My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I checked it. Vicky: What’s up? Word says cops at MC. All okay?”

  MC meant Mrs. Claus’s. I texted back: That was quick

  Vicky: Word travels fast

  Me: Customer collapsed. Taken to the hospital

  “Detective’s here, Merry,” Candy said. “Tell Vicky Casey to mind her own business and put that phone away.”

  “How’d you know—? Never mind.”

  Detective Diane Simmonds had given me a sharp nod when she first arrived. All the winter-day-at-the-ice-rink-meet-my-mother-and-daughter friendliness was gone, leaving nothing but cop and witness.

  Cop and suspect?

  I assured myself that no one would believe I had any reason to want to do harm to Paula Monahan and put on my innocent face.

  “Please wait for me in your office, Merry,” Simmonds said. “I’ll be in to talk to you in a moment. Officer Williams, can you escort Ms. Wilkinson? Ensure she doesn’t make or receive any phone calls in the meantime. Officer Campbell, tell me what you found when you first arrived on the scene.”

  “I found Merry Wilkinson, proprietor of this establishment, here present, crouched next to the body with what is likely to have been the murder weapon in her hand.”

  “Hey!” I said. “That’s making it sound like I had something to do with it.”

  “I’ll get your statement in a minute,” Simmonds said. “You’re not in court, Campbell, and I didn’t ask you to speculate. Tell me what you saw with no guesses or embellishments.”

  Candy had flushed an unattractive shade and glared at me. Somehow being reprimanded by Detective Simmonds would turn out to be my fault. In her mind at least.

  “Are you working alone in the store today, Merry?” Simmonds asked me now.

  “Jackie’s here. I mean she was here earlier. She went on her break before … it happened. I suspect she’s being kept outside, wondering what’s going on.”

  “She was stopped from coming in the back door, yes. What time did she leave for this break?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but about ten minutes or so before I came in here to check on Mattie.” I glanced down. The dog sat at Simmonds’s feet, gazing up at her through liquid brown eyes overflowing with adoration. If she slapped the handcuffs on me and manhandled me out the door to face life imprisonment, he’d be cheering her all the way. Traitor.

  “Do you know the dead woman?” the detective asked.

  “I do. Her name’s Paula Monahan. She was in the shop earlier and she left. Jackie headed out for her break almost immediately thereafter.”

  “Did Jackie going on this break have anything to do with the woman being here?”

  I hesitated.

  “Merry?”

  “Paula has a part in A Christmas Carol. She’s the mother of the boy you discouraged from throwing a stick at Mattie at the picnic on Sunday.”

  Simmonds nodded. “I thought so. I saw Jackie at the picnic as well. Is she in the play?”

  “Yes, she is. She’s an extra. There’ve been some minor disagreements between the cast and crew about the direction the play should take. Paula said something Jackie disagreed with, so she went out to cool down. That’s all.”

  “I’ll ask about these minor disagreements later. First, what time did Paula leave and Jackie go on her break?”

  I thought. “I didn’t check the time, but I’d say shortly after two. About five after, give or take. Paula came to return an item and didn’t linger.”

  “Do you have any idea why she came back to your store so soon after leaving? Did she forget something?”

  “I didn’t notice anything she might have left behind. She didn’t buy anything—rather the opposite. She came in the first time to return something she’d bought the other day. She happened to mention that I don’t sell the sort of things she’s interested in, so she didn’t want a store credit. Maybe something did catch her eye and she decided she wanted to get it after all. I can’t say.”

  Simmonds’s phone rang. She checked the display and answered it. “Yes?”

  I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, and Simmonds’s expression didn’t change. “Got it.” She hung up. “Mrs. Monahan was pronounced dead on arrival.”

  I dipped my head.

  “How well would you say you know her, Merry?”

  “Hardly at all. I’d never even met her before the picnic. She came into the shop earlier this week, I think it was Monday, and bought the items she returned today.”

  “I need to get out front and check out the scene for myself, but first, can you take me through what happened in the time leading up to your call to 911?”

  I did so.

  “No one other than you was in the store when you came in here to get Mattie his water?”

  The dog leapt to his feet and let out a low bark.

  “I’m not talking to you, Matterhorn,” Simmonds said.

  He sat back down.

  “I do not know how you do that,” I said.

  “Please continue.”

  “No one had come in for about ten minutes. I looked out, checked the street, saw no one coming our way, so I figured I could slip out for a minute.”

  “No one coming your way. You mean no one on the sidewalk? It seems crowded out there now.”

  “People were on the sidewalk, yes. Lots of them. None who seemed to be purposefully heading in my direction. You sort of get to tell, if people intend to come in, I mean.”

  “But Mrs. Monahan came in. And someone came with or after her.”

  I swallowed.

  “How long after hearing the door chimes did you go back out front?”

  “A couple of minutes. More than five at a guess, but I can’t be positive. I shouted to tell them I’d be right there, but I didn’t see any need to hurry. This is the sort of shop where people usually browse extensively before buying. Few people need help right away. Other than men on Christmas Eve, that is. They run in half an hour before closing, desperately wanting someone to tell them what to get for their wives.”

  The edges of Simmonds’s mouth might have turned up. Then again, it might have been a trick of the light from the too-strong lamp over my desk. “You heard no one else come in?”

  “No.”

  “No signs of a struggle?”

  “Those dolls on the floor by the door were on the table earlier, but other than that, no.”

  “You can go home, Merry. I’ll need to talk to you again, but I know where you live and I have your number. Obviously the store will be closed until further notice.”

  I started to stand up. I sat back down. “You might want to know one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’m not directly involved, but from all I’ve seen and heard, the production of A Christmas Carol is not going well. The cast and crew are not getting on.”

  “You think someone killed Paula over a part in an amateur theater production?”

  “I think nothing. I’m pointing it out.”

  “As I’ve taught you to do. Anyone in particular not getting on, as you put it, with Paula Monahan?”

  I thought about my mom, but I said, “It’s more of a general thing, I’d say. Everyone squabbling with everyone.”

  A knock on the door. Simmonds called, “Come in,” and Candy Campbell did so. “Jackie O’Reilly’s hanging around outside. She works here and wants to know what’s going on. She says she was here not more than half an hour ago, so she might be able to help. I thought you might … uh … want to talk to her?”

  “I’m finished with Ms. Wilkinson. Send Jackie in. It’s possible she did come back in time to see something significant.”

  Jackie slipped around Candy and into my office. She held a takeout coffee cup in each hand. Her eyes were bright, and she was trying hard to suppress a self-satisfied grin. Jackie loved being the center of attention. I could imagine her making a big fuss outside, ensuring everyone saw her, insisting she could be of help to the police.

  “Gosh, Merry, can’t I leave you alone for half an hour without you getting yourself into trouble? Again. People are saying Paula Monahan was taken to the hospital. The cops have shut the store and most of this section of the street so you must think she was attacked or something, Detective. That’s awful. You look okay, Merry. Were you here when it happened? Silly question: where else would you be?”

  “Where were you when whatever happened, happened?” Simmonds asked.

  “On my break. I’d been gone about twenty minutes and I was coming back when I saw the ambulance and the police pulling up, and then they wouldn’t let me in. I’d only gone next door, grabbing a coffee from Cranberries. Here you go, Merry.” She handed me one of the cups. “Sorry if it’s getting cold, but I had to wait outside.”

  I took the drink from her and put it on my desk without tasting it. Simmonds didn’t ask me to leave, and so I remained where I was.

  “Tell me what happened after you went for your break,” Simmonds asked.

  “Like I said. I went to Cranberry Coffee Bar. I ordered our drinks and a cookie for me. I got to talking to Rachel McIntosh, from Candy Cane Sweets, who was on her own lunch break. She told me Ian, that’s her husband, is considering quitting A Christmas Carol. He’s been cast as Scrooge, that’s the lead role, but there’s talk of some changes to the casting, and he’s unhappy about that. Then Irene Dowling came in. She’s in charge of the wardrobe for the play. I asked her if any decisions had been made about my costume and she said no. Rachel mentioned Ian’s thinking of quitting, and Irene said she might do the same.”

  Jackie’s eyes opened wide and she sucked in a breath as a thought occurred to her. She spoke before I could stop her.

  “Hey! I’ve just realized something. If Paula’s in the hospital, she won’t be able to come to rehearsals. So she might not be able to be in the play. That means I have the role of Mrs. Cratchit!”

  Chapter Six

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Perfectly serious.”

  “They arrested Jackie for murder?”

  “Not arrested but took her down to the station for questioning. She walked right into it, Vicky. Opened her big mouth before I could stop her. Goodness knows what she’s going to say next, so I figured she needs a good lawyer, and fast.”

  I was in the alley that runs behind the shops lining Jingle Bell Lane. A confused Jackie had been taken in for “questioning,” and I’d been bundled out of my own store, along with Matterhorn. He, at least, was happy for the break.

  “Aunt Marjorie!” Vicky yelled. “Can you call Dad, like now, and tell him we need someone to go to the police station as soon as possible? Okay, Merry. Marjorie’s on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  The sound of the busy café faded away as Vicky moved into a quiet corner for some privacy. She dropped her voice. “You don’t think—”

  “That Jackie did it? Not for a minute. But, I have to admit, she has means, motive, and opportunity. Motive: she wants the part of Mrs. Cratchit, which is now unexpectedly available. Means: Paula’s own scarf. Opportunity: Paula was alone in the shop, and at precisely the time Jackie would be expected to come in.”

  “I can’t see Jackie, of all people, suddenly deciding to kill a rival and then having the gumption to actually go through with it. I mean, you have to be mighty cold blooded to strangle someone.”

  “I’m confident Diane Simmonds will soon realize that and let Jackie go.”

  “How confident?”

  “Perhaps not as much as I’d like to be. Thus the need for your father. I have to go. I want to head over to Mom’s and fill her in. Although she’s guaranteed to have heard via the grapevine. Speak of the devil. A text is coming in now.”

  “Keep me posted,” Vicky said as she hung up.

  The text from Mom simply said: ?????????????!!!!!!!!!!

  Me: Are you home?

  Mom: Yes

  Me: I’ll fill you in. On my way.

  I led Mattie down the alley to the nearest side street and then up to Jingle Bell Lane. I peeked around the corner to see what was going on. A great deal was going on. The section of the street in front of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures was full of police cars, blue and red lights flashing, and the sidewalk was packed with the nosy and the curious. Candy Campbell had been assigned to guard the door and she stood firm, feet apart, hands on her equipment belt, threatening scowl in place.

  One person spotted me standing at the edge of the crowd and pushed his way through.

  “Merry,” said Russell Durham, editor-in-chief of the Rudolph Gazette. These days, being editor-in-chief of a small-town local paper meant he was also the lead (i.e. the only) reporter and the head (i.e. the only) staff photographer. And, on occasion, the copyeditor, the advertising salesperson, the janitor, and the person who went on coffee runs.

  “I do not have a statement for the press,” I said.

  “Off the record then. What happened in there?”

  “A customer collapsed and was taken to hospital.”

  “Obviously not from natural causes, not with that much police activity at the scene. Were you there?”

  I made a face. “No. I was in the office. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “People are saying it’s a local woman by the name of Paula Monahan. Don’t think I know her. Do you?”

  “I don’t have time to talk. I’m expected at my parents’ house. Come on, Mattie.”

  Uninvited and unwanted, Russ fell into step beside me. “I’ll walk with you.”

  “If you must.”

  “I must. No one’s saying anything yet. Diane left a couple of minutes ago as chatty as usual. Meaning not saying a word. I shouldn’t have bothered trying to get a statement out of her. Seems I was in the wrong place. Sources told me that a couple of minutes earlier, your own Jackie O’Reilly was rushed out the back door and stuffed into a cruiser. Care to comment on that?”

  “Is Santa Claus using slave labor at the North Pole?”

  He blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

  “No, Santa Claus is not using slave labor at the North Pole, and no, I am not going to comment.”

  “Okay. What about the dead woman, then? Do you know why she was in your store?”

  I stopped walking. Mattie didn’t stop and I was jerked off my feet. Russ laughed. I glared at him, and he folded his handsome face into serious lines, pretending to be contrite. Russ was fairly new to Rudolph, having left his home state of Louisiana to work in New York City. His job in the Big Apple had not ended well, and he was looking for work when the position at the Gazette became available when the long-long-longtime owner and editor-in-chief finally decided to hang up his press badge and pack away the Underwood typewriter. Russ and I were friends, but I was well aware that Russell Durham was a newspaperman first and foremost.

  “Can’t you ask Candy what’s happening?” Russ and Candy Campbell had been an unexpected “item” at last year’s New Year’s Eve celebrations at the Yuletide Inn. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since I’d seen them together.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “First of all, it’d be more than her job’s worth if she talked to a reporter on the QT, and I assume you know that, and secondly, we’re not … we’re taking a break from each other for a while.”

  “Meaning you broke up. Sorry to hear that.”

  “It was … complicated,” he said.

  “Always is.” I wondered who’d instigated the breakup. Her probably. His reporter’s instincts meant he wouldn’t have been able to help himself from prying into police business. A woman can quickly get tired of a man if she suspects he’s using her for his own reasons.

  “To answer your question, I assume Mrs. Monahan came into my store to buy something, which is why people usually visit stores. I really do not know anything more.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to get to your parents’ house?”

  I started walking again, not quite as fast as I had been earlier. “Because I’m a good daughter. Don’t you visit your parents sometimes?”

  “Sure. When I’m in New Orleans. I don’t rush over immediately after I’ve been near-witness to a murder. I didn’t arrive on the scene until the ambulance had left, but plenty of people were keen to tell me all about it. Rachel McIntosh said she knows this Paula Monahan from the community theater group. I overheard her saying something I found very interesting.”

  I stopped walking. This time Mattie did too, and he took the opportunity to have a good sniff at the base of a fire hydrant. “Okay. I’ll bite. What?”

  “She said she was surprised someone had attacked Paula Monahan. She’d have thought it more likely whoever was responsible would have it in for Catherine Renshaw. Now, I just happen to know, seeing as how I’m the arts and entertainment editor at the paper, that Catherine Renshaw is the new artistic director of the community players. I also know, because Kyle Lambert wants me to pay him to go to the opening night of A Christmas Carol, so he can take pictures for the paper, that Jackie has a part in the play. And, I now know because I asked Rachel, that Paula Monahan was also in the play. And, most of all I know, because everyone in town knows, that your mother is heavily involved in this year’s production. You’re hurrying directly from the scene of the crime, allegedly, to your parents’ house. I put all those things I know together, and I’m beginning to suspect whatever happened to Paula has something to do with the theater group.” He gave me a huge, thoroughly charming, boyish grin.

  I was not charmed. I started walking again. “All those facts might be correct, Russ, but it doesn’t mean Paula’s death had anything to do with the group. She might have had plenty of enemies for other reasons. It might have been a random killing—a crime of opportunity.”

  “Do you think I should mention in the paper that a deranged serial killer is wandering the streets of our fair town seeking opportunities for murder?”

  “Maybe not quite put it like that. My mom will want to know what happened, so I’m going to tell her. Seeing as how my store is closed and I have nothing better to do for the rest of the day.”