I glared at Heathcliff. “I can’t believe you. You know what this tree meant to Quoth, but all you care about is your sodding alcohol. You really are behaving like a Christmas Grinch—”
The shop bell tinkled, cutting me off mid-tirade. Heathcliff’s mouth set in a firm line as we stared each other down in stony silence. A moment later, DS Wilson appeared in the doorway, a tentative smile on her face and a wrapped gift in her hands. We hadn’t always had the best relationship, what with her constantly being called to investigate murders at the shop. But she was nice enough, and she was also passionate about helping animals – she volunteered at the local cat sanctuary in her spare time.
“Hi, Mina, Heathcliff, James. I just came to leave a present for the charity tree. I think it’s really wonderful what you’re doing—hey, where’s the tree?” DS Wilson glanced around the room, her eyes narrowing on Heathcliff and I. “It was here yesterday. I saw it from the street coming back from quiz night.”
“Someone stole it!” I crouched down, squinting at the empty space where the tree had been, hoping to come across a clue. “Can you call Inspector Haynes? I know Jo’s visiting her family, but we need a SOCO team over here to do a full sweep of the area. There’s got to be some clues…”
“Ms. Wilde, you’re not a detective.” DS Wilson switched into cop mode. “You’re not even a police officer, so please don’t give me orders. Inspector Hayes is away in the Lake District for the holidays. Even if he were here, I wouldn’t call him because he works homicide.” DS Wilson pulled out her phone and started texting. “I’ll try to pull in Inspector Drudge, not that it’s even necessary. This is an open-and-shut case.”
“It is?” Morrie leaned forward, his criminal mind tickled with the possibilities. “Let me guess, you have a serial tree robber working in the area? Perhaps an ex-forestry worker who lost his job when they turned that section of King’s Copse wood into the Christmas tree farm…”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” DS Wilson put her hands on her hips and glared at Heathcliff. “Mr. Earnshaw has been sniping all over the village about the holiday season and the presence of the charity tree in this shop. Only yesterday, he yelled at a room full of customers and visitors that he hated the tree and Christmas.”
“How do you know that?” I didn’t remember DS Wilson being in the shop at the time, and I hated to see her accuse Heathcliff again.
“It was all anyone could talk about at the pub,” DS Wilson glared at Heathcliff. “Which was where you were last night, drinking yourself into a rage. No one would have you on their quiz team because they were so disgusted by your remarks. Then you ran off with your prize before we’d even had the chance to take your picture in the novelty Santa hat – a town tradition that dates back to the Victorian era! Richard said you wouldn’t be allowed at any more quiz nights – that’s how much you’ve offended everyone in the village, you… you Christmas Grinch!”
Heathcliff remained bone still. He glared up at DS Wilson, his dark eyes daring her to say more. I stepped in front of him and folded my arms. “You can’t just accuse Heathcliff without—”
“As an eyewitness, I’m just telling you what I saw. At one point, your boyfriend pounded his fist into a table so hard he cracked the wood. It’s obvious he drank himself into a villainous mood, came here, destroyed the tree, then hid it to try and make it look like a burglary.”
“What a bloody stupid theory,” Heathcliff retorted. “That tree was twelve feet high. Where do you suppose I hid it? Up my arseho—”
I cut him off. “I really don’t think Heathcliff is responsible. Isn’t it better to approach any crime with no preconceived idea about the perpetrator?”
“That’s the idea. But when all the circumstantial evidence points at one suspect…” DS Wilson tapped her phone. “Inspector Drudge has asked me to make an assessment of the scene on his behalf. I need a statement from all of you. Mina, when did you last see the tree?”
“It was here when I locked up the shop, about 6PM. I didn’t come downstairs again until just now. I was in the attic with my boyfriends…” I looked around for Quoth and found him sitting on the door in his bird form. “Er, yes. I mean, in the attic with Morrie. The other flatmate, Allen, is away visiting his family.”
“She’s my alibi,” Morrie grinned. “And I’m hers. I alibied her hard and without protection—”
“Yes, I get the idea.” DS Wilson groaned. “And the two of you didn’t hear anything?” She whipped her gaze from me to Morrie, struggling to keep the salacious questions out of her eyes. I never explicitly told her I was dating all the guys, but I’d never hid the truth, either. I figured in her job she’d probably seen all kinds. She desperately wanted to ask, and I admit I kind of wanted to tell her, but also, I think we both understood it was better if Argleton didn’t know about my harem just yet.
“We heard the usual thuds and groans of this old building settling—oh, and I heard the bells on the door tinkle,” I remembered. “I assumed it was Heathcliff coming home from the pub.”
“What time was that?”
“I didn’t look at a clock, but somewhere between 10:30 and 11PM?”
DS Wilson turned to Heathcliff. “Can you confirm the time you arrived home?”
Heathcliff shrugged. “Dunno. Wasn’t exactly on a schedule.”
I elbowed him in the ribs.You could at least try to help yourself.“The pub shuts at 11PM on quiz nights. Had the landlord called time?”
Heathcliff nodded. DS Wilson scribbled notes.
“And the tree was still here when you arrived home?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly…” Heathcliff grabbed his sleeve. “Yes, it bloody well was! I was trying to get to my desk, to… to… pour another drink, and I crashed into the blasted thing and knocked it over onto the table. I was too drunk, so I figured I’d right it in the morning. Look, it shed needles all over my coat.”
I had to lean in close to see the needles stuck to the fabric, but there they were, running along the inside of his arm, like he’d given the tree a hug.
I wonder if that’s how the bauble ended up in the hallway upstairs, too.
DS Wilson looked unconvinced. “All that proves is you were the last person to handle the tree. Lift up your feet. Let’s see the soles of your boots.”
Grumbling under his breath, Heathcliff complied. DS Wilson leaned in and I stooped down to peer at his boots. Sure enough, the soles were caked with dried mud and needles.
