Page 8 of Death By Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries #7)

FIVE

“Again?” Brandy said, her eyes wide.

I shot her a dirty look.

“I mean he’s being blamed again?” she immediately clarified.

“Unjustly blamed again,” I said, not keeping the irritation out of my voice.

Brandy nodded in agreement, although her defense of my innocent—at least I was fairly certain he was innocent—llama was interrupted by the arrival of Justin to our group.

“Babe, what happened?” Brandy rushed to throw her arms around him as if he was returning from a highly dangerous hostage negotiation.

“We already told you,” Mom Jeans said, drawing out her words with exasperation. “This llama killed Santa.”

Who were these kids? And better yet, why had I tried to spare them seeing the awful scene on the cliffs?

“Jack?” Justin said after giving Brandy a brief hug, then disengaging himself from her. Sort of. Brandy was a bit like plastic wrap. He pulled her off one part of himself but she just attached to another. “How do you know?”

Justin posed the question to me, which I appreciated.

“We don’t,” I said, unable to stop myself from shooting a pointed look at the teens. They both returned my stern glare in the typical sullen and unaffected fashion only teenagers seemed able to muster. I returned my attention back to Justin. “We just found him with this Santa hat in his mouth.”

I held out the saliva-dampened hat to him. He frowned first at the soggy fleece and then at my gloved hands.

“I had them solely for working at the booth today. I swear,” I said.

He pursed his lips, clearly doubting that was why had the gloves on now.

I smiled and waved the hat at him again.

He held up his own hand to decline. “From what I hear, Peanut was pretty inebriated. I think it is likely he just lost his balance and fell.”

“Is he…deceased?” Brandy asked.

I wasn’t sure when Brandy had become so discrete regarding death but she had a terrified look on her face.

Justin nodded, his lips pressed in a grim line.

“Oh gosh, Jimmy will be a mess. Peanut was his best friend,” Dave said, shaking his head woefully.

Brandy nodded in agreement. “This is terrible.”

“Peanut was Jimmy’s best friend?” I tried again to recall if I’d ever seen the rotund little man.

Jimmy had been my pub’s cook since I arrived in Friendship Harbor, and I just didn’t remember ever seeing Peanut in Steamy’s.

Or as the Santa at last year’s Christmas events.

And I certainly hadn’t seen Jimmy rushing to Peanut’s aid during his fight with St. Nick.

But this was Jimmy we were talking about, so who knew what my older, curmudgeon of a cook acted like with a bestie. I suspected he acted like he did with everyone. Quiet and standoffish.

No lie, I was glad Jimmy wasn’t my best friend. I liked Jimmy in all this quirkiness, but I was too chatty for him.

“Yes, they’ve been best friends since they were the star quarterback and wide receiver, respectively, at Friendship Harbor High,” Justin said. “They called Jimmy “the man with the golden arm.”

That seemed an awfully long nickname.

Also, I had an incredibly difficult time seeing Jimmy as the star of anything other than grunts and clam chowder. Peanut was probably going to be the star of my nightmares tonight.

“Why did the llama have his hat?” Space Buns, twisted her lips dubiously.

Justin frowned at the two teens as if just realizing they were there, and he wasn’t sure why they were there. Join the club.

But before he could respond, the teenager’s question was answered by a voice that sounded as if it belonged to the Crypt Keeper.

“Because that darned beast has been a menace ever since Sunny got the wretched thing.”

Eleanor Hall.

“Mom,” Millie said, rolling her eyes at the older woman, although Eleanor was too busy glaring at my llama to notice.

Millie Hall, unlike her mother, was a sweet woman, who had clearly done terrible things in a past life to deserve such a horrible harpy for a mother in this one.

Jack rumbled loudly in his chest in response to the ancient woman’s glower. He also raised his wooly head and began to gurgle slightly. A sure sign he was gearing up to spit. While I understood why he’d want to spit at Eleanor, I knew it wouldn’t be good timing.

Justin moved to stand between Eleanor and my irritated llama. “As I said, we have no reason to believe this is anything other than an unfortunate accident.”

Eleanor harrumphed indignantly.

She was the undisputed star of harrumphing.

“Maybe you should take Jack back to your booth,” Justin said to me.

I nodded, glancing around to see that not only was a crowd still surrounding the rock wall of the cliff, but they were also moving to observe what was going on with our group—many of them eyeing Jack warily.

As I surveyed the sea of dismayed faces, my eyes landed on Saint Nicholas. He stood among the onlookers, his arms crossed over his chest. But what really grabbed my attention was his expression, his mouth set in a slight smile. He looked almost smug.

Not exactly the reaction someone should have to a man falling to his death.

For just a brief moment, our eyes locked, and his smug expression faded into one of passive indifference. Then he dropped his arms to his sides and turned to walk away from the watching group.

Well, that was interesting. Was Saint Nick somehow involved? Maybe a little retribution for Peanut ruining his Saint Nicholas performance?

That seemed rather extreme. But from what I’d overheard during his fight with Peanut, he definitely had a flair for the dramatic—and not just in his acting.

I turned away from the bystanders and caught Jack’s lead.

“I’ll take him back to my booth and see if George and Jimmy can bring him back to my house,” I said.

“Or bring him to the glue farm,” Eleanor suggested.

I shot her a dirty look, and I heard Jack gurgle again, working up for an extra gooey glob of phlegm. But rather than say anything to the old woman, I hurried to lead him through the crowd. A mother grabbed her young child’s shoulders and pulled him back against her as we passed.

A bubbling rumble emanated from Jack, making me painfully aware that no one was out of the spit zone yet.

“Don’t you dare,” I muttered to him. Spitting on children was not a good look.

He flattened his ears against his head, but stopped making concerning noises. More people gathered to watch us as we headed back toward the Steamy’s booth.

“Is that the llama everyone is saying killed someone?” a middle-aged woman said to the younger woman beside her.

Gossip did spread like wildfire in a small town, but this was actually ridiculous.

Brandy and Dave joined my trek, flanking either side of me and Jack—for which I was grateful. I was starting to feel more than a little concerned about the festival-goers’ interest in my pet.

“How on earth did all these people hear about Jack possibly being involved?” I asked. I just heard it myself.

Brandy shook her head as if she was as bemused as I was. She cast a wary glance at a man who glared as they passed. The gathering was starting to feel more like an angry mob rather than curious onlookers.

“Dave, I think you and George Sprague should load up Jack right away and get him back to my place,” I said, not quite daring to look toward the crowd.

“Agreed,” Dave said, looking worried too.

That bothered me more than anything thus far.

Dave wasn’t usually one to notice the vibes of the room.

He was usually on his own private high, and not chemically induced.

Dave liked to say he was high of life. He could call it what he wanted, but he never knew what was going on.

If he was aware of the festival-goers irritation, then I wasn’t overthinking what was going on.

When we got back to the booth, I was relieved to see that Jimmy and George were already breaking up the booth. Even Dougie piled up items that needed to be loaded up on the truck.

“Is it true?” Dougie stopped breaking down the tent as soon as we approached. The other two men paused what they were doing to look toward us.

Brandy shot a regretful look toward Jimmy, then nodded. “Yeah, Peanut is gone.”

Aside from a slight frown and a lift of one eyebrow, Jimmy didn’t react. He returned to siphoning frying oil into a five gallon bucket.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dougie said with a sigh. “He was a really decent guy.”

Behind him, George Sprague rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I mean, sure, he was kind of a bristly sort,” Dougie added. “But overall, a good guy.”

The way he said that almost sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact. Again, out of sight from Dougie and Jimmy, George Sprague shook his head and made a face.

Clearly, Steamy’s resident barfly didn’t think Peanut was such a great person.

I glanced over again at Jimmy to see if there was any more reaction from the older man, but he still remained focused on wrestling with gallons of grease.

“I was actually hoping that you and Dave could get Jack back to my place,” I said, speaking directly to George.

“What about the truck?” George asked. “We planned to make a trip to the pub to drop things off, then come back for your critter.”

“We can load this stuff up in my van,” Dougie offered. “I should have enough room.”

I wasn’t sure about the health department’s take on putting restaurant equipment into a plumbing van.

I was pretty sure it wasn’t positive. Although at this point, I was more concerned with getting Jack back to my house.

We could always spray everything down with disinfectant before returning it to the restaurant.

“That would be great,” I agreed.

Brandy grimaced beside me, her thoughts clearly going down the same route of plumbing tools and kitchen equipment in the same space. But I was truly more worried about the angry mob turning on my beloved pet.