When Eleanor got back, she told me she'd eaten her sandwich in the car on the way over, so she took over while I spent ten minutes inhaling a sandwich, some chips, and more caffeine. Then it was back to work and back to ringing up those all-important holiday sales. Christmas was terrific for profits in the pawnshop business.
Half an hour later, Shelley called to tell me they'd transported the reindeer safely to the vet clinic and to ask if she could go Christmas shopping with Jack.
I told her that would be great and to have fun. I wanted to ask her to hand the phone to Jack so I could talk to him for a minute, but just then, another group of customers came up to the cash register carrying their treasures.
"Tell Jack I have to make a casserole for the Petersons, so if he wants to come over for dinner, I'll make two of them. I probably still should bring something from Rooster, too."
I heard her talking to Jack, and then she came back on the line. "Jack says that sounds great, and he appreciates it. There's also leftover pizza. Jack and I only ate two of them." She giggled. "But we ate all the cannoli."
Six o'clock came faster than it ever had before. There was nothing that made time go by as quickly in retail as being shockingly busy. I could also tell that we'd had a terrific day of sales. I needed to make a few repairs to the shop, and the extra money was going to come in handy. Not to mention, I always gave Eleanor a Christmas bonus. I had enough money on hand for that already, but a little more definitely didn't hurt.
"I'm out, Tess." Eleanor gave me a hug and retrieved her purse from the drawer under the counter. "Bill and I want to have some dinner before we go to the town hall meeting tonight."
I groaned and smacked my forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something. Think they'd notice if I didn't go?"
She laughed. "No, not at all. It's not like your aunt is the mayor or anything. See you there."
I was almost out the door before I remembered to check the security cam footage for the intruder who'd broken in and stolen the klepto Christmas tree, so I trudged into the back to check my computer. I pulled up the cheat sheet of directions I'd copied to a file (and also printed, laminated, and stuck under my desktop calendar) and scrolled through the footage.
Several long, frustrating minutes later, I was forced to accept the truth: whoever had broken in had used some kind of electronic blocker on my cameras. The footage was nothing but a blur of static for the hour before Eleanor had arrived at the shop. I texted the news to Jack and Andy, reset the camera, and headed out.
By the time I got home, I was dragging. I fed Lou and then we cuddled on the couch for a while, but only a short while, because I had casseroles to make.
The chicken, broccoli, and cheese were ready to go when I pulled them out of the refrigerator. I could cook the rice, whip up two quick casseroles, and bake them in less than an hour, which would give me enough time to run them over to the Petersons' house before the meeting.
Since Jack was still out shopping with Shelley, I turned on some Christmas music and sang along while I cooked. My cat never complained about my singing, so I gave her a few celebratory pieces of cooked chicken. Then I put lids on the casserole dishes, slipped one inside my casserole carry bag—yes, this is a thing in the South—and headed back out the door.
I stumbled on the step but caught myself with the handrail. I hadn't realized until that moment how exhausted I was. Funny how it had already been a long week, even though it was only Monday.
There was still no word from Jack, so I left the porch light on for him and headed out. The Petersons lived less than fifteen minutes away from me, and I expected there to be a line of people dropping off food. But when I arrived, there were only two trucks in their driveway, and I recognized them as belonging to Emeril and Harold. Everybody else must've been by earlier, before dinnertime, but this was the earliest I could make it and I didn't want to put it off. I'd be just as tired tomorrow, and it would be one day later. Etiquette and good neighborliness demanded that I take something over as soon as possible.
Also, I really cared about both Misters Peterson. And I knew this must be hard on them, no matter that they may have been at odds with their cousin. Loss makes us forget petty slights and disagreements, even as it destroys the chance to move beyond them and reconcile.
Or forgive.
As I parked near the door, I heard yelling inside the house. I'd never heard either of the brothers so much as raise his voice before, so I was a little shocked.
I froze, trying to decide if I should wait, honk the horn so they noticed me, or head home and bring the casserole over tomorrow.
Before I could decide, I heard Harold, whose voice was gravelly and deeper than Emeril's, shout. "Where were you? You've been avoiding me for two days now. I want to know where you were yesterday morning, and I want to know right now."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Emeril hurled back at him. "I was here until it was time to go to work."
"No, you weren't! You must have left hours before you got to the shop. I got up to get a drink of water and you weren't here."
"I had to walk in and find Darryl—find him lying there like that—and you didn't show until ten minutes later," Emeril hurled back at him. "Where wereyou?"
Their voices faded, and I realized they must be heading toward the back of the house. It was no wonder they hadn't heard my car drive up with all that shouting. The stress of the murder must have caused this strife between them. I'd never heard either of them say a harsh word to the other. Although I'd probably stress out, too, if I'd walked in and found my cousin lying dead on the floor.
Deciding, I gently closed my door and slowly backed down the driveway. I didn't want to interrupt them. More than anything, I didn't want them to know I'd heard part of their argument. They'd probably be so embarrassed and…
My tired brain finally clicked on.
It wasn'tembarrassmentthey would be worried about. It was the fact that Harold didn't know where his brother had been at the time of the murder.
Oh, no. Emeril didn't have an alibi.
I had to tell Jack.
