by Leigh Perry
Plus I still had classes to teach and final papers to grade. Except Reggie Gleason’s, of course. Knowing him, it would come in the very last minute of the last day of the two-week extension, but I was inclined to be generous. Somewhere in there, the strike was called off. No decisions had been made, but both sides had agreed to return to the bargaining table after the first of the year so they could work out their differences. I think the riot that almost happened had frightened everybody.
Almost before I knew it, it was Christmas Eve, and the house was filled with Thackerys and what Mom kept telling Phil was far too much food. Since my parents so often had grad students lurking about, we had a longstanding rule that Christmas Eve and Christmas morning were for family only. Any guests had to wait until Christmas dinner.
Another tradition was for Deborah to stay overnight on Christmas Eve. Back when Madison was younger, it was to make sure she could be there when Madison came running down the stairs to see what Santa had brought, but even now that Madison was usually the last one to wake up, it had stayed part of our holiday.
Since Louis and Oscar both had family in town, neither of them would be able to join us for Christmas dinner, so Deborah had a private gift exchange with them. I wasn’t sure if she saw them separately or together, but I do know that they both did great jobs with their gifts. When she arrived on Christmas Eve, she was wearing a locket with a lock and key motif that Louis had given her, and she was so excited about Oscar’s present that she didn’t even wait to take off her coat to show it to us. He’d found a vintage story lock decorated with a lion’s face and elaborate scroll work. “Now that is some serious craftsmanship,” she said admiringly.
I did not let on that I had helped, nor did I feel guilty about giving him a leg up over Louis. After all, Louis got a murderer.
We had our traditional spaghetti dinner, followed by Christmas cookies, followed by the traditional argument over which Christmas movies we’d watch. As always, we ended the night with a viewing of Emmet Otter’s Jug-band Christmas.
Sid was waiting for us on the couch when we came downstairs on Christmas morning, and he had even let Byron sit next to him. With the blinking colored lights from the Christmas tree, it would have made a perfect Christmas card picture for people who don’t mind skeletons at Christmas.
Stockings were opened to reveal the usual crop of joke gifts and paperback books, and then presents were exchanged. If anybody wasn’t happy with their gifts, they faked their appreciation extremely well. Madison was so happy with her Switch and games that she immediately texted her friends about them, which was a sure sign of gift-buying success.
Phil made omelets for breakfast, and in between eating, continuing to admire our gifts, and straightening up the house post gift-unwrapping, the day went by quickly. Our dinner guests were due at four, and we got Sid hidden by a quarter till, just to be sure.
“I still feel bad about you not being able to sit down with us for Christmas dinner,” I told him.
“It’s fine. I’ll still be here watching. One thing, though. I was thinking of skipping the armoire and using the sugar skull bag instead. That way I can be on top of the armoire while you guys are in the living room and you can come up with some excuse to put me where I can listen in at dinner, too.”
“Sure, if you’d rather.” The bag wasn’t as secure as the armoire, which he could lock from the inside, but I didn’t think any of our guests were likely to reach into my bag. Anybody that did deserved to be bitten by a rogue skull.
Sid ran upstairs for the bag, then placed his usual subset of skull, hand, and phone inside. Afterward his headless skeleton put the bag in place, adjusting it a time or two, and clattered back to the attic. It’s a testament to the oddity of my family that nobody stopped to watch. We just continued setting the table and getting dinner ready.
Charles was the first to arrive, looking both festive and dapper in a tweed suit paired with a red-and-white striped vest and a sprig of holly on his vest pocket. He kissed cheeks and shook hands, as appropriate, and gave a bottle of wine to my father, flowers to my mother, and boxes of chocolate to Madison, Deborah, and me. Byron just got a pat on the head, but he seemed satisfied with that.
About the time Charles finished greeting everyone, my phone buzzed and I took a look at the text on the screen. “Brownie and his folks are running late. They had to pick up our other guest.”
“Who else is coming?” Deborah asked.
“I don’t know.” I was about to ask my parents who else they’d invited when my phone buzzed again with a text from Sid. I read it twice before saying, “That’s right, I did ask if they wanted to bring somebody else from the carnival. I’m sorry I forgot to check with you guys.”
“The more the merrier,” Mom said. “I’ll just set another place at the table.”
Phil said, “You see, Dab, it’s a good thing I bought the larger ham. We wouldn’t want to run short.”
Mom nodded, but I knew what she was thinking. He’d cooked so much food that we wouldn’t run short if there was a blizzard and we were all trapped in the house until New Year’s.
I stepped into the hall and texted Sid.
georgia: Who did I invite to dinner?
sid: Sue Weedon.
georgia: Why did I do that?
sid: Because it’s Christmas. You should be the one to greet them at the door.
georgia: Why?
sid: Make sure everybody else is in the living room when she and the Fentons arrive.
georgia: Why?
sid: Be sure to introduce everybody.
georgia: WHY?
sid: Trust me.
He didn’t reply when I texted him for more of an explanation, but since he’d volunteered to forgo Christmas dinner, I figured the least I could do was humor him. Without letting Charles hear, I told my family how Sid wanted us staged. Deborah rolled her eyes, but she went along with it.
We got everybody in place just before the doorbell rang. Deborah was on the couch, Mom and Phil were sharing the love seat, Madison was on the floor with Byron, and Charles was in the armchair. And of course, Sid was watching it all from the sugar skull bag.
I opened the door. “Merry Christmas!”
Brownie gave me a kiss, Dana unbent enough for a hug, and Treasure Hunt, grinning widely, grabbed me in a bear hug. Then Sue came in. I knew it had to be her, but I’m glad Sid had warned me because I’m not sure I’d have recognized her otherwise. She looked like a completely different person from the overall-clad show painter. Her hair had been colored and styled, and she was wearing both makeup and jewelry, but no glasses. When I took her coat, I saw she had on a dark red velvet dress.
“Thank you so much for inviting me,” she said.
“My pleasure,” I said. At least, it was Sid’s pleasure.
Once I had the newcomers’ coats hung in the hall closet, I led them into the living room. “Folks, I think everybody knows Brownie, and his parents Mr. Mannix and Ms. Fenton.”
“Treasure Hunt and Dana are good enough for us,” Treasure Hunt said.
“And this is Sue Weedon. Sue, my parents Dab and Phil Thackery. My sister Deborah and my daughter Madison. And this is my friend Charles Peyton.”
Knowing Charles, I expected him to come forward for a formal handshake, and he did stand up, but then he stopped short and stared at her.
She was staring right back at him.
I don’t know how long the silent tableau lasted, but it was lengthy enough to get awkward.
Finally Sue said, “Hello, Charles.”
“Rose?”
I blinked. Rose? Rose was Annabelle Mitchell. Who was dead.
But Sue nodded. “It’s me, Charles.”
He stepped toward her like a man in a trance. “How? HOW?”
“It’s a long story, but—”
Charles interrupted her. “I don’t care.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Tell me I’m not dr
eaming.”
“If you are, then so am I.”
Treasure Hunt said, “You two know you’re standing under mistletoe, right?”
They looked up and smiled the sweetest smiles. I don’t know which one of them moved first, but I do know that their embrace lasted even longer than the staring had.
Chapter Forty-Three
It’s likely that Charles and Rose or Sue or whoever she was would have kept kissing even longer if the timer hadn’t gone off in the kitchen.
Phil cleared his throat, and when that didn’t stir them, he did so again, more loudly. They broke apart, both of them looking extremely embarrassed.
“I suppose I owe you all an explanation,” Sue said. Or maybe it was Annabelle.
“That’s entirely up to you,” Phil said, “but perhaps it can wait until I get the ham out of the oven.”
The two of them stepped to the side, and Phil and Mom headed for the kitchen. After some pointed glances and nudges, the rest of us went into the dining room, and at the last minute, I grabbed Sid’s bag. If we couldn’t eavesdrop, neither could he.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Madison asked.
“I don’t know.”
Treasure Hunt snickered. “Guess you didn’t figure everything out, did you, Sherlock?”
Dana elbowed him. “Don’t act like you figured it all out either. Now go out in the kitchen and see if Phil and Dab need help.”
“I’m going,” he said, and Dana followed.
“Did you know about this?” I asked Brownie.
“Not until this minute.” Then Dana called him to help, too.
There were so many people in the kitchen and dining room that I decided I could be more useful staying out of the way and texting Sid, who still wouldn’t reply. It wasn’t until I threatened to put his bag in my parents’ office, where he wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything, that he finally promised to explain it all later. That satisfied me enough to find him a good vantage place on the sideboard.
Within a few minutes, the dining room table was fully laden with ham, tossed salad, mashed potatoes, baked macaroni and cheese, green peas, roasted Brussels sprouts, crescent rolls, and even more food. Phil and Mom were trying to decide on the polite way to ask Charles and Sue to join us when Dana called out, “You two want to eat or not?”
I don’t know how they made it into the room, since they weren’t looking at anything other than each other, but they somehow found their chairs, and we started passing platters and bowls around until everybody’s plates were filled.
Sue waited until we were well into the meal before saying, “I really do owe you all an explanation,” she said. “Especially you, Charles. I’m just not sure where to start.”
He said, “Perhaps I can help. You all must know how Rose…Or should I say Annabelle?”
“Rose is fine,” she said.
“Rose, then. You know why and where Rose went into hiding. As it happens, I was homeless at that time and was also squatting in the Nichols house. We met and began a relationship.”
Rose took over. “I was desperate when we found out the house was going to be torn down, but then I saw that the Fentons’ carnival was in town. I knew Sue Mitchell—the real Sue—had travelled with them in the past, so I called her. She told me she’d moved to another show, but that I should go to the carnival ask Dana and Treasure Hunt for a job and to tell them that she’d vouch for me.”
“Not that I believed her,” Dana said. “I didn’t not-believe her, but I don’t let just anybody stay on my lot without a reference, and it took me a while to get Sue on the phone.”
“In the meantime, I’d returned to the house. I didn’t see T.J., but he was at the carnival, driving a shuttle bus.”
“T.J. is what Edward Humphries went by back then,” I explained.
Rose nodded. “T.J. must have spotted me at the carnival or while I was walking back. If I’d been more careful, maybe—”
“Don’t be a chump,” Treasure Hunt said. “It was just bad luck. You can’t fight bad luck. Sue would tell you the same.”
“Only my bad luck rubbed off on her. After Charles went to work the next day, I packed my things and went to the carnival. I didn’t know that after Sue talked to Dana, she caught a bus and rode all night to get to me. She arrived at the house after I left. T.J. was there, waiting for me.” She swallowed visibly, and Charles squeezed her hand. “I told you that we were as close as sisters, but not why people thought we were sisters. Even after all that time, we still looked alike, and T.J. was one of those people who barely took notice of the custodians. He must have thought she was me because he—”
Dana interrupted to say, “We all know the next part. The thing is, we didn’t find out Sue had come to Pennycross until her boss called that night wanting to know when she was coming back to his show. We went to the house, but there was nobody there but Charles, who we didn’t know. No offense, Charles, but we didn’t trust you until we met you years later.”
“No offense taken,” Charles assured her.
Dana continued. “We kept looking for Sue, and after a while, we figured she was probably dead. Only we didn’t know where the body was or who killed her. Given what Annabelle told us, we weren’t about to trust the cops, so we came up with the idea of Annabelle trading places with Sue.”
“Who came up with that idea?” Treasure Hunt asked.
“Fine, you came up with the idea. You do get a good one every ten years or so. The plan was that once the police found Sue’s body and caught the killer, Annabelle could come out of hiding and get her life back. Only they never found a body, never caught the killer, never discovered the thefts at the museum, never figured out squat. I didn’t see any reason for Annabelle to go back to her old life, not when she could stay with the carney.”
Charles looked stricken. “But you never called me?”
“How could I, Charles?” Rose said. “I’d already gotten my oldest friend killed. I wouldn’t risk your life, too.”
“You didn’t worry about risking our lives,” Treasure Hunt muttered. Dana elbowed him sharply.
Rose went on. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for putting you through this, Charles. I’m just glad I’ve had the chance to set things straight. It’s been magical seeing you again.”
“It will take time to forgive you,” Charles said, then took her hand. “Please stay in my life long enough to give me that time.”
The rest of us, even Treasure Hunt, suddenly became very interested in our food.
When the two of them remembered that they were at a table full of people, Rose said, “How did you figure it all out, Georgia?”
“Honestly, I didn’t,” I said, then left honesty behind. “I was doing a little Christmas matchmaking because I thought you and Charles might hit it off.”
“Good deduction, Sherlock,” Treasure Hunt said.
“Seriously, Dad?” Brownie said. “It took you all this time to pick a nickname for Georgia, and all you came up with was something as obvious as Sherlock?”
“I think it’s rather appropriate,” Phil said. “In A Study in Scarlet, the first appearance of Sherlock Holmes, Holmes deduces that the murderer is a cabby hiding in plain sight. Georgia caught a murderous shuttle bus driver. It’s an excellent analogy.”
“That’s right, Professor, that’s exactly why I picked it,” Treasure Hunt said with a smirk.
I doubted I’d ever know if he was serious.
For the rest of the evening we ignored secret identities and crimes of all descriptions as we enjoyed what seemed to be a dozen different desserts before moving to the living room to sing Christmas carols. Treasure Hunt had a rather nice voice. As for Brownie, I hadn’t fallen in love with him for his singing anyway.
Charles and Rose were the first to leave. When he asked her if he could escort her home, she actually blushed as she accepted. After they left, Madison said, “Not to be a troublemaker, but who is she going to
be now? Is she still Sue Weedon or is she Annabelle Mitchell again?”
Mom and Dana smiled knowingly, and Mom said, “The way those two were looking at each other, I think she’ll be Rose Peyton before too much longer.”
They turned out to be right. Charles accompanied Rose to the grand opening of the Carousel Restaurant on New Year’s Eve, and precisely at midnight, went down on one knee to propose. He offered the ring he’d bought for her a decade before and had kept all that time. I’m told that the whole restaurant cheered when she accepted.
A few minutes after Charles and Rose left, the Fentons went, too, carrying a load of leftovers my father insisted on sharing. Brownie’s goodbye kiss under the mistletoe was a chaste one because everybody was watching.
After that, I carried Sid’s skull bag upstairs to the attic and found the rest of Sid’s skeleton waiting for me in his favorite chair. He reached out for the bag with one hand, unzipped it, pulled out the skull, and popped it back in place before grabbing his other hand. Then he just looked at me. I’d expected him to look pleased with himself, even smug, but instead his connections were a little loose. I just didn’t know why he would be upset, unless he was nervous about something.
Like knowing something I didn’t.
“Hi,” he said.
I sat down on the couch. “Spill it, Sid. How did you figure it out?”
“Would you believe while Christmas shopping?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know those paintings of the Nichols house I found on Sue’s web site?”
“Right.”
“When I was in your car at Bostock that day, I was looking at the site again, wondering if I should get a print of that picture for Charles for Christmas. Only I wasn’t sure if a memento of his lost love would make him happy or sad. I’m not exactly an expert on affairs of the heart.” He slipped two finger bones inside his chest. “No heart to be an expert with.”
“Do you want me to drag out the Tin Man analogy again?”
