Read Online Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery by Connie Shelton - Free Book Online

police aren’t going to take kindly to our interference in an active investigation,” Ron told me when I finally reached him about four o’clock.
    “Is it really an active investigation?” I asked. “They’ve got a suspect and they’re about to indict her tomorrow. I seriously doubt they’re pushing real hard to find any other suspects.”
    He grumbled a bit but basically agreed. “So, what other leads do you have?”
    I had to admit there really weren’t any, other than my firm belief that Judy just didn’t have what it took to swing a poker at someone and bash them in the head with it. “I’m going to see what I can find out from Wilbur. And maybe from the other neighbors Paula talked to. Maybe somebody can give us some insight. Right now, her life is pretty much a mystery.”
    Drake had done a good job of distracting Wilbur from his problems for the afternoon. The two men had cleaned up the remains of the luminarias from both our yards and were raking a few of autumn’s leftover leaves from our backyard. I donned a light jacket and went out long enough to suggest that I’d warm up the leftover green chile stew and that Wilbur should stay for dinner. In the meantime, would he mind if I took a peek through Paula’s things in their guestroom? My own guess, privately, was that the police would have removed anything of use, but there was no harm in looking for clues.
    The Garfield house felt like a place that’s been suddenly abandoned. There were dishes on the dining table, where Judy and Wilbur had been having breakfast when the police arrived. I carried them to the kitchen and ran some warm water over them in the sink, put away the butter, and wiped off the countertops. Turned on a couple of lamps against the late afternoon twilight.
    Their floor plan was similar to ours, three bedrooms off a hall on the north side of the house. It only took a minute to figure out which one Paula’d used. The rumpled bed had probably remained unmade during her entire visit, I guessed. The disarray of the comforter and blankets was complete. The tight red dress she’d worn to the cookie swap lay draped over a chair back, with her outfit from Christmas Eve piled on top of it. A suitcase was on the floor against one wall, the lid open and lacy underthings spilling over the sides. The bag had been thoroughly rummaged, whether by the police or by Paula herself, I couldn’t tell. Of course, the other possibility was that the killer might have searched her room for something. What that might be, or whether he’d found it, was anyone’s guess.
    Knowing that I was probably just repeating someone else’s moves, I ran my hands through the suitcase, but nothing incriminating jumped out at me. I took the time to pull each item out, give it a look, and fold it neatly, making a little stack on the floor beside me. Two pair of jeans, three sweaters, an assortment of dainties—not much else. A tote bag, the kind made of canvas with handles of webbing, stood beside the suitcase and was crammed with shoes. I pulled them out—pink tennies, black pumps, black boots, silver flats—shaking each upside down in case any notes written in invisible ink or keys to bus depot lockers might fall out. No such luck.
    Tentatively, in case something sharp reached out at me, I felt around the inside of the tote. It was exactly what it appeared to be, medium weight canvas with no hidden compartments. The suitcase was another story. It was one of those ubiquitous black airline bags with wheels and a pull-out handle. Under the flimsy plastic lining, I felt the mechanism for the wheels. One side had just a touch more padding than the other and my curious fingers poked around, exploring that oddity, until I discovered a narrow slit in the lining.
    With thumb and forefinger, I reached inside and came out with the corner of a zipper-type sandwich bag. A tug at the bag brought the whole thing out and I saw, not especially to my surprise, that it contained