Free Rest Ye Murdered Gentlemen by Vicki Delany Page A

to respond.
    â€œHave it your way, Betty,” I said, walking away.
    â€œI intend to tell the police that, when they come calling,” she shouted after me.
    Inside Mrs. Claus’s Treasures a line was forming at the counter. Jackie rang up sales and handled money in her usual efficient fashion, but it didn’t take more than a quick glance for me to know that she’d heard the news. I rushed to discard my outerwear and replace her at the cash register.
    â€œTake a break,” I whispered to her.
    â€œIs it true what Mrs. Thatcher’s saying?” she whispered back. “About Nigel?”
    â€œI’m afraid so. Although she’s adding a healthy dose of malice to a story that’s sad enough as it is.”
    â€œExcuse me, but do you have any more of those glass vases? I bought one for myself yesterday, but I’ve decided they’d make lovely gifts.”
    â€œWe might be all out, but I can check in the back,” Jackie said. The door opened and more shoppers streamed in.
    â€œI’ll be okay until Crystal gets here,” Jackie said to me, referring to my other assistant, scheduled to come in at noon.
    We were so busy for the rest of the day that I scarcely had a moment to think about Nigel Pearce. Or to wonder what Alan had been about to say to me when Betty Thatcher had pounced. I overheard a few people talking about Nigel, but they seemed to think he’d either passed out drunk and then froze, or had suffered a heart attack. Crystal arrived, and Jackie went for her lunch break. She came back with red eyes, smeared mascara, and a swollen nose. She hadn’t known Nigel well enough to be mourning him, but she was an emotional person. Not to mention that she would have realized that she wouldn’t have her picture in
World Journey
magazine after all.
    It was a long, hectic, trying, but very profitable day. Jackie, Crystal, and I were constantly on the hop as eager shoppers browsed and bought. Whenever my face began to ache from all the smiling I was doing, I just had to hear the merry sound of the cash register ringing up another sale to feel better. A light snow began to fall around four o’clock as the lights came on, laying a fresh layer of pure Christmas magic over Jingle Bell Lane.
    I’d placed Alan’s wooden train sets on a prominent table, and they were soon snapped up. When I got enough of a break to check the window, most of the jewelry on display had been sold. “Please tell me you have more merchandise,” I said to Crystal. “I never thought it would be so popular.”
    With a grin, she tucked a strand of silky black hair behind her ear. “I might be able to find some. I’ll have Mom bring it over.”
    â€œThanks. You’re a gem.” I meant that literally. Crystal was an incredibly talented small-metal artist and, although she was a senior in high school, she supplied many of the jewelry pieces I sold at Mrs. Claus’s Treasures. She’d been accepted at the prestigious School of Visual Arts in New York for next fall, and I’d miss her terribly. As would my mom. Along with her other talents, Crystal had a beautiful singing voice and was Mom’s star pupil. She was busy enough with her music, her classes, and her jewelry workshop, but she worked in Mrs. Claus’s Treasures during the busiest times to make money to help with college.
    She slipped into the back room to place the call to her mom for more stock, and I went to politely, yet firmly, removea handblown glass ornament from the clumsy fingers of a five-year-old.
    â€œDo you like the pretty thing, sweetie?” the boy’s mother gushed. “It will look wonderful on the children’s tree. We’ll take the box, miss.”
    â€œYou spoil that boy,” an older man said to her. “In my day we made ornaments out of popcorn, tinsel, and seed packets.” I couldn’t help but notice that his arms were full of stuffed