Crooked as a Dog's Hind Leg

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  I tugged at Clifford's sleeve but he'd seen him, too. He gestured me forward, and together we crept closer. Only I guess we weren't creeping quietly enough, because suddenly the prowler turned right toward us.

  Clifford raised his bat threateningly, and called out, "You over there! What are you doing here?"

  The man said, "Hey now, put that down," and stepped into the light.

  I started laughing. Our prowler was wearing a red hat with white trim and had a long, white beard. That's right–– it was Santa Claus.

  It wasn't really Santa Claus, of course. After a minute more I recognized Vasti's husband. "Arthur? What on earth are you doing out here?"

  "I know I'm late," he said, coming toward us. "I got stuck in the ice. I'd have gone on home, but I saw Vasti's car in the parking lot and thought the party must still be going on. I was hoping I could get her attention from out here."

  "Why didn't you just come on inside?" Clifford wanted to know.

  "Vasti told me not to let anyone see me before we made our big entrance. I wasn't sure if she'd still want me to give out presents or not."

  We started back for the front door. "I'm afraid you're way too late to give out presents," I said, and then stopped.

  "What's the matter?" Clifford asked.

  "Presents," I said softly. "Where was her present?"

  Arthur said, "Whose present?"

  "Mrs. Hamilton's!" I said. "Come on!"

  We went as fast as we could, and I threw off my coat and dropped it on the floor in my hurry to get back to where Vasti was sleeping.

  Liz looked up as soon as I came in, but I went right past her. Let Clifford explain, I thought, as I went to shake my cousin. "Vasti! Wake up!"

  "What? What's going on?"

  "I need your Secret Santa list."

  "What for?" I saw her clipboard under her chair and grabbed it. "Is this it?" Without waiting for an answer, I started flipping through the pages. I found the list of residents, the gifts they wanted, and their Secret Santas. "Thank goodness you're organized," I said to Vasti, and looked for Mrs. Hamilton's entry. There it was, in black and white. I can't say that it was the name I expected, but it did make sense once I found it. Especially when I thought about the candy.

  By now Arthur and Clifford had caught up with me, and were greeting and being greeted by their significant others.

  "Clifford," Liz said, "are you all right? I was so worried." She looked up at him, and he took her in his arms. No mistletoe was required for the kiss that followed.

  "Arthur? Where in the Sam Hill have you been?" Vasti said. "And straighten that beard. You look silly."

  I left them to their explanations, and went to the infirmary. I took my time, because I wanted to think about just what I was going to say when I got there. I tapped lightly on the door, and Richard let me in.

  "What's up?" he asked.

  "I think I've got it," I said quietly.

  The nurse had that dazed look of someone staying awake by main force of will. "You can go grab a cup of coffee if you want," I said. She didn't ask for explanations, just nodded and went out.

  Mr. Morgan was still perched by Mrs. Hamilton's bed, watching her sleep. "How is she?" I asked.

  "'O sleep, O gentle sleep, nature's soft nurse!'" Richard said. "King Henry VI, Part II, Act III, scene 1."

  "We better wake her up," I said.

  "Wake her up?" Mr. Morgan said. "What for?"

  "She needs to know who it was that tried to kill her," I said.

  "I'm awake," a churlish voice said from the bed.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Hamilton was glaring at us all. "Good," I said, and took the nurse's chair.

  "Mrs. Hamilton," I said, "I think I know who tried to kill you, but I need to ask you something first." Her only response was a grunt, but she didn't take her eyes off of me. "My cousin found Mrs. Good's box of candy in your room. Did you take it?"

  I could tell from the way her face turned red what she was going to say before said it. "No!"

  "That's what I thought. I'm guessing that someone left that box in your room a week or so ago. Is that right?"

  She looked suspicious, but she nodded.

  "There was one piece missing from the box. Did you eat it?"

  She made a face. "Half. Tasted bad."

  "I imagine it did. It had been tampered with."

  "Poison?" she wanted to know.

  "I think so."

  She blinked several times. "Who?"

  I didn't answer her directly. Instead I looked up at Frank Morgan, who had been listening attentively. "Maybe Mr. Morgan will tell us."

  He got very still. "How would I know?"

  "Or maybe you'd rather tell us what you got Mrs. Hamilton for Christmas."

  He didn't say anything, so I went on.

  "I checked Vasti's list, and you were Mrs. Hamilton's Secret Santa. Only there wasn't any gift for her under the tree. And you weren't on the triplets' shopping list, because you told Vasti you'd get her something yourself. What did you get her?"

  "Nothing," he said. "She didn't want anything."

  "Didn't she? Is that what she said?"

  He looked down at his hands for a long moment, then shook his head and looked at Mrs. Hamilton while he answered me. "You don't know what's it like, you can't know. Sadie's an old woman, but she's always been strong and independent. She didn't like being here, but she could stand it as long as she could keep doing for herself. Then she had the stroke, and she couldn't even go to the bathroom by herself anymore. Most of her body is just dead." He looked up at me. "Do you know how you'd feel if you were in that shape?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'll tell you how you'd feel. You'd want to die, just like Sadie did. She wanted to die worse than anything. She wouldn't fill out a gift list, said she didn't care. I went to her and asked her if there wasn't something I could get for her. She looked me straight in the eye and said as clear as could be, 'I want to die.'"

  He took a deep breath. "Don't think it was easy for me to do, because it wasn't. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, but I couldn't just leave her like that. I took Mrs. Good's candy and put a sedative in it because I thought Sadie would go easy, that they'd think she went in her sleep. I didn't realize it would taste bad. I just thought it hadn't worked, and that's when I decided to steal that knife and use it. I thought that way she'd die quickly, but I guess I didn't hit the right spot."

  He looked back at Mrs. Hamilton, who was watching us carefully with her one good eye. "I sharpened it up as good as I could, and made sure to hit you on the side with no feeling so it wouldn't hurt. I didn't want it to hurt." His voice broke. "I'm sorry, Sadie, I wanted to help you and I've only made it worse."

  Mrs. Hamilton struggled for a moment, and finally said, "Jail?"

  "That's right. I'll be going to jail."

  "For me?"

  "I'm not sure I follow you."

  "Jail? For me?"

  He looked at me, and I said, "I think she's asking if you were willing to go to jail for her."

  Mrs. Hamilton nodded as hard as she could in confirmation.

  Mr. Morgan said, "I guess you could say that. To be honest, I was hoping it wouldn't come to that." To me he added, "I would have confessed if it looked like anyone else was going to get into trouble."

  I nodded, believing him.

  "For me?" Mrs. Hamilton said, and she sounded almost in awe. Her next sentence was garbled, but I think she said, "No one does things for me."

  "That's not true, Sadie," Mr. Morgan protested. "Lots of people do things for you."

  She shook her head. "You. You tried. For me. Why?"

  Mr. Morgan cocked his head. "Because I thought that's what you wanted. I care for you, Sadie, you must know that. And it's Christmas. I wanted to you to have what you wanted."

  "Did want it," Mrs. Hamilton said. "Not now. Don't want it. Live."

  Mr. Morgan took her hand in his. "Really, Sadie? I'm so glad."

  I halfw

ay expected her to jerk her hand away from him, but she didn't. Instead she fixed her eye on me and said, "Jail?"

  "He'll be going to jail all right."

  "No!" she said vehemently.

  "You don't want him to go to jail?" I asked, wanting to be sure she meant what I thought she meant.

  She shook her head vigorously. "No jail."

  Mr. Morgan looked astonished. "Sadie, are you sure?"

  "No jail." Then to me, she said, "You fix."

  "Mrs. Hamilton, I don't know what I can do. I'm not really a deputy."

  "No jail. Fix it!" Then she closed her eyes. Even in that condition, she had dismissed me as plain as day.

  Mr. Morgan looked at me. "Can you do that?"

  I thought about it a minute. "Well, since Mrs. Hamilton is still alive, I don't know that Junior can do anything without her pressing charges. I expect she'll want to have a good long talk with you, though." I hesitated. "Assuming that this is the first time you've ever tried anything like this, that is."

  "Of course it is!" he said. "What kind of person do you think I am?" He glared at me for a minute, and then relented. "I suppose you had to ask that. I swear, I never tried to kill anyone before."

  "All right," I said. Of course, I was going to warn Junior to check over the nursing home's records just to be sure that there hadn't been any suspicious deaths, but I didn't see any reason to mention that.

  I called the nurse back in and decided that she would be enough protection for Mrs. Hamilton now. Richard and I deserved the rest. Which, unfortunately, we were not going to get for a while yet.

  We had barely got back to the recreation room and found empty chairs when we saw blue lights flashing from the parking lot. Junior had finally arrived. She had thoughtfully not used the siren so the others kept on sleeping, but I knew that she was going to want me awake to catch her up.

  It didn't really take all that long to tell, once Junior quit laughing over the elf suit I had nearly forgotten I was still wearing. "I think that's about it," I said. "If I remember anything else, I'll let you know."

  Junior just kept shaking her head. "I knew you'd try, but I didn't have any idea that you'd put it together so quick."

  Quick? It felt like I had been at the nursing home for days. "What are you going to do about Mr. Morgan?"

  "Well, I'm going to have to talk to Mrs. Hamilton myself, but if she really doesn't want to press charges, I expect I'll be able to find some loophole or another."

  "Good. And now I would like to formally resign my position of acting deputy."

  "Resignation accepted, but don't expect any kind of severance pay."

  "No? Did I not do a good job?"

  "You did fine," she said, "but you're out of uniform." She started snickering again.

  "Ha ha," I said, with very little good humor. Then, to change the subject, I asked, "Did you get that baby delivered all right?"

  "The mama did all the hard work. About all I did was catch the daddy when he passed out. A healthy girl, by the way. They were all set to name it after me until they found out what my name is."

  "Junior Junior wasn't quite what they had in mind?"

  "Not hardly."

  I yawned so wide it almost hurt. "How are the roads?"

  "Getting better," she said. "You shouldn't have any trouble driving now if you take it slow, and the ice will probably all be gone by afternoon."

  "Good," I said.

  "I expect you want to get some sleep," she said. "I know I do."

  "That's part of it," I said, and indeed the first part of my plan was to take off the elf suit and climb into bed. But after I got some rest, I was going Christmas shopping.

  MARLEY’S GHOST

  This story takes place in the time gap between the second and third Laura Fleming novels: Dead Ringer and Trouble Looking for a Place to Happen.

  The Walters family of Walters Mill might be Scrooges for most of the year, but when it came to the Christmas party, they really did it up right: fancy decorations, an open bar, plenty of tasty refreshments, and a disk jockey to play dance music. Even though I was there with my cousin Thaddeous instead of my husband Richard, I would have had myself a good old time if I hadn't been so concerned with trying to figure out who murdered Fannie Topper.

  Instead of having fun, I was devoting my attention to the three men that could have killed her. I didn't really expect any of them to confess, of course. The idea was to try to figure out a motive for the killing.

  First I chatted with Joe Bowley over plates of ham and roast beef. He looked like a man who enjoyed his food, but didn't mind talking while he ate. Of course I couldn't just casually bring up the subject of a murder that happened twenty–five years ago, so I got him to discuss barbeque. I thought that it would eventually lead to Fannie Topper's barbeque place, but no such luck. I don't know if he avoided talking about Fannie on purpose or not, but he went on and on about Buck Overton's in Mt. Airy, which he hadn't even been to since before Fannie was killed.

  Next I tried dancing with Bobby Plummer, and I had to admit that he was a real good dancer. He was light on his feet and smiled gallantly when I stepped on his toes. He didn't hold me so tight the way some men try to do, which made me wonder if the rumors about him being gay were true. Maybe he was just being polite. Bobby was in much better shape than Joe, so with him, I asked about exercise. Specifically, playing baseball. I thought sure that he'd mention the championship the Walters Mill team had won all those years ago, the party afterwards, and the murder after that. Nope. He talked about NordicTrack.

  Finally I sat on the edge of the hall with Pete Fredericks. Getting him to talk about death was no problem, but it wasn't what I had in mind. It seemed that Pete was going to be leaving the mill soon to work with one of Byerly's morticians. I learned lots about what happened to people after death, but nothing about how one particular woman came to die.

  When the party ended, I didn't know a bit more than I had before I got there. And it was only two days before Christmas.

  If I had had the sense God gave a milk cow, I told myself, I would have just bought Aunt Edna a sweater or a nightgown when I drew her name that Christmas. But no, I had to get it into my head that I was going to give her something she really wanted. That meant solving a twenty–five–year–old murder and laying Marley's ghost to rest.

  * * *

  I got the idea the day after Richard and I arrived in Byerly for Christmas, and I went to pay my duty call on Aunt Edna. If it had been Aunt Nora or Aunt Daphine, or almost any other Burnette, I'd have just tapped on the front door and walked in. But this was Aunt Edna's house, so I rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer.

  She opened the door so quickly that I knew she must have heard me drive up. "Hey, Laurie Anne. Come on in. Where's Richard?"

  "He snuck off to finish his Christmas shopping." I knew that the prospect of spending time with Aunt Edna had been the real reason my husband couldn't wait to shop, and given a choice, I'd have gone with him. It's not that I didn't like Aunt Edna, exactly, but she and I had never been close. Other than being related, we didn't seem to have a whole lot in common.

  We hugged briefly in the hall, and then she took my coat to hang up.

  "You're wearing an awful light jacket for this time of year," she said. "Aren't you cold?"

  "I guess I've gotten used to the winters up North." After several years in Boston, December in North Carolina seemed almost warm in comparison.

  "Why don't you go have a seat in the living room, and I'll get us some hot chocolate."

  "That would be nice."

  It felt funny to be waiting in the living room like I was company. Any of my other aunts would have invited me into the kitchen instead of leaving me alone like that.

  The room was chilly because it wasn't used often, but there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. I never have understood the idea of keeping a room pristine for company, but obviously Aunt Edna did. Every chair was angled just so, and each sofa pillow was stiffly placed.

  The only friendly touch was the row of Christmas cards taped along the mantel, and rather than disturb those pillows, I went to look and see who had sent them. There was the funny snowman that Richard and I had sent, a sweet–faced Madonna from Aunt Ruby Lee, a cheerful Santa Claus from Aunt Nora, and a pretty snow scene from Aunt Daphine.

  There was one particularly elaborate card with a pear tree decorated with turtledoves, pipers piping, and representatives of the other days of Christmas. I looked inside and read the message: "Merry Christmas. I hope things have gone well for you." It was signed Caleb.

  Caleb? I didn't know any Caleb. Did Aunt Edna have a new beau? I didn't think it was very likely. There was a photo of Aunt Edna on top of the mantel, and I couldn't help but compare the young woman in the picture to the older woman who had met me at the door. Somehow she had changed from slender to skinny, and the fine hair that had flowed over her shoulders was now tightly pinned into a bun.

  Aunt Edna brought in two mugs of hot chocolate. "Here you go," she said.

  "Thank you."

  We sat down on the couch and sipped.

  "How have you been doing, Aunt Edna?"

  "Fair to middling. Yourself?"

  "About the same. Have you got your Christmas shopping done?"

  "Pretty much. How about you?"

  "I have a few pieces to pick up yet." As a matter of fact, I still had to find a gift for Aunt Edna. Since there were so many Burnettes, we didn't try to buy gifts for everybody. Instead we drew names, and ever since Thanksgiving I had been trying to come up with something my aunt would want. "Whenever I go into the stores, I keep finding things I want for myself instead of for the one I'm shopping for," I said subtly. "Don't you hate it when that happens?"

  "I haven't seen much that interested me this year," she said.

  So much for subtlety. I took a big swallow of hot chocolate, and wondered how long I'd have to stay before I could exit gracefully.

  "Did you put your Christmas tree in the den?" I asked, since there wasn't one visible.

  "I didn't bother with one this year. Just me by myself, it doesn't seem worth the trouble. Nora will have one for Christmas morning."

  "A tree is a lot of work," I agreed, thinking of the live tree Richard and I had put up right after Thanksgiving so we'd have time to enjoy it before coming down for Christmas. "Your cards are pretty."

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