Holiday Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “That’s right.” She scooped up the kittens and held them against her chest for Lucy to see. “This one here is Midnight because he’s black, and this one is Jumbles, and here is Boots. We weren’t very original, but we wanted them to have names. You’ll probably want to name ’em yourself.”

  “I’m sure my kids will have some ideas,” said Lucy, smiling a bit too broadly. “Let’s put them in the carrier, okay? I feel so lucky to have found them. Our cat was killed, and my kids are pretty upset. Having their own kittens will make Christmas special,” she gushed, suddenly wondering how this family was going to celebrate Christmas. “Is ten dollars apiece okay with you?”

  “What?” Lisa’s face was blank.

  “Ten dollars. I’m afraid I can’t go much higher.”

  “They’re free. I’m just glad to get rid of them. Pet food’s expensive and you can’t use food stamps for it.”

  “Well, I won’t take them unless you let me pay,” said Lucy, holding out three ten-dollar bills.

  “Okay. I won’t say I can’t use the money. Thanks.”

  As Lucy carried the kittens out to the car, she was overwhelmed with guilt. She’d never thought of herself and Bill as wealthy; every month they had to juggle the bills, and the Visa balance stubbornly refused to shrink. But today the sum of their material possessions embarrassed her.

  As she put the kittens on the backseat she noticed a box of candy canes poking out from one of the grocery bags. Remembering the very tiny Christmas tree on the table, she dug a little deeper and pulled out a roasting chicken, aware that she had a freezer full of food at home as well as money in the bank. She rummaged through the other bags and added cranberry sauce, stuffing, potatoes, a few cans of vegetables, and a bottle of apple juice. Looking for something sweet, she shrugged and tossed in a bucket of dastardly mash ice cream. Give till it hurts, she thought.

  She was tempted just to leave the bag on the porch, but instead she made herself knock. When the door opened she said, “I’m really so grateful for the kittens, won’t you please take these groceries?”

  Lisa pulled herself up to her full height and said unsmilingly, “Thank you, but I already have Christmas dinner planned. We’re having macaroni.”

  Lucy smiled encouragingly. “My husband and I had tofu and brown rice for Christmas once. We decided never again. Please take it.”

  Lisa shrugged and then smiled, accepting the bag of groceries. “Merry Christmas!” she said, and shut the door.

  * * *

  “Now, little kittens, how am I going to keep you a secret until tomorrow?” Pulling the car off the road a few feet before her driveway, Lucy put the carrier on the floor behind the driver’s seat and tossed a blanket over it. Then she pulled in the driveway and started unloading the groceries. She carried one bag and a gallon jug of milk into the kitchen, pausing at the door to see if any of the kids were around. She heard a low murmur from the front of the house, so she put the groceries on the table and dashed back to the car. Covering the kittens with the blanket, she ran as quickly as she could back to the kitchen and scooted down the cellar stairs. She put the carrier next to the furnace and, apologizing to the kittens for not finding them, was back in the kitchen before the kids realized she was home.

  “Help me with the groceries, Toby. Grandma and Grandpa Stone will be here any minute.

  “How’d everything go?” she asked her mother.

  “Come and see the tree!” demanded Sara. “We made it so pretty.”

  Helen shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

  “Well, it sounds as if you’ve been busy. Let me see the tree,” said Lucy, allowing the girls to pull her along.

  Just then they heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. Bill’s folks had arrived. The house was soon full of confusion and bustle as hugs and kisses were exchanged, groceries put away, and suitcases and shopping bags full of presents carried in.

  At last, Bill’s parents were settled and everyone was gathered around a cheerful fire in the living room. The scene looked Christmas card perfect: the lush tree twinkling in the corner, three children playing quietly on the rug, the adults relaxing on the couch and easy chairs. Lucy perched on the edge of her grandfather’s cane chair, took a deep breath, and tried to still the butterflies that were churning in her stomach. Now she ought to be able to relax. After working toward it for weeks, Christmas was finally here. The house was clean, the cookies baked, the presents wrapped. Everything was under control, she realized, except for the people. She was so worried that her mother’s depression would return and dampen the holiday, or that Bill’s father, always unpredictable, would say exactly the wrong thing.

  She had always found the elder Mr. Stone intimidating. She would never forget the first time she had met him. She had been terribly nervous and as Bill’s fiancée had wanted to make a good impression. She hadn’t known what to say when Mr. Stone suggested that she escort Brother, Mrs. Stone’s retarded brother, to the bathroom. She could still remember the blood rushing to her face as she stammered out an excuse, and Bill had rushed to her rescue, leading Brother out of the room. That meant she was left alone with Mr. Stone, who’d muttered something and left the room, too. All by herself in the Stones’ living room, she had felt totally abandoned and suspected that she had failed some important test.

  She had always marveled that Bill’s mother never seemed upset by her rude husband. She was a small, plump, cheerful woman who serenely managed to smooth the feathers that her husband continually ruffled. Now she was sitting on the couch with Helen, and the two women were chatting together.

  Bill’s father was sprawled on the recliner, puzzling over a fishing reel Toby had asked him to fix. Suddenly he looked up and demanded, “Don’t you have any cookies? What’s Christmas without cookies?”

  “I’ve got cookies,” Lucy snapped to attention. “Would you like some coffee or tea to go with them?”

  “Sure, whatever,” he answered gruffly.

  “Tea would be very nice,” said Mrs. Stone. “Can I help?”

  “No, I can manage. Just relax,” answered Lucy.

  “Of course, there’s only one really good Christmas cookie. You don’t have ’em. They’re Italian. Called pizza or something.”

  “Do you mean pizelle?” asked Lucy.

  “Yeah. They’re made on a little waffle iron thing. Had ’em once and never forgot ’em.”

  Lucy couldn’t help smiling as she went off to the kitchen, because high up on a shelf in the pantry, in her tin of cookies from the cookie exchange, were six lovely pizelle made by Lydia Volpe. Lucy hummed as she put the water on to boil and set out cups. She added three glasses of milk for the children, and then she climbed up the stepladder and carefully brought down the cookies. She arranged them attractively on her special Christmas plate, clustering the delicate pizelle together. When the kettle shrieked she poured the tea and proudly carried the tray out of the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to see the expression on Grandpa Stone’s face.

  Chapter Fifteen

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  Christmas Eve really is the longest day of the year, thought Lucy as she glanced at the kitchen clock on her way to bed. It was two in the morning and Bill was still snapping together the dozens of interlocking pieces of the Barbie town house. Everything else was ready. The presents were arranged under the tree, the stockings were filled, and Santa had nibbled his cookies and poured his warm milk down the kitchen drain. The house was quiet; everyone was asleep, presumably dreaming of sugarplums. Lucy went down to the cellar to get the kittens.

  She found them all asleep in a pile in a corner of the cardboard box she’d made their temporary home. She picked up the carton and tiptoed upstairs with it. Setting it down next to her bed, she
climbed between the sheets and put all three kittens in her lap.

  “Time for some exercise,” she told them, and smiled as they climbed clumsily over each other and explored the mysterious hills and valleys her legs made in the covers. She picked each one up and examined it carefully, relieved to find they all appeared healthy, with no sign of fleas.

  “Well, what have we got here?” asked Bill, coming into the room and beginning to strip off his clothes.

  “Christmas kittens,” said Lucy, admiring the long, lean curve of his back as he bent over and pulled on his pajama pants. “How are we going to manage this? We can’t really put them in the kids’ stockings.”

  “Never you worry,” Bill boasted. “No job is too difficult for Super-Santa!”

  “You are a super Santa. Did Barbie’s house go together okay?”

  “Nothing to it.” Bill shrugged. “Fifteen pages of directions, innumerable tiny plastic parts, all pink; anyone with a degree in engineering could do it in five hours, easy.”

  Lucy laughed. “Don’t expect to get any credit. You know what Toby told me? He says he doesn’t really believe in Santa, but he can’t believe we’d spend that much money on presents!”

  “Well, I can see his point. All year long we say, ‘You can’t have that because it’s too expensive,’ then at Christmas it’s all under the tree.” He lifted the covers to climb into bed, and the kittens all tumbled into Lucy’s lap.

  She laughed and handed one to Bill. “Aren’t they sweet?”

  “Almost as sweet as you,” said Bill, nuzzling her neck. “Boy, Dad sure loved those cookies.”

  “I think it’s the first time I’ve managed to do anything that pleased him. I was worried he’d choke on those pizzelle.”

  “When he absolutely has to, he can say something nice. He’s a lot happier, though, when he can find something to criticize.” Bill shook his head. “It’s too bad. When I was a kid I used to knock myself out trying to please him. I was never good enough for him. If I got a base hit, it should have been a home run. If I got a ninety-five, it should have been a hundred. That’s probably why I became a hippie carpenter instead of an insurance underwriter like him.”

  “You’d be a terrible insurance underwriter,” said Lucy, stroking his hand. “You’re a good father.”

  “I don’t want to be like him. I make mistakes, but they’re not the same ones he made. If Toby strikes out, I tell him he looked good up there. I tell him even Pete Rose strikes out. I tell him he’ll get a piece of it next time.”

  Lucy snuggled up to him. “How about a piece of it right now?”

  “Nope. I’m a liberated modern man. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m too tired.”

  “Poor Santa. Well, kittens, it’s time to go to sleep.” She put them back in their box one by one and tucked the box in a corner of the room. Then she hopped back into the warm bed and curled around Bill. Nestled together, they were both asleep before they knew it.

  Chapter Sixteen

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  “Mommy, can I go downstairs and see if Santa came?” Toby’s whisper was so earnest that Lucy had to smile as she groped for the clock.

  “It’s six o’clock,” he assured her. The family rule was that nobody woke up Mommy and Daddy before six.

  “Okay, but be quiet. Don’t wake your grandparents. Elizabeth, you go, too, and help carry the stockings.”

  Lucy sat up and rubbed her eyes. She yawned and smiled at Bill. “I feel as though I just got to sleep.”

  “I’ll make coffee,” Bill volunteered, climbing out of bed.

  “Sara, hop in here. You must be freezing without your slippers.”

  Soon the whole family was gathered in the sleigh bed. Lucy and Bill sipped coffee and smiled indulgently while the children pulled small treasures from their stockings. Reaching into a stocking and finding an oddly shaped, mysterious package—to Lucy that was what Christmas was all about.

  “What’s this?” asked Sara, holding up a little catnip mouse.

  “It’s a cat toy,” Toby informed her. “Santa must have made a mistake.”

  “Maybe Santa hasn’t heard about Patches,” Elizabeth said reasonably.

  “Or maybe he knows something you don’t,” said Bill thoughtfully.

  “What’s that box doing in the corner?” said Lucy. “I didn’t put it there.”

  “I’ll see,” Toby shouted, jumping out of bed. “It’s kittens! Three of them!”

  “Careful, Toby,” Lucy cautioned as he picked up the carton and brought it over to her. “Look, Santa brought one for each of you. Now, who wants the little orange one?”

  “Oh, I do.” Sara sighed and reached for the soft furry bundle.

  “Be gentle. Remember, he’s just a baby,” said Bill.

  “Mom, I want the black one. The black one should go to a boy,” Toby argued.

  “Okay. That leaves the calico one for you, Elizabeth. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yes.” Elizabeth sighed. “Calico cats are always girls.”

  “Well, that worked out well,” Lucy said. “What are you going to name them?”

  “I’m naming mine ‘Softy,’ ” said Sara, “ ’cause he’s so soft.”

  “I’m naming mine ‘Mac’ ’cause he’s so tough,” said Toby, holding up a very tiny fluff of black fur with two bright eyes.

  “I’m going to wait until I know my kitten better before I name her,” said Elizabeth. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

  “I’m sure Santa wants you to take good care of your kittens,” Bill announced. “No rough stuff, make sure they get plenty to eat and lots of rest. Okay, gang?”

  As she leaned back against the pillows, watching the children dangle Christmas ribbons for the kittens to chase, Lucy rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Bill put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze as Bill’s father appeared in the doorway.

  “So, you started Christmas without me? What have you got here, kittens? Well, don’t do another thing until you open my present,” he said, producing a large, gaily wrapped box.

  “You want us to open this now?” said Bill.

  “Right away.”

  “But Mom’s not up,” Bill protested.

  “Doesn’t matter. Open it up,” he ordered.

  Bill shrugged and began to open the package but stopped in amazement when he realized what it was.

  “This is a video camera,” he said as if there were some mistake.

  “That’s right. You can film the whole day. Hurry up! You’re missing some cute shots of the kids and the kittens.”

  “Okay, okay. Just let me figure it out.”

  “It’s ready to go. All you have to do is push that red button.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They’re great. Fantastic gadgets.” The older man bounced around them, barely able to restrain himself from grabbing the camera.

  Lucy protested, “You really shouldn’t have done this. They’re so expensive.”

  “Nonsense. You only go around once, right? Can’t take it with you,” said Bill senior. “Besides, Edna wants videos of the kids she can show off to her friends.”

  Lucy laughed, then threw up her hands in horror as Bill turned the camera on her. “Don’t, Bill! I haven’t even combed my hair yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It looks like Christmas. It looks just like Christmas should.”

  * * *

  Indeed, the day was just the way Christmas should be. Eventually the two grandmothers appeared in their robes, with their faces washed and hair combed. Forewarned about the video camera, both had dabbed on some lipstick.

  Lucy served coffee and juice while the grandparents opened their stockings, and then everyone moved into the family room to open presents.

  After waiting such a long time for Christmas, the children hurr
ied through their piles of gifts, ripping off the paper as fast as they could. Toby was fascinated with the giant insects Lucy had found and was also quite taken with the football his grandfather gave him, but he swore he would never wear the argyle sweater Aunt Madeline had sent him. The girls shook their heads over the red sweaters Aunt Madeline had sent them, but they adored the Barbie house, and the dolls, and the ice skates, and all the other wonderful presents they found under the tree.

  The grown-ups opened their packages at a more leisurely pace, stopping to admire each new treasure. Lucy was relieved that Bill approved of the red dress she’d bought at The Carriage Trade, especially after she tried it on for him. Bill senior declared he couldn’t wait to try out the fly-tying kit, and both grandmothers immediately draped their scarves over their robes. Lucy was extremely touched by a lovely pair of gold earrings from her mother.

  “I wanted to give you something special. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” her mother said, her eyes glistening with tears.

  Lucy worried that the day might be too much for Helen, reminding her of all the Christmases she had shared with her husband. She disappeared for quite a while to get dressed, and when she finally reappeared, she seemed withdrawn and quiet.

  “Helen, how about a game of Ping-Pong?” invited Edna. “Elizabeth needs a partner.”

  To Lucy’s surprise, Helen joined the game and even seemed to enjoy herself. Toby and his father and grandfather all went outside to try out Toby’s new archery set, and Lucy fussed over the roast.

  At four o’clock the family gathered around the long harvest table for Christmas dinner. Candles shone in crystal holders, the silver gleamed, and the centerpiece of golden glass balls and holly sparkled. The children were dressed in their best clothes, Bill and his dad wore their new plaid sport shirts, and the women were all wearing touches of red. Lucy served the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding; dinner was perfect, even the gravy. Lucy had made chocolate mousse from a recipe Sue Finch guaranteed was foolproof, and everyone adored it.