Love, Death & Christmas Cookies: Carly Keene Cozy Mysteries, #3

Chapter 1

In Parker’s Mill, it wasn’t hard to tell when Christmas was coming. Like many other small, southern towns it tended to celebrate the season wholeheartedly and with plenty of color. Holiday lights adorned the stretch of Main Street that was flanked by the dozen or so small businesses, and then the stately homes picked up where the city left off with the holiday decor, filling the residential stretch of the street with enough twinkling lights to safely ensure that Santa wouldn’t miss a single one on his flight over the town.

Red, green and yellow flickered festively alongside somber blues and pure whites, reflecting each home’s character and the tastes of its inhabitants. Here on Main Street, the lights weren’t simply the cheap tack of just any old small town residents. The folks living on this stretch of road had been here for generations in some cases, mere decades in others, but all had generously padded bank accounts in common, even if their taste in decorating differed greatly from that of their neighbors.

Outside a particularly pleasant-looking two-story Cape Cod style home, a solitary angel sat patiently waiting to illuminate the yard of Mary and George Parker. Further along the street, Willie Jean Jones proudly displayed a life-size nativity, complete with a plastic baby doll as the little baby Jesus. Even further up the road, Candyland itself was recreated, complete with giant lollipops and gingerbread men that were equally impressive and disturbing.

These lights weren’t only for the benefit of the neighborhood children though the kids certainly enjoyed strolling down a brightly illuminated Main Street every Christmas. Thanks to the near-obsession Parker’s Mill held with the holiday season, these displays came with the potential for both bragging rights and a slew of gifts donated by the businesses in the community.

The annual Christmas Home Decoration contest was gearing up, and today the street would shine and sparkle in all its holiday glory. Every home on Main Street would have something on display whether they entered the competition or not. Every home would make a contribution to the Christmas cheer, save one.

One house would sit dark and unwelcoming, just as it did every year. Unlike the Willie Jeans and George-and-Marys of the town, Renae Boggs had no Christmas cheer in her wrinkled old bones to share. The Boggs house stood out like a neon sign in an Amish community, glaring in its lack of cheer and certainly anything but festive. Its shutters remained closed most of the year, and the holiday season was no exception. The front door bore a small sign that told solicitors that they would not be tolerated, and even the sad-looking shrubbery at the front of the house looked as though it wanted to be somewhere else.

Renae had developed a reputation as the town’s resident Scrooge many years before. Contrary to popular legend, she wasn’t some witch who’d sworn off Christmas in favor of darker holidays; she hated all holidays equally and fervently. She did not like people in her yard, and she was openly intolerant of her neighbors’ attempts to bring her into the spirit of things by sneakily sitting potted poinsettias on her side of their property lines, or by slapping up a red bow on her mailbox when they thought she wasn’t looking.

A smiling Renae Boggs was a sight that was something of an urban legend. Folks said she was so mean, she could scare the stink off of a skunk. Her neighbors were more often seen arguing with her than not, and she hadn’t left her house a single time in over five years, not since the grocery store had agreed that it was better for everyone if Renae’s groceries were delivered to her doorstep each week.

Carly Keene didn’t know Renae personally, but like many who’d grown up in Parker’s Mill, she’d heard the stories about the mysterious old woman. Kids said she was a witch, parents thought she was exactly the kind of person to slip razor blades into apples on Halloween. Carly herself assumed that she was just some crazy old spinster who had developed some sort of agoraphobia, but in all honesty, she didn’t give much thought to the woman at all, and wouldn’t be thinking of her now if it weren’t for the fact that Carly was standing outside her property, waiting to take photographs for the newspaper.

The reigning winner (and the previous winner for the past six years) of the annual Christmas Home Decoration contest lived right next door to Renae. His name was Don Dixon, and he was everything that Renae was not. Carly regularly saw cars parked the length of his driveway and spilling out onto the street. She knew for a fact that he had lots of parties because Brandon had told her himself that he’d been out there on more than one occasion to respond to noise complaints made by an anonymous caller that everyone knew was Renae.

For every ounce of curmudgeon and anti-socialite that was Renae Boggs, Don Dixon exuded twice as much, in size, in personality and even in personal dress. Although raised in Parker’s Mill, Don preferred to dress like he’d just stepped out of some high fashion magazine, albeit one for the slightly larger gentleman. Don’s social lifestyle had turned him slightly portly, and he had a personality that was large enough to match his waist size.

Carly glanced at Renae’s sad, quiet house and turned her attention back to Don’s light, cheerful one. In contrast to Renae’s plain white home, Don’s was vibrant yellow with bright red shutters. It reminded Carly of mustard and ketchup, but overall, the home did look lovely. Despite its garish color scheme, Don’s home was an attractive one. It was also larger than Renae’s and had been in his family for three generations.

Don had promised the newspaper that his contribution to the town’s Christmas light display this year would be even bigger, better and bolder than his previous entries. Carly could see most of what he had assembled on his home and front lawn, and it went way beyond the traditional twinkling lights and cheerful snowmen. Don had three inflatable elves flanking the left side of his yard, and these were surrounded by what appeared to be grazing reindeer, though since the lights hadn’t been switched on just yet, it was difficult to be sure.

A family of snowmen lined the right side of the property, and the house itself was sheathed in row upon row of bulbs that were varying shades of white and blue. In broad daylight, the effect was pretty gaudy, and Carly could imagine that when switched on, they would be something pretty spectacular to behold.

In the middle of the lawn, a giant blue tarp covered something large and bulky. Carly hoped that the tarp wasn’t meant to be part of the display. It looked out of place in the winter wonderland, and she was pretty sure that whatever was underneath was intended to be the focal point of the entire display.

After tonight, all of the lights on the street would be on every night until Christmas, and the winner would be announced in a little over a week. Carly was here to get photographs of the homes for the newspaper, and she’d be back in a few days to get photos of the people touring the street in horse-drawn carriages, another festive Parker’s Mill Christmas tradition.

Carly snapped a few photos of the house on the other side of Renae’s, where pink flamingos flocked amongst bikini-clad elves in a beachy, holiday themed display. Illuminated palm trees and what looked liked strands of light strung to simulate ocean waves covered one side of the house. Santa sat perched in a folding lawn chair, his plastic legs dangling in a blue plastic kiddie pool. It was certainly an original display, but Carly wasn’t sure if it was enough to beat Don’s over-the-top extravaganza. In an hour or so, when the lights started coming on, she would see for herself which home looked more festive, but it wasn’t up to Carly to decide the winner or even the residents who would be riding by every night to ooh and aah.

The mayor and his office staff would have the final vote, and Carly imagined that it didn’t hurt Don’s chances that the mayor just happened to be good friends with Dixon’s parents. Don had even worked in the mayor’s office briefly before turning his hand to more creative ventures. Don was, for all intents and purposes, independently wealthy, thanks to an inheritance from his late grandfather, who had owned a carpet mill over in Dalton. Don had briefly considered a career in politics but had decided that he was better suited to blogging and writing than he was to filing and typing up memos for the mayor.

Now he wrote the occasional culture or arts piece for the local newspaper and kept up his own blog, The Dapper Southern Gent, which focused on local news, gossip and fashion for the southern gentleman. Carly had taken a look at the blog before coming to meet Don and photograph his home for the newspaper. It was very trendy and entertaining, but not really the sort of thing she’d normally read. She was sure that Shell had checked it out a few times, though; her best friend couldn’t resist keeping up with local gossip in whatever form she could find it.

Carly checked her phone for the time. Don was nearly ten minutes late, and the light would soon be too low to get good photos of the inflatables and other decorations unless Don had his own spotlights. She raised her camera and snapped a few more quick pictures before a voice interrupted her.

You must be Carly. It was a little higher than Carly expected, and for a second, she almost expected to see a woman when she turned around. Instead, she saw Don, dressed in the tackiest Christmas sweater she’d ever seen, paired with what could only have been four-hundred dollar leather loafers and chinos. Don noticed her checking out his ensemble, and he quickly apologized for the attire. I just came from a tacky Christmas sweater party, he explained. I didn’t even win, can you believe it? He smiled widely and gestured broadly towards his lawn. Don’t you just love all this? Christmas is my most favorite time of year, he squealed, then cleared his throat. Thank you for coming out and taking photographs. That other photographer last year was so lazy, he only snapped a few while he rode the horse and carriage. He didn’t even get a closeup of my centerpiece, he pouted.

Carly smiled, briefly acknowledging her predecessor’s lack of effort. Then she nodded towards Don’s home. It’s just lovely, she replied before he could continue. I think there are some great houses this year, but yours is definitely one of the best.

Don’s face wrinkled slightly. Oh, but have you seen the Parker house, three doors down? I mean, if the town is named after your family, you really ought to make more effort than just slapping up a single angel in your front yard. Carly had thought that the Parker house looked pretty in its simplicity, but she kept this to herself.

Are you ready to take some pictures? Carly changed the conversation deftly, prompting Don with a few more questions about his home. How many lights do you have up on there? she asked, watching as Don reached for a remote control stashed on his front porch. It controlled every light in his display, plus the inflatables. As he began pushing buttons, strands of light sprang to life, covering sections of his home and the surrounding trees and bushes.

Oh, I lost count somewhere around eighty strands of lights, he replied coyly, smoothing an invisible strand of hair off of his face. It takes a lot of effort to make something this special, he added, clicking on yet another section of lights. A gap remained in his display, though, and he walked over to the spot where the strands of light refused to cooperate.

Maybe you got a bad bulb, Carly offered, wishing he’d just get on with it. She was getting cold and wanted to go home and soak in a warm bath. The thought of hot cocoa and bubble bath made her antsy to finish her assignment. She sighed inwardly as Don scampered around the porch, checking connections on every strand.

What in the heck? Don stopped checking the strands of lights and scratched his head. There’s a whole strand missing! Somebody’s trying to sabotage my display! His face was turning an ugly shade of purple, and he glared at the house next to his. It sat in darkness; Renae was obviously not awake this evening. He took a deep breath, then made a noise that was halfway between a snarl and a hiss. Luckily, I have spare strands on hand, just in case something goes wrong, or in case somebody tries to ruin my display. He nodded his head towards Renae’s house as he spoke, and Carly realized that he was accusing the old woman of sabotaging his lights.

Do you really think someone would do that? she asked, following him around to the side of the house. He opened a small wooden shed and stepped inside, swallowed by darkness for a few seconds before a light clicked on. Thirty seconds later, Don emerged victorious, holding a strand of LED lights just like the ones on his house.

Well, I didn’t take them down, that’s for sure. Give me two seconds, and I’ll get these clipped into place so you can see the house in all its glory. Don moved quickly, for a larger gentleman, and Carly was amazed at how easy he made it look. He had small hooks in place along the front of his home, and the lights slipped easily into place alongside the others. Two minutes later, the entire home was lit in soft blue and white, not unlike a winter snowstorm.

Oh, it’s beautiful, admired Carly, snapping a few photographs while the light was still good. Then she switched off the flash, and took a few more of only the lights, capturing the house from as many different angles as possible.

Well, wait til you see my centerpiece this year, Don said, guiding Carly to the large tarp-covered object in the center of his yard. I am so glad to get rid of this tarp, he confided. I know it’s an eyesore, but I had to keep my masterpiece under wraps. I’ve been working on getting this assembled for ages, and I’m useless with tools, he admitted, but it’s finally done, and now my Christmas masterpiece is truly complete!

With a flourish and a bit of a struggle, Don ripped the tarp from the structure underneath. Carly stood stock-still, staring at the revelation. It took her a few seconds to recognize what she was looking at, and from the expression on Don’s face, it took him a few seconds, too. The object in question was a pretty little replica of one of the town’s Christmas carriages, led by Santa’s reindeer, who were waiting patiently for their flight orders. Inside the carriage, the jolly old fella himself sat, frozen