Deadly Traditions, page 16
I took the mug out to show it to Portia. The back of the mug said, “Dear Nicholas: Everything's better with you. Love, Molly.”
Portia wasn’t surprised. “Molly’s been in love with Mr. Brown for the past five years now, since she was chosen as Mrs. Claus.”
“Really? She seems to keep her distance from him in public.” Maybe I wasn’t as observant as I thought I was.
“He told her he wasn’t interested. So, she relishes Photos with Santa. There, she can get close to him.” Portia took the mug from me. “Look, she even drew a big heart and wrote XOXO on the bottom of the mug with a Sharpie. Mr. Brown probably could use some company, but he said she’s too loud and too talkative. She’s always trying to get him to open up and ask him a billion questions.”
I turned my notebook to a fresh page. “Suspect #2: Molly Peach. Unrequited love.” I looked up, my mouth gaping open. “My goodness!”
“What?”
Chapter 5
“She reminds me of Annie Wilkes in Misery! Her mousy hair, drab loose dresses, and all!”
“I thought you liked being objective.” Portia shook her head. “Molly is a sweet lady. She’d never harm Mr. Brown.”
“But her admiration could become an obsession.” I scribbled some more in my notebook. “I’m going to look around to see if there are other gifts or letters from her.”
I failed to find more gifts from Molly, but I did find a letter from Fred, the nephew.
I brought it over to read it with Portia. “Uncle Nicholas, how are you? I’ve tried calling you multiple times. I hope everything is okay. Times are hard. I’ve lost my job at the factory. After being a loyal employee for 29 years! Can you believe that? They said they don’t need me anymore now that they have these machines. I hate to do this, but I wonder if I can ask you a favor. I’ve fallen behind on my mortgage. I’ve tried everything to no avail. Give me a call. Your beloved nephew, Fred.” It ended with his phone number and was dated two weeks earlier.
“‘Follow the money,’ they say.” I wrote “Suspect #3: Fred Brown” in my notebook. “Now, who should I interview first?”
Portia looked at her phone. “I’d better get back to Santa's Cabin to get ready for the photo sessions. Both Bernard and Molly will be there as the new Mr. and Mrs. Claus, but it’s probably too chaotic to interview them now. Come back at 6:00, when the session is done. I’ll make sure they don’t leave early.”
“Keep an eye on them. See if they act weird or let something slip about Mr. Brown. I’ll give Fred a call.” I took the mug back from Portia. “Something is bothering me though.”
“What’s that?”
“If Mr. Brown doesn’t like Molly, why did he keep this mug?”
“That’s for you to figure out. Maybe… ” She paused. “Maybe that’s the clue?”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Portia, be careful around Molly. She could be a fake.”
“Your imagination is running wild. Use it for your writing.”
I already dreaded the next question she’d ask.
“How’s Book One coming along?” Portia looked me straight in the eye, but I averted my gaze.
“I’m … I’m still doing research.”
Portia shook her head. “Just start. You took this week off work so you could write your first draft. Don’t waste it!”
“You didn’t tell anyone I’m writing a novel, right?” My heart quickened.
“Of course not. Your secret’s safe with me.” Portia crossed her heart. “But when you get famous, your mom will know.”
“That’s why I’m going to use a pen name.”
“What’s the pen name?”
“Don’t know yet. Still deciding.”
Portia sighed. “You think too much, Audrey. Just do it.”
Chapter 6
While I psyched myself up to call Fred (why did phone calls give me so much anxiety?), I thought about the last key on the keyring. I used the third key to try all the other doors with a lock, but the back door and garage both had the same lock as the front door. There was no shed in the backyard. Did Mr. Brown own another property?
I searched the property records and only found this house under his name. Perhaps a rental property? I wrote a note to ask Portia later if Mr. Brown mentioned having a cabin up north. Or maybe he had a storage unit. Do storage units use regular keys? More research to do.
I stopped the music, sat down at the kitchen table with the notebook open, took a deep breath, and rehearsed in my head what to say to Fred before calling him. My palms were getting sweaty. I’d much rather text, but I would miss the non-verbal cues. I wanted to catch his reaction, using the element of surprise to my advantage.
I dialed Fred’s number. My heart beat faster and faster as the phone rang.
“Hello?” I said when the call finally went through.
“Your call has been forwarded to the voicemail for Fred Brown. No one is available to take your call. At the tone, please record your message. When you're finished recording, you may hang up or press the pound key for more options.”
I hung up without leaving a message.
What now? I could look up some storage units, call, and ask what type of key they used. If I were lucky, they might even let me know if Mr. Brown owned a unit. Or would that violate his privacy?
Something else was bugging me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. It’d come to me.
As I was about to dial the first self-storage company, after building up my courage for five minutes, a thought popped into my head.
If Fred had tried calling Mr. Brown multiple times, why didn’t Mr. Brown call him back? Unless Mr. Brown used a landline. Then he wouldn’t know there were missed calls. I looked around and spotted a wall phone by the kitchen. Beige, not brown! It blended in with the wall, and I hadn’t noticed it before.
I went over to pick up the handset. No dial tone. So, Mr. Brown probably used a cell phone, and if so, he’d deliberately not returned Fred’s call. Why? I wrote it down in the notebook.
Now where was Mr. Brown’s cell phone?
I sighed. Being a cop would be handy. Then I could get a warrant to trace his cell phone. Or ask his bank if any large sum of money had been withdrawn lately. Or track his credit cards. I could find out if he had a will.
I wrote down all these questions so I could share my thoughts with Drew when he was done with the big case in the next town. I still smiled every time I thought of him. Growing up, our classmates teased him about his name relentlessly, but he played it cool.
“Drew Nancy” because Mrs. Nancy loved Nancy Drew. He just happened to become a police officer after college.
Mrs. Nancy also had an interesting name. Her maiden name was Nancy Anderson, but when she married Drew’s late father, she became Nancy Nancy. Our mayor. My boss.
Would I still have a job if Mrs. Nancy lost the election? Leroy was running for mayor again the next year, and never in a million years would I want to become his administrative assistant. Sorry, Executive Assistant, as Mrs. Nancy insisted. Titles were important according to her. I disagreed. It was the same job no matter how you glorified it. My pay didn’t go up with the title change.
Staring at my cell phone, I smacked my forehead. How silly of me! I could ask my mom for Mr. Brown’s phone number. I texted her and she responded within seconds.
My curiosity overcame my phone anxiety. I called Mr. Brown’s number right then. As I waited for the call to be picked up, I heard a faint sound. I stood and took my phone away from my ear so I could hear better. Whatever sound I’d heard had stopped.
My call to Mr. Brown had ended on its own. I called again, but this time it went straight to voicemail. How peculiar!
As I contemplated my next step, the doorbell rang.
Who could that be?
Chapter 7
I looked out the peephole on the front door and saw the back of a man’s balding head. He waved goodbye to the driver of the semi at the curb, and the truck drove off. He turned around and rang the doorbell again. Even though I’d never met this man before, I knew who it was.
Fred, Mr. Brown’s nephew. He’d aged a few years since the latest photo, with more gray hair and more wrinkles, but there was no mistaking the cashew birthmark.
I opened the front door but kept the storm door locked. Could he be dangerous if he couldn’t get what he was there for? He was at least a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than me.
Fred did a double take. I waited for him to speak first. “Hello. Is my Uncle Nicholas home? I’m his nephew.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Who are you? What are you doing in his house?”
What would be a convincing excuse? “I’m house sitting.”
“House sitting? Where did he go? This is his busiest time of year. Why would he go away?” At least he knew that much about his uncle.
Before I could answer, he said, “Look, let me in. Okay? It’s cold out here.” He was only wearing a blue hoodie with the text Florida in bright orange above a green alligator head. It had started snowing.
He rubbed his bare hands together and blew into them. “Besides... ” He fished something out of his jeans pocket, and I stepped aside so I wasn’t squarely in front of the door. “I have his house key. So, I’ll get in one way or another.”
I was tempted to run to the kitchen to grab a knife, but I held Mr. Brown’s keys like a dagger in my hand instead and unlocked the storm door.
“I’m Fred.”
“Audrey.”
“You must be Audrey Nott!”
My eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“My uncle told me that, one day when it was very icy at the grocery store parking lot, you left your own cart at the entrance and helped him with his, loaded the grocery bags into his car, and returned the cart for him.”
“Really?” I’d totally forgotten about it. It was years earlier.
“Yes. He said your mother was also good to him, making sure he was comfortable in Santa’s Cabin every year. No wonder her daughter turned out wonderfully too.”
I blushed. “So, are you visiting?” I didn’t see any luggage except for a backpack.
His face darkened. “You could say that. Where did Uncle Nicholas go anyway? I hope he’s okay because I expected him to be here, playing Santa and all.”
I decided to tell him the truth. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to ask him questions without raising suspicion. “Let’s take a seat.” I directed him to the couch.
Elbows on his thighs, he clasped his hands and rested his chin on them as he listened.
He exhaled loudly once I’d finished. “So, that’s why you’re wearing latex gloves?”
“Yes, so I can look for the clue without leaving any fingerprints.”
“Did you find anything?”
I shook my head. “Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.” I’d skipped the parts about finding his letter to Mr. Brown and Molly’s coffee mug. This wasn’t exactly a lie since they might or might not be the real clue.
“Who would harm my uncle?”
“Do you know if he has any enemies?”
Fred shook his head. “He doesn’t talk about himself much.”
“How often do you talk to each other?”
“He used to call me maybe once a month, but I didn’t hear from him the last couple of months. I tried calling a few times, but he didn’t pick up or it went to voicemail. I got concerned. So, I wrote him a letter, but I still didn’t hear back. So, here I am.”
Gesturing to his backpack, I asked, “Where’s your luggage?” Such a contrast to Micah when she had sleepovers at my house. She’d bring a full-size suitcase bursting at the seams, even though Ingrid lived only ten minutes away.
“I travel light.”
“How did you get here?” If Fred was behind with his mortgage, how could he get money for flights?
Fred scratched his head. “What do you mean?”
“The semi that dropped you off … It didn’t look like a taxi.”
He grimaced. “I hitchhiked.”
I cocked my head. “You hitchhiked all the way from Florida to Minnesota?”
Fred sat up straight. “How did you know I’m from Florida?”
I had to come up with a reason without revealing too much. I pointed to his sweatshirt. “Just a guess.”
He looked down and nodded. “Money is a bit tight, but I was concerned about Uncle Nicholas.”
“You didn’t happen to get all the drivers’ contact info, did you?”
“No, why would you need that?” He squinted. “Are you a cop or something? Looking for witnesses? Checking my alibi?”
Being accused of playing cop twice in one day. I needed to learn to be more subtle.
I shook my head, “No, I’m not a cop. I’m just helping my mom find Mr. Brown.”
“Besides, what would I gain from my uncle’s disappearance?”
“Money? You said it yourself—”
“There’s been no demand for ransom.”
“Yet.”
“Look, I’m a pretty simple person. I’m not smart enough to pull off something like that.”
“And if your uncle dies?”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t you be his heir since he has no other family?”
“No! He’s already told me he’s donating everything to charity. Something for children … What's that hospital again? You can check with his lawyer.”
“Maybe you’re here to convince him to change his mind by, you know,” I held his gaze, “kidnapping him until he does.”
Fred jumped up and pointed to the door. “Get out of here or else!”
“Or else? Are you threatening me?” I stood up and braced myself.
“No! Just leave!” He tightened his fists. “Please.”
I gathered my stuff from the kitchen table and left with the kidnapper’s note, Fred’s letter, and Mr. Brown’s keys.
Chapter 8
That went well. I chewed my lip. I definitely needed to read up on the art of interrogation. Subtlety was not my specialty.
I drove home. I needed a quiet space to collect my thoughts before talking to Molly and Bernard. But first, I sealed Mr. Brown’s note and Fred’s letter in plastic zipper sandwich bags. Probably a little too late, but better late than never. I could finally take off my gloves.
My cat kept headbutting my hand while I sat at the kitchen table documenting my exchange with Fred.
“Nottson! Why do you think I need to feed you every time I’m in the kitchen?” I scratched behind his ear with my left hand. “And don’t think I didn’t catch Micah giving you some snacks earlier.”
Micah spoiled Nottson. She couldn’t have any pets because her parents were both allergic to cats and dogs. “I’m gonna adopt 1,000 cats when I grow up!” she’d said.
“You can start helping me with Nottson’s litter boxes when you sleep over.”
“We can train him to use the toilet!”
“I tried, but he’s longer than he thinks. His bum kept hanging outside of the toilet. I almost stepped on his pee and poo when I went to the bathroom!”
Micah giggled. “Why did you call him Nottson anyway?”
“So, I can call him Naughty Notty?”
Micah threw her head back. Her laughter was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, even if I favored silence. “Is it because your last name is Nott? So, he's the son of Nott?”
I nodded. “But it’s also a play on words. Remember the book I got you, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yes! So Nottson is like Watson!”
I patted her head. “A true and loyal friend.”
Nottson gave up on food and lay on his back. I rubbed his belly with my left hand while drawing a table with five columns in my notebook labeled A. Suspect, B. Motive, C. Means, D. Alibi, and E. Opportunity.
I filled in Fred’s details.
Suspect: Fred Brown, Mr. Brown’s nephew from Florida
Motive: Money. But Fred said he’s not in Mr. Brown’s will. NEED TO CHECK.
Means: Much larger than Mr. Brown. Could easily overpower him. Mr. Brown trusts him.
Alibi: The drivers he got a ride from. No contact details. The semi had a lime green cab. NEED TO CHECK.
Opportunity: Without any solid witnesses, he could have gotten to Minnesota much earlier than when he showed up at Mr. Brown’s house. It takes about twenty-six hours to drive from Florida to Minnesota, but it probably took him longer since he needed to find drivers. NEED TO CHECK: When did he actually leave Florida? Any witnesses? Ask for more details on the number of drivers, types of vehicles, and the route they traveled so a timeline can be constructed.
I grabbed a yellow highlighter from the junk drawer and highlighted my questions.
Satisfied, I closed the notebook and put it back in my bag. I saw that I’d missed a text. It was Mom. The message read, “???”
I rubbed the back of my neck. I hoped I could find Mr. Brown. Alive.
Working on it, I texted back.
I patted Nottson’s long, soft hair. “Mr. Nottson, do I really want to solve the mystery or am I looking for Mom’s approval?”
Portia didn’t understand why, as a thirty-something, I still sought my mom’s acceptance. She didn’t realize the lifelong impact a Chinese parent could have over their children. Only a 99 in your exam? Why not a 100? Got a distinction in an advanced piano exam when you were 14? Well, Wong’s daughter did that when she was 13!
Nottson rubbed his face from nose to ear on my arm before sitting up. The sunlight behind him gave him a halo. With his towering Maine Coon stature, he was majestic. His jade eyes stared right into my soul.
He tapped my hand with his paw.
“What would I do without you, partner?” I caressed his giant kitty paw.
Since I still had some time before interviewing the other suspects at Santa’s Cabin, I went to my library to find retired FBI profiler John Douglas’s books and Joe Navarro’s body language books.
All the books had a bookmark in them, which meant I’d started reading them at one time or another but never finished them. I looked around the library, and I wondered how many books I’d actually read from cover to cover. I didn’t even know how many books I owned.
