In that moment, Susan realized she’d learned the true meaning of stopping in her tracks. “I don’t think we have any carrot juice.”
Her mother-in-law leapt to her feet in a way that made Susan think maybe there was something to all this healthy eating. Susan certainly wasn’t feeling all that energetic—or steady, for that matter.
“We can solve that problem right now,” she proclaimed. “Jeddy, you go right up to my room and bring down the big box sitting on the floor of the closet. Just open the door and you’ll know the one … It’s wrapped in bright green paper and has a big white bow. And, Susan, you must have carrots in the kitchen. Right?”
“Yes, of course,” Susan answered, wondering if there was any food in the world that she didn’t have in her overstuffed kitchen these days.
“Bring all that you have out here with a tray and some clean glasses and we’ll solve this problem right now.”
Susan entered the kitchen to find her son leaning against the counter, doubled over with not-so-silent laughter.
“What’s going on?” she asked Chrissy, pulling open the hydrator drawer in her refrigerator and removing two cellophane bags of carrots. “What’s so funny?”
“Every time she calls him Jeddy, Chad cracks up,” Chrissy explained. “It is a little silly, Mom.”
“It’s sometimes hard for parents to realize that their children are all grown up,” Susan commented, smiling.
“That’s right. Like making me have a midnight curfew on weekends,” Chrissy said, picking up the cue her mother had unwittingly offered.
“Not now, Chrissy,” Susan ordered, and hurried back to the living room. She had a horrible feeling that she knew what was coming.
“We waited so that you could be the one to open it,” Claire said, beaming at the large box that had displaced one of Susan’s carefully arranged displays of winter greens and cones on the large marble coffee table in the middle of the room.
“Oh,” Susan said, putting down the vegetables. “But it isn’t Christmas for more than a week.”
“But we’ll get so much use out of it while I’m here. I can show you all of my favorite concoctions— But I mustn’t give the surprise away. Open it.”
Susan knelt down and accepted the inevitable—a full week of fresh vegetable juice.
“It’s the deluxe model. You can decide just how much pulp you want to retain in the juice. See? With the knob down here.”
Susan looked at the bottom of the large chrome machine and, sure enough, there was a bright red circle labeled roughage regulator. She smiled up at her husband’s mother and took a deep breath. “It’s wonderful. Thank you so much. And how nice that you’re here to show us how it works.”
“Get ready to drink the best carrot juice you’ve ever had. Jeddy, hand me those carrots that your wife left there by the door. Thanks.” She accepted the carrots and began breaking them and stuffing them into a tube in the top of the appliance. “You’re going to love this, Jeddy. You know how you used to love a glass of V-8 juice before dinner? We used to call it your little cocktail, remember? Well, this is even better.”
Susan knew that Jed now preferred his cocktails with a little more punch but, after all, this was his mother. He deserved to be her first victim. “I forgot the glasses. I’ll go get them.”
“Don’t worry. We can use the ones in the bar,” Jed suggested, heading across the room to the large French wardrobe that had been altered to serve that purpose.
“Good idea. Where are the kids? They should have their vegetables, too.”
“Why don’t we serve them theirs with dinner? Then we can have a nice chat now and they can get their vitamins later,” Susan said, wanting time to remind them to mind their manners when presented with glasses of bright orange liquid.
“I have to get home and start Jerry’s supper,” Kathleen said, declining the glass that Jed offered her. “I’ve interrupted your reunion. Don’t get up. I can see my way to the door.”
“You don’t know where I put your coat. I’d better get it for you,” Susan said quickly, and followed her friend from the room.
“I don’t know where my coat is?” Kathleen whispered, pointing to where it lay across a chair near the front door.
“I wanted to talk to you for a sec,” Susan whispered back, and pulled her away from the entrance to the living room.
“Kath, if there is something going on at Kelly’s house, then Evan must be responsible. He’s the only person who knows how that security system works.”
“No, that’s not true. There must be diagrams of the initial installation around somewhere. Whoever got hold of them would know all about it.”
“So it could be Rebecca!” Susan thought she might be catching on to something.
“Maybe, but I think you have other things to worry about,” Kathleen replied, nodding her head toward the living room.
“It will be interesting to talk to Evan at his party,” Susan said, unwilling to change the subject.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Kathleen agreed, pulling her coat over her shoulders. It’s going to be an interesting party.”
SEVEN
Sometimes decorating the Christmas tree is an activity that brings a family closer together. And sometimes not.
“Is it possible to be allergic to whatever kind of tree this is? Chrissy is getting red splotches all over her face. Ugly, red splotches,” Chad elaborated, grinning at his sister. She, in turn, shrieked and raced to the hall to look in the mirror.
“Chad.” His father’s voice had a warning ring to it. “Decorating the Christmas tree is supposed to be a family time together. You are not to tease your sister.”
“What did I say? She’s just upset because Seth didn’t call last night,” Chad said, defending himself as he looked through a large cardboard box.
“I am not!” Chrissy reappeared in the room, screaming as she went.
“Chrissy! Tone it down! Your grandmother is asleep upstairs,” her father ordered, leaning back so far that he almost toppled off the ladder he was standing on. Trying to regain his balance, he dropped the string of lights he had been holding. “Damn.”
“Jed! And in front of the children.”
He knew without looking that it was his mother; his wife had been known to say worse despite their offspring’s whereabouts. “Hi, Mom. Sleep well?”
“Grandma, do you think I have a rash on my left cheek?” Chrissy turned to what she considered the most pressing business at hand.
“Come over to the window where the light is better … Well, maybe a slight one. I have some aloe cream upstairs that will help soothe it. It’s made especially by Dr. Barr’s company—and they don’t use any unnatural ingredients.”
“It was something natural that gave her the rash, Mother.” Jed had stepped down to the floor and was trying to untangle the string of lights he had just dropped.
“I thought everything was put away perfectly last year,” Susan said, entering the room as the two other females left, a large tray in her hands.
“That’s what we always think and it’s never true. Remember last year we left for Aspen on December twenty-sixth. We were in a hurry when we took down the tree.”
“You mean I was in a hurry.” Susan smiled at her husband. “I always take down the tree. Sorry I made such a mess of it. Want a doughnut? I just made them.”
“Your homemade nutmeg doughnuts? Wow!” Chad was at her side in seconds. “It really is Christmas.” He smiled happily as he munched a sugary circle.
“Could you please use a napkin?” Susan looked down at the Oriental carpet on her living room floor as she spoke. It was covered with spruce needles, tiny twigs, and golden specks of tinsel. She knew it would be worse before the morning was over.
“I need a glass of milk,” Chad said, grabbing another doughnut and leaving the room.
“I’m thinking about calling Kelly to see how she is this morning,” Susan said to her husband, picking up a tiny silver train engine
and holding it up to catch the light. “We bought this for Chad when he was just a baby. Remember?”
Jed, who had traded the lights for a doughnut and some coffee from the pot that accompanied them on the platter, came over and put his arm around his wife. “Sure do. Someone could do a family history looking at the ornaments we’ve collected. There’s even a little brass Old Faithful ornament from that year we went to Yellowstone.”
“Do you think I should bother Kelly?” Susan returned to her first thought.
“Good idea. She could probably use some moral support today. Evan and Rebecca giving the same party that she and Evan used to give is going to be hard on her. These doughnuts are better than ever, Sue. But I don’t know what Mom is going to say when she sees them. These are probably not included on Dr. Barr’s famous diet.” He chuckled gently as he spoke and reached for another doughnut.
“I know, but I thought and thought about this in bed last night. It’s Christmas, and these are our traditions. If your mother decides that they’re not for her, fine. But I’m not going to change the traditions of this family just because she’s changed her life-style.”
“I knew you were thinking about something besides me in bed last night.” Jed kissed his wife on the top of her head.
She pulled away and looked up at him. “Jed, your mother is right next door in the guest room.”
She continued, “I’m going to call Kelly before she goes out to church or someplace else. I can do it while stirring fudge.” She gave her husband an absentminded smile, then headed for the kitchen.
Jed didn’t respond. He was so busy trying to figure out exactly how long his mother’s visit was to be that he stepped right on the tree lights. “Damn.”
“I sure hope Grandma doesn’t hear you saying that,” Chad, returning to the room, said kiddingly.
“How about helping me with these lights,” his father asked.
“You don’t think we should wait for Chrissy and Mom?”
“Putting lights on the Christmas tree has somehow become the man’s job in this house,” Jed answered, climbing back up the ladder. “Once we’re finished, your mother and sister will come in and tell us how we should have done it. It’s a holiday tradition.”
They chuckled together amiably and got down to work.
Susan also had her work cut out for her in the kitchen. Her fudge was starting to stick to the porcelain insert in her copper double boiler and she didn’t want to interrupt Kelly, but she had to get off the line before she could reach a whisk that would fit into the sides of the pan.
“… I’m almost sure he’s missing the cookies that I make. Rebecca isn’t much of a cook you know. I used to spend hours and hours making the cookies that Evan likes best. Why it takes a whole day just to make the little tarts shaped like Christmas trees. And that recipe only makes a few dozen. And my Bûche de Noël—we were given that recipe by an old woman in Paris. Her family has been baking them for decades. Maybe even centuries. Now you know Rebecca isn’t going to make almond paste from scratch, or meringue mushrooms with cocoa spores, or caramelize a sugar net to go over the whole thing. Is she?”
Susan stopped stirring. “You do all that by hand?”
“Of course. I always did it for Evan. We honeymooned in France, you know, so it seemed appropriate. Besides, who could I get to do it for me?”
Who indeed?
“But think of what you can do now with the time that you used to spend in the kitchen,” Susan said, giving up on the spoon. She put down the receiver and dashed across the kitchen to the drawer where she kept her whisks.
She was back to the phone to hear, “… this year as well.”
“Wait a second, I was getting something and missed a few words.” Susan had missed more than a few words; the fudge had turned into a grainy mess. She shoved the pan off the burner and sat down at her kitchen table to listen more carefully. “Why don’t you repeat everything?”
“I was answering your comment about using all that time for something else. What I’ve been telling you is that I don’t have extra time. I’m doing everything Evan and I did, but without Evan. Actually I have less time than usual. Do you know how long it took me to put all those candles in the windows? And Evan used to roast and peel all the chestnuts for the marron glacé, and that took me hours to do!”
“Is your mother coming out for the holidays?” Susan asked, picking up a mug of coffee from the table where she had left it half an hour ago and absentmindedly taking a sip. Ugh.
“No, my mother never comes East for Christmas.”
“Then, Kelly, who are you doing all this for?”
“For Evan. Susan, when he comes back to me he’ll want everything to be the way that it was, won’t he?”
Susan almost choked on her coffee, thinking that Kathleen must be wrong. Kelly wouldn’t be cooking up a storm for a man who she thought was trying to kill her.
“I have to run, Sue. I have a very busy day ahead of me. I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning, okay? Maybe we can go shopping together. There are still a few things I have to find.”
“Great. Call anytime. Even if you just need someone to listen—Kelly?” Susan realized she had been talking to herself; Kelly had hung up.
Susan got up and went over to the sink, pulling out the garbage pail hidden beneath it. She had planned to scrape the burned fudge into it but, instead, she dumped everything in the sink and stood quietly in the middle of the room. Kelly was filling her life by preparing treats for a man who had left her and married another woman. Was this sane behavior? And what could she do about it? Susan shook her head despairingly and left the room.…
“Hi. That’s perfect timing. What do you think of the lights?” Jed got down from the ladder and displayed the tree, now shimmering with ten strings of tiny white lights.
“It looks wonderful,” she astounded him by answering.
“Hey, she likes it,’ Chad cheered. “Let’s put on the tinsel.”
“I think we’d better wait for your sister to start that,” his father answered. “Why don’t you go call her? Tell her we need her presence. Rash and all.”
“I’m here. What do you need me for?” Chrissy entered the room, followed by her grandmother.
“For—” Chad began.
“Those lights are going to need rearranging,” Jed’s mother announced from the doorway. “Who ever put them on so unevenly?”
EIGHT
Everyone was having a wonderful time at the Knowlsons’ party—except for Rebecca Knowlson.
“I hate that woman. She’s going to drive me crazy. You’re her friend. Couldn’t you talk her into moving out of town?”
“Rebecca …” Susan smiled, trying to pacify her hostess, a tall, thin woman whose red hair was cut in a fashionable angular style.
“How do you expect me to feel? Every time I turn around, she’s calling on the phone or popping up in my path. I swear she knows half an hour before I run out of milk so she can beat me to the checkout line at the Grand Union. But this afternoon was the last straw. I can’t believe what she did.” She adjusted large silver cuff bracelets as she spoke.
“What?”
“Tell her, Rebecca. She’ll die.” This from Barbara St. John, who had taken a break from the party and joined Susan and Rebecca in the kitchen. Evidently she had heard the story before.
“Well …” Rebecca Knowlson paused, whether for dramatic effect or to make sure they weren’t overheard, Susan couldn’t tell. “Well,” she repeated, “this afternoon, about an hour before the party was to start, Kelly appeared at our front door carrying a large wooden bowl of salad.”
“Carrying what?” Susan thought she hadn’t heard correctly.
“A gigantic salad bowl, brimming with lettuce, and herbs, and flowers, and things. You know how she is—always trying to be such an original cook. That damn salad had daffodils in it!”
“Surely not,” Susan protested.
“Tell her what you did with it!” Barbara urge
d.
“I threw it at her.”
Susan gasped. “You didn’t!”
“I did.” Rebecca started to smile for the first time since beginning her story. “You should have seen her: salad dressing oozing down the lapels of that blond ranch mink ski jacket Evan bought her the last year they were married. I hope I ruined it.” She stopped and appeared to reconsider. “Of course, it didn’t do much for my front steps, either. It was too cold to pour water over them; I didn’t want to turn them into a miniskating rink. So I sent one of the boys out to sweep up as much of the muck as possible. I asked the man we hired to tend bar to do it, but he refused. Can you imagine?”
“But why did she bring the salad?” Susan asked, finally understanding what had been sticking to her shoes all evening.
“She said it was her contribution to the party.”
“Maybe she thought of it as a peace offering?” Susan suggested. “You know, maybe she was trying to make up for some of the grief she’s been causing you?”
“Susan, give me a break,” Rebecca replied. “She wanted to ruin my party—just like she’s been trying to ruin my marriage. And I’m not going to let her!” Rebecca stopped talking and looked around the kitchen. “Now what did I come in here for?” she asked, looking at the trays of canapes ready for serving on the counter before her.
“Serving tongs,” Barbara answered. “Remember? Your guests can’t pick up the Swedish meatballs.”
“Of course.” She looked at Susan curiously. “Why are you here?”
“A glass of water. I was going to take a Tylenol. I have a headache and the downstairs bathroom is occupied.”
“Oh. Well, glasses are to the right of the sink,” Rebecca said, as tongs in hand, she left the room. “Try some of Evan’s eggnog. It’ll kill the pain as well as anything.”
Susan, who had been considering the possibility that too much of that particular concoction had caused the pain, found a glass and took her pill. Then she, too, returned to the party, where she was immediately accosted by her husband.
We Wish You a Merry Murder Page 5
