Murder at the Mistletoe Ball

by J. D. Griffo

  “When did I do that?” Lisa Marie asked.

  “When you threatened to kill Wyck,” Alberta replied.

  “Which time?” Father Sal asked.

  “The first time,” Alberta clarified. “You said ‘I swear on my mother’s life’ that he’d be the next murder victim in town.”

  “Don’t nitpick, Ma!” Lisa Marie cried. “Be grateful that in my moment of distress you’re the first person I thought of.”

  It had been such a miserable December, Alberta decided to take any bit of holiday cheer that came her way.

  * * *

  An hour later the holiday cheer had multiplied tenfold.

  The first floor of Alberta’s home had been transformed into what could’ve been the centerfold spread of the holiday issue of New Jersey Homes magazine. The tree was fully decorated with ornaments, old and new, twinkling lights, silver garland, and the gold star topper Alberta’s grandmother had given her so many decades ago. It was the same one that had been tossed to the wayside when Lisa Marie decided she wanted an all silver and white color scheme for her last Christmas with her parents. Alberta couldn’t bring herself to use the topper to decorate her tree because it only conjured up bad memories, so it had been in a storage box all this time waiting for the perfect time to make its comeback.

  Lisa Marie’s humbled expression let Alberta know that her daughter immediately recognized the topper when Freddy placed it on the tree, and she understood its significance. “Looks like your grandmother’s topper is back where it belongs,” Lisa Marie said.

  Alberta smiled and whispered in Lisa Marie’s ear, “Just like my daughter.”

  The nativity was placed on the media center next to some elves taking a ride on a supersized candy cane, and the porcelain baby Jesus in a cradle of hay was placed on one of the end tables next to a gold crucifix candle. Tradition called for the cradle to remain empty until Christmas Eve, at which time the baby Jesus would be placed on the hay, symbolizing his birth. Like Father Sal, however, Alberta rebelled against the accepted ritual because seeing the baby on a daily basis filled her with joy. And that’s what Christmas was all about.

  It was also about food.

  The group gathered around the table and devoured Wyck’s trifle as Barbra continued to sing about the delights of the season. Alberta even gave Lola a little taste that quickly led to the cat sauntering into the living room to take up residence near the baby Jesus and lapse into a sugar-induced nap. Energized by the dessert, the rest of them decided to open Wyck’s other gift, the letters to Helen seeking advice.

  Helen read the signature of one of the letters and was confused. “What’s an OG?”

  “Original gangsta,” Freddy explained.

  “I’m giving advice to hardened criminals?” Helen asked.

  “No, it comes from the hip-hop world,” Freddy said.

  “What about GOAT in all caps?” Helen asked.

  “That’s Greatest Of All Time,” Joyce explained.

  “Hmm, of course you’d know that one,” Helen snapped.

  “Ah Madon!” Alberta cried. “Nessuno parla inglese?”

  “This is new English, Berta,” Sloan said. “We’re a bit too old to speak it fluently.”

  “What about Noctor J?” Helen asked. “Is that a new English phrase?”

  Finally, the group was stumped. Maybe it was someone who was nocturnal and preferred to stay up all night. Or someone who fancied themselves another Doctor J, the nickname given to the great basketball player Julius Irving. Or it was a Tony Orlando and Dawn superfan who liked to knock three times.

  “Maybe the letter itself will give a clue,” Alberta suggested. “Read it to us.”

  “‘Dear Big Sister, I’m in trouble,’” Helen started. “‘I got involved with a woman who double crossed me and now I’ve lost my career and can’t find a job. I sold her pink footballs and Goodfellas and China girls and I’ve got absolutely nothing to show for it! They took everything from me. I want my life back or I swear I’m going to take hers because she’s the real reason I’m in this mess. Big Sister, help me before I do something we’ll both regret.’ And it’s signed Noctor J.”

  “This Noctor person threatened a woman’s life,” Lisa Marie said.

  “Is there a postage mark on the envelope?” Alberta asked.

  “Yes,” Helen said. “It was mailed in town the day before the Mistletoe Ball.”

  “You mean the day before Natalie was killed,” Lisa Marie said, getting more excited.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Alberta said.

  “There’s a lot about this letter that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes a lot of sense, Gram,” Jinx said.

  “What do you mean, lovey?” Alberta asked.

  “I didn’t want to burst my mother’s bubble before, but I’ve already been planning on writing about the string of overdoses from this new Flower drug that’s been making people OD,” Jinx explained. “I’ve been doing some research and all those things mentioned in that letter are street drugs.”

  “You mean Goodfellas isn’t the movie that won Joe Pesci an Oscar?” Alberta asked.

  “‘China Girl’ isn’t a nod to one of David Bowie’s biggest hits?” Helen asked.

  “Also too, pink footballs isn’t part of some new Lady NFL?” Joyce added.

  “That’s a no to all of the above, but extra points to Aunt Helen for knowing David Bowie’s back catalog,” Jinx said.

  “What are they, then?” Alberta asked.

  “They’re all names for illegal drugs sold on the black market,” Jinx conveyed.

  “Oh my God!” Lisa Marie cried. “You were right, Ma! This fits perfectly in to what you were saying before, that Tranquility is the center of some new drug ring.”

  “Then you think this Noctor J is a drug dealer?” Sloan asked.

  “It’s very possible,” Alberta said. “We looked at our clues and they all seem to point in the same direction, that someone in town is a drug kingpin.”

  “Berta, you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’ve heard this name before,” Joyce said. “I think it was when I was with you.”

  “You and I went to Rudy’s apartment, but I don’t remember him saying anything about a noctor,” Alberta said.

  “But then the two of us paid Carmichael a visit and that woman ran out of his office,” Joyce explained.

  “That’s right!” Alberta screamed. “He was yelling at her and he called her a noctor. We had no idea what it meant at the time, but it was definitely an insult.”

  “Maybe this woman was a bad doctor,” Father Sal suggested.

  “I don’t think so, Sal,” Joyce replied. “The woman was looking for a job and said she’d clean bedpans, that’s more of what a nurse does.”

  “That’s it!” Alberta cried. “Carmichael told the woman that whatever she did was bad enough to get her nurse’s license revoked. A nurse impersonating a doctor fits the bill, so a noctor must be a nurse who thinks she’s a doctor.”

  “Oh my God!” Jinx exclaimed. “This means that Noctor J is the woman Mike DeDordo is in love with.”

  “Dude, who’s Mike DeDordo?” Freddy asked.

  “D. Edward Carmichael,” Lisa Marie replied. “Keep up, will ya.”

  “She must’ve done something huge to get fired and blackballed from ever working as a nurse in a hospital again,” Jinx said.

  “And want to get revenge on the person she blames for destroying her career,” Joyce added.

  “It sounds more and more like that person was Natalie Vespa and this Noctor J killed her as payback for destroying her life,” Alberta said. “Lovey, I think it’s time you paid Carmichael a visit to find out exactly who he fired.”

  “We can go tomorrow,” Jinx said. “I’ve already e-mailed him asking to set up another time for an interview since he canceled on me the last time. We’ll just show up and not leave until he sees us.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m going with Sloan to see Dr.
Manzini for his checkup,” Alberta said.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” Sloan said. “I’m sure it’s just routine anyway.”

  “I want to be there in case the results, God forbid, aren’t good, so don’t argue with me,” Alberta said.

  Sloan smiled and even blushed a little. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “I can go with you, Jinx,” Joyce said. “I need to talk to him now that the Mistletoe Ball has been rescheduled.”

  “That’s perfect,” Alberta said. “Don’t let Carmichael off the hook until he gives you that woman’s name. I have a strong feeling that she’s our Noctor J.”

  * * *

  If the women didn’t have to interrogate a hospital administrator who they suspected of somehow being involved with a drug dealer who may have also ventured into the world of homicide, it really would have been a very lovely morning. There was fluffy, new-fallen snow on the ground, the sun was glistening on the icicles that had formed on bare branches, and birds were whistling a tune that sounded like a higher-pitched version of the deep-voiced Bing Crosby’s classic rendition of “White Christmas.” But Jinx and Joyce had a job to do and they couldn’t be distracted no matter how holiday perfect their surroundings looked. They were, after all, semiprofessionals.

  Standing outside Carmichael’s office, they got the feeling that he was not quite professional either. For the second time in a row he was involved in a screaming match with an unidentified woman. His door was closed this time, but they could still hear him yelling with someone and dismissing any attempt at maintaining professional decorum.

  “Don’t you dare threaten me!” he shouted. “After all this time have I said anything? Have I done anything wrong?!”

  “It better stay that way or else!” the woman yelled.

  “Or else what?! What exactly are you trying to say?”

  “You know what I’m trying to say, and you know that I’m not afraid to back up my words with actions.”

  “You listen to me . . .”

  “I don’t listen to anybody, haven’t you figured that out by now? I have not gotten where I am by following the orders of weak-willed, lovesick fools like you and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you or anyone else take me down because they don’t have the guts to follow through!”

  “You’ve changed, do you know that? You’re out of control and I want no part of this anymore.”

  “It’s too late to back out now, buster! You’re in this until the day you die, remember that!”

  The women had just enough time to jump away from the door and back into the seats outside Carmichael’s office before the door burst open.

  “Bambi,” Joyce said. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

  They didn’t recognize Carmichael at first, however, because he was once again dressed up in costume, this time as a nutcracker. Had the situation been less serious it would’ve been comical. A woman resembling a plus-size Barbie doll standing next to a man who looked like he belonged in a sugarplum fairy tale. But no one was laughing. In fact, Bambi looked like she wanted to kill Joyce. It took the woman a moment to transform her expression into something more appropriate when unexpectedly bumping into an acquaintance.

  “Joyce!” Bambi squealed. “How lovely to see you. I was just telling Carmichael how excited I am now that the Mistletoe Ball is back on the calendar.”

  “It sounded more like you were yelling,” Jinx said.

  Daggers flew out of Bambi’s eyes and directly into Jinx’s throat. “What the French call a passionate bataille d’esprit, a tête à tête . . .”

  “A rip-roaring brawl,” Jinx said, finishing Bambi’s sentence.

  “First Santa Claus, now a nutcracker, are all your suits at the dry cleaner?” Joyce asked.

  A raucous laugh emerged from Carmichael’s belly that could only be described as fake. “Joyce, you are a wit, I’ve always said that about you,” he said. “I’m the master of ceremonies at tonight’s lighting ceremony for the Winter Wonderland at Tranquility Park.”

  “Let’s hope the ceremony doesn’t end in tragedy like the first Mistletoe Ball,” Bambi said. “Jinx, dear, like I was telling your grandmother, I’m so sorry to hear that your brother has been arrested for Natalie’s murder. I’m sure it’s a complete misunderstanding.”

  Bambi had no idea she had misunderstood Jinx’s ability to zero in on the most important facts of a conversation no matter how personal that conversation may have been.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Natalie,” Jinx said.

  Again, a pall took hold of Bambi’s face and any trace of politeness, friendliness, or humanity disappeared, leaving only the unmistakable mask of hatred. It didn’t go away even when she spoke.

  “I must have read it in the papers,” Bambi said.

  “The police haven’t released her name yet because they haven’t been able to contact her family,” Jinx said. “Vinny did mention her name when he arrested my brother, but the way you said it just now, it was like she was a friend of yours.”

  “Me? Friends with a murder victim? That’s absurd,” Bambi said. “Which is what I told Vinny just this morning when he came to search my office.”

  Jinx couldn’t believe that Bambi was speaking so openly about having her office searched by the police. They had advised Vinny about the wig they thought Bambi was hiding in her closet, but they didn’t know he was going to jump on that clue so quickly. Though in retrospect, Jinx realized, that’s exactly what cops do—follow up on clues. Since Vinny hadn’t contacted them, she assumed the police must’ve come up empty and whatever they saw in the photo was nothing that could link Bambi to Natalie’s murder.

  “I told the police to search to their heart’s content and they did,” Bambi said. “And then they apologized for disrupting my day.”

  “The police are only doing their job and as an investigative reporter I completely understand the need to be tenacious and follow every possible lead,” Jinx said. “So I’ll ask you again, how do you know Natalie?”

  Bambi’s eyes flitted about the room and her hand fluttered underneath her double chin. She raised a chubby finger and nodded her head several times. “I know what it must have been, Luke told me her name, he still has ties to the morgue, and you know how that boy loves to gossip.”

  Jinx did know Luke, and she knew that when it came to hospital matters his lips couldn’t be tighter if they were sewn together.

  “That must be it,” Jinx said. “I have to remember not to tell Luke a secret because it’ll spread all over the hospital faster than one of those airborne viruses that refuse to stay put in the jungle.”

  “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to St. Clare’s,” Bambi said. She started to march away and then abruptly turned around. “I almost forget the reason I came here in the first place. After the . . . incident at the Ball we beefed up security, so you’ll need this new badge to gain access to both buildings.”

  She pulled out a laminated badge from her cleavage and handed it to Carmichael. Luckily, he was wearing white gloves.

  “Thank you, Bambi,” Carmichael said, holding the badge gingerly.

  “Joyce, I have one for you too,” Bambi said. “It’s only temporary and will expire at the end of the month. You can pick it up from my assistant.”

  “Thank you,” Joyce said. “That will definitely come in handy.”

  “Toodles!” Bambi said. “There’s really no rest for the weary.”

  Jinx was going to point out that the original biblical expression was “No rest for the wicked,” but she didn’t want to point out the obvious. She also didn’t want to appear too obvious with Carmichael and start interrogating him, so she let Joyce control the course of the conversation. At least for a while.

  Joyce had begun the discussion by asking him how they should handle the silent auction at the rescheduled Mistletoe Ball. She then moved the conversation to a topic that had broader medical implications and wanted to know what the hospital was doin
g in light of the new street drug Flower that had been introduced into town. Carmichael started to fidget in his chair, and he pulled off his white beard and top hat to reveal a face moist with sweat. He was nervous, and if Bambi’s perception of him was correct and he was weak, Jinx felt it was time to use both those traits to her advantage. Her brother’s life was on the line and she needed to be the tough big sister. It was time to channel her Aunt Helen.

  “Could we please cut to the chase?” Jinx asked. “We know you’re involved in something dubious and possibly illegal with Bambi.”

  “That is slander!” Carmichael cried. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “That might be true, but from what we overheard, it sounds as if you know about something that’s not on the up-and-up,” Joyce said.

  “Right now we’re willing to let that slide,” Jinx said. “All we want to know is the name of the woman you threw out of your office, the woman who wanted a job and you refused to give her one.”

  “I . . . I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carmichael stuttered.

  “The woman you called a noctor,” Joyce added.

  “That . . . that information is confidential,” Carmichael said.

  “You can tell us now or you can tell the police when Vinny slaps you with a subpoena to turn over your records,” Jinx said.

  “Medical records are legally protected,” Carmichael said.

  “Employment records aren’t,” Jinx said. “Give us the name and we’ll leave.”

  “I’m not giving you anything and I’ll ask you to leave right now.”

  Carmichael stood up, and although he was trying to look commanding and intimidating, the nutcracker ensemble he was sporting just made him look foolish. He must have understood what he looked like, or he was simply tired of playing a charade. He slumped back into his chair and, with an air of resignation, began to talk.

  “She used to be a nurse and worked here and at St. Clare’s,” Carmichael said.

  “She worked at both hospitals?” Joyce asked.

  “Many nurses do that to make more money, like a freelancer,” Carmichael said. “But Janine didn’t just want more money, she wanted . . . more of everything, more status, more power. I tried to make her see she was only going to make things worse for herself, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I really did try.”