Missing Under the Mistletoe Read online

  My mother was pretty amazing herself, with seemingly endless energy and a creative drive that never ceased to impress me. The art projects she’d created, on the other hand, were something else entirely. The word nightmare sprang to mind.

  I sighed as my mom held up a large garment bag. What had she made now?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “How’s my Abracadabra?” my dad asked, using my childhood nickname.

  I gave him and Mom a hug. “I’m fine. What are you two up to?”

  “Your mother couldn’t wait to show you what she made for tonight,” Dad said.

  “Abigail,” Mom seconded, “you’re going to love this.”

  I forced myself to smile. “I can’t wait.”

  As Mom began to unload her bag, I noticed Grace had nimbly backed into the tea parlor, and the purple curtain separating the workroom was now closed, with Rosa, Lottie, and our breakfast dishes suspiciously missing. It was just Jillian, Marco, and me.

  “Marco, my boy,” Dad said, “how about you and I go grab some beers at Down the Hatch and watch the holiday bowl game?”

  “Sorry,” Marco said, “no football game at my bar today. You’ll have to excuse me,” he said to both of my parents. “I’ve got to open for lunch.”

  “Hold up a minute,” Dad said. “No football on Christmas Eve again? How can you hope to attract customers without having the football game on?”

  “Believe it or not,” Marco said stiffly, “not everyone likes football.” He zipped up his jacket. “It was good to see you both. Abby, I’ll be here at one-thirty and then we can head over to the hospital.” And then he stalked out.

  My dad shook his head, clearly as perplexed by Marco’s attitude as I was. “What kind of man doesn’t celebrate Christmas and hates football? What happens when you have children? Are you just going to skip Christmas?”

  “Dad, leave Marco to me. He’ll come around.”

  “In the meantime,” he said, “here I am on the day before Christmas with no football game to watch.”

  “You won’t have time for football anyway,” Mom said as she pulled the first garment out of her bag. “We need to go set up our booth for tonight.” She held the outfit up to her chin, an oversized red and white Mrs. Claus costume, complete with a dainty ruffled collar and cuffs and a stuffed muffin-top bonnet. “What do you think?”

  Jillian clapped her hands together in delight. “I love it! You’ll have to make me one, Aunt Mo.”

  “I can do that. I made Abby’s father a costume, too.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “A Santa Claus suit.”

  “You didn’t tell me your parents had a booth tonight,” Jillian said to me. “What are you selling, Aunt Maureen?”

  “My latest children’s mystery book, Christmas-themed, of course. You’ll love it, Jillian, and you can read it to your little Harper, too. Are you girls ready for the title?”

  As ready as I’d ever be.

  “It’s A Wonderful Leaf,” Mom said with a keen smile.

  My mouth fell open. It was actually good. “That’s really clever, Mom. Isn’t it, Jill?” I nudged my cousin who was still trying to figure out the pun.

  “Thank you, Abigail,” Mom said. “It’s not easy coming up with flower pun titles.” She pulled out my dad’s Santa costume to show us. “What do you think of this?”

  “Both outfits look fantastic, Mom.”

  “I’m glad you think so, because I made something for you, too.”

  Dear God. I reached for something to lean on as Mom pulled out her final costume. It was a short, one-piece green suit not unlike the costume Hailey Churchill had been wearing, except this one had a very short skirt and bright green tights.

  Great. I was going to be a twenty-seven-year-old elf in a sixteen-year-old’s costume. Just what a five-feet-two, busty redhead needed to make her day complete.

  “And just wait until you see the shoes I made for you.”

  I’d seen enough. “Mom, it all looks incredible and I’m so proud of you, but I think there’s something you should know.”

  I explained what had happened to Churchill and his daughter, filling them in on just enough detail to get me out of elf duty for the evening. “I’m sorry. I really wish I could be there to help but—”

  “I’ll wear the elf costume, Aunt Mo,” Jillian exclaimed, snatching up the outfit. “I’d love to help, and I can rock this little skirt. What do you think?”

  “That’s a great idea, Jill,” I said.

  “No, I meant about the skirt. What do you think?”

  “I’d be happy to have you help us,” Mom said, “but don’t the Osborne’s have their annual Christmas Eve luncheon right about now?”

  “Ugh, Christmas with the Osbournes. Don’t get me started.”

  “We won’t.” I said as several customers entered the store accompanied by the festive jingle above their heads.

  “Too late,” Jillian continued. “I’m already started. I am not spending another Christmas Eve with my in-laws and their stuck-up relations in a drafty old mansion with a real tree that stinks the whole place up like the outdoors. And all they serve is warm wine. Can you even imagine? Harper is with her father right now getting ready, but honestly, I’d rather sit out in the cold wearing an elf costume than stand around making small talk with wealthy artistic rats.”

  “Aristocrats, Jill.”

  “We have all day tomorrow to celebrate Christmas with my family, a real Christmas, with a fake tree and stockings filled with presents just like it should be. I’ll miss the yearly Christmas photo, which is a bummer because I look amazing, but I can ask the photographers to Photoshop me in later. Now, when should I change into my costume?”

  “Let’s go set up the booth, first,” Mom said. “I have a box of books in the trunk and some cold wine in the back seat.” She winked at Jillian and they giggled.

  “I guess I’ll just be the third wheel, so to speak,” Dad pouted.

  We heard grace singing from the tea parlor, “Oh, Jeffery.”

  My mom, Jillian, and I followed my dad into the parlor where Grace had set up a small portable television in the back near the coffee bar. I could smell the fresh coffee beans brewing as Grace tuned the TV to the football game.

  “Now, you relax,” Grace said, “while Lottie and I tend to the shop and your wife and niece set up the booth.” She took a steaming cup of coffee from the counter and handed it to my dad, who still seemed locked into his bad mood. “Don’t drink it too fast. It’s quite hot.” She leaned down to whisper, “There’s a little extra Irish cheer in it that’ll fix you right up.”

  Finally, my dad cracked a smile.

  Noon, Christmas Eve

  As Rosa and I headed back to Churchill’s, the town square was truly starting to come alive. The streets were still full of shoppers and some of the shop owners were already decorating their booths. We walked past a group of men on the courthouse lawn constructing the portable riser stage for the choir performing that evening. Everything was coming together.

  The downtown Christmas Eve celebration had not only been a tradition for the town, but for my family as well. I couldn’t imagine Christmas without it. I kept hoping Marco would see the magic in it, too. Unfortunately, I feared that this year, our first Christmas as husband and wife, would be just like the last and he’d spend the evening alone rather than with me.

  The long line of people waiting outside of Churchill’s had vanished, so we entered through the front doors. “We’ll just go in, find Marcille, and get some answers,” I said. We have less than six hours until the celebration, and I want Santa in his sleigh by the time they light that star.”

  “You leave her to me,” Rosa said. “I will find out what she knows.”

  I wasn’t expecting much activity inside, but to my surprise, the department store was actually busy. We walked down the hall, passing our evenly spaced Poinsettias, towards Santa’s Village. As we came closer we noticed the yellow tape had been taken down around th
e village, the surrounding area was now lively and festive, the Christmas music was loud and cheerful, and the departments were full of shoppers as though nothing had happened just one hour earlier. Not even a single police officer could be seen.

  Even more shocking, a small line of people had begun to form in front of Santa’s chair. And then, as if the situation couldn’t have gotten any more bewildering, Santa Claus himself stepped out of his workshop and gave a grand, sweeping wave to the growing crowd, causing the kids to cheer with excitement.

  I knew at once it wasn’t Churchill. On this man, the Santa suit hung loosely from his thin frame and despite the white moustache and beard, I could see a smooth face and youthful eyes. Still, no one seemed to mind.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked Rosa.

  “Something strange,” Rosa said, “because that man is not Levi Churchill.”

  And then a frightening thought occurred to me and I made a dash for the elevator to see if I was right. Rosa caught up to me as I bent down to check for the drops of blood, but they were gone, the floors wiped clean. Someone had completely removed all traces of evidence.

  “Rosa, cover for me. I’m going inside the workshop.” I crept over the pad of fake snow and eased the door open. The puddle of blood was gone, the chairs had been removed, and there were no clothes hanging from the hooks. I slipped back outside beside Rosa. “The workshop has been completely emptied out, as if nothing ever happened. Have you seen any sign of Marcille yet?”

  “No, but she is around somewhere. She must be.”

  We worked our way all the way around the crowded store until we ended up back by the elevator. “I’m going to check the second floor,” I told her. “You keep looking for her down here.” I started for the elevator only to have Rosa grab my arm. “What are you doing? What if it really is out of order?”

  “I don’t think it is.” I pressed the button and the gears of the ancient contraption sprang to life, causing the gold-toned doors to glide open. “I saw Marcille use it earlier – with the sign on it. She didn’t seem concerned at all.”

  Rosa’s lips pressed together in anger. “When you find her, bring her to me.”

  “Okay, it’s time to tell me what she did to make you dislike her so much.”

  “She stole the store manager job from me, that’s what she did. She was not happy when I applied for the position because it was obvious that I was better qualified, so she made sure I did not get it.”

  “How?”

  “She made up lies about me.”

  “What lies?”

  “She said horrible things about the way I dress and act. But even worse than that, she said I was not in this country legally even though I had proof. After that, everyone looked at me differently, especially Churchill, and I did not get the job.”

  And with that, she spun around and began to search for Marcille.

  Before taking the elevator to the second floor, I decided to retrace my steps to the emergency exit to see if the drops of blood there had been wiped clean. Sure enough, they had. In fact, it looked as though the entire area had been mopped recently, leaving me to wonder who had cleaned it and why. I studied the emergency exit. If only I had the nerve to push open the door and see if the alarm really would sound, I could be sure that Churchill was still somewhere in the building.

  I hurried back to the elevator and entered, praying that the sign really was fake. There was a faint musty smell inside that made me hold my nose. I pressed the button for the second floor and the elevator doors closed. As I began my slow decent upward, I tried to imagine what had happened in the workshop that morning.

  Santa would have already been dressed in his red suit when someone entered the back way. There wasn’t much space inside so there couldn’t have been more than one attacker. Had Santa cried out in alarm and, if so, would anyone in that noisy crowd have heard him? The signs pointed to some kind of a struggle, with one chair upturned and a puddle of blood on the floor, but had it been a friendly face that had greeted him at the door or someone with a deep grudge?

  I checked the elevator floor for blood stains but there were none. I examined the panel buttons for bloody prints. Still nothing. I bent down and looked under the railing and there it was, the clue I needed – a small swipe of dried blood. As the elevator sounded and the doors slid open, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the blood.

  Stepping out, I walked over to the railing encircling the second-floor balcony and placed my hands on the red tinsel braid, gazing down on the main floor. Christmas music echoed throughout the store as laughter and chatter from shoppers below floated upward. Behind me, the men’s clothing and shoe departments were crowded with shoppers being helped by busy employees. I was still struck by the fact that everything was proceeding as though nothing unusual had happened. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Yet there was one person who wasn’t – Hailey – and that was what mattered to me.

  I circulated among the throng until I came to the main stairway opposite the elevator. There were several people walking up and down the stairs with shopping bags, and kids trying to reach for the large ornaments dangling above their heads, but no glimpse of Marcille. I’d come back to my starting point and looked over the railing when I caught sight of an arm waving at me from below. Rosa was trying to catch my attention. Cupping her hands around her mouth she called, “I cannot find her.”

  “Keep looking,” I called back. I hit the elevator button again and stepped inside. There was only one way to go from here and that was up.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When the elevator stopped at the third floor, the ding seemed even louder this time, and when the doors opened, I realized why. Except for the soft buzzing from the overhead lighting, the third floor was completely empty and all of the office doors were closed, with not one employee in sight. I tried the doors and found them all locked. Had the staff been sent home early to get ready for the celebration? Or was something nefarious going on?

  I thought about that scene in the elevator, and it occurred to me that someone could have easily forced Santa into the elevator and straight up here without anyone noticing, all because of that Out of Order sign on the door.

  Suddenly, I heard someone whistling in the distance. As I crept toward the noise I noticed the floor was wet, and when I peeked cautiously around the corner I saw a janitor sweeping wide circles with his mop. He was tall and thin, well into his seventies, wearing an old pair of overalls with a circle of keys hanging from his belt.

  He seemed harmless, so I said, “Hello, there,” very quietly, trying not to startle him. “I seem to be lost.”

  He swiveled in my direction, placed the mop handle under his palm and crossed his arm over the top. “Seems that way.” He pulled his wrinkled cheeks into a smile but his eyes looked fatigued. “Third floor is employees only.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have hit the wrong button.” I made a show of turning to leave, but stopped. “By the way, I noticed a blood smear in the elevator, just so you know.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and went back to his mopping. “I’ve been doing a lot of that this morning.”

  Trying to draw more information from him, I asked, “Did someone tell you about the blood by the first-floor elevator and also by the emergency exit?”

  “Yep,” the old man said as he kept working. “Already took care of it.”

  “Someone must have been hurt pretty bad to be walking around dripping blood.”

  “I don’t question it. I just clean it.”

  “Did someone tell you there was blood up here?”

  “Store manager told me,” he answered.

  “I don’t like blood,” I said, trying my hardest not to seem suspicious. “Can you tell me where you were cleaning so I don’t step in it?”

  He paused to give me once over, then pointed down the hallway. “All leading right to that door.”

  “Did you check inside?”

  “Sure did,” he said.r />
  I knew I was pushing my luck but I had to keep trying. “Where does the door lead?”

  “That there is Churchill’s private bathroom.”

  “Who else has a key to that room?”

  The janitor plopped his mop into his bucket, splashing water onto the floor. “What are you up to, young lady? You’re not really lost, are you?”

  I hadn’t wanted to reveal my identity, just in case Reilly came around asking questions, but now I knew if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get any more information out of him. I dug in my purse for a business card. “Here. That’s me, Abby Salvare, from the Salvare Detective Agency. I’m working for Hailey Churchill to find her father because we think something very bad happened to him and we can’t get the police to believe us.

  “I think they believe it now,” he said, “after what they saw in that bathroom.”

  “Have the police been up here?”

  He put his mop inside his bucket and rolled it past me. “Yep. Come on. I’ll walk you back to the elevator.”

  “What did you see?” I asked as we walked along.

  “A whole mess of blood. Looked like someone tried to clean it up. Did a poor job, though.”

  “How long were the police here?”

  The old man scratched his head. “Couldn’t have been too long. After I unlocked all the doors, I went downstairs to clean up. I come back up here and they were gone.”

  I entered the elevator and he rolled his mop and bucket in after me. I pushed the down button and the old elevator door glided closed. “Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Churchill?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “The other day I overheard him and the store manager having a pretty heated discussion. She left the room with tears all down her face. I don’t see her as the type to hurt anyone though.”