“You work in a store?” Graham asked me.

  “I own Mrs. Claus’s Treasures on Jingle Bell Lane. Pop in one day, next time you’re in Rudolph. To shop, I mean,” I added quickly.

  “I haven’t been to Rudolph since my aunt Dorothy died and strangers moved into her house before she was barely cold in her grave.”

  “Nice way of putting it,” Vicky said in a low voice.

  He paid her no attention and smiled at me. “But, now that our towns will be working together, I might do that.”

  We were almost the only people left in the café. Kyle had stopped crying, but he remained sitting in the booth, staring at nothing, while my dad hovered uncertainly over him. Janice’s newfound supporters had left. A few customers wandered in in search of Sunday breakfast, and Janice called to them to take a seat anywhere they liked.

  Nothing remained of the pies, and the waitress whisked away the empty dishes and used cutlery.

  “Gotta go,” I said. “Nice meeting you, Graham.”

  “Kyle told me you’re tight with the police,” he said.

  “He did? I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.”

  “I said I hadn’t been to Rudolph for a long time, but that’s not strictly true. I went yesterday, drove past the house, just wanting to have a look. For old times’ sake, like. It’s wrapped in police tape. What do you suppose is going to happen to it now? Are Beth and Richard going to keep renting it out? I’m thinking they won’t want to live there. Not after what happened to Raquel in that house.”

  “Last I heard, the police plan to take the tape down tomorrow and let the Torrones in. I heard they’re planning to sell it.”

  Something lit up behind his shrouded eyes. “Is that so?”

  “You interested?” Vicky asked.

  “In buying it? No, not me. Big place like that in Rudolph is way out of my budget, even if I wanted it. I have to admit my business has been struggling lately, and I’ve been thinking of cutting my losses. Selling up and moving away. Finding greener pastures. I own a farm supplies store, inherited it from my dad. But big changes are coming to Muddle Harbor. I might stick around and see what happens.”

  “Are you going to work on Randy Baumgartner’s campaign?” Vicky asked.

  He winked at her. “Me? Oh, no. I’m Team Janice all the way.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Did you find Kyle’s reaction to be slightly over-the-top?” I asked Vicky once we were back on the road to Rudolph.

  “I find Kyle Lambert over-the-top at the best of times,” she said.

  “Specifically in regards to Raquel.”

  She snorted. “Kyle’s a jerk and an idiot, and he’s also an attention hound, Merry. He took a few pictures of boring people looking boring, and then he got bored and wanted to liven up the festivities.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I said. “Men rarely turn on the waterworks as a way of attracting attention. His emotions seemed genuine to me.”

  Vicky laughed. “Yeah. Right. All that about soulmates and her eventually seeing the light, returning to her hometown to fall into his manly arms. The man watches too much TV.”

  I wasn’t convinced. Was Kyle that upset about Raquel’s death? Had he genuinely carried a torch for her all these years? Was he now forced to confront the end of his dreams?

  Or was Kyle Lambert going through the throes of delayed shock because he himself had killed her? Had Kyle seen Raquel driving into town? Had he followed her to the house on Broad Street? Did he ask her why she hadn’t told him she was back, or did he assume they’d simply pick up where they left off? When she rejected him, probably even laughed at him, did he …?

  You never knew what a spurned man was capable of.

  I debated taking my thoughts to the police. Obviously, I had no proof at all, nothing but my observations and speculation. That wasn’t enough to lay charges, never mind get a conviction, but it might get the investigative ball rolling in a new direction. It took a cold-blooded person to lie believably to the police when being questioned about a murder. Not only cold-blooded but a sharp thinker, someone able to skillfully dodge tricky questions and come up with believable explanations on the fly. Kyle Lambert had never been what I’d call quick on his feet.

  “You expecting a busy day?” Vicky asked me.

  “Hope so. Jackie and Melissa are both scheduled to be in all day.”

  “I wonder what Jackie’ll have to say if she hears about Kyle’s little meltdown back there. Nothing good, I suspect. Doesn’t matter. She won’t hear it from me, and despite Janice and your dad’s attempt at municipal rapprochement, it’ll be a long time before Rudolphites and Muddites exchange casual gossip. Smart move on Janice’s part to casually point out that although she’s willing to take advice from your dad, she’ll keep the interests of Muddle Harbor first and foremost.”

  I scarcely heard what Vicky was saying.

  I wouldn’t go to the police with my suspicions about Kyle. Not yet. If Kyle could be accused of killing Raquel because she rebuffed his romantic intentions, it could be argued Jackie also had a reason to have done the deed.

  Jealousy.

  You never knew what a spurned woman was capable of either.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The forces of law and order came into Mrs. Claus’s Treasures that afternoon, and Detective Simmonds asked Jackie if I was free.

  I was in one of the alcoves, helping a customer choose a gift for her new daughter-in-law’s first Christmas with them. It didn’t take long for the customer to tell me she didn’t much like her daughter-in-law, disapproved of the woman’s profession (financial adviser, and not very good at it), thought she was a bad influence on her son, and she spent far too much of their (i.e., his, as she was so bad at her job) money on frivolous things. “She’s trying to talk him into a Caribbean vacation after Christmas. Those places are far too expensive in January and February. Wait until you can take advantage of off-season rates, I told her. But does she listen to me? Never. You’d think my son would have more sense, but he’s besotted with her.”

  “This serving platter looks most attractive at the center of a properly set holiday table,” I said. So far, I’d shown her jewelry, linens, crystal glassware, a couple of vases, candlesticks, winter hats, leather gloves, and even holiday decorations.

  It isn’t normally a good thing when the police walk into a shop. But this time, I was almost grateful for the interruption. “Excuse me,” I said. “Something seems to require my attention.”

  She sighed. “I don’t see anything suitable here. I’ll try some of the other stores. I would like to find the perfect gift for her. A way of showing her I truly do want us to get on. Particularly if, as I suspect, they have big news to give us.”

  She left. I peeked around the corner of the alcove. Simmonds was with Detective Lopez from New York City. I briefly wondered if, in speculating as to whether Kyle or Jackie had killed Raquel, I’d inadvertently telepathically summoned the detectives to my place of business. When Jackie arrived to start work, I must have been looking at her strangely, because she’d said, “Everything okay there, Merry?”

  “Perfectly fine. Yes. Just wondering … wondering … where I put the train sets Alan dropped off yesterday.”

  “You put them beside the children’s table,” Jackie said. “Right over there. Next to the nicely arranged display of trains.”

  “Right. So I did. Carry on.”

  She’d given me another curious look before going into the back to put her bag away.

  I took a breath and walked out of the alcove. The shop was busy. I glanced out of the window to see the sleigh pass by—the high-stepping horses with red and green satin ribbons braided through their manes; the wooden sleigh with hay bales for seats, now full of children and their families; my dad, in full Santa gear, sitting next to the driver, dressed in a heavy black cape and long woolen scarf of the sort that might have been worn by Bob Cratchit.

  I turned my attention to the detectives. “Good afternoon … uh … Ms. Simmonds. And Mr. Lopez. How can I be of service?”

  “I see you’re busy, Merry,” Simmonds said, “but we’re hoping you can spare a minute.”

  “As long as it’s not much longer than a minute. Come this way.” I led us through the curtain into the back.

  Simmonds eyed the office door, from which emerged no sounds of overly excited dog. “Matterhorn not here today?”

  “I had an errand to run this morning before opening, so I didn’t bring him.” I’d come to the shop directly after dropping Vicky off at the bakery following our trip to Muddle Harbor.

  “An errand in Muddle Harbor.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I’m the police, Merry. I know everything.”

  She was here to arrest Jackie! Or at least accuse her.

  Simmonds grinned. “On the other hand, maybe I only know because the chief of the Muddle Harbor PD attended this morning’s meeting and she called to tell me about it. She’s pleased at the possibility of a change in the town’s leadership.”

  “She didn’t say anything at the meeting. Not in her official capacity.”

  “She likes to keep a low profile. Not that she’d say anything about her political bosses, not publicly anyway. Privately, she’s had plenty to say about Mayor Baumgartner over the years. But that’s not why we’re here.” She nodded to Detective Lopez.

  “We’ve just spoken to Mrs. D’Angelo,” he said. “We asked her if she remembered anything more about the man she saw coming and going at the house across the street from hers in the days preceding the attack on her, or about anything else she overheard in that house while she was confined. She had nothing new to tell us.”

  “The experience had to have been highly traumatic,” I said. “I’m not surprised she can’t remember many details.”

  “That’s normal enough,” Simmonds said.

  “I’m leaving after this,” Lopez said. “Back to the city. Before I go, I want to ask you the same.”

  “I didn’t see anyone going into or leaving the house in all the time they were—supposedly—there. It’s a busy time of year, and this shop takes up all of my time. Once I was inside the house itself, in search of Mrs. D’Angelo, I didn’t see anyone, except for Mrs. D’Angelo in the pantry and … Raquel in the cellar.”

  “You still maintain you didn’t, at any time, go into the cellar?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I maintain that. I would have gone down to check on Raquel once I saw her lying there, but Vicky was calling for me to help Mrs. D’Angelo and Raquel was not moving.”

  He studied my face, as though willing me to suddenly remember something important. If he’d asked me if I had any suspicions, I might have blurted out what I’d been thinking earlier. But he didn’t. And so I didn’t.

  “You will contact Detective Simmonds if anything comes to you,” he said.

  “I will. You’re going back to New York City. May I ask if that means you believe the investigation needs to focus elsewhere? Not on Rudolph?”

  “We do,” Simmonds said. “Raquel Torrone was involved in a lot of things she shouldn’t have been. People make enemies that way. They also make rivals, who can be as dangerous as outright enemies.”

  “We’ve been attempting to locate the man she was most recently known to be in a relationship with,” Lopez said. “He doesn’t seem to want to be found. Mabel D’Angelo mentioned overhearing reference to someone named Lou. That mean anything to you?”

  “No. Does it to you?”

  “Raquel’s most current boyfriend, that we know of, was a man named Jean-Claude Lefevre. Recognize the name?”

  I shook my head.

  Simmonds took out her phone and showed me a mug shot. A man in his late thirties, short hair, strong jaw, thick neck. He might have been good looking if not for the suppressed rage in his narrow eyes. In the photo he was not smiling. “You said you didn’t see anyone at the house, but might you have noticed this man around town at any time?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m positive I’ve never seen him.”

  She put the phone away. “We showed this picture to Mrs. D’Angelo. She said it might have been him who’d been carrying furniture and boxes into the house. But it might not have been. It was a cold day, and he wore a hat and scarf.”

  “Irrelevant,” Lopez said, “as Lefevre’s prints were found on pieces of furniture in the house and some pizza boxes in the trash. He, if it was him, took pains to wipe his prints off the counterfeiting equipment and the money, but he didn’t worry about the rest of the house.”

  “Likely the whole house was too much to worry about, if he was intent on getting out of there in a hurry,” Simmonds said. “He only wiped down evidence of criminal activity.”

  “Lefevre happens to be married,” Lopez said. “His wife’s name is Louisa.”

  “Could that be the Lou Mrs. D’Angelo heard being referred to?” I asked.

  “Louisa Lefevre is usually called Lou, yes. She says she hasn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. Which, according to her, is a regular occurrence. They have a fight, he leaves, he comes back, they have another fight, he leaves again. We’ve spoken to the neighbors, and they confirm Jean-Claude is often away, sometimes for weeks or more at a time. For what it’s worth, the couple have two young kids. Louisa herself hasn’t been in trouble, that we know of, for a couple of years, but she has a record of minor theft and embezzlement.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” I said.

  “It is.”

  “Did she know about her husband and Raquel?”

  “She claims not. I don’t know if I believe that. Regardless, the focus of the investigation is now on Lefevre and his known associates in New York City. We’re keeping an eye on Louisa in case he comes home and she neglects to tell us about it.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  “You’ve got a nice little town here,” he said. “I might come back next year, bring my family for a holiday. Love the whole Christmas Town thing.” He broke into a huge smile. “Imagine, I saw Santa Claus earlier, riding in a sleigh. Diane tells me you have an in with the Jolly Old Elf.”

  “The in-est of ins,” I said.

  “This town is not what I was expecting. Acquaintances of Raquel Torrone told our officers she did nothing but disparage Rudolph. ‘Run-down backwater,’ she called it. ‘Occupied by nothing but a bunch of hillbillies trapped in time.’ ”

  I wished the detective good luck with his investigation, and the police left. Before going back out front, I allowed myself a sigh of relief. Raquel had gotten herself involved with a married man, and they’d embarked on an illegal operation together. Was it possible he’d come to the house to discover, to his considerable shock, Raquel had a neighbor tied up in the pantry? What did he do then? I thought back to the conversation Mrs. D’Angelo overheard. The man wanted to get rid of the “temporary inconvenience.” If Mrs. D’Angelo was correct in assuming the “temporary inconvenience” meant her, he wanted to kill her. Raquel, to her credit, refused. And so he must have killed Raquel and fled the scene.

  He couldn’t stay hidden for long, and the police would soon have him.

  Nothing to do with Jackie or Kyle or anyone else I knew.

  * * *

  The next visitors to Mrs. Claus’s were my own parents. No one who didn’t know them would ever suspect they were together. My parents are total opposites in almost every way, not the least in how they dress. Following his shift on the sleigh, Dad changed out of his full Santa regalia into one of his beloved ugly Christmas sweaters, this one showing a tree fully adorned with bouncing balls of wool and flashing lights. He still had on the red trousers and high black boots. His curly gray hair was tossed by the wind, his blue eyes sparked with the cold, his cheeks were rosy, and his beard was trimmed with bits of ice.

  Mom, in contrast, wore a calf-length, midnight-blue velvet cape lined with white silk. Her blue leather gloves matched the color of the cape. Her fake-fur hat was pure white, with a thick band of dark blue. Her black leather high-heeled boots reached the hem of the cape.

  “That man looks like Santa Claus,” a wide-eyed child said.

  His mother giggled. Dad gave the boy a big smile. “Have you been good, young man?”

  The boy nodded frantically, and his mother said, “Most of the time, Santa.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Dad said. “Ho ho ho.”

  My mother refrained from rolling her eyes. She loved her adopted town of Rudolph, and she enjoyed the Christmas spirit, but she had occasionally been heard to complain it could go a mite toward excess at times.

  Jackie gave Dad a broad wink as she rang up the boy’s mother’s purchases.

  “Are you really Santa Claus?” he asked Dad.

  “What do you think?” Dad asked.

  “I’m not sure. Some of the kids at school say Santa isn’t real.”

  “I’m real,” Dad said. “You can decide for yourself if Santa is real.”

  The boy’s forehead wrinkled, and his little nose crinkled in thought. Then he nodded seriously. “Yup, he is.”

  His mother took his hand and said, “Merry Christmas, Santa,” as they left the shop.

  “Another true believer,” Jackie said. “Like me. I know Santa is real. I can’t wait to see what Santa gives Kyle to give to me this year. I’m thinking it’s about time for a lovely little—but not too little—diamond.”

  I coughed.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Mom asked.

  “Fine. Something stuck in my throat. Not to be too rude about it, but we’re busy here. Is there anything you need?”

  “Alan’s taken over on the sleigh,” Dad said. “He left his phone in the truck, so he asked me to pop in and ask how you’re set for the six-inch nutcracker soldiers. He has some ready for painting, and he can do that tonight if you need them.”

  “I do,” I said. “Only one set left.”

  Mom wandered over to the jewelry display, and Dad cast a critical eye around the shop. “Once again, you’ve let the book rack get pushed out of the line of sight as people come in the door.”