“Not that I noticed,” Mom said. “But your point is valid, Desmond. Again, Catherine, please tell us what years of experience you bring to show business that you know what’s better for this production than the rest of us.”

  Catherine glared at my mother. Next to me, Dad shifted uncomfortably. Simmonds had quietly melted into the woodwork, taking herself out of everyone’s line of sight. The uniformed cop hovered in the doorway.

  “And that,” declared Desmond, “is final. I want this production to be the best it can be. I want to expand it beyond the limitations of amateur theater. I want audiences to reconsider spending hundreds of dollars on trips to New York City and Broadway tickets, when they can get almost as good quality here at home. With none other than Aline Steiner as the Ghost of Christmas Past, singing Belle, leading the chorus, and being our musical director, I … I mean we can achieve that. We will have a suitable tenor as Marley. Which is where you come in, Dave.”

  Irene clapped her hands.

  My dad cleared his throat. “Must I remind you, Desmond, we don’t exactly have Broadway production money going into our sets. George and his team and I are doing the best we can but—”

  “But,” my mother said. “That is not under discussion at the moment. Detective Simmonds, I fear we’re taking up your valuable time with our petty little squabbles.”

  Simmonds stepped away from the wall. “Not at all. It’s been most interesting. I repeat my question: is anyone aware of any reason someone might have wished to harm Paula Monahan, or of any enemies she might have had? Inside or out of your company?”

  “You weren’t happy with her singing, Aline, were you?” Dave said. “At the last rehearsal you had words with her and took her aside for private instruction, otherwise known as a lecture on her inadequacies. Let’s be honest, Paula was pretty bad. Then again, she wasn’t the only one. We can’t all be up to the standards of a star of the Metropolitan Opera. I mean, isn’t that what you’re all saying? I get a minor part because I’m the one with professional experience and a half-decent voice. Would it have bothered you, Aline, if the musical parts of the production were a flop? Maybe some of your fancy opera friends are coming to see it and you don’t want to be embarrassed?”

  My dad stepped forward before I could. His beard bristled and his hair almost stood on end. “What do you think you’re saying?”

  Dave shrugged. “Just putting the idea out there.”

  “Well, you can stop putting it, or any other outlandish ideas you might have dreamt up, out there.”

  “If my mother killed everyone who offended her musical sensibilities, the world of grand opera would be a lot smaller.” Dave’s accusation was totally preposterous, and I attempted to lighten the mood. In that, I failed. Detective Simmonds was not laughing, and she had turned her intense stare onto my mother.

  “You are not helping, Merry,” Dad said.

  “That was then,” Dave said. “This is now. Sorry, Aline, but you’re not a star anymore, are you? Does that bother you? Are you worried about what your former colleagues might think?”

  “Now see here,” Dad said.

  Simmonds lifted one hand. “Shall we allow Mrs. Wilkinson to reply? Do you have anything to say to that?”

  “Aline,” Ian said, “is a highly valued member of our company, and we’re lucky to have her.”

  My mother smoothed her skirt. “Thank you, Ian.” She graced Dave with a radiant smile. “Considering I know nothing about Dave himself, other than he seems to think the ability to carry a tune without the necessity of a bucket excuses his considerable lack of acting talent, I assume he knows even less about me. So I will not grace his comment with a reply. Other than to thank him for his honesty.”

  Dave flushed and avoided everyone’s eyes. He swallowed the last of his drink. I figured Dad would not be offering him a refill.

  “You are here, Detective, to get at the truth,” Mom said. “I fear the truth is sometimes not pleasant, therefore a police investigation is not either. Apple carts are upturned and long-concealed secrets revealed. Now, I believe you were asking if anyone knows of someone who might have had a reason to do away with Paula.”

  Catherine leapt in quickly. “I hadn’t even met her before the first day I joined the group. And that was only a couple of months ago.”

  “I wouldn’t say she and I were friends,” Irene said. “We didn’t socialize, or have much to do with each other outside of the group.”

  The others said much the same. Paula had been a member of the company for several years, but had never made any close friends among them.

  “You’ll have to look elsewhere for your killer, Detective,” Desmond said.

  “I’ll do that,” Simmonds said. “I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions. Mrs. Dowling, you said you saw Jackie O’Reilly shortly before the police were called to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures earlier this afternoon. Is that correct?”

  “It is. We had a brief chat in Cranberry Coffee Bar. I was having lunch with a friend, and Jackie came in. She greeted me and said she was on her break from the store where she works.”

  “I’ll need a statement from you about that, please.”

  Irene blinked. “Why?”

  “Because I said so. Did anyone else see either Jackie O’Reilly or Paula Monahan in town today? Other than Merry, whose statement I already have.”

  “My wife did,” Ian said. “Rachel. She called me with the news and told me she’d been talking to Irene and Jackie at the coffee shop minutes earlier.”

  “Why are you asking about Jackie?” Catherine asked.

  Simmonds didn’t honor that question with a reply. “You were in Mrs. Claus’s yourself, earlier today, Mrs. Renshaw, were you not?”

  “Yes, I was. I assume Merry told you about that. I visited the shops on Jingle Bell Lane today, hoping they’d put our playbills in their window. I didn’t see Paula at any time, and I saw Jackie in the store, but not otherwise.”

  Officer Williams stepped forward. “I got hold of the principal at Rudolph High, Detective. She has access to staff records from her house, so she was able to give me Mrs. Monahan’s husband’s number.”

  “Good. I’ll call him from the car. Mrs. Dowling, if you’ll give me a minute.”

  Irene slowly stood up. “I don’t know how I can help you. I didn’t see anything.”

  “Perfectly routine,” Dad said. “You were in the area at the time so you might have seen something you don’t know the significance of.”

  “I’ll help if I can,” she said.

  “Before you go, Detective,” Ian said. “How did Paula die? You didn’t tell us.”

  “I didn’t, did I?” she replied.

  * * *

  “That is not a happy crew,” Dad said once everyone had gone.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Mom said.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “But not often. As has been said about academe: sometimes the lower the stakes, the worse the infighting. As if a month from now anyone will remember who played Scrooge and who played Marley.” She snorted and began gathering up glasses and mugs.

  “Ian will remember,” I said. “Dave will remember.”

  “Catherine and Desmond will never forget. Those two. Each of them could be marvelous in their own right. Desmond to direct to his heart’s content, and Catherine to organize everyone and everything. Put the two of them together, and it simply isn’t working.”

  “Catherine’s new here, but Desmond’s been around a long time,” I said. “Has he clashed with people before?”

  “I’ve not been involved with the company prior to this year, but I do hear things.” My parents began carrying the dishes into the kitchen, and I followed. Mattie lumbered to his feet, his tail thumping.

  “No one has openly challenged him before,” Mom said. “Catherine challenges him, and that can often be a good thing. Companies, professional as well as amateur, can get stuck in their ways. Clearly, in this case challenge is not inspiring Desmond to do better, instead he’s digging his heels in.”

  “Does he have a theatrical background?”

  “I believe so. He directed some off-Broadway productions, but his career didn’t progress very far, and he moved to Rudolph a few years ago. He told us some of his old theatrical friends will be coming on opening night to see the play, and he’s quite excited about it.”

  “What about Catherine? Why’s she so keen?”

  “She’s new to town. Wanting to make an impression perhaps. To find a place in her new community.”

  “She and her husband ran a multibillion-dollar company,” Dad said. “They started it from nothing and built it from the ground up. They recently retired and moved to a small town. They’re still in their sixties; young to find yourself on the shelf.” He hesitated. “As I well know.”

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. “You’re hardly on the shelf, darling. Sometimes I wish you’d slow down.”

  My dad had been mayor of Rudolph for many years. He was now not only the town’s Santa Claus, and that’s a far more vital role here than in any other community, but on the town council. He’s actively involved in many groups to do with the welfare of Rudolph and Rudolphites.

  “Back to Catherine,” Dad said. “My guess is she’s looking for something to do, some reason to feel important, and she doesn’t understand that the management skills needed to run a corporation or a chain of big stores aren’t the same as required when dealing with well-meaning volunteers.”

  “She’s brought some much-needed funds to the company,” Mom said. “As well as enthusiasm. Rumor had it they weren’t likely to last much longer. Long-timers were leaving, either through advancing age or boredom. Not enough new people joining. Ticket sales for last year’s production of Miracle on 34th Street were perfectly dreadful, putting the company in the red. Or so I’ve heard. Catherine’s paying for a lot of things out of pocket. Never mind specially selected table settings, I, for one, don’t come cheap.”

  “You mean you’re being paid?” I said. “I thought this was an amateur show.”

  “I’m appearing as an unpaid performer, same as the rest of the cast. However, I’m charging my regular rates for extra vocal lessons. Many of the children, and some of the adults, in the chorus are in my classes, and I’m giving them additional tuition specifically to prepare them for the play. Catherine’s paying for that. Not to mention Dave, who’s new to me, and who’s a perfectly acceptable tenor, although nowhere near the quality he would like to be.”

  “What about Paula and her son, Eddie, who plays Tiny Tim?”

  “Paula’s singing was hopeless, but she managed to get by in a sort of speak-singing style. That’s what I was attempting to coach her through. Her acting skills were more or less on par with the rest of the cast. As for her son, Eddie isn’t part of the chorus, and Tiny Tim doesn’t sing. I don’t know if he can or not.”

  “Never mind all that.” My Dad wrapped me in a big hug. “It bothers me that my girl was so close to a killing. If you’d been in that room …” His voice trailed off.

  I hugged him fiercely. Mattie rubbed his big body against my legs. “If I’d been in that room, it wouldn’t have happened. I’m sure of it. I know it wasn’t my fault. I’m allowed to take a break. But I still feel guilty.”

  “Richard and Lorraine came for dinner last night,” Mom said. “Lorraine brought an enormous cake, and we scarcely touched it. Why don’t you take the leftovers home?”

  Mattie’s warm soft fur, Dad’s hugs, Mom’s offer of (someone else’s) baking.

  What could be better?

  Chapter Seven

  I returned to Jingle Bell Lane, hoping the murder had been miraculously solved and I could open my store. Such was not the case. Most of the onlookers had dispersed, but Candy Campbell was still logging people coming and going through my doors. Cruisers and unmarked vans were still parked higgledy-piggledy on the sidewalk, ignoring the “no parking” instructions.

  “Any developments?” I said to Candy.

  “Not that I’m going to tell you.”

  Mattie sniffed at her pant leg. I believe you can tell a lot about a person by how they react to friendly dogs. Candy completely ignored him. Not easy to do considering he’s a solid hundred and fifty pounds of fur and slobber and sheer personality. Which sort of proves my point.

  She was dressed in her heavy winter uniform jacket with gloves on her hands, but a chill wind was whipping down Jingle Bell Lane. Candy’s cheeks were ruddy with cold, and when I’d spotted her she’d been bouncing on her toes and rubbing her hands together in an attempt to get warm.

  I peered past her shoulder. I could see people in white coveralls poking around my things. A section of the floor next to the center table had been marked off. “Did anyone say when they’ll be finished here and I can have my business back?”

  “Talk to the detective,” Candy said.

  “Okay. I will. Have a nice day. Come on, Mattie.”

  Candy cleared her throat. She shifted her feet. It must, I thought, get mighty boring standing here all day, doing nothing but watching other people doing the interesting things.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “The woman who died. They say she teaches at the high school. I didn’t recognize the name. After our time, I guess.”

  “Must be.”

  “She was involved in the local dramatic society.”

  “She was. They’re putting on the musical version of A Christmas Carol this year.”

  Mattie lost interest in Candy’s boots, and began sniffing at the sidewalk in front of the doors, no doubt wondering why we weren’t going in.

  “I’ve been thinking of joining. You remember I was in the dramatic society at school.”

  Vaguely.

  “I’ve always been interested in the stage. I considered acting as a career, but I decided on law enforcement instead. Much more important work, wouldn’t you agree, Merry?”

  “I suppose. I mean, yes. Important.”

  “I might like to join the local group.” More shifting of feet. “I’ve been asked to join, but at first I didn’t want to. Bunch of old fogies, putting on stale old plays. This year everyone’s saying Catherine Renshaw’s brought new life to the company. Shaken things up, provided fresh new ideas, bright new direction and focus. Not to mention lots of money. Too late for this year, but I might consider it for next. My singing is sort of out of practice. Do you think your mom would take me on as a student?”

  I wondered what Candy was getting at. Mom would take anyone who’d pay her substantial fees, show up to lessons on time, and not expect miracles. “If she has space in her schedule. Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I’ll do that. It would be nice to get my voice back in tune. Not that I’d consider singing professionally, of course. Law enforcement’s my passion. And so important.” She smiled at me. Her teeth chattered in the cold. “I suppose for some people selling Santa dolls and table settings is enough in life.”

  “It sure is cold, isn’t it? Can’t stand here chatting much longer. I’m glad I can take the afternoon off. I’m thinking of heading home, turning the heat up, slipping into my warmest jammies, putting my feet up, and relaxing with a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with a mountain of fresh whipped cream.” I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. “Come on, Mattie. Our work here is done.”

  I walked away, the dog trotting at my side.

  Okay, I shouldn’t have responded to a dig with a dig. But somehow, deep down inside, we’re all still high school kids at heart.

  Mattie and I didn’t get far. Margie Thatcher came out of Rudolph’s Gift Nook so quickly she must have been watching for me.

  As one of the town’s fathers, my dad’s motto is everyone in Rudolph works for the benefit of everyone else. Meaning, when one business does well, all businesses do well. Margie, and her sister Betty who ran the store before her, didn’t appear to have gotten the memo. At least not as it affected the relationship between the Nook and Mrs. Claus’s Treasures.

  She stepped in front of me. Five foot one of bristling hair, small angry eyes, and righteous indignation. “You again! More trouble at your ridiculous, overpriced store. Merry Wilkinson, you attract the worst sort of attention. I won’t put up with it any longer. It’s not enough that you’re closed—again—for a police investigation.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of Candy Campbell, who was no doubt watching the altercation with much interest. “But people are avoiding my store because of it. I’m taking my issues to the business bureau. This time, finally, I’ll see you shut down.”

  I stepped to one side and said, “Good luck with that, Margie. I’ll let my dad know about your concerns.”

  “And that,” she declared, “is the problem with this entire town. Nepotism run amok.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  I tried to put both Margie Thatcher and Candy Campbell out of my mind as I walked. But that meant I was thinking about the death of Paula Monahan instead. Which reminded me that Jackie’d been taken in for questioning. When I got home, I’d give her a call. Hopefully Detective Simmonds had realized she’d made a mistake and sent Jackie on her way.

  Mattie and I walked out of town in companionable silence. He sniffed at trees and fire hydrants. It was coming up to five o’clock, night was quickly falling, and the lights on the big tree in the bandstand had come on. Nearby houses glowed with holiday decorations. Despite the cold, the playground in the town park was busy with swinging, running, shouting children and watchful parents. Two elderly women, bundled up against the weather, sat on a blanket-covered park bench, watching the activity with gentle smiles on their faces. A banner had been strung across the front of the bandstand announcing the run of the play.

  In its nineteenth- and early twentieth-century heyday Rudolph had been an important Great Lakes port. Ship owners and industrialists built grand Victorian mansions for their large and prosperous families. Then the shipping moved away, as did industry and young people, and like towns all along the lakes, Rudolph slowly began to die. Taking advantage of the town’s name, largely under the influence of my father, Rudolph remade itself into a Christmas destination. The town’s thriving once again, but not well enough for those grand old houses to return to their former glory. I lived in one half of the upper floor of one of them.