Candy Canes & Corpses

  CANDY CANES &

  CORPSES

  A Cozy Christmas Boxed Set

  Short Stories by:

  Abby L. Vandiver

  Sonia Parin

  Tonya Kappes

  Jenna St. James

  Constance Barker

  Mona Marple

  Sylvia & Leigh Selfman

  Ani Gonzalez

  Zanna Mackenie

  Tricia L. Sanders

  Full Length Novels by:

  Dianne Harman

  Kathryn Dionne

  Table of Contents

  A Christmas Present by Abby L. Vandiver

  Yuletide Murder by Sonia Parin

  The Candy Cane Killer by Mona Marple

  A arming Blend by Tonya Kappes

  Christmas Parties are Murder by Jenna St. James

  The Candy Cane Killer by Constance Barker

  The Case of the Felonious Feline by Leigh Selfman & Sylvia Selfman

  Christmas, Chaos & Second Chances by Zanna Mackenzie

  The Mystery of the Holiday Cards by Ani Gonzales

  Merry Little Murder Eve by Tricia L. Sanders

  Murder in Rhyme by Kathryn Dionne

  Murder After Midnight by Dianne Harman

  A Christmas Present by Abby L. Vandiver

  A CHRISTMAS PRESENT

  by Abby L. Vandiver

  A Christmas Present Copyright © 2018 by Shondra C.

  Longino

  All Rights Reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any portion whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  A Christmas Present is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. All other events and characters are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Chapter One

  They found his body at the old paper mill. Half covered with the new fallen snow, it might not have been seen for a good while if it hadn’t been for that old scraggly golden retriever of his. That dog stayed put, standing guard until someone found his beloved owner.

  I learned about the murder in a phone call.

  “Lynley,” Bobbi’s voice was shaky. I had been decorating the tree, stopping to answer the phone, I turned down the iPod playing Mariah Carey’s album, Merry Christmas.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, the tone of her voice making a knot form in my throat.

  “It’s Joe,” she said, I heard the threat of tears in her words even through the phone. “He’s been arrested for Old Man Greely’s murder.”

  That’s when she told me what happened and where he’d been found. According to her, poor Mr. Greely hadn’t been dead more than a couple of hours, and already the sheriff had an arrest. She said it made her wonder if the sheriff wasn’t jumping to conclusions too quickly just because an election was coming up and Joe was running against him.

  It made me wonder the same thing.

  Macklin Greely was just as straggly as his old dog. His long, mostly gray hair often fell over into his face, and he rarely took the small effort to brush it away. It was the same carelessness he exhibited in most things he did. The long-time residents of Walnut Ridge said he’d only arrived a year or two before I came, but no one in the tight-knit community knew much about him other than he didn’t mend his fences, didn’t take often to bathing, and loved his fuzz-ridden navy pea coat and his dog, Bean. Both were his constant companions.

  We were all neighbors. Bobbi and Joe Lanese. Old Man Greely and me. My property sat in the middle and we were separated on each side by only a couple hundred yards.

  “Can you pick up Aja?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, wondering how me getting her black and white border collie could help her with what seemed like dire straits. “You want me to bring her home with me?”

  “Joe was out walking her when they picked him up. They took her to . . .” Not answering my question, she couldn’t even finish her sentence.

  “Where is she, Bobbi? I’ll be happy to pick her up.”

  “She’s at the dog pound.” Her words came out in sobs. “They took her, put her in a cage just like they did Joe.”

  “Oh, Bobbi,” I said, an ache growing in my heart for her. “Don’t you worry about her. I’ll get Aja and bring her back here with me and Mopsy.”

  “Can you?” she said, relief in her voice. “I’ve got to go and drive up to Albany and see about getting a lawyer for Joe.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help.”

  We had a lawyer in Walnut Ridge. He was as old as his law book and just as convoluted. He slept his way through trials and never filed the right paperwork the first time. An Albany lawyer was Joe’s only chance.

  There was silence between us for a moment. I didn’t want to end the call if there was more she needed to say. But nothing came from her.

  “Where’s Andy?” I asked, trying to help her flesh out what needed to be done. I glanced up at the clock and realized he was probably where any sixteen-year old was at that time of day.

  “At school,” she said. “But he should be home soon. I had forgotten about that.” I heard her clear her throat. I guess, realizing that was just one more worry for her.

  “You want me to get him, too?” I asked.

  “No.” She sniffed back her tears. “You know what? You can take Aja to him. After you pick her up. He should be home by then. They can be company for each other until we . . . I . . . Until I can get back. I don’t know when that’ll be, though.”

  “I got you on this end,” I said. Albany was nearly a two-hour drive, but it was the closest “big city.” We both knew she’d need a big city lawyer to help Joe with such a serious case. “Don’t you worry none. I’ll see to Aja and Andy.”

  “Thank you,” Bobbi said. “I hope arranging everything for Joe will be this easy.” Her sobs starting back up. “I-I don’t know what I’d do if they . . .”

  “Nothing is going to happen to Joe,” I assured her. “He didn’t do anything. I know that and so does the sheriff.”

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, not commenting on my reassurances. “This snow might make it slow.”

  I glanced out the window and saw that the snow had slowed down. Only a few flakes were fluttering from the skies.

  “Okay,” I said. “Call me and keep me updated.”

  “I will,” she promised. “And thanks again.”

  I clicked the phone off and closed my eyes sending good thoughts and a small prayer up for her.

  Bobbi and I had become fast friends when I moved in. The only blacks in our township, we had a lot in common. We’d both had been widowed young, although it wasn’t long before she found love again with Joe Lanese.

  As for me, I bought a dog and tried to make a new life for myself. Loneliness still often haunted me, and I looked at the two of them—happy and obvious soulmates—and wondered why a second chance at love eluded me after the death of my husband.

  Still I found comfort in small things. I truly enjoyed the friendship I had formed with Bobbi Lanese. To look at us, we were like night and day. She was dark skinned and heavy set. I was light, had an athletic build that I had been neglecting as of late to keep in shape. Her black hair was a bit longer than my black naturally curly hair, but the two of us were fond of ponytails.

  Our similarities didn’t stop there. We both loved a good game of chess, a good red wine and Christmas. Our love of the holiday bordered on fanatical, she’d bake cookies all the way through the days following Thanksgiving up until Christmas Eve, although all her baking didn’t measure up to the extent I’d
taken it. I bought a Christmas tree farm.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I yelled for Mopsy. I pulled a coat from the hall closet, yanked on a hat and scarf from off the shelf and donned a pair of gloves I pulled out of my parka pocket. I grabbed my purse and keys from the console table that sat near the front door.

  “C’mon, girl,” I yelled for her again. “We’ve got to go and get Aja.”

  My big Komondor came barreling around the corner, her funny-looking abundance of white cords flapping as she bounded toward me. “Aja’s in trouble,” I said and stooped down to her eye level. I gave her a scratch behind the ear and rustled her hair, it was so long it nearly touched the floor. “She and Bobbi need us.”

  Mopsy let out a bark.

  “Okay, then,” I said with a nod and stood up. “Let’s go.”

  We went out the front door, our feet and paws sinking into the soft blanket of snow that topped the steps. I paused halfway down and glanced back. People on the ridge never locked their door, but just the thought of Mr. Greely being murdered made me nervous and a little more cautious.

  “Hold on, Mops,” I said, my warm breath coming out in a cloud. I turned and headed back up the steps. I had to try a couple of keys on my ring before I got the right one. I hadn’t locked it in so long, I’d forgotten which one fit the door.

  Town was usually about a twenty-minute drive from my farm, but I couldn’t be sure how clear the roads would be. There weren’t many people that lived up as high as me and my neighbors did on the ridge so salt trucks were sometimes slow coming. Most of the four-hundred plus population lived in the valley.

  I turned over the ignition to warm up my 1975, red Ford Bronco while me and Mopsy dusted the snow off the car. Once finished, I opened the car door and pulled back the driver’s seat so Mopsy could climb into the back of the truck. I cranked up the heat, turned up the radio and found a station playing Christmas music. It didn’t take me longer than fifteen minutes to pull out of my asphalt drive and onto the road that led into town after Bobbi’s call.

  Strong, healthy trees lined the curved, undulating single lane road that was cut through the mountain side. The land was covered an over-abundance of foliage that covered the ridge. Everywhere, that is, except on my land.

  I clicked the windshield wiper. And this morning, just like Old Man Greely had been, everything on the ridge was covered with fresh, glistening snow.

  Roads weren’t half as bad as I thought they would be and getting into town didn’t take long, but the closer I got the more anxious I felt. Not for me, but for Bobbi.

  Her son, Andy, had been a baby when her first husband died. She told me she had struggled, even considering letting her parents raise her small son because she couldn’t afford to do it. But then Joe came along. An Italian-American, he’d been a hot shot lawyer in New York and made a fortune. But you wouldn’t know it. He was the most down-to-earth person I’d ever met.

  He’d met Bobbi on her job at the coffee shop down the street from his office and was smitten at first sight. They didn’t date more than a year before he popped the question. He hadn’t been anything but a loving husband and doting father ever since I’d known him.

  I turned off the paved road onto the brick main street of town. City Hall were still putting up the lights and holly on the old-fashioned lampposts that lined the sidewalk. The Christmas tree lighting ceremony was only a week away. They were making sure the town streets looked festive for the event.

  The storefront windows along Park Street were being decorated with snowflakes, lights and garland. Usually I’d smile at the decorations going up, but the happenings of the morning were blocking any of the Christmas joy surrounding me from seeping in.

  I pulled up in front of the kennel. The two-story, red brick building sat on the end of Park Street, the main thoroughfare in Walnut Ridge.

  The street housed most of the businesses in town. There was a diner, a general store, and a bank. Law, doctor, and dental offices sat next to our only government building, Town Hall, which housed offices of elected officials, the postal service, the sheriff and the jail. I glanced over at the latter when I stepped out of the car. I was sure it was where Joe Lanese was being held.

  “C’mon, Mopsy,” I said and pulled the seat forward. “Let’s go get Aja.”

  I only wished it could be that easy in getting Joe home.

  Chapter Two

  I stomped the snow off my feet as I entered the door, pulled my woolen hat off, unwrapped my scarf and stuffed my gloves in my pocket.

  I blew out a breath. It might not have been much snow, but it was cold out.

  The kennel also served as a vet’s office and a groomer housed on the first floor. The kennel slash boarding house was on the second floor. It served as the pound for dogs waiting to be adopted, a “hotel” for owners needing over-night accommodations for their pets and even offered doggie day care.

  “Hi Lynley,” the counter clerk greeted me. “Hey, Mopsy.” He came around the counter and stooped down, rubbing her around the head and ears.

  “Hi Matt,” I said.

  Matthew Conway was the keeper of the keys. He ran the kennels and took care of the dogs that were boarded there when their owners were away or needed a sitter. He was all knees and elbows. His face covered in red blotches, he always wore sneakers and a large diver’s watch on his thin wrist.

  “Good to see you.” He looked up at me. “It’s almost Christmas,” he said, a big grin on his face. “You all ready?”

  “As ready as I can be with no trees,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said, his grin fading. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s okay, Matt,” I laughed to try to ease the tenseness of the moment. “I’m probably the only Christmas tree farm that can’t grow trees.”

  The watershed that irrigated my land, the same that ran down alongside the paper mill where Macklin Greely was found, was alkaline. Too alkaline to grow a grove a trees. Something I didn’t find out until months after I closed on the property.

  My brushing his comment aside brought a smile back to his face.

  “Did you bring in Mopsy for a grooming,” Matt asked.

  “No,” I said. “I came to pick up Aja for the Lanese’s.

  “Oh,” he said and glanced toward the back where the kennels were. “I’m not sure I can let her go.”

  “Why?” I said and furrowed my brow.

  “I think she’s evidence,” he said.

  “Evidence?”

  “I mean she was there when it happened.”

  “When what happened?” I asked. I knew full well what he was talking about, but his reasoning didn’t make sense and it seemed more like he was taking sides rather than believing that Aja could be of any help with a murder investigation.

  “You know,” he said. “She was with Mr. Lanese when he . . .”

  “Killed Old Man Greely?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Oh, I hadn’t heard that they already had the trial and convicted him,” I said.

  He bowed his head, acknowledging the sarcasm in my statement, and conceding his jumping to conclusions. “It’s just that the sheriff told me about the argument that he had with Old Man Greely.”

  “Argument?” I repeated. That seemed unusual. Joe was the most even-tempered guy I knew. “When did they have an argument?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I heard they had one about the dogs.”

  “Who told you that?” I asked. He was spoon feeding me information, which was odd, since he was the one who had started with the gossiping in the first place. “That it was about the dogs?”

  “The sheriff.”

  I puffed up my cheeks then blew out the air.

  “Old Man Greely said something to Joe about Aja.”

  “So?”

  “So it made Joe mad. You know how he loves that dog of theirs.”

  “Greely said something bad enough to make Joe kill him?”

  “That’s what the Sheriff sa
id,” he said. He seemed to be getting a little impatient, me asking him questions. “Killed him with that shotgun that he keeps in the back of his truck.”

  “Nearly everyone around here keeps a rifle in the back of their truck,” I said. “Did they do a ballistic test on it?”

  Matt hunched his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Then how does the Sheriff know that it was Joe’s gun.”

  “Mr. Lanese was walking out by Whistling Creek. Just a few yards from where the body was found.”

  I said it again. “So?”

  “So no one else was around, it had to be Mr. Lanese who killed him.”

  “How does he know no one else was around?” I said. “There’s a lot of land up there. Lots of places someone could have gotten to.”

  “Mr. Lanese was the only one up there, the sheriff told me,” he said.

  Hearsay . . .

  I scrunched up my face, not commenting on what he said the sheriff told him. “When did you start calling Joe Mr. Lanese?”

  “I-I . . . you know . . . It’s not that . . .”

  “And when did you hear him say that?” I asked.

  “When he brought the dogs in.”

  “The dogs?”

  “Yeah. He brought in Aja and Bean.”

  “Mr. Greely’s dog is here?”

  “Yes. He told me that we’d probably have to put her down.”

  “Who?”

  “Bean.”

  “No, who told you to put her down?”

  “The sheriff,” Matt said. “He figured no one would want her. You know she’s old and he didn’t take such good care of her. I don’t think he ever brought her in for grooming.”

  “Mr. Greely took good care of his dog,” I said. “And I want her.” The thought just jumped in my head. I didn’t like any of the things Matt was saying, and was ready to let that sheriff have a piece of my mind not only about how he was conducting his investigation, but about how he was gossiping and trying to turn public opinion against Joe without giving the man a chance to defend himself.