With that, they plunged into a renewed frenzy of shopping. Finally, Jackie finished ringing everything up. I helped her bag the items, and the women staggered out the door under the weight of their purchases, calling thank you as they left. One of them suggested a drink after all that hard work. The others heartily agreed.

  “When I’m old, I hope I’m like them,” Jackie said.

  I looked at her in surprise. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard my assistant engage in any sort of reflection. “Sixties isn’t old, not according to Mom anyway, but I get your point.”

  The chimes trilled again, and Catherine Renshaw came in, trailed by her husband. This morning she was resplendent in a calf-length black wool coat worn with a black hat, bright blue woolen scarf, and low-heeled black ankle boots. Mr. Renshaw, whose first name escaped me, wore a casual gray jacket over slightly baggy jeans. A tear ran the length of the right thumb of his soiled leather gloves. He was freshly shaven, silver hair carefully arranged, after shave too liberally applied.

  Catherine gave me an enormous smile and waved a sheaf of papers at me. “Merry. How nice to see you. And Jackie, looking lovely this morning as always.”

  What, didn’t I look lovely?

  “Why thank you, Catherine,” my assistant giggled. “I love love love your scarf. Fabulous color.”

  “Do you know this is the first time I’ve been in your beautiful store?” Catherine said. “I can’t believe the oversight, can you, Bruce?”

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “You, darling, need to make a point of visiting regularly,” she said. “That jewelry display in particular.”

  “Most or our jewelry, and much of our other stock, is made locally,” I said. “Quite a bit of the jewelry’s made by a young woman who works here part time.”

  “Isn’t that special? I’m not here to shop today, but I will be back soon. In the meanwhile, while Merry and I are chatting, Bruce darling, I’m sure if you look hard enough, you can find a little prezzie for me.”

  He gave her a look I couldn’t decipher, but she wiggled her fingers. “Off you go. Jackie, dear, do help Bruce select something nice.”

  “Happy to,” Jackie said. “Anything in particular you’d like to see, sir? We specialize in Christmas decor and gifts, but we carry many other things for the home.”

  When the reluctant shopper had been led away, I said to Catherine. “You’re here to talk to me? Why?”

  She waved the papers at me. “I’m going up and down Jingle Bell Lane, such a charming street name, isn’t it, asking everyone to put one of our flyers in the window. If you wouldn’t mind?”

  She held one up. It was a typical playbill. Name of the play in big letters, location, date and time of performances. My mother’s name was prominently displayed as “musical director.” That would make her happy. The other prominent name was Catherine Renshaw, “artistic director.” That would not make Desmond Kerslake, the director, happy. His name was in such small print the nearsighted wouldn’t be able to read it.

  I held out my hand and she put one of the papers into it. “I’d be happy to display it. Word’s getting around. A pack of women all the way from Iowa were in here a couple of minutes ago, and they’ve already bought their tickets. Too bad you missed them. They would have loved to meet you.”

  “Maybe you could have a word on my behalf with the woman who works at the shop next door? She was, shall I say, less than enthusiastic about taking a poster, and seemed rather suspicious about me. I can’t imagine why. She eventually took one, but I fear it will end up in the trash.”

  “You mean Rudolph Gift Nook? That’s Margie Thatcher you spoke to, and she’s not exactly known for being civic minded.” I’d never seen any sort of community promotion in her windows. Margie seemed to be convinced that keeping her doors open at the hours required by the town’s business association was the most that could be expected of her.

  She didn’t even include being friendly or accommodating to shoppers as one of her duties.

  “I’ll mention it to her,” I said. “But don’t get your hopes up.” More likely any word from me would have the opposite effect. The Nook and Mrs. Claus’s were in no way competition for each other—Margie’s store sold cheap stuff mass-produced in foreign countries—but for some reason Margie and her sister Betty, who’d owned the store before her, regarded me as such.

  “That’s the most you can do,” Catherine said.

  “Do you have anything a bit … less pricy?” Bruce asked Jackie, giving her back a necklace she’d removed from the display to show him.

  “I hope you weren’t too upset by our little imbroglio yesterday,” Catherine said. “The theater family truly is like a family. We have our arguments and our disagreements, but it all gets sorted in the end. I’m terribly excited about this production, Merry, and with your mother’s name at the forefront, it’s bound to be a huge success.”

  “Do you have a background in theater?” I asked her.

  “Sadly no. It was a passion of mine when I was younger, but I soon realized I have no talent. I’m better behind the stage. Organization is my forte. Bruce and I were not blessed with children, so we threw ourselves into our business endeavors.”

  “What did you do?” I asked, as I clearly was expected to.

  “We own a group of furniture and appliance stores. Home Central Furnishings?”

  “Oh. That’s a big chain. There’s a store in Rochester.”

  “We started the company from nothing when we were first married. One store in Albany, and we expanded from there. Such a lot of work, but so worth it to make a success of ourselves. These days, Bruce and I stay mainly on the sidelines, leaving the day-to-day running of the business to younger people with fresh ideas.” The smile she gave me was tight, and I suspected she wasn’t all that happy about that decision. They weren’t much past sixty. Perhaps the idea to step away had been Bruce’s alone. If so, that might explain why Catherine had thrown herself so fully into being the artistic director of a small-town amateur theater group. “It’s long been Bruce’s dream to move to a small town. I’m so glad we came here. Everyone’s so nice. Exactly like the stereotype, isn’t it? People in Manhattan have so little time for their neighbors.” Another tight smile. Small-town living might be her husband’s dream. It was not hers.

  “I must be off. Plenty of businesses still to visit. Bruce, dear, you can catch up to me if you’re still busy there.”

  “I’m done.” He put a pair of earrings on the counter and dug in his wallet.

  “I’ll hang this in the window right now.” I held up the poster.

  “How kind you are.” Catherine sailed out the door.

  Her husband handed Jackie a twenty-dollar bill. She made change.

  * * *

  No more than five minutes later I was taping the poster to the front window, above the main display, when Paula Monahan came into the store. I could immediately tell by the Mrs. Claus’s shopping bag she carried and the nervous expression on her face that I would not like what she was here to say.

  “Hi, Paula. Look at this.” I indicated the poster. “You just missed Catherine. She’s delivering these to the shops on the street.”

  “Catherine,” Paula declared. “I’ve had quite enough of Catherine, thank you. Which is why I’m here. I want to return these dishes.” She plopped the bag on the counter. She was in a calf-length black coat, similar to Catherine’s but of cheaper fabric, a blue scarf, and a black winter hat. Under the outerwear she wore jeans and running shoes.

  “Why? Are they not suitable?” I asked.

  “According to Catherine, no. You’d have thought she’d be pleased I bought them, out of my own pocket too, in an attempt to help the production out. You can be sure she’d have been more than happy to pay if her darling Aline got them.” Paula sniffed in disapproval. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten Aline’s my mother. “As for these,” she shook the bag, “Catherine says they’re not suitable. She wants something more colorful, to stand out on the stage.” Another sniff. “I went around to her house earlier, hoping to talk some sense into her about the way the play’s being cast, but she refused to hear it. Imagine, Dave in the lead part. He’s such a hack. Doesn’t bear thinking about. I have half a mind to quit outright, but I’ve been with the company longer than her, and I won’t be driven out. I told her so. And then, to add insult to injury, when I showed her these plates, she said she doesn’t want to use them. So I’m bringing them back.”

  “I can offer you a store credit.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll take the money.” She rummaged in her purse. “I have the receipt.”

  “We normally offer credit, not cash refunds.”

  “Surely you can make an exception in this case? I bought them for the play, not for myself. If you give me a credit, I don’t know what else I’d buy here. Your store’s nice enough and all, but I don’t care for frivolities.”

  I gave in. As far as I was concerned, Paula’s casting suggestions—to vault herself into the main role—had been way out of line, but nevertheless Catherine had done an injury to her pride. If refunding her the money would help a bit, I’d do it. “Very well. Can I have your credit card, please?”

  While we’d been talking, Jackie had been busy in one of the store alcoves, helping customers select holiday-suitable serving dishes, and she’d missed most of the conversation. They made their selection, and Jackie carried the boxes up to the counter. While I prepared to ring through Paula’s refund, Jackie put on a bright smile and said, “Paula, did you and Desmond sort out the casting? Are you taking Marley? Brilliant idea by the way, no reason Marley has to be a man, not in this day and age. Is Mrs. Cratchit free?”

  Paula’s face tightened. “I do not know why you keep nagging me about this, Jackie. I have no intention of not playing Mrs. Cratchit. Besides, my Eddie is Tiny Tim. I’m obviously going to be nearby for his scenes anyway, so I might as well be on stage. He’s only ten years old. He has a delicate nature, and he needs my comforting presence in order to put on his best performance.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Paula,” Jackie said.

  I blinked in surprise. Jackie was many things, but she was never deliberately nasty.

  Paula snatched her credit card and the fresh receipt out of my hand and marched out of the store without another word. The door slammed behind her.

  “I’m going for my afternoon break,” Jackie snarled.

  “You just got back from lunch.”

  “I can take my break whenever I want, can’t I?”

  “Yes, but … Never mind. If you’re going to the coffee shop, can you bring me a latte, please?”

  She also stormed out. The door slammed once again.

  “What’s got her knickers in such a knot?” The man she’d been helping said to me. “I hope it wasn’t anything I said. You Yanks aren’t usually so prickly.”

  “The dramatic temperament,” I said. “She’s involved in the community production of A Christmas Carol and there’ve been some disagreements among the actors, to put it mildly.”

  “They’re putting on A Christmas Carol? Always a favorite. We might like to see that. Is it on now?”

  “Opening night’s next Friday. A week from today.”

  “That’s too bad. We’ll be long gone by then. We had a week in New York City, are spending a couple of days around here, and then driving up to Toronto to spend Christmas with my brother. Then it’s back to Jolly Old England.”

  “And so to work,” the woman with him sighed. “I hate work.”

  I smiled at her. “Sometimes, I do too.”

  * * *

  The English couple left, and no one else came in. Grumbling all the while, I put the unwanted earthenware dishes back on the shelf. After about ten minutes of being alone in an empty shop, I stuck my head out the door and checked up and down the sidewalk. No one was heading my way, so I took the opportunity to slip into the back for a quick Mattie-check. I found him snoozing in his bed under the desk. He struggled to his feet when I came in. I gave him a rub on the top of the head and he rewarded me with a lick on my face. He then headed for the hallway.

  “Sorry. No time for a walk,” I said. “I’m only here for a quick check that you haven’t upset your water bowl yet.”

  His giant brown eyes filled with so much sadness I feared he was about to cry. His ears drooped. He lowered his head. He sighed.

  The chimes over the shop door tinkled, and I called, “Be right there.”

  “Drama queen,” I said to the dog. “There’s an idea. You should have a part in A Christmas Carol. You’d be no more of a prima donna than the rest of them. And how’s this for a change—for once Mom’s the calm one.” I mentally cast Mattie in the production. He could play the Cratchit family dog. I gave Mattie another rub. He stepped backward—straight into his water bowl, tipping the whole lot onto the carpet.

  “You did that on purpose.” I considered leaving it and going out front to check on to my customer, but decided I’d better see to it while I was thinking of it. If we got busy, the day had a way of getting ahead of me. I grabbed the bowl and ran for the small staff washroom, calling, “I’ll be right out. Please feel free to have a look around.”

  I heard a thump, and I stopped and listened. It didn’t sound as though anything had broken, so I ran the tap and filled the bowl. I carefully carried the bowl of sloshing water back to the office and put it in a corner. “Try to get through to my dinner break on this,” I said to the dog. He ignored it and pushed past me to stand at the door, wanting to go out. When Mattie stands in front of something, absolutely no one can get by.

  “Move,” I said.

  He didn’t.

  I attempted to imitate Diane Simmonds’s authoritative voice. “Matterhorn. You are in the way. Please move.”

  He edged ever so slowly to one side. I shoved him farther away and squeezed myself through the door. I shut the door firmly behind me and plastered my helpful shopkeeper smile on as I pushed aside the curtain and entered the store.

  The first thing I noticed was that the door to the street was open. The second was that the store was empty. The third was that the Santa and Mrs. Claus stuffies next to the entrance had fallen on the floor. The customer must have left. I headed for the door, intending to shut it.

  It was only then I saw a woman in a long black coat lying on the floor next to the center display table. She lay face down; her blue scarf was wrapped around her neck, and she did not move.

  Chapter Five

  “You left your store unlocked and unattended for several minutes. Did you think that was wise?”

  “In retrospect, it obviously was not wise. But my assistant had gone on her break, no one was in the shop, and I wanted to check on Mattie. I was away longer than I expected because he tipped his water bowl and then he blocked the door, but I wasn’t that long. I mean … this is Rudolph. It’s midday on a Friday in December. No one’s going to run into my store and snatch things off the shelves while I’m not looking, and run out again.”

  Detective Diane Simmonds raised one expressive eyebrow.

  “Okay, that’s pretty much what happened, right? Except for the stealing things part.”

  We were in my office. Outside, a uniformed officer guarded the door to the street while inside other cops picked through my things. A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, asking what was going on. The forensic team was on its way.

  I’d recovered from my shock almost instantly and dropped to the floor next to the unmoving woman. I rolled her over. The unseeing eyes of Paula Monahan stared up at me as I struggled to undo the scarf wrapped tightly around her neck with one hand while fumbling for my phone and calling 911 with the other.

  The ambulance arrived first. I got to my feet and stood aside so they could do their work.

  “Nonresponsive,” one medic said.

  “VSA,” her partner said into his radio.

  VSA, I know, means vital signs absent.

  “Did you find her like this, ma’am?” the first medic asked me.

  “Yes. Yes, I did. I stepped out for a few minutes and when I got back …” I breathed. “That scarf. It was around her neck. I removed it. I was trying to help.”

  “I call that interfering with a crime scene.” Officer Candice Campbell came through the door.

  Candice and I were not exactly friends. One drawback of living in a small town: your high school rivals can continue to haunt you into adulthood. Not that I’d ever been a rival of Candice over anything. In my mind anyway; she saw things differently. Which might be because Vicky had dated the hottest guy in our school for a number of months. The guy everyone knew Candice had the most enormous crush on. Or that Vicky had been the star of every sports team she was on, and Candice had never been more than an average player. All of which had nothing to do with me—I didn’t even play school sports, and the popular boys only wanted to be friends with me to get close to Vicky—but Vicky was my best friend so Candice had seen it as rivalry by proxy.

  “I had to check. She might not have been dead yet, Candy,” I said. Okay, I can still be petty. Now she was a police officer, she hated the high school nickname, so I used it whenever I had the chance.

  Her lips tightened, but she didn’t reply.

  “They’re not dead,” the second medic said, “until the doc says so. Let’s make this a fast one.”

  I stood to one side as they quickly and efficiently loaded the unmoving body of Paula Monahan onto their stretcher and wheeled her out. A moment later, the ambulance siren tore down Jingle Bell Lane.

  A crowd rapidly gathered in front of the shop. A second patrol car screeched to a halt in the loading zone, and another uniform got out.