Murder at the Mistletoe Ball

by J. D. Griffo

  “Wow, that smells delicious,” Rudy said.

  “Giada De Laurentiis might be skinnier, but she’s got nothing on Berta when it comes to cooking,” Joyce said.

  “You should invite Natalie and some friends over for a holiday party and I’ll do all the cooking,” Alberta said.

  Rudy smiled a bit too wistfully and replied, “That would be nice, but there’s no way Natalie would ever come back here.”

  “Why do you say that?” Alberta asked.

  “Nat’s one of those girls who never looks back, whether it’s an apartment, a city, a guy, once she’s done, she’s done,” Rudy said. “You should, you know, warn your grandson about that. Unless she’s done a complete one-eighty, that relationship isn’t going to last much longer.”

  “I thank you for your honesty, Rudy,” Alberta said.

  “Look, I’m not really sure what you ladies are doing here, but I can’t help you,” Rudy said. “I don’t know your grandson and I haven’t seen Natalie in a while.”

  “If you do speak with either of them or get a text or an e-mail, please get a message to Sergio and ask him to get in touch with his parents,” Joyce said.

  “Or his sister Jinx,” Alberta added.

  “I doubt that’ll happen, but if it does, I’ll pass on the message,” Rudy said.

  “I put my phone number in with the sausage and peppers too,” Alberta said. “Feel free to drop me a line if you hear from Sergio or see him with or without Natalie.”

  For the first time Rudy stopped moving. He stopped tapping his fingers on his belt, he stopped scratching his calf with the tip of his shoe, and he just stared at Alberta as if he was seeing her for the first time.

  “You’re right to be worried about your grandson,” Rudy stated.

  Alberta did not like the seriousness of Rudy’s tone; she felt herself losing control of her emotions and acting exactly the way she told Lisa Marie would be inappropriate.

  “Why would you say that?” she asked.

  “Natalie isn’t dangerous, not like J. J. can be,” Rudy said. “But she’s mixed up, you can’t trust her, and your grandson would definitely be better off without her.”

  Suddenly the man standing before Alberta and Joyce no longer looked worldly and disengaged. He had transformed into a lost young man. Alberta knew there was a lot more he could tell them, but he had said all he was going to say.

  “Now if you ladies would excuse me,” Rudy said. “I have to get back to work.”

  Before Rudy could make a move, Alberta opened the closet door to her right as if she were attempting to leave the apartment.

  “What are you doing?” Rudy asked.

  “Ah Madon!” Alberta said. “I thought this was the front door. These New York apartments are so confusing.”

  The contents of the closets of those apartments were even more confusing. Alberta was able to get a quick glimpse of what was contained in Rudy’s closet before he shut the door. She didn’t know why a young man would need a stack of boxes with stickers in the shape of flowers on them. Unless, of course, he was a florist.

  “I’m a pharmaceutical salesman,” Rudy said.

  Or a pharmaceutical salesman?

  “How interesting,” Alberta said. “My husband used to be on a blood pressure medicine, I can’t remember which one, but it was helpful. What do you sell?”

  “Their names are really long and they’re just rolling onto the market, you wouldn’t recognize them,” Rudy said as he ushered the ladies to the real front door. “Thanks again for stopping by, and for the food. And please remember what I said about Natalie.”

  The fact that Sergio had put all his trust in a girl who couldn’t be trusted? That was something they would never forget.

  CHAPTER 9

  Il riso fa buon sangue.

  The Christmas decorations at the newspaper’s offices made it look like The Upper Sussex Herald was published out of Santa’s guest house. Wyck’s unbridled enthusiasm for the holiday would easily earn him the title of number one elf. Unfortunately, Wyck’s number one reporter wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm for her latest assignment.

  “You want me to make Bambi look like she literally stepped out of some enchanted forest?” Jinx asked.

  “She did!” Wyck cried.

  “Snow White lived in the enchanted forest, Bambi’s forest burned to the ground,” Calhoun said. “If it possessed any magical powers, a strong wind would’ve come along to take out the fire and prevent Bambi from becoming an orphan.”

  Sylvester Calhoun had been Wyck’s number one reporter until Jinx started to prove herself capable of writing more than fluff pieces and features about local garden competitions. Now that Jinx was getting the plum jobs, Calhoun had become more of a rival than a colleague. They usually butted heads and disagreed on how to approach an article, but in this instance their opinion was shared.

  “Bambi isn’t perfect,” Jinx said. “And neither is St. Clare’s.”

  “Right on both counts, Jinxie,” Wyck said.

  “Then why are you telling me to write a puff piece about Bambi DeBenedetto?” she asked.

  “Because Bambi DeBenedetto wrote a huge check to the paper in exchange for publicity, that’s why!” Wyck cried.

  “That’s unethical,” Jinx said.

  “We’ll label it a supplement and make it look like an advertorial,” Wyck said. “This is a business, and we could use the influx of cash.”

  “If you’d been a reporter for more than half a minute, Jinx, you’d know this is how things get done,” Calhoun said.

  “Just because this is how things get done doesn’t mean it’s right,” Jinx said.

  “Then maybe I should tell Bambi that Freddy isn’t worthy of receiving this year’s award,” Wyck announced.

  “What are you talking about?” Jinx asked. “What award?”

  “The Small Business Owner of the Year award,” Wyck replied. “Freddy’s on the short list of nominations.”

  “He is?” Jinx squealed.

  “Yes, but it’s a secret,” Wyck said. “I told Bambi that nothing would make me happier than if Freddy won and Bambi said that she knows just how to keep a man happy.”

  “Oh my God Wyck, Freddy would flip if he won that award!” Jinx cried.

  “I know that! Why do you think I made a not-so-subtle suggestion?” Wyck asked. “So stop talking about unethical journalistic practices and just follow the Gram rule.”

  “What’s the Gram rule?” Calhoun asked.

  “If you’d be a reporter for more than half a minute instead of a guy hungry for a byline, you’d know what Wyck was talking about,” Jinx said. “It’s how my grandmother cooks. She follows the recipe ninety percent to the letter but sprinkles in ten percent of her own personal touch.”

  “Jinx will keep her articles ninety percent fluff, but if she finds anything that makes her investigative nose tingle, she’ll throw it in and we’ll see if we can keep it,” Wyck explained.

  “If not, we hold the unprinted ten percent for a separate article,” Jinx said. “Capisce?”

  “Of course Calhoun capisces. He might not be Italian, but he knows I’m the capo around here,” Wyck said. “Bambi has given us full access to the hospital’s archives so we can do stories on the founders and interview all the prominent doctors.”

  “Does that include access to the hospital’s photo archives?” Benny asked.

  “It sure does,” Wyck said. “You can set up a time with Bambi’s office to rummage through those photos and use whatever you’d like.”

  “Benny, let’s connect once you choose your photos,” Jinx said. “We can use the ones that’ll best enhance the editorial.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Jinxie,” Benny said.

  “Don’t call her Jinxie!” Wyck cried. “I’m the only one gets to call her that.”

  “Correction, mister! The only one who gets to call Jinxie Jinxie is me.”

  The staff turned to see Helen standing in the doorway. Wyck and Jinx
were the only ones not confused as to why a short, gray-haired woman wearing a black parka, black rubber galoshes, and carrying a large black pocketbook that dangled from the crook of her elbow was admonishing them. It was an odd sight, indeed, even for hardened reporters who were trained not to be shocked by their surroundings. True to their professional heritage, they remained calm in Helen’s presence. All except Benny.

  “Helen! How wonderful to see you again!”

  Benny had to be forgiven his outburst. He had recently performed on stage with Helen in the highest-grossing production in the history of the Tranquility Players and still was having trouble coming down from his actor’s high. Seeing Helen again made him feel like he was standing in the glow of the footlights and not under the fluorescent lighting of the boardroom.

  “Benny, it’s wonderful to see you again too,” Helen said. “But I’m here to see Wyck. We had an appointment at nine a.m. sharp and it’s now three past nine.”

  “Meeting adjourned!” Wyck cried. “Remember, people, the Mistletoe Ball is right around the corner and we need to sprinkle the magic dust around to make it something this town will never forget!”

  The staff filtered out of the room, and just as Jinx was about to wish her aunt good luck and leave with the rest of her coworkers, Wyck told her to stay. He wanted Jinx to hear what he had to say. So did Helen.

  “Spill it, Wyck,” Helen said. “I’m a busy lady and I don’t have all day.”

  “That’s why you’re here!” Wyck cried. “That attitude, that knock-’em-between-the-eyes approach, you sound exactly like my big sister.”

  “You don’t have a big sister, Wyck,” Jinx corrected. “You’re an only child.”

  “I’m not talking about my real family, I’m talking about my professional family!” Wyck shouted. “Helen, I want to hire you to be The Herald’s newest advice columnist. You’ll be Tranquility’s very own Dear Abby, otherwise known as Big Sister, because you used to be a Sister and you got a big mouth.”

  “Dearie me, Wyck,” Helen scolded. “How’s a girl supposed to handle such flattery?”

  “By accepting my offer,” he replied. “You know it’s a perfect fit, Helen, what do you say? Will you make me the happiest editor alive and join our team?”

  They assumed that Wyck was going to make Helen some kind of offer, maybe a one-off op-ed, but not such a high-profile role at the paper. Faced with such a proposal, Helen didn’t blink, her expression didn’t indicate excitement or disapproval, her body language didn’t betray her emotions. Helen didn’t have a poker face, she had a poker body.

  Finally, she walked toward the conference room table and sat down. She put her pocketbook on her lap and folded her hands, placing them on the thick leather handle. She didn’t say a word, but Jinx could tell her aunt was in complete control. If Wyck wanted to continue the conversation, Helen was silently forcing him to make the next move. Jinx was not at all surprised when Wyck sprang into action.

  He ran around the other side of the table so he could sit across from Helen and face her directly. Jinx plopped into a seat next to Helen just as Wyck began the second phase of his pitch, sounding more like a junior reporter than an experienced editor.

  “The Herald hasn’t had an advice column for years,” Wyck began. “It’s high time the tradition is resurrected, and who better to lead the resurrection than a former nun?”

  Jinx had learned firsthand that Helen didn’t approve of using religion as a punch line. She may have left the convent, but she had not abandoned her faith. Jinx waited for her aunt to chastise Wyck for his unholy remark. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “One more religious pun and I’m out of here,” Helen announced.

  Wyck understood. “I apologize,” he said. True to his word, he finished the rest of his pitch without one jab at the church’s expense.

  He explained that the advice column had a storied history at the paper dating back to the very first issue. The Dear Tranquility column was an immediate hit with readers, anonymously doling out candid but sincere advice to the not-so-tranquil searching for answers to problems they were too ashamed or too scared to share with family and friends. The column ran for decades until the family-run paper was sold to a corporation that underestimated the small-town appeal and thought it could turn The Herald into a weekly rag with a more sophisticated, big-city presence. It failed miserably. When the current owners bought the paper they returned it to its community-driven roots, but as of yet the advice column had not made its way back into print. Wyck wanted to change that.

  “All kidding aside, Helen, you are a beacon of honesty, a respected member of this community, and a gal with a lot of wit,” Wyck said. “I’d be honored to publish your words and our readers will be better off when they read them.”

  Jinx watched her aunt’s face soften and she knew that she was touched by Wyck’s words. She also knew that Helen wasn’t about to share her feelings with a potential new employer.

  “Il riso fa buon sangue,” Helen said.

  “Is that a yes?” Wyck inquired.

  “I think so,” Jinx replied. “It means ‘laughter is the best medicine,’ doesn’t it?”

  “Keep it up, Jinxie, and you’ll be a native speaker in no time,” Helen said. “We have to come to terms on my salary and I’m going to want carte blanche, editorially speaking.”

  “As long as you don’t make our lawyers jittery about a lawsuit, you can have free reign,” Wyck said. “It’s only your opinion after all.”

  “I also demand anonymity and I don’t want the public finding out I’m the new advice columnist in town,” Helen said. “I cherish my privacy.”

  “It’ll be our little secret,” Wyck said.

  “Then you, Mr. Editor in Chief,” Helen replied, “have got yourself a Big Sister.”

  * * *

  On the other side of town at Alberta’s house, Helen’s little sister had some advice of her own to share.

  “This morning was a complete waste of time, Ma!” Lisa Marie shouted. “We didn’t learn a thing.”

  “That’s not true, honey, we learned quite a bit,” Joyce said.

  “Like what?” Lisa Marie challenged.

  “To begin with, we learned that Rudy and Natalie share a romantic past, but he’s now dating some girl named J. J.,” Alberta said. “We also learned Rudy and Natalie are in business together, though we aren’t sure exactly what that business is and, sadly, we learned that your instincts about Natalie were right on target: The girl is trouble and will probably wind up breaking Sergio’s heart.”

  “I counted four new things they learned,” Tommy said. “What about you, Lees?”

  “We’re still no closer to finding him than we were a month ago,” she replied.

  Lisa Marie sat with her arms resting on the kitchen table and shook her head, just barely. She had lost her fight and her anger and was left with her sorrow. The tears she’d been holding back since she returned to Alberta’s life finally fell in long, uninterrupted streams down her cheeks. Her grief was almost unbearable to watch, but her words were even harder to hear.

  “I give up,” she said. “My son obviously doesn’t want to be part of our family anymore and there’s nothing I can do about it. Talk about karma.” She started to laugh and looked up at the ceiling. “You can knock it off, God, you win, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Alberta couldn’t take any more of her daughter’s self-pity. She understood it, she had lived it, but it was not going to help them find her grandson.

  “You listen to me,” Alberta said. “You do not give up hope, do you hear me? If you do that, you’ll have no chance of finding Sergio. Never once did I give up hope that I’d see you again and look at us now.”

  Alberta felt the emotions race from the pit of her stomach into her throat, but she had to quell them for now; she had a job to do. She sat next to Lisa Marie and, without worrying about the consequences, she held her daughter’s tearstained face in her hands. To her immense relief, L
isa Marie didn’t pull away. She needed her mother’s love as much as Alberta needed to give it to her.

  “But if you find that you’re starting to lose hope, you look to me,” Alberta commanded. “We have had our differences, we have had our fights, but you are my life, and every ounce of my strength and my love and my hope is yours. Do you understand that?”

  Lisa Marie remained silent. Alberta couldn’t tell if she was overcome with emotion or if all the emotions she once had for her mother—the good and the bad—had disappeared as she once had. Alberta wasn’t reluctant to push the moment, but she had to know. She had to know if she had any chance of reconciling with her daughter or if, despite her return, she was lost to her forever.

  “Do you understand that?” Alberta repeated.

  Lisa Marie’s response was barely a whisper, “Yes, Ma, I do.”

  It was all Alberta needed to hear. It was enough of an invitation for Alberta to embrace her daughter with the certainty that Lisa Marie wouldn’t struggle to escape. So that was what she did. The only one who was surprised that Lisa Marie didn’t resist such intimate contact was Lisa Marie herself. She not only accepted her mother’s hug but wrapped her arms around Alberta so tightly neither one of them let go until they heard Alberta’s cell phone ping three times in a row.

  “Sounds like someone’s eager to get in touch with you,” Tommy said.

  “Betcha it’s that boyfriend of yours,” Lisa Marie said. She got up to rip off a paper towel from the roll next to the sink to wipe her face. “He’s crazy about you, he is.”

  Alberta looked at her phone and couldn’t be happier that Lisa Marie was wrong. “It isn’t Sloan. It’s Rudy.”

  “Rudy!” the three other people in the room screamed.

  “It’s from an unidentified number,” Alberta said. “Who else could it be?”

  “What does he say?” Joyce asked.

  “I’m not really sure,” Alberta replied. “Trolloppe, Be, and Careful.”

  “You are many things, Ma, but trollop isn’t one of them!” Lisa Marie cried.

  Joyce took the phone from Alberta’s hands so she could read the texts. “Rudy isn’t calling Berta a Jezebel, he’s giving her a clue.”