God Rest Ye, Mary

by Jaye Watson

  God Rest Ye, Mary

  A Mystery Novel Byte

  By

  Jaye Watson

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2007

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-047-2

  ISBN 10: 1-60174-047-6

  Copyright © 2007 by Judith B. Glad

  Cover design by Judith B. Glad

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  God Rest Ye, Mary

  "You wouldn't dare. You'd be in as much trouble as I would."

  Emaline didn't recognize the whispery voice, but she had no doubt about the anger in it. Instead of going into the women's restroom, she stood just outside the door and unashamedly eavesdropped.

  "The hell I will. You're the one who's been selling it. I just didn't tell anyone."

  "That makes you an accessory. "

  "Not if I say I just found out."

  The second voice got louder. "We're friends. Everybody knows that. I'll tell them you were my accomplice."

  Emaline almost recognized it. Who...?

  "And like they'd believe you? A thief. Someone who's been selling stuff for years? Listen to me. You pay up or take a nice long vacation--in prison."

  A long silence, punctuated by soft sniffles. Finally, softly again, "I'll pay. This time. But only this time."

  "I'll be the judge of that. Bring the money tomorrow."

  A toilet flushed. Emaline jumped back from the door and slipped out of the vestibule. Badly as she wanted to see who'd been in the restroom, she found herself walking rapidly toward her office. I should tell someone. But who? And what? I don't know that it has anything to do with work.

  She did her best to put the episode out of her mind, but it stayed there, niggling at her thoughts at odd moments.

  * * * *

  The reception area of BioLogic Laboratories was large, colorfully furnished with teal and tangerine upholstered teak furniture and a rich coffee-toned Berber rug. Three desks sat in a row at the end opposite the entry, so visitors had to detour around to get to the hall leading into the rest of the building.

  The first desk belonged to Mary O'Neil, a buxom woman of indeterminate age, and a crackerjack receptionist. She'd swiveled her chair around and was facing the woman at the second desk. "No, I can't have any ice cream. I am so allergic to milk. Why one little sip could kill me."

  Emaline stifled a smile. Mary was, she claimed, allergic to just about everything--except chocolate, cashews, red meat, and expensive mushrooms sautéed in butter. Oh, yes, and most flowers.

  She laid the report draft on Mary's desk. "I'll need this tomorrow morning," she said. "The client will be here at ten, and I want a chance to proof it before he gets here."

  Mary signed, a breathy, heartfelt sigh. "Of course, Dr. Banister. I'll...I'll do my best."

  "I'm sure you will. Thanks, Mary. I appreciate you making the effort."

  "Do you think she's really as bad off as she says she is?" Roger Stanton said, as soon as they'd walked ten feet down the hall toward the labs. "It's hard to believe--"

  "One of my girlfriends has a son who reacts to peanut butter breath," she said. "I've seen him stop breathing."

  "God! What a scary thing that must be for his parents. If Cathy ever--"

  "Hope she doesn't. This whole environmental allergy thing is getting downright scary. I don't remember kids having the kinds of allergies you read about these days. Not when I was young."

  "Two of the girls in Cathy's Scout troop have to follow special diets. Sometimes I worry about all the crap we're using here in the labs."

  Emaline paused at the door of her office. "Considering what small amounts we use and how carefully our chemicals are controlled, we're a tiny part of the problem. It's the stuff that gets dumped into the air and water that worries me."

  "Yeah, me too. Say, did Alex ever account for that piperidine discrepancy?"

  "I haven't heard. Oops! There's my phone." She waved to Roger before she stepped inside and picked up. "Banister." she said, as her fingers sorted through the stack of message slips on her desk.

  "Jordan," a dark-chocolaty voice responded. "What are you doing Saturday night?"

  She bit her lip, still not entirely convinced Detective Harry Jordan wasn't trying to trap her into confessing to manslaughter in the first degree. "Washing my hair," she said, "and watching The History Channel."

  "I've got two tickets to the opera." He made them sound like an invitation to an orgy.

  "Which one?" The words burst from her lips before she could bite them back.

  "Daughter of the Regiment" he said. "First balcony, center."

  Ever since she'd heard Joan Sutherland sing the starring role in a Metropolitan Opera broadcast, she'd loved that opera. Get thee behind me, Satan.

  "Dinner first, at Wildwood," he enticed.

  Emaline had never eaten at Wildwood, one of Portland's premier restaurants. "How?" She made her tone teasing, but she wasn't entirely joking. "Do you take bribes?" How did a homicide detective afford a place like Wildwood?

  "I did a favor for a friend," he said. "Strictly legit. No bribery involved."

  Knowing she'd only embarrass herself further if she apologized, she said, "How can I resist the temptation? Thanks, Harry."

  "Pick you up at six?" He sounded amused.

  She agreed and they said goodbye. I shouldn't. Sooner or later he's going to decide...

  She buried her face in her hands. Surely if Harry was still wondering if she'd killed her grandfather, he'd have done something by now. "He's interested in me, not in my criminal tendencies," she told herself in a near-whisper. "Enjoy it."

  Resolutely pushing all thoughts of Harry Jordan into the back of her mind, she turned to her computer and pulled up the data she'd been working on this morning. Maybe she'd see something she'd missed earlier.

  The gel image blurred and twisted like a nest of writing serpents. She blinked to clear her vision and pulled her sweater closer about her body.

  * * * *

  "Would you rather have red, pink or white?" Emaline set two poinsettia plants on the desk and held a third up so Mary could get a good look at them. Emilio's Plant World had put their entire stock on sale on Saturday--for one day--and she hadn't been able to resist the bargain. She'd bought one for each desk in the office. The holidays were not so far away, and the weather had been dark and gloomy ever since mid-October. We need something to cheer us up, she'd told herself, justifying her extravagance.

  "The red one," Mary said. "They're so cheerful. And I've never reacted to poinsettia pollen, so it's safe to have them on my desk. Now if you'd brought in a chrysanthemum, or a lily..."

  "I asked the nurseryman. He said he's never heard of a poinsettia allergy."

  "Well, neither have I, but I'm still not going to push my nose into the flowers. No sense taking a chance, I always say."

  Emaline smiled her agreement. As far she could tell, poinsettias had no odor, good or bad, and the flowers were so tiny, a cluster in the center of the showy red bracts, that she couldn't imagine their pollen was a problem.

  She picked up the two remaining poinsettias and went on to
the next desk. "Good morning, Georgia. Pink, or white?"

  Plants distributed, Emaline went back to work, despite her disinclination to do anything more constructive than surfing the Web for recipes. The annual Midwinter Potluck was a week from Friday, and she hadn't even started thinking about her contribution. The event was a holdover from the days when BioLogic Labs was just getting started and no one's nose got out of joint because it was called a Christmas party, not even Joel Levin's. She had no idea what she would bring, except it had to be a dessert. The surnames from M to Z were bringing veggies and salads.

  Fruitcake was out, no matter how much she loved her grandmother's recipe. No pumpkin pie either. Lam Zubher couldn't have anything with gluten. Was Mary allergic to coconut? She couldn't remember.

  Damn! What is it with people? Can't eat this. Won't eat that. Last year there had been so many complains about the baron of beef the company provided that this year they were serving roast turkey and tofu. A reasonable compromise, but that still doesn't solve my problem. She clicked away from coconut macaroon cake--flour--and on to the next recipe. I don't want coconut. It's just not festive. Gotta have chocolate or cranberries.

  * * * *

  "So what did you decide on?" Harry Jordan had laughed with her as Emaline described her search for the perfect dessert. Now he sipped his espresso and smiled across the table at her.

  "Well, after I decided against Chocolate Tofu Cake--"

  "You're kidding, right?"

  She held up her right hand, palm out. "Dead serious. No flour, but it had ricotta and cream cheese and yogurt in it. Stacy Fellowes' S.O. is a vegan."

  "Seems to me you went to a lot of trouble to accommodate everyone." Harry shook his head, as if not certain of her sanity.

  "I see it as a challenge. Most people never think of what goes into food. I remember one time a friend of mine bought deviled eggs to a party, because she knew another friend was vegetarian. Sylvie was really pleased, because there weren't many dishes she could eat, so she took four. She took a big bite, and chewed. Then she asked what the little specks in the egg yolks were."

  "Don't tell me. Let me guess." Harry chuckled. "Ham?"

  "Chopped Spam. An old family recipe. Tamara didn't even think about it, because the Spam came out of a can, and she didn't think it counted."

  "Are they still speaking?"

  "Not as far as I know. I've lost touch with Tamara. She was angry with all of us because we sympathized with Sylvie. She was so miserable after she'd gotten rid of the contents of her stomach that she went home. Nobody wanted to party after that."

  One last sip of her tea and she set the cup down. "I finally decided on a cheesecake, with a cranberry preserve topping."

  "Cheesecake?" Harry stood to pull her chair back. He buried his face in her hair for an instant as she rose.

  Emaline shivered. He smelled of spice and chocolate and man. A deadly combination to a woman who'd only had one other date in two years. With Harry Jordan, Cop. "Tofu and almond meal." What she didn't say was that she still found the smell of almonds evocative of a time she desperately wanted to forget. "No flour, no animal protein, and quite tasty, with the cranberry topping. I did a trial run this afternoon."

  "Remind me not to invite myself in when I take you home," he said, as he held her coat.

  She caught his eye and saw a gleam she hadn't seen in a man's eye in a long time. A very long time. "Not to worry. After tasting one slice, I gave it to my neighbor whose son is a vegetarian."

  * * * *

  As usual during the holidays, work slacked off at the lab. People congregated in the halls, talking about their holiday plans. Goodies magically appeared on desks, until Emaline thought about locking her office door. She could resist almost anything but a good cookie. She caught the IT manager sneaking a foil-wrapped package onto her desk Thursday morning. "That looks like a fruitcake, Evan."

  "It is. Take pity on me, Em. Marci made twenty of these small ones, and I've got to get rid of them. Otherwise we'll be eating fruitcake until the Fourth of July."

  "Sorry." She held it out to him, her hand steady. "You'll have to find another sucker. My next-door neighbor brought one over last night. I have to eat hers or she'll be hurt."

  He took the fruitcake back and trudged out the door. Emaline heard him trying to convince Hester, in the next office, that her life wouldn't be complete without fruitcake. She wished him luck.

  In the lunchroom that day, the Holiday Party was the sole topic of conversation. She refused to tell what she was bringing, except to assure everyone it was something everyone could eat.

  "Well, I'm bringing a tortellini salad," one of the lab techs said. "Last year we had way too much rich food. We need something to balance it."

  "I just ate too much of everything," someone else said, and groaned.

  "Can I ask you not to dress the salad before you serve it?" Mary said when the laughter died down. "I'll just bring my own special dressing."

  "Sure thing. What are you bringing?"

  Mary gave a smug little smile. "Chocolate mousse."

  "Hey, no fair! The Ns through Zs are supposed to bring salads and veggies."

  "I don't care. I enjoy making chocolate mousse."

  I really don't like her very much, Emaline decided. Amid noisy complaints that Mary was cheating, she said, "I'll bring a salad. That'll even things out."

  A good thing she hadn't bought the ingredients for the tofu cheesecake.

  * * * *

  That night she drove to New Seasons, a locally-owned natural food store. She loved shopping there, loved the cornucopia of fresh vegetables that lined one long wall of the produce department. The selection went far beyond iceberg lettuce and red cabbage. She selected some fat little heads of radicchio, three soft, sweet-smelling heads of butter lettuce, a bunch of arugula and one of bright green endive. Unable to resist, she added two clusters of golden beets and some broccolini. Debating between curly-leafed green lettuce and its red counterpart, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep voice came from behind her.

  "I can't believe you'll eat all that before it spoils."

  "It's for the party tomorrow," she said, turning to smile up into Harry Jordan's face. "What are you doing here? You're a long way from home."

  "I had to see a guy." He picked up the broccolini and waved it before her face. "This doesn't look like something you'd put in your average cheesecake."

  She took it from him. "I'm keeping peace in the office. One of the secretaries decided she wanted to do dessert, so I said I'd bring a salad. Any suggestions?"

  "Fresh 'shrooms," he said, pointing, "and some of those little tomatoes. No cucumber, though." His grimace told her why.

  "I'll get a couple of those little yellow zucchini instead. How's that?" Why she cared, when he wasn't going to be at the party, she didn't know.

  "That'll work for me. Have you had supper?"

  She glanced at him again, more closely this time. He looked as if, as her grandfather would have put it, he'd been dragged through a knotholes backasswards. "I was going to get one of those chicken-and-herb sausages at the deli counter and sample some of these salad makings. Want to join me?"

  "If you'll let me bring the wine."

  She watched him head for the wine department as she picked over the mushrooms. I'm too old for this. Too old to play the dating game. But he is...delicious. Her lips still tingled whenever she thought of his good-night kiss last Saturday.

  She still wondered why he'd stepped back and said a polite farewell immediately thereafter. Does he still suspect me?

  * * * *

  Traditionally everyone gathered in the lab while Dr. Geoffrey Burton, the CEO, passed out the year-end-bonuses, then adjourned to the conference room for the party. This year Emaline and Roger had drawn the short straws to do the set-up, not that she minded. Given her lack of holiday spirit, she wasn't much interested in listening to everyone squeal in feigned surprise. It wasn't as if the bonuses were a big surprise.
They were always a percentage of salary. Even the percentage hadn't varied much since she'd worked at BioLogic.

  Emaline put on a lab coat to protect her wool dress before they loaded the refrigerated food onto a double-decker cart in the main lab, taking it from the big walk-in refrigerator that had been cleared of all specimens and samples and chemicals. It always struck her as ironic that they should worry more about the food contaminating the material under study than the other way around. One good incident of contaminated food would bring all sorts of grief to the company.

  An enormous red and green tablecloth shrouded the big oval conference table nicely. Cedar garlands hung in wide swags from the picture moulding, with big red bows at each hook. Someone had fastened a tinsel-trimmed mistletoe bell to the chandelier, not that it would benefit anyone, being over the middle of the table.

  "Bah, humbug," she muttered, as she set a green bean casserole on the table. Someone made one every year, and she had yet to figure out why. I wish someone would be adventurous. There are so many better ways to fix green beans.

  "You're really a little bundle of cheer, aren't you?" Roger said. He handed her a molded Jell-O salad. Were those really green olives and pineapple chunks in it? Pimentos? No, the red things looked like maraschino cherries. She shuddered.

  At least her salad looked like food. Besides the sliced golden beets, she'd included both cherry tomatoes and Italian capers, liking the red and green combination, but they were all but lost in the leafy greens. She opened the cruets of oil and vinegar dressing and set the bowl of marinated artichoke hearts next to the salad bowl. Too bad she couldn't put them in the salad, but Mary had warned her that she was allergic to artichoke.

  "I guess I miss my grandfather. It occurred to me last night that this is the first Christmas I've ever been entirely alone. He was always there, grumpy and difficult, but still family."

  "You know you're welcome at our place. Sandy would love having you there."

  She paused on her way back to the small kitchen and hugged him. "Thanks, but I don't think so. I...I've invited a friend to dinner."