Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen (22 page)

No wreath had hung on the front door. No greeting cards were arranged on the mantle. That was almost tantamount
to sacrilege in Rudolph. I knew that Fergus's wife had left him once their kids were grown and out of the house. Still, he could make
some
effort!

Fergus's living room might have come directly from the props room at
Jennifer's Lifestyle
magazine for a featured spread on the modern western home. Burnt sienna walls, leather furniture, paintings of horses galloping across the open prairie, a fire burning in a stone fireplace so large you could probably roast an ox, if you were so inclined. And, like in an old-fashioned western, Sue-Anne Morrow and Fergus Cartwright stood in the center of the room staring each other down, legs apart, feet planted.

Fergus faced us. Surprise crossed his face when we came in. He saw Alan first, and then me. “What do you think you're doing here, walking into my home like this?” he said. “Get out.”

Sue-Anne whirled around. She smiled at us and seemed almost pleased to see us. I thought that a bit of nerve. “Come on in,” she said. “I'm glad you're here. I was telling Fergus that his time as mayor is finished. Let's not drag this out into a long, expensive campaign that will only divide the town. It's past time for Fergus to quit.”

“Never,” His Honor growled. “Rudolph is my town.”

“You don't even live in Rudolph,” she said. “Look at this place. You'd obviously rather be on a ranch in Montana.”

I strained my ears for the sound of sirens, but outside all was quiet. Where were those blasted cops?

“Sue-Anne,” Alan said, “come with me. We can talk about this another time.”

“I don't want to talk about it another time,” she said. “I'm here now. Trying to talk some reason into this old coot.”

Alan walked slowly across the room, across the huge, exquisite Navajo rug that, if it was authentic, must have cost in the tens of thousands. He kept his eyes on Fergus, but he reached out and placed his hand on the woman's arm. “Come with me, Sue-Anne, please,” he said in a low, firm voice.

Wasn't it Fergus who needed to be taken out of danger? I was about to yell at him, tell him to run, find cover. Who knew what Sue-Anne might have hidden under her coat? I opened my mouth, but no warning shout came out, because I had noticed two things.

Sue-Anne's fashionable size-six boots had pointed toes and stiletto heels.

Fergus's head and shoulders were damp with melting snow.

“No,” Fergus said. “It's time to settle this. Here and now. This is my town. Mine. People like you need to understand that. I'm the only one who can keep Rudolph strong and prosperous. Folks need to be reminded sometimes.”

“Absolutely,” Alan said. “You have my vote, Fergus. Yours, too. Right, Merry?” He threw me a glance, jerking his head toward the door behind us.

Sue-Anne looked as though she were going to argue. But then I saw comprehension slowly cross her face. “Uh, yeah. Okay,” she said.

“Folks around here think I'm Noel Wilkinson's puppet,” Fergus continued. I doubt he'd even heard Alan say whom he'd be voting for. “Santa Claus indeed. If only that blasted Noel would get out of my way, everyone would see that I'm the power in this town. No one else. I can break it. And only I can fix it.”

Alan and Sue-Anne had been backing up slowly, leaving me closest to Fergus. The mayor's eyes widened, and then they focused and he saw us.

He lunged for the fireplace and grabbed an iron poker. Alan shouted a warning. Sue-Anne screamed. Fergus held the poker, blackened and dusted with cold gray ash, aloft.

“You!” He turned on me. “You're as bad as your father. Couldn't mind your own business, could you? Had to keep nosing around, asking questions.” His eyes were wild and mad. He charged.

“Merry!” Alan screamed.

Sue-Anne just screamed.

I ducked. I tried to run, but my foot caught the edge of the Navajo rug, and I went down, landing hard on my butt. Fergus closed on me, the poker raised high. My hand found something in my pocket. I didn't think about what I was doing as I pulled it out and whipped it upward. It sliced through the air with a hiss. The metal clip on Mattie's leash got His Honor hard in his left cheek. He howled and staggered backward. He dropped the poker and lifted a hand to the wound, shocked at the sudden pain.

Then Alan was on him and Fergus went down.

Outside, an engine rumbled, and bright lights poured through the living room windows.

“Go see who that is, Merry,” Alan said, his voice calm, in control. “I'll stay here.”

“Welcome. You're just in time,” I said as I opened the front door.

“What's happening?” Diane Simmonds asked.

“We're all in the living room,” I said. “Come on in.”

She gave me a long look, and then pushed past me.

Fergus was on the floor, Alan standing over him, armed with the poker. Sue-Anne was curled up on the couch, weeping noisily.

“It was him?” Simmonds said to me. “Fergus?”

“We think so. We followed boot prints from the site of the fire directly here. When we confronted Fergus, he suggested he was responsible for all the other awful stuff that's been happening.”

“Including the murder of Nigel Pearce?” she asked.

I shook my head. “That didn't come up.”

Simmonds pulled handcuffs off her belt. Alan stepped away, and she quickly and efficiently cuffed the groaning
mayor.

R
uss Durham arrived seconds behind Simmonds. He burst into Fergus's house the moment the detective snapped on the cuffs and hauled Fergus to his feet, giving him the expected warning.

“It's my town. Mine!” His Honor bellowed as state police burst through the doors. Long after the excitement was over they'd finally showed up. Accident on the highway, they said with somber shakes of their bald heads—terrible stuff.

“Whatever,” Diane Simmonds had said.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Russ Durham asked me.

“Why are you here?” I said. The minute Diane had the cuffs on Fergus, my legs had given way. I would have fallen to the floor had not Alan grabbed my arm and led me to a chair.

“A good reporter knows everything that's going on in his patch.” Russ lowered his voice and gave me a grin, slow and private. “I was listening to the state police radio. Your name was mentioned, Merry. How could I not respond?”

“Respond?” I said. “In pursuit of a story? Or to help me?”

“I can't say I forgot about being a newspaper man. But I was worried about you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

We watched as Fergus was hustled out the door. He was handcuffed, escorted by cops, followed by a stern-faced Detective Simmonds. “It wasn't my fault!” His Honor protested. “He had a heart attack or something. How was I to know he had a bad heart?”

“To whom are you referring, Mr. Cartwright?” Simmonds asked.

“That ridiculous Englishman, of course. Now, you seem like a sensible young lady, I'm sure you'll understand. This is my town. People were forgetting that. I had to remind them, didn't I?”

“Why?” I shouted. I couldn't help myself. “Why? Nigel Pearce was going to do a feature on Rudolph. It's what we've been wanting for so long. To be officially recognized as America's Christmas Town. But you killed him. You almost killed Christmas!”

Fergus blinked. “Merry, dear. You'll understand. You must know what it's like living under Noel Wilkinson's shadow.” Simmonds stopped walking. She let the man talk to me. I'd noticed Russ slip a digital recorder out of his pocket and press buttons.

“Any problems in Rudolph and everyone rushes to ask Noel what to do,” Fergus said. “They forget that I'm the
mayor, not Noel. I showed them, didn't I? I gave them problems, and I solved them, too.”

“You killed a man,” I said.

Fergus shrugged. “That was an accident. He was only supposed to get sick. It was Noel who'd written to that fancy foreign magazine suggesting they write something about Rudolph.”

“I didn't know that,” I said.

Fergus snorted. “Noel said it would be good publicity for Rudolph but our so-called Santa Claus would have ended up getting all the credit. I had to show them, didn't I, that Rudolph doesn't need Noel Wilkinson anymore. I'm in charge here. I am!” As he spoke, Fergus's voice began to rise and then he was screaming. The cops tightened their grip on his arm and at a nod from Simmonds they led him away, yelling at the top of his lungs that he was in charge.

Sue-Anne Morrow was still rolled up into a ball on the leather couch. “Is he gone?” she asked as Fergus's voice faded away.

“Yes,” Russ said.

She uncurled herself. Her hair was a tumbled mess, and instinctively she began to rearrange it. Russ held out a hand, and she accepted it. He guided her to her feet. She plastered on a smile.

“Goodness me. Wasn't that odd?”

“Looks like the field's wide open for you, Sue-Anne,” I said.

“I can't so much as bear to think of my election prospects at a time like this,” she said. “Such a tragedy. Ambition taken to extremes.” She shook her head. “I'm far too upset to drive myself home. Russ, be a dear.”

“You can come with me, Mrs. Morrow,” Simmonds said. “We can talk in the car.” The detective turned to me. Alan was standing on one side of me, Russ on the other. It was a lovely, safe place to be. “I want to hear what brought you two here tonight, but that can wait until tomorrow. They're taking Fergus into the Rudolph police station now and I want to interview him while he's still in the mood for true confessions. Can you come down to my office first thing in the morning?”

“Yes,” Alan and I chorused.

“Do you want a ride back to town, Merry?” she asked.

“I'll take her,” Russ said quickly.

We all went outside. Lights from the cruisers threw swirling beams of red and blue into the steadily falling snow.

I shivered and buried my hands in my pockets. I'd lost Mattie's leash. Taken away as evidence.

“You okay, Merry?” Russ and Alan said in unison.

“I'm fine. I guess it's all starting to hit me now. Imagine, Fergus Cartwright, of all people.”

“Come on, Merry,” Russ said, “My car's over there. Catch you later, Anderson.”

“Mattie,” I said. “I left the dog in my car. I'm okay to drive.”

I set off at a trot. Poor Mattie would be frantic, locked in the car while police cars screamed up the road and people shouted and wept. The dark woods closed around me. Behind me, a light came on, illuminating the trail, and I didn't bother to turn my flashlight app on. Two sets of footsteps followed me.

I burst into the clearing at Alan's house. Everything seemed so calm and peaceful. The fresh snow, a circle of
welcoming yellow light spilling out of the house, the scent of woodsmoke. Overhead the clouds were drifting away, and a bright white moon was coming out.

I ran to my car, expecting to see my dog frantically trying to scratch his way out, trying to speed to my side. Instead, the car was as peaceful as the rest of the scene. I peered in the back window. The Saint Bernard puppy was nothing but a ball of tan and brown fur, curled up, nose to tail, breathing heavily, fast asleep.

“Oh,” I said.

Russ and Alan each peeked over one of my shoulders.

“He looks okay to me,” Russ said.

“Me, too,” Alan said.

“If you're sure you're okay to drive,” Russ said. “I'll follow you back to town.”

I glanced at Alan. Weren't we supposed to be having dinner?

“Looks like,” the toymaker said, “I'll be working through the night. I need to check over the stock for your store, Merry. I should be able to salvage some of it. I can rearrange my other deliveries so you're covered.”

“But . . .” I said.

“Let's go, then,” Russ said. He walked around my car. Put his hand on the passenger side door. “Merry can drop me back at my car. I'll follow her to town, make sure she gets settled in okay. Shock can be delayed, you know.”

“Good night, Merry,” Alan said. He turned and walked across his yard, heading for the workshop. I wanted to call out. To tell him I didn't care about the blasted toys. To tell him that he was as much in danger of delayed shock as I was. That he needed someone to watch him tonight, too.

He opened the workshop door and disappeared inside. A light came on.

“Ready?” Russ said.

“Ready,” I replied.

Mattie woke up when the doors opened. He greeted Russ with a slobbery kiss.

M
onday was a quiet day at the shop in terms of customers, but nothing close to quiet when it came to locals wanting to hear all about the dramatic arrest of Fergus Cartwright.

As the day progressed, the tale grew in the telling. The forest on fire, a terrifying standoff between His Honor and a SWAT team, Sue-Anne Morrow held hostage with an explosives belt strapped to her chest.

Jackie was supposed to have the day off, but she came in shortly after opening, to tell me she'd help out if I needed time to recover.

My mom and dad were next through the doors, the visit so important Mom had risen before noon. “You might have been killed!” she screeched, wrapping me in a hug.

“But I wasn't,” I said, very sensibly.

Dad shook his head so hard his beard quivered. “Fergus. Of all people” was all he said.

I'd phoned my parents when I got up this morning and let them know what had happened. Dad had been so shocked he'd been without words.

I'd dropped Russ off at Fergus's house, where he picked up his car. He followed me back to town and parked on the road while I put the Civic in the garage. He'd met me at the door at the bottom of the stairs. “I'll see you up,” he said.

I hadn't protested. Shock was beginning to settle in. All the way back to town, I'd had the image of Fergus with that iron poker held high, coming toward me. Russ had settled me at the kitchen table, grabbed a throw off the big chair in the living room where I usually curled up to read, placed it around my shoulders, filled the kettle, and plugged it in. He then filled Mattie's food and water bowls and made hot sweet tea when the kettle was ready.

He placed the steaming mug in my hand and said, “Drink.”

I drank, and immediately felt a bit better.

He sat on the couch and watched me drink the tea. Neither of us said anything until I'd finished.

When I had, he got to his feet. “I'll get you settled into bed.”

I gave him a smile. “Don't you have a story to write or something?”

“Story can wait.”

“I don't think so. Thanks for taking care of me, but I'm okay now.”

He looked at me for a long time. He reached out and touched my cheek. “If you're sure?”

“I'm sure, Russ.”

I walked him downstairs to see him out. When I got back to the kitchen, Mattie had knocked over his water bowl. I'd wiped it up, refilled the bowl, and fell into bed to sleep a long, dreamless sleep.

Now I assured my parents I was fine, told Jackie that as long as she was here she could work today, as I had to be at the police station later to make my statement.

Sue-Anne made the rounds, ensuring everyone knew we would be in good hands during the temporary absence of a mayor. With much girlish giggling and waving of hands, she halfheartedly tried to quell the rumor that she'd fought Fergus in a life-and-death battle of unarmed combat. Such was her humility that the story only grew and spread.

She popped into my shop to superficially thank me for saving her.

I left Jackie to mind the store and went to the police station.

I was shown into a small but comfortable room with subdued lighting, nice furniture, a colorful painting of a field of sunflowers hanging on the wall, and several boxes of tissues scattered throughout. Not what I'd imagined a police interview room to look like.

Simmonds noticed me admiring my surroundings. “We talk to the perps elsewhere.”

She took a seat and switched on a tape recorder. A tall man in the uniform of the state police crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall.

It didn't take long for me to give my statement. I simply recited what had happened last night. Arriving at Alan's, spotting the fire, putting it out, following the trail to Fergus's
house. Simmonds thanked me for my time. I left and walked back to my shop. The sun had come out and the sky was a brilliant blue. Everyone seemed in a good mood, smiling and waving and exchanging season's greetings. I glanced into Vicky's bakery to see that almost every table was full and there was a line at the counter. People were popping in and out of shops, carrying laden shopping bags.

The convenience store had copies of today's
Gazette
prominently displayed. “Caught!” declared the bold headline, above a picture of Fergus with his head down, his hands behind his back, being loaded into a cruiser by two stern-faced cops.

I walked past Mrs. Claus's Treasures and went home.

Mattie and I were heading for the park when I became aware of a car pulling up beside me. Diane Simmonds parked and got out. “Mind if I join you?” she said.

“Not at all.”

She exchanged effusive greetings with Mattie and then she fell into step beside me, the dog trotting happily between us. The park was an expanse of sparkling snow. Near the bandstand a man was helping three kids build a snowman, and a couple holding hands were gazing out over the ice-tossed bay.

“Christmas in Christmas Town,” I said. “And all is right with the world.”

“You truly love it here, don't you?” Simmonds said.

“I guess I do at that. I followed my dream to Manhattan. I found the dream and I lived it. But like all dreams it didn't last, and I know I'm very lucky to have been able to come home again.”

“You deserve to know what Cartwright had to say, before
a hastily summoned lawyer arrived and managed to convince him to shut up.”

“Did he confess to killing Nigel?”

“He confessed to putting the drugs onto the cookie, but says he didn't intend to kill anyone. He'd been told that GHB was a common street drug. He only wanted to make the man sick and thus not say nice things about Rudolph in his magazine. I suspect that's the truth. What Fergus didn't know is that Pearce was on an anti-insomnia drug that reacts very badly with GHB, and that he would go for a walk in the park alone. Fergus also told us he sabotaged your tractor, as you suspected, and added a couple of splashes of lighter fluid to the edges of the hot dog cart when Dan's attention was momentarily diverted.”

I remembered the bright yellow stain I'd seen on Fergus's shirt that day. Mustard.

“He placed those anonymous calls to the newspaper. He's rather proud of that. Thinks he was very clever disguising his voice. He also set fire to your garbage can,” she said. “He wants me to tell you that he didn't plan on anyone getting hurt.”

“Why? Why on earth would he do that?” I said. Mattie whined at the tone of my voice.

“He was afraid of losing the next election. Apparently some people want Noel Wilkinson to run again. Fergus decided to be proactive and try to discredit your dad. First, by making you appear to spoil the parade, then spoiling the visit of the magazine reporter who'd come at Noel's invitation. He had some crazy idea of ruining everything so he could rush in and save the day. Unfortunately, he seems to have better ideas for doing damage than fixing things, and
found himself, once again, being helped out by your dad. So he hoped that by threatening you with the garbage fire, he'd distract your father. He said he tried to get your parents out of town, but that hadn't worked.”

Fergus's daughter lived in Los Angeles. It wouldn't be a stretch to think that she knew Eve there, and she told Fergus my sister was going into the mountains for a few days, giving Fergus the idea of sending Dad on a wild-goose chase to California.

“And Alan's workshop?”

“He'd overheard people talking about Rudolph's toymaker and how popular he was with visitors.” Simmonds pulled her collar higher around her neck.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Whether or not Fergus intended to kill Nigel Pearce doesn't matter one whit to me. The man died as a direct result of Fergus's actions. He's been charged with murder.”

We'd reached the park. We stood in silence, watching the happy family building their snowman.

“I'd better get back,” Detective Simmonds said. “We've a ton of paperwork to do.”

“I appreciate you telling me,” I said.

She bent over and gave Mattie a hearty rub behind the ears. “You just take care of this big guy.”

Mattie voiced his agreement.

*   *   *

Jackie left a few minutes before closing, but not until she told me she was thinking of breaking things off with Kyle. He was getting too needy, she said. Expecting her to rush
around to his apartment to bring him something for lunch, and then come when she got off work and cook his dinner.

She was beginning to think, she told me, he was malingering. The doctor had sent him home after all of one hour in the ER, and it had now been three days since the exploding barbeque incident. His eyebrows were even growing back.

I refrained from rolling my eyes.

On her way out, she held the door for Alan. He carried a large cardboard box.

“Where do you want this?” he said. “I've more in the truck.”

“Put that one on the counter, and I'll unpack it right here. The others can go in the back room.”

In all he brought in three large boxes full of wooden train sets and toy soldiers. We unpacked them together and arranged the toys on shelves. “You've done a wonderful job,” I said. “You must have worked all night.”

“I did,” he said. “Because you needed them.”

I turned and faced him. “Thank you,” I said.

I might have said something more, but a knock on the door had us both jumping.

Russ Durham was peering in at us, grinning.

I hurried to unlock the door.

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything,” he said in that slow, sexy Southern accent.

“No!” Alan and I chorused.

“I'd like a statement for the paper from you, Merry. What it felt like to confront a vicious killer. That sort of thing.”

“It felt terrifying,” I said. “But you can't quote me. I have no comment.” I've always wanted to say that.

“Come on, give me a tidbit, anything I can use. You're finished for the day, why don't we talk about it over dinner.”

“I'm . . .” I said.

“That's a great idea,” Alan said. “And as I was there to also confront the vicious killer, I'll come along. I'd be happy to give you some good quotes. You don't mind, do you, Russ?” He smiled.

“Mind? Why would I mind?” Russ smiled back.

I glanced between the two men, each of them more handsome than the other.

Why did I feel like I was playing tug-of-war with Mattie? And this time, I was the ball.

It was Christmas in Rudolph, and all was right with the world once again. I might even have time to figure out what on earth I was going to do with not one, but two, delightful
admirers.