Murder at the Mistletoe Ball

by J. D. Griffo

  “How do you know that?” Tommy asked.

  “Because he spelled Trolloppe wrong. The word that Mr. Rick James once described as not the type of girl you’d bring home to mother is spelled t-r-o-l-l-o-p,” Joyce explained. “This Trolloppe isn’t a woman, it’s the new cardiac wing at the Sussex County Medical Center in Newton, named after Alistair Trolloppe, who was a brilliant surgeon born in the area.”

  “You’re almost as bad as Sloan,” Alberta said. “The two of you are walking encyclopedias about all things Tranquility.”

  “With age can sometimes come wisdom,” Joyce said.

  “Now this text makes sense, especially if Rudy really is a pharmaceutical salesman,” Alberta said. “Maybe Natalie’s new job is at this Trolloppe wing and Rudy is trying to lead us to it.”

  “Then let’s go see this Trolloppe!” Lisa Marie cried.

  “We can’t just waltz into a place like that,” Alberta said.

  “That’s true, we can’t,” Joyce agreed. “We’ll need to make an appointment.”

  They stood in silence and listened as Joyce pulled some strings, thanks to her role as chairperson of the Mistletoe Ball Committee, board member of St. Clare’s Hospital, two-time winner of the Sussex County Amateur Artist’s Competition, and former Wall Street wizard who could talk her way into any situation to seal a deal, including a men’s-only Turkish sauna in Brooklyn back in 1995. She ended the call and told them she had an appointment with the hospital administrator at the Medical Center in an hour. She hadn’t even broken out into a sweat.

  “If Mrs. Passanante lived in Tranquility her head would explode,” Lisa Marie said. “She wouldn’t be able to keep up with the action.”

  “Why do you think I started to jog in the park with Jinx?” Alberta said. “I needed to keep up my energy.”

  “My mother jogs?” Lisa Marie asked.

  “See what you’ve missed moving down south,” Joyce said. “Now hurry up, folks, we don’t want to keep D. Edward Carmichael waiting.”

  * * *

  Fifty minutes later, the Subaru was parked at the entrance of the Sussex County Medical Center. This time when Alberta suggested Lisa Marie and Tommy wait in the car while she and Joyce met with the administrator, no one put up a fuss. The mother-daughter dynamic had taken a turn for the good.

  “Be careful,” Lisa Marie said. “I don’t trust this guy.”

  “Honey, a real detective gives their subject the benefit of the doubt before assigning guilt,” Alberta said.

  “I’m not a real detective, so I can assign all I want,” Lisa Marie replied. “Anyone whose first name is just an initial is hiding something.”

  * * *

  When Alberta and Joyce were standing outside Carmichael’s office, they discovered Lisa Marie’s intuition was right. Fortunately, he had left the door ajar, which made it easy for them to hear what he was trying to hide. His office was off the hall and while there were two chairs outside his door there was no reception area, which made it even easier for them to eavesdrop without worrying about getting caught.

  “You know how sorry I am, but this isn’t going to work out,” Carmichael said.

  “Give me another chance, please. I’ll work the overnight shift, I’ll clean bedpans, I need a job, Eddy.”

  They couldn’t see into the room, but the woman’s voice sounded young, and although it wasn’t the stereotypical New Jersey accent, it did sound gruff. She could be making a sweeping generalization, but Alberta thought the woman sounded like she came from the wrong side of the tracks, closer to where she was raised, and not from the upper echelon of society. Regardless of where she came from, Carmichael wasn’t happy that she was now in his office.

  “You should be thanking me for not calling the police!” Carmichael shouted. “After everything I tried to do to help you, all you did was act like a noctor, zeroing in on the frequent flyers.”

  “Nothing can be proven, it’s all hearsay,” the woman replied.

  “You did enough to get your nurse’s license revoked!”

  “Because of her and you know it!”

  “The only thing I know is that I want you out of here . . . now!”

  “You people seriously think you can get away with this, don’t you?” the woman asked. “I’m warning you, Eddy, don’t push me!”

  They heard the woman coming toward them and had just enough time to stand against the wall and were hidden by the door when the woman pushed it open to leave. She didn’t see Alberta and Joyce peeking out from behind the door, but they saw a woman with a mass of black, curly hair that fell past her shoulders stomp down the hallway and make a right toward the elevator bank.

  Alberta was about to tell Joyce to follow the woman when Carmichael appeared in the doorway. He only saw Joyce at first, until he moved the door to reveal Alberta standing next to her. The women couldn’t tell if he was alarmed to see them because they could scarcely see his face. He was wearing a Santa Claus outfit.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” Carmichael bellowed. “Joyce, I thought you were coming over to discuss Mistletoe Ball business, not have me interrogated by Tranquility’s own Trixie Belden.”

  “That’s a name I haven’t heard since I was in grade school,” Alberta said.

  “Alberta and I were in the middle of running errands, and with all the snow, I didn’t want her waiting for me out in the car,” Joyce fibbed.

  “Of course not,” Carmichael replied. “I wouldn’t want anyone catching their death because of me. Come in.”

  “Thank you, Edward,” Joyce said.

  Carmichael stood to the side and with an elaborate wave of his arm gestured for the ladies to enter his office. They did and he followed up with another arm gesture, waving them over to a small settee that looked incredibly uncomfortable and terribly expensive. When the ladies sat down they felt as if they were sitting on an overpriced slab of concrete.

  “Now, what exactly can I do for you?” Carmichael asked, sitting in a more comfortable-looking armchair opposite them.

  “For starters, you could explain why you’re dressed as Santa,” Alberta said.

  “Edward is already getting into character,” Joyce said. “He’ll be playing Santa at the Mistletoe Ball.”

  “I thought I’d give the outfit a test drive and visit some of the children in the pediatric ward,” he explained. “It’s hard to be a kid in a hospital any time of year, but it’s especially difficult at Christmastime.”

  “Che Dio li benedica tutti,” Alberta said, more to herself than her host.

  “That’s my hope, Mrs. Scaglione,” Carmichael said. “Every child deserves to be blessed by God.”

  “You speak Italian?” Alberta asked.

  “Working at a hospital that serves such a diverse community, I’ve picked up phrases in many languages,” he explained. “Joyce, I assume you’re here to talk about the display the hospital is sponsoring at the Winter Wonderland.”

  “Yes,” Joyce said. “Because it opens in Tranquility Park the day after the Ball, I wanted to make sure that you had all the support you needed. There won’t be any time to solve problems in between the two events.”

  “Efficient as ever, you are,” Carmichael replied. “We’d be completely on schedule if the mayor’s office would cooperate.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” Joyce asked.

  “We need a variance to allow an increase in electricity usage,” Carmichael explained. “The light display we have planned exceeds the current available rate, and I think you can agree that if we don’t go big, we might as well stay home, have some figgy pudding by the fire, and watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the fortieth time.”

  “That would be cozy, but not at all the holiday spirit the town is craving for this year,” Alberta said.

  “I’ll pay a visit to the mayor’s office first thing in the morning to clear things up and get you what you need,” Joyce said. “If the Winter Wonderland had a blackout, that would be a disaster.”

  “Thank you, Joy
ce, I can always count on you,” Carmichael said. “Maybe you should run for mayor of Tranquility!”

  “Ah Madon!” Alberta cried. “That’s a brilliant idea!”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for political office,” Joyce said. “But I’ll do what I can to make sure the Wonderland is a priority with the mayor.”

  Carmichael clasped his hands together and smiled. “All of us here at the hospital thank you.”

  “I know that you have your hands full, what with the new Trolloppe cardiac wing,” Joyce said. “That must take up so much of your time.”

  “It’s the pride of the hospital, actually both hospitals,” Carmichael said as he tugged on his Santa beard. “For so many years we were rivals with St. Clare’s, and then one day Bambi and I were talking things over and we realized we’d accomplish so much more if we worked together.”

  Alberta understood exactly what Carmichael was talking about. At first she and Jinx resisted working with Vinny and the police, until they realized they could both benefit from a partnership. Sounded like Carmichael and Bambi had the same kind of epiphany.

  “It took many years to raise the funds, but we finally did it with the help of several shall we say anonymous donors and some . . . how should I put it? Out-of-the-box thinking when it came to fundraising efforts,” Carmichael explained. “All the hard work was worth it when you consider all the lives we’ll be able to save.”

  “The real Santa Claus couldn’t have said it better himself,” Alberta said.

  “I do my best to keep things running smoothly,” Carmichael said. “Even though there are some bumps in the way and some unexpected eruptions, I always make sure we get to the finish line.”

  “Like the small kerfuffle between you and your lady friend that we overheard while we were waiting for you,” Alberta said.

  Even hidden behind his Santa hat, wig, and beard, Alberta could see that she had said something that definitely put her on Santa’s naughty list.

  “Oh that . . . that . . .” Carmichael stuttered. He suddenly took off his hat and wig and pulled at his beard, as if it was suffocating him until he was freed of it. He was much older than Alberta thought. Early seventies at least, and he had a gaunt face that was lined in wrinkles, and his hair, although cut very short, was almost as white as his fake beard. For a moment Alberta thought he might be ill, but then realized he was nervous. “It’s such a common occurrence I’d already forgotten about it.”

  He had also forgotten that he had taken off his Santa beard, because he started to pull at his chin as if it was full of whiskers.

  “I think I’ll remember it for quite a while,” Alberta said. “I thought she was going to flatten us against the wall when she stormed out of your office.”

  “It was simply the result of one employee’s greed and refusal to take responsibility for her own actions,” Carmichael said. “You must understand that ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t cut it in the hospital business. We cannot afford errors here.”

  “That’s what my grandson’s college roommate was just telling me,” Alberta said. “He’s a pharmaceutical salesman, maybe you know him? His name is Rudy Lewendorf.”

  “No, that name doesn’t ring a bell,” Carmichael replied. “And I’m quite good with names.”

  “What about Natalie Vespa?” Joyce asked.

  Carmichael got so jittery when he heard Natalie’s name, he leaned back in his chair so far that he almost toppled over. Alberta and Joyce each had to grab his hands and pull him back or else he would’ve slammed his head into the bookshelf directly behind his desk. If the mere mention of Natalie’s name could almost render a man unconscious, what damage could the real Natalie Vespa do?

  CHAPTER 10

  È meglio dare che ricevere.

  The children’s choir could have used more practice. Their rendition of “Away in a Manger” sounded as if they had snuck into Father Sal’s liquor cabinet and spiked their hot chocolate. They sounded more like lowing cattle. As sweet as baby Jesus was, not even He could lay down His head with all the racket going on. Mercifully, Father Sal put the kibosh on any attempt of an encore.

  “Thank you, children,” Father Sal said. “I’m happy to report that next week’s entertainment will be a performance of The Gift of the Magi . . . in mime.”

  Sitting in between Helen and Sloan in a pew in the middle of the church, Alberta stifled a laugh; she never knew if Sal was telling the truth or talking for effect. Whether the tales he told were based on fact or bits of fiction, they worked; St. Winifred’s was packed. Of course, the church’s population tripled around this time of year, but Sal’s services were the most popular. Luckily, he loved the attention, otherwise he would have retired a few years ago and relocated to Puerto Vallarta, which was his original plan. Tranquility wouldn’t be the same without the colorful cleric. Colorful and compassionate.

  Sal concluded the service by lighting a second purple candle and then addressing the congregation with a very personal message.

  “It’s Christmastime, the most wonderful time of the year, if we’re to believe Johnny Mathis and every storefront window in town,” Sal said. “It also means that it’s a time for us to step out of the darkness and into the light. A time for peace and renewal and miracles. Not God-size miracles, but ordinary ones, miracles that each one of us could perform.

  “Medical breakthroughs are ordinary miracles created through your donations to events like the Mistletoe Ball, whose proceeds will help fund St. Clare’s new breast cancer wing,” Sal advised. “And miracles like returning a lost lamb to its flock.

  “My dear friend’s grandson, Sergio Maldonado, has been missing for several weeks and his family wants him to come home just as God awaits the arrival of His family every Sunday,” Sal explained. “Please take a moment to pray for Sergio’s safe return and look at his photo in the back of this week’s bulletin. If by some miracle you see the boy, alert the police so they can reunite him with his family. We all know how much I love to receive a gift at any time of year, but during this holy month let’s remember what the Bible tells us, it is truly better to give than to receive.”

  Sal had no idea that his words had just given Alberta an idea that might lead them to Sergio. If that happened, it could definitely be considered a miracle.

  Another miracle was the fact that Lisa Marie and Tommy had just spent the past hour sitting in a pew. The last time they did that on a regular Sunday and not to attend a wedding or a funeral was twelve years ago, when Jinx received confirmation. Alberta hadn’t expected them to come, but they were desperate and were willing to grasp at a spiritual straw if they thought it would lead them to Sergio. To cover all her bases, Lisa Marie lit candles at every saint’s statue in St. Winifred’s. She even threw three dollars and forty-six cents’ worth of change into the Holy Well.

  After mass Sal greeted parishioners at the back of the church. He stood in between two evergreen wreaths that were wrapped in gold ribbon. He wore his Kelly green vestments again, as he would throughout the month, which meant he was perfectly coordinated with his backdrop. Anyone who knew Sal wouldn’t expect anything less.

  Helen, however, was always surprised by how much more there was to Sal.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Salvatore,” Helen said. “One minute you’re a jackass, the next you’re Jesus’s right-hand man.”

  “One’s personality, like one’s wardrobe, Helen, should be unpredictable,” Sal said.

  “She’s right, Father,” Lisa Marie said. “I’m not going to lie and say you turned me into a convert, but the sincerity of your words did make an impression.”

  “A spiritual journey is made by putting one foot in front of the other,” Father Sal said. “None of us can transform water into wine.”

  “Uncle Scotty could,” Helen said. “But he was all thumbs with fishes and loaves.”

  The lights in the church flickered, and they wondered if the rectory forgot to pay the electric bill or if God was telling Helen to stop using His nam
e in vain. Sal explained that they’d been having trouble with the lights lately and suspected it had something to do with the town grid, because Donna Russo, the principal of St. Winifred’s Academy, also mentioned having trouble with the electricity at the school, but with all the upcoming festivities they hadn’t had a chance to call in an electrician. Joyce told him he might be right because Carmichael had just told them he was concerned it was a town-wide issue. The flickering had stopped, but now a soft glow permeated the church. Gone was the bright aura; it was as if someone put the lights on a dimmer.

  “I’m not sure if it qualifies for a miracle, but you’re looking right at an electrician,” Tommy said. “Would you like me to check it out?”

  “That would be very kind if you did,” Father Sal said. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” Tommy said. “Plus, I owe you for the nice things you said about my kid.”

  “Then follow me to the basement and show me the light,” Father Sal said.

  “I’ll be right back,” Tommy said, squeezing his wife’s hand before leaving.

  Alberta was about to usher the group outside to fill them in on her plan to locate Sergio when Vinny came rushing over, with Donna and Tambra right behind him, to fill them in on their first clue.

  “I just received a text that there was activity on Sergio’s ATM card,” Vinny announced.

  “Oh my God!” Lisa Marie cried. “Where?”

  “Nearby,” Vinny replied. “In Newton.”

  “We were just there yesterday,” Alberta said.

  “According to the bank records, Sergio withdrew five hundred dollars from his savings account,” Vinny explained.

  “Was there a surveillance video?” Alberta asked.

  “Yes, it was definitely him,” Vinny replied. “And he was accompanied by a woman matching Natalie’s description.”

  “Did you see a car in the video?” Alberta asked. “This isn’t New York, people don’t walk around, everybody drives.”

  “You really do have a nose for sleuthing,” Donna said. “That publisher was wrong.”