A Winter Wonderland

by Fern Michaels

  “I popped out and bought some things,” Lucy said, waving the fork she was using to turn the bacon. She was washed and dressed, as was Miss Tilley, who was sitting at the table on the deck with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. “Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”

  When Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, she found a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast waiting for her.

  “The best thing about Florida is the orange juice,” Lucy said, pouring herself a second glass. “So fresh.”

  “I certainly don’t think much of the newspapers here.” Miss Tilley folded the big sheets of paper with a snap. “There isn’t a word about the jewel theft.”

  “Be grateful for small mercies,” Lucy said. “Imagine if they’d named Elizabeth.”

  The thought took away Elizabeth’s appetite; she put down her fork and picked up her coffee mug.

  “The sooner we start investigating, the better,” Lucy said. “Besides, they say rain is on the way.”

  Miss Tilley popped the last bit of toast into her mouth. “And while you’re out and about you could pick up a bottle of sherry. Tio Pepe, if you can find it.”

  “We better go, before she thinks of something else,” Lucy said, grabbing her handbag.

  Elizabeth gave her mother a tour of the neighborhood, making a stop at a liquor store to buy Miss Tilley’s favorite dry sherry. Chris Kennedy’s alleged apartment complex was just around the corner, and was similar in layout to Elizabeth’s, with a scattering of buildings set in landscaped grounds. A recreation area included a pool, tennis courts, and a fitness center.

  “Which is his apartment?” Lucy asked as Elizabeth pulled into a guest parking spot.

  “I don’t know. We’ll just have to check the mailboxes,” Elizabeth replied, with a nod toward the gray metal cluster unit where a white postal service truck was parked. They waited and after a few minutes the truck moved off. The two women strolled over and studied the names affixed to each mailbox; Chris Kennedy’s name was on the box marked C-4.

  “He was telling the truth after all,” Lucy said.

  Elizabeth scowled, unimpressed. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

  A glance at the neat white brick buildings revealed that each was identified with a large letter. Building C was only a short distance away. When they approached it, they had no problem identifying apartment 4.

  It was the one with yellow police tape over the door.

  “I expected as much,” Lucy said, turning to go.

  “Not so fast.” Elizabeth found she was suddenly determined to discover as much as she could about the mysterious Chris Kennedy. “This is a ground floor apartment. I bet there’s a patio door around back.”

  They followed the paved path that ran around the building, noting the Christmas decorations that some people had put in their windows. One twinkling snowman winked at them and waved his arm. “I hope he’s the only one who sees us,” Elizabeth said.

  Chris’s patio was the only one completely devoid of plants or furniture. “A typical bachelor,” Lucy remarked, cupping her hands and peering through the uncurtained sliding door.

  Elizabeth studied the patio area, trying to think where Chris might have hidden an extra key. There was no furniture, so that was out. The trim around the door and windows was narrow—no place to tuck a key there—and there was no doormat. Checking out the plantings, she noticed a scattering of conch shells, and when she examined them she discovered one had a key taped inside.

  “Good work!” Lucy exclaimed as Elizabeth unlocked the door. “Are you sure you haven’t been here before?”

  “Never,” Elizabeth declared, stepping inside the largely empty living-dining room where a bicycle suspended on large orange hooks screwed into the ceiling provided the only decoration. A saggy old sofa, clearly secondhand, faced a large flat-screen TV that perched on a plank stretched between two concrete blocks. A row of books, mostly paperbacks, was lined up on the floor against a wall.

  “Definitely needs a woman’s touch,” Lucy observed, heading straight for the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “Very interesting,” she said, pointing out a package of fish that was dated the day of the robbery.

  “Very smelly,” Elizabeth added.

  “And from that I deduce that Chris Kennedy was not planning to leave town. Look, there’s even a bag of salad in the crisper. You wouldn’t buy fish and salad if you were planning to abscond with stolen jewels.”

  “That’s an interesting point,” Elizabeth said, peeking into the single bedroom. The comforter on the double bed had been smoothed and there were clothes in the closet as well as a carry-on size suitcase. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said, when Lucy joined her. “It all looks like he just left to go out for a loaf of bread or something.”

  “If he isn’t a lawyer, like he said, I wonder what he does do,” Lucy mused.

  “Whatever he does, he doesn’t keep regular hours.” Elizabeth was thoughtful. “Maybe he’s unemployed. Or maybe he’s a jewel thief.”

  “There’s no computer,” Lucy said.

  “I guess he took it with him—it could have been in the bag he was carrying in the video.”

  “There’s also no phone,” Lucy observed.

  “He has a cell phone. Nobody bothers with landlines anymore.”

  “Right,” Lucy said, feeling like a dinosaur, unable to keep up with a changing world. “Check the bathroom. See if his toothbrush is there.”

  “Good idea. Nobody travels without their toothbrush.”

  “Unless they forget it,” said Lucy.

  Elizabeth stepped into the small, utilitarian bathroom that could be a clone of her own. The tiny vanity sink was clean, a neatly folded towel hung on the rail, and a University of Florida mug contained a half-used tube of whitening toothpaste and a very worn toothbrush. “I guess he either forgot it, or he left town suddenly.”

  “Like somebody on the run,” said Lucy.

  Elizabeth nodded, wishing she hadn’t come. Until now she had believed that Chris was just avoiding her, wary of entanglement and commitment. That was what guys did. The women’s magazines were full of advice on how to turn casual love affairs into meaningful relationships. But now it seemed the police were right about him. Why would he leave town so suddenly—unless he had stolen the jewels?

  Observing her daughter’s crestfallen expression, Lucy tried to offer a positive slant. “Maybe he had to leave in a hurry because his mother was in an accident,” she suggested. “Something like that. When people go home, they don’t have to take stuff with them. He’s probably got plenty of clothes and stuff at his parents’ house.”

  Elizabeth brightened at this idea, but froze when she heard voices on the other side of the apartment door. “Somebody’s coming,” she whispered.

  “Time to go,” Lucy said, leading the way. They hurried outside and closed the sliding door behind them, then stepped to the side, where they couldn’t be seen from inside the apartment, and waited. A slight breeze stirred the branches of a hibiscus bush, a bird sang, a lizard froze on a rock. Nobody entered the apartment; whoever had been outside had gone on their way.

  Lucy exhaled and said, “I could use some of that sherry.”

  “Me, too.”

  Lucy studied her daughter’s expression, noticing how depressed she seemed. “Cheer up, sweetie,” she said. “I know just the thing. We’ll stop and get a Christmas tree on the way home. What do you think of that?”

  “Whatever,” Elizabeth replied with a shrug.

  Chapter 8

  When they got back to the apartment, however, Miss Tilley was waiting for them impatiently. “What took you so long?” she demanded, picking up her purse and slipping on a light jacket.

  “We stopped to get a Christmas tree,” Lucy said as Elizabeth entered carrying a tabletop-sized balsam.

  “It smells so nice,” Elizabeth said, sounding almost cheery. “Christmasy.”

  “Besides, we haven’t been gone all that
long,” Lucy protested. “And what are you up to? Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I am going out,” Miss Tilley said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No,” Lucy began, putting the bottle of sherry on the kitchen counter, “but I was thinking we could trim this tree. Elizabeth could use a distraction.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Miss Tilley said. “You make hay when the sun is shining—that’s what my dear mother used to say. Right now is the time for gathering evidence. We need to pick up the pieces of the puzzle. I’m feeling as if I’ve got a box of pieces but the top of the box, the part with the picture, is missing.” She paused for a moment, clicking her dentures. “I need to see the hotel, need to get the big picture.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Elizabeth said. “You and Mom should take a look at the place.”

  “Your mother wants to play Mrs. Santa Claus,” Miss Tilley said, pursing her lips. “And besides, I want the behind the scenes tour. I’ll need you to be my guide, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “I can’t go. I’m on probation. I’m banned from the property.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Miss Tilley said with a sniff.

  “It is kind of high school,” Elizabeth admitted, “but if I want to get my job back I have to play by the rules.”

  Miss Tilley’s jaw was set and Lucy and Elizabeth could practically hear the wheels grinding away in her grizzled old head. “I’ve got it,” she finally said. “You can wear a disguise.”

  “It’s Christmas, not Halloween,” Lucy said.

  “And I’m not an elf,” Elizabeth added.

  “I wasn’t suggesting you should dress as an elf,” Miss Tilley said. “That would attract too much attention, which is exactly what we don’t want. You should go as a maid—nobody looks at the maids.”

  “She has a point,” Lucy said, who had opened Elizabeth’s laptop and was soon scrolling through a list of uniform supply companies. “There’s a place not far from here that says they provide uniforms for all major local employers.”

  “Come to think of it, I could use a little rest.” Miss Tilley was taking off her jacket. “I think I’ll take a short nap while you get your disguise together,” she said, with a nod to Elizabeth. “And don’t forget a wig. I’d suggest blond. Nothing changes a woman’s look as much as a different hair color.”

  “She’s right,” Lucy said, writing down the address of the uniform supply store. “And you’re in luck. There’s a costume shop on the same block.”

  “Lucky me,” Elizabeth said, realizing that resistance was futile. She didn’t doubt that Miss Tilley and her mother meant well, but she doubted that their cockamamie efforts would actually help her. In truth, she suspected they would only make things worse and she would probably spend the remainder of her fleeting youth in jail. These were her best years and she would be behind bars, wearing unflattering jumpsuits and a bad haircut.

  Her GPS took her into an unfamiliar area of West Palm Beach, where small stores jostled for space with dodgy-looking bars and churches belonging to unfamiliar denominations. When she reached the uniform shop, she was surprised to see it was decorated to the hilt for Christmas. Colored lights were twinkling in the plate glass window, a couple of mannequins in hospital scrubs had wreaths around their necks, and inside a huge Christmas tree took up most of the floor space and Christmas carols were playing. The woman behind the counter, who could have been Mrs. Claus, was plump and twinkly and dressed in a red dress, white apron, and mobcap.

  “Merry Christmas!” she exclaimed. “And what can I do for you?”

  It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that she was on a fool’s errand. The Cavendish housekeepers all wore lavender shirtwaist dresses that the company supplied, so there was no reason for the store to stock them. “I know it’s unlikely, but do you have anything at all resembling a Cavendish maid’s uniform?” she asked.

  “I’ve got the real thing,” Mrs. Claus replied. “What size?”

  “Four,” Elizabeth responded.

  “No problem, I’ll be back in a tick.”

  When she reappeared with a neatly folded uniform with lace collar and embroidered Cavendish logo on the breast pocket, Elizabeth could hardly believe her luck. “How on earth did you get this?” she asked. “The hotel supplies them and the girls have to turn them in when they leave. Who needs to buy them?”

  “Well, you’re buying one.” Mrs. Claus raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I bet you spoiled yours and don’t want to pay for the replacement, which is the Cavendish policy. My price is a lot cheaper than what Cavendish wants from the girls—a hundred fifty bucks, I think it is. Something like that. They’re made in Italy, by nuns or something.”

  This was news to Elizabeth. “The maids have to pay for the uniforms?”

  “Sure they do, if it’s torn or stained and becomes unwearable.” Mrs. Claus gave her a funny look. “I would’ve thought you’d know that. What do you want it for, anyway?”

  Elizabeth blushed. “My boyfriend has this fantasy. . . .”

  Mrs. Claus grinned naughtily. “Ah! Turn-down service.”

  One hurdle cleared, Elizabeth thought with relief. “But I still don’t understand how you get the uniforms if the girls have to turn them in when they leave.”

  Mrs. Claus chuckled. “They’re leaving the country, dearie. They’re going back to Indonesia or Slovenia or wherever and they want to take as much money with them as they can, so they sell the uniforms to me. They know the hotel isn’t going to track them down in Outer Slobovia for a worn-out uniform.”

  “Right.” Elizabeth realized she’d gotten more insight about how the Cavendish chain operated from Mrs. Claus than she had from hours of training sessions. “So, what is the price?”

  “Twenty-nine ninety five.”

  Elizabeth paid and left, humming along to “Frosty the Snowman.”

  As her mother had informed her, the costume shop was just a few doors down, next to the Reformed Chinese-American Church of the First Light. Inside the shop, Christmas and Halloween were fighting for space, the Bride of Dracula was sitting on Santa’s lap, and a sexy little elf was clearly wild about the Wolf Man. There was no music; the chubby man behind the counter was listening to Rush Limbaugh.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at her through thick glasses and scratching the wispy beard growing on his chin.

  “I need a blond wig,” she said. “And a pair of fake eyeglasses.”

  “Going undercover?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Kind of,” Elizabeth said. “It’s just a joke, really.”

  “Like the ACORN thing?” he asked, eagerly.

  “Sure,” Elizabeth said, unwilling to give him too much information. “So where are the wigs?”

  “In the back, behind Rudolph.”

  The reindeer’s red nose was alight, illuminating a rack of variously colored wigs. Elizabeth chose the most realistic-looking blond one, a short, pageboy style, and also chose a pair of tortoiseshell eyeglasses with plain glass. The bill came close to forty dollars, using up most of her cash. On the way home she stopped at a drugstore and bought a bottle of cheap foundation, choosing the darkest shade she thought she could get away with. A display of Christmas tree lights caught her eye at the checkout and she impulsively picked up a box, breaking her last twenty-dollar bill. Going undercover was an expensive proposition.

  Returning home with her purchases, she found her mother busy making origami crane Christmas tree ornaments out of colorful pages she’d ripped from Elizabeth’s collection of fashion magazines. “Just what we need,” Lucy exclaimed happily, when Elizabeth gave her the lights.

  “I thought you were a sleuth of sorts, Lucy,” Miss Tilley said, her voice dripping with disapproval. “What exactly are you contributing to this investigation?”

  “This may look like busywork,” Lucy said, waving the scissors, “but I’m actually freeing my subconscious to make conn
ections and solve the theft. You’ll see: the solution will pop into my head any moment.”

  Miss Tilley did not look convinced. “Come on, Elizabeth,” she said. “Chop chop. I want to see the scene of the crime.”

  “Not until you have lunch.” Lucy was already spreading tuna fish on huge slabs of whole wheat bread. “I don’t know what to do for supper,” she muttered. “I refuse to eat one of those microwave meals again.”

  Thirty minutes later Miss Tilley was seated beside Elizabeth in the Corolla, wearing her usual wool tweed skirt and cashmere sweater set along with thick support stockings on her scrawny legs.

  “Aren’t you too warm?” Elizabeth asked, sweating in the afternoon heat.

  “Not a bit. Now what is our best plan of attack?” she inquired, as they proceeded down the long drive lined with royal palms that led to the hotel.

  Elizabeth hesitated before answering, as she came up with a plan. As a pretend maid she had to park in the employee parking lot, but that was some distance from the entrance and she wasn’t sure Miss Tilley could walk that far.

  “I think it would be best if I dropped you off at the spa entrance,” Elizabeth said. “There’s no doorman there, so chances are nobody will see you getting out of a car driven by a maid. Once you’re inside, you can ask the way to the lobby.”

  “If anyone sees me I’ll just pretend I’m a dotty old lady,” Miss Tilley chirped.

  Not actually that far from the truth, Elizabeth thought, biting her tongue. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. We’ll pretend that you’re lost and I’m showing you the way back to your room.”

  “Got it,” Miss Tilley said as Elizabeth slowed the car and approached the canopied entrance to the spa. As she predicted, nobody was around and Miss Tilley was able to enter unobserved.

  Driving onto the employee parking lot, Elizabeth was strongly tempted to speed off and head for the Mexican border, then remembered that although Florida was in the southern part of the country it was a peninsula surrounded by water and didn’t share a border with Mexico. No, she’d have to go to the airport and board a plane to somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it was far away. Australia, maybe. But since she had no money and only had a thousand-dollar limit on her one credit card, that wasn’t really an option. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for travel in this stupid maid’s uniform.