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The North Pole apparently had a thing for Mexican food, because the waitstaff at Sombrero was busy taking elf orders when I arrived to meet Jen for dinner. I recognized many of the girls as volunteers from the bazaar. It was almost nine o’clock when I slipped into a booth seat across from Jen.
She said her assistant news editor had offered to write the story about Miranda’s untimely demise, and I was glad my best friend could be there to help me process my day. We quickly placed our orders—shrimp tacos for Jen and chicken quesadillas for me—and got down to business.
Jen scooped up some queso with a chip and scarfed it down. “Okay, I’m sorry she got killed and all, but according to one of our reporters, she was a real diva to all the downtown merchants. You know that, right?”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I poured some salsa into a small bowl, sloshed a chip around in it, and took a bite. “So yeah, she had a reputation for being difficult, but she also had a reputation for being very good at her job. And I’m not just saying this because she’s gone now, but she spearheaded the most successful Christmas bazaar in our history.”
“Most successful money-wise, maybe.” Jen twirled another chip in the bowl of queso.
“Huh?”
“I’m not sure having Santa open his bag of toys and pull out a dead body is the sort of advance publicity you want for next year’s show, if you get my drift.”
Jen had a point, but the raucous laughter coming from a neighboring booth interrupted our conversation. I looked over, and the elf girls were whooping it up.
One of them pointed at her cell phone as her friends gawked. “This was the exact moment it happened,” she crowed.
“Ooh, gross.” One of her blond friends pretended to gag.
“That’s really the dead lady’s arm?” A brunette with French-braided hair squeezed in for a better look at the screen.
I couldn’t stand it another minute. “Excuse me.” I raised my eyebrows at Jen. “I used to babysit some of those girls when I first moved to town, and I think they need to learn what’s appropriate for public discussion.”
I walked over to their booth and leaned in. “Hi, girls.” I plastered a smile on my face. “I saw some of you at the Christmas bazaar today, didn’t I?”
Clearly, I’d put a damper on things. Cell phone screens went dark, and the voices were noticeably quieter.
“Erin, you help out with that dance school that performed tonight, right?” I knew she did because her mom, Trish Delgado, occasionally left our arts council meetings early to pick up Erin from the dance studio three doors down from the library.
“Yes, Miss Emma.”
“And Kaley, you’re the new student council president at Roseland High this fall, I believe?” Her aunt, Carleen Wood, was a close friend and forever telling me how proud she was of her niece’s latest achievement. “Now, if I could just sit here for a moment”—I shoved my way onto the vinyl-covered banquette, causing the girls to pack in—“I wondered if I could see that cell phone photo you had up a minute ago, the one of Miranda’s arm.”
Erin, who’d been brandishing the photo, sheepishly held out her phone, and I winced as I relived the moment I’d seen the fur-trimmed sleeve spilling out of Santa’s bag.
“You know, it must have been disturbing for you to be around something like that this evening, but I think you may actually have photos that the police would like to see.”
Erin looked alarmed. I’d heard that Trish ran a tight ship at home, and Erin probably assumed I wanted to get her in trouble.
“Yeah, the police could use everyone’s help, and if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to send these photos to a detective I know at the Roseland PD. You may have some clue there that we’re not even noticing.”
“You think so?” Erin perked up, perhaps relieved that I was more interested in police work than in her inappropriate behavior.
I nodded. “I sure do. I think they’d be grateful. And I know you all want to do the right thing and not just sit around laughing over some poor woman’s tragic death. Right?” I made eye contact with each girl at the table.
“Right,” Erin agreed then gazed into her plate of nachos.
“Yeah, right.” Kaley and the others joined the chorus of “Rights” as well.
“Super.” I stretched my hand out for her phone, and Erin reluctantly handed it over. “Let me just get these on their way to a friend of mine at the police department, and I’ll leave you girls to your tacos and burritos.”
Erin looked nervous as I tapped a few keys and forwarded the images to Evelyn. She would see to it that the photos got to the proper person.
“There.” I clicked off the photos folder on Erin’s cell phone and returned it to her. “All done. Thanks. And now I’d better get back to my meal.”
When I returned to our table, Jen rolled her eyes. “You know they’re gonna love you for that, right?”
“Yeah, well, they’ll get over it.” I waved away her comment. “It’s not right for them to be passing around photos of a woman who’s just died, for Pete’s sake.” I perked up when I saw that our entrees had arrived. “Shoot. Now my quesadillas are probably cold.” I took a bite and was pleasantly surprised to find it still piping hot. Good—I was ravenous.
“So.” Jen steepled her fingers and leaned across the table. “Who killed Miranda?”
I shrugged. “How much time have you got? ’Cause she offended a lot of people today. I don’t think all those who were upset with her wanted to kill her, mind you, but I imagine the police are going to have their work cut out for them.”
“What about that Caitlyn Hill?” Jen raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she’s ambitious. Next in line for the job and all that.”
I shook my head. “I can’t see it. Besides, I saw her all over the place this afternoon, so when would she have had time to do it?”
Jen gave me a wry smile. “Doesn’t take that long to choke somebody to death.”
I widened my eyes. “And you know this how?”
“Morbid curiosity. I read two true-crime novels in a row in which the victim was strangled to death with a pair of nylons. The old newspaper stories I looked up about the cases said death can occur within minutes.”
“Humph. Guess I’ve never thought much about how long it takes to choke someone to death.”
Jen chuckled. “Most normal people haven’t. So, who wanted her dead?”
I swallowed my last bite of chicken. “The people I saw getting into it with her this morning were angry, but I don’t think any of them were angry enough to commit murder.”
“Well, somebody sure was. And I’ll bet that if Caitlyn didn’t do it, she might have some thoughts on who did.”
Jen’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up and accepted the call. I heard a lot of “Yeah?” and “Uh-huh, that’s fine” before she said, “Okay. Uh-huh. Bye.”
“The office?” I asked.
“Yeah. The new guy they hired to be the assistant news editor can’t make a decision without running it by me. Afraid he’s gonna upset someone.”
“Understandable.”
“But he was calling to tell me he decided to run a ‘tasteful’ photo of Miranda’s body being carried out on the stretcher. That one was a no-brainer, don’t you think?” She grabbed another chip and scraped the last of the queso from the bowl.
I grimaced. “I definitely don’t miss having to make those decisions anymore.” I didn’t miss the job pressure or the constant deadlines either.
“Now that you mention it, do you need any help making jewelry?”
“Yes, actually, I do.” I laughed. “But I don’t think you’ve got the patience to assemble beads and baubles all day or prowl thrift stores for things to sell online.”
A commotion came from behind us as the elves from the Christmas bazaar left tips on the table and said their goodbyes. I tried to make eye contact with Erin, but she appeared to be avoiding my gaze and dashed off. Another girl gave me the stink eye as she left, but I could live with that. I wondered what Trish would think if Erin revealed that she’d forwarded some of her cell phone photos to the police. I hoped Trish wouldn’t mind, but I knew I’d done the right thing.
After a glance at my glittery Christmas watch—now missing a rhinestone ruby, I noted—I was surprised that it was nearly ten. Jen and I settled up with the cashier and left the restaurant together before agreeing to meet for a walk the following afternoon. As I drove home, I idly wondered what else Jen’s reporter had heard about Miranda’s dealings with the downtown merchants. I wished I’d asked for details. But as I pulled into the driveway of my cozy bungalow on Buchanan Street, I wanted nothing more in the world than a good night’s sleep. Then perhaps I would wake up ready to think clearly about that bizarre Christmas bazaar.