Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) (6 page)

See, I had a strong sense of
self-preservation as well.

Looking around, I tried to find Riley in the
employees milling about, but he was nowhere to be found. I saw
Glory peering down from the second floor balcony, her hair
threatening to topple over the railing. I hoped she hadn’t left her
gingerbread in the oven without a timer again—the last thing we
needed right now was another fire alarm.

I wondered where Kit had gotten off to and
finally spotted him chatting with Nancy Davidson across the atrium.
She was showing him her camera, pointing out different features.
Seeing them together gave me a great idea for Kit’s Christmas
present. A camera would be perfect for him and his newfound
interest in taking pictures—and video. I made a mental note to talk
to Nancy in hopes she’d have a recommendation for a good brand.
Then I saw Jenny standing in a corner, looking like her world had
crumbled in on her.

I supposed it had.

I told Brickhouse I’d be right back, and
walked over to Jenny. Her right eye twitched as she looked at me.
“How are we going to recover from this, Nina?”

“The shock will wear off,” I said,
optimistically. “The curiosity-seekers will come in droves.”

“Maybe,” she said, sniffling.

Her words earlier, about there being no bad
publicity wove through my thoughts. For a split second I considered
she might have had something to do with the murder, but then
dismissed it.

No one could have known I’d find the body
when I did. It was put under that box to be hidden—and remain that
way for as long as possible.

Which had me thinking about how someone could
have possibly placed a body under there with no one seeing.

Sure, we’d all been busy, but by my
calculations, the murder had to have taken place between the fire
alarm going off (when I’d waved to Lele at the reindeer food kiosk)
and after Fairlane had been fired (because Lele had been wearing a
Mrs. Claus costume). That was only a two-hour window.

“How did the police know it was Lele?” I
asked.

“An officer was sent to the McCorkle house
and Fairlane answered the door. It’s remarkable how identical they
are. Were,” she clarified in a whisper.

Identical.

Brickhouse’s words rang in my ears.

The two sisters were practically the same
person. Looks-wise, at least. What goes for one, goes for the
other.

Which suddenly had me wondering if the killer
had murdered the right sister. After all, it was Fairlane who was
supposed to play Mrs. Claus today, not Lele.

What if this murder had been a case of
mistaken identity?

I looked over at Fairlane, who was still
draped across Kevin, and thought about the repercussions if what I
suspected was true.

If the killer realized the wrong sister was
killed, Fairlane was in very real danger.

Grave danger.

Chapter Five

It was late afternoon by the time I pulled my
truck into my mother’s driveway. She was waiting for me at the
front door.

“What’s this I hear about a murder at
Christmastowne? It’s been on the news. Nina Colette Ceceri, why did
I have to hear about it on the news?” she demanded, her voice
rising to new decibels. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Hi, Mom.” I kissed her cheek.

The house smelled of baking bread and old
books—two of my favorite scents. My dad sat in his favorite
recliner, reading a magazine. I gave him a kiss, too, and tousled
what was left of his hair.

“Nina!” my mother stamped her foot.

“What?” I blinked innocently. It was a look I
had trouble pulling off even when I was, in fact, innocent.

She let out a frustrated breath. “Do not tell
me you were the one to find the body.”

I sat on my dad’s ottoman. “Okay.”

“Neeee-na!” My mother threw her hands in the
air. “What am I supposed to tell my friends who wonder why
my
daughter keeps finding dead bodies?”

“You’d prefer someone else’s daughter?”

“Of course,
chérie
.”

My mother loved using the French endearment.
It made her feel cultured.

A large Christmas tree stood in the corner of
the room, looking majestic. It was covered in white lights, white
feather garland, and delicate crystal ornaments. I knew that
somewhere on the tree, probably buried deep within the boughs, was
a red and green paper snowflake with elementary school pictures of
me, Maria, and Peter. Maria had made it in Sunday school when she
was six, and it was my father’s favorite. He insisted it be hung
every year (despite my mother’s temper tantrums about it.). It was
Mom’s only concession of color on the tree—and I suspected it was
allowed only because my father threatened to hang his collection of
Elvis ornaments (of which there were many) if she didn’t
comply.

Theirs was a marriage about compromise.

My father winked at me. “I think finding dead
bodies is a handy talent to have. Did you know on this day in 1765,
Eli Whitney was born? He invented the cotton gin, you know.” He
glanced at my mother. “Speaking of gin, do we have any? Nina looks
like she could use a drink. Finding dead bodies must take its
toll.”

My mother’s eyes looked to pop out of her
perfectly coiffed head.

It reminded me a bit too much of how Lele
McCorkle’s eyes had looked under that box, and it made me
shiver.

“Maybe a hot toddy?” my father suggested.

“Maybe a hot chocolate,” I said, blinking my
not-so-innocent eyes at my mother.

She narrowed hers in a perfect Ceceri Evil
Eye. A double one at that. It was too much for me to resist. “Fine.
While you’re making the hot chocolate, I’ll tell you all about my
morning.”

My mother said, “Now that’s my good
girl.”

My father went back to his magazine and
whispered, “Capitulator.”

“Self-preservation,” I countered.

“Smart girl,” said my dad as I walked into
the kitchen.

A loaf of freshly-baked bread sat on the
counter. I eyed it. “When did you learn to make bread?” Usually,
she bought the Pillsbury kind that comes in a can from the local
Kroger and passed it off as her own.

“I didn’t. Your sister brought it over.”

I poked the loaf. “My sister Maria?”

“Do you have another?” she retorted as
chopped a square of semisweet chocolate.

“Dad could have been living a double life all
these years. You never know. It could happen.”

“Tee-hee,” my father laughed.

My mother waved the knife. “He wouldn’t
dare.”

My father, I noticed, still smiled. He loved
getting under my mother’s skin. It was his favorite pastime next to
being a history and Elvis buff.

“Since when does Maria know how to bake?”
Last I checked, she didn’t even know how to turn on her oven.

“I told you she’s acting strangely,” Mom
said. She poured milk into a saucepan and warmed it up.

My mother made a mean hot chocolate, but
secretly, I preferred Swiss Miss. Mom’s recipe was a very close
second, though.

“You need to talk to her. Something is going
on,” she said. “Last week she called from the grocery store and
asked me if I needed anything.”

“Maria knows where the grocery store is?” I
was only half-kidding.

Mom whisked sugar and vanilla extract into
the milk. “Exactly my point.”

“Maybe she’s finally throwing herself into
being a newlywed to impress Nate?”

“Maybe she’s had a lobotomy,” Mom said.

True enough. Maria rarely thought of anyone
beside herself. I was going to have to check this out, because
despite myself, now I was curious as to what was going on.

Mom stirred the chopped chocolate into the
warm sweetened milk. Delicious scents filled the kitchen. She said,
“Now tell me, did Mrs. Claus really get whacked?”

“Whacked?” I repeated.

Dad said, “Your mom has been watching
Sopranos
repeats.”

She wiggled her champagne blond eyebrows. “I
kind of think that Tony Soprano is handsome. Is that wrong?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is.”

She frowned at me.

“Turns out,” I said, “that it was
Fairlee
McCorkle who was murdered. Strangled. At first we
thought it had been
Fairlane
.”

“Lele!” Mom said, shocked. “Why?”

“I don’t know. When I left, Kevin was still
interviewing employees.”

“Who is twisted enough to put a body under a
Christmas tree?” Mom said, whisking away. “That’s just wrong. Poor
Benny and Jenny,” she added as she poured the liquid into mugs.
“They’ve been through so much. First Benny’s accident, now this.
Has he fully recovered from that car wreck?”

“He walks with a bit of a limp,” I said.
“Otherwise, you would never be able to tell he’d been critically
injured.”

Mom
tsk
ed again. “It’s a miracle he
made it out alive.” She made the sign of the cross even though she
hadn’t been to church in decades. “Unlike that poor girl who died
in the crash. What was her name?”

I wracked my brain but couldn’t come up with
it. The crash had happened nearly two years ago in March. It had
been after midnight, the road had been covered in black ice, and
the two cars collided head-on.

Investigators reported that the young woman
who died had crossed into Benny’s lane. But reports also showed
that Benny had an elevated alcohol level. Not enough to be
considered legally drunk, but enough, experts said, to impair his
reaction time. After the crash happened, there had been speculation
the accident may have been avoided—or at the very least it would
not have been as severe—if Benny had been stone-cold sober.

Jenny told me that Benny hadn’t touched a
drop of alcohol since, and that he was still dealing with the
demons born that night. He’d even been the subject of a documentary
that followed his rehabilitation.
The Recovery of an
All-American Hero.
The ratings had been huge, and Benny had
become a national star—bigger now than before the accident.

“Carrie Hodges,” my father said.

My mother snapped her fingers. “That’s it.
Pretty young thing, she was. Her poor family.”

Immediately, a photo of a dark-haired girl
popped into my mind. It had been shown on the news and in the
papers over and over. She’d been heading home from graduate school
to spend spring break with her family, who lived in the area.

I dropped two peppermint marshmallows into my
mug and watched them melt. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly
a life could change.

My mother brought a mug out to my father and
kissed the top of his head. She kissed mine on her way back, as
well.

Suddenly, I felt the need to wrap Riley in a
bear hug.

And to call Bobby, just to hear his
voice.

Mom must have been reading my mind, because
she said, “Have you heard from Bobby lately?”

“He called last night. No news quite yet. He
loves the weather down there. Eighty degrees and sunny.”

“I’m green with envy,” my mother said.
“Perhaps we need a vacation, Tonio.”

Dad said, “I’ve always wanted to visit the
ruins of Machu Picchu.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a
cruise in the South Pacific,” Mom said lightly.

“Oh.” He turned the page of his magazine and
didn’t say another word.

I wondered what the compromise would be on
this one.

I finished my hot chocolate, and said, “I
should be getting home. Where’s Snoopy?”

My mother’s face morphed into a scowl, and
suddenly she looked like an evil queen in a storybook. “When I find
out who’s doing this,
ooooo
!” She shuddered with anger.

“You’ll visit them with a poisoned apple?” I
asked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, heading for the door
leading into the garage.

Sure enough, there was a large plastic puddle
on the floor. Next to it, an air compressor.

Someone had shelled out a lot of money for
this particular prank. And a suspect was forming in my mind.

“You didn’t hear the air compressor running
last night?” I asked.

“Thanks to the earplugs I wear to block your
father’s snoring, I hear very little at night.”

“Dad didn’t hear anything, either?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Without his
hearing aid in, he wouldn’t hear if a plane landed in the
yard.”

I was suddenly glad they had a good alarm
system, not that either would hear it if it went off.

I reached down to scoop up the snow
globe.

“Isn’t it hideous?” Mom asked.

“It’s going to look perfect in my side
yard.”

“Where did I go wrong in raising you?” she
asked.

“I think Peter dropped me on my head when I
was a baby.”

“That explains it.”

My dad helped me load Snoopy into my truck,
and I gave them both kisses and drove off.

At the end of the street, I turned left, in
the opposite direction of my house.

As much as I wanted to spend some quality
time with Riley watching a
Die Hard
marathon, there was
someone I wanted to talk to.

I glanced back at Snoopy.

And she had better have a good alibi for last
night.

***

She answered on the third knock, and I
flashed my keychain light into her eyes. “Where were you between
the hours of midnight and six a.m.?”

“Have you been hitting the leftover eggnog?”
my cousin Ana Bertoli asked. She waved me inside her apartment and
closed the door.

Colored Christmas lights had been tacked
along the ceiling, mini Santa Clauses cluttered every surface, and
a large silver tree with pink lights stood in the center of the
room. Every branch had an ornament—or two—weighing it down. A giant
rhinestone star topped the tree like an elaborate Vegas
headpiece.

The scent of popcorn filled the air, and I
saw that she’d been in the middle of making popcorn garland. “What
are you talking about?” she asked, clicking the TV to “mute.” She’d
been watching
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
—the Jim Carrey
version.