Murder Under the Tree (3 page)

A gust of wind blew some snow into the foyer as I entered the house. I closed the door and went through every room on the first floor looking for Phil. I called up the stairs. No answer.

Soon he came in through the kitchen. “Kay, I put the boxes from the lights away. How was tea? Ready to get the Christmas tree?”

“You wouldn't believe it.”

We sat down on the sofa. I told Phil about the harrowing afternoon at the Christmas tea and about the police calling Marissa. Phil looked concerned. He rubbed my shoulders.

“Someone thinks he was murdered.”

“Any suspicious circumstances surrounding his death?”

“Well—”

Phil held a glint of utmost caution in his dark, brown eyes. “No! What am I saying? Don't even answer that! And, Kay, don't you think about getting involved in this!”

“Oh no, of
course
not. I'm not involved.”

“Good, because you've gotten involved before, in things that were none of our business.”

I put my arm through Phils and kissed his cheek. “Phil, don't worry, there's nothing to get involved about.”

Phil looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Let's go and get the tree. We can relax a while when we get home, before decorating it.”

As we backed down the driveway, I said, “I wonder who's going to be moving in next door.”

“We will find out soon enough. Kay, Dinesh called before you came home and said he discovered this woman at a karaoka bar last night who would be perfect for our band. She had a fantastic, jazzy voice. He took a video of her singing. He's bringing it to practice tomorrow morning.”

* * * *

The tree lot was where the farmers' market was held in the summer. The Christmas trees had been donated by a number of tree farms to help the community food pantry. They weren't the best trees I'd ever seen in town, but it was for a good cause. We looked through all of them, trying to find the best of the lot.

I saw Phil glance down at his watch. I returned to my task at hand of going back and forth between a few trees, trying to decide. Then in the distance I saw a light shine down on one tree in the corner, kind of like in movies, a light from heaven. Except this was a security light.

I walked over to the tree. “Phil, look at this balsam fir.”

“The branches are a little sparse.”

“I like it!”

“I suppose you'll never notice that underneath the hundreds of glass ornaments you always put on.”

We tied the tree on top the roof of our car and headed home. On the way, I thought about the joy this tree and Christmas would bring to our family and then thought about Les, hours earlier working on the retirement home's Christmas tree, and now lying in the morgue.

Monday, December 22

Winter Solstice

Many of our friends had taken off of work the week before Christmas. Lots of parties and events were planned. I put aside what happened yesterday at Hawthorne Hills to concentrate on the Christmas murder mystery party I was having that evening. Phil and I had decorated our tree into the early morning hours. Nothing like waiting until the last minute. I put the last strands of tinsel on the tree, then placed the Christmas angel at the top.

I glanced at my watch. Elizabeth would be here any minute to pick me up to finish our Christmas shopping. I probably shouldn't have even said I'd go this morning. I needed to make sure I had enough time to prepare for tonight.

Elizabeth was pulling up the driveway in her Volvo when I looked out the front window. I could see Deirdre in the front passenger seat. I put on my black wool coat, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and locked the door behind me. Walking down the steps, I glanced at the SOLD sign on Ted's lawn again. Who had bought Ted's house? I hoped our new best friends. Someone to bring needed diversity to Sudbury Falls. I had high hopes whomever it was, would make a better addition to our neighborhood.

On the way downtown, we told Elizabeth about the Christmas tea and Les' death.

“I didn't know him,” she said. “There wasn't anything in the newspaper about it this morning.”

“Too soon,” I said. “The autopsy wouldn't be done yet.”

Deirdre turned around and looked at me with a faint grin on her face. She then turned to Elizabeth. “What?” You don't know every man in Sudbury Falls?”

Elizabeth had a bubbly, energetic personality. She glanced at Deirdre and ran her hand through her short-cropped dark hair. “Well, I don't usually go looking for dates at the retirement home.” Elizabeth looked at me in the rearview mirror, her face full of freckles and smirked.

I smiled.

“I know, they're all really disappointed about that,” Deirdre quipped.

Elizabeth turned to Deirdre and said in mock anger, “Hey! I have my reputation to think about, you know.”

Deirdre shrugged. “I thought you gave up on that years ago.”

Elizabeth turned back to look at the road. “Very funny, Deirdre. I've got some standards.”

“You learn something new every day,” Deirdre deadpanned.

I groaned.

Elizabeth had married right out of high school when she learned she was pregnant. Having moved from foster home to foster home herself as a child, she wanted to keep her baby and give him a good home. Her escape from her oppressive husband came in the form of attending college and getting her masters degree in library science. After her son finished college and married, she divorced, and wanted the freedom she never had. She threw all caution to the wind, and went from one relationship to another. Before John, she had dated three men simultaneously.

Feeling the need to change the subject, I said, “Remember in our book club last month when we discussed
Catering to Death,
where the mayor was poisoned at dinner because he was an abusive husband?”

“Yes,” they both said, looking quizzically at me, wondering where was I going with this.

“Les looked like he was in great physical shape—”

“Now I really wish I had known him,” Elizabeth interjected.

“I assume you mean in the biblical sense.”

Ignoring Deirdre's comment, I said, “It probably wasn't a heart attack. Someone must have thought they had a good reason to kill Les. It had to have been the food.”

“But wouldn't others at the table have been poisoned, then?” Deirdre asked.

“I doubt there was a cupcake with Les' name on it,” Elizabeth said.

“But it was only poison to Les.”

* * * *

The sounds of Christmas came over the public address system in the streets downtown. Shoppers with hopeful expressions, meandered in and out of the stores carrying their packages in the near freezing air. Christmas still held an aura of magic with me. Deirdre and I stopped to gaze at the window displays at Goodman's.

Elizabeth glanced at the windows. “Well, I'll leave it to you girls to stare at Santa Claus putting candy in stockings, in this God-forsaken cold. I'm going to start my shopping. I need to find something for John.” Elizabeth hustled, not all that gracefully, in her heels into the department store.

This year's theme was “The World Celebrates.” Deirdre and I went from window to window viewing the mechanical movements of a family gathered around a table, lighting their menorah for Chanukah, a girl dressed as St. Lucia wearing a white dress and a crown of candles, and several others. I loved all the details.

Snowflakes started to fall by the time we entered Goodman's. Deirdre and I headed to the men's department where she wanted to look for a sweater for Mike.

“Kay, which sweater do you like best?”

I looked through the pile. “Oh...this green one is nice.”

“So do I...relaxing, peaceful, soothing, tranquil.”

“Deirdre, can't you just like the green sweater because you think it will look good on Mike? Does everything always have to be feng shui compliant? What if Mike looked great in a color that wasn't worthy?”

Deirdre gave me a blank look of incomprehension.

“Aw, forget it. Green's nice.”

Deirdre craned her neck around. “I need some stocking stuffers.”

“What about a book for Mike?”

“Or music. But which jazz artist? Who does Phil listen to?”

“Miles Davis, Wynton Marsalis, Blue Mitchell, Thelonius Monk....”

As I started rattling off musicians, I noticed Nancy Reinhardt, the director at Hawthorne Hills, walking in our direction. Her eyes met mine. She did an immediate 180 right where a huge wreath hung from the high ceiling of the store.

“Deirdre, did you notice Nancy Reinhardt—”

“Coming towards us and then turn away? Yes. Maybe she suddenly remembered something she had forgotten.”

“Or she wanted to avoid me,” I said.

Deirdre shrugged. “Maybe she's just bad at making small-talk.”

I nodded. I could believe that. She had all the personality of a jellyfish. And the sting.

Four kids raced past, in the direction of the toy department to where Santa was waiting. They brushed again us. Their mothers trailed behind and when they came up to us said, “Sorry, ladies. These kids...it's hard to contain their excitement.” I smiled, thinking of my boys when they were young.

We went downstairs to the music department. Deirdre looked through the racks of CDs and ended up buying a boxed set of Dave Brubeck.

Elizabeth walked towards us, juggling several bags and packages. It was hard to imagine her making it to the car without dropping some. “Ready to go?” she said.

“Elizabeth, I found some great gifts for Mike. Did you find something for John?”

“Well sort of. I bought this fabulous dress for my party tomorrow night.”

* * * *

After arriving home, I made a quick cup of tea, and started preparing for the mystery party. There'd be eight of us; I had invited only our closest friends. Having decided on the jazz theme so Phil and his two friends Mike, Deirdre's husband and Dinesh, who owned Gupta's New Delhi, would be interested, I sent out invitations two weeks ago. They read, “Come Dressed to Kill.” I figured this would be enough time for everyone to figure out their costumes and parts. Our dining room would be transformed into a private room at the Apollo Theatre, a jazz club in Harlem in the 1930s.

I covered the buffet table with crisp white linens, added two crystal candelabras, and eight vintage, rounded champagne glasses. Then I got busy in the kitchen making various canapés. Stuffed mushrooms, spanakopita, liver pate, cream cheese wontons, garlic shrimp, and such. Everyone could savor the cuisine, as clues were revealed throughout the evening. Probably Elizabeth would show up wearing long gloves for the finger foods.

For dessert I'd serve Death by Chocolate Cake. As I glazed some pecans over the stove, I thought back to Les. Both Marissa and Nancy denied the presence of nuts in the food at the tea.

I was in the dining room getting some serving platters out of the buffet when I heard the garage door open. I glanced at my watch. Four o'clock.

A minute later, Phil called out, “Hi, hon. I'm home.”

I walked into the kitchen. “How was your last day of school?”

“Great. I'm all yours for the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh really. You won't be practising for New Year's Eve?”

“Well, I'm all yours tonight.” Phil kissed me, then walked into the study to put away his bags.

All mine with three other couples coming to the party tonight...I didn't bother responding. Phil came back into the kitchen. “How about a glass of wine?”

“There's some Malbec downstairs. Get us a glass and you can talk to me while I cook.”

Phil came up from downstairs, poured us each a glass of wine. “Looking forward to this party, Kay. You came up with a great theme.” He helped himself to some pate and crackers. “Can I do anything to help? What time is everyone coming?”

“Six o'clock.”

“Maybe I'll go take a quick shower. Want to join me?”

I looked around the kitchen. “Phil, there's still plenty to do. Our guests are coming in less than an hour and a half.”

“Kay, relax. Clear your mind. Everything is under control.” He rubbed my shoulders, then gave me another kiss. After a hard day of shopping and cooking, I closed my eyes, savoring his touch. I leaned to kiss him again, but he had already taken his hands off my shoulders to pick up his wine glass. “You know where I am if you change your mind.” He ran upstairs, almost spilling his wine, I noticed.

I finished getting everything ready, glanced around one last time to see if I had forgotten anything. Then I went up to change into a dress I had ordered online from a vintage clothing company. It was a black crepe and silk faille cocktail dress with a wide waist sash. The hem fell below my knees.

Phil stood in front of the mirror, freshly showered and dressed, trying to slick back his short, graying hair. He had on a dark diagonal stripe double-breasted suit jacket and trousers. “You look handsome,” I said. Phil was of average height. He had developed a little paunch in the past couple of years, but I thought his face irresistible. It wasn't movie star handsome, but it had a jaunty appeal.

“This murder mystery's going to be great...trying to figure out who killed...whomever.”

I put a large rhinestone buckle on the sash of my dress. While Phil fastened my rhinestone choker, I thought back to just two months ago when I was solving a real life murder mystery. He wasn't interested in the slightest to those murders, but more interested in tonight's fake one. He had just said so twice. I finished putting on my earrings when the doorbell rang.

“I'll get the door,” Phil said, his voice full of excitement.

“Wait. I'll go down too. I need to light the candles and turn the oven on.”

I walked into the living room from the kitchen and saw Elizabeth, my every-dress-is-two-sizes-too-small-friend standing by the Christmas tree wearing a long, black backless dress. She had on a thick, glimmering rhinestone bracelet and a large rhinestone broach just below her clevage. John, by her side, had slick backed his curls over the top of his head, resulting in a waved look. Phil had their coats over his arms.