Missing Under the Mistletoe Read online

  “Nathan really wanted to run that store,” Marco said, shaking his head in sympathy. “I still don’t understand why his father wanted to sell the business instead of handing it over to his son.”

  “Here’s what we found out,” Reilly said. “When Nathan came home last week for Christmas break, he had to tell his father that he had flunked out. That was when Churchill told him he wouldn’t hand over his store to anyone without a business degree. It’s unfortunate, but Nathan simply couldn’t handle the college courses. So he had to return home knowing he would be a disappointment to his father. And that was when we think he began to fall apart.”

  “I know how that feels,” I said, recalling the terrible depression I’d been in after being booted out of law school. “Did you learn how Nathan found Churchill’s letter to his employees?”

  “I did,” Reilly said. “It seems Nathan dropped his sister off at the store yesterday morning so she could prepare for her elf role. He knew his father would be busy getting ready to play Santa, so he snuck up to Churchill’s office to sit at his desk, wanting to know what it would feel like to take over the business. Then he saw the stack of envelopes and looked inside one.”

  Continuing on, Reilly said, “That was when Nathan read his father’s letter informing his employees that he planned to retire at the end of the year. He stated that he would sell his business to someone who had the expertise to bring new life to the old building. Apparently, the store hasn’t been profitable in a long time. Then Nathan went down to the workshop in a rage to confront his father.”

  Marco leaned back in his chair and began to piece the story together, “Nathan returns home in shame to tell his dad that he flunked out of college, after which Churchill basically disinherits him by deciding to sell his business. That’s a pretty drastic reaction.”

  “Sometimes drastic is the only choice you have,” Lottie argued. “I can relate to what Churchill was going through. Remember, I have four boys myself, so I know that couldn’t have been an easy decision, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Rosa spoke up then. “I don’t agree. Mr. Churchill is all business, all the time, even on Christmas. I think the decision was an easy one for him.”

  Marco continued, “Nathan finds the letter and takes it to the workshop to confront his dad. Do you know what happened from there?”

  Reilly nodded. “During the ensuing argument Nathan tried to stop his father from leaving the workshop. Churchill pushed him away and Nathan impaled his hand on an exposed nail when he tried to catch himself. That’s where all the blood came from.”

  “And that,” I said, “is exactly when Mrs. Guilford was at the back door of the workshop getting ready to hang her mistletoe.”

  “How did Nathan get his dad out of the workshop?” Marco asked.

  “He didn’t,” Reilly answered. “Nathan continued to struggle with his dad and got blood all over the Santa suit. Churchill left the workshop on his own. Nathan forced himself onto the elevator with his father and followed him to the private bathroom on the third floor. That is when Churchill sustained his traumatic injuries.”

  “What about the blood by that back stairwell?” I asked. “I found a trail of blood leading to the stairwell, but both Nathan and his dad used the elevator.”

  Reilly answered, “Nathan used the elevator on the way up but not on the way down. After he tied up his dad and left him on the roof, Nathan became paranoid. He was afraid someone would see him so he took the back stairwell from the roof to the first floor and disappeared into the crowd. He must have still been bleeding.”

  “Was Churchill up on the roof all day?” I asked.

  “He was,” Reilly answered. “For almost eight hours.” He stopped me before I could speak. “Yes, Abby, you were right. The investigation was rushed.”

  “And I was right about the emergency exit, too,” I said. “I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if that alarm hadn’t gone off.”

  “I still would have found you,” Marco said as he placed his arm around me.

  “But I wasn’t right about everything,” I admitted. “I was certain Marcille was somehow involved. Even after I saw her try to stop Nathan’s fist fight with the substitute Santa Claus, I still thought she had a hand in Churchill’s disappearance.”

  “I was wrong, too.” Rosa announced. “I have always held a grudge against Marcille for taking the manager job from me, but she kept the whole business running smoothly. She even made sure the countdown continued and the star was lit. Churchill made the right decision in hiring her. I still despise what the woman did to me, yet I do have to admire her strength.”

  “Did you find out why Nathan returned to Churchill’s this afternoon?” Marco asked Reilly.

  “The detectives believe he went back to get the envelope he’d dropped in the workshop, but I think he had a different plan in mind. I believe Nathan thought the police would shut the whole store down when his father went missing. I think he wanted to sneak his father off of the roof once everyone had left, but when he saw that the store was running as if nothing had happened, he snapped.”

  “I wonder what will happen to Churchill’s now,” I said, “and the celebration.

  “Churchill isn’t the only shop owner on the square,” Marco answered. “I’m confident that we won’t be alone in making sure the celebration continues for many years to come.”

  “This was the most widely attended celebration in the town’s history,” Reilly added. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

  With that my dad held up his glass and we joined him in a toast.

  “Well,” Reilly said, leaning back in his chair, “I’m glad you were all here today so I could thank you for your help. Even, you, Sergeant Knight.” Reilly gave my dad a coy smile. “I knew you were up to something at that police booth. You never talk that much.”

  “You know I don’t like working against the police force,” Dad said. “Maybe if you would listen to my daughter next time, I wouldn’t have to.”

  “If there is a next time,” Reilly said, winking at me, “maybe I will.”

  Everyone exchanged holiday wishes with Reilly as Marco and I walked him to the door. “Go home and enjoy your family,” I said, rising on my tiptoes to give him a hug.

  “I have one more stop before I head home to celebrate,” Reilly said as he put on his jacket.

  “Speaking of celebrations,” I said, “was anyone down on the square even aware of what happened last night?”

  “There were only a few interruptions,” Reilly replied. “One woman claims she was hit in the face by a falling Santa hat. She came to the station this morning, Christmas morning, demanding that I take a statement from her. She’s claiming Churchill’s is at fault and she wants to sue. That’s where I’m headed now.”

  I stopped him. “She didn’t happen to have a young boy with her, did she?”

  “Yeah, she did.” Reilly answered. “A sweet little tyke with big blue eyes.”

  Ah, Rhondella. “Well, good luck with that,” I said. I gave him another hug and wished him a Merry Christmas. Marco shook his hand, and Reilly was off.

  We sat back down and continued talking. Soon we were joined by Rosa’s mom and son, followed by Jillian’s husband and daughter. Eventually the bar was full of family and happy chatter. My brothers and their families began arriving then, and so did Marco’s. And as the carols played in the background, I had to keep reminding myself that this was actually happening. I was having Christmas with my husband.

  After everyone had exchanged and opened their gifts my dad pulled me aside. He had one last present sitting in his lap. He waved Marco over to join us by the Christmas tree. “I got this for you,” he said to Marco. “I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday. You’re a good man, and I’m proud to call you my son.”

  “You didn’t have to get me anything,” Marco said.

  “Hey,” my dad’s voice was firm. He handed Marco the present. “You saved my daughter once again. This
is the least I could do.”

  “Honestly, Jeffrey,” Marco said. “I think this time Abby saved me.”

  Marco opened the wrapping and pulled his present from the box. He held the gift in front of him and stared at it, his eyes starting to glisten as he smiled. My dad reached out to shake my husband’s hand, so Marco handed me the gift – a brand new leather football.

  Marco leaned over and tightened his arms around my dad. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “Why don’t you two go out and throw the ball around,” Dad suggested and patted the seat of his wheelchair. “I’d go with you but my leg’s don’t work so well. I’m guessing your aim isn’t too good either.” He gave Marco a wink.

  Needing no more encouragement, Marco and I bundled up and headed outside. Downtown New Chapel was peaceful, its streets empty, belying the fateful events of the night before. As we made our way towards the courthouse lawn, snowflakes began to float softly to the ground, sparkling in the winter sunshine.

  Marco tossed me the ball, laughing when I missed the pass, then caught my return toss easily, enjoying the game with the merriment of a child. This was what Christmas should always have been for my husband, I thought. This was the joy I’d wanted him to experience with me.

  “How did your dad know about the football?” Marco asked, tossing the ball again.

  I caught the ball and lifted my shoulders but didn’t give him an answer.

  “It’s a very thoughtful gift,” he said, holding the ball in his hands, “but I think I know a little boy who might want this football even more than I do.”

  I gave Marco a big smile, finally realizing what little Thomas had whispered into Marco’s, or rather, Santa’s ear, which had caused my husband to tear up. Marco smiled back at me, his thoughts obviously running in the same direction.

  “I’ll bet you Thomas is with his mom at the police station right now,” Marco said.

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” I agreed. “Not today.”

  “Do you think your mom will mind if we borrow her costumes one more time?”

  “I don’t think she’ll mind at all,” I answered. We walked back to the store hand in hand. I looked up at him with a renewed spirit, no longer worried about our future but looking forward to it instead. “Merry Christmas, Marco,” I finally said.

  And for the very first time he responded, “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”

  DEDICATION

  First I'd like to thank my son, Jason, for all his hard work and talent in helping create this delightful, moving tale of the ability of love and determination to move mountains.

  I'd also like to thank my daughter, Julia, for continuing to be the inspiration for my courageous heroine, Abby Knight, a young woman who never backs down from a challenge.

  And last, here's to all the Scrooges out there who may have hidden reasons for their "Bah, humbug," attitudes.

  Merry Christmas.

  OTHER FLOWER SHOP MYSTERIES

  Mum’s The Word

  Slay It With Flowers

  Dearly Depotted

  Snipped In The Bud

  Acts of Violets

  A Rose from the Dead

  Shoots To Kill

  Evil in Carnations

  Sleeping with Anemone

  Dirty Rotten Tendrils

  Night of the Living Dandelion

  To Catch a Leaf

  Nightshade on Elm Street

  Seed No Evil

  Throw in the Trowel

  A Root Awakening

  Florist Grump

  Moss Hysteria

  Yews with Caution