“My arteries are closing as we speak,” Vicky muttered.

  “No thank you,” I said. “I’ll have two poached eggs, please.”

  “Two poached eggs, soft, with bacon and sausage. Side of mushrooms and onions. Hash browns done to the point of being burned. Wheat toast and coffee. Comin’ up.”

  My mouth watered, and I might have rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Janice, owner and head waitress of the Muddle Harbor Café, had a prodigious memory. That was exactly the way I liked my all-American diner breakfast.

  “Muddy water and dry cereal, for you, hon?” she said to Vicky.

  “I’ll share Merry’s toast,” my friend replied.

  Formalities over, we looked around the room. Longtime married couples read their newspapers or phones and paid no attention to each other. A group of young mothers bounced toddlers on their knee or rocked strollers as they enjoyed their weekly breakfast outing. A family dressed in their Sunday best, ranging in age from mid-90s to infant, had taken a large table. Three men in ball caps, heavy sweaters, and thick pants shoveled pancakes into their mouths. Ice fishermen, I guessed.

  The group seated around the center table were the only ones paying us any attention, while they tried to pretend they weren’t. Dirty plates had been pushed to one side, crumpled paper serviettes tossed on the table, coffee mugs refilled. Five men, including Mayor Baumgartner and Janice’s brother, John Benedict, the real estate agent. They’d been joined by someone I hadn’t expected to see: Dave French, Jacob Marley himself. He had a cup of coffee and an open laptop computer on the table in front of him. Jack and the man next to him were reading the screens of their iPads. Randy Baumgartner , still old school, had a pad of yellow legal paper and a pen.

  Janice began clearing the used dishes. “I, for one, think it’s a good idea,” she said. “What with the renewed interest in tourism in this part of the state we’d be wise to be ready.”

  Pointedly she didn’t mention that all the renewed tourism came via Rudolph as she carried her loaded tray into the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Vicky said, approaching the men’s table, huge smile slapped into place. “Nice to see you all. Having a nice meeting?” She craned her neck to read the mayor’s notes.

  “Yes,” Dave said.

  “Mighty productive.” Baumgartner pointedly put his hand on top of the paper. “I’m sure you’ll agree, Ted.”

  Ted was an older guy, and I’d never seen him before. Well into his eighties, hair thin and a greasy gray, eyes dull, face dark and lined with a lifetime of work he hadn’t got much pleasure out of. His clothes, faded, with ground-in dirt, also showed a lifetime of work. “Like I said, my daddy built that place.”

  “And it’ll soon be in the grave, like your daddy.” Dave slammed shut the cover of his laptop. He drained his coffee. “You have my offer, and you know how to reach me.”

  “We’ll work something out,” John Benedict said.

  “You better!” Janice yelled as she came out of the kitchen. “Are you two girls going to take seats or do you want to eat your breakfast standing up?” She didn’t wait for an answer before pouring coffee into a mug at a place at the counter.

  “It’s the best deal you’re going to get, Ted,” Randy said. “A good deal for Muddle Harbor, too.”

  “Don’t much care if it’s good for Muddle Harbor.” Ted lumbered slowly to his feet and grabbed his coat—fabric torn, hem frayed, buttons missing, mud-streaked—off the back of his chair. “I’ll talk it over with the wife.” He walked out.

  “As good as done then.” Mayor Baumgartner rubbed his hands together.

  “What does that mean?” Dave asked.

  “Ted’s wife makes the decisions in that family. Always has. She keeps sayin’ how it’s time for them to move to Florida. She wants to buy a trailer in the park where her sister lives, but they don’t have the money. Not yet. The property’s as good as sold. You can count on that.” The mayor stood up and held out his hand.

  Dave shook it. “I hope so. I don’t have an unlimited amount of time, plenty of other deals out there.” He reached for his own coat.

  “Poached eggs up!” Janice yelled, coming out of the kitchen carrying a laden plate, delicious aromas rising from it.

  Oh, my gosh, that all looked so good.

  “I forgot an important appointment!” Vicky yelled back. “Merry, pay the lady. We have to go.”

  “What? I haven’t had my breakfast.”

  “You can have something at my place.”

  “But you don’t do bacon and poached eggs.”

  “Can’t be helped. You can thank me later. Dave, hold on a sec.” She ran after him. “I’ve a question about the production of A Christmas Carol.”

  I put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and gave Janice an awkward smile. “Sorry.”

  “Your friend’s mighty weird. I’d worry about her except all you folks over in Rudolph can be mighty weird.” She scooped the money up and didn’t bother to offer me change.

  “Shall I see you at the reception, Merry?” Mayor Baumgartner asked me. “I trust your parents are planning to attend.”

  “Reception?”

  “The opening night reception for A Christmas Carol, which Sue-Anne is organizing. Naturally she’s invited all the dignitaries from the surrounding communities. I hear a state senator will be coming.”

  “In that case, I’ll come with you,” Jack said. “I need to talk to the senator about getting that highway to come closer to the east end of town. Plenty of people ready to build houses on land out there if it does. Don’t know why no one in Albany answers my calls about it.”

  I found Vicky and Dave French on the sidewalk outside the café, zipping up coats and pulling on gloves. A man approached us, walking a black Lab. Man and dog gave us suspicious looks and quickly crossed the street. If Muddle Harbor hoped to be a tourist destination, they had to get over that innate distrust of strangers.

  “Paula’s death hasn’t set things back too much,” Vicky was saying to Dave when I joined them. “Regarding the production, I mean?”

  Dave tightened the wool scarf around his neck. The wind whistling down Main Street was sharp and bitterly cold. “The show must go on, as they say. Have a nice day.” He set off down the street.

  Vicky and I followed. I let Vicky do the talking—it’s what she does best sometimes.

  “Merry and I often come to Muddle Harbor for Sunday breakfast. It’s nice living in a town where everyone knows you and your family, isn’t it, but we need a break sometimes.”

  “Seems to me you’re well enough known here. As for breakfast, you didn’t have any.” He looked both ways before crossing the street, as we had been taught in kindergarten. No cars were coming so he stepped off the sidewalk. Vicky did not look both ways before following. I scurried after them. After looking both ways.

  “It’s more about the outing than the eating. A girl has to watch her weight, you know,” said Vicky, who did not know any such thing.

  Dave shoved his hand in his pocket and his car, a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla, flashed its lights in greeting. “I guess I’ll see you two back in town.” He didn’t sound as though that was something he was particularly looking forward to.

  “As I said, we come here most Sundays,” Vicky replied cheerfully. “I’ve never seen you here before, though. First time to Muddle Harbor, Dave?”

  His eyes narrowed and he turned to look at her. I wasn’t sure if he was getting suspicious at the direction her chatter was taking, or if he was simply not interested in standing in the cold engaging in said chatter. “Not had the time before. Or the interest.” He glanced up and down the street—at the boarded-up shop fronts, the empty parking bays, the erratically flashing festive lights. He put his hand on the car door.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Vicky said.

  His look indicated that he did mind, but he was too polite to say so.

  “I’m wondering what brought you here today. Looked like business, rather than a social gathering. John Benedict is in real estate, and I heard something about selling property.” She gave him the full strength of her totally innocent smile.

  He didn’t smile back.

  “My family’s very connected, you know,” she continued, undeterred. “The Caseys have been in Rudolph since its founding, and there are a heck of a lot of us. Merry’s father is just about “Mr. Rudolph” himself as far as everyone’s concerned. We’re always on the lookout for business opportunities, aren’t we Merry?”

  “We are? I mean, absolutely. Always on the lookout. As scouts, she means. For our families’ interests.”

  “You’re in hotels, right?” Vicky persisted. “Must be super interesting.”

  “Not so as you’d notice. Yeah, hotels. Hotel. One motel, if you insist. My folks own the Carolers’ Motel in Rudolph.”

  “Nice place,” I said.

  “Not so as you’d notice,” he repeated. He shook his head. “My dad had a stroke last year, and Mom’s not up to managing the place herself. I came back to help them out. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, until Dad recovered. But … it’s dragging on. And on. Frankly, I want them to sell it, but they won’t hear of it. Dad insists he’ll be back on his feet any day now.” He let out a puff of air. “Not gonna happen. He’s fooling himself, and he won’t hear a word I say about selling it. Meanwhile, I’m stuck being the dutiful son and managing the dump. So I thought, long as I’m here, I might as well make the best of a bad situation and look into expanding.”

  “Expanding into Muddle Harbor,” Vicky said. “Great idea.”

  “If I can get the price down on that firetrap of a place on the highway, I can put some money into fixing it up. Not going to turn it into a luxury resort and spa, but at least I can make it a slight bit better than the local version of a Bates Motel it is now. Old guy thinks he’s driving a hard bargain.” Dave smiled for the first time all day. “He’s gonna fold like a paper napkin. Who knows, maybe it’ll be the start of the French hotel empire. Something to rival the Hiltons.”

  “They started out with one small budget hotel,” Vicky said.

  “Is that true?” I asked.

  “How would I know? That’s not the point. So maybe it’ll all work out okay for you, Dave?”

  “Okay? Not what I wanted out of life but if this deal works out, it’ll do temporarily. Give my parents some extra income, so Dad will get off my case. Finally. I was at loose ends anyway. Ugly divorce, career not going anywhere. I was ready for a new start, looking for opportunities to get my career back on track, when Dad got sick.” His face twisted. “My father and I never have gotten on. He doesn’t approve of my choices in life and has never hesitated to tell me so. I might not have come back to help him out, but Mom asked me to, and … What else could I do?

  “Divorced, are you?” Vicky asked.

  The look on his face softened, and something twinkled in the depths of his eyes. “Interested?”

  “Me?” She giggled in a very un-Vicky-like way. “I’m taken. Merry is too, sorry. I have girlfriends and cousins, lots of cousins, if you get my meaning.” She winked.

  He cracked a grin. “I might be. I wasn’t brought up here. My folks moved to Rudolph when I was in college, when they bought the motel. It’s not always easy, moving to a small town at my age. Getting to know people, I mean. People have their own circles of interests and friends already. I’m trying to be active in the community. Because I can sing and I have some acting experience, I figured the players would be a good start.” His face fell and his voice dropped. “To be honest, I hoped to meet women. Not a lot of single women in a small town like this. I thought they might gravitate to something like amateur theater.”

  I was absolutely freezing, just standing here in the wind. I considered suggesting we go back to the café to continue our chat, or at least seek the shelter of a storefront, but I figured that might ruin the mood. Dave was chatting comfortably now, Vicky leading him on.

  “Instead, they’re all old or married. Most of them old and married. Either that or high school kids.”

  “Terrible about Paula. Do you have any thoughts about what might have happened?”

  I heard voices calling goodbye and looked across the street. Mayor Baumgartner and his party were leaving the café. They shook hands on the sidewalk, headed for their own cars, and drove away.

  “Nope. I didn’t know Paula at all. Outside the group, that is.” Dave laughed without humor. “Believe me, I had no interest in getting to know her better. The way she dragged that talentless kid around after her, always nagging Catherine or Desmond to give him a bigger part. She saw herself as a stage mother, managing his career as he went on to TV or movies. No secret to anyone she and her husband were on the outs. Not a scene I want to get involved in. Not again.”

  “Catherine seems highly competent,” Vicky said. “As artistic director, I mean.”

  “She is. And that’s the whole problem with amateurs, right there. Everyone thinks they’re entitled to an equal opinion. Whether they know what they’re talking about, or not. Usually not.”

  I was losing contact with my extremities. I wiggled my gloved fingers and shifted my booted feet in a failed attempt to get some warmth into them as I glanced at Vicky out of the corner of my eyes. Other than asking Dave if he killed Paula, I couldn’t think of any other reason to keep standing out here in the cold. “Mustn’t keep you,” I said. “I’m sure you have places to go and things to do.”

  But Vicky wasn’t finished yet. “Why are you staying in the production then?”

  “I’ll finish what I started,” Dave said. “And appear in their stupid play. I’ll be Marley as per Desmond’s stuck-in-the-past vision. But I won’t be back next year, I’ll tell you that. If I’m unlikely enough to still be stuck in your town. No insult intended. I’m sure it’s a nice place. For some people.”

  “We like it,” I said.

  “Catch you later.” He moved to get in the car, then he hesitated. “I might have said more than I should. I’d appreciate it if you keep this between us, for a while anyway.”

  I couldn’t think of what he’d said that was confidential, but I nodded agreeably as Vicky made a “my lips are sealed” gesture.

  “I wouldn’t want to get into a bidding war on that rundown motel,” Dave said. “I can only afford it if I get it at a rock bottom price.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are you satisfied?” I said to Vicky as we pulled out of Muddle Harbor.

  “Reasonably. Accommodation is tight in Rudolph at the height of Christmas season, as well as Christmas in July. A nice, reasonably priced motel not too far away, with plenty of modern upgrades, is sorely needed. I’m thinking I might approach Dave if his deal goes through. He can add freshly baked and delivered breakfast pastries as an extra enticement to guests.”

  “I meant about the murder.”

  “Oh, that. I don’t know we learned anything we didn’t know, did we? I will begrudgingly admit I might have made a mistake in leaving with Dave rather than staying in the café to continue our inquiries. We never did get the chance to ask the movers and shakers of Muddle Harbor what they might have done to sabotage the production. A return visit might be required.”

  I groaned.

  “As for Dave himself … Nothing other than he’s looking for a girlfriend and not having much luck. If he wants luck, he needs to drop the poor-me line mighty fast.”

  “I disagree. I think we can move Dave higher on the suspect list. Not that we have a suspect list. But we should. I’ll start one.”

  She glanced at me. “Why? He clearly didn’t have any time for Paula, but she was no threat to him.”

  “Can we be sure he didn’t, as you put it, have any time for Paula? He said he didn’t. Murder suspects don’t always say what they mean.”

  “True enough, and he was quick—too quick?—to mention her brat of a son and her shaky marriage.”

  “I believed him about that. Not that my impressions are all that meaningful. I’ve been wrong about people before.”

  “Once or twice,” Vicky mumbled. “Max Folger comes to mind.”

  I ignored that. Vicky never had approved of my no-good, cheating ex-fiancé. But she was wise enough not to say so when he and I were together. “It has crossed my mind,” I said, “that Paula might have been mistaken for someone else.”

  “Like who?”

  “Catherine. Think about it, Vicky. Our killer found the shop empty, but for one woman. They acted quickly, probably on impulse. No time to think. Just do it and worry about the consequences later. I believe it’s possible Catherine might have been the intended victim and the killer made a mistake. If that’s the case, did Dave intend to kill Catherine?”

  It was a Sunday morning and traffic on the highway to Rudolph was minimal. Bare trees and brown grass lined the roadway. The sun had come out the minute we crossed over the Muddle Harbor town line. Not the first time that happened, and not the first time I’d wondered if it was nothing but a coincidence.

  “Why would Dave want to kill Catherine?” Vicky asked.

  “Maybe they were having an affair? He openly told us he was hoping to meet women, and openly complained that all the women in the production are old and married.” I realized Jackie is neither old nor married, and I made a mental note to ask her what she thought about Dave.

  “Doesn’t that exclude Catherine then? She’s both. Married and old, in comparison to Dave, I mean. She’s what, nearly sixty, and he’s not much more than forty, at a guess.”

  “Don’t be ageist, Vicky. Catherine might be a lot older than him, but she’s still attractive. Well groomed, well dressed. She’s also, judging by appearances, well off if not out-and-out rich. And powerful, in the tiny world of Rudolph amateur theater anyway.” I thought about how Catherine argued for Dave to be promoted to the main role, not caring about upsetting longtime members of the company such as Desmond and Ian. Did she think Dave would be better in the Scrooge part, and thus make for a better play? Or did she want to make her young lover happy with the expanded part, regardless of its effect on the production?