Claus for Celebration Read online

  Fern bolted upright and the cold washcloth flopped onto his lap. "I hate to admit it, but Richard is right. Canceling Christmas is the last thing Kris would have wanted. He was all about getting people into the spirit of the season. Besides, we don't know he'd dead."

  "Who would have had it in for him?" I asked, walking around to face Fern.

  Fern stood, and the damp cloth fell from his lap to the floor. "I'm not the person who knew him best."

  Reese flipped a page in his notebook. "Jeannie insisted he didn't have any enemies. She said he got along with everyone--business owners and homeless alike."

  "So it has to be connected to whatever it was he thought he saw," I said.

  "I need to see her." Fern unbelted his beige jacket and tossed it onto the couch. "She'll be upset."

  Reese stood. "I'll come with you."

  "You're not going without me." I looked around the apartment for my purse. Where had Richard hidden it when he'd purged the space of anything practical?

  "Dressed like that?" Kate waved a hand at my celadon-green dress made of silk shantung, then her gaze dropped to my heels. "You'll break your neck in two seconds."

  I wanted to argue that I could walk in heels, but I knew she was right. I never wore heels for any significant stretch of time anymore, and the three-inch pumps would have me limping after only a block on the uneven Georgetown sidewalks. Plus, I was dressed for a society garden party, not to go traipsing around the city. I headed down the hall. "It will only take me a minute to change."

  Richard poked his head out of the kitchen doorway as I passed. "I suppose you're leaving me here to clean up?"

  "You are the only one who knows which rentals came from which company," I said.

  He let out a sigh. "Fine, but frankly, this new look is growing on me. You're sure you don't want to leave the furniture as is?"

  I opened my bedroom door and crawled over the couch that now took up every bit of floor space, my feet sinking into the sagging cushions. Even though my original furniture was worn and many years from stylish, it was comfortable. The furniture Richard had brought in for the shoot may have looked chic, but it was not the kind of stuff you cuddled up on.

  "I'm sure," I called out, clambering over the back of the couch and opening my closet door as I untied my wrap dress. As promised, I quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and climbed back over the couch, holding the photo shoot dress I'd tucked back into the garment bag it had arrived in.

  "I believe this is yours." I met Kate in the hallway outside the kitchen entrance and handed her the bag.

  "Technically, it belongs to Rent the Runway, but who's quibbling? It's mine for another twenty-four hours."

  Although I understood the concept of renting designer fashion--after all, men had been doing it with tuxedos for years--it still gave me pause that so many stylish young women in DC didn't own a thing they wore. According to Kate, some of her friends had virtually empty closets but a monthly subscription plan to Rent the Runway. They wore designer clothes that they could never afford, yet owned none of them.

  "Do you mind staying here and catching up on the confirmation calls for Saturday?" I asked her.

  "Consider it done." She looked down at her white dress. "Besides, I didn't bring good crime investigation clothes."

  "We aren't investigating," I said, but stopped when I noticed that both she and Richard wore disbelieving looks on their faces. I cast a quick glance at my fiancé, who stood near the front door. "I'm with Reese. Even if I wanted to, how much poking around could I do?"

  Richard stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his hands on his hips and one toe tapping on the linoleum. "If there's a way, you'll find it."

  I held up three fingers. "I'm not doing anything but supporting Fern as he talks to Jeannie. No investigating. Scout's honor."

  "You know," Kate said, tilting her head at me then glancing at Richard. "I think she actually believes what she's saying."

  "Which goes to support my belief that anyone who works with brides day in and day out can't help but be delusional," Richard said.

  "I'm not delusional," I said. "And I'm not getting sucked into another investigation, especially not this week. We don't have time for it."

  "That's what you say every time, Annabelle." Richard shook his head. "And before you know it, we're all poking around for clues, breaking into suspects' hotel rooms, and running from deranged killers."

  Kate held up a finger. "One hotel room, and we had the key, so technically it wasn't breaking and entering."

  I motioned with my hands for both of them to keep it down. "Not so loud. Reese doesn't know all the details about our trip to Ireland, and I'd like to keep it that way."

  "I'm sure you would," Richard said. "Just remember. It's two weeks before Christmas, and you've got a big wedding on Saturday with a lavish rehearsal dinner the night before, as well as a wedding to plan from start to finish by New Year's Eve." He took a gulp of air. "Not to mention the fact that you still don't have a venue for it. This is no time to play Nancy Drew."

  My pulse raced at the thought of how much work we had to do. He was right. I had no time to spare. "Don't worry. I'm with my fiancé. You know how he feels about me poking around in his cases."

  "I don't know, Annie," Kate said, tapping one finger on her chin. "He seems to have gotten so used to you meddling that he doesn't even notice it anymore. He even planned one of our criminal-catching schemes."

  Richard nodded solemnly. "It's Stockholm Syndrome."

  I shot him a look. "Stockholm Syndrome? You mean when a captive becomes sympathetic or emotionally attached to their captor. Who's the captor in this scenario? Me?"

  Richard shrugged, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm only saying that you may have used your feminine wiles to make your fiancé more tolerant of your crime-solving fetish."

  "My feminine wiles?"

  "Yeah, I'm not sure about that," Kate said, tilting her head at me. "Generally speaking, Annabelle doesn't have feminine wiles."

  "Thank you." I hesitated. "I think."

  I glanced over at Fern standing with Reese, his face ashen. "Listen. I'll be back before you know it, ready to focus on work."

  I joined Reese and Fern, giving a backward wave to my friends as we left the apartment. I would show them that I could stay out of a case, I thought. Then again, this was Santa we were talking about.

  Chapter 9

  We stopped at the corner of M Street, and I jumped back so a lady with a double stroller wouldn't run over my toes. It was afternoon in Georgetown and the weather was sunny and warm, which meant everyone was out. The streets bustled with shoppers and tourists, people weaving around each other down the brick sidewalks holding colorful paper shopping bags with ribbon handles. Wreaths topped each of the tall lampposts, and shop windows featured holiday displays, although the icy blues (and even the bright greens and reds) seemed incongruous with the almost summertime weather.

  Despite the temperature, the neighborhood looked decked out for the season, and holiday music drifted out from various shops. The tinny notes of "Santa Baby" mingled with the sound of a Salvation Army bell ringer at the end of the next block. I inhaled deeply and could smell the rich aroma of coffee, reminding me that in DC, I was never more than a few feet away from a Starbucks at any given time. Or at least it felt that way. My stomach growled. I wouldn't mind a peppermint mocha, even though I knew we were not here to get coffee.

  "So where does Jeannie usually hang out?" I asked.

  "Depends." Fern scanned the crowds. "At the holidays, she likes to stay out of the way since it's such a madhouse, but Clyde's is a favorite. They give her coffee and lunch most days."

  "That's where she was yesterday," Reese said, pulling me close as a group of giggling teenaged girls barreled by us without looking up.

  "Then Clyde's it is." I started heading toward the popular restaurant, using the massive nutcrackers they put outside their restaurant each December as a visual guide.
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  We passed Starbucks, and I sucked in the addictive scent, promising myself that I'd treat myself on the way back. I would need the caffeine for the rest of the day, anyway.

  "Annabelle!"

  Mack's deep voice made me turn as he came out of the chain coffee shop behind us, carrying a cardboard holder filled with to-go cups and a handful of paper bags I assumed were filled with pastries.

  "Hey," I said, noticing his eyes were rimmed red. "I didn't expect to see you here. Don't you usually go to Baked and Wired on your block, that is if you aren't brewing your own?"

  He took a shaky breath. "I'm getting coffees and snacks for some of Kris's friends who were helping with the search. They're right around the corner, so I didn't want to make them wait." He dropped his voice. "Don't tell Buster I didn't shop local."

  I mimed zipping up my lips. "You can count on me."

  "Since we've stopped to chat," Fern said, looking longingly in the glass window, "I need a coffee and maybe a scone." He waved a hand in front of his brimming eyes, his voice cracking. "I'm so upset, I'm craving carbs."

  Mack watched Fern hurry into the Starbucks. "I know how he feels. I can't believe what they found."

  "How did you hear?" Reese asked. "We were going to come find you after we talked to Jeannie."

  "One of the fellows who helps us out sometimes, Stanley, was the first person to happen upon the bloody suit."

  "Is he okay?" Reese asked.

  "A little shaken up," Mack said, shifting from one leg to the other, his leather pants groaning in response. "He and Kris are friends, and they usually worked as a team when they helped us out."

  "Has he given a statement already?" Reese asked.

  Mack shrugged. "I don't know, but I can ask. Everyone's pretty upset. It would be one thing if they'd found a body, but his Santa suit drenched in blood just makes us all worry about what happened to him and where he is. None of us believe he's dead, but if he was the person in that suit, he must be hurt."

  "That's a pretty safe bet," I said. "If he was hurt, do you know anyone he'd turn to or anyplace he might hide?"

  Mack rubbed a hand down his goatee. "Aside from Jeannie? I like to think he'd come to us if he needed help, but we haven't seen him."

  "And you don't know anyone who would want to hurt Kris?" Reese asked.

  Mack shook his head firmly. "He didn't have an enemy in the world. Everyone loved Kris. The police are sure it wasn't another Santa?"

  Now it was Reese's turn to shake his head. "His name was written on the inside of the suit in Sharpie."

  "You're still looking for him, right?" Mack said, staring intently at my fiancé. "I mean, even though Kris was homeless."

  Reese put a hand on Mack's thick, tattooed forearm. "Of course. This case will get just as much attention as any other. I'll make sure of it."

  A small smile cracked Mack's face, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I'd better get back to the group."

  "Can you let Stanley know I'd like to talk to him?" Reese asked as Mack started to back away.

  "We'll probably go back to Lush if you want to stop by later," Mack called out over the din of the crowd before he disappeared around the corner.

  "Did you know Buster and Mack employed so many homeless people?" Reese asked.

  I thought about it. "I've definitely seen them use homeless crew to unload their vans at churches, especially at New York Avenue Presbyterian and St. Matthew's Cathedral. I didn't know they used them so often at the shop, but I usually don't see the back end of their operation. Knowing Buster and Mack, I'm not surprised."

  "Me either," Reese said. "Those two certainly aren't what you'd expect when you first look at them, are they?"

  "Is anyone?"

  "That's it," Fern said, pushing open the glass door and emerging from the coffee shop. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he thrust a cardboard drink holder and small paper bag at me. "This day is officially a disaster."

  "What happened?" I asked. "Are they out of skim soy milk?"

  "What happened is that I just chugged a full fat latte and ate a blueberry scone." Fern pressed his fingers to his lips. "All this with Kris has pushed me over the edge. I won't be able to fit into my skinny holiday pants if I keep this up."

  "You already drank your coffee?" I glanced down at the three paper cups. "So this is...?"

  "For you two, of course. And Jeannie." He rolled his eyes at me. "As if I don't know your coffee order, sweetie." He patted Reese's arm. "I pegged you as a plain coffee guy, but I did get you a cake doughnut. You know, since you're a cop."

  The corner of Reese's mouth quirked up. "Thanks."

  "You're very welcome." Fern spun on his heel. "Now let's go talk to Jeannie before I go back in there and get another scone."

  Fern started walking ahead of us toward Clyde's, and I hurried to catch up, pulling the coffee out of the holder and passing it to Reese, along with the doughnut bag. I balanced the holder while dislodging my own hot mocha and dodging the aggressive shoppers. I took a sip as I walked, trying not to spill the warm drink all over me and groaning out loud as I swallowed and realized Fern had asked for extra mocha syrup. He knew me so well.

  Fern barely paused at the intersection with Wisconsin Avenue, barreling across only moments before the walk signal started blinking its warning. Reese and I ran to make it before the stream of traffic resumed, my foot touching the other side of the sidewalk as I heard cars rush by behind me.

  "If this is what he's like when he drinks regular milk and eats carbs, I'm glad he's usually on a diet," I said to Reese. "I don't know if I could keep up if he was full octane all the time."

  I spotted the giant nutcrackers ahead of us, flanking the entrance to the popular restaurant. Towering at least fifteen feet high, the glossy, brightly colored figures jutted out onto the sidewalk in front of the large glass windows of the restaurant. Fern stopped when he reached the wooden and brass doors, waiting for us to catch up. Even before he threw open the door, I could smell the aroma of crab cakes and french fries, probably the place's most popular menu items.

  "She should be at the bar," Fern said, holding the door open for us.

  I stepped inside and my eyes adjusted to the rich wood of the long bar and the burgundy of the booths stretched down one side of the narrow room. I didn't know what Jeannie looked like, but a quick scan of the bar told me the businessmen and tourists in bright shorts and fanny packs weren't her.

  Fern bit the corner of his lip as he took in the restaurant. "Let me talk to the hostess."

  He approached a petite woman dressed in black and talked to her in hushed tones.

  "Was she at the bar yesterday?" I asked my fiancé, noticing that he hadn't touched the coffee or doughnut.

  He nodded, his face set in an unreadable expression.

  "She's not here," Fern said when he returned to us. "Hasn't been here all day."

  "Is that unusual?" I asked.

  "Very." Fern fluttered a hand over his neat ponytail. "The manager slips her cash to sweep the sidewalk every morning. Today's the first day she didn't show."

  "Really?" Reese's face turned grim. "In how long?"

  "Years," Fern said, his voice quavering as he clutched my arm. "Oh, Annabelle. I have a horrible feeling something's happened to Jeannie, too."

  Chapter 10

  The overhead bell jingled as we walked into Lush, and I breathed in the distinctive scents of pine and cinnamon. Even though the weather outside was far from frightful, Buster and Mack's festively decorated shop smelled every bit like Christmas.

  "We're back here," Buster called, and I saw an arm waving above the arrangements of frosted branches and miniature fir trees on the display tables.

  As I passed an artfully stacked collection of trendy Homesick candles in colorful boxes, I was reminded that I hadn't even started shopping for gifts for my friends. I wondered how many of them would enjoy a "Jewish Christmas" or "Grandma's Kitchen" scented candle. I picked up a pink box that read "Single, Not Sorry" and descr
ibed the candle inside as smelling like freedom and fun. I'd have to remember to come back and buy that one for Kate.

  Replacing the quirky candle, I led the way to the back of the store where Mack stood at the espresso machine and the long metal table was surrounded by people on the high stools. Some of the faces seemed vaguely familiar, and I suspected I'd seen them unloading the florals at past weddings.

  Prue waved at me while bouncing a giggling Merry on her lap and flipping her dirty-blond ponytail out of the baby's reach. "You all look like you need some hot chocolate."

  The last thing I needed was another hot drink, but I smiled at Merry's young mother and nodded. "Sure, thanks."

  Fern sat on one of the last available barstools, slumping over the table, and Buster looked up at me from where he sat comforting a man in an unseasonably thick flannel shirt. "Is he okay?"

  "We struck out with Jeannie," I said.

  Fern raised his head. "Because she's gone."

  "Gone?" Mack fumbled with the mug he was holding. "What do you mean gone?"

  "The staff at Clyde's hasn't seen her today," Reese said. "But that could be because she's been out looking for Kris."

  Mack nodded his head, a bit too eagerly. "I'm sure that's it."

  Fern gave a sharp shake of his head. "It isn't like Jeannie to be a no-show. Even if she was going to look for Kris, she would have swept the front of Clyde's first."

  "Her friend's disappearance could very well have thrown her off her usual routine," Reese said, using his calmest police detective voice. "She was clearly distraught when we talked to her yesterday. That kind of anxiety can cause people to do things they wouldn't normally do or forget things they usually do."

  Fern pressed his fingers to his throat. "I hope you're right. She's supposed to come by the salon tomorrow morning before I open for her wash and style, although she only ever wears her hair in a long braid, which is not a style."