Holly and Homicide (7 page)

“No, Mr. Barton. I have a hard enough time getting workmen without—”

“This town’s chomping at the bit to shut us down!” Wendell growled. “I can’t risk getting socked with a fine or work-stoppage due to hiring illegal immigrants!”

While Wendell carped at Ben, I dialed 911 on my cell phone. When the dispatcher answered, I said, “My name is Erin Gilbert and I’m calling from Henry Goodwin’s house on Goodwin Road, in Snowcap Village.” I paused. “I’m sorry. This isn’t an emergency. Force of habit. But a crew that was digging up some cement steps came across some human bones. I’m pretty sure they were from the grave that was robbed earlier in the week.”

“How do you know that the bones have been moved from a grave?”

“I don’t. It’s an educated guess.”

“Erin!” Wendell snapped in a half whisper. “Hang up! We can’t get the police involved in this!”

“It’s too late,” I replied calmly. “They’re on their way.”

F
ifteen minutes later, nicely bundled up in a stylish plum parka and white Lycra ski pants, Chiffon came outside; Audrey was long gone, having left for a film session at the local TV studio. I barely had a moment to consider how interesting it was that Chiffon was emerging from the inn, considering she owned a condo ten minutes away. She appeared to have spent the night here. Ben rushed to fill her in on the workers’ grisly discovery.

Some five minutes after Chiffon joined Ben and me, Sheriff Mackey, the superior officer in Snowcap, finally
arrived, driven here by a second officer who had all the assertiveness of a whipped puppy dog. With V-shaped eyebrows that echoed his receding hairline, the sheriff bore a passing resemblance to Jack Nicholson. Frankly, he seemed to have no idea what to do. He interviewed Ben; asked about the men—Pedro and Juan Martinez; asked if Ben himself had seen “any bones or bonelike fragments” while he was digging, which he hadn’t; and was then stymied. Ben volunteered the fact that I’d been talking to him when the bones were discovered, so unasked, I recounted what little I’d seen and heard. That took me less than sixty seconds. Even at that, Mackey acted utterly uninterested.

“You’re one of the designers from Crestview, aren’t you,” he stated with obvious disdain.

“Yes, I’m Erin Gilbert of Sullivan and Gilbert Designs. I’m the one who called nine-one-one.”

“Yeah. Why’d you consider it an emergency? ’Fraid the bones would vanish before I could get here to see ’em?”

“No, I was afraid the workers who uncovered the bones would vanish. They were already driving away when I called.”

Mackey pivoted and said, “Hey, Ben? Where’s Henry Goodwin? Doesn’t he care about these here events?”

“He and Wendell Barton are having a powwow,” Ben replied. “They’re someplace inside the house.”

Sheriff Mackey snorted. “That figures. Mayor Goodwin’s sellout continues. We’ll fix his wagon.” Just then, Mikara rounded the house to join us. Mackey turned to face the second officer, who was standing sentinel by the patrol car. “Penderson?” Mackey shouted, “Let’s just cordon off the
entire grounds … since we don’t know what else we might find. Or where.”

“That’s not really necessary, is it?” I asked. “Several of us are living here, and we know there are no bones inside the house.”

“Plus, I don’t really have enough tape,” the deputy said. “Can’t I just …circle all the dug-up area?”

“Won’t that prevent anyone from building new steps?” Chiffon asked.

“Yeah, so what?” Mackey asked. “You can use the back door.”

“Sure. And now that Ben won’t be able to work on the porch steps, he can get started on my gingerbread design.”

“You’ve got Ben Orlin
baking?”
the sheriff asked in dismay.

“No, building a big gorgeous Christmas design,” she replied with a bright smile. “We’re going to make this whole big home look like the candy house from Hansel and Gretel.”

“The witch’s gingerbread house was where she baked the children in the oven, right?” the sheriff asked.

“I don’t remember what happened. Just that the house was edible, and there was a trail of bread crumbs that the birds ate.”

Sheriff Mackey grinned. “I sure don’t want to stop Mayor Goodwin from turning Wendell’s inn into a witch’s cottage. Sure, Chiffon. You go right on ahead with your little design project. We’ll keep the cordoning of the house confined to the porch steps.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Greggy!”

Greggy?
“Sheriff Mackey?” I said with a deferential lilt
to my voice, “Do you think those bones could have come from the grave that was robbed a few days ago?”

He gave me the evil eye and seemed disinclined to answer until he followed my gaze and saw that Henry and Wendell were approaching us. Mackey said in a near shout, “That’s one possibility, Miss Gilbert. Or maybe these cement steps were built to hide someone’s grave … and someone’s unsolved murder.”

In what struck me as a futile exercise designed purely to
annoy Henry and Wendell, the sheriff ordered Ben Orlin to move the two piles of dirt and debris a short distance away. Mackey claimed he needed to see if they contained any more bones. They did not. Two hours later, he told us to leave everything where it was and he’d get back to us about when Ben could complete the demolition. Henry and Wendell tried in vain to get him to commit to a time frame.

Chiffon, meanwhile, showed me her plans for slapping ugly painted gingerbreadish Masonite over the classy gray-and-white-trimmed siding and forest green shutters, and we agreed that none of the existing hooks for lights—along the eaves and window casings—would be affected. Within fifteen minutes of the sheriff’s departure, I was ready to devote what remained of my morning and the afternoon to hanging the exterior lights.

Henry had told me that many light strands had been stored in the shed, so I crossed the snow-crusted back lawn, pausing to admire the gazebo. That structure would require additional lighting—all white, miniature lights, I
decided. I dearly hoped Chiffon wasn’t considering turning the gazebo into a gingerbread doghouse.

I hesitated at the closed door to the shed. The padlock was open and hanging from the hook and, from inside, a woman’s voice shouted, “No way! That’s a terrible idea!”

“What do you mean?!” a second woman shouted. “It’s the perfect solution, and you know it!”

Henry was crossing the lawn from the footbridge over the creek; this was a walk he took early every morning, but today’s events had pushed it back to a few minutes after eleven. Just as the first voice retorted, “I know no such thing! It’s dangerous!” Henry spotted me and called, “Erin! Did you find the Christmas lights?”

I had no choice but to call back, “Not yet. I’m about to look for them now.”

Unsurprisingly, the voices in the shed instantly fell silent. I opened the rustic, barnlike door and stepped inside. Mikara and Angie Woolf were staring at me. “Hello,” I said.

“Hi, Erin,” Mikara said. “You’re ready to hang the lights now?”

“I hope to.”

“I’ll get them for you. I know right where they are.” Mikara turned and headed to a back shelf.

I looked at Angie, who probably felt as awkward as I did. With Mikara leaving us both standing there, I was obliged to say something to Angie, but was at a loss. Saying “Good to see you again” to someone you’d interrupted in an argument seemed inappropriate. Instead I muttered lamely: “Are you just here to visit, or are you giving us another inspection?”

“Just visiting my sister. Family matters.” She trudged past me and called over her shoulder, “Bye, Mikara.”

“Take care, Angie,” Mikara replied. She carried a large box toward me and rolled her eyes when our gazes met. “Family drives you crazy, no matter how small it happens to be.” She brushed past me, saying, “I’ll take this to the back porch for you. There’s more right on that shelf. You’ll have to make a couple of trips.”

I grabbed a second box and followed, noticing that Angie was heading toward the street, taking a diagonal path across the side yard. Strangely, she’d opted not to pull into the long driveway, or to park anywhere near the inn.

Late that afternoon, Cameron dropped by. I spotted his
car—a black Mercedes—from the stepladder. Ben had finished hanging the lights on the eaves of the highest roofs; I was contenting myself with the first- and second-floor windows in the front, skipping the porch roof to avoid violating the police cordoning. I watched Cam approach, noting the same purposeful stride I remembered from a decade ago. I was wrong about him looking exactly the same; he was even more handsome now. His thick, wavy brown hair was neatly styled and nearly as dark as his coat. He could have been a male model, but his aura was one of pure power. Heaven only knows how I’d once fooled myself into thinking I could actually keep up with the man. Life was too short to have to work that hard just to feel comfortable with someone.

He gave me a full-wattage smile, his teeth white as
the snow. “There she is, Erin Gilbert herself, up on a pedestal. The goddess of my dreams …and such a sight to behold.”

His greeting was so over the top that I had to laugh. “Before you envision a Pantheon around me, notice that I’m standing on an aluminum stepladder, sticking a string of lights onto little hooks. Does that sound like goddess activity to you?”

“Indeed not, Athena. Which is why I’ve come to sweep you away in my chariot. Can I give you a hand?”

“No, actually, I was just finishing up. But thanks for offering.”

“Even better! Come away with me. We’ll have an early dinner and get caught up a bit.”

“Hang on a sec.” I fastened the last strand of lights, my calves and arms aching. As I came down the ladder, I said, “The first thing you need to know if you want to catch up with my life is that Steve Sullivan is not just my business partner.”

“I realize that. It’s pretty obvious from the way he was looking at you. And glaring at me.” (I couldn’t help but smile; hard to say which man was really glaring at the other. Maybe it was simultaneous.) “Did my kiss last night cause any friction?”

“A little, actually. But we’ll overcome it.”

“Invite him to join us.” He spread his arms and said with a wink and a big grin, “Steve and I will be fast friends in no time. To know me is to love me.”

“Your ego’s still intact, I see.”

He laughed. “Always. I’m confident by nature. You
have
to be in my line of work.”

“Which is
what
, exactly?” I gazed into his eyes. He was only a few inches taller than I. I’d sometimes wondered if he’d picked me out of the crowd strictly because he figured we’d make a tall, striking couple.

“I’m Wendell Barton’s right-hand man. I handle the money problems and the employee problems, and hire people to handle the incidentals.”

I turned my attention to collecting the boxes. Cameron picked up the ladder for me, and we started toward the shed. “Did you notice the police crime-scene tape in the front?” I asked.

“Some workmen discovered human remains, right? I heard about that from Snowcap’s illustrious sheriff. That had to be a dumb prank.”

“A bone and a skull. The sheriff has put an indefinite hold on rebuilding the steps.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Even government bureaucracy can be edged along, if you know the right buttons to push.”

“You’re going to
bribe
the sheriff?” I asked in dismay.

“No way,” he said with a chuckle. “I know better than to cross that line. But I
do
know how to motivate individuals.”

That was true. Cam had been a natural leader in college. I opened the door to the shed. He followed me inside. “The ladder goes right next to the door.” I continued on to the back shelf. He was standing by the door, watching me when I turned around.

“And speaking of motivating individuals,
you
, my lovely Erin, are overdue for a sloe gin fizz.”

I laughed. “I haven’t had one of those in over ten years!”

“Not since the days of your fake ID. My point exactly. It’d be hard to get more overdue than
that!”

“I’ve moved on, Cameron. Which is why I can’t agree to join you till I talk to Steve about it.” Who, I realized, was still not here. “Excuse me for a moment.” I locked up the shed, then dialed Steve’s cell phone.

“Erin,” he answered immediately. “Sorry I’m late, hon. There was a massive pileup on I-Seventy, according to the radio. I’m waiting till it clears and still haven’t left Crestview.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Cameron’s here and wanted to know if he could take us both out to an early dinner.”

There was a pause. I couldn’t tell if the crackling noise was from the faulty connection or Steve grinding his teeth. “Go ahead. No sense in your missing out. Plus I’m sure he’s standing right there.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t want to clue Cameron in to the fact that Steve had given me a green light till I was sure that he really meant it. “Okay. No problem. We’ll all just do this another night.”

“No, you and Cameron will go now, and you’ll feel all nostalgic and revel in old times. Then afterward, you’ll remember that you’ve been there and done that, and that what you have now with me is better.”

I smiled, falling in love with Steve all over again. “That’s certainly true.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I said it.”

“I love you, Steve.”

“Love you, too. Have a horrible time tonight.”

“Okay. I will.”

“See you in a couple of hours.” He hung up before I could reply.

“Let me guess,” Cameron said when I pocketed my cell phone and looked at him. “He’s giving you plenty of rope in the hopes that you’ll strangle me with it.”

“Something like that.”

He took my arm and started leading me to his car. “It’s like I told you earlier. I know individuals and how they tick. I’ll take you to my favorite place, run by a couple of Aussies who can pull a wonderful pint …and can mix up a first-rate sloe gin fizz, as well. Are you still lousy at darts?”

“Unless a ten-year layoff has worked its magic.”

“Perfect! The one thing I could always beat you at. I
rule!”

Despite our handicap system that gave me a point just
for hitting the dartboard, Cameron beat me, which, in actuality, had been our general pattern and was in no way confined to just darts. He was exciting and dynamic, and our every minute together reminded me of how it felt a decade ago to be the center of such a force of nature, when he’d had me convinced that absolutely anything was possible. That is, right up until he’d left for London, and my mom slowly died from lung disease, and I found myself alone when I most needed comfort and support. One night, I’d called to tell him so. The woman’s voice with the ever-so-cultured accent who’d answered his phone was burned into my memory banks.