It's a Wonderful Knife

by Christine Wenger

  “Um . . . uh . . .” I said eloquently. “We aren’t doing a thing, Ty. Not a thing. Antoinette Chloe is just picking me up from work, and we’re headed back to the Big House. We have a couple of salads to make for the auditions—a big chef and a fruit salad. No ham this time. I think we’ll do baked ziti and meatball sandwiches.”

  Ty probably didn’t care what I was serving for the auditions—he’d eat anything. This was just a verbal checklist for my benefit as well as ACB’s.

  “Your aunt Stella told me you were here, Trixie. I know that I gave you the message from Pastor Fritz yesterday that you weren’t needed today.”

  “Did you? It must have slipped my mind.” I hoped that the dumb look on my face was convincing.

  The look on his face was skeptical.

  “Were you looking for me?” I asked him. “Or just patrolling the area?”

  “I was looking for you,” he said, as my heart was going to leap from my chest.

  “What for?” I squeaked out, but I wanted to yell, Don’t arrest me!

  “I wanted to tell you that Margie Grace was released from the hospital this morning, and her husband took her home. Unfortunately she was still ranting about how she should have been asked to direct the pageant, and how she was overlooked when Liz was appointed director. And now she was overlooked again due to you. Her anger was directed at you, Trixie, and I wanted to warn you to be careful of her.”

  “That woman doesn’t know when to quit,” ACB said. “Poor thing. It’s like she lost her identity as Sandy Harbor’s First Lady of the Theater, or at least the First Lady of the Sandy Harbor High School Gymnasium.”

  “Or the Community Church’s . . . church!” I added.

  “I’d like to think that she just has hurt feelings, but it seems to be more than that,” Ty said.

  I sighed. “Ty, I think that we, or I, need to give Margie Grace something important to do in the Christmas pageant. Or Pastor Fritz can just appoint her as the director, and I can be her assistant and keep an eye on her.”

  “How do you keep an eye on your back, Trixie?” ACB spewed. “If Margie gets distraught enough, her anger can escalate from throwing a cell phone—like she tried to at Liz—to maybe something more.”

  “She’s right.” Ty nodded. “I’ll be keeping an eye on Margie, too, and so will the other deputies, but there’s not enough manpower to put a guard on you, Trixie.”

  “A guard? Because of Margie Grace?” I shook my head. “Aren’t you both overreacting? I can take care of myself. I’m not afraid of her.”

  “You never know what people can do when they get mad enough,” Ty said.

  “Is Margie a suspect, Ty?” ACB asked.

  Ty gave a slight nod. That was all we were going to get from him, and he was loath to give that much up.

  “Trixie?” ACB rubbed her forehead.

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you’re right. I think that giving Margie some job at the pageant would calm her down. And that way, we both can keep an eye on her.”

  That was ACB’s way of saying that she had my back.

  “Just be careful” was Ty’s warning as he got back into his car and drove away.

  • • •

  When we got back to the Big House, I found the Boca Babes, my parents, and Clyde and Max doing some kind of Zumba—or was it yoga?—in my living room. I’ll just call it Zuga.

  And lo, Margie Grace was leading the Zuga!

  “Looks like they’re having a good time,” ACB said. “And nothing seems to be broken yet.”

  Crash!

  Everyone froze in place.

  First my Santa Claus mug. Then my turkey. Now my Lenox crystal bowl.

  All my traditions. My favorite things for the holidays were falling apart. And I suddenly wanted to burst into tears. While I realized that these were all material things, they meant something to me.

  I bent over to take off my one boot, but mostly I was trying to hide my watery eyes and get myself together.

  “Pass the hat,” Antoinette Chloe said, removing her plaid cape. “Trixie should be reimbursed for the bowl so she can buy another one to replace it.”

  Aunt Stella helped me take off my coat. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll make it good.”

  “It’s okay. It really is,” I said. “Excuse me a minute.”

  I crutched to the bathroom off the laundry room and splashed cold water onto my face. What was wrong with me? Normally three broken things wouldn’t send me over the edge. Oh yeah, four broken things—I forgot my broken leg.

  “Honey?”

  My mother. She could always read me.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just give me a moment.” I filled the sink up with cold water, then dunked my face into it.

  I was not going to feel sorry for myself. No way. A lot of people had it much worse than four broken things.

  All these wonderful people had come to help me. I planned to put them to work and keep them busy.

  When I finally came out of the bathroom, they were all sitting around the big oak kitchen table.

  My father took my hand. “I know you won’t take money from us, but the Babes and your mother will go shopping and replace your bowl. They will also look for the turkey decoration that Antoinette Chloe broke and the Santa Claus mug that you broke.”

  ACB must have told them about everything.

  He hugged me close to him and kissed me on the cheek. “We can’t replace your broken leg.”

  “Thank you, everyone. I appreciate it. And I appreciate that you came to help me. I do have some things I need help with.”

  “Just tell us, Trixie, and consider it done,” Aunt Stella said. “I know you always decorate the diner and the house. I know where the decorations are, so we’ll take care of it.”

  “And you need a tree in both places,” Clyde said. “Max and I will chop two down at Christmas Tree Acres.”

  “Can we help?” one of the Babes said. I think her name was Marilyn. “I haven’t chopped down a tree since I was a kid.”

  “Sure. We’ll make a day of it,” Max said. “Anyone who wants to go, meet here at noon tomorrow.”

  Judging by the reaction, the entire room was going. I wanted to go, too, but there was no way I could walk around the field.

  “So let’s decorate the Silver Bullet now!” Mom said.

  Everyone got up and migrated to the closet to put on their coats and boots. The men went downstairs to lug up the decorations.

  After a while they were all out the door. Everyone except ACB, Margie Grace, and me.

  “I’ll be leaving now,” Margie Grace said. “But first I owe you an apology, Trixie.”

  “Why’s that, Margie?”

  “Well, I realized that I may have said some callous things earlier, because I was angry.”

  “Oh?”

  “I did say that you were going to suck as pageant director, and I did say that you were going to be even worse than Liz Fellows. And I said that I couldn’t wait until you were eliminated. . . .”

  I wasn’t going to play games with her. “Are you going to eliminate me, Margie?”

  “I just meant gone from the pageant, not eliminated, as in . . .”

  “Murdered?” I asked.

  She grabbed at her throat. “Heavens, no!”

  ACB grunted. “But Liz was murdered and now she’s gone from the pageant. That should have made you happy, until Trixie was asked to run it.”

  “No matter what our local law enforcement thinks, I didn’t have anything to do with Liz’s death. That’s what I came here to tell you, but then we got to exercising. I had such a good time! I need to keep busy. That’s why I wanted to direct the pageant. I realize that I miss people my own age.”

  “Then move to Boca, Margie. Or run exerc
ise classes for the seniors at the center. That would be wonderful.”

  “It would be!”

  Suddenly I felt sorry for her. She was just a lonely person and felt overlooked by the pageant committee. The plays and pageants were her universe—they made her feel good, and now she was just adrift on Lake Ontario in a boat with no oars.

  “Margie, I was going to ask you something. Do you think you could spare the time to help me with the pageant? It just seems so . . . overwhelming. I could use your help.”

  Her face lit up, then darkened. “I’d love to help you, but do you really think anyone would want me around?” She shook her head. “Everyone thinks I killed Liz, but I couldn’t kill anyone, Trixie. I just couldn’t!”

  “You think about it and let me know if you’d like to assist me.” Margie was getting teary. “How about if we call your husband to take you home?”

  “Freddie is over at the Silver Bullet, so he’s not far away. I’ll walk over and join him.”

  “I’ll give you a ride over, Margie. It’s icy,” ACB said.

  “That’s so nice of you!” She sniffed. “I guess I really do have friends.”

  “Of course you do, Margie, so knock off the drama. And no throwing cell phones at Trixie!” ACB ordered.

  “Yes, Antoinette Chloe.” She managed a little smile.

  “And tell her that you’ll help her out with the darn pageant already. You know you’re dying to do it!”

  “Yes, I am.” Margie laughed.

  “But no salmon,” I added. “No salmon pulling Santa’s sleigh. No salmon spawning or dancing. I know it’s the official fish of Sandy Harbor, but there are no salmon at the North Pole and there were none in Bethlehem. . . . At least I don’t think so.”

  We all laughed together, and it cleared the air.

  I didn’t know whether Margie Grace could have killed Liz Fellows, but after this, I didn’t think so.

  • • •

  When Antoinette Chloe returned, we started working on the salads and cooking ziti for those of us catering the auditions.

  The kitchen was so humid and hot that we were wilting, so we opened some windows a bit.

  “I keep thinking of that picture we found in Roger’s apartment,” I said, taking a break with a Christmas cookie or ten. “The one with him in his marine dress clothes alongside Darlene.”

  “Darlene looked so young back then.” ACB stirred the ziti noodles. “I like her with dark hair instead of that yellowish orange color she wears.”

  “I am going to do an Internet search on his name,” I said. “Maybe there was some kind of article written when he went into the marines.”

  “I’ll get your laptop,” ACB said. “We can figure out how to do it together.”

  “I think I can do it. Ray taught me. It seems to be logical.”

  ACB walked over the several steps to the large office off the kitchen. It was Aunt Stella and Uncle Porky’s office, and most everything still in it was theirs. I’d just added more clutter and a laptop.

  She got the laptop, mouse, and mouse pad and set them in front of me on the table.

  I knew we should be able to get the Internet, as Ray had set up a network for me. There was one in the diner, too, and my customers loved it, especially when they couldn’t get the Internet at their homes.

  I remembered back around Valentine’s Day how a bunch of reporters had set up shop at my diner so they could get the Internet and send in their reports. The place was hopping day and night.

  Turning it on, I waited until it booted up. Then I double clicked the icon that Ray had told me to double click. The blue box showed, and I typed in “Roger Southwick.”

  Amazing.

  A miniature of the same picture was there along with the first few lines of a story. I clicked on that.

  Easy peasy.

  “And here he is!” I said, just awestruck at how far technology had come.

  ACB looked over my shoulder and read, “‘The Buffalo News, Buffalo, New York: Local resident Roger James Southwick, twenty, recently graduated from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. Roger is a graduate of Buffalo High School, where he took business courses and was on the varsity football team. He resides with his parents, David and Julie Southwick, and has a sister, Darlene.’”

  “Darlene!” we shouted together.

  “Not a common name,” I added. “And, of course, this is a picture of her. She’s obviously younger than he is.” I was getting excited. “That’s probably how he got the job. With his personality, no one else in their right mind would hire him.”

  “Yes, but he did back down when you told him off.”

  I looked for more information on Roger Southwick, but that was it. “You’re right. All hot air and attitude, but, you know, a marine could have easily thrust that knife into Liz’s back.”

  “That’s why we have to find out if Liz had something on him. That’s why we have to find that flash drive!”

  “And, my dear friend, let’s talk about all those trash bags full of pull tabs in the Robinsons’ apartment. And all those unpaid bills! Do you think one or both of them have a gambling problem?”

  Antoinette Chloe shrugged. “Maybe all those used pull tabs were just recyclable paper that the Robinsons could get money for to put toward the church.”

  I didn’t want to think anything bad about the Robinsons, but then I thought about it more. “But what about all those unpaid bills?”

  “Maybe Darlene just hasn’t gotten around to paying them,” ACB suggested. “It is Christmastime, after all, and it’s very busy at the church.”

  We weren’t getting anywhere.

  “At least we know that Roger and Darlene are brother and sister,” I pointed out. “Although I don’t know what that proves.”

  “Me neither, but maybe it’ll come in handy.”

  “I wonder if Ty knows,” I said.

  “That man knows everything.”

  “I hope he doesn’t know we broke into their apartments,” I said.

  “I hope not, too,” ACB said.

  “Well, I think we’d better finish getting everything ready. Bob and Ray are taking everything to the church’s kitchen at about two, and I have to work tomorrow in the office, so I want to get a head start on everything.”

  Aunt Stella returned without the Boca Babes, and she helped to make the chef and the fruit salads. Then everyone returned and started decorating the Big House outside. That was fine, but it was only a matter of time until everyone came in.

  “I think I’ll suggest that they go over to the Silver Bullet to eat dinner,” I said. “There’s nothing to eat here.”

  “That’s another thing we can do for you—go to the store,” Aunt Stella said. “Is the Gas and Grab still operating?”

  “Yes. It is, and they even expanded and added a really nice deli.”

  “Make a list. I’ll check it twice,” Aunt Stella said with a twinkle in her eye. “And we’ll go to the store for you tomorrow. It’s on us. So don’t skimp.”

  “But tomorrow is the tree chopping,” I pointed out.

  “Oh! There’s just so much to do!” Aunt Stella said.

  “Tell me about it,” I said, closing my laptop. I really wanted to look up Darlene, but now wasn’t the right time.

  The next day, I’d talk to Darlene and Pastor Fritz and insist that we work on getting the two laptops operational for the business of the church. And I’d insist that we work on whatever Liz had been working on.

  Yes!

  Two hours later, the Busy Boca Babes returned. They raved about how beautiful the Silver Bullet looked. They even reported that some of my customers had gotten into the spirit and helped, knowing that I was incapacitated.

  “Everyone asked about you, Trixie,” said Barbara, a Babe.

  Another
Babe, Diane, giggled. “Ty was there, too. He helped us reach the high places. That man is beyond handsome.”

  “Yes, but he asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee,” Elaine added. She was probably the loudest Boca Babe.

  “He asked all of us, Elaine!” said Ann, who was the sweetest Babe.

  “My goodness, ladies! What are you thinking?” said Aunt Stella. “He could be our grandson!”

  “Only our son. We’re not that old,” Marilyn said.

  “Yes, we are!” Clara added, laughing.

  Finally they adjourned to the dining room for pinochle and highballs, and their screams and laughter could be heard in Watertown.

  Mom phoned me from the motor home. “Your dad and I are calling it a night. See you tomorrow.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No. We’re all set. Good night, honey.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  “Do you want me to help you up the stairs?” ACB asked. “You must be sick of the recliner.”

  My bed was calling my name, but I couldn’t stand the thought of climbing the stairs. I was pooped.

  “Tomorrow. For sure. But you go ahead, Antoinette Chloe. Get some sleep.”

  “Don’t you dare touch that laptop without me,” she said.

  Oh, fudge! She knew that I was dying to explore the Internet more. “Um . . . uh . . .”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “No!”

  “Will you wait for me?” she asked. “I’d do it for you. Besides, we’re sisters in crime. I went to jail with you.”

  “What are we, in fourth grade?” I asked. “Oh, all right. I’ll wait for you.”

  “Good. Nighty night,” she said. “I’ll drive you tomorrow.”

  I crutched to my front room, grabbed the afghan that had cornucopias on it, and sank into the recliner.

  Then there was a knock on the door.

  After midnight? Who on earth would visit after midnight? It might be an emergency.

  “Coming!” I said, struggling to my feet, grabbing my crutches, and hobbling to the door. “Ty?”

  “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I saw your light on, and I thought we could talk.”

  “I was just going to hit the recliner, but come in. Can I get you anything?”