“No, I don’t. I think it’s exactly what you think it is, some sort of trail of clues, though I’m hesitant to say they lead to a killer. It’s probably something much more harmless. I hope it is, and I hope they tie together at some point, but right now it feels like a bunch of unconnected pieces of information.”
“What about the Realtor? How’d that go?”
“Reggie’s farm has been available to purchase for a long time, which is why Ian looked at it, I guess. But it wasn’t ‘officially’ put up for sale until Reggie died. The Realtor received instructions to put it on the market the day after Reggie’s demise. This and some other information that Vivienne dug up led me right back to Evelyn Rasmussen. Evelyn was Reggie’s beneficiary as well as the executor of his will.”
“Beneficiary? She’s getting money?”
“Yep. Twenty thousand dollars.”
“Well, that’s a good sum of money, but hardly enough to kill for, I would think, and hardly enough to say Reggie was well off.”
“Reggie was worth three million dollars.”
I choked on my hot chocolate. “What?”
“Yes, we’ve heard it was old family money. According to Reggie’s attorney, Reggie wanted to leave everything to Evelyn but she insisted on only the twenty thousand. The rest of the money will go to animal charities.”
“I’m stunned.”
“There’s more. You know your affair angle?”
“Yes.”
“I do believe Reggie is the one who had the affair,” Sam said.
“Oh! With who?”
“That I don’t know, but I sensed that Reggie wanted to leave all that money to his ex-wife because he felt guilty.”
“And the attorney confirmed this?”
“No, not confirmed, just hinted.”
“Oh, I wish I’d been there to see you work.”
“Hey, I invited you.”
“I know.”
“Hey, do you suppose we could just enjoy the rest of the evening? I mean, I’ll have to be on the alert, but it’s the Christmas parade, it’s our first year together. I’d like to look at trees, maybe bid on a couple—though I still want our own tree.”
“You mean we should just try to be a couple, no murder investigation involved?”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t mind a bit.”
The trees were amazing. My favorite had been threaded with a toy train track, a small train engine somehow quietly chugging its way around the winding track. We placed a bid on it, but there wasn’t much chance we’d win; everyone was bidding on the train tree. I overdosed on cookies and Sam overdosed on hot chocolate.
My mother managed a brief hello but she had enough to do to keep her on the move. Allison, her husband, Tom, and her son, Mathis, walked with us for as long as Mathis allowed, but the parents had to cater to Mathis’s desire to move more quickly than our relaxing pace.
The evening was perfect, and we managed to keep far away from the subject of murder and investigation. Until it was time to go home.
Though he would be over later that night, Sam walked me to my truck. I was glad he did, because I would have had to find him again quickly once I saw what was inside, sitting in the same spot I’d found the egg.
On the passenger seat was a new ornament to add to my collection.
It was the metallic goldfish. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the same one that had been on Wanda’s tree, but the mystery of who put it there was just that: a mystery.
At least this time I thought about potential fingerprints.
Nineteen
Saturday morning started way too early and with way too much excitement. But that was mostly because the evening before had ended far too late.
Sam and I hurried the ornament to Gus, our local crime scene guy who was set up to handle technologically easy crime scene things like fingerprints, and then I went home to Hobbit. Sam spent most of the rest of the night working. Though Monson was still small and the outside world didn’t intrude too much, a couple of the downtown businesses had done exactly what I’d been thinking of doing—they’d installed security cameras. Between attempting to obtain any of the footage they might have captured that included the goldfish tree, questioning parade participants and attendees, and, as he put it, “some general investigation,” Sam again went to his own home to grab a couple hours’ sleep instead of joining Hobbit and me at my farm. I was tired enough to sleep better than the night before, but I was still dragging when the phone sounded.
Since the parade was already set up and ready to welcome the world again that evening, I planned to work at Bailey’s during the day. It was typical, though, that this Saturday’s market business would be similar to yesterday’s pace—slow. I’d decided to bake a few dozen more cookies for the parade before going to Bailey’s, so I planned on getting up early, but I was awakened even earlier I’d expected.