Deadly Holiday (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 2) Page 4

  I hung a Mammoth Cave ornament on the Christmas tree in my living room. “You know me well.” Even though I’d grabbed a few items at the store, I didn’t feel like cooking—or eating leftovers again.

  “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.” We disconnected, and I slipped a bicycle ornament from Mackinac Island on a branch and stood back to admire my handiwork.

  For the past ten years or so, I’d been collecting souvenir ornaments from the places I’d traveled. My favorites were a carved moose from Alaska and a miniature pair of wooden shoes from Holland, Michigan. The decorations and multi-colored lights had already added cheer to my house and helped lighten my mood.

  Gus watched while gnawing on a squeaky duck, a gift from my mom, who’d gone into grandparent mode the minute she’d met her granddog. He abandoned his toy and sniffed the artificial tree—I liked real ones too much to kill them—and flinched when a few needles touched his nose. Good. Hopefully, that’d keep him from destroying the ornaments.

  Still, I’d better not put any of Brandi’s homemade cinnamon ornaments within the dog’s reach. I finished decorating, stowed the boxes upstairs in the spare-bedroom closet, and went back downstairs to set the kitchen table.

  Brandi arrived and plunked the food bag onto the table. Gus stood guard, waiting for us to drop naan crumbs or rice grains.

  “How was shopping?” I unwrapped the naan, tore off a piece, and shoved it in my mouth.

  “It shouldn’t be possible to Christmas shop for twelve hours and not be finished.” She opened a container of rice and dumped it on her plate. “I got some good deals on toys for my nieces and nephews though.”

  “You, Ashley, and I need to go shopping when she gets back.” Ashley had gone home to Louisville for the weekend. “I don’t know what to buy Cal for Christmas. What do you get a guy you haven’t been dating very long?”

  “I’m not sure.” Brandi dumped a healthy portion of chicken tikka masala over the rice. “Brian and I started dating in the summer and were engaged before Christmas. There weren’t many guys in my life before him.” She passed the container to me. “Or after,” she mumbled.

  Her husband Brian had died three years earlier in a car accident. Though it’d taken Ashley and me some time to coax Brandi back into the dating game, I’d recently convinced her to go out with a lawyer and triathlete named Jon Nordmeyer.

  I put less food on my plate than I normally would’ve. “Speaking of men, have you rescheduled your date with Jon?” They were having trouble coordinating their schedules and had been forced to cancel their date a few weeks ago.

  “Not yet, but we’ll get to it.” Brandi dipped a piece of naan in the spicy sauce. “I’ll give your gift problem some thought, but if I were you, I’d ask Ashley for advice in that department.”

  Ashley had more dating savvy than Brandi and I combined. I stabbed a dainty piece of chicken and took a bite. “So, I have some bad news.” I filled her in on the day’s events.

  She rested her fork on the plate. “Why would someone poison Zach?” Tears welled in her green eyes.

  “That’s what I want to find out.” I zig-zagged my fork through the pile of rice on my plate.

  Brandi blinked and displayed her best teacher look. “No surprise there.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, but for me, the action was mechanical. Too much had happened for me to enjoy the food, so I shoved my plate away. The leftovers would keep. “J.T. and I did a little poking around this afternoon and found out Zach volunteered at Solid Rock Mission with Olivia Scott yesterday. I’ve talked to her some at choir practice—small talk mostly. Do you know anything about her background?”

  “Yeah. I had her in school probably seven or eight years ago.” Brandi tore a piece of naan and wiped her plate clean. “She’s a sweet girl. Did her work and stayed out of trouble.” She ate one last bite and pushed her plate aside.

  “Do you remember anything about her home life or why she wouldn’t have been with her family on Thanksgiving?”

  Brandi squinted as if she were trying to remember. “Olivia’s mom died while she was in high school, and her dad’s a fireman in Richardville. She’s an only child.”

  “Maybe her dad had to work Thanksgiving, so Olivia served with Zach at the shelter.”

  “That’d make sense,” Brandi said. “I overheard Olivia say at choir practice they don’t have extended family in this area.”

  “Carsyn Daniels was there too. Do you know her?”

  “By sight. She went to school in Richardville. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her at church for months.” She tossed her napkin on her plate. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to get involved? What would Cal say?”

  It was comments like this—and that she was seven years older—that’d caused Ashley and me to nickname Brandi Mom. Then, I’d figured out our smart-aleck humor was a painful reminder to her that she wasn’t—and wanted to be.

  I shifted. “I’m already involved. Zach tried to tell me something, and it might be important.” I didn’t have an answer for her second question. No—that wasn’t true. I knew the answer and didn’t want to face it.

  Cal wouldn’t be happy.

  After Brandi left, I cleaned up the kitchen, took out the trash, and sprayed cinnamon air freshener. Christmas musical practice was in order, so I settled at the piano in my living room, warmed up with a few scales, and played through each piece. I familiarized myself with the vocal parts I’d have to teach at Monday night’s rehearsal.

  Gus lounged next to the bench and lifted his head every so often as if he were monitoring my progress like a piano teacher. When I flipped to the last page in the folder, it wasn’t music.

  It contained a list of the phone numbers of all the choir members—including Olivia Scott’s.

  My fingers hovered over the keys. I interpreted it as a sign that God wanted me to reach out to Olivia. I closed the piano’s fallboard, took the binder, and crossed to my phone on the coffee table.

  Picking up the phone, I bit my lip. What should I say? What if Olivia hadn’t even been notified about Zach?

  Surely, she knew. Nothing stayed a secret for long in Wildcat Springs. Just in case, I’d keep the message generic and general.

  This is Georgia from choir. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’d be happy to talk if you need someone to listen.

  I tapped send and hoped she’d be willing to talk to me since I’d been the last person to see Zach alive, though I couldn’t be sure she would’ve heard about that. At the very least, she knew I had a habit of poking my nose into murder investigations.

  My doorbell dinged, and I jumped like a guilty little kid who’d stolen a cookie before supper. Gus scurried toward the foyer. I closed the music folder and shoved my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. Before I reached the door, I heard someone whistling “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

  My heart skipped, and I peeked through the sidelight.

  Cal.

  I yanked the door open. “You came home early!” I threw my arms around him.

  He drew me closer, and my breath caught. As I melted against his muscular chest, I rejoiced again that his height and broad shoulders made me feel petite.

  “Got home around one this afternoon.”

  “Why?” It couldn’t have been because of the case. He would’ve already been on his way home when Zach had been poisoned. I gazed up at him, hoping that I’d been at least part of the reason. “Not that I mind.”

  He stepped back. “Let’s not get into it.”

  My chest constricted as I shut the door. He’d tell me when he was ready—at least I hoped so. “All right.” I managed to keep my voice steady.

  His blue eyes searched mine. “You okay? I heard you found Zach.” He leaned over, patted Gus’s head, and kicked off his boat shoes.

  “Sort of.” We walked into the living room and sat down on my sectional sofa. “I feel worse for Zach’s friends and famil
y than myself.” I pulled a throw pillow to my chest.

  “Yeah. His mom’s taking it hard.” Cal sighed and ran his hands through his thick, dark hair.

  I swallowed—and pushed aside my own memories of learning about Daddy’s murder. “Do you know what poison it was?” Not that I expected him to share many details about the case, but it seemed like a safe topic. Gus plopped onto the floor between us.

  “Yes. Thanks to your tip about the travel mug.”

  I gazed at him. “Well?”

  “When I got back, Marvin sent me to the scene, and I found the travel mug. We had it tested, and it contained traces of poison.”

  “What kind?”

  “Now that I can’t tell you, but the evidence we’ve found suggests Zach didn’t knowingly ingest it.”

  I shuddered. “Do you think someone on my church staff poisoned him?” Cal had visited my church but had chosen to attend Liberty Christian Church, a much smaller fellowship in Wildcat Springs.

  “Anything’s possible.”

  I stuck out my lower lip. “This is frustrating.”

  “I’m sorry.” He studied me. “I went to Solid Rock Mission this evening, and the director mentioned something about a tall, attractive woman named Georgia and her male assistant coming in and asking questions.” He tilted his head and smirked. “Care to explain?”

  In my head, I did a happy dance because his dimple had appeared and because J.T. and I might’ve been on the right track when we’d chosen to retrace Zach’s final day. “J.T. told me about Zach volunteering there, so we took donations and asked a few questions. No big deal.”

  “You were with J.T.?”

  “Yes.” I laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  “Not worried.” He crossed his arms. “Curious. Why’d you feel compelled to investigate?”

  I traced my finger along the pillow’s edge. “Zach tried so hard to tell me something before he died, so I wanted answers. His family and friends will need closure.”

  “Marvin and I will figure it out. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

  “Okay.” I stifled a sigh. If Olivia responded to my text, I’d handle it as a caring, Christian friend reaching out to help a fellow believer through her grief.

  It was such a good excuse, I almost convinced myself it was true.

  “Enough about the case,” Cal said. “Tell me about Thanksgiving.”

  I told him about my annoying stepbrothers wanting to be my sidekicks, which made him laugh.

  “How was yours?” I asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and his expression darkened. “The fact that I came home early should tell you all you need to know.”

  “I’m sorry.” Should I press for more details? “What happened?”

  He stroked Gus’s back with his foot. “I don’t want to burden you with my family problems—and I’m not in the mood to dwell on them.”

  Or you don’t trust me enough to confide in me. He might as well have been wearing a No Trespassing sandwich board. Shoving the thought aside as the silence grew unbearable, I pointed to my Christmas tree in the corner near the fireplace. “Isn’t it pretty? I finished decorating today.”

  “Yep. I need you to come help me. All I have is a pitiful four-foot tree and a few tarnished ornaments I picked up at a thrift store. Last year, I didn’t even bother putting the tree up at all.”

  “That’s really sad.” I shook my head. “I’d be happy to help.

  “Cool.” He scooted closer and put his arm around me.

  At least Cal wanted me around, but would he ever trust me enough to share the deeper stuff in his life?

  Saturday morning, Olivia still hadn’t responded to my text. Had I offended her? That could be the problem. She knew I was after information and didn’t want to talk to me. After all, chatting during choir rehearsals didn’t exactly make us bosom buddies. We hadn’t even reached Facebook-friend stage, and I now completely regretted not friending her because a search of her page—as well as Instagram—had yielded no results thanks to her privacy settings.

  Since I was in need of a caffeine infusion, I grabbed my purse and keys and drove to Latte Conspiracies in downtown Wildcat Springs. The owner, Bobbi Sue Miller, knew everyone’s business before they knew their own, so she might give me some information about Olivia Scott or Carsyn Daniels. I figured this wouldn’t count as investigating since Bobbi Sue would give me an earful whether I wanted it or not.

  Town officials had begun hanging evergreen Christmas wreaths from the light poles that lined Main Street. I parallel parked my truck in the first spot I found, a half block away, and hoofed it to the shop, which was connected to Miller’s Books—Bobbi Sue’s husband’s store.

  A blast of warm air mingled with the smell of roasting coffee beans hit my face when I entered the shop, and a skinny Christmas tree decked out with alien and UFO ornaments towered in the corner.

  Bobbi Sue was wiping down stainless-steel tabletops and waved. “How’re things going with that handsome detective?”

  “We’re going to see Christmas lights this evening.” We’d made the plans the night before as Cal had left—without kissing me.

  Bobbi Sue had always taken an interest in my love life because she’d never been able to solve the mystery of why I was still single.

  “Sounds romantic. He’s quite a catch—for a cop.” She flipped the cloth up on her shoulder and pushed up the long sleeves of her gray t-shirt emblazoned with the words, Paranoia Saves Lives. “I was hoping you’d come in today.”

  Interesting. “Why’s that?”

  She waved for me to come closer, so I did. “Did you hear Zach Mishler was poisoned?” she whispered.

  “I was the one who found him.”

  Her eyes rounded. “I hadn’t heard. You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you gonna investigate?”

  “Well I—”

  “I figured you would. Come on.” She motioned for me to follow. “You’re getting whatever drink you want on the house. After all you’ve been through, it’s the least I can do.” As she walked around the counter, she pointed up at the menu made of individual clipboards that displayed descriptions of the specialty drinks. Bobbi Sue had woven large-bulb, multi-colored Christmas lights between the clipboards.

  “Thanks. That’s sweet.” I studied the drink options. I loved the Area 51 Latte and the Moon Landing Mocha but was in the mood for something different. “I’ve been wanting to try the new Elvis Sighting Latte.” The drink was flavored with banana and peanut butter syrups.

  Bobbi Sue beamed. “The hubs and I had a ball thinking that one up. We’ve got another new drink in the works, but it’s still top secret.” She pumped some syrup into a cup adorned with an alien, put it aside, and began steaming milk. “It’s so sad how our little town’s had another murder. Makes me wonder if law enforcement isn’t trying to cover something up.”

  Bobbi Sue’s distrust of cops stemmed from her dad being set up for a crime he didn’t commit years earlier. Though he’d been vindicated, her opinion about law enforcement remained steadfast.

  I blinked. “Like what?”

  Tara Fullerton’s murder hadn’t involved any shady business with law enforcement.

  “I don’t know. Just don’t trust ’em. I’m keeping my eyes and ears open.” She pointed at me. “So should you.”

  She added espresso to the cup and stirred before pouring in the frothy milk. After she popped the lid on the cup, she met my eyes. “Especially since the Scott girl’s up and disappeared.”

  Chapter Four

  “Olivia Scott?” My eyes widened.

  “Yep. The pretty redhead. Early twenties. Figure I’d kill for.” Bobbi Sue slid a coffee sleeve onto the cup and held out my drink.

  I took it. “When?” Had she poisoned Zach and skipped town?

  “Not sure.” Bobbi leaned forward. “Olivia and her daddy Trent were supposed to have their Turkey Day celebration last evening because he was pull
ing a shift at the fire department in Richardville on Thanksgiving. Word on the street is she never showed. He got worried and went to her house looking for her. Nothing.”

  I had to wonder about the credibility of Bobbi Sue’s sources. “Who told you?”

  “Martha Jackson was in here earlier, and her son’s on the fire department with Trent. Ellen Weber told me the same story, and she got it from her daughter who lives next door to Olivia.”

  “Do you know where she lives?” It might not hurt to drop in on her neighbors.

  “Sure do. The hubs and I rented that very same house when we were first married. Two-eighteen Maple Street. Little brick ranch. Cozy.”

  I tucked the address away as I tried to process Olivia’s disappearance. She seemed like a sweet person, so maybe she hadn’t poisoned Zach. What if his killer had kidnapped her? Or she’d been killed too—and her body hadn’t been found?

  Bobbi Sue waved her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Georgia.”

  “Sorry.” I yanked my focus back to my original objective. “One more thing. Do you know Carsyn Daniels?”

  Bobbi Sue shook her head. “Can’t say that I do. She important?”

  “I’m not sure. If you hear anything else, let me know.”

  “Will do. You’re my favorite detective.”

  I held up the cup. “Thanks for the drink.”

  I hurried back to my truck and drove a few blocks to Maple Street. A couple of two-story houses on each side of Olivia’s bungalow dwarfed her place. The home to the north had a For-Sale sign in the yard. At the house to the south of Olivia’s, a man balanced on a ladder while fastening icicle lights to the roofline. A van with Litchfield Handyman Service written on the side sat in the driveway.

  I parked next to the curb and went to talk to the man, who’d climbed down and was rummaging through a box at the foot of the ladder. “Excuse me, sir? My name’s Georgia Winston, and I’m looking for Olivia.”

  The man, who looked about sixty, adjusted his Colts sock cap. “Well, Georgia, my name’s Pete Litchfield, and you’re outta luck. She ain’t home.”