Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen (15 page)

She hurried over to the main table and ran a well-manicured, red-tipped finger across Rudolph's nose. “Russell, this is perfect. My mom will absolutely love it. She collects tacky Christmas things.”

“If you want tacky,” Jackie mumbled, “there's always the Nook.”

L
ater that afternoon, Sue-Anne Morrow bustled into the shop. “How marvelous of Fergus to get people talking about Rudolph in a
good
way,” she said.

“It was,” I agreed.

“And how convenient that Russell happened to have a sympathetic
New York Times
reporter ready to pop down and do a feature.”

“We're all supporters of the town,” I said.

She peeled off her gloves. “And that's the wonderful thing about Rudolph, isn't it, Marie?”

“Merry.”

She tittered in embarrassment. “How silly of me to forget. It was, I'm sure, your father who talked Fergus into getting out the float. And that Twitter campaign. Such a marvelous idea. Fergus would never have come up with something so clever, so modern, on his own.”

“It was his daughter's idea, I was told.”

She waved her left hand. The giant square-cut diamond caught the lights from the Douglas fir and threw off sparks of green and red. “Noel, being modest again, I suspect. Everyone knows that Fergus couldn't come up with an original idea if his life depended on it.”

“Can I help you with anything?” Jackie said.

Sue-Anne glanced around the shop. All my beautiful things, beautifully displayed. I liked to think my shop embodied the spirit of Christmas in one room.

Christmas doesn't mean things—decorations and toys, no matter how lovely they might be—it's about family and community, about hope for the return of the sun and the eventual arrival of spring, and celebration of the arrival of the Christ child. But what's a celebration without showing off a little? Without trying to make your house and home as pretty and welcoming as it can be? At Mrs. Claus's Treasures, we allowed people to do that.

“This is such a lovely store.” Sue-Anne ran her fingers lightly over a display of glass balls. “Too bad you don't have any customers.”

“We were busy earlier,” Jackie said.

“As busy as you'd expect to be, this close to Christmas?” she asked.

Jackie and I exchanged glances. I had to admit, not.

“Fergus's stunt today was too little, too late,” Sue-Anne said. “Reservations are down at the hotels and inns. People are cancelling at the restaurants. What do you expect after a guest to our town, a prominent guest, died after eating a piece of gingerbread at a Santa Claus party?”

“Vicky didn't . . .”

“Yes, yes. I am well aware that Victoria didn't deliberately poison that cookie. Or, at least, that's what the police have concluded. But it doesn't matter, Merry, don't you see? Not once the news got spread far and wide. We needed strong leadership the minute the news got out. A powerful response in defense of our town. And what did we get? Fergus Cartwright cowering behind his curtains, waiting for the storm to pass.

“A strong mayor would have made an immediate show of calling the media. He should have done something the very next day. He should have invited reporters from all the local and state papers to Rudolph. A strong mayor would have served them all gingerbread cookies. After taking a big bite for the cameras first.” She snorted. “But we all know that Fergus is not, and never has been, a strong mayor.”

“He's doing stuff now,” Jackie said.

“Like I said, too little, too late. But don't give up hope yet. Your father, Merry, has some more tricks up his sleeve, I've no doubt.” She sighed heavily. “I only hope Fergus knows what an invaluable resource he has in Noel. Although I doubt it. Fergus can be too fond of doing things his own way, if you know what I mean, and too quick to disregard advice, no matter how good, if it doesn't align with his thinking. Oh, well, I must be off. I'll come back next week to do some of my own shopping.”

“You should get what you like now,” Jackie said. “Most of our stock is individual artisan pieces, and when they're gone, they're gone.”

What I think of as The Look settled over Sue-Anne's carefully made-up face. The look of someone finding
themselves trapped by their own words. In retail we know that
I'll come back later
means
get me the heck out of here
. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but I've come out without my pocketbook. Silly of me.”

“I'm sure Merry will be happy to extend you credit, Sue-Anne,” Jackie said. Her own face was set into serious lines, but nothing could hide the twinkle in her eyes. Jackie was having fun. She was an expert at turning The Look into a sale.

“No. No. I wouldn't think of it. I want no favors.” Sue-Anne lowered her voice and leaned forward. Jackie and I bent our heads into the circle. How could we not?

“I have been undecided for a long time,” she whispered, “about taking the plunge and declaring my intention to run for the office of mayor. When I realized how badly Fergus has handed this . . . incident . . . my mind was made up for me. My phone's been ringing all week with people begging me to run. I hope you'll remember our chat today at election time, Merry and uh . . .”

“Eleanor,” Jackie said.

“And you, too, Eleanor. Merry, your father's support would be invaluable.” Sue-Anne pulled her gloves on. “Now, I really must run. I want to check on the other shops, see how everyone's doing. Give them moral support.”

She sailed out the door with a wave of her fingers.

“Eleanor?” I said to my shop assistant.

“I was going to say Clementine, but that might be going too far. It doesn't matter, she's forgotten my name already.”

“Are you going to vote for her?”

Jackie shrugged. “I don't vote. Waste of time. It's almost six. Are you leaving?”

“In a minute. What do you know about Sue-Anne?”

“Me? Nothing. Almost nothing.”

“She's not local,” I said. “She moved here when I was in Manhattan. Where does she live?”

“Not far from you. Willow Trail, I think. Somewhere near the lake, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“She's married, right? Any kids?”

“Yeah, she's married. No kids, far as I know. Her husband doesn't get out much. At least he's never seen around. It's rumored he has no political smarts, so she keeps him out of sight. Chained to a wall in the basement, probably.”

“Do most people know Sue-Anne's thinking of running for mayor?”

Jackie's eyes glinted. “That's why I never vote. They're all such hypocrites. All that stuff about people begging her to run, and being forced to make a decision. She's been hinting so loudly for months, she might as well hang a flashing sign around her neck: ‘Sue-Anne for mayor.' She'll be back, all right, and she'll buy something, too. Probably right in the middle of our biggest crush of the year so we don't notice that, after making sure everyone knows she's here, she buys an ornament for a dollar ninety-nine.”

“We don't sell any ornaments for a dollar ninety-nine.”

“Whatever. You get the point.”

“I do.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten to six. Crystal would be here soon to help Jackie staff the store until closing at nine. I was looking forward to a hot bath, a thick robe, warm slippers, a good book, and an early bedtime. Tomorrow was going to be a heck of a day. I had to open the store at nine, and we would remain open until midnight. Jackie
and Crystal would be here in the afternoon and evening to help, but I was facing a solid fifteen hours on my feet.

The mere thought of it made me yawn.

“Early night?” Crystal asked as she came in.

“I must be getting old,” I said. “It's six o'clock and all I want out of life is a bath, a book, and bed. The three
b
's.”

“You are old.” Crystal unzipped her coat. She was one of
those
people: so talented and intelligent they didn't sometimes realize that not everyone wanted to hear their heartfelt opinions.

“Yeah,” Jackie piped up. Now she, on the other hand, always knew exactly what she was saying. “Old and responsible. Ugh.”

“I'll be at home if you need me.” I headed for the back to get my own coat. “But it had better be an emergency with a capital
E
.”

My phone beeped with an incoming text. I pulled it out.

Russ:
Reservation at A Touch of Holly for seven. Meet you there.

I groaned.

“Something wrong?” Crystal asked.

“An appointment I forgot,” I said.

She peeked over my shoulder at the phone in my hands. I jerked it away, but I wasn't fast enough.

“An appointment!” she squealed. “Merry has a dinner date with the hottest guy in Upstate New York and she calls it an appointment.”

“You're going out with Alan at last?” Jackie said. “Good.”

“Not Alan,” Crystal said, “Russ Durham.”

“You think Russ is the hottest guy? No way. Alan is.
After my Kyle, that is. But I'm thinking of men more Merry's age.”

I left them arguing over the merits of men “Merry's age” versus the younger ones they dated, and went home.

I couldn't believe I forgot all about dinner with Russ. I couldn't believe I wanted to go home and have a bath before crawling into bed rather than eat at the best restaurant in Rudolph with the “hottest guy in Upstate New York.” I had less than an hour to get home, walk Mattie, shower, and dress for an evening out. I broke into a run.

I tended to Mattie before leaping into the shower. What to wear, what to wear. When I lived in Manhattan, I'd bought plenty of clothes suitable for dining at good restaurants, but I didn't want to look like I was putting on airs. I also didn't want to look as though I was deliberately dressing down to fit into Rudolph.

I tossed clothes onto the bed.

No one would ever accuse my mom of dressing down. Then again, I am not my mom.

I held up a sleek black linen dress. Nah, I had to wear something that would go with boots. I hate carrying my shoes in a little bag. The dress joined the pile of discarded garments on the bed. Mattie watched the proceedings with a tilt to his head and a question in his eye. He hadn't realized yet that he was being abandoned once again. When he did, the question would turn to a look of pure heartbreak.

I finally decided on black slacks with a blue and green jacket over a black silk shell. I could wear that outfit with my ankle boots. I debated between a chunky green necklace or a green and blue scarf, and decided on the scarf in
case the restaurant was chilly. I applied a light coat of pink lipstick and dusted some blush across my cheeks. I studied myself in the mirror, gave my black curls one last fluff, and decided I'd done the best I could with what I'd been given by God and my parents.

By the time I got to the restaurant, Russ was waiting. He spotted me as I came in, and his face lit up. He got to his feet as I crossed the room.

“You look lovely,” he said. He moved in close, helped me slip off my coat, and handed it to the hostess.

I mumbled my thanks at the compliment. His physical presence seemed to fill the room. I was aware of the closeness of him, of the scent of aftershave and male hormones. He wore close-fitting tan trousers, a crisp open-necked white shirt with a thin blue stripe, and a black jacket. The jacket stretched over the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. He fixed his hazel eyes on me and smiled. My heart raced.

“Madam?” the hovering waiter said.

I dropped into the offered chair. Russ rounded the small table and took his own seat. My heart settled back to something resembling its normal rhythm and I found that I could breathe again.

I leaned back to allow the waiter to place the menu in front of me. The place was about half-full. The lights were low, and a single candle in a glass bowl burned on our table. The table was covered in a cloth of starched white linen, the napkins matched, the flatware was silver. Wine and water glasses sparkled in the clear, soft light.

“Shall I order a bottle of wine?” Russ asked. “Neither of us are driving anywhere tonight.”

“That would be nice,” I said. Then, just in case he had ideas about sleeping over at my house, I asked, “Where do you live, anyway?”

“East Street. Not far from the lake.” Walking distance from downtown.

I unfolded my napkin.

We chatted comfortably about life in Rudolph and our past lives in New York City. He'd been with one of the smaller city papers and when the paper was bought by a multinational the usual round of layoffs began. Russ wasn't let go, but he figured the writing was on the wall, and so he started looking around.

“Newspapers are dying everywhere. Those that aren't closing shop are being bought out or implementing efficiencies, whatever that means. I got a tip about the editor in chief job at the
Gazette
coming open. One of my dad's old friends had owned and run the paper established by his father for almost forty years. He had one heart attack and made noises about cutting back on his workload, but the second attack forced him to listen to his doctor. He wanted to keep the paper in the family but hand over the day-to-day running of it. Some of the longtime staff, I knew because my dad had told me, weren't too happy at an outsider coming in, but my dad thought it was a good idea. The newspaper world was changing, and fast, and the
Gazette
needed someone who'd bring new ideas and a fresh way of doing things. Not the sort to say, ‘But we've always done it that way.'”