Dying in a Winter Wonderland

by Vicki Delany

Grace and Jack slipped into their seats. Grace looked stunning in a calf-length beaded red chiffon dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves, and Jack, dignified, in his tux and checked cummerbund.

  “I took a peek in the kitchen and all is almost ready,” Grace said.

  My dad studied the menu. It wasn’t the full restaurant menu tonight, just two or three choices for each course. “What do you recommend?”

  Grace smiled. “I recommend absolutely everything. Mark truly has outdone himself tonight.”

  The waiter arrived with a bottle of wine. He showed it to Jack, and Jack nodded his approval.

  “Grace tells me you’re Santa Claus,” the woman on my dad’s right said. “Do you enjoy your job?”

  “Ho ho ho,” Dad replied.

  “I’m surprised the Vanderhavens came,” Mom said to Grace. “Considering”—she lowered her voice—“where their son died.”

  “We all grieve in our own way,” Grace said with a quick glance at Jack, now making a big show out of tasting the wine.

  Jack had suffered a major heart attack a few days before the death of his son, Gord. On hearing the news, Jack had fallen so deeply into his grief, Grace had been afraid that he intended to follow. It had taken a lot of time, and a lot of love and work on Grace’s part, before Jack found himself again.

  “Wine, madam?” The waiter held the bottle over my glass.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Conversation swirled around the room and around our table. The room was almost full and I glanced around to see who was here. One of the last couples to arrive was, to my considerable surprise, Russ Durham and Candy Campbell. Russ looked very handsome in a dark suit, and Candy was almost radiant in a short navy blue dress with a plunging neckline. She caught me watching and her face stiffened. I gave her what I hoped was a big friendly grin, and her expression relaxed fractionally.

  Waitstaff served wine and took dinner orders. I ordered the soup, as Vicky’d suggested, a salad of radicchio and asparagus, the lobster pasta, and crème brûlée for dessert. Alan asked for the same, except he’d have the steak for his main course.

  Dinner was a leisurely affair, and people got up to dance or visit their friends between courses.

  “Merry,” Alan said, with a nod toward the ballroom.

  I pushed my chair back. “Why not?”

  We walked onto the dance floor holding hands. The information on the menu had said the band would be playing hits from the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s. It was early and the music was still light and lively rather than soft and romantic. Alan and I dropped hands and faced each other and bobbed up and down. We had, I realized, never danced together before. Neither one of us was any good, but that didn’t matter. We moved to the music and smiled at each other. Russ and Candy bounced past us, and Russ gave us a wave. He looked, I thought, happy. If being with Candy Campbell made him happy, good for them both.

  “That’s two people I never would have expected to see together,” Alan said. “A journalist and a cop.”

  “Takes all kinds.”

  “I suppose it does. After all, the head toymaker at the North Pole’s dating Santa’s daughter.”

  I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a spontaneous kiss, and he laughed into my hair.

  “Merry! Alan! Hi! Thanks so much for coming the other night. Wasn’t that just the best reunion ever!”

  Tiffany Ambrose beamed up at us. She wore a voluminous orange dress, which put me in mind of a pumpkin, and I could have sworn her bump had grown in the days since I’d seen her. Her big bearded husband had his arm draped around her shoulders. Except for her enormous smile and laughing eyes, they looked like a bear and his catch.

  We moved off the dance floor so we could talk without people bumping into us. “It was fun,” I said. “Thank you for organizing it on such short notice.”

  “I have to confess that it wasn’t my idea,” Tiffany said. “Scott suggested we do something, but I’ve always known Scott couldn’t organize a two-car parade.”

  “Tiff”—her husband gave her an adoring look—“likes to organize people.”

  She swatted at his arm. “Oh, you. You say that as though it’s a bad thing. This is such a great party! Did you have the tomato soup? Sooooo good. I wonder if the chef will give me the recipe. Mary-Francis said he’s Vicky Casey’s boyfriend, so maybe I’ll ask her to get it. The tickets for this dinner were Ronnie’s parents’ gift to us, wasn’t that nice of them? They wanted us to have a special night out before the baby comes. They’re babysitting as part of the present. Look! There’s Luanne and Scott now. Let’s go say hi.” And she was off, dragging her husband behind her to nab Luanne before she and Scott stepped onto the dance floor.

  “Something wrong, Merry?” Alan asked. “You look awfully serious all of a sudden.”

  “No. I was just thinking. Why do you suppose Scott would want to have the reunion? He never seemed the sort for rah-rah school spirt and fond memories of the old days.”

  “Why does anyone do anything?”

  “Why, indeed.”

  “And now, a special request,” the bandleader announced. I turned to see a blushing George Mann stepping away from the stage. The band launched into swing music, and George and Mrs. D’Angelo swept into a jitterbug. Her boa streamed out behind her, her pink dress twirled, her rhinestone tiara shone. George’s feet moved so fast they blurred, and the couple dipped and bobbed and swung. People moved to the edges of the dance floor to watch the performance.

  “Will wonders never cease,” Alan said as the onlookers broke into applause. We went back to the table and took our seats. Something seemed vaguely familiar about the elegant elderly woman dressed in purple velvet and laden with jewels who was seated to my left, and as we started to chat I realized with a shock that she was none other than Elisabeth Landen, the founder of a huge international cosmetics firm. She was in her eighties now and rarely photographed, but in her youth she’d been the face of her company. Her beauty had been iconic, and despite her advanced age, she still had the pale porcelain skin, the perfect bone structure, and the enormous near-black eyes that had made her famous. She knew Jennifer Johnstone well and had recently visited my former boss. Over our salads we chatted easily about people we both knew from the New York fashion and design world.

  “Grace told me about your shop,” Elisabeth said. “We’ll be here for two nights, so I’d love to pop in tomorrow or the next day. I’m a big believer in supporting New York State artisans and entrepreneurs, as well as local farmers. I overheard your friend saying the chef had grown the tomatoes for the soup himself. I could taste the quality in every spoonful.”

  I agreed with her and told her Mrs. Claus’s was closed for New Year’s Day, but would reopen the day after. When we first sat down, I’d heard Elisabeth telling my mom she has ten great-grandchildren. If she did stop by the day after tomorrow, I’d try to draw her attention to Alan’s homemade wooden trains and other toys.

  Salad plates were cleared away, and my dad asked me to dance. He was no better a dancer than Alan, but what Dad lacked in skill he made up for in sheer enthusiasm.

  When he escorted me back to the table, I was out of breath and drenched in sweat. The main courses were served, more wine was poured. The candle on the table flickered as it shrunk. Glassware and jewelry sparkled and conversation flowed.

  I knew a lot of the people here, but mostly as friends of my parents’ or parents of my friends. This was an expensive shindig, and not a lot of people in Alan’s and my circle could afford it. Once or twice I glanced toward the Vanderhaven table. Fran was rarely there, as she rushed about the room greeting people. Margaret sat quietly, not looking up and not saying much to anyone. My heart went out to her; she was clearly so uncomfortable here, surrounded by so much merriment, alone in her grief.

  Wayne Fitzroy had spent some time talking to Louis Vanderhaven and Randy Baum
gartner, while Harvey Ireland stood behind them, listening. Judging by the expression on their faces, I didn’t think the conversation was at all friendly. Wayne seemed to be trying to make a point to Louis, but all Louis did was drink steadily. Eventually Randy turned to the woman on his other side, Harvey went in search of better company, and Wayne stalked back to Sue-Anne and Jim’s table.

  Not my problem, I reminded myself, and turned back to my table companions.

  By the time dessert was served, I was so full, I could barely eat my crème brûlée. But, somehow, I managed to clean the plate. As the waiters served coffee, Mom stood up. “Excuse me, please. Merry?”

  “What?”

  “Would you like to accompany me?”

  “Not really.”

  She tilted her head to one side.

  I pushed my chair back. “Okay.”

  Our progress through the dining room was slow as Mom stopped to greet friends, or they stopped her to exchange hugs and wish her a happy New Year.

  “Alan looks exceptionally handsome tonight,” Mom said when we were in the ladies’ room.

  “Yup,” I said.

  “He cleans up nicely.”

  “Yup,” I said.

  She opened her bag and took out her lipstick. She peered at herself in the minor and dabbed at her lips. “I’ve always liked Alan. Such a sensible man. Down-to-earth. He reminds me very much of your father.” Her eyes flicked to my reflection. “Any news, dear?”

  “You mean are Alan and I getting engaged? No.”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Stop wondering, Mom. If it ever happens, I won’t forget to let you know.” I decided not to tell her, yet, about the proposed Caribbean vacation. She’d read far too much into that than it warranted.

  “Aline, how nice to see you.” A woman descended on my mom and they exchanged hugs. “I’ve been admiring your necklace all evening. Where did you get it? Are those real emeralds?”

  Mom touched her throat. “A gift from an admirer.”

  “Oh, to have an admirer! You’ve had such a marvelous life, Aline. Did I tell you Dennis and I are going to Italy in the summer? You must tell us the best places to visit.”

  I left them chatting and stepped out into the hall. The ladies’ room was at the end of a long dark corridor that took a sharp left turn before joining the main hallway. I heard voices, deep and serious, as I approached the corner. I stopped abruptly when I heard my brother’s name.

  “You were quick enough to run to Chris Wilkinson. I only invited him because you asked me to. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Chris and I have a history. We were together once.”

  “We have a history, too. We were friends.”

  “Yes, Scott, we were good friends. I hope we can still be good friends.”

  Scott’s voice began to rise. “You’re not listening to me, Luanne. It’s perfect.”

  “It’s not perfect for me, Scott.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Scott sounded like a whiny little boy. “The money’s been paid. You can’t get a refund. Your dad told me that. It’s going to go to waste if we don’t use it.”

  Luanne sounded like Scott’s mommy, trying to be calm and patient. “It’s not about the money. It’s simply too soon for me to make plans.”

  “You wanted to make plans with Chris.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “You’re moving back to Rudolph. Isn’t that a plan?”

  “You’ve been a rock of support, Scott. Really, you have, but—”

  “But what? I’m tired of waiting, Luanne. I’ve been waiting for years.”

  Enough eavesdropping. I rounded the corner and pretended to be surprised when I saw Scott and Luanne. They were standing close together, but their body language showed nothing that could be mistaken for affection. A vein pulsed in Scott’s temple, and his hands were clenched, his arms stiff at his sides.

  “Hey,” I said. “How you guys doing? Great night, isn’t it? Are you having fun?”

  Irritation crossed Scott’s face, but Luanne grabbed my arm. “So much fun.” She hustled me toward the dining room as she called behind her, “Catch you later, Scott.”

  “What was all that about?” I asked her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Obviously something. You sounded quite angry.”

  “Just Scott being Scott. I wish my mom hadn’t invited him. I’d forgotten what a pest he can be.”

  Dinner was over and people were relaxing in their chairs over coffee and liqueurs, up dancing, or visiting friends. No one at the Vanderhaven table was smiling.

  Luanne groaned. “Will this night never be over? It’s a nightmare. Louis almost passed out with his face in his apple pie, and Margaret had to stick her elbow in his ribs. Amber can’t stop making digs at every woman in the place. They’re not quite up to her standards, I guess.”

  I didn’t bother to mention that none other than Elisabeth Landen was at my table.

  “Poor Margaret’s nothing but a ball of sheer misery, and my mom’s pretending everything’s perfectly okay, while wishing she could move to another table. Dad tried to sell a plot of land to that guy from Muddle Harbor, and the offer he got was so low, he said it was an insult. Some man came over and tried to talk to Louis about some amusement park idea, and Louis pretended not to even know what he was talking about. Scott won’t leave me alone. He seems to think we’re on a date. My mother invited him, for heaven’s sake! Not me.”

  “It’s eleven thirty now,” I said. “Chin up. It can’t last forever.”

  “I’m thinking of calling a cab and getting up and leaving,” Luanne mumbled as she walked away.

  Most of the people at our table were up, so I slid into the chair next to Alan. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Having a good time?”

  “I was having a great time until two minutes ago. I ran into Luanne and Scott arguing in the hallway, and then Luanne started telling me how awful everyone at her table’s being.”

  He moved his hand higher and massaged my neck. I settled into it happily. “That’s nice.”

  “How are your feet holding up in those shoes?”

  “Surprisingly well. Kinda like riding a bike, I guess. I remembered how to wear them.”

  “I was watching you cross the floor. You do look awfully good in them.”

  I looked into Alan’s face. My breath caught. “Maybe this party isn’t so much fun after all. Time to leave?”

  He touched my cheek. “Let’s be polite and wait until after twelve.”

  “I guess I can do that.”

  “Hello, hello. Can everyone hear me?” Jack Olsen stood on the stage, tapping at the mike. I turned Alan’s arm over and checked his watch. Eleven thirty-five.

  Waitstaff armed with champagne bottles began moving through the room. Vicky and Mark Grosse stood under the stage, holding full flutes.

  “We’ve arranged fireworks to mark the arrival of the New Year,” Jack said. “For those brave enough to venture outside, Chef Grosse will lead the way to the duck pond.”

  Mark stepped forward and lifted his glass. The crowd applauded and there were even a few cheers.

  “Be sure and take your drinks with you,” Jack said. “The rest of us can watch the fireworks from the front steps or remain in here for the countdown. A light buffet supper will be served at one o’clock.”

  “Knowing Mark”—Dad patted his belly in anticipation—“there will be nothing light about it. Why don’t you get your coat, Aline?” he said to Mom.

  “Really, Noel. I’m not standing around outside in the cold. And neither are you.”

  Alan and I stood up at the same time. “We’re going.”

  “Are you going to be warm enough, dear?” Mom said.

  “Sure. We won’t be long.”

  “You can leave y
our bag on your chair. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Do you want to get your boots out of the car?” Alan asked me.

  I shook my head. “No need. The paths are shoveled. It’s cold out, but not too cold.”

  “You have your young man to keep you warm,” Elisabeth Landen said with a sigh. “I remember those days. Faintly.”

  Alan blushed and my mom gave him a fond glance.

  The diners divided into two. About a quarter headed for the coat check and the doors, while the rest settled back in their chairs or hit the dance floor. Luanne and Scott got to their feet as Alan and I passed their table. Amber let out a sigh of total boredom as she also stood up.

  “I always like fireworks,” Randy Baumgartner said to his wife.

  “Since when?” she replied.

  “Since I needed an excuse to get out of here. Come on.”

  “Wha’s happenin’?” Louis Vanderhaven said.

  “You stay right where you are, Louis,” Fran Ireland said. “We don’t want anyone falling asleep face-first in a snowbank. Now, Scott, you take my arm. It’s slippery outside.”

  “Jeez, Mom,” Luanne said, “let it go.”

  Her mother glared at her.

  “Isn’t this fun!” Tiffany exclaimed as she passed us. “I love being outside at night in the winter! And fireworks, too! I love fireworks.” Instead of champagne she carried a glass of sparkling water with a lemon slice floating in it.

  Alan and I followed the crowd out of the dining room, and I went to the coat check for my coat. Candy Campbell was there ahead of me and she gave me a sideways glance. I could guess what she was thinking: it was no secret around town that Russ and I had dated, but that hadn’t been serious and it hadn’t lasted long. “Great party,” I said. “I hope you’re having a good time. The color of that dress really suits you.” I wanted Candy to know that I was happy with Alan and had absolutely no designs on Russ.

  She relaxed slightly, message received. “Thanks. I am. Russ is fun to be with.”

  Mark and Vicky stood together at the bottom of the front steps. Mark had a solid Maglite in one hand and his glass of champagne in the other. “Everyone, follow me. We don’t want anyone to get lost. Lamps line the path so you can find your way if you do fall behind. We’re going to the duck pond for the best view. We’ve put a few chairs with blankets out for those of you who don’t want to stand.”