by Sara Rosett
I ignored her. “Do you know what was taken?”
“I heard a laptop computer, MP3 players, and some cash,” Nadia said.
“It does sound like the others,” I said. The other robberies had all taken place during the night and small but valuable electronics and money were taken.
The doorbell rang and I hurried off to answer it. I swung the door wide and said, “Hi, Marie.”
Her head was nowhere near the door frame, but she ducked a little anyway as she stepped inside. I guess being six-foot-two probably made you overly cautious about door frames. Marie said hello softly and stopped short in the entryway, like she wasn’t sure what to do. She pushed a swath of her long orangy-red bangs out of her eyes and looked around the house. Her slightly protruding eyes seemed to widen even more. “Your house is lovely . . . so pretty . . . so clean. I don’t know if I want you coming to my house tomorrow, after all,” she said with a nervous laugh.
Despite being in her late twenties, Marie had the gangly arms and legs of a teen, which didn’t really go with her more stocky midsection. It was horrible, but every time I saw her I was reminded of the Sesame Street character, Big Bird. It had to be a combination of her height, her soft-spoken manner, and the mismatch of her stringy arms and legs combined with her thicker core. I quickly tried to banish that association from my mind. You know you’ve been watching too much children’s television when it starts to influence how you see people.
“Oh, don’t worry. This is definitely not the normal state of our house. There are usually toys and books everywhere.” I had an organizing consultation scheduled for tomorrow with Marie and I was afraid that with her timid and hesitant manner, she might cancel. “Come have some food and let me take your gift and coat.”
After a slight hesitation, she reluctantly released the red package. I wondered if she was thinking about leaving, claiming some forgotten appointment or errand, but then she smiled nervously and handed me her coat. I sent her into the kitchen and made a mental note to check on her later to make sure she was having a good time.
Everyone seemed to arrive at once and soon the sound of conversation and laughter began to drown out Mannheim Steamroller’s “Deck the Halls.” I was in the kitchen chatting laboriously with Marie—yes, she and her husband had been assigned to the squadron almost a year ago; yes, they liked it here; no, she didn’t like it that he was deployed; yes, she was looking for a job—when I heard Abby call my name, I excused myself, glad for the interruption.
I hurried through the crowded room to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
Abby was frowning. “I wanted to warn you. Gabrielle is here.”
“What? Why would she be here?”
“Jean brought her,” Abby said. My eyebrows shot up and Abby hurriedly said, “What could I do? They came in with a big group. I couldn’t let Jean in and turn her sister away, could I?”
“No, but I wish you had.” I knew I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t help it. “Abby, that woman is sabotaging my business. I haven’t even told you what Candy said about her.”
“Oh, Ellie, sugar,” a syrupy voice, dripping with long southern vowels, sounded behind me, “Your house is—um—charming. So cute and domestic. It must be just perfect for your little family. It’s so nice of you to host this party at the last minute, even though it’s quite a squeeze in here. And I love all this neutral paint. It must make decorating a breeze.”
Wow—had she just said my house was too small and that it was bland? I gritted my teeth, determined to be nice. I would take the high road.
Jean was standing slightly behind Gabrielle and I thought I was seeing double for a moment. I hadn’t realized how strong a resemblance there was between the sisters. I’d met Gabrielle at a chamber of commerce meeting, so I knew what she looked like and I’d had plenty of interactions with Jean through the squadron, but I hadn’t seen them together. Side by side, they looked not just like sisters, but more like twins. There were differences in their style of dress and—more prominently—in their attitudes, but they were both the same height and had black hair, green eyes, and heart-shaped faces with high Slavic cheekbones.
Jean stepped around Gabrielle and handed me a plate of brownies iced in swirls of chocolate frosting. “Hi, Ellie. I invited Gabrielle along tonight so she can meet more people.” Jean’s dark hair, which was threaded through with strands of gray, was pulled back into a low ponytail held in place by a rubber band. Under her quilted down coat and wool scarf of neutral brown tones, she wore jeans and a green sweatshirt embroidered with elves.
In contrast to Jean’s unfussy clothes and faint makeup, Gabrielle looked incredibly stylish, if a little overblown, in a Christmas ribbon–red wrap dress with a plunging neckline and black heels. Her makeup was thorough and flawless, her dark hair—no glint of gray anywhere—floated about her face in luxurious waves, and the scent of lilies drifted around her.
“Um, yes, I know. Here, let me put those gifts under the tree. Help yourself to some food,” I said as I escaped. Really, how could I have thought they were alike? Now that I looked at them, I kept seeing differences—Jean had plain, short-trimmed fingernails. Gabrielle’s long, acrylic nails were polished a glossy red. After introducing Gabrielle to everyone, Jean filled a plate with food and plunked down on the couch beside Nadia. Gabrielle avoided the food, except for a few carrot sticks. There was also a sensual air about Gabrielle that was completely absent from Jean. The plunging neckline of the dress, the flowery scent, and the way she held herself—one hand on her thrust-out hip—looked almost as if she were expecting a photographer to pop out and snap her picture.
Impatient with myself, I shook my head. Stop being catty, I told myself, and went to get more napkins. I couldn’t help but notice that Gabrielle was the center of attention wherever she was. She drew people to her. There was a sort of energy and sparkle about her. No wonder Rodrick had been captivated by her.
Everyone had arrived and the party was in full swing. I cruised through the house, chatting and making sure everyone had food. Abby was slowly herding everyone into the living room so the gift exchange could begin. I filled a plate for myself and hurried into the kitchen to get a mug of cider. The kitchen was empty except for Gabrielle and Marie, who were on the far side by the breakfast table. Gabrielle, who had her back toward me, pressed a business card into Marie’s hand. “You should give me a call.” Gabrielle spoke quietly, but I could still hear her. “My hours are much more flexible than Ellie’s and I’ll give you a twenty percent discount on whatever she quotes you.”
Marie shot a guilty glance at me, then said, “That’s okay—I’ve already got an appointment, with Ellie, I mean. I’ll just keep that.” Marie shifted around the back of the table and quickly escaped into the living room.
Furious, I slapped my plate and mug down on the counter and marched over to Gabrielle. “I can’t believe you did that.” I was so angry my hands were shaking and there was a tremble in my voice.
Gabrielle glanced languidly over her shoulder at me, then turned to face me with a little sigh. “Ellie, sugar,” she said in a long-suffering voice, “don’t be upset. It’s just business. A little friendly competition.”
Words burbled up inside me, but when I’m upset, I get tongue-tied and all I could do was sputter, “Friendly? That’s not friendly!”
“There are plenty of clients to go around for both of us,” she said in that infuriatingly calm tone.
“Then why are you poaching mine? You’re intentionally going after them, I know it!”
“I can’t help it if they’re not satisfied with your services, now can I?”
The muscles in my core tensed and I felt my face flush. “What you’re doing is wrong. You and I both know that.” I stepped toward her. “I’m a nice person, but I will not let you do this to me.”
Gabrielle’s gaze shifted from my face to the living room. Our house had an open floor plan and I suddenly realized everyone in the living room could see us arguing.
The only sound in the room was the faint strains of “Silent Night” playing in the background. Great. I briefly closed my eyes. Everyone had probably overheard us, too.
“Don’t worry, y’all,” Gabrielle called, addressing the room. I opened my eyes to see that she’d swept by me, picked up my mug of cider, and was strutting into the living room. “Just a professional disagreement—Ellie and I could go on all day debating decluttering strategies.”
Every head swung back toward me and I managed to force a smile to my lips. “I think it’s time to start the gift exchange.”
Abby jumped up. “Right! Okay, here’s the rules. Everyone draws a number . . .”
I tuned Abby out and busied myself cleaning up the kitchen. By the time I came back inside from emptying the trash, I felt calmer, and embarrassed, too. I couldn’t believe I’d let Gabrielle get me so riled. From now on, I would avoid her.
I slipped into the living room and watched the gift exchange until it was my turn to open a present. The game was complicated and involved options for swapping gifts and strategies to hang on to the gifts you wanted. I kept losing the gift I opened, a stationery set embossed with prints of holly and mistletoe. Most of the envelopes were missing, which was why it was a white elephant gift.
There were only a few presents left when Gabrielle opened a package that contained a flat box made of rough wood with a long opening a few inches wide near the bottom. “What is it?” she asked. “A birdhouse?”
“Sort of,” a spouse new to the squadron, Cecilia, replied. She was four months pregnant and worked out each day with the neighborhood stroller brigade, which despite having the name “Stroller Brigade,” was a neighborhood workout open to anyone who wanted to join. The stroller was optional and it was such a good cardio workout with a mix of lunges, squats, and push-ups for toning that I still joined them when I could. I had to hand it to Cecilia. There were some days when the power-walking workout left me exhausted. If I had tried to do that workout while I was pregnant, someone would have probably had to wheel me home in one of the strollers. But Cecilia always powered through the workout. She adjusted the portable—and broken—sewing machine that was on her lap. It was the gift she’d “won.” She pushed her glasses up her beaky nose and said, “It’s a bat house.”
I laughed out loud, along with everyone else, over the strange present.
“What?” Cecilia said. “Bats eat mosquitoes—they’re really good to have around.” An outdoor girl who’d grown up on a farm, she was still upset that she couldn’t ride a horse while she was pregnant.
By the time the dust had settled and the game was over, I’d lost the stationery set for good and was the owner of a three-inch-high Lucite paperweight. It was shaped like the classic round-cut diamond with a flat top and faceted sides that narrowed to a sharp point at the bottom. I recognized it. It had been a giveaway from a local insurance agent. His firm, Jim Excel Insurance Associates, was etched onto the top of the “diamond” along with a phone number. We’d had one a few years ago and, after taking it away from Livvy and Nathan several times because the point was so sharp it could cause major bodily injury, I’d tossed it in a box of charity donations. Now I had a new one.
“Oh, but that means I’m left with the bat house,” Gabrielle wailed with a pout when she realized she couldn’t swap with anyone else.
I thought the bat house was so deliciously appropriate for her. Every witch needs a few bats, right?
Nadia shook her head over the white elephant gift she’d won, a jigsaw puzzle of intricately detailed butterflies, which were repeated over and over again to make the puzzle even more difficult. There was a helpful note jotted on the box that stated several pieces were missing. “This one is way too hard for the girls—four hundred pieces—and it’s missing pieces. Imagine how frustrating that would be, to get to the end and not have all the pieces after all that work.”
Abby held up her prize, a wooden duck decoy, and said, “Well, at least I can decorate with this.” Trust Abby to come up with the white elephant gift that could legitimately be turned into home decor. She had great instincts when it came to arranging furniture and accents. I was sure she’d find a place for the duck on her mantel or on a bookshelf and it would look spectacular and no one would ever guess it had been a white elephant gift.
I turned to Marie, who’d won a figurine of an elf with a chipped nose. The hat was held on with a piece of tape. “Guess you can’t decorate with that.”
I expected her to laugh and agree with me, but she said earnestly, “I’ll find a place for it. I’m sure I can use it.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. How could you use an elf figurine? And a broken one, at that? Unless she planned on turning it into one of those funky found-art pieces that recycled trash into sculptures, I couldn’t think of anything.
Hannah, the low-key squadron commander’s wife, won a small painting with flaking paint and an elaborate frame. Unlike the last squadron commander’s wife, who’d become a close friend of mine, Hannah was so self-effacing and quiet that it was easy to overlook her, so I was almost surprised when she called for everyone’s attention at the end of the party. “Don’t forget the squadron Christmas party is coming up. It’ll be at the Peach Blossom Inn and we’re having a gift basket auction to raise money for a terrific local charity, Helping Hands.”
People began to drift back to the kitchen to grab another quick bite of food or refresh their drinks, but the party was waning. It wouldn’t be long before I was distributing coats and waving everyone off. I breathed an internal sigh of relief, a reaction to getting through the party with no major mishaps, except for the spat with Gabrielle, but that was nothing compared to the flaming disaster of our last party.
I relaxed into a newly vacated seat next to Jean and asked how her husband liked retirement. Simon’s last assignment had been at the squadron and he’d had a big retirement party during the summer.
“Loves it. He absolutely loves it.” She leaned toward me, confidingly. “I was so worried that he would go stir crazy with all that time on his hands, but he got involved with Helping Hands and between that and golf—he’s always busy.”
“What is he doing for Helping Hands?” I asked. I knew the local charity, located behind our church, had an annual food drive and ran a food bank all year long. They also built homes for low-income families. It was nothing like the scale of Habitat for Humanity, but I thought building even one or two houses a year was quite an accomplishment.
“He started out helping in the food pantry three days a week. It was like pulling teeth to get him to go with me the first time, but once he got involved, he loved it. He’s on the board as the financial manager now and does just about everything. And,” she leaned in a little closer, “Helping Hands just got a significant donation.” She raised her eyebrows for impact. “Significant. It’s really going to help. This year has been rough for so many people with the economy tanking the way it has. Donations have been down all year, but now it looks like we’ll be able to break ground on two new houses. Simon will probably have less free time than when he was on active duty.”
“That’s wonderful about the donation,” I said. “And you’re still doing your online resale business?” Jean combed through garage sales and other online auctions for items she could resell through her own online storefront.
“Yes.” Jean held up the white elephant gift I’d brought, a beat-up set of Hot Wheels toy cars, and said, “These will probably go fast.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I’ll put up a couple of nice photographs and price them right. They’ll probably be gone in a few hours. In fact, a lot of this stuff that people think is trash could sell,” she said.
Hannah held up the painting. “Even this?”
“Maybe,” Jean said. She didn’t sound so sure. “I could give it a try. Want me to list it?”
“Sure.”
Nadia and Cecilia handed off their gifts to Jean and I added the paperwe
ight to the collection. An hour later, I was practically shoving Abby out the door. “I should stay and help you clean up,” she said.
“You already did. All I have left to do is start the dishwasher. Now, go on, you’ve got a babysitter to pay. And don’t forget to lock the house up tonight!”
I couldn’t hear her reply, but it sounded a bit like, “Yada, yada, yada.”
By the time Mitch came home and we got the kids in bed, then did the final post-party sweep of the house and talked a bit about our days, it was nearly one in the morning. I’d just relaxed into my pillow when the phone rang.
Abby’s voice had a tremor in it as she said, “Sorry to call so late. Don’t panic. Everything’s okay, well, except that I’ve been robbed.”
Credit: Portrait Innovations
About the Author
Sara Rosett, born and raised in Amarillo, Texas, is the wife of an air force pilot. She and her husband currently live in Florida with their two children and dog. Sara is the author of seven previous Ellie Avery mysteries: Moving Is Murder; Staying Home Is a Killer; Getting Away Is Deadly; Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder; Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder; Mimosas, Mischief, and Murder; and Mistletoe, Merriment, and Murder. Her writing has also appeared in Chicken Soup for the Military Wife’s Soul. Sara is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and the Deadly Divas, who are four nice women who happen to write about murder. Please visit her website, www.sararosett.com, or connect with Sara on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.
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Copyright © 2013 by Sara Rosett
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