Varnished without a Trace

by Misty Simon

  “That seems a little violent for a game of cardboard cards and dried corn.”

  I scoffed. “Oh that’s nothing, the chicken-wire cage was missing tonight at bingo simply because it’s Christmas. Pastor Jacobson has had cards thrown at him, trolls, glass angels, daubers and even a beer bottle or two on BYOB nights when they didn’t like the numbers he called.”

  “You can’t be serious.” His fingers stilled in my hair and I smiled at his naiveté.

  “Very serious. It’s why I avoid bingo as often as possible.”

  “No doubt.”

  “But why on Christmas Eve?” The clock struck midnight. “I think I’m going to have to sleep on it.”

  “Ready to have sweet dreams of Christmas?”

  “Either that or insightful dreams about murder.” Really, I was up for either one. Had Burton found Hoagie? How had he taken it? The guy would probably be devastated no matter what.

  Did we have their funeral arrangements? I couldn’t imagine that someone who was related to us, no matter how distantly, would choose to go somewhere else, but it had happened before; rarely, but it had. I’d have to check tomorrow if I could get a moment to run downstairs without tipping off Max that I was going to look into this on Christmas Day of all days.

  There were worse things I could be doing.

  Chapter Three

  Nothing insightful came to me during the night, and I did everything I could to keep myself from calling Burton first thing in the morning to see if they’d found Hoagie. I so did not want it to be him.

  Not to mention it was Christmas morning, and even Burton should be able to have some time to spend wondering if Santa had given him coal or had taken pity on him for having to deal with me and gotten him a huge new grill, which he’d been talking about over our coffee times.

  To distract myself, Max and I opened presents, though nothing as magnificent as my roaming vacuum cleaner, which was currently stuck in the linen closet, bumping against the door. Max did laugh over the skull-and-crossbones pajamas I got him, and then we nearly fell over laughing when I opened the exact same pajamas from him.

  After we ate brunch—one that Max very quickly took the hint to make due to the marked page in his new cookbook and the fact that all the ingredients were conveniently available in the new silver refrigerator—Max took a nap while I talked myself into doing one of the Sudoku puzzles he’d gotten me.

  But after about twenty minutes, I just couldn’t contain myself. Checking over my shoulder to make sure Max was still napping on the couch, I pulled up the internet and went on the hunt for any information regarding Ronda Hogart’s death.

  On the local paper’s website there was a brief mention that she had passed away and that anyone with information could contact the police. They had a picture of her that must have been taken forty years ago with her then-brown Farrah Fawcett hair, huge glasses rimmed in red, and teal eye shadow. She looked younger certainly, but not a lot happier.

  I went back to the search page and there wasn’t much more about her. Some mentions of the hardware store she and her husband had opened over forty years ago, a few monumental bingo wins, and a mention of Hoagie running a 5K back in the nineties, but no more pictures. Not a single one. No social media presence for the store, not even a listing on those sites that help you find stores for certain services in your area. That was curious, but not unheard of in our little town.

  Maybe I could ask my mom if she had any pictures when we had dinner with the family this afternoon. We were due at my parents’ house in a few hours for Christmas dinner, a tradition in the Graver family for as long as I could remember. And one I wasn’t going to miss, no matter how much I wanted to continue to look for information on the Hogarts.

  We’d have turkey and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, broccoli with cheese sauce, corn soufflé and stuffing that made my mouth water just thinking about it. My mom would make a dessert that did not include sprinkles, and eggnog was strictly forbidden as a drink choice, after that unfortunate incident with Aunt Mildred in 1982.

  This was only my second Christmas dinner in more years than I wanted to count, so I looked forward to it with much gastric anticipation, even if it meant my mom would hover, my dad would drill me about when I might be ready to come work in the family business full-time and one brother would give me the evil eye for not being more involved in the family business no matter how much he loved me. The other one didn’t cause me any trouble, but Jeremy Graver liked to test the limits of my patience with his high-and-mighty act and was good at tipping me over the line.

  At least I wouldn’t have to microwave something again or try to find a restaurant I hadn’t eaten at ten times in the three months since Max’s move. With only three days of a working stovetop and oven, I didn’t know when I might ever again want to eat somewhere that brought my food to me on plates that weren’t mine. I happily did the dishes just to be able to know what exactly was in the food I was eating. Plus, Christmas was horrendous for reservations unless you made them months ahead. And I did not want Chinese food.

  So my mother’s house was a most welcome distraction for the evening, and seeing my family would be a blast once we got there.

  I gave up trying to find more information or distract myself and took a book and a blanket to the chair and a half Max had insisted on putting in front of the bay window overlooking the street. With the additional square footage, I no longer had to worry about cramming everything together and had some space to spread out. It was good, and the sun felt warm on my neck as I read, petted Peanut and got the ultimate shun from my cat, Mr. Fleefers.

  The church bells rang out two streets over and I jumped out of the chair, disrupting Peanut and making Mr. Fleefers hiss. I looked at my watch just to verify the time and realized I’d lost track of time while I was trying not to research more online, instead getting lost in my book.

  We were supposed to be there in fifteen minutes. Yikes!

  “Let’s get a move on!” I yelled across the gigantic living room that used to be my entire living area. Peanut jumped about a foot, which created a different kind of noise, and Mr. Fleefers sauntered over to the front window as if none of this concerned him in the least.

  “Holy crap!” Max yelled back, falling off the couch in a tumble of blankets.

  “Now, Max. We have fifteen minutes!”

  Max emerged from under the pile of blankets like he probably would for the rest of our days. His brown hair stuck straight up off his head and he had blanket creases on the side of his face. His shirt was askew and his sweatpants were bunched up around his knees.

  I smiled at the picture he made and he smiled back, his dimple winking at me.

  “Get in the shower, you ridiculous man. I’ll call my mom to let her know it’s going to be a little bit.”

  He kissed me on his way to the bathroom and gave me a quick squeeze. I appreciated that because I was ready to walk out the door now, already washed and ready to go, styled like a boss in my new ugliest sweater yet. Festooned with ribbons, and an angry cat that looked suspiciously like Mr. Fleefers wrapped in Christmas lights that actually lit up, it was not only garish and over-the-top, it was magnificent and would make my father groan. Bonuses all around. And a far cry from the elegant dresses and heels and diamonds I’d worn when I was married to my ex-husband, Walden Phillips III. I loved every inch of it and every second of my life since I’d walked out on him, no matter how many hard days there’d been.

  The call to my mom wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be because my uncle Sherman was also going to be late, so she had pushed dinner back another thirty minutes.

  True to his word, it only took a few minutes for Max to be all sparkly clean and presentable. In stark contrast to my dazzling display, Max was outfitted in a subtle green, long-sleeved, button-down shirt with a lovely paisley tie and matching vest. His shoes were shiny, his hair perfect, his pants neatly pressed.

  “Where has that been?” I asked as I straightened his t
ie. It didn’t really need to be straightened; I just wanted to touch him. Having him here instead of constantly waiting for him to visit from Washington, DC, was such a treat, and the fact that he was here to stay made my heart very happy.

  “Your mom opened up the closet on the second floor for some of my business clothes now that I haven’t needed them. It feels good to be back in something other than jeans.”

  “Missing the corporate world?”

  “Not at all, but it’s Christmas, and I’ve been stuck at mandatory office parties with stuffy people in appropriate business attire for the last fifteen years. I like dressing up every once in a while. And I appreciate your family.”

  And I knew how much they appreciated him. Relations between us had improved vastly since Max had come back into our lives. He hadn’t ever really left my brother, Jeremy’s, but he’d only recently come back on a more permanent basis for the rest of us, and we were all much better for it.

  I was getting gushy and needed to stop before I said something that would make us even later and my makeup run off my face.

  We hopped in the car and headed over to my parents’ house, a few blocks away. We could have walked, but more often than not, I was sent away from there with leftovers galore and I didn’t want to have to carry them home even a few blocks. Plus, there would be presents. And there was snow; a lot of snow on the side streets the snowplows hadn’t yet come to move off the road.

  About half a block down, I yelled for Max to pull over. I’d seen a flyer tacked to the telephone pole, which was a big no-no in the borough. I thought maybe it was about a lost dog or cat. The people who policed those flyers weren’t totally cold-hearted and would leave them up for a little while. It was the garage sale signs they hated. But since it wasn’t garage-sale time and the picture was definitely not of an animal, I’d looked a little closer as Max had crept by on the unplowed road. And it was Hoagie Hogart on a missing persons poster.

  I jumped out of the car in my heeled boots and hustled back the few strides to the sign. A blurry picture of the man who had run the hardware store forever, and one I hadn’t seen online, was stuck to the telephone pole with a nail. It was on flimsy paper and had a contact number at the bottom. It simply said he was missing and asked that anyone let them know if they found him. I took out my phone and quickly punched the number into my contacts list. It wasn’t one from the police station, and I wondered if it was a cousin’s number.

  I’d been tempted to rip the thing off the telephone pole and take it with me, but I didn’t want to keep anyone else from seeing it if it was the trigger that found the man, who must still be missing.

  Burton hadn’t told me that, but I also hadn’t asked.

  “What’s up?” Max asked when I got back into the car.

  “Hoagie is still missing. They have signs up.”

  “That was quick.”

  I shrugged. “It might be because Burton is pressing to find him to answer questions about what happened last night. He walked out before Ronda, presumably to start the car so the queen wouldn’t be cold.” I shouldn’t have spoken ill of the dead, but sometimes it was unavoidable. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want to be cold either, and it was chilly last night. Anyway, he must have gone out to start the car, but then she was killed and he was nowhere to be found. I wonder if his car is gone too.”

  I made a mental note to ask Burton if they still hadn’t found Uncle Hoagie tomorrow. It was burning my brain not to be able to find out what was going on, but I promised myself this day with Max and my family. And ultimately, it wasn’t actually my job to find murderers. Burton was doing his job; I had to believe that.

  “I wonder if the store will be open this week. I was going to go into the office later, but if the whole store is closed, I won’t be able to get in. I only have a key to the interior door.” Max pulled back onto the road and continued our short journey.

  “That is brilliant!” When Max had moved here, Hoagie had offered him some empty office space he had in the store so Max could set up a desk and a visitor’s chair so he could be official to start looking for clients. Business wasn’t exactly booming yet, but Max said he was fine with that because he wanted to get settled before he started working hard again. And with the holidays, he’d decided to take some time off. So, with the office in the hardware store, that would give us access to all things Hogart. Like I said, brilliant.

  From Max’s quizzical look, I figured that was not the response he had expected. “Thanks?”

  I turned in my seat. “No, if we can’t find Hoagie, we can at least go in to see what’s going on, maybe explore a little in other offices.”

  His quizzical look turned into a frown. Oops, time to change the subject. “Well, hopefully they’re open for you, so you can get your info together to start advertising for new business.”

  Not a great save, but then we arrived at my mother’s and I was able to instead ooh and ahh over their decorations.

  In contrast to the brick and mortar that held together the funeral home on Main Street, Bud and Karen Graver’s house was stone and powder-blue siding. They’d upgraded it over the years, adding a sunporch on the back for entertaining, per my mom. Being the funeral director in town, my dad wanted people to know him before he became necessary, and my mother loved to cook. To that end, they had barbecues and picnics and formal dinners at least once a month. And weekly it was our family’s time to sit down around the table. Tonight was special, though.

  The house was absolutely covered in lights, enough to give Clark Griswold a run for his money. I was sure my dad hadn’t done it himself; that was my brother Dylan’s job every year. And every year it became more extravagant. In fact, as we entered the driveway, I spotted a new scene that Dylan must have picked up for the holidays this year—an eight-foot-tall North Pole blow-up globe with elves, reindeer, Santa’s workshop and candy canes all aglow and moving in time with the flashing lights. I was sure the entire neighborhood loved being blinded by the cavorting creatures. My dad probably had a fit when he came home to find the whole thing nearly blocking his driveway. I hadn’t heard about it yet, so I was assuming Dylan had just put it up. Maybe an early Christmas present. It made me smile no matter when it was put up.

  Parking the car, we sat for just a moment.

  “Thank you for being here,” I said as the engine ticked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You really can’t understand how much it means to me to be here like this.”

  “Even with the chaos of my family, the tight community and the fact that you don’t have a ton of clients yet for your new Taxinator business?”

  He turned to me and put his hand on my cheek. “The clients will come when they’re ready. Tax season hasn’t even started yet and I’m not in any hurry to crunch numbers again at the moment. The chaos of your family is just what I need and the community isn’t tight like a noose, but like the family I missed out on growing up.”

  As we exited the car, I hoped those thoughts stayed in his head as he continued to have to deal with all of us. This was our first Christmas up here and he didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into. But he would know just as soon as we walked through the door.

  To be truthful, though, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed these dinners until I’d allowed myself to be drawn back into the tradition.

  Turning to look at Max, I hooked my arm through his as we walked up from the garage. He was a big part of things now and I couldn’t imagine life without him either, much like Peanut, my relatively new dog. Well, more than Peanut, probably. I giggled and thought I probably shouldn’t tell Max that.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I kissed his cheek as we hit the back door.

  “Aw, now that’s what I like to see. Soon enough, maybe the two of you will do the right thing and get married, then give me babies. I want babies in the house again.”

  My mother never failed to get her wants and needs out on the table as soon as she saw me. But I had
seen Jeremy’s car out front, and Dylan’s. Which meant both my brothers were here to be grilled. If I could just redirect the conversation to Jeremy and Gina and them getting married, or how Dylan needed to get a girlfriend who stayed around longer than a few weeks, I’d be off the hook.

  I kissed my mom on the cheek without answering her and walked into what could only be called the chaos I’d referenced earlier.

  My dad had on a frilly apron, Gina was carrying dishes to the formal dining room—where I assumed Grams was holding court and directing traffic like a drillmaster—Dylan trailed along behind her with even more food and Jeremy rolled his eyes at me as he passed with a pitcher of what I thought must be sweet tea, the kind you could stand a spoon up in. My teeth ached just looking at it, but that didn’t stop my mouth from watering for a taste.

  Lights and garland and Christmas villages covered with snow decorated every available surface. The kitchen hutch held my mother’s collection of those dreadful elves on the shelves, literally. All three shelves were crammed with the felt and plush concoctions. She’d been an absolutely fiend about using them when we were little. I still had nightmares about finding the things in my shoes, wrapped around my toothbrush and holding my cereal spoon with a death grip one morning.

  I glanced at Max to find him smiling. Sometimes I forgot he’d never had this kind of family, and that as much as we fought and argued, we still loved one another. This was probably a wonder of wishing for him, and the next time he talked about marriage, I should give it some real consideration. Not that I’d tell my mother that or she’d break out her calendar, a slew of wedding books and the gown she’d worn over thirty-five years ago.

  I’d rather be nearly drowned in a creek again than endure that at the moment.

  Time to get cracking on the redirecting of mother-henning.

  “So, Dylan,” I said as I passed him on his way back to the kitchen. “No girl this week? I could have sworn I saw you with Macy Yoder making kissy faces at that new Greek restaurant last week.”