get a box of sweets for the crafters who expedited her commission. Viktor and Anne were in the back, catching up on orders. Their daughter ran the counter, allowing Claire to leave without speculation of Donald’s death. She didn’t escape it long, however, as the police called a moment later, requesting her presence.

  Claire brought Baron into the station with her, which meant stopping to greet his many fans. After his heroics that summer, he had been made an honorary police dog. While they waited in the visitors’ area, Baron picked up a familiar scent.

  “Lana, what are you doing here?” Claire asked the socialite. “Are you feeling ok? You look a bit pale.”

  Lana blinked and seemed to return to the present. “Oh, it’s probably this new foundation. There was a new girl at Neiman Marcus who was so insistent, and well, obviously I won’t use it again. I was here to…oh, just a moment,” she said. She pulled her phone out of her purse, read the screen, then thrust it back in, muttering about her archnemesis, Bunny. Baron stepped up and kissed her hand.