Santa's Subpoena Page 7

  “Would you like to grab lunch?” I asked gently.

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide in her powdery face. “No, but thank you. I need some time to digest all of this.”

  I reached for my gloves from my pocket. “Florence? Did Bernie know he’d be inheriting the shotguns?” I didn’t know a value as of yet, but some shotguns could be quite valuable, and Bernie didn’t need one more motive against him.

  “I don’t know.” She looked befuddled.

  I glanced at the envelope sticking out of her bag. “Will you let me know if there’s any information in that letter that I need to know as your attorney?”

  “Yes.” She walked outside into the bright snowy day, scouting the almost vacant parking lot. “Your man isn’t here.”

  That’s because I hadn’t texted him yet. “Do you mind dropping me off on your way home?” I noticed a bright green Buick parked two slots down that had to belong to her.

  “Not at all.” She patted my hand. “One thing I’ve learned in my long life of dating different men is that you have to make them work for it.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “If he’s being bossy, you can’t just roll over, dear. No matter how badly you might want to do so.”

  I tucked my arm through hers, taking some of her weight. “Amen, sister.”

  Chapter 10

  A longstanding staple in Timber City, Smiley’s Diner was hopping after lunch on a Saturday afternoon. Most of the booths were full of people and brightly wrapped Christmas presents, and Mariah Carey crooned Silent Night through invisible speakers. I meandered past the counter with its bright stools, beyond many of the comfortable leather booths to the last one at the end, which was vacant. Sighing happily, I slid onto the far bench, dropping my heavy purse to the side.

  My sister delivered two baskets of fries to a table and then bustled my way, looking harried but still beautiful in her holiday green apron over her jeans and plain white T-shirt. “Hey. I’m on break in ten. How about I join you for lunch?” Tessa asked. She was the middle sister and favored the Irish side of our family with her strawberry blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and skin that burned at midnight.

  I smiled, instantly relaxing and not feeling guilty that I had taken an entire booth. “I’d love it.”

  “I’ll order the usual.” She turned on her tennis shoes and moved gracefully, in a way I’d never be able to emulate.

  I pulled out a notebook from my bag and started taking notes for Bernie’s case, trying to figure out who had a motive to kill Lawrence. Had Bernie known about the guns? Florence had left the list with me, so I could track down the value of each weapon. Hoyt had mentioned reading a will, one where he most likely inherited everything.

  Had he killed his father, knowing Lawrence would change the will to include Florence once they were married?

  So far, my list consisted of his son Hoyt, the mysterious Sharon Smith, his friend Bernie, the other living members of the Kringle Club, and his ex-fiancée, Florence. My gut told me that neither Bernie nor Florence had killed him, but I’d been wrong before. Really wrong. I also had a question mark at the bottom of the list because I’d learned that a case evolved rapidly, and more suspects usually showed up.

  I dug in my purse for my phone and hit speed dial.

  “Pierce,” Detective Pierce muttered.

  I tried to infuse cheerfulness into my voice. “Hi, Grant. I hope I’m not bothering you during the weekend.”

  “Right.” Apparently my voice didn’t melt him. “What do you want, Albertini?”

  It was hard to imagine that he’d kind of asked me out once. “I might have a lead on who killed Lawrence Forrest, and if I hand it over, I need a favor.”

  “How about you hand it over and thus don’t interfere with an active investigation?”

  I tapped my pen on the paper. “Fine.” Then I told him about the will, slightly omitting the part about the guns going to the Kringle Club. Then I figured I should add that fact because no doubt Pierce would get his hands on a copy of the will by dinnertime. Finally, I wound down. “If you could do a run on Sharon Smith and find out who she is, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “I don’t work for you,” Pierce said, not sounding quite as grumpy.

  “I don’t work for you either,” I reminded him. “However, I just gave you several leads in your primary case right now, so maybe you can be a nice guy for a change?”

  “Humph.” He didn’t sound quite so cranky. “I’m doing a run on all of Florence’s ex-husbands and haven’t found anything interesting.”

  I perked up. Sometimes Pierce was a decent guy who shared. “Where are they?”

  “One is in Australia, one in Scotland, two are dead from natural causes, one is in DC, and the final one is here. Bernie. Your client.” Papers rustled across the line. “I was able to speak with each one of them, and they all still love the woman, although seemed to have moved as far as possible away from her. She must have some magic in her veins.”

  Well, that didn’t help my case any. “So no viable suspects?”

  “Nope. Looks like your guy might be the one.” Pierce clicked off.

  I looked down at the phone in my hand. So much for Pierce’s new love not making him so grumpy. “Jerk,” I muttered, sliding my phone back into my bag.

  The smell of cheeseburgers wafted around, and my stomach growled. Tessa returned with two baskets of burgers and fries, depositing them and reaching for sodas from the counter. She sat and let out a relieved sigh. “The shoppers are out in full force.”

  I pushed my papers aside and reached for the burger. “I can see that. It’s crazy, right?” I took a big bite and chewed contentedly before swallowing. “Are you finished shopping?”

  “No.” She sipped her drink. “I know you’re not. You always finish up on the way to Mom and Dad’s on Christmas Eve.” The woman wasn’t wrong. “Did you find anything for Aiden?”

  I sighed, my neck aching. If I had time and funds, I’d get a massage. Instead, I’d just have to lie on a tennis ball later that day and try to work out the knots. “No, but I have been piling up presents for everyone else in the family, including a new cross necklace for Knox, since I drew his name in the bigger family drawing.” I ate more of my fries, enjoying the extra oil and crunchiness that the cooks at Smiley’s had perfected through the decades. “I guess a cross wouldn’t work for Aiden anyway—it’s too personal?”

  Tessa nodded. “Yeah. You’re at more of a ‘known each other forever but just started dating’ phase of gift giving.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed, reaching for the ketchup bottle to squirt in the side of my basket. “I don’t know what that means. Socks and shirts are impersonal, jewelry is too much, and it’s not like he needs a new Glock.” I dipped my fries and ate more than I needed. “I’m at a loss.”

  The outside door opened, and Nick Basanelli spotted us, turning instantly to head our way. I straightened and chose at that moment not to give Tessa a heads up. Sometimes I’m an ass, but I really did want to see them together.

  He reached the table, lifting his hands in the air. “Well?”

  Tessa jolted and swiveled, looking up at him. “Well, what?” she asked, a snap of temper in her voice.

  Interesting. Very interesting. I just watched him, chewing my fries, my eyes wide. Nick Basanelli worked as the prosecuting attorney for Timber City after being a JAG officer, football star, and before that, a wild and rebellious kid from Silverville. He had two younger brothers, a dad who’d hit them and then disappeared, and a mother who was almost a saint. I’d worked for him briefly, and he’d fired me—probably because working with me definitely hindered his extreme ambition to run for office someday. “Hi, Nick,” I said, smiling.

  He didn’t look away from my sister. Very interesting. “Hi, Anna. Rumor has it you’re representing Bernie McLintock for killing Santa.”

  I sighed. Word sure got around. “You’re not charging him, are you?”

  Nick finally looked my way, hi
s tawny brown eyes showing both his Italian heritage and his extreme irritation. “Probably.”

  “Great.” I drank more of my soda.

  He put his hands on his very fit waist, which led to a spectacular ass and long legs in jeans to black boots. His jacket was a winter-green that showed off his wide torso. His skin was an Italian olive hue, his hair dark, and his features angle straight. “Tessa? Want to tell me why you stood me up?”

  My sister blinked. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “We’re supposed to be heading over the hill to the Silverville Elks Lodge to plan that stupid holiday party,” he groused, straightening and then wincing. “Don’t tell me. You didn’t know that?”

  “Nope,” Tessa said, her green eyes sparkling. “Your grandma set you up, buddy. I’d think you’d know to look for a trap.”

  He wiped snow off his thick hair. “I wasn’t thinking.” Then he glanced at his watch. “They’ve been trying to get us to help plan for two months now, and we haven’t made it to one meeting. I wish they’d stop playing games.”

  Tessa lost the amusement. “Me, too.”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m in trial next week and should get back to work. Sorry to have bothered you.” He paused, studying her face.

  A pretty blush wandered through her pale skin. “No problem.” She turned back to her burger.

  Nick watched her for a minute, threw up his hands, and stomped out of the restaurant.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Our grandmas keep trying to push us together, and we don’t fit, as you know.”

  That was baloney. “Has he asked you out?”

  Her shrug this time was a little more reluctant. “Kind of. He’s asked me for drinks, but I’m sure it’s just to appease his Grams. I’m not a pity date.”

  It was so weird. My sister was smart, kind, hard-working, and seriously beautiful in a young Maureen O’Hara way. Yet she thought, for some really stupid reason, that not going to college put her out of Nick’s league, just because he’d attended law school. Sometimes I wanted to smack her on the nose, but since I’d seen her take down an undercover ATF officer in a bar fight a few months previous to defend me, I wasn’t sure I’d win a scuffle. “Maybe he likes you.”

  She finished her soda. “Nick Basanelli likes his job, his ambition, and his future. I don’t fit with any of those items.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have the energy right now to kick you, and you really need to get a grip. He’d be lucky if you accepted a date for drinks.”

  “Huh.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I have five more minutes. Give me the scoop on Aiden and how it feels to have him back in town.”

  I’d texted her that morning that he was home, but I hadn’t mentioned the roses, heart, or phone call. Why worry my family when I didn’t have any information to report? They had enough on their minds with the holidays. “I think it’s good that he’s back, but he’s being a little bossy.”

  She sat back and stretched her neck. “You like him bossy.”

  “Yeah, but I shouldn’t,” I admitted. “I’m letting down all of womankind by not teaching him a lesson.”

  Her chuckle was soft. “We both know that you’d end up learning the lesson.” Then she leaned toward me. “You like him, he likes you, so stop worrying about womankind. We can take care of ourselves, and you deserve to be you and to be happy. Let him protect you and allow yourself to enjoy that feeling of safety.”

  Such great advice, and it was too bad she couldn’t listen to herself for herself. My eye roll appropriately conveyed my irritation with her. Then I finished my soda. “Can I borrow your car for the afternoon? I had a friend drop me off here.”

  She tilted her head. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just ignoring you and doing my part for womankind.” I wasn’t sure if avoiding Aiden and investigating on my own did much good for anybody else, but a girl did have her pride. Plus, I had a job to do and was more than prepared with a LadySmith in my purse.

  Tessa grabbed the empty baskets and dodged around the counter, leaning down and then tossing me her keys.

  I caught them one-handed, scooted from the booth, and started to rummage for my wallet.

  She held up a hand. “Lunch is on me.” Then she smoothed down her holiday style apron. “What should I tell Aiden when he shows up and you’re not here?”

  Yeah, my sister knew me. “Tell him to bite me.”

  “If I know Aiden, he just might,” she called back.

  My legs might’ve wobbled a bit on the way to the door, but I held my head up high.

  Chapter 11

  Since I hoped Hoyt was still off nursing his wounds, I headed to the Forrest Bait and Tackle Shop, which was around Lilac Lake, beyond the Clumsy Penguin, marina, and an out-of-business spa. Since I’d had a small hand in putting the spa out of business, I couldn’t exactly complain. Hopefully somebody would buy the building and start an inexpensive massage service.

  I really needed a massage. The knots on my neck had their own knots.

  The lake road had been recently plowed with a nice gravel dumping to follow, and my tires spit up the gravel, no doubt scratching parts of Tessa’s Nissan Rogue. Her SUV was several years old but well-kept, although sometimes I figured she’d bought it for the name. Smiling to myself, I took a wide turn and then drove into the parking area for the store.

  Quaint white-painted and weathered boards made up the exterior of Forrest’s Bait and Tackle Shop, which had been built across the road from a public boat ramp for the lake. While the location was a prime property these days, decades ago, it had been in the middle of nowhere.

  Old Man Forrest, Lawrence’s grandfather, had been a visionary. Or maybe he’d just gotten the land for cheap. Who knew?

  The parking area had been plowed, and large snow berms bracketed the lot on either side. Christmas lights twinkled along the eves in a bright blue color, and dancing reindeer had been painted on the wide windows. A sign listed the holiday hours with a note that the shop would close after New Year’s until spring.

  How many people did their holiday shopping at a bait and tackle shop? Did Aiden fish?

  I stepped out of Tessa’s white Rogue and walked through the door. The smell of driftwood wafted around me, along with the muted sounds of Christmas music playing from a speaker on the glass counter to the right. The store held flannels, fishing equipment, hunting equipment, and other odds and ends, including several wildlife figurines. By the far window facing the icy lake perched a table displaying western jewelry along with baubles made of ash from the Mt. Saint Helen’s eruption decades ago.

  A woman emerged from a room behind the counter. “Hi. Can I help you?” She looked to be in her mid-thirties with light brown hair streaked with green, darker brown eyes, and a curvy figure.

  I looked around. “I’m not sure.” The place appeared to be well-stocked. How could I get a copy of their financials? Did Hoyt need money? Even if he wasn’t destitute, his father had left millions of dollars to other beneficiaries. Millions Hoyt had apparently known about, whereas Florence had not. She’d thought Lawrence had spent his entire fortune on her ring—yet another reason I didn’t think she’d killed him.

  Did she even have the strength to kill a man with a knife? I doubted it. “I’m looking for a couple of things. First, I need a present for my boyfriend. Second, I have an uncle who’s interested in buying a bait and tackle shop. He’s from Minnesota and wants to move closer to family. Is there any chance you’d want to sell?” I was so full of it.

  She tapped a bunch of stamped notebooks into place on the counter. “I don’t own the place, but I’m pretty sure Hoyt doesn’t want to sell. I’ve worked for the family since I was a teenager, and they do a pretty decent business, and they get to go fishing all summer.”

  “Oh.” I ran a finger along a red flannel. Did Aiden like flannel? “So it’s a family business. That’s nice.”

  She
sobered. “Well, it was nice, but the main owner just died, so we’re all pretty sad.” Her eyes widened. “He was such a great guy, and he was murdered.”

  I turned fully to face her and let my eyebrows rise. “Murdered? Not the Santa who was killed.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. He was stabbed after playing poker. Can you believe it? Who would stab Santa?”

  I took an extra-large black flannel off the rack, figuring I should at least buy something. “Do you have any idea who would’ve killed him?”

  She took the shirt and twisted off part of the tag. “No. It’s just crazy, right? Lawrence was the nicest guy in the world, and he spent extra time pretending to be Santa for anybody who needed holiday cheer. He was going to get married this summer, too. It’s all so sad.”

  I reached in my bag for my wallet. “That’s devastating. Do they think the fiancée is a suspect?” I opened my eyes wide and lowered my voice in the tone of a true gossip.

  She leaned toward me. “No, but the fiancée’s ex-husband threatened to kill Lawrence last week right here in the store.” She rang up the sale and pursed her lips. “I might be a witness in a trial. Can you believe it?”

  I should’ve looked at the price but just handed over a credit card. How much credit did I have on that card? “A witness? No. Wow. What happened?”

  She looked around the store, but nobody was shopping at the moment. “It was wild. Lawrence was reorganizing the hunting knives over in the corner, and this Bernie guy comes running in, yelling something about Kringles and marriage and, this is weird, but lures.”

  I frowned. “Like fishing lures?”

  She shrugged, running my card through the reader. “I guess. He kept yelling that they had a deal, and how dare Lawrence back out, and that he was going to regret it. I couldn’t quite catch everything he was saying, but then he told Lawrence he was going to kill him if he didn’t stop it.”

  “Stop what?” I asked. Was Bernie so furious because Lawrence was just working outside of the group, or was it the engagement that had him seeing red?