by Louise Lynn
She was about to drive away when a figure appeared in the doorway. The familiar height and long dark jacket warmed her and mended the break enough that she smiled as he approached.
"You want to come in for some hot cocoa?" Colton said and climbed into the passenger side.
Hazel shook her head. "I think we both need to catch up on some sleep after what happened today. I didn't mean to be creepy and sit outside your house. I was just thinking about Violet."
Colton nodded. "Yeah, with all that's been going on I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to her. She doesn't want to go back to Santa Rosa I take it?"
Hazel smiled. "Not a chance, but she feels like everyone else wants her to go, and she doesn't think her Uncle Colton wants her or her little brother around," Hazel said and gave Colton's knee a squeeze.
He sighed heavily. "Violet and Simon, huh? Teenagers are a lot of responsibility and now her nine-year-old brother on top of that. I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.”
Hazel nudged him. “Well, if you weren’t planning on it why did you buy a house with four bedrooms, Sheriff Cross?"
In the shadows of her truck, she couldn't quite make out his expression, but she thought she saw him smirk. "Are you jumping to conclusions again, Ms. Hart? So a man's not allowed to buy a family home when he doesn't have a family yet?"
Her heart skipped a beat, and she shrugged. "It seems to me you have a pretty great family, even if they haven’t all come home yet. But it's up to you," she said and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
Colton turned and caught her lips with his.
"I want Violet to stay”, he said as he leaned back. "And believe me, I love my nephew too, but I work full time and Violet has school. I really want them to be together, but is it feasible?" He said almost as if he were asking himself and not her.
Hazel shrugged. “Well, Esther runs a business and does a pretty good job raising Ruth on her own. I mean, I think you have more family in this town than you're willing to admit. There's Esther, my parents, Violet, Celia and Marcus, even Deputy Simmons," she said.
Colton laughed. "Maybe you have a point.”
He kissed her again.
As he pulled away this time, a thought struck her. "Justin Collins didn't confess?"
His expression sobered. "No, but we did find what I told you about, which is enough evidence to convict him, I'm sure. With Charles Benson's testimony it makes everything more certain."
Hazel swallowed a lump in her throat. "What did he say?"
“That Justin threatened him, though he claims he didn't have anything to do with that apartment complex. He said he warned Marley Sinclair to build it safer, and the man didn't. But maybe Justin didn't know that," Colton said and shrugged.
Hazel nodded, and they said their good nights. She watched him walk into the house before she drove away, and tried to ignore the gentle nagging sensation at the back of her mind.
They caught the killer, what more did she expect?
Chapter 20
True to her word, Hazel got up early and arrived at the Christmas Fair right as the booths were beginning to open. To her chagrin, she‘d just reached the first stalls when she noticed her purse was unreasonably heavy. She peeked inside and saw her mother's fruitcake wrapped in bright red plastic. Of course, she forgot to take it out the day before due to everything else that had happened, and now she would have to lug it around unless she wanted to head all the way back to her truck and drop it off.
Well, it wouldn't take long to finish shopping, so she'd make do with it to save time.
She also had her Nikon slung around her neck for some last-minute photos of the fair. Though, she was pretty sure in the previous three days she’d captured everything she needed.
Anthony Ray trotted in front of her, his feet already soaked with snow, as she went about her last-minute gift buying frenzy. She rushed from the kitchen stall to pick up a few things for Colton. Then to the one with homemade crafts to get the apron for Esther. She picked up a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights for Violet, and a colorful ski mask for Ruth, which Hazel figured she could use for one of her Lucha libre outfits.
She still didn't know what to get Colton's parents, and was trying to figure out what a safe respectable gift was for two older doctors when she glanced toward the church. It was at the far end of the park and overlooked the lake. Next to it sat the old cemetery, the one that Hazel was sure no one had been buried in since the 1970s.
Now everyone was buried at the newer cemetery tucked away from the lake, just in case of flooding.
The stones and ground were covered in a thick layer of white, and she raised her camera and snapped a few pictures of the church and graveyard. They seemed oddly peaceful, undisturbed, no matter what terrible thing had occurred in that church years before.
"Death passes by like a strand of yarn, there to here and back again," Tess said.
Hazel jumped. "What? Well it is a graveyard," she said as Anthony Ray wound his fluffy black self around Tess's feet.
"The dead sleep peacefully. The one I'm talking about wanders still," she said, scratching Anthony Ray's chin, and turned toward the Esoterica stall.
Hazel glanced at it, but her mother hadn't arrived yet. Probably running late due to her own frenzy to finish up her last minute Christmas presents, Hazel thought wryly, and hugged the bags to her chest.
"You did help with Justin Collins yesterday, Tess, so thank you," Hazel said and smiled.
Tess gave her a blank stare. "Who?"
Instead of explaining, Hazel just shook her head. "Never mind." She glanced back at the cemetery. A bright flash of red caught her attention, and she held her Nikon up to her eyes and extended the lens as far as it would go.
Sitting on a pristine grave was a bunch of red roses. She couldn't remember if they were there before, so she clicked back to her pictures to find out.
Sure enough, the roses had been placed in the short time she and Tess had their conversation.
Odd.
Who was placing roses on a grave that old?
And had they been there before?
“Didn't my mom say something about a grave always getting red roses this time of year?" Hazel asked and then bit her lip. It's not as if Tess would have a normal answer for her anyway.
But, to her surprise, Tess's eyes burned bright. "Blood roses for bloody deeds, yes. Every year," she said and looked toward the graveyard.
"Well, since I'm done with my shopping, I'm gonna go see whose grave they’re on. Can I leave my bags here?"
Tess nodded absently, and Hazel tucked them under the stall. She hoped Tess didn't forget about them and wander off, and then she would have to do her Christmas shopping all over again. But, she didn't intend to be gone long, maybe ten minutes at the most.
The path to the cemetery had been shoveled that morning, but the way around the stones was not. The gate, a heavy black wrought iron thing, swung open easily enough, and Anthony Ray trotted in ahead of her as if they were going for a normal morning walk.
Gentle puffs of white snow fell from the slate gray sky, and Hazel gripped the camera around her neck as she approached the grave with the roses. They stood out starkly, as Tess had said, like blood on the pure white ground. There was a single pair of shoe prints that led to them, soles heavy and lined, and she swore she'd seen them before.
She turned her lens to the grave and stared at the name there. It knocked the breath from her lungs.
Hilde Reinbacher. 1953-1969.
So, her mother had been right. Someone did leave mysterious roses on this girl’s grave every year.
Hazel let out a heavy breath, and it fogged in the freezing air.
It obviously wasn't Hilde’s family, as her parents said they'd moved after their daughter killed herself. But it very well could be the person who arranged her funeral. Though they may never know exactly who that was.
But she knew dying around Christmas like this, as this poor girl had done, was w
orlds worse than dying alone a bitter old man like Marley Sinclair.
How scared Hilde must've been. How devastated at the reaction from her parents and her hometown that she felt no other way out than this.
With a heavy sigh, Hazel turned.
A dark shape moved into the church, dark boots and a black flap of a jacket were all she caught as the figure slipped inside.
Hazel furrowed her brows. It was probably just the pastor, because who else would be in the church that early in the day?
She wouldn't have given it another thought but for Anthony Ray, who charged forward.
"Hey," she cried, but her cat slipped away too quickly, tugging the leash out of her hands and darting behind the black coated figure and into the church.
With a sigh, Hazel followed.
Chapter 21
The utter stillness of the church greeted her, and a man swung around.
Anthony Ray batted at his black boot as if it were a misbehaving squirrel, or one of Ruth's race car toys that he liked chasing when she was around.
"Mr. Benson, I didn't expect to see you here," Hazel said and reached for Anthony Ray's leash.
Charles Benson dusted the snow from his shoulders and hair. As he did so, Hazel saw a cut on his hand that seemed to be healing. It looked deep, like a gouge from a cat’s claw or a thorn. “I came early to help with the Christmas Eve service."
Hazel blinked. She didn't often go to the Christmas Eve service, but she seemed to remember it took place at night. "Very early," she said and smiled.
Charles Benson did not return it. "I agree. Actually, I'm taking over for Carol. This was usually her duty," he said and stepped away from Anthony Ray.
"Oh, right. That tragedy. Must’ve given you a scare yesterday, right?" she said and tried to coax her cat back to her side.
Anthony Ray would hear nothing of it. He kept stalking after Charles Benson as if the man were nothing but a mouse.
"The scare would've been worse if he had pulled a weapon on me. Did he have one on him? I had a feeling he was going to try to kill me when he got me alone," Charles Benson said and shook his head.
Sheriff Cross hadn't said anything about a weapon, and she was sure he would've mentioned it. "No, and he hasn't confessed, but the sheriff assured me they can charge him regardless."
Charles Benson nodded and looked up the aisle. "Well, I’d better get to work."
He walked away, and Hazel watched for a moment. "Is it you who leaves the roses for Hilde Reinbacher?” she said and immediately bit her tongue.
She wasn't sure what drove her to ask that, but there wasn't anybody else around, and he had snow on him. If he was leaving roses for Hilde Reinbacher, Hazel wondered why. And the only reason that occurred to her chilled her to the bone.
"Who?" Charles Benson said and turned, his signature friendly smile firmly in place.
Though, now that Hazel looked at it, it seemed more like a mask that covered up something else. That hard as stone smile on the picture at Marley Sinclair's house, for one.
"Hilde Reinbacher. She was sixteen when she got pregnant, and she killed herself in this church. Hung herself to be accurate. Someone anonymous paid for the funeral and has been leaving roses in front of her grave every Christmas Eve. This is the anniversary of her death, you have a cut on your hand that looks like it’s from a rose thorn, and you're the only one here who could’ve known her," Hazel said and crossed her arms.
Charles Benson let out a bark of laughter. "Well, Hazel Hart, is it? I've read about a few of your exploits, but I’d honestly never seen them in person. Yes, I leave the roses for Hilde. I thought it was tragic what happened to her all those years ago, and how her parents wouldn't even step forward to bury their daughter. Is there a problem with that? Were you going to out me to the Cedar Valley Post as the secret do-gooder?"
Hazel shook her head. "No. But I do have another question. Did you arrange for the funerals of the people who died in the Sinclair apartment fire back in the late 80s?"
Charles Benson's eyes widened, and he gave a sharp shake of his head. "I didn't, and neither did Marley Sinclair. He wasn't a nice man. All that property and wealth and he did nothing but let it rot."
That sounds like something the owner of the Cedar Valley Lodge might say, Hazel thought. "Unlike you. The lodge is a wonder of engineering, but it's overpriced to the point most people who live in Cedar Valley can’t even afford to stay there."
Charles Benson chuckled again. “It’s not for locals; it’s for the tourists. Well, those who can afford it. Justin Collins was actually staying at the Lodge. The sheriff should probably check his room," he said and gave Hazel a significant look.
She frowned. "They have." She didn't mention what they'd found, since it was part of an ongoing investigation, but something else occurred to her. "How would you know?"
The man froze, and shrugged, which looked odd on his stiff shoulders. "I just assumed. Where else was he going to keep his things when he came to town?"
Hazel could think of any number of places from his parent’s house to the shop he now owned. In fact, the idea that Justin Collins was sloppy enough to leave damning evidence in his hotel room seemed too simple. And then she thought of what Violet had said. Justin Collins was helping his father the afternoon before John Collins was killed.
Why would he do that?
For show?
Or because he wasn't really the killer.
A chill shot up her spine, and she stared at the man in front of her. Charles Benson had been missing the morning before around the time she spoke to Justin. “Did Justin threaten you yesterday?"
Charles Benson's eyes brightened. "Yes, you saw him do it. He leaned over me in my Santa costume, and he told me I was next. I didn't have any idea what he meant, but he wanted to speak with me alone and–"
"That's a lie," Hazel said, cutting him off. "You said yesterday he only wanted to speak with you. Justin admitted that much, but he didn't threaten you then. You made it up."
Anthony Ray growled, his fur standing on end, and Hazel glanced at her cat.
He always was a good judge of character, and here she'd ignored it. She thought when he jumped between Justin Collins and Charles Benson the day before he was trying to stop Justin, but maybe it was the other way around.
"I don't know what you're talking about. You can’t believe the word of a man who killed his parents.”
Hazel shook her head. "Only I'm not so sure he did it anymore. His motive was weak at best. They weren’t outright responsible for the fire, and they hadn’t killed his friend on purpose, even if they benefited from the apartments being built in the first place." She took a sudden step backwards. “But you had something against both of them. Something worth killing over."
Charles Benson's eyes hardened. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said, pronouncing each word like it was a stab wound.
"Every year, you bring flowers to Hilde Reinbacher’s grave because you were the one who got her pregnant. And you didn't have the guts to step forward before she did it. Did you not want that spread around town? How old were you? She was sixteen and she killed herself because she thought she was all alone. She killed herself because she couldn't even go to the man who did that to her. And now, you think flowers are going to fix that?" she said, her voice sounded rough in her own ears, and her hands shook.
Anthony Ray yowled.
Charles Benson's eyes widened. “Hilde—I—you have no idea. I loved her, there was an age difference of a few years, and, her family were poor immigrants. What was I supposed to do? If I admitted what happened I would never have inherited the Lodge. I would've lost everything. That's all I could tell her, so it's not my fault what happened!”
His voice rang throughout the church, and Hazel realized suddenly how alone they were. How separated from the bustling Christmas Fair just outside the doors and several dozen yards away.
If she had to scream, would anyone hear her?
She w
asn't certain.
"You turned her away that night, and then she came here. Were you the last person she spoke to?" she asked.
Charles Benson ran his hands through his hair. When he pulled them away, the gray mass stood on end. He looked more like Scrooge in his wilder moments, and nothing like the calm presence of the Ghost of Christmas Future.
Albert Stone might have had his share of ghosts, but so did Charles Benson, and now Hazel knew the man who’d taken matters into his own hands.
"How am I supposed to know who she talked to? She didn't tell me what she was going to do, but Carol's the one who spread the rumor. Carol's the one who killed her, really. If she hadn't told everybody what Hilde told her in confidence this never would've happened."
"Is that why you killed her? Why you strangled her the same way Hilde killed herself? But why John? Was he just as guilty because he didn't say anything? Because he didn't stop his wife from spreading the rumor?"
Charles Benson let out a sound that was part sob, part hysterical laugh. "John Collins was just as guilty as his wife. He spread the rumors along with her. You should've seen them at church that day. Hilde ran off in tears, and they all stared after her, judging her. It was right before Christmas, and that's what they did. That's where all their holiness got them,” he said as his entire body trembled.
Hazel took another slow step backwards. She hadn't meant to confront a killer in such a secluded place. She hadn’t known that's what she was doing when she stepped inside the church, and now it was all too clear what she’d done.
Her phone was in her purse, she wasn't sure she could reach it without alerting his attention.
And after what Charles Benson had done to them, stabbed John Collins in the eyes and strangled Carol Collins to death, she wasn't about to say he couldn't kill again.
Because she was certain he could.
Brutally and efficiently.
And she was the only person there.
"Why frame Justin Collins? You put the evidence in his room yesterday morning, didn't you? That’s why you were late. You own the Lodge. It would be easy for you to get a key and sneak in when no one else was around. You did all of this to cleanse yourself of the guilt you felt for failing that girl, but it's not going to bring her back."