NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING Read online

  I adjusted the drape of the cloth I used to cover up the portable table for my cash register. Ebenezer was stashed in the back and a small portable fan was plugged into my power cord. The air directed toward my little bundle of fur fluffed up his multi-colored strands of hair. Ebenezer was in bliss.

  The place was abuzz with activity and gossip as the 185 vendors finished readying their booths for the onslaught of Christmas shoppers. The main topics of conversation was a man dying in the RV parking section and the twelve-million-dollar lottery winner from a nearby town. I placed my headphones into my ears and pretended I was listening to music on my cell phone. I didn’t want to discuss what happened last night and hoped to keep questions at bay yet still hear the scuttlebutt going around the craft fair.

  The cutting machine chugged in the background, my first vinyl Christmas tree was almost done. The glitter vinyl sparkled as the mat fed through the rollers. A nervous, giddiness danced in my stomach. When it was done, I weeded out the slivers of excess vinyl until only the tree remained. It was beautiful.

  Santa’s elves were putting the finishing touches on the North Pole while Santa gulped down some coffee and adjusted his black belt. Grace was arguing with a maintenance guy about the decoration attached to the ceiling. The snow garland made from felt and twine that was hanging from the rafters dipped lower. At the rate it was “melting,” it would fall on Santa’s head sometime during the event. Fixing it required dragging out a forty-foot ladder, and since the event started in fifteen minutes, the only thing to do was create a snowfall pool. I placed my bet for two thirty this afternoon.

  The sign for my booth was tilted at an odd angle, so I adjusted the twine and straightened out our Merry and Bright Handcrafted Christmas banner. I arranged the final touches to my booth and stepped back. The eight-foot table was no longer crowded, and the prices were easy to read. There was nothing I disliked more than having to ask about prices and made sure mine were front and center. Plus, it helped cut down on inventory loss as people weren’t picking up the breakables as often.

  A rush of voices filled the center. The doors opened and shoppers, some decked out in holiday gear, stood in line to pay their entrance fee. One group of women was studying a map of the booth locations and marking places to check out. I hoped I was one of the must-see booths. Nothing made a handcrafter happier than knowing someone loved their work.

  Showtime. I put away my headphones and used the camera function on my phone as a mirror and checked the placement of my Christmas headband. The silver fabric mesh material had a large elf bow attached to the side. It paired perfectly with my cream shirt embroidered with an oversized reindeer and Santa sleigh leggings, now with holes. I hoped I was able to patch them up.

  The scent of coffee wafted toward me. Gingerbread spice. I inhaled the aroma and let it wash over me. It was pure comfort.

  “Are you Merry Winters?” a male voice asked.

  I turned. A young man was holding a cup of coffee and a bag from a pastry shop.

  “Yes, I am.”

  He placed the goodies and coffee on the table. “Special delivery to brighten your day.”

  “Thank you.” I tipped the young man and sipped my coffee.

  Bright. She knew how frantic the morning of an event was and sent me breakfast. Warmth flooded through my heart. This was the type of feeling I needed to focus on, not the bad ones Samuel—and his death—generated. I wanted to think good thoughts about him, especially since he was dead. It felt horrible to think ill of him now, but the truth was Samuel had shown himself to be an extremely self-centered man—who wasn’t as great of a father as I had thought. How could he allow Cassie to be thrown out of her home?

  Unless it was a lie. The idea drifted into my head. Cassie could’ve known her father was hiding in the RV. If she did, it meant she told me a story. Fiction. She played on my sympathies.

  My phone pinged. Bright.

  Wanted to send you some Christmas cheer.

  Gingerbread. Perks me right up every time, I typed back.

  The caffeine probably also helps.

  That it does. Thank you, my friend.

  Anything to help the day be Brighter. She added a happy face.

  The booth looks fantastic and I do believe this will be a much better day.

  It should. You have one less problem in the world.

  Bright… I didn’t know what else to say. With what I learned yesterday, Samuel had planned on becoming a huge problem for me. I just didn’t want to contemplate it now. It was Christmas craft fair time. A day for happiness and joy. There was nothing I loved more—except for my children—than creating and then sharing my crafts with customers. But, Bright had a point.

  Christmas came early! I signed off.

  * * *

  Sales were steady. The weekend was turning around. If the afternoon was as good as the morning, I was on my way to clearing a nice profit for the day. By the end of the weekend, I might even be able to swing a small renovation to the RV.

  Singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” I rearranged some of the product on the tables so there weren’t any big holes. Customers were peculiar. They’d bypass a booth if there were too many products out as they presumed it meant your items weren’t quality and no one wanted them, and they’d also go right by your table if you didn’t have enough merchandise as it meant you were a newbie and your products weren’t quality. It was hard to win.

  The RV décor wasn’t selling as well as I hoped, maybe it wasn’t displayed properly. I needed to get some poster board and hang a sample for customers to see ways to use the product, even an old window that mimicked the shape of a RV window could hold some of the smaller designs. I slipped my phone from my pocket and emailed myself the idea.

  During my lunch break, I’d do an internet search and see if there was somewhere nearby I could get something that would work and send Raleigh to pick it up. I was surprised she hadn’t stopped by yet. She usually arrived with lunch and it was now approaching one in the afternoon.

  A woman examined a vinyl decorated wine glass with Win(e)ing Christmas written in a script font, and grape vines twined underneath the phrase in the shape of a Christmas tree. I watched her carefully. She kept pulling her phone from her purse, glancing over at me, then picking up another glass. Either she was planning on stealing the glass or taking a photo to copy my design. I wasn’t sure which option was the worst.

  “Excuse me, are you Ms. Winters?” A male voice asked from behind me.

  “Yes.” I turned with a practiced customer service smile on my face. Not too big. Not too small. My smile faltered a bit when my gaze rested on the attractive man in his late thirties wearing a suit with a butt of a revolver peeking out when he reached inside his jacket. Shoppers didn’t usually wear suits. Or had a gun attached to their belt.

  He pulled out a small wallet and flipped it open. A police badge. “I have a few questions for you.”

  There were people milling around my booth. I didn’t want to miss a sale. “My relief for lunch should be here in a few minutes.”

  Someone must’ve called the police about the thief running amok. Gathering my memory from this morning’s almost theft, I pulled up the image of the would-be thief. What I recalled most was the no socks or gloves. Seemed silly to not to wear gloves, and not just because it was cold. It was a bad idea to leave fingerprints behind.

  “Now. I have a few questions about a murder that occurred in your RV.”

  A customer gaped at me. The woman who had been examining my wine glasses stashed her phone in her pocket and scurried away. Murder. The word fully registered in my head. Samuel. Someone had murdered my ex-husband and the reason the detective wanted to speak to me was that I owned the RV where Samuel was found.

  And, I discovered his body.

  “Looks like you had an altercation with someone last night.” He gestured toward my
face.

  I touched my cheek. With the steam clouding up the small mirror in the bathroom, I forgot about the bruise. I shouldn’t have skipped my makeup routine. “I fell and hit the edge of the dinette table.”

  The detective made a sound and jotted something down in a notebook.

  “I did,” I defended myself. “After I—” Found Samuel’s body. The rest of the words wouldn’t come out.

  The detective’s head jerked up. All attention on me. “After you what? Please go on.”

  I whispered, “Found Samuel. I slipped.” Customers were staring at me. I didn’t want all this attention on me. Or at least not for this reason. “Can we discuss this somewhere else?”

  “I just have some basic questions. Is there a reason you prefer this to be in private?” He jotted down some notes. The top of the page had Mary Winters written on it.

  “It’s Merry,” I corrected. “Like Merry Christmas. Not Mary had a little lamb.”

  “I’ll make a note of that.” He flipped a few pages in his notebook and tilted it up, away from my gaze. “I want to clarify what happened last night. There are some discrepancies to clear up before I can close this case. May I?”

  “I guess.” I wrapped my arms around myself. It was getting a little chilly.

  “Let’s start back at the beginning.” He offered me a sympathetic smile and flipped to a page in his notebook. “You called the dispatcher and reported that you found your ex-husband Samuel Waters hidden in the bench of your dinette seat in your Class A recreational vehicle.”

  “Actually, one of the RV owners called for me.”

  He jotted that down. “Is the rest of the information correct? You found your ex-husband in the bench seat of your dinette. Dead.”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why do you think your ex-husband hid in your RV?”

  “To force me to talk with him.”

  “Was your ex-husband abusive?”

  A sick feeling settled in my stomach as it did every time my marriage to Samuel entered my brain. I hated talking, or even thinking, about my marriage of fewer than two months. I was ashamed. I had always prided myself on being smart enough not to fall for a smooth-talking man and find myself in a heart-bruising relationship. Samuel wasn’t abusive per se, but he had a way of speaking to me that made me feel less than. He wasn’t like that when we were dating, but once we were married everything I did, said, believed, or wanted was criticized.

  He’d make promises and then break them, blaming me for why he didn’t follow through. There was always a reason I no longer deserved whatever he had sworn to do, whether it had been about spending time together or purchases. The only big promise he had ever kept was buying the RV, but I learned soon after that he didn’t buy it for us to travel in together—it was to move my mother into so “we” could save money.

  “No,” I finally answered.

  Abraham rushed over to me. “There’s a police car outside.”

  “I know. I’m talking to the officer right now.” I shooed at him. “You should go back to your mom.”

  The detective stepped toward Abraham and held out his hand. “I’m Detective Grayson.”

  Abraham placed his hands behind his back. He didn’t like strangers touching him. “Are you here about the person who tried to take Merry’s purse or the man Merry had in her RV?”

  “Had in her RV?” The detective’s eyebrows quirked up.

  Abraham nodded. “Yes. In the seat storage.”

  “You saw the man?” The detective asked.

  “Abraham, you should go back to your mom. She’ll be worried about you.” I tried to hold back the panic building in my voice. Abraham was doing a good job, without trying, to make me sound like a murderer.

  He ignored me and continued talking with Detective Grayson. “Yes. Merry needed help to move things out of her trailer.”

  “You were helping Ms. Winters move items…” the detective flicked a narrow-eyed gaze in my direction… “from her trailer and saw the body of Samuel Waters?”

  I was done for.

  Tears filled Abraham’s eyes. “The RV stunk and Merry said something might have died in there.”

  I cringed. “A cat. I thought a cat got stuck somewhere in the RV. I bought it yesterday afternoon.”

  The detective fixed a very ugly look on me. “Do not interrupt again.”

  Abraham continued explaining his understanding of the situation. “Merry had screamed for help and she looked at the seat. I thought there was a dead cat in there. I lifted it up and there he was. Dead. After I saw him, Merry told me I had to leave.” He patted my arm. “She was so upset. Poor Merry.”

  The detective snapped the notebook closed and took a firm hold of my elbow. “You and I will finish this conversation at the police station.”

  Abraham’s brows furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”

  The detective smiled at him. “On the contrary, you might have just helped me solve a murder.”

  Five

  I stared at a blank white wall. The blank dirty-white cement walls of an interrogation room in the police station where my son worked. I hoped Scotland was out on patrol. The only sound in the room was Detective Grayson tapping a pen on the table as he awaited my answer to the question he asked and re-asked in a multitude of ways. I wasn’t sure if I had been here for two hours or twenty minutes.

  The metal chair was hard. My lower back hurt along with my derrière. I wanted to shift positions but was afraid any movement would cause Detective Grayson to jump up screaming, “Ah ha, you’re admitting to killing your ex-husband.” I never should’ve bought the stupid RV from Cassie. I crossed my arms over my reindeer sweater. It was hard for someone to take you seriously wearing a red-nosed Christmas animal on your chest.

  “When did you say you bought the RV?”

  “Yesterday. Early afternoon.” For the umpteenth time, I explained to Detective Grayson what the lovely police officer had concluded last night. Was she on duty today? Could she explain it to him since he didn’t understand a word I said? “Samuel put himself in the bench. No one killed him.”

  He did it to himself. I kept the last, unsympathetic thought in my head.

  Detective Grayson leaned back in the metal chair, studying me. “Did you know it takes at least twenty-four hours for a body to start releasing an odor? I find it hard to believe that your ex-husband hid in the storage space twenty-four hours before he even knew you’d buy the RV.”

  A gasp flew out of me. I slapped a hand over my mouth. Someone had killed Samuel. What did Cassie know about her father’s death? Did she know he was in there? Was she blaming me? Oh God, did she think I killed him? Tears blurred my vision. I blinked them away. Settle down. Deep breaths. You did nothing wrong.

  “I bought the RV from my former stepdaughter. Maybe Samuel decided to test if he could hide in there and locked himself in.”

  Bang. The feet of the chair fell back to the tile floor. “And his teenage daughter, nor anyone else, thought to look for him? Was it usual for him to vanish for a day?”

  “Yes.” The answer came out quicker than I intended.

  “And his daughter, Cassie, and his new wife would agree to that?”

  I didn’t know how to answer the question. The truth was yes, but I had no idea if they’d answer with the truth or lie.

  “We’ll move on to another question.” He placed a picture on the table. It was from my RV. The box of my supplies: duct tape, rope, gloves, garbage bags.

  Under these circumstances, those sure seemed criminal minded.

  There was a knock on the door. Good, a disruption. The door opened, and an officer slipped inside the room. My heart thudded. I felt light-headed as coldness swept over me. Scotland had walked into the room and handed the detective a folder.

  “I was asked to drop these off to you, Detective,”
Scotland said, quickly shifting his gaze from me.

  “Thank you, Officer…” Detective Grayson looked at Scotland’s name tag, “Winters.”

  My hands shook. I clamped them together then my whole arms trembled. Tears pricked my eyes. I was an embarrassment. Word would filter throughout the department that his mother was a possible murderer. Scotland should’ve stuck with his father’s last name and not reverted to mine. He switched it his junior year of high school because he didn’t want preferential—or prejudicial—treatment because of his father. I had reclaimed my maiden name after my divorce because I loved being Merry Winters. It fit me.

  Scotland walked out. I sunk down in my seat. A useless movement because there was nowhere to hide.

  “Maybe you had some help in ‘hiding’ your ex-husband?” Grayson’s gaze drifted toward the door my son had exited.

  “No!” I shot to my feet. “He had nothing to do with any of it.”

  He grinned like the Grinch stealing the last Christmas ornament.

  Oh God, what did I just admit to? “I had nothing to do with my ex-husband dying. I did nothing, so no one else did anything for me.”

  He opened the folder and scanned the documents. He drummed a pen on the table and tugged a yellow notepad toward him. “You married a man, Samuel Waters, who liked to up and disappear and that was so annoying to you, you divorced him after two months.”

  “One month, three weeks, and five and half days,” I broke in and immediately regretted it.

  His eyebrows quirked up. “Is that what happened to your first husband too? Mr. Winters just up and disappeared one day?”

  “Winters is my maiden name,” I said.

  “Your real name is Merry, like in Christmas, Noel Winters? And you have a business where you make Christmas crap and wear it.”

  I pushed down my anger. Yelling at the detective was a bad idea. “Yes. My parents named me that because they found me on church steps on Christmas Eve. I have always loved Christmas. Joy. Happiness. Love for one another.” Something Detective Grinch knew little about.