26
“This is about the murder, isn’t it?” I hunched my shoulders as I leaned forward to peer out the windshield. Laura had been right about the snow. A solid sheet of it was falling from the sky. The road was a faint outline already, and would soon be gone completely. I wanted to step on the gas, but feared it would send me careening into a parked car or a mailbox.
“Paul was going to be at your place soon, right?” Dad pressed, moving the ball of his Santa cap out of his face. “You could have talked to him when he got there.”
“It’s complicated.” How could I explain that yes, Paul would have taken me seriously, would have looked into my epiphany, but he might not have gotten to it until after Christmas? I also wasn’t positive I was right. The only way to be sure was to talk to the one person who’d been there that night.
“Some reindeer would be nice right about now,” Dad said. “Though I doubt even Rudolph’s red nose would cut through this.”
My headlights reflected off the snow, creating a blinding wall I was determined to drive through. “I know the way by heart,” I said, more for myself than for Dad. “We’ll get there.”
And by some miracle, we did.
I pulled into the Pine Hills police station lot, which held just a handful of cars. Lights on inside told me that at least some of the officers weren’t taking Christmas Eve off like I half feared they might. It was a ludicrous thought considering that crime didn’t take holidays off, but this was a small town. Anything was possible.
“You should wait—”
Dad was out of the car before I could finish the sentence. It looked like we were doing this. Together.
Christmas music was playing over a small cylindrical speaker sitting on the front desk. Plates of cookies surrounded it, and a pair of two-liter bottles of Coke sat next to them.
And standing around that, was a skeleton crew of festively dressed cops.
“Krissy?” Chief Patricia Dalton asked when we entered. “I thought Paul was going to be at your place tonight?”
“He is,” I said. “Can I speak to Officer Garrison a moment?”
Becca Garrison was wearing an ugly green sweater that put the rest of the outfits to shame. It contrasted horribly with her duty belt. A cookie paused halfway to her mouth at her name.
“Is this about police business?” Chief Dalton asked, taking a bite out of her own cookie. She spoke around it. “Because if it is, you might just want to just spit it out.”
I glanced back at Dad, who shrugged. “It’s about what Officer Garrison saw that night at Death by Coffee. The person.” Boy, I hoped she wouldn’t get in trouble for telling me about them. “I had a thought.”
Chief Dalton smiled. “Did you, now?” Her eyes flickered past me, to Dad, and the smile turned into a grin. “And here I thought you might have brought us a little extra entertainment to spice up the night.”
The gears in my head clicked and stuck as an image of Dad standing over the speaker, twirling his Santa hat in the air above his head while gyrating his hips, flashed through my mind.
“It’s all right,” Garrison said, stepping forward. “I have a few minutes to talk. What do you need to know?”
It took me a moment to use mental eye-bleach and get back on track. “That night,” I said. “You saw someone that matched Jacob Callahan’s description lurking in the shadows, right?”
“I did,” Garrison said. “Like I said before, it was dark, so I didn’t get a good look.”
“But you saw the glint of metal, thought it was Jacob’s wallet chain?”
Garrison nodded, a frown forming. “That’s correct.”
“What side was it on?”
Chief Dalton was still standing there, listening with a perplexed expression on her face. I noted how her eyes kept drifting toward Dad. It made me wonder if she had a little something extra in her Coke.
“The right,” Garrison said, drawing my attention back to her.
Both dread and excitement zipped through me then. “The glint came from the right leg, not the left?”
A slow nod. “That’s right.”
“It wasn’t Jacob.”
“How do you figure that?” Chief Dalton asked.
Excitement made my words come out in a rush. “He was at my next-door neighbor’s house that night. He never left. I saw his car and it never moved.”
“But if he was seen—” she started, but I cut her off.
“That’s just it! He wasn’t seen because he wasn’t there!”
Dad leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “You should probably explain.”
I took a breath, slowed my racing mind. “Jacob is left-handed. When he was talking about his bass guitar with Caitlin, she mentioned it was a left-handed instrument. And every time I’ve seen him, he’s had his wallet in his back left pocket, likely so he could reach it with his dominant hand, which means his chain . . .”
“Hangs on the left side,” Garrison finished for me.
I pointed at her and nodded.
“Okay,” Chief Dalton said. “Assuming that he didn’t just stick it into his right pocket that night, then who was it my officer saw?”
I considered it before answering. “It was Laura’s purse that made me think of it,” I said. “Her strap hung down close to her waist while she was rooting around in it.”
Dad scratched his chin through his beard. “I don’t get it.”
I looked around the room. No one else seemed to get it either. It shouldn’t have been a surprise considering I had yet to fully explain, but still . . .
“Agnes Komph!”
Chief Dalton just stared at me.
“She has a small purse. A handbag. It has a metal strap that always slips off her shoulder.”
“She wears it on her right shoulder, doesn’t she?” Garrison asked, eyes widening. “She was the one who was there that night!”
I very nearly clapped. “Andrew was stabbed by something sharp. Lee Komph has those wood chisels. He very nearly poked my eye out with one.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Chief Dalton said, holding up her hands. “Are you telling me Agnes Komph killed Andrew Carver?”
“It could have been Lee,” I said. “He’s got the size and temperament for it.”
“And Agnes?”
“She could, I don’t know, have been his lookout. Or maybe she knew what he planned on doing and showed up that night to stop him.”
“To stop him from killing Jules Phan at your coffee shop?” Chief Dalton asked. She sounded skeptical. “Now why would he do that?”
I wished I had an answer, but came up blank. “I don’t know why he’d want to hurt Jules. Maybe it’s tied to his wife’s relationship with Andrew Carver. Maybe Jules saw something, or Lee thought he did . . .”
I trailed off as Chief Dalton patted the air.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll have Detective Buchannan look into it.” I waited for her to go for the phone and call him since he wasn’t one of the cops scarfing down cookies in the station, but she just stood there. “Go home, Krissy,” she said when I didn’t move. “Spend the evening with your family. With Paul.”
A “but” was on the tip of my tongue. Dad took me by the arm and gently tugged me toward the door.
“You all have a Merry Christmas,” he said as we stepped outside into the falling snow.
“But . . .” It finally came out.
“You told them,” Dad said, leading me to my Escape. “Now let them do their jobs.”
Shivering in the front seat, I tried to come up with a good argument as to why I needed to go back inside, to force them to do something now.
But what did I really have? A glint that might prove Jacob innocent of what? Being near Death by Coffee on one night? Agnes’s presence—if it was indeed her—could have been a coincidence. Jacob could have been watching Jules from Caitlin’s place, and this whole metal wallet chain versus purse strap was moot. I mean, even if he had shown up at Death by Coffee that night, it didn’t mean anything when it came to the night Andrew was killed.
And Agnes and Lee received a gift box. How could they be guilty if they’d received a box too?
I pulled out of the lot with some reluctance, but Dad was right; the police would do their jobs. It might take a few days, which meant Jacob might spend Christmas behind bars, but there was nothing I could do about that. And that was assuming he was even locked up to begin with. They took him in for questioning, sure, but arrested? I didn’t know.
Dad remained silent as I started driving. He was rubbing at his chin beneath his fake white beard, lost in his own thoughts.
It was probably why he didn’t notice we weren’t heading for home until we were passing both the church and Andrew’s Gifts. He didn’t comment. He sat up straighter, got a look on his face that made me wonder if he’d known I was going to do this the moment he’d led me from the station.
Heavenly Gate came into view a moment later. I couldn’t see much through the snow, but I could tell a light was on inside. It was Christmas Eve, and yet someone was there. Lee or Agnes? I didn’t know.
I was going to find out.
I parked out front, behind a snow-covered vehicle I thought might be Agnes’s. I shut off the engine, met Dad’s eye, and then we both climbed out of the car and headed for the door.
A CLOSED sign hung in the window. Agnes was at the counter, writing something into a ledger. Lee wasn’t in view, but the light coming from the open door of the back room told me that he might be there.
I almost knocked, but Dad stepped forward and tried the door. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. We stepped inside, bringing Agnes’s head up.
“We’re clo—” She cut off when she saw us. She frowned at me, but when she saw Dad in his Santa getup, her scowl could have peeled paint.
“Hi, Agnes,” I said, stepping forward. “Is Lee here?”
Agnes didn’t answer. She looked from Dad to me and back again, her expression growing angrier by the second. Her jaw worked and her fist closed on her pen with enough force to make her knuckles go white.
Lee stepped from the shadows of the back room, arms crossed, and with a wood chisel in his hand.
I swallowed, steadied myself. Agnes’s handbag was sitting on the counter. The metal chain dangled over the edge, catching the light much like it might have done that night outside Death by Coffee.
“Interesting purse you have there,” I said.
Agnes rested a hand on it as if she thought I might grab it and run. “Please, leave,” she said. “I’m not interested in talking with you.” Her gaze slid back to Dad. “Either of you.”
I decided to leap right in and see what happened. I mean, I was there to get answers, so pussyfooting around it would get me nowhere. “The police saw you outside Death by Coffee a few nights ago.”
Agnes tensed, telling me everything I needed to know. It had been her; not Jacob.
Lee stepped forward, closer to his wife. When he spoke, it was a deep rumble. “Go.” One word. All command.
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Steady. “You were seen with Andrew Carver before his death,” I said, keeping my eyes on Agnes because if I looked at Lee, I was pretty sure my legs would turn to jelly. “Erin saw you at her house with him.”
Agnes opened her mouth, likely to deny it, but Lee beat her to it.
“Get out,” he said. “Agnes has done nothing wrong.”
I risked a glance at Lee. While my knees did weaken, Dad’s steadying hand kept me from falling. “Did you kill him? Did you find out about Andrew and Agnes’s relationship and you killed him for it?” I dropped my eyes to his hand, and the chisel he held.
Carefully, Lee set the chisel down beside Agnes’s handbag. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“But she was sleeping with him, wasn’t she?” I asked. “She was in Phantastic Candies waiting for something to happen. I don’t know what, but when she left, she headed for Andrew’s Gifts. What happened that day?” I turned my attention to Agnes. “Did you try to break it off with Andrew? Did he get angry?” Back to Lee. “Is that why Jules was targeted? You feared he knew more than he did, so you sent him a gift to lure him to Death by Coffee, just like you lured Andrew to his own store?”
Lee shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We received a gift too.”
I desperately wanted to retort, to find a flaw with his reasoning, but I had nothing. He was right; they had received a gift. It didn’t make sense.
“You found it here,” Dad said from behind me. “Everyone else received their packages at their homes, but you . . . it was here.”
Lee’s brow furrowed. He removed his glasses, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Agnes licked her lips. She was eyeing the chisel, as if she was worried that her husband might reach past her and grab it.
Does she suspect him?
And then it hit me.
“You planted it,” I said to Lee. “You realized the police were getting close to finding out who was sending people those gifts, which meant they’d soon realize you killed Andrew, so you left yourself a gift as a distraction.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Agnes found it. It was a threat, just like the others.”
Agnes found it?
I thought it through. Agnes cheats with Andrew. Lee finds out, sees her waiting at Phantastic Candies, watches her go to Andrew’s Gifts. Maybe Andrew and Agnes break it off. Maybe they don’t. Angry, Lee decides to go ahead and do something about it anyway and he lures and kills Andrew. Fearing Jules saw something, Lee then attempts to lure him to Death by Coffee, likely to get rid of me too since I’m known to be nosy. Then, the police become involved, start asking questions. He panics, plants a red herring to throw them off.
It made sense.
Almost.
“Why were you at Death by Coffee that night?” I asked Agnes. “If Lee was going to kill Jules, were you there to stop him? To help him?”
“Agnes didn’t—”
Before Lee could finish the thought, Agnes snatched the chisel from the counter. Tears were in her eyes. At first, I thought they were tears of sadness, of fear.
When she turned those eyes on Dad, however, I could see the fanatical rage in them.
“You dare come in here dressed like that?” she snarled. “You accuse me of wrongdoing while you strut around town spreading such . . . such . . . ignorance? No. I won’t have it!”
“Agnes.” Lee reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. “No, Lee. Don’t you see what they’re doing? They want to ruin us. To ruin Christmas. They want to destroy everything we care about, everything we’ve worked so hard for!”
My mind did a quick rewind. Agnes and Andrew together. Something happens and they break it off, but not because of Lee or Erin finding out about them.
She left him because of Doris.
“You got a reminder of your faith,” I said. “A new one.”
“Doris understands.” Agnes was trembling now. She stepped slowly around the counter. “She helped me see the error of my ways. I knew I needed to do something, to make things right. Simple words wouldn’t do, not when so much is going wrong with the world. I needed to fix it, to remove the disease.”
“So, you decided to kill Andrew Carver?” I asked. “How does that make things right?”
“He tempted me. He was exploiting Christmas. He wouldn’t stop, even when I told him to.”
The fight Erin witnessed. Agnes hadn’t just broken up with Andrew, she’d confronted him about his store. Erin had said how much he put into it, how it was his life. There was no way he’d give it up for a woman who’d just broken up with him.
“Agnes . . .”
“No, Lee.” She waved the chisel between them, keeping him at bay. “It had to be done. He wouldn’t stop, so I sent him that gift, made him think you were going to be there, that you’d found out about us and were going to tell Erin.”
“She already knew,” I said. “She saw the two of you at her house the day she was supposed to be visiting her sister.”
“I didn’t know that!” shrieked Agnes.
“You were still with him then. But at Andrew’s Gifts, you weren’t. You went there to kill him.”
“No! I went there to threaten him, but not kill him. He grew so angry that he came at me. I had one of Lee’s chisels with me, just in case.” She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t mean to do it, but when it was done, I knew it was the right thing to do. Doris has always said that these people need to be stopped, and I stopped him. Yes, I did.”
“But why go after Jules?” I asked. “He didn’t do anything.”
Agnes eased closer. “Because he’s a part of all that’s wrong with this town. He dresses like that.” She jabbed the chisel toward Dad in his overstuffed Santa outfit. “It’s pure exploitation! And you . . .” she sneered my way. “You use his candy, sell it in your drinks.”
Lee closed his eyes. His big hands were balled into fists. “I tried to protect you,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “I tried to distract, to keep them from asking questions. I’m so sorry.” He tensed, ready to throw himself at his wife.
“No!” Agnes, anticipating his movement, rounded the counter, chisel raised. “They have to be stopped!”
I braced myself, ready to tackle her if need be, but Dad shoved me to the side as Agnes launched herself at me. I hit the floor, shouted, “Dad! No!” just as Agnes lunged.
The chisel came down, struck Dad hard in the chest. He grunted and staggered back, just as Lee reached his wife and pulled her back. He hugged her close and refused to let her go, even as she wailed and fought like a cat about to be dunked into a bath.
The chisel wobbled from Dad’s chest as he bumped up against a shelf, knocking a wooden angel to the floor. He looked down at the chisel as if surprised to find it there.
“Dad!” I scrambled to my feet. Tears threatened as I reached for my phone.
“I’m okay,” he said, tugging the chisel free. There was no blood on it. “It hit the padding.” He patted his chest as if to make sure. “But, boy, that’s going to leave one heck of a bruise.”
Across the room, Lee sagged to the floor with Agnes, who was trembling. The fight seemed to have gone out of her, but not the rage.
As I placed a call to the police, she glared at me with such malice, I could feel it.
For someone who was supposed to be spiritual, Agnes Komph had a lot to learn about the true spirit of Christmas.