Deadly Traditions, page 18
I put down my pen and stroked Nottson, who had settled onto my lap. He purred. If reincarnation really existed, I wanted to come back as a cat.
I raised my arms over my head to stretch. Nottson turned and gave me the stink eye.
I flipped through the profiling and body language books I’d put on the table earlier. Perhaps I could formulate some next steps or start a profile on who was most likely to kidnap Mr. Brown. Or I could read through the body language tips to see if any of the suspects had lied.
My phone beeped. It was a text from Drew.
I watched Leroy’s video footage. Mr. Brown never dropped by. No camera at Santa’s Cabin. We may be out of luck there. I called the tow truck for you, and they’ll be in touch.
Was Molly lying? Maybe they were both telling the truth. Perhaps Mr. Brown was planning to go to Leroy’s, but something happened on the way.
Chapter 14
I put Nottson on the floor. He scowled. I started pacing back and forth, going through everything to see if I’d missed something. Perhaps I was focusing too much on the details instead of looking at the big picture to see how all the dots were connected.
“If you want to find Santa, you must follow the trail,” the note said.
Mr. Brown’s key ring was on top of it. Keys to his car, his house, and Molly’s house. So, the next clue should either be at Mr. Brown’s house or Molly’s house since his car was spotless. I hurried over to the table and opened a blank page in my notebook before I lost my train of thought.
I drew the kidnapping note and keys at the top of the page, then added three arrows to show three possible pathways in the flowchart. The left arrow pointed to Mr. Brown’s Car and I put a big X over it. The middle one pointed to Mr. Brown’s House, and the right arrow pointed to Molly’s House.
Under Mr. Brown’s House, I listed the few things that could possibly be clues, things that stood out:
1. Fred’s letter asking for money.
2. Molly’s mug that was out of place.
3. Bobby Vinton’s record playing “Mr. Lonely.”
4. Blueprints of the house.
Under Molly’s House, I drew a big question mark. I also linked Molly’s mug from Mr. Brown’s House to Molly’s House.
I needed to go to her place! Then I remembered my flat tires. I weighed my options. I could walk the five miles in the cold, or I could run. Ha! Who was I kidding? Let’s stick to walking. I could ride my bike. On ice? No thanks! Or I could call Portia or Drew.
Both Portia’s and Drew’s phone went to voicemail. I texted both of them, asking them to call me as soon as possible.
I could call Mom, but Micah would be sleeping by now. Ingrid was working nights at the hospital, and my brother-in-law, Jude, was on a business trip out of town. There was Mrs. Nancy, but she went to bed even earlier than Micah since she usually woke up at 4:00 to start her day with yoga. And no neighbors. My cottage was in the middle or nowhere, chosen specifically for that reason. I looked at my chart again.
Nottson jumped onto the table and dropped something on my notebook from his mouth. Not a dead mouse, I hoped. No, it was his toy hedgehog, Cactus. Usually Nottson had it hidden somewhere that I could never find. He would drag it out only when he wanted to do something with it.
Wait!
I looked back at the list of items under Mr. Brown’s House. Both Fred’s letter and Molly’s mug were out of sight. Only the record and the blueprints were left out in the open.
I looked at the photos I’d taken of the blueprints. Two of them were blurry. (Note to self: Check pictures after taking them.) It was difficult to make out all of the measurements on a small phone screen. By enlarging the photo, I could only see part of the blueprints, and scrolling up and down was making me dizzy. Looking at it on my laptop was only a smidge better without a large monitor.
I needed to see the original again. There might be some clues I missed earlier. Maybe the numbers were ciphers?
Mr. Brown’s house was just over a mile away. I could walk. I would walk.
Chapter 15
I put on my winter gear and cleats on my boots. The last thing I needed was to fall on the ice.
Even with the cleats, I almost slipped twice from ice hidden under a blanket of fresh snow. My glasses fogged from my balaclava. Blowing ice pellets hit the exposed portions of my face. My fingers were frozen even though my gloves had thick insulation.
Why was I living here again? I’d never liked the cold.
By the time I got to Mr. Brown’s house, my throat was dry and my nose was dripping behind the balaclava. Luckily, Fred opened the door when I rang the bell. He squinted and cocked his head.
“It’s Audrey!” I yelled, my voice muffled by my hat and the wind.
He cupped his left ear with his hand.
“AUDREY!” My voice cracked.
He looked down, eyes stopping at my crossbody bag. Recognition showed on his face. He must have remembered seeing it earlier. Not many grown women carried a giant cat face yellow bag. He opened the door.
“Audrey! What are you doing here?” Did he forget he’d ordered me out of the house earlier?
“I need to look at the blueprints.”
“The blueprints?”
“The blueprints of the house that were on the table.”
I took off my boots and hurried over to the kitchen. There they were. I stood and traced the perimeter of the house with my finger. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I took my notebook out and started writing down some of the numbers to see if I could crack the code. Fred sat down opposite me. When he was about to speak, I put my palm up to stop him. I couldn’t be interrupted right then.
I looked up some common ciphers using numbers on my phone. (How did we live before the internet?) Nothing worked. Defeated, I collapsed onto a dining room chair and closed my eyes. I took some deep breaths. When I opened my eyes, Fred had gotten a glass of water and placed it in front of me.
I gulped it down. “Thank you.” I hoped he hadn’t tried to poison me, but I was too thirsty to give it much thought.
“No luck?”
I shook my head. I was so confident that the blueprints would give me the clue.
“Let me put on some music. Maybe that will help you relax. It helps me.”
The haunting sound of “Mr. Lonely” filled the house for the second time today.
“Mr. Lonely?” Could that be a clue? Was Mr. Brown telling us how he felt? The suspects. The hints. What did they have to do with loneliness?
“This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered.
A lightbulb went on in my head. I looked at the blueprints again and studied the measurements of the exterior of the house. Then I added up the measurements of the interior of each room. They didn’t add up. The exterior was ten feet longer than the interior on the back wall. Even with insulation, there shouldn’t be that big a difference.
A hidden room! But where?
I stood up and looked at one short end of the house, and we were right there in the dining room and kitchen. There were two windows facing the yard on that wall.
It must be at the other end of the house. Mr. Brown’s bedroom was on the south side at the end of the hallway, and the bathroom was on the north side. I ran to the bathroom first. The light was already on and there was no hidden doorway.
Fred followed me. “What are you doing?”
I pushed him aside so I could get through to Mr. Brown’s bedroom. I wasn’t ready to share my theory in case I was wrong. I’d already made enough of a fool of myself. I turned on the lights and stared at the bifold closet doors at the far end of the wall.
This must be it, the wardrobe with the secret passageway.
I opened the doors. The closet was full of clothes, mostly brown with some black and gray mixed in.
“Help me get all the clothes out!” I said.
Fred did as he was told without asking any questions. Within minutes, the clothes were piled on the bed, and I saw a seam in the middle of the closet wall.
I ducked under the top shelf when I walked into the closet and pushed on both walls. The wall on the left side pushed forward.
“What the… ” Fred whispered.
Chapter 16
I turned on the flashlight app on my phone before I took a small step forward. My heart was throbbing so loudly I swore I could hear it echoing in the room. I also heard another noise. It was faint, but there was no mistaking what it was. Snoring.
I motioned for Fred to follow me and tiptoed forward. I shone my flashlight around and paused when it illuminated an air mattress. Next to it was a small table on which sat some crackers and water. I saw a figure lying on the bed with his back to us. We approached him as gingerly as possible. I hoped his hands and feet weren’t bound.
Fred kneeled and whispered, “Uncle Nicholas? It’s Fred.”
The man groaned. “Huh?”
He sounded half asleep, not in pain.
“Uncle Nicholas? It’s Fred,” he said a little louder.
The man rolled over. He put his hand over his face, shielding it from the flashlight.
“Sorry,” I said and pointed the beam to my left instead.
“Fred?”
“Yes, Uncle Nicholas. It’s me.”
Mr. Brown pushed himself up onto his elbow.
“Fred, you’re here.”
“I am. But what are you doing sleeping in here? I didn’t know there was a hidden room in this house. That’s amazing!”
“And who else do we have here?” Mr. Brown asked, ignoring Fred’s question.
“It’s Audrey. Audrey Nott.”
“Aha! I bet it was you who figured it out. Your mother always said you’re one smart cookie.”
“She did?”
“She sure did. She believes that if only you'll apply yourself, you’ll achieve great things.”
My heart sank. Potential was my middle name.
“Should we go back to the living room?” Fred asked.
My phone rang, and I jumped. It was Portia. “Are you okay, Audrey? I just saw your text now.”
“I’m okay. I’m at Mr. Brown’s house.”
“How did you get there? Did you find something?”
“Yes. I found Mr. Brown.”
“What? Is he okay?”
“Yes. Why don’t you come over?” I eyed Mr. Brown. He owed us all an explanation. “Bring Drew too if he’s up for it.”
I’d let Mom know after I heard Mr. Brown’s story, or she’d ply me with all kinds of questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.
Portia and Drew arrived in less than ten minutes. We were sipping hot tea in the living room.
“Mr. Brown, you scared us!” Portia went to him and gave him a big hug.
“Are you here as a cop?” Mr. Brown asked Drew.
Drew shook his head. “No one has filed a police report yet. I’m just here as a concerned citizen.”
“So, what happened, Uncle Nicholas?”
Mr. Brown inhaled, then exhaled loudly. “I was stupid.”
“You were lonely.” I corrected him. “Let me guess. You were listening to this record you haven’t listened to in a long time. Then ‘Mr. Lonely’ came on, and your heart ached.”
Mr. Brown rubbed his eyes. “I thought about my time in the wars and the friends I lost. Then I thought about my current situation. Everyone wants something from me. Like money.”
Fred lowered his head.
“Bernard wanted me to retire because he didn’t think it was fair that the mayor from thirty-three years ago promised me that I could be Santa for as long as I wanted. He argued there’s no contract. I said handshakes were as good as it got. We live by our words,” Mr. Brown said. “Leroy wanted me to sabotage the parade so he could blame it on Nancy. Nancy, of course, wanted me to do more activities and work longer hours to attract more tourists. So, that got me thinking … If I went missing, would anyone even care?”
“My mom called me right away when she found the note,” I said.
“But did your mother care about me going missing—or about Santa?” Mr. Brown looked me in the eye.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“Molly was hysterical when she heard the news,” Portia said.
“I told Molly she was wasting her time,” Mr. Brown said. “What could she want with someone like me? I’m twenty years older than her.”’
“I think she really does enjoy your company and cares about you,” Portia offered. “I was with her earlier, listening to her recite favorite memories of you.”
Mr. Brown was lost in thought.
“So, what would you have done if Audrey hadn’t found you?” Drew asked.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t plan that far ahead. I was just going to wait and see.”
“Fred cares about you too,” I said. “He hitchhiked all the way here from Florida when you didn’t call him back.”
Fred mouthed a silent thank you when I caught his eye.
“I thought he just wanted money.” Mr. Brown said.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Nicholas. I did ask you for money recently, but it’s my fault that I have never told you how much I appreciate you. You were there for me after my parents died in that freak car accident when I turned eighteen.” Fred rubbed his face. “I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. I’m terrible at verbally expressing myself. All my ex-girlfriends told me that, but I thought they were just being petty.”
Fred went over and gave Mr. Brown a bear hug.
My phone beeped. It was Mom. Any updates? Have you eaten? I made dumplings, your favorite. Come for dinner tomorrow. Don’t forget to drink some warm ginger tea before bed. It’s cold tonight.
Chinese families never showed verbal affection. But food? The ultimate Chinese love language.
I texted back. We found Mr. Brown. He’s safe.
I hesitated, then added something I’d never written to her before. I love you, Mom.
Chapter 17
“I can’t wait for the parade today!” Micah jumped up and down. “Fa-la-la-la-la–-la-la-la-la!”
“Micah, are you ready to go?” I asked.
“Yes!” Micah said and then turned solemn. “Aunty Audrey, thank you.”
“What for?”
“For finding the real Santa! Otherwise, Popo, Mommy, Daddy, you, and I wouldn’t be able to go to the parade together! It’s a miracle! I wish we could take Nottson with us.”
“You can tell him all about it when we come back.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. You know I love your curiosity.”
“How does Santa know whether I’ve been naughty or nice? Does he spy on us?”
I laughed.
The five of us waved to the people in the parade when they walked past.
Micah’s enthusiasm was infectious. Ingrid and Jude stole a kiss when Mom wasn’t watching. Mom beamed when people congratulated her on another successful festival.
Portia joined us. When Santa and Mrs. Claus came near us in the reindeer sleigh, Santa winked and pulled Mrs. Claus closer. Molly blushed.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!”
The marching band started playing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
Snow flurries danced around us. When the sun hit the fresh snow, the powder glittered like diamonds.
Magical.
About Sage So
Sage So dreamed of being a CSI until she almost failed biology, chemistry and biochemistry at college; and there was no way she would have passed the physical fitness test to become an FBI agent. But she gets to solve crimes (among other things) in her fictional world now! She lives in Minnesota in the US with her human and feline family members who may or may not make an appearance in her stories. Connect with her at https://sageso.com.
Have Yourself a Scary Little Christmas
GAYLE LEESON
Max, the Ghostly Fashionista, tells a story about how her dad’s past came back to haunt him one Christmas Eve.
Introduction
Hello, darling! I’m sorry you can’t see me; but as they say in all the romances, it’s not you, it’s me. In this case, it really is me. I’m a ghost. My friend Amanda Tucker calls me the ghostly fashionista. We both adore clothes. In fact, she sews them right here in this delightful boutique, which used to be my living room.
* * *
I don’t want to go into too much detail about all that, though. I’d simply like to introduce myself and then get on with my story. You see, Amanda is usually the one who relays our adventures to you.
* * *
So, my name is Maxine Englebright, but I go by Max. I fell down that staircase out there in the hallway and broke my stupid neck in 1930. Be careful and hold to the railing if you go up or down those stairs. Trust me on that.
* * *
Amanda is one of a handful of people who is able to see and hear me. You might not think a ghost and a young living woman could be best friends, but we are. Anyway, sit back, relax, and let me tell you my spooky tale.
Chapter 1
Decorating At The Boutique
Amanda was fluttering around the lobby of the boutique in a green velvet A-line dress with a portrait collar. She and my great-niece, Zoe, resplendent in jeans torn at the knee and a white shaker-knit sweater, were hanging a garland over the mantel. Amanda’s grandfather, Dave, a handsome man I often called a silver fox, and my nephew Dwight–Zoe’s granddad who was so like my sister in looks and demeanor–were putting the pre-lit tree together in front of the main window. Jasmine, or Jazzy, Amanda’s gray and white tabby, pounced on a beam of light created by the waning sun glinting off a strand of tinsel. I perched slightly above the desk and delighted in the scene before me.
