Hoppy Holiday Homicide

Chapter Fourteen

Charles called Nan while I called my mom.

She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, honey. Did you find Mags?”

“Not yet,” I answered sadly. “But we have a small lead. Can you and Dad meet us at the alley off Third Street? You know the one right next to the pancake place?”

“Yes, we’re coming!” she promised before hanging up.

Charles wrapped both arms around me and mumbled into my hair. “It's going to be okay. We’ll find her. Your Nan is on the way right now, and she said something about bringing along a friend to help with the search.”

“That will be Mr. Milton,” I said, my voice coming out cold.

“Who’s that? I don't think I’ve met him before.”

“Neither had I. Not until today. It just seems weird, him hanging around with all that's going on.”

“Well, maybe he really likes your Nan and wants to help in order to make her happy,” Charles offered with shrug as he let me go.

I shook my head, unwilling to buy that, especially given his reaction earlier. “Yeah, or maybe he's the murderer we're all looking for.”

Charles tutted. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Yes. No… I don't know. It just seems weird to me.”

“Well, if you're not sure about him, then I'm not either. Maybe we can try asking him some questions when he arrives.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you talking about Nan's new friend?” Octavius asked, curling his upper lip in disgust. At least we agreed on this one. “That guy doesn't have the missing parts to kill somebody.”

“The missing parts?” I asked in confusion.

“Yeah, you know. The ones that boy kittens have before they go to the doctor and—”

“I got it!” I rushed to cut him off before he could add to that description.

“Still, he's rather suspicious to me,” my tabby added. “Did you see a picture of him on Mr. Gable's camera when you looked?”

“The camera! That's right,” I said, slapping my forehead. We’d totally forgotten to look through the images. “I’ll just call Mr. Gable and see if he's willing to let us borrow that real quick.”

Although the committee head was too busy to talk for long, he revealed that he’d handed the camera over to the police before begging off the call.

“See,” Charles said, keeping his arms tight around me while Octo-Cat sat in the snow silently. “Someone's looking into it. We have lots of people helping find Mags.”

“To be fair, I don't think Mr. Milton took Mags, but he could be the murderer. I don't know. It's just strange that a guy we've never met before has suddenly become so involved in our business.”

Charles didn't say anything until Mom and Dad arrived a few minutes later.

They hugged Charles hello.

“That was quick,” he said.

“We weren’t too far away. Just over at the ice sculpture garden with the Officer Bouchard and the others. You'll be happy to know that they have the entire Dewdrop Springs and Misty Harbor police departments both out looking for Mags while the Glendale crew continues with the double homicide.”

“Isn't that great?” Dad said with his signature oversized grin. “The more, the merrier. Also the more, the faster we’ll find her. And we will find her, Angie.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying. I sure hope you're all right.”

“Faith. You gotta have it,” Dad said, his smile stretching even wider.

“Listen,” I said, dropping my voice low, making sure only the group of us could hear. “Before Nan comes by, I just wanted to say I don't trust that new friend she's taking everywhere with her.”

“Are you saying you suspect Mr. Milton?” Mom asked, her voice hitching unnaturally high at the end of that question.

“I'm saying I don't know. But until we rule him out as a suspect, maybe. I mean, I don't know who he is. I don't know how well Nan knows him. Do you guys know anything about him?”

Mom ran her fingers through her hair as she thought. “I have met him once or twice while covering stories out on Caraway Island. He seems like a reasonably decent man.”

Caraway Island. That was the one part of Blueberry Bay I seldom went. Not just because it required a ferry, but also because they didn't have much to offer other than beautiful scenery. And while ocean views and well-groomed beaches were perfectly nice, we all had those in our small corner of coastal Maine.

“Is there something wrong with Caraway Island?” Charles asked, hooking an eyebrow in my direction. He’d become such a big part of my life since moving here about a year and a half ago that I sometimes forgot he originally hailed from California. He didn't know all the little quirks of living in Glendale yet.

“For one thing, the Caraway Island Cavaliers were our high school's biggest rival,” I said, ticking off the first reason on my index finger, then raising a second finger as I continued with my list. “For another, folks from Glendale often visit Misty Harbor, Cooper’s Cove, and Dewdrop Springs, and they all come over here, too. Those on the island mostly keep to themselves, like they’re too good for the rest of us or something.”

Geographically, Caraway Island was part of Blueberry Bay, but they didn’t belong with us in any other way that counted. Perhaps that's why it felt so strange that Nan's new boyfriend—or whatever he was to her—hailed from the small, strange island.

“I wouldn't worry about it too much, Angie. I know we all have our little prejudices about those Cavaliers, but Nan likes Mr. Milton and she's a good judge of character,” Mom offered, even though I wasn’t sure she meant it.

“Maybe,” I said looking away and still feeling so lost and defeated in all this.

“What else can you tell us? Has there been any progress?” Charles asked.

And if my parents hadn't been standing right there, I would’ve given him a big fat juicy kiss as a thank you for changing the subject.

“I’ve been staying right on the story of the murders in the ice sculpture garden,” Mom said, making her voice every bit as dramatic as Octo-Cat’s was when he was telling the story or talking about himself. “The latest is that they found the statue the ice weapon was broken from. Even though it had mostly melted by the time the police arrived, they were still able to match it to a missing piece on the sculpture of a swan.”

“I saw that one!” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was beautiful, and it was made by Pearl from the animal shelter. You know Pearl, don't you? Well, let me just say she was devastated that her art had been used to kill that poor woman. Especially considering that she'd known Zelda Benedict and they were friendly.”

“Do you think Pearl might have done it?” Charles ventured.

“Oh goodness, no!” Mom hissed, looking at Charles with shock and bewilderment. “Sweet Pearl is even older than Nan and not quite as spry. I have a hard time believing she can lift that five-pound Pomeranian of hers, let alone find the strength to first break off that giant icicle and then stab it through her friend's heart. Goodness me, not Pearl.”

“What’s everyone talking about over here?” Nan said, approaching with her usual swagger, arm linked in that of Mr. Milton.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” Charles said, not wasting a second now that we were all together. “We found Mags’s things spilled out on the ground here, so we know the kidnapper headed in this direction, and right now that's all we know. But it's a good place for us to start. Can you help us search?”

“I'll get the car,” Dad said with a nod. “Meet you back here just as soon as I can.”

“I'll get mine, too,” Mr. Milton volunteered.

“And I’ll go get mine,” said Charles. “Angie, I'll be right back. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded and accepted a quick kiss on the cheek.

As my boyfriend ran off with the other two men, Mom and Nan closed in for a group hug. We’d always been big huggers, but we took it to the extreme when facing situations like this. Danger and drama were becoming far too common for us these days, and I hated that Mags had been sucked into that.

“Do you guys have any theories?” I asked, knowing they probably wouldn't but still hoping they did.

Nan tilted her head. “I still can't get over the fact that one of them was killed with an icicle and the other a bullet. That doesn't seem very well planned to me.”

“It really doesn't,” Mom agreed. “And there's nothing to connect Fred and Zelda other than the fact they were both victimized today.”

“There is a lot to think about with the murders, and of course I want to get justice for them. But right now Mags is what's important,” I reminded them. “Do you have any theories about her?”

“Only that they meant to take you instead,” Nan said with a frown. “And it's not a theory I like very much.”

“But they took her instead of outright killing her. That's got to be a good thing. Right?” Mom asked, looking between me and Nan waiting for one of us to offer up a bit of encouragement.

“I hope so,” I said for what felt like the millionth time that morning. Until we had Mags back safe and sound, it was the only thing I had.

Hope.