Deck the Halls (Holiday Classics)

by Mary Higgins Clark

  His easygoing manner disappeared, however, when he was on a case. The grandson of a New York police lieutenant, after graduating from Boston College he surprised his family by making the decision to pursue a career in law enforcement. In the twelve years that followed, he had risen through the ranks from patrolman to captain and head of the Major Case Squad. Along the way he also had picked up two master’s degrees. His goal was to become police commissioner of New York, and few who knew him doubted he would make it.

  His pager beeped. He had taken it off and laid it in the well of the car’s console. He picked it up, glanced at the number, and was not at all happy to see that it was his office trying to reach him. Now what? he thought as he pulled out his cell phone.

  Fifteen minutes later he was tapping on the door of Nora’s hospital room. Alvirah ran over to open it. “I’m so glad you got here so fast!” she exclaimed.

  “I was right by an exit on the FDR Drive,” Jack said as he greeted Alvirah with a peck on the cheek. He looked past her and recognized the face of Nora Regan Reilly. He knew the very attractive young woman standing beside her had to be her daughter. He had seen that same anguished expression on the faces of the relatives of other kidnap victims. They wanted help, not sympathy.

  “I’m Jack Reilly,” he said as he shook hands with both of them. “I’m terribly sorry about what’s happened. I know you want to get right down to business.”

  “Just the facts, ma’am,” Regan said with a ghost of a smile. “Yes, we do.”

  I like him, Nora thought as he took out a notebook. He’s solid. He knows what he’s doing. With a pang, she watched Jack Reilly glance around and pull up the chair Luke had occupied that very morning.

  Immediately after they made the phone call to Regan Reilly, C.B. and Petey put on their coats and hats. As C.B. gratuitously explained to Luke and Rosita, it was happy hour at the bar in Edgewater at which he had met Petey some months earlier.

  “Yeah,” Petey brayed. “And wouldn’t ya know, Mr. Reilly, we met because of you.”

  “How did I manage that?” Luke asked, an edge in his voice as he flexed his fingers and shifted the handcuffs to move them past his wrist bones.

  “I’ll tell ya. Talk about coincidence. A couple of weeks after I painted your viewing room, I’m sitting at Elsie’s Hideaway, and there’s C.B., sitting at the other end of the bar, drowning his many sorrows.”

  “You were in a pretty sorry state yourself,” C.B. interjected.

  “Yeah,” Petey agreed. “I gotta admit. At the time I wasn’t feeling so good about life myself.”

  “Losers,” Rosita muttered under her breath.

  “Huh?” Petey asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on Petey,” C.B. said impatiently. “Let’s go. The cheese and crackers will be gone before we get there.”

  “The crowd that place attracts—vultures, every one of them,” Petey said, shaking his head with disgust. Hellbent on finishing his story, he continued: “So I said to myself, I’ve seen that guy before. But where? Then I said to myself, wowie—I know where. It was at that lively joint of yours, Mr. Reilly. Turns out he and that old buzzard of an uncle had stopped by while I was doing the paint job.”

  “What a beautiful story,” Rosita said sarcastically.

  “Yeah. So I bring my beer over, friendly like, and we got to talking.” Petey’s voice changed. “And he told me you were all making jokes about that nice color I painted your room—and after I’d mixed it special for you.”

  C.B. opened the door to the deck. “When Uncle Cuthbert took a look at that room, he said he’d rather be waked in a fun house.”

  “That really hurt my feelings,” Petey lamented. “But it all worked out for the best.” His face brightened. “If he and his uncle hadn’t poked their noses into the room, I wouldn’t have met C.B. And now we’re gonna start a new life with your million dollars, Mr. Reilly. We’ll be on the beach, meeting gorgeous girls and everything.”

  “Good for you,” Luke snapped. “Does that radio over there work?” He nodded his head in the direction of the little kitchen.

  Petey glanced at the top of the refrigerator where a scratched and painfully old radio was perched precariously. “Sometimes. If the batteries are working.” He reached up and flipped it on. “What’s your fancy? News or music?”

  “News,” Luke said.

  “There’d better be no bulletin about your disappearance,” C.B. said darkly.

  “I assure you there won’t be.”

  Petey twisted the dial until he found an all-news station. The sound was raspy and tinny, but clear enough to be understood. “Enjoy,” he said as he followed C.B. out the door.

  After they left, Luke and Rosita listened to the traffic and weather reports. A nor’easter was making its way up the East Coast. According to the forecast, it would be in Washington, D.C., tomorrow and was expected to hit the New York area on Christmas Eve.

  “Listen up, you last-minute shoppers,” the announcer cautioned. “We expect between eight and ten inches of snow, high winds, and icy road conditions. So it would be wise to get all your shopping completed by tomorrow afternoon. On Saturday the roads are going to be hazardous, so play it safe and make plans to stay home by the tree.”

  “I was going to put up our tree tonight, with my sons,” Rosita said quietly. “Mr. Reilly, do you think we’ll be home on Christmas Eve?”

  “Nora and Regan will make sure that the money is paid. And I really do believe these guys intend to let us go. Or at least they’ll tell someone where to find us once they have the money in their hands.”

  Luke did not tell Rosita what was now becoming his greatest fear. Stupid as they were, C.B. and Petey would never disclose his and Rosita’s whereabouts until they were safely beyond the long arm of the law. This probably meant they’d be heading to a country that would not extradite them. If we’re still here on Saturday, Luke thought, this river might be loaded with chunks of ice that could easily tear holes in this rotting tub. It had already been an unusually cold December. A storm would pull the ice that had already formed up north down the river.

  * * *

  Three long hours later, C.B. and Petey reappeared, this time carrying bags from McDonald’s.

  “Elsie put out some spread,” Petey rejoiced. “Normally, she’s a Scrooge, but I guess miracles happen during the holidays. Although she did get annoyed when I tried to fix a little doggie bag for you two. That’s why we picked up some Big Macs.”

  “Set it out for them,” C.B. ordered. “Then get blankets and pillows from the bedroom. As soon as they eat and get settled for the night, I’m out of here. And you get a good night’s sleep too, Petey. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “We sure do,” Petey said, his speech slightly slurred thanks to Elsie’s eggnog. “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? We do! C.B. and Petey, New Jersey’s finest! But who needs Regis? We’ve got Luke Reilly.”

  The length of the chains made it possible for them to lie back, Luke on the banquette and Rosita across the way on the couch. For hours Luke lay awake. Petey’s tumultuous snoring from the tiny bedroom reverberated through the drafty cabin, but somehow it was easier to take than the sound of Rosita crying softly in her sleep.

  “I think we’re all agreed,” Jack Reilly said, summing up the hour they had been together in Nora’s room. “Mrs. Reilly . . .” he began.

  “Nora,” she corrected. Maybe someday Mom, she thought with a quick flash of humor. Oh God, I can just imagine what Luke would say if I told him that in the middle of his kidnapping, I’m trying, as usual, to fix Regan up. When I tell him, not if, she corrected herself. But one thing was certain: Luke would like Jack Reilly.

  “Nora,” he continued. “We’ve canceled your private nurses. You might be getting phone calls here about Luke and Rosita, and the fewer people who know about this, the better. Now I want you to try and get some rest. If you think of anyone who might hold a grudge, for whatever reason, against you or Luke, or
even Regan, call me immediately.”

  Nora shook her head and raised her hands helplessly. “I just can’t imagine.”

  “I understand. Of course, we’ll be checking into Rosita’s ex-husband as well,” he said, then paused. “And then again, this could just be someone who knows that you have money.”

  “That’s why when the lottery commission asked me and Willy to do a commercial about how happy we are with all our money, I told them to go jump in a lake,” Alvirah announced. “Of course, I’d already been on plenty of shows, but enough’s enough.”

  “You’re right, Alvirah,” Jack assured her. “Nora, first thing in the morning, you’ll contact your broker and arrange a million-dollar loan against your stock portfolio. You’re sure they won’t start asking questions?”

  “It’s our money,” she said firmly. “Nobody tells us what to do with it.”

  Regan was glad to see that her mother’s fighting spirit was returning.

  “We’ll alert the Federal Reserve bank to start assembling the ransom money,” Jack said. Then he turned to Regan. “You and Alvirah are going to Rosita’s home now to speak with whomever is baby-sitting her sons. You’ll have to use your discretion about how much to tell him. Our people should have her phone covered by now. If this baby-sitter wants to leave, we can send a social worker over.”

  “I have the perfect person for the job,” Alvirah said triumphantly. “Sister Maeve Marie. She works with Cordelia, Willy’s sister. Maeve’s great with kids, and she used to be on the New York City police force. And like Sister Cordelia, she can make the Sphinx look like a blabbermouth.”

  Jack smiled. “Good. And Regan, after checking out Rosita’s home situation, you and Alvirah are going to meet your father’s assistant at his office.”

  Regan nodded. At Jack’s request, she had phoned Austin Grady and obtained the license number of the car Rosita had been driving, as well as the E-Z Pass account number. Jack had already called this information in to his office.

  They had agreed that Austin had to be fully informed, but the only thing Regan had told him so far was that there was a serious problem. “He’ll be waiting there for us,” she said.

  “You’ll bring the car you’ll be driving for the ransom drop back into the city tonight,” Jack confirmed.

  “Yes. My mother’s BMW.”

  “One of my guys will meet you later at your parents’ apartment on Central Park South. He’ll take the car downtown to be bird-dogged.”

  All three women knew “bird-dogging” was the slang for placing an electronic device attached by a magnet under the car so it could be tracked by a helicopter. Another tracking device would be placed with the ransom money, so that once it was transferred, the money could be followed to wherever the kidnappers were taking it.

  The hope, of course, was that the kidnappers would then lead them to where the hostages were being kept.

  “Alvirah, let me have the recording you made of the ransom call,” Jack said.

  “I want a copy of it first thing in the morning,” Alvirah ordered as she unsnapped the cassette from the back of her sunburst pin.

  “Another brilliant move by Alvirah,” Jack said with affection, holding up the tiny cassette. “Even if he tried to disguise it, we have the kidnapper’s voice on tape, and our tech guys may be able to learn something from the background sounds.”

  As Alvirah beamed at him, he kissed her cheek. “My team will be waiting for me down at One Police Plaza.” He touched Nora’s hand. “Try not to worry too much.” He turned to Regan. “We’ll keep each other posted.”

  When he left, the room suddenly felt empty. There was a momentary pause, and then it was as though the three women had the same thought at once.

  There was no time to waste.

  It had been a busy day for Ernest Bumbles, president and chairman of the board of the Seed-Plant-Bloom-and-Blossom Society of the Garden State of New Jersey. He awoke in the morning to the happy realization that it wasn’t all just a dream. Cuthbert Boniface Goodloe had indeed left virtually his entire estate to the society.

  The joyous news had reached them only hours after dear Mr. Goodloe had breathed his last. Ernest had received a call from Goodloe’s lawyer with “sad news and glad news,” as he put it. “Mr. Goodloe is no longer with us,” he said with a sigh, “but his association with the Blossoms gave him so much pleasure for the past three years that he has left virtually his entire estate of a bit over one million dollars to your society.”

  Ernest had been busy mulching his thistles in the greenhouse behind his home when his wife, Dolly, had come running out with the portable phone. A sufferer of severe allergies, she covered her face with a surgical mask whenever she entered the greenhouse.

  “Bumby,” she cried, her voice muffled, “a call for you. He sounds smart, so it must be important. A-choo.”

  Even with the mask, the mulch always got to her.

  The reason Mr. Withers had phoned before Goodloe had finished knocking on the pearly gates soon became clear. It had been Mr. Goodloe’s express wish that the Blossoms turn out in full force for his wake, his funeral, and the luncheon to follow. Needless to say, Blossoms all across the state had dropped their shovels, ripped off their gardening gloves, and gathered to mourn their now beloved benefactor.

  In the emergency board of directors meeting called by Ernest before the services, one of the members pointed out that were it not for Luke Reilly, none of this would have happened. Three years earlier, Reilly had been feted as Man of the Year at their annual banquet, in recognition of the fact that his three funeral homes were a boon to the local floral industry.

  The night of the award, Cuthbert Boniface Goodloe had been his guest at one of the tables Luke had been strongly encouraged to buy.

  Goodloe had been so enchanted by the society’s four-minute film on the positive effects of talking to your plants that he had signed up to become a member that very night.

  At the meeting after Goodloe’s death, they had unanimously voted that in recognition of Luke Reilly’s networking skills, he would be presented a Blossom Society Proclamation at the post-funeral luncheon. Much to their disappointment, however, Reilly did not show up. His associate, Austin Grady, had informed them of Luke’s wife’s unfortunate accident.

  Ernest was especially disappointed. He had wanted to put the framed proclamation—enscribed on the finest parchment money could buy and surrounded by dried flowers—in Luke’s hands personally. He had looked forward with great anticipation to seeing the thrilled expression on his face when he unwrapped the proclamation and read the message.

  TO ALL WHO READ THESE WORDS

  Greetings and Salutations.

  Be It Known That Luke Reilly,

  By Virtue of Bringing Our Beloved

  Benefactor

  Cuthbert Boniface Goodloe

  Into the Fold of the Blossoms,

  Is now and forever,

  By the Authority and Recommendation

  of the Board of Directors,

  Freely and Without Reservation,

  A Lifelong Member of the

  Seed-Plant-Bloom-and-Blossom Society

  of the Garden State of New Jersey

  With all its honors, rights

  and privileges thereof.

  Presented on this Twenty-second Day of

  December, at the dawn of the Second

  Millennium,

  E Pluribus Unum

  When he had not appeared at the luncheon, Grady had assured Ernest that Reilly undoubtedly would drop by the funeral parlor sometime in the late afternoon. Ernest went there at five, but still there was no sign of him. Grady urged him to leave the festively wrapped gift, but that was absolutely out of the question. There are few times in one’s life, Ernest thought, when you get to see pure, unadulterated joy on the face of one’s fellow man. If it was humanly possible to see Luke Reilly before he and Dolly left for her mother’s house on Christmas Eve and to give him that gift in person, he was going to do it
.

  “Bumby,” Dolly said as she poured him a second cup of coffee, “if you want to stop by the funeral parlor before we go caroling with my choral group, we have to hurry.”

  “You’re right, as usual.” He gulped down the coffee and pushed back his chair.

  Twenty minutes later he was back in the office of the funeral parlor inquiring about Luke Reilly’s whereabouts.

  “I’m afraid he’s been delayed,” Austin Grady said.

  Bumbles thought he detected a slight irritation in the other man’s voice. He was tempted to explain the contents of the package, but to do so would risk spoiling the surprise.

  “I’ll be back,” he promised.

  “We close at nine,” Grady warned. “That’s only a little over an hour from now.”

  “Tomorrow morning then,” Bumbles said cheerfully as he carefully picked up the package he had rested on a chair and disappeared out the door, fragments of the proclamation running through his head. “. . . Be it known that Luke Reilly, by virtue of bringing our beloved benefactor Cuthbert Boniface Goodloe into the fold of the Blossoms . . .”

  Bumbles couldn’t wait until the whole world knew just what Luke Reilly had done for them.

  It was 9:30 in the evening when their car pulled up to the garden apartment complex where Rosita lived. Between them, Alvirah and Regan had worked out the scenario they would follow once inside. They needed to size up the man who was with the children. If he turned out to be very close to Rosita, they would tell him what had happened. If he was simply helping out till she got home, they would tell him they had Sister Maeve Marie ready to jump in a car and drive over from New York.

  Nora had told them that Rosita’s mother was now living in San Juan with the rest of her family. Jack warned that it would be unwise to notify any of them yet. “They can’t do anything to help,” he pointed out, “and it could create a terrible problem if word of this got out.”

  “Be careful,” the driver warned as he opened the door and offered his hand to help Alvirah out. “It’s pretty slippery here.”