I admired the Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights and a diverse array of ornaments. “I love all these,” I said, pointing to a small red cable car hanging from a branch. “Is this from San Francisco?”
“Yes. We collect one from every place we travel.” Freddy pointed. “See, here’s a kiwi from our trip to New Zealand, and this is a little polar bear from Alaska.”
“When did you go to Alaska?” I asked.
“A couple of years ago.” She went on to regale us with funny stories of life on a cruise ship.
“Soup’s on,” Howard announced to the group about twenty minutes later.
I was behind Jed as we made our way into the dining room, which had been added onto the back of the house. A light outside showed snowy woods stretching into the darkness. It hadn’t snowed recently, but so far it had been cold enough for the previous snow not to melt, as happened some winters. Jed seemed unsteady on his feet as he walked, the same as he had in the store earlier.
Lovely hand-painted Nativity figures populated a crèche scenario on the sideboard. I peered to look before I took my seat and stifled a giggle when I saw a little Snoopy figure peeking out from behind a ceramic cow and a tiny Bert from Sesame Street keeping a Magi’s camel company. A plastic chicken perched in the eaves of the stable, too. Irreverence was just fine in my book. Abe saw me looking. He winked at me as he pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit.
Howard had set steaming plates at every place and fat wineglasses were all half full with a red vintage.
I lifted mine. “Here’s to the cook.”
“To the cook!” Abe echoed the sentiment.
After we all clinked around, I tucked into the meal, savoring the first bite of Howard’s wine-flavored beef stew.
“Too bad my wife can’t cook something this good,” Jed said.
My wife? Willa Mae, sitting across from me, winced. Surely Jed knew her name.
Freddy let out her tinkling laugh. “I say leave the cooking to the menfolk, don’t I, How?” Her big blue eyes sparkled at her husband.
Jed curled a corner of his upper lip, but didn’t argue with his hostess.
“I love to cook and Dad taught me well, but I sure don’t try to compete with the best chef in the county.” Abe pointed at me, then gently nudged my elbow with his.
I opened my mouth to dispute the last claim, but closed it and smiled at Abe, instead. “The Bourguignon is truly a masterpiece, Howard,” I finally said. And it was. The rich dark sauce was thick with tender pearl onions and mushrooms. Chunks of beef fell apart on the fork. The buttery parsley-flaked potatoes he’d served with the dish made a perfect accompaniment, as did the crusty bread that soaked up sauce as if that was its purpose in life.
Willa Mae had barely said a word in the hour since we’d arrived. Not while we enjoyed our drinks. Not here at the table, either.
“What do you do for work, Willa Mae?” I asked.
She sat up straighter. “I’m a plant toxicologist. I work at a lab in Bloomington.” She looked about fifty, with neat light hair framing a round face, her pale green sweater exactly matching her eyes.
“That sounds really interesting,” Abe said. “Like botanical poisons, that kind of thing?”
“Pretty much.” She smiled at him.
“I always worry she’s going to put something in my scrambled eggs.” Jed’s laugh was harsh and he rolled his eyes at Howard in an only men understand kind of look.
Willa Mae gave him a tight smile and sipped her wine. She addressed me again. “I really love puzzles, and my work is sometimes like solving a hard puzzle.”
“I love puzzles, too, particularly crosswords.” I smiled at her. “We should talk more about that sometime.”
Howard stood and walked around the table refilling glasses. When he sat, he lifted his own. “Here’s to a peaceful holiday season, both right here and around the world.”
“A merry Christmas and a happy Hanukkah to all,” Freddy added.
Jed’s nostrils flared. “Hanukkah ended a week ago.”
“Thank you, Freddy. It’s the sentiment, Jedediah,” Willa Mae admonished.
When he turned his glare on her, she shrank into herself.
Howard cleared his throat. “Freddy’s playing in the Messiah tomorrow night, did you know?” He beamed at his wife.
“At Indiana University?” I asked. Petite Freddy was a concert cellist. She’d played with the Indianapolis Symphony and was a regular at classical performances in neighboring Bloomington, at the flagship Indiana University campus. I’d seen her walk with her cello in a rolling case and it always looked nearly as tall as she was.
“No, this is the Brown County Symphony Orchestra.” She laughed again. “It’s an elite group, if you want to call a bunch of amateurs elite. Well, amateurs except for me. We just formed this fall. The county has a number of talented musicians who wanted to up their game. Since I have experience, I agreed to shepherd them along. I wouldn’t expect the Met, but we have fun and put on a pretty good show. We’re playing at the new Maple Leaf Performing Arts Center.”
“The Messiah is an ambitious project to start with, isn’t it, Mom?” Abe asked.
“Yes, of course. But why not aim high?” She swooped her fork up to point at the ceiling, showering her hand with parsley.
“I play the oboe,” Jed said. “Maybe I should join your little group.”
Freddy blinked, her always-congenial expression slipping for a moment. “Let me consult the others. I’m, ah, not certain we need an oboe at present. And we do have an audition requirement.” Her smile returned.
Or maybe she simply didn’t want Jed in the group?
“I’m not sure I have time, anyway.” Jed lifted his chin.
“Howard, this morning you said you and Jed were former associates,” I said. “Do you teach music at the high school, Jed?”
Once again, Jed’s expression turned to disdain. He was about to speak, but Howard beat him to it.
“No, we were partners in an investment property.”
I caught the hint of an eye roll from Freddy.
“I wouldn’t dream of being a teacher.” Jed lifted his chin. “All those recalcitrant teenagers? Please. No, I have my finger in several other more lucrative pies.”
“Except ours. It ended up not being a great investment.” Howard lifted a shoulder. “You win some, you lose some.”
I sneaked a glance at Abe as he rubbed his knee against mine under the table. Something was up about that investment, and I planned to ask Abe about it on the way home.
Chapter Four
We sat around the table enjoying hot chocolate and a platter of crisp sweet Christmas cookies. Some were cut into stars, trees, and bells, with red and green sugars glistening and crunchy. A dozen were chocolate rounds, with white granulated sugar, while others were nutty shortbread squares dusted with powdered sugar. Abe and I had cleared the table and scraped the plates. We’d rejoined the others while Howard prepared some of my hot chocolate for everyone. He’d whipped cream and added a dollop to the top of each small cup.
“I have a choice of Armagnac, Frangelico, or Kahlúa.” Howard set out the three bottles, one shaped vaguely like a monk with a piece of actual rope tied around the bottle’s waist. He brought a tray of tiny glasses, too. “You can have it in your hot chocolate or next to it.”
“Frangelico is hazelnut, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I love Kahlúa,” Willa Mae said. “I’ll take some of that, but no thank you to the hot chocolate.”
She’d barely touched her wine during dinner, but maybe she preferred alcohol on the sweet side. Come to think of it, she’d had sherry as her before-dinner drink.
I looked at Abe. “You’re driving home?”
When he nodded, I said to his father, “Frangelico, please. I love hazelnuts.” Plus, it was Italian, and I was all for indulging in food and drink from my father’s birthplace.
“I’d take whiskey if you have s
ome, O’Neill,” Jed said.
Howard got up to fetch a bottle of Scotch. He poured from the friar’s head for me, and I thanked him. He handed a glass of Armagnac to Freddy without asking her, poured the Greenbergs’ drinks, and looked at Abe.
“As the lady said, I’m driving. I’ll stick with virgin hot chocolate.”
“These are so light, Freddy,” I said, nibbling my second cookie, this one shaped like a bell.
“Thanks,” Abe’s mom said. “I use my mother’s sugar cookie recipe. I’ve been making them my whole life.” She looked at Willa Mae. “The chocolate cookies are tasty, Willa Mae. Did you try one?”
Willa Mae shuddered. “Sorry. I know it’s unusual, but I don’t like chocolate at all.”
“Mom doesn’t cook dinner often, but, boy, can she bake,” Abe said. “My other grandma always made these Mexican Bridecakes.” He picked up one of the squares. “Robbie, you could offer them for a lunch dessert in the restaurant. They’re easy, because you make them by the panful. They bake in under fifteen minutes, too.”
“Good idea,” I said. And it was. Maybe Danna and I could whip up a few batches during the lull tomorrow morning. “Can I get the recipe, Freddy?”
“Of course. Just remind me before you leave.”
Howard stood. “And speaking of passing things along, I have a little something for Jed and Willa Mae.” He left the room and came back with a bundle wrapped in red ribbon. “To warm up your winter.” He handed the bundle to Jed.
Jed held it up. “Well, that’s good of you, O’Neill. Thanks.”
“What is it?” Willa Mae craned her neck to see.
“It’s the hot chocolate mix Robbie has been serving in her store.” Howard pointed at me. “Quite tasty, too, as we’ve just experienced. It was brilliant to think of selling it, too. I’m sorry I didn’t know about your aversion to the stuff, Willa Mae, or I would have found something else.” He looked sheepish.
“No worries. It’s a lovely gesture, Howard,” Willa Mae said. “We thank you, and Jed will enjoy it, I’m sure.”
“I decided to sell it because everybody’s always looking for small gift items at this time of year,” I said.
“Is it a special mix, Robbie?” Willa Mae asked.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a Mexican mix, or my approximation of it. The real stuff involves grating a thick bar of chocolate, adding cinnamon and a touch of cayenne, and beating the mix with a special kind of wooden whisk. It’s fabulous, but not very practical.”
“I didn’t even know you brought those packets home, How,” Freddy said.
“I figured the packets were good stocking stuffers and such.” Howard turned to Jed. “Have you been watching any holiday movies?” He glanced at me. “Jed’s a big classic-movie buff.”
Jed’s face lit up. “Despite my religion of origin, I’m a huge fan of Christmas movies. I think this year’s viewing of Miracle on 34th Street puts me over fifty times. And White Christmas? I can’t get enough of it. Boy, did they know how to make films back then.”
For the first time, Willa Mae had a fond look for her husband. “He studied film in college, you know. There isn’t a movie made he isn’t informed about.”
“I’m partial to the Muppet Family Christmas, myself,” Howard offered. “And Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol is a real classic in my book.”
“I’m not as big into the cartoon movies, but I’ll grant those are becoming classics.” Jed gave a grudging nod. “Including A Charlie Brown Christmas, of course.”
“What about How the Grinch Stole Christmas?” I asked. As I said the last few words, the doorbell rang.
Howard stood. “I’ll get it.” He headed toward the front door.
Yipping and the sound of toenails on the hardwood floor greeted us a moment later. “Look who’s here.” Howard held a leash connected to an energetic little bundle of dark brown fur wagging its tail and weaving in three directions almost simultaneously.
Karinde followed them in, carrying a cloth bag that looked heavy.
“Aw, come here, cutie.” Freddy held out her arms and boosted the puppy into her lap. Its floppy ears hung flat and the downward slope of its big eyes made the puppy look sad, or at least confused.
“Karinde, this is our son Abe, and our friends Jed and Willa Mae Greenberg,” Howard said. “I think you know Robbie already. Everybody, Karinde Nilsson, dog rescuer extraordinaire.”
Abe stood and shook her hand. “Thanks for doing such good work.”
Karinde nodded, but didn’t smile. Her gaze lingered briefly on Jed and landed on Willa Mae with what I could swear was a look of pity. If Karinde knew and disliked Jed, no wonder she would feel bad for his wife.
“Can you join us for some dessert, Karinde?” Freddy asked.
“Thanks, but no. I have to get going. The bag has the food the puppy is used to. He’s pretty well trained, but you’ll want to take him out frequently at the beginning. You’ve already signed the paperwork, and, Howard, you said you’d gotten a crate, right?”
“Yes.” Howard nodded.
“Good. He’s been crate-trained, and they don’t like soiling where they sleep, so he might even make it through the night, but I wouldn’t count on it for the first few days. There’s also a blankie in the bag, for lack of a better term. He’s used to sleeping with it and it’ll be something familiar for him.”
“The blankie will be important,” Willa Mae said. “I fostered puppies before I was married.”
“Then you know.” Karinde knelt and petted the dog’s head. “I’ve been calling him Cocoa, but you can change his name if you want. Just be consistent. He needs a lot of loving right now.” She kissed his head and stood. “We found him at a filthy puppy mill.” Her words came out through a nearly clenched jaw and her gaze bore down on Jed with a fury. He didn’t look back, instead regarding the wintry scene outside the window.
“That’s terrible.” Willa Mae shook her head.
Maybe what Danna had said about Jed was true. Karinde must be aware of it, but it seemed that Willa Mae wasn’t. Howard showed her out.
When he returned, Freddy said, “I think Cocoa is a perfect name for him, Abe. Don’t you, with that coloring?”
“Sure.” My guy smiled, his dimple creasing his cheek. “Sean is going to go nuts over him.”
Freddy unclipped the leash and set the wriggling puppy on the floor. “Go explore, cutie.”
Cocoa prowled under the table, sniffing our feet, checking for crumbs. I laughed when he nibbled gently at my ankle. He trotted up to a three-foot-tall vase that sat on the floor and headed behind it. The vase wobbled, with Howard catching it just in time.
“We’re going to have to do some dog-proofing around here,” Howard said. “It’s been a decade since we had toddler Sean in the house.”
The puppy scampered into the next room. “You’d better follow him, How,” Freddy said.
“I’ll watch the little dude,” Abe said, standing.
The next moment brought the tinkling of a bell, the sound of glass breaking, and a mini-bark. Abe and I both rushed in to see a broken ornament under the tree and Cocoa sniffing the trunk, about to raise his leg.
“Oh, no, you don’t, buddy.” Abe scooped him up.
Willa Mae and Freddy hurried in, too, followed by their husbands.
“Puppies will be puppies,” Jed said, raising an eyebrow.
“You guys remember you have Sean tomorrow,” Abe said to his parents. “The dog isn’t going to be much of a surprise on Christmas morning.”
“I know.” Freddy, who had knelt to pick up the pieces of the broken ornament, wrinkled her nose and sat back on her heels. “We wanted Karinde to deliver him on Christmas, but she said this was the only day she could bring him, and she just let us know today.”
“We haven’t had a minute to find a place to board him,” Howard added.
“Let me take him,” Willa Mae said with a sidelong glance at her husband. “I’m good with puppies, and, of course, we don’t have
a tree set up.”
“What do you think, Freddy?” Howard gazed at her.
“Sounds perfect.” Freddy gave him a thumbs-up.
But was it perfect? What if Danna had been right, that Jed had been involved in abusing animals? That—combined with Karinde’s look at him—didn’t bode well. Was Cocoa safe at the Greenbergs’ home? I supposed if Willa Mae kept a close eye on him, he would be. It was only for a couple of days. And it wasn’t my decision, anyway.
“I’ll bring him over on Christmas morning anytime you want,” Willa Mae offered. “We have nothing going on that day except the annual Jewish Christmas feast, Chinese takeout.” She finally smiled.
“Okay with you, Greenberg?” Howard asked Jed, who stood with arms folded on his chest.
“If that’s what the wife wants, it’s fine.”
Chapter Five
Danna and I were full steam ahead in the restaurant at eight-thirty the next morning, with Christmas carols playing softly in the background and frozen wind whistling through the windows. Thank goodness I’d upgraded the heating system when I’d renovated the dilapidated country store that was now my pride, joy, and income stream.
Our number three in the Pans ’N Pancakes kitchen, Turner Rao, was off with his parents and sister on a trip to visit his father’s family in India, with my blessing. The store would be open only a few more days before we closed for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I knew Danna and I could manage. I’d been able to get the Mexican Bridecakes dough mixed up before we’d opened this morning. It was chilling in the walk-in, and the cookies would be easy to press out and bake before the lunch rush. For now? It was the usual menu, our specials, and the rest. Rinse and repeat.
I’d deposited a load of dirty dishes in the sink an hour later when Lieutenant Buck Bird ambled in. After I smiled and waved, he acknowledged my greeting, but didn’t smile back. Odd. He’d become a friend over the past year. Plus, he kept my budget in the black with his hollow leg. The man was a foot taller than me and could eat like a Tour de France rider. He didn’t show an ounce of it, also like a pro bicyclist. Or like a teenage boy, except the officer was in his late forties. He hung his South Lick PD winter jacket on the coat tree near the door and pointed to his favorite two-top at the back wall. I nodded, heading his way with the pot of full-strength coffee. Something was up. It couldn’t be a disaster involving my aunt, away for the holidays, or Danna’s mom. If it was, Buck would have come straight to us. But I tasted negative news in the air.
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