Hoppy Holiday Homicide

Chapter Twelve

“Do you think the crimes are linked?” Charles asked me matter-of-factly as I led him toward the spot where Mags had been abducted. He carried Paisley while I carried Octo-Cat, who had the good grace not to complain this time.

“I just don’t know,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the ground as if it held some answer we had yet to discover. “I don't think they are, but I also don't want to overlook anything. Just in case.”

“Good thinking,” Charles said, squeezing my elbow since I required both of my hands to carry Octo-Cat comfortably, lest I wanted his complaining to pick up again. “I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier,” Charles said.

“That's okay. You didn't know. How could anyone know these terrible things would happen? And on Christmas Eve, too…”

Charles remained quiet for the next half block, becoming lost in thought as he so often did. “Do you think it's possible they happened not despite it being Christmas Eve but because it's Christmas Eve?”

“What you mean?” I asked, risking a glance at him even though I needed to keep both eyes on the street in order to avoid bumping into one of the many departing vendors.

“Well, maybe the Holiday Spectacular gave our murderer and/or kidnapper an opportunity he wouldn't have otherwise had. Or maybe the murderer is somehow related to the festival itself. You said the victims were meant to judge the ice sculpture contest. Right?”

“Well, at least one of them,” I answered. Thinking back, Officer Bouchard didn't recognize the woman, and I hadn't been back to chat with him because of what had happened to Mags.

“I know every second counts right now,” Charles told me as we neared the ice sculpture garden, “but let's take a quick moment to check in with the police. They may have information that could help point us in the right direction for Mags, too.”

Less than two minutes later, we found Officer Bouchard standing with a couple other police personnel near the giant Christmas tree sculpture. “Angie,” he said. “I'm surprised you weren't back before now.”

“Didn't you hear? I asked, my voice dry and itchy. “Somebody took Mags. Kidnapped her right off the street.”

“Mags? Your nice cousin? But why?” His eyebrows pressed together. “And why wasn't I informed before now?”

That was right. We hadn't even stopped to inform the authorities of Mags’s abduction. Nan had probably assumed I would do it while I assumed she would. At least I could tell my favorite police officer now.

“It's all been a blur,” I admitted “I can't believe I forgot to come to you, but I know you've been busy over here.”

He sighed and rolled a kink from his neck. “Busy is an understatement.”

“Learn anything new?” Charles asked, shaking the officer’s hand hello. “Anything that might help us find Mags while you hunt the killer?”

“Hunt’s not exactly an appropriate word. Sounds like somebody's been reading too many Stephen King novels,” the officer quipped. “But yes, we were able to confirm that the female victim was our second judge. A Miss Zelda Benedict. She taught art at the university in Portland and drove up special to serve as our judge.”

I sucked air in through my teeth. This just kept getting worse and worse. “What a way for us to make a good impression on outsiders. Come to Glendale's Holiday Spectacular where you just might get murdered.”

“It is unfortunate,” Officer Bouchard agreed. “She was very well respected in her field. Her colleagues will no doubt ride us hard until we find out who the culprit is.”

“Did she have any connection to Fred Hapley?”

“As far as I know, the two of them never met a day in their life. At least not until they wound up dead side-by-side in the snow here. By the way, the murder weapon for old Fred was a gun. It must've had a silencer since no one reported hearing anything. But Zelda? She was stabbed straight through with an icicle.”

“Why not kill them both the same way?” Charles asked, wrapping an arm protectively around my waist and eyeing the nearby ice sculptures warily.

“That's what we wondered, too,” Officer Bouchard said with a nod. “Seems to me that somebody had come prepared to commit one murder but then had to commit a second when Fred here walked in on the scene.”

“So we’re looking for someone who knew the festival well enough to plan a private moment with Zelda Benedict in the ice sculpture garden before most of the tourists arrived and the scene got busy. But also someone who didn't know the agenda well enough to anticipate Fred Hapley’s arrival,” Charles summarized.

“That's what we're thinking.” Officer Bouchard bobbed his head and reached over to give Paisley a quick pat. “But now you tell me someone took your cousin, too. She didn't arrive on the scene until after both judges were slain and the murderer had disappeared. So why would someone take her?”

“The murderer disappeared from view, but maybe he stayed close to keep an eye on things,” I ventured, hugging Octo-Cat tight to my chest for strength. “Maybe he watched us the entire time as we discovered the bodies, talked with you, and then got ready to guard. But then why wouldn't he take me too?”

“Unfortunately, we’ve got a lot of questions and very few answers so far.” Officer Bouchard hung his head and sighed. “I’ll call Mags’s kidnapping in to the station. Even though our men are occupied with the homicide scene here, the neighboring police forces are all on standby given the size of our event, and the folks in Dewdrop Springs have dealt with their fair share of kidnappings over the years. They really are the experts on that kind of thing while murders are becoming far too common in our little town.”

“Thank you for your help,” I mumbled, hating everything about how this day was turning out.

“I wish there was more I could do. But if I know you, you're already halfway to finding her yourself.”

We said goodbye, then Charles, the animals, and I headed toward the spot where I'd last seen Mags before she was hauled away and this whole nightmare had gone from bad to worse.

Hopefully we would find a definitive clue soon. I still didn’t know where to go in the search for my lost cousin, and as time ticked steadily on, my heart sunk lower and lower.

“Please, God,” I mumbled in a nearly silent prayer, looking toward the sky as fat snowflakes fell to the earth. “Please let her be okay.”