“Well that was pointless,” Octo-Cat hissed. If I’d taken the moment to look over to him, I’m sure I’d have seen him rolling his eyes. “I’m so glad we took time to ask the bunny.”
“There's a lot of things she did help us with,” I pointed out, raising the camera in one hand. “E.B. mentioned that there were two suspicious people and that neither had their photo taken.”
“So what do you suggest we do?” Octo-Cat asked with a flick of his tail. “Look through all the photos on that thing and cross reference it with everyone who's attended the festival so far?”
“For a start,” I said, impressed he had understood with no explanation on my part. Then again, he was becoming quite savvy with photography given his long-distance Instagram relationship with Grizabella.
“There's more than one entrance into this place,” I continued on. “People can start from anywhere. There are, no doubt, many people who didn't stop for a photo who perhaps never even made their way over here.”
“And,” Octo-Cat added, his amber gaze fixed on me knowingly,
“what’s suspicious to the rabbit might not be suspicious at all. So there were two people she thought were acting funny, but it's possible that neither of them had anything to do with the murders or the kidnapping.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh, “but at least it's a place to start.”
I powered the camera back on and flipped through the last few photos on display. Before I could make it very far, however, several people converged on us at once.
Nan and her gentleman friend, Mr. Milton, came from one direction while Mr. Gable returned from another. Lastly, my boyfriend, Charles, approached as well, immediately slinging an arm over my shoulder and giving me a kiss on my forehead.
“I finished up my work early at the firm and thought I’d surprise you,” he said with a giant grin. “So tell me, what did I miss?”
Mr. Gable groaned, Nan winced, and Mr. Milton looked pointedly at the ground.
Octo-Cat had an answer for him, but it was one he couldn't decipher without my help. Also it wasn't very nice.
Paisley barked and stood on her hindlegs, doing her sit pretty dance to get Charles’s attention.
“Hey,” he said, lifting her into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead, too.
“Why is everyone so quiet?” he asked, his eyes darting around our impromptu circle. “I really did miss something, didn't I?”
I put a hand on his shoulder and gently informed him both of the murders and the kidnapping as well as the fact that we were pretty convinced the kidnappers meant to nap me instead of Mags.
“All that in one morning?” he asked with an empty expression.
I nodded sadly. “I don't know what to do,” I moaned. “Do you have any ideas?”
Mr. Gable cleared his throat. “I've spoken with the other committee members, and we all think it would be best to shut down the festival. We’re circulating word to the vendors now and giving them the option of setting up at the local park. We’ll man the exits and send anyone who comes by over there instead while the police are doing their thing.”
Mr. Milton nodded and raised a thumb and finger to his chin. “Lots to lose, canceling the biggest event of the year. Vendors aren’t going to be too happy about that.”
“They'll lose money,” Nan agreed, “but at least they won't lose their lives.”
“That's the goal,” Mr. Gable agreed.
“Come on,” Charles said. “Let's go find Mags.”
And even though I didn't need my boyfriend to save the day, I was very glad he was now here at my side.
We would find Mags. We would.
I wouldn't accept any other outcome.
Chapter Twelve
“Do you think the crimes are linked?” Charles asked me matter-of-factly as I led him toward the spot where Mags had been abducted. He carried Paisley while I carried Octo-Cat, who had the good grace not to complain this time.
“I just don’t know,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the ground as if it held some answer we had yet to discover. “I don't think they are, but I also don't want to overlook anything. Just in case.”
“Good thinking,” Charles said, squeezing my elbow since I required both of my hands to carry Octo-Cat comfortably, lest I wanted his complaining to pick up again. “I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier,” Charles said.
“That's okay. You didn't know. How could anyone know these terrible things would happen? And on Christmas Eve, too…”
Charles remained quiet for the next half block, becoming lost in thought as he so often did. “Do you think it's possible they happened not despite it being Christmas Eve but because it's Christmas Eve?”
“What you mean?” I asked, risking a glance at him even though I needed to keep both eyes on the street in order to avoid bumping into one of the many departing vendors.
“Well, maybe the Holiday Spectacular gave our murderer and/or kidnapper an opportunity he wouldn't have otherwise had. Or maybe the murderer is somehow related to the festival itself. You said the victims were meant to judge the ice sculpture contest. Right?”
“Well, at least one of them,” I answered. Thinking back, Officer Bouchard didn't recognize the woman, and I hadn't been back to chat with him because of what had happened to Mags.
“I know every second counts right now,” Charles told me as we neared the ice sculpture garden, “but let's take a quick moment to check in with the police. They may have information that could help point us in the right direction for Mags, too.”
Less than two minutes later, we found Officer Bouchard standing with a couple other police personnel near the giant Christmas tree sculpture. “Angie,” he said. “I'm surprised you weren't back before now.”
“Didn't you hear? I asked, my voice dry and itchy. “Somebody took Mags. Kidnapped her right off the street.”
“Mags? Your nice cousin? But why?” His eyebrows pressed together. “And why wasn't I informed before now?”
That was right. We hadn't even stopped to inform the authorities of Mags’s abduction. Nan had probably assumed I would do it while I assumed she would. At least I could tell my favorite police officer now.
“It's all been a blur,” I admitted “I can't believe I forgot to come to you, but I know you've been busy over here.”
He sighed and rolled a kink from his neck. “Busy is an understatement.”
“Learn anything new?” Charles asked, shaking the officer’s hand hello. “Anything that might help us find Mags while you hunt the killer?”
“Hunt’s not exactly an appropriate word. Sounds like somebody's been reading too many Stephen King novels,” the officer quipped. “But yes, we were able to confirm that the female victim was our second judge. A Miss Zelda Benedict. She taught art at the university in Portland and drove up special to serve as our judge.”
I sucked air in through my teeth. This just kept getting worse and worse. “What a way for us to make a good impression on outsiders. Come to Glendale's Holiday Spectacular where you just might get murdered.”
“It is unfortunate,” Officer Bouchard agreed. “She was very well respected in her field. Her colleagues will no doubt ride us hard until we find out who the culprit is.”
“Did she have any connection to Fred Hapley?”
“As far as I know, the two of them never met a day in their life. At least not until they wound up dead side-by-side in the snow here. By the way, the murder weapon for old Fred was a gun. It must've had a silencer since no one reported hearing anything. But Zelda? She was stabbed straight through with an icicle.”
“Why not kill them both the same way?” Charles asked, wrapping an arm protectively around my waist and eyeing the nearby ice sculptures warily.
“That's what we wondered, too,” Officer Bouchard said with a nod. “Seems to me that somebody had come prepared to commit one murder but then had to commit a second when Fred here walked in on the scene.”