Free A Cold Christmas by Charlene Weir Page A

incompetent.”
    Johnson looked defensive. “I ain’t had no complaints from anybody else. I stand by my work. She got a complaint, she can call me. I’ll put it right. Been in this business a long time. Folks around here know me. Just ask anybody, they’ll tell you Fred Johnson does the job right.” Fred scratched his belly.
    â€œWhat do you know about Holiday?”
    â€œWell, I can’t say that I know much of anything, as a matter of fact.”
    â€œI need a list of the people he made repairs for.”
    â€œFor the whole two months?”
    â€œEvery one.”
    He gave a long-suffering sigh, then laboriously wrote out names and addresses in a spiral notebook, tore the page out, and handed it to her. “You ask ’em. See if I don’t stand by my work.”
    â€œWho were Holiday’s friends?”
    â€œFriends?” Fred looked completely perplexed, as though friends were some odd item that only the peculiar had.
    â€œPeople he was close to.”
    â€œWell, I’ll tell you. He never had much to say. Kind of kept to himself like.”
    Susan thanked him and started to leave.
    â€œYou want his post office box number?”
    â€œSure,” she said, wondering what might be in the post office box of a homicide victim who found a snake in a customer’s basement.

8
    The wind was sharp enough to peel the skin off Susan’s face as she trudged back to the pickup, parked around the corner. A sparrow pecking at frozen dead grasses cocked its head and peered at her with one shiny black eye.
    â€œRight,” she said. “It’s all part of the job.”
    When she got to the shop, Hazel said, “Everything under control.”
    â€œWhat did the mayor want?” Coming in from cold air to warm air made her face tingle.
    â€œHe thinks you should ride on one of the floats in the parade on Christmas Eve day.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t be kidding me?”
    Hazel grinned, exposing a slightly crooked front tooth. “Not about a thing like that.”
    â€œI hope you told him I’m leaving on the twenty-fourth for the first vacation I’ve taken since I got here.”
    â€œI pointed that out to him. He said you couldn’t leave with this murder hanging over the town.”
    Yeah, there was that. It was only the thirteenth. Clear this homicide, wait for the flu epidemic to pass, have stricken cops jumping back to work, and make a decision about Captain Reardon’s offer. Piece of cake.
    She needed the job offer decision firm in her mind; if she didn’t, her father would pounce like a mountain lion and tear her to shreds. If only it weren’t limited to two years— She sighed. Ah yes, the if-onlys she had in her life.
    At the courthouse, another beautiful old building made from the local limestone, she fought the wind for the heavy door. Once she got it open, the wind blew her inside and slammed it shut behind her. She searched for a judge to sign the warrant and found Judge Hansen was in his chambers reading yesterday’s Hampstead Herald. She got his signature and set off for the post office at a good clip.
    Two overworked employees were handling a long line of people mailing packages. “O Holy Night” came from a speaker somewhere.
    When she explained what she needed, the young woman looked at her in dismay. “I was supposed to be off at one.”
    Everybody, including Susan, looked up at the clock on the wall. Five minutes until two.
    â€œGo.” The middle-aged man, thinning hair and a pot belly, gave a long-suffering sigh. “Get yourself all dolled up for your boyfriend.”
    â€œThanks.” The young woman planted a kiss on his cheek and danced off.
    â€œTurn that thing off on your way out!”
    The radio went silent. “Sorry, folks,” he said. “There’s rules. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Just be patient.”
    â€œâ€˜O Little Town of