The Christmas Thief

by Mary Higgins Clark

  The lobby door was fired open. A redheaded boy who looked to be about ten years old charged into the lobby. His remarks to his weary-looking parents who were right behind him could not be missed by anyone on the first floor of the hotel.

  “I can’t believe someone cut down that tree! I mean, how did they do it? Mom, can we have the pictures developed today so I can show the kids at school tomorrow? Wait until they see that stump! I want to go to New York to see whatever tree they get with all the lights on it. Can we go there during Christmas vacation? I want to take a picture of it so I can put it next to the picture of the stump.”

  He only stopped talking when he noticed the picture of Opal posted by the front desk. “There’s that lady who was in my cross-country ski group Saturday afternoon!” Bursting with energy, he was bouncing around as he looked at the picture.

  “You know this lady?” Alvirah asked. “You went skiing with her?”

  “I did. She was really cool. She told me her name was Opal, and this was her first time on skis. She was really good—a lot better than another old lady who kept crossing the tips of her skis.”

  Alvirah decided to ignore the “old lady” remark.

  “Bobby, I told you,” the boy’s father said. “Say ‘elderly woman,’ not ‘old lady.’ ”

  “But what’s wrong with ‘old lady’?” Bobby asked. “That’s what that lead singer Screwy Louie calls his wife.”

  “When did you ski with Opal?” Alvirah asked quickly.

  “Saturday afternoon.”

  Alvirah turned to the parents. “Were you in that group?”

  They both looked embarrassed. “No,” the mother said. “I’m Janice Granger. My husband, Bill, and I skied all morning with Bobby. After lunch he wanted to go out again. The instructor knows him very well and was keeping an eye on him.”

  “Keeping an eye on me? I was keeping an eye on Opal.” He pointed to her picture.

  “What do you mean, keeping an eye on her?” Alvirah asked.

  “The instructor had taken us on a different trail because there was a bunch of really slow skiers ahead of us driving us all crazy. Opal had to stop and sit down to fix her shoelace because it broke. I waited for her. I had to tell her to hurry up because she kept staring at a farmhouse.”

  “She was staring at a farmhouse?”

  “Well, some guy was putting skis on the rack on top of his van. She was watching him. I asked her if she knew him. She said no, but he seemed familiar.”

  “What color was the van?” Alvirah asked quickly.

  He raised his eyes, bit his lip, and looked around. “I’m pretty sure it was white.”

  Regan, Jack, Willy, and Alvirah, now absolutely sure that the person Opal had seen was either Packy Noonan or Benny Como, were all fearing the worst.

  “Where was this farmhouse?” Jack asked quickly.

  “Has somebody got a map around here?” Bobby asked.

  “I’ve got one right here,” the clerk answered.

  “We’ve been coming up here since Bobby was born,” the boy’s father said. “He knows his way around here better than anybody.”

  The clerk placed the map of the trails on the front desk. Bobby studied it. He pointed to one trail. “This is a really cool place to ski,” he said.

  “The farmhouse?” Alvirah asked. “Bobby, where is that farmhouse?”

  He pointed to a spot on the map. “This is where the slowpokes were. We kind of looped around them this way. And right over here is where the elderly woman, Opal, stopped to knot the lace on her shoe.”

  “And the farmhouse was right there?” Regan asked him.

  “Yeah. And there’s a really big barn on the side of it.”

  “I have an idea where that is,” Bill Granger volunteered.

  “Can you show us the way?” Jack asked. “We can’t waste any time. This is an emergency.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Bobby said emphatically, his eyes wide with excitement.

  “No, you’re not,” Janice Granger said.

  “No fair! I’m the only one who knows what the farmhouse looks like for sure,” Bobby insisted.

  “He’s absolutely right,” Alvirah said firmly.

  “I don’t want Bobby near any trouble,” Janice said.

  “Could you all just lead us there then?” Jack asked. “Please. This is terribly urgent.”

  Bobby’s parents exchanged glances. “Our car’s right outside,” his father said.

  “Yipppeeee,” Bobby cried as he ran out the lobby door ahead of them.

  They all raced out to the parking lot. Jack got behind the wheel of Alvirah and Willy’s car. They followed the Grangers down The Trapp Family Lodge’s long winding hill on their way to the gas-filled farmhouse where a sleepy Opal was struggling to regain consciousness.

  37

  Resolve was one thing. Success was something else. Lem was racing everywhere but getting nowhere. His promise to Viddy to recapture their tree was looking to be as much a possibility as jumping over the moon.

  Lem was now driving down Main Street. When he saw the sign for his favorite diner, he hesitated and then pulled over. His stomach was growling so loud, he couldn’t think straight. A man can’t think when he’s hungry, Lem quickly decided. He justified his sabbatical from his quest by reminding himself that he hadn’t even had breakfast. I never got back to the house till we went there with those city folk, and, good as it is, Viddy’s hot chocolate can sustain a man just so far.

  He got out of the truck, and a picture of a woman tacked to a lamppost caught his eye. Lem took a quick moment to study the photo of a lady holding up her winning lottery ticket. It reminded him of the time that he could have won the Vermont lottery but forgot to buy a ticket. The numbers he and Viddy always played came up that week.

  Viddy was mighty cool to me for a spell, he remembered. Thank goodness it wasn’t one of those real big wins. I told Viddy the taxes they take out would knock your socks off, and then the phony salesmen would start coming around bugging us about buying things we didn’t need, like land in Florida that is probably nothing but a swamp filled with alligators.

  There was something mulish in Viddy’s makeup. She just didn’t agree.

  Lem’s eyes narrowed. The numbers you were supposed to call if you knew anything about that Opal woman were either the police or Alvirah Meehan’s.

  Alvirah was at the house today. Fancy that. We’re both looking for something real important to us.

  Lem went into the diner and sat at the counter. Danny was working the day shift. “Lem, sorry about your tree.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to make this fast. I’m gonna find that tree if it kills me.”

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Ham, bacon, two fried eggs, hash browns, O.J., and two slices of white toast. No butter. I’m staying away from butter.”

  Danny poured him a cup of coffee. Over his head and to the right, the television set was on, but the volume was low.

  Lem glanced at it. A reporter was pointing to a flatbed. Lem’s hearing was starting to fail him a bit. Like in the morning, if Viddy asked if he wanted more orange juice, he was likely to answer her by asking her, “What’s loose?”

  “Turn that sound up, Danny,” Lem yelped.

  Danny grabbed the remote control and hit the volume button.

  “—the abandoned flatbed where the prints of Benny Como were found was a mess. But our inside sources tell us that among the potato chip bags, gum wrappers, and fast-food boxes, investigators found something quite odd, considering who was driving that truck.”

  Lem leaned forward.

  “A copy of a poem entitled ‘Ode to a Fruit Fly’ was found above the visor. The poet is unknown. His signature is impossible to decipher.”

  Lem jumped up as though he had touched an electric wire. “That’s Milo’s poem!” he cried. “And it stinks! I am some dope!” He ran out of the diner and rushed across the street to his truck.

  As
he started the car and jerked out of the parking space, he got madder and madder at himself. I’m a dope! he thought again. It was as plain as the nose on my face, but did I see it? No. The guy that owns the dump Milo rents made his barn bigger years ago. Thought those mules he calls race-horses would win the Kentucky Derby. But the barn! It’s big enough to hold my tree!

  38

  Where is my flask?” Packy asked quietly. “Where are my diamonds?”

  It was a question impossible to answer since Wayne’s mouth was taped shut. Wayne and Lorna were sitting on the kitchen chairs. Like Wayne, Lorna’s hands and legs were tied. After Packy warned her that one squeal would be her last, he had not bothered to tape her mouth. He figured that she was too frightened to yell, and he was right. He also figured, in case Wayne the crook started playing games, that she might know where he was likely to have hidden the diamonds.

  “Wayne,” Packy said, “you took the flask out of Pickens’s tree. That wasn’t nice. It was my flask, not yours. I’m going to take that tape off your mouth, and if you start to yell, I’m not going to be very happy. Understand?”

  Wayne nodded.

  “He understands,” Lorna quavered. “He really does. He may not look smart, but he really is. I always say he could have amounted to a lot if he wasn’t so lazy.”

  “I’ve heard his life story,” Packy interrupted. “He told it to a reporter. He even mentioned you.”

  Lorna spun her head. “What did you say?” she asked Wayne.

  “Packy, we’ve got to hurry,” Jo-Jo urged.

  Packy glared at Jo-Jo. He had seen the fear begin to fade from Covel’s eyes. The girlfriend was right. Covel wasn’t dumb. Right now the brains inside his skull were working overtime, trying to figure out how to keep the diamonds. With a quick movement Packy ripped the tape off Wayne’s mouth, bringing with it some of the longer hairs of his mustache.

  “Ewwwwwww,” Wayne moaned.

  “Don’t be such a baby. Millions of women pay to get that done every month. It’s called waxing.” Packy leaned across the table. “The flask. The diamonds. Now.”

  “He hasn’t any diamonds,” Lorna protested. “In fact, he doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. If you don’t believe me, look in that cigar box next to the sink. It’s full of bills. Most of them are marked ‘overdue.’ ”

  “Lady,” Packy said, “shut up! Covel, we want the diamonds.”

  “I don’t have—”

  “Yes, you do!” Packy growled. From his pocket he pulled out the yellow diamond they had found on the basement floor. He waved it under Covel’s nose and placed it on the kitchen table.

  “This was mixed up with the dirty rags you threw downstairs.”

  “Somebody must have dropped it. There were a lot of people in and out of here today.” Covel’s voice was high-pitched.

  “That diamond is gorgeous!” Lorna squealed.

  He’s scared, but not scared enough yet not to waste our time, Packy thought. He leaned across the table until his face was only an inch from Wayne’s.

  “I could let Jo-Jo get rough with you. And if he does, you’ll talk. But I’m kind. I’m fair.” He picked up the diamond and dropped it in the chest pocket of Wayne’s shirt. “That little number next to your heart is worth two million dollars. It’s yours if you give us the flask with the rest of them right now.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about them.”

  He’s playing for time, Packy thought. Maybe he knows someone is coming back here. He picked up the machete and looked at it thoughtfully. “I guess we’re out of patience, right, Jo-Jo?”

  “We’re out of patience,” Jo-Jo confirmed grimly.

  Packy raised the machete over his head and aimed it at the kitchen table. With a loud thwack it embedded itself in the wood of the table. He pulled it free.

  “That’s the nice machete I gave you for Christmas, Wayne,” Lorna yelled accusingly.

  “That’s what got us into this mess,” Wayne snarled. He turned to Packy. “All right, all right, I’ll tell you. But only if you give me one more diamond—the one that looks like a robin’s egg. You still have plenty more.”

  “If you have a lot of diamonds, I’d like one, too,” Lorna said. “It could be a small one.”

  “There are no small ones,” Packy snapped. “Covel, you want the robin’s egg, and your lady friend wants a little one. You two ought to stick together. You’re a real team. Where’s the flask?”

  “Have we got a deal?” Wayne asked. “I get the two diamonds. Don’t worry about her.”

  “The flask?”

  “But you still haven’t promised.”

  “I promise! I cross my heart and hope to die!”

  Wayne hesitated, shut his eyes, and opened them slowly. “I’m going to trust you. The flask is in the bottom drawer of the stove, inside a big pot with a missing handle.”

  In an instant Jo-Jo was on his knees, yanking open the drawer and tossing out pots, pans, and a rusty cookie sheet. The big pot was wedged in the drawer. Jo-Jo yanked at it so hard that the whole drawer came clattering out, sending him back on his heels. The big pot remained clutched in his hands. He opened it, looked inside, and reached in.

  “This is it, huh, Packy?” He held up the flask.

  Packy grabbed it from him, unscrewed the top, peeked inside, shook some of the diamonds into his hand, and cradled them lovingly as he sighed with relief. “Okay, it looks pretty full. Guess the one we found was the only one missing.”

  “The robin’s egg?” Wayne reminded him.

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Carefully, Packy shook out more diamonds. “There it is—so big it can hardly get out. But that doesn’t matter.” He poured the diamonds back into the flask. Then he turned and his hand shot out. As he scooped the yellow diamond from Wayne’s pocket, Wayne bit his finger.

  “Ow!” Packy cried. “I’d better not get rabies.”

  “Wayne, I knew you shouldn’t trust him!” Lorna cried. “You never get anything right.”

  An instant later Jo-Jo had taped their mouths. Packy dangled the flask in front of Covel’s eyes. “You think you’re smart,” he said. “Your girlfriend thinks she’s smart. Too bad I don’t have time to sell you both the Brooklyn Bridge. Anyone who believes a crook keeps his word shouldn’t take up room in this world.”

  He and Jo-Jo started for the back door.

  39

  The Grangers turned down the dirt road marked “Dead End” and were forced to drive carefully because of the snow-covered ruts and crevices they were encountering. Behind them, Alvirah, Willy, Regan, and Jack agonized at the need to slow down. But then the Grangers stopped in front of a farmhouse, and their back door flew open.

  “There it is!” Bobby cried, pointing.

  “Get back in the car!” his mother ordered.

  Jack pulled the Meehans’ car onto the field in front of the house and stopped.

  “This place looks deserted,” Willy said as he looked from the house to the big barn.

  They walked rapidly toward the house. “Look,” Jack said, pointing to the side of the barn. “There’s a white van with a ski rack.”

  Alvirah and Regan rushed to the porch and began peering in the windows. Alvirah grabbed Regan’s arm. “There are cross-country skis on the floor there.”

  “Alvirah, they could be anybody’s,” Regan said.

  “They’re not anybody’s,” Alvirah said emphatically. “That’s Opal’s hat on the floor next to them! We’ve got to go in!”

  “You’re right, Alvirah,” Willy agreed. He tried the front door and found it was locked. He picked up a chair on the porch and tossed it through the window. At their surprised reaction he said, “If we’re wrong, I’ll pay for the window, but I trust Alvirah’s instincts.”

  The overpowering smell of gas hit them.

  “Oh, my God,” Alvirah cried. “If Opal’s in there somewhere…”

  In a moment Jack kicked out the rest of the glass, climbed in, and opened the door
. His eyes were already watering from the effect of the gas.

  “Opal!” Alvirah started screaming.

  They ran through the downstairs floor, but there was no sign of anyone. In the kitchen Willy hurried to the stove and turned off a burner. “This is where the gas is coming from!”

  Regan and Jack raced upstairs, Alvirah behind them. There were three bedrooms. The doors of all of them were closed.

  “The gas isn’t as strong up here,” Regan said, coughing.

  The first bedroom was empty. In the second one they could see a man tied to the bed. Alvirah threw open the third bedroom door and gasped. Opal was lying motionless, also tied to the bed.

  “Oh, no!” Alvirah whispered. She ran to the bed, leaned down, and saw that Opal’s lips were moving and her eyes were fluttering. “She’s alive!”

  Jack was next to her, quickly cutting the ropes with his pocket knife. Regan was putting one arm under Opal and lifting her up.

  “If the bedroom doors hadn’t been closed, these two would be dead by now,” Jack said grimly. “Can you two handle Opal?”

  “You bet we can,” Alvirah said.

  As Jack hurried into the other room, Regan and Alvirah draped Opal’s arms over their shoulders and rushed her down the hall.

  Jack and Willy were behind them, carrying a totally comatose long-haired man.

  Within seconds they were out the front door, off the porch, and hurrying to get a safe distance from the house.

  “If we had rung that bell, we might have blown the whole place up,” Jack said. “The way that downstairs was filled with gas, the electric discharge could have set off an explosion.”

  As they crossed the field, they heard a vehicle approaching. A pickup truck was barreling onto the property. Before the thought could even occur to them that it might be Opal’s abductors returning, they saw Lem Pickens at the wheel. Without appearing to notice them, he whizzed past and came to a screeching halt next to the barn. As they watched, he raced to the doors, flung them open, and began to jump up and down.