The Mistletoe Murders Page 2

  Finally looking at the phone screen, she saw it was her husband, Marc. The good news was that he’d be home tonight instead of tomorrow and he also was taking the rest of the month off. The bad news was he had to take a commercial flight instead of the corporate jet, which was a pain when he was traveling with Max, his German shepherd. His flight arrived at midnight, and she’d have to be his taxi. He’d been away for almost three weeks, leaving the day after Thanksgiving, so it was one airport run to Buffalo she wouldn’t mind at all.

  Snatching the printouts from the laser printer, Gracie returned to the reception area to see how Jim was faring.

  “Good timing, Chief. We’re done,” Jim said, tossing the Santa hat on the desk.

  The photographer was hurriedly packing her equipment into a long duffel bag and glanced up.

  “Quite an interesting crowd today,” she said with good humor. “I’ll send you a link to the gallery so people can purchase them by noon tomorrow.”

  Gracie’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s fast.”

  “I have an elf who’ll do the editing tonight. Thanks again.”

  She slung the bag over her shoulder and flashed a smile on her way out the door.

  “So, how was the tour of the haunted house?” Jim unbuttoned the jacket and pulled off the white fluffy wig and matching beard.

  “Impressive. I didn’t get the full tour since there was a hitch with the contractor, but you won’t believe what it looks like.”

  “Have they dug up any bodies yet?” Jim’s blue eyes were twinkling. He ran a hand through his dark hair, attempting to undo the wig damage.

  “No, but they’re digging out an old brick floor in the basement for the wine cellar. Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

  “Ha! It’s always been a great story for scaring kids. Stephen Mistletoe, villain extraordinaire and serial killer.”

  “I always thought it was plausible. Didn’t you get a creepy feeling when we’d go up there? There’s something eerie about the place.” Gracie shivered, thinking about various unsupervised teenage outings with campfires near the Mistletoe family cemetery on the edge of the estate’s woods.

  “Did it feel spooky today?” Jim asked, pulling off shiny black boots and the trousers. Divested of the costume, he stood in a T-shirt and jeans, stuffing the outfit in the rental bag.

  “I have to say no. Marci’s done a wonderful job of restoring that house. You need to go up sometime and check it out. She could probably squeeze you in for the soft opening.”

  “Not me. I’m going skeet shooting as long as the weather holds.”

  “Well, she’s got Carl Flambeau and Kristin Lee cooking. Your loss.”

  Jim shook his head. “No fancy chefs for me. I’ll be at Midge’s. Venison stew is on the menu for the next few weeks. You enjoy the upper-crust gathering.”

  “Don’t tell Marc what you’re doing, or he’ll back out on me.”

  “Oh, he’ll be quite happy hanging out with you. That I’m pretty sure of.” Jim gave her a wink and walked down the corridor, whistling “The Look of Love.”

  Marian, the groomer, walked in, scissor handles visible in the pocket of her apron and a clipboard in her hand. She was a sturdy woman with short blond hair and a winning way with dogs.

  “When’s Marc due home?”

  “At midnight tonight. I’ll be a little late in the morning.”

  “The schedule’s light for grooming. I’ll help out with feeding then.”

  “Thanks, Marian. Let’s call it a day,” Gracie said, glancing at the clock. Once again, her evening was full. She’d love at least one night of watching Christmas movies before the holidays were over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The pile of discarded bricks grew in the alcove. The steady chink of the chisel against the old mortar echoed dully. Joe Finnelli tossed another brick in the pile, sweat streaking through the gray dust down the sides of his face. The younger man, crouched next to him, sat back on his haunches to survey the progress.

  “Who would’ve bricked over the floor with more brick?” he complained, pulling the mask off his face. “This is gonna take forever.”

  “Not if you’d focus on the work instead of running your mouth,” Joe answered sharply. “Make sure to be careful so we can reuse as many of the bricks as we can. Ms. Drummond’s request.”

  Both men turned as footsteps on the stairway caught their attention. Marci joined them, a frown creasing her face.

  “Have you found the water source?” she asked, scanning the area. The corner near the outside wall was dark with moisture.

  “We’re getting there,” Joe assured her. “We need to pull out all the bricks by the wall, and that’s going to take some time if you still want to reuse as many as possible.”

  She sighed. “I do, so I suppose another day or two then?”

  “If me and Bill can finish this first layer in the morning, we should be able to get the second layer removed by tomorrow afternoon.” Joe stood, brushing off his jeans. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but honestly that’s my best guess.”

  “I know, I know,” Marci responded with a resigned smile. “This is on me, not you. Demolishing the old brick and laying all new would be fastest.”

  “Right. But I think reusing the original brick as much as possible is best for keeping the authenticity you want.”

  “I guess.”

  Marci was weary of the renovation, and despite her confidence that the bed-and-breakfast would eventually pay off, the tab had run higher than she’d anticipated. However, the surprise inheritance she’d received from an unknown great-aunt just months after she’d reopened the vacated antique store in Deer Creek had been the gateway to realizing a dream of a running a bed-and-breakfast.

  The history of the house was perfect. It had begun with the unsolved murder of the fiancé of the first owner’s daughter. Then a missing wife who was never found, her own husband suspected of the murder, but no charges ever brought. To top it off, the husband, Stephen Mistletoe, was poisoned at a dinner party and died at the turn of the twentieth century. The estate had passed through a few remaining relatives, who had also met untimely ends, the last occurring in 1965 when Pamela Mistletoe was accidently shot and killed at her own New Year’s party. Or at least that was the official verdict. Old-timers in Deer Creek had varying opinions about the incident.

  The house had fallen into disrepair with one attempt in the late 1990s to restore it. The owner abandoned the project, went bankrupt, and eventually the property landed on the county’s tax sale roll ten years ago. She’d bought it for the back taxes.

  Joe’s voice snapped her back to the moment.

  “We’ll finish up here in a half hour and then be back around eight tomorrow if that’s all right.”

  “That sounds good, Joe. Make sure to help yourself to coffee and the cookies in the kitchen before you go.”

  Bill’s face brightened. “Thanks,” he said, pulling the mask back over his nose and mouth.

  Lights glowed from the church windows and a handful of vehicles were in the parking lot. Gracie raced into the church, a sheaf of papers tucked under her arm. The rest of the committee was already in the meeting room, the buzz of conversation over hot chocolate and Christmas cookies sounding like summertime cicadas.

  Theresa Clark caught her daughter’s eye and made her way to the table.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall as Gracie sat down with her.

  “Me neither. And I have to run to the airport to pick up Marc and Max tonight.”

  “Oh. I thought he was coming in tomorrow.”

  “He was, but for some reason, he had to take a commercial flight home, and it’s a late one, of course.”

  “Oh well. At least he’ll be home.”

  “Exactly. He’s off until after New Year’s too, which is a relief.”

  Gracie was still adjusting to Marc’s new career as part of a security team for a defense contra
ctor. He’d been places—dangerous places that he couldn’t tell her about over the last year. She was glad Max was with him. The big German shepherd was a highly trained protection dog as well as gifted at sniffing out explosives. That gave her a modicum of comfort when she knew they were traveling overseas. The job and the extended separations had also stretched her faith with so much out of her control and Marc’s. She was confident of his skills as former law enforcement, but the sophistication and brutality of enemies abroad were terrifying to her. Another reason she’d miss her pastor. He’d spent significant time with her after the loss of her first husband, Michael, and their unborn child. He’d also helped her and Marc in their rather tumultuous first year of marriage.

  “All right, everybody, let’s get started,” Leon Kaczmarek called over the rising volume of conversation.

  The committee, comprised of three men and four women, found seats around the long rectangular table and began their discussion of how the annual Christmas pageant would lead into the gift presentation and then to the reception afterward. After more than an hour of logistical planning, Gracie finally shared the information on possible selections of pages from antique Bibles. A few eyebrows were raised at the price on one of the printouts.

  Leon quickly thumbed through them and laid them on the table, his fingers drumming on the pile.

  “I’ve been thinking that maybe our gift should be of a more personal and inclusive nature for both Pastor Al and Gloria.”

  Gracie cringed at hearing Al instead of Albert, but Leon had always called the pastor by this un-preferred moniker.

  “I agree with Leon,” Theresa chimed in quickly. “Let’s consider a gift a little more exciting than something he can hang on his wall. Gloria has been an important part of his ministry here too.”

  Murmurs, both of dissent and agreement, began.

  “Well, before we get to that discussion, what’s being done about the nativity? The third wise man was stolen last night,” Cindy Thornton piped up.

  Heads nodded and a few angry comments spilled out, calling for the police to do their jobs and security cameras to be installed outside the church.

  “Now, simmer down,” Leon said, clearing his throat. “The trustees have called the police, and it’s being investigated. There are some cameras. If any of you have ideas to give us, then talk to me afterward. We need to focus on this retirement party.”

  An hour later, the rest of the details were hammered out, and Gracie’s head was beginning to swirl with how they’d ever pull everything together. She hated committees, but always somehow found herself sitting on another one, especially at church. This one she’d volunteered for though; she hoped the Minders would be properly honored for their longtime service to the church and community.

  Her research had been for naught. However, that was fine with her. With only two insisting on the antique-framed Scripture and the rest insisting on a more personal gift, the dissenters had yielded without much fuss. Now the hunt was on for the right gift, which Theresa said would be a cruise. There was a substantial amount in the gift fund to cover it, according to her calculations. She also had the inside track that it was something Gloria had always wanted to do, but Albert resisted because of the price tag.

  “I really don’t have time to arrange a cruise,” Gracie said, glancing at her watch. “In fact, I need to leave pretty soon to pick up Marc from the airport.”

  “How about a gift certificate to a good cruise line?” Darlene Evans offered. “Wouldn’t that solve everything?”

  “Does for me,” Leon agreed. “How about it?” he asked the committee, some of whom were beginning to fidget.

  Heads nodded in agreement with a few yawns. Theresa sat back, beaming with approval.

  “That’s it then,” Leon announced. “Can you take care of that with the figure we gave you, Gracie?”

  “Sure. That I can do.”

  Chairs were already scraping back from the table. Theresa pulled at Gracie’s sleeve.

  “Wait a minute before you go. I know you have to get Marc, but the wise man theft isn’t being followed up very well by the police. Could you ask Marc to look into it?”

  Gracie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “He’s not going to want to get involved in this.”

  “But we need those figures back, and the investigator from the sheriff’s department hasn’t come up with anything yet.”

  “What about the security cameras? They should’ve been installed right after the first wise man was taken.”

  “Your father had a company come in and put them up. Someone sprayed black paint over the lenses.”

  Gracie sighed. “Then relocate them. It’s probably teenagers with too much time on their hands.”

  “That’s what your dad thinks. I think it may be someone with a grudge against Albert or the church.”

  “Really? Who would have a grudge against the pastor?”

  “You never know about people. Some are offended if you say “hello,” and some take a burn if you don’t.”

  “I’ll let Marc know about the problem and have him talk with Dad. No promises though.”

  “All right.” Theresa pulled on her blue wool car coat. “Drive safe.”

  “I will,” Gracie replied, heading for the door.

  She took time to swing back home to pick up her black Labrador, Haley. Max was always pumped up after these trips, and Haley was a good emotional support for him to help lower his energy level to a more domesticated one. Haley bounded out of the door, leaping into the back seat of the RAV4. She was always ready for a ride, and Gracie was certain the dog knew the destination.

  She slid back in behind the wheel, taking a cursory look at her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror. Quickly reapplying lipstick, she dabbed at her lips with a tissue before shifting the SUV into gear. Haley licked her face from the backseat and then settled in for the road trip.

  Bob Clark and Albert Minders walked out from the shadows of the church building toward the life-sized crèche. Floodlights positioned at the front of the nativity, sans the three wise men, accentuated the vintage figures. Sheep, shepherds, and the Holy Family filled the rough-hewn stable, along with a cow, donkey, and camel. Golden straw was scattered over the ground between the figures and a bale of hay stood to the right of the scene next to the donkey. Covert security cameras kept watch from the branches of a small blue spruce adorned with multicolored bulbs.

  “Everything is still here,” said Bob, studying the scene.

  “For now, it is,” the pastor answered, checking the dog tie-outs that looped around each statue and led back behind the stable front to a sturdy iron stake driven deep into the hard ground.

  “We’ll see if this works.” Bob checked the cameras, making sure the lenses were clean. “Other than camping out here every night, it’s all we can do.”

  “We do have heavenly security,” Albert said with a smile.

  “Uh … it appears that they missed a few shifts in the last week,” Bob replied drily.

  The silver-haired pastor laughed. “There’s a deeper story here than just theft. I’m sure of it. It’ll be resolved. Let’s go home, Bob.”

  Headlights from two sedans flooded the street, one turning right and the other left from the parking lot. Within seconds, a thin figure slipped from the lilac bushes near the window of the pastor’s study. Dressed in a black hoodie and black pants, the trespasser lifted one of the sheep, finding a leg lassoed together with a sturdy vinyl-covered metal cable that was connected to the other figures. Momentarily stymied and with back turned to the cameras, the grumbling intruder struggled to untie the wooden sheep. Headlights and the sound of a car caught the thief’s attention, and the slender body flattened instantly against the frosty ground. Another vehicle, this time a pickup, sped past the church through the quiet village and then another.

  Wriggling behind the nativity, the figure waited until the street was empty and darted away into the night.

  Marc dozed in the front pa
ssenger seat, as did the dogs in the backseat of the SUV, when Gracie drove down Main Street of a sleeping Deer Creek. The majority of the houses and trees were decked out with strings of lights twinkling in the night. She slowed going by the church to see if the nativity had suffered any other losses. Two shepherds and three sheep were accounted for, as was the Holy Family. But no donkey, cow, or camel. She gritted her teeth and clutched the steering wheel. What was the deal here? Who was kidnapping the cast of Christmas? A call to the sheriff’s office was in order when she got home.

  Marc was still sleeping when Gracie’s father arrived at the house. He took the offered cup of coffee and the Danish pastry, sitting down at the table.

  “Well, Dad?”

  “Deep subject, Gracie.”

  “Ha, ha, Dad. Old joke. Tell me what the sheriff’s investigator had to say.”

  “Not much because there isn’t much to tell. A figure dressed in black and with a ski mask cut all the tie-outs. I don’t know how such a small person was able to haul them off, but the drag marks were in the frost this morning. They’re looking for this person, but I have no idea who it could be.”

  Gracie shook her head. “Great. Are you going to take the rest down before the Baby Jesus is stolen too?”

  Bob stroked his chin. “I think I’ve talked Albert into setting it up in the sanctuary. It should fit on the left side of the platform. We’ll just need to move it for the pageant.”

  “Will you need help toting it into the church?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure who’s available today. I hate to ask Marc, but if he can spare a half hour this afternoon, have him call me.”