“Ouch. I was calling to tell you that the Googins girls insist on having both your parents stay here for Christmas. They’ve already decided it’s a done deal.”
“Are they nuts? Do you have any idea what a disaster that would be?”
“I know, but I was outvoted. And if you say no, I should warn you to expect to hear personally from Laurel on the matter.”
“Wow, your mother and her cousin have guts. How, pray tell, are you people supposed to keep my parents from killing each other?”
“We’re going to put your father in the library downstairs and your mother in the Black Oak Room upstairs. Laurel and Lacey have promised to entertain them while they’re our guests. It might just work,” I told her. “At least you’ll still have some peace and quiet at home.”
“I don’t know, Miz Scarlet. It’s a mighty tempting offer.”
“Give it some thought and let me know. In the meantime, I’ll let you get back to your corpse.”
“That poor guy’s not going to go anywhere. Geez, Miz Scarlet, I hate having to notify families at this time of year. It’s heartbreaking.”
“I’m sure it is, Larry,” I empathized, imagining how tough it must be to knock on some stranger’s door with the bad news that a relative wasn’t ever coming home.
“What am I supposed to say to his mama? ‘Happy holidays, and oh, by the way, your boy is dead.’ Does that sound right to you?” The experienced homicide investigator’s voice was close to breaking. I could hear sadness permeate every word she spoke.
“This case is getting to you, isn’t it?” I announced lamely. Don’t worry Oprah. Your job is safe. I won’t be getting my own talk show any time soon. Then again, sometimes rubbing salt in the wound can have a positive effect, even when the immediate results aren’t pretty.
“Of course it is! I’ve got a nineteen-year-old murder victim found in the woods little more than a week before Christmas, no suspects, and half my team is off on vacation. We’re short-handed here and if we don’t get a break in the first forty eight hours, it’s possible the killer will get away with his crime. The only thing that brings the families any comfort, especially at this time of year, is if we know who the killer is, and in this case, I’ve got nothing to go on, nothing at all. Sometimes I hate this job!”
I couldn’t really blame her. It must be frustrating for the homicide investigator to work with dead people all the time, to never rush in just in the nick of time and save a life. Maybe that’s why we bonded as friends. Larry had saved the Wilson family more than once and we were truly grateful to her.
“If it’s any consolation, I’d much rather have someone like you tell me the bad news. At least I’d be sure you care about catching the killer.”
“Sometimes I think I care too much, Miz Scarlet,” she admitted, slowly exhaling. The anger seemed to leave her voice, only to be replaced by sorrow “There’s nothing I can do to make a killer confess when he’s feeling cocky, especially if he’s an experience liar. It’s never really like those TV shows, where the bad guy suddenly has an attack of conscience. People kill because they believe they can get away with it. If I’m lucky, this killer is sloppy and he left me some clues that will lead to evidence I can hand over to the prosecutor.”
“It sounds like you’re expecting this case to be impossible to solve.” It was true. Larry seemed to be held down by a bad case of dread; foot-dragging dread, the kind that makes you do what you have to do with great trepidation and a sense of futility for the outcome. “What’s different about this case?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, Scarlet. I wish I could. I smell trouble coming this way and I keep feeling like I should run as fast as I can in the opposite direction.”
“Is that instinct talking or just the impending visit from the folks?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I just feel like I just don’t have my eye on the ball in the batting cage and that automatic ball machine is going to send one out that smacks me in the temple.”
“That can be painful.”
“Tell me about it. What if I miss a critical clue? What if I don’t recognize evidence as being evidence? It’s more than just letting the bad guy get away. He could kill again.”
Chapter Four --
“You sound so stressed,” I told my friend. “You need a break.”
“Did I or did I not just tell you that half my people are out on vacation?” She sounded exasperated. “That’s why I’m working overtime.”
“Bur wants your whole family to join us for Christmas dinner, Larry. I think that’s a good idea. We’ll take care of all the arrangements, so you don’t have to worry about anything. You just show up.”
“Damn, I wish you hadn’t offered. I was going to call my mother and tell her I couldn’t get to Atlanta because of this case. If you’ve got a room for her, she might just change her mind and come up here.”
“Edna and Big Larry won’t even have to socialize, except at the dinner table. I’ll make sure they have dining companions who can deflect the barbs, should the need arise.”
“That’s a given, Scarlet.” There was a long pause, and I knew Larry was mulling it over. “I swear I’m going to pull my hair out if she starts complaining that Big Larry is getting the better deal.”
“Tell you what. You let us worry about making your parents happy. Make me a list of things your mom and dad like to do for fun. The Googins girls, Bur, and I will figure out ways to keep them occupied. Edna will be too busy to be on your case while you’re working your case.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If I take you up on this offer, I’ll owe you for the rest of my life, Miz Scarlet. I won’t be able to twist you around my little finger ever again, at least not until you find yourself mixed up in another big, fat mess.”
“It’s probably not a good idea to encourage me,” I pointed out light-heartedly, “given my penchant for finding trouble. Wouldn’t it be nice, though, to forget about having to deal with all these family issues?”
“Yes. The only thing that would make this holiday miracle complete would be a room for Mickey at the Four Acorns.”
“Is that what you want Santa to give you this year?” I asked. “She’s more than welcome to stay here with her grandparents.”
“Hey, I’m not going to push my luck, Miz Scarlet. Mickey’s got a perfectly good bedroom at home. Let me call my mother and tell her the good news. And thanks. You have no idea what a relief it is not to have to worry about them. I really need to concentrate on this murder.”
“Just remember we’ll expect you for dinner on Christmas. You’ve got to come up for air sometime.”
“You might want to have an oxygen tank standing by for me. I’m having trouble breathing as it is. Later,” she groaned, hanging up.
With an empathetic sigh, I tucked my phone back into my pocket and rejoined the Googins girls in the dining room.
“Well, what did she say?” my mother wanted to know. “Is Edna going to stay with us?”
“Are they all joining us for Christmas dinner?” Lacey quizzed me.
“Mmm....”
“Mmm, what?” my mother wondered. “Is something wrong?”
“In all the time I’ve known Larry, I’ve never heard her sound so bummed out. She’s absolutely miserable and I don’t think it’s just the impending visit from her folks.” I poured myself some decaf as I slumped down in my seat. “She’s really rattled.”
“Well, time has a way of sorting things out or bringing them to a head. No doubt we’ll see soon enough,” Laurel suggested, fiddling with the power knob to her motorized chair. “How long does it take to drape lights on a tree? That son of mine is taking forever.”
“Maybe there were a lot of bulbs out,” I suggested. “They might have had to replace some of them. You know what a fanatic Bur is about his Christmas lights.”
“It’s nearly seven-thirty. Maybe we should just go ahead into the living room.”
“I’ll find out what the de
lay is, Mom.”
“Would you?”
A quick twenty steps down the hall and I was at the closed door. I rapped twice, lightly, and called out. “How much longer?”
A noise made its way through the door. Was that Bur’s voice I heard? I didn’t really understand the muffled reply, so I turned the knob and pushed the door open, just far enough to poke my head in.
The tree was lit with hundreds of tiny, twinkling white lights interspersed with larger colored bulbs. There was a blazing fire in the fireplace, and Huckleberry and January were curled up in front of it, napping. It looked like a charming Christmas card scene. Hounds at the holiday.
“Well done,” I started to say, stepping into the room to admire their efforts. That’s when I heard a soft sob. My gaze was drawn to the figures on the sofa. Bur had his arm around the teenager in fatherly fashion, while she clutched her King Charles Cavalier spaniel in her arms. “Oh....”
With his comforting arm still in place, my brother turned in my direction. A subtle shake of his head warned me away. Carefully closing the door behind as I left, I made my way back to the dining room.
“Jenny’s having a good cry,” I told the elderly ladies.
“Poor dear,” said Lacey. “She’s still so young to be without a mother.”
“I remember the first Christmas after your father died,” said Laurel, looking at me, her eyes misting at the memory. “You kids were so good to me, even though you were all missing him, too.”
“It was hard,” I admitted. “Dad was the one who always put up the tree. We were lost without him.”
This would be Jenny’s first Christmas without her mother. She had nursed her through the final grueling months, until at last Vivian succumbed to the beast called cancer. Cut adrift by a cruel twist of fate, the devoted daughter had begun the process of rebuilding her life, trying hard to find her way in the adult world. That’s why I brought her home to the Four Acorns Inn. How raw were the heartbreaking memories? Holidays have a way of reminding us of people we loved and lost. There wasn’t much we could do for her, except be there for her during those dark, lonely hours. Only time would help Jenny come to terms with losing her mother.
Despite eyes that were still red-rimmed, the teenager put on a brave face for us as she appeared in the doorway of the dining room to invite the Googins girls and me to accompany her back to the living room. I noticed my mother reached out her left hand, entwining her fingers with Jenny’s briefly in a gesture of solidarity, never saying a word. The teenager suddenly seemed to brighten up a bit.
“Wait till you see how many lights we put on the tree. Bur says it’s a record,” she told us.
“I can’t wait!” Lacey took Jenny’s arm in hers. “Let’s go.”
We made our way down the hallway, the four of us. As my mother and I followed, I caught her wiping away a tear. Even now, she still missed my father. Maybe it was good the Rivera family was going to be with us for Christmas.
“Ladies, are you prepared to be dazzled?” My brother stood guard at the closed door, waiting until we were all assembled.
“We are,” Laurel laughed, “and then some!”
“Bring on the bling!” her cousin commanded eagerly. Bur swung the door open for the reveal and Lacey walked in. “Wowie zowie, it’s magnificent!”
“Oh, how lovely!” Laurel gushed, rolling over the threshold. “You two did a marvelous job.”
“Wait till you see what we do with the ornaments,” Jenny’s volunteer helper announced.
It was even more beautiful now that I was standing directly in front of it. Bur had used large, retro-style colored bulbs, carefully distributing them across the branches evenly. He added tiny white fairy lights on top of that. I watched them twinkle here and there, adding a layer of sparkle that made the tree appear almost magical. But the icing on the cake was the set of old-fashioned bubble lights that took me back to the days when my grandparents were still alive.
“Ornament time,” the sequined sweater lady announced. Working side by side, Lacey, Jenny, and I got busy. Each of us took a box of shiny metallic balls and made our way around the tree, tucking them into the boughs. When it was covered, we got out the balls with the glittery designs and fancy cut-outs. After that, we moved onto the one-of-kind ornaments. At last it was time for the glass icicles.
Over the years, as we phased out the plastic tinsel on our tree, we had added to the family collection, and now we had several different kinds. Some were twisted strands of glass; some were “natural style” and appeared to melting ice. There were long ones and short ones, fat ones and thin ones. Some were made of recycled glass; some were leaded crystal. We even had some colored ones. We carefully set each and every one on the ends of the branches. Taking a step back, I admired the view as the tree seemed to shimmer and shine. Lacey put her arms around Jenny and me.
“Beautiful. And now we need our tree topper, and Bur to put it on the highest branch.”
“Let me get it out,” I said, reaching into the plastic bin for our family favorite, the skiing Santa that had graced just about every Wilson family tree for the last thirty years. Beat up, head askew, he looked like he’d hit one too many trees on the way down the ski slope.
“Wait just a moment, Scarlet.” My mother held out her hand to Bur. He dropped to his knees, reached under the sofa, and a moment later, he offered up a white box. Her fingers carefully undid the cardboard flap, and as she reached inside, we all stood there, riveted. This was an unexpected surprise. I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“What do you have there?” Lacey finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Something special for this year’s tree, a Christmas angel,” was my mother’s reply. She held it up for us to see.
The tiny rustic figure had a porcelain head and hands. The cascading hair on top was painted dark brown. The mouth on the sweet little face was curved in a tender smile. But it was the cotton denim dress that caught my attention. I recognized it.
“Isn’t that your old shirt?” I turned to Jenny. “I thought you tore it when you took that tumble at Black Ledge River.”
“I did,” admitted the teenager, staring at the Christmas decoration. Jenny’s gaze turned to the elderly woman in the wheelchair. “It was my mother’s favorite shirt. But it disappeared from my laundry basket. Did you....”
“I did, dear. I hope you’ll forgive me. I used the damaged sleeves to make the angel’s dress.” My mother held out the tree topper to the stunned recipient.
“I...I don’t know what to say. Thank you. How did you know what she looked like?”
“You showed me a photograph,” Laurel told her. I leaned over Jenny’s shoulder to admire the figure.
“She’s beautiful.”
Bur had a folding step ladder at his side. “What do you say, squirt? Want to do the honors?”
“I do!”
He opened it up and placed it at the side of the tree, so the teenager could climb up. Reaching carefully past the other ornaments that adorned the tree, she carefully slid the new Christmas angel onto the highest branch. I held my breath as I heard the tinkle of glass balls clinking together, but nothing fell. Bur steadied the girl as she carefully withdrew her arm from the boughs and stepped down off the ladder.
“I love it,” said Jenny. “Thank you.”
“Here’s another early Christmas gift.” My mother handed her a second package, this one a little larger. “Open it now.”
Jenny’s nimble fingers removed the red ribbon and carefully placed it on the coffee table. Gingerly, she slid her index finger under the flap on one end of the paper-covered package. Peeking inside, her face suddenly lit up and she eagerly tore at the snowman wrapping paper, exposing the beloved denim shirt. My mother had been busy. Not only had she used the damaged sleeves for the Christmas angel’s dress, she had reworked what was left of the shirt, so that it now sported short sleeves.
“You saved it! You saved my shirt!” The teenager w
riggled into it and twirled, to show us how it looked on her, delighted by the gift. “I can’t believe it! This is awesome. I’m going to take it to California with me.”
“There was no reason to throw out a perfectly good shirt. Sometimes it just takes a little ingenuity and creativity,” my mother announced.
“You’re the best,” was the reply as the teenager wrapped her arms around Laurel and hugged her tightly. My mother beamed, happy that she had given Jenny something meaningful. Mozzie, watching his excited mistress, gave a little bark. “I know, boy! Isn’t it great?”
We spent the rest of the night basking in the glow of Christmas lights, as we sat down to watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time.
“It was my mother’s favorite movie,” the teenager told us as she, Lacey and I crowded onto the sofa, Huck and Mozzie tucked between us. My mother and January were snuggled next to us in the wing chair. My mother had her feet up on the ottoman, her legs covered by her Black Watch blanket.
“Don’t you just love how George finally figures it all out?” I asked, as I cued up the movie. “He’s so sure everything is hopeless, that he doesn’t have a ghost of a chance to turn it all around.”
“Sometimes the best gift at Christmas is to believe in life again,” Laurel decided. “When your spirit is refreshed, all things are possible. I think that’s why I never get tired of this story.”
“True, true,” the other Googins girl agreed, as she dug into her bowl of popcorn. “It’s always best to find the real meaning of Christmas. It’s never about the material goods. It’s about the relationships you have. People matter.”
“You have to invest in those people who will make a difference,” my mother declared, “the ones who will go out and get things done. They’ll inspire other people to do the same. You can’t waste your time on folks who don’t get it and don’t want to get it.”
“Pearls before swine,” Lacey nodded as she waxed philosophical. “People have to accept, even embrace, their responsibility to make the world a better place, or they just squander the opportunities.”
Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3) Page 3
