by Elaine Macko
“If it’s any consolation, Brussels is happy we could help with their investigation.”
I didn’t give a damn about the police goings-on three thousand miles and an ocean away. “There’s no mistake?” I asked holding onto one last bit of hope.
“None. The clerk recognized their pictures from the new Poupée marketing literature. They went there many times. He says they checked in at five-fifteen. The place isn’t exactly the Ritz Carlton.”
I exited the turnpike and drove through the quiet streets. More and more it looked like Jerry Gagliano murdered Mrs. Scott in a fit of jealous rage over Mr. Absher. She probably also figured out he had his hand in the diamond pot. John requested a search warrant for Jerry’s home.
I pulled into my garage and closed the door before I got out of the car. With Richard and Emmanuelle cleared of the murder then the killer still walked the streets. A murderer roamed the city, and for the first time I felt tense and frightened. Reasoning Jerry would be arrested shortly for the murder, I tried to relax but still walked through my house turning on all the lights.
An hour later, I still felt restless. I convinced myself if Jerry was guilty, he was probably engaged in more important things such as hiding evidence and arranging for a passport and an airline ticket to Tahiti than lingering by my mailbox, so I went to check the day’s offerings—another batch of cards mixed in with flyers announcing after-Christmas sales. I dumped everything in my recyclable bin and took the cards inside.
Still, I felt edgy. I pulled the drapes across the windows, peeking out into the black night and shuddering involuntarily. I don’t know why all of a sudden I felt scared. But this feeling seemed to come out of nowhere. I parted the curtains a crack and looked up and down my street. Somewhere out there lurked the person who had killed Mrs. Scott.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“I can’t leave you alone in the kitchen for two seconds,” I scolded my father whose fingers pilfered a chunk of sage and sausage stuffing from the bowl on the counter. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“As a matter of fact, I need to get some wood from the pile out back.”
The backyard consisted of a large lot that sloped down to a wooded area. Over the years Dad replanted trees as he cut others down, and now they too, were ready for the fireplace.
“Want to come and help?”
“Sure.”
Dad and I made our way down to the end of the hill and loaded up two wheelbarrows with neatly cut wood. Dad beat me on the return trip. I finally reached the top of the hill huffing and puffing.
“Maybe I should get you here more often. Sounds like you could use a bit of exercise.” Dad grinned at me.
I plopped down on top of the wood and sat there for a minute catching my breath. “I’ll...be...all...right. How do...you do it, Dad?”
“I’ve been hauling wood up that hill since before you were born, young lady.”
I rolled over and sat on the ground. “Listen, Dad, I invited John Van der Burg over tomorrow night. Is that okay with you?”
He sat on one of the wheelbarrows, steadying himself with one foot firmly on the ground. My dad always seemed to have one foot firmly on the ground. “He seems like a nice fellow. Certainly welcome here anytime. By the way, any news on the investigation?”
“Some. But not on the murder. That still remains unsolved.”
A car horn interrupted us.
“That must be Dorothy. She’s bringing your mother’s gift.” Dad took off his work gloves and walked around to the front of the house.
Dorothy and her husband were good friends and game partners of my parents. Dorothy had been a constant in my life. They lived a few blocks away.
“Good. I thought you weren’t going to make it before Mabel got back.” Dad took a beautifully wrapped box from Dorothy’s glove-clad hands.
“I got a bit tied up with my neighbor. She brought over her usual cookies. I don’t know what we’d do without friends who can cook,” Dorothy laughed.
Dorothy didn’t bake, as I remembered, and the cookies each year from her neighbor had become a joke in their household.
“Alex, dear, you look lovely as ever.” Dorothy planted a kiss on my cheek.
I gave her a hug and asked if she’d like something to drink.
“No. I’ve got to get back. Frank wants his lunch and I’ve got to boil the water for his cup of soup.”
We watched her pull out of the drive and went back around the house.
“What’s in the package, Dad?”
“You’ll see tomorrow. It’s for your Mom. Dorothy kept it over at her house. Your mother has turned into quite a snoop in her old age.”
We finished unloading the wood and went back inside.
“She’s just the sweetest thing. I’m so glad her family came for the holidays. Some of them don’t,” Mom said a while later as she added more cold water to the flour and lard mixture that would become the best piecrust in town.
“You’ve been working at the senior center for a long time, Mom. Doesn’t it ever get to you?” I watched my mother rolling out the pie dough and promised myself I would take care of my parents. My mother worked so hard for the elder citizens of our community it gave me pause to realize that she had reached senior status. I’m not supposed to know her age but Meme tells everyone. Besides, my mother goes to every damned high school reunion, so it’s easy to figure out. She’s sixty-one.
“Yes, I suppose it gets to me sometimes,” she said. “Mainly when I see someone being ignored by his or her children, but for the most part the center is a good place with lots of activity. Too bad your grandfather didn’t want to go there, but he likes his friends at Mills Pond. We try our best to make it a happy place and they loved the beaded jewelry I made. Those cellophane bags you saved all year worked out just right.”
“Glad to help.” I smiled at my mother’s innovative ways for using recyclables.
“Are you about done mixing that, Alex?”
I stirred the golden goo that would turn into pumpkin pie in the heat of the oven. “Let me just add a tad more cinnamon and it’ll be done.”
“I stopped by Mrs. Haddock’s house this morning. Just a lovely woman.”
“Yes, she is. She must miss Mrs. Scott terribly,” I added, once again awed and proud at how my mother immediately sensed the woman’s loneliness and took her under her wing.
“I invited her for Christmas, but you’ll never guess where she’s going.”
I gave Mom a quizzical expression. “Where? Oh! Meme’s.”
Mom laughed. “That’s right. My mother will have that sweet, refined woman out collecting her debts in no time. The two of them are probably on a bus right this minute headed for a casino.”
“I wish Meme was coming here. She could bring Mrs. Haddock.”
“They’ll be here for dessert, but you know your grandmother enjoys her pot luck with all her neighbors. Many of them are alone so they stick together.” Mom turned the piecrust around and began vigorously rolling it out on the counter. “Did you know Mrs. Scott’s house got broken into? The police asked Mrs. Haddock to go through the house but nothing seems to be missing.”
“No. I didn’t know that.”
“Somebody probably knew Mrs. Scott died and broke in.”
“But you said nothing was taken. Wouldn’t kids, or anyone else for that matter, take something? I mean, why break in for nothing?”
“Maybe they didn’t have time.” Mom shrugged, as she added nuts to the bubbling cranberry sauce.
I sat on the stool munching a piece of celery. The rest would eventually be stuffed with a cream cheese and olive mixture. “Now why would Richard or Jerry risk breaking into the house?”
“Did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself. Richard is probably in jail anyway.”
“Who’s in jail?”
“Oh, just a diamond smuggler.”
“Oh, is that all. Alex, what are you going on about?” Mom aske
d. “Alex?”
I shook myself from my thoughts. “Sorry, Mom. Just thinking. The police uncovered some kind of diamond smuggling going on at the factory. They thought the people responsible for it might have killed Mrs. Scott.”
My mother stopped stirring for a moment and looked sternly at me. “Good heavens! What does William think about all this?”
“I don’t know. Why would Jerry break into Mrs. Scott’s house? Unless he’s really obsessed and wants something of hers to remember her by like some sicko pervert.”
“Who’s Jerry? And don’t say that word. And stop eating all the celery, Alex. There won’t be any left to stuff.”
I put the piece I had just taken back on the plate. “Jerry is a man Mrs. Scott jilted. Has kind of a temper. My money’s on him.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
At ten-thirty, after first stopping off to get Meme, we all piled into Dad’s Buick and went to midnight Mass. Why they called it midnight Mass when it started at eleven I had asked my parents more than once. No one knew. I usually only went to church to drop Meme off at bingo, Christmas being the exception. Once again, we found ourselves in St. Michael’s surrounded by people who only ventured through the massive doors once a year. Sometimes Sam and her family came too, but Henry couldn’t stay awake long enough. For a kid with all his energy, once seven-thirty rolled around, he dropped into a sound asleep. Meme tried to hide behind me as we entered, but no one came and branded her a cheater or dragged her from the church. Apparently all was forgiven.
By one-thirty, my parents’ house fell silent. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling in my old room listening to the voices of past years.
The best Christmases were the ones when Meme came to visit. Dad would pick her up in New Haven and bring her to the house for a weeklong visit. She always had a story. She told us she sent away for them and received a new one each month, kind of like the book of the month club. But as I got older I learned she made them up on the spur of the moment.
My room was illuminated by the street light across the road. The small square space remained the same, though Dad painted the walls several years ago. My bookshelf still stood in the corner with several mysteries by Mary C. Jane taking up the space. Mystery by Moonlight had been my favorite. I hoped Kendall and Henry would discover these treasures.
I got out of bed and walked over to the window clad in my green plaid men’s pajamas and thought that Victoria’s Secret would have to wait until spring to get my business. I stood there in the dark and thought of Mrs. Scott lying on the hard, cold cement floor of the factory with the mannequin arm next to her. I wondered if the police had arrested Jerry yet. As much as I wanted the killer caught and behind bars, something still bothered me. I couldn’t give this persistent feeling any more credence than it being just a feeling—nothing more. I couldn’t grasp an image that occasionally slipped into my forethoughts only to quickly flee back to the safety of my subconscious. An image of Irwin Scott, from the picture in Mrs. Scott’s desk, fleetingly came into view. I shook my head. Was he trying to tell me something? But what? I had never met the man. I saw his face in my mind and shook the image out.
I stood at the window for a few more minutes until the cold crept through the green plaid. Just as I started to turn to go back to bed, the first flakes of snow began to fall.
“Well, well, well,” Dad said as he came into the kitchen. “Looks like the kids are going to be able to use their new sleds.”
I got up early hearing my mother in the kitchen. I knew she would never go back to bed after fixing the turkey so I joined her for an early morning cup of tea and some Italian cookies we made the night before. We even managed to get in a few hands of gin before Dad got up.
The gifts remained unopened until Sam and her family arrived. Dorothy’s package intrigued me. I couldn’t wait for Mom to open it. The box mysteriously appeared after church and Mom gave it a few shakes before she went to bed. Beautifully decorated in brown paper with pinecones, cranberries, and dried orange slices woven into an intricate design, Dorothy seemed to be better at using food for decoration than as a source of nourishment.
“Who just called?” I asked my mother.
“Sam. The kids are in heaven, eighty-eight percent, over all their things, but she said they seemed disappointed about no sleds under the tree. I can’t wait to see their faces!” My mother’s soft brown eyes twinkled at the thought of the sleds hiding in the garage.
By ten-thirty, the rest of the gang arrived and everyone settled around the tree. An hour later, torn paper and ribbon covered the living room but one small package tucked far under the tree remained. Mom acted very nonchalant all morning but the suspense took its toll. Dad reached under the tree and handed Mom the small box. Sam and I looked at each other across the room and shrugged; neither of us had any idea as to the contents of the mysterious package.
Mom slowly untied the red ribbon and gently lifted off the berries and pinecones. She looked around the room hoping for some clue before she lifted the top. “Oh, my goodness! Harry, what have you done?” Mom put the box aside and threw her arms around Dad.
“Well, can you share with the rest of us?” Sam pleaded.
“Your father and I are going to London with the Scrabble group!” She held up a piece of paper. My dad had copied Scrabble tiles that spelled out London and pasted them on the paper.
“It’s not until next October,” Dad said.
“I don’t care. Oh, Harry, what a treat!”
When the excitement died down a bit Dad stirred things up again. “You know, Mabel, there’s one gift missing.” He eyed his grandchildren.
“I think you’re right. I distinctly remember there being one other thing,” Mom said, playing along.
I joined my sister and brother-in-law on the sofa and the three of us watched the play unfold.
“Why don’t we go and check the garage.”
The grandparents left the room. Kendall and Henry kept on playing in the wrapping paper rubble, oblivious to their grandparents. With all the new toys they got, the wrapping paper held their interest most.
A few minutes later Dad came back holding a newly refurbished sled. “Look what I found in the garage. There isn’t a name on it.”
Henry and Kendall stopped jumping around. Henry stared at the sled his grandfather held and screamed out. “It’s mine! I asked Santa for one and he must have mixed up the houses!”
Kendall’s eyes showed hurt for just one second until she saw her grandmother enter with another sled.
My parents set the sleds on the living room floor. Both children walked over tentatively, still not believing their good fortune.
“Well, now. These are very special sleds.” Dad put an arm around each child. “Do you know why?” Two little heads shook. “It’s because they belonged to your mother and aunt. Santa must have fixed them up so you could use them.”
“Is it true, Mommy? Was this your sled?” Kendall asked breaking away from her grandfather.
“It sure was. Santa brought these to Aunt Alex and me.”
Michael stood up. “Well, what are we waiting for? Go get your coats and let’s try these things out.”
Henry and Kendall ran to get their coats while Mom helped.
Michael put a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Thanks. They look beautiful. I think they’re going to be the best gifts of the day—next to your trip, of course.”
I went to sit at the kitchen table with Mom and Samantha and watched the kids play outside. Michael stood at the bottom of the hill to catch any little body headed for a tree while Dad pushed from the top.
“That turkey sure smells good. How much longer before it’s done?”
“Several more hours,” Mom answered Sam. “So if you’re hungry, get the celery out of the refrigerator.”
Sam retrieved the plate, put it on the table and took a piece stuffed with cream cheese.
“I talked with Dolly the other day,” Mom said, as she stood at the counter laying a pie
ce of wrapping paper flat and smoothing out the wrinkles with her forearm.
Sam and I exchanged looks.
The paper folded, Mom put a hard crease in it with the side of her hand. I recognized this particular piece from last year when it covered a couple of paperbacks. This year it adorned a set of lotions for Sam. We didn’t spend a lot of money on wrapping paper in this family.
“What were you two thinking? You could have been hurt. Trying to catch a murderer!” Mom’s arthritic hands shook and she eyed each of us in turn.
Sam leaned closer to me and whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “I bet she could use Joanne’s eye right about now.”
Mom turned back to the counter and started sorting through bows and ribbons rescuing ones that could be used another time. “You two are more and more like your grandmother. Two hoodlums. I shouldn’t have left you with her so much, but I had to work.” Mom threw bows into a plastic container. One of them looked pretty raggedy to me but Mom let it get by. I squirmed in my seat while Sam crunched another piece of celery. “Loaning money to people like Al Capone, for Christ sake.”
My mother swore using the Lord’s name in vain. This wasn’t good.
Sam pointed a piece of celery at Mom’s back. “I don’t think Meme’s quite in the same league as Al Capone, Mom. More like—”
Mom slammed the lid on the container and turned toward us. “Be quiet, Samantha. You’re the oldest. You should look out for your little sister.”
“Ah, Mom?” Sam raised her hand, “My little sister here is thirty-six years old and you had her at twenty-five so that would make you…” My sister never missed an opportunity to needle my mother.
“Never mind what it would make me. My age is none of your business. You should be protecting Alex.”