Ornamental Danger: a holiday short story (Working Stiff Mysteries) (4 page)

"When in doubt…spray paint it, fry it, or stick a bow on it!"
—
Ms. Maimie's way to handle everything at Christmas time.

Twenty minutes later, Ty was in my bedroom.

Sigh. In my bedroom.

As the thought sizzled through my mind, I reluctantly crossed it off a mental not-to-do checklist. My love life had been pretty much zero since I'd returned to town. There had been a sort of brief flirtation with a certain mystery man who'd been a constant presence in my life for a few insane weeks. But he'd disappeared as soon as the matter he was concerned with had been resolved. And I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since.

I wasn't sure if he'd be back, and the number of single men in this town who were datable was down to slim pickin's—as they say. I guess that was why everyone was so eager to see Ty and me get back together. Of course, the fact that I was suddenly giddy that he was standing in my bedroom just went to show you how desperate I was in this department.

He was bending over my bed, and I was trying not to be obvious about checking out his jeans-clad rear end. He stood up and turned around. I became very interested in the top of Pickles' head.

"Well, this really irritates me." Ty's words brought my eyes back to focus on him.

"Irritates you? Someone came in here and left this on my bed, Ty." The incredulity in my voice came out a little harsher than I'd intended.

"I know. That is a problem. But we were so sure that this was a crime of passion. And now we have to look at other motives."

I bit my lower lip then responded, "A crime of passion?" The words sounded weird to my ears, but I couldn't stop talking once I'd started. "Verna Strength was involved in a crime of passion? Gawd, I can't even get a date around here, and that little old lady—who I remember as utterly ornery—had a passion situation going on?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered over to where Pickles and I stood by the door. Pickles went to him and looked up at him with nothing less than blatant adoration.

Fickle Pickle
.

Ty rubbed the dog between the ears. I watched his hand in motion and tried to envision Ms. Strength in any kind of passionate situation that would lead to her death. The image of tobacco-chewing Coach Mulder flashed into my mind, and suddenly those sugary snacks I'd just eaten made my stomach clench.

"Are you suggesting that Coach Mulder killed Verna Strength in a jealous rage or something?"

Ty sighed heavily. "No, I'm not suggesting anything. I'm not even sure on the cause of death yet. Dr. C. won't have results for me until tomorrow. But I questioned Mulder, and he admitted to a long time on-again-off-again affair with Ms. Strength. He also admitted that she'd cut it off and he'd written her a letter that could be construed as threatening. But he also said that he loved her and would never hurt her. I don't know what to believe."

Again, my brain warred with itself to stop the images that threatened to form. "I just… I can't see them together."

"I know. But one thing is for sure. The coach wasn't here tonight planting this tree note. There were tons of witnesses at the tree farm before we picked him up, and we just let him go a few minutes ago. This was someone else."

"Great. Groovy. Fantastic. I just cannot seem to stay out of these things. I've been minding my own business, Ty. I just want to give Paget a nice Christmas. And now, I'm getting threats, and I'm having to do this Glitter Queen crap. Ugh. I need a drink."

Ty raised his eyebrows. "Mandy Murrin is going to imbibe. I thought you'd sworn off booze after you're little incident at O'Hannigan's."

I twirled my hair ends with one finger. He did have a point. Earlier this year I'd had my drink roofied, and I'd been quite sick. I'd steered clear since then.

"Well, I need a Shirley Temple or something. C'mon." I motioned for him to follow me down the hall, and we headed toward the kitchen. Ty sat at the table as if he was a regular visitor. And he had been, once upon a time.

He placed his hat on the table, and I followed with two glasses. I pulled a pitcher of cold, sweet tea out of the fridge and a bucket of ice out of the freezer. I filled the glasses, and we both drank in silence for a few seconds.

"So, the tree threat is about the competition, right?" I stated the obvious.

"I guess, Mandy. That makes the most logical sense. Someone wants that trophy, and they want you to pick the right house tomorrow night."

"And you're saying that the person who left that tree note killed Ms. Strength to take her out of the running?"

Ty let out a pent up breath and rubbed his eyes. They looked tired. I felt tired, and weirdly my appetite was back.

I pulled an apple cobbler with star shaped dough cutouts on top out of the fridge and served up two spoonfuls, sliding them into the microwave to warm them up. When it beeped, I added two forks to the plates and joined Ty at the table.

We ate and avoided eye contact.

"I promise I tried to stay out of this, Ty. Despite the Hoots, I'd planned to keep myself busy with work and Paget. I did not plan on a dead body being part of my holidays."

He swallowed a bite of cobbler and then stopped to look at me. "The Hoots? What's that? Is that something like Hooters? You're not going to get a third job down in Montgomery waitressing there are you?"

I smiled. I couldn't be sure, but I was pretty certain that he sounded jealous at the thought of me suiting up in a tank top and short-shorts and serving beer and wings.

"No, silly. When would I have time for a third job? The Hoots are what Ms. Lanier and Ms. Maimie are calling themselves these days. They are into the crime solving business. They want to know what happened to Ms. Strength. In fact, they had it narrowed down to three suspects earlier this evening."

"Really? Who were their suspects?"

I licked my fork and noticed his eyes following my tongue's movements. I returned the fork to the plate and stood to clear the table.

"Uh, let's see… Well, the coach was one of them. I wonder if they knew about the affair. If so, they certainly didn't tell me. One of them was Jenson Davies, and the other was Parker Caldwell or something like that. I don't know either of them."

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I doubt it could be Jenson based on Dr. C.'s estimate of the time of death. As far as I know, he's been over in Atlanta since Tuesday. He asked us to drive by his house on regular patrols to make sure no one was tampering with his decorations."

"Of course he did." I couldn't believe how insane this contest had gotten in the past few years. These people were nuts. I made a mental note to see a photo of this infamous trophy. It must be wonderful to possess.

"And Parker Caldwell, hmmm…I guess it is worth checking out. He works for the Presbyterian church."

"The church? Are you kidding me?"

"I kid not."

"Geez."

Ty's phone beeped, and he looked down at the display. "Yep. I need to get going now. Thanks for the snack." He downed the rest of the tea and then stood. Bringing his glass to the sink, he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Caught off guard, I flinched at little. He studied my face, and I couldn't stop the blush that attacked me.

Dang Irish heritage.

I thought I caught something flicker through his eyes, but then it was gone.

"I'll take the tree and note with me, and I'll let you know what I find out. Check all your doors and windows, and keep Pickles nearby tonight."

For lack of more words, I nodded. I thought about how Pickles had been here earlier and wondered if he'd caused any trouble for my intruder. I told Ty as much.

"So, I should look for someone with a dog bite then?"

"Well, if they brought food with them—maybe not a bite. But maybe some drool stains."

We both smiled.

"That should narrow down the suspect list immeasurably," he said over his shoulder as he strode down the hallway to my room to retrieve the tree.

Moments later, I watched him exit the kitchen and saw Pickles' eyes droop with sadness at the departure of one of his favorite people. That was when it occurred to me. The look that I'd seen in Ty's eyes—the look that he'd given me when I flinched from his kiss—it was sadness.

"I'm dreaming of a white-tail Christmas."
—
A Millbrook Christmas Carol

I survived the night with no further incidents. The next morning, Pickles and I made our way over to Ms. Lanier's for pancakes and sausage. We were greeted by an over-engergized Paget and Ms. Lanier, who wore hot rollers in her hair and a
Duck Dynasty
camo apron.

"Is it my poor eyesight or did I see Ty Dempsey over at your house late last night?"

I scrunched up my nose at her. This woman never let a single thing pass her by.

"Your eyesight is just fine. And, yes, he was there."

"Ha! Ha!" she cried and did a little shuffle step. "Maimie owes me twenty bucks."

"What? Why? You bet on Ty and me?"

"Yes, honey, the whole beauty shop has a pool going on when you'll hook up again. So, we'll have to see if anyone picked last night. Maimie and I had our own side bet going on, and that's why the twenty bucks is mine."

I gave her an eye roll. "Uh, sorry. There was no hooking up of any kind. This was a police matter."

The smile fell from her face, which was quickly enveloped with concern. "What? What happened? Are you all right?"

Paget too stopped smiling and began to rock back and forth from foot to foot.

"No. Not you. Don't get into a tizzy, Page. I'm fine. Everything is fine. Let's eat."

I gave Ms. Lanier a pointed stare, and she dropped the subject for now. It was best not to have these types of discussions in front of Paget.

We ate and listened to a Herb Alpert LP on the turntable positioned on the bookcase. No one spoke. After breakfast, Paget took Pickles to the living room to give him a good brushing. I helped Ms. Lanier clean up the dishes. That was when I filled her in on last night at the tree farm, followed by the mystery tree threat and Ty's visit. I also mentioned the whereabouts of one of the Hoot's prime suspects.

"Yeah, Maimie found that out last night as well. And I'd like to see this note that was left for you. I bet I can identify the handwriting."

"You can, can you? Have you been watching
CSI
again?"

She towel dried the frying pan and gave me a smirk. "Make fun, dearie. But I know the handwriting of everyone who works for the church, and if Parker wrote that note—I'll know it. He writes all the checks, and I insert them all into the church's benevolence cards."

"Wait a minute, this Parker is your other suspect? And he's the church treasurer?"

"Yes. Yes. He's a nut about this contest. He's been runner-up for three years straight."

I couldn't believe the lengths these people would go to. "Speaking of which, do you have a photo of this trophy? Why is it so coveted?"

She slung the towel over her shoulder and pulled a catalog from a drawer. "Here it is right here. We had to order another one when Verna fell on the other one and smashed it to smithereens. Maimie said she put a rush on it and just hopes it makes it by tomorrow when you announce the winner."

The ornament trophy was about seven inches high and five inches wide. It was clear crystal except for the painted-on green mistletoe with a red bow at the top. A carved figurine of a couple stood beneath the mistletoe in an innocent kiss with eyes closed and only lips touching. It was cute but not breathtaking.

"That's it? That's what they're fighting and threatening and maybe killing about?"

"Oh honey, it is not about the trophy. It is about what the trophy represents. The bragging rights for a whole year. It is kind of like the winner of the Iron Bowl. They practically make T-shirts about it around here."

The Iron Bowl was the annual end-of-season college football game where the University of Alabama and Auburn University battled it out for the state's football bragging rights. It was brutal, and fans were relentless. I suddenly understood.

"Okay, but what if Verna's death wasn't even about the contest? I mean, the threat on the tree backs that up, but what about Coach Mulder's letter to Verna? The crime of passion thing."

"Woo hoo!" Ms. Maimie's voice interrupted our conversation as she let herself in through the front door.

"Did I hear something about passion?" We grinned at her, and I gave her a hug. She and my Aunt Patty had been Vegas showgirls briefly a long time ago. And she was still the only woman over sixty whom I knew who still wore heels over three inches high on a regular basis. Today was no exception.

"Yeah, we forgot to tell Mandy about the coach and Verna," Ms. Lanier chimed in as she poured Ms. Maimie a cup of coffee out of an old-fashioned percolator from the stove top.

"Oh, yeah. All the men our age have been after her at some point. It was the boobs."

I coughed and got a little choked up on the orange juice I was gulping down. Ms. Lanier beat me on the back. I waived her off before she left a bruise.

"That's right. Verna had a set of knockers that would have given her a black eye if she'd been in Track and Field back in high school. Fortunately for her, I guess, she was always under the bleachers instead," Ms. Lanier added.

I gagged just a little but shook my head when Ms. Lanier lined up to do more back slapping.

"So, what do we think about Coach Mulder killing her over the break up?"

They looked at each other and shrugged.

"Tell her about your tree, Mandy," Ms. Lanier urged, and Ms. Maimie sat at the table waiting to be brought up to speed. I filled her in on the details and also shared my plans to attend the Nog & Nibbles party later that afternoon.

"Oh, we are totally going to that. There is no telling what gossip we'll pick up at that shindig." Ms. Maimie beamed at us. "Plus, I want to try what version of eggnog Suzette Granger has cooked up this year. She's a fiend when it comes to that."

I smiled at the Hoots. They could make me smile like no one else on earth. They may have been a tad crazy, but they were family.

*  *  *

The Nog & Nibbles was certainly the holiday event of the year, only to be beaten by the Christmas parade tonight, during which I would do the dreaded judging and wear a costume which made me look like I was starring in either a French musical or a French brothel. I wasn't sure which yet.

Everyone was at the Nog party when we arrived at the historic Smith-Byrd House. Paget skipped off when she saw her friend Adam's mother, who was a nurse and had become a sort of weekday caregiver for Paget during the school break. I waved across the room and then stopped when I heard Ms. Lanier and Ms. Maimie gasp in horror.

I soon saw the object of their dismay. A huge, poster-sized image of Verna Strength on an easel. According to the text at the bottom of the image, this event was in her honor.

The gaudy, over-sized poster brought back memories of standing over her lifeless body just two days ago. As a med student, I'd seen and worked with corpses quite often. But when you knew the person, it made all the difference in the world. Detachment was something much harder for me to reach these days.

"That is just terrible."

"What was she thinking?"

The Hoots were murmuring their comments, and I was surveying the room. The old home was beautiful. With antique crown molding and chandeliers overhead, it was straight out of the nineteenth century. I was taking my time absorbing the classy Christmas decorations of evergreen wreaths and dignified red ribbons when a loud, raucous laughter pulled me from my reverie.

"Mandy Murrin, our Glitter Queen everyone!" The voice was followed by its owner, a widely grinning Suzette Granger with huge gold clip-on earrings and a silk blouse that appeared to be two sizes too small.

Applause followed the announcement, and I felt a little queasy. Where were the snacks? I needed to calm my stomach.

"I'm so glad you could make it. Did you like the goodies I sent over?" She was talking right into my ear and grabbing me by the arm. "Welcome to my party, dear."

"Suzette, is stealing our little Hoot," Ms. Lanier said from behind me, but I'd already been swept into the lion's den.

As she dragged me across the room, right into a pit of bleached-blonde and white-haired vipers, I accidentally bumped into a young woman with large brown eyes. "Oh, excuse me…" I called out to her as I was shuffled past her.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but I couldn't hear her over the squawking, shrill voices. There was something about her that looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't have enough time to contemplate it.

Lots of strange, fake-smiling women encircled me. All talking at once. Pinching my cheeks or squeezing my arm. I wondered if I'd be covered in bruises before the night was over.

I heard names that I recognized from some of the bribery goodies and some that I'd never heard before. Soon, my friends were nowhere in sight, and I'd been pulled farther and farther away from the food table.

I thought I caught sight of Ms. Maimie's peacock colored hat near the food, but I couldn't be sure for all the white-toothed smiles in my line of sight.

"I'm not really making any decisions until tonight. Thank you for the goodies, but they won't factor into my decision. I'm sure your decorations are just lovely, but you'll have to wait until the festival to find out the results." I became a record on repeat, and those were my three standard comments spoken over and over again.

"Move it. Out of the way. You're going to suffocate her with your Avon perfume fumes." Finally, after what seemed like forever, Ms. Lanier elbowed her way through the crowd to rescue me. I'd never loved her more than I did in that moment.

"Thank goodness you saved me. I'm starving," I spoke into Ms. Lanier's ear as she guided me through the throngs of cackling old ladies and Millbrook Service Leaguers.

"C'mon girlie, Maimie and I have found something." Ms. Lanier pulled me into a small room and shut the door.

My stomach rumbled and started to revolt at the idea of more amateur investigating without a snack first. "Ms. Lanier, I really just want to eat and go. I don't think I can take another inquisition about the judging. And it is already after four, I have to get home and get ready for the parade and—"

"Sshhh…" Ms. Maimie gave me the finger-to-the-lips motion, and I stopped talking.

I looked around and realized that the small room was a bathroom. A large claw-foot tub sat in the corner. The brass faucet was accompanied by a small soap dish which held a burning candle. Several hand-sewn white linens hung above the tub. I was amazed to see an old-fashioned toilet with the tank extended on the wall above it, a hanging flush chain dangling nearby. Those were rare.

"What are we doing in the bathroom?" While impressed by the period-correct amenities, I was puzzled as to why the Hoots had saved me from the Mentadent-scented ladies only to drag me past the food and into the bathroom.

"Drink this." Ms. Maimie shoved a cup of something strong smelling in my hand. I sniffed it, cautiously. It smelled heavily of cream and alcohol.

"Oh, is this the nog?" I took a tentative sip. It was smooth and sweet, but the alcohol was heavy and potent. Then there was a flavor that I couldn't quite place. It was spicy and something interesting lingered on the back of my tongue. It was quite breathtaking and not at all unpleasant. I took another, larger sip. "This is strong. I'm definitely gonna need something to eat if I'm gonna finish this. It's good, though."

Ms. Maimie snatched it out of my hand before I could take a third sip. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Uh, no. You just took it from me. Can I have it back? And let's go hit that food table before all the good stuff is gone." I stepped toward the door and reached for the clear, crystal handle.

Ms. Lanier slapped my hand.

"Ow. What the heck?" I rubbed my hand.

"Mandy, wake up. That there is the stolen recipe. That's Verna's nog!" Ms. Lanier said in a furious whisper.

"What?" My brain was feeling a little woozy. That drink was stronger than I'd thought.

"Suzette Granger stole that recipe from Verna. She's the killer," Ms. Maimie said in a similar conspiratorial-toned whisper.

"Are you sure? How can you tell that is Ms. Strength's exact recipe?"

"Oh, honey. We've been trying to get that recipe from her for years. Everyone wants it. And Maimie and I have tried everything to duplicate it. There's just some ingredient we are missing. It's that spicy something that seems to hang around after you take a sip. Didn't you taste it? It's amazing, and there's only one person who can make that nog, and she's laying up dead down at Rideouts." Ms. Lanier ran it down for me.

"But…didn't you say that you searched her kitchen for the recipe after you found her dead? That day you called me over to the house and we found her? You said you looked for the recipe?" My brain starting putting pieces together despite my tiny buzz.

"That's right. And that can only mean one thing—Suzette Granger was there before us. She killed Verna Strength!" Ms. Lanier's voice went loud on that last line, and Ms. Maimie put her hand over her mouth.

"Keep it down," I said. "Let's not broadcast allegations out in her home and with all these gossipmongers around. We just need to give the information to Ty and let it be. There's no way to prove this case on eggnog alone. And what about the other suspects? Coach and his unrequited love. Or the mini Christmas tree and the note left for me?"