Blue Christmas

by Mary Kay Andrews

“All right.” I sighed, giving in. “Thirty bucks. But you can’t pick it up until Saturday. And if you tell anybody I sold you anything from that window, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Deal,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “And what about the turntable?”

  “Don’t push your luck.” I pulled down the window shade to end the discussion.

  CHAPTER 10

  Daniel arrived at the town house just in time to help wash up the last of the empty platters from the party and to play the role of chef and waiter to BeBe and me, serving up steaming bowls of sherry-laced she-crab soup to us in front of the fireplace in the living room while we conducted our usual party postmortem.

  “I’m whipped,” I announced, pushing my bowl away. “I want to go to bed and sleep for a year.”

  Daniel shoved me over on the sofa and plopped down beside me. “The bed part I can arrange. The year’s worth of sleep I can’t guarantee.”

  “Did you notice the shop’s display window?” I asked, putting my feet in his lap.

  He took the hint and started massaging my calves.

  “It looked great,” he said. “Congratulations on winning. It was kinda unusual though, huh?”

  “Originality,” I said. “It’s all about originality. And I have you to thank for the idea.”

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “You and your Christmas funk,” I said lightly, deliberately avoiding the cause of his holiday moodiness. “Blue Christmas. It made me think of the Elvis song, and then, I just kinda spun it into this whole story line about a teenage girl missing her boyfriend at Christmas.”

  “I think I saw a photographer from the newspaper taking pictures tonight,” BeBe volunteered. “You’re gonna be famous.”

  “And I promise not to forget the little people I stepped on along the way,” I said. Daniel gave my toes a playful squeeze.

  “Anyway, it was a great party,” BeBe said, mopping up the last of the soup with a chunk of French bread. She wriggled her sock-clad toes on the ottoman in front of her chair. “Daniel, you saved the day with that food you sent over.”

  “Just so you let everybody know it came from Guale,” Daniel said. “I’m all about promotion, now that I own the joint.”

  “I was handing out the menus to everybody who came near the food table,” BeBe promised. “And everybody just inhaled your crab dip and the deviled oysters. I’ve never seen so much food disappear so fast.”

  “And merchandise,” I said gleefully. “I think I had my biggest day in the history of the shop tonight.”

  “How big?” BeBe asked.

  “Big enough that I can afford to forget about that twenty-five-hundred-dollar table you sold for two fifty yesterday.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me, and I returned the favor.

  “I didn’t even get any of the desserts you brought, BeBe,” I said. “They were all gone by the time I made my way through the crowd to the food table.”

  “They were a hit, no doubt about it,” BeBe said. “I almost forgot to tell you. I saw one woman filling up her tote bag with the pecan tassies and chocolate chewies.”

  “One of my customers?” I asked, indignant. “Why didn’t you say something about it to me?”

  “You were busy. And I didn’t want to make a federal case out of it. Anyway, I doubt she was one of your regulars.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t slip anything else in her purse? Something more valuable than some cookies?” Daniel asked. “You know, Weezie scared off a burglar here earlier today.”

  “I kept my eye on the woman the rest of the night,” BeBe said. “She knocked back a lot of that punch though. I don’t know how she could even stand up, let alone walk, with as much as she drank. But she seemed fine. She mostly just walked around and around the shop, smiling and taking it all in.”

  “What did she look like?” I asked.

  BeBe scrunched up her face in concentration. “Nothing special or out of the ordinary. Maybe mid-sixties. Short salt-and-pepper hair that was kind of wavy. Her clothes weren’t what you’d call stylish. She was wearing like a brown sweater, and baggy, sort of blue wool slacks. And instead of a real pocketbook, she had one of those canvas tote bags, like they give you at bookstores sometimes. Oh yeah, I thought this was cute. She was wearing this little blue Christmas tree pin on her sweater. I noticed it, because it fit in so well with the theme of your window, Weezie.”

  Daniel sat up straight on the sofa, and we exchanged startled glances.

  “A blue Christmas tree pin?” I asked. “That’s too much of a coincidence. It’s got to be my pin. Damn! She must be the one who stole it out of my truck.”

  “What are you talking about?” Daniel demanded. “You never told me somebody broke into your truck. When did this happen?”

  “Last night,” I said. “After I got back from James and Jonathan ‘s party and went searching for Jethro.”

  “You should have called me,” Daniel said. “I would have come right back. This is serious, Weezie. Your truck first, and then your house. I want you to call the cops right now and have them come over and fill out a police report.”

  “I’m not even sure the truck was broken into,” I protested. “And I didn’t tell you because I haven’t had time. But I’m telling you now.”

  “What happened?” BeBe asked. “I still don’t get when all this took place.”

  I took a deep breath. “It started last night, after Daniel dropped me off here. We’d had a fight—”

  “It wasn’t really a fight,” Daniel interrupted. “You were pissed because I had to go back to work. You don’t seem to understand how busy the holidays are at a restaurant.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a full-fledged fight, but I was definitely still pissed at you,” I said evenly. “I do realize how busy you are at work, but I really wish you weren’t such a cranky old bastard around the holidays. You know how much I love Christmas.”

  “Hey!” BeBe called, holding up her hands in a defensive gesture. “This isn’t supposed to be couples counseling here. Just tell me about these weird break-ins.”

  “I know you love Christmas,” Daniel said. “But I can’t help it if I don’t. And I think you could be a little more understanding about the reasons why I’m not exactly all into the whole damned jolly holly-day deal.”

  “The break-ins,” BeBe repeated. “Just stick to the facts, ma’am.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “When I got back here last night, Jethro took off out the front door. I drove around downtown, for hours, looking for him, but he’d just disappeared. I was heartsick. I slept on the sofa, so that if he came home, I’d hear him at the door and let him in. But he stayed out all night. He’s never done anything like that before.”

  “Boys will be boys. Maybe he has a lady friend,” BeBe suggested.

  “Maybe,” I said dubiously. “This morning, when I went out to get the paper, I looked up, and there was Jethro, inside my truck!”

  “How’d he get in the truck?” BeBe asked.

  “Somebody had to have put him there,” I said. “There was a little piece of old string tied to his collar, and they’d loosely tied the other end to the steering wheel. And the windows were cranked down a little, so he’d have enough air.” I gave Daniel a defiant look. “I know I didn’t leave those windows rolled down. It was cold last night. I even had the heater on.”

  “I believe you,” Daniel said apologetically. “Go on.”

  “Jethro was fine. There wasn’t a scratch on him,” I said. “And I didn’t realize until later on today that something was missing from my truck.”

  “The blue Christmas tree pin,” BeBe suggested.

  “I wore it to the Christmas party,” I said. “Pinned to my black velvet shawl. But I left my shawl in the truck overnight,” I said. “And it was right there, where I left it, when I found Jethro the next morning. He’d used it as a bed. But the pin was gone.”

  “What else?” Daniel asked. “Was anything else taken?”


  “Not a thing,” I said. “Nothing else was touched, as far as I know.”

  “You’ve got to be more careful about locking up,” Daniel began. “The crime rate downtown—”

  “Don’t start,” I warned. “I usually do lock the truck. And the house. It’s like somebody was watching, waiting for the opportunity to break in, the one time my life is especially hectic, and I let down my guard.”

  “Was the pin especially valuable?” BeBe asked.

  “No,” I said. “Like I told Daniel, hundreds of thousands of those pins were made by dozens of manufacturers from the forties through the sixties. The pin I bought in the box lot at the auction was nicely made, but it was definitely costume jewelry. I could go on eBay right now and buy another one just like it, probably for under fifty bucks.”

  “Maybe you just think it’s junk jewelry,” BeBe said, starting to warm up to her theory. “Maybe the pin was made of real sapphires. And gold. And the person who stole it knew what it was worth. Maybe they tried to buy it at the auction, and when you got it instead, they decided to follow you home and steal it from you.”

  “Back away from the Nancy Drew mysteries, BeBe,” I suggested. “I bought three boxes of stuff at that auction in Hardeeville, for which I paid a grand total of seven dollars. The only other bidder was a redheaded lady named Estelle, who wasn’t willing to pay more than five bucks, which is how I ended up with the winning bid.”

  “Oh,” BeBe said.

  “Although,” I said slowly. “I think somebody else did follow me over to Hardeeville yesterday.”

  “Who?” BeBe demanded.

  “Manny Alvarez.”

  “Who?” Daniel asked.

  “One of the guys who own Babalu, the shop across the square. He just showed up at the auction, out of nowhere. None of the other Savannah dealers go over there, except me. It’s like my secret source. But that day, Manny showed up. He outbid me for this great old Sunbeam bread display rack,” I groused. “You should have seen the damn smug expression on his face. I could have throttled him when he hit two hundred dollars.”

  “Maybe Manny Alvarez broke into your truck,” BeBe exclaimed. “Maybe he was just as pissed about you winning as you were at him.”

  “Impossible,” I said, shaking my head. “He wasn’t there when I bought the box lots. He left as soon as he paid for the bread rack. And, anyway, he wouldn’t have known the Christmas tree pin was there. It was in a jewelry case in the bottom of the last cardboard box. Trader Bob didn’t even know what all was in those boxes. I bought everything pretty much sight unseen.”

  “Maybe he was skulking around outside, waiting for you to leave,” BeBe said, persisting in her conspiracy theory.

  “Why would this very successful, independently wealthy antiques dealer break into my truck and take only a silly, kitschy little pin?” I asked. “And for that matter, why would he walk into my kitchen—knowing I’m home, and steal my appetizers? Why?”

  “Sabotage,” BeBe said darkly. “He wanted to sabotage your open house. He’s jealous of all your success. He can’t stand it that you out-decorated him. I mean, he’s a gay guy. Nobody out-decorates gay guys.”

  I yawned and stood up. “You’re crazy. And I’m tired.” I pulled Daniel to his feet.

  “Bedtime,” I said meaningfully.

  CHAPTER 11

  Daniel’s breathing was as steady and reassuring as the ticking of the Baby Ben alarm clock on my nightstand. So why wasn’t I asleep too? God knows, I was tired. And I had fallen fast asleep after a gentle, lazy session of lovemaking. Now I propped myself up on one elbow and examined Daniel’s face in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom’s lace curtains.

  His dark, wavy hair needed cutting again, and although I knew he shaved every night before going on duty at Guale, his five o’clock shadow was already in evidence. His skin, still tanned from a summer and fall of fishing, crabbing, and working on his cottage at Tybee Island, shone dark against the bleached white cotton sheets. A study in black and white. Light and dark. Why, I kept wondering, was his soul so dark at this time of year? And what, if anything, could I do to change him?

  I heard a light scratching at the bedroom door and sat up, as Jethro pushed the bedroom door open with his nose.

  “You too?” I asked, getting out of bed and following him downstairs. We went through the kitchen, and I unlocked the back door and let him outside, shivering in the blast of cold air that met me.

  Jethro barked a short, happy bark, and when I looked out, he was gone. The garden gate was swinging in the wind.

  “Damn.” I moaned. I’d checked and double-checked that all the doors were locked after BeBe had gone home and before we’d gone to bed. But I’d forgotten to remind BeBe to make sure the gate latched securely behind her when she went to get her car.

  I shoved my feet into a pair of beat-up loafers I keep by the back door for gardening, and ran out through the garden to the lane. It was empty.

  “Damn,” I repeated. Upstairs, I threw on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and the sweater Daniel had worn earlier in the evening. But he was sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake him.

  Just as I’d done the night before, I trolled the squares around Charlton Street in my truck, softly calling Jethro’s name out the window, searching in the dark for my prodigal puppy.

  An hour later, I’d spotted dozens of cats, one terrified-looking ‘possum, and half a dozen homeless men and women stretched out on park benches and in the bushes in the squares, but no black-and-white mutt.

  I drove home and parked the truck at the curb in front of the town house, being careful to leave the truck’s doors unlocked. Maybe Jethro’s guardian angel would find him and bring him home again. Maybe he’d even leave behind my blue Chrismas tree pin. And maybe, I thought ruefully, if pigs had wings they wouldn’t bump their butts when they tried to fly.

  Sleep came quickly this time around, and when my doorbell started buzzing noisily a few hours later, I had no idea what time it was, or where I was.

  Still in Daniel’s sweater and the plaid pajama bottoms, I stumbled downstairs and opened the door.

  “Jethro!” I exclaimed.

  He was sitting on his haunches, looking up expectantly, almost like he was peddling hairbrushes door-to-door and had finally reached a cooperative housewife.

  “Eloise!” Standing slightly to the right of Jethro, looking extremely peeved, was my neighbor and sworn enemy, Cookie Parker.

  I glanced at my watch. It was barely eight o’clock, but Cookie was dressed in immaculate black wool slacks and an enormous Burberry plaid sweater. A matching plaid tam-o’shanter was perched on his pumpkin-size pate.

  “You found Jethro,” I said, grabbing both his hands and shaking them. “Thank you so much for bringing him home.”

  “I found him, all right,” Cookie said coolly. “He was assaulting my Ruthie!”

  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and yawned.

  “Assaulting?”

  Cookie blushed. “You know what I mean.”

  “No,” I assured him. “I don’t. You mean they were fighting?” I knelt down and took a closer look to assess Jethro’s wounds. But I didn’t see any.

  “He was humping her, all right?” Cookie blurted. “Is that crude enough for you?”

  “Jethro?”

  Noncommittal, he licked his privates. Jethro, that is. Cookie just stood there, quivering with rage and indignation.

  I stood up and yawned again. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? I mean, I’m sorry, okay? I got up around one this morning, to let him outside, and I guess my friend forgot to latch the garden gate. We had a pretty busy, late night last night.”

  Cookie pursed his lips. “We were well aware of your enchanted evening. I suppose congratulations are in order.” He thrust out his hand and shook mine limply.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It was an amusing display, I’ll give you that,” Cookie allowed. “Manny and
I were just saying last night that the judges must have decided to go with camp this year, rather than beauty or artistic vision.”

  I supposed this was his version of a compliment. I decided to accept it, but then I had the impulse to giggle, which I managed to stifle.

  “I thought Babalu looked beautiful, from what I saw of it,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t that big a deal to me. But Manny! The poor dear was devastated. He really puts his whole heart into these little competitions. He’s been planning this winter wonderland tableau since July.”

  It was cold. Really cold. I looked down. My toes were turning blue. I edged them up under Jethro’s butt, grateful for the borrowed warmth.

  “Well,” I said, anxious to go inside and back to bed. “Better luck next time. And I really am sorry about Jethro’s, um, lapse in judgment. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. This is the second time in a week he’s run away like this.”

  Cookie bit his lip. “I just hope Ruthie’s not…well…you know.”

  “Not what?”

  “Enceinte,” he said, blushing violently. “This is only the second time she’s come into…” He blushed again and stared at something above my head. “You know.”

  I blinked. “Oh. Wait. You mean your bitch is in heat? Oh, no.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Exactly.”

  I prodded Jethro with my bare foot. “Bad boy!”

  He thumped his tail in perfect agreement.

  “Wait,” I said slowly. “If your dog was in heat, what was she doing out?”

  “She never goes outside without one of us. Ruthie has two very protective papas. But last night, after the judges left and we found out you’d won the decorating contest, well, Manny was so distraught, I had to do something to take his mind off our rather crushing disappointment. We were supposed to have our open house last night too. But we just couldn’t put on our happy party faces. I called the caterer and told her to come and take all the food to the children’s home. Then I took Manny over to the Pink House for a quiet, intimate fireside dinner. Long story short, our garden gate got left unlatched too last night. Although I don’t quite understand how or when. Manny got up sometime in the night to let Ruthie out, and then just stumbled back to bed without checking on her again.”