A Lot Like Christmas

by Connie Willis

  “Well, who would have?” Sergeant Eustis blurted.

  “An excellent question,” Touffét said. “And one which I will address shortly. But first we shall deal with your motive for murder, Sergeant.”

  “Mine?” Sergeant Eustis said, astonished. “What possible motive could I have had for murdering anyone?”

  “Exactly,” Touffét said, and everyone looked bewildered. “You had no motive for murdering Lord Alastair in particular, but you did have a motive for murdering someone.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting he’s a police officer?” James said nastily. “Or are you saying you have a motive for murdering my father, too?”

  “No,” Touffét said calmly. “For I am a great detective, with many solved cases to my credit, and none that I have failed to solve through my own incompetence. That is not, however, true of Sergeant Eustis, is it?”

  Leda—Genevieve—gasped. “ ‘Useless’ Eustis. I thought you looked familiar.”

  “Indeed,” Touffét said. “Captain Eustis, who had charge of the Tiffany Levinger case.”

  Tiffany Levinger. Now I remembered. It had been all over the television and the online tabloids. The pretty little girl who had been murdered in her own house, obviously by her own parents, but they had been acquitted because Captain Eustis had bungled the investigation so badly that it was impossible to attain a conviction. Nicknamed Useless Eustis and pilloried in the press, he had been forced to resign. And had apparently ended up here, in this remote area, demoted and disgraced.

  “Another murder, the celebrated murder of a billionaire in a country manor, a sensational murder that you solved, could have redeemed your reputation, could it not?” Touffét said. “Especially with the press on the premises to record it all.”

  “It certainly could have,” Sergeant Eustis said. “But even someone as stupid as the press claimed I was wouldn’t be stupid enough to commit a murder with Inspector Touffét on the premises, now would he?”

  “Exactly the conclusion I came to, Sergeant,” Touffét said. “Which leaves Nurse Parchtry and James Valladay.”

  “Oh,” Nurse Parchtry said, distressed, “you don’t think I did it, do you? What motive could I have?”

  “A cruel and abusive patient.”

  “But in that case why would I not simply have resigned?”

  “That is what I asked myself,” Touffét said. “You were obviously subjected to daily indignities, yet Lady Charlotte said you had been here nearly a year. Why? I asked myself.”

  “Because if she left she would forfeit the bonus I had promised her,” Lady Charlotte said. She wrung her hands. “Oh, don’t tell me I’m responsible for her…I was desperate. We’d been through seven nurses in less than a month. I thought if I offered her an incentive to stay…”

  “What was the incentive?” Touffét asked Nurse Parchtry.

  “Ten thousand pounds, if I stayed a full year,” the nurse said dully. “I didn’t think it would be so bad. I’d had difficult patients before, and it was the only way I could ever get out of debt. I didn’t think it would be so bad. But I was wrong.” She glared at Charlotte. “A million dollars wouldn’t have been enough for taking care of that brute. I’m glad he’s dead,” she burst out. “I wish I’d killed him myself!”

  “But you did not,” Touffét said. “You are a nurse. You had at your disposal dozens of undetectable drugs, dozens of opportunities. You could have deprived him of his oxygen, given him a lethal dose of lidocaine or insulin, and it would have been assumed that he had died of natural causes. There would not even have been an autopsy. And you liked Heidi. You and she shared a passion for my cases. You would not have committed a murder that implicated her.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have,” Nurse Parchtry said tearfully. “She’s a dear little thing.”

  “There is in fact only one person here who had a motive not only to murder Lord Alastair but also to see D’Artagnan charged with it, and that is Lord James Valladay.”

  “What?” James said, spilling his drink in his surprise.

  “You were in considerable debt. Your father’s death would mean that you would inherit a fortune. And you hated your sister’s primates. You had every reason to murder your father and frame D’Artagnan.”

  “B-but…” he spluttered. “This is ridiculous.”

  “You put sleeping tablets in your father’s cocoa when you were in the nursery, using an attack by D’Artagnan as a distraction. During the game of Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral, you went out into the corridor, having convinced everyone that they must take considerable time in choosing your object, and you took the lift up to the nursery, putting on the gloves you had stolen from D’Artagnan earlier, switched off the baby monitor, and strangled your sleeping father. Then you overturned the bed and placed objects around the room to look as if someone had flung them violently. You hid the key and the gloves, and came back downstairs, where you cold-bloodedly continued playing the game.”

  “Oh, James, you didn’t—” Lady Charlotte cried.

  “Of course I didn’t. You haven’t any proof of any of this, Touffét. You said yourself there weren’t any fingerprints.”

  “Ah,” Touffét said, pulling a bottle of sleeping tablets out of his pocket. “This was found in your bureau drawer, and these”—he produced a key and a pair of white gloves—“under your mattress, where you hid them, intending later to put them in the pantry to implicate D’Artagnan.” He handed them to Sergeant Eustis. “I think you will find that the sleeping tablets match the residue in the cocoa cup.”

  “Under my mattress?” James said, doing a very good job of looking bewildered. “I don’t understand— How would I have got into the nursery? I don’t have a key.”

  “Ah,” Touffét said. “D’Artagnan, come here.” The gorilla lumbered forward from where he and Heidi had been watching all this and thinking God knows what. “D’Artagnan, what happened after Lady Charlotte gave you the keys?”

  “Unlock,” he said. “Get gloves.”

  “And then what?”

  D’Artagnan looked fearfully at James and then back at Touffét.

  “I won’t let him hurt you,” Sergeant Eustis said.

  Lady Charlotte nodded at him. “Go ahead, D’Artagnan. Tell the truth. You won’t get in trouble.”

  The gorilla glanced worriedly at James again and then said, “James say. Give me,” pantomiming handing over a bunch of keys.

  “That’s a lie!” James said. “I did no such thing!”

  “Then why was this under your mattress inside one of the gloves?” Touffét said, producing a key from his pocket and handing it to Sergeant Eustis.

  “But I didn’t—!” James said, turning to his sister. “He’s lying!”

  “How is that possible?” Lady Charlotte said coldly. “He’s only an animal.”

  “A satisfying case,” Touffét said as we waited for the train.

  We had been driven to the station by a hairy orange orangutan named Sven. “He doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Lady Charlotte had said, bidding us goodbye. She smiled up at Phillip Davidson, who had his arm around her. “But every policeman in the county’s upstairs collecting evidence,” she said, “so you won’t have to worry about being ticketed.”

  It was easy to see why the police refused to issue Sven a driver’s license. He was positively wild, and after he had nearly driven us off the road, he slapped the steering wheel with his hairy hands and grinned a teeth-baring smile at me. But he got us there nearly ten minutes before train time.

  Touffét was still preoccupied with the case. “It is a pity James would not confess to the murder when I confronted him. Now the police must spend Christmas Day examining evidence.”

  “I’m sure Sergeant Eustis won’t mind,” I told him. He had seemed pathetically eager to look for everything Touffét told him to, even writing it all down. “You’ve redeemed his reputation. And, at any rate, no one confesses these days, even when they’ve been caught red-handed.”

 
; “That is true,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “And all has turned out well. Lady Charlotte’s Institute is safe, the apes no longer have to fear being homeless, and you shall arrive at your sister’s in time to burn your fingers on the raisins.”

  “Aren’t you going with me?”

  “I have already endured one evening of Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral. My constitution cannot withstand another. I will disembark in London. You will convey my regrets to your sister, yes?”

  I nodded absently, thinking of what he had said about the apes no longer having to fear being homeless. It was true. Until the murder, Lady Charlotte’s Institute had been in great financial difficulty. She had said it might have to close. And if it did, the ARA and the other animal rights groups would have insisted on D’Artagnan and Heidi’s being sent back to the wilds. Like Lucy.

  Touffét had said everyone in the room had a motive, and he was right, but there were two suspects in the room he had overlooked.

  James had even accused D’Artagnan of the murder, and D’Artagnan would certainly have done anything to save Lady Valladay’s Institute—he was utterly devoted to her. Like D’Artagnan and the other Musketeers, who would have done anything to protect their queen. And he and Heidi were in danger of losing their home.

  But killing Lord Alastair would not have saved the Institute. James would have inherited the estate. James, who had threatened to shut down the Institute, who had threatened to sell the apes to the zoo. Killing Lord Alastair would only have made the apes’ situation worse.

  Unless James could be made to look like the murderer. Because murderers could not inherit.

  What if Heidi had put the sleeping pills into Lord Alastair’s cocoa before she brought it up to the nursery, and had hidden the bottle in James’s bureau? What if D’Artagnan had only pretended to lose his gloves so that Lady Charlotte would give him her keys? What if he and Heidi had gone up to the nursery while everyone was playing Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral, strangled Lord Alastair in his sleep, and then thrown the furniture about?

  But that was impossible. They were animals, as James said. Animals who were capable of lying, cheating, deceiving. Capable of planning and executing. Executing.

  What if D’Artagnan had really twisted James’s wrist, so that he would accuse him, so that he’d say the apes were dangerous, and it would look as if he were trying to frame them?

  No, it was too complicated. Even if they were capable of higher-level thinking, there was a huge difference between solving maths problems and planning a murder.

  Especially a murder that could fool Touffét, I thought, looking across the compartment at him. He was rummaging through his bag, looking for his mystery novel.

  They could never have come up with a murder like that on their own. And Touffét’s explanation of James’s motive made perfect sense. But if James had committed the murder, why hadn’t he washed the cocoa out of the cup? Why hadn’t he hidden the key and the gloves in the pantry, as Touffét had said he intended to do? He’d had plenty of time after we went to our rooms. Why hadn’t he dumped the sleeping tablets down the sink?

  “Bridlings,” Touffét said, “what have you done with my book?”

  I found The Murders in the Rue Morgue for him.

  “No, no,” he said. “Not that one. I do not wish to think any more of primates.” He handed it back to me.

  I stared at it. What if they hadn’t had to plan the murder? What if they had only had to copy someone else’s plan? “Monkey see, monkey do,” I murmured.

  “What?” Touffét said, rummaging irritably through his bag. “What did you say?”

  “Touffét,” I said earnestly, “do you remember The Case of the Cat’s Paw?”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, looking pleased. “The little chimpanzee’s favorite book. A most satisfying case.”

  “The husband did it,” I said.

  “And confessed when I confronted him,” he said, looking annoyed. “You, as I recall, thought the village doctor did it.”

  Yes, I had thought the village doctor did it. Because the husband had made it look as though he had been framed by the doctor, so that suspicion no longer rested on him.

  And The Case of the Cat’s Paw was Heidi’s favorite book. What if she and D’Artagnan had simply copied the murder in the book?

  But Touffét had solved The Case of the Cat’s Paw. How could they have been sure he would not solve this one?

  “You were particularly obtuse on that case,” Touffét said. “That is because you see only the facade.”

  “In spite of the overwhelming evidence of primates’ intelligence,” Lady Charlotte had said, “people persist in thinking of them as animals.”

  As animals. Who couldn’t possibly have committed a murder.

  But Heidi could read. And D’Artagnan had scored 95 on IQ tests. And they would have done anything for Lady Charlotte. Anything.

  “Touffét,” I said. “I’ve been thinking—”

  “Ah, but that is just the problem. You do not think. You look only at the surface. Never what lies below it.”

  Or behind it, I thought. To the monkey, putting the cat’s paw in the fire.

  Unless I told Touffét, James would be convicted of murder. “Useless” Eustis would never discover the truth on his own, and even if he did, he wouldn’t dare to contradict Touffét, who had saved his reputation.

  “Touffét,” I said.

  “That is why I am the great detective, and you are only the scribe,” Touffét said. “Because you see only the facade. That is why I do not listen to you when you tell me that you think it is the gorilla or the vicar. Well, what is it you wished to say?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was only wondering what we should call this case. The Case of the Country Christmas?”

  He shook his head. “I do not wish to be reminded of Christmas.”

  The train began to slow. “Ah, this is where I change for London.” He began gathering up his belongings.

  If James were allowed to inherit, he would not only shut down the Institute, he would also drink and gamble his way through all the money. And D’Artagnan and Heidi would almost certainly be shipped back to the jungle and the poachers, so it was really a form of self-defense. And even if it was murder, it would be cruel to try them for it when they had no legal standing in the courts.

  And the old man had been little more than an animal in need of putting down. Less human than D’Artagnan and Heidi.

  The train came to a stop, and Touffét opened the door of the compartment.

  “Touffét—” I said.

  “Well, what is it?” he said irritably, his hand on the compartment. “I shall miss my stop.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said.

  The conductor called out, and Touffét bustled off toward his train. I watched him from the door of the train, thinking of Lady Charlotte. Finding out the truth, that her beloved primates were far more human than even she had imagined, would kill her. She deserved a little happiness after what her father had done to her. And my sister would be waiting for me at the station. She would have made eggnog.

  I stood there in the door, thinking of what Touffét had said about my being incapable of murder. He was wrong. We are all capable of murder. It’s in our genes.

  The Saturday before Christmas break, Zara came into my dorm room and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with her and Kett at the Cinedrome.

  “What’s playing?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Lots of stuff,” which meant the point of going wasn’t to see a movie at all. Big surprise.

  “No, thanks,” I said, and went back to typing my econ paper.

  “Oh, come on, Lindsay, it’ll be fun,” she said, flopping down on my bed. “X-Force is playing, and The Twelve Days of Christmas and the reboot of Twilight. The Drome’s got a hundred movies. There must be something you want to see. How about Christmas Caper? Didn’t you want to see that?”

  Yes, I thought. At lea
st I had eight months ago when I’d seen the preview. But things had changed since then.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to study.”

  “We’ve all got to study,” Zara said. “But it’s Christmas. The Drome will be all decorated and everybody will be there.”

  “Exactly, which means the light-rail will be packed and security will take forever.”

  “Is this about Jack?”

  “Jack?” I said, wondering if I could get away with “Jack who?”

  Better not. This was Zara. I said instead, “Why would my not going to the Drome with you have anything to do with Jack Weaver?”

  “It’s…I don’t know,” she stammered, “it’s just that you’ve been so…grim since he left, and you two used to watch a lot of movies together.”

  That was an understatement. Jack was the only guy I’d ever met who liked movies as much as I did, and all kinds, not just comic-book-hero and slasher films. He’d loved everything from Bollywood to romcoms like French Kiss to black-and-whites like The Shop Around the Corner and Captain Blood, and we’d gone to dozens of them at the Drome and streamed hundreds more in the semester we’d been together. Correction, semester minus one week.

  Zara was still talking. “And you haven’t gone to the Drome once since—”

  “Since you talked me into going with you to see Monsoon Gate,” I said, “and then when we got there you wanted to eat and talk to guys, and I never did get to see it.”

  “That won’t happen this time. Kett and I promise we’ll go to the movie. Come on, it’ll be good for you. There’ll be tons of guys there. Remember that Sig Tau who said he liked you? Noah? He might be there. Come on. Please come with us. This is our last chance. We won’t be able to go next weekend because of finals, and then we’ll be gone on break.”

  And nobody at home would want to see Christmas Caper. If I suggested going to the movies, my sister would insist on us going to A Despicable Me Noel with her kids, and we’d end up spending the whole afternoon in the arcade playing Minion Mash and buying Madagascar stuffed giraffes and Ice Age ICEEs. By the time I got back to school, Christmas Caper would be gone. And it wasn’t like Jack would magically show up and take me like he’d promised. If I wanted to see it on the big screen, I needed to do it now.