Silent Night, Deadly Night

by Vicki Delany

  “Of course.” Dad walked with her out the back door.

  Mom and I sat in silence until Dad came back.

  “I want them gone, all of them, tomorrow,” Mom said. “When Ruth’s released from the hospital, she’ll need rest, so she can stay here for a day or two, until her family can take her home. You definitely saw someone attacking her, Merry?”

  “You mean did she hit herself?” I shook my head. “I saw someone, all right. I chased someone down the street.”

  “So Ruth didn’t kill Karla.”

  “We don’t know that. It’s possible Ruth killed Karla and one of the other women—”

  “. . . or Eric,” Dad said.

  “. . . or Eric, attacked Ruth for other reasons.”

  “The only one with any sort of alibi for tonight,” I said, “is Genevieve. Unlike someone sitting in a corner in the bar, if she had a table in the restaurant, left for the time it took to come here, attack Karla, and then go back to her seat, the waiter likely would have noticed. Even in a busy place.”

  “Maybe not,” Dad said. “There are nooks and crannies in A Touch of Holly, and the staff are trained to be respectful of their guests’ privacy. Unless they have their eye on the clock, it’s unlikely they can say exactly when she left.”

  “I assume Simmonds will be checking all that out,” I said.

  We sat in silence for a long time, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Police officers moved around in the backyard, but eventually they left, and the last of the cars drove away.

  Once they’d all gone, I stood up. I stretched and said, “I’ll get Mattie and be on my way.”

  “What brought you here tonight anyway, dear?” Mom asked.

  I glanced at Dad. “For a while there I forgot all about it. Wayne Fitzroy will not make a good Santa. He has no intention of being a good Santa. He’s talking about, of all things, corporate sponsorship for the parade. I—”

  My father lifted his hand in the universal stop gesture. “All moot now, honeybunch.”

  “We can do something. No one—”

  “While your mother and I were enjoying the singing of Mr. Pavarotti, only moments before we heard that commotion in the yard, I got a text from Sue-Anne.” He paused. “I’ve been fired.”

  Chapter 24

  Santa Claus.

  Fired by text.

  On the night before Thanksgiving.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Dad shook his head. “Sue-Anne doesn’t have an easy time of it. She aspires to rising further in politics, but that husband of hers is an anchor around her ambitions. He’s not only totally uninterested in giving her and her career any support, but he has a reputation that doesn’t reflect well on her, even though it’s not her fault. I feel sorry for her, to tell you the truth.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts. Good night, honeybunch. Rudolph is a strong town, full of strong people. We survived Fergus Cartwright as mayor; we can survive an unsuitable Santa. Wayne Fitzroy will tire of his games soon enough and go on to bother someone else.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but there was no point in arguing anymore.

  By the time Mattie and I left Mom and Dad’s house, fat, soft snowflakes were falling gently from the night sky. I usually love the first snowfall of the year, but tonight my mood was as black as the sky above my head.

  Never mind the whole ridiculous Santa Claus business, I’d seen the heaviness in my mom’s face, the deep circles under my dad’s eyes.

  They needed this to be over, and they needed Mom’s friends out of the house. Mom wouldn’t kick an ailing Ruth into the street, so who knows how much longer Ruth would stay.

  * * *

  * * *

  I had no doubt Mrs. D’Angelo would have heard all about renewed police activity on my parents’ street, and she would be poised to waylay me when I got home.

  Luckily, last summer I discovered a secret access route into my yard I hadn’t known about. I’d intended to make sure it was sealed, but had never gotten around to it. Tonight I was glad of it.

  Mattie and I crept, under cover of falling snow and darkness, through the back neighbor’s yard to the adjoining fence. That is, I crept. Mattie danced across the grass, snapping at snowflakes. I pulled at the loose boards, made enough of a gap for us to squeeze through, and emerged into my own yard.

  We tiptoed up the back stairs. That is, I tiptoed. Mattie charged ahead.

  I filled the kettle and put on my pajamas. I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry. Mattie, however, was, and I filled his bowl.

  I made a mug of hot tea, added plenty of sugar, and carried the drink to the couch. I curled my legs up under me and called Alan to tell him the news about Dad as Santa Claus.

  Earlier, thinking I was about to single-handedly confront a cold-blooded killer, I’d promised myself I’d tell Alan I loved him again. Instead, a sudden bout of shyness had me just blurting out the news. “Sue-Anne texted Dad to tell him he was fired. She didn’t even have the nerve to talk to him in person.”

  “Sue-Anne isn’t known for her bravery,” Alan said. “And, if what you suspect is true, she didn’t want to get rid of him but felt she had no choice. How’d Noel take it?”

  “Not too badly. He’s got a lot of other things on his mind right now.” I went on to tell Alan what else had happened tonight.

  “I don’t like the sound of that, Merry. You don’t think your parents are in any danger, do you?”

  “The guests are leaving tomorrow.”

  “Simmonds is letting them leave Rudolph? After what happened tonight?”

  “They have to stay in town, but Mom’s kicking them out of the house. All except Ruth, who’s still in the hospital.”

  “Is dinner still on for tomorrow? I’ll understand if you don’t feel like entertaining.”

  “It’s still on. I’ll enjoy having you all over. The only stipulation is that we do not talk about murder. Or about Santa Claus in Rudolph.”

  Alan chuckled.

  “It seems strange to me,” I said, “that Wayne Fitzroy could blackmail Sue-Anne over something everyone knows.”

  “Something everyone suspects, Merry. I don’t know that anyone’s ever seen Jim Morrow with this supposed paramour of his. No one even knows who it’s supposed to be. Three women are on the Muddle Harbor town council.”

  We talked for a while longer before saying our good-nights. I gathered my courage around me and said it . . . the L-word. I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “And I love you, Merry. I always have.”

  I let Mattie out for his evening patrol of the yard and then we went to bed.

  * * *

  * * *

  I didn’t get to enjoy my day off for long. Mom called at nine, when I was sitting down with my first cup of coffee. I was so surprised to see her cell number on my display that I shouted into the phone, “What’s wrong now?”

  “Wrong?” she said. “Nothing’s wrong. Not here, anyway.”

  “It’s nine o’clock in the morning. Why are you up?”

  “Because I am determined not to have houseguests for a moment longer than is necessary. Noel’s on the other phone trying to find empty hotel rooms, which seems to be a problem. At least Barbara has her car. She can sleep in that.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No. I’m going to the hospital shortly to see Ruth. Diane Simmonds called to tell me Ruth is awake and conscious and able to have visitors. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Sure. Do you know if she had anything to tell the detectives about what happened last night?”

  “Diane didn’t say. I’ll be there at ten.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  And I was.

  Rather than stand on the sidewalk, as any normal person would do when waiting to be picked up, I lurked arou
nd the corner of my own house, peeking out whenever I heard the approach of a car.

  About an inch of snow had fallen in the night, just enough to give the grass and trees a fresh coating of white. The sky was the rich shade of blue it gets the day after a snowfall, and the sun shone cheerfully in a cloudless sky: a perfect Thanksgiving Day. The Wilkinsons would do their best to enjoy it, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

  Mom’s car turned the corner, and I dashed down the driveway as fast as I could in the slippery coating of snow. I wrenched the passenger door open and leapt in. “Drive, drive, drive!”

  “What on earth?” Mom said.

  “Step on it! Here she comes.”

  Mrs. D’Angelo’s front door flew open, and she bolted out of the house. She ran down the path in her robe and mule slippers, waving at us.

  Mom pulled into the street, wheels spinning, snow flying in our wake.

  “Close one,” I said.

  “Aren’t you overreacting, perhaps a tiny bit?” said the opera diva.

  “You have no idea,” I replied.

  * * *

  * * *

  The Rudolph Hospital is about the only place in town that doesn’t try to be all Christmas, all the time, but they had attempted to give the place a Thanksgiving air, with pumpkins and cornucopias (containing real vegetables) on the main reception desk, and paper pilgrim hats and cutout turkeys hanging on the walls behind the nurses’ stations.

  Mom asked the receptionist for Ruth’s room, and she replied, “Admittance is restricted. Can I have your names, please?”

  Mom gave them, the receptionist typed them into her computer, told us where to go, and asked us to check in with the nurse first.

  Eventually we found Ruth’s room. The door was half-closed. Mom knocked lightly, and we pasted smiles on and went in.

  Ruth had been given a private room, and that, plus the limits on visitors, was probably on police orders. It was a nice room, too, bright and sunny, overlooking the woods behind the hospital rather than the parking lot. Ruth was in bed but sitting up, propped against a pile of pillows. Her face was pale and her head was wrapped in miles of bandages. A stack of paperbacks lay on the table, next to the remains of a cup of tea. A woman I didn’t recognize sat in the chair next to the bed. She didn’t smile as we came in.

  “Good morning,” Mom said, trying to sound bright and cheerful. “It’s so nice to see you awake.” She bent over the bed and brushed Ruth’s cheek with her lips.

  “I’ve been up since before dawn,” Ruth said. “The police wanted to talk to me.”

  “Hi,” the young woman said.

  Ruth made the introductions. “Aline, Merry, this is my daughter Becky. Becky, this is my college friend Aline and her daughter Merry, who I’ve been telling you about.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Becky mumbled. She looked a great deal like Ruth: the thin frame, the prominent cheekbones, the small chin. She got to her feet. “There’s only supposed to be two of us in here at a time, so I’ll let you chat with your friends, Mom. I’m going to the cafeteria. I won’t be long.” She left.

  “How nice of your family to come,” Mom said.

  Ruth smiled. “Becky’s a marvelous girl. She wanted to bring the kids, but I suggested they stay home and enjoy their Thanksgiving. My husband, Pete, is around here somewhere. He went for a walk. Pete doesn’t handle emotion very well.” She smiled at the thought and then her face settled into serious lines as she looked at me. “Detective Simmonds said I have you to thank.”

  “I saw someone, and I yelled and scared them off. That’s about it.”

  “You might have saved my life.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Mom took the visitor’s chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Detective Simmonds has told the others they can’t go home yet, but they’ll be moving into a hotel this morning. You’re . . . uh . . .” She choked out the words. “. . . welcome to come back to my house to recover when you’re released from the hospital, but as your husband and daughter are here, they’ll probably want to take you home. Rochester isn’t far if the Rudolph police need to talk to you.”

  “All I want,” Ruth said, “is to go home and be with my family. I did enjoy our weekend, Aline. The part that involved spending time with you, anyway.”

  Mom took Ruth’s hand in hers. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” Ruth said. “Thanks to Merry, it did.”

  “More thanks to Mattie, I think,” I said. “Detective Simmonds spoke to you this morning. Could you tell her who attacked you?”

  Ruth started to give her head a shake, but stopped with a grimace of pain. “I don’t remember anything. I was in my room reading, the other women had gone out, and Noel and Aline were watching television. I wanted a smoke. I remember getting my cigarettes and heading down the hall. The rest is all a blank. I can’t remember anything more until I woke up in here this morning. It gave me quite a fright, I can tell you. The nurse told me that happened last night. Meaning today’s Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Do you have any thoughts about what might have happened? Who might have wanted to . . . hurt you?”

  “The police asked me that, but I could only tell them I have no idea. It was dark out, but I don’t mind the dark, and I must have gone to the bottom of the garden for my smoke. Maybe whoever it was mistook me for someone else.”

  Mom and I exchanged a glance. That was an angle l hadn’t considered. Could one of the other members of the quarrelsome quartet—even my mom—have been the intended victim? The women didn’t look much alike, but wrapped in a coat standing out of range of the house lights? That could have happened. The only other one of them who smoked was Genevieve.

  “You said something the other day about secrets,” I said. “That all mystery novels are about secrets. People hiding things, and other people either knowing them or trying to find out. Is one of your friends holding a secret they don’t want you to reveal? Something to do with Karla, maybe?”

  “I can’t think of anything like that,” Ruth said. “I don’t know any secrets, about anyone. I’ve tried to think like Lord Peter Wimsey, but”—she gave a short laugh—“real life isn’t quite so neat, is it? If any of our friends are keeping secrets, I don’t know them.” She glanced at Mom. “Do you have any ideas, Aline?”

  “Nothing I can think of. Nothing at all. If one of the women has such a secret, she’s kept it to herself. As she should have. Not many of us have lives that are an open book. I might have committed a few small indiscretions when I was singing. There was the time that Latvian tenor, who shall remain nameless, deliberately trod on my toe during our duet at La Scala. He’d wanted his lover, a totally underwhelming singer who was married at the time to someone else, to get my role. I might have mentioned to the woman who cleaned the dressing rooms that—”

  “Perhaps we can talk about that another time. Ruth, you were saying?” If a Latvian tenor arrived in Rudolph and my mom ended up dead, I’d have something to work with. But Mom’s reminiscences didn’t exactly have anything to do with the matter at hand.

  “I haven’t seen some of those women for almost forty years,” Ruth said. “We haven’t all been together as a group since college. We lead completely different lives, and the only thing we have in common anymore is a few fond memories of our long-lost youth.” She looked at my mom. “I guess I should say that was something we used to have in common. Turns out none of us were ever fond of the others, and our youth wasn’t as great as we’ve always pretended it was.”

  “I’ll admit,” Mom said, “this weekend might have been a mistake.”

  “If you do know a secret—if any of you do—then it has to be something that happened when you were in college,” I said.

  Mom threw up her hands. “Nothing happened when we were in college. We were young and f
oolish, and then we went our own ways in life. For heaven’s sake, what sort of a secret would be so important you’d kill someone a lifetime later over it?”

  “Some of us,” Ruth said, “did better than others in life, as Constance keeps trying to remind me. But all Constance sees are the material things. I might not have the money to buy fancy trinkets in Merry’s nice store or go out for expensive dinners, and my husband might be a handyman, not a business executive, but he’s here now. He came when I needed him. My daughter left her family Thanksgiving to be with me. She brought a bunch of books for me to read and had her children write me notes.” She pointed proudly to sheets of paper covered with childish scrawls and colorful drawings. “My son called me as soon as Becky let everyone know I’d woken up. Even before I ended up in here, my children were concerned enough about what’s going on to call me every day for updates. Constance’s son didn’t seem to be all that worried about her being under police investigation. Not bothered enough to come and be with her, anyway.” Ruth let out a long, deep sigh. “Constance is the poor one, not me.”

  Mom gripped her hand tighter, and they smiled at each other.

  A nurse came into the room. “I need you ladies to wait in the hallway, please, while I run a few quick checks on Mrs. Nixon.”

  Mom stood up. “We won’t stay any longer. You need your sleep, Ruth. The offer’s still open; if you can’t go home for any reason, come back to the house.”

  Ruth smiled at her as her eyes began to droop. “Thank you, but my family’s here now.”

  We left the room.

  “I think,” Mom said, “Ruth’s going to be just fine.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  We walked down the long hospital corridors, across the parking lot, and drove back to town.