Dashing Through the Snow

by Mary Higgins Clark

“For a dollar a piece, they’d better be. I just got them in the other day.” He shrugged. “I had a couple myself. They’re delicious. But more people with an extra buck spent it on a lottery ticket than one of those.”

  “We’ll take a dozen,” Willy said, then looked at Alvirah. “They’re my get-well present to you.”

  15

  Flower awoke with a start. She had been dreaming that she was hanging from a ledge, trying to pull herself up. Her fingers were slipping, and she was trying to call for help, but no sound would come out of her mouth. She quickly opened her eyes and saw the unfamiliar pattern of the flowered wallpaper. Where am I? she asked herself. Still frightened by the dream, she was grateful to be awake, then the crushing realization of where she was and why she was there set in.

  With a heavy heart she glanced at her watch. It was ten after one. I’ve only been asleep for a few hours, she realized. But I’m hungry, and I’m getting a headache. Betty and Jed had said to let them know if I wanted anything. Maybe I can grab a sandwich and a cup of tea, then I’ll call and see if I can catch a flight back tonight. Her cell phone was on the dresser. I don’t want to turn it on yet, she thought. Even if there was a message from Duncan, I don’t want to listen to his lame excuses or a suggestion that we’d be better off just being friends.

  She went into the small bathroom and splashed water on her face. If things were different, I wouldn’t have minded taking a long soak in that claw-foot tub, she thought, envisioning her mother at home, lolling in her bath with layers of seaweed floating around her.

  “It’s so soothing, Flower,” her mother would say, as she sniffed the aroma of the lavender candles that inevitably were part of the ritual. “I can’t believe you’re not into this.”

  From the time I was a little kid, I was more than content with hot water and plain soap, Flower thought. Just like Nana, who said the only place seaweed belonged was on the beach, not clogging the drains. She sighed. It had been six years, and she still missed Nana so much.

  Enough reminiscing Flower decided, suddenly restless. I want to get something to eat, take a quick shower, and get out of here.

  When she left the room there was no sound in the hallway except the creaking of the floorboards under her feet. Betty had said they had a full house, but it didn’t seem as if there was anyone around now. She walked downstairs to the first floor.

  There was no one at the desk in the foyer, and she could see that the parlor was empty. But the air was filled with the enticing smell of baking—chocolate cake. Betty’s last name should be Crocker, Flower thought, as she walked to the back of the house and knocked on the kitchen door.

  “Yoooouu hooooo!” Betty called. “Whoever you are, come on in!”

  “It’s me,” Flower said as she pushed the swinging door open and stepped into a large, old-fashioned kitchen. At the far end a fire was blazing in the hearth, two inviting looking club chairs in front of it. Shiny copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling. Checkered curtains framed the large windows on either side of the back door. Through them Flower could see a small red building that looked like an old barn.

  Betty was leaning over the oven, examining the toothpick in her right hand. The look on her face was one of intense concentration. “Be right with you, Flower,” she said cheerily. “I like my cakes to come out just perfectly. A minute more and this one would start to be a teeny weeny bit dry. I always say, timing is everything.” She lifted the baking pan out of the oven and set it on a rack on the side of the stove.

  “If it tastes as good as it smells, I’m sure it’s perfect,” Flower said softly.

  Betty turned to her with a big smile. “I’m my own best customer,” she said, wiping her broad hands on her apron. “That’s why I’ll never be a Skinny Minnie. Hey, I’m surprised to see you. You looked so tired when you came in, I was sure you’d sleep for hours.”

  “I thought I would too, but I guess I woke up because I’m hungry. Would it be possible to get a little something to eat?”

  “Of course, honey. Jed and I just had some of my fresh vegetable soup for lunch. Would you like a bowl of that with a nice warm biscuit?”

  “I’d love it.”

  “Okay, then. Would you like to have it right here or perhaps you’d prefer to take it up to your room?”

  Betty’s friendliness made Flower feel less alone. “Right here, if I won’t be in your way.”

  “You won’t be in my way. I love it when our guests drop into the kitchen and we get a chance to visit. You look a little peaked. Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, indicating the somewhat battered wooden table.

  Five minutes later, Flower was gratefully sipping the soup, and Betty, a cup of tea in hand, had settled in the chair across from her.

  “This soup is delicious,” Flower said quietly.

  “Makes me feel good to see people enjoy my cooking,” Betty replied amiably, then sipped her tea. “So the Festival of Joy is finally here. Everyone’s been talking about it for months. We have TV people covering the Festival staying here. Are you going to the candlelight ceremony tonight, dear?”

  Flower burst into tears.

  “I didn’t think so,” Betty said sympathetically, her motherly face benevolent. “Is this about a man?”

  “Yes,” Flower said, wiping her eyes. She felt her nose begin to run.

  Betty reached in her pocket and took out a packet of tissues. “Oh, my dear,” she clucked as she handed them to Flower.

  “I’m sorry,” Flower apologized as she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

  “No need to be sorry. You’re such a sweet, pretty girl. Whoever is making you cry is not worth even one of those tears.” She reached across the table and enveloped Flower’s small hand in hers. “Would it help to talk about it?”

  Flower nodded and put down her spoon. “My boyfriend, or I should say my ex-boyfriend, lives in Branscombe. I flew in to surprise him for the weekend. This morning I went over to Conklin’s Market where he works and found out that he and a group of coworkers had won…won…won the lottery last night!” She started crying even harder, gasping for breath as she said, “He didn’t even call me to tell me. Since last June we spoke at least twice a day and always at night. Last night he didn’t call. I left him messages, and he never called me back, not even this morning. I know it means that now that he has money, he wants to be able to live it up without me!”

  “Well for land’s sake,” Betty exclaimed. “He sounds awful.” She leaned forward. “Some of the workers at Conklin’s won the lottery?”

  Flower hiccupped. “Yes.”

  “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  “Duncan Graham. He runs the produce section.”

  “Duncan? I’m so surprised, I thought he was a lovely fellow.”

  A fresh torrent of tears flowed from Flower’s eyes, and she began to sob.

  “I’m so sorry,” Betty said as she got up, went around the table, and pulled Flower’s head to her generous bosom. “That was a stupid thing for me to say. If he treated you like that, you’re well rid of him. Who did you talk to at the store?”

  “I think…I think…it was Mr. Conklin’s wife. She wasn’t very nice.”

  “She’s a horrible woman! Nasty as they come.” Betty soothingly patted Flower’s head.

  “I just want to go home,” Flower said, weeping. “I’ll get a bus to Boston today.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night? You can have dinner with me and Jed. Then you can get a fresh start in the morning.”

  “I don’t know,” Flower answered uncertainly. “I think I’m better off just leaving here as fast as I can.” She looked up into Betty’s eyes. “The thing is that Duncan’s been taking a financial course with two guys who came to Branscombe last month. He told me they advised him to stop playing the lottery, and he agreed it wasn’t a good idea anymore. He obviously didn’t listen to them. I wish he had!”

  “No you don’t!” Betty cried. “He’s shown his true colors. If yo
u ask me, you dodged a bullet, honey. Even if he had all the money in the world, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Those two financial advisers will really come in handy now. They can tell him what to do with all his winnings,” Flower said, sounding forlorn. “Have you heard anything about them? Woodrow and Edmund Winthrop. They’re cousins.”

  “Not a thing,” Betty said quickly. “And if I had, I wouldn’t have been interested. Money is the ruination of so many people. As they say, it can’t buy you happiness. You’re going to go back to California and find someone wonderful, I just know it. Jed and I will come to your wedding out there.”

  “I never met anyone kinder than you,” Flower said, trying to smile.

  A sharp rapping at the back door made them both jump. “I don’t know who that could be,” Betty murmured as she released Flower and hurried to answer it. She gasped when she saw who was on the porch. “It’s not a good time to stop in,” Betty said, her tone firm. Her hand was on the door. She started to close it.

  From where Flower was sitting she couldn’t see who the unwelcome visitor was.

  “What are you talking about, Betty?” a man’s voice asked angrily. “We’ve got a big problem, and we need to stay here. The cops may be looking for us at our place.”

  “You’re always making jokes,” Betty said nervously as she struggled to push the door closed.

  Flower jumped up.

  “Listen, Betty, Woodrow and I were there for you when you and Jed needed to disappear,” another man’s voice snapped, his tone low but fiercely angry. “Where is he now? Out in the back duplicating keys of the poor dopes staying here so he can break into their homes?”

  A second later Betty stumbled back as the door was shoved open and two men burst into the room. I’ve got to get out of here, Flower thought, as the intruders caught sight of her, their expressions shocked. Betty’s head spun toward her, the look on her once-kindly face now terrifying. Flower turned and started to run out of the kitchen. Before she could reach the door, a heavy arm snapped around her waist, a firm hand covered her mouth, and she felt herself being swung around.

  “Now what?” Betty asked Woodrow and Edmund bitterly, as she maintained a smothering grip over Flower’s mouth.

  16

  The Reillys watched as Duncan was wheeled out of the room. The lottery winners had joined them in the hallway.

  “Good luck, Duncan,” Marion said, briefly touching his hand. “You have to be up and around by Monday so you can ride with us to Lottery Headquarters and officially turn in the ticket. Charley’s driving us—we’re going to make a day of it.”

  “Thanks, Marion,” Duncan replied wanly.

  Tommy and Ralph patted him on the shoulder but said nothing.

  They’re still not sure about him, Glenda thought. I can only imagine what they’d think if they knew I had the other ticket in my pocket. I can’t believe I have both tickets on me right now.

  The hotel manager came over to the group. “We’re setting up a table in one of our private dining rooms. Please be our guests for a luncheon—relax and enjoy each other.”

  “That sounds delightful,” Marion said. “Right now we’d be on our lunch break at Conklin’s!” She turned to Nora. “You will join us, won’t you?”

  “We’d love to,” Nora answered as she and Marion fell in step together.

  Glenda tapped Regan’s arm as the group moved down the hallway. “I need to speak to you for a moment. It’s terribly important.”

  Regan nodded and stopped. Jack was walking ahead with Mayor Steve and Luke. Muffy had accompanied the stretcher out to the ambulance with the camera crew following. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  Glenda looked around to be sure there was no one in earshot. “Duncan’s in trouble…”

  Regan listened as Glenda filled her in.

  “…so Duncan took a big risk by stealing their ticket. But he really wants them to be punished for what they’ve done to so many people. We need to get those two crooks behind bars as soon as possible.”

  “We need evidence of their scam before they can be arrested,” Regan explained. “Do you know if they gave Duncan any paperwork when he made that investment?”

  “I don’t know. But I told him I’d go to his house to get his cell phone. This morning I noticed his notes from the financial course were on the dining room table.”

  “That’s a start,” Regan said. “I’ll get Jack and the three of us will go over to Duncan’s right away.”

  “I’m so lucky you’re here, Regan. Thank you. But what excuse can we give for leaving now? We’re supposed to stay for lunch.”

  “You want to deliver Duncan his cell phone. He hasn’t been able to talk to his fiancée yet, and he’s upset. He might be in the hospital for hours so he asked you to pick up his ring before the jeweler closes.” Regan paused. “I hate to ask you this, Glenda, but did you know your ex was outside talking to the press?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” Glenda said stoically.

  Regan smiled. “It’s actually good for us. He looked pretty upset. That gives Jack and me the perfect excuse for going with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Glenda smiled. “Great! If Harvey knew he was doing me a favor by mouthing off to reporters, he’d drop dead.”

  They walked into the dining room where their group was about to take seats at the table. Regan spoke quietly to Jack while Glenda talked to the others. Tommy’s parents had joined the group and so had Ralph’s wife, Judy.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave!” Marion said. “But I understand about poor Duncan. Glenda, what about us all going to the bank to put our ticket in a safe deposit box for the weekend?”

  “You guys go ahead and do that this afternoon. I trust you” she said, giving a look to Ralph and Tommy.

  “Trust us?” Ralph joked. “Glenda, tell us. What happened to Duncan last night? How did he get hurt?”

  “He fell,” Glenda answered. “As you can imagine, he was pretty upset when he heard the winning numbers and he hadn’t played. His car wouldn’t start, he went for a walk and slipped. He never dreamt we’d be generous enough to share the money with him. I’m sure you’ve heard about the poor guy who always played the lottery with his friends at work. One day he was out sick and wasn’t there to throw in his share. They won and didn’t cut him in.”

  “That’s so mean!” Marion exclaimed, then added, “Where was Duncan going? Does his girlfriend live in town?”

  “No, she lives in California.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” Marion said. “Maybe she lives near my grandson. What’s her name?”

  “Flower.”

  “What?” Marion asked, squinting.

  “Flower.”

  “How does she spell it?” Luke murmured to Nora.

  “I see,” Marion said. “I hope she likes the ring.”

  “I’m sure she will. Regan and Jack Reilly are nice enough to offer to come with me. They saw Harvey outside, looking pretty angry.” She then joked, “Marion, you said we might need bodyguards. I’ve got two of them.”

  Two waiters came in the room, pads in hand, ready to take orders.

  “Get going then,” Marion chirped. “But don’t forget to leave us that ticket.”

  Which one, Glenda thought wryly, as the whole room watched her retrieve their winning ticket from her wallet and hand it over to Ralph. She could almost feel Duncan’s ticket in her right pocket. I’m going to have a heart attack, she thought.

  Regan could tell that her mother’s antenna was up. She knows there’s something else going on. It’s going to kill her, but she’ll have to wait until later to find out.

  “I’ll pull the car up while you two wait inside,” Jack offered as he, Regan, and Glenda walked out of the dining room toward the reception area. “Glenda, if your ex is still hanging around, hopefully we can avoid him.”

  “Regan! Jack! There you are!” Alvirah’s voice carried across the lobby. She and Willy were checking in at
the front desk.

  “Hi, Alvirah!” Regan called, waving her hand. “You got here fast!”

  “Is that Alvirah Meehan?” Glenda whispered to Regan.

  “Yes,” Regan said. “My poor mother was wondering why we were leaving before lunch and was dying to find out. Trying to get out of here without Alvirah realizing that something’s up will be a real challenge. She’ll definitely want to come with us.”

  Glenda paused. “I’ve read about the cases she’s solved. And she has always been so caring about her fellow lottery winners who’ve fallen into trouble. I trust her, and I’m sure Duncan would. If she wants to join us, let’s bring her along.”

  “Believe me,” Regan said. “I know Alvirah. She’ll want to.”

  17

  Sam Conklin rushed into his small office in the back of the store and slammed the door behind him. At that precise moment the phone rang. It was Richard, his only son, whom he had hoped would go into the family business. Instead, the smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd had been an irresistible draw, and at forty-two, Richard was an established actor. He had just finished a nine-month run of a play in Boston and would soon be heading back to his apartment in New York.

  “Dad, what’s going on up there? It’s all over the news about the lottery winners from Conklin’s. They must have gotten the story wrong that you didn’t give bonuses. That can’t be true. You’ve always given bonuses and were always more than generous.”

  Sam sank into a chair and leaned his head on his hand. “It’s true,” he admitted miserably. “Rhoda talked me into it.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Richard asked quietly. “I can’t stand that woman.”

  “Neither can I,” Sam admitted.

  “That’s music to my ears,” Richard said, his voice suddenly cheerful. “She’s been nothing but trouble since Day One. When you think of how sweet Mom was…”

  “I know, I know,” Sam interrupted. “This morning has been a public relations nightmare. I’ve worked hard in this store for more than forty years and as you just said have always been generous to my employees. I’m so ashamed that I let her talk me into giving pictures of that godforsaken wedding instead of the bonuses my workers earned. You should have seen the looks on their faces last night. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I’ll never feel good about myself again…”