Hoppy Holiday Homicide

Chapter Seventeen

“C’mon,” the police officer told Mags. “We need to get your statement on record before letting you go.”

“Should I come with you?” Charles offered.

Mags shook her head. “I didn't do anything wrong, so I don't need a lawyer present, but thank you.”

We watched her go, the rest of us remaining in the waiting room uncomfortably close to a grimy looking coffeemaker. I hung back as far as I could from the untrustworthy appliance.

If it was a coffeemaker that had first given me my ability to talk to animals, then another coffeemaker could just as easily take that power away, too. Definitely not something I was willing to risk.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asked, leaning one shoulder onto the wall beside me and sweeping his concerned eyes over me.

“I feel like a giant weight has been lifted from my chest,” I said. “I know that's super cliché, but it's also like a part of me didn't even realize that I couldn't breathe until Mags was brought back safe, sound, and relatively unharmed.”

“I know what you mean,” Mom agreed and laced her fingers through my father's.

“I don't know if we'll be able to find the kidnappers based on the information we have, dear,” Nan told me, concern etched across her aged features.

“It’s not a big deal. Now that I know they're coming for me, I'll be ready,” I promised.

“Maybe they only wanted to give you that warning and plan to leave it at that,” my dad ventured. “Are you going to listen?”

“Of course not,” Nan answered for me. “Angie hasn't done a single thing wrong.”

I simpered at my parents. “She's right, you know. Now that we have Mags back, we need to focus on figuring out who killed the judges.”

“What are you thinking?” Mom asked, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

“I’m thinking I'd like to talk to Mr. Gable again. He's the one who knew the most about the Holiday Spectacular. Both the festival itself and the committee who planned it.”

“Don't forget he’s the one who knows the most about the guests, too,” Charles reminded me. “He took pictures of everyone who came through that main entrance.”

“Yes, the camera!” I cried. “It's here at the police station. I never got a chance to finish looking through it.”

“That officer didn't seem too keen on having us involved in his investigation,” Dad grumbled. “Do you really think he'd share a key piece of evidence like that?”

Charles shook his head in response. “He might not want to, but I bet that officer Bouchard could convince him otherwise.”

“Already on it.” Mom held up her phone as the call connected. A moment later, a wide smile stretched across her face.

“Yes, it's me, Laura Lee. We found Mags, which you probably already heard, so now we’re available to help you find the killer from the ice sculpture garden.”

I couldn't hear the officer’s side of the conversation, but whatever he said didn't slow Mom down one bit.

“Of course, I know you're all working on it very hard,” she said, bobbing her head, “but you know how talented my Angie is, and I think she might have already figured it all out besides.”

I made a slicing motion across my neck, begging her not to exaggerate our position, but it was too late.

Mom smiled even wider. “Yes, yes, we just need to take another look at those photos from Mr. Gable's camera to confirm. Would you mind letting us take a look?”

She paused while Officer Bouchard said something on the other end of the line.

“Luckily, we just so happen to be at the Glendale police station already, so if you would give the word to your colleague here, I'm sure he'd be happy to share.”

I watched Mom as she marched in the direction the officer and Mags had departed and knocked on the door to the interrogation room.

Definitely not standard procedure, but Mom had never worried much about that. She would go anywhere, do anything to pursue a hot story, and this was definitely the hottest of the holiday season.

“Oh, officer!” she called through the door. “I know you're in there. I have Officer Bouchard on the line, and he has a message for you.”

I stood in shocked silence as the door flung open. The officer cursed softly, then told Mags he'd be back in a moment. Sure enough, less than three minutes later we had Mr. Gable's camera in hand and free rein to look through the photographs.

“What are you hoping to find?” Nan asked me as I flicked faster and faster, taking in all the smiling faces from that morning one by one.

“I'm not exactly sure, but I'd like to see if any of the shots send up warning flares.”

Although I didn't say so, I was also trying to determine who the two suspicious characters the rabbit E.B. had noted might be.

I reached the end of the photo roll and then began to flip back through in the other direction. Faster, faster, still unsure of what I was hoping to find, but knowing I was so close.

“Do you think—” my father started, but Charles held up a hand to silence him. He recognized something in my face before I’d even managed to connect the dots in my brain.

I shuffled through the pictures again, finally realizing that one very specific person was missing. “Nan, when did you and Mr. Milton join up today?”

“Why, he found me a few minutes after we arrived while you and Mags were still getting that fancy cocoa. You remember. Don’t you?”

I nodded. “So he arrived before us, then?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Nan assured me.

I found our photo in the lineup. We were one of the first. Only about ten folks had arrived before us, and none of them were Mr. Milton. Could he be one of the people E.B. had identified as acting suspiciously?

I wished I could ask the bunny now, but she'd already told me all humans look the same and I knew she wouldn't be able to recognize a specific person if shown a picture—not that I even had one of those since our old pal Mr. Milton had evaded the camera.

“He's not here,” I told Nan, handing over the camera.

“Oh dear, don't be ridiculous.” She flipped through quickly, her voice trailing off. “He probably took another entrance. There were several to choose from.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Mom mumbled.

“If you hadn't sent him away, he'd be here to answer these accusations for himself,” Nan said, but I could tell she now worried about his possible involvement as well.

“He is a member of the committee, too, you know. He could have helped with information, but you never gave him a chance.” This behavior from Nan was shocking. She'd always supported me, no matter what. So to see her defending Mr. Milton now sent a chill rushing right through me.

“Nan, what exactly is your relationship with Mr. Milton? I never met him before today, and he just seems a little possessive of you.”

“Oh, don't be silly,” Nan responded. “He's an old friend from years ago, and we simply reconnected now.”

“Do you think he's capable of murder or kidnapping?” I asked.

“How could he have been the one to kidnap Mags when he was with us the whole time?” Nan asked with a slight quaver in her voice.

“Okay. Maybe not the kidnapping, but what about the murders? He arrived before us and the victims were already dead by then.”

“He would never,” she insisted and bit her lip, a telltale sign she didn't quite believe the words that had come out of her mouth.

“Don't worry, Nan. I'm not saying he did it. But you are right about one thing. We need to talk to somebody on that committee.”

“Should I ring Mr. Gable?” Mom offered.

“No,” I said, pushing her arm down even as she had already begun to dial.

“Just like Mr. Milton attached himself to us all day, it’s possible the guilty party could be lingering very close to Mr. Gable now, and I don't want to alert him that we’re coming. Not until we have the chance to talk to Mr. Gable directly.”

“Have you figured it out?” Charles asked, rubbing my shoulders as if I were a boxer about to go in for round two of the fight.

“Not yet, but I feel close. Mom, Dad, would you please stay here and wait for Mags? I need to go now while everything is still clicking in my brain.”

“Of course, honey,” Mom replied.

“But be careful and call us if you need anything. Got it?” Dad added.

Charles, Nan, and I rushed out of the station with the pets in tow just as quickly as we entered. “We’ll take my car,” Charles said, unlocking it remotely so that Nan and Paisley could slip into the backseat and Octo-Cat and I into the passenger side.

I took a quick moment to explain my theory to the others.

“There's definite merit to that,” Charles agreed, turning the key in the ignition. “It makes sense. I just hope we’re not playing our hand too soon.”

“Everything will be just fine.” Nan sounded more like her usual self now that Mr. Milton wasn't around.

“Are we going to catch the bad guys now?” Paisley asked with an excited whimper.

“Yes,” Octo-Cat answered for me. “It's time to make the canary sing.”

He licked his lips at the mention of the canary even though we weren't going to confront a snitch—we would go directly to the guilty party.