“Nature walk,” I said.
“He might buy that. Then again, I’m not sure I care if he buys it or not. It’ll put him on notice that I know what those jackasses of his did. If they called him Cy, the clown in charge of the tow truck operation is almost certainly Cyrus Whicker. Owns the repair shop over in Clayville, and as far as I know his is the only tow truck in the county. Anse Dingle works for him. Maybe if they know I have my eye on them they’ll be a little less ready swipe any more cars.”
“Here’s hoping,” I said. “Talk to you later.” I hung up and turned back to Cordelia. “What’s up?”
“I’ll let them explain it. This way.”
Clearly she was highly displeased with them, whoever they were.
We took the elevator to the third floor, where Grandfather had what I called his penthouse—his office, his conference room, and the reception area that served as an anteroom to both. It could actually have been a fairly luxurious and impressive executive suite if Grandfather cared even a tiny bit about décor. Or tidying up. But even when he was expecting important visitors and his long-suffering administrative assistant had done a whirlwind cleaning triage, all three rooms invariably looked like a movie-set designer’s idea of a mad scientist’s lair. Books and scientific papers filled every available shelf and overflowed into piles in front of the shelves and in every corner. The small kitchenette along one wall held more test tubes than coffee cups. The trash cans invariably overflowed with pizza boxes and Chinese carry-out containers. Any flat surface not covered by books or papers generally held a cage or aquarium containing one or more small creatures that Grandfather currently had under special observation for some reason or other. Though not usually because of illness—the well-equipped veterinary clinic on the first floor provided round-the-clock care for any zoo residents that were under the weather. And if you happened to know a large party in need of any kind of what Grandfather called “expedition gear”—binoculars, telescopes, compasses, freeze-dried food, hiking boots, thermal underwear, space blankets, fisherman’s vests, backpacks, fanny packs, tents, camp stoves, etc.—you could have equipped them easily from the items that littered the rooms, ranging from well-worn favorites to brand-new equipment he was testing.
I followed Cordelia into the reception area to find it contained half a dozen black-clad people, some wearing ski masks. Was Grandfather hosting a delegation of ninjas? No, he was one of the ninjas. So were Dad, Rob, and Clarence Rutledge, the town veterinarian. I recognized the remaining two as longtime members of Blake’s Brigade, the loose organization of volunteers Grandfather called on whenever he needed help with any kind of animal welfare project.
“Here’s Meg!” Caroline exclaimed, coming over to give me a hug. “Monty, why don’t you tell Meg what you’re planning?”
Chapter 26
Caroline didn’t actually add “so she can help us talk you out of it, you old goat,” but she didn’t have to. Her tone got her point across.
“Well?” I turned to Grandfather. The rest of the party looked cowed and ready to slink away, as if they’d already been the target of enough withering scorn to last a lifetime. Only Grandfather looked unperturbed. In fact, he looked pleased to see me, no doubt thinking that at last a sensible person had arrived—someone capable of appreciating the beauty of his plans.
“We think it’s time to do something about the little cuckoo’s father.”
“Lark,” I corrected. “And just what are you planning to do?”
“The chief’s hands are tied, you know,” Grandfather said. “He can’t just go barging into some other lawman’s jurisdiction with guns blazing.”
I had a hard time imagining the chief barging in anywhere with guns blazing. Had Grandfather been watching too many Westerns?
“I understand the chief has to wait until he can bring in the Feds. But we can’t just stand by and let those wretched Clay County crooks do away with the kid’s father. So”—he drew himself up to his full height and stuck out his chest belligerently—“we’re going commando!”
Rob and one of the Brigade members burst into laughter. The rest of us managed to stifle ours. Rob sidled over and said something softly in Grandfather’s ear.
Grandfather harrumphed.
“Picky, picky,” he said. “Some people can see a double entendre in the weather report. Going to behave like commandos, then—although that doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. Anyway, we’re going to infiltrate Clay County and rescue the chap.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” I began.
“Meg!” Cordelia and Caroline exclaimed in unison.
I held up my hand to suggest that they let me finish.
“But I happen to know that a posse of Shiffleys came up with the same idea and is already sneaking through the woods around Clayville.” At least I hoped they were still sneaking, not sitting in the Clay County lockup. And optimally sneaking back toward Caerphilly under Randall’s guidance, not still onward. But Grandfather and his usual suspects didn’t need to know that. “Experienced woodsmen all, and most of them ex-military,” I continued aloud. “So, not to disparage the abilities of your crew, but the Shiffleys are pretty darned qualified for this, and more importantly, they’re already there.”
“We could join forces with them!” Grandfather suggested.
“You really think you could find a handful of Shiffleys in the middle of the woods?” I asked. “I know I wouldn’t want to try it. I’m not even sure Randall’s going to succeed, and he has a head start on you. Let’s focus on giving them a clear shot at achieving the mission.” Or being persuaded to drop it and get home safely.
“Damnation.” Grandfather looked almost bereft. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought a few of the others looked relieved rather than disappointed. Rob for sure. “A pity they didn’t consult me first. We could have joined forces. Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. We don’t want to compromise the mission. Stand down, men!”
As if to emphasize his words, he whipped off his black knit cap and tossed it aside. It landed on top of a cage containing some kind of scruffy rodent.
I turned to Rob.
“Delaney’s been trying to get in touch with you, you know.”
“You could have fooled me.” He sounded glum.
“She calmed down overnight, and tried calling you to talk things through. Of course, by now she’s probably ticked off because you haven’t answered any of her calls.”
“What calls?” Rob dug into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “I think if she’d called I’d have— Hey! This isn’t my phone.”
“No, you left yours plugged in the charger in your office,” I said.
“Wonder who this belongs to,” Rob said.
“Call Paton at your security desk,” I said. “He’s holding your phone for you—maybe whoever lost this one has called in to ask about it. Let’s get back to the important stuff. Delaney’s been trying to call you.”
“Right.” He rushed over to Grandfather’s desk and picked up the desk phone. Then he paused and looked at me.
“Um … do you have her number?”
“You don’t know Delaney’s number?”
“I don’t know anyone’s number anymore. They’re all in my phone.”
Good point. I pulled out my own phone and read off Delaney’s number. He punched it in. I looked around at the family and friends who were watching him.
“Anyone think maybe we should give him a little privacy?” I asked.
Clarence was already heading for the door, and Caroline and Cordelia were hovering near it. But Grandfather, who had taken a seat on the cluttered sofa and begun reading another scientific paper, didn’t appear to have heard me. Nor had Dad, who was peering into the cage containing the rodent, evidently fascinated by the way it had pulled the edge of Grandfather’s discarded ski cap through the bars and was rapidly shredding it—no doubt for nest material.
“Dad! Grandfather!” They both looked up, startled. “You can
go home now.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” Rob said. “The number’s busy.”
“Then try again.” Rob looked sheepish. I went over to the desk, wrote Delaney’s number down on a piece of paper, and held it out.
“Thanks.”
We all watched as he dialed again. And then hung up almost immediately.
“She’s probably on the phone with Chief Burke,” I said. “Helping him find some data. Keep trying.”
“Probably a good idea for the rest of us to go home,” Dad said.
“You know what sounds like a good idea?” Clarence said. “Pizza.”
“Luigi’s?” Rob brightened at the thought of a visit to the family’s favorite pizzeria. “I’ll go with you. Dad, can I use your phone to keep calling Delaney on the way?”
“Of course!” Dad handed it over and they headed for the door.
“May as well, if we can’t be useful.” Grandfather cast his scientific paper aside.
The ninjas departed, with Rob programming Delaney’s number into Dad’s phone for ease of redialing while the others cheerfully debated the competing merits of pepperoni and Italian sausage on pizza, and whether it was too late in the day to safely eat something as spicy as Luigi’s penne alla arrabiata. I wondered what Luigi would make of them in their inky black outfits. Dropouts from mime school, maybe. And whether Rob would desert them when he got through to Delaney or invite her to join them.
“Good job,” Caroline said when the door had closed behind them.
“I didn’t want to ask in case I gave them ideas, but they weren’t planning to go in armed, were they?”
“With stun guns and tranquilizer dart pistols,” Caroline said. “The same ones we used last month when we went to film that documentary on the Alaskan moose herds.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to them that what would stun a moose might kill a human being,” I said.
“I was just arguing that point with them when you arrived to save the day.” Caroline beamed at me.
“Can one of you give me a ride back to town?” I sank down onto the sofa, feeling suddenly tired. “I drove Randall out this way so he could take off after his crazy cousins, and to make a long story short, my car has now gone to join Clay County’s growing collection of illegally impounded Caerphilly vehicles.”
“Happy to give you a ride,” Caroline said. “And your grandmother is riding with me. But would you mind if we stayed here just a little longer? We were going to offer to share our tea with the menfolk, but that fell by the wayside when we found out what they were up to. And frankly, right now I’m more in the mood for a ladies-only meal anyway.”
“Not that Monty would have appreciated anything as civilized as tea,” Cordelia added, with a sniff.
“All the more for us,” Caroline said.
She led the way into the conference room, where she’d spread a red-and-green Christmas tablecloth over the conference table, and began laying out delicacies. Cordelia found a small saucepan in the kitchenette, washed it carefully—after all, we had no idea what kind of scientific experiments Grandfather had been using it for—and boiled some water for the tea. Then we sat down to a feast—scones and clotted cream, ham biscuits, cupcakes, cucumber sandwiches, and half a dozen kinds of Christmas cookies. Accompanied, of course, by catching up on all the town and family gossip.
“You’re lucky to have your grandfather around this Christmas,” Caroline remarked at one point, when we’d reached that portion of our tea that hobbits would have called “filling up the corners.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Cordelia said.
“He was all fired up to do a few more of those live wildlife webcasts of his,” Caroline said.
“The ones where he goes out and bothers some poor creature that’s just trying to hibernate or catch its dinner in peace?” Cordelia asked.
“You’ve seen them, then.” Caroline nodded. “Only this time he wanted to do them from the northern part of Norway or Finland. Someplace really cold, at any rate. I told him if he wants to spend Christmas somewhere north of the Arctic Circle and freeze his rear end off, he was welcome to do it, but he could count me out.”
“Good for you!” Cordelia exclaimed.
“So we compromised,” Caroline went on. “He came here as planned, and between Christmas and New Year’s we’re going to do a bunch of webcasts from the woods around here. I hope the snow stays around. I think he’ll grumble a lot less if he can still stride across some kind of frozen landscape.”
“You’re in luck,” I said. “It’s supposed to remain sub-freezing until after New Year’s.”
“Well, I can’t hold another bite,” Caroline said. “Any of you want to finish those scones?”
Cordelia and I both shook our heads.
“Do let’s scatter a few leftovers around, so those idiots know what they’ve been missing,” Cordelia suggested.
“See if there’s room in the minifridge,” Caroline suggested.
“Just barely,” I said as I peered into the fridge. “What is Lasiorhinus latifrons?”
“The Southern hairy-nosed wombat.” Caroline frowned. “He doesn’t have one of those in there, does he? They’re a threatened species.”
“Just its urine,” I said. “Unless labeling chicken broth as wombat urine is Grandfather’s idea of a joke.”
“It probably is.” Cordelia rolled her eyes.
“No, it probably is wombat urine,” Caroline said. “For a pregnancy test—he’s been having a great deal of success breeding them.”
I succeeded in wedging the little bits of leftover food in between the wombat urine and something that was either a long-forgotten container of lo mein or the start of a new exhibit on molds, spores, and fungus. Then we made our way down to the parking lot. I was relieved to see that Caroline’s van was the only remaining vehicle in the parking lot.
We when we got close to the town limits, we took a small detour to show Cordelia the Christmas decorations. In spite of the snow, the streets were still thronged with tourists, come to enjoy the holiday ambience that we piled on with such enthusiasm.
And I quickly realized one reason my holiday spirit had been lower than usual: in my job as Randall’s assistant, I’d been spending far too much time organizing Christmas and not enough time simply enjoying it. Maybe it was time for me to stop worrying about whether we had enough carol singers on enough corners throughout town and just enjoy the sound of voices raised in joyous song. Maybe I should stop looking at the minor infractions in the Victorian dress code—like the bright pink snow boots on one of the carolers—and focus on the singers’ smiling faces.
The town Christmas tree looked splendid. When we’d lost the previous tree after one of last winter’s terrible ice storms, Randall had agonized for weeks over how big the replacement should be. For years, he’d proudly boasted that our tree was almost—but not quite—as tall as the National Christmas Tree. Would it be arrogant and prideful to plant a larger one, he wondered?
“For heaven’s sake,” I said at last. “Stop worrying about the size. Get the most beautiful one you can find. Who cares whether it’s half or twice the size of the National Christmas Tree? If anyone in Washington is bent out of shape, I’m sure they can manage to find an even bigger one.”
I had no idea how the new tree compared with the National Christmas Tree, but at sixty feet high it was considerably taller than our previous tree. We’d had to invest in twice as many lights and ornaments, but it was worth it.
In fact, it was all worth it—all the work I’d done to make this year’s Christmas in Caerphilly even better than last year’s. So I sat back and basked in Caroline and Cordelia’s enjoyment. As we drove down the residential streets, I shared their delight in how many of the houses were so beautifully decorated, instead of fretting about the houses that hadn’t bothered.
Eventually we tired of oohing and aahing and took the road that led out of town and toward home.
Since Carolin
e was driving, I used the ride to call Michael.
“I heard about what happened at the shelter,” he said, after we’d exchanged greetings. “I’m not sure whether to say ‘well done!’ or ‘what the hell were you thinking of’?”
“I’ll consider them both said. It probably wasn’t as dangerous as it sounds—they were pretty incompetent thugs. And I snuck up behind them. Josefina tackled them head-on with her frying pan.”
“I am in awe of you both. And I will look forward to celebrating your being safe and sound when you get here. When will that be?”
“Ten minutes,” I said. “I’m riding with Caroline.”
“Oh, by the way,” Michael said. “Rose Noire appears to have had a wonderful time at her retreat—in fact all the ladies there did. So much so that they want to keep it going for another day or two.”
“That’s great,” I said. “She deserves a bit of R and R.” Although the idea of managing without Rose Noire for another day or two, now that the family hordes had descended, was a bit daunting. I was already trying to calculate which visiting relatives I might be able to guilt trip into doing some of the extra work that came along with having the house full of family for the holidays.
“So it’s okay that I told them they could move into our barn for a day or two?” he went on. “Rose Noire swears they won’t be any trouble or cause any extra work—they’ll be too busy meditating, doing yoga, and mixing up herbal concoctions.”
“They probably will cause extra work,” I said. “But at least Rose Noire will be around to figure out how to get it done. And to help with all the family guests.”
“Exactly what I thought. See you soon.”
I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Of course, it would never be all that quiet with several dozen relatives underfoot. But still—at home. Though I didn’t say so aloud, because I didn’t want to jinx us.
Chapter 27
As we drew near the house, I could see light shining from almost every window. Christmas carols were playing. No, the Christmas carols sounded live—someone was playing our piano, and the assembled relatives were singing.
Lark! the Herald Angels Sing Page 17