Dashing Through the Snow

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Duncan and Flower had talked about their need for roots. He was delighted when he heard that several times a year she took a bus trip to Lake Tahoe from her apartment in San Francisco. She, like him, loved snow. She loved her job at a day care center for pre-school children, even though it didn’t pay very well. But most important, now she loves me, he thought, as he flipped on the television and leaned back further.

  I have to count my blessings. Money isn’t everything. We have our health. We’re better off than 99.9 percent of the people in the world. So cheer up, he scolded himself, it’s only money. Maybe Mr. Pettie will let me have the ring now, and I’ll arrange to pay it off in monthly installments. He has to know I’m good for it.

  Duncan drank his beer as he watched the last thirty minutes of a crime program about a woman con artist who had married four men and cleaned them out of every cent they had. They must have been some dopes he thought as his eyes began to close.

  An hour later, the sound of a strident voice filled with phony excitement jolted him awake. When Duncan realized what the announcer was saying, that there were two winners who bought lottery tickets ten miles apart in New Hampshire, he bolted forward, his chair moving with him. He wanted to cover his ears when the announcer started to read the winning numbers, but he didn’t.

  By the time the third number was read, his heart was pounding. Our numbers! he thought frantically. The next two were also their numbers. It can’t be, he thought. But when the announcer said, with a big smile, that the Powerball number was 32, Duncan jumped up like a shot.

  “I didn’t play!” he screamed. “I didn’t play! We could have won!” He froze. Could Glenda have used his Powerball number anyway? If she did, and they have one of the winning tickets, I’m not in on it, thanks to those Winthrop idiots!

  The uneasy feeling that he’d been trying to ignore about investing his savings in an oil well exploded inside him. Suddenly the whole idea seemed ridiculous.

  I want my money back right now!

  He grabbed his coat and ran out the door. They’ve ruined my life, he thought wildly as he got into his car, pumped the pedal, and turned the key in the ignition.

  He was rewarded for his efforts by dead silence.

  “Come on!” he cried impatiently, as he kept turning the key. He didn’t want to even think about the fact that if he had played the lottery he could go out and buy any car he wanted. Even a Rolls-Royce!

  “Come on!” he cried again, angry tears glistening in his eyes. Finally he pounded the steering wheel and got out.

  Half-crazed, he began to run down the darkened street, ignoring the snow that pelted his face and hair. With the speed of an arrow shot from a bow, he raced toward the house the financial wizards had rented for their one-month stay in Branscombe.

  Twenty minutes later, huffing and puffing, he was running up the Winthrops’ driveway, heading for the side door, which was the entrance for the classes. It opened onto the rec room where the chairs and blackboard were set up. As he was about to ring the bell, he heard shouts from within the house. What’s going on? he wondered. It sounds like something’s wrong.

  With an instinctive gesture, he turned the handle of the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open and could hear the Winthrops’ loud, almost hysterically pitched voices, coming from the kitchen. The kitchen, living, and dining rooms were a half level above the makeshift classroom. The door at the top of the staircase to the kitchen was closed. Duncan moved swiftly across the tired brown carpet, stopped at the bottom of the staircase, and listened. What he heard next confirmed his worst fears.

  “Hey, Edmund, do you think any of the dopes in this town would buy the Brooklyn Bridge if we tried to sell it to them?”

  Edmund laughed heartily. “I know who’d buy it.”

  “Duncan Donuts!”

  They both guffawed. One of them was obviously pounding a table.

  “Duncan’s as dumb as the guy in Arizona who invested in windmills in Alaska last year. If he only knew…”

  “Can you just see the look on his face if he ever found out that we used his lottery numbers and have a winning ticket?”

  “I want a front row seat for that.”

  They were guffawing again.

  “Do you think there’s any chance he didn’t follow our sage advice and went in on the ticket anyhow with his Powerball number?”

  “Nah. I think we bowled him over too well with our wisdom. But the other winning ticket was sold in this town. Can you imagine if his coworkers won with his Powerball number? Wouldn’t that be a scream?”

  Duncan’s head felt as though it would burst open.

  This is a living nightmare, he thought. They’re phonies, they’re crooks—they stole my money and they stole my lottery numbers. After they told me not to play! Tears that he’d held back on his run through the streets flowed down his frozen cheeks. I know what I’ll do, he thought. I’ll call the FBI! I’ll make sure those two creeps spend the rest of their lives in orange jumpsuits. Jumpsuits you don’t have to dry clean, he thought bitterly.

  Just then, he heard movement in his direction and thought he saw the kitchen doorknob start to turn. Panicked, he knew he didn’t have time to get out of the house without being seen. He darted to the left, opened the door that led to the basement, and disappeared behind it. As he pulled the door closed, his wet shoe slipped on the top step, and he tumbled down the stairs.

  He landed hard on the cement floor. The pain that shot through his right leg caused beads of sweat to form on his forehead. Did they hear me? he wondered fearfully. If they ever thought that I overheard what they were saying, my goose is cooked. I’d never see my little Flower again.

  “Edmund, what was that noise?”

  “Oh no,” Duncan whispered.

  “Must be the old furnace. This place is the pits. Give me another beer.”

  “Should we check and make sure?”

  “Why bother?”

  Thank you, God, Duncan thought as the boisterous activities overhead continued. Through the heating grates he could clearly hear them ridiculing the stupidity of the various suckers they had cheated and their hilarity about having legitimately won the mega-mega millions with “Duncan Donut’s” numbers.

  They’re dangerous, he thought. Sheer panic made his heart race. He tried to move his body, but the pain in his leg made him feel dizzy.

  How am I ever going to make it out of here? he wondered as he lay there in the dark, dank basement. An incongruous thought raced through his head. I wish I had taken Glenda up on her suggestion to make myself a peanut butter sandwich.

  4

  None of the winners wanted to be out of the immediate vicinity of the lottery ticket. Not that they didn’t love and trust each other, but they’d done the arithmetic. They knew enough about lottery jackpots to know what they could expect from a 180 million dollar share of the pot. They agreed to take the lump sum payment, which would probably be about 88 million. After taxes, it would leave them with, more or less, 60 million. Divided by five, they’d walk away from The Skunk with twelve million dollars each in their pockets.

  “Let’s have our picture taken when we accept the big check and send it to her!” Marion crowed.

  They all decided to spend the night at Ralph’s house. He had a big family room with a couple of lounging couches and some overstuffed chairs. Not that any of them expected to get much sleep. But at least they could put their feet up. As they sipped champagne, they called their families. Ralph’s wife, Judy, screeched at the news and was thrilled to host the sleepover.

  “I’ll make a pot of coffee,” she cried. “I can’t believe I babysat those brats all night for a lousy thirty bucks! TWELVE MILLION DOLLARS! Ralph, we’re finally out of the hole!”

  Ralph, a heavyset redhead, who could look a little scary when he had a big carving knife in his hand, started to cry. “We’ll call the girls together, honey. I can’t wait to hear their reactions.”

  “I love you, Ralph!” Judy was crying,
too.

  Tommy called his parents, who were overwhelmed, then as usual his mother managed to worry about something. “Tommy don’t get yourself too excited,” she cautioned. “You might make yourself sick. Maybe you should come home now.”

  “Mom, I’m fine! I’m more than fine. I’ll call Gina and tell her to get first-class airline tickets for her and Don and the kids to fly in next week. We haven’t had Christmas together in a couple of years.”

  “Oh, Tommy, that would be so wonderful!”

  Marion phoned her son in California. “Tell T. J. that his granny is going to give him a wedding present that will knock his socks off! Come to think of it, he’d better get himself a prenuptial agreement!”

  Glenda reached her widowed father in Florida. “Dad, I have something I want you to do tomorrow morning,” she said exuberantly.

  “What’s that, honey?” her father asked in a sleepy voice, never reprimanding her for calling so late. How she could have married a creep like Harvey when her father was such a decent human being would take years of therapy to figure out.

  “Dad, go out and buy yourself a powerboat like your friend Walter has. No, buy an even bigger one!” She started laughing.

  “Glenda, you sound a little tipsy, dear. I hope you’re not depressed about that jerk Harvey….”

  “I’m not depressed at all, Dad. And I’m not tipsy…” It took Glenda a solid three minutes to convince her father that the unbelievable had happened.

  As they were leaving the tavern, several of the patrons asked them to pose for pictures.

  “We’re famous,” Marion sighed. “I can’t believe we’re famous. I wish I’d worn my new pink blouse. The saleslady said the ruffles around the collar were very flattering.”

  Glenda, who had seen the pink blouse, didn’t necessarily agree. I’ll go shopping with Marion and help her find an outfit for her grandson’s wedding. I have to do some shopping, too, she thought, as she remembered the remark Harvey had made to her outside the courtroom.

  “I really wish you the best, Glenda,” he’d said. “And I hope you meet someone who loves you just the way you are,” he’d added with a snicker.

  She knew what he was saying. She needed to lose some weight and fix herself up but after years of living with his constant little digs she’d given up even trying to look good. That was about to change. And won’t Harvey be sorry to miss all the trips I’ll be taking, Glenda thought gleefully. I’ll start with a makeover at a spa, just like that lottery winner Alvirah Meehan who is supposed to come to the Festival this weekend with her friend Nora Regan Reilly. If Alvirah does show up, I’d love to get the chance to talk to her.

  Ralph’s house was fifteen minutes away. Charley, a sixtyish chauffeur who had the only stretch limo in town, had just walked into the tavern after driving an accounting firm’s employees home from their company Christmas party. During the month of December he was hired for a lot of those jobs, advertising himself as “Your Designated Driver.” Now he insisted on escorting the brand new millionaires to Ralph’s in grand style.

  “Leave your cars in the lot here. I’d be honored to give this group their first ride together in a stretch limo.” Then he added ruefully, “I knew I should have taken a job at Conklin’s years ago. I might be sharing this with you. Oh well.”

  Climbing into the limo, in deference to the weather they started to sing: “Dashing through the snow…” When they reached Ralph’s driveway, the front door of his house flew open. Judy half-ran, half-skidded down the path, pulled open the back door of the limo, and dove in, throwing her arms around Ralph. “We’re rich!” she screamed. “I never thought I’d utter those two words in this lifetime, honey, but we’re rich! A reporter from that network covering the Festival has called three times. He heard from somebody at the tavern about the winning ticket. BUZ wants an interview with all of you.”

  “Do you think we should be like Paris Hilton and hire bodyguards?” Marion asked in a worried tone. “After all, we have a little piece of paper that’s worth millions.”

  “I’ve got it right here, Marion,” Glenda said reassuringly, patting her purse.

  Inside the modest but warmly decorated home, they gathered at the dining room table, which Judy had set with her good china cups and dessert plates. A Christmas tree was twinkling in the living room. It was obvious that Judy loved to decorate for the holidays. There wasn’t a square inch of space—on the walls or table tops—that didn’t contain a Christmasy knickknack. Lighted Christmas candles glowed on the sideboard and table.

  Judy began to pour the coffee, but her hands were trembling. It was all she could do to avoid slopping it into the saucers. As though thinking aloud, she said, “I’m fifty years old and I’ve hardly ever been out of New Hampshire. Ralph and I have been together since high school.” She looked at her husband. “After we take that cruise, I want to go to London and Paris and Rome.” Then she glanced down at her well-worn sweater and jeans. “And I want new clothes.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe this is real. Can I see the ticket?”

  Glenda carefully took the ticket out of her wallet and handed it to her.

  “Don’t get too close to any of the candles!” Marion warned.

  Over coffee and cupcakes they talked about how it would feel when they walked into the convenience store as it opened at seven and had their ticket confirmed. And how they’d feel when they didn’t report to work.

  Marion showed Judy the framed photo that had been their Christmas bonus.

  “That’s disgraceful,” Judy said as she read the inscription. “The Skunk deserves what she gets and so does he. Old Man Conklin certainly knows that you guys depend, or should I say depended, on that bonus. They’re going to have some job catering the Festival of Joy without you.”

  “I would have gone in to help out if it weren’t for that so-called Christmas gift,” Glenda said.

  The phone rang. This time it was the producer from BUZ. They arranged to meet him and his crew at the convenience store at seven.

  As Ralph and Judy called their daughters, Glenda phoned Duncan again. But he didn’t answer. “I just hope he decided to turn off his phone and go to sleep,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Tommy reassured her. “When Charley picks us up in the morning we can swing by Duncan’s house and collect him. He’s bound to be up, getting ready for work. We’ll tell him that we voted him in on the winning ticket.” Tommy whooped, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face!”

  5

  Friday, December 12th

  It was nearly 2 A.M. when Willy and the somewhat battered Alvirah finally arrived home to 211 Central Park South. As they climbed into bed, Willy turned off the alarm clock that had been set for an early start to New Hampshire.

  “I was really looking forward to the Festival,” Alvirah sighed. “It sounded like so much fun.” Regretfully she glanced at their already packed bags. “We’ve all been so busy that we haven’t seen that much of the Reillys, and I miss them.”

  “We’ll go next year,” Willy promised. “While you were changing, I sent an e-mail to Regan and Jack and explained what happened. I said you were fine, but we wouldn’t be able to join them this weekend and we’d call them later.” Then as he turned off the light, he said, “Be sure to wake me up if you don’t feel well. That was some whack you got.”

  When he received no response, he realized Alvirah was already asleep. What a surprise, he thought as he cuddled up to her.

  Seven hours later, when Alvirah opened her eyes, she felt completely refreshed. Instinctively she raised her hand and applied tentative pressure to the bandage on her forehead. It’s sore but no big deal, she thought. Willy insisted on serving her breakfast in bed. Fifteen minutes later, propped up on three pillows, she quickly dispatched the scrambled eggs he had carefully prepared.

  Swallowing her final bite of toast, Alvirah daintily dabbed her mouth with an apricot-colored cloth napkin that had been bought to
coordinate with the breakfast tray. “Willy I really feel fine,” she said. “Let’s go to the Festival.”

  “Alvirah, you heard what the doctor said. We’ll make it next year. Just relax.” He picked up the tray. “Let me get you another cup of tea.”

  “Why not?” Alvirah grumbled. “I’ve certainly got nothing else to do.” She reached for the remote control and flicked on the television. “Let’s see what’s going on in the rest of the world.” She pressed the number of the BUZ network. Immediately the face of Cliff Bailey, the handsome anchorman who had interviewed her about the pitfalls of being a lottery winner, filled the screen. Alvirah remembered telling him there shouldn’t be any pitfalls but unfortunately some people went crazy when they got their hands on so much cash.

  “And now an unbelievable story,” Bailey said breathlessly, “coming out of the town of Branscombe, New Hampshire, where a group of four coworkers at the local market won half the 360 million dollar mega-mega lottery last night.”

  “Alvirah, would you like another piece of toast?” Willy called from the kitchen.

  “Shhhhh” Alvirah ordered as she turned up the volume and shouted, “Willy, get in here!”

  Not knowing what to expect, Willy hurried into the bedroom.

  “…the other winning ticket was bought in Red Oak, a town ten miles away from Branscombe. In the history of the lottery, lightning has never struck twice in towns so close to each other. The owner of the second winning ticket has not yet come forward. In Branscombe, however, there is both concern and speculation. A fifth coworker, Duncan Graham, who had been playing the group lottery for years, decided only yesterday to no longer participate. Even so, his friends intend to share the pot with him as it was his choice of the Powerball number that clinched the prize. But he has disappeared without a trace. Duncan hasn’t been seen since he left the market last night. Some skeptics think he might have played the numbers on his own, now holds the other winning ticket, and is embarrassed to face his coworkers who immediately after winning left him a message promising to cut him in. Here’s a shot of the four coworkers as they validated their lottery ticket this morning.”