Holly and Homicide (25 page)

“And managed the feat admirably,” Carol chimed in.

“Right. I think their whole ordeal kept them too preoccupied to object when Wendell opened the ski resort, even though our town changed so dramatically.”

“Till they also lost the house they’d grown up in, that is.” Carol grimaced and shook her head.

“When Wendell bought it and tore it down?” I asked.

Mildred nodded. “He bought up all the houses near the base of the mountain, where he wanted to put his condos. And
that
was when Angie and Mikara started fighting again.”

“Mikara and Angie were the last holdouts,” Carol added, “but Wendell just built right around their property. It looked god-awful, seeing their little bungalow on its quarter-acre lot, surrounded on all sides by three-story condos. Then Angie caved.”

“According to Mikara,” Mildred countered. “I’m not so sure Mikara wasn’t the first to actually decide to take the money.”

“It’s hard to say. Mikara took the job at the inn, which paid better than Mildred and I could. She claimed she needed the money because Angie’s too-low settlement with Wendell had made it impossible for her to move out. She couldn’t afford the rent on a one-bedroom place, and the rent on the two-bedroom apartment they shared kept skyrocketing. Once Mikara took the job at the inn, Angie said she’d never forgive her for joining forces with the enemy.”

“Or words to that effect,” Mildred muttered.

“Do you think Mikara could have killed her own sister?”

Carol answered “No,” just as Mildred said, “Never.”

“They were going to reconcile again eventually,” Mildred said. “Angie and Mikara were different sides of the same coin.”

Carol was nodding. “Mikara didn’t hesitate to make amends with her sister when their mom was dying, and they’d each leave chicken soup and such for the other when one of them was sick, even when they were at each other’s throats otherwise.”

“Family ties are strong,” Mildred said, nodding in synchronization with her sister.

“If anything, I think Henry was even angrier at Angie than Mikara was,” Carol said. “She showed the whole town what an ass he was.”

“Yet he was elected mayor,” I pointed out.

“His competition was a former socialite from Denver who lived in Bartonville. That’s what we locals call the condo development.” Carol paused, then said, “No offense,” to Audrey.

“None taken. Contrary to what you might have heard, Wendell and I are not an item. We’re just casually dating. Plus, I’m well aware of how badly he’s alienated the townspeople. The man can be quite the horse’s derriere.”

Mildred chuckled, and Carol said, “No kidding,” under her breath.

“Aren’t you suspicious about Mikara’s guilt, considering that Angie died on Henry’s property?” Audrey asked. “And that she’d argued with Mikara about starting work there?”

“That’s made me suspect Henry,” Mildred said, “but not Mikara. We’ve known Mikara her whole life. She’s not a killer.” Carol nodded.

“I have to say,” Audrey interjected, “I really like Henry. As far as I can tell, he seems like a nice person. Maybe he hides a Mr. Hyde—like monster, but he seems compassionate and thoughtful to me. Although maybe I’d feel differently if I’d lived here and known him from when he was just a boy.”

“Not necessarily,” Mildred said. “He’s a charming man and can be both thoughtful and compassionate. Yet, other times, he’s so self-serving that he forgets about everyone else’s feelings.”

The bell above the door jingled as two women entered the store. Mildred went over to greet them. Carol snorted. “Listen to us, gossiping away, like we had nothing better to do.”

I would have loved to hear what else Carol and Mildred had to say, but the new customers made it impossible for us to continue our private conversation. “Can
you show me that painting of the drummer boy?” I asked Carol.

En route to the back room, Audrey selected a lovely indigo hand-blown glass vase, which delayed us for a few minutes. To my delight, though, not only was the drummer boy painting charming, but we also found an affecting photograph of three uniformed members of a drum line, shrouded in shadows as if marching bravely out of the darkness. Plus, I found a whimsical contemporary sculpture of a drummer made from recycled parts of a clock, which allowed me to cross off the Energizer Bunny from the bottom of my list—a desperation item I knew I could find at a toy store if push came to shove. I’d found five of my twelve drummers in one store!

Audrey praised the photograph, then said, “I suppose these boys are actually in a high-school marching band.” Then she turned to Carol and said, “Angie used to date Ben Orlin in high school, right?”

Carol laughed. “Who told you that?”

Audrey looked at me for help, but I gestured with my chin for her to go ahead. She’d wandered onto a limb, and she was going to have to find her own way back.

“It was just a general impression I got from everyone’s interactions, I guess,” Audrey said, admirably bailing herself out. “Why? Was I mistaken?”

“Ben is gay.”

“He is?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, although he’s never been flamboyant or outspoken about it,” Carol replied. “I think he’s pretty much decided to never search for a life partner. You know, his dad used to actively keep him away from boys his age. In my
opinion, Ben’s never come to terms with his homosexuality.” Carol forced a smile. “Shall I ring you up, or do you want to look for turtledoves and such?”

“Just the drummers and the one milkmaid,” I replied. “Thanks.”

“The art glass will have to be on a separate tab,” Audrey said.

The three of us returned to the front room. As if thinking aloud, Carol muttered, “That Angie sure used to tease Ben mercilessly. She called him ‘Ben-Gay,’ like the muscle-ache cream. Some people are just so narrow-minded.”

Audrey and I carried our purchases toward the parking
lot. We were silent for a minute or two, privately mulling what we’d just heard. Ben, Henry, and Mikara all had reasons to kill Angie. While the gallery owners felt their former employee was incapable of killing her own sister, Mikara had good reason for bottled rage. Angie could easily have pushed her over the top the night of the murder by engaging her in a bitter argument about Henry. Mikara could have spotted Angie by the bridge and stuck on Ben’s boots to disguise her tracks in the snow.

As for one of the suspects also killing Cameron, he made enemies easily with his arrogant bossiness. He could have said the wrong thing about Angie’s death and made the killer panic.

“I have to tell you, Erin,” Audrey said, jarring me from my reverie, “this business of ferreting out a killer isn’t as fun in actuality as it is in theory.”

“I could have told you as much.” In truth, I
had
told her that, more than once.

“The shopping part was enjoyable, though. In between hearing those depressing stories from the past. We might not have gotten anywhere as far as ruling out any suspects, but at least we have one milkmaid and five drummers. I’ll bet we can find a retro store someplace that sells Ringo bobble-head dolls.”

I laughed. “And Ringo will blend in so perfectly with religious little-drummer-boy scenes.”

“Which reminds me, Erin. There is that wonderful—” She broke off as she gazed straight ahead of us. “Oh, look!” She smiled. “Here comes Wendell.”

Wendell Barton was indeed heading in our direction, but he seemed to be absorbed in his own world. His own
hostile
world. His fists and jaw were clenched, his brow was furrowed, and he had a purposeful stride, oblivious to his surroundings.

“Hi, Wendell,” Audrey said as he drew close.

He stopped and looked at us in surprise. “Audrey. Hello.”

“You look like you’re on your way to wring somebody’s neck,” Audrey said.

He was clearly embarrassed at her catching him in this mood. He tried to force a smile. The effect was more of a grimace than anything else. “No, I’m … sorry. I was just …” He gave her a peck on the cheek, although, again, in his unpleasant mood, it seemed artificial and almost obligatory—as though he was bussing the cheek of his difficult cousin.

“As the expression goes,” Audrey said, “are you trying to
drain the swamp, and finding yourself up to your elbows in alligators?”

“Yeah, that’s a good way of summing it up.” Wendell sighed. He finally shifted his vision to me and said, “Hi, Erin.”

“Good afternoon, Wendell.”

“I don’t know where my head is. I almost brushed right past you lovely ladies.” He shook his head. “There’s no excuse for that. I apologize.”

“What’s wrong?” Audrey asked.

He rubbed his forehead, looking truly pained. “You don’t want to know, Audrey. Trust me.”

“Sure I do.” She gave me a little glance. “Erin and I aren’t in a rush. We could take a quick coffee break and chat for a while.”

“Oh, that’s all right …” Despite his demurral, Wendell’s eyes had lit up at Audrey’s suggestion.

“Sometimes it helps immeasurably to see one’s troubles from a different perspective.” Audrey was slipping into her TV personality—the advice-giving domestic goddess role.

Wendell glanced at me and seemed to lose enthusiasm for the coffee break idea. “Thanks for the offer. I’ve just got … business troubles. Like the saying goes: It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here. I always knew that. And yet … the truth is, even after all these years of running my own company, it never fails to take me by surprise when
I’m
the one getting bitten.”

I
’m sorry to hear that you’re having a tough time, my dear,” Audrey told Wendell. “Where are you heading? Are we making you late for a meeting?”

“No, thank god. I’ve had quite enough meetings for one day.” His smile was starting to look more sincere. “Actually, I was heading downtown in general … hoping to clear my head and maybe do some Christmas shopping, if the spirit moved me.”

“I’m almost always in the shopping spirit,” Audrey said cheerfully. She turned toward me. “And you are, too, right, Erin?”

“Absolutely, but then, I shop for furnishings and accessories for a living.”

“That’s true,” Audrey said with a chuckle. “Your
not
wanting to shop would be the equivalent of a writer getting writer’s block.”

“Or of your getting camera-shy,” Wendell returned to Audrey, just as I was about to say the same thing. That was a little icky; I’d hate to start discovering commonalities at this point. Despite what we’d learned from the gallery owners, Wendell Barton was still a prime suspect in my mind. His underhanded relationship with Sheriff Mackey alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Especially while watching him flirt with my beloved friend.

“Erin and I were about to go back to the inn,” Audrey said. “Are you sure things are okay with you?”

Wendell made sad puppy-dog eyes at her, which instantaneously repulsed me. “If I said no and that I’d like your company, would you spend the rest of the day with me?”

“Actually, Audrey,” I said, intent at preventing her from saying yes, “I need your help. Steve and I should really get your approval on our Christmas décor in the twelve rooms. We’re nearly finished.” No way was I leaving Audrey alone with Wendell if I had any say in the matter. At least not when he struck me as having an unhealthy dose of anger simmering.

Audrey arched her brow as she looked at me—not a good thing—but said, “Well, there goes that idea, Wendell. I’ll call you soon, though.”

“That’s fine, dear.” Audrey and Wendell gave each other an affectionate hug, which made me cringe. It hit me that Steve, when he’d watched me with Cam, must
have felt even worse than I did now, seeing Audrey and Wendell together—seemingly charmed by a man we suspected of murder.

Wendell continued downtown alone. As we neared Audrey’s car, she said, “I know you think he might be a murderer, Erin, but you’re wrong. I’m a better judge of character than you are. For one thing, I’ve been around longer than you have. And for another, I’ve been around
him
much longer than you have.”

“But he has a lot riding on the inn, Audrey. You heard him yourself just now—he’s got ‘business troubles,’ and he’s probably referring to the inn.”

“All the more reason he wouldn’t want his right-hand man to die. Cameron took care of things for him.”

I shook my head. “But they’d been arguing. You saw that for yourself during our fancy lunch. They could have had a complete rift, for all we know.”

Audrey unlocked her car and, as if her glass vase were made of plastic, tossed her bag onto the backseat. I carefully set my bags by my feet as I slipped into the passenger side. She got behind the wheel and donned her sunglasses. Her lips remained in a firm line the entire time.

“I’ve obviously upset you, Audrey, and I’m sorry. We’ll let it drop … until I uncover some evidence that indicates he’s guilty.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I guess.”

I should have said
unless
instead of
until
.

Her face was still set in a scowl by the time we’d pulled into traffic. The tension between us was palpable.

Using the only tension breaker that came to mind, I sang out cheerfully, “‘On the first day of Christmas—’”

To my relief, Audrey laughed.

Henry and Mikara were in the kitchen, making lasagna
for dinner when we arrived. We were showing them our purchases when Steve joined us. After a minute or two of chitchat, I asked how the leaping-lords wall hangings looked.

He made a wavering gesture with his hand. “They’re in our room, but we didn’t actually get them installed.”

“Why not?”

“Ben had some other jobs to handle that took precedence.” Sullivan wasn’t quite meeting my eyes. Something was up. “So I told him I’d hang the panels myself. Then I couldn’t find the recharger for the battery in my drill.”

“There’s a drill in the garage,” Mikara said.

Ignoring her, I said to Sullivan, “But Ben and I spent a lot of time making those panels this morning. They were ready to be hung when I left.” He furrowed his brow.
He’s making excuses, probably because he doesn’t like my leaping-lords design
. I had a vague recollection of feeling guilty about making Sullivan do my work for me, but now I bristled at the possibility that he didn’t think my work was up to snuff. “It would have only taken Ben another fifteen minutes to finish the job completely.”