Deck the Halls

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “Austin, my father told us he was going to be there for a funeral you were having today. Didn’t he show up at all?”

  “Well, no, but the service went beautifully. The old guy had been planning it for years. Your father probably realized he didn’t really need to come.” Austin chuckled. “Right now the mourners are all enjoying a free lunch across town. The deceased left the bulk of his estate to the Blossoms. They’re all at the restaurant, and they look like one happy group. They inherited enough money to buy sprinkling cans for every plant in the state of New Jersey.”

  “Lucky them,” Regan said.

  “Your father has a 3:30 dentist’s appointment on his schedule. I don’t think he’ll miss that.”

  “Thanks, Austin.” Regan hung up and dialed Luke’s cell phone. After several rings his voice mail came on. As she listened to her father’s voice telling the caller to leave a message, her sense that something might be wrong deepened. Her father hadn’t been heard from in hours, even to inquire about her mother. She left a message for him to call her.

  She sipped her coffee and thought for a minute. I can’t just sit here, she decided. She glanced at the clock. It was now 2:35. She called the dentist’s office to confirm that her father had not canceled his appointment.

  “Please ask him to wait for me,” Regan said to the receptionist. “I’m leaving the city in a few minutes, and it shouldn’t take me more than an hour to get there.”

  “Will do,” the receptionist promised.

  Regan hurriedly dressed and dried her hair. After Dad has his appointment, we can do the errands together, she thought. Then we’ll drive back to the city to see Mom.

  But even as she pulled on her coat and ran down to grab a cab, Regan somehow knew that that wasn’t what she would be doing this afternoon.

  How long had he and Rosita had been locked up in the dark, chilly houseboat? Luke had no sense of time. It seemed like hours. They could have left the light on, he thought angrily.

  After C.B. and Petey the Painter took off, Luke had tried to reassure Rosita. “Trust my hunch,” he told her. “When those jerks come back, they’ll tell us what they want. And when they get it, they’ll let us go.”

  “But we can identify them, Mr. Reilly. Do you really think they can be that stupid?”

  “Rosita, probably nobody else could be that stupid, but I believe it of that pair. It won’t be long before we’re missed. Don’t forget, my daughter’s a private investigator, and she’ll have everyone looking for us.”

  “Just as long as someone takes care of my kids. I’m so afraid that ditzy baby-sitter will dump them with someone they don’t know. My little guy, especially, is painfully shy.”

  “If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that when Regan realizes we’re missing, she’ll check on your kids.”

  They hadn’t spoken for a while. It was only about ten feet across the cabin to the built-in couch where Rosita was chained. Had she dozed off? Luke wondered. The lapping of the water against the sides of the boat made it impossible to hear any sound of movement from her.

  “Rosita,” he said softly.

  Before she could answer, a thud on the deck startled both of them. The sound of the key grating in the lock dispelled Luke’s hope that whoever was outside might be a potential rescuer.

  The door opened. A somber trickle of light and a blast of cold air preceded Petey and C.B. into the cabin.

  “How are our campers doing?” C.B. asked jovially as Petey snapped on the overhead light. “I hope you’re not vegetarians. We bought ham and cheese sandwiches.” Both men were carrying grocery bags.

  It was with mixed emotion that Luke noted how small the bags were. Either they were planning to have them out of here in a short time, or there would be frequent takeouts from the local fast-food outlets in Edgewater.

  “Either one of you want to go to the can?” Petey asked solicitously.

  Luke and Rosita both nodded.

  “Ladies first,” Petey said. He released Rosita’s hand and ankle shackles. “You can close the door, but don’t get any stupid ideas. Besides, it don’t have a window.”

  Rosita looked at Luke. “Could you lend me a dollar for the attendant?”

  When it was Luke’s turn inside the tiny cubicle, he considered his options and realized he had none. Even if he could overpower Petey when he was refastening the chains, C.B. would be standing with his gun trained on Rosita. I have to play along with them, he thought.

  While Luke, Rosita, and Petey ate their sandwiches, C.B. sipped coffee. “I’m full,” he said, looking at Luke. “That restaurant you suggested wasn’t bad. The veal parmigiana was the best I’ve had in ages. Although I’m surprised I could digest my meal, having to look at those nerds from the Blossom Society. It was only the thought of you two back here that got me through.”

  “You could have brought me back some veal parmigiana,” Petey griped. “I think this rye bread is a little stale. And he didn’t put enough mayo on mine.” He peered over at Luke’s sandwich. “Let’s switch halves.”

  Luke grabbed the second half of his sandwich and took a big bite out of it. He laid it back down on the wax paper. “Be my guest.” Luke was inordinately pleased to see the disappointed look on Petey’s face.

  Petey looked at Rosita. “No dessert for the boss. You can have his Twinkies.”

  “I’d rather choke,” Rosita snapped.

  “Now that we’re one big happy family, let’s get down to business.” C.B. crushed his empty coffee cup and stuffed it into the deli bag.

  “Be careful, the pickles are still in there,” Petey protested.

  C.B. groaned and dumped the contents of the bag on the scarred Formica table.

  “Don’t get mad,” Petey said. “I wasn’t at some fancy lunch. I feel like I’ve been on a bus all day. Once I dumped the car at Kennedy, I had to take a bus to the Port Authority. Then I hadda wait for another bus to Edgewater. Then I hadda wait for you at the bus stop. You were too cheap to let me take a cab. You’ve been riding in a nice warm car all day—”

  “Shut up!”

  But Petey wasn’t finished. “I had my four dollars ready to pay when I crossed the George Washington Bridge. Then when I’m waiting in a long line to hand it over, I discover there’s an E-Z Pass on the floor of the car. I stuck it back up on the windshield and switched lanes fast. Some jerk almost plowed into me. He starts honking his horn like a crazy person. Then I saved you more money when I went over the Triborough Bridge. You should have noticed that E-Z Pass when you rode up front. I’m surprised at you.”

  C.B.’s eyes bulged. “You used the E-Z Pass? You moron! I took it off so they wouldn’t be able to track us. Now they can check and find out where it’s been used.”

  “Really?” Petey looked awestruck. “I’ll be darned. What will they think of next?” He turned to Luke and Rosita. “C.B. is so smart. He reads a lot of detective novels. I never had much chance to read. Mr. Reilly, I know he really likes your wife’s novels. I think one of them is even autographed.”

  “When you release us, I’ll get him another one. And when is that going to happen?”

  Petey reached for a pickle. “Explain our plan, C.B. It’s so good. In a few days we’re going to be on a beach somewhere with a million dollars in our suitcase.”

  C.B. interrupted Petey. “I’m telling you for the last time, Petey. Keep your mouth shut!” He pulled Luke’s and Rosita’s cell phones from the leather pouch where he had stashed them. “Mr. Reilly, it’s nearly 4:30. We’re going to get in touch with your family and tell them we want a million dollars cash by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Rosita gasped. “A million dollars?”

  Petey piped in. “He’s got viewing rooms all over New Jersey, and his wife sells a lot of books. Hey, C.B., maybe we should ask for more.”

  C.B. ignored him.

  “I can guarantee my family will pay you the money,” Luke said carefully. “But it’s Thursday afternoon of Christmas weekend. I don’t kno
w how they’d be able to get it by tomorrow.”

  “Believe me, they can,” C.B. said. “If they want to.”

  “He read it in a book,” Petey volunteered. “Banks do things for important people, like opening their doors at all hours. And you’re a real important person.”

  “But my wife is in the hospital,” Luke protested.

  “We know that. Where do you think we picked you up?” C.B. asked. “Now—who do you want us to call?”

  “My daughter. She just got in from California. She’ll get you the money.” He gave them her cell phone number: “310-555-4237.”

  Petey started scribbling the number on a piece of paper he had torn off the brown deli bag. “Say that again”

  Luke repeated the number slowly.

  C.B. turned the phone on and began dialing.

  “That implant came out smooth as silk,” Dr. Jay assured Alvirah. “I have Willy on oxygen now. I’d like you to wait a little while before you take him home. He’s still groggy.”

  “That laughing gas really knocks Willy out,” Alvirah commented. “But he sure was looking forward to it. He’s been in such misery.”

  “Well, give him a couple of days, and he’ll be good as new. The prescription for antibiotics should clear up his infection.” Dr. Jay’s pleasant, bespectacled face broke into a smile. “He’ll be able to enjoy the Christmas holiday. I know I’m looking forward to it.” He looked at his watch. “I have one more patient, and then I’m on vacation.”

  “Any big plans?” Alvirah queried with her usual genuine interest in the comings and goings of her fellow creatures.

  “My wife and I are taking the kids skiing in Vermont.”

  “Nice,” Alvirah said, shaking her head. “When we won the lottery, I made a list of all the things I’ve always wanted to do in this lifetime. Skiing was one of them. But I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  She did not miss the alarmed expression on Dr. Jay’s face. “I bet you think I couldn’t do it,” she challenged.

  “Alvirah, I’ve known you long enough. Nothing you do would surprise me.”

  Alvirah laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t crash into you on the slopes just yet. If the weather reports are right about a storm, you should have some great skiing.”

  “If it does hit, we’ll already be there. We’re leaving tonight.” Dr. Jay looked at the door. “He’s never late,” he murmured more to himself than to Alvirah, then said, “I’ll check on Willy and start to wrap things up around here.”

  As the doctor left the waiting room, Alvirah admitted to herself that she really had been worried about Willy—more worried than she had allowed herself to realize. Willy has always been so healthy, she thought. I won’t even let myself consider that something could be seriously wrong with him. She was so deep in thought that the ringing of the office bell startled her. That must be the patient Dr. Jay is waiting for, she reasoned. She jumped up to answer the door as a buzzer released the lock.

  Alvirah immediately knew that the slender, dark-haired young woman who came into the waiting room was not the patient Dr. Jay was expecting. She had clearly heard him say that “he” was never late.

  She quickly sized up the newcomer—around thirty, very attractive, wearing a handsome suede jacket, jeans, and boots; obviously preoccupied. She smiled fleetingly at Alvirah as she looked at the empty reception desk.

  “Everybody except Dr. Jay has gone home already,” Alvirah volunteered cheerily. “He’s waiting for his last patient.”

  Alvirah could see that the look of concern on the young woman’s face immediately deepened.

  Dr. Jay appeared at the doorway. “Hi, Regan. Where’s your father? He’s holding up my vacation.”

  “I was hoping to hook up with him here,” Regan said.

  “Well, he should be along any minute. I expected him half an hour ago.”

  “It’s so unlike my father to be late.”

  “There’s a lot of traffic out there,” Dr. Jay said with a wave of his hand.

  The expression on Regan’s face, however, remained clearly troubled.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked her.

  Regan walked closer to the doctor and lowered her voice, a useless exercise, since Alvirah Meehan could hear a mouse sneeze from three rooms away. “It’s been kind of crazy,” she began, and briefly explained about her mother’s accident.

  That’s who she is! Alvirah thought: Nora Regan Reilly’s daughter. Of course! I thought she looked familiar. She’s a private investigator, just like me. Only she has a license. Alvirah sat up straight and cocked her head, praying they didn’t move into Dr. Jay’s private office.

  “I thought I’d help my father do some shopping this afternoon after he saw you,” Regan was saying. “Because we were planning to go to Hawaii, we don’t have a Christmas tree or any food in the house.”

  I love Hawaii, Alvirah thought.

  “What worries me,” Regan continued, “is that I can’t reach my father on his cell phone, and he hasn’t called my mother since he left her room at the hospital this morning. And now he isn’t here. None of this is like him.” Her voice was forlorn.

  Uh-oh, Alvirah thought. She’s right. Something’s wrong.

  “Well, let’s wait and see,” Dr. Jay said reassuringly. “He’ll probably be here any minute. If he isn’t, with all that happened today, it must mean that he simply forgot. He’s obviously got a lot on his mind. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

  He looked over at Alvirah. “Willy should be ready to go in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Take your time,” Alvirah said, grateful that Willy wasn’t ready yet to walk out the door. She watched as Regan restlessly crossed to the window, looked out at the parking area, then sat in the straight-backed chair opposite the couch.

  After a moment, Alvirah leaned forward. “I just want you to know that I’ve read every one of your mother’s books and I love them. I was so sorry to hear about her accident. I can see you’re worried about your father, but take my word, when something happens to a wife, husbands are useless. They forget everything.”

  Regan smiled slightly. “I hope you’re right. I’m going to try calling him again.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “No answer,” she said. “I’ll try the hospital.”

  Let him be there or have called, Alvirah prayed as Regan spoke to her mother’s nurse.

  Regan put down the phone. “My mother is still asleep, which is good. My father hasn’t called, which isn’t.” She stood up and once again walked to the window.

  Alvirah wanted to say something comforting, but she knew there was nothing to be said. Had something happened to Luke Reilly?

  Nearly twenty minutes later he was still not there.

  “Okay, Alvirah, you can collect your patient,” Dr. Jay said as he came down the hall, his hand under Willy’s arm.

  “Hi, honey,” Willy said feebly.

  “Take him home and let him sleep it off,” Dr. Jay instructed. “And have a great holiday.” He turned to Regan: “Any word?”

  “Dr. Jay, I think it’s obvious my father isn’t going to make it today. I’ll call a cab to take me to the house. I’m sure I’ll catch up with him there.”

  “Don’t you live here in Summit?” Alvirah asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I know you do. It says so on the book jackets. We’ve got a car and driver outside. We’ll drop you home. Come on, Willy.”

  Before she could protest, Regan found herself sitting next to Alvirah in the backseat of a sleek, black limo. Willy, his legs stretched out, his eyes shut, was leaning back on the opposite seat.

  “I’ve taken driving lessons three times in the last three years,” Alvirah explained. “The instructors always found excuses to pass me off on someone else.” She laughed. “I can’t blame them. You wouldn’t believe all the parking cones I’ve flattened.”

  Regan smiled. She instinctively liked Alvirah and realized now that she had heard her name somewhere before. As the car pulle
d onto the main road, she said, “I feel as though I know you from somewhere. Your name is familiar.”

  Alvirah beamed. “I know you’re a private investigator, and I guess you could say I’m kind of in your business. I’ve accidentally been around when the police needed help. Then I’ve written about what happened for the Globe. I’m what you might call ‘a roving crime correspondent.’ ”

  “Roving isn’t the word,” Willy volunteered, without opening his eyes. “Alvirah’s always at full throttle, looking for trouble.”

  Regan laughed. “My mother sent me a couple of your columns. She enjoyed them and thought I’d be interested in the cases. She was right.” Alvirah’s coat was open. Regan leaned over. “Is that your famous pin with the hidden microphone?”

  “I never leave home without it,” Alvirah said proudly.

  Regan reached into her pocket. “I’m going to try my father’s office.”

  But there was nothing new: Austin Grady still hadn’t heard from Luke.

  With a sigh, Regan clicked off the phone.

  For the next five minutes, Alvirah did a running commentary on the Christmas decorations of the various houses they passed. Finally Regan said, “That’s our house up on the left.”

  “Oh, lovely,” Alvirah breathed, craning her neck to get a better look. “A lot nicer than the houses I used to clean, I’ll tell you that.”

  It was obvious that no one was home. The Reilly house, unlike its neighbors, was in total darkness.

  The long driveway extended to the garages at the rear of the house. The chauffeur stopped at the walk that led to the front door.

  “Let me go in with you while you check your messages, Regan,” Alvirah said, a note of concern in her voice.

  Regan knew what Alvirah meant. If there had been an accident, there might be a call on the machine. “I’ll be fine, Alvirah. I can’t thank you enough. You need to get Willy home.”

  Reluctantly Alvirah watched Regan go up the steps and disappear into the house. The car began to move slowly down the driveway. They were just turning back onto the street when the soft ring of a cell phone made Alvirah look around quickly. I don’t have mine with me, she thought. Then she spotted it. The phone Regan had been using was on the seat next to her, its green light flashing.