Have Yourself a Beary Little Murder Page 4

  Mom leaned closer to me, almost whispering. “I hoped you would give him a second chance, that’s all. Because your dad did that for me. Oh! We’ll have to talk later.”

  Two squad cars screeched to a halt at the curb. Officers Hillerman and Sykes climbed out of their respective vehicles. Mom rushed over to meet Bill Hillerman at the sidewalk. Digger Sykes sashayed over to join me near the bench, though. I was still reeling from my mother’s revelation, and wondering what she’d meant about a second chance.

  “What happened here?” He pointed a finger at the mayor, half-hidden in the Santa Bear costume. “Don’t tell me you found another dead body.”

  “I found Mayor Bloom, young man, not Sasha. Along with Flynn Hanson and Cheryl Cummings.” At Mom’s sharp voice, Digger backed off in surprise. She waved a hand toward the mayor. “Poor Cal must have been electrocuted, although we can’t figure out how.”

  “Wow!”

  “Move aside, Officer Sykes. All right, Mrs. Silverman, give me a minute.” Bill Hillerman produced a notebook and pencil. Dad walked over and handed my phone over. “Who wants to start telling me the whole story?”

  “I wasn’t here when they found the mayor,” Dad said. “And I’ve got to get into a Santa Claus suit right now. I’m taking Cal’s place on the Santa float. Not much else we can do. It’s almost half past seven, and the parade’s finally getting underway.”

  The band’s rousing rendition of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” blasted out, along with the crowd’s excited cheers and rumbling of truck engines pulling the floats. Bill Hillerman quickly jotted down a few notes and then waved Dad off. My father grabbed the Santa Claus suit from his car, pulled on the coat, and then buckled the black belt around his middle. He bolted toward the last float, hat in hand, waving madly.

  “Bet you’ll find the next body,” Digger said in a loud whisper.

  “There better not be a next time.”

  “Ha. Unless your mom’s taking over—”

  “Knock it off, Sykes,” Hillerman interrupted. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Silverman. Go back over that last part. I couldn’t hear the details.”

  “I said it must have been between four and five o’clock when Cal went to get into the Santa Bear costume. So when he didn’t show up, we started looking for him.”

  “What time was that?”

  “What time is it right now?”

  He checked his watch. “Twenty-two past seven.”

  “Half an hour ago, I think, or around there.” Mom suddenly gasped. “Oh, I have to tell Alison! Before someone calls her, or she hears it on the news—”

  “Chief Russell will break the news to her, ma’am.”

  “I’ll go with him. Sasha, take this mike and lead the tree lighting ceremony with your dad. The kids will be so disappointed not to see Santa Bear, so we can’t cancel that!”

  Her breath caught in her throat and tears rolled down her cheeks. I took the wireless microphone, slid an arm around her waist, and hugged her. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll manage, and you can go with the chief. Digger will drive you to the station.”

  I wanted to kick him when he made a face. “Don’t you look so sour, Douglas James Sykes,” Mom said. “Your mother’s going to hear about your disrespect.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Silverman.” Digger swallowed hard. “I’ll take you to the chief.”

  “I’ll call the county sheriff’s office,” Hillerman said. “We’re gonna need their forensic techs to process the scene.”

  “Why? We don’t need them if it’s an accident.”

  “I’m not taking any chances, Sykes. I’ll wait until they arrive.”

  Scowling, Digger took Mom’s elbow and escorted her to his police car. I slid behind the wheel of the SUV, knowing word of Cal Bloom’s death would spread fast throughout the village. Especially if Cheryl Cummings had informed her news team via that whispered phone call. I wouldn’t be surprised if a television crew showed up as well, but Hillerman would have to keep them at bay.

  “Come on, start!” I pumped the gas pedal once and then turned the key again, glad the engine finally roared to life. “Needs an oil change. Great.”

  I’d have to remind Dad later. Another puff of black smoke rose from the rattling tailpipe, clearly visible in the rearview mirror. Might need a new muffler, too. Nothing else mattered except finding out how Cal Bloom had been electrocuted. My instincts told me it couldn’t be an unfortunate accident. We’d found him too far from the floats with their powerful generators. If the mayor had somehow gotten his hands wet, he’d never have fooled around with any electrical equipment on purpose.

  But who would target the mayor for murder? Bloom was fairly savvy, too. Wouldn’t he get wind of trouble before a killer could take advantage of him? Unless it was someone he trusted. Someone close, someone he’d never suspect. Like his wife or daughter, if what Flynn said was true? But that seemed crazy.

  I managed to find a spot behind the bank, pure luck on my part. I caught up to the slow-moving parade at the turn from Kermit Street. Half of the floats had already passed by. My uncle had to be driving the truck that pulled our Silver Bears in Toyland float. Maddie walked behind it with a red metal pail, tossing our small gummy bear packets to kids. They scrambled forward in a mad rush to grab them up from the ground.

  “Jon, be careful. Your little brother almost got hit by the car!” One parent pulled both boys back to the curb.

  “Maddie! Hey, Mads,” I yelled, jumping and waving both arms. Fortunately, my sister heard me over the noise and raced to meet me in front of the Gingerbread House float. “Have you heard about Cal Bloom?”

  “Yup. Dad told Uncle Ross who told Gil Thompson, who already heard the news from Mom. And you know what that means,” she said with a laugh. “It’s bound to be spreading all over the village by now. Hard to believe the mayor’s dead.”

  She clearly regretted not whispering that in my ear, given the crush of people that swarmed us. Older residents, mostly, although one young woman grabbed my coat sleeve.

  “Cal Bloom? The mayor is dead?”

  “What happened?”

  “Was it a heart attack?”

  “What if he was murdered,” an older man sniggered, but everyone else objected with groans and disapproval.

  “Could be murder. I heard his body was found by the Quick Mix Factory.” Eric Dyer, who had just opened a local microbrewery and winery, stepped forward. He was tall and lanky, with golden blond hair all gelled up that reminded me of Flynn. Except Dyer sounded a lot less full of himself. “And he was wearing that furry white polar bear costume.”

  “It’s true the mayor was scheduled to appear in the parade tonight as the mascot,” I said, “but the police are investigating what happened.”

  Everyone gasped and started babbling at once. One woman shook her head.

  “That’s sacrilege! Like killing the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy.”

  Eric grinned. “Yeah. So who killed Santa Bear?”

  Chapter 4

  Before I could reply, someone else piped up. “Yeah, and why?”

  “Another murder in Silver Hollow, too!”

  I held up a hand. “Hold on, everyone. The police don’t know the facts yet, and the mayor’s death may have been an accident. Let’s not jump the gun.”

  “He was shot?”

  “I didn’t say that! I have no idea how he died.” I winced at my frantic tone and took a calming breath. “The police will figure it out once an autopsy is done.”

  “But it could be murder,” someone said. “Silver Hollow’s getting to be a real Cabot’s Cove like in that Murder, She Wrote TV show. Am I right?”

  A few of the others laughed nervously. I didn’t get a chance to refute that since the crowd split up and headed in multiple directions. Eric and a silver-haired man whispered together and then left. Maddie blew out a deep breath.

  “That didn’t go over very well. News here spreads like lightning hitting in a dry forest. Cabot’s Cove? Really, how coul
d anyone think this is another murder.”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense, given where we found him.” I kept my voice low while explaining how Mom and Flynn had stumbled on the mayor’s body, and then discovered burns on his hands and chest. “I mean, if he’d been electrocuted near the generators, he would have yelled or called for help. Someone had to notice, don’t you think? Instead it looked as if someone dumped him on that bench, already dead. At least that’s my opinion.”

  “Wow. That is really weird. He’s a pretty hefty guy, too. Was.” Maddie tossed the last gummy bear packet. “Whoever did it had to be strong enough to carry or drag him.”

  “I need to get in the Christmas spirit and forget all about murder. Or whatever this turns out to be. Mom went with Chief Ross to tell Mrs. Bloom, since she’s her friend. That means I’m stuck covering for her at the tree lighting.”

  My heart wasn’t in it, though, despite watching the various floats with their sparkling lights roll along the dark streets. The major floats looked fabulous, but most of the minor ones also had panache, like the large and elegant poinsettia tree on a small truck bed from Mary’s Flower Shop, and the sweet rocking horse from the Pozniak sisters’ antique shop. An adorable cat looked ready to pounce on two mice playing hide-and-seek around The Cat’s Cradle float with its stack of books. Maddie had designed it for Matt and Elle Cooper’s bookstore.

  A group of kilted Scotsmen piped like mad behind a troop of Boy Scouts shaking strings of jingle bells. Several World War Two vets rode in heated cars, their convertible tops down so they could wave. The bagpipers who marched behind them played “Amazing Grace” and a rousing rendition of “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen.”

  The crowd gasped when flames spouted from the fake figgy pudding mold, sponsored by the restaurant Flambé, which startled several of the church’s hand bell choir members. Luckily the discordant jangling was soon tamped down by the choir’s director. The funeral home’s Winter Wonderland marvels passed by, followed by Vivian Grant’s Pretty in Pink bakery float—with pink flamingoes, a lighted palm tree, and a plastic Santa wearing only shorts, sandals, and sunglasses under a beach umbrella. Ham Heaven’s float with flying pigs reminded me of Maggie Davison’s. She must have talked Tyler and Mary Walsh into letting her borrow one.

  “Cookies are coming soon! Order yours now,” a darling group of Girl Scouts called out, and waved forms at the crowd. Several people dashed forward to sign up.

  “Already taking orders?” I groaned. “I need to lose ten pounds. If not fifteen.”

  “Not gonna cave for Thin Mints?” Maddie teased.

  I’d barely resisted the siren song last year. “I’ll order a few boxes later this month from Cara. She joined a Brownie troop back when school began.”

  “Oh, man. That means Dad will buy at least a dozen boxes. Maybe we can stash them in the freezer. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “That won’t stop me. They taste even better frozen.”

  “Hey, there’s Dad. And looking pretty spiffy.” My sister hooked a thumb at the sleigh that followed the high school band. “Santa! It’s Santa Claus!”

  Alex Silverman waved to all the kids who jumped up and down in excitement, booming out a few “ho ho ho’s” whenever he could, and asking if they’d been good. Shouts of “yes” and “no” rang out, with parents’ laughter as well. Maddie and I hurried to beat Santa’s motorized sleigh before it reached the Village Green. I stood beside the largest evergreen, surrounded by a virtual thicket of smaller trees brought there from Richardson’s Farms, either mounted in metal stands or planted in buckets. My knees shook. I tested the microphone, switched it on, and winced at a jarring echo of sound. At last my dad arrived, surrounded by a huge crowd.

  “Welcome, everyone!” I cleared my throat and started again. “Welcome to the annual Silver Hollow Christmas Tree Lighting, our most popular event of the year. We’ll all count down with Santa until he pushes the magic light button. Are you ready, Santa?”

  Dad climbed down from his precarious perch in the sleigh. His knees must have stiffened after sitting so long on such a chilly evening, and he hobbled over to join me. My phone reported the temperature at thirty-five, but not cold enough for the snow to stick. Winter in Michigan could be so unpredictable. Below zero one day, and a balmy forty degrees the next. Or within a span of hours, which always surprised visitors to the Mitten State.

  “Ready!” Dad ignored someone’s shout about Cal Bloom’s heart attack. “Let’s get this village ablaze with lights! Start the countdown. Ten! Nine! Eight—”

  The crowd joined in and drowned out other onlookers who gathered around in a huddle to exchange information. Once the chant reached zero, although some people shouted “blast off ” instead, we all stared at the dark forest of trees. Nothing happened. Groans rose in the air. I blew out a frustrated breath. Dad jiggled the switch once more.

  Suddenly the entire block glowed bright from thousands of flickering lights. Everyone oohed and aahed, while I sighed in relief. Dad started singing in his clear baritone.

  “We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas . . .”

  Once more the crowd joined in, clapping and happy, although I noted the group that still chatted together. Trina and Arthur Wentworth stood in the middle, clearly eager to hear details; oddly enough, Devonna Walsh, Ben Blake, and Wendy Clark rushed over to listen, along with Dave Fox of the Silver Hollow Herald. That didn’t surprise me. Fox was always on the lookout for news, and he’d no doubt get a special edition out by Saturday. But I hadn’t expected Wendy or Ben to join the vulture-like band of gossipmongers.

  “Chattering like a murder of crows.” Uncle Ross had joined us. “Disgusting.”

  Maddie shrugged. “I suppose,” I said. “But it’s no different than the other times.”

  “Yeah, look over there.”

  We all turned to where my uncle pointed. Several television news crews clustered around a different crowd, which included Digger Sykes. That surprised me. If Chief Russell heard that he’d given details without authorization, he’d be toast.

  “Is that Cheryl Cummings?” Maddie asked.

  “Yes. She and Flynn found the mayor along with Mom,” I said, “and I want to avoid being under the gun. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t know why people are so curious.”

  “If they’d been raked over the coals by the cops as a prime suspect, they’d lose interest. And fast.” My uncle’s breath steamed in the air. “Reality hits hard when it happens to you, not some other sap. At least the parade was a big success.”

  “Yeah. Mom should be happy.” Maddie yawned wide. “I’m beat. I had to work all day on a project that’s due Saturday, cram in the stuff for the Bear-zaar, and some of the wizard bear promo. I need some sleep.”

  “Wait a minute, and I’ll walk back with you.” I turned to my uncle and handed him Dad’s car keys. “Do you have any gummy bear packets left?”

  “Nope. Alex said to use ’em all, that we’d order more.”

  “Then we better order something else for the open house prizes.”

  “We could hire the people who don’t win the bake-off contest to make cookies for the event,” Maddie said. “Then they won’t feel left out.”

  I nodded halfheartedly. Given the circumstances of the mayor’s death—and I hoped it was an accident—plus the upcoming Bear-zaar, our usual holiday rush, and decorating the shop and house, I couldn’t add one more thing to worry about. Thankfully, the parade and tree lighting seemed to be a success. People were happy, for the most part. Dad continued to greet little kids among the crowd, so Maddie and I threaded our way toward home.

  We ducked behind a crowd when Cheryl Cummings pointed in our direction, although one of her colleagues ran over to question me about Cal Bloom. I pleaded innocence. No way would I spread rumors of murder. No matter what my suspicions. And they’d have to wait until Chief Russell decided to hold a press conference.

  I caught sight of Digger Sykes again an
d cringed. “Get me out of here.”

  “There’s Abby and Amanda Pozniak.” Maddie pulled me toward them. “Hey, we loved your float with the rocking horse. So adorable.”

  “We tried to tie a Silver Bear on it, but no dice,” Amanda said. “Couldn’t find the duct tape, and nothing else worked.”

  “You up for an early breakfast before the Bear-zaar?” Abby asked. “Sister power!”

  “Sure thing.” I tugged at Maddie’s sleeve. “Come on.”

  “Hold on, Sasha.” Digger Sykes swaggered over, still in his official uniform. “I’m going off duty, but I have to say like daughter, like mother.”

  I glared at him. “Don’t even start—”

  “You have a gift for stumbling over corpses,” he interrupted with a wide grin. “Did you hear, Mads? Our unofficial Jessica Fletcher passed the torch to your mom.”

  “What corpse?” Amanda glanced at Abby, who looked surprised as well.

  “Mayor Bloom keeled over near the Quick Mix Factory. Heart attack.” Digger snickered. “Flynn Hanson found a flask of brandy near him, too. Guess the mayor indulged a bit, since it’s so danged cold. Not the first time he overdid it in that department.”

  “I heard he had a DUI once,” Abby said.

  “More than once.”

  “Really.” I was grateful the topic of conversation had switched from me and my mother to the mayor’s personal problems. “I wonder why we never heard much about that.”

  “I knew,” Maddie said, “because Mom told me. But that was long ago, Digger, and you shouldn’t spread old gossip. Cal Bloom attended AA and swore off the stuff.”

  “Then why did he carry that flask with him?”

  “How do you know it had alcohol?” I asked. “Could have been tea or coffee in it.”

  He turned to my sister. “Right. Like that photo the mayor carried.”

  “Photo? What kind of photo?”

  Maddie shrugged, apparently clueless, and Digger changed the subject. “Hope you don’t start taking after Sasha and your mom, Mads. We don’t need more dead bodies dropping around here. Especially with Christmas coming in a few weeks.”