White Colander Crime by Victoria Hamilton Page B

Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” as tiny flakes still fluttered down from the inky December sky and dotted the dark cloaks of the singers. One of the men had a leather belt of jingle bells and kept time. She glanced around and saw many had stopped to listen; Brock Nibley was there with his two kids, and Ruby and Garnet Redmond were strolling arm in arm.
    She also noticed the Fretter family again. Lori was listening to the group, but Shelby and her brother were having a fierce argument in each other’s faces. She finally shrugged and turned away from him but he grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around. They continued arguing until Lori said something sharp, then all three listened to the singers for a moment. But the fight was not over, Jaymie could tell by both of the younger people’s stiffness and taut expressions.
    Jaymie set off toward the river for one last stroll and listened at the band shell to the brass chorale play “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” She threaded through the crowd, handing out pamphlets and talking about the historic home opening, answering questions about other things going on. Cody Wainwright was there. She had thought he’d still be at the tree lot, but he was likely done for the evening.
    Finally Jaymie climbed the grassy bank to the boardwalk and strolled down in the direction of the docks, stopping by a few other people just as the last of the boats were passing, their Christmassy lights blinking off, one by one. She stared out across the river to Heartbreak Island, where twinkling lights were going out, too, as the evening wound down to a close. The Leighton family cottage was one road in, hidden by the pine trees that lined the shore. It had been winterized, but she would go out one more time before Christmas to make sure everything was all right. She could just see the Ice House restaurant down the shore, but as she watched the restaurant lights went out.
    Time to take her weary bones home. She ambled back through the village, enjoying the quiet. A few stragglers, mostly young couples, strolled, enjoying the lights.
    The lights were out at Jewel’s Junk. Jewel, a vivacious redhead in her fifties, had kept the shop open for the evening but by now had closed up and taken her little doggie Junk Jr., Hoppy’s best canine buddy, home. Jaymie ascended the rise and strolled past the shop, then picked her way through the gloom across the increasingly slick grass as flakes of snow began to stick, dotting the dark green grass. It occurred to her that she should have just taken the rest of the pamphlets home, because the stack in her basket was much smaller than it had been, but now that she was at the storeroom she may as well put them away.
    She opened the door into the shed and headed to the small internal storeroom, fishing in her hoodie pocket under the cloak for the key. The door was open, though, and the light on. Bill must be still working, she thought. She headed toward the light and pushed the door open the rest of the way, setting her basket aside on the workbench and turning. A moan made her whirl in place, and she saw a person on the wide-board floor, just a heap of red plaid.
    â€œLori!” Jaymie cried and raced to her side, kneeling by her. The woman moved, whimpering, and Jaymie helped her turn on her back, which was when she saw that it was not Lori Wozny but Shelby Fretter wearing her mother’s coat, and she had been beaten terribly, her face badly bruised and blood streaming from her forehead.
    Without a second’s hesitation Jaymie raced to the door and screamed
help
into the crisp night air, hearing it echo back to her in the empty town.

Seven
    N O ANSWER. WITH one glance backward, noting the young woman’s labored breathing, Jaymie knew she had not a second to lose. The girl needed professional help. Whimpering, Jaymie stripped off her cloak and laid it gently over the girl, muttered a quick prayer and exited, looking