Chapter 11
Since I hoped Hoyt was still off nursing his wounds, I headed to the Forrest Bait and Tackle Shop, which was around Lilac Lake, beyond the Clumsy Penguin, marina, and an out-of-business spa. Since I’d had a small hand in putting the spa out of business, I couldn’t exactly complain. Hopefully somebody would buy the building and start an inexpensive massage service.
I really needed a massage. The knots on my neck had their own knots.
The lake road had been recently plowed with a nice gravel dumping to follow, and my tires spit up the gravel, no doubt scratching parts of Tessa’s Nissan Rogue. Her SUV was several years old but well-kept, although sometimes I figured she’d bought it for the name. Smiling to myself, I took a wide turn and then drove into the parking area for the store.
Quaint white-painted and weathered boards made up the exterior of Forrest’s Bait and Tackle Shop, which had been built across the road from a public boat ramp for the lake. While the location was a prime property these days, decades ago, it had been in the middle of nowhere.
Old Man Forrest, Lawrence’s grandfather, had been a visionary. Or maybe he’d just gotten the land for cheap. Who knew?
The parking area had been plowed, and large snow berms bracketed the lot on either side. Christmas lights twinkled along the eves in a bright blue color, and dancing reindeer had been painted on the wide windows. A sign listed the holiday hours with a note that the shop would close after New Year’s until spring.
How many people did their holiday shopping at a bait and tackle shop? Did Aiden fish?
I stepped out of Tessa’s white Rogue and walked through the door. The smell of driftwood wafted around me, along with the muted sounds of Christmas music playing from a speaker on the glass counter to the right. The store held flannels, fishing equipment, hunting equipment, and other odds and ends, including several wildlife figurines. By the far window facing the icy lake perched a table displaying western jewelry along with baubles made of ash from the Mt. Saint Helen’s eruption decades ago.
A woman emerged from a room behind the counter. “Hi. Can I help you?” She looked to be in her mid-thirties with light brown hair streaked with green, darker brown eyes, and a curvy figure.
I looked around. “I’m not sure.” The place appeared to be well-stocked. How could I get a copy of their financials? Did Hoyt need money? Even if he wasn’t destitute, his father had left millions of dollars to other beneficiaries. Millions Hoyt had apparently known about, whereas Florence had not. She’d thought Lawrence had spent his entire fortune on her ring—yet another reason I didn’t think she’d killed him.
Did she even have the strength to kill a man with a knife? I doubted it. “I’m looking for a couple of things. First, I need a present for my boyfriend. Second, I have an uncle who’s interested in buying a bait and tackle shop. He’s from Minnesota and wants to move closer to family. Is there any chance you’d want to sell?” I was so full of it.
She tapped a bunch of stamped notebooks into place on the counter. “I don’t own the place, but I’m pretty sure Hoyt doesn’t want to sell. I’ve worked for the family since I was a teenager, and they do a pretty decent business, and they get to go fishing all summer.”
“Oh.” I ran a finger along a red flannel. Did Aiden like flannel? “So it’s a family business. That’s nice.”
She sobered. “Well, it was nice, but the main owner just died, so we’re all pretty sad.” Her eyes widened. “He was such a great guy, and he was murdered.”
I turned fully to face her and let my eyebrows rise. “Murdered? Not the Santa who was killed.”
She nodded. “Yeah. He was stabbed after playing poker. Can you believe it? Who would stab Santa?”
I took an extra-large black flannel off the rack, figuring I should at least buy something. “Do you have any idea who would’ve killed him?”
She took the shirt and twisted off part of the tag. “No. It’s just crazy, right? Lawrence was the nicest guy in the world, and he spent extra time pretending to be Santa for anybody who needed holiday cheer. He was going to get married this summer, too. It’s all so sad.”
I reached in my bag for my wallet. “That’s devastating. Do they think the fiancée is a suspect?” I opened my eyes wide and lowered my voice in the tone of a true gossip.
She leaned toward me. “No, but the fiancée’s ex-husband threatened to kill Lawrence last week right here in the store.” She rang up the sale and pursed her lips. “I might be a witness in a trial. Can you believe it?”
I should’ve looked at the price but just handed over a credit card. How much credit did I have on that card? “A witness? No. Wow. What happened?”
She looked around the store, but nobody was shopping at the moment. “It was wild. Lawrence was reorganizing the hunting knives over in the corner, and this Bernie guy comes running in, yelling something about Kringles and marriage and, this is weird, but lures.”
I frowned. “Like fishing lures?”
She shrugged, running my card through the reader. “I guess. He kept yelling that they had a deal, and how dare Lawrence back out, and that he was going to regret it. I couldn’t quite catch everything he was saying, but then he told Lawrence he was going to kill him if he didn’t stop it.”
“Stop what?” I asked. Was Bernie so furious because Lawrence was just working outside of the group, or was it the engagement that had him seeing red?
“Dunno.” She handed over the receipt for me to sign. “I hope your boyfriend likes the flannel. You guys just started dating, huh?”
I signed. “Kind of. Is this a first dating kind of present?”
“Yeah.” She bagged the shirt and handed it over. “It’s a cool but not serious present.”
I bit my lip. That didn’t describe us. “Thanks.” Wait a minute. She’d worked for the family for years? “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Anna.” I held out my free hand.
