Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery)

  I wasn’t sure who, but I had an idea how to find out, thanks to Nancy Davidson. I was going to get myself one of those motion cameras and hook it up at my parents’ house... But when I discovered the identity of the prankster, I wasn’t sure whether I should turn him in or buy him a drink.

  Another snow burst was moving through, and by the time we reached Fairlane’s garage, another inch had fallen. Inside the garage, we found Riley standing at the bottom of a ladder leading to an attic access in the ceiling.

  There was only one box with “XMAS” marked on it at his feet. “Only one box?” I asked. “You’ve been over here almost an hour.”

  “Well,” Riley said, dragging the word out. “First, we waited and waited for Fairlane, but if she’s home, she’s ignoring us. The garage was open, though, so Mr. Cabrera finally decided we should get started without her.”

  “I can’t hear you, boy!” Mr. Cabrera said. He stuck his head into the attic opening. “Oh! You weren’t talkin’ to me. HO, HO, HO, hello!” he exclaimed.

  “Better,” Maria said, encouragingly.

  He disappeared again.

  Riley said, “Second, Mr. Cabrera lost his footing almost fell through the rafters, but he insists he be the one to bring the boxes down. He’s a stubborn old man.”

  Yes, yes he was.

  Kevin said, “I’ll go help him.”

  “So, Fairlane’s not around?” I asked as Kevin headed up the ladder.

  I might have admired his backside. Just a little. Sue me.

  “She’s probably visiting around the neighborhood,” Riley said. “Her car’s here.”

  It was parked in the driveway, covered in snow. I looked across the street, at Mrs. Greeble’s empty house—she’d moved to a retirement home a few weeks ago and the house was now up for sale. My gaze skipped to Flash Leonard’s home. Maybe Fairlane was there, trying to con him out of his life savings. I was going to have to warn everyone about her.

  Maria snooped around the garage. She turned the handle on the door connected to the house and it swung open.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking for evidence,” she said.

  “Maria Ceceri Biederman, close that door right now.”

  “Evidence of what?” Riley held the ladder steady as his dad heaved himself into the attic.

  “Long story,” I said.

  Above us, a cry rang out. Then a loud bone-jarring crash.

  Kevin yelled out, “Call 911! Mr. Cabrera’s fallen through the ceiling.”

  Riley whipped out his cell phone, while Kevin jumped through the attic opening, ignoring the ladder. He ran to the door to the house and whipped it open.

  Maria said, “Oh, so it’s okay for him to go in?”

  I ignored her and followed Kevin inside. Riley and Maria followed me. The house was neat as a pin and sparsely furnished.

  “Mr. Cabrera!” Kevin called.

  “In here.” The loud shout came from a room at the end of a long hallway.

  Kevin turned the knob on the door, and we each bumped into each other as he stopped short.

  My eyes widened as I took in the room—completely covered in piles and piles of toys and merchandise—undoubtedly all stolen. It was a shoplifter’s paradise.

  Mr. Cabrera said softly, “Please don’t tell me she’s dead.”

  Kevin rushed inside as I said, “Dead? Who’s dead?”

  “Stay back,” Kevin warned us as he knelt next to Mr. Cabrera. “Don’t move,” he told him. “An ambulance is on its way.”

  “Dead?” Maria echoed, crowding the doorway, trying to see into the room. “Who’s dead? Not Mr. Cabrera!”

  “No,” Riley said, pointing. “Her.”

  I gasped. Fairlane lay on the floor near the closet door. A pair of striped tights was wrapped tightly around her neck.

  Unfortunately for Mr. Cabrera, she was most definitely dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few hours later, I checked the clock and glanced out the window again. The porch light, lamppost, and various decorations illuminated the snow and little else. Still no sign of Kevin. I hadn’t seen him since shortly after Fairlane’s body had been discovered.

  Mr. Cabrera had been taken to the hospital because of a cut on his head, and the doctors wanted to keep him overnight for observation in case he suffered a concussion. Otherwise, he was just fine, thank goodness. Last I heard, he had company. Brickhouse had fought her way through the storm to be by his side.

  Snow continued to fall, and I was feeling a bit betrayed by the meteorologists. There was no way all this snow would be gone by the weekend. There had to be ten inches outside already. A veritable blizzard by Cincinnati standards. The city—and outlying areas—would be closed for days. Riley’s high school had already called off classes for tomorrow, which was supposed to be his last day before Christmas break. He was going to be thrilled.

  Currently, he was up in his room playing video games. Maria was in my room, tucked into my bed, snoring on my pillows. Once the clock struck nine, she couldn’t stop yawning and turned in. Nate had been stranded downtown and had luckily scored a hotel room within walking distance of his office.

  Soft Christmas carols played from overhead speakers as I put a pot of coffee on and took my package from Bobby into the living room. Gracie slept in front of the hearth and lifted a sleepy head when I came in, but didn’t bark or piddle, so I figured my night was looking up.

  Flames crackled in the fireplace as I sat on the sofa. I drew an afghan over my lap and stared at the envelope Bobby had sent. I had wanted a little privacy when opening it. A very young, girly part of me wanted a long sappy love letter. After all, it had been weeks since I had seen him, and we’d had startling little communication in that time. He was busy with his mom—I understood that—but I was beginning to feel like he’d forgotten about me.

  I carefully tore the perforated strip along the top of the bubble envelope, took a deep breath and reached inside. A gurgle of anticipation grew in my stomach. My fingertips felt a bit of plastic inside the envelope, and I pulled.

  And stared at what came out.

  It was an Almond Joy. Or used to be, at least.

  Somewhere along the package’s journey, the Almond Joy had melted, pooling on one side of its wrapper, where it hardened once again. One side of the candy bar was a hard round blob, the other side flopped with emptiness.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  The first present I ever got from Bobby was a case of Almond Joys, after I’d had a bit of a sugar-crash in his former office and he’d given me a candy bar to stave off a compete meltdown.

  This candy bar, as misshapen as it was, was a reminder of how we’d began. It was his way of letting me know he was thinking of me. Awww.

  I billowed the envelope and looked inside for a note, but there was nothing else inside the package. Tipping it upside down, I shook it, just in case I missed something obvious.

  Nothing.

  No note, no professions of love, no ooey gooey “I miss you.”

  Just the Frankenbar. Which no longer looked as endearing.

  He was writer, for goodness’ sake. How hard could it be to come up with a few lovey-dovey lines? I put the candy bar back into the envelope and put it on the coffee table, not sure what to make of my feelings.

  Wasn’t absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder?

  I was still thinking about that as I wandered back into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. After stirring in liberal amounts of cream and sugar, I sipped contentedly. I washed some dishes, put the tree skirt into the dryer, foraged for a snack (popcorn), and glanced out my kitchen window at Bobby’s house across the street. Part of me wished he’d suddenly appear.

  Kit’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, and I figured he was spending the night at Ana’s—which was something of a regular occurrence lately. So much for house-sitting.

  I munched on a piece of popcorn and told myself to stay strong. Support B
obby as best I could. That’s what mattered right now—not stupid love notes.

  My cell phone chirped an alert for a text message, and I almost didn’t recognize the noise. Riley had placed the SIM card in my dead cell phone into my old cell phone. I was glad to have a working cell, but my old phone was practically vintage. It had an antenna and everything. I tore myself away from staring at Bobby’s place and checked the text message. It was from Ana, and the subject line was “Ha ha ha!”

  I could only imagine. I opened the file, a photo, and started laughing.

  It was a shot of a snowy lit-up Santa and nine reindeer atop a house.

  My mother’s house.

  I texted Ana.

  Me: Are you out in this storm?

  Her: maybe

  Me: Crazy.

  Her: worth it 2 see Santa

  Me: Don’t let my mom see you.

  Her: not stupid don’t have death wish

  I didn’t mention how stupid it was to venture out on a night like tonight to get a glimpse of my mother’s Santa. Smiling, I left the conversation at that and slipped my phone in my robe’s pocket.

  Peeking out the side door, I watched as crime scene techs stamped all over Fairlane’s yard. Big lights had been set up, illuminating half the road, and police cars and tech vans lined the street. The coroner’s vehicle had already come and gone.

  I wanted desperately to forget about Fairlee and Fairlane. To forget that crime could happen so close to home. Forget that evil existed. Fairlane lived just a few houses away—and someone had broken in and killed her.

  I shuddered, turned away from the window, and went to refill my coffee.

  It was going to be a long night.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs and a second later Riley came into the kitchen, looking more and more like his dad everyday. The mop of unruly hair, the shape of his eyes. “No sign of dad yet?”

  “Not yet,” I said, leaning against the sink.

  He poured himself a cup of milk, then grabbed a package of Oreos. “It’ll probably be a late night. You think Mr. Cabrera will be released soon?”

  I shook my head. “He’s spending the night at the hospital.”

  Riley’s face scrunched. “Then where’s Dad gonna sleep?”

  Oh, jeez. I’d forgotten Kevin was going to spend the night at Mr. Cabrera’s. For cryin’ out loud. I sighed. “He can stay here.” I had no idea where. Maria was in my bed—and I was not sharing with her—she kicked and thrashed when she slept. I was on the couch. Riley only had a twin bed...

  Riley smirked—again, looking a lot like his dad. “You’re a softie.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  He went back upstairs, taking the whole package of cookies with him, the little devil.

  I tried watching a movie for a while, but couldn’t get into it. Also tried reading, but after reading the same page three times and having no idea what it said, I put the book down. Instead, I gathered up my sketch book and supplies and nestled into the couch. I penciled in a garden, done all in shades of purples. Lavender, tulips, aster, sweet pea, irises, lupine, violets, monkey-flowers, violets, vinca. I drew, I colored, I shaded. The artist in me was in heaven.

  A little after midnight, I heard a tap on the backdoor. I set my things aside and went to let Kevin in. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat.

  I felt a pang at the familiarity and pushed it aside.

  He looked bone tired. “Coffee?” I asked. “Or will it keep you up all night?”

  He smirked. “Too late for that.”

  I poured him a cup, and he settled in on the couch, staring at the flames leaping in the grate. Gracie, thankfully, kept on sleeping.

  “Did you find out anything?” I asked. I tucked myself on the other end of the couch and drew my feet up onto the cushions. Once upon a time, he would have moved my feet into his lap and given them a massage.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Dragging a hand down his face, he stretched out his legs. “Looks like the killer came in the backdoor. There were puddles on the kitchen floor, leading into the bedroom where Fairlane was found.”

  “Forced entry?”

  He shook his head. “Door could have been unlocked, though.”

  Or, Fairlane could have known her killer.

  “Any footprints outside were covered with snow, so we don’t know which direction he came from.”

  “Prints?” I asked.

  “Still being processed.”

  “So you’ve got nothing,” I said.

  “Pretty much. Coroner places time of death about an hour before we found her.”

  “The two murders have to be connected, right?” A log shifted, creating sparks, then settled.

  “We’re working on that assumption, yes.”

  “Who’re your suspects?”

  He sipped his coffee. “Can’t tell you that, Nina.”

  Damn him. “Did you check with Drunk Dave’s wife at least? He said she had a temper.”

  “And an alibi.”

  “Even for Lele’s murder?”

  He nodded. “The day of Lele’s murder, Drunk Dave’s wife, Olive, was in a packed bingo hall. Dozens of people can vouch for her.”

  “And today?”

  “She and Dave were at the hospital all afternoon. Supposedly he fell down the stairs right after he got home from Christmastowne. Broke his leg, needed some stitches.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “My gut is she pushed him, but he denies it.”

  “Well, if she found out he was cheating, I can’t really blame her. I mean, there were times when I wanted to shove you down the stairs, too.”

  He glanced at me, flames flickering in his green eyes. There was a sadness there I’d never really seen before. He said softly, “Are you ever going to forgive me, Nina?”

  I swallowed hard. How had this conversation turned to us all of a sudden? I adjusted the blanket on my lap. “Maybe.”

  At one time, I would have said, “No way.” But I was learning that sometimes people made mistakes. Big ones. And didn’t deserve to pay for them the rest of their lives.

  He sipped his coffee. “It’s a start.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments, listening to Gracie snortle in her sleep. Finally, I said, “If you’d asked me earlier who was likely to be killed today, my answer wouldn’t have been Fairlane.”

  “You think about these things often?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. His lips quirking in amusement.

  “More than you want to know. Anyway, I would have said Benny. Especially after what Jenny witnessed in Santa’s Cottage this morning.” I sipped my cooled coffee. “But that was before I realized how much she needs him alive.”

  I thought about Benny and Jenny’s shared office and the pictures hanging there.

  How clear her adoration of him had been.

  How clear his adoration of himself had been.

  Her future was tied to him. His money. His last name. Could she walk away from that? Would she?

  I doubted it.

  “What’s next in the investigation?” I asked.

  He pushed a hand through his hair, sending it sticking up in every direction. “We start digging deeper into Christmastowne.”

  “Have you checked bank statements yet? If Fairlane and Lele were blackmailing people, there would be evidence of money coming in.”

  “We’re checking, Nina.”

  I sighed at the red tape of it all. He probably needed warrants.

  “You’ll check Jenny and Benny’s accounts, too?”

  “I know how to do my job.”

  “Just making sure,” I said.

  His lip twitched. “I’ll question Benny and Jenny again tomorrow, then all the employees, down to every last elf. Someone there is our killer. The motive is just a little fuzzy right now.”

  Why were the sisters killed? Was it because of their criminal past? Had it caught up to them? Or was it because of their current criminal activity—the thefts of t
he toys? The blackmail? We knew Fairlane, at least, wasn’t above using it to get what she wanted.

  But had she been killed for it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I woke up with a start at six in the morning to find Gracie snuggled next to me on the couch. And heaven help me, I didn’t mind. She was a good little dog. For someone else.

  I’d been dreaming. Weird dreams. Of foot massages and dead poinsettias, of twisted metal and burned gingerbread.

  Really, I had to cut back on the coffee before bed.

  Rubbing my eyes disturbed Gracie, and she popped up and tucked her tail between her legs.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said to her. I grabbed my robe and the dog and booked it to the side door. I slid the locks and pulled the door open to find a foot of snow on the other side. Shoot.

  “Stay,” I said, setting Gracie down in the mud room. I pulled on my boots and ventured out into the cold. Riley’s snow shovel leaned against the house, and I made quick work of a four by four patch of yard for Gracie.

  But when I opened the door, Gracie was gone, and a puddle was on the floor.

  Maria really had to go home.

  I cleaned up Gracie’s mess, cleaned myself up a bit in the downstairs bathroom, and put on a pot of coffee. I brought my laptop into the kitchen, plugged it in, and sat at the counter, Googling.

  The burned gingerbread part of my dream had me looking up Glory Vonderberg. I found dozens of articles about baking contests she’d won and how she was one of the best cake judges in the country. Her own website showcased her amazing talent, but said nothing about her personal life.

  She wore no wedding ring, so I assumed she was single, but I couldn’t be certain. I found no mention of kids or past occupations or where she had been born and raised. Was she local? How had Jenny and Benny found her in the first place?

  More importantly, was it possible she’d been blackmailed by the McCorkle sisters, too?

  Could she have a motive for killing them?

  It seemed unlikely.

  I moved on to the twisted metal part of my dream and searched for articles on Benny Christmas.

  There were millions of hits, so I narrowed it down to the accident, of which there were still millions of hits.