“Merry, what’s going on?”

  “They say someone’s dead. Is that true?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Where’s Mabel?”

  “I have been assigned to escort you to your door.” Candy Campbell approached us. “Hopefully this will mark the nadir of my career.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day,” Vicky said.

  We walked down the driveway. Kyle Lambert lifted his camera and snapped our picture. I stuck out my tongue.

  “A statement for the press?” Russ Durham fell into step beside us.

  “No,” Vicky said.

  “These ladies are under police orders not to discuss the situation until they’ve spoken to the detective,” Candy said.

  “Not even with me?” Russ drawled in his slow, sexy Louisiana accent. He gave her a grin and a broad wink, and Candy flushed a most un-police-like red. She and Russ, the editor in chief (and sole remaining full-time employee) of the Rudolph Gazette, dated for a short while, but it hadn’t worked out. For reasons I didn’t know.

  “No comment,” Vicky said. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Sounds so nice, I’ll say it again. I have no comment for the press at this time.”

  Deep in my pocket my phone was vibrating as though to announce an incoming hurricane. I heard the faint tones of Vicky’s phone ringing. Word was spreading. And fast.

  Russ pointed to the porch of my house. “Rumor says Mabel D’Angelo was kidnapped by the Sicilian mob and only freed after payment of a multimillion-dollar ransom, facilitated by none other than Vicky Casey and Merry Wilkinson. I’d be inclined to dismiss that, except for the fact that quite noticeably she is not standing on her front porch, relating the biggest story of the year—so far—to all and sundry.”

  “No comment,” Vicky said, and we continued walking.

  When we reached the bottom of my steps, Vicky said, “We can manage from here, Officer Campbell. You may return to your duties. I think the street needs watching.”

  “Don’t push your luck,” Candy muttered. “I for one haven’t forgotten you two were the first people I encountered, after Doug Kincaid, at the scene of the crime. I’ll dismiss him as a suspect because he plays on the old guys’ baseball team with my dad.”

  I was too tired, and too overwhelmed by the events of this evening, to come up with a snappy retort. We climbed the stairs. I was pleased to see that although Mattie stepped gingerly on his sore foot, it didn’t seem to be worrying him overmuch.

  My parents have a spare key to my apartment, so I wasn’t entirely surprised to see them waiting for me. Mom was on the couch, flicking through her phone, and Dad stood at the front window, peering out at the activity, while white, red, and blue lights flashed across his face. I gave them a wry grin and checked my own phone. Unasked, Dad headed for the fridge and got out a wine bottle.

  I ignored most of the texts and voice mail messages and returned Alan’s call first.

  “Merry? What’s happening?”

  “Nothing good. I’m okay. Vicky’s okay. Mattie’s okay. That’s all I want to say over the phone.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Mark’s on his way,” Vicky said to me.

  Dad handed us each a glass of wine. Vicky dropped onto the couch. Mattie went into the kitchen to see if he’d overlooked any part of his dinner. My mom said, “Anything we need to be concerned about, dear?”

  I followed Mattie. I soaked a clean dishcloth in water, sat on the floor, and called the dog. When he’d given his empty bowl a disapproving lick, he came to me. He handed me his paw. I washed it gently, pleased to see a minimal amount of dried blood transferring to the cloth. He whimpered slightly when I touched the cut, but he didn’t pull away. I talked as I worked. “Nothing for you to worry about. Not even Mattie here. He stepped on a shard of broken glass, but it looks like it didn’t get stuck in the paw.”

  “Need we know why Mattie was walking on glass?” Dad asked.

  “You’ll hear all about it in the fullness of time,” I replied. “Mrs. D’Angelo has been taken to the hospital, but she’ll be fine. She was right about strange things going on at that house across the street, and it would appear her nosiness almost got her killed.”

  “All I saw was not much in the way of furniture or people’s things,” Vicky said, “but you asked Diane about some equipment. What’s that about?”

  “The cellar was full of machinery. I have absolutely no idea what it might be used for. As for what else was in the cellar … you’ll be hearing about it soon enough. A dead body.”

  “Goodness,” Mom said.

  “Who?” Dad asked.

  “I have not the slightest idea. All I saw was a young woman with long blond hair. I didn’t investigate further.”

  “Which is something to be thankful for,” my mother said.

  I gave Mattie a few hearty thumps to tell him he was a good boy and stood up. “I’d better call George Mann. It was him who first alerted me that something might be wrong.”

  I made the call, and a sleepy voice answered. “George, Merry here. Have you heard the news?”

  “News? What news? I haven’t had the TV on.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, I smiled to myself. Imagine, someone in this day and age who relied on television for breaking local news.

  “Mabel’s fine. She’s unharmed but has been admitted to Rudolph General for observation. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll let her tell you all about it herself.”

  “Is she taking calls tonight?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “She’s probably been given something to put her to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, George. Good night.”

  Mom stood up. She came to me and gave me a tight hug. A comforting wave of her familiar perfume washed over me. When she pulled away, her eyes were wet. “The things you get up to. Alan and Mark are coming, and you two are obviously fine, although perhaps a bit shook up. Your father and I will be going. If you need anything, call us.”

  I hugged her back. “I will.”

  “You should get yourself to bed,” Dad said.

  I shook my head. “Detective Simmonds needs to talk to us once she’s been to the hospital.”

  Dad gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head, and then he and Mom left.

  Mark was next to arrive, followed almost immediately by Alan and Ranger, his Jack Russell terrier. Mark said little more to me than hi before he bundled Vicky out the door. Alan and I settled onto the couch to watch a movie while we waited for the good detective. Mattie curled up on the floor at our feet and promptly fell asleep. He had definitely had more than enough excitement for one day. Ranger, who never has enough excitement in his life, bounced from one apartment window to the other, keeping a keen eye on the activity on the street. I didn’t close the curtain, and red and blue lights lit up the inside of my apartment for many long hours.

  Chapter Eight

  One of the many texts I’d received last night was from Jackie. I replied to her as soon as I woke after a restless and troubled sleep.

  Me: Busy night. Be late to work. Can you open?

  Jackie: Only if you promise to tell me everything!!!!!

  Me: Promise. Thx.

  Okay, so I lied. But it was the holiday season and I did have a business to run, and I needed the store to open on time.

  Diane Simmonds had called to tell me she was on her way to my place shortly after midnight. Alan put a pot of coffee on for her and fixed mugs of hot chocolate for himself and for me.

  “How’d you hear I was involved in the goings-on anyway?” I asked Alan, never one to spend much time on social media, as he served the drinks.

  “Russ Durham called. I phoned Mark at the inn.”

  “That was nice of Russ,” I said.

  Once she’d greeted Mattie, taken a seat on the couch, and accepted the offered coffee, Detective Simmonds asked me what made Vicky and me want to check out the house across the street. I told her what little I’d observed, explained Mrs. D’Angelo’s suspicions and curiosity about the new neighbors and my increasing worry at not only her disappearance but her failure to answer her phone. “Not for a minute,” I said at last, “did I suspect she’d be tied up in the pantry. I thought she might have been prowling around the yard, on the pretext of delivering her homemade cookies, when she fell and wasn’t able to call for help.”

  “In some of that, you’re right.” Simmonds sipped her coffee. Mattie sat proudly at her side. Before getting down to the matter of kidnapping, confinement, and murder, the detective checked the dog’s paw. “It looks clean, but at any signs of swelling or renewed bleeding or indications he’s having pain, call the vet.”

  “I will.”

  That matter attended to, she said, “Mabel D’Angelo should be able to have visitors tomorrow. The doctor wants to keep her for a few days, as she’s severely dehydrated and in some considerable shock, but nothing appears to be more serious than that. No other injuries.”

  “How long was she in there?” Alan asked.

  “Two days, at least,” Simmonds said.

  “Meaning since sometime Saturday,” I said.

  “So it would appear.”

  “Did she tell you anything?”

  Simmonds lifted her hand. “I’m not here to answer questions, Merry, but to ask them.”

  “Okay, but one thing before we continue. When Doug called 911, he was told the police might be delayed in getting to us, as they were responding to a major incident. Anything to do with what happened to us? To Mrs. D’Angelo?”

  “No. A child had gone missing. Walked out of her house in nothing but her diaper and a T-shirt into the snow. I’m happy to report she was found in the neighbor’s doghouse. Being kept warm by the dog.” Detective Simmonds gave Mattie a fond smile.

  “Good animals, dogs,” Alan said.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “At any time, Merry, did you see the people who moved in across the street well enough to identify them?”

  “Never. I wasn’t home when they initially moved in, and after that, they, or he or she, drove into the garage, and the doors shut behind them. I only know that based on tire tracks on the driveway and lack of footprints outside. Once or twice I saw someone lingering outside the house, as though they were watching it, but they didn’t stay long, and I simply assumed they were just curious. In the same way Mrs. D’Angelo was.”

  “Anything noticeable about these observers?”

  I shook my head. “It’s wintertime, and everyone is well bundled up. I might have seen a man once, maybe slightly on the bulky side, but I didn’t notice anything you’d call identifying about him. Might even have been a tall, overweight woman in a big coat. I have no reason to believe he wasn’t enjoying a breath of fresh night air.” I shrugged. “It’s December in Rudolph. I don’t have enough time in a day to attend to my own business, much less pay attention to anyone else’s. For more on the comings and goings on the street, you’ll have to ask Mrs. D’Angelo.”

  “Rest assured, I will. Alan, anything to add?”

  “No. I never saw anyone going into the house, coming out of it, or even standing outside. Like Merry says, it’s December in Rudolph.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me. I’m going to show you a picture of the person Merry found in the cellar. Are you ready?”

  Alan put his hand on my shoulder. I nodded. Simmonds handed me a photograph, and I shared it with Alan. The picture showed the face of a white woman in her late twenties, early thirties maybe. Her expression was calm, her eyes closed. Thin face, slight cleft in the chin. She would have been pretty in life, I thought. Pretty, but not beautiful. Long golden hair spread out around her head, falling past her shoulders. Silver hoops ran through her ears. To my considerable surprise, something tugged at the back of my mind, and I realized I dimly recognized that face.

  “Alan?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I think I know her.” He snapped his fingers. “Her, or someone who looks like her. From years back. Name’s not coming to me.”

  “You know her?” Simmonds sounded surprised. “From where? Did you see her in town or at Merry’s store?”

  “Not recently. Long time ago.” I dug frantically through my memory banks. Judging by the look on Alan’s face, he was doing the same.

  “Rachel … something. No, not Rachel. Raquel.”

  “The face is vaguely familiar,” Alan said, “but I can’t place her.”

  “Raquel Thornton,” I said. “No, Torrone. Raquel Torrone. I remember that hair in particular. She had hair like out of a movie, the envy of every girl, including me, at Rudolph High. I haven’t seen her since we graduated high school.”

  “You’re saying she was a student at your high school?” Simmonds asked.

  “Yes. I’m positive. She was a couple of years younger than us, which is why Alan probably doesn’t remember. She was friends with my youngest sister, Eve, as I recall. I’m pretty sure she’s the daughter of Beth and Robert Torrone, who own that house. The Johannesen house. Mrs. D’Angelo mentioned them the other day, when she was trying to find out about the rental people. Or person.”

  Simmonds kept her face impassive, but her eyes flared with interest. “You’re sure of this, Merry?”

  “I am. Unless this is a sister or close relative of the woman I’m thinking of. I don’t remember Raquel having a sister, although I might not have known if she did. You can ask Eve. She’s here for the holidays.”

  “I’ll do that.” Simmonds put the picture away. “You say you haven’t seen this woman since high school?”

  “Nope. Never gave her a thought either. I might not have recognized her now except for the hair.”

  “Same with me,” Alan said. “No reason I should know whatever she was up to these days. Like Merry said, it’s only that her hair was so individual, and spectacular, I even remember her.”

  “Imagine being known only because of your hair,” I said.

  Simmonds stood up. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more. And I’m sure I will.”

  “What was she doing down there?” I asked. “In that cellar? What was all that equipment?”

  “Like I said, I’ll be in touch. No, Matterhorn, you cannot come with me. You stay here with Merry.”

  Mattie’s head had dipped in disappointment as the detective showed herself out.

  “Should we take flowers to the hospital?” Alan asked me now.

  “We probably should. I’ll phone and ask if Mrs. D’Angelo can have visitors.”

  The hospital informed me the patient was awake and able to see well-wishers, so Alan and I swallowed a quick breakfast of coffee and cereal and headed out. In Rudolph in December, it’s hard to find flowers in colors other than red and white, but we managed to get a nice assortment of yellow roses at the florist across from Vicky’s bakery. As the clerk wrapped the stems in cellophane and ribbon, she asked, “Dropping in to see Mabel, are you, Merry?”

  No point in denying it. My only worry in attempting to see Mrs. D’Angelo was that the hospital would be forced to put a limit on the crowds of visitors.

  “Do you particularly want me to come with you?” Alan asked me once we were out on the sidewalk.

  “No need, if you don’t want to.”

  “I’ve got unfinished work sitting on the bench. Stuff I’d planned on getting done last night. I have demanding customers, you know.” He gave me a wink. “And, by the way, I did manage to fit in a couple of train sets.”

  I thanked him, he handed me the bouquet, and we went our separate ways. I glanced across the street. The line at Victoria’s Bake Shoppe stretched out the door as far as the sidewalk. I called my dad. “Feel like a visit to the hospital?”

  “To see Mabel? Good idea. As you can imagine, honeybunch, rumors are running wild. Last I heard, her Sicilian relatives tracked her down, seeking revenge on her branch of the family for some ancient slight which no one can explain. Are you at the store?”

  “I’m standing outside the florist.”

  “I’m at town hall, leaving now. Meet you in the parking lot.”

  I waited for the light to change and dashed across the street. In the summer the brick walkway between the bakery and the town complex is planted with beds of bright annuals. In the winter, strings of fairy lights are strung between the buildings. As I reached the parking lot, Dad was coming down the steps. We met at his car. He was in his “civilian” clothes today. Brown corduroy pants, winter jacket, scarf and gloves. No matter how he dresses, he always manages to look like Santa Claus trying to be incognito. At Vicky’s wedding in the spring, he looked like Santa Claus as a wedding guest.

  “Diane came around to the house first thing this morning,” he said once we were in the car and waiting for a break in the traffic on Jingle Bell Lane.

  “To see Eve?” I asked. “To ask her about the woman who died? I seem to remember they’d been friends at school.”

  “You know about her?”

  “Detective Simonds showed us a picture last night. Do you remember her, Raquel Torrone?”

  “Her specifically, no I don’t. Your mother doesn’t either. I know—knew, rather—the family vaguely. They moved away a number of years ago; I don’t know where they ended up. Dorothy Johannesen, who owned the house where all this happened, died shortly thereafter and left the house to Beth Torrone, Raquel’s mother, who was her niece. Sister’s daughter, if memory serves. The Torrones didn’t come back to take possession of the property; they rented it out.”

  “What did Eve have to say?”

  “She told Diane she hadn’t seen or heard from Raquel since school. According to Eve, the girl had a bad reputation, even back then.”

  “Bad reputation? What for exactly?”

  “She and Eve weren’t friends for long, which sounds like it was a good thing. According to what Eve told Diane, Raquel was in and out of trouble. Always trouble of her own choosing. She hung around with a bad crowd and was plausibly accused of breaking into school lockers and taking stuff. Eve said Raquel dropped out of school in their senior year, before graduating, and she left town. That’s all she knew. Never heard a word from or about her since, and forgot all about her.”