Twenty-one

 

“I wish we’d been able to do this yesterday,” Jaymie grumbled, shivering. She hadn’t had enough coffee yet. Two cups was a necessity or she just wasn’t awake. It was Friday morning and the lighting of the tree and new official start of Dickens Days was that very evening, so they had no time to spare.

“I’m glad you’re here to do it at all,” Jakob said, swinging a hammer and knocking one side wall off the diorama. He had been grumpy since finding out everything that had happened—the danger to Jaymie had been real and he was horrified by it—but was starting to mellow a bit now.

“I know, I know,” she said, giving him a side hug. “But I am, so let’s do this!”

Thursday had been taken up with giving a complete police statement, and visiting poor Amos in the hospital, where the police had taken his complete statement, as well as checking in on Austin to be sure he was all right. Shaken and hurt, though not critically, he had taken Thursday off from college but was back at it now, as he had exams to write. He texted her that his art professor boyfriend was suitably impressed and comforting to him, and had made a fuss over Austin, with the bandage on his forehead.

Thursday also happened to be St. Nicholas Day, and though not Catholic the Müllers set aside that day to celebrate some traditional German St. Nicholas Day customs with the children. Jocie and her cousins stayed with their grandparents and received in their shoes a few small gifts, in Jocie’s case books, her favorite present, and Katzenzungen, little chocolate-covered biscuits named “cats tongues” for their shape. Jaymie was grateful for the distraction it provided for Jocie, so she didn’t have to explain what happened.

Jakob’s brothers worked the tree sales lot Thursday while her husband helped her through the follow-up to the attack. Jaymie learned during her talk with the police how Amos had happened to be in his predicament. After his close call—he was in the hospital still for hypothermia and the injury to his head, which matched Evan’s perfectly—he had decided to shed his secretive ways and tell everything he knew and everything that had happened. He rejected Erla’s accusation that he was blackmailing her.

He had seen what he didn’t understand at first, Erla with a long-handled window squeegee, coming from behind the Emporium. That would have been her smearing the CCTV camera lenses with peanut butter, the police figured. He then saw, as he meandered the village streets in the wee hours of Saturday morning, Erla fussing around the diorama the night of the murder. It had taken him a while to believe that she had killed Evan, and he had simply asked her why she did it, he claimed.

She had told him to meet her at the diorama and she’d tell him everything. She brought the bowl to kill him, there could be no doubt about that. She was talking now, and had made a complete statement as part of what would likely be a plea deal of some sort. Her reasoning was that the pudding mould, a weapon hiding in plain sight, worked once, and would work again. Austin’s desire for a selfie at the murder scene had saved Amos’s life.

Fortunately for Bella, when the police broke down the door to the Nezer residence and bolted upstairs with paramedics following, she was sleeping soundly, but that was all. Erla had given her pills crushed into her meal, but had miscalculated the amount needed to kill her. She had recovered swiftly, fast enough to confirm that the suicide letter was not legitimate.

Unfortunately for Bella the police found the gray wig that had fooled Amos, and she was arrested for arson. The police would never have focused so closely on the Nezer household in the arson case, but Bella had hidden the gasoline she used to start the fire in the shed. The police were suspicious of the lengths someone had taken to conceal so common a liquid, but before the wig was discovered and Amos had provided the information he had, they had been unable to establish which householder had been responsible. Bella had lawyered up and been released on bail, but Jaymie suspected that if Erla hadn’t killed Evan, Bella would have. Rumor had it that Evan had talked with his lawyer about divorce, though he had not instituted paperwork yet. He caught Bella cheating, and that voided the prenup, which had a “no cheating” clause in it.

Without a confession they could only guess at many things, including why she had set fire to the cider booth wearing a gray wig and Erla’s coat, but Jaymie speculated that Evan was stalling at getting rid of Erla, and Bella was anxious to have the woman out of her home. Erla was in the way of her plan to kill Evan herself, she had thought. If Erla was arrested for arson, Bella must have thought, the housekeeper would be gone for good. The arrest hadn’t happened, but Bella couldn’t push for it too hard or her own guilt would have become obvious.

No one would ever know the whole truth of that. Even if Bella had considered killing her husband, would she have gotten up the nerve? It was interesting to Jaymie that Bella had been the one to invite so many people her husband did not like and would potentially clash with, like Valetta, Jaymie and Vaughn, with Brock as an unforeseen bonus. It almost looked like Bella was setting the scene for there to be numerous suspects in his murder. But they’d never know, and you couldn’t convict anyone on what they might have done, given the opportunity.

Jaymie packed the bits and pieces from her diorama into totes and stowed them in the back of the SUV. Bill Waterman hobbled toward them, looking weak but better than he had. Neither Jaymie nor Jakob had allowed Bill to help, recruiting Johnny Stanko instead to disassemble the diorama structure and tote it to Bill’s barn for storage until they could figure out what to do with it.

“I got it open, Jakob, Jaymie,” Bill said. “Johnny, I got that handcart we can use and you young fellows can haul it up the hill okay, I think.”

“I guess I should feel lucky that we can do this at all,” Jaymie said. “Since it was the scene of another crime.”

“No mystery about this one though,” Valetta said, joining them, tea mug in hand. “We know whodunit, so the police didn’t need to keep the scene closed off, once it was processed.”

“My heroine!” Jaymie said, throwing her arms around her friend.

They stood together, Jaymie with one arm slung over Valetta’s shoulders, and watched the diorama walls being carted off by Jakob and Johnny. When the guys returned, Jaymie hugged her friend and freed her from her grasp. “See you tonight for the first night of Dickens Days?”

“You betcha.” Valetta headed back to work.

Ben and Jacklyn, heads together, came around the bend from behind the line of pines that concealed the Nezer home. They stopped to eye the gathered townsfolk, then exchanged a look and headed toward Jaymie.

“Hey,” Jacklyn said as they strolled toward her, hand in hand.

“Hey,” Jaymie said back, unsure what else to say. How did one say how sorry one was that a late father-in-law had been murdered by his housekeeper? But she was curious. “So . . . a little bird told me that congratulations are in order and you two are married. True? Rumor?”

Jacklyn smiled, then laughed—which completely changed her appearance, making her appear younger—and looked over at Ben, who stood silent and unsmiling. “Not exactly true. We, uh . . . didn’t sign the official documentation, so we’re not legally married. It was for larks that time around.” She sobered and sighed. “Ben wanted to tweak his dad, so we did that with Pastor Inkerman, then got photos, but we’re not legally married.”

“Are you going to?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So, is your relationship why Evan got you fired from the college?” Jaymie asked, something that had just occurred to her.

Jacklyn shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. We never let him know how close we were. I believe he suspected I was starting to put two and two together, about that fishy stuff at WC.”

“That’s what you were really looking for on his computer that night.”

“No comment,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

The school newspaper had just that morning come out with allegations against the school president, the provost and dean, concerning their use of donor money. It looked like President Belcher was going to again be looking for a new job. Sooner or later she was going to run out of academic establishments that would have her. The Wolverhampton Weekly Howler had given the student reporter from WC a byline in their paper for their own reporting on the school scandal. Jaymie had affected that by sending the young aspiring reporter to Nan with her introduction.

“I knew Evan too well, how his mind worked. I never did find out what student accused me of inappropriate behavior; I don’t think there was one. It was in Evan’s fertile and vindictive imagination, and the president went along with it. I would have fought them on it eventually. I was planning to, but things were . . . complicated.” She glanced at Ben, who was still tight-lipped. She appeared to decide not to go further impugning his dead father’s character. “Anyway, here’s a fun fact: did you know that the estimable Pastor Vaughn Inkerman was born Vaughn Fancombe?”

Jaymie blinked. “What?”

“The good pastor is Erla Fancombe’s firstborn son.”

Staggered, Jaymie took a moment to absorb that information. “Wow. Did not see that one coming. I figured out that Finn, despite what Ben’s dad at one time believed, is not Ben’s brother.” She paused, then asked, “Does Finn know who his father is?”

Jacklyn and Ben exchanged glances. “I don’t think he does,” she answered. “I don’t think Erla would ever have told him, because she was counting on Evan coming through for him as his ‘father.’”

“That’s too bad,” Jaymie said. “Maybe she’ll tell him now. Or . . . maybe not.”

Ben looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know what to think. Finn and I always got along real well. He was taken in for questioning, you know, but both he and his mom say he was not involved in the . . . the murder of my dad.”

“Do you believe him?”

He shrugged and squinted off to the sky. “I don’t know. My mom says that she can’t believe Finn would do anything to hurt me. She’s going to bat for him. She can’t help Erla, but she wants to help Finn.”

“Does anyone know how he is, with his mom in jail?”

Jacklyn said, “He’s going through a rough time. I feel for him. He was a great TA at WC. His students loved him, and I believe he’ll come through this okay, but his mom’s trouble is going to be hard for him.” She squeezed Ben’s arm to her side and looked up at him. “I’m glad your mom is standing by him. That’s what friends do.”

He nodded.

“Speaking of your mom,” Jaymie said, watching Ben’s face. “There are all kinds of wild rumors about her. Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but I’m going to, and you can tell me to shove off if I’m intruding. Why did your mom walk away from the marriage with basically nothing?”

“I didn’t want anything.”

Jaymie whirled. Sarah, dressed warmly in a heavy coat and wool gloves, had glided up silently and now got off her bicycle. Ben hugged her and Jacklyn smiled. “I don’t understand. You were entitled to half.”

“I know there are rumors that Evan had something on me, that he had blackmailed me to walk away empty-handed. But I didn’t want a penny. I wanted a clean break from everything, all of my past. I spent years in and out of hospitals and therapy and on and off all kinds of meds until we finally found the right combination. I found a good place and I want to stay in it. The best therapy was letting go of it all, but it wasn’t easy. I don’t expect anyone to understand. It was a blow, I’ll admit, when Evan and Bella moved into the big house.” She glanced over her shoulder, through the pines. “I had always longed to live there. I imagined redecorating, making it beautiful again.” She sighed. “But that is Ben’s to do now.” She smiled at her son. “I have my writing and my books and my little home down near the river.”

“Mom, you can live with us, if you want.”

Jacklyn looked startled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sarah said with a smile that took in Jacklyn.

“But at least we’re going to get you the rights to the books back, so you’ll have the movie options. And whenever a movie is filmed from a book, the book sells big time. They’re going to film one of them right here, in Queensville!” Ben said, his gaze shifting to Jaymie.

“Wow, exciting! So you’ll be the acknowledged author finally?”

Sarah nodded. “I told Ben I wasn’t worried about it, but he insisted. We’re working it out.”

“As your financial advisor I demand it! You should get all the recognition and money you deserve.”

“And the pastor, Erla’s other son?” Jacklyn said, her gaze shifting between Sarah and Ben. “I’ve heard he claims he did not know what was in the envelope Erla had him steal from the mail room at the college. The one labeled DNA results.”

“It sounds like you don’t believe that,” Jaymie said, eyeing Jacklyn.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she admitted.

Jaymie considered it. “I’d bet he didn’t know. It’s a cynical world, but I think he’s honest.”

Jacklyn took Ben’s arm. “We’d better get going. We have to clear out my apartment. I’m moving in to the Nezer house!” They walked away.

Sarah lingered on a moment. “You know that note I gave you that night, the night of the party?”

“Sure,” Jaymie said, her curiosity itching. “What did it mean?”

“I knew they had gotten married,” she said, looking back and watching her son and his almost-wife. “He wanted to tell Evan, to stick it to his father. But I learned a long time ago, it was best not to goad Evan.”

“Oh! So the note meant not to tell his dad that he and Jacklyn were married.”

She nodded. “I know you were suspicious, but what could I say without telling you what it meant? I wasn’t going to break my promise not to tell anyone about them.” She walked away, following her son to Jacklyn’s apartment.

She’d better get home herself, Jaymie thought. She had some goodies to bake for the first night of Dickens Days. The lighting of the tree would likely bring lots of people into town.

 

• • •

 

O come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here,

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

 

The Methodist church choir sang their haunting rendition of the old carol, which drifted in the chill air along with the crisp snowflakes that danced and fluttered. As they sang, Reverend Gillis, dressed in a handsome navy wool trench coat over a black shirt and white clerical collar, a hand-knitted scarf trailing around his neck, circulated through the crowd, inviting all to come to his church. He stopped by Jaymie, who stood with Jakob and Jocie; he bent down and solemnly shook the little girl’s hand, then straightened, pushing his comb-over to one side as the breeze teased it loose.

“How are you, Jaymie?”

“I’m good.”

“My friend Pastor Inkerman wanted me to give you a message.” He put one hand on her shoulder. “He wanted to say he is devastated by the fear Erla Fancombe put you and your friend through, and hopes there are no hard feelings toward him for what he failed to reveal to you, his relationship with the woman.”

“No hard feelings.” Jaymie paused. “What about his relationship with his brother, Finn? Does he have one?”

“He didn’t in past. Vaughn respected his mother’s desire for folks not to know he was her son, so he couldn’t exactly reach out to Finn, but he is now.”

“Reverend, was Vaughn telling the truth, though? Was he with you that night?”

“He was. He was sorely in conflict with himself. You know, regardless of what others may be saying, Inkerman really is his surname, given to him by his adoptive family. And despite his mother’s assertions—she is, unfortunately, a bitter woman—he does know his father, and is working to establish a relationship with him. Erla was so young when Vaughn was born; I suppose she did the best she could for him by giving him away. When she was pregnant with Finn—they don’t have the same father—I think she decided that she wanted to keep him, but maybe Finn’s father was not in the picture, or maybe she decided he was bad news. I don’t know the whole truth.”

“It’s sad. For Finn, I mean, not to know his father. Maybe Erla will tell now; I hear she is talking a lot about everything. I hope the pastor is okay?”

“He is. You know, Vaughn came to me that night in great turmoil. He found hate in his heart toward Professor Nezer for the man’s attacks on his book, and he wished to expunge those feelings from him. We stayed up and talked for hours, and so I told the police.”

It relieved her mind to hear it. “So how did you help him?”

“I gave him a very human piece of advice, not even religious. First, you can’t control what people think of you. And second . . . when someone is so openly nasty, as Professor Nezer unfortunately was, it behooves us to remember that their wretched behavior reflects more about their inner soul than it does our work or life. I am loath to speak ill of the dead, but Evan Nezer was a miserable man in so many ways.”

Jaymie nodded. He had stolen books from Sarah, and cheated on her with their new housekeeper, had lied and plagiarized his supposed son—Finn, whom he thought was his son—and cheated Jacklyn out of payment for her ghostwriting, then got her fired from her teaching job. And he was cruel to everyone. Miserable was a mild word for his brand of hostility toward the world. “Evan Nezer certainly did not reflect the sense of the season, did he?”

Reverend Gillis smiled. “No, but for that he is more to be pitied than anything. How can anyone see the joy on these little ones’ faces and not rejoice?”

Jocie had met up with her friends Gemma and Peyton. The three girls, with Jocie by far the smallest, formed a tight group and sang along, now that the choir had moved to “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” The reverend moved away, circulating and passing out postcard invitations to seasonal services at his church.

Jaymie noticed the new family in town, Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim and two children, a boy and girl. They stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting for the tree to be lit. Mr. Ibrahim, who had recently moved his family to Queensville from Detroit, was a custodian at the hospital in Wolverhampton. Their daughter, Noor, was in Jocie’s class. “Jocie, Gemma, Peyton,” she called out softly. When she got the girls’ attention, she pointed to Noor, who gazed at them longingly. Jocie whispered to her friends and nodded, then dashed over to the Ibrahims. She spoke to Noor’s mother. Mrs. Ibrahim, her tan headscarf framing a lovely face, dark, almond-shaped eyes and full lips, smiled and nodded as Noor looked up at her. The little girl, also wearing a headscarf of red patterned silk, skipped off with the girls to await the tree lighting.

Jakob kissed Jaymie’s cheek and hugged her to his side. “I have to go now,” he whispered, and moved off on his own to join up with Bill Waterman. The fellows were in charge of lighting the lights at the appropriate moment, as well as making sure the electricity worked for the cider booth, already being manned by Mrs. Bellwood and Imogene Frump. Jakob was replaced at Jaymie’s side by Becca, Kevin, Valetta, Heidi, Austin and others of her friends.

It was a perfect evening, crystalline flakes drifting down to sit in starry perfection on dark woolen coats and scarves, and lovely lights illuminating their picturesque town. The village had been transformed by the heritage committee. Lights were strung outside each shop from the Emporium, through the big bare oak tree, to Bill’s workshop, to Cynthia’s Cottage Shoppe and Jewel’s Junk, across to the Knit Knack Shack and Queensville Fine Antiques, and they were already lit, like pathways of stars.

The only thing left to light was the tree.

Haskell Lockland would usually lead the crowd in a chorus of “Joy to the World” and then call for the lighting, but he and Petty had a prior engagement, made when he thought the lighting would take place the week before. So it fell to Mabel Bloombury. But she passed the torch, so to speak, on to Bill Waterman, who pushed Jakob forward.

“Good evening, everyone,” Jakob said, looking handsome in his gold corduroy shearling coat, jeans and work boots. “This time of year is for family and friends to gather, and so we have, all of us, both family and friends of many faiths and customs,” he said, with a nod to Peyton’s parents, who were Jewish, and the most recent Queensvillians, the Ibrahims. “We’ve seen tragedy and we’ve found joy. But the light is always there. Whether you believe in God or follow another path, I think the light is for us all. Everyone count down with me . . . c’mon, kids, you especially,” he said, pointing to Jocie and her friends, the group now increased to most of her class. “Ten, nine . . .”

The crowd got to one and the tree blazed with multicolored lights, sending a radiance over the snowy village. The church choir led a verse of “O Christmas Tree,” which Jakob sang in German in a booming voice. The night was ablaze and sparkling, shimmering snowflakes drifted down, and it was magic.