Page 7 of Death By Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries #7)

FOUR

Another horrified scream filled the air, followed by the loud buzz of the other festival-goers. Then the echoes of other shouts.

Jack.

I suppose it was a strange reaction to immediately think the sudden outburst of frightened cries and shouts was due to my big-eared, woolly pet.

But that was my first thought, and I immediately raced toward where I thought the sound originated.

Dave, who somehow managed to tear himself away from the magical glass blowing craftsman, followed me.

As I reached the main lawn, I saw a group of people gathering near the low rock wall that created a minor barrier along the lawn, which dropped abruptly down to the rocky cliffs and crashing waves of Friendship Bay below.

Several parents held their children, keeping them away from the cliff and agitated crowd. I slowed down as I reached the growing group, carefully weaving my way closer to where many stood staring down at the rocks and waves.

Through the small breaks in between the lined up people, I caught glimpses of woolly white.

Jack. Oh no, Jack.

Again, I sped up, shoving forward, mumbling my apologies vaguely as I jostled past the onlookers. My pounding heart immediately calmed as I realized the white I’d seen was one of the capes of the carolers, the furry ivory material fluttering in the sea breeze.

But my relief was short-lived as another horrible thought occurred to me. What if Jack fell over the edge of the lawn? Could he have gotten startled and jumped the short wall? Did llamas jump? I didn’t know, and I suddenly couldn’t recall if I’d ever seen Jack jump. Maybe.

I managed to wriggle my way to the very front of the wall and peered over. Then I saw what caused the viewers distress.

Down on the craggy rocks with the dark blue-gray waves covering then revealing to only cover again, I saw a crumpled body.

A very human body clad in soaked red and white material.

“Whoa, it’s Santa,” a teenager in a faded rock band T-shirt and mom jeans said to her friend, another girl dressed very similarly with the addition of space buns on either side of her head.

“Gross,” the other teen said, still staring down at the prone body.

Red fleece and white faux fur rippled in the seawater like festive—although creepy—seaweed.

I couldn’t see from this distance any features, but I could tell by the soggy clothing and the build of the person, that this had to be Peanut.

On the other side of me I heard someone speaking loudly into their cell phone.

“Yes, there is a body that fell over a cliff. At The Captain’s Inn.” The woman in her mid-forties paused. “He’s badly hurt.”

I hoped the woman was on the phone with 911. Her next words reassured me.

“I think he might even be dead. Please send an ambulance.”

“Dead?” one of the teenagers beside me whispered, her voice dismayed.

“Gross,” the other one repeated, although this time she also seemed rattled.

“Maybe we should step back,” I said. They didn’t need to keep staring at someone who had met a terrible end. Possibly.

I glanced back over and winced. I was going to go with definitely had met a terrible end.

“What happened?” I heard Cameron call out from behind me. I turned to see both Cameron and Oliver pushing through the gathered crowd to reach me.

I waved for the teens to follow me. To my surprise, they did. I ushered them past the cluster of gawkers and to the less congested lawn.

Oliver stayed with me and the girls, while Cameron strode to the wall to see what was causing such a stir.

“What are they all looking at?” Oliver asked, dread in his voice.

“There was an accident,” I whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” the teen in the mom jeans asked.

“Yeah, we saw the slayed Santa,” Space Buns added.

“Sleighed Santa,” Dave, who I forgot had followed me, said, clearly amused at the unintentional play on words, but he immediately sobered as we all frowned at him. “Sorry. Not the time.”

I patted his arm reassuringly.

“Everyone, let’s move back,” Cameron shouted over the din of murmuring guests. “We need to clear the path for the emergency workers.”

As if on cue, I could hear sirens in the distance. The festival attendees followed Cameron’s directions, moving back onto the lawn. Some of the families with children herded them toward the parking lot.

Good call, but I knew Cameron would be upset that the event was coming to an unfortunate end. Not as unfortunate as Santa’s however.

I grimaced at my thoughts. Apparently I had the same macabre sense of humor under stress as Dave.

“Who is down there?” I overheard a woman I didn’t recognize ask the man with her. He was also unknown to me. Probably flatlanders as the locals would call them.

“The Santa,” the man said with a shake of his head.

“Oh no.” The woman shook her head then started toward the inn.

“Where are you going?” her companion called after her.

“Canceling our reservation. I’m not staying here after someone died. This was supposed to be a romantic getaway for our anniversary.”

The man, who was clearly her husband, rolled his eyes in exasperation. “We don’t even know if he’s dead.”

“He’s dead,” Dave stepped forward to inform them.

The wife gave her husband a pointed look, then continued her march toward the inn.

The husband sighed but fell into step behind her. “I guess you’re going to get to stay in Bar Harbor like you wanted.”

His wife didn’t slow her pace. “Looks like it.”

“Great,” Oliver muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “This is a disaster.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “The authorities will quickly have this situation under control, I’m sure.”

I felt badly referring to a man’s untimely demise as a “situation,” but it was better than saying, I’m sure the authorities will have the dead Santa out of the way in a jiff.

I looked around. More families steered their children toward the parking lot. It was probably safe to say that Santa tumbling over a cliff had put a damper on the afternoon.

A few moments later, an ambulance and two police cars pulled into the parking lot with their lights flashing and sirens blaring. If anybody had somehow remained oblivious to the incident, they were now well aware.

“I’m sure it’s going to be okay,” I continued to say to Oliver as we watched EMTs race toward the still-gathered crowd at the edge of the lawn. “I mean, it was an accident.”

Both Oliver and Dave gave me astonished looks.

“What?” I said. “Sometimes things like this are just accidents.”

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d go straight to an accident,” Oliver said with a wry chuckle. “The town’s detective actually thinking there was nothing suspicious?”

I mean, I wasn’t going to rule out that there might be something suspicious about the Santa’s death, but right now was not the time.

“Which Santa was it?” Oliver suddenly asked.

I realized then that we did actually have two Santas who could be the possible victim.

“It was definitely Peanut,” Dave answered before I could. “The guy down there on the rocks is short and round. And even in death, his beard is on crooked.”

Poor guy.

Beside me, the teenager with the space buns said, “Gross.”

“Couldn’t that be because he fell? The beard went sideways?”

“I guess, but Peanut was drunk,” Dave pointed out.

That he was.

We watched as the EMTs and Justin headed through an opening in the low rock wall that led to precarious stone steps carved into the seawall. The makeshift stairs descended down to the rocky shoreline.

“I thought you were going to close off access to those steps,” I said to Oliver.

“We are, but they’re not coming until next week,” Oliver replied. “Cameron was in such a rush to get this place open that I didn’t have time to get that finished.”

I bit my tongue, deciding not to say anything more.

Oliver already felt bad about how the grand opening was going, but closing off the steps seemed like a pretty high priority.

They were slippery and uneven—a big hazard.

Of course, that wasn’t where Peanut had fallen from anyway, so I supposed it wasn’t really an issue at the moment.

“Hey,” one of the teenagers said. “Look, there’s a llama!”

“That’s an alpaca,” the space bun girl corrected with great authority.

“It’s actually a llama,” I said, relieved to see my beloved pet. Amid all the hubbub, I had forgotten he was missing. I hurried over to where he stood on a patch of empty lawn, completely oblivious to the chaos around him.

As I approached, I realized there was red around his mouth. My heart raced. Was he hurt? Was that blood?

“He’s eating something,” the teenage girl said.

I frowned at them, wondering why they were following me.

Looking back at Jack, I realized she was right. He chewed on something red. As I got closer, I saw what it was. It was a hat.

“What is that?” Oliver asked, appearing beside me

“It’s a Santa hat,” I said.

“Peanut’s hat?” Dave asked.

I didn’t answer, fishing in the pocket of my elf skirt to retrieve some plastic gloves. See, our costumes weren’t that cheap. The skirts had pockets.

“Really? You’re carrying around plastic gloves?” Oliver said, eyeing them in disbelief.

I gave him a slightly offended look. “Yes. Because I was using them to serve food at my booth.”

“I have some too,” Dave said, whipping a pair out of his shorts’ pocket.

See, these costumes were quality.

“Plus, they do come in handy,” I said as I shoved my fingers into them. “I mean, you never know.”

Oliver rolled his eyes slightly but said nothing as I approached my llama, who nibbled merrily on the fleece. I tried to tug the hat out of his mouth, but he clamped down. The pom-pom hooked neatly over the long, jutting teeth of his lower jaw, making it impossible to wiggle the hat free.

“Come on, Jack.”

I wanted to take a look at the hat, but I also didn’t want others to see him with it. We’d already had one incident where Jack was blamed for—well, I wouldn’t say murder—but for an accidental death. I didn’t want him to be the scapegoat—or the scape llama —this time too.

I tugged one more time, and reluctantly, he let the pom-pom pop out of his mouth, like a baby letting go of a pacifier. I inspected the worn fleece, which was covered in a decent amount of llama spit. Another reason it was good to have gloves.

Even without getting the hat too close to my face, I could smell the faint musky scent of body odor. The inner lining of the hat was ringed with a gray, greasy grunge.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that’s Peanut,” Dave said, peering over my shoulder as I looked over the hat. He shuddered slightly.

I felt bad for Peanut. He was sort of a sad character—drunk, dirty, and just wanting to be Santa. Actually, now that I said that in my head, it really didn’t add up to anything good.

“Do you think that means your llama knocked him over the cliff?” asked Space Buns, who despite the penchant for one word comments, was definitely the more astute of the two friends.

“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Then I remembered Peanut had peppermints. Jack could have followed him and maybe he’d gotten a little too pushy trying to get some of one of his favorite treats.

I leaned closer to my llama, subtly trying to smell his breath. I didn’t smell peppermint.

“I mean, the hat could have fallen off anywhere,” I added. “And Jack just found it.”

“Jack?” the mom jeans teenager asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded at my pet. “My llama.”

Space Buns was definitely the intellect of the two.

“What’s going on?” Brandy strode across the lawn toward them.

“This woman’s llama killed Santa,” Space Buns told her.

I fought back a groan. Maybe she wasn’t as smart as I thought.