Jolly Dead St. Nicholas by Carol A. Guy Page A

for the convenience of one that could be boxed away for the next year. The treasured ornaments still hung from the plastic branches, though. As long as she lived, that was the way it would be.
    The first year after Albert’s death, she’d barely decorated the rest of the house. In fact, she’d been doing good to put up the newly purchased fake tree. Last year she decided that in addition to the tree she’d at least hang some pine boughs from the mantel. She’d even put a few poinsettias around. At last, this year, she’d retrieved all the boxes from the attic. Again the house looked the way it had when Albert was alive. Except for the artificial tree, of course.
    A knock at the front door brought her out of her reverie. Daniel stood on the front porch, snow covering the shoulders of his down-filled jacket. He looked exhausted. His thick, curly hair, also flecked with snow, was mussed, his eyes bloodshot. A stubbly beard outlined his chin line.
    “I just got a call from Lloyd Fletcher,” he said with disgust.
    “Surely he’s not harassing you about those damned lions at a time like this.” Adelaide really wanted to give the potbellied realtor a piece of her mind.
    “He wants to make sure this nasty business at the church is handled quickly.” Daniel took off his coat and hung it over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, as he’d done since he was nine years old. He headed for the kitchen. She followed.
    Adelaide didn’t see any reason to respond to Lloyd Fletcher’s asinine edict. What did he think the police were going to do, drag their feet? “Coffee?” she asked.
    Daniel shook his head. “I’m stoked on caffeine now. How about hot chocolate?”
    She used to make hot chocolate for him when he came home from school or sledding in the winter. “That sounds good to me, too,” she told him. She set about making the cocoa, not from a mix, but from scratch, as always.
    “Where did that picture come from?”
    Adelaide glanced around. He was pointing at the sunflower pastel that now hung on the wall opposite the table. “I bought it at the bazaar yesterday. It’s by Marian Canfield, the church organist.” Adelaide had chosen a spot where she could see the picture while eating her solitary meals.
    “It’s nice. Cheerful,” Daniel commented with approval.
    “Tell me what’s going on, Daniel,” she said as she worked.
    He sat down at the table. “We found Susan at home around seven. She claims she left the church after the discussion—that’s what she called it—with Jerry. She denied it was a real argument. Supposedly, she went for a drive to clear her mind. I’d say she had a lot of mind to clear if it took her six hours.”
    “Where did she go?”
    “First toward the falls, then she says she kept going, driving around aimlessly, thinking. She seems to remember passing a few cars on some country road but can’t remember exactly where she was.”
    “Do you believe her?”
    “Not for a minute.”
    “What about Douglas?”
    “I had Larry Schwartz checking the Underwood house every half hour or so. He finally found the preacher and his wife at home around six-forty-five. Judy then joined Larry so they could interview them separately.”
    Adelaide didn’t know Larry Schwartz well, but from what she’d heard he was a very conscientious officer who worked the night shift. She had heard rumors that he aspired to be a detective in a larger police department someday, however. In all likelihood this job was a stepping stone for him. Images of the tall, muscular young man came to mind. He was single and good looking, which made him very popular with the young single women in town, of course.
    “How did they react to the news?” Adelaide asked.
    “They’d already heard it on the car radio,” Daniel replied in an irritated tone.
    “Where had they been?” Adelaide asked.
    “Mrs. Underwood swore they were together from about one o’clock on. She says they decided to go to Marietta for