Missing Under the Mistletoe Read online

  “Would that be Marcille?”

  He nodded.

  As the elevator doors opened onto the first floor, I thanked him for his honesty and told him to call me if he remembered anything else.

  Suddenly I heard a loud crash and dashed out of the elevator to see a crowd gathering around Santa’s Village. I heard shouting coming from inside the crowd and squeezed through for a better view.

  A tall, shaggy-haired young man in his mid-twenties, dressed in jeans and a white hooded sweatshirt had his hands wrapped around the collar of the skinny Santa I’d seen earlier. The beleaguered Santa, his fake white beard and moustache now askew, struggled to hang onto the arms of his chair as the younger man attempted to drag him out of it. The large bag of gifts next to Santa’s chair had been tipped over and presents were scattered all around.

  I wasn’t sure if anyone had called for the police so I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, giving the dispatch operator the address as the young assailant shouted to the skinny Santa, “You’re sitting there handing out presents as though nothing had happened. Get out of his chair.”

  The young man pulled Santa from his chair and they fell into the large, two-story Christmas tree, sending ornaments and candy canes crashing onto the floor around them. Santa fell to the ground and the young man swung toward the onlookers, breathing hard, obviously in distress. “What are you all doing here? Don’t you care that the real Santa Claus is gone and this impostor is taking his place? Doesn’t it bother anyone that Levi Churchill is missing?”

  The young Santa tried to grab him from behind only to have him whip around and punch Santa in the jaw.

  “Nathan! Stop that this minute!” Marcille cried, rushing toward the fighting men. She stepped over the presents scattered on the ground and tried to pull the young man away. She was knocked backward as Nathan’s elbow ratcheted back to lay another hard blow on skinny Santa’s cheek.

  At that moment Sergeant Reilly brushed past me, out of uniform, followed by three tall men wearing winter jackets and jeans. Two of the officers wrestled Nathan to the ground, flipped him on his back, and slapped cuffs on his wrists, but not before knocking over one of my Poinsettias, cracking the pot and spreading dirt and petals onto the pad of fake snow. Reilly and the third officer stayed with the bruised and beaten Santa, no doubt to get his statement.

  I hurried to Marcille’s side and knelt down to assist her. “Are you okay?”

  She groaned and reached her arm to her lower back, her red jacket pulling taught as she moved. “I think I twisted something in my back. Will you help me up?”

  As the two officers marched the young offender out of the store, I had Marcille put her arm around my shoulders and then I lifted her gently to her feet.

  “Thank you. You’re very kind,” she said with a faltering smile, showing some humility for the first time.

  “Are you sure you can stand?”

  “I think I may need to sit for a bit. Will you help me to the bench over there?”

  With my arm around her waist for support, I walked her around the gathered crowd, carefully avoiding the broken glass shards on the floor, and eased her down onto a white bench with red padding. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about what just happened?”

  “Go ahead.” She sounded a little less friendly than before.

  “Who’s Nathan? You seem to know him.”

  “He’s Levi Churchill’s son.” She shook her head. “Poor boy.”

  “That poor boy just assaulted Santa Claus,” I said, “and now he’s going to jail.”

  Her tone had turned curt again, her former humility gone. “Don’t judge him. You don’t know anything about Nathan.”

  “Then explain him to me.”

  “It’s a long story, Ms. Knight, and I don’t have the time to go into it right now. As you can see, the store is in disarray. I need to get Santa’s Village back up and running.”

  “Again, my name is not Ms. Knight. It’s –”

  “Abby Salvare,” Reilly said as he came strolling up. “I should’ve known. Wherever there’s trouble –”

  “There’s Sergeant Reilly,” I finished. “By the way, this is Marcille Shelby, the store manager.”

  “We’ve already had the pleasure of meeting,” Marcille said as she brushed dust from her elbows.

  Reilly crouched down in front of her. “Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No, I’ll recover. I’m just feeling a bit sore.” Marcille bent at the waist and stretched to the floor. “I may need a few extra days at yoga this week is all.”

  “How did you get here so fast, Reilly?” I asked. “I just called a few minutes ago.”

  He stood up and put his hands on his hips. “We have a booth set up by the choir’s stage. We’ll be handing out hot chocolate during tonight’s celebration, just like usual.”

  “And police badge stickers?” I asked.

  He looked down and quickly removed the sticker from his thick black sweater, a blush staining his fair complexion. “Anyway, just so you know, we’re right next to your booth. You better get started on that.”

  Damn! My booth! “Yes, Sarge, I will.” I glanced at my watch. It was almost one-thirty and I hadn’t even begun to set up the booth. Plus, I still had to meet Marco so we could get to the hospital to talk to Hailey.

  “Anyway,” he said, “you ladies should be pleased to know that the DA has already ordered the detective bureau to investigate Levi Churchill’s disappearance.” Reilly gave me a look that begged the question, now will you leave it alone?

  “Thank you,” Marcille said to Reilly. “Now, if there isn’t anything else.”

  “No, ma’am. Nothing else,” Reilly said.

  “Thank you.” She stretched down one last time and an envelope dropped from her inside jacket pocket, settling on the ground in between the three of us. Typed neatly across the middle of the envelope were three bold words.

  CHURCHILL’S LAST CHRISTMAS.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sergeant Reilly bent down and picked up the envelope from the floor. “What’s this?”

  “Good question,” I said, looking at Marcille. I stood up next to Reilly and faced her. “I saw that very envelope lying on the ground inside Santa’s Workshop next to a puddle of blood – which, by the way, you ordered to be cleaned up, including the trail of blood I found leading away from the workshop.”

  “You took this envelope out of the workshop?” Reilly asked her.

  “I most certainly did not,” Marcille exclaimed indignantly. “I wasn’t allowed inside because your men taped it off.”

  “You most certainly did,” I said.

  “What about the trail of blood?” Reilly asked me.

  “I followed it straight to the elevator just as Marcille came strolling out, calm as could be, in the middle of all the commotion earlier. If I’m right about Marcille, she forced Mr. Churchill out of that little shack and up to the third floor. I was just there. I checked, and every single room is locked tight. You need to get your officers upstairs right now and see if Mr. Churchill is being held up there.”

  “You’re wrong,” Marcille cried. “The police have already been to the third floor. We unlocked every office, board room, bathroom and closet for them and then watched as they searched every single one. Now would you please let me get back to work?”

  “Reilly, you’re holding the proof,” I said. “Check the back of envelope and you’ll see half of a bloody fingerprint. I’ll bet if you test it –”

  Reilly flipped the envelope over, and I stopped cold. There was no bloody fingerprint. The envelope was clean, and there was a letter inside.

  “That envelope proves nothing.” Marcille boldly snatched it from Reilly’s hands. “I printed out a whole stack of these. The rest should be sitting on Levi Churchill’s desk even as we speak. Every single employee is going to receive one by week’s end. It’s a letter of notice, informing them that Churchill’s department store is going to be sold. I just happened to
have one with me.”

  I still wasn’t convinced. “Then what’s the significance of CHURCHILL’S LAST CHRISTMAS? That sounds like a threat to me.”

  “A threat?” she exclaimed. “That was done at Mr. Churchill’s request. Christmas is what this department store has come to stand for. It’s what Mr. Churchill has always prided himself in. Above all else he wanted to thank the employees for their service throughout the holidays, and that’s all.”

  Reilly gave me a smoldering glare as he handed the letter back to Marcille. I used the uncomfortable pause to let the significance of that letter sink in: Churchill’s department store was going to be sold. Obviously someone other than Marcille saw the letters on Churchill’s desk and took one to confront the man as he was putting on his Santa suit.

  That piece of information opened up a whole new theory about Santa’s disappearance, but it didn’t let Marcille off the hook.

  “Why is there a sign on the elevator that says Out of Order?” I asked her.

  “Damn,” she said. “That sign needs to come down. I only put it up in the morning so that no one sees Churchill coming down before he changes. With all the distractions, I completely forgot about it.”

  “Can you explain why there are no employees working on the third floor?” I asked. That seems a little strange on the busiest shopping day of the year.”

  “There is never any clerical staff working on Christmas Eve.”

  She had a quick answer for every question I could throw at her.

  “I still think someone is rushing this investigation,” I said to Reilly.

  “So does Nathan Churchill,” Marcille shot back. “Are you going to knock me over, too?”

  I gave her a scowl then turned to Reilly. “Don’t you think the crime scene was cleaned up a little too quickly? It feels like the detectives aren’t taking this seriously enough or they wouldn’t have removed the yellow tape so soon.”

  “They seem to be doing a good job to me,” Marcille said as she stood, wincing a little in pain. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.” She briskly walked away with a slight hobble.

  I leaned in closer to Reilly. “I don’t care what she says, I still think she knows more than she’s telling you or the detectives.”

  “You might be right,” he said, “but that’s why they’re called detectives. I’m not going to tell you again. Let them do the detecting.”

  As Rosa joined me, Reilly said, “That goes for you, too, Rosa. I don’t want to see either of you anywhere near this establishment. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Like the crystal,” Rosa said and grabbed hold of my arm. “Come with me. I have to tell you something.”

  As we hurried toward the front door I noticed the old janitor standing in front of Santa’s Village with his arms draped over his mop, staring gravely at the mess.

  Outside the building, we crossed the street onto the town square and stopped by Santa’s sleigh, all set up and waiting for him to arrive. Behind the sleigh were men on tall ladders placing the large golden star on top of the towering Christmas tree. Glancing around to be sure we weren’t being overheard, she said, “Churchill’s son was taken away in handcuffs.”

  “I know, Rosa. I saw him get into a fist fight with Santa Claus. He was shouting at the crowd to go home, clearly upset by the fact that everyone was acting like nothing had happened. And to be honest, I’m upset, too.”

  “Have the police stopped looking for Churchill?”

  “No, but they sure don’t seem to be looking very hard.”

  We began walking back to Bloomers, passing the New Chapel Police booth and the Salvation Army booth, where boxes for toy donations sat in rows along the courthouse. Most of the shops around the square had booths on the lawn, their displays almost set up. And there sat the Bloomers booth. Empty.

  “Rosa, can I ask you a huge favor? It’s almost one-thirty and Marco and I need to visit Hailey in the hospital. If you could –”

  She stopped me. “I will talk to Lottie and Grace. We will watch the store and set up the booth. You have a Santa to save.”

  I gave her a hug. “Thank you, Rosa.”

  My mom and Jillian were setting out books and waved for us to come over. At the same moment, I saw Marco coming out of Down The Hatch, undoubtedly on his way to Bloomers to collect me. He was wearing a thick, black leather bomber jacket with a light grey scarf and thin gloves, black denims, and black boots, making a very sexy Scrooge.

  “Rosa, would you go make my apologies to my mom and Jillian? I’ve got to catch Marco.”

  I caught his eye as I hurried across Franklin. “Marco,” I called, “Would you wait for me in front of the shop with the car warmed-up?”

  I tried to make a joke about wanting to warm up more than just the car, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood. He merely turned around and headed for the public parking lot around the corner. After I’d stopped in to thank Lottie and Grace in advance for setting up the booth, Lottie reminded me about the bouquet of flowers for Hailey. I grabbed the bouquet and passed through the parlor to give my dad a quick kiss on the cheek before I left.

  The car wasn’t fully warmed up but the conversation started sizzling the moment I entered. Marco’s bad mood had momentarily vanished and Team Salvare was back on the case. The hospital was just a quick trip down the highway, so I tried to fill him in on everything I’d learned as quickly as possible.

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” I said, “so I guess I’ll start with the most relevant information first. Levi Churchill is selling his department store, which gives us a whole new motive for his disappearance. I just hope that doesn’t mean the celebration will end as well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Sunshine. I know how much the event means to you.”

  I wanted to push the subject further, like how much it could mean to both of us if he would just open up and give it a chance. But I had learned my lesson, so I didn’t push. “It really does mean a lot, not just to me but to the whole town as well. Just wait until sundown and you’ll see what I mean. The whole town square will be packed with people.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said dryly. “Did you find out anything more about Marcille?”

  “I did. And I totally embarrassed myself in front of Reilly, too, by accusing her of kidnapping Santa Claus.”

  Marco glanced at me in surprise. “You accused Marcille? That skinny little woman?”

  “Well,” I said sheepishly, “remember the envelope I’d seen in the workshop? While I was talking to her, it fell out of her pocket – or at least I thought it was the same envelope. It had the same words typed on the front. But as it turned out, the envelope didn’t contain a threatening letter. It was a letter advising the employees that the business was going to be sold. And there was no bloody fingerprint on the envelope she had either.”

  “Then what was she doing with one?” Marco asked.

  “Good question. Plus, the crime scene tape has been taken down around the workshop and the store was moving along as though nothing happened. It strikes me as very strange, almost like someone is trying to cover up Churchill’s disappearance.

  I spoke with a janitor who Marcille had ordered to clean up all of the blood. He had a large key ring full of different keys. I bet he would have access to Churchill’s office. He and Marcille could be working together. I don’t have any evidence to back that up, but let’s just keep it in mind.”

  “Let’s hope Hailey has had enough time to calm down and think. Maybe she can help us out.”

  “Speaking of Hailey,” I said, “I saw her brother Nathan fighting with a Santa Claus substitute this afternoon, trying to pull him out of his chair, shouting for the crowd to go home. He seemed furious that business was going on as usual. Luckily, Reilly and his men weren’t far away and were able to handcuff him and haul him off to jail before he could do serious harm to the poor guy.”

  “It sounds like we need to have a little talk with Nathan,” Marco said, “if they’
ll let us into the jail to see him.”

  “Don’t worry. I have a connection. Remember my dad’s old friend Matron Patty?”

  “Good thinking,” Marco said as he turned down the long winding lane to the hospital parking lot.

  A police officer was posted outside Hailey’s second-floor private room but, fortunately, Marco knew him from his year on the force and was able to convince him to let us in to deliver the bouquet. Inside, however we found Hailey sound asleep.

  “What do we do now?” Marco asked.

  “I guess we’ll just leave the flowers and try to get back here later.” But through the shades on the window I could see that the sun was already settling lower into the sky and I began to worry that the big Christmas Eve celebration was going to go on without the Santa Claus, the man who’d basically started it all.

  Tiptoeing across the room, I cleared some space on the windowsill and set the bouquet down among the other floral arrangements that had begun to arrive. Marco nudged me, and I looked around to see Hailey’s eyelids fluttering open.

  “Did you find my dad?” Hailey asked immediately. Her head was wrapped in bandages which stopped just above her eyebrows. She clasped her hands together and her eyes welled with tears. “Please tell me you did.”

  “We haven’t yet, but we’re still investigating.”

  She looked about to cry, so I hurried to the other side of her bed, pulled the portable recliner up close and took her hand in mine. “I know you’re frightened, Hailey, but it’s early yet. We’ll find your father. In the meantime, do you have any family who can stay with you?”

  “My aunt is at the house picking up some clothes for me,” she said. “My brother was here for a while, but he left and hasn’t come back yet.”

  “Hailey, I hate to be the one to bring you this news but your brother might not be back tonight. He got into a fight with someone at your dad’s store and the police had to take him away.”

  “Nathan’s in jail?” She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. “I told him not to go back to the store. I knew he’d get into trouble.”