That Christmas Feeling

by Catherine Palmer

  “Claire,” he said, crossing the parlor to the fire. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her aside. “I want you and your aunt to leave the house now. I know how you feel about this, but can I ask you to take Miss Ross home with you? I promise you we’ll have her back in here by morning. You won’t have to put up with—”

  “Rob, it’s fine,” Claire said. “I’m happy to take Aunt Flossie home with me.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere!” Flossie squawked. “This is my house, and I’ll be hog-tied and strung up before I let you run me out of it.”

  “Listen, Aunt Flossie,” Rob said, switching to the more comforting name her niece used. “Someplace near your house, people have set up a laboratory. They’re making a drug called methamphetamine. It’s dangerous, because it can explode. I don’t know if the meth makers are inside the mansion or in one of the houses surrounding you. But if they’re near enough to smell, they’re too close. Now, I want you to go home with Claire until we take care of this problem. Do you understand?”

  “No, I do not! This is my house, my property! What are those policemen doing here? Hey!”

  “Stop hollering,” Claire said, putting a finger to her lips. She helped the elderly woman from her chair and edged her toward the parlor door. “Come on, Aunt Flossie. You and I are leaving now. We’ll go to my house, drink some hot chocolate and listen to Christmas carols.”

  “Not that!” Flossie cried. “Not carols!”

  Rob shook his head as he strode out of the room just ahead of the women. Lifting up a quick prayer of gratitude, he marveled for a moment at the change in Claire. Just a few weeks before, she had flatly refused to ever let her aunt inside her own home. Now she welcomed the opportunity. Claire had accused Rob of barricading his own heart, and he couldn’t deny it. But could he really let down his walls? And if he did, what would happen?

  Needing to confer with his men, he trotted across the barren lawn toward the gathered squad cars. The Buffalo patrolmen had run this exercise so many times—and always in vain—that he knew he would barely need to give orders. They had the drill down pat, and finally it looked as if they were about to catch the bad guys.

  As Rob greeted his men, the sheriff and several deputies arrived on the scene at the same moment as Buffalo’s other two patrolmen. Under Rob’s direction and with the sheriff’s concurrence, the deputies formed a perimeter around the mansion and the surrounding homes, covering streets, alleyways and yards to prevent anyone escaping. Three highway patrol units pulled up as Rob ordered his own men to proceed toward the house.

  He opened the door of his squad car for protection and was watching the operation unfold when suddenly he saw Claire Ross appear in the mansion’s front doorway. Pulling on her great-aunt’s arm, she was doing her best to urge the elderly woman out onto the porch. Flossie would have none of it. Wrapped up in a blue bathrobe, she held one cat against her chest and kept reaching for another, finally breaking loose from her niece and disappearing back into the house.

  Alarm prickling down his spine, Rob called to the sheriff across the driveway. “In the foyer! It’s the homeowner and her niece. I thought they’d gotten out.”

  “I’ll cover you,” the sheriff replied.

  At that moment one of Rob’s men ran up. “We found ’em, sir,” he panted. “They’re in the basement. Seems they’ve been coming and going through a window hidden behind some yews. We can see ’em in there—looks like they’re already breaking down the lab. I think they’re on to us, Chief.”

  “How many?”

  “Six, at least. Five males and a female.”

  Rob spoke into his radio, narrowing the deputies’ perimeter to the yard surrounding the mansion. Then he headed for the front door. As his foot hit the foyer’s marble floor, Claire looked up, her face ashen. “I can’t get Aunt Flossie out, Rob.”

  “Leave her to me.” Rob strode into the parlor where Claire’s great-aunt was seated by the fire again. Two cats were just settling onto her lap as he stepped up, scooped the scrawny woman into his arms and swung around to the door.

  “Florence Ross, you are a mean old lady,” he said as he carried her out into the foyer. “Mean and selfish. And if you don’t start cooperating, I’m going to have to—”

  A loud bang resonated through the house. Flossie stiffened in Rob’s arms. “It’s the basement door!” she hollered. “Someone’s breaking in! They’ll steal my things! I’m being robbed! Call the police!”

  “Where’s the basement door?” Rob demanded.

  “In the kitchen!”

  Setting Flossie back on her feet, Rob rushed the elderly woman and her niece out the front door. As he drew his gun, he intercepted three men who had just exited the kitchen and were hightailing it up the long curved staircase leading to the second floor of the mansion.

  “I need backup inside,” Rob shouted into his radio as he pursued the men up the steps. “Stop! You three, stop now. Get on the ground!”

  Ignoring his orders, they raced up the staircase. Rob knew if they made it into the honeycomb of rooms up there, they would have an easier time eluding pursuers. But bless Aunt Flossie’s cold little heart, he thought as the men hit the top landing—she had locked the door to the upper floor.

  Trapped, the men had no choice but to turn around and raise their hands in surrender. Two sheriff’s deputies pounded up the staircase right behind Rob. In moments, they’d handcuffed the three suspects and led them back down the stairs.

  Outside, Rob found that the rest of the methamphetamine makers had been captured, as well. One of the men had cut his arm while trying to escape through a broken window, so an ambulance was on its way. The others—cuffed and shackled—sat staring at the ground as an officer recited their Miranda rights.

  “Chief West, I’ve already called for the haz-mat crew,” one of the highway patrolmen spoke up. “I think we should secure the building and stay out of it until they get here.”

  Rob nodded. The hazardous materials experts would know how to safely disassemble the lab in the basement.

  “There were two women in the house,” he said, his heart hammering. “Did they…”

  “They’re out, Chief,” his assistant said. “Miss Ross and that redheaded teacher over at the high school? They exited the building a couple minutes ago. The redhead took Miss Ross off in her car. Told us they’d both spend the night at her house.”

  Thanking God for Claire’s safety—and for Aunt Flossie’s—Rob felt the knots in his stomach loosen as he studied the growing crowd of neighbors and other onlookers. He would need to unroll crime-scene tape and set up barricades to keep folks back. What a way to spend Christmas Eve! It looked as if he and his men wouldn’t get home until nearly dawn.

  “Say, that teacher sure is pretty,” the assistant chief spoke up again. “The redhead.”

  “Her name is Claire,” Rob said. “Claire Ross.”

  “Was she the one you took to Dandy’s in Bolivar the other night? I heard you two had a good time.”

  Rob sighed. People were elbowing each other as the ambulance pulled up to the mansion. Another night in Buffalo, Missouri, where minding one’s own business was clearly an alien concept.

  Chapter Six

  “Not enough singing, if you want my opinion.” Florence Ross Schmidt allowed her niece to assist her down the church steps following the community Christmas service. Wearing one of Claire’s dresses—Flossie had selected a pink satin print—and high heels only a tad too large, she clutched a black purse between her gloved hands.

  “Not enough singing, Aunt Flossie?” Claire asked in wonder. “Only yesterday you were complaining about the carolers who had been to your door.”

  “It’s one thing when people come knocking at all hours. And it’s quite another when you get to exercise your own vocal chords.”

  “You do have a pretty voice. I can see why you enjoy singing.” Claire scanned the crowd one last time, but Rob was not among the cheery congregation. She hoped he was all r
ight.

  Before the service began, the pews had been abuzz with talk of the previous night’s raid. Methamphetamine makers in our town, people said, shaking their heads in disbelief. Four men and two women were caught in the attic of Ross Mansion. No, it was six men and one woman, someone clarified. Five men but no women, another explained, and they were in the basement.

  The whole town had gone out to watch the excitement, it seemed to Claire. People had been up till all hours, peering over the barricades as the officials conducted their investigation and the hazardous materials crew disassembled the lab. Claire felt thankful it was all over. Now the mansion would be safe, and the odor certainly lessened.

  “I always was a good singer,” Flossie told her niece as they headed toward the parking lot. “Why do you think the USO took me without a squawk? I could really belt ’em out in my day. Hans used to beg me to sing for him. I learned a lot of his favorites in German.”

  They walked in silence for a moment, Claire reflecting on her great-aunt’s loss and the enormous changes that had been imposed on the elderly woman in the past few weeks. Would Claire have fared as well if her world had been turned upside down?

  Flossie had put up a mighty fuss until the moment Rob finally rushed her out of the mansion the night before. After that she had done an about-face. Once inside Claire’s little bungalow, she warmed immediately to the rescued kitten, Opie. Meekly accepting the order to take a bath, she had sat for nearly an hour in a tubful of bubbles. Then she emerged in her new blue bathrobe and immediately adopted as her own a rocking chair by the fireplace. Together, the two women drank hot chocolate beside the little Christmas tree while Flossie crooned carols.

  Claire had expected a monumental storm over the prospect of attending church the following morning, but her aunt actually displayed a certain girlish eagerness as she selected a dress and shoes. She allowed Claire to curl and style her white wisps, and then they ate breakfast like a civilized guest and her hostess.

  “Hans could sing, too, and we made a nice duo.” Flossie continued the conversation. Then she shrugged and flipped her hand as if to brush away the past. “But that was all in the old days. What’s gone is gone.”

  “It’s okay to keep your memories, Aunt Flossie,” Claire said gently as she reached for the car door handle. “Just don’t try to live in the past.”

  “Preaching again.” Flossie settled into the passenger seat. “Preach, preach, preach.”

  As much as she enjoyed the changes in her aunt, Claire would be relieved to send the elderly woman back to the mansion in a few days. Maybe Claire was more cut out for the single life than she’d wanted to admit. Rob certainly had made up his mind in that direction. Despite kissing her—nothing more than a teasing impulse, she realized now—he showed no inclination toward forming any sort of relationship with her. Not even a real friendship. He never called, nor did she. They enjoyed talking when their paths crossed, but she felt certain it would happen rarely now that Flossie was under proper care.

  Opening the driver’s door, she climbed in and settled her purse beside her. “The turkey I put in the oven is going to taste good,” she told her aunt. “I’ll mash some potatoes and fix us a salad, too. Will you help me set the table?”

  Hands folded, Flossie was staring out the window ahead. “That table you have is nice,” she said. “In fact, I like the little house. Two bedrooms. Just right. I think we oughtta swap.”

  Key halfway to the ignition, Claire paused. “Swap?”

  “Trade houses, girl, what do you think? You’ve had your eye on my place all along anyhow, and I’ve taken a shine to yours. Why don’t you just take the old heap—and all that junk inside it, too. Junk, junk, junk. I don’t know what half of it is anyhow, and I sure don’t need it.”

  “But, Aunt Flossie, the mansion belongs to you.” The thought of surrendering her precious little nest sent a stab of panic into Claire’s heart. “I really do love my home, and you certainly belong in the mansion. I’d be happy to help you fix it up. Some of the furniture is still very nice, and we could make you a little bedroom area, along with a sitting room and a dining table. Besides, you don’t want to live without all the things you said meant so much. The paintings will be back soon, and we’ll bring some nice carpets down from the upstairs rooms, and the apostles’ clock—”

  “That old thing doesn’t work worth a hoot. Who wants all those apostles sliding around and bowing every hour, anyhow? Not me.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Nope, it’s yours. I prefer that nice clock hanging on your wall. Just a dial and a pair of hands. Easy to read, and no Judas popping out every twelve hours to scare the pants off a person.”

  Though the idea of preserving the mansion definitely excited Claire, she had no intention of surrendering her home to her great-aunt. If she had to live all alone in that imposing space, she might turn into a cat hoarder herself.

  “Uh-oh, here he comes.” Flossie broke in to her niece’s thoughts. “Your boyfriend. Here to grab you and start smooching you again right in front of God and the whole town. Lord have mercy upon us.”

  “Aunt Flossie, Rob is not my boyfriend,” Claire hissed as the man strode up to her car. “And if you so much as—”

  “Merry Christmas,” the police chief said, peering through the window Claire had just rolled down. “How are my two favorite Rosses this morning?”

  “My proper name is Mrs. Schmidt,” Flossie informed him, tilting her nose in the air. “I’d prefer to be addressed as such in the future, Mr. West.”

  Rob’s blue eyes turned on Claire, and his brows rose. “Well, it looks like we’re off to a good start.”

  “We are, actually,” Claire said. “The church service was lovely—”

  “Not enough singing,” Flossie put in.

  “And I have a turkey in the oven.”

  “I sure hope your bird can wait a few minutes.” Rob opened her door. “Claire, will you and Mrs. Schmidt please come with me? The three of us need to pay a little visit.”

  “A visit?” Claire protested. “But I—”

  “Oh, hush your yapping. No one likes being around a griping woman.” Flossie settled Claire’s purse strap over her arm as she stepped back onto the parking lot. “I wish you’d assist me to your car, Chief West. These heels just aren’t made for winter sidewalks.”

  Turning a shoe from side to side as if to show off her ankle, Flossie was actually flirting with the police chief, Claire realized. What had come over the woman? Had getting out of the mansion done that much for her? Or had Flossie actually listened to her niece for once and forgiven those who had hurt her in the past?

  “We’re swapping houses,” she informed Rob as he escorted her to his car.

  Wearing a bulky dark blue sweater and a pair of jeans that fitted him far too well for Claire’s comfort, he arched an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Swapping?”

  “I’m moving into her house,” Flossie explained, “and she’ll take the mansion. It’s what she’s always wanted, you know. Had her eye on my stuff all along. But I don’t care! Let her have it. Just a pile of junk anyhow. I’ll take Homer and Virgil and move into the smaller place. Sacrifices, you understand. They’re part of life.”

  “Hmm, this is an interesting development,” Rob said, studying Claire’s face across the top of the car as he settled her great-aunt into the front seat. “It’ll make the museum plan easier anyhow, I’ll give it that much.”

  “What museum plan?” Claire asked as she slid into the back seat. “And by the way, I have not agreed to swap houses with you, Aunt Flossie. That’s your idea, and I…What museum plan?”

  Rob smiled as he started the car and pulled out into the street. “The Buffalo Historical Museum. Mayor Bloom and I have been discussing it for quite some time. I told him how significant Buffalo was during the Civil War. It was pro-Union, you know, Claire.”

  Irked at his teasing, she clenched her fists. “I’m aware of that, Rob. What do you mean about the Buffal
o Historical Museum?”

  “You see, Mrs. Schmidt, Confederates burned down the courthouse and the old Methodist church,” he went on. “And then there’s all that important history connected to the railroad. A spur was supposed to come into Buffalo, but it was never built. In anticipation of the increased opportunity, though, people moved here and started businesses and built big houses. Which is why Ross Mansion would make a perfect museum.”

  “It’s a museum, all right,” Flossie said. “Full of dead dreams, dead hopes, emptiness. You can do whatever you like with it. I don’t ever want to set foot in the place again.”

  “You’ll need to go inside at least once more,” Rob said as he pulled to a stop in front of the big old house. “I don’t think you’ll mind this time.”

  “But I thought we were going to go calling on someone,” Flossie protested. “I was hoping for a slice of pecan pie. That’s my favorite. I don’t know why nobody asked what I liked before they started bringing me all those fruitcakes.”

  As Flossie went off on a tangent, Claire clambered out of the car and made a beeline for Rob. “Do not tease me, Robert West,” she said, catching handfuls of his sweater. “Does the mayor really like the idea of a museum?”

  “Sure, and the aldermen, too. Especially if Miss Ross—Mrs. Schmidt—would allow Ross Mansion to house it.”

  “Are you serious? How did this happen?” Claire accompanied Rob as he headed for the porch. “This is what I’ve been dreaming about! When I first came back to town, I spoke to the mayor and several of the aldermen, but none of them showed much interest. What did you do, Rob?”

  Laughing, he slipped his arm around her as Flossie stepped into the foyer. “I just mentioned it last night while we were all standing around. Mayor Bloom was out in the crowd, of course, along with most of the aldermen. I told them what you’d said about all the valuable pieces inside the house, about the things from Austria, and about how much a museum might mean not only to your family but to the whole town.”