Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) (24 page)

Dauntless Books is proud to announce that their January release,
Nimrod, a
Woodsman’s Life
, has made the
New York Times’
bestseller list for the twelfth successive week. The journal of an Adirondack hermit and his connection to a twenty-year-old mob hit has piqued intense public interest. The book’s popularity shows little sign of waning.

Jacob Rabideau, a self-styled lone woodsman who adopted the nickname Nimrod, lived for over sixty years in various locations in the densely-wooded Adirondack Park. He spent much of his time near the hamlet of Dunn’s Vale, where he established a reputation as a skilled woodcarver. Though generally considered a harmless eccentric by locals, Rabideau was twice cited by police for disturbing the peace with his loud singing and saw playing. Last winter, he sustained a tick bite and ultimately died of complications of pneumonia at the small community hospital. He left his journal to a friend, Dr. Alexander Alexander, who edited and published the book after it provided a vital clue in solving a decades-old murder.

“He was a fine old fellow,” Alexander said, “I was blessed to know him, and now he’s blessing me all over again.” Next year, Alexander, a college professor, is planning to use proceeds from the sales of the book to launch the new Champlain Institute of Cryptozoology at an as yet unnamed location.

To date, over 174,000 copies of
Nimrod, a Woodsman’s Life
have been sold.

Professor Alec Alexander wouldn’t win any beauty contests. He had scruffy salt-and-pepper hair, a matching spade-shaped beard and an unkempt moustache. He was barrel-chested; what you might call a rotund presence. His gentle tenor voice, however, with its faint Scots accent, had real charm and his kind heart was unquestioned.

My seven-month-old daughter Janet had recognized his sterling attributes from their first meeting, and when he walked into the Chez Prentice B&B this morning, she grinned widely, exposing a tiny bud of a tooth on her bottom gum. Additionally, she began what her daddy called “baby calisthenics,” involving flexing both her arms and legs simultaneously. It was her dance of joy at seeing her Grandpa Alec.

He extended his arms. “Come to me, my wee angel!” Janet, still clad in her nighttime onesie, fairly leaped from my grasp to his broad chest and immediately began tugging on his beard. It had to be somewhat painful, but his only reaction was a hearty laugh that bounced his tiny burden up and down. “What a joy she is, Amelia!” he said to me.

“You’re holding up well, considering,” I said, referring to the recent loss of several large research grants. Alec had long been obsessed with seeking out evidence of the famed Lake Champlain monster. Now his research had to be curtailed in the interest of earning a living.

“Whoopsie! Up ye go!” He lifted a giggling, squirming baby above his head. “I’ll do all right,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m teaching four classes at the college and the speaking engagements are beginning to mount up. Whee!” He spun around.

“Alec, you’d better take it easy,” I warned him. “She’s been known to—“

A gush of white liquid flowed from Janet’s smiling mouth down on Alec.

“Serves you right,” said someone from the kitchen. It was my friend Lily Burns, who had apparently entered through the back door. She quickly pulled off her gloves and hat and reached out for Janet. “Here, give her to Aunt Lily while you clean yourself up,” she instructed curtly.

Alec obeyed with a wink at me, heading for the first floor powder room. 

She sat the baby on her lap and inspected her carefully. “What do you know, not a drop on her?”

She smiled and stroked the velvety hair. Lily was beautifully turned out, as usual. Her perky short blonde hair was meticulously disheveled and her makeup was subtle but unmistakable. I envied her slender figure. I was still using Janet as an excuse for a stubborn extra fifteen pounds.

Lily looked up at me. “Neither of you are dressed,” she said. “Get with the program! We’ll be late!”

“Neither of us
is
dressed,” I corrected wearily. “
Neither one
is implied.” Even though I was temporarily on leave from the classroom, only tutoring, it was important to maintain proper grammar standards. “Besides, I think Janet is too young to sit on Santa’s lap.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re the mother. Why do I have to teach you these things? One word: pictures!” She lifted Janet up so the smiling baby was framed by a Christmas wreath hanging on the wall. “Just look at her. It’s her first Christmas. You’re going to want pictures.”

“All right, but nobody’s going to be late. They can’t open Santa’s Workshop at the Mall without Santa, without Alec.”

“I’m afraid they can, m’dear.” Alec emerged from the powder room, drying his hands on a towel. There was a huge water spot on his jacket, and the ends of his beard were damp, but he looked none the worse for his experience. “I came by to tell ye. T’won’t be me playin’ Santa today. I have a speech to give in Malone at noon, then one in the evening.”

“Won’t be
I
,” Lily corrected.

I sighed. “No, Alec’s correct. It’s
me
.”

Alec beamed and blew a kiss at Janet.

Lily frowned, dipping her perfectly-drawn eyebrows. “Oh, I give up. We’ll nebber get the hang of this stupid ol’ grammar, will we, Tweety Pie?” She kissed the baby on the back of the neck.

“Lily, don’t you dare speak to my child the way you speak to your cat!” I retrieved my daughter and headed for the stairs. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Alec put his arm around Lily protectively. “Don’t be too hard on Miss Lily, Amelia. She’s such a pretty little thing, there’s no need to bother with minor details, is there, wee angel?” He actually chucked Lily under her chin.

Lily blushed, then slapped Alec’s chest. “You smell of baby spit! Get away from me!”

I paused halfway up the steps. “Alec, will there even
be
a Santa at the mall today?”

“Oh, certainly. They called Dr. Stickley. He’s grown quite the lovely white beard, I’ve heard. Doesn’t need a fake one, as I do. It’s perfect.”

I blinked in surprise. “Dr. Stickley? Really? He was my major professor in college. Stickley, the Stickler, we used to call him—behind his back, of course. He scared me to death for two years. He always locked the classroom door precisely on the hour so if you were late, you’d have to take a cut. I hardly dared say a word in front of him, for fear of making a grammar mistake.”

Lily grinned wickedly. “Kind of like somebody else I know.”

Alec glanced at her affectionately. “I hear he’s mellowed in his latter years, Amelia.”

I shook my head. “I’ll need evidence of that.”

Janet struggled in my arms and I remembered where I was headed. “We’ll be right back.”

It was nice, I thought as I changed from my bathrobe into a winter sweater and wool slacks, to have a friendly place like Chez Prentice to stay while my husband Gil was out of town at a journalists’ convention. “And since I’m part owner with your Uncle Etienne,” I told Janet, “we can stay at this classy B&B for free!”

I played peek-a-boo with her as I pulled on the little red jumper appliquéd with a green plaid Christmas tree. “You look perfect,” I told her, “except for this.” I fastened a tiny green bow to one of her downy curls by means of Velcro. “There.” I gazed at my daughter while she contentedly sucked the paw of her stuffed bunny. Was there ever such a beautiful child as this?

“No matter how much you try to decorate these things with flowers and what all,” Lily said a few minutes later as we headed for her car, “I still feel like a pack mule carrying it.” She shifted the diaper bag to her other shoulder and unlocked the car with a chirp. “I don’t how you do it, day after day.”

“It’s not easy. I appreciate the help. This thing weighs a ton, too,” I pointed out, fastening the basket-shaped baby carrier into the back seat.

Janet, warmly bundled into the shape of a little snowman, had settled down for a mid-morning nap. Usually, at this time of day, I would try to grab a few winks myself, but the prospect of a beautiful picture of my little girl as a Christmas present for her daddy superseded rest time.

“I guess Alec has left for Malone,” I said as Lily turned the ignition. “I hope you were nice to him.”

“Amelia, of course I was. I wish you’d stop hounding me about the man.”

“He adores you.”

“That’s enough of that subject. By the way, he told me something more about Stickley. He retired from the college two years ago. They gave him a party and everything. Did you know he was one of nine kids? His mom turned them out like peas in a pod, then up and died. And he was the only one who stayed around here as an adult.”

“No, I didn’t. It’s hardly the sort of thing a professor would share with his students.”
But exactly the sort of information that gossip expert Lily Burns would collect
, I added silently.

“His dad squirreled away a huge wad of money and willed it all to him. The father died two years ago at the ripe young age of ninety-nine. Didn’t leave a penny to anyone else. All I can say is, I’m glad I wasn’t at that family’s table at Thanksgiving!”

“So he didn’t share the money with them at all?” I asked. Alec had certainly told Lily a lot in the short time that we were upstairs.

“Couldn’t find ’em! They’re scattered all over this country and Canada, according to Judith Dee.”

“Oh, so you didn’t hear all this from Alec.” Judith Dee was the part-time high school nurse, also famous for her gossiping skills.

“Just the part about when he retired. They gave him a party and everything.”

“I just hope Dr. Stickley’s more cordial than he used to be when he taught us in college. I never felt as though he even liked me. Did you have him in English?”

“Me? Hah! I was just a poor home ec major, remember?”

“I rather wish I had been, now,” I said, thinking about my total lack of kitchen skills. Gil loved me, anyway, thank the Lord.

As we pulled into the mall parking lot, a distinct odor had begun to permeate the car’s interior.

“Whew! Change that baby’s diaper, and quick!” Lily ordered.

It took a few minutes to reach the restroom, but finally we emerged, clean and smiling.

Lily had been waiting at a table in the food court, tapping her manicured nails to the piped-in holiday music. “There you are! The line’s starting to get long, but Santa’s not here yet.” She directed my gaze to the sparkling fairytale village nestled at the base of a towering Christmas tree.

 She stood abruptly. “Wait, I see him!”

Strolling towards us was the very image of Santa Claus as pictured in numerous Coca Cola ads: white hair, white beard, red cheeks, rotund belly, red suit, and a big black belt. A pipe dangling from one corner of his mouth was the only thing about him that reminded me of my former professor.

I whispered to Lily, “Is that Dr. Stickley? He’s so much heavier! And his hair is so white!” I remembered him with a gray Van Dyke goatee, standing ramrod-straight and frowning at the front of the classroom.

Lily whispered back, “Hush. We all get old some time, Amelia.”

As he was about to pass, I gathered my courage and stepped forward. “Dr. Stickley?” I held out my hand. “Amelia Prentice; Dickensen, now. I was one of your English majors about twenty years ago. It’s good to see you again.”

He blinked several times, straightened his posture and lifted his moustache in a wide smile. “Oh, yes. I remember you. English major. You were a fine student, my dear.” He shook my hand with his mittened one. “Always good to see a student.”

His ice blue gaze was familiar, but not the warm expression. How I used to fear his frown!

“This is my friend, Lily Burns, and my daughter, Janet.”

“Will Stickley,” he said, amiably shaking Lily’s hand. “Are you bringing your little one to see me?” he asked, leaning over the baby carrier.

My daughter slid her eyes sideways at him and her lower lip began to tremble. “When it’s our turn,” I said hastily. “But we must let you get to work.”

Santa looked around, apparently surprised. “Oh! Oh yes! Must do my duty for the kiddies.” He turned towards the elaborately-decorated throne that awaited him. “Look at that line! Between you and I, much as I enjoy these little ones, this is going to be a long day.” He sighed, waved cheerily and walked slowly in the direction of Santa’s Workshop.

A slender teenaged elf, clad all in green frowned at him as he passed and looked pointedly at her watch.

“My goodness,” I told Lily as he ambled away, “the man has definitely changed.”

The line to see Santa
was
long. “I told you we should have brought the stroller,” Lily admonished as I lifted the basket-like, lead-heavy baby carrier one more time and moved forward a few steps.

“It’s okay.” Lily was right, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. We’d known each other all our lives and bickered like blood sisters. “By the way, about Dr. Stickley. Doesn’t he seem—”

“Amelia! Lily! Hi!” In the distance, several dozen people ahead of us in line, I spotted our friend Dorothy O’Brien and her six-year-old daughter, Meaghan, who was headed our way. My cell phone rang.

It was Dorothy, gesturing elaborately. “She just had to go back there to see Janet. I told her she could stay in line with you for just a little while. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I said. “Send her along.” Meaghan and I were old friends.

When she arrived, the little girl didn’t waste time on social niceties. She immediately knelt by the baby carrier and began playing peek-a-boo behind her hands.

“That’s a beautiful dress, Meaghan,” I said, gesturing at the gorgeous green and red plaid taffeta crinoline with puffed sleeves.

The child rolled her eyes. “It scratches. Mom says I only have to wear it for the picture. I hate these shoes, too,” she added, pointing to her shiny patent leather Mary Janes.

“Aren’t you looking forward to seeing Santa Claus?” Lily asked.

She shrugged. “Sure. You know, some of the kids say Santa’s not real, but I think he is. I asked Mommy and she said, ‘What do you think?’ and I decided I still thought he was real. And getting toys are good.”

Getting toys is good
, I wanted to say.
In this case, “getting” is a singular gerund, that is, a noun.

But if I had thought Meaghan rolled her eyes before, this would definitely cause her, Lily and perhaps even Janet to collectively roll their eyes. Actually, speaking from experience, it would probably fetch a loud, juicy Bronx cheer from Lily, too. So I said nothing.

My cell phone played an electric phrase. Dorothy had texted: “Tell her to come back.”

After Meaghan’s reluctant departure, I said, “I’m not too sure about this Santa Claus thing. I mean, when Janet gets old enough to understand. It seems too much like lying.”

Lily moved the baby carrier a few inches forward. “Nonsense! It’s tradition! The stockings, the cookies left out for the jolly old man, the reindeer . . . ” she pointed to a line of display reindeer that formed a kind of fence around Santa’s throne. “Who doesn’t love Rudolph?”

The mall’s canned music happened to be playing the very song to which Lily referred. “ . . . join in any reindeer games,” she sang softly. “Then one foggy Christmas Eve—” She lugged the baby carrier forward a few more inches. “Oh, this is impossible! I’m going to the car to get that umbrella stroller. Give me that carrier thing. I’ll stick it back in the seat.”

We extricated Janet from the carrier and Lily departed. Now all I had to do was kick the diaper bag forward a few inches every time the line moved. Janet was in my arms, gurgling with delight over the sumptuous surroundings.