Copycat Killing

26

Maggie’s mouth actually dropped open a little.

Marcus was watching me and I had to work not to let my emotions show on my face or creep into my voice.

“Kathleen.” I heard Andrew swallow on the other end of the phone. “How are you?”

We hadn’t spoken in a year. I could see his face even without closing my eyes, his sandy blond hair, blue eyes and just a hint of a smile warming up his face. Was he in his office with his feet on the desk, tilted back in the old wooden office chair? Or was he upstairs sitting on the edge of the bed?

I gave my head a little shake to chase away the images because it didn’t matter. “I’m well,” I said. “How are you?”

“I…all right. It’s starting to get busy, work I mean.”

It felt so awkward to be making small talk with him. I needed to get to the point. “I, uh, need your help with something,” I said. Quickly, I explained the bones of the problem and that Dad hadn’t been able to help. Andrew didn’t ask why I needed to open a puzzle box that clearly didn’t belong to me. He didn’t even ask why I’d called him, although he had to have guessed what it was costing me.

“Describe the box,” he said.

I took it from Marcus again and explained what it looked like, trying to give him as much detail as possible.

“Any chance you could send me some photos?”

I looked at Maggie. “Can we take some pictures of the box with your phone and e-mail them to Andrew?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Do you have the same e-mail address?” I asked.

“I do,” Andrew said. “Nothing’s changed.”

No. Nothing had changed, including the fact that he’d taken off on a fishing trip with his buddies after we’d had a fight and had come back married to a waitress from a fifties diner that he’d met on the second day of the trip. The fact that a fair amount of alcohol had been involved hadn’t made me feel any better about it.

Maggie snapped the pictures and e-mailed them.

“Got them,” Andrew said after a minute. I heard a creak, the kind of thing that sounded like a horror movie sound effect. I knew it was his old chair, which meant he was in the downstairs office.

“Whoever made the box does nice work,” he said approvingly.

“Do you know how to open it?” I asked.

“I think so. It looks like a pattern I’ve seen before.” He gave me instructions and I relayed them to Marcus who followed each one precisely.

“Cross your fingers,” Andrew said, finally. “Let’s hope I’m right.”

He was. Marcus twisted the bottom panel and the top of the puzzle box opened. He nodded, and Maggie, who’d alternated between watching Marcus and watching me with troubled eyes, gave a small smile.

I moved away from them again.

“Thank you, Andrew, your help means a lot,” I said. The conversation was back to being awkward.

“Are you happy Kathleen?” he said quickly, probably thinking I was about to go.

“I am,” I said. “I really am.”

It was true. Maggie was my best friend, and while I didn’t have a clue what exactly Marcus was, I was happy to have him in my life, even when he annoyed the heck out of me—which was at least fifty percent of the time. And I had Roma, and Rebecca, and everyone at the library, and the Taylors and of course Owen and Hercules. I didn’t know what was going to happen when my contract with the library board was up, but if they did ask me to stay, it would be very hard to say no.

“I miss you,” Andrew said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “I screwed it all up and I’m sorry.”

“I have to go,” I said. I took a deep breath and let it out. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he said.

I closed the phone and turned back to Mags and Marcus. They were looking at the contents of the puzzle box. There were some photographs and sketches inside, along with an old fountain pen and that was it.

“Is that Santa Claus?” I asked, pointing to one drawing.

“Looks like it,” Marcus said.

Several of the photos were images of the Coca-Cola Santa. There were a couple of a bearded older man who felt familiar, maybe because of his resemblance to the Coke Santa in his red suit.

The sketches had obviously been done by Jaeger Merrill; they were his style and every bit of extra white space was covered with notes in his crablike handwriting.

“Why did Jaeger have a bunch of drawings of Santa Claus?” I asked.

“Don’t you get it?” Maggie asked. Her eyes danced and her cheeks were flushed.

It took a moment, but then I remembered decorating the library the previous Christmas with Mary and Abigail and hearing about Mayville Heights’s alleged connection to the iconic Christmas image. “Of course,” I said, nodding my head.

Marcus looked blankly at us.

Mags gestured at the pictures of the bearded man. “Does he look familiar?”

“No. Who is it?” Marcus asked.

I held up a hand. “Wait a second.” I leaned in a little closer. “Look. Take away some hair and thin the face a little.” He still didn’t see it. I looked at Maggie. “This is Everett’s father, Carson, isn’t it?”

She grinned her approval. “And these pictures and sketches, they just prove that the rumors were right.”

“What rumors?” Marcus said. There was a touch of irritation in his tone.

“That Carson Henderson was Santa Claus, of course,” Maggie said.