Oh Holy Fright (Pecan Bayou Book 8)

by Teresa Trent

  He left us and walked over to a lady who was eyeing an expensive-looking mixer. Zach walked out ahead of me, causing me to quicken my pace. He was really mad, but he didn’t start talking until we got back in the car.

  “They’re crooks, these guys. You’re right. It’s a bait and switch, or whatever you call it, and we’re the suckerfish.”

  I put the car into gear and started down the street toward Maggie’s house. It was then I suddenly remembered the platter Maggie needed. “Uh, we need to make a quick stop at the house. Do you mind?”

  Zach shrugged. He didn’t care. He was looking like the Grinch, his heart shrinking by the minute.

  Chapter 21

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I said to Zach when we pulled into our driveway. He was still sulking about the trip to Crazy Eddie and contented himself looking at his phone.

  With the rest of the family already at Maggie’s, our home was unusually quiet. Since Christmas vacation had started that was a delight I hadn’t felt for a while. Upon entering the house, I spotted the forgotten serving platter on the kitchen table.

  “There you are,” I said to no one in particular. I scooped up the platter, slid it under my arm, and was heading for the front door when I heard a bell tinkle on the Christmas tree in the den.

  “Butch?” It occurred to me that our Weimaraner had not greeted me at the door. Was he up to mischief under the tree? If someone had given us a food gift like sausage and crackers, he might be tempted to have his own Christmas Eve feast.

  “Butch? What are you into?” I stepped toward the den, but the sound of a footstep—a human footstep—made me hang back. There was someone in the den by the Christmas tree, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t Santa Claus.

  I had a decision to make. Should I step a little closer and try to get a view of our intruder before I bolted, or should I hightail it out of there? Before I could decide, Zach was at the front door.

  “Mom! You must have let Butch out. He was in the front—”

  I held up a finger to my lips and gestured to the den. I rushed to the front door, dragging a confused Zach down the front steps.

  When we hit the chilly December air, I gulped out, “Someone is in the house. I think they might have been robbing us. Call Grandpa on your phone.” I placed the platter that had gotten me into this mess on the hood of the car.

  Butch seemed to realize my distress, and he began straining to free himself from Zach’s fingers. When Zach pulled his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants, the anxious canine bounded out of his grasp and toward the house. I heard the familiar clatter of our screen door hitting the wood frame at the back of the house, and Butch took off running. In the dim light of the afternoon sun, I could just make out the form of a small young man in a gray hoodie scaling our six-foot cedar privacy fence. Butch lunged at the intruder. He screamed a high-pitched wail that floated across the expanse.

  “Grandpa! Someone broke into our house, and Mom thinks they were stealing our Christmas presents … no, we aren’t in the house … okay … okay.”

  He clicked off the call. “He’s on his way. Did you see that guy climb the fence? I think ol’ Butch bit him in the leg.”

  Upon hearing his name, Butch came trotting over and bounced down on his front feet in celebration. It wasn’t often a family dog got to scare off a real criminal.

  “Good boy.”

  I walked over to the spot where the burglar made his escape, and a piece of torn denim caught my eye. That must be the hem of the intruder’s pants. The edge was ragged, proving that Butch’s teeth had shredded the leg of his pants.

  My father pulled up in his pickup truck, followed by a squad car with its lights and sirens breaking the Christmas peace I had felt earlier.

  “Are they still in the house?” he shouted. He drew his gun, but instead of his familiar uniform, he wore a dark gray suit with a green tie sporting a dancing Santa.

  “No. I think whoever it was just jumped over the fence when Butch went after him.”

  A grin showed under my father’s gray cop mustache. Butch bounded over to him, still full of adrenaline.

  “That’s my boy.” He ruffled the fur atop Butch’s head then renewed his approach to our house.

  The other cops followed him. Sidling up to the front door, Dad burst through. They shouted their entrance from room to room so loudly they could be heard clearly from the street. Finally, my dad came back out, returning his gun to the holster.

  “Looks like you got there just in time. The presents are a little messy, and it looks like your burglar might have opened a few things and pocketed them unless you saw him carrying a big red sack.

  I didn’t recall seeing anything in the robber’s hands. “Can I come in now?”

  “You could, but I don’t think your Aunt Maggie would ever forgive me if I kept you from her dinner one minute longer. The fellas will take pictures and lock up for you—”

  The sound of the radio squawking in the squad car interrupted. The voice of Mrs. Thatcher, the dispatcher, relayed, “We got another one. Burglary on Elm Street.”

  “What the hell?” Dad ran over to the radio and clicked it on. “Are you sure? We’re just working this one at Betsy’s house …”

  There was a silence then Mrs. Thatcher came back. “Make that two. We have one on 4th Street.”

  “You get to Maggie’s and apologize to her for me. It looks like Santa’s elves have turned on him.”

  Chapter 22

  “Good Lord, Betsy. You’re just lucky you didn’t get yourself killed,” Maggie said as she rested in a brocade chair in the dining room.

  Leo stood and grabbed his coat. “I’m heading over. They might need me to identify anything that doesn’t look right. Maggie, I hope you don’t mind. I’ll try to make it quick.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” Maggie said.

  After Leo left, Maggie blew out a sigh. “These men. What needs to be done? The robbery is over.”

  We sat in front of a holiday spread that could rival a state dinner at the White House. The ham was cooked to perfection and served alongside creamy mashed potatoes and greens beans with garlic floating in puddles of butter. For dessert, there was a red velvet cake with fluffy white icing. The smells were equal to what I expected would be greeting me at the pearly gates.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t have any PlayStations left when you got into the store,” Tyler said in disbelief to Zach from further down the table.

  Zach, sinking his teeth into a spongy dinner roll, just nodded.

  Tyler continued. “I knew they’d sell out in the first five minutes. Betsy should have nabbed an earlier number.”

  I was not particularly pleased that the Crazy Eddie debacle was now being blamed on me. The boys would be even more disappointed when they didn’t find the exorbitantly priced game console under the tree. Seriously, how do parents spend that much money on a single gift at Christmas?

  Maggie slammed down her napkin, making the silverware clank. “Boys, you need to quit blaming my niece and just be grateful she was willing to stand in line on Christmas Eve.”

  Tyler played with his red cloth napkin, rolling it between his fingers. “Sorry. I just thought we were getting it. This Christmas is full of disappointments.” I knew he was also referring to losing his dream girl.

  “Yes, well, don’t believe everything you read. Especially if it’s in the Pecan Bayou Gazette.” She reached over and patted my hand, “Except for the Happy Hinter column, of course. That’s the gospel truth.”

  “And the classifieds,” Zach inserted.

  “Not always. Lester Jibbets was advertising his Chevy as lightly used. Everyone in town knows he ran that thing to death. That’s like saying Ruby Green uses just a light touch of hair spray,” Maggie said.

  Danny and Coco had chosen to wait for supper in the next room and were playing with a set of Christmas figurines acting out their very own Christmas story.

  “But, Santa, I can’t fly like the other reind
eer,” Coco said in a little voice.

  “Ho-ho-ho,” Danny came in with his bass. “Of course, you can. You just need to eat this magic carrot.” Then I heard chomping sounds, and Coco made a chirping sound, proving reindeer can indeed fly with the proper consumption of vegetables.

  “Whee!”

  Hearing the two of them play had a calming effect on me. In their world, life’s problems could be solved with a magic carrot. Running into someone who was stealing our Christmas presents made me feel violated even though the thief never laid a hand on me. I shuddered.

  “Are you all right, darlin’? I’d be glad to add something stronger than nutmeg to that eggnog,” Maggie suggested.

  “I’m fine, really. I guess it’s all just catching up to me. Someone was in my house looking at our things.”

  Maggie sighed, “This sure has been a Christmas for the record books. Joe gets himself killed, we have a brawl at the Christmas festival, and now everyone is being robbed on Christmas Eve.”

  “Don’t forget about Ruby losing her house.”

  “I just don’t think this is what Bing Crosby was singing about, do you?” Maggie asked.

  “Who’s Bing Crosby?” Tyler asked, looking up from his phone, which had replaced the napkin for his attention.

  “Google it,” I responded, using this century’s replacement for “Look it up in the dictionary.”

  Tyler immediately started typing in the name. “Whoa, that dude has to be at least a hundred.”

  Maggie shook her head, “The youth of today. They carry their minds around in those tiny phones.” She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get to eating if we are planning to get a good seat at church. I’ll wrap up some leftovers for Leo and Judd.” Maggie headed to the kitchen while working her way through a musical scale. Enid still had the solo, but that didn’t mean Maggie wouldn’t be the best singer in the choir.

  I could tell my aunt was trying to hide her disappointment that this all-important family meal had been missed by Judd and Leo. Life was going along so beautifully, but like Santa in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, we had just hit a wicked patch of fog. Pea soup.

  I resolved I would do everything I could to make this a good Christmas for the kids. That meant not worrying about Ruby, not mentioning the burglary, and no talk of murder investigations.

  “Mama!” Danny shouted when he ran in from the den. He was holding up his cell phone, a simple model advertised for senior citizens with fewer bells and whistles than the average Android phone. “It’s Wanda. Her presents were stolen. Her mama tried to hit the robber with her pocketbook, and now she’s hurt.”

  Maggie reached out. “Let me talk to her. Is she still on the line?”

  Danny held up one hand and spoke into the phone, “My mom wants to talk to you. Hold on.”

  “Wanda? Are you okay? How is your mom? Can you tell me what’s wrong with her?”

  Maggie listened closely. “Is she breathing?” Another pause. “Can she talk? Okay, sweetheart … it’s okay. We’re going to call an ambulance then we’re on our way over. Do you know your address?”

  I started putting dishes in the refrigerator. To my surprise, Zach and Tyler began helping. Normally, I would have credited this noble effort to the “good for Christmas” behavior children often exhibited, but from the efficiency of their movements, I could see they were genuinely concerned.

  “Tyler, can you get Zach and Coco to the program while we take care of Wanda and her mother?”

  “No problem.”

  Zach asked, “Should we all miss the program?”

  “No, Coco is an angel. We don’t want her to miss that.”

  “Oh yeah,” Tyler said, “and we wouldn’t want to skip out on Miss Enid screaming ‘O Holy Night.’”

  Zach smiled. “Yeah, but now they should call it ‘O Holy Fright.’”

  “Wanda!” Danny shouted when we knocked on the door. He was standing on the doorstep brandishing his Captain America shield, ready to combat whatever bad guy presented himself. I just hoped he didn’t have to use it. Surprisingly, we beat the ambulance there. Had the ambulance service been as busy as the police on this robbery-laden Christmas Eve?

  “Danny!” Wanda opened the door, her cheeks blotched red and eyes full of tears. Danny and Wanda embraced. Though I hated to break up such a tender moment, I rushed past them into the house.

  Wanda’s mother, a large woman who wore a poinsettia-print dress, lay on the floor of their living room. The scene reflected a Christmas present unwrapping gone terribly wrong. There was brightly colored paper strewn everywhere. Evidently, the thieves opened gifts to find the most valuable goods.

  “What is your mother’s name, Wanda?”

  “Mom,” she shouted from the door, where Danny was stroking her hair like a puppy.

  “No, what do other people call her?”

  She blurted through her tears, “Beulah.”

  “Okay.” I gave Wanda’s mother’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Beulah? Can you hear me?”

  At first, there was no response, but a moment later she let out a groan.

  I spoke gently to her, “We’ve called the ambulance.”

  “We will take care of Wanda,” Maggie said from behind me. I hadn’t even heard her come in. She knew the words were vitally important to this mother of a child with Down syndrome. I had seen the concern in Maggie many times. She would worry for Danny’s welfare before her own.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” I asked as she blinked her eyes open. She swallowed and let out a breath.

  “We should have stayed in line. They would have been gone by the time we got home.”

  “What line?” Maggie asked.

  “At Crazy Eddie. After seeing more and more people come out with nothing, I decided it was a waste of time and came home. It was obvious that the sale was a sham. When we got here there was a kid in our living room opening our gifts. She came after me and hit me on the head with something when I tried to clobber her with my purse.”

  I picked up a gold Special Olympics trophy that lay on the floor. Wanda, it seemed, was a very good swimmer. She won second at state last year.

  “That’s mine,” Wanda said, grabbing it away from me, clearly determined to hold onto the possessions she had left.

  “And thanks to the both of you, it is now covered in your fingerprints,” Beulah grumbled.

  She was right. As the daughter of a policeman, I should have known better. My cell phone rang as the ambulance screamed in the driveway.

  “Betsy, Zach and Tyler just told me you’re at the site of another robbery.” I could have kicked myself at that moment for not texting Leo about this situation on the way to Wanda’s house.

  “Yes, Danny’s girlfriend was robbed. Her mother has been hurt. The ambulance just got here.”

  “You’re kidding me. Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, I think they’re right behind the ambulance.”

  “What’s going on around here? I think we need to move to a big city where there’s less crime,” Leo said. After a pause, he added, “If the police are there, meet us at church. No more robbery detours, okay? I want my family all under one roof where I can keep an eye on them.”

  From the tone of his voice, I could tell Leo was worried and a little angry. This was a day when families rejoiced at being together. We had failed in this objective on all fronts.

  Bringing Wanda with us, Danny still had a protective arm around her when we joined Leo and the kids in the folding chairs set up in the community center. My father was noticeably absent, no doubt overwhelmed with processing multiple crime scenes. The center was half empty, not a sight I had seen on Christmas Eve before. Maggie made her way to the choir, where Enid Sanford had just started the dreaded solo, “O Holy Night.”

  From the looks on people’s faces, they were all about to fall on their knees as the song suggested. Babies started crying, and several sets of shoulders scrunched upward as if a hundred fingernails just hit a hundred
chalkboards. Just as Enid went for the ear-splitting high note, a stronger, clearer voice cut in on top of hers. I saw small children uncovering their ears as Aunt Maggie began to sing. Ellie McGiver, realizing she was about to be saved, tapped Enid on the shoulder to get her to sit down and gave an approving nod to Maggie. Enid started to resist, but as if under the spell of Maggie’s voice, she settled back in her chair.

  So much had gone wrong on this crazy Christmas Eve, but for this one moment, it was swinging back to normal. Maggie’s clear melodic voice filled the room as the crowd collectively relaxed. A baby cooed behind us. My glorious, brave, and most-beloved Aunt Maggie had once again fixed things. I resolved that I too had to do what I could to stop what was going on around here, starting with solving Joe Nelson’s murder.

  Chapter 23

  Surprisingly, unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning went off without a hitch. Coco did not get the teddy bear she had demanded before Christmas, but she didn’t seem to care. We didn’t sell enough bread, but we did our part, and she was happy. My kids were great people deep down, no matter what lurking monsters the temptation of television advertising brought out of them.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Maggie asked as Coco placed a hand-sewn mini quilt over a new doll. Maggie had made me a couple of these treasures when I was a little girl. The tiny quilt was more valuable because it came from the heart, not Amazon.

  I was placing one of two breakfast casseroles bubbling with cheese and eggs on the kitchen table, Leo was pouring orange juice, and my father was mass producing a giant stack of toast from the toaster. The Christmas Eve meal was Maggie’s responsibility, but Christmas morning had become ours.

  “Well, that should do it,” my father said as he placed a wobbling tower of toast on the table. “You can call the rug rats.”

  Maggie walked over and slid her arm through her brother’s. “Ah, Judd. They’re all so happy.” She was right—even Danny was immersed in a large Star Wars coffee table book he had received.