As soon as the police took down their tape at the house across the street from mine, a FOR SALE sign had been erected on the lawn. A lamp shone above the front door, but otherwise all was dark. Mattie’s attention was caught as something moved under the blue spruce; his head swiveled and he let out a warning bark.

  A man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a long black coat, black scarf, black gloves and boots. I sucked in a breath and put my hand on the phone in my pocket.

  “Hey, Merry,” he said, and I relaxed. Mattie edged forward to sniff at his boots.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Graham Johannesen.

  He bent over and gave Mattie a pat on the top of his head. The pat was awkward and rough, and Mattie stepped out of the way. I wondered if Graham was avoiding my eyes.

  Then he lifted his head and smiled at me. “Just checking out the old place. Memories. You know how it is.” He indicated the sign. “I see Beth and Richard wasted no time in putting it up for sale.”

  “No reason for them to delay, not if they don’t intend to live there.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you have further business to do in Rudolph today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason. Just wondering why you came back.”

  His grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Like I said, memories. I was fond of Aunt Dorothy. I told you that.”

  “You did. Good night.”

  He pointed to the big Victorian on the other side of the street. “Is that where you live?”

  “Yes, it is. I have an apartment there. My neighbors and my landlady are almost always home.” Lights shone from Wendy and Steve’s half of the upper floor and from Mrs. D’Angelo’s living room. Wendy’s car was in the driveway, next to mine.

  I didn’t know why I added that detail, but something about the way Graham was watching me made me uncomfortable. For some reason, I didn’t believe he didn’t know where I lived. Next to me, Mattie let out a low whine.

  Graham looked down. “Big dog.”

  “Yes.”

  “How about inviting me in? I bet you had a long, tough day. Isn’t that what everyone says, the holiday season in Rudolph is nothing but hard work? A beer’d be nice. Coffee if you don’t have beer.”

  “Sorry, but my boyfriend’s coming for dinner. He’ll be here soon.”

  “Another time, maybe.”

  “Sure. Another time.”

  He gave Mattie a tap on the nose and walked away, heading toward the lights of town.

  Noticeably, Graham had not parked his car on our street.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Tell me if you think I’m being paranoid,” I said to Vicky.

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Although I don’t think anyone’s out to get you. What happened? Did Jackie and Kyle return to finish their spat?”

  I leaned back against the cushions and cradled my wine glass. The phone sat on my lap, on speaker. Mattie was in the kitchen gobbling up his dinner. “No, this has nothing to do with them. Remember I told you Graham Johannesen asked me out earlier today?”

  “Yeah. And you turned him down. Did something more happen?”

  “Like I said, maybe I’m paranoid. But I think he might be stalking me.”

  “What!” Even over the phone I could hear her feet hit the ground.

  “He was at the house across the street when I got home, standing there in the dark. I think he might have been watching for me. And I suspect it was not the first time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “With all the comings and goings after the death of Raquel and what happened to Mrs. D’Angelo, I didn’t pay a lot of attention. I mean, plenty of the neighbors have been watching the police activity, and people drove or walked by to have a look. Some of them lingered, like it was a TV show or something, even when the police packed up and there was nothing more to see. That’s normal, right?”

  “Normal enough. Look at all the activity on Lakeshore Drive when that person died at our house around Easter. We could have sold tickets. Should have sold tickets; it would help to pay the mortgage on the new place. Never mind that now. Go on.”

  “I’m only saying I might have seen him there before, but I can’t be positive. I might be wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong. Not if you get a bad feeling from him. Do you?”

  “I didn’t at first. When he asked me out, I was sort of flattered. But tonight, I wasn’t comfortable. He wanted to come up to my apartment, for a beer he said. I told him I was expecting Alan any minute.”

  “Good move. What did he say to that?”

  “ ‘Another time, maybe.’ ”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. He left.”

  “Okay. Sounds innocent enough, but sometimes these things are innocent until they’re not. Are you going to tell Alan?”

  “I don’t think so. Alan’s not the sort to overreact to anything, but I don’t want to start something if something isn’t there to be started.”

  “Have a word with Diane Simmonds.”

  “You mean lay a charge? I don’t know if I can do that. The guy was standing under a tree on a city street at six in the evening.”

  “Nothing official. Just mention it. You and her get on okay. You might almost be friends.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would. If she knows anything about this guy, she can give you a heads-up. If not, no harm done.”

  * * *

  I didn’t call the detective that night. If I was reading something into nothing, I wouldn’t want to get an innocent man into any sort of trouble.

  Then again, I reminded myself, isn’t that what women always say in this sort of situation? I didn’t want to cause trouble. And then trouble arrives, and they’re the ones at the end of it.

  I decided to wait until morning and see how I felt then. Before going to bed, I ran downstairs and checked that the lock on the door at the bottom of the steps was secure. Sometimes, if Wendy’s tussling with Tina when they come in or Steve is laden with groceries, they forget to come back down and lock up.

  Satisfied all was secure, I went upstairs and double-checked the door to my own apartment. Mattie was snoozing in front of the TV, his breathing deep and content, his legs twitching as he dreamt he was chasing squirrels across the lawn. He was no guard dog, but his sheer size should frighten away any intruder.

  Unless that intruder has met him and knows what a softy he is.

  I pulled back the curtains and peeked outside. It was early enough that traffic still moved down the street, people heading home from working late or enjoying a night out. A few pedestrians strolled by. An elderly couple, still holding hands after all these years. A woman being dragged along by a still-to-be-trained puppy. Two teenage girls, skates tossed over their shoulders, running and laughing.

  Apart from the light over the door, the house across the street was wrapped in darkness. Nothing moved beneath the trees.

  I let the curtain drop into place.

  Rudolph, New York, the week before Christmas, and all was right with the world.

  * * *

  My dreams had nothing to do with intruders or stalkers, counterfeiters or murderers, or even gossipers. Instead, I cowered on the shop floor as colored glass flew all around me and customers ran screaming into the glass-coated streets while shards of clear glass fell from the skies and Alan’s nutcracker solders laughed in glee and hurled tree decorations from their wooden hands.

  I woke to a bright winter sun streaming in my windows and a big slobbery dog staring into my eyes.

  “Ready for another fun-filled day?” I asked Mattie.

  He licked my face, and I threw off the covers.

  First things first. I poured myself a mug of coffee from the maker I’d set before going to bed, pulled a coat over my pajamas and slipped my feet into rubber boots, went downstairs, and let Mattie into the enclosed backyard.

  I leaned against the doorframe, sipped my coffee, and watched him investigate if any intruders had broken onto our property last night. I couldn’t help but notice his attention was attracted to the base of the trees and not the path from the driveway or the ground around the door.

  I considered that to be a good thing. Squirrels on the property, not men.

  Back upstairs, I fixed myself a bowl of yogurt, granola, and berries and poured another cup of coffee. I checked the online news but could find nothing fresh about the progress of the investigation into the murder of Raquel Torrone.

  The weather report predicted light snow, barely-below- freezing temperatures, and sunny skies until Christmas Eve. Always a good thing in Rudolph.

  Breakfast finished, second cup of coffee going cold, I prepared for a day at work. I debated with myself how to handle yesterday’s incident with Jackie. Should I ignore it, pretend nothing had happened? Should I reprimand her severely?

  I decided on the former course of action. She’d had the grace to call me to apologize, so I’d accept that and consider the matter closed.

  At the bottom of the driveway, as we were about to turn left toward Jingle Bell Lane and the shop, a car I recognized drove slowly past, heading in the other direction.

  Detective Diane Simmonds saw us and lifted her hand in acknowledgment.

  At first I thought she was here to have another look at the Johannsen house, but she kept going. I decided I could be late to open the store this morning, and I turned to the right instead, calling to Mattie to pick up the pace.

  He must have caught a whiff of the detective’s scent as she drove by, and he almost galloped off in pursuit. And believe me, Mattie never gallops.

  I was well aware the police have more than one case to deal with at a time, and the Torrone murder had been handed over to the NYPD, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Simmonds’s call on Mrs. D’Angelo yesterday was more significant than the older woman had told me.

  Ours is a traffic-calmed neighborhood, so Simmonds didn’t drive much faster than Mattie and I hurried. After about two blocks, I realized this was a waste of time, and I was going to call the chase to a halt when her turn indicator came on and the car slid against the curb.

  She was getting out of the car when Mattie and I ran up. Both of us out of breath.

  “Training for a marathon?” the detective asked me.

  “Do they have those for dogs?”

  She didn’t answer. She looked at Mattie, his tongue lolling, ears up, eyes bright with adoration. “Sit, Matterhorn.”

  He instantly dropped to a sit.

  “As I just happened to see you passing,” I said, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Mrs. D’Angelo came into my shop yesterday. She was highly upset. She said you accused her of killing Raquel because she, Mrs. D’Angelo, was the mastermind of the counterfeiting operation.”

  The edges of Simmonds’s mouth curled up. “A slight exaggeration. I did not accuse her of anything. I asked a few general questions. I didn’t even think to ask how she managed to kill Raquel after Raquel left her tied up in the pantry.”

  “A minor detail. If she was a criminal mastermind.”

  “I’m sorry if Mrs. D’Angelo was upset by my questions. But she has to realize that if I get a tip, I’m required to follow it up.”

  “Who gave you this tip?”

  Her eyes flicked to the house we were standing in front of and then almost immediately focused once again on me. “I’m not going to tell you that, Merry. Even before I spoke to her, I decided the tip had no merit. But considering how closely involved Mrs. D’Angelo was in the events of that case, I wanted to ask her about it in person rather than phoning or sending a uniform around with routine questions.”

  Many of the old houses at this end of the street had either been torn down, to be replaced by modern ones, or updated extensively. This house was a large bungalow, of the sort they call midcentury modern. Long and low, with a gently pitched roof, centrally placed chimney, attached garage. The front door, garage door, and window frames were painted a bright, cheerful orange. The large lot was full of burlap-covered bushes and ancient trees, bare winter branches making a sculptural display.

  A figure moved behind the front windows.

  “Now,” Simmonds said, “if you’ll excuse me.”

  “This is the Reynolds house, isn’t it?” I took a guess by the way her eyes moved when we talked about the call accusing Mrs. D’Angelo. Simmonds wouldn’t reveal the name of the person who called her with the so-called-tip, but Mrs. D’Angelo was pretty sure she knew, and she told me. She’d likely told half the town.

  I wondered if that would elevate Donalda’s status among the local gossips or cause her to be blackballed.

  “This is the residence of William and Donalda Reynolds, yes. Hardly a secret. You are obviously wondering why I’m calling on them. Information has come forward that needs to be followed up on. The matter of who exactly killed Raquel Torrone has been handed to the NYPD, but as the crime happened here, in my town, I have plenty of local details to pursue. In any high-profile case, we get a lot of tips. Many of them are made by well-meaning citizens misinterpreting events; some by people who simply get a chuckle out of muddying the waters. And, occasionally, someone who is hoping to, at the least, play a prank on a friend or enemy by sending us on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Yet you yourself are here. You didn’t phone or send an underling.”

  “Maybe because I had some free time this morning, and I’m the curious sort. Now, I assume it’s time you were heading to work. Matterhorn, you may go.”

  He jumped to his feet.

  Simmonds pointed down the street. He woofed slightly, might even have given her a knowing nod, and started off.

  I gripped the leash tightly. “Wait just a minute. Mattie, hold up.”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder, clearly conflicted.

  Simmonds lifted her right hand, palm up. “What is it now, Merry?”

  The front door of the house in question opened. A man came out. I’d seen him around town before but didn’t know his name. The very definition of an ectomorph, he was kinda hard to miss. Excessively tall at about six foot seven, barely more than a hundred and twenty pounds, all arms and legs, knees and elbows. Big ears, long thin nose, enormous Adam’s apple.

  “That’s William Reynolds?” I said.

  “It is. You sound surprised.”

  “Maybe I am. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess someone told you he was seen at Raquel’s house. Entering or leaving. Talking to her on the front step, maybe. I don’t know about other times, but that man is definitely not any of the people I saw in the vicinity of the house before the incident.” I felt compelled to add, “I mean, I didn’t see him there. For what that’s worth.”

  “Hard to prove a negative, Merry. You yourself have said you didn’t pay a lot of attention to activity on the street, it being such a busy time at work.”

  “True,” I said.

  “Detective!” William called. “I don’t have all day here.”

  “Be right there, sir,” Simmonds replied. “If there’s nothing else, Merry?”

  “People say, or so I’ve heard, that Mr. Reynolds travels a lot for business. The town gossips also say he’s known to be a womanizer—is that still a word?—and a philanderer. That bit of gossip was related to me by none other than my own mother. Who is not normally part of the town network.”

  Simmonds looked at me. She said nothing, but she didn’t dismiss me either.

  “You know, from Bob Gravel and probably others, Raquel was not above online scamming of men out of money.”

  “Your point is?”

  “Until this week, I didn’t know William Reynolds from any of the other men who live with their wives and families on this street. But his name has come up.” More in conjunction with his wife and her relationship with Mrs. D’Angelo, but I skipped over that and raced to complete my thoughts before she got bored. “Bob Gravel brushed off the incident as a piece of harmless entertainment. That is, he says he brushed it off, but did he really? Maybe he exacted his revenge. Have you considered that?”

  “Such has been considered, yes. Mr. Gravel has been spoken to, and his alibi is good. Other likely contacts of Raquel Torrone are being investigated and spoken to.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said. “Consider the implications if she’d gone after a married man. A man with a family to support. A man with far more to lose if word gets out or Raquel ups her demands.”

  “Where is this going, Merry?”

  “The NYPD are satisfied Raquel’s death is related to her criminal associates and activities, but I consider it highly significant that she rented a house on this very street. And not just any house, but one owned by her parents? Out of all the houses for rent in New York State, why come here?”

  Simmonds’s expression indicated she wasn’t discarding my idea outright. “That is a point, Merry. And a good one. It might be that she missed the old neighborhood. That she wanted a walk down memory lane. Bear in mind, she didn’t have time to reconnect with her parents or her old school friends. Perhaps she intended to. You’ve given me something to think about.”

  “Glad to be of help,” I said. “Have a nice day. Merry Christmas, if I don’t see you before then.”

  “Same to you. Matterhorn, you take care of Merry.”

  He barked.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Over the next few days, I had little time to worry about Raquel Torrone and what happened to her. Christmas was fast approaching, and everyone was desperate to get their hands on that perfect gift.

  From her post in her front window, my landlady reported that the realtor and her photographer had been to the house across the street, but so far, they’d had no showings. According to Mrs. D’Angelo, Beth and Richard Torrone were asking far too much for the house, but I considered it more a case that no one was looking to buy in the middle of December.

  Diane Simmonds called to tell me Raquel’s body would be released to her family on December 23. She also told me Raquel’s parents would be taking her to Rochester, where they now lived, and the funeral would be strictly limited to immediate family only.