Missing Under the Mistletoe Page 3

  “Are you sure?” Sgt. Reilly asked. “That’s it?”

  “For now that’s it,” I answered.

  Reilly gave me a suspicious glance. “If you say so.”

  I gave Marco’s hand a quick tug as he began his statement. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered.

  Before I could take two steps, Reilly said, “Hold on a minute. Where are you going?”

  I swung around, pasting an innocent look on my face. “To the ladies’ room.”

  “The ladies’ room is that way,” Reilly said, pointing his pen in the opposite direction.

  Oops.

  “I know you, Abby Salvare,” Reilly said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Okay, so I didn’t have a very good poker face, but I did have a very good bluff. “Fine. There’s an envelope inside Santa’s workshop that looks suspicious. Also, there are some clothes hanging inside that might belong to Churchill. I’d like to go back in and check it out.”

  That was not my actual plan, but Reilly didn’t need to know.

  “No deal,” Reilly said. “The detectives will take care of that when they get here. That’s what detectives are hired to do, remember?”

  “I get it, Reilly, but by the time your detectives get here, Churchill could be in serious trouble, or worse, dead.”

  “Why do you assume he’s in trouble?” Reilly asked. “Maybe he just got sick and went home. My focus right now is finding out what happened to Hailey Churchill.”

  I gave him a scowl for refusing to take me seriously. “Hailey Churchill slipped on a puddle of blood and hit her head on the doorframe. Case closed. Now we have to find out where that puddle of blood came from.”

  Marco took my hand between his. “Sunshine, calm down. Reilly and his men are on the case.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze which meant one thing: Team Salvare was also on the case!

  The officers had just finished taping off Santa’s chair and were proceeding to the workshop. I had to move quickly. “Go ahead and give him your statement, Marco. I’m going to the ladies’ room – and this time don’t you dare try to stop me, Reilly.”

  “Then don’t you dare go snooping around, Salvare.”

  “You know me, Sarge.” Ignoring his glare, I gave him a shrug and walked away, in the right direction this time.

  There was still a crowd of people standing just outside of the Santa’s Village area, some being questioned by police officers, others craning their necks to see what was going on inside. The store employees were standing in front of their departments talking in huddles, not having much to do now that most of the customers had left, and still the Christmas carols played on. Oddly, I had yet to see any sign of Marcille. Why wasn’t the store manager around to oversee the situation?

  I carefully avoided Reilly’s line of sight as I ducked back behind Santa’s workshop. The blood drops trailed out from the back door and stopped at the elevator. From there he could only have been taken up to the third floor, since the second floor was full of customers and the store had no basement. The problem with that theory was that there was a sign on the elevator door that read, OUT OF ORDER.

  There was only one other quick way to get out. To my left was a short hallway that led to the back stairwell, and under the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights I could see a faint trail of blood. Adjacent to the stairwell, on the west wall, was an emergency exit where Churchill could have been evacuated. There was a sign on the door that read, Caution – Alarm Will Sound, so I avoided pushing my luck. The last thing I needed was to sound an alarm and alert the entire department store to my location.

  I headed back toward the elevator, thinking over what I’d seen. There was one blood trail that led to a broken elevator and one that led to an emergency exit. I was stumped. Where could Santa be other than somewhere in the store? Either that or he had risen straight up through the chimney, just like in the poem, except that there was no chimney at Churchill’s.

  I was about to return to Marco’s side when I heard a loud ding and watched as the elevator doors opened in front of me. To my surprise, Marcille walked out, giving me a seething glare from above the rim of her glasses. “You make a better door than a florist,” she snapped, sidestepping me.

  She moved past me and made her way toward the police, her high heels clicking on the floor before she stopped in front of an officer and demanded to know what was happening. I glanced back as the elevator doors slid closed. Out of order? Not hardly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “There you are,” Rosa exclaimed. “Your husband said you were in the bathroom, but I checked and you were not there. Come. I have someone you should talk to.”

  By that time the whole Santa’s Village area had been taped off with several policemen standing guard. Only a few people remained, including the woman and the little boy who’d been first in line to see Santa. The woman was standing in front of the toy department where her son was gazing wistfully at a toy football on a display stand, just as Marco had done earlier.

  “Abby Salvare, this is Rhonda the Saddler,” Rosa said. “Rhonda has some information you need to hear.”

  “It’s Rhondella Saddler,” the woman corrected, “and as I said, I saw an old woman at the back door of Santa’s Workshop who definitely didn’t belong there.”

  “Why do you say she didn’t belong there?” I asked.

  “Mommy,” her son said, pointing at the football.

  “Hush, Thomas. Not now.” Turning back to me Rhondella said, “For one thing, she didn’t have any children with her. For another, she was wearing Jimmy Choo high heels, and wore at least a grand in diamonds on each ear lobe. Any woman wearing that kind of bling at a children’s Christmas celebration is definitely up to no good.”

  “Mommy?”

  She gave his arm a sharp tug. “I said not now, Thomas! Ladies, you’ll have to excuse us. This has been a sorely disappointing day, and my boy is extremely restless.”

  She was the one who looked restless to me. And the poor boy looked ready to cry.

  “Would you at least tell me approximately how old the woman was?” I asked, as Rosa bent down to calm the child.

  “You know what I mean, old,” Rhondella replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Not hunched back, using-a-walker old, but white haired, wrinkly-skinned old.”

  Rosa glanced up in disgust at her insensitive remarks and muttered something in Spanish.

  “What did you say to me?” Rhondella challenged.

  “She was asking what time you saw the woman,” I said quickly.

  “It was early. Not as early as us, but definitely before ten. In fact, we skipped breakfast this morning so we would have first dibs on the extra special gifts. Santa always puts the best gifts on top of his sack. And even though he never showed up,” -she pulled a wrapped present from her oversized purse- “I grabbed one anyway.”

  “You didn’t give your son breakfast?” Rosa turned back to the child and took one of his hand in hers. “Poor little niño, you must be starving. You know what? I have a snack bar in my purse you can have.”

  “Oh, no. He’s fine.” Rhondella pulled her son’s hand from Rosa’s, keeping him firmly by her side. “He had a few candy canes that were in a bowl by the front door. Come, Thomas, we must be going.”

  And with that, she led her son down the hallway and turned the corner.

  “Do you believe that bruja?” Rosa asked. “What a terrible way to treat her little boy.”

  “I’m with you. She was so rude, I had a hard time concentrating on what she was saying.”

  “Do not worry. I have it all right here,” Rosa tapped her forehead. “I never forget anything.”

  Marco came striding up to meet us, a look of weary relief in his eyes, “It’s been much longer than thirty minutes. I think we should be going now.”

  Back at Bloomers the morning rush had diminished to just a few customers chatting over tea and scones in the attached coffee and tea parlor. I could smell Grace’s freshly brewed cof
fee wafting from the parlor and my stomach, which had been on hold all morning, immediately started growling. Rosa must have heard it because she gave me a wink and was off to the kitchen to whip up a quick batch of her huevos.

  I glanced around my little shop with pride. Having flunked out of law school my first year, with no prospects in sight, I’d been given a new lease on life when Lottie decided to sell Bloomers to me. Using the last bit of money my grandfather had left me, I’d taken out a mortgage and hired Lottie back as my assistant. I could hear her now humming in the workroom, doing what she loved best, creating arrangements with no worries about finances.

  And then there was Grace Bingham, a native Brit in her mid-sixties with a knack for efficiently running my coffee-and-tea parlor. She made the best scones in town, and always had a quote at the ready for every situation. Finding her had been a stroke of pure luck. Grace stepped nimbly from the parlor, dressed as usual in a black skirt with a matching sweater set, this one in red for the season.

  Before I could even say hello, Jillian began explaining how she had single-handedly saved Bloomers from the morning rush disaster. It wasn’t until she’d finished that she asked for me to describe what had happened at Churchill’s.

  “Yes, love,” Grace seconded. “Please regale us. We heard there was quite an uproar.”

  Lottie swiped open the curtain, still in her yellow apron, and joined us by the register.

  I took my coat off and hung it behind the counter. “Santa Claus is missing and his daughter was knocked unconscious as a result. That’s all we know for sure.”

  “Santa Claus has a daughter?” Jillian asked.

  Sometimes it was hard to believe Jillian had graduated from Harvard. “Not Santa,” I explained, “Levi Churchill. You know, the man who dresses up to play Santa every year? His daughter, Hailey, was dressed up as an elf. We think she slipped on a puddle of blood and hit her head.”

  “Good heavens,” Grace said.

  I took a seat on the tall stool behind the register and Marco gave me a tap of his watch. His bar opened in fifteen minutes for the lunch crowd and we had information to swap. Team Salvare was still firing on all cylinders, without even a word spoken, and in the middle of an unsettled Christmas Eve argument, no less.

  “First,” I said. “I want to hear what Marco learned from Sergeant Reilly.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me much,” Marco started, “other than that he’s not concerned about Churchill at this point. He’s convinced the blood on the floor is from Hailey’s head wound, so that’s the focus of their investigation right now.”

  “Surely Sergeant Reilly can see the sense of considering Levi Churchill to be a missing person,” Grace said. “He wouldn’t have just left without telling anyone.”

  “Not in a Santa suit,” Lottie said. “Someone would’ve seen him.” She grabbed a white vase from the wall near us and made her way back to the work room.

  “Unfortunately,” Marco continued, “it takes forty-eight hours before the police consider this to be a missing persons case and, from what Reilly indicated, there’s no proof that any harm has come to him. So unless they find proof, they intend to wait the full forty-eight hours, and that’s only if a family member comes forward to file a report.”

  “That’s why Marco and I are going to look for him,” I said. “I gave my word to Hailey that I’d find her dad and I intend to keep that promise.”

  “What about tonight?” Jillian asked. “The Christmas Eve celebration starts in…” She checked her white and silver watch, then shook her arm and listened for a tick.

  “Just over six hours,” I replied. “The celebration starts at six o’clock. Workers are still out there setting up so it looks like everything will continue as planned.”

  “It won’t be Christmas Eve without Churchill,” Grace said. “How could they possibly proceed without him?”

  “If I know Churchill,” Rosa stated a she set a big plate of eggs and several forks on the counter, “and believe me, I do, the celebration will proceed with or without him as long as the store is open and making money.” She spiked her fork into the eggs and took a mouthful. “Marcille will make sure of that.”

  Marco looked at me and continued, “I don’t know if you managed to sneak your way into the workshop, but that envelope you mentioned could be a very important clue.”

  “I did, actually. Before Reilly told me not to, I went in and snapped a few photos.” I pulled out my phone and let him swipe through the pictures. “But that’s not all. I also searched through the pants hanging on the hook and found Churchill’s wallet. The money and credit cards were still there, so he wasn’t robbed.”

  “And he wouldn’t leave the area without his wallet,” Marco added, handing me back my phone. “What do you think Churchill’s Last Christmas means?”

  “Churchill’s last what?” Lottie called from the work room.

  “Last Christmas,” I repeated. “It sounds like a threat to me. It was typed out on a legal envelope, but the letter inside was missing. And there was half of a bloody fingerprint on the envelope, which could mean the other half is on the letter itself. We need to find it.”

  “The fingerprint could be tested for DNA,” Jillian said. “I’ve seen that on TV. That’s how all these cases are solved nowadays, with high-technicians.”

  “Hi-tech,” I said. My cousin drove me crazy with her misuse of words.

  Marco shot her idea down. “It takes weeks to have DNA tested.”

  “That’s why I’m saying we need to investigate now, Marco. Churchill could be dead by then.” Seeing the defeated look on Jillian’s face, I added, “But that was a good thought, Jill.”

  “What about the woman wearing the expensive jewelry?” Rosa asked.

  I stopped to swallow a bite of egg. “First, I should mention that Hailey told me she saw a woman standing by the back door of Santa’s Workshop just before Churchill went missing. Then Rosa and I spoke to someone who also saw a woman near the back door wearing expensive heels and jewelry. If this is the same woman, she could either be a potential witness, or better yet, a suspect in Churchill’s disappearance.” I caught my husband’s frown and asked, “Don’t you agree?”

  “Assuming this woman, wearing heels and expensive jewelry, had the strength to attack and carry out a large man in a Santa suit with no one noticing,” Marco said dryly, “it’s a good theory.”

  “Hailey said she was holding something,” I countered. “Maybe it was a gun.”

  “Maybe,” Marco said. “But she probably would have recognized a gun.”

  “Fine,” I said, “we’ll cross her off as a suspect for now. Rosa, since you worked there, you know the Churchill family better than we do. Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Levi Churchill?”

  “Si,” she said. “The employees were always complaining. He was never afraid to fire someone on the spot. And he was very stingy with his raises.”

  “That narrows it down,” Marco said, crossing his arms.

  “It’s hard to believe Churchill would be that kind of a boss. I remember him being so jolly and kind,” I said as I cleaned up my plate full of eggs.

  “After his wife died he threw all of his energy into the business,” Rosa said. “He believes this town would suffer without him. The power has gone straight to his head.”

  Grace went into her lecture pose, shoulders straight, fingers laced in front of her. “As Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’”

  “Good quote, Gracie,” Lottie said, coming out of the workroom with a bouquet overflowing with holly and mistletoe. “And I agree with you, Abby. It’s hard to believe Churchill has turned into that kind of man. I remember taking my boys to see Santa every year. But that was fifteen years ago. A lot can happen in fifteen years.”

  “What a beautiful arrangement,” Jillian said, sniffing the holly. “Who’s it for?”

  “This,” Lottie said, t
urning the bouquet so we could see it, “is for Hailey. I had a feeling Abby might be going to the hospital to visit her. We ordered a bunch of these flowers for our Christmas booth tonight,” Lottie reminded me. “With Churchill missing and things in chaos, I sure hope we’re going to be able to sell them.”

  I’d become so wrapped up in what had happened at Churchill’s that I’d totally forgotten about our booth on the town square. “I’m sure people will still turn out this evening. The celebration is a long-standing tradition.”

  Marco slipped on his jacket. “How about after the lunch rush at the bar, Abby, you and I pay Hailey a visit and see if she’s able to give us more information? So far all we have is a missing letter and a mystery woman, and that’s not very promising. We need a solid lead.”

  “Oh, wait! I may have one,” I said. “While you were talking to Reilly I followed a trail of blood drops leading straight toward the elevator. There was a sign attached to it that said Out of Order. And then who should walk out of that very elevator? Marcille, the snooty store manager.”

  “So she knew the elevator was working,” Marco said.

  “Maybe she had one of the employees force Santa into the elevator,” Rosa proposed. “I tell you, there are many people at that store who have grudges against him.”

  “Then before our hospital visit,” I said to Marco, “I’m going back to the department store to ask Marcille a few questions.”

  “Not alone,” Marco said. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with.”

  “I will go with her,” Rosa offered. “Remember, I saved her life when she was stuck in that maze of yews. Jillian can stay here and help Lottie, can’t you, Jillian?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Just then the bells jingled above Bloomer’s door and in walked my parents, Maureen “Mad Mo” Knight and my dad Jeffery Knight. My dad, a retired sergeant of the New Chapel police department, was in a wheelchair after having sustained a debilitating injury on the job, causing him to live out the rest of his life as a paraplegic. His spirits had never suffered, though. He was a great man and I adored him.