Two Tickets to the Christmas Ball

by Donita K. Paul

  “Go home,” she yelled at the cars around her. “Spend time with your families. They’re more important than any stupid errand could be.”

  She pulled into her apartment complex and sighed with relief. Her parking spot looked especially welcoming after that crazy swarm of vehicles on the freeway. Home, sanctuary, a bastion against the vagaries of a mixed-up world awaited her. Every step of the short walk to the front door of her building jarred loose some of the tension in her shoulders. But as she got closer, she saw a furry, orange, brown, and white something sitting on the stoop of the complex. Skippy wailed, then stood as soon as she saw her mistress.

  “What are you doing out here?” Cora slipped her passkey into the slot and pushed the door open.

  Skippy ran past her legs and up the stairs. She stopped midway, looked over her shoulder, and let out a harsh meow.

  “I’m coming!”

  Skippy paced in front of their door while Cora fumbled to insert the key and allow them inside. Skippy raced in, but Cora stood in the entry, reached over, and switched on the light. She caught her breath. The room was trashed. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

  A policewoman walked through the apartment with a clipboard, taking notes as Cora listed the objects missing.

  “Makeup, purses, several knickknacks, a few pieces of jewelry,” said Officer Mann. “Most of these items are not worth much.”

  Cora raised her eyebrows.

  The officer chuckled self-consciously. “That’s no slur against you, Miss Crowder. Usually in a home break-in, the thief takes small, valuable items that will sell easily on the black market, like MP3 players, cameras, laptops. And they don’t usually take the time to make such a mess.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “That, with the lack of evidence of forced entry, would lead me to suspect the perpetrator is someone you know.”

  Cora winced. She’d avoided entertaining that possibility. Of course, her sister’s proximity had prodded her to think the worst.

  “You’ve thought of someone?” The officer waited.

  Cora nodded. “But she doesn’t have a key to the apartment. She’s never been inside the front door.”

  “But she has been here?”

  “Yes.”

  “It would be best if you gave me this person’s name and how to contact her.”

  Cora rubbed her forehead with stiff fingers as if she could remove the headache that was her family. “My sister Suzanne. I have no idea what her last name is now. She was at the Fair-Roads Hotel on Buckertown Street two days ago. But I still can’t see any way she could have gotten in.”

  “Do you have any idea why she would have been so destructive?”

  “Looking for my credit cards.” She saw the interest perk in the officer’s eyes. “She knows I don’t carry but one credit card at a time. She was looking for the other two.”

  “Obviously, you and your sister are estranged, yet she knows you have two credit cards hidden in the apartment?”

  Cora shook her head. “Not two. Not the number. Just that I am likely to have some credit cards here rather than in my purse.”

  “And are they still here?”

  “Yes, that was the first thing I checked for.”

  “Out of curiosity, where did you have them hidden?”

  Cora tried a smile but was too weary to produce one. “In a pouch, tied to a string, suspended from the back of the refrigerator.”

  Officer Mann’s head jerked back and her eyes opened wide. “Really?”

  “She’s stolen my credit cards before. As soon as I knew she was in town, I moved them from the desk drawer to a less likely place.”

  “Anything else missing in the bedroom?”

  Cora slowly walked through the clutter on the floor. “I’ll have to put some things away before I can tell for sure. She probably took some clothing.” She opened the closet door. Everything hung neatly to the sides of a gaping hole in the line of clothing.

  Cora gasped. “My dress is gone.”

  Officer Mann looked over her shoulder. “Was it valuable?”

  “More valuable than the amount I paid.” She felt tears welling up. “I got it for seventy-nine dollars. It was a ball gown. I’m going to the Wizards’ Christmas Ball.”

  “Never heard of it.” The policewoman gestured around. “It looks like she stopped here. This side of your room is ransacked. From the closet door on, everything is neat.”

  Cora closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Maybe it was someone else. Maybe they heard a noise and got spooked.”

  “You don’t believe that, Miss Crowder. We’ll look for other suspects but will have to question your sister.” She paused to give Cora a sympathetic look. “Don’t feel guilty. You haven’t put the finger on your sister. We always follow all leads and eliminate all possibilities. How does that sound?”

  Cora squeezed her eyes tight. She managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

  “Laura,” a voice called from the front of the apartment.

  “Here.” Officer Mann strode through the mess.

  Cora followed, wishing she could back out of this scene and live someone else’s life for a few days.

  The other officer stood in her living room with the manager of the complex.

  Why had the older gentleman felt it necessary to come in person? “Mr. Shepherd?”

  He clenched his hands together. “Cora, it’s my fault. I let her in. She had a picture in her wallet of you two when you were teens. She had a big package that she said was your Christmas gift, and she wanted to put it inside your apartment as a surprise.”

  “So you walked over and let her in?”

  “Yes.” His voice quavered, and he visibly trembled. “Yes, but I didn’t leave her for a moment. Then we left. Together. I didn’t think she had time to steal anything, but this policeman said she fixed the lock so she could get back in. I don’t understand it, but he says she did it with a piece of tape. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Cora. Right before Christmas too. And she seemed so sweet and said how you’d practically raised her. And she said she loved you both as a sister and as a mother. She talked and talked.” He shuddered. “I’m so sorry, and I suppose there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”

  Cora sighed in frustration, more at how her sister had manipulated her landlord than his falling for her tricks. “I understand, Mr. Shepherd. Please, don’t blame yourself too much. She’s very good at getting what she wants.”

  “Is she even your sister?”

  Cora felt her jaw tighten and deliberately made her voice soft. “Yes. She is.”

  The telephone rang, and while Mr. Shepherd continued to remember details, Cora picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Cora, it’s Simon. I’m here with Greg Spencer, but Zee never showed up. I called the hotel, and she’s checked out.”

  Cora’s spirits lifted just a little. She could give Simon proof that he had wasted his concern on Suzanne. “That makes sense. She robbed my apartment this afternoon.”

  “She was caught robbing your place?”

  “No, but the manager let her into my home so she could deliver a Christmas present.”

  “Did he see her take anything?”

  “No, but—”

  “Jumping to conclusions is never a good idea. Let’s wait until we have more facts.”

  “There are plenty of facts!” Cora sputtered. Simon wanted to exonerate Suzanne. “You should see this place! There wasn’t even a gift here that she claimed to be leaving.”

  “Maybe the thief took it.”

  Simon continued to spout his drivel. His excuses echoed the ones her mother had always made for her youngest, prettiest, smartest daughter. Cora couldn’t stand to hear one more word. She clenched her fist around the phone and held it away from her ear. When the faint noise on the line ceased, she pushed down the growl that formed in her throat and brought the phone back.

  “Greg and I will come over,” Simon said after the pause.

  “
No! Don’t do that. I’m tired, and as soon as these police officers leave, I’m going to bed.”

  “All right, then.”

  He sounded put out. What right did he have to be upset?

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

  “Good night, and thank you for offering to come over.”

  “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  Cora put down the receiver. That didn’t go well. At least she remembered to thank him for his consideration instead of yelling at him for his stupidity. Of course it was Suzanne. And he’s going to see me tomorrow at work? Ha! More likely he’s going to look right through me.

  “Miss Crowder?”

  “Yes?” She looked up.

  The two officers remained, but Mr. Shepherd had left.

  “We’re going to take a few fingerprints, then be out of your hair. Let’s look at some of the things thrown to the floor. Can you pick out an object or two that are rarely handled? The perfect object would be something with a smooth surface that you cleaned thoroughly and just put back on the shelf.”

  In an hour the police were gone, and Cora sat on her bed, trying to decide what to do. She didn’t want to go to work the next day. Simon wouldn’t give her the time of day during work hours. The ball was the next night, and she had no dress. Her apartment looked like a tornado had swept through. Her charge cards were safe, but her heart wasn’t.

  Skippy jumped onto the bed. The cat had kept herself and her kittens hidden during all the commotion.

  “What do you think, Skippy?” She picked her up and held her close. “Is this headache stress, or is my body trying to get me out of my obligations?”

  Skippy purred in response to Cora’s gentle stroking.

  “No advice?” The cat wiggled enough to situate herself on Cora’s lap. “Well, I would have listened to your advice, unlike some people who assume they know the way to handle my manipulative sister. And I trust you not to lecture me about being fair and not jumping to conclusions.” She sighed. “I’m not going to work tomorrow, and I am not going to the ball.”

  15

  Simon shrugged into the tight-fitting suit coat. A cutaway, that’s what Bonnie Booterbaw called it. The front of the jacket came to his waist, the back hung down in tails. He buttoned the front over the fancy shirt, then studied himself in the mirror. Wiggling his eyebrows, he didn’t bother to keep a goofy grin off his face. He actually looked pretty spiffy. At least Sandy would be impressed.

  He frowned. Cora had called and talked to his mother. Of course, he’d known Cora had stayed home from work this morning. Mrs. Hudson told him she was cleaning up her apartment, filling out forms for the police, and generally trying to get her emotions stabilized. Mrs. Hudson twisted her hands as she also relayed Cora’s message that she had no dress and no desire to go to the ball.

  His mother confirmed this report. Both Mrs. Hudson and his mom had tried to persuade Cora that it would be better for her spirits to go to the ball with Sandy and Simon. She’d cried but remained firm. A ball was the last place she wanted to go.

  Simon’s mouth distorted into a jagged grimace reflected in the mirror. “Especially if it meant going with me.”

  Sandy’s heavy tread thudded toward his bedroom. “Look at me, Simon.”

  He turned toward the door and gave his sister a genuine smile. “You look gorgeous.”

  Sandy grinned and revolved in place like a model. “Granddad and Aunt Mae have taught me dances. Can you do the monkey or the fox trot?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe they should have been giving me lessons as well.”

  “You can dance. Mom told me.”

  “Did she tell you that Cora can’t make it?”

  Sandy hung her head, and a gigantic sigh almost deflated her. “Yes.” She looked up at her brother with sad eyes. “Do you think we could go by her apartment and show her how fantastic we look?”

  “I don’t think Cora wants to see me.”

  Roiling storm clouds descended on Sandy’s usual sunny expression. “Simon, what did you do?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m thinking about the possibilities.”

  Sandy’s eyes narrowed, and Simon knew he was in for a lecture. “Call her, Simon. Call her. The Bible says—”

  “I know what the Bible says.”

  “Then you know you should call her. If she’s mad, you need to find out why and make amen.”

  “Amends.”

  “Do it.”

  Simon sat on his bed and picked up the phone. Funny, he’d already memorized her number from the few times he’d called about the kittens. Ha! No sense in trying to fool himself. He’d only called once about the kittens. After the first call, the kittens were only an excuse to see Cora.

  “Hello.” Her voice sounded sad, vulnerable, hurt. He was responsible for that somehow. “Hello,” she repeated.

  “Cora, it’s Simon.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is there any way we can get you to go to the ball with us? With me?”

  “No. Thanks for calling, but I’m really not in the mood.”

  Sandy poked him.

  He cleared his throat. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “There had to be something.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Okay. That’s it. That’s what you’ve done.”

  “What?”

  “Simon, go to the ball. Have a good time. I just can’t handle celibate cats giving birth, car accidents, trying to soften relatives’ hard shells with Christmas presents”—her voice raised a notch and tightened—“sisters who manipulate my friends, and stupid wizards’ dances.”

  Simon lived with three women—his mom, his aunt, and his sister. He recognized a female moment when he heard it.

  “How about meeting me for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “No.” The phone went dead.

  Sandy put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s not coming?”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Their mother called from downstairs. “You two better get moving. Sandy, you promised not to give Simon a hard time and ruin the fun. Be a good girl.”

  “Yes ma’am,” she called back, but she scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue just before she turned and galumphed toward the stairs.

  The radio broke the silence of the ride downtown, and about halfway to the hotel, Sandy began to sing along with the Christmas tunes. Simon tentatively joined her. When she didn’t stop and give him the silent treatment, he knew she’d regained her positive outlook and that she would have a good time. But Cora was not having a good time tonight. And Simon realized he wouldn’t have a good time either, knowing she was hurt and alone.

  “Simon,” Sandy said, “I’m going to spend Christmas with Cora.”

  “What do you mean?” Simon examined his sister’s profile, trying to deduce what was going through her mind. “Did you invite her to our house? That would be great.”

  “No, I am going with her. She serves Christmas dinner downtown. And she wraps presents for kids.”

  “You better ask Mom about that.”

  “I’m twenty-four, Simon.” Sandy gazed out the window for a moment. “You could come too. Maybe Mom, Granddad, and Aunt Mae too. Cora says she can’t do things with her family because they don’t treat Christmas with respect. But when she works at the shelter, she feels like she is serving people like her family, and it reminds her of God.”

  “Reminds her of God?”

  “Yeah. God pulled her down one road because the other road would have led to the shelter.”

  “I see.”

  “Me too.” Sandy hummed along with the radio.

  Simon contemplated how hard it would be to follow Jesus if none of his family respected God.

  When they reached Sage Street, they lined up with other cars following the guidance of costumed traffic directors. The men wore medieval attire and carried two flashlight
s each. One had an extended green cone over the lighted end, and the other had a red cone. Sandy watched the men wave their beacons, fascinated by the impromptu dance of colors.

  Simon followed the car in front of him until guided into a ramshackle parking garage.

  “I didn’t notice this building when we were here before.” Sandy craned her neck to see the shops close by. “This is the same corner. There’s Michelle’s candy shop.”

  “You had your eyes on the sweets and didn’t notice this old building.” Simon bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t remember seeing this building either. Perhaps in daylight, he’d get a clearer picture and remember the three-tiered, concrete monstrosity.

  “Do you suppose,” Sandy said, awe in her voice, “that real wizards do things on Sage Street?”

  “Like?”

  “Like making buildings appear or disappear.”

  Impossible, but he paused to think about it. Was it really that outrageous? He knew better than to waste time on such speculation. He might never unravel the mysteries behind Sage Street. And did it really matter? No. Best leave it alone. This place was wreaking havoc with Simon’s reason. But he couldn’t help asking Sandy’s opinion. “What do you think?”

  “Nah.” Sandy’s head swiveled as she took in the interior of the dark warehouse with rows of parking spaces. “This place is odd. Look at the big pots over there.”

  “I think those are vats of some kind. It looks like this must have been converted from an old factory.”

  “The ball’s not going to be in here, is it?”

  “Definitely not. The Melchior Hotel is across the street.”

  Sandy bounced in her seat, and a rush of brotherly pleasure swept through Simon. He didn’t often find exactly the right thing to make Sandy glow, but this ball had tickled his sister right down to her bones. They parked as directed by a man in a court jester’s outfit.

  Simon told her to stay until he came to open her door. “Hold your skirt up, Candy-Sandy.” He helped her move the mountain of gauzy material around her legs so she could stand. “This is a cement garage floor and probably dirty.”