It Came Upon a Midnight Crime: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 2.5 (a Christmas novella) Read online

  It Came Upon a Midnight Crime

  A Novella

  By Christy Barritt

  Copyright 2012 by Christy Barritt

  Published by River Heights, Kindle Edition.

  Cover design by Palko Media.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A special thanks to Kathy Applebee and Janet Musgrove for your help, support, and encouragement with this book!

  Chapter 1

  Twas the Crime Before Christmas

  “I clean up blood and guts. Not plastic dead people,” I mumbled into the phone as I bounced down the highway in my van.

  “Please, Gabby.” Pastor Shaggy’s voice cracked in earnest. “Could you just swing by and take a look? The lady is down on her luck. She hurt her foot and can barely walk. She could really use a hand. I’d help her myself, but I have meetings lined up all day.”

  The last thing I needed was to do a job for free—especially since I had bills piling up. But how could I say no to a man of God? Would lightning strike me if I did? Or perhaps plagues would descend my apartment or I’d be swallowed by a big fish and remain in his belly until I changed my mind? I couldn’t be sure. Pastor Shaggy had been there for me before, like when I needed someone to do a eulogy for a reclusive stranger with no family. I couldn’t say that about very many people.

  I tapped my finger on the steering wheel, considering my options. “Fine, but only because I’m just down the road. Otherwise, I’d say no because my schedule is entirely too packed.”

  If only that were true. I was practically begging people to give me jobs so I could pay my bills. Usually, Christmastime was hopping with jobs for my crime scene cleaning business. Crooks must be in the holiday spirit this year and trying to make it onto Santa’s “Nice” list.

  “You’re the best, Gabby. Super awesome.”

  “I know.” I smiled, hung up and tossed my phone into my purse beside me.

  “What was that about?” Chad, my business partner, pulled off one of his candy cane striped socks and examined a hangnail. Gross. But that was Chad for you. He was cute if you liked the surfer type who delighted in toe jam.

  “I’ll let you see firsthand.”

  We pulled up to the crime scene, which was really a Cape Cod house located in an older neighborhood with more spacious yards than most. A huge life-sized nativity had once been set up, based on what I saw now, all across the front yard. A police car, an unmarked sedan, and a practical compact were in the driveway.

  A practical compact? If I looked inside, I bet I’d find the floorboards absent of even a blade of dried grass or a gum wrapper. Was that Riley’s car? What was he doing here?

  My throat burned as I got out of my unmarked white van with the jostling cleaning equipment in the back. My feet crunched across the dry grass until I reached the hoard of people gathered around a homemade nativity. Sure enough, there beside Pastor Shaggy was Riley Thomas, a man with a heart that even Mother Teresa would admire—except when it came to dating.

  I marched up to Riley and put my hands on my hips, trying to ease into the confusion.

  “What are you doing here?” Yep, I had a way with words. I had a way with blurting them out like a redneck spit tobacco. Luckily, my friends still loved me.

  Riley, an attorney who was also known as Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, looked down at me, those baby blue eyes as perceptive and warm as ever. “Good to see you too, Gabby.”

  I pushed a red curl out of my face before staring him in the eye. “Fill me in.”

  He nodded toward the distance. “The owner of this house makes life-sized nativity figures out of chicken wire. She adds to her collection every year, and a lot of locals make it a point to drive out here and look at them annually. Last night, someone ran over the figures. Best we can tell, they’re all flattened.”

  I looked in the background and saw a thin middle-aged Asian woman hobbling painfully on crutches with tears—and gobs of mascara—running down her face. All of that hard work destroyed. I’d cry, too.

  All of the life-size figures were now on the ground, almost reminding me of a police reconstruction scene of a shooting. I closed my eyes for a moment and visualized what the scene must have looked like before being demolished. There were clothes, wigs, hay bales, and various other items scattered all over the yard.

  I stared back at Riley. “And you’re here why?”

  “I’ve been consulting with the pastor just in case someone wants to go the legal route. We’re not there yet, but we’re trying to be diligent.”

  “The legal route?” I looked around me. This was a prank, if anything. I didn’t see the dismembered Mary and Joseph needing a lawyer so they could head to court any time soon.

  “Someone’s trying to get a very specific point across. In return, some of these victims could press charges in an effort to send a proactive message that this is not acceptable. We think these vandalisms tie in with a couple of other cases I’m involved with right now.”

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I can’t argue with that.” My gaze scanned the area as a brisk wind swept over the lawn. The skin on my face tightened. “Anything else strange about the scene?”

  “We’re still looking at everything.” Detective Adams appeared, his hair disheveled and his eyes sagging like he’d been working too much. The man was in his fifties, stocky and bald, and about as much of a fixture around the Norfolk P.D. as police car sirens. “Ms. St. Claire. Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  “I’m going to help clean the scene as soon as it’s released.”

  Riley stepped forward. “And that’s where her involvement ends.”

  My eyebrows came together as I scowled. “Pastor Shaggy called me here to help.” I pointed across the yard to the pastor. His name wasn’t really Shaggy, but he looked just like the character from the Scooby Doo cartoon. He was lanky and tall with a scraggly voice, but man could he ever preach a mean sermon.

  “To help clean up,” Riley clarified.

  Before I had time to argue, Chad yelled from across the yard. “Guys, you might want to see this.” He squatted by one of the figures lying in the grass. Joseph maybe? It was hard to tell.

  We all circled around him as he stared down at the figure’s face. His expression held a twist of excitement and dread when he looked up at us. He pointed with a stick to Joseph’s head. “This is hair.”

  “We can see that.” Detective Adams twisted his lips in annoyance.

  Chad shook his head. “No, this is human hair. The scalp is still attached.”

  Chapter 2

  The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

  “Why would someone leave human hair? Did they murder someone?” It didn’t matter that I worked crime scenes for a living. The idea of murder still made my blood go Frosty-the-Snowman cold.

  Chad would know about human hair and the like. He was a mortician before deciding life was too short to do a job you hated. He took up giving ski lessons and being a whitewater rafting guide for a while. Then he came to Virginia Beach to surf and to start a crime scene cleaning business. We’d been rivals for a while before we decided we were stronger if we worked together.

  So far, so good. Our partnership had only been intact for a couple
of months now. It did feel good to have someone help to carry the workload. It didn’t feel good to have to split my paycheck.

  Suddenly, Detective Adams seemed interested—way interested—in this case. That’s right. The criminal had just proven they weren’t wearing kid gloves. No, this was the real deal. “This investigation has just ratcheted up a few notches,” Detective Adams mumbled as he kneeled beside the flattened figure.

  Riley looked at me, concern filling his eyes. “You need to stay away from this, Gabby.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d mentioned that a few times already. “Why?”

  “Because, as always, danger seems to be following you. Ten minutes ago, this whole case just seemed like someone trying to make a statement about Christmas. Now it’s about murder, and I don’t think you should be involved. I just want to state that for the record.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You say that a lot. You almost get killed a lot, also.”

  “Almost is the key word there. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Despite the lightheartedness of my words, I knew I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for my friends. They’d gotten me out of more than one deep-fried pickle before.

  “I just want you to be careful.”

  Aw, Riley did care about me, didn’t he? No, I couldn’t think like that. Thinking like that made me weak. I was not one of those women who waited around for a man to come to his senses and date her. Riley had his chance, and he blew it.

  Would someone please tell my heart the news?

  I raised my hand in a pledge. “I will use the utmost caution and reason.”

  I couldn’t stop the gleam from sparkling in my eyes. Before Riley could respond, I strode across the lawn toward the woman who owned the house. Sure enough, her foot was in a cast, which would make it more difficult to clean up this mess. My question was: Was her injury related to this case?

  I extended my hand. “I’m Gabby St. Claire and I’m a crime scene—” I ran my hand over my mouth as I finished, “—cleaner.”

  Her hand continued to cover her mouth as she stared at the destruction around her. “I’m Arlene Matthews.”

  “Any idea why someone would do this?” I asked.

  She sniffled. “No idea. It’s just senseless.”

  “What if it’s not? Did you make anyone angry?”

  “No, no one.” Her voice cracked as a new round of tears began.

  “Are you sure?” She was my first and only lead as of now, so her noncommittal answers would not work.

  She fluttered her hand in the air. “Look, the only person I can remotely think of that I’ve had an argument with was that woman from the costume shop.”

  “What costume shop?” Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Chadwick’s on 21st.”

  “What happened?”

  “I tried to return one of the outfits I bought because it didn’t work for my nativity figure. She came up with this crazy excuse as to why I couldn’t get my money back. She’s a Scrooge, I tell you. I threatened to report her to the Better Business Bureau and to call the local TV stations and tell them how horrible she was. I wouldn’t have really done it, but I just wanted my money back. That costume was over one-hundred dollars!” She shook her head. “That lady was nasty, but I don’t think she would have done this.”

  Interesting. I stored that information away in the back of my mind before pointing to her foot. “What happened?”

  “Just a little fall from my front porch. Someone left these little plastic balls—they were so small they looked like salt pellets almost—all over my steps. I didn’t see them in time.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Just a couple of days ago. Right after I set up my nativity scene, for that matter.”

  I nodded, taking mental notes, when from across the lawn I spotted Detective Adams storming toward me. I scooted out of the way before I got an earful, promising to come back and clean up for her when the scene was cleared.

  I hurried back toward my van. As I walked, something wedged into a garden of azaleas caught my eye. I picked up a piece of paper and carefully unfolded it.

  Handwritten words stared back at me.

  The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year.

  My heart raced.

  It looked like I’d just found another clue.

  ***

  The next day, a new excitement fluttered through me, and it wasn’t just because I’d already downed four cups of coffee.

  Last night, I’d hung around the crime scene for as long as I could, despite the fact that Detective Adams and Riley had tried numerous times to shoo me away. Nothing else had been discovered at Arlene’s house, but now I had this insatiable curiosity and determination to figure out what had happened.

  Someone had to help that poor woman who’d made the Holy Family out of chicken wire. Why not me? The scalp and the note had been the clincher. What kind of sick, twisted person would do something like that? Were they trying to send a message? Or did this go deeper—like, serial killer deeper?

  I stood at my apartment door, listening to everything happening on the other side. I lived in an old Victorian that had been divided up into five little dwellings. Riley lived across the hall from me.

  My ears perked when I heard his door opening.

  Quickly, I grabbed my coat and rushed out to the second-floor landing, trying in vain to look casual. Riley’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw me. “Gabby. You’re up early.”

  I matched his stride as he went down the stairs. “Where are you going?”

  “Why would you ask?”

  I shrugged, trying to look innocent. “Did something else happen?”

  “What are you talking about?” His voice was maddeningly calm and even.

  I grabbed his arm. “You know what I’m talking about. I know you and the pastor have started this campaign to save Christmas, so anything that happens around town that’s Christmas related—or anti-Christmas related—you’re going to be there.”

  He frowned. “You’re too smart for your own good sometimes, Gabby.”

  I nearly squealed. “So I’m right! What happened?”

  He started walking again, letting out a little sigh as he did so. “I really don’t think you should get involved. This is more than just some little pranks, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  I didn’t want to resort to whining. I really didn’t. But . . . “Oh, come on. I don’t have anything better to do. And this is good experience. I’m going to be a forensic investigator one day. What better way to learn the ropes than to investigate on my own?”

  He stared at me another moment before finally nodding. “Come on. But, for the record, I don’t approve.”

  “And for the record, I hear you.”

  As I climbed into his car, I picked up a flyer that had been left on the front seat. The front read, Operation: Save Christmas. Pastor Shaggy had come up with a plan to revitalize the true meaning of Christmas throughout the area of Norfolk, Virginia. It consisted of several events around the city, like a Living Christmas Tree, that would keep the holidays focused on Jesus. I was sure Pastor Shaggy hoped it would eventually go viral and sweep the nation.

  I was just coming to grips with this whole religion thing myself and I supposed the idea of “saving Christmas” sounded quaint and idealistic enough. I mean, was I totally on board? No. My science-loving self was way too analytical to accept that Jesus—the supposed Savior of the world—was born of a virgin and that he later conquered death in order to bring the human race life. But let people believe what they were going to believe. Let them hold onto the warmth and coziness of imagining angels singing “The First Noel” while a star lit the path for wise men and shepherds. The story had its appeal, as did Greek mythology for that matter. I had to admit that I liked the idea of someone giving their life for me—like Jesus supposedly did on the cross. I certainly couldn’t imagine anyone actually doing that. Not for me, at least. Yet, Riley was smart and h
e believed in all of it. So what was my hang-up?

  Ten minutes later, we were standing outside an historic church in Norfolk, Virginia. It was located in the heart of the bustling little downtown area and right across the street from My Dung, a cheap Chinese restaurant that made my stomach growl for some General Tso’s chicken. The church grounds had once displayed what some might call a “handsome” nativity scene, but someone had put a quick end to that holiday marker by using some type of explosive device. Mary was now in the cemetery, Joseph had been blown to shreds, and Jesus was nowhere to be found.

  I hurried toward Pastor Shaggy, pulling my coat tighter as another arctic blast swept across the lawn. “Any body parts found yet?”

  Pastor Shaggy rubbed his scruffy chin while shaking his head before kicking a melted camel’s head back toward the point of the explosion. “Not that I’ve been told.”

  “An eerie note?”

  Shaggy nodded. “The pastor told me they found a note. It said, ‘The Slaying Song.’”

  “A play on words with ‘The Sleighing Song.’” I shivered, not as much from the cold as from the cryptic message that had been left.

  Across the lawn, the CSI team bent over a wise man. I excused myself and crept closer, hoping to overhear something—anything—that might let me know what was going on.

  “Is that an ear?” I heard one of the investigators say.

  An ear? I peered a little closer. Sure enough, it looked like someone had glued a human ear to the wise man. Sick, sick, sick.

  “Ms. St. Claire!”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin as Detective Adams came into focus. I cleared my throat and raised my chin. “Detective Adams.”

  “I thought I told you not to get involved.”

  “Define ‘involved’.”

  He scowled. “You know precisely what I mean.”

  “Any missing people who might be connected with these body parts?”

  His scowl deepened. “That’s none of your business.”

  My gaze roamed behind him at the mess that church officials were just waiting for the okay to clean up. Several parishioners—I assumed that’s who they were—wandered the grounds or talked in clusters. I was pretty sure from the way they kept looking over their shoulders that they thought this was the first sign of Armageddon or, at the very least, the end of life as they knew it.