Deadly Traditions, page 29
About Sheena Macleod
Sheena Macleod is a published historical fiction author and a prize winning and published short story writer. She lives in a seaside town on the East Coast of Scotland. You can find her online at https://www.sheenas-books.co.uk
Christmas Card and Feathered
MOLLIE COX BRYAN
Welcome to Victoria Town, Va., where Victoriana meets murder...
Christmas is a busy time in the quaint Victoria Town, Va., with the residents preparing for shoppers and festivities. Irene Calhoun, owner of “Mourning Arts,” is preparing to host a Christmas card-making party for the women of the town. Stumbling over a dead body in her back office was not in the plan.
Irene feels a sense of responsibility because the body was found in her shop and the police are getting nowhere. She rolls up her sleeves and pieces together a curious puzzle, its deadly pieces consisting of betrayal, drugs...and chickens.
Christmas Card and Feathered
Small jars of red, green, and gold buttons lined Irene Calhoun’s kitchen counter. Warm
gingerbread cookies sat on the table, cooling off next to the still-wrapped Christmas-colored cardstock, glitter packs, and scrapbooking paper. She drew in the mouthwatering scent and nabbed one cookie, just for a taste.
Maybe, just maybe, she had everything she needed for the card-making party, a yearly get together before the mad rush of the season. This year, she was hosting—exciting, but not as exciting as the delicious spicy flavors popping in her mouth. A knock at the door interrupted her revelry.
“So early in the day?” She mumbled to herself. She opened the door to see Viv, her part-time employee and friend from Mourning Arts.
“Viv? What’s going on?” Viv rarely visited Irene’s home. Viv’s jam-packed schedule included helping Irene at the store, her Aunt Libby with the Sweet Victoria B & B, and studying to be a private detective with her boyfriend, Stone.
No response. She just shivered, while snow flurries blew around her, a few landing on her red coat.
“Are you okay? Please come in out of the weather.” Irene’s intuition tingles spiked along the back of her neck. What was going on?
Viv stepped forward into Irene’s home. “I ah—.” “Viv? What? What’s going on?”
“Stone—”
“Did he break up with you?”
She shook her head and words tumbled out, her blue eyes wide with emotion. “No. He was called out on a case this morning. I went with him. Carol Wheatley is missing. It’s as if she vanished.”
Carol was the new owner of one of Victoria Town’s quaintest shops, “Queenie’s Quill and Paperie,” which had once housed The Queen’s Cookies, until the owner sold it and moved back home to South Carolina.
“Perhaps she had to leave town fast.” Irene pulled a deep purple velvet scarf from the coat rack. “A family emergency.”
“No. I don’t think so. Al, her fiance, would’ve said and he’s the one who called the police. She was supposed to meet him and never showed. He ran to her place, and she was gone.” Viv pulled her hat further over her ears.
“Signs of a struggle?” Irene wrapped the scarf around her neck.
“Nothing. It makes no sense” Viv’s blue eyes lit with that I-can-solve-a puzzle spark Irene recognized too well. But, they were red and puffy eyes. She’d need to toughen up to become a PI.
Of course, this was different. She and Carol were friends.
“Not necessarily. Not if she just had to leave.” Irene’s arm slipped around Viv’s shoulders. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
Viv nodded her head. “No signs of struggle could mean—”
“Shhh. Let’s go to the shop. Busy day ahead. The police will figure this out.” Irene wanted to calm down Viv, but she herself tried to ignore a creeping dark sensation.
If Carol knew her assailant, the police would more likely find him or her. But it’s more heartbreaking when someone you recognized broke trust. Happened every day. Irene’s hands clasped together. She experienced that more than most, perhaps.
Viv and Irene walked along the snowy cobblestone streets, lined with Victorian-themed shops. Victoria Town, Virginia, a haven for tourists who loved all things Victorian, was a snowy, surreal dream this morning. A townswoman was missing. The pink feather fans and lacey parasols taunted Irene as they walked by Fans & Feathers, though they both stopped to gawk. With a friend missing, frilly items assaulted the senses, as did the Christmas tree in the square, still lit from the night before, its star a shiny emblem.
“Did you go to Carol’s apartment with Stone?” Irene asked. “Was anything off?”
“I visited her place before. I saw nothing off. Except for feathers.” “Feathers? Like for crafting?” “I’m not sure. Just lovely soft-purple feathers scattered.”
Irene shivered, even as Viv’s warm arm encircled hers. “That’s strange, isn’t it? What was she
doing with those feathers?”
“Crafting?” She offered. “Kinky sex?”
Irene elbowed her, but couldn’t help but laugh.
Viv was another transplant who had unexpectedly stayed in the small town. When she first
arrived, she was full of edges and darkness. But over the short time she’d lived here, those edges had softened. Irene loved to see more outsiders coming into the town, especially young people like Viv.
Victoria Town was Irene’s home, now, though she hailed from the mountains and when she spoke of home, thought of home, it was Blackbird Hollow springing to mind. But she loved Victoria Town and her shop, Mourning Arts. The Victorians took their mourning seriously–and it suited her. Many
Victoriana collectors were into the lace and frill, others loved black crepe and mourning jewelry. The town offered something for all lovers of the Victorian.
Irene’s little adopted town was living and breathing. People were just stirring now, and business owners were lifting shades, pulling back curtains, and switching on lights. December was Irene’s favorite time to walk these streets. She loved all the traditions–the parades, the decorations, the carolers. The town logo, “Have a Merry Victorian Christmas.” All of it. Of course, the word holidays reminded her of Blackbird Hollow. A pang of longing rose to the surface. But for now, this tableau of wintery charm, full of traditions and love, worked for her.
Admittedly, this year’s Christmas card making party would be different –and that wouldn’t surprise anybody who knew Irene was hosting. A few weeks before the fancy Christmas Tea, Victoria Town’s huge yearly holiday event, a circle of its women gathered to make Christmas cards. The event began a few years ago and had become a tradition among longtime residents. Whereas the town’s tea always took place at the Sweet Victoria B & B, the women took turns hosting the card marking party. It reminded Irene of the quilting bees her grandmother used to attend–women would gather once a week to work on a quilt together. If a neighbor was getting married, having a baby, or sick, the women of Blackbird Hollow pooled their resources and fashioned a quilt for them.
Of course, while quilting, the women shared plenty of food, drink, and Irene’s favorite part, gossip. The women of Victoria Town were not so different from the women of Blackbird Hollow. Except they drank wine instead of moonshine. Which, of course, Irene would have available should anybody care to imbibe.
Viv and Irene stepped up to the shop, with its black fringed shades in the windows, in stark contrast to the other shops. But an authentic Victorian Town needed a mourning shop. It was a popular shop with tourists, which was no surprise to Irene. It was all about balance. Death and its trappings freaked some folks out, but Irene grew up in the heart of Appalachia, where they viewed death as a natural part of life.
Irene slipped a key into the front door. “Can we help the police?” She opened the door, and it swung with a creak she’d been meaning to fix.
“Not yet. I asked them. They may allow us to organize a search, but for now, the investigation is closer to home. They are just piecing things together.” Viv walked behind the cash register and plucked at the keyboard to open it. Irene loved to watch her fingers on any computer. The young woman was a computer expert. Her hacking skills brought her trouble earlier in her life, but more recently she used them for good—to help the police and Stone, and he talked her into becoming a PI.
Irene was not a fan of computers. She didn’t despise them. She just didn’t want to live her life virtually, like so many people did.
“There.” Viv struck a computer key. “We’re open.”
“Give me your bag and I’ll take it into the office and plug in the kettle.” Irene reached out her arm and took Viv’s bag and coat. As she slipped off her coat, a deep mauve showed itself. “Oooo. A velvet morning jacket. How divine.”
Viv grinned. “I think it’s one you designed.”
“Is it? All the better!” Irene had fallen in love with design and fabrics. She was a fledgling, but she had so much fun with it she didn’t care. She grabbed the coat and bag and turned. What was that on the floor? She leaned closer. She blinked. “Viv?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s that?” She pointed.
“Uh.” Viv came from around the cash register. “A purple...feather?” Irene’s tingling returned.
“Did you get one on you?”
“I could have. I guess.” She brushed herself off and shrugged. “But wait, there’s another one.” She huddled next to Irene. “There’s a trail.”
They followed a path to the back room, where the office was located.
When Irene opened the door, she first noticed liquid on the floor. “What happened here?” She slipped on the light switch, her eyes traveling the length of the red-brown liquid, to a shoe and a leg and a person covered in purple feathers. The air rushed from Irene’s lungs. She wanted to yell to Viv to call 9-1-1. But she couldn’t get enough air. The floor wobbled. She reached for the doorjamb, leaned against it and tried to swallow more air. Sweat pricked on her face.
Poor Carol. Knees, don’t fail me now. Air, don’t leave me now. She attempted to catch herself, stopping from falling. But her body took over, and blackness overcame her.
Irene awoke to a fuzzy Viv on the floor, stroking her shoulder. “Irene? I’ve called the police and the ambulance.” Irene struggled to sit. Why was she lying on the floor? What happened? “Well, now we know what happened to Carol.” Viv’s voice cracked. “Don’t sit up yet.”
“What? What happened to her?” Irene gasped.
“Murdered and stuck in your back room. That’s what.” Viv sounded almost official. Perhaps she was cut out for PI work. “I’ve not examined the body, but it looks like they shot her. There’s a lot of blood.”
Irene’s stomach churned. What was wrong with her? She grew up in the mountains and killed and dressed chickens and hogs by the time she was twelve years old. A little blood never bothered her. She swallowed. Yet, the fresh memory of it on her floor sickened her. She swallowed again–she refused to get sick. That would not do.
The door swung open, and the paramedics swarmed on her like flies on honey. She tried to swat them away, but she dozed off. Dozed off? Yep, and then awoke fuzzy again and listened to Viv recount what happened to the police.
“Vivianne!” A loud woman’s voice came screeching into the scene. “Oh my God, Viv! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Libby. Everything is under control here. You should go back to the B & B. I’ll be home soon.”
“I’m not going anywhere —Irene?” Libby came into her view.
“Ma’am, you can’t be in here.” A police officer escorted Viv’s aunt Libby away.
A paramedic leaned over Irene. “We’re taking you into the hospital for observation. You may
have a concussion. You took quite a fall. Hit your head.”
“Is that necessary?” Irene tried to sit up and dizzied.
The paramedic frowned. “I’m afraid it is.”
But she had a party to throw in two days. She had a business to run. “I’ll take care of everything,”
Viv said, as if she’d read her mind. “But the shop—”
“Closed for the day,” Viv said.
Irene’s mind muddled. Of course, they have to close the shop. “The party–”
“In two days, you’ll be doing jumping jacks by then.” Viv smiled and patted her shoulder. When did young Viv become so comforting, so confident? Irene remembered when she first met
her. New in town, staying with her aunt, and fascinated with Mourning Arts. But the poor thing had run into several murder victims, which brought her to Stone, the local PI. Viv used to question herself constantly, rarely made eye contact, and shuffled along while walking. Now, she was rubbing Irene’s hand, looking her straight in the eye and soothing her. Hot tears pricked at her eyes. Viv had grown. It was an honor to witness it.
Her head itched, and she reached around to scratch it. When she brought her hand back, covered in blood. “What the–”
“Shhhh,” Viv said. “You’re bleeding. Just a few stitches and you’ll be fine.”
Viv blurred. Irene struggled to stay awake. The paramedics lifted her off the ground and whisked her away in an ambulance. Well, there’s a first time for everything. She watched the lights on the poles go by through the window as snow spit.
Viv was right about Irene rallying in two days. She’d not be doing jumping jacks soon, though. But like her Grandmother Lilac used to say, “push through the pain and the next thing you know you’ll
be fine.” Of course, Irene’s grandmother and the women of Blackbird Hollow held a prayer vigil for her last night. Irene considered herself a modern woman of science and sophistication, but she conceded the Universe simply couldn’t explain everything with science. The power of prayer from a group of Appalachian women who loved you? You can’t beat that.
Viv had been taking care of the shop alone. Irene was on her way to help, but the scent of chocolate beckoned. She ducked into “Cee Cee’s House of Chocolate,” which had the best hot chocolate Irene had ever had, and that included the chocolate she’d had in a sweet shop in Belgium.
“One Mexican hot chocolate, with extra pepper.” Irene’s mouth watered, even as she spoke.
“Sure thing, Irene. How are you feeling?” Cee Cee’s dark brown eyes met Irene’s with concern, even as her hands never missed a beat in preparing the chocolate.
“Better.” She smiled. Her head was fine. She didn’t have a concussion, just a few stitches.
A loud clanking noise erupted near her, and she clutched her chest, gasping. A child had dropped silverware against a plate. Irene’s face heated. Every little odd noise set her on edge.
She looked around the cafe and spotted Al, Carol’s boyfriend. And he wasn’t alone. Viv didn’t recognize his female companion. She must be from out of town. Had he been seeing someone else behind Carol’s back? Could he be that crass? Two days after her death?
“Your cocoa,” Cee Cee said. “To go?”
Irene wanted to stay and observe the situation, but Viv could use her help. “Yes, please.” She watched as she poured the thick brew into a paper to-go cup and tried not to watch Carol’s boyfriend as the woman across the table reached for his hand. Unbelievable! And stupid!
Of course, he was the top suspect. Everybody recognized that. But she didn’t entertain it until now. A chill swept through her. A boyfriend killing his girlfriend happened every day. But why had he placed her body in Irene’s store?
“Here you go.” Cee Cee handed her the hot chocolate.
“Thanks.” She reached for the warm drink, vowing to get her security camera fixed. If it had been working, they’d have seen and caught him already, instead of him snuggling up to a new girlfriend in public.
Her head throbbed. The audacity of Al! Carol’s body was still in the morgue, not even buried yet, and he was already cavorting with another woman!
Irene walked by the shop and side-eyed the two of them as they drank their concoctions. They were so intent on one another that they didn’t see her.
She heard a woman call out her name as she sprinted. She turned toward the voice. It was Sadie Hartwell, the owner of Fans & Feathers, and Aunt Libby’s best friend.
“How are you, dear?” She touched Irene’s shoulder.
“I’m fine.” And already wishing people would stop asking, but no chance of that.
“It must have been such a shock. I was just telling Libby how I don’t think I could function if I
ran into a dead body. I mean, you’re tougher than me. But still. How dreadful for you.” She fiddled with her scarf. “Are you sure you still want to host the party tonight? I could do it if you’re not up to it.”
“It’s fine.” Irene found that keeping her part of the conversation brief helped when talking with Sadie, who was a babbling brook of conversation. Right now, it was Carol’s boyfriend on Irene’s mind. She was certain the police would investigate him, but could it hurt to put a bug in the police’s ear?
“If you need help for the party tonight, please let me know. Libby’s bringing snowflake cookies, and I’ve got plenty of pumpkin bread. I was up with it pretty late last night. Viv mentioned strawberry shortcake Christmas cupcakes. They sounded delicious.” She stopped in front of her shop. “We’ll see you tonight, Irene. I’m here if you need me.”
Sadie was a talker, but she had a heart of gold. “Thank you so much. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Sometimes people just wanted to be needed. Irene understood that. “If people want to help, let them. It helps them more than you, sometimes. But that’s a good thing,” Granny Lilac's words rang in her head. And she was right. But Irene and Viv had it under control.
Fifteen of Victoria Town’s women citizens answered yes to the invite. The shop was almost ready for it. The police finished with the forensics, and Mourning Arts was free of blood and feathers.
