Cozy Christmas Shorts

by Halliday, Gemma

  As for me, I had Nora Bineppe. Editor in Chief of Fashion Magazine—an international rag that rivaled Vogue. Nora was an asshole. But being a bully to your employees doesn't put you on the Bombay Hit List. Nora had been much more difficult to figure out. But if you looked really closely, you'd find that Nora had a sideline. The magazine alone would've made her reasonably rich. But what really filled her bank account was something far more sinister than underweight models wearing birds' nests on their heads as they strolled the catwalk.

  Nora was a middle man. Or middle woman. She was a go-between for laundering money from donors into terrorist factions. It worked like this—Saudi millionaires living in the U.S. gave her the money to take to Angola, where she got it into the hands of al-Qaeda operatives there. It wasn't just the Arabs—there are many other groups she works for—this is just an example. Nora's travel as a fashion editor took her all over the world—the perfect cover for these kinds of operations. But she also had a very sophisticated network of international bank accounts that she could move money around in. It had taken Interpol decades just to unravel the trail and lead it to her. Huh. I wonder if Interpol was the Bombay client. No, I'd rather not know.

  So that was our lineup of evil, nasty baddies. It would be fun to kill them all. And the psychological torture of watching each other die with no idea who was doing it would be lots of fun.

  I'd made the area around the house inescapable. Quicksand, dense impenetrable jungle (filled with recordings of panthers roaring), and a boulder-strewn beach hemmed in the property. The route from the landing strip had been carefully planned so the targets wouldn't see the rest of the island with its condos, pool, and tennis courts. They would truly believe they were stranded with no means of escape. Mwah hahahahahaha ha!

  * * *

  We arrived at the house just as the sun was setting. Raoul pulled the van up and led us inside.

  "Dinner will be in half an hour. I will bring in the luggage and escort each and every one of you to your rooms. Cocktails will be served in the library in fifteen minutes." Raoul was doing a fantastic job. I should give him a raise when this is all done. Sure, he made a king's ransom now, but he deserved it.

  My cousins and I played our parts—acting surprised, and oohing and aahing over the house as we were led to our rooms. Each of the ten of us had brought one suitcase. It was only for overnight. I was the first one in the library for drinks, so I poured a glass of wine and sat and waited.

  I'd decorated the whole house for the holidays. Fires roared in the fireplaces (I had to run the air conditioning since it was so hot outside, but it was worth it for the sake of appearances.), Christmas trees festooned each room, and everywhere else was strung with lights and wreaths. I just love the holidays. Why should I put things on hold just because we were killing people?

  Tiffany Lauper and Frank arrived first, followed almost immediately by the rest of them. People got their own drinks and sat in the room quietly. I felt an overwhelming need to start the conversation, which was weird, because I didn't really want to talk to these monsters.

  Madame Angelina beat me to it. "So this is where our relative lived? He must've died after the decorations were hung." Damn. She'd decided to keep the Gypsy accent.

  Giuseppe was browsing the books. "The sorrowful lack of poetry within this library causes my heart to ache! My soul is starved for lyrical words!" He slammed the book he'd been reading with a loud bang. What had he been thinking? An Italian poet? Seriously? Bombays were great at developing cover characters. We excelled at it. But for some reason, three of my cousins had lost their minds.

  "Well," Nora spoke up, her fingers toying with an expensive strand of pearls. "I find the décor to be repulsive. No class at all."

  "What? I think it's beautiful!" I said a little too quickly. Calm down, Nancy. Who cares if they don't like it? They'll be dead soon.

  Anderson shook his head. "Of course you would like it." He looked like he smelled something bad. "I prefer the elegant and understated look at the holidays."

  Nora nodded. "Quite."

  "I love it!" Madame Angelina declared passionately. "It's pretty and colorful!" She'd toned down the Gypsy look before she came down by taking off the circlet and several rings. It was slightly better. And it was nice she was defending me.

  "Whatever." Tiffany Lauper took the bottle of whiskey from the bar, plopped down in a chair, and began swilling right out of the bottle. She, on the other hand, was taking her character a little too far.

  Juan smiled and sat next to her. "So, Ms. Lauper," he started. "Why are you here?"

  The "rock star" rolled her eyes and in a bored voice said, "What the hell else am I going to do?"

  "I see," Juan said. "Did you know this man…Mr. Owen?" He looked at all of us. "Did any of you know him?"

  "No," I said, and the others all voiced the same. Frank just sat in a chair and shook his head.

  "Don't you think that's strange?" Annie piped up. "I mean, apparently, we're all related to him and each other. Shouldn't at least a couple of us know someone here?"

  William was leaning against the wall, his muscles bulging as they were folded across his chest. "I find it hard to believe that anyone in this room is related to anyone else."

  "What does it matter?" Giuseppe asked, slamming another book shut and striking a dramatic pose. "We are all brothers in the humanity of man!"

  What the hell did that even mean?

  "I don't give a rat's ass." Tiffany Lauper belched from her chair. "I just want the money."

  Nora nodded. "I think we can all agree with…with…" She gestured to my cousin and must have decided words couldn't label the aging rock singer. "I am here to collect my legacy and leave. I'm certain I don't want to see anyone else in this room ever again."

  Well that was rude. And to her family, nonetheless.

  "We're only distant relations," I said, feeling the need to change the subject. "It's not that weird that we're all strangers to each other."

  Anderson nodded. "I quite agree. I have first cousins in Oxford, not ten miles from my home, whom I have never met." He sniffed. "I'm only interested in seeing what this is all about."

  "So you don't need the money?" Madame Angelina asked.

  He shook his head. "My dear lady, I have no need for the money. But it did pique my curiosity, I must say."

  "Sadly, my art requires the evil of money, for I cannot feed my muse on words alone," Giuseppe added. "Patrons of the arts are as rare as glass butterflies."

  Patrons of the arts? I think my cousin forgot that this wasn't the 16th century. Fortunately, the others ignored him. And what the hell were glass butterflies? His metaphors were going to drive me insane.

  Juan laughed. "I don't need the money, Cousin." He shot a look at Anderson. "But I like money. And I believe you can never have too much of it."

  "I have a severe gambling problem!" Tiffany Lauper shouted suddenly. We all stared at her. Was she just making this up as she went?

  William frowned at her. "I'm with Perez there. I don't need it. But I want it. That's why I'm here."

  Everyone but Frank the carney had spoken, and we all looked at him expectantly.

  "Money's good," was all he said.

  Raoul appeared in the doorway with a polite smile. "Dinner is served."

  We gathered our cocktails and followed Raoul into the dining room. I must admit, I really outdid myself there. The long dining room table was hand-carved mahogany, and the surface gleamed beneath a candle-lit chandelier. Ten, high-backed chairs with claret, velvet upholstery surrounded it. Wreaths of evergreen boughs were draped around the hunter green walls. I'd had to have those sent in from the U. S. There are so few evergreen trees on a tropical island. Okay, there are no evergreen trees on a tropical island.

  Art deco sconces diffused the light bulbs within. Along the longest wall was a huge mirror (one of the many two-sided mirrors throughout the house) in a gilt frame. The table had been set with Limoges china from the eighteenth
century and silver flatware, hand carved in Mexico. The centerpiece was the fun part. On a large, bronze platter were ten little statues in a circle, facing in. Liv had wanted them to be little Native Americans, but all I could find in that number was ten little…

  "Are those circus clowns?" Nora recoiled in horror.

  Madame Angelina shot me a look that said, I told you so! Giuseppe shook his head sadly. Oh—like he could've done better!

  Annie picked up one of the clowns and studied it. The colorful little clown grinned at her.

  "Whoa." Juan sucked in air through his teeth. "Mr. Owen had disturbing taste."

  Nora was roaming the room now, touching things and scowling. "This is like a room from my nightmares," she said gravely.

  Hey! "I like it! It's very Christmassy," I might've said a tad defensively.

  Anderson glanced at me. "I'm not quite certain I can eat in here."

  Frank and William sat down at the table. Apparently, they didn't mind the room. The rest of us looked at them then joined them.

  Raoul came through the doorway with a platter of prime rib and roasted garlic potatoes. My mouth began watering immediately. He set the tray on the table and returned with a salad, handmade rolls with honey butter, and green beans with applewood smoked bacon.

  "You will need to serve yourselves," Raoul said. He pointed out the wine and let us know the vintages before leaving us and going back into the kitchen.

  Frank picked up the first platter, and once he'd helped himself, passed it to Annie. The food went round the table, and we all ate for a few moments in silence. We were all sizing each other up. The Bombays were discreetly studying their Vics, and the guests were openly staring at everyone else.

  Giuseppe lifted his wine glass. "A toast to give birth to the reckless heart of the night!"

  "Rock and roll!" Tiffany Lauper said as she clinked her glass to his.

  "To our futures, which I see very clearly!" Madame Angelina added.

  The others, including me and Frank, ignored them. I needed to get my cousins alone and tell them to tone it the hell down.

  Juan picked up the clown statue nearest to him. "I just don't get it. These don't match the rest of the house. Why are they here?" He looked as though he was worried that these might be part of the inheritance.

  Anderson shrugged. "Perhaps it is a joke? A very unpleasant joke."

  Nora nodded. "We could throw them into the fireplace. They would look better there."

  "Inside of every man is a sad clown, begging for the elusive, sweet smile of love," Giuseppe said.

  "Send in the clowns…" Tiffany Lauper began to sing.

  I slammed my hand down on the table. "Just leave the damn clowns alone!" Everybody stopped and turned to gape at me.

  "I mean…" I thought fast. "They don't belong to us, do they? Maybe Mr. Owen liked them."

  "Then I wish Mr. Owen had died earlier," Nora said as she cringed. "Before he'd bought them."

  We spent the rest of the dinner in silence. I'd made things too tense with my outburst. I needed to focus on what we had to accomplish here and get back on track. We finished eating and stared at our plates. I knew everyone was wondering if someone was going to clear the table. I knew for a fact that no one would. But I had to act like I was just as bewildered as the others.

  Nora finally pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm going to get another drink," she said and sashayed back to the library.

  "Sounds like a plan," William said. The rest of us got up and followed.

  We'd just sat down when the recording came on. I tried not to smile. It was a unique, state of the art sound system I'd developed. You've heard about surround sound? Well this was better than that. You were so engulfed in sound you had no idea where the sounds came from. Maybe I should apply for a patent.

  My name is Mr. Owen, and I've invited all of you here for one thing.

  I looked around like everyone else for the source of the voice. But I knew where it was. They didn't.

  To be judged whether you're worthy to receive your inheritance.

  Madame Angelina scowled at me. She'd wanted everything to follow And Then There Were None strictly by the book. But we didn't have time for that. And I didn't want them to leave the house, which is something you'd do if you were being accused of a crime.

  You must stay the night and spend Christmas together, like a real family. If you can get along until morning, you will receive your just rewards.

  Lex had done the recording, and he'd done a hell of a job too. The recording ended, and everyone looked at everyone else.

  "Well of course we are staying the night." Anderson waved his hand in the air as if he was bored. "That's why we're here."

  Annie frowned. "What did he think we were going to do? We brought luggage for christssake."

  "Hell, yeah!" Tiffany Lauper shouted. She looked disappointed. I think she wanted the recording to scare everyone. But what was the point of that? They'd be frightened enough when we all started dropping like flies. And why clue them in before we had to?

  "Hey, check this out, guys." Annie was over by the fireplace, looking at a framed poem. Good. It could start now. We all listened as Annie recited the poem;

  Ten little Clown boys went out to dine;

  One choked his little self and then there were nine.

  Nine little Clown boys sat up very late;

  One overslept himself and then there were eight.

  Eight little Clown boys travelling in Devon;

  One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.

  Seven little Clown boys chopping up sticks;

  One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

  Six little Clown boys playing with a hive;

  A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

  Five little Clown boys going in for law;

  One got in Chancery and then there were four.

  Four little Clown boys going out to sea;

  A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

  Three little Clown boys walking in the zoo;

  A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

  Two little Clown boys playing in the sun;

  One got all frizzled up and then there was one.

  One little Clown boy left all alone;

  He went out and hanged himself and then there were none.

  "Little Clown boys?" Nora asked. "The nightmare continues."

  Madame Angelina stormed over to the poem. "Allow me to examine this. There are signs in a person's handwriting that can predict his future." She scanned the poem with what I could only describe as "extreme googly eyes." Even with all the gypsy drama she was conjuring, I could tell she was pissed off. But I couldn't find Indian figurines. I could only find clown figurines. She was going to have to deal with it.

  "I've heard this poem before," Madame said, her accent thicker than it was a minute ago for some reason. "This is not right. It should be 'little Indians.'"

  And there it was. My passive-aggressive, fake-gypsy cousin. But I didn't care because I was going to die soon.

  "That seems racist." Juan frowned.

  "And sexist. Boys? Really?" Annie said as she shook her head.

  "Whatever it is, it's stupid." William shifted uneasily in his chair. That was a bad sign. He seemed to be the only suspicious one in the group.

  "I'm going to get another drink," I said as I stood up and walked over to the bar in the corner of the room. I mixed myself a vodka tonic and emptied the contents of my poison ring—the only bit of costuming I allowed myself. The ring was a large cat's head and when you pressed on the little pink nose, toxin squirted out of its mouth. It was pretty tacky, but I thought it lent that middle-aged-crazy-cat-lady vibe to my persona. Once the clear liquid hit my drink, I stuck a swizzle stick in it and stirred.

  Turning around so everyone could see me, I drained the glass in one swallow. Now all I had to do was wait.

  "Good idea." Juan joined me at the bar
and gave me a dazzling grin.

  For a moment, I wondered if he suspected anything and was just playing it cool. Assassins can usually spot other assassins. Or at least they should. But Juan didn't seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. He just poured a glass of single malt scotch and gently dropped two ice cubes into it.

  The room was starting to spin. That meant my little cocktail was working. "What did that poem say?" I asked slurrily as I fell to the floor and blacked out.

  My cousins were supposed to crowd around me, keeping the others at bay. The chemical I'd mixed was a doozy. It faked death, slowing my breathing to such a level it could barely be detected. Barely. If someone was looking for it closely enough, they'd see I wasn't dead. I know—I should've come up with something stronger. But I wasn't ready to risk it for this bunch of asshats. Besides keeping me away from the others, my cousins only had ten minutes to get me to my room and lock my body in it. In ten minutes, I'd wake up.

  When I came to, I was, in fact, lying on my bed. Once the full effects of the drug wore off, I got to my feet and double-checked the door. It was locked. They got that right. Our intention was to put each of the bodies in their own bedroom and lock the doorknob from the inside as we pulled the door shut. No one would check because I was dead. There was no reason to go into my room, and I counted on people not wanting to see my dead body.

  At the bookcase, I pulled out a copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. The bookcase swung open, showing a small doorway. I know, how cliché to use the old bookcase-as-secret-door routine. But I'd always wanted to do that because, hey, who doesn't want to do that at least once in their lifetime?

  I pulled the door shut behind me, and the motion sensitive lights came on. I was standing in one of the many passageways that ran between the walls. Lex and I'd spent a whole month soundproofing it. It was difficult coming up with the right combination of materials, but I eventually went with a mixture that used memory foam. The floors were extra squishy, and it sort of felt like walking on the moon. It made the walls very shock absorbent too, which was good, because the first time I'd walked on a memory foam floor, I'd fallen down a lot. I had toyed with removing gravity from the secret halls so we could all float around like astronauts, but Lex vetoed me on that one. I still wish I'd done it. Just the image of assassins floating around with knives makes me smile.