Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  I picked up one and flipped through it. I’d written one when I was eight, another at nine, the next I hadn’t started until I was eleven. Two more, from thirteen and fifteen. Journals of my childhood, charting the route that I’d taken to become the person I am. Diaries holding all the secrets of my life.

  As I fingered the brocade cover, I thought, That’s what diaries are—our most secret lives. What we couldn’t tell our family and friends, we could tell a blank page. Our most heartfelt moments, our fears, our dreams, and our plans.

  Wait a minute! Our plans. I dropped the volume on my lap and sat up. Lisa kept a diary. I’d seen her writing in a journal from time to time. Had Amy even thought to look in her room for it? Maybe it could tell us something about where Lisa had been planning to go. I jumped up, closing the lid to the trunk, and checked my watch. It was too late to call Amy or Kyle now, but first thing in the morning, I’d be on the phone.

  Before heading back to my suite I stood for a moment at the little porthole window overlooking the inlet. The ocean mirrored that silver sheen that lit up the sky, reflecting it upward to form a haze so that I couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the water began. The roof was covered with a thick layer of snow, and the trees were swaying gently in the breeze that stirred up the flakes, swirling them into flurries of dancing snowmen. I sighed, feeling a tad melancholy.

  “Please let her be okay,” I whispered under my breath. “Please let them have hearts. Please, don’t let Lisa be dead.”

  As I headed for the door, there was a faint creak behind me, and I turned. The rocker was moving ever so slightly—just a little—as if someone was gently rocking back and forth, and I thought for a moment I could smell pipe smoke.

  Smiling softly, I whispered, “Night, Cap’n. It’s good to talk to you again,” and then headed downstairs for bed.

  A loud crash brought me to waking consciousness, and another shot me to my feet. I flipped on my light and, dressed only in my nightshirt, went racing downstairs. Most likely one of the dogs had managed to get in the cupboards again. I skidded to a halt in the hallway, about to head into the kitchen when I heard another noise, this one from the living room. It sounded like whimpering and, worried that one of the dogs had been hurt, I hurried through the kitchen, into the living room. The sight before me stopped me cold in my tracks.

  Elliot was there, silhouetted by the kitchen light as he stood near the Christmas tree. He was holding Pete by the collar with one hand, his gun aimed at the dog with the other. He looked drunk, and he looked mean. I gasped and started toward him, but he gave me an evil grin and put the muzzle of the gun closer to the struggling retriever’s head.

  “You want me to shoot him? You want to see me blow this dog’s brains out right in front of you? How would you like that, Persia?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, his words slurred. Elliot was high as a kite.

  “Let him go. Pete never did anything to hurt you, Elliot. Let him go, for God’s sake.” I took another step toward him.

  “What will you give me to let him go?”

  I blinked. “What do you want? Money?”

  With a harsh snort—and then a moan as he winced beneath the bandage covering his nose—Elliot spat on the ground. “Money? You think I’m here for money? That’s a good one. No, baby, I left my dignity under your thumb last time I was here. I left my balls under your heel. I’m here to get both of them back.”

  Oh God, this was going to be bad. There was no way it couldn’t be bad. I struggled to keep my voice even. “Let the dog go. This is between us. Don’t take out your anger at me on Pete. Just let him go, please?”

  “It’s please now, is it? Well, that’s a start. Beg me to let him go. Beg me, and I’ll do it. And make it good.” Elliot twisted Pete’s collar a little tighter and Petey whimpered again, looking at me with bewildered eyes. The dog had known a harsh life before Auntie rescued him, and I was furious at Elliot for using him as a pawn.

  “You want me to beg for Pete’s life? All right, I will. He doesn’t deserve cruelty, so I’ll get down on my knees and beg you to spare him.” Hating every minute of it, I slowly lowered myself to my knees. “Elliot, please, let Petey go. I’m begging you—he’s a good dog. If you’re angry at me, be angry at me. Please don’t hurt Pete.”

  Elliot seemed taken aback that I’d actually done it. His fingers slipped, and Pete pulled away from his grasp. Elliot swung around, gun aimed, but then shook his head and turned back to me as Pete ran over to me.

  “Go lie down, Pete. Go lie down in your bed and stay there. Go on!” Bless his heart, Pete listened and headed out of the room. One crisis down, another to go. I slowly stood up, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible.

  “Elliot, what do you want? I thought you had left the island.”

  “I tried, but damn it, you wouldn’t let me. You’re in my head, Persia. You mock me every minute of the day. You and your boyfriend and your rich aunt and your oh-so-prissy business. And I’m stuck in a dump, no prospects, nobody will hire me. Who wants an accountant who was arrested for embezzling and laundering money?”

  Back to his whiny self, I noted. Albeit once again, he had a gun. I could tell that even Elliot didn’t know what he wanted from me, which was quite possibly the worst position I could be in. Without a plan, he might become so desperate he’d shoot us both.

  I had to do something and do it quick. He was too far gone for me to just walk up to him and take the gun away. Then, as my eyes focused on the Christmas tree, I had an idea. I might be able to startle him enough to give me the one wedge I needed.

  “Elliot,” I said, “you just have to move on. Get away from the island. Go back to Seattle and start over there.” And then I clapped my hands. Twice. The Christmas tree lights sprang to life, as did the lights lining the swag on the mantelpiece. Bless Auntie and The Clapper!

  Blinded by the sudden brilliance of twinkling faerie lights, Elliot jerked around to stare wildly at the tree. Unfortunately, his gun went off, and he shot our three-foot-high wooden nutcracker in the head, but that was the kind of casualty we could recover from. I raced forward, throwing myself at him and knocking him to the ground, my shoulder screaming bloody murder with every jolt. Elliot grunted and lost hold of the gun, which went skittering across the floor.

  “Persia, what the fuck—”

  “That’s enough! Hold it right there.” Kyle’s voice boomed out of the kitchen, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him and one of his officers rush in, followed by Auntie, who had her cell phone in hand. “We have to stop meeting like this, Elliot. People are going to talk,” he added, and I stared at him incredulously. Kyle had made a joke?

  He helped me up while the other officer cuffed Elliot, none too gently.

  “Oh Imp, I was so afraid that he’d hurt you before Kyle got here,” Auntie said. She was shaking pretty bad, and I put my arms around her, holding her close. “I heard a crash and called the police before I even set foot on the stairs.”

  “You made the right decision, Miss Florence,” Kyle said. He picked up the gun and shook his head. “Yep, this is Officer Reed’s gun. Elliot, didn’t anybody ever teach you to not to play with firearms? You sure as hell can’t shoot straight.”

  “The nutcracker took one in the head,” I said, caught by a sudden fit of nervous giggles. I was too tired and in too much pain to think straight, and now that Elliot was safely cuffed—and shackled at the ankles, thanks to Kyle’s foresight—I broke into a gale of laughter that was followed by a just as unexpected shower of tears.

  Auntie and Kyle stared at me, shaking their heads.

  “Imp,” Auntie said, “you almost took one in the head. And Pete. This is no laughing matter—”

  “I think she’s just wound up from the stress, Miss Florence.” Kyle led me over to the rocking chair. “You might want to go back to the doctor and have your shoulder checked again. But you did good, Persia. That was quick thinking. I don’t know if Christmas lights have ever saved anybody’s life befor
e, but you certainly know how to use whatever’s available.”

  I swallowed both laughter and tears and gave him a wry grin. “Well, I don’t teach those self-defense courses for nothing, you know. This is what I tell my students every time: you look around for anything that can be used as a weapon. I’m just grateful that Auntie thought to put them on The Clapper in the first place.”

  Kyle and the other officer carted Elliot away. This time, I hoped it was for good. Not only would he face the original charges, but now he’d face escape and another attempted murder charge. Or at least assault with a deadly weapon.

  Auntie picked up the remains of the nutcracker and looked at me, a twisted smile on her face. “This little guy gave his life for you. Kind of. Persia, what should we do with him? I’ve had him for forty years, and I hate to just toss him in the garbage.”

  I looked at the wooden toy and indeed, every Christmas when I was a child, I remembered him showing up near the tree. “Maybe burn him? Send him back to ashes? Or better yet, why don’t we fix him up and coat him with polyurethane and set him out to watch over the Memory Garden?”

  Auntie had fashioned a little spot away from the shop gardens that held the remains of three beloved cats that she’d rescued and given a home to until they’d succumbed to old age. The graveyard would be there for the rest of the Menagerie as their times came, and whatever animals came to fill the empty spaces in our tribe after that. Replete with lilies and white roses, with daisies and white pansies and primroses, and delicate maidenhair fern, and little stone statues of cats and dogs, it was a garden in white and green. A memorial.

  Auntie gave me a soft smile. “That would be lovely,” she said. “What a wonderful idea. He can be their guardian.” She gently laid him on the coffee table and motioned for me to join her in the kitchen. “I think we need some hot chocolate, don’t you, Imp?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Auntie. I just want to tidy up around here.” When Elliot had crashed to the floor, he’d knocked several of the ornaments off the tree. I carefully picked up the crystal balls—miraculously they’d all survived—and hung them back on the branches. Thank heavens the cats left them alone, though I could see Delilah snoozing away under the tree, and Buttercup was hiding out on a pillow nearby. I finished tidying up and stared at the scene.

  The cats, the tree sparkling with light, the bedecked mantel . . . it was all so beautiful and so homey. On impulse, I switched on the radio and turned it to 98.1 FM. The crystal tones of “Carol of the Bells” rang out, lovely and haunting, and I closed my eyes, willing myself to relax and breathe deeply.

  Auntie swept open the curtains, and we stared at the yard. The snow was still falling, and there must have been a good five inches on the ground already. “Imp, what do you say to a walk through the gardens before we have a bite to eat? Snow this deep is a rare treat around here.” Auntie looked at me expectantly, and suddenly, that seemed the perfect thing to do.

  I nodded and accepted the pair of sweatpants she handed me from the dryer. As we suited up in coats and boots, we didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. Sometimes, silence was the best antidote to anxiety, and by the time we opened the door, dogs at our heels, and set off for the gardens, the muffled hush of the night had captured both of us in its spell.

  Our grounds had transformed. Covered in crystals, the bushes and trees took on an otherworldly glow, and the crunch of snow under our feet flashed me back to the story of Heidi. I’d loved the book as a child, and often imagined myself wading home to an alpine cabin where Auntie would be waiting with toasted cheese on bread.

  “I hope it lasts,” I said, my voice sounding swathed in cotton as the flakes continued to fall thick and fast. “We should take pictures tomorrow.”

  “Good idea, Imp. Oh, look at Beauty!” The little cocker spaniel bounded around with frantic joy, barking at the flakes with the frenzy only another canine can understand. Petey walked more sedately by my side, and Beast went rolling around, snuffling under a log after something buried there.

  I stopped, staring up as the flakes hit my face and stuck to my hair. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me save Petey and trip up Elliot.” The universe might be listening or not, but I believed in showing gratitude for favors granted.

  When morning came, I’d go over to Amy’s, and we’d search for Lisa’s diary. And if we could find it, perhaps we’d find the key to where she was.

  “That’s all I want for Christmas, Santa,” I whispered into the night.

  “What did you say, Imp? And let’s turn back now. I could go for some hot chocolate, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a bowl of chicken soup.”

  “That sounds perfect to me,” I said. “I was thinking about Lisa and whether or not we’ll find her.” With a shrug, I added, “I was just telling Santa that all I want for Christmas is for my friends and loved ones to be happy, healthy, and safe. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “No, it can’t hurt. If you can’t ask Santa for a favor, who can you ask?” Auntie slid her arm through mine. “Imp, being with family and friends . . . having health, safety, and well-being . . . they’re the only things that really matter in the end. No matter who you were or what you accomplished, at the last gasp it comes down to this: Were you a good person? Did you leave this world a little better than it was when you came into it? And did you act with love?”

  We whistled for the dogs and headed back to the house. In the distance, the waves crashed against the shore, and once again, the image of Lisa’s face popped into my mind. I hoped that, wherever she was, she was safe and warm.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Morning saw me up and surprised to find my arm feeling a bit better. After the skirmish with Elliot, I was sure I’d done more damage, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. I cautiously went through a short stretching routine and then hopped on my stationary bike for fifteen minutes before showering and getting dressed.

  One look out the window told me the world was still swaddled in white, so I put on a pair of dark-washed jeans and a soft burgundy turtleneck. I slid my feet into a pair of candy cane-decorated socks and then a pair of stacked-heel boots. The bottoms were skid-proof so I wouldn’t go sliding all over the place. I brushed my hair and decided to let it hang loose, holding it back with a velvet headband.

  As I hurried downstairs, the sound of the TV told me Auntie was up. She was drinking a cup of tea and eating fresh-baked muffins while watching Northwest Cable News.

  “Good morning,” she said, motioning to the second cup and saucer waiting. “I made tea and cranberry muffins for breakfast. There’s also some smoked salmon. I’m heading out to the shop in a few minutes,” she said. “You go ahead and go over to Amy’s. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “So do I,” I said, dropping into a chair. Nibbling on one of the muffins, I poured my tea and added lemon. “So what’s on the news?”

  “More of the same old, same old. They had a piece on Elliot. He’s safely locked up, by the way. Kyle made sure to call me. I don’t know why I watch,” Auntie said. “The world seems to have gone crazy. Two homeless men were found dead—frozen—in Seattle. There was a seven-car pileup on I-5 that left three dead, and police logged eighty-three minor accidents on the freeway overnight because of the unexpected snowstorm. And at the Delacorte Plaza, one of the mall Santas got plastered, dropped his pants, and peed all over one of the elves. The little girl who was next in line started screaming, and her father got so angry he gave Santa a black eye. The holidays can be ugly, Imp.” But even as she ticked off the incidents, I could see the twinkle in her eyes.

  “Bad news or not, you love it, don’t you? You just love this time of year,” I said, sipping my Irish breakfast tea.

  Auntie chuckled. “Guilty as charged. I know that it’s a rough time for a lot of people, and I do what I can to help, but that can’t negate the joy this time of year brings to me. We’ll be together for Christmas, and you know how much that means to me.”

>   At that thought, I shook off the gloom. “I know; I feel the same way, too.”

  “Speaking of family, I got a call from Mother today.” Auntie raised her eyebrows, and I snorted. Grandma Dakota was as prim as Auntie was flamboyant. It was hard to believe they were related.

  Grandma and I had a tenuous relationship; she hadn’t approved of my mother’s choice to follow my father to Iran when he relocated there for the company he worked for. Especially since they weren’t married. My mother never ended up with a proposal, and when she died, my father was only too glad for the opportunity to drop me off with Auntie.

  “What did Grandma want?” I sliced off a piece of smoked salmon and gave a little smile of satisfaction when the taste of hickory hit my tongue.

  “She wanted to let me know she’s sent off our presents and to keep a lookout for them. Of course, she had to point out that it would be nice to have both of us there for the holiday, seeing that she’s not getting any younger and probably only has a few years left.” Auntie could do a perfect imitation of Grandma, and it never failed to make me laugh.