Murder Under the Tree Page 2

  We got into the car. “You'll feel better once you get home. Wrap up in a warm blanket with some hot chocolate. Do your relaxation exercises. I'm going to meditate.”

  I looked at Deirdre and smiled. “More like a glass or two of wine.”

  Deirdre turned the corner in the direction where the ambulance had come from. “I didn't get a chance to eat anything. How about stopping in at Marissa's for a bite before going home?” Deirdre asked.

  “No. I don't think so. I should get home...well...maybe. It might do me some good.”

  “The Ginseng Capital of the World” sign over Main Street was outlined in twinkling white lights. All of the downtown businesses had lighted trees in front of them. Deirdre pulled into a parking spot in front of the patisserie. A large wreath hung above the garland that bordered the door. I looked at Marissa's window display of her luscious pastries. It rendered anyone who walked by helpless.

  Sweet Marissa's Patisserie was my “home away from home.” I loved coming here with Deirdre and our friend Elizabeth once or twice a week to sample the shockingly rich pastries. The patisserie came with risks though...to my waistline. Being tall, about five feet nine inches, I had the kind of curvaceous figure that was yearned for in the Renaissance times.

  When Deirdre got out of the car, she automatically glanced down four storefronts to where her new holistic herbal shop, Planetary Herbals, would be opening on the Spring Equinox. She planned to give the shop a New Age feel and hoped to add a small tearoom in the future putting a different spin on hers than Marissa's. Tea leaf readings, casting horoscopes, and tarot cards. I wondered if all that stuff would be accepted in Sudbury Falls. At least the tea room sounded promising.

  Marissa smiled and greeted us when we came in. “Hello, Kay, Deirdre. You just missed Elizabeth and John by about fifteen minutes.”

  Elizabeth was the third in our close trio of friends. The temperatures had become too cold to speed-walk in the morning these past couple of weeks. That, plus her new preoccupation, John, meant we didn't see her as often as we had.

  “Sit wherever you like,” Marissa said over her shoulder. “I'll be right with you.”

  Several white linen-covered tables took up the main floor area in each of the patisserie's three dining rooms. The rooms held gorgeous Christmas trees with red ribbons and vintage glass ornaments. Leather sofas and chairs gathered in front of the stone fireplaces, their mantles surrounded in garland. From the tin paneled ceilings hung antique crystal chandeliers. Deirdre, Elizabeth, and I always chose the furthest dining room. We headed over to the sofa in front of the fireplace, comforted by its warmth.

  Marissa walked into the room. Her blonde hair in a French braid, she wore a white apron over her forest green jumper. She had to be in her late thirties. She carried a plate holding four macarons on it. “Sorry about that. You two look beat. What's up?” We always let Marissa use us to try out her latest recipes. I wasn't sure I could give Marissa an honest opinion today. My palate felt numb.

  “Thanks. We came from the Christmas tea at Hawthorne Hills,” Deirdre started. Marissa gave us a look of puzzlement.

  After we gave Marissa a blow by blow account of what had happened at Hawthorne Hills, her immediate response was, “Oh, no. I hope he didn't eat anything with peanuts. He was deadly allergic.”

  “You knew that?” I asked.

  “Sure. You don't keep something like that a secret. I always watched out for his allergy when Les came in. I do use them in some of my food, but I took extra care with what I made for the Christmas Tea. I'm always careful with food allergies.”

  Hmm. No nuts used by the patisserie either at the tea.

  “So what can I get you?”

  I wondered if they had valium or xanax on the menu. “Oh...the fudge truffle cheesecake and the Scottish afternoon tea,” I said.

  “Same here,” said Deirdre.

  Marissa's bakery assistant came into the room. “Marissa, there's a call for you. It's the police.”

  “Okay, tell them I'll be right there,” Marissa said. The assistant left the room. “I wonder what that's about? Here are some raspberry macarons until I get back with your order.” She started walking away, then turned around with a smile. “On the house.”

  “Thanks, Marissa,” we both said, smiling back.

  I tried to focus on something other than what had just happened at Hawthorne Hills. I felt unnerved about the entire situation. There was a lot going on this week and I couldn't dwell on Les. I bit into the macaron. The cookies enclosed a whipped raspberry cream that concealed a raspberry compote.

  “Are we still on for painting my shop after Christmas?”

  I paused for a couple of seconds. The last thing I wanted to do this week was paint. “Deirdre, I'm not sure how I am going to get through the night, picking out our Christmas tree with Phil, let alone plan for later in the week. I can't think that far ahead right now. Can we talk about this after Christmas?”

  “I'm anxious to get started. I'm going with the saffron color I showed you.”

  “The color's beautiful. Nice and warm—”

  Deirdre looked into the fire. “Like a slow fire giving its extra energy to the earth.”

  I tried to not raised my eyebrows, but some things are involuntary. Colors were important to Deirdre. She was into feng shui. Her entire home was arranged according to its principles for improving positive energy flow. She had told me that certain colors brought about a power balance to an area.

  “We can hardly move in our sunroom at home,” she continued. “I've been making more wreaths for the shop. After the painting is done, I'd love to start moving things over to the shop.”

  Deirdre was an organic gardener. During the growing season, she had large, raised flower gardens, vegetable, and herb beds in her huge backyard. Her sunroom was filled with baskets of dried herbs and flowers she used for making wreaths, satchets, salves, and poultices. She planned a large and varied inventory for her new shop. An ambitious project.

  “You can use our minivan to move your stock,” I offered, finishing the last of my macaron. “We'll take out the seats.” Here I just said I didn't want to talk about painting Deirdre's shop and I'm going along with Deirdre. Oh well...what are friends for?

  Marissa came over with our tea and cheesecake. “That was Chief Kirk on the phone. He said some guy came up with the crazy notion that Les was murdered. He wanted to know exactly which foods the patisserie provided for the tea.”

  My mouth fell open. “Murdered?” I repeated.

  “Kirk laughed and said, 'What? In Sudbury Falls?' He's probably just covering all the bases. Anyway, are you both ready for Christmas?”

  “No,” Deirdre said. “I still have some shopping to do.”

  “I'm pretty much done. We're picking out our tree later today,” I said, pouring our tea. “Andrew and Will will be home Tuesday or Wednesday. I want everything done by then.”

  “Tuesday evening is Elizabeth's Christmas party.”

  After spooning in two sugars, I cradled the warm cup of tea in my hands. “Elizabeth said if they were home, they should come as well. My guess is that they'll have plans with their friends that night.” I took a sip of the tea.

  The chimes on the door sounded. “Enjoy!” Marissa left.

  “Kay, how about going shopping tomorrow?” Deirdre asked. “It would be fun to see the windows displays. I could use your help picking out a few gifts for Mike.”

  I helped myself to more sugar and tasted it again. Murdered? I sat back for a few moments thinking about what Marissa had just told us.

  “Kay? Do you want to go shopping?”

  “Sure, I could go in the morning. I should have enough time in the afternoon to get ready for the party. Maybe Elizabeth will want to go.”

  * * * *

  It was getting dark when we started for home. Christmas lights sparkled on the trees of the boulevards, traced the roof lines, and wound around the porches and bushes of the homes. We both looked over at Ted's
house when Deirdre pulled up to my driveway. A SOLD sign hung from the realtor's sign.

  “A melancholy aura hangs over that house,” Deirdre said. “I hope the new owner brings a positive energy to cleanse it.”

  Ted's house gave me the creeps. Ted Michaels was one of the six ginseng conspirators that I helped send to prison a couple of month ago. He and his associates in crime had perpetrated a series of murders in order to coverup a profitable but illegal ginseng operation in the area. I, too, hoped someone nice moved into the neighborhood.

  I started walking up our long driveway and listened to the crunching of the snow in the stillness of the evening. Thinking of Ted's house, I felt the willies, but tried to focus on ours. Stay focused. Tiny white lights sparkled on our bushes and garland that graced our front door. Phil had been busy while I was gone. Some guy came up with the crazy notion that Les was murdered, Marissa had said. Murder. Stay focused. A large wreath rested above the front door. Five ice luminarias led the way up to our front porch. Candles burned in every window. Before entering, I glanced again at Ted's house. All darkness.

  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.

  Chapter Two

  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 gir
ls 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.