I sighed, and as he eased the truck carefully onto the road and drove slowly home, I gave him a rundown on the goosefeather found at the scene and Ralph Doleson’s reputation as a despoiler of eagles’ nests.
“That explains it,” Michael said. “Though if I were the chief, I’d take a close look at Doleson’s tenants, too.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure they have all kinds of motives for killing him. Of course, that only shifts the investigation from Dad’s friends to Rob’s. Doesn’t anyone we don’t know or don’t like look the least bit suspicious?”
“There were hundreds of parade participants, and thousands of spectators, all milling around today,” he said. “I imagine when the police start sifting through his papers and checking his background, they could come up with a few more suspects.”
“Like maybe a posse of parents who thought Doleson’s surly behavior was ruining their kids’ Christmases?” I asked. “Just how did Ralph Doleson get the role of Santa to begin with? He’s not my idea of a proper Santa.”
“Nor mine,” Michael said. “But at least he was an improvement on the last two Santas.”
“What was wrong with them?”
“That’s right, it was all before you came to town. My first Christmas here, Wilmer Pruitt had the role.”
“Wilmer? Isn’t he—”
“Serving time down in Richmond for shoplifting, yes,” Michael said. “They fired him as Santa a couple of years before. The police department got tired of stationing a burly armed elf on either side to keep him from pilfering the present bag or picking the children’s pockets. After they fired Wilmer, the Shiffleys got one of their clan chosen.”
“Figures,” I said. The Pruitts and the Shiffleys were the two oldest families in town. The Pruitts were rich and treated the town and the college as their personal fiefdom. The Shiffleys had cornered the Caerphilly market in plumbing, carpentry, and every other skilled or unskilled angle of the building trade. The two families weren’t exactly Montagues and Capulets, but there was no love lost between them.
“Orville Shiffley was a very popular Santa until the year he showed up completely blotto ten minutes before parade time.”
“Shades of Miracle on 34th Street.”
“Not the first time he’d appeared less than completely sober,” Michael said. “That alone wouldn’t have disqualified him. A very cheerful drunk, Orville. But they had to find a replacement Santa in a hurry when Orville fell off the 4H Club float and broke his leg.”
“Bet Orville wishes he’d stayed in the sleigh,” I said. “What was he doing on the 4H Club float?”
“The can-can, apparently. Anyway, Doleson filled in at the last moment, and after that we were stuck with him.”
“Doesn’t sound as if either previous Santa’s a viable suspect, then,” I said. “Even knocking Doleson off wouldn’t get back their jobs.”
“No,” Michael said. “After today, I think your father has a lock on the job for next year, if he wants it.”
“He’d love it,” I said. “I hope someone got a few pictures of him.”
“Werzel’s photographer did. Which reminds me—I’ve got your camera in my pocket. Had to find someone to burn Werzel’s pictures on a CD before he’d give it up, but I figured if we let him go back to D.C. with it we’d never see it again.”
“Has he gone back to D.C.?” In front of Michael, I didn’t have to disguise my eagerness.
“No idea,” he said. “Let’s hope so.”
As we pulled in, I saw almost no cars around the house. The few left belonged to relatives who were over at Mother and Dad’s farm having an enormous potluck supper. Even the police had gone, though they’d left a padlock on the pig shed door and several miles of yellow crime scene tape wound around it. Given the snow drifts and the arctic cold, I didn’t think too many people would drive by to see the crime scene tape, but doubtless it made the chief happy to know it was there.
We went in through the kitchen, to avoid tracking too much snow and mud into the front hall, and I noted with delight that someone—probably Horace—had tidied the kitchen back to normal. Possibly cleaner than normal, if Horace had been involved. Ever since he’d become a crime scene technician, he didn’t consider a room clean if he could find any trace evidence in it.
“Nice,” Michael said. “Let’s see what your mother’s minions have accomplished in the rest of the house.”