A Christmas to Dismember, Addison Moore [howl and other poems .TXT] 📗

“Were you going to play for the showcase the night that Quinn died?”

“Actually, I was. One of the acts was running late, so Quinn had me bring my instrument. I’ve always got it with me in the trunk of the car regardless. You never know when the mood is going to strike.”

Sherlock nudges my leg and gives a soft bark. Call Jasper, Bizzy. Don’t do this.

Do what? Rudolph’s tail wags back and forth at supersonic speeds.

Fish mewls, Oh, for Pete’s sake, Sherlock Bones, she’s fine. Would you look at all the people here? What could possibly go wrong?

My sentiments exactly. Or at least I’m hoping nothing goes wrong. Besides, I texted Jasper as I crossed the street and told him I needed him asap in front of my mother’s shop. And lucky for me, that’s exactly where I’m planted.

“No, the band is fine, I’m assuming.” I try to muster a laugh but can’t seem to initiate it. “I dated a guy once who played the sax. He really blew a gasket when I reached out to touch it one day.”

“Oh, I get it. I never touch my girl with bare hands.” A cheesy gurgle expels from him. “The brass can muck up pretty easily, and they are a beast to clean.”

I nod. “And that’s why he had a pair of thin white gloves in the case along with the instrument.”

“A true musician after my own heart.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a thin white glove—identical to the one I saw at the scene of the crime.

If the information I just gleaned from Quinn’s emails is true, then he had a solid motive to want Quinn Bennet dead.

My breathing picks up as I examine the glowing glove.

Don’t do it, Bizzy. Sherlock barks up at me.

“You don’t have the other one, do you?” It comes out more of a fact than a question.

Sherlock whimpers, And here we go.

Warwick’s head hitches back a moment.

He checks his pocket for a moment before ceasing all movement.

Yes, the glove. He gives a long blink.

“I’m sorry, Bizzy. I have an engagement I need to get to.” He tries to push past me, but I quickly hop in his path and both Sherlock and Rudolph growl and bark up at him.

“What’s this?” A dull laugh pumps from him as he looks down at the two of them. “Easy, boys.” He flashes a tight smile my way. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was dinnertime.” And I’m on the menu. He squints over at me. It looks as if I’m on Bizzy’s menu as well—and she’s hungry with suspicion.

And I have every reason to be.

“Warwick, you were in the garden that night with Quinn. In fact, you were the last to see him.”

His eyes harden over mine. She can’t prove it.

I nod. “You were eating chocolate. The glove had both chocolate and Quinn’s blood on it.”

He cocks his head playfully. “But did it have mine?”

Fish yowls, He’s got quite an attitude for a killer, hasn’t he?

I’d have to agree. But I have a feeling I know how to wipe that smug look off his face.

“You know, Warwick, one of the first things I heard Quinn say to you that day was regarding Telenational. He asked if you had the latest Sky phone for him.” I nod.

“And I did.” That came out of left field. “Sadly, I was unable to give it to him. Still have it, brand new in the box. Don’t tell Georgie, but I thought she might like to find it in her stocking. We’ve got a hot date later.” He gives a sly wink.

Fish mewls, Over my dead body. My claws have been itching to pluck out an eyeball or two. There’s still time to get on Santa’s naughty list yet.

“I heard a little bit more of the conversation that night,” I say as I harden my gaze over him.

“You were eavesdropping?” His face smooths out with amusement. I’m not about to be bested by an innkeeper.

“No, not eavesdropping. You were having the conversation right in front of me. And then Quinn asked if you heeded his words. He was giving you advice, I take it?”

“When wasn’t Quinn giving anyone advice?” His eyes flit to the crowd, and I can feel him plotting his escape.

“He was giving you advice on Telenational, wasn’t he?”

“Telenational? Why yes. Were you looking for more business advice?” I can’t get a read on this girl. She’s all over the place. I never did understand women. I think it’s time to cut my losses in Cider Cove. That’s too bad. Georgie knew how to throw a hell of a party for two.

“No.” My mind swims with thoughts. “That night of the Christmas showcase, Quinn thanked you in front of the crowd. He said you were the sharpest knife in just about any room. He warned the audience not to turn their back on you or you just might cut them with it. And now I wonder if he meant that literally or figuratively.” Obviously both.

His eyes round out.

“He was teasing, Bizzy. You can’t be serious. I would never hurt a friend.”

“But you did. Quinn didn’t want you to taint Telenational's reputation any more than you did. He asked you to do the right thing. And you repaid him by going after him with an axe.”

“Bizzy.” He staggers back a few steps, looking genuinely stunned. “You can’t prove it.” I have to get the hell out of here. His eyes flit to the street once again.

“Yes, Warwick, I can. After you had the cookies that night, you went to get the axe, didn’t you?”

“Bizzy, this is entirely out of your imagination.” He takes another full step back toward the street, and I follow along.

“I should have known the day you came by to see the inn you weren’t there to pay respects to Quinn. You were sizing up the inn because you thought it would land in your lap just like Telenational did.”

His expression sours. “Indeed. I’m still