Since Aunt Lydia had volunteered to pick up the twins from kindergarten so they could help her decorate her tree, I decided to stop by the Taylorsford Fire and Rescue Squad after work. I didn’t know if Ethan would be on duty but figured it was worth a little of my time to see if I could talk to him face-to-face.
One of the large garage bay doors stood open, displaying the town’s newly acquired state-of-the-art firetruck. It had taken considerable fund-raising efforts to buy the new vehicle, a project spearheaded by former mayor Walt Adams, who was on the squad’s board of directors.
Taylorsford was fortunate to have a dedicated group of volunteers who manned fire and rescue services for the town. Ethan and Hannah Fowler, the only salaried members of the squad, oversaw the recruitment and training of the volunteers, most of whom had taken coursework to become certified in fire and rescue services. It required a significant commitment, making all the squad members heroes in my eyes.
Crossing the parking lot, I waved to a few local residents, including Bill Clayton, who also volunteered at the library. Before I reached the side door leading into the administrative offices, a young woman stepped outside to greet me.
“Hello, Amy. If you’re looking for Ethan, I’m afraid he isn’t here today. He has to pull the overnight shift later, so I’m currently holding down the fort.” Hannah, who was at least half a foot taller than me, had brown hair trimmed into a pixie cut that hugged her head and highlighted her broad face and wide chestnut eyes.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping to speak with him,” I said. “Should’ve called first, I guess.”
Hannah looked me over. “Would you like to step into the office? To get out of the cold, I mean.”
The intensity of her gaze made me think there was an ulterior motive driving this invitation. “Thanks, that would be great.”
I followed Hannah into the building and down a short, tiled hallway decorated with photos of squad members and commendations from the town and the state. As soon as she led me into the main office, she closed the door firmly behind us.
“Please, have a seat,” Hannah said, gesturing to one of the armchairs placed beside a small table. “Would you like anything to drink? We always have coffee on tap, but there’s also hot water for tea.”
I sat down. “No thanks, that isn’t necessary.”
Hannah remained on her feet. “You might be wondering why I brought you in here rather than talking outside. Well, the truth is—”
“You wanted to tell me something that you didn’t want the volunteers to hear?” I settled back in my chair. “That’s my assumption, anyway.”
“A correct one, as it turns out.” Hannah settled in the other armchair. “There is something I want to share, but I don’t want to start any rumors. Which could happen if anyone overheard what I’m about to say.” She pressed the fingers of one hand against the tabletop. “Not that our volunteers are gossips or anything, but you know how it is—people start discussing things and expressing opinions, and before you know it, stories are circulating throughout the entire town.”
“I have experienced that phenomenon,” I said, offering her a wry smile.
“Anyway”—Hannah drew in a deep, audible breath—“the truth is, Ethan was quite late returning to the station after his shift at the winter festival the day Wendy Blackstone was killed. I didn’t think anything of it at first. I thought maybe he’d stopped to grab a bite to eat before he came back. He’d volunteered to stay that night, you see. I wasn’t feeling too great as the day went on. Some little virus, I guess. Anyway, when I took him some coffee earlier in the evening, he noticed and said he’d take my overnight shift. We often switch around like that.” Hannah lowered her eyes, staring down at her tightly clasped hands.
I stirred uncomfortably on the hard cushions of my chair. “So he was planning to go back to the station and stay all night? After working at Winterfest that afternoon?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t the original plan. As I said, when I took him coffee, he offered to cover my overnight shift because he could tell I wasn’t feeling my best.” Hannah shrugged. “He said he didn’t really care, since Scott was out of town. Said he just had to run home and feed the dog and let her out for a minute, but then he’d head right back to the station to relieve me.”
“So you expected him, when? Around eight thirty or nine that evening?”
“That’s right.” Hannah lifted her hand and examined her short, blunt nails. “Like I said, when he didn’t show up by nine, I figured he might have taken a little extra time to pick up some dinner. But then”—Hannah dropped her hand into her lap—“he didn’t show up until around ten thirty.”
“Did he say anything about why he was delayed?”
“Honestly, he didn’t say much of anything. Mumbled an apology and told me to head on home. It was odd, because Ethan’s usually so thoughtful about stuff like that. He didn’t have any takeout with him either.” Hannah pursed her lips. “So I thought, okay, he stopped and ate somewhere instead, but then after I packed up my gear and was leaving, I saw him in the kitchen, scrambling some eggs.”
I slid to the edge of my chair, leaning forward. “You told the deputies all this, I guess?”
“Well, not exactly.” Hannah cast me a wary glance. “I mean, they asked about his movements that day, and I told them about us switching schedules and all. And that he arrived here around ten thirty. But I didn’t say anything about expecting him before that. I mentioned him going to his house because of the dog, and that he might’ve gotten something to eat in the interim. I didn’t say anything about my uneasy feelings because he was so much later than I initially expected. And I didn’t mention fixing food when he got here.”
“Maybe he was just hungry again,” I said.
Hannah frowned. “Maybe. But Ethan generally doesn’t eat anything after dinner. It’s part of his health regimen. That’s why I thought it was odd. I mean, if he took the extra time to either fix something to eat at home or grab something out somewhere …” Hannah leapt to her feet and paced over to the large metal desk filling one end of the office. “The thing is, the more I think about it, the more confused I feel.” She turned, leaning back, her fingers gripping the rolled edge of the desk. “What do you think? Should I mention my concerns to the detectives or just leave it alone? I don’t want to exacerbate the scrutiny focused on Ethan if I don’t have to.”
“Why tell me?” I asked, rising to face her.
“Well, I know you’ve helped the sheriff’s department with some cases in the past. I thought you might have a better sense of whether these feelings of mine are really valuable as evidence or not.”
“As evidence, maybe not,” I said, my mind racing with the implication of her words. “But I appreciate you mentioning it to me. I think what might be best is if I talk to Ethan and try to get him to clarify his exact movements that evening with the authorities. There may be a perfectly innocent reason why he arrived here much later than he originally told you, but …”
“If I voice my concerns first, it might not look so innocent?” Hannah clasped her hands tightly at her waist. “That’s what I thought. It’s better if Ethan is the one to explain things, rather than me stirring up questions.”
“Of course, you could talk to Ethan directly, if you prefer,” I said, not wanting to force Hannah to accept me as a go-between.
“No, no, it will be better coming from you. I mean, maybe if I had said something right away”—Hannah twisted her hands until her knuckles blanched—“but at this point I’m afraid it would look like I was falling into the suspicious-minded camp, and I don’t want that. If you could just say something about me mentioning the timing and you finding it odd …”
“So I can be the bad cop?” I lifted my hands at Hannah’s stricken look. “No, it’s okay. I get your point. I’ve played amateur detective in the past enough times that Ethan won’t be taken aback about me quizzing him on the details.”
“That was kinda my thought,” Hannah said, her expression brightening.
“And I don’t have to work with him, which I’m sure is another benefit.” I flipped the trailing end of my scarf over my shoulder. “All right, don’t worry. I was planning to talk to my brother later anyway. I’ll see if I can find out when he’ll be back in town. Soon, I expect, given the circumstances. Once I know for sure, I’ll set up a time to meet with him and Ethan at their house.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel much better.” Hannah flashed a warm smile as she strode past me to open the office door. “I know the authorities are looking closely at Ethan, but I just don’t believe he’s capable of harming anyone.”
“Neither do I.” Thanking Hannah for her consideration, I added, “But if you do find out anything you feel is solid evidence, please go ahead and share that with the sheriff’s office. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Leave that to me, I thought, my smile turning a little grim as I exited the station.
By the time I arrived at Aunt Lydia’s house, Ella and Nicky were snuggled up under a blanket on the sofa in the sitting room, watching cartoons on the large-screen television. My aunt was slumped in her favorite suede-upholstered armchair, her feet propped up on a matching hassock.
“Wore you out that much, huh?” I asked, my lips curving into a smile.
“It wasn’t all them,” Aunt Lydia said. “I’d been running errands all morning, so I started out a little weary.”
“Mommy!” Ella jumped off the sofa and bounded over to me, followed closely by her brother. “We helped decorate the tree. Well, the bottom part, ’cause Aunt Lydia said she didn’t want us to climb up on the step stool.”
“A wise choice,” I said, sharing a look with my aunt.
Nicky tugged on my hand. “It looks really pretty. Want to see?”
“Of course. Lead the way,” I said.
The twins galloped out of the room and into the more formal parlor across the hall.
The parlor, with its heavy mahogany furniture and damask and velvet upholstery and drapes, was rarely used, but I had to admit it was the perfect spot for a Christmas tree. The turret that rose on this side of the house formed a half circle that enclosed the tree, whose lights could be seen from outside, framed by the tall, arched windows.
I followed Ella and Nicky across the rose-patterned wool rug that covered most of the hardwood floor, sparing a glance for a curio cabinet that sat next to a chair my great-grandmother, Rose Baker Litton, had imported from England.
Ella climbed up onto the chair, which I’d always thought supremely ugly. The horsehair-stuffed velvet seat had faded from black to a coppery brown, and its dark-wood back was carved into a fantastical motif of vines and roses that managed to look threatening as well as uncomfortable. Ella perched on the edge of the chair, her legs dangling.
“Now I’m the queen,” she said, stretching her arm out as if holding a scepter. “And you have to do what I say.”
Nicky dropped down onto the thick rug, his legs crossed in an unconscious yoga pose. “You aren’t the boss of me,” he said, meeting his sister’s imperious gaze with a snort of laughter.
“Okay, now, enough nonsense.” Aunt Lydia stepped up beside me. “Show your mother what we did this afternoon.”
Ella gestured toward the tree. “We put on the bows and those dangly crystal things,” she said. “Aunt Lydia hung the ornaments ’cause they’re glass.”
“They break easily,” Nicky said, looking up at me. His dark-brown hair and eyes were a perfect match to mine, but his face was more angular than mine had ever been.
“Yes, we had to have a little discussion about that.” Aunt Lydia placed a hand on my shoulder as we surveyed the tree, which was quite lovely. Tiny white lights were threaded through the branches, while crimson velvet bows glowed against the emerald needles. The crystals that Ella had mentioned—actually faceted clear acrylic—hung amid the greenery like icicles. Aunt Lydia’s collection of antique glass ornaments completed the vintage look of the design, which was topped off by a gigantic red-and-green plaid velvet bow whose trailing ends spilled down over the full branches like a waterfall.
“It’s quite splendid,” I said, giving both Ella and Nicky nods of approval. “I’m sure Aunt Lydia appreciated your help too.”
My aunt’s fingers tightened on my shoulder. “Of course. Most helpful,” she said cheerfully, before adding in a softer voice, “Once we laid down some strict ground rules.”
A chuckle escaped my lips. “I’m sure.”
Nicky jumped up from his cross-legged position with a grace that reminded me of his dad. “Can we go back and watch our show now?”
“Yes, yes, go on. I need to tell your mother something anyway,” Aunt Lydia said, lifting her hand and swishing it through the air in an autocratic wave.
Ella slid off the chair and followed Nicky, who’d already dashed out of the room.
“What’s this you need to tell me?” I asked, turning to face my aunt.
“Nothing bad. I just wanted to let you know that I spoke to your mother this morning, and she said she’d heard from Scott.” Aunt Lydia patted down a flyaway strand of her silver hair.
“So he’s no longer incommunicado? That’s good. I’ll phone him later. I need to talk to him about … well, something to do with Ethan’s situation.”
Aunt Lydia’s blue eyes focused on me, cool as spring water. “You needn’t bother trying to call tonight. Debbie told me that Scott is on his way, but given his travel itinerary, he won’t be easy to reach. She said he should be home around midnight on Thursday. So I’d suggest waiting and checking in with him on Friday.”
“Okay, good to know,” I said. Turning back to the tree, I admired it for a moment before adding, “It really is gorgeous. We still need to decorate ours. Not exactly in this style, though. We have to incorporate some handmade ornaments from the kids and things like that.”
“I’m sure it will be quite festive.” Aunt Lydia’s rose-tinted lips twitched. “I assume you plan to take care of that before Fiona arrives?”
“Heavens, yes. We certainly don’t want her to offer her decorating advice,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You know how opinionated she can be. Richard thinks it’s best if we have all the decorations up so she can’t interfere. I mean, of course she’ll probably put in her two cents about everything …”
“Undoubtedly,” Aunt Lydia said dryly.
“But once it’s all done, she probably won’t feel the urge to change anything. Probably,” I emphasized, as my aunt lifted her golden eyebrows.
“Shall we place bets?” she asked.
“No,” I replied with a sigh. “I don’t have that much money to spare.”