Murder on Parade (2 page)

“Go,” the chief said. He is not slop to make decisions.

I handed Blue’s leash to Alex and took off at a sprint. Nothing was bringing the Grand Marshall back, but we needed to get his body off the sidewalk. The crowds were already beginning to murmur and the parade was having to detour around the Silver Cloud and some of the larger vehicles actually imperiled the fenders of the very expensive car.

The jingling bells on the approaching horses’ harnesses were not so cheerful now. In fact they sounded annoyed. I wondered if the chief would get back in the car and finish the parade. I thought not, but he would send the driver on. That would be a little macabre, having an empty car, but what else could they do?

It began to snow as I pushed politely through the masses on the courthouse stairs which afford a slightly distant but clear view of the street. The first flakes were fat and lovely. I could hear children laughing by the manger, unaware that anything had disturbed their parents. But the adults, already upset at the intrusion of death into their night out, began to gather their families and hurry away down side streets that led to their snug houses and cars. It was a shame about the parade and the caroling scheduled after, but in terms of moving the body, it made things easier if people went home.

I ran by the animals in the nativity set up in the park on the east side of the building. They looked unhappy out there in the cold, but I wasn’t worried about them since their owners were nearby and the fairground stables were large enough to accommodate the whole manger and any parade horses whose owners were worried about pulling trailers home in a snow storm. Dad had arranged an evacuation plan to cover just this eventuality. My father was bad at paperwork, but he took animal welfare to heart which was why he was always involved in the parade.

There was no reason to think that anything else bad would happen that night. No reason at all. But I kept glancing back over my shoulder, certain I heard ghostly footsteps dogging me.

Chapter 2

From the top of the hill, the swirling snow made the town appear a shining ghost of Christmas past, perfect enough to be on the Victorian Christmas cards they sold at Mundorf’s. Void of cars and lit by candles and lanterns, it was a thing of beauty and reminded me of the snow globe on my end-table. It seemed impossible that death could have violated the perfect peace, but already the candles along the parade route were going out, dowsed by snow and wind and unhappy visitors who wanted to snuggle by a fire. It also seemed likely that the festive shop windows would soon go dark. No one would be out shopping tonight with the storm coming on.

Though I kept running to do the chief’s bidding, what I wanted more than anything was to go home and bake cookies and then sit in front of the fire with Alex and Blue and the cats. We could watch the Muppet’s Christmas Carol or listen to some Nat King Cole. We would not think about death.

The station was brightly lit, an oasis in the cold that hurt my lung and eyes. I didn’t stop inside though. My cart was located quickly in the covered lot but the battery was only about one-third charged. I checked the other one, but Jeffrey’s was in a worse state. I didn’t like cutting it so close, but I was sure it would get me to the hospital, since it was all downhill. But not back again. Someone would have to fetch the cart and recharge it later. Not that it would matter for the next day or so. Even with our snowplow working overtime, the flurry would keep most people home. The hardy— or foolhardy— ones would sled, hike or ski to their destinations.

The crowds had thinned by Lawyers Row and I was able to get back to the chief and Alex and Blue in only about fifteen minutes. They all looked happy to see me. Dad was there, too, with Luke tied to a lamppost a few feet away. The horse’s twinkle lights were no longer flashing and he looked moderately happier. Dad waved at me as I approached and then mounted back up. He looked at home in the saddle.

“I’m going to organize the convoy to the fairgrounds. We’ve got to get those animals in out of the storm before the roads are closed down. The poor chickens are almost buried already,” he explained.

I could believe that; the snow was piling up quickly. The weathermen had missed this one. The storm was far worse than predicted.

“Thanks, Henry,” the chief said. There could have been bad blood between them since the chief was dad’s replacement, but the two of them had always gotten along. They were both that rarest of species, grown-up men who put their community ahead of their egos.

I waved at Dad and tried to smile, then looked down at the corpse who would be hitching a ride with me. Dillon’s luxuriant nasal hair was collecting snow and his upper lip had an icy mustache. Someone had closed his eyes and mouth, but he still looked very dead. I also noticed that he was wearing only a light-weight sport jacket in hunter green and no gloves.

“Where’s his coat?” I asked as the doctor closed his cell phone and rejoined us.

“In the car. Which has gone on ahead.” The chief said and then looked at me sharply. “Does it matter?”

“Well… it’s cold.” I waved a hand at the chief’s long wool coat and then at Alex’s parka. “Why isn’t he wearing a coat?”

“He said he was feeling hot and took it off before the parade started.” The chief’s brows drew together. I knew he was kicking himself for not asking the real estate developer if something was wrong.

“That would be normal before a heart attack. If he had a heart condition, this sudden cold could be what stressed his heart. Did he mention any pain?” the doctor asked.

“No, but he was indigested and breathing hard. He has a roll of antacids in his right pocket.”  The chief looked at the sky and got a face full of wet flakes. “Let’s get him in the cart and off to… where, doc?”

“The hospital. Let’s do it by the book. They can pronounce him there.”

“Okay.”

A silent Alex handed me Blue’s leash and then helped the chief and the doctor load Dillon into my cart. There was no room for the body to rest on the horizontal so he had to sit beside me. I found the indignity to be distressing, though Herb Dillon was beyond caring about such things. I thought about volunteering my car blanket to cover him, but that would look worse. Shrouds shouldn’t be made of bright red plaid.

“Chloe, I hate to ask this of you, but you know how to handle the cart better than anyone here.” We both stared at the corpse, slumped in the seat where Blue usually sat. Only the shoulder belt was holding him upright. The gardenia smell was still in the air and since we were alone now and I knew that the living among us did not wear gardenia perfume I was forced to admit that it was the Marshall who smelled so pungently.

I swallowed hard. “It’s okay, chief. I’m the lightest. We only have a one-third charge on the batteries and it may matter. The cold drains them really fast.  Just strap him in tighter, okay? Greenvale is steep and I don’t want to lose the body.” I turned to Alex. He was still wearing his knit elf hat. It was hard to resist the urge to step into his arms when I knew he wanted me there. “Can you bring the car to the hospital? I don’t think the charge will get me back to the station since it is all uphill. Chief, can you…?”

“I’ll take care of it. And don’t worry about coming to work tomorrow, Chloe. I think you are Jeffrey are getting a couple days off.”

I nodded. There was no more delaying. It took Herculean effort but I made myself climb in the cart. The corpse crowded me but I didn’t shove him away. Blue came over to say goodbye and I allowed myself a moment to pet her with my waxy mitten. I had spilled the candle wax when we were running to the car. Candles— I just don’t like them.

Alex leaned over and kissed me. I saw his nose wrinkle as he, too, smelled the perfume that surrounded the body in an invisible cloud. Alex is not fond of scent, especially heavy florals.

“Drive carefully,” he said because he was feeling constrained by circumstances and company. Alex and I had some unfinished business. While visiting for Thanksgiving, he had (accidentally) declared his love for me and I had (impulsively) been double-dog-dared into declaring mine too. Shocked back into caution by the spoken words, we had yet to discuss the matter. Putting it off had been easy while he was down in Silicon Valley, but now that he was back in Hope Falls the subject was bound to come up again.

“Go with Alex,” I said to Blue who was looking anxiously at the body in her seat. “I’ll be home in no time and we’ll have hot chocolate and cookies, okay?”

Unless Dad needed help with moving the animals. I really hoped that he didn’t. I was dressed warmly, but a terrible cold was creeping into my bones. Maybe it was dread of my own mortality or a premonition of things to come, but I blamed it on the storm because I didn’t want anything unpleasant to happen three days before Althea’s wedding and four days before Christmas.

Chapter 3

As I walked in the door of my bungalow I was rushed with the smell of evergreen and stopped for a moment with eyes closed to enjoy the safe smell. Blue and Alex also sighed contently, glad to be out of the cold. Blue doesn’t really like the snow much, but of course she came to the hospital with Alex. No way would she rest while I was out in the night, possibly grappling with a dead body.

Actually, I hadn’t had to grapple. Thanks to the doctor and decent cell reception, there had been orderlies waiting at the hospital to get Dillon out of my cart. They had chuckled and made jokes about the body that were in poor taste, but I didn’t scold. I just wanted the gardenia-scented corpse out of my vehicle.

There was just enough charge left to get the cart into the parking garage. I had my choice of spaces and parked far enough inside that blowing snow would not bury the open cart. All non-essential employees had left and no one was getting to the hospital that night unless it was on a snow mobile or in a helicopter. I had never felt quite so alone as I did in that echoing cement box and had a bad moment when my imagination suggested that everyone had been taken in The Rapture and I had been left by myself in the storm. It shows you how I was thinking that night.

Fortunately for my nerves, Alex was waiting for me at the base of the hospital driveway. He had wisely decided not to risk the car on the steep switchbacks that led to the ER. I hadn’t taken the cart that way either. It was narrow enough to use the gentler handicap ramps and then to cut through the lawn which was dead anyway.

The urge was still strong to bake cookies, but I realized that Alex and I needed to eat some real food. We were strung out on popcorn and cider and needed some protein in our frozen, sugar-ridden bodies. So I began cooking while Alex toweled Blue, fed the animals and got the fire going.

I know I should watch my sodium intake, but unless mom is around to complain I cook spaghetti in water that would make the Dead Sea cringe. Alex likes my spaghetti Bolognese, which is good because it is one of the few dishes I can do well. I’m a baker, not a cook.

Alex turned on the news with the volume way down. We were both morbid enough to wonder if the Grand Marshall’s death had made the news at nine and it had. There had been video crews filming the parade, gathering happy images for the next day’s six o’clock news hour. This time they got more than bargained for. I paused for a moment, wondering who the elf was kneeling by the body and realized it was me. I would have to suggest to Alex that we not go out in public in matching red and green stocking caps.

I groaned softly and turned back to the stove. I could still hear the voices though.  Gone was all chance of talking about the pleasant parts of the parade, like how the service organizations had raised enough money to cover January’s expenses. The sensational and speculative wins over wholesome and cheerful every time. I sometimes think that news people don’t much like the holidays unless it is for all the fires that are caused by candles and faulty Christmas lights.

Frankly, I am a little shocked by how many people say they hate the holidays in general. Everything they do in December, they do grudgingly and make sure to complain about it. They somehow overlook that Christmas is supposed to be the season of peace on Earth and goodwill toward all men. All the rest— the decorations and fruitcakes and music— is optional. I bake because I like it and because I love to share food with my friends. But I know many people don’t like making Christmas cookies— and they shouldn’t bother if it makes them miserable. It isn’t like the world will end without more sugar cookies (though mine are especially delicious).

Like the rest of the world, I find last minute Christmas shopping to be frustrating. So I don’t do it last minute. And I don’t go to the mall because it makes me claustrophobic.

More importantly, loving— or at least tolerating— family was one of life’s highest callings (which was why I had agreed to be Althea’s maid of honor in spite of better judgment) and at Christmas especially one should be merry withal in one’s labors. Or something like that. As Mom points out every year when Aunt Dot starts grousing, nowhere in the Bible does it command us to go forth to the mall and shop ourselves into debt. Nor does the Bible tell us to risk life and limb putting plastic Santa sleighs on our roofs or to drink eggnog and eat fruitcake until we burst a gall bladder. My folks had a rule while I was growing up; refuse if you must, but once you agree to do something for someone, you do it without grousing. I try to live by that but I guess a lot of the rest of the world doesn’t.

Some people just don’t know how to be happy.

Right on cue my cousin called and I abandoned my ideals of tolerating family. I knew who it was and what she wanted even before I heard her voice. My cousin always calls after counseling. Dale and Althea were doing pre-marriage counseling with Father McIlhenny. I personally doubted that it was doing them any good. My cousin and her groom are two of a kind and probably completely incomprehensible to the Ecclesiastical mind, especially Father McIlhenny who was the soul of kindness and charity and never had a bad word to say about anyone.

Althea also always watches the nine o’clock news for the crime report and she was probably pleased as punch that the Grand Marshall was dead. She would be seeing his death as a judgment upon him for denying her a chance to read her ghastly poem. By tomorrow she would have her sorrowful expression fixed in place, but tonight she would have her claws all sharpened and be ready to tear the dead man to shreds, and as her maid of honor I was deemed the proper audience for her verbal dismemberment.