by Louise Lynn
Hazel smiled and nodded, equally at the thought of Marcus and the crown and the way Celia's eyes sparkled when she said it. "He is. And he's been keeping an eye on Ruth and the other kids. Violet and Milo as well. Aren’t you happy your mom found you such a great guy?”
Celia rolled her eyes. "I'll admit that to you, but don't ever tell her or I will never hear the end of it. Can you imagine if your mom set you up with Colton?"
Hazel didn’t want to imagine it, and barely suppressed a visible shudder herself. “Oh, speaking of my mom reminds me. Carol said something about Albert being a coward, just like Hilde. But I’ve never heard of a woman named Hilde living in Cedar Valley.”
Celia took another bite of her food. "Weird name. Did your mom know anything about it?"
"That's the thing, in the hubbub of her accusing Carol Collins of murder, I totally forgot to ask. It might not have anything to do with John Collins’s death though."
“That never stopped you from digging for information before. What was your nickname again? Miss Nose?" she said with a playful smile on her berry red lips.
Hazel shot her best friend a good-natured glare. "He hasn't called me that in ages, and now you're going to get it started again. But information is never a bad thing. Usually."
"I can think of some information I wouldn’t like. How John Collins died, for one.”
Hazel nodded soberly. She could do without that kind of information too. Especially when she had to force herself to finish the rest of her plate since the thought put her off of her food.
But with an investigation to perform and a play to photograph that night, she knew she needed her strength. Plus, chicken enchiladas were one of her favorites, and she wasn’t going to let a murderer compel her to waste them.
By the time the lights twinkled on in the Christmas Fair that evening, Hazel's feet hurt and Anthony Ray was either tired or hungry or both, from the way he was behaving.
He complained at Hazel with every step back toward her Wild @ Hart photo studio in an effort to feed him before she had to go to the community center for the play.
She watched the players depart and smiled to herself. Nothing else bad had happened that day, and the dread that something might loosened in her stomach.
She still needed to share her suspicions about Carol Collins with Sheriff Cross, but she had a feeling the woman wouldn't be going anywhere. Not when she was supposed to give a speech at the play tonight.
After Anthony Ray was fed, she left him there. He meowed once, then curled into a ball on one of the chairs and went fast asleep.
Distantly, Hazel wished she could join him.
She bundled up again for the swift walk to the community center, and on her way there, passing through the twinkling lights and brightly colored booths of the fair, she spotted Sheriff Cross in his tan uniform and the long black coat he wore over it to keep warm.
Heat filled her chest, and she grinned as she trotted up to greet him. "Fancy seeing you here, Sheriff," she said with a grin.
His smile was tired but welcome. "Hazel, I thought you would've already gone inside."
"Running late, like usual. But I have plenty of time to set up. The play doesn't start for another twenty minutes,” she said and dragged him away from the milling crowd. "Actually, I needed to talk to you about something. I spoke with Carol Collins today and she wasn't remorseful or the least bit sad about John's death. Isn't that a little suspicious?"
Sheriff Cross rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I've been looking over her statement as well, and I agree. Problem is, there weren't any fingerprints on the murder weapon, so I don't have any physical evidence against her. And I got an earful this afternoon. Apparently, you and your mom accused her of murder?" He gave her a look that might have been disapproving or him trying not to laugh.
Hazel frowned. "You do it all the time. Anyway, it wasn't me. My mom did it without my consent."
He chuckled at that. "Well, I guess I can't blame her. But it's probably best not to tipoff the suspects we’re suspicious of, for future reference."
Hazel nodded. "I'll make sure not to bring my mom on a chat like that ever again, if I can help it. She really did insist though. The weird thing was, I thought Carol would try to pin it on Albert Stone, but she said he was too much of a coward to do it."
Sheriff Cross looked thoughtful. "Yeah, that is strange. I thought she’d want me to arrest him.”
Just then, the Ghost of Christmas Future glided behind Colton and came to a stop. "You," a deep voice intoned from within and lifted a pale, shrouded finger, pointed at Hazel. No blood peeked through the wraps this time, but she noted a deep scratch on the middle finger.
She felt the color drain from her face and gripped the camera around her neck. "Hey now, what have I done?"
"You should be inside, getting ready for the play," Charles Benson said and threw back the hood with a hearty chuckle. "Sorry to scare you. I saw you two talking and couldn't help but wonder if you were discussing this awful case. You have any leads, Sheriff?"
Sheriff Cross gave Charles Benson his best professional smile, which said everything and nothing all at once. "We have some leads we’re following up on. You didn't happen to see anything that night, did you?"
Charles shook his head. His cheeks hadn't been painted gaunt yet, so Hazel assumed he put on the costume back at Santa's Village and then walked here to add to the atmosphere. His complexion was ruddy at the best of time, and his silver hair blended with the shadows of the hood. ”Not at all, Albert turned around and went back halfway to the community center."
Hazel frowned. "And you headed straight to the community center? You didn't take any detours?"
The man rubbed his cheeks. "I did wander the fair waiting for Albert to catch up. But when he didn't reappear, I was ready for curtain call, even though my part isn't until the end, obviously."
Hazel nodded, and a thought struck her. Charles Benson's picture was in Marley Sinclair's place, and Albert and he acted like old friends. Maybe he’d been friends with John as well and knew something about the bad investment that drove a rift between Carol and John. He also might know something about the woman, Hilde.
However, as Hazel opened her voice to ask, an unfamiliar voice rang out. "Colton? There you are. We've been wandering around here for the past hour. We thought you were avoiding us,” an older woman said and walked up to Colton with a man in his sixties and a boy of about nine years old.
Hazel blinked and stared, and noticed Colton stiffen. "Mom. Dad, I wasn't avoiding you; I just had a lot of work to do. This is Hazel. And," he turned toward Charles Benson, but the man had already pulled his hood back on and held his fingers to his lips.
He did a good job of staying in character, Hazel thought, and watched him walk away before she threw another glance at Colton's parents.
Here she thought she'd get to prepare for the meeting, instead, she was ambushed at the end of a long day of work. Looking them over in their neat and completely unwrinkled clothes made her feel even worse.
For one, she knew her hair was frizzy under her beret. Her tunic was probably wrinkled and the jeans definitely had a coffee stain on the knee from her third drink that morning, which she hadn't had a chance to change out of yet. Still, she gave them her sunniest smile and held out her hand. "It's so nice to meet you."
They smiled, and Colton's mother pulled her into a hug. The woman squeezed, the same way Colton did, and then backed up to get a good look at her. "Well, you are lovely. I hope I didn't hurt your camera. We’ve heard all about you, Hazel. And it's so wonderful to finally meet you!”
Like Colton, both his parents had dark hair, though his father’s tended toward brown and his mother's toward black, both streaked with gray now. They looked about the same age as Hazel's parents, though they were dressed much better.
Looking at Mrs. Cross’s neat red sweater set and sensible wool skirt reminded her of Carol Collins. Hazel had a wild thought that the woman would be too dissimila
r to her own mother for them ever to get along, and how awkward family gatherings would be if that were the case.
However, her first mother-in-law had been the complete opposite of her mother too, and Hazel herself never got along with her. There was no way Colton's mother could be as bad as her ex-husband’s. He wouldn't have turned out so well if she were.
"A photographer too. Color me impressed. Colton here is a disaster at anything artistic,” Mr. Cross said as Hazel shook his hand. His grip reminded her of her father’s.
"Thanks, dad," Sheriff Cross said through gritted teeth. "You guys better hurry inside if you want to get a good seat. Hazel has to set up. She's taking pictures of the play."
Both of his parent’s eyes widened, and they hummed in unison.
Hazel wasn't sure what to say to that, since photographing a play wasn’t nearly as glamorous as they probably thought it was.
The little boy tugged on Colton's coat and gave him a cheery smile. “Is Violet in the play?"
Sheriff Cross grinned down at him and ruffled his hair. "She sure is, Simon. And she's really excited to see you."
The boy beamed, and Hazel felt a sudden pang in her chest. She didn't want to lose Violet either, and she couldn't imagine how Violet’s little brother felt having to be without her for so many months.
Thankfully, Colton saved her from any response by tugging her away and pointing his parents toward the community center. Once they were out of earshot, he let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry about that. I swear I didn't want to ambush you with them on purpose."
She nudged him playfully in the ribs. "It seems more like they ambushed you. Though I do wish I hadn't had on stained jeans when I first met your parents," she said and rubbed at the coffee spot.
He chuckled and slung his arm around her shoulder, burying his lips in her hat for a quick kiss. "I doubt they noticed."
"I never even asked what your parents did for a living,” she said and felt suddenly ashamed.
“Doctors. Both of them. My brother and his wife were too. I'm the disgrace of the family.”
Hazel wasn't sure if he was joking about that or not. “Well, I hear you’re no artist. Kind of a rough thing for parents to say," she said and wrapped her hand in his.
He chuckled again. "You said the same thing when we first met. I remember a very distinct talking down to you gave me about my lack of photography skills. Don't worry about it. I never had artistic intentions in the first place."
Hazel nodded. "Well maybe it was better this way. Sort of like ripping a Band-Aid off. Now that I've met them once, meeting them again won't be as bad. But them meeting my parents—your mom isn't anything like Carol Collins, is she?"
Sheriff Cross blinked. "Why would you think that? I hope not. She's not fascinated with Christmas."
Hazel laughed. "Yeah, stupid question. Sorry."
When they got to the community center, she broke off from his side to go in the cast entrance while he went in the front.
As she headed around the back, she caught a glimpse of tattered black robes slinking in the doorway.
However, when she stepped inside, they were gone.
Chapter 13
To nearly everyone but Hazel's surprise, Carol Collins did show up to give her typical Christmas Fair speech, even if it was a day late.
She wasn't the same Carol from earlier that day, Hazel thought.
She carried a handkerchief fisted in her left hand and spoke eloquently about her love of the Christmas Fair and its inception. She only mentioned the unfortunate passing of her husband once. When she did, she lifted the handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed it, though Hazel wasn't sure if she was actually crying or putting on a show.
She clicked several pictures during the speech, her tripod already set up for the play, and watched the woman stalk offstage.
She’d talked about Christmas Fairs as if she invented them, which was absolutely ridiculous. They’d had Christmas festivals in Europe for centuries. Not to mention the celebration of Yule, which came before Christmas, but Hazel wasn't even going to start thinking about that. Or mention it to her mother, unless she wanted to hear a very long and thorough lecture on the subject.
Speaking of her mother, she spotted both of her parents with Esther and Raj and his family tucked into the third row. Esther beamed every time Ruth came on stage, and to Hazel's delight, Raj and his family did the same.
Colton's parents were out there somewhere, though Hazel couldn't place them among all the random faces and the dimness of the theater.
She scanned the crowd for Carol Collins but didn’t spot her.
She spent most of the play snapping discrete photos and trying her hardest to enjoy herself. However, watching Albert Stone play the part of Scrooge, a part she'd seen him play countless times before, unnerved her. He was a good actor, and perhaps he was a murderer pretending that he wasn't.
She couldn't deny that she'd been fooled in the past, and she could be fooled again in the future.
To think otherwise was folly, as her father would put it.
No one was above making the same mistakes twice, especially if you didn't know you were making it.
Still, his performance this year was subdued and more nuanced than Hazel had thought him capable of before. Or maybe he was honestly saddened by Marley Sinclair's death. Those few lines of the play, when he saw Marley's ghost and was frightened and upset by it, rung truer to Hazel than any he'd spoken previously.
Violet and Milo both played their part well, as star-crossed lovers whose happy future was not to be.
Milo, who was already a master at looking besotted with Violet, was a neat and tender young Scrooge, so much so that it broke her heart all the more to think of the bitter man he would grow up to become.
However, if Hazel had to choose a crowd favorite, that would definitely have been Marcus as the Ghost of Christmas Present. He roused the crowd into several fits of laughter as he chewed the scenery and showed Scrooge the Christmas he was currently missing with his family, as well as the sad Christmas of his employee, Bob Cratchit.
Finally, when the Ghost of Christmas Future walked on stage to torment Scrooge, a chill raced up Hazel's spine, both at Charles Benson and Albert Stone. They played their parts well, Albert being both remorseful and terrified of his own demise, which was far too realistic for Hazel's liking, and Charles playing the part of death equally well, even though his lines were, as always, limited.
Even Scrooge's revelation didn't completely lighten Hazel's spirits. For one, the truth of the previous scene was a little too close to current circumstances, and even Ruth’s gap toothed grin and awful Cockney accent couldn't fix it. Though Ruth did say her line perfectly, her eyes sparkling as she ran to buy the biggest goose for Scrooge’s Christmas dinner.
As the curtain fell and the players came out to take a final bow, Hazel's nerves calmed, and she snapped her last round of pictures.
Simon approached his older sister with a single white rose, which Violet accepted with a squeal of delight and threw her arms around him.
And then the entire thing was over.
Hazel noted there were no roses for Albert Stone, and after a brief bow, he ducked into the shadows.
At that moment, she wondered how many roses would be left for John Collins at his grave, and all her thoughts of Merry Christmas vanished like a puff of smoke.
Hazel half feared that, with the play over, her parents would see Colton's parents and have an impromptu meeting as well, but Esther hustled Ruth away quickly, saying it was well past her bedtime, and Hazel's parents followed.
She left Violet to mingle with her grandparents while she packed up her things and made her own exit. It had been a long day—two long days in fact—and she was paying for both of them.
As she turned to head backstage she nearly ran right into Farrah. "Oh, didn't see you there. Sorry," the woman said and pushed her curly blonde hair from her face. Unlike Hazel's own curls, Farrah’s managed to be refined and not fri
zzy. Hazel didn't know how she did it, but she assumed Farrah’s day job as a makeup artist helped matters.
"No problem. You look as frazzled as I feel," Hazel said.
Farrah gave her a tired smile. "I see why they were having trouble finding a director for this play. Here I thought it would be easy. Silly me," she said, shaking her head. "Hey, that reminds me, you didn't see Carol in the audience, did you?"
Hazel thought about it and shook her head. "No, last I saw was her walking off stage after the speech."
Farrah frowned. "Yeah, I was afraid of that. We were going to do a little dedication after the play for her, but no one saw her, so I cut it at the last minute. And I need to talk to her about doing it at tomorrow's production, although it was supposed to be a surprise. You'd think, after founding this Christmas Fair and all, she'd stick around for the play. Though, she did just lose her husband."
"Yeah." Hazel bit her lip and decided not to say anything about Carol's apparent disinterest in her own husband's death.
“Poor woman. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. We’ve all been extra careful around her, but she’s acting strange.”
“Oh, how so?” Hazel perked up at that.
Farrah wrapped a curl around her finger and ducked farther into the shadows of backstage. “I don’t want to go around spreading unfounded rumors, but she’s been extremely short tempered with everyone, even before it happened. And, that afternoon, I walked in on Carol and John, may he rest in peace, having a terrible argument.”
That was news to Hazel. She started. “Really? What about?”
Farrah glanced around and lowered her voice, though Hazel didn’t see anyone else within earshot. “Money, I think. I wasn’t sure whether to go to the sheriff about it or not. It sounded nasty. Carol was calling John a loser and a drunk and a drain on her resources, and he was slurring his speech and claiming he hadn’t drank in years.”
“He ran in front of the sheriff’s car that morning and almost got run over, and he seemed a little drunk then too,” Hazel said.