by Vicki Delany
* * *
* * *
I’d bought a new dress for Christmas Eve at Alan’s place. I could wear it again; the only person who’d seen it was Alan, and he wouldn’t care if I wore it twice in one week. But it wasn’t quite as fancy as I wanted for New Year’s Eve. If I wore the same outfit I’d worn to Christmas dinner, my mother most definitely would care. Anyway, that had been pants with a leather jacket. Not suitable for something as swanky as I expected tonight to be.
I rummaged through my closet, pulling everything out and tossing it onto the bed. Mattie watched me warily, no doubt wondering if we were moving. When I’d left Manhattan, in a fit of pique I’d donated most of my “city” clothes to a charity shop, vowing to return to a life of simple pleasures.
New Year’s Eve at the Yuletide Inn was not going to be simple. My mom and Grace would not be simply dressed. If Mom had her way, Dad would be in a tuxedo. Alan was pulling his wedding/funeral suit out of mothballs.
Finally, way in the back of the closet, I found a black satin dress. Knee length, with a close-fitting top and a wide, flaring skirt, three-quarter sleeves, and a boat neck. This just might do, if I accessorized it right.
I found a thin red belt to go with it and dove into my jewelry box in search of my maternal grandmother’s ruby earrings. My mother had a lot of really good jewelry, collected in her travels to opera houses around the world, and Nana had left her most valuable possession to me, the eldest daughter of her only daughter. The rubies were mounted in gold, so I tied a plain gold chain around my neck to go with the earrings. I debated adding a bracelet but decided to let the earrings speak for themselves.
We were due at the inn at eight for second seating, after the families with children or those not wanting to be out past midnight.
Decision made, I put everything except the black dress and red belt back in the closet and tidied the bedroom. I then had my shower, washed my hair, and tried to do something with it. I put on the dress, the belt, and the jewelry and studied myself in the mirror.
I’d do. I turned to ask Mattie his opinion, but he’d wandered away.
If I’d planned ahead, I would have bought a pair of sexy red shoes to match the belt and the earrings. But I hadn’t planned ahead, and so I slipped my feet into black pumps with three-inch heels. I never wear heels anymore, and I paced up and down, practicing and trying not to wobble.
I remembered how much I hate heels.
Oh well. I wouldn’t be doing much walking tonight. I’d probably be dancing, but I could do that in my bare feet if necessary.
I slipped my phone into a black clutch and was ready to go when Alan texted to say he was on his way. The temperature had hovered just above freezing all day, melting the snow on the lawns and the ice at the edge of the lake, but it was scheduled to plummet tonight, so I’d need a coat. I no longer owned a fashionable evening coat, but my regular one would do between the car and the coat check.
The doorbell rang and I ran downstairs to let Alan and Ranger in. Ranger galloped up the stairs, and he and Mattie greeted each other with boundless enthusiasm. Alan gave me a kiss and followed me to the apartment. He dropped his overnight bag on the couch and took Ranger’s dishes into the kitchen. By the time that was done, Mattie had run out of enthusiasm and found a spot to relax in, while Ranger ran in ever-decreasing circles, searching for a ball for someone to throw for him.
“You look nice,” Alan said.
“So do you,” I replied. He did look nice. He looked so nice—closely shaven; blond hair freshly washed and curling slightly around his ears; dressed in a starched white shirt, a good gray suit with a thin blue stripe, and a navy blue tie that matched the color of his lovely eyes—that I almost suggested we could be late for the party.
Those lovely blue eyes sparkled, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Instead, he coughed and said, “We don’t want to be late.”
“Definitely don’t want that,” I said.
“You two behave yourselves,” Alan said to the dogs.
Ranger barked. Mattie yawned.
“Happy New Year,” I called to them as we headed out the door.
“Are you okay in those shoes?” Alan asked.
“The sidewalks will be shoveled. I don’t plan on going for a walk in the garden.”
“I thought a walk might be nice,” he said. “If the party gets too dull.”
“Give me a minute.” I ran back inside and soon returned with my heavy winter boots. I threw them into the backseat of the car and hesitated before getting in. “I should do the right thing and wish Mrs. D’Angelo a happy New Year. She’s probably going to be sitting all alone in front of the TV with her dinner on a tray on her lap. She went to her niece’s for Christmas but didn’t say anything about going out tonight.”
“If we must,” Alan said.
“We must. We have a good excuse not to linger.”
We climbed the steps to the front door. I was surprised my landlady didn’t leap out to greet us. My hand hesitated as I considered tiptoeing back down the steps and creeping away into the night, but I pressed firmly on the bell.
The door flew open, and I was almost blinded by the bling.
I gaped. Beside me, Alan struggled for breath.
Mrs. D’Angelo stood in front of us, resplendent in a floor-length, bright pink evening gown with spaghetti straps and a small train, a red boa thrown around her bare shoulders. Her hair was permed into tight curls, a rhinestone tiara fastened to those curls; earrings encrusted with cubic zirconia fell to her shoulders; and a heavy multistrand necklace was wrapped around her throat. “Merry and Alan, how nice of you to call. Sorry, dears, but I don’t have time for a visit. My ride will be here any minute.”
“You look . . . amazing,” I said. “Are you going to a party?”
“George Mann invited me to accompany him to the ball at the Yuletide Inn tonight. Quite the social occasion. Everyone who’s anyone in Rudolph will be there.”
“Plus Merry and me,” Alan said. “We’ll see you there, then.”
At that moment George’s ancient Ford pickup truck wheezed into the driveway and the horn tooted. “Be right there, George,” Mrs. D’Angelo called. “Smack-dab on time,” she said to us. “I like a man who knows to be punctual. I’ve always said punctuality is a powerful indicator of a man’s character.”
As Alan and I headed for his car, I gave George a wave, and he touched his forehead in return.
“Will wonders never cease?” I said. “Mrs. D’Angelo and George Mann.”
George, who everyone in Rudolph always called Old George, still farmed the plot of land his parents and grandparents had.
He didn’t come into town often and was known for not saying much when he did. He bought what he needed and went home again. He’d utilized his World War II–era tractor to pull my float in the Santa Claus parade on the last two occasions.
And now he was courting Mrs. D’Angelo.
“Good for Old George,” Alan said with a chuckle.
* * *
* * *
The Yuletide Inn was a blaze of light in the black night. The trees lining the long driveway were strung with white lights, small lamps inside paper bags lined the walkways, and every eaves trough and every window in every building was trimmed with fairy lights. Light poured out of the wide windows of the dining room and spilled down the front steps from the lobby.
Alan let me out at the bottom of the steps and went to find parking. I took my coat to the coat check and waited for him inside the doors while enjoying myself watching guests arrive. Everyone was done up to the nines, which wasn’t something you often see in Rudolph. Alan slipped his arm through mine, his hand cold on my bare skin. “Ready to go in?” he asked.
“Now that we’re here, I’m looking forward to it.”
“I am, too.”
“Good evening,” the young woma
n at the hostess stand said to us. “May I have your name?”
“Ms. Merry Wilkinson and Mr. Alan Anderson,” Alan said very formally.
She smiled at him. “Oh yes. You’re at Grace and Jack’s table. Table one.”
“Thanks,” I said.
People were still arriving, so the room was about half-full. Each table was beautifully set with white linen cloths and napkins, sparkling glasses, polished silver flatware, and a single red rose in a thin silver vase. As well as regular wineglasses, a champagne flute graced every place.
The doors to the adjoining ballroom were open, and inside, a microphone and band instruments had been set up on the stage. Hanging on the wall behind the bandstand, huge bouquets of blue and silver balloons surrounded the numbers spelling out the New Year.
Alan and I wove our way between the tables, greeting people and dodging waiters serving predinner drinks. Jewelry sparkled, and perfume filled the air, along with a buzz of excitement.
My parents were already seated at our table. Dad leapt to his feet as we approached. He had worn a tuxedo. Although, I thought, he looked like Santa Claus all dressed up.
Mom, however, bore no resemblance whatsoever to Mrs. Claus in a long sleek silver gown, with diamond earrings and a diamond-and-emerald necklace. Real diamonds and real emeralds, presented to her years ago by a junior member of minor European royalty who was an enormous opera fan. She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. “You wore my mother’s rubies. I’m so pleased. They look lovely on you.”
“Thanks, Mom. You dress up okay yourself.”
She touched my arm and her face filled with memories. “You look very much like her sometimes, particularly when you smile.”
Dad introduced us to the two other couples at the table, friends of Grace and Jack’s from out of town. The women smiled politely and the men shook our hands.
Greetings over, I looked around the room to see who else was here. A table for ten in the center of the room caught my attention. “I don’t believe it,” I said.
“Believe it,” Mom said.
“Believe what?” Alan asked.
“The Irelands and the Vanderhavens are here.”
Luanne saw me watching and gave me a big grin and a cheerful wave. Amber was seated on one side of her. She followed the direction of Luanne’s wave, saw me, and nodded slightly. The chair on the other side of Luanne was empty. Across from her, Louis Vanderhaven cradled a large glass of amber liquid. His wife’s head was down as she read the menu. Harvey Ireland scowled, and Fran chatted to the woman next to her, whom I didn’t recognize.
Luanne started to stand. She wore dark red. The skirt came to her calves and the top was high-necked and long-sleeved. Her feet were in black ballet flats. Suitable, I thought, considering her fiancé had died so recently. Margaret Vanderhaven was in solid black and her only jewelry was small gold hoops through her ears. Fran Ireland, on the other hand, sparkled in golden brown. Amber’s straight blond hair hung in a waterfall around her face and her mouth was a slash of deep red. She wore a deeply cut layered yellow dress that stopped short of her knees and bright yellow Manolo Blahnik stilettos with crystal buckles. Both men were in dark suits.
Scott Abramsky, wearing a suit one size too big for him, slipped into the chair next to Luanne. She bent over, said something to him, left the table, and headed our way.
“Merry! I didn’t know you’d be here.” She wrapped me in a hug. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson.”
“Happy New Year!” Dad boomed.
“Good evening, Luanne,” Mom said.
A waiter—shiny black shoes, black pants, white shirt, black bow tie—arrived. “Can I get you a round of drinks?”
“I haven’t had a chance to apologize for my behavior on Christmas Day,” Luanne said to Mom. “It was inexcusable, and I’m sorry.”
“Totally forgotten, dear,” Mom said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I have to say,” I said to Luanne. “I’m surprised to see Jeff’s family here tonight. Didn’t your mom say only yesterday it had been inappropriate for you to go to a party?”
“The Vanderhavens are staying here. Louis said they had to have dinner anyway, so they might as well come. Margaret didn’t want to, but she doesn’t dare let him out of her sight when booze will be flowing so freely. Being Louis, he had to make a party out of it, no matter how tasteless that might be, so he invited a business contact of his to join them and then us. My dad didn’t want to come, either, but Mom wasn’t going to turn down an invitation to the most expensive, swankiest party in town, not when someone else is paying.” Luanne glanced around the room, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking for someone in particular. “Is Chris coming?”
“No. His play opens tonight.”
“Right. Yeah. That.”
“What’s Scott Abramsky doing at your table?”
Luanne shrugged. “He dropped around to the house to check if I was okay. Wasn’t that nice of him? He was there when Margaret called to invite us. Margaret said they had two spare seats at their table, so Mom could invite someone. She invited Scott. Looks like no one took the tenth chair. I’d better get back. Talk to you later, Merry.”
At that moment Mrs. D’Angelo walked into the room, her red boa streaming behind her, beaming on George’s arm. George’s suit looked to be about the same era as his tractor, but he’d had his hair washed and cut, and he’d shaved. His face was tinged pink with embarrassment, a perfect match to the color of Mrs. D’Angelo’s dress. She looked around the room, spotted their table, and dragged George after her. She’d done without the ever-present earbuds tonight, but I had little doubt her phone was nestled in her sparkly pink clutch purse.
I was about to take my own seat when a man walked into the dining room and headed directly for the empty chair at the Vanderhaven table. He sat next to the woman chatting with Fran, shook out his napkin, and put it on his lap.
“Dad,” I said. “Do you see . . . ?”
“Mayor Baumgartner. Of all people.”
I bent down next to my father so I could talk in a low voice. My mom threw us a questioning glance and she then turned to the woman next to her.
“Luanne said Louis Vanderhaven invited a business contact to join them tonight. You don’t suppose Randy’s still hoping that amusement park idea will go ahead?”
“He might be. He might have grabbed at the chance to take his wife out to a fancy party. I hear the highlight of the evening in Muddle Harbor is a Lawrence Welk cover band at the rec center. With a potluck dinner.”
“There’s such a thing as a Lawrence Welk cover band?”
“There’s a cover band for everything, honeybunch. Sue-Anne’s spotted him. Yup, political smile fixed firmly in place, she’s crossing the floor. He’s standing up. They’re shaking hands. They’re both smiling. She’s going back to her table. Crisis averted. Notably Jim didn’t accompany her, although he’s taken his seat at her table. I wonder if that means the business deal has collapsed entirely, or just that Jim has pulled out.”
“Look who else is heading their way,” I said. “Goodness. It looks like they’re going to be sitting together.”
Wayne Fitzroy and his wife, Norma, greeted the Morrows and took their seats at the mayoral table.
“Politics makes strange bedfellows,” Dad said. It wasn’t common knowledge, but Dad and I knew Wayne had tried not so long ago to blackmail Sue-Anne with her husband’s infidelities. My dad had intervened and Wayne’s plan had failed. Judging by the stiffness of Sue-Anne’s smile when she greeted her table companions, all was not forgotten or forgiven.
I took my seat as the waiter arrived with our drinks. Alan broke off chatting with the man next to him to toast me privately with his beer glass, and I lifted my martini to him with what I intended to be a saucy wink. My mother, who never misses anything, noticed
and smiled to herself.
“You guys look like you should be at Buckingham Palace or something,” Vicky squealed. She ran around the table, hugging Mom and Dad and Alan and me and introducing herself to the other people at our table. She was dressed in jeans and sneakers for working in the kitchen alongside Mark, but she’d matched the practical clothes with a sparkly purple top and a paper crown reading “Happy New Year.” Her pretty face glowed with excitement, and the green and red lock of hair bounced across her forehead. “I came out for a quick hi. We’re so busy back there it’s incredible. The menu’s changed slightly between this seating and the previous one, which was more for families with children, so they’re ramping up prep all over again. You are going to be so seriously impressed when you taste the food. Here’s a tip: have the tomato soup. I had a sample and it’s to die for. Over the summer, Mark made a special batch for tonight from heirloom tomatoes and herbs he grew himself and froze it.”
“I’m sorry you have to be in the kitchen, Vicky,” Mom said. “I’m sure Grace wouldn’t mind if you joined us.”
“Oh gosh,” Vicky said. “I’m having an absolute blast. We’ll be serving a buffet after midnight, but it’ll be ready ahead of time, so Mark said the kitchen and waitstaff can come out for a glass of champagne and to watch the fireworks.”
“There are going to be fireworks?” I said. “In here? Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”
“No, silly. Outside, over the duck pond. For those who want to venture into the cold, anyway. Jack will be leading the countdown in here for the old fogies. Is that you, Noel?”
The buttons on Dad’s tux threatened to pop as he puffed up his chest. “I’ll lead you young people forth across the frozen wastes.”
Vicky laughed, gave me another hug, and danced across the crowded room back to the kitchen.
I caught a wave of perfume as Grace bent over me and gave me a peck on the cheek. “So nice to see you, Merry.”
I gave her a backward, one-armed hug. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Always a pleasure,” Jack said.