Purrfect Slaying

by Louise Lynn

  "Okay, fine. You took an Uber. I'm sure Sheriff Cross will be able to double check that somehow." What she didn't say was that he still could have killed John Collins and then took the Uber away from the crime scene. "So you've been here all night?"

  He hung his head and nodded sheepishly. "I hadn't spoken to Marley in months, and then this happens."

  She knew Mr. Stone was old, and so was John Collins, but she was sure Marley Sinclair had a good fifteen to twenty years on both of them. "Wasn't he a bit old to be your friend?"

  A brief chuckle rose in Mr. Stone's throat. "You get to be a certain age and a decade or two doesn't matter as much anymore. You don't remember since you are far too young, but Marley’s family helped put Cedar Valley on the map. Back in the 40s and 50s, his father’s company built a lot of the cabins and vacation homes that are still standing in town today. He even built most of Lake Street in that charming alpine village design.”

  Hazel had no doubt that Marley's family had done that, but the man himself wasn't a beloved founder of their little tourist town—far from it. "It doesn't really matter what his father did, Marley Sinclair was a slumlord," she said and bit her tongue.

  She probably shouldn't say that to a man who was his friend. Though that did tell her something about Albert Stone.

  A deep flush rose to Albert Stone's cheeks, and the man straightened his shoulders. "While it's true that Marley owned plenty of property in town, calling him a slumlord is a bit unfair."

  Hazel crossed her arms and tapped her foot in a way Esther had that demanded answers without saying a word. "Really? So the fact that he owns the only rundown apartment building in the entire town doesn't say something?"

  Mr. Stone's lips drew into a line. "He was miserly in his old age, I'll give you that, but one facet of a person does not the whole make. Think on that."

  Hazel didn't like being talked down to by a potential murderer, even if that was sort of true. "I realize people are multifaceted, Mr. Stone, and I know that Marley Sinclair was your friend. That doesn't mean he was a good man."

  Albert let out a sudden bark of laughter, and his eyes got that haunted cast to them again. "Good man? Heavens no. None of us are good men, I'm afraid. John and Marley knew that well enough, and it seems that I might be next. I only wish that…never mind. You wouldn't understand," he said and hung his head. The sudden blare of a siren made her jump, and Mr. Stone slowly descended the stairs the rest of the way. "And that would be the sheriff come to take me away?"

  Hazel frowned. "To have a word with you. He's not going to arrest you unless he finds evidence that you did it. But, it would be wise to tell him about the candy canes you handed out to the children in the play."

  Mr. Stone’s bushy eyebrows danced above his shrewd eyes. "Candy canes? Why is that detail important?"

  “Sheriff Cross will tell you soon enough," Hazel said and felt bile rising in her throat.

  In truth, she would've liked to see the look on his face when she mentioned how John Collins was killed, as if that might give something away, but she didn't get the chance.

  Sheriff Cross and Deputy Simmons burst through the door. The sheriff looked more haggard than he had the night before, and Hazel hoped he'd at least gotten a few hours sleep. Deputy Simmons looked nearly as tired.

  "Mr. Stone," Sheriff Cross said. "We've been looking for you."

  The old man nodded. "I've heard. You think I killed John Collins, and I'm ready to answer any questions that you have, Sheriff."

  Sheriff Cross gave a quick glance to Hazel, and she smiled benignly.

  A deafening crash came from upstairs, and she flinched at the noise.

  Anthony Ray. Right.

  "What was that," Deputy Simmons said and pulled out his sidearm.

  "It's my cat. Sorry. He got away from me. I'll go fetch him."

  Under normal circumstances, Hazel would've been concerned that Anthony Ray had broken something important or irreplaceable, but considering whose house she was in, and that the owner was dead, she found it much harder to worry about.

  After a quick peek in a few rooms, she found Anthony Ray in the office where she and Colton had ended their search the day before. Her cat sat on the desk, his fluffy tail brushing aside a few pens and papers and sending them scattered to the floor.

  He looked out the window at the steadily falling snow and seemed as pleased as punch to be sitting there, as if the desk were his own personal throne.

  The pens and papers weren’t what made the crash, and Hazel peeked around the desk to see what it could've been. Toppled across the floor were several books, a photo album and something else.

  "What on earth have you managed to get into now?" she asked, though there was no heat in her scolding.

  Anthony Ray did not deign to answer.

  She put the books and photo album back on the shelf where Anthony Ray had knocked them from, and glanced at the final book.

  It was filled with pages and pages of columns and an odd form of shorthand that she wasn't familiar with. Though, she did notice a name pop up more often than not. Albert Stone. And an amount was written next to it—$10,000.

  She paged through the book, and it seemed that Albert was getting paid or paying Marley Sinclair $10,000 a month for the past ten years, at least.

  Did that mean anything or was it just a coincidence? Well, she wasn't about to let it remain unknown. She snatched Anthony Ray's leash, gave her cat a quick kiss on the head, and went back downstairs.

  As she got there, she was just in time to see Albert Stone handing over a pile of candy canes. "I swear that's all of them, and I'm not exactly sure how one would kill someone like that. Were the ends sharpened?"

  Sheriff Cross gave a grim nod. “They were candy canes, trust me. We’ll have them sent to the lab."

  Deputy Simmons snorted. "Isn't there just one kind of candy cane?"

  Hazel gripped the book. "There isn’t. There's the good kind of candy cane and the bad kind."

  "Are the bad kinds the ones that are used as murder weapons?" Deputy Simmons said and scratched his head.

  Albert Stone frowned heavily. “I've already told you, I didn't see John after our last altercation. Check the information on my cell phone. Please." he said and rubbed his hands together.

  Sheriff Cross put the candy canes and the cell phone in an evidence bag. "I will, Mr. Stone. Don't leave town. Oh, and I needed to give you a message. Farrah needs to talk to you right away about the play. It's urgent.”

  To Hazel’s amusement, Colton didn’t seem to mind that he was being used as a message boy for the director of A Christmas Carol.

  Albert Stone's eyes widened. "Does that mean I'm released?"

  Sheriff Cross nodded stiffly, and Hazel watched the man walk outside with Deputy Simmons.

  "That didn't take long," she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She let her lips linger there a moment to absorb his warmth.

  He smiled. "For now, I'm definitely going to have to ask him more questions later. But I figured I would double check this Uber thing first. See if it won't cross him off as a suspect completely."

  By the way he said it, Hazel got the idea he thought it as unlikely as she did. "Well, I found something else that may or may not be important in Marley Sinclair’s study. It has Albert Stone’s name written in it several times." She handed over the book, which Sheriff Cross flipped open and puzzled over.

  After a moment, his eyes lit up. "It's a ledger. This thing is ancient. You know, back before Excel."

  Hazel scrunched her nose. "I use a MacBook, thanks, and I only remember Excel from high school. That's why it didn't make any sense. What does this mean?” she said and pointed at the passage with Stanley's name and the money listed next to it.

  Sheriff Cross smiled. "I'm not quite old enough to use these either, but my dad did. This means money going out. Marley Sinclair was paying Albert Stone $10,000 a month. For what?"

  Hazel shrugged. "Who knows. But you can ask him. Speaking of your
parents, did their flight come in okay?"

  Sheriff Cross nodded and leaned down to return her earlier kiss. "It did, and they have been safely delivered to my house. They’re probably trying to spruce it up as best they can for Christmas morning, knowing my mom."

  "Esther said she'd help me bake Christmas cookies for them, if they're the Christmas cookie type. Are they the Christmas cookie type?"

  Sheriff Cross chuckled. "Who cares about them? I'd like some homemade Christmas cookies, especially if I know Esther's doing most of the baking," he said with a cheeky grin.

  She gave his arm a quick and playful pinch. "Ha ha. Just because you said that, I don't think I'll make any for you. So what's the news on the Christmas Fair? And the play?"

  Sheriff Cross’s expression sobered, and he smoothed his hand down his uniform shirt. "About what you'd expect. The fair stays open, the play stays on, and they've already replaced Santa."

  Hazel blinked. "With who?"

  “This is probably going to surprise you as much as it did everyone at the meeting, but Charles Benson offered to step in. He said they could get someone to fill in the role of the Ghost of Christmas Future at the fair, and he'd play Santa during the day and the Ghost of Christmas Future in the play," he said with a shrug.

  He was right, that was surprising. "Why on earth does the richest man in town want to play Santa at the Christmas Fair?

  "Community service? Maybe he feels like he's giving back. Your guess is as good as mine."

  Speaking of Charles Benson reminded Hazel of something. The things both Albert Stone and her mother had said that morning. She explained it to Sheriff Cross, whose brows furrowed.

  "Well, that's something else to ask Mr. Stone. An avenging angel, huh? Did your mom mention what they’d done?"

  Hazel shook her head. "Which is surprising, knowing her. If Carol Collins had done something terrible and she knew about it, I'm sure she’d broadcast it all around town. And rub it in Carol's face as often as possible."

  Sheriff Cross nodded, though Hazel wasn't sure if he was agreeing with her words or just the sentiment. "Well, it's something to go on. Thanks. I hope this comes in handy. Are you headed to the fair?"

  Hazel yawned and nodded. In order to get through the day she'd need at least one more coffee, considering it was barely ten o'clock and she'd been up since five. "Yeah, I guess I have to. Here I was hoping you'd use your prowess to get the fair shut down so I didn't have to go to work."

  He chuckled again and pulled her close for another kiss. "Hey now, don't make me out to be as corrupt as the last sheriff. I’d like to keep this gig for a long time."

  Hazel grinned. "I'd like you to keep it too.” The stillness of the house didn't seem quite so awful with Colton standing beside her, though as they turned to leave, it still sent a jolt of dread through her bones. "Oh, my mom is probably going to insist that your parents come over for Christmas Eve dinner. Is that all right?"

  He actually looked relieved, which was more of a shock than not. "Good. That'll keep them distracted for one evening. Are you sure your parents don't want to have them over every night? They could play Parcheesi or something."

  Hazel nudged him. "They're your parents; you entertain them. Though, you are pretty busy."

  "Yeah, and I can't say that they really appreciate talking murder at the dinner table."

  "Then they’re nothing like my family," Hazel said.

  Sheriff Cross laughed.

  Chapter 10

  The joyful sounds were a touch subdued that second day at the Christmas Fair. Hazel noticed it immediately upon arrival. Though, to her surprise, not as much as she would've thought. Smiles remained mostly bright, and no one cast suspicious glances at their fellows.

  Maybe that was because no one knew who the suspects were. Or Sheriff Cross said something to calm public fears enough for them to enjoy this time of year.

  She pulled her hat down over her ears and got to work.

  She spotted Michael at Santa's Village, and noticed that they had changed Santa's chair as well. It was probably evidence, and she doubted they wanted anyone to notice the bloodstains.

  Charles Benson gave a good Santa impersonation, from what Hazel could tell, and she smiled as he patted a child on the back and gave the girl a candy cane.

  Michael seemed to be faring better that day as well. Maybe it was because Albert Stone wasn't lurking around to cause trouble, or because John Collins had been just as likely to cause it as Scrooge himself.

  Whatever it was, she left them to it and went about her own work.

  Albert slipped back into his character as easily as ever, and people cowered from him as he clicked his way past the brightly decorated stalls.

  Whispers followed in his wake, but none that were quite as fearful as Hazel thought they might be.

  True to her word, she kept an eye on Ruth and Violet, though she noted that many of the players were sticking together today instead of wandering about on their own. She also noticed that Marcus, as the Ghost of Christmas Present, was following the kids playing street urchins like an overprotective uncle. That he was the jolliest figure in the play didn’t hurt his appeal to the children either.

  Unlike the day before, deputies stood at nearly every corner of the fair, and though they wore Santa hats, they still stood out. Maybe that was helping to alleviate fears. Or maybe fewer people liked John Collins than Hazel originally imagined.

  The more she thought of it, the more she realized she wasn’t sure of her own feelings for John Collins, alive or not. He’d always been a fixture attached to Carol Collins, who’d always disapproved of Hazel because of her mother.

  She never thought of the man as his own person, since she’d only spoken to him at the Christmas Fair. The rest of the year, he kept to Carol’s side and did her bidding or stayed behind the scenes. While he was never as disapproving as his wife, that didn’t mean he was kind either.

  He’d always seemed like the sort of person with a chip on his shoulder, and Hazel never knew what or why, but now she realized it could have something to do with the reason he was killed. These mysterious past happenings and the wrongs Marley, Albert, and John had all taken part in, whatever they were.

  Hazel was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn't realize she'd stopped in front of Paul's ski stall until she glanced down at the plastic glass of cider he handed her.

  A candy cane floated innocently inside of it, and she felt herself blanch.

  "You look cold. Need to warm up?" he said with his signature sunny smile.

  Hazel nodded absently and took the offered cup. "Thanks, yeah. I could use something warm."

  "So they found Mr. Stone, huh?" he said conversationally.

  Hazel swallowed a mouthful of the cider before she answered. “Yeah. Apparently, he was mourning Marley Sinclair's passing and didn't feel up to performing last night. So, there was an innocent explanation."

  Paul nodded and didn't seem skeptical of that at all. Hazel knew he was the sort of man that always saw the best in people. He'd pursued Celia, but now he was happily shacked up with the petite blonde woman running the stall with him—Hazel thought her name was Kylie. "You're the last person who saw Albert last night, aren't you?"

  Paul crinkled his nose. "Maybe. Are you going to question me, Hazy Hart?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe. Do you remember what time? Thing is, he was seen headed toward Santa's Village, and he claims he couldn't find John Collins, and then he says he got an Uber to Marley Sinclair's house."

  Paul organized a set of gloves on display at the booth. "I know it was almost seven when I saw him, and I was surprised since that’s when the play started. He looked like he was in a hurry, and he didn't notice when I called ‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge’ at him. He just marched toward Santa's Village like he had a mission to accomplish," he said and visibly shuddered. “And I didn’t see him after that. Or an Uber. I didn’t know Cedar Valley had Uber drivers.”

  “Well, they do now. You can't
be any more specific than that?”

  Kaylee popped her head around Paul's shoulder. "He is awful with time, but I can be more specific. It was 7:46 on the dot. I know that because I glanced at my phone. I wanted to go see the play and when he pointed out that Scrooge was walking that way, I looked at the time and thought: ‘wow he's cutting it close.’" She grinned at Hazel.

  Hazel nodded her thanks. "That helps. She's a keeper, Paul."

  "I thought so too,” he said and slung an arm around her shoulder.

  Hazel lifted her camera and snapped a picture of Santa’s village. From Paul's shop, it was probably a minute walk there, but that didn't leave much time between when Paul saw Albert Stone heading towards the village and when Marcus and Hazel discovered John Collins’s body.

  Only about ten minutes or so, and considering how elaborate the scene was, she wondered how whoever did it managed without John Collins putting up a fight.

  Unless he'd been knocked unconscious first.

  That was an unpleasant thought.

  Just then, the Ghost of Christmas Future swept past. She snapped a photo of it, a chill racing up her spine. She didn't know who they got to replace Charles Benson, but they loomed well and played an unsettling Ghost of Christmas Future if ever there was one.

  But it was the Ghost of Christmas Past she was most interested in, the pasts of Marley, Albert, and John, particularly.

  And outside of Albert Stone, she knew one other person who’d be willing to spill the beans, if there were any beans to spill.

  “Okay, mom. Talk,” Hazel said after approaching the Esoterica booth.

  Tess was there today, and her eyes widened into great orbs behind her owl-like glasses. “As the past, present and future collide, the specter of death we must all abide.”

  Hazel smiled tightly. Tess Turtledove spoke in riddles and poems more often than not, but at least this one made sense. “I’m interested in the past and present right now.”

  “Oh Hazy, just the person I wanted to see. What did you want me to talk about? I simply can’t get over what Lana Mulberry thinks she’s doing with those wreaths of hers. Hideous, if you ask me. They’re just twigs and string. Not a bit of weight or color. I’ve been going on to Tess about it all morning, right Tess?”