It turned out that the injured Santa Claus in question was Slim Daley. On the way to the hospital, he had slipped into a coma. That was all Eric would tell me when I texted him later on. I called the nurse’s station to check on Slim the next morning and all they would tell me was that he remained in critical but stable condition. I assumed that meant he was still in a coma. And that meant that Slim couldn’t tell the police who had attacked him.
On Saturday morning, I dashed over to Forester House to check on the contractors who had insisted on working over the weekend. I was secretly thrilled that some of them would get a head start going into next week, including my dad and his crew who were there to help the other guys. I decided not to mention Slim’s injuries to anyone until we had more information. I was glad I didn’t say anything, because the house seemed to buzz with a lighter energy. Maybe because it was the weekend. Or maybe because the dark cloud of Mr. Potter’s death was beginning to dissipate. Either way, I was looking forward to Monday and seeing the progress they’d made.
That afternoon was Mac’s book signing at Lizzie and Hal’s shop. It was a huge success, with people lined up and down the sidewalk, waiting for their chance to meet Mac and get a signed copy of his latest blockbuster hit. I’d never seen Lizzie happier, and Mac was thrilled by the turnout, too. Afterward, we all went out for burgers and fries at the pub and Callie called it the most excellent ending to a perfect day.
On Sunday morning, Mac and Callie helped me buy a Christmas tree. The sky was clear and blue but the air was frigid as we picked out the biggest, fattest tree we could find. It was a perfect day for hot chocolate, just as Callie had hoped for, and we all decorated the tree with the hundreds of ornaments and doodads I’d kept for years. Many of them had belonged to my mother and those were extra special to me. Callie and Mac bought me an angel for the top of the tree and I knew I would treasure it forever.
That afternoon Mac went above and beyond the call of duty by climbing up the ladder to string lights along the eaves, circling the entire front side of the house. Callie applied stenciled reindeer and snowflakes to my windows and decorated a wreath with more ornaments. We hung the wreath on the door and then spent the rest of the afternoon making a big pot of chicken vegetable soup. We laughed and talked and napped and read books in my living room. It was another perfect day that I hoped would never end.
And I knew I was in dangerous territory.
Monday morning, I arrived at the mansion as the sun was rising. When I walked into the foyer, I found Santa Steve waiting for me. He wore civilian clothes: blue jeans, work shirt, and a heavy corduroy jacket.
“Are you working here today?” I asked.
“I am.” He gave me a hug, then gazed into my eyes. “I heard you found him.”
“Yes, I did,” I said, knowing he was referring to Slim. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“I—I don’t. The police whisked me out of there fast.” I smiled weakly, abruptly wary. Eric had warned me before not to discuss crime scenes and evidence. I didn’t suspect Steve, of course, but now that two attacks had occurred on the site, I was becoming more and more suspicious of everyone around me. After all, Steve had mentioned his own run-ins with Mr. Potter, and now Slim had been attacked. Steve and Slim appeared to be friends, but who knew the real story?
More guilt flooded me for doubting Steve, so I made my excuses and hurried off to get some work done. From here on, it would be best if I just kept my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself.
Despite the assault on Slim, I was relieved that Eric had given us the all-clear to go back to work in the ballroom and the butler’s pantry. The downside was that he’d had to cut off all access to apartment two—where the door to the wine cellar was located—for at least a day. I understood the need to close it off, but we were nearing the end of our time here and I was growing concerned. Nevertheless, the apartment two team obligingly split up to help out the crews in the other apartments who needed some extra hands.
I headed for the ballroom and met Dad and Phil on the way.
“It’ll be good to get back to our original project,” Phil said cheerfully. “As soon as Bud and Pete get here, I’m going to have them pick up where we left off with the drywall.”
“Sounds good. How about you, Dad?”
“I’m looking forward to getting my toolbox back,” Dad said resolutely. “And then I’ll get started pulling up the tiles in the bathroom.”
I threaded my arm through his. “You okay with this?”
“Sure. Look, I’ll admit it’s unsettling. We still don’t know who killed Potter, so that’s worrisome.”
“I’ll say.” Did we have a killer working in the house? The thought was definitely unsettling.
“As far as my tools go, well, my ax is gone and a few of the screwdrivers were tossed around, but as far as I know, none of my other tools were touched. So I’m going to reclaim them as my own and we’ll finish this job with time to spare. And make you proud.”
“You already do,” I said, and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.
As we entered the ballroom, we stopped and looked around. It looked pretty much the same as when we left it. But we all knew it wasn’t the same.
Finally, Phil broke the silence. “What are you working on today, Shannon?”
“I’m going to get started on the butler’s-pantry cabinets.”
“That’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship,” Dad said, with an approving nod. “You’ll do it up right.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He had taught me carpentry at an early age and I still loved working with wood. I didn’t get the chance very often, but I enjoyed it whenever I did. “It’ll probably take me up until the very last day to complete it. But it’s got to be done and I’m just happy to work with all that lovely wood.”
I carried my small toolbox into the hall and stopped when I realized where I was standing: directly on the spot where Mr. Potter had fallen and died. The wood floor had been scrubbed clean by a team of hazmat workers from a company who handled biological waste. It was weird to be told by the cops that when blood was spilled during a crime, you could be left with a biohazard site.
I took a few gulps of air and quickly switched my view to the U-shaped butler’s pantry. All three walls of the room were covered in gorgeous wood cabinets and drawers. There was a generous, four-foot-wide area inside the space in which a butler could work and move around.
Traditionally a butler’s pantry had been used to store the most valuable silver and crystal under lock and key. It had held all the serving dishes and often doubled as the butler’s office, where he kept his logs and house accounts close at hand.
I stood in the hall, studying the cabinetry. Straight ahead were elegantly designed glass-fronted cabinets. This was where the Forester family would have stored all of the fancy dishware and serving dishes for both formal and family dinners. On the right side of the room were rows of plain wood cabinets that would have held all sorts of silver pieces: platters, teapots, coffeepots, water pitchers, bowls, vases, and the like. These were not kept in the glass cabinets because it was thought that sunshine, and light in general, would cause their surfaces to tarnish more quickly.
On the left side of the space was a sink and a marble counter where dishes were washed and water pitchers were filled. The thick marble counter ran across all three sides of the room and beneath it were rows of wide drawers that held linens and silverware and serving pieces. Smaller drawers held specialty items, barware, and such.
A small crystal chandelier hung down from the center of the ceiling. It was a beautiful, compact room and I imagined the Foresters’ butler had been the envy of his peers.
But the pale buttercream paint was beginning to peel off some of the lower drawers. The paint had been tested for lead and found to be loaded with the dangerous metal. Most paints in the 1890s were at least fifty percent lead based, and there was no way I would allow it to remain in this house, particularly in an apartment where a six-year-old girl would be living.
Plainly put, it would be malpractice for me to do nothing.
For some reason, the upper cabinets had suffered no peeling or other damage. The first time I saw this room, I had decided the quickest way to fix it would be to strip the paint from the lower cabinets and simply cover them in a clear varnish. The natural wood would be a lovely contrast to the buttercream cabinets hanging over the marble counters.
“No time like the present,” I murmured, and went out to my truck to get more tools and stripping supplies.
I ran into Patrice on the back veranda. “Do you need any help?” she asked. “I’ve finished scraping the caulk off the windows in apartment seven.”
I smiled. “I would love to have you help but I don’t think you’d like what I’m doing.”
“Why not?”
“I’m working in the butler’s pantry,” I said gently.
“Oh, but I can . . . oh no.” Her eyes widened and began to tear up. “Oh dear.”
I handed her a tissue from my tool belt. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t worry.” She dabbed her eyes with the tissue and sniffled. “I appreciate you trying to look out for me. You’re right, I’d rather not go into that room if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Let me text Wade and see who else needs help.”
“Thank you, Shannon.” She gave me a watery smile. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.”
“I’ve enjoyed it, too,” I said, a little surprised that I’d become friends with this old-fashioned Southern lady.
“Maybe when we’re through with this project, we can go to lunch.”
I smiled at her. “I would like that very much.”
* * *
I started by taking pictures of the pantry from every angle. Then I began removing each knob, hinge, and door pull on the bottom set of cabinets. A few days from now, when I was finished with this job, the photos would be a reminder of how to reassemble all of the hardware I’d removed.
I planned to assign a volunteer to clean all the brass hardware. It would mostly consist of dipping them in a solution and rubbing them until they were bright and pretty again. They could even do the work outside on the veranda.
I wouldn’t have that luxury, which was too bad, because the chemicals found in wood strippers were highly toxic to my lungs as well as dangerous to clothing and skin. In preparation, I laid down two layers of tarp to protect the wood floor and opened both hallway windows. Not to be overly cautious, but I had a respirator mask, splash-proof goggles, heavy-duty plastic gloves, and a hazmat jumpsuit I’d bought online. Somewhat apropos attire, I thought, given what had happened in here. By the time I was dressed and ready to start the work, I looked like an astronaut gearing up for a walk in space.
I wasn’t sure how quickly the old paint would react to the stripper’s harsh chemicals, but I was pleased to see it blister and sizzle almost as soon as I applied the first coat. On the flat surfaces, I scraped off the sludgy paint with a small putty knife. On the ridges and crevices and corners, though, I had to use a small, wiry scrub brush to get into all those tight spots and remove the paint. After as much of the paint as possible was wiped away, I applied a second coat of stripper and repeated the process.
Once I finished stripping a larger section, I applied mineral spirits to that area to get rid of any remaining stripper residue. Otherwise, I would risk a bad chemical reaction between any of the excess stripper and the new finish.
After that, probably sometime late tomorrow, I would sand it by hand until it was smooth and beautiful. Then I would apply two coats of a simple marine-grade varnish to show off the wood grain and protect the surface of the cabinets. And voilà!
It would be fabulous when I was finished, but for now the job was slow and repetitive, mainly because there were so many drawers to deal with. The results would be worth it in the end, though.
I removed my respirator while I prepped the second row of small drawers. First I opened each drawer to make sure that any old paint still covering the edge of the inner box would be removed as well. One drawer stuck and I pulled it a few times, but it still wouldn’t budge. I reattached the hardware and it was still tight, but it opened finally. I realized the drawer had been jammed in at an angle and just needed to be straightened. After that, it was easy to open and close. I noticed a crumpled piece of paper inside the drawer, so I removed it, shoving it into my tool belt to toss out later.
I slipped on my respirator, goggles, and gloves, and repeated the lengthy process all over again on the new set of drawers.
All day long, I continued to take breaks to walk outside and breathe. Even with the respirator and the windows wide-open to let in the cold air, my head got a little foggy once in a while.
I strolled around the ballroom, enjoying the beauty of the room. I couldn’t wait to see it furnished and ready for Sophie and Molly. I wondered idly where they could put a Christmas tree. That’s when I realized: “We need Christmas trees.”
“What, honey?” Dad said, walking into the room from the bathroom, where he was starting to lay down the new tile.
“We need to buy Christmas trees for all the apartments,” I said. “The families won’t be able to afford them.”
“They’re moving in on Christmas Eve. It makes sense.”
“This is something Jason’s people can do.” I reached into my bag for my phone.
“That’s my girl. Delegate.”
I laughed. “It’s more fun than I thought it would be. Anyway, he’s handling the decorators, so I think he should ask them to include Christmas trees.”
“With all the decorations.”
“Absolutely.”
The next day, after checking in with each of my contractors to see how their rooms were shaping up, I climbed up to the attic to touch base with Blake. I hadn’t been up here in a few days and it reminded me that I hadn’t seen April around lately. And that realization reminded me that I hadn’t followed up on the Santa-pinching accusation, either. Frankly, I just didn’t believe her, and since she wasn’t around to bug me about it, I was satisfied to let things lie for the time being.
I found Blake in one of the new rooms he and his crew had created. There were five micro-apartments up here now and each room was approximately five hundred square feet. They were small but typical single apartments with a main area that would have a pull-out couch for sleeping. There was an electric wall fireplace, a kitchenette with room for a small table and chairs, and a bathroom-and-closet area. Each room had a big window and three of the rooms even had their own tiny terraces, thanks to a series of deeply set dormer windows the original architect had created at the top of the house.
“I can’t believe this was one big, dark attic space seven days ago. It looks better and better every time I come up here.”
“I think so, too,” he said, running his hand along the smooth plaster wall. “I was really pleased with the way they all worked out.”
“I know we won’t finish up here before Christmas, but we might make it by New Year’s.”
“That’s my goal,” Blake said.
We moved on to the next micro-apartment and I couldn’t get over how comfortable the small space felt. “I’m so glad you’re on the team. I’m really impressed with your work.”
“Thank you, but I only joined up because I was so impressed by your work.”
We both smiled. “Aren’t we lucky?”
“Yup.” He opened the door to the next room. “This one’s my favorite. If I didn’t have three kids, I would try to rent this one myself.”
“I didn’t know you had three kids, Blake.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Three little monsters.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“No, it’s not. They’re terrors.” He frowned as he glanced around. “Yeah, I definitely need to rent this place. I could use some peace and quiet once in a while.”
I chuckled as he walked over to show off the new double-paned mini sliding glass door he’d installed. I called it a mini door because it had to fit into the space of the old window, which was large enough, but not quite the size of a door.
Still, you could use it to walk out onto the reinforced terrace, so I did, stepping outside to enjoy the view. “This space is going to be awesome for some single person.”
“Or for me,” he muttered.
I laughed. “Good luck convincing your wife about that.”
He scowled. “I can’t tell her or she’ll want a room here, too.”
I was still laughing when I noticed the large garage on the other side of the back lawn. It reminded me again of April, so I turned to Blake. “Did you ever see April around here again? You know, the woman who was up here last week.”
“Yeah, I remember. Haven’t seen her in a while. She sort of disappeared.”
“Yes, she did.” Interesting, I thought as I stepped back inside. “Let’s take a look at the next room.”
* * *
As she had done for the past few days, Patrice walked into the foyer that morning carrying a large box of pastries. By now the crew was completely infatuated with her because, along with supplying us with our daily sugar rush, Patrice was a good worker and happy to help out.
Lizzie showed up with the baby again that afternoon and held court in the foyer. It seemed that everyone on the crew was taking time to stop by and say hello and admire the little darling. We had all fallen in love with Angel Baby, as some of the guys called her.
Callie and Mac showed up for work each day, too, and I was overjoyed to see them. It felt so comfortable to have Mac around, I could barely remember when he wasn’t here. Or maybe I just didn’t want to remember.
The work was going well and the rooms were beginning to shine. But more quirky things were happening this week. Another paint can went missing and several of the guys complained about lost or possibly stolen tools. Evidently, we had a petty thief in our midst.
But there were some happy incidents, too, which were even more puzzling, frankly. The crew in apartment eight reported that they couldn’t finish up their drywall job the night before, then came in the next morning to find that it had been completed. I went around to every single person in the house and asked them if they had done the work. No one fessed up.
At the end of the following day, one of the painters told me that he’d had a bad toothache earlier and ran off to the dentist at lunch. When he returned three hours later, his room was completely painted. And again, no one would admit to doing the work.
So along with the petty thief, we apparently had a shy but Good Samaritan in our midst. Or maybe it was all the work of mischievous Christmas elves.
New baby clothes and formula and baby binkies and baubles kept showing up in odd places around the house, too. A day after I found the items hanging from a chandelier in the foyer, one of the guys found a brand-new, infant-sized, lacey pink dress with matching tights and baby shoes hanging on a shelf in the library. Later that same afternoon, Callie thought it would be fun to take the elegant house elevator up to the second floor. When she stepped inside, she found a baby animal mobile hanging from the ceiling light.
So far, the unknown gift giver hadn’t revealed herself.
Christmas decorations were starting to show up, as well. Yesterday morning I walked into the house and saw that someone had twisted red-and-gold garland around the foyer chandelier. The sparkly garland was also intertwined along the banister, weaving in and out of the balusters and culminating in a big bow around the newel post at the top of the stairs. Bunches of mistletoe began to appear in different places: over the front door; above the steps of the central stairway; just inside the library on the second floor. Everyone was on alert in case a new sprig showed up in an unexpected spot in the house.
Yesterday, Spencer had come to work wearing a hideously tacky Christmas sweater his mother had knitted for him. Everyone mocked him unmercifully, but this morning, three more crew members wore silly Christmas sweaters.
I imagined that by Christmas Eve it would reach epidemic proportions, with everyone in the house showing up wearing their worst nightmare of a holiday sweater.
Each contractor and their crew had added their own decorations to their apartment. One of the guys had run a string of lights around the windows of the tower. Blake had dragged a full-sized Christmas tree all the way up to the attic. Everyone in the house took turns running upstairs to add a silly decoration to the tree. The volunteers were starting to show up with fudge and cookies and candies and cakes to share with everyone. The spirit of Christmas was alive and well at Forester House. And unlike a week ago, I was now right in the thick of it, filled with the joy of the season.
* * *
It was ten o’clock that night and I was trying to finish the final row of drawers in the butler’s pantry before going home. I took a break to go stand by the open window to suck in some fresh air, and that’s when I saw a flash of light coming from the six-car garage at the end of the driveway.
I’d grown smart enough in my old age to resist the urge to run over there to investigate on my own. Okay, that was a lie. I was determined to go check things out. But first, I called Eric. When he answered, I said, “You’re probably getting tired of hearing from me.”
“Never,” he insisted. “Except for the part where you keep giving me bad news.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure where this falls, but there’s someone sneaking around inside the garage over here.”
“You’re still working?”
“Yes. I had something to finish.”
“Anyone else around?”
“Nope. I’m it.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stay put.”
“I will.”
I dashed around turning off the lights in the pantry and the ballroom and then waited and watched until Eric arrived.
But before he could get here, I saw someone sneak out the side door of the garage carrying some kind of a suitcase or a small trunk. I knew Eric would be here any minute, but he was going to be too late.
I moved quietly across the ballroom floor and opened one of the sets of French doors. The grounds were dark and I tried to make out the silhouette of the person creeping down the driveway. I followed them—just as Eric’s SUV swung into the drive. His headlights illuminated the person, who took a quick detour into the thickly wooded area lining the property.
Eric jumped out of the car.
“They’re getting away!” I shouted, pointing toward the woods, and took off running after the thief.
“Get back here!” Eric shouted, but it was too late. I was fifty feet into the woods before I knew it and unable to see a thing. I stood perfectly still and tried to acclimate my vision to the darkness while regretting that whole “take off into the woods without thinking” idea. What if they had a gun? Or a knife? I couldn’t see or hear a thing. They could sneak up and knock me out before I even realized they were close by. Although, when I took a second to think about it, I knew it would be impossible to sneak up on anyone, since the ground was covered in dried, dead leaves that crackled and snapped with every step.
And now that I was standing still, I could feel the cold wetness of the woods seeping into my bones. That settled it. I turned to scamper back to my truck.
A sudden loud scream caused me to halt instantly. It had come from only a few yards away. The scream was followed by wild thrashing among the brush and bushes.
Was the thief tangling with some forest beast?
“Who’s there?” I said.
“Get back to the driveway,” Eric commanded.
“All right, all right,” I muttered, secretly thrilled to know he was close by. I raced back to the open area of the driveway and waited.
Seconds later, the forest beast—Eric—emerged from the grove, pulling the person along beside him. The moon came out from behind a cloud and I could see that the angry, struggling person was a woman, and she was still carrying the suitcase.
The woman was April.
* * *
Eric took her to police headquarters for questioning and as soon as I cleaned up the butler’s pantry and closed up the house, I raced over to find out what was happening. I arrived just in time to see Eric releasing her instead of arresting her.
As she walked out smirking, I turned to the police chief. “Are you kidding? I saw her steal the suitcase.”
I could tell he was disgusted. “It’s an old, empty suitcase that’s falling apart, Shannon. There’s nothing inside it. She claimed she was just on a lark, trying to find some silly tchotchke to memorialize her time at Forester House.”
“That is the biggest bunch of baloney I’ve ever heard.”
He scowled. “I agree. But I had to let her go.”
“She’s up to something, Eric.”
“You’re probably right, but it doesn’t matter at the moment. Go home, Shannon.”
I knew he was right. Besides, I was tired and just wanted to go to sleep, so I nodded and left the station. But I was more determined than ever to figure out exactly what game April was playing.