Death in December
"Thanks to the Dark Carnival Haunted House, we exceeded our goal by nearly four thousand dollars," announced town librarian and local historian Patience Scudder, who was the chairperson of the group of ten dedicated volunteers that met at the Puritan Falls town hall on the first of every other month to organize various community fundraising events.
"That was a good idea of yours, Martha," Ezra Graves, owner and editor of The Puritan Falls Gazette declared. "Even if it hadn't been so successful, all the work would have been worth it just to see Lionel dressed as a killer clown!"
"Your deranged magician costume wasn't too bad either," the good-natured psychiatrist quipped. "And to have Abigail as your ghostly assistant with a sword through her body was pure genius."
Abigail Cantwell, the owner of the Bell, Book and Candle New Age shop, had rekindled her high school romance with the editor, and the two senior citizens now enjoyed doing things as a couple. It was only natural then that their costumes complement each other's. Dr. Sarah Ryerson, however, chose not to dress up like a clown as her fiancée, Lionel Penn, had. Instead, she attended the event as a fortuneteller. Other volunteers stuck to the carnival theme as well. Shawn McMurtry was an eerie ringmaster. His wife, Penny, was a bearded lady. Shannon and Liam Devlin teamed up to be conjoined twins. Rebecca Coffin was a blood-spattered animal trainer, while her husband, Dylan Osborne, volunteered as the strong man. Martha Prescott, whose idea it was to hold the haunted house, chose to be a snake charmer.
"I'm sure we all agree that this year's harvest festival was one of the best," Patience said. "And Dylan has created a page on the village's website where we can post our photos. Now, let's move on to our next fundraiser. Are there any suggestions for events we can hold for Christmas?"
"The holiday lights contest we had during COVID was fun," Shannon Devlin, proprietor of the Green Man Pub, opined.
"True," Ezra agreed, "but since we no longer have to worry about social distancing, we ought to have an event where people can gather together."
"And one that promotes local businesses," Rebecca, the owner of The Quill and Dagger bookstore, added.
"What about a craft fair?" Sarah asked, "They always bring in tourists."
"True," Patience said, "but St. Michael's is having one, and I don't want to compete with the church. Besides, it would be nice to do something different this year."
Two new ideas were then put forward.
"I think we should host a tree-trimming contest," Abigail declared. "Each business could be given a Christmas tree to put in front of his or her shop, restaurant or office. The owners will decorate them, being sure the ornaments reflect their type of business in some way. For instance, a mechanic can put car ornaments on his tree."
"That's an excellent idea," Rebecca said. "And it would no doubt bring in the tourists."
"Why don't we think outside the box and do something really different this year?" Officer Shawn McMurtry offered.
The other nine people on the team turned to look at the policeman.
"Like what?" Patience asked.
"A murder mystery."
"For Christmas?" Sarah asked with surprise. "Isn't that sort of thing more suitable for Halloween?"
"Not necessarily. It can be a Christmas-themed mystery."
"Do you of know any?" Ezra asked.
"I have a friend back in California who is a screenwriter," stated Martha Prescott, who once hosted the Classic Horror Movies television program under the stage name Belladonna Nightshade. "I'm sure he would be willing to come up with a possible plot and characters for us."
"I think a murder mystery would be fun!" exclaimed Rebecca, whose shop specialized in mystery books, movies and associated merchandise. "But it's already the first of November. Can your friend have the mystery ready by the sixteenth of December?"
"I'm sure he can. He's not writing an entire script with dialogue. All he needs to do is come up with a murder victim and clues as to who the killer is. I would imagine he could do that in a week or so."
"If there are no other suggestions then, I propose we put the matter to a vote," Patience announced. "Do we want to hold a Christmas tree-trimming contest or a murder mystery? All those in favor of ...."
"Wait!" Shannon interrupted. "Why don't we do both?"
"Sounds good to me," Josiah Barnard, who owned the Sons of Liberty Tavern, concurred. "And each business that participates in the tree-trimming contest can hold an open house and provide a clue to solving the mystery."
"An open house! I like that!" Sarah opined.
"All right, let's take a vote," Patience announced. "All those in favor of holding the previously mentioned two events, signify by raising your hands."
The vote was unanimous in favor of Shannon's suggestion.
* * *
From the ten-person town team, three committees were formed. Sarah Ryerson, Ezra Graves, Abigail Cantwell and Lionel Penn would coordinate the tree-trimming efforts. Martha Prescott, Shawn McMurtry and Patience Scudder would work with Shane Richie, the Hollywood screenwriter, to oversee the production of the murder mystery. Lastly, Rebecca Coffin, Shannon Devlin and Josiah Barnard were in charge of making sure that refreshments would be offered at each stop along the route on the day of the murder mystery open house.
Mid-November, Rebecca, Martha and Abigail met at Victoria's English Tea Shoppe to report on the progress of their respective committees. Martha, who wrote a successful blog on all things related to horror films, brought along a laptop to take notes. Rebecca and Abigail, however, relied on old-fashioned notepads and pens.
"Shane Richie sent me an outline of the murder mystery," Martha told them. "I think you're going to love it. He's calling it Death in December. But that's all I'm going to tell you about it. Since we anticipate most people will want to play detective, only Shane, Shawn, Patience and I will know the details and most importantly the solution to the mystery."
"Good! Because I intend to put my little gray cells to work and play along," Abigail laughed. "I always thought myself a bit of a Miss Marple."
"Me, too," Rebecca said. "As the owner of The Quill and Dagger, this event is right up my alley."
"How are the refreshments coming along?" Martha asked.
"So far, every business owner I've contacted plans to participate. I'm keeping track of what each person plans to serve because I don't want twenty people offering gingerbread cookies and eggnog."
"And what about the Christmas trees?" Martha asked Abigail.
"Like Rebecca, I've gotten one hundred percent participation so far. Ezra arranged with Kringle's Tree Farm to provide the trees at a discount price. We've placed an order for seventy trees, and they'll be delivered to the Common on the first Saturday of December."
"Do we need that many?" Rebecca asked.
"Fifty-eight are already spoken for, and I still have a dozen businesses to check with. If there are any left over, we can donate them to the hospital."
"Sarah will be happy to hear that."
Martha closed her laptop when she saw Victoria Broadbent walking toward their table with a tray of macarons.
"I thought these would be a nice change from scones," the white-haired teashop owner announced in her crisp British accent.
"Oh, yes!" Abigail exclaimed. "I love macarons."
"Have you decided what you're going to offer visitors during the open house?" Rebecca asked.
"I was thinking about chocolate-covered caramel domes. Basically, they're chocolate shells with creamy chocolate mousse and caramel sauce inside."
Even though Victoria's shop was one of the few not located in the center of town, the three women had little doubt that people would be willing to walk or drive the extra distance to sample her baked goods.
* * *
Once Thanksgiving was over, the people of Puritan Falls turned their attention to Christmas. Lights began appearing on homes, displays were erected on the front lawns and holiday shopping was in full swing. In anticipation of the tree-trimming contest, many business owners ordered their tree decorations from catalogs and online shops. In keeping with his eighteenth-century establishment, Josiah Barnard ordered Colonial era ornaments from Amazon including George Washington, Revolutionary War drummers and fife players, Betsy Ross, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and the Liberty Bell. Victoria Broadbent decorated her tree with miniature teapots, teacups, cupcakes, cookies and other baked treats, some of which she ordered new while others she had collected over the years.
Some ambitious business owners chose to make their decorations. Rebecca Coffin wrapped reduced photocopies of book jackets around pieces of Styrofoam and created miniature books that could be hung on the tree limbs with lengths of red and green ribbon. Her favorite authors such as Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Martha Grimes, James Patterson, Josephine Tey and Caroline Graham were prominent among them. Abigail Cantwell sprinkled the twenty-two Major Arcana tarot cards with glitter that would hang on the tree with her purchased zodiac ornaments. She also crafted a miniature Ouija board, planchet and book of shadows out of balsa wood.
Sarah Ryerson and Lionel Penn were the only two villagers who braved the Black Friday crowds and drove to Boston to buy gifts as well as decorations for their respective trees. Sarah purchased several doctor, nurse and medical-themed ornaments to hang on the tree which would be placed in the hospital lobby. Unfortunately, Lionel could find no ornaments suitable for a psychiatrist.
"You could always hang up items connected with your patients' phobias," his fiancée joked. "Spiders, clowns, cats, dogs."
"Very funny!" Lionel replied.
"How will you decorate your tree then?
"Since my profession doesn't lend itself to holiday decorations, I thought my tree would reflect my personal tastes instead. I plan on doing a nautical tree."
"Great idea! Boats, lighthouses, ship's wheels, buoys, seagulls, sailors—there are lots of things to choose from."
Once their holiday shopping was done, Lionel suggested they eat in Boston's Little Italy section since he had a craving for pasta.
"Speaking of food, do you plan on offering refreshments at the open house?"
"Even though my office is normally closed on Saturdays, Judy is going to make peppermint bark and pumpkin spice cocoa, which she'll hand out to the visitors who stop by."
As usual, Judy Standfield, his administrative assistant, would volunteer her time and effort to help make the fundraiser a success.
"But if she's stuck in the office all day, she won't be able to participate in the mystery."
"She and her husband are teaming up. They'll take turns handing out refreshments and visiting the other businesses and shops."
On their way back from Boston, the two doctors stopped at the Copperwell Walmart. (By that time, the early bird shoppers had cleared out.) They both purchased sets of lights, and Sarah bought garland.
When the first Saturday in December came around, all the business owners were ready to put up their trees.
* * *
Martha Prescott met Shane Richie when his flight arrived at Logan Airport.
"It's cold!" the California native exclaimed with chattering teeth when he stepped out of the terminal, wearing a light jacket that was unsuitable for a New England December day.
"I told you so," the former Belladonna Nightshade laughed.
"How far is this town of yours?" asked the writer who was good-looking enough to be in front of the camera rather than a computer screen.
"Only about a thirty-minute drive, and I promise I'll turn the heat up high in the car."
As they made their way toward Puritan Falls, they discussed the progress being made on the murder mystery plot.
"I have the bare bones, but I want to see this town for myself before I write the rest of the clues."
"Once you're settled in, I'll show you around. My friend, Noah, can lend you a warm parka so that you don't get frostbite during the tour," Martha teased.
"I'd appreciate it."
"So, who is the victim in your Christmas whodunit?"
"A banker by the name of Quentin Arbogast," Shane explained. "He's a heartless fellow, who thinks only of money."
"Sounds a lot like Ebenezer Scrooge. How very Dickens!"
"I've come up with several good suspects: a young trophy wife who would prefer being a wealthy widow, a middle-aged ex-wife who carries a grudge, a disgruntled bank employee, a greedy business partner, a brother desperate for money and three children from his first marriage who are fearful their father will alter his will and leave his millions to his new wife."
"And which of them is the killer?"
"I haven't decided yet, but I'm leaning toward the gold-digger wife. The problem is, most people suspect the spouse when there's a homicide especially when there's a great deal of money involved."
Before they had the opportunity to discuss the details of the murder, Martha pulled her Lexus hybrid into the Sailor's Rest parking lot. Like most establishments in Puritan Falls, the inn was decorated for Christmas.
"My God!" Shane exclaimed. "I feel like I just stepped into a Hallmark movie!"
"Get used to it. The village goes all out for the holidays."
"I'll make sure to give this establishment a prominent role in my murder mystery," the screenwriter announced as he took his suitcase out of the car.
"I've got a few errands to run, the most important of which is getting a warm jacket from Noah," Martha said. "Once you're settled in, text me, and I'll come back and show you the town. Afterward, we're going to have dinner with Shawn and Patience, the other two members of the committee."
"I'll see you then," he said with a smile that melted many a woman's heart.
* * *
Clothed in Noah Prestwick's heavy ski jacket, wool hat and gloves, Shane walked down Essex Street with Martha. They made frequent stops to admire a tree or enter a shop. When they went inside Treasure Hunt Antiques, the screenwriter was introduced to the owners, Douglas Pemberly and Michael Whitby.
"I love your tree," Martha said.
"Thank you," Doug replied. "Michael suggested the theme of antique toys, and I decided to put the porcelain dolls beneath it."
After leaving the antique store, the writer and his hostess passed by Jacqueline Astor's real estate office. Her tree was decorated with ornaments of different style houses, ranging from log cabins and Swiss chalets to two-story Colonials and grand Georgian mansions.
"See that one there?" Martha asked, pointing to an ornament near the top of the tree. "That's the House of the Seven Gables."
"Like in Hawthorne's story?"
"Yes. It's located not far from here in Salem."
After stopping by The Quill and Dagger, where the writer was introduced to Rebecca Coffin, and Abigail Cantwell's Bell, Book and Candle, the two continued down Essex Street.
"Are you hungry?" Martha asked, looking at her watch.
"Yes, I am."
"Good. We're supposed to meet Shawn and Patience at the Green Man Pub in ten minutes, so we might as well head over there now."
Green lights lit the tree in the Irish pub, and green and gold garland were wrapped around its branches. The ornaments reflected Liam and Shannon's heritage: shamrocks, leprechauns, green-clad Santas, harps, Irish dancers and Celtic crosses. There were also beer mugs and whiskey bottles in keeping with the Green Man's function as a pub.
Shannon showed Martha and Shane to a table for four.
"Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?" she asked.
"Why don't you bring out a pitcher of Guinness?"
Fifteen minutes later, Patience and Shawn walked into the pub together.
"Sorry we're late," the librarian apologized. "We were both putting the finishing touches on our trees."
"How did you decorate them?"
"The one in the library is dedicated to Dickens's A Christmas Carol. I managed to find ornaments of all the characters: Scrooge, Marley, the three ghosts, the Cratchits and even one of Charles Dickens himself."
"And the one at the station," Shawn answered, "is decorated with police officers, patrol cars and badges. Since COVID-19, there are all sorts of ornaments for first responders."
Martha poured beer for the two latecomers, and Shannon arrived shortly thereafter to take everyone's food order. For the next two hours, the four planners discussed Shane's proposed scenario. As they brainstormed, they were careful to keep their voices low so that no one sitting nearby would overhear.
"I've already written several clues, and my tour of your lovely village has given me inspiration for another two or three dozen."
"That's wonderful!" Patience exclaimed. "You work fast!"
"Why don't we meet tomorrow night, and you can decide which clues you want to use?" the screenwriter suggested. "Say, seven o'clock at the Sailor's Rest?"
"Come to my house instead," Martha insisted. "I can order pizza for us."
"Sounds good to me," Shawn said. "I get off duty at four."
"And the library closes at six," Patience added. "So, we'll see you at seven."
* * *
Martha grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza and a glass of wine at sat down at the kitchen table. She had a pad of writing paper, a stack of envelopes and a Sharpie at her side.
"So, what have you got for us?" she asked, wiping the grease from her hands with a paper napkin.
"Clue Number 1," the screenwriter read from the document on his iPad. "Quentin Arbogast's new wife, Angel, was having an affair with Allexandro, the chauffeur."
Since the three villagers liked the clue, Martha wrote it down on a piece of stationary, folded the paper and placed it inside an envelope. Then she wrote EZRA GRAVES on the front and crossed the editor's name off a list of businesses that were participating in the murder mystery. Each of the people on her list would receive a clue to share with people playing the game.
"Clue Number 2. Quentin Arbogast was nearly expelled from college when he was caught plagiarizing someone else's term paper."
"But that has no bearing on his murder," Patience objected.
"Every mystery needs a red herring or two," Shawn explained.
"Precisely!" the screenwriter said.
Martha wrote down the clue and addressed the envelope to Josiah Barnard. Then, having finished her slice of pizza, she got a second one from the box on the kitchen counter.
"More wine anyone?" she asked, waving the open bottle in the air.
After refilling her guests' glasses, work resumed. It was nearly three hours before the last of the clues went into an envelope destined for Douglas Pemberly.
"Is there a clue for everyone?" Shane asked.
"Yes, including Patience and Shawn," Martha answered. "Since I write my blog out of my home, I won't be holding an open house, so I don't need a clue."
"I like the fact that the participants who are to be given clues don't know which are helpful and which are red herrings. That way, they can play along with everyone else."
"That's the way it ought to be," Shane declared. "Only the four of us in this room know who killed Quentin Arbogast and why."
"As much as I've enjoyed planning this whodunit with all of you, I wish I could play along," Shawn said wistfully. "Ever since reading the Hardy Boys as a child, I've been addicted to mysteries. That's why I became a police officer."
Little did Officer McMurtry realize as he finished the last of his wine that he would soon be thrust into a real-life homicide investigation.
* * *
Martha Prescott woke early on Saturday morning. She fed her cat and downed a quick cup of coffee before dressing warmly to head out into the cold but clear day. The former TV host grabbed a tote that contained the clues to the murder mystery. The game would begin at one o'clock, and she had to deliver the envelopes to the business owners and shopkeepers before then.
Her first stop was Victoria's English Tea Shoppe. As usual, business was brisk.
"Good morning," the white-haired proprietor called when Martha entered the shop. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"
"No, thanks. I just stopped by to give you your clue for the murder mystery," she replied, handing the envelope to Victoria.
"You're coming by later for the open house, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes. I don't want to miss out on those chocolate caramel domes."
After leaving the tea shop, Martha stopped at the mall and the scattered businesses along Route 692, Gloucester Street and Atlantic Avenue. By the time she got to Essex Street, more than half the envelopes in her tote were gone.
"Is that my clue for the murder mystery?" Rebecca asked as her friend crossed the threshold of The Quill and Dagger.
"Yes, it is. While I'm here, I think I'll have something hot to drink. My toes are getting numb."
As she waited for Rebecca to get her a latte, Martha read the printed menu her friend had sent to all those participating in the open house.
"Look at all this food!" she exclaimed. "Carrot cake, gingerbread, cupcakes, stollen, sugar cookies—I think I gained two pounds just reading the menu."
"And look how many people are offering eggnog. Of course, all of it will be nonalcoholic. It'll be flavored with rum extract instead. The only two places serving alcohol are the Green Man Pub and the Sons of Liberty Tavern. Liam is making his Bailey's peppermint punch, and Josiah is serving mulled wine."
As the two women sat at the bookstore's coffee bar and discussed the treats and beverages being offered by the village merchants, not far away, Roseanne Dwyer, the local representative of the Welcome Wagon, was walking her Scottish terrier on the Common. She was listening to Christmas music on her iPod when Duncan began barking and pulling on his leash in the direction of the statue of village founder, Stephen Prescott.
"What is it, boy?" she asked, removing her earbuds. "What do you see? A squirrel? A cat?"
Roseanne let the dog lead the way to a park bench near the statue. She knew nearly everyone in Puritan Falls, but this man was a stranger.
He's probably an out-of-towner here for the festivities, she assumed.
Although Duncan kept barking, the man did not move.
"Are you all right?" she called to him.
There was no answer. She stared and noticed the man's chest did not rise and fall.
It's not a man after all! It's a dummy. It must be the supposed victim of the murder mystery.
Wanting to capitalize on her lucky find, Roseanne took her cell phone out of her pocket and snapped a photo. Duncan took the opportunity to pull free of her grasp and jump up onto the stranger's lap. When the figure fell onto its side, she had a better look at the face.
It wasn't a dummy. It was a man—not a living, breathing man but a dead one.
Back in The Quill and Dagger, Martha was just finishing her latte when she and Rebecca heard Roseanne's screams coming from the Common.
"What on earth?" the shopkeeper cried.
The two women ran outside the bookstore. Abigail Cantwell, Jacqueline Astor, Douglas Pemberly and Michael Whitby also left the warmth of their businesses to stand on the sidewalk and peer in the direction of the commotion.
"Help!" Roseanne shouted. "Murder!"
"Is this part of the mystery?" Rebecca asked Martha.
"If it is, no one told me anything about it."
Assuming the cries for help were genuine, Michael Whitby took out his phone and called 911.
* * *
As the town team had hoped, by midmorning throngs of tourists descended upon Puritan Falls. People not only from the New England area but also from New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania walked the streets of the quaint village to admire the decorated Christmas trees, enjoy the free treats offered at the open house and test their skills at solving the fictional murder of Quentin Arbogast. They were unaware that as they collected clues from the shopkeepers a real-life drama was in the making.
"Poor Roseanne! She was so upset after finding the body that Sarah had to give her a sedative," Rebecca told Abigail Cantwell as the two women sipped salted caramel hot cocoa.
"I can well imagine."
The door to the bookshop opened, and Martha Prescott walked in, bundled in a heavy winter coat. The temperature had been steadily dropping all morning and had dipped below the freezing mark just before noon.
"I'm glad that's done!" she exclaimed. "Everyone has received their clue."
"Sit down and warm up," Rebecca advised. "Would you prefer cocoa or coffee?"
"Coffee. Thanks," the blogger said, her teeth chattering from the cold.
"This has been some day!" the shopkeeper exclaimed, pouring her friend an espresso.
"It certainly has. We really ought to have canceled the murder mystery, but I don't see how we can at this point. The streets are mobbed with people, many of whom came just to participate in the game."
"I know. Business has been booming today. I had to call Dylan and his nephew in to help out."
Two teenage girls, both friends of Shawn's daughter, Brittany, walked up to the coffee bar and helped themselves to the free hot spiced cider and cinnamon donuts. After finishing their snack, one of the girls took out a small notepad and pencil and asked Rebecca for a clue to the mystery.
"Certainly," the bookseller responded. "It's common knowledge that the victim was a lady's man, but few people knew that he was secretly seeing a married woman for the past few months."
"Thank you," the girl said after writing the information down.
Once the teenagers left, a white-faced Martha grabbed hold of Rebecca's arm.
"Where did you get that clue?" she demanded to know.
"You gave it to me."
"No, I didn't. The clue I gave to you was that Quentin Arbogast's brother liked to gamble but wasn't very lucky at it."
"You must be mistaken," Rebecca said, retrieving the handwritten clue and envelope from beneath the counter. "See. Here it is. And that's my name on the envelope."
Martha was stunned.
"That's not my handwriting," she insisted. "Furthermore, that rumor about the victim seeing a married woman was not a clue that anyone was given!"
* * *
"Did anybody solve the fictitious homicide?" Rebecca asked Shawn McMurtry when he stopped by The Quill and Dagger for a coffee after going off duty on Sunday afternoon.
"Three people did. One was from Copperwell, another was a tourist from Jersey and the third was Lionel's administrative assistant, Judy. They all received Amazon gift cards. Thankfully, most people didn't know about the body found on the Common."
"I imagine Martha took the news pretty hard. After all, she was the one who invited Shane Richie here. Has the medical examiner deterred what he died from yet?"
"It appears to be blunt force trauma," the policeman replied.
"Then he was murdered?"
"Yes. Stan and Phil have already been assigned to investigate it as a homicide."
Stan Yablonski and Phil Langston were the only two detectives on the Puritan Falls police force. Martha, who had known the victim for several years, spent most of Sunday morning being questioned by the two men. During the interview, she confirmed that the late screenwriter was not and had never been married.
"He was not the kind to settle down with any one woman," she admitted. "He liked variety."
"You mean he was a wolf, a skirt-chaser?" Phil asked in his usual blunt manner.
"Yes."
"Did you and he ... uh ... ever date?" Stan tactfully inquired.
"No. Never. We were strictly friends and not very close friends. We worked together and only occasionally socialized."
"Can you think of anyone who might want to kill him?"
"No."
"Do you know of any woman who might have held a grudge against him?"
"I never got to know any of his girlfriends beyond a quick introduction. They came and went so often, and Shane wasn't one to confide in me about his private life."
"After you relocated to Puritan Falls, did you remain in contact with him?"
"No. We didn't keep in touch."
"Why did you ask him to write this murder mystery then?" asked Langston, who usually let his partner conduct the interview and only occasionally added questions of his own.
"I worked with him when I hosted Classic Horror Movies, and I was confident he could write an appropriate scenario much quicker than anyone in Puritan Falls could."
Yablonski then resumed control of the questioning as his partner listened, took notes and drank coffee.
"Could you give us a timeline of events that occurred after he arrived at Logan Airport?"
For the next two hours, Martha detailed the time she spent with the victim, describing the tour she gave him of the village and their meetings with Patience and Shawn. When neither Stan nor Phil could think of any more questions, the interview was concluded.
"That'll wrap things up for now," Yablonski said. "If you can think of anything else that might be of help to our investigation, will you give me a call?"
"Well, there is something .... I don't know if it has any bearing on the murder. It might be just a prank."
"What is it?"
Martha went on to tell the detectives about the clues Shane Richie had created and how she had written them down, placed them in envelopes and distributed them to the business owners participating in the murder mystery.
"I was sitting at the coffee bar in The Quill and Dagger on Saturday afternoon when Rebecca revealed her clue to two teenage girls. She said, 'It's common knowledge that the victim was a lady's man, but few people knew that he was secretly seeing a married woman for the past few months.'"
"Sounds to me like this Richie guy patterned the fictional victim on himself," Phil opined.
"But that's what is so weird! That was never one of the clues he wrote! Rebecca showed me the paper she received. It was not the one I wrote out for her—or for anyone else, for that matter."
* * *
Stan looked at the three-page printout of clues to the murder mystery and groaned.
"It looks like we'll have to talk to every business owner in Puritan Falls!" he exclaimed.
"Why don't we divide and conquer," Phil suggested. "You take one page, I'll take another and we can give the third to McMurtry. We both know he'd love to be in on the investigation."
"That's a great idea. It's not as though these people are witnesses to the murder. We just need to confirm the content of the clues they were given. Shawn is more than capable of doing that."
After speaking to ten people and finding no discrepancy between Shane Richie's typewritten clue and the one the business owner received from Martha, Stan believed this course of investigation was little better than a wild goose chase. However, when he entered Treasure Hunt Antiques and spoke with Douglas Pemberly (whose entry had won the tree-trimming contest), he changed his mind.
"The clue I was given was that the dead man's mistress was married to a man who had ties with organized crime," the antique dealer revealed.
"Wait. It says here that your clue was that Quentin Arbogast's brother was in financial trouble, and the bank was about to foreclose on his house."
"That's not right. Michael, do you have the envelope Martha gave us Saturday morning?"
"It's still on the desk in the office," his partner replied. "I'll go get it for you."
"This looks like the same handwriting as the clue Rebecca received," Stan announced. "And Martha swears it's not hers."
"When she gave it to me, I put it on the desk and shut the door to the office. No one except my husband and I knew it was there."
"I assure you I didn't change anything," Michael insisted.
"Apparently, you're not the only one whose clue was altered," the detective explained. "If you don't mind, I'll keep this."
"Go ahead," Doug said.
By the end of the day, Stan, Phil and Shawn had talked to every name on the list. Five people—six if you included Rebecca—received clues that differed from the ones Martha had assigned to them.
"If you look at these clues," Stan pointed out, "they have nothing to do with Quentin Arbogast or any of the suspects in his killing. They do, however, appear to be connected to Shane Richie's own death."
"I agree," Shawn said. "They all point to the victim being a lady's man who was having an affair with a married woman. That doesn't fit the fictional Quentin Arbogast."
"And not just any married woman," Phil laughed. "He was banging the wife of a man who had close ties to the DeLucca crime family."
"But if these clues point to Richie's killer, who wrote them?" Yablonski wondered. "And how and when did he or she switch them with the clues Martha handed out?"
Neither McMurtry nor Langston offered an answer to either question.
"And," Stan continued, "can we trust the truth of these statements if we don't know where they originated?"
"If Shane Richie was seeing a married woman, it might not be too difficult to find out," Shawn suggested.
"How do you propose we do that from clear across the country?" Phil asked.
"We don't. We ask the state police for help. They must have contacts in California."
Langston laughed derisively, but Stan was not so dismissive.
"I think Shawn might be on to something," he said. "State police agencies sometimes have task forces that keep track of members of organized crime. The California staties or the CBI would probably have a file on this woman if she exists."
Although local police forces often did not want to relinquish control of their investigations to state or federal officers, Captain Dan Bergen agreed with Detective Yablonski in this instance. The small Puritan Falls Police Department lacked the funds and the manpower to properly investigate the crime.
"And I was hoping we could go out to L.A. ourselves," Phil grumbled. "I wouldn't mind spending a few days in sunny Southern California. What a pleasant change it would be from December in New England."
"I doubt your wife would approve of your being away from home at Christmas," Stan said. "I know Ellen wouldn't be happy, not unless I took her along."
With the investigation into Shane Richie's death left in the hands of the Massachusetts State Police, Detectives Yablonski and Langston devoted their time to a more pleasant task: organizing the department's annual toy drive.
* * *
On the morning of January 30, Captain Bergen received a call from Detective Lieutenant Vance Bowker from Framingham.
"We found your killer," the state trooper announced as though he had done the local police a favor.
"That's great! Do you have the suspect in custody?"
"No," Bowker reluctantly replied. "We know who it is, but we don't have enough evidence to make a charge hold up in court."
"How do you know it's the right man then?"
"It's not a man; it's a woman: Rosa Martino. She's the married woman Shane Richie was seeing. Her husband's cousin is a made man in the DeLucca family."
"The mistress killed him? Not the husband?"
"That's right. We figure she found out he was also seeing a young actress from one of those reality programs. We suspect he planned on dumping Rosa for her."
"So, it's a classic case of a woman scorned?" Bergen asked.
"With all the fury of hell," Bowker joked.
"How do you know it was her?"
"She flew out of LAX and landed in Logan the day before Richie was murdered. We used traffic cameras to track her from the airport north on I-93 and then east on I-95. She was last detected near the Reading exit. The next camera is in Danvers, but she didn't make it that far—probably because she headed to Puritan Falls. She took the same route in reverse on Sunday, the day after the murder."
"That means she must have spent the Friday and Saturday nights in the area," Dan concluded.
"We checked the hotels in the area but no one checked in under the name Rosa Martino. We showed her photo around, but the places were fully booked that night. No one could positively identify her."
"Isn't the fact that she was here at the time of the murder enough to arrest her?"
"A good lawyer—and believe me she can afford the best—will no doubt claim she was in Salem, Beverly or even Gloucester," Bowker answered. "There's no proof she was in Puritan Falls. And even if there was, we've got no murder weapon, DNA or eyewitnesses to the killing."
"I guess it wouldn't do any good for my men to show her photo around the village to determine if anyone remembers seeing her here."
"You can if you want to, but, in my opinion, it would be a complete waste of time. Rosa could have come here for a romantic tête-à-tête with Richie, in which case, her lawyer could easily cast suspicion on her husband. It's a no-win situation, and no district attorney is going to want to prosecute."
* * *
On New Year's Eve, those villagers in Puritan Falls who did not celebrate at home, travel out of town or attend private parties, rang in the New Year at one of four locations: the Sons of Liberty Tavern, Chez Pierre, the Essex Country Club or the Green Man Pub. Both Stan Yablonski and Shawn McMurtry went to the Green Man with their wives, Ellen and Penny. Also at the pub were Lionel Penn and Sarah Ryerson, Ezra Graves and Abigail Cantwell, Rebecca Coffin and Dylan Osbourne, and Martha Prescott and Noah Prestwick.
A hot and cold buffet replaced the usual items on the menu. A live band played "The Wild Rover" as Shannon Devlin handed out party hats and noisemakers to everyone in attendance. Liam, her husband, was kept busy behind the bar.
"Is it true they found the person who killed Shane Richie, but that no arrest was made?" Martha asked Stan as they waited in line at the carving station.
"Yes. All too often criminals get away because their guilt can't be proven in a court of law."
"It doesn't seem fair."
"It's not, but that's how it is, I'm afraid."
"Who do the state police think did it?"
"His married lover, Rosa Martino."
"Really? How odd!" Martha exclaimed. "No one knew about her until the clues to the murder mystery were revealed. Why would she implicate herself in the crime?"
"Maybe she didn't leave those clues?" Stan suggested.
"Then who did?"
It was a question that had no answer. Or, at least, no logical, credible answer. Only two people knew about the affair. One of them was Rosa Martino; the other was the victim himself. She obviously did not leave the clues that pointed to her guilt. But had he somehow left clues to expose his killer? Had the homicide occurred in L.A., Boston or anywhere else other than the small seaside Massachusetts village, the answer would be an unequivocable "no"; but this was Puritan Falls where the line between the believable and unbelievable was thin and sometimes nonexistent.
At the clock struck midnight, the celebrants kissed, hugged, shook hands and wished each other a Happy New Year. As one and all joined the band in singing "Auld Lang Syne," the questions surrounding Shane Richie's murder faded from their minds. They would accept Detective Lieutenant Vance Bowker's explanation about the crime and cease to wonder about who had authored the mysterious substitute clues.
Hoping for a quiet Christmas, I once cast a spell to turn Salem into an ornament, but I foolishly turned him back into a cat on New Year's Day.
