All Aboard for Murder, page 5
To his surprise his contractor’s toolbox was open. The lock lay next to the box, as if it had been pried off the hasp. He hopped into the back, irritated. Who breaks into a truck, especially before Christmas…
Picking up three hammers and some stray nails, a handsaw and his battery-powered drill, he put them back inside the metal box. The thief must have been in a hurry. Leaving everything else strewn over the truck.
After collecting all the toolbox items, there was just enough room to shove his grocery bag on top and shut the lid. Gotta replace that lock. Maybe after Christmas.
"Bork." Maguire stood at the back window staring at Michael.
"I know," he muttered. "I'll be right there." He jumped off the tailgate onto the pavement, walking to the driver's side to let himself in. Maguire sat in the passenger seat, facing straight ahead. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth. Then in a surprising act of agility, he moved over the gear shift knob, placing his front paws on Michael's seat. He leaned in to give him a quick lick to the lips.
Michael’s mood immediately lightened. It's as if he knows I need cheering up. He pulled gently on Maguire's collar, coaxing his paws back into the passenger seat. "I'll open the window so you can say hello to your fans." With the push of a button, the window lowered, and Maguire shoved his head outside.
He watched as two children approached the dog, their mother lagging behind. Everyone loves that dog. It's as if he belongs to all of us here in Lily Rock.
10
THE CRIME SCENE
Janis Jets nodded toward Michael. She stood on the second floor of The Fort, wrapped in her black quilted jacket, worn regulation boots planted firmly in an inch of snow. "Nothing says Christmas like a whole bunch of crime scene tape." Jets snorted.
Michael felt remarkably calm, considering he'd found the dead Betty only an hour earlier. He looked at the nutcracker and realized, if he could admit it at least to himself, a certain amount of relief. Finally he'd have something to worry about instead of himself and his Christmas issues.
A quick vision of a nutcracker in a coffin, carried in by Elf One and Elf Two, with Mr. and Mrs. Santa popped into his mind. He shook his head, trying to reconnect with the seriousness of the situation. I'm losing it for sure.
"That was one way to shut him up," he told Jets, nodding at the oversized conductor.
"He was a real crowd pleaser," Jets said sarcastically, "at least for the tourists."
Only twenty minutes earlier Michael had watched the paramedics. They'd gone down on their knees gently shifting the wooden statue up and then away from the body. Tipping the nutcracker to the left side, they propped him up against the building.
Betty King, appearing flattened and small, was exposed. One paramedic on each side, they shifted the body onto a stretcher. An outline where she lay gave Michael a queasy stomach.
He kept watching as one paramedic checked Betty's wrist for a pulse. Once the sheet covered her face, Michael sighed. There was no longer any doubt. Betty King had not survived the crushing blow.
Two people lifted the stretcher as two more arrived on the scene. Must be the forensics team, Michael thought. Janis Jets had already stretched yellow tape across the front of the shop. Her team walked under the tape, making their way to the inside of Old Toy Trains while Jets shooed tourists away. "Get out of here," she said. "Go shopping on Main Street. This is a crime scene."
Most people turned away, leaving one woman standing with a little girl's hand in hers. "What about Santa?" The little girl, dressed in a red and white snowsuit, began to cry.
Jets just shrugged, turning her back on the pair.
The mom bent over, using her most persuasive voice, speaking into the child's ear. "Santa is busy right now. We'll come back later."
"But I wanna sit on his lap!" the child insisted, stomping her shiny red boot against the deck.
The mother glanced around to see if anyone else was looking. Michael stared at her, a slight smile at the corner of his lips. "Time for a bribe?" he suggested. "It is the most wonderful time of the year."
The mother snatched her child's hand with an appreciative nod. "Come on, sweetie. Let's get some hot chocolate and a cookie. We can finish the list you made for Santa and then come back." The mother shot Michael a grateful look, making her way toward the stairs, passing other people coming up.
"No Santa this morning!" Jets shouted again. She turned to Michael, mumbling under her breath. "I am not a Santa crossing guard. Get me out of here."
"What about me?" Michael asked Jets. "Should I get going?"
"Absolutely not! You discovered the body and are a main witness." She waved at two more parents with children. "Go away!" Then she turned back to Michael. "Maybe Betty's death wasn't an accident. Death by nutcracker." She paused as if to consider the possibility. "Nah, that's not a thing." She glared at him more fiercely.
She tapped her temple with her gloved hand. "Rumor has it you hated that nutcracker and his obnoxious impersonation of a train conductor. Maybe you arranged for the conductor to make his last announcement and topple over. Betty just got in the way."
He shrugged, turning to face the shop. Janis isn't wrong. I hated that blaring interruption. I could have rigged the statue to fall over, being a contractor and more than handy with tools. He didn't bother to defend himself, knowing Jets was just trying to get on his nerves.
When he failed to respond, Jets looked toward the shop window. "The Christmas tree is lit," she mumbled. "Feels kind of otherworldly, the woman who owned the only Christmas shop in town, dying ignominiously under a nutcracker six days before Christmas."
Overhead lights from inside the shop illuminated two police officers taking notes and bagging possible evidence. Michael shifted his glance back to the nutcracker. Propped on its side, eyes level with his boots, Michael felt a shiver up his spine. Kind of creepy up close. I'm surprised the kids weren't scared of him.
He noted the array of wires caught under the wooden body. Some tangled between the wooden legs. "Are you looking closely at all of those wires?" He pointed to Janis. "Most of the evidence would be outside, don't you think?"
"Trying to tell me how to do my job, Mike?"
"Oh, I'd never do that, Officer Jets." He mocked her by using her official title.
"We'll get to the nutcracker in a minute. The fingerprint guys are on their way." She stared at him, as if waiting for a comment.
Michael spoke firmly. "I admit I didn't like Betty that much. No one did apparently. But what bothered me the most was that announcement every hour for an entire week. It got on my nerves and seemed to get worse every year. Almost made me want to take a trip to the Bahamas for the holidays. I did hate it that much."
"You weren't the only one." Janis nodded. "But I can't see someone actually bumping off Betty just to shut up a nutcracker announcement."
Michael thought about his feelings. "Killing someone for their insensitive and aggressive business strategy doesn't seem in the wheelhouse of an average Lily Rock resident. Maybe someone from out of town did the job. Pushed the damned thing over just to make it look like an accident. One thing is for sure, it wasn't me."
Jets let a smile break through her serious demeanor. "I never thought it was. Just winding you up a bit. But I do need you to tell me exactly what you saw and why you came over to check out the shop."
"Will there be a hot beverage while I tell you everything, spill my guts, get to the confession…"
"It's always about the tea with you. Let's meet at the constabulary in half an hour. Bring your toolbox along. I want to round up the usual suspects and make plans for my interviews. You can be first. And then stick around."
"What for?"
"You have the perfect cover. You can walk from room to room looking all hunky, pounding in nails and measuring stuff, pretending to do work. But all the while you'll be listening to my interviews. Then we can talk it through afterward. I could use you as a sounding board."
"You can use me as your primary witness, a man with keen observational skills and the desire to bring culprits to justice no matter what the cost."
"Yah, that too." Jets flicked her fingers at him as if to shoo him away.
Michael took the hint. "I’ll head over to the constabulary and make you a hair-raising pot of strong hot coffee."
"Hair-raising?"
"Strong enough to grow hair on your chest." He grinned.
"No more about my chest," muttered Jets. "But I would appreciate the coffee. See ya."
11
LISTENING IN
Michael poured the first pot of coffee into a carafe and then set about brewing another pot. He could hear Janis Jets on the phone behind him. Since the interview rooms were not fully equipped, she'd created a makeshift worktable in the break room.
"Are you done yet?" she snapped. "I need coffee. Rounding up these suspects is like pulling teeth. I wish one of them would just say, 'Sure, what time?' But oh no. They have to start the interview on the phone, nattering on about the dead woman, when I'm not ready."
“That must be a pain,” Michael said. He brought over two mugs of coffee, putting them on the table. Then he returned with the carafe. "I don't even like coffee," he admitted. "I just say I do because people expect it from a construction guy. I stopped by the market and picked up some fake cream and sugar to add to mine. Makes it palatable. Just in case I'm making some for other people. Should anyone stop by." His voice dropped at the end.
Jets looked at him over the brim of her mug. "We'd certainly not have become friends had I known your distaste right in the beginning. A guy who puts cream and sugar in his coffee is a deal breaker."
He returned with the carton of cream and a sugar bowl. "So does this mean the friendship is off? I should have known." He shrugged, pouring more cream than usual into his mug. He looked up. "I hope that made you squirm. Wait, I'll put in lots of sugar too. If you get queasy, feel free to leave." Without even a smirk, he put four heaping teaspoons of sugar into his mug and began to stir.
"You still drink beer, right?" she said, sounding serious.
"Still do." He smiled at her.
"All right then, I will turn a blind eye to your unfortunate coffee habits."
Michael took the first sip from his mug and put it back on the table. "So tell me, how long is your list of suspects?"
Jets opened her iPad. I've got everyone who worked at Old Toy Trains lined up. I figured I could begin there and see if it led to someone else. I'm also waiting for confirmation from the coroner. I may be able to call this an unfortunate accident and close the books. It depends on what they find."
"So there are ways to tell if the nutcracker just toppled over by accident?"
"They can tell a lot of things by looking at Betty's body."
He took another sip. "It does seem to be the worst sort of luck for Betty to be walking past that nutcracker right when he fell over. I mean, that just feels like some kind of otherworldly redemption."
"Makes me want to live it up more," Jets admitted. "You never know how much time you have."
"Speaking of time," Michael said. "Before I look at your list, how are things going with the new job?"
"Been here a couple of months. This is my first case. Don't know yet."
The short sentences made Michael curious. Is she happy here? Janis shoved her iPad across the table for him to read her list.
"So you've got the two elves, Logan and Avery. Then Mr. and Mrs. Santa, Thornton and Robyn." Michael was surprised at the next two names. "And you included Skye and Doc Callahan."
Jets reached over to take her iPad. "Yep, they aren't employees, but they had a beef with Betty King. Skye's been at me for weeks to get involved. And now I don't seem to have any choice."
Jets's phone pinged a message. She looked over at the screen. "Looks like the coroner has a preliminary report. I'll talk to her and get back to you."
Michael pushed back the chair to stand. "I'll go get my toolbox and start with the punch list. Do you want me to work in here first, just so I'm hanging around?"
Jets held the phone to her ear. She nodded to him as she said, "Janis Jets here. What do you have for me?"
By the time he returned with his toolbox, Jets had cleared the table of coffee mugs. There were the same two chairs but this time spaced farther apart. She looked up. "So Betty died on impact. The damned nutcracker struck her on the head and killed her instantly. What are the chances of that?"
Michael put down the toolbox to seriously consider. I didn't like Betty that much, but she didn't deserve to go that way. I wonder if there was something seriously inadequate about how the nutcracker had been secured. It seemed solid enough when I took a look, but I may have missed something. He shook his head, feeling a lingering sense of guilt.
"I had a close look at that monster a couple of days ago," he told Jets. "I thought it was pretty secure. Huge wood screws driven into the planking from the top of the boot. Very professional. Whoever installed the thing had painted over the heads on the screws so that they didn't show. I gave it a test shove and it didn't budge."
"And in answer to your question, why don't you get to work in the other room and then I'll text you to wander in looking all nonchalant. You can pretend to hammer stuff over there." She pointed to shelving that had been stacked on the wall. "Remember that's where I wanted the storage to be?"
Michael nodded. "Oh I remember. You know that's not in my job description. I'm the construction engineer, ready for the big installations. I'm not a finish carpenter."
"Who cares. I'm not an administrative assistant either, but here I am taking my own notes, sitting in a break room without a decent place to interview a potential murder suspect."
That's what's been bothering her. I knew it was something. She's impatient with the constabulary facility. I can get on that. Michael turned away from Janis, looking for a place to put his toolbox. He set it on the floor next to the kitchen counter when he heard someone calling from the hallway.
"Hello, anyone here?" Skye Jones appeared in the doorway. She wore her blonde hair back in a ponytail, along with a bright red form-fitting sweater. Her jeans fit her snugly, emphasized by knee-high black leather boots. Her lipstick matched the sweater, as did the red scrunchy she'd used to wrap around her ponytail.
Michael sniffed. The essence of strawberry, like added apparel, wafted in with Skye. Not a perfume as he surmised when he'd first met her, but her favorite flavor of vape. "Hey, Skye." He pocketed his tape measure when she wasn't looking his way. "I lost my tape measure," he called out, "have to search the truck."
Jets eyed him and nodded. "Happy you're finally finishing up that shelving unit." She glared at him for effect. Then she turned to Skye.
"Come have a sit down," she said. "I want to catch up on your concerns regarding Betty King and find out if there's any connection with her death."
As Michael walked down the hall he wondered, Does she think Skye may have something to do with this murder? That would be surprising. She's an Old Rocker and would have other ways of getting Betty out of town. Not renewing her business license for one. That's the usual way.
He pivoted in the hallway and took out his tape measure. Stepping back into the room, he held it up high just in case Skye wanted to know why he was there. When she didn't turn around he raised an eyebrow in Jets's direction. When she blinked in response, he walked quietly to the other side of the room.
Jets cleared her throat. "So tell me more about Betty and Doc."
Good acoustics. I didn't deliberately plan for the break room to be good for eavesdropping, but I can hear them talk just fine. Michael strapped a tool belt around his waist, listening carefully for Skye's response.
12
A CASE OF SLANDER
"Oh, Doc doesn't have anything to do with this," Skye insisted.
"That's not what you told me last week. You came right in here and said that Betty King was trying to coerce money out of the doc to keep quiet regarding Paws and Pines."
Michael swallowed hard, turning his back to the two women across the room. I don't think Skye will realize I can hear every word. But what's that about Paws and Pines…
To anyone paying attention, Michael might have been mistaken for an overgrown naughty schoolboy sent to the corner for misbehaving. He hovered in the corner, his back to the women across the room. I feel like a cat trying to hide behind the curtains with his tail sticking out for everyone to see. But so far Janis isn't addressing me, so I'll keep pretending to look in my toolbox. He inhaled deeply to calm his nerves.
"Please tell me everything you know that the doc is keeping secret about the animal shelter." Jets's voice sounded firm.
When Skye didn't respond right away, Michael bent over his toolbox to find a piece of sandpaper. He stood up and ran the paper against the wall, still on alert.
Skye's voice trembled. "As you know, the doc is a man who devotes much of his time to charity. He works countless hours down the hill at the Native clinic for women and children. And then he's our Lily Rock resident doctor three days per week."
Jets growled. "I'm not doing a job interview here. We all know Doc's a great guy and how he gives money to small businesses and causes. Especially here in town. He's part owner of the new brewpub project and an Old Rocker. Blah blah blah. What I want to hear about is the animal shelter."
Michael kept sanding the wall, minding his own business, waiting for Skye's response.
The topic of Paws and Pines was not new to him. It so happened that he and Janis were together just a year ago when they'd wandered about Paws and Pines together. In the search for the baby Jesus statue, they'd come across boxes of CBD supplements and bottles of red pills filled with diphenhydramine, a well-known over-the-counter antihistamine.
Janis voiced her concern later, after she'd been hired. "Don't people use diphenhydramine to put themselves to sleep?"
