A Malicious Midwinter

by Dee Ernst

  My cellphone rang, and it was Shelly, my best friend.

  “I just drove home from work, and I may never recover. It took me almost two hours. What happened with your author?”

  “She’s here. So is her assistant. The trains stopped running and the only other option was camping out in the library. But listen, if the power goes out, you come over, okay? And Jamie, of course.”

  Shelly had separated from her husband after meeting and falling in love with James Ferguson. During this break from school, her boys had gone off to Florida with their father, and she and James had been playing house, same as Sam and I.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “You sound like you have a full house.”

  “I do. That’s why I need you here.” I gave her a brief rundown of the Beth-booze-and-Glory situation.

  “Listen, Ellie, maybe I should just brave the whole possible freezing to death thing at home,” she said at last.

  “No. Please, Shelly? My sanity is at stake.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t know you had any left. Okay, if the power goes off, we’ll be there.”

  I hung up. Now what?

  I went back into the living room and Beth was stretched out on the couch, watching television, a silver flask in her hand. When she looked up at me she smiled sheepishly. “Can I have a glass, please? And some ice?”

  “How much of that do you have left?” I asked.

  Her smile stayed fixed. “About half the flask.”

  “And what happens when you run out?”

  She stopped smiling. “Oh, Ellie, everyone has a little vodka in a back cupboard somewhere.”

  “Yeah? What if I was a recovering alcoholic and there wasn’t even cooking sherry in the house?”

  Now she looked nervous.

  I sat down in the corner of the couch by her feet. “How long has this been going on, Beth?

  Her eyes narrowed and got a nasty look in them. “What the hell are you, my mother? What makes you think you have any right to ask me these kinds of questions? You’re my editor. That’s all.”

  “Well, since you’re currently in my house, with no chance of leaving it and going anywhere else for at least two days, and I have to put up with you and your assistant, feed you, keep you warm and dry, I think I have a right to know what exactly I’m dealing with.”

  She swung her feet around and sat upright, looking intently at the television. “Two days? I could be here for two days?”

  As if to answer her question, the smiling Weather Channel reporter gestured elaborately at the map. Pointing out the huge band of snow, she talked about how slow moving it was, how intense, and how monumental the snowfall was going to be. After five minutes of listening together, I sighed.

  “I don’t know, Beth. Three days? That’s if the trains can start running right away. Of course, you might be able to find a car service to take you back to New York, but it would have to be one with a reindeer and matching sleigh.”

  She had paled a bit. “This is not funny.”

  “No,” I agreed. “It’s not. So, is this drinking of yours going to become a major problem? Or are you one of those people who can quit anytime?”

  She stood up, shook herself with, I must admit, great dignity, and stormed back upstairs.

  Boot, whining, crawled into my lap.

  It was going to be a very long snowstorm.

  Chapter 3

  I am always glad to see Sam Kinali come through the door. For one thing, he’s so big that any room suddenly feels crowded and happy. He’s a tall and broad-shouldered and (although this has nothing to do with his size, and I may be slightly prejudiced) very sexy man. Even his voice is big—deep and booming with a laugh that turns heads in a crowd.

  But I gotta say, when he finally came through my front door, after I stared out of the window into the blinding snow for almost an hour, I thought I would die from happiness and relief.

  “You’re not dead in a snowdrift,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “And you bought Indian food!”

  He kissed me, very nicely, shook the snow off his head and shoulders, and set down various paper bags. “Of course I have Indian food. It’s stone cold by now, because it took me hours to get up Route 51, but there’s enough for a small army. Two big bottles of vodka for your guest, and a nice cabernet for you and I, later tonight.”

  I picked up the bags to save them from further scrutiny by Boot. “You’re wonderful. Yeah, Shelly told me things were really bad out there. She and James may camp out here if we lose power.”

  “We are lucky. Most of the southern part of the state is blacked out already. It’s just a matter of time. The wires can’t bear the weight of the snow.”

  I had lit a fire and it was blazing quite nicely. He stood before it, rubbing his hands together. “Has your author found my scotch?”

  “Nope. Warm up. I’ll bring you a glass.”

  I took me a few minutes to move the food from take-out containers to baking pans, and while I was putzing around I heard Sam talking to someone. I’d been hoping for some alone time with him, but it looked like one or more of my guests had come out of self-imposed exile.

  I carried a small glass of Johnny Walker out into the living room, and found Sam talking to Glory.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked her.

  She nodded. “Just some water, please. I didn’t think I needed to nap quite this long.”

  “I’m sure Beth can be exhausting,” I said, and made an about-face.

  I returned with water. Glory took it and was about to say something, I assumed it was thank you, when Beth made her entrance.

  And boy, what an entrance.

  She came down the stairs gracefully, looking amazing. Her hair and make-up had been completely redone. Her eyes went right past me and fixed on Sam.

  “Oh, my,” she purred. “Snowbound in the sticks is looking better and better. Ellie, dear, I hope this gentleman is some poor, snow-bound stranger who just happened to stumble to your door, has nowhere else to go, and will be forced spend the night? Here? With someone?”

  What a scenario. But after all, she was a writer. I cleared my throat. “This gentleman happens to be Sam Kinali, who is here by invitation and will be sharing a bed with me, thank-you-very-much.”

  She fluttered a hand. “Well, that remains to be seen. Is it cocktail time? I’d love a little something.”

  It looked like the next few days would consist of me mainly playing waitress while keeping myself between Beth and Sam at all times.

  I wasn’t sure how I could pull that off.

  “I’ll get you something,” Glory offered. “If Ellie will point me in the right direction.”

  Hmmm. If I went to mix for Beth what would probably be the first of many drinks, she would be with Sam, but at least Glory would be in the same room. If I showed Glory to the kitchen, I’d be gone for a much shorter time, but…wait. I trusted Sam with all my heart. How far could Beth get in two or three minutes anyway? I was sure he was capable of totally shutting her down.

  I motioned to Glory, after giving Sam a look that, I hoped, sent various messages, all of them with huge, red flags all over them.

  We went into the kitchen and I opened the cabinet with all my bar things — martini glasses, shot glasses, various stainless steel cocktail shakers and a few large, crystal beer mugs. I took a mug, blew the dust out, and held it toward Glory. “Will this be big enough?”

  She blushed. “A regular martini glass will be fine,” she said. She looked pointedly at the two large, unopened bottles of vodka sitting on the counter. “Did you really get that for her?”

  “I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ve had no experience with alcoholics. Would two days sober give her the DT’s?”

  “She’s not an alcoholic,” Glory mumbled.

  “What would you call it? The woman needs help, Glory. Are you helping her, or enabling her?”

  She pushed past me, grabbed a cocktail shaker off the shelf, then turned to
the refrigerator to grab some ice out of the freezer.

  “Does she even need vermouth?” I asked.

  “No,” Glory said shortly.

  I watched her as she poured vodka, then shook expertly. “Who was that guy?”

  She looked at me, flustered. “What guy?”

  “The guy in the Q&A that Beth was not happy to see.”

  “Oh.” She poured very carefully. “My boyfriend.”

  “Was he here to see you? Or give Beth a hard time?”

  “Both.” She carried the drink back into the living room.

  Sam and Beth looked like they were getting along like gangbusters. She was back on the couch in her Norma Desmond pose, stretched out and looking ready to be ravished. In taking the drink from Glory, she became picture perfect. Sam, sitting by the fireplace, looked amused.

  Beth took a sip. “No olives?”

  “No, Beth,” I snapped. “There was almost no vodka. We’re in kind of an emergency here.”

  “Yes, Sam here was just telling me. He’s a police detective, did you know? He might be very useful in my research.”

  “Of course I know, Beth. And Glory here does all the research you need. Kindly put those claws away before you find yourself back at the library.”

  She laughed. “Ellie, darling, don’t worry. I would never take Sam here away from you! Why, he’s obviously devoted.” She sipped delicately, then tossed back the whole of her drink in one gulp. She held out her glass.

  “Of course,” Glory mumbled. She had just sat down, but she bounced back up, took the glass, and turned toward the kitchen.

  “You should probably bring out the whole shaker,” I called after her.

  I perched myself on the arm of the chair Sam was sitting in, and his hand was comfortably on my knee. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  * * *

  We had just finished dinner when the power went out.

  First, there was a flicker. Sam quickly stood up and went into the kitchen.

  “What’s happening?” Beth asked. She had only two drinks before the food was hot, so dinner conversation went well. Beth may have been a world-class pain in the butt, but she was a very entertaining pain in the butt, and she had us all laughing at her stories. Well, of course. She was a paid professional storyteller. And she was good at her job.

  The lights flickered again, then darkness. I could hear Sam and saw the beam of the flashlight. He went out to the back porch.

  “What?” Beth asked again.

  “The power just went out,” I told her. “Sam is firing up the generator.”

  “No power? But, how will we stay warm? I mean, if there’s no power—”

  “Beth,” Glory said quietly, “Ellie just told you. There’s a generator. We’ll have power back. Heat and light.”

  I couldn’t see Beth’s face, but I don’t think she was convinced because she started breathing very fast. I was waiting for a full-blown panic attack to set in when the lights went back on.

  “See?” I said to her sweetly. “Generator.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief.

  Sam came back inside. There was snow on his head and down around his shoulders, and the cold air clung to him, dropping the temperature of the room a few degrees.

  “It’s getting cold out there,” he said. That caused me a bit of concern. Sam loved cold weather— snow, hail, freezing anything—he only wore a coat in the direst of circumstances. For him to say it was getting cold did not bode well.

  “Shelly and James should be over in about ten,” I said to Sam.

  “Who?” Beth asked.

  “The entire town has no power, so people with generators will be hosting people without. Shelly is my best friend, so she and her, ah, beau will be staying here.”

  “Oh.” She looked uncomfortable. “So does that mean Glory and I will have to share?”

  I almost said yes, just to make her squirm, but decided that, since things were going so well, I shouldn’t go out of my way to spoil things.

  “They can stay in the guest room. But if somebody else shows up at my door, we may all have to start doubling up.”

  And then the doorbell rang. Boot, half-asleep in front of the fire, began barking hysterically, and not her usual, oh-look-it’s-a-friend kind of bark.

  Who else would brave this weather to show up at my house?

  I crossed over to the front door and opened it, blocking Boot’s attempt at savagery with my knee.

  It was the guy from earlier that afternoon. Glory’s boyfriend.

  There was a clear view of the front door from the dining room, and Beth had gotten an eyeful.

  “Don’t let him in,” she shrieked. “He’s a monster.”

  Glory had come out of her chair in a rush and was right behind me.

  “Garth, what are you doing here?”

  Garth was something over six feet tall with a long, fleshy face, a scraggly dark beard, and small teeth that were chattering. “I followed you. I was waiting for you to leave for New York. But I was afraid I’d run out of gas, and the heater would stop working and I’d freeze to death.”

  I looked past him and saw, through the swirl of white, a large pick-up truck.

  I stood to the side.

  “No one is going to New York or anywhere else tonight. That includes you, apparently. Come on in.”

  I closed the door and turned to welcome my guest. Glory had wrapped her arms around his neck and was kissing him. He was trying to shake the snow off his arms without getting any on her.

  Very considerate guy.

  Beth’s face was not pretty. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she snarled from the dining room. She reached for her glass, saw it was empty, and held it out. “Glory, I need a drink.”

  Garth pushed Glory behind his rather significant frame and glared at Beth.

  “Get it yourself. She’s not your damn maid.”

  Well.

  Glory made a move, but Garth grabbed her arm and shook it, not all that gently. “When,” he hissed, “are you going to stop bowing and scraping to her? You’re the one who should be doing the asking. After all, it’s your work that’s making her famous. When are you going to claim it?”

  “Garth,” Glory said in a low voice, “not now.”

  “Why not now? How long are you going to wait?”

  Well.

  Beth rose from the dining room table and went at Garth, her arms stretched out, her nails looking like actual claws. Sam was right behind her, and he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the floor, leaving her arms and legs moving uselessly while the words coming out of her mouth would have put a longshoreman to shame.

  I looked at Glory. “You? You wrote the new series?”

  She nodded, looking miserable.

  “But it’s brilliant. Why didn’t you just publish it on your own?”

  Glory appeared to be shrinking into Garth’s body. “She told me the stories needed a name. That they would never sell on their own.”

  “So, this has been going on since the very beginning? Are you at least getting the royalties?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not all of them.

  Well.

  Behind me, the door opened again, and Shelly and James burst in, Shelly’s cat howling in protest from within the folds of James’s coat.

  The cat, named Whiskers, shot out, bounced up off the floor as Boot took chase, and scrambled up the nearest tall object, which happened to be Garth. Whiskers perched on Garth’s shoulder, hissing, while Boot barked frantically. Glory had begun to cry in loud, gulping sobs.

  Beth was still struggling in Sam’s arms, making a very sincere effort to escape, with the obvious mission to tear into some part of Garth’s body. But she stopped suddenly, staring.

  “James? Is that you? What are you doing here, you…” The barrage of foul language was a trifle embarrassing.

  James turned white. “I thought you were going back to New York,” he whispered hoarsely.

&n
bsp; Shelly looked confused. “You know her?”

  “My ex-wife,” he said shortly.

  Well.

  * * *

  Whiskers was shut into the downstairs powder room. Boot had stopped barking, and Sam set Beth on her feet, after warning her that if she didn’t behave, he’d happily shut her in the downstairs powder room as well. Garth accepted the invitation to have a bit of something to eat, and was at the dining room table, emptying out all remaining bowls of food. Glory stopped crying and was sitting at his side.

  Shelly had tried to apologize to James. No, she hadn’t mentioned that Beth Riley had been stranded by the weather, and was spending the night at my house. Why should she have? She knew that James had been married, but no names had been mentioned, and although he had known that Beth was going to be in Mt. Abrams, he had chosen to not mention their prior relationship.

  The conversation had not gone well, because Shelly kept getting angrier as James tried to find an excuse—any excuse—that would work. After hissing at each other in a corner of the living room, Shelly casually mentioned that they were going upstairs for a bit. I told her the guest room was theirs, and they scooted up the stairs.

  Beth was in the kitchen. She had found the vodka. I think she’d given up on the three seconds worth of work it took to make a martini, and was pouring the vodka straight over the ice.

  Sam and I were watching the Weather Channel, trying to figure out when was the earliest possible time we could get these people out of my house and back where they belonged. It looked like it was going to be at least forty-eight hours.

  “What if we don’t make it?” I whispered.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m a professional, remember. I have a gun. We’ll be fine.”

  “Where is your gun, by the way? Right now, there are at least three possible murders being plotted.”

  He kissed the side of my head. “Upstairs. Top of your closet. Behind all those old hatboxes. Believe me, no one will ever find it.”

  “Aren’t you glad I’m such a borderline hoarder?”

  “Ah, no. Not really. This may be the only time it pays off.”