“I feel sorry for them,” she said to me over the phone. “Stuff’s coming out about Raquel they shouldn’t have to know.”

  “What sort of stuff? More than what we’ve already learned?”

  “She had a few convictions for shoplifting; she’d been present at parties where items were found to have disappeared once the party was over. Of the later cases, nothing could ever be proven. Most of her indiscretions related to online fraud. Word went out in New York that the police are looking for known associates of hers, and they’ve been getting calls. Late middle-aged or elderly men, mostly widowers, who were friends with her online and gave her money. The police have spoken to them, but they don’t have evidence of any of them following her to Rudolph, never mind killing her. Generally, the men she fleeced were sorry to hear about her death. In more than a few cases, they’ve offered to pay for the funeral expenses.”

  “What’s that saying? There’s a sucker born every minute.”

  “Something like that. A lot of sad, lonely people in the world, and a lot of schemers ready to take advantage. I feel sorry for the rest of the Torrone family. They seem like genuinely nice people. As for your point about her fleecing a man who might have a lot to lose—nothing we’ve found points to that.”

  “William Reynolds is in the clear?”

  “I’m not talking about anything specific, Merry. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “Any more news of the counterfeiting gang?”

  “Some,” she said. “Although by gang, we’re thinking it’s likely only Raquel and Jean-Claude Lefevre, involved in a small-potatoes operation. He drove across the border near Montreal, on a Canadian passport, the day after Mrs. D’Angelo was kidnapped. Obviously, at that time we weren’t looking for him, so he wasn’t stopped. There’s no indication he later crossed back into the US, but he can’t be found by the Canadian authorities. Not yet, at any rate.”

  I thanked her for the update.

  * * *

  “Kyle,” Jackie said to me with some degree of relish, “has his nose seriously out of joint. Raquel’s parents went home to Rochester, and Kyle paid a call on them there. Her mother accepted the flowers he brought her on the front stoop, but she didn’t even let him into the house. She told him the funeral would be private, and she shut the door in his face.” Jackie chuckled. It was almost opening time on the day before Christmas Eve, and we were expecting a busy day.

  “Understandable,” I said. “I feel awfully sorry for them. Raquel’s parents. Raquel had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. They don’t need the curious or the gloating coming to their daughter’s funeral.” Or a bunch of lonely old men who only wanted to have a friend.

  Eve had called the family to express her condolences. They thanked her for her thoughts and hung up without mentioning funeral arrangements. “For the better, I guess,” Eve said to me. “If I went to the funeral, I wouldn’t know what to say. Raquel had a lot of promise when we were young and carefree. What a total waste of all that.”

  “Mrs. Torrone didn’t even remember Kyle from back in school,” Jackie continued. “Raquel never brought him around to her house to meet the parents.” Another chuckle.

  “What are you planning to do about him?” Melissa asked. “Are you going to take him back?”

  Jackie lifted her head high and pronounced, “I am undecided.”

  I wondered if she was genuinely undecided or if she intended to drag the reconciliation out as long as she could. To make Kyle grovel. Groveling could be expensive. I hoped his job at the hot dog cart in front of the butcher was paying enough.

  With a jolt I realized I had a reason (another reason) to wonder if Kyle had killed Raquel. Had Kyle found out what Raquel and Jean-Claude Lefevre were up to? Did he want in on their scheme? Kyle wasn’t terribly bright, and he was always in need of money. The concept of printing his own cash would appeal to a guy like him. Had Kyle seen Raquel in town and approached her, not in an attempt to win her back to his affections but as a business deal? Did things get out of hand? Did she laugh at him? Tell him to get lost?

  And then …

  I had to admit I was reaching with that line of thought. The counterfeiting equipment was kept in the basement. Unlikely Raquel would have casually invited Kyle down to have a look. Not if she didn’t intend to let him in on the operation. I supposed she could have mentioned it in a strange sort of bragging way, but it was a big step from that to murder. Raquel was likely not all that smart either, but she would have had a substantial amount of street smarts. She would have known better than to let Kyle get so emotional about being left out of her criminal operation.

  Then again, what do I know about what people are capable of believing or knowing?

  If Kyle didn’t kill Raquel but he’d been at her house, had someone else overreacted?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Jackie asked.

  I blinked. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

  “Sure you are. You have that suspicious questioning look on your face.”

  “Yup,” Melissa said. “You do.”

  “I do not.”

  “It’s her detective face,” Jackie said. “She comes over all serious when she’s sorting through a case.”

  “Does she do that often?” Melissa asked.

  “Pretty often, yeah. You wouldn’t believe the number of times she’s run out the door in pursuit of a clue, leaving me in charge. That’s why I got promoted to assistant manager with a commensurate increase in salary. Take my advice, Mel; if she tries it on you when I’m not here, hold out for a promotion. You can be chief assistant to the assistant manager.”

  “You two do know I’m standing right here,” I said. “Like two feet away, and I can hear every word.”

  “No secrets between us, are there, Merry?” Jackie gave me a grin and a wink.

  I laughed. No, Jackie, of all people, had not killed Raquel Torrone in a jealous rage. I wasn’t dismissing the act as impossible, but Jackie was no actress. She wore her emotions on her sleeve for all to see. I could see not a trace of guile on her small-town pretty face.

  “It’s almost nine thirty,” I said. “No time to stand around gossiping. Plaster those smiles on, throw open the doors, and let’s do this!”

  “She likes giving that sort of inspirational talk,” Jackie said to Melissa.

  “Be right back.” I slipped into my office and made a quick phone call.

  “Merry!” Mrs. D’Angelo said. “Are you calling on a matter of some urgency or importance? I’m on the line to Elieen. You know Eileen, of course, lives not far from your parents.”

  Never heard of her. “Not critically important, but I have a quick question. Do you know Kyle Lambert?”

  “I know him, but not well. Can’t say I’m surprised at the way he turned out. I mean, look at that father of his. Never did have a lick of sense. Why, I remember the time—”

  “A story for another day. Have you ever seen Kyle on our street? Recently, I mean.”

  “Oh yes. Several times.”

  My heart leapt. Was I onto something?

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard Russ Durham hired Kyle Lambert as the paper’s photographer. Still, I suppose the silly boy comes cheap and the paper is desperate. I was in the hospital in the critically important days after the discovery of poor Raquel, but the police tape was up at the house for some time, and Kyle was likely hoping something dramatic would happen for him to photograph.”

  “Not then. I meant before … what happened happened.”

  “Oh. No. Not that I recall.”

  “When you were in the pantry, you heard Raquel arguing with a man. Is it possible that man was … a voice you recognized?”

  I wasn’t trying to lead the witness, as they say in the legal dramas, but Mrs. D’Angelo was no fool. “You mean Kyle Lambert?” She laughed. “Heavens no. Kyle’s voice is high-pitched. Squeaky almost. That man had a deep voice. In other circumstances I might have found it quite attractive. Mr. D’Angelo had a deep, rolling voice. Charmed the socks right off me, I can tell you. He had a faint accent—the man in the kitchen I mean, not Mr. D’Angelo; French Canadian would be my guess.”

  “Did you tell the police that? About the accent?”

  “Of course I did. But, as I said, the accent was not strong, and accents can be faked, can’t they? Why are you asking this? Surely you don’t think Kyle, of all people, had anything to do with it?”

  “Just a thought. Gotta run. Bye.” I hung up. It was a long shot, and I was, truth be told, happy to strike Kyle from my virtual suspect list. I’d never liked Kyle, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to be arrested for murder.

  * * *

  The week had been a good one saleswise, and at closing time on Christmas Eve Eve, I was feeling very pleased. Along with the many other items Mrs. Claus’s stocked, Alan’s toys and wooden statues had done extremely well. I was looking forward to telling him tomorrow night when he picked me up to go to dinner at my parents’. Alan lived simply and happily in his century-old stone farmhouse deep in the woods. He was a hard person to get gifts for, so I’d bought a certificate for dinner at the Yuletide Inn. Not entirely an unselfish gift, as I hoped he’d take me with him. Once the holiday rush and the post-holiday sales period died down, it would be nice to have a long, lovely, leisurely night out, just the two of us.

  I was looking forward to that when Graham Johannesen came in. Melissa had left for the day, and Jackie was standing at the window, watching the parade of last-minute shoppers hurrying past. “Hi.” Graham looked around with approval. “I’m glad I caught you before you closed for the day. Nice place.” He didn’t have a Quebecois accent, but as Mrs. D’Angelo had noted, accents could be faked. Plus, at the time the unknown man and Raquel were arguing, Mrs. D’Angelo wasn’t in much of a condition to be thinking coherently. Graham’s voice, I thought, wasn’t particularly deep, and it wasn’t rolling. Did that mean anything? What did deep and rolling mean anyway?

  “How can we help you?” I asked.

  Jackie turned from the window to check out the new customer. Her eyes lit up with interest.

  “I’m looking for something for my mom,” Graham said. “A present, I mean.”

  “Happy to help,” I said. “Do you have any idea of what she’d like? Jewelry, table linens, dishware, wine or cocktail glasses, maybe? Not everything we stock has a Christmas theme.”

  “Jewelry might be nice. Care to show me what you have?”

  I led him to the display. He eyed everything but didn’t seem particularly interested. That’s not uncommon, I’ve found, in a young man trying to get his mother a present. They’re simply out of their depth.

  “That necklace?” He pointed to one of the pieces made by a former store employee, Crystal Wong, intricate twisting strands of silver.

  I lifted the necklace off the display and held it up. “A good choice. Made by a local woman. So local she worked in this very shop when she was in school.”

  “Great, I’ll take it.” He reached out and took the necklace out of my hand. He looked directly into my eyes, and his fingers brushed against mine. The touch lingered slightly longer than necessary, and then he smiled and pulled away.

  I felt Jackie’s eyes on me as I scurried behind the sales counter. I rang up the sale, found a small box for the item, folded it in tissue paper, and popped it into a paper bag with the Mrs. Claus’s name stamped on it.

  Graham watched me. Instead of handing him the bag, I put it on the counter between us. “Merry Christmas,” I said.

  “Same to you. I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow night for dinner. We always exchange our gifts on Christmas Eve. What time do you finish here tomorrow?”

  “Officially we close at three when the staff leave, but I … I mean my … my father and I hang around until four for last-minute shoppers.” Dad had no intention of coming in to help me close, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, I realized that if I was worried Graham had an unwelcome interest in me, I’d better not mention I’d be here alone.

  “And then?”

  “Same as you. My boyfriend”—emphasis on the word—“and I are going to my parents’ house.”

  “Merry’s parents always make a big deal out of Christmas Eve,” Jackie said. “I’ve always wondered how Noel fits it in, what with delivering presents to little children all over the world and then having to settle the reindeer in the barn for the night. But that’s all part of the Christmas magic.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Graham asked me.

  “Just a normal Christmas Eve for me,” I said. “Early dinner, presents, sing a few carols.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be busy over the next few days, but how about I give you a call next week? Maybe we can have dinner sometime. Or just a coffee, if you’d prefer.”

  “Busy. Yes, busy. It never ends. The minute Christmas is over, the sales begin.” I smiled.

  “It’s a date, then. I don’t have your number, but never mind. I know where you live.” He picked up his bag and left the shop.

  My smile crumbled faster than the stiffness in my shoulders.

  “Oh my gosh,” Jackie cried the moment the door shut behind him. “It’s so hot in here I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “The heat. The heat.”

  “I have no idea what you’re going on about.” I had to admit, I was feeling rather warm. Okay, hot.

  “He was so into you, Merry. I hate to imagine what would have happened if I wasn’t here. Okay, I love to imagine it. Are you going to go out with him? I notice you didn’t say no, and I can guarantee he noticed too.”

  “Time to lock up. Tomorrow’s going to be busy. And no, I am not going to go out with him. I’m in a relationship, Jackie.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it never hurts to keep them on edge, does it? Alan’s getting too comfortable, if you know what I mean. You can’t let him start taking you for granted. A casual mention of having coffee with a new guy in town should straighten him up quick enough.”

  “I have no intention of trying to make Alan jealous. And that’s not a new guy in town. He’s from Muddle Harbor.”

  “Muddle Harbor.” The gleam disappeared from Jackie’s eyes. “Oh dear. Really?”

  “Really. I met him when my dad dragged me along to a meeting about the mayoral election in that town.”

  “That must have been deadly boring.”

  “It was. He’s a cousin of Raquel Torrone.”

  “Is that so? No surprise, I guess. Everyone in these parts is related somehow to everyone else. See you tomorrow, Merry.”

  “Bright and early,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  On Christmas Eve, Jackie and Melissa left work at three, pulling gloves on hands and wrapping scarves around necks, calling “Merry Christmas” over their shoulders. I stayed for another hour in case of last-minute shoppers. We always had last-minute shoppers, those who suddenly realized they’d forgotten to buy a gift for wives or mothers. Always middle-aged or older men. They ran into the shop moments before I finally locked up, eyes full of panic, credit cards extended.

  Easy pickings. I could sell them the store fittings if I was so inclined. Instead I did a nice trade in jewelry and table linens.

  Finally, a few minutes after four, I flipped the sign to CLOSED and locked the door. Up and down Jingle Bell Lane, other shop owners were doing the same, while in the windows of the restaurants, staff were laying tables and serving early arrivals. Only four o’clock, but the long winter night was setting in. A light snow was falling and people hurried past, laden with brightly wrapped packages or shopping bags bulging with things still to be wrapped.

  I glanced around the quiet, empty store. The decorations on the tree sparkled, the colored lights gleamed. The rows of stuffed reindeer and elves, the porcelain Santas and Mrs. Clauses, the carved and painted nutcracker soldiers and angels watched me. I wondered if they were waiting for me to leave before leaping down from the shelves and getting the party started.

  It was a pleasant thought. And that gave me an idea for next year’s parade float. My version of Fezziwig’s Christmas Eve staff party.

  I switched out the main lights, leaving on the ones in the front window and those decorating the tree. Then I went into the back and got Mattie and we headed home. Alan was due to pick me up at five to go to my parents’ house. As we walked, I found my thoughts wandering. For no reason I was aware of, they settled on Graham Johannesen. He’d made me uncomfortable yesterday, and I didn’t like that in my own store. I didn’t like that anyplace. But I had to admit, he hadn’t done anything other than indicate a mild, polite interest in possibly spending some time with me.

  So, I asked myself, why did that make me uncomfortable? Our house came into view, as did the Johannesen house across the street. The light over the front door was on, as well as one in the living room and another on the second floor. The driveway and path had not been shoveled, leaving several inches of fresh, undisturbed snow. The FOR SALE sign on the lawn swayed in the light wind.

  At our house, as could be expected, the pavement was clear and deicer had been liberally scattered. To my surprise, lights were on in the living room and the kitchen. Mrs. D’Angelo was notoriously parsimonious. When she left a room, she turned off the light. When she left the house, she made sure everything was off.

  I hesitated at the top of the driveway. She was supposed to have gone to spend Christmas with her sister. I didn’t have a lot of time to get ready, and I feared if I knocked on the door to check on her and she answered, I’d find myself dragged into an extended, one-way conversation.

  My conscience told me not to be so selfish. She might be sick or in need of help.

  “Quick detour, Mattie,” I said as I made up my mind. We climbed the front steps. Rather than anyone needing help, the door flew open before I’d lifted my hand to ring the bell.