Chapter 2 #2
“I wanted to share my cake with all the people I love and someone vandalized it.” I shake my head, unable and unwilling to comprehend how something like this could happen.
My Christmas tree looms in my peripheral vision.
I bought the grandest evergreen at the Christmas tree farm, loaded it with antique ornaments (and a few Hallmark ones) and wrapped it in ribbon and tinsel.
I had the tree skirt, a lush red velvet, imported from Denmark.
I’d just unboxed it and spread it out mere minutes before the first guest arrived for Thanksgiving (one must get a head start on Christmas, I always say).
To think that someone wandered into my cozy Christmas tree nook, trampled on the velvet skirt, squatted down in front of the bay windows where any passerby could see… and had a bowel movement!
“Holly!” Elliot snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Focus! We’ll get to the crime later.”
“How am I expected to focus when the crime scene is right there? Mocking me!”
With an exasperated sigh, he grips my shoulders and whirls me around so the Christmas tree nook is out of sight, though not out of mind.
“How many guests, exactly, did you invite?” Elliot asks, flipping his notepad open like a movie reporter circa 1945.
“Not many. It was a cozy get-together.”
“Define ‘cozy.’”
“Oh…” I count on my fingers, “there’s my mom. My sister Jen and her boyfriend Brian. Paige from the coffee shop, you know…”
“Paige the best friend,” he jots down. “I will need full names, age, and a brief physical description from you later.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know everyone. Most of them live in town.”
He levels me with a frown that says ‘I-do-things-by-the-book.’
“Go on,” he continues.
“Paige. Uncle Tony and Aunt Cherry and Mochi, their dog.”
“Dog?” His eyebrows lift. He writes ‘Dog’ in big capital letters. “What breed?”
“An English bulldog. Very excitable and jittery. Breathes like Darth Vader. Takes ten steps for your one. But you saw the photos. I don’t think a tiny dog is responsible for the um… the situation.”
Elliot taps his pen against his notebook, counting. “We’ve got mom, sister & fiancé, Paige from the coffee shop, Uncle Tony and Aunt Cherry and a dog. And the host…” he says with a dramatic pause, “That makes eight.”
“Mochi is included in the headcount?”
“Given the nature of the crime, I’d say Mochi is prime a suspect.”
“Then you’ll have to include my cat, Grizzy, but I’ve had her for years and she’s fastidious about using her litter box.”
“Grizzy,” he writes, “nine. Anyone else?”
“Manny the UPS guy.”
He raises his head in surprise. “You invited the UPS guy to Thanksgiving?”
“My shop relies on shipping. I see Manny every day. How can I not invite him to Thanksgiving?”
“Manny the UPS guy,” he notes. “Anyone else?
“My cousin Victor, his wife Ivy, and two kids.”
“Age of kids?”
“Chloe, 3. Tristan, 7.”
“Uh huh,” he says, copying down the information. “We’ll have to look at the toddler more closely.”
An unexpected giggle escapes me. I clasp my hand over my mouth.
Elliot looks over at me. “Something funny?”
“I was just picturing you interrogating sweet little Chloe.” I mash my lips together. “Is she going to need a lawyer?”
He shakes his head. “I see I’m the only one taking this seriously.”
“It’s just a joke.” I study his stoney face. “You know how to joke, don’t you?”
“Not while I’m on the job,” he says. “Now focus. The guest list. Continue.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Mayor Thornberry.”
“Ivan Thornberry?” He straightens up. “You invited the mayor to your party? The incumbent in the election? Your opponent?”
“I’ve known Ivan for years. I attend every Tuesday town hall.”
“I bet you do,” Elliot murmurs under his breath.
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes sweep over my sleek brown curls and immaculate canary yellow sweater over white jeans. “You just strike me as a vocal citizen,” he says at last. “A PTA mom type.”
“I don’t have kids.”
“If or when you do, you’ll not only join the PTA, you’ll involved yourself so deep in the PTA, you’ll become the PTA.”
I chew on my inner cheek, mulling over his assumption of me.
It sounds like an insult, but he’s not wrong.
When it comes to Mapledale, I’m invested.
Kids are on the horizon after I find the man of my dreams, fall head-over-heels in love, take 1.
5 years to enjoy our honeymoon phase and establish a solid foundation for our marriage, then pop out exactly two kids (twins would be ever so efficient) in the ever-narrowing window before middle age infertility kicks in.
That being said, I’m thirty-three years old, single, and the future father of my children is nowhere to be found.
I have quite the mountain to climb, but when I climb it (I’m manifesting it before bed every night), you better believe I plan to join the PTA.
“What goes on during these town halls?” Elliot asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“All the small business owners gather and give…” I suck on my inner cheek until I find the right words, “suggestions to make this town a better place.”
Elliot takes this in, nonplussed. “Let me guess, you’re not shy about voicing your suggestions. And I bet you have a ton of suggestions.”
I know what he’s getting at here. I’m not taking the bait. “I’m an active member of this community. Paige comes too. Did you know that someone drinks in front of her cafe every Thursday night?”
“Um… because she sells drinks?”
I narrow my eyes. “These aren’t her drinks. Someone downed three bottles of Coors Banquet and set them on her window ledge. And yesterday…” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “one of those bottles shattered.”
“Oh nooo,” he mocks. “Whatever will she do?”
“It’s not funny.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Someone could have been hurt. Imagine what this will do to her business when her morning customers arrive? And while I was helping her sweep up the mess, we found a blunt.”
Elliot takes in my story with a blank expression. “So someone was smoking weed and drinking cheap beer in front of the Honey Latte Lounge… disgusting!”
“You can stop laughing at me. It’s a real issue. This town isn’t what it used to be.”
“I bet Paige really let Mayor Thornberry have it.”
“Well,” I shrug sheepishly, “Paige isn’t one to speak up for herself. Never has been. I wrote up a speech for her, but she was too afraid to read it.”
Elliot nods as if I’ve just confirmed something he’d long suspected. “Let me guess: you complained on her behalf.”
“Well, somebody’s got to!”
“Uh huh…” He glances down at his notes. “So you air your grievances to Mayor Thornberry every Tuesday night and invite him to dine on turkey Thursday night.”
“I was trying to extend an olive branch. You know, a truce, just like the Pilgrims and In — er, um… Indigenous Peoples did during the first Thanksgiving. Besides, Mayor Thornberry knows it’s not personal.
He expects every Mapledale resident to voice their suggestions. My voice is just louder than most.”
“Ivan Thornberry, Mayor of Mapledale,” he notes. “Any more guests in your ‘cozy’ party?”
I ponder for a moment. “Dennis… but I didn’t invite him. I don’t even know his last name. He’s not from Mapledale.”
“Dennis,” he writes, then glances up expectantly, “who is Dennis?”
“Some guy my aunt’s trying to set me up with.”
“A complete stranger?”
“Son of her co-worker, so not a total stranger. She can vouch for him.”
“What sort of character is this ‘Dennis?’”
“Quiet. Doesn’t say much. Funny looking little guy, but polite overall.”
“Funny lookin’ how?”
“He has a mullet.” I wrinkle my nose.
Elliot’s mouth twitches. “A mullet?”
“An aggressive one. And he has a wispy mustache and strange taste in shoes.”
Elliot arches an eyebrow. “What kind of shoes?”
“He came to the party wearing purple socks and Tevas.”
“So I take it Dennis is not your type?”
My eyebrows lift. “What do you think?”
“Okay,” he massages the back of his neck. “This is what we have…”
He tears off a piece of paper and hands it to me.
Final Suspects
Humans
Mother
Jen (Sister)
Brian (Sister’s fiancé)
Paige (Best friend)
Aunt Cherry
Uncle Tony
Victor (Cousin)
Ivy (Victor’s wife)
Chloe (3), daughter of Victor & Ivy
Tristan (7), son of Victor & Ivy
Manny (UPS guy)
Dennis (Blind date)
Mayor Thornberry (The rival)
Holly Lo (The host & ‘Victim’)
Pets
Mochi (English bulldog)
Grizzy (Holly’s cat. Litter box trained)
“That makes fourteen human suspects, including the host, and two animals,” he says, ignoring me as I fume over the inclusion of my name, “twelve adults, two kids, and two pets. Anybody else we should know about. Caterers?”
“No caterers. My mom and I did the turkey and stuffing. The rest was a potluck.”
“Does the list look right?”
“I’d strike my name from the list,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Not until you’ve proven your innocence. No stone unturned.”
“Right,” I say, “other than the obvious error of suspecting the victim, everything looks good to me.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got the suspect list squared away.” He slaps his hands together and turns his attention to the Christmas nook. “Let’s take a look at the crime scene.”