by Donna Ball
Deputy Richards glanced at the list. “And you are?”
“Purline Williams. I’m the housekeeper.” She craned her neck to see his notebook as he wrote it down. “P-u-r …”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ve got it.” He looked at Paul, who was slumped behind the desk, mopping his pasty brow with a handkerchief. “When did you first notice these items were missing?”
“I’m not sure.” Then, anxiously, “Is this going to be in the newspaper? We have a stellar reputation here at the Hummingbird House, and if this is in the paper …”
“I’ll tell you when,” interrupted Purline. “When that Hell’s Angel first showed up, that’s exactly when things started to go missing.”
The deputy looked at her alertly. “Hell’s Angel?”
She snatched the newspaper from Derrick’s desk and thrust it at the officer. “This fellow right here, that’s who done it! That same guy that robbed all those poor folks over in Evanston, he’s been hanging around here for over a week now and bringing nothing but trouble with him!”
“It’s going to be in the paper,” Paul moaned. “We’re going to be ruined.”
Derrick said anxiously to the deputy, “If there’s any way you could keep this quiet …”
The deputy looked up from the article and said to Purline, “Ma’am, you realize this newspaper is three days old, don’t you?”
“Mama.” Purline’s daughter Naomi stood at the door. “We finished all our chores and we’re ready to go now.”
Purline glanced at her distractedly. “In a minute, honey. Mama’s busy.” She looked back at the deputy. “So what if it is? What’s what is what, right?”
“Well, yes,” he admitted, handing the newspaper back to her. “But this suspect was picked up day before yesterday, and as far as I know he’s still in jail. So if we could get a clearer time line …”
Purline stared at the newspaper in disbelief. Paul sat up straighter. Derrick cast him a triumphant look. “I knew it wasn’t him!” Derrick said.
The relief on Paul’s face faded slowly to dread. “I just had a horrible thought,” he said, turning to Derrick. “Park Sung and Kim Gi. They arrived about the same time as Mick.”
Derrick pressed his hand to his heart. “And they don’t even speak English,” he added ominously.
“And we have no idea what their background is,” added Paul.
“We know nothing about them at all except that Harmony sent them,” Derrick said.
“Which is hardly an endorsement.”
Deputy Richards, tracking the conversation, said, “Could you spell those names for me, please?”
Paul began, “P.A.R. …”
Naomi tugged on her mother’s sweater. “Mama!”
Purline patted her head absently. “Go get your stuff together, sweetie, and get your brothers’ coats on. Mama will be there in a minute.”
Naomi started to run toward the door but then turned back and looked at the two men behind the giant desk. “Mr. Paul and Mr. Derrick, Mama said we mustn’t forget to thank you for helping us buy our goat. We’re going to get a great big one!”
She scampered off happily, and even Paul almost smiled as they all watched her go. “Christmas,” explained Derrick to the deputy, “is all about the children.”
Purline waited until the child was out of sight to address the deputy again. “Well, if you ask me, my money is still on the Hell’s Angel,” she said determinedly. “Just because it’s not the same man that was in the paper doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, and I’m telling you there’s something awful suspicious about that Mick fellow.”
“Again,” insisted the deputy, “if I could get a complete description of the missing items, and then I’ll need to interview all the guests …”
There was a commotion in the corridor, raised voices and slamming doors and a woman’s voice demanding, “Carl! Carl, where are you?”
Leona Bartlett strode into the office, her hair wind-tossed, her color high and her gaze fierce. She was trailed by the Mathesons and the Canons, all of them still holding champagne glasses, their expressions alert and interested. “Officer,” declared Leona forcefully. “I’m an attorney and this man is my client.” She swiveled a sharp gaze toward her astonished husband. “Honey, don’t say another word.” And then she swung back to the deputy. “This is a federal case and you have no jurisdiction here. Furthermore, my client has already signed an agreement with the state attorney general that protects him from prosecution by local authorities, so if it isn’t too much trouble would you please tell me what’s going on here?”
Paul lurched to his feet. “Federal case?”
Derrick said weakly, “Oh, this will definitely be in the paper.”
Bob Matheson looked at Carl Bartlett with a quirk of admiration. “Attorney general? I never would have guessed it, old man.”
“Quiet sort,” agreed his friend Will. “Doesn’t look like the kind to get into that much trouble.”
Sheila looked at her sister with a raised eyebrow. “And we thought we had interesting lives.”
Adele replied, “Of course, there is such a thing as too interesting.” She sipped from her glass.
Carl just stared at his wife with a look of quiet resignation. “How did you know?”
She dug into her purse and took out a manila envelope, shaking it at him forcefully. “I found this in your nightstand—copies of your deposition and the lab reports your company falsified. The bigger question is why didn’t you tell me?”
An uncertain bewilderment clouded Carl’s gaze as he stared at the envelope. “But that’s impossible. I left that envelope at home. I deliberately hid it where you wouldn’t find it.”
“Why?” she demanded, and now the ferocity in her eyes was wiped away by the sheen of tears. “Why didn’t you trust me?”
Then, dashing away her tears and her own question with a single swipe of her hand, she turned back to the deputy. “Now,” she demanded sternly, extending her hand, “may I see your warrant?”
The deputy began, “Ma’am, I’m here on a burglary complaint …”
“Burglary!” exclaimed Sheila, big eyed.
Paul smothered another groan. “We wanted to keep this quiet …”
Carl said to his wife, “Your Christmas gifts. The girls’ watches, your necklace …”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She tossed him an impatient, disbelieving look. “Didn’t you get my text? I took them with me to Richmond to return for a full refund. Do you honestly think we can afford twenty thousand dollars worth of jewelry when you don’t have a job and we’re facing at least that much in attorney’s fees?”
The deputy closed his notebook and Paul sank again into his chair, hand over his heart. “Oh, thank goodness.” Then, to the others who were crowding into the office doorway, “No cause for alarm, folks, everything is fine here. His wife took the jewelry.”
Purline objected, “Everything is not fine! What about all that other stuff? Your train and the silver and …”
“My letter opener,” supplied Derrick.
The deputy opened his notebook again.
“Well, of course,” Paul asserted, “but at least none of that belongs to a guest. Our valuables are insured, but the trust of our guests … that’s priceless! So I say again, thank goodness.”
Derrick nodded his wholehearted agreement.
Carl took a step toward his wife. “You went to Richmond?”
“Of course I did. Blake Archer is the best attorney in the southeast, and I had to make sure to get him on our team. If we hadn’t gotten the documents to the courthouse before closing today, we wouldn’t have even been able to begin working on discovery until after the new year, and his office was the only one with the manpower to get it done.”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Will. “You work for Apricot Foods. They had that massive recall over the summer—this has got to be some kind of whistle-blower case!”
Sheila said, “Good for you!” And lifted her gl
ass.
Adele looked at Will suspiciously. “How did you figure that out? You didn’t used to be that smart.”
The deputy said, “Do you think we could get back to the case at hand?” He moved his gaze around the room, which had grown more than a little crowded. “And could everyone who does not have a stolen item to report please wait somewhere else? Don’t leave the house though, because I’ll want to talk to you all.”
Adele shrugged and drained the last bubbles from her glass. “Suits me. I could use a refill.”
Sheila worried, “Maybe we should do an inventory of our rooms.”
Carl touched his wife’s arm and they left the room, walking close together. Will, oblivious, dropped a companionable hand on Carl’s shoulder and said, “So tell me about this case of yours. Is it anything like the one in upstate New York a few years back? Boy, that poor guy got the shaft.”
When everyone except Purline, Paul and Derrick had left the room, the long-suffering deputy turned back to Paul. “Sir, next to the jewelry, you said the most valuable item missing was an antique train. Could you describe it, please?”
“Well,” began Paul, “it was wooden. And red. Hand-carved in Holland. About so big …” He held out his hands a foot or so apart.
“Did it look anything like this?”
They all turned at the sound of Mrs. Hildebrand’s voice. She stood at the office door with an amused look on her face, resting both hands on the crown of her walking stick. Beside her were Purline’s three children, dressed in their outdoor gear and ready to go home. Naomi, the oldest, held a medium-sized plastic box in her hands, the contents of which were clearly visible to anyone who cared to look.
“The young ones here were just showing me their treasures,” explained Mrs. Hildebrand.
Derrick hurried forward. “Apologies, Mrs. Hildebrand,” he said. “Children, what have we been told about bothering the guests?” He stopped short as he reached them, staring at the box.
He swiveled his head toward Paul and then, in astonishment, back to the box again. “It’s your train,” he said. He took out the aged wooden engine and showed it to Paul, who got slowly to his feet, staring. Derrick reached into the box again, and brought out the video game console, still in its original wrapping. “Wait. Here’s my letter opener, and the candlestick … Oh, my God, your crepe pans!”
Paul rushed forward and dug into the box, snatching out a crepe pan with one hand and a box car with the other. “They’re here!” he cried, gazing at them as though upon the Holy Grail. “It’s them, they’re really here!” He dug back through the box and pulled out a book. “Derrick, this is your Emily Dickenson first edition! It’s your most prized possession.”
Derrick’s face lost a little color as he grabbed the book and stared at it for a moment in disbelief, then pressed it close to his chest. “It was on my shelf only this morning,” he said. His voice sounded strangulated.
“It’s very valuable,” asserted one of the twins. All eyes turned on him.
“All our treasures are valuable,” added the other boy.
“We’re going to take them to the bank,” said Naomi.
“And trade them for money,” added one of the twins.
“For a goat,” said the other.
Purline’s hand was at her throat. “You …” Her voice was hoarse and her eyes bulged as she looked at the children. “You took these things?”
“We didn’t take them,” Naomi insisted earnestly. “Mr. Paul and Mr. Derrick said they wanted to help.”
“With our goat,” said Joshua.
“Mr. Paul said we needed valuable stuff,” said Naomi.
“And Mr. Derrick said we needed a lot more money,” said Joshua.
“And God helps those who help themselves,” added Jacob.
The deputy closed his notebook again, trying to keep a straight face. “Gentlemen, please ascertain that everything is there. Will you be pressing charges?”
Purline reached behind her to steady herself on the corner of the desk. “My children,” she whispered. “My children are thieves. I am raising criminals. My children are going to jail.”
Paul looked at Derrick. The look he returned was filled with pained determination as he slowly returned the book to the box. Reluctantly, Paul did the same with the box car, and finally, with the crepe pan.
“Don’t be absurd, Purline,” Paul said, though with obvious difficulty. “The children were right, we offered to help.”
“You wouldn’t let us give them money,” Derrick went on, “so we donated these things to the cause.”
“Besides,” added Paul, “no point in upsetting the little tykes the night before Christmas. After all, they worked hard for the goat. They deserve something for their efforts.”
He managed a strained smile as he patted Naomi on the head. “Go in good cheer, little ones. Merry Christmas.”
Purline fixed them both with a long hard stare, her lips tightly compressed and her churning eyes unreadable. Then, without warning, she flung herself on Paul, hugging him so hard that he staggered, and then on Derrick. “I’ll make this up to you,” she whispered fiercely, “if it’s the last thing I do.”
Derrick patted her shoulder uncertainly. “Well, perhaps a little less starch in the whites,” he suggested.
Purline stepped back, sniffed, and smoothed both hands on the sides of her jeans. She raised her chin and said, “Well. Looks like the good Lord taught me a lesson in humility this Christmas. Maybe I won’t be so quick to judge next time.”
Paul replied, “A good lesson for all of us.”
She turned to gather up her brood, and then looked back over her shoulder, frowning a little. “Of course,” she pointed out, “your van is still missing. And so is everybody in it.”
Carl Bartlett moved to the window of the parlor and watched the Christmas lights pop on all around the garden—the white branch lights, the blue and pink spotlights, the cascading curtain lights. It was like looking at the sky upside down. Behind him the fire crackled and the Christmas tree sparkled and the chatter over the excitement of the last few minutes was lively. There was plenty to drink and more than enough to nibble on from the leftover tea tables, and no one seemed to want to leave. He did not want to draw attention to himself by being the first to do so. Besides, his girls still weren’t back.
Leona came over to him. “I tried calling Kelly again,” she said. “All I get is an out of service area message.”
“I’m sure they’ll be back any time now.” He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded, how easy it was to have a normal conversation. “The deputy said there hadn’t been any reports of accidents involving a van like theirs. It’s Christmas Eve traffic.”
She said quietly, “This has to have been going on for weeks. Why didn’t you tell me what you were going through?”
He was silent for a moment, watching the lights. “I didn’t think I had the right. I was about to blow up everybody’s world. Yours, mine, the girls. I wasn’t sure … I wasn’t sure how any of you would react to what I had to tell you. So I thought if I could pretend everything was normal for just another couple of weeks … If we could have one last Christmas …”
Leona tilted her head, studying his profile, and understanding dawned slowly. “You didn’t think we’d support you.”
He drew a breath. He said, “I’m in charge of operations. I’m responsible for everything that goes out of that company. I should have figured out what was going on sooner, but I didn’t. Charges could still be brought against me.”
She said sharply, “You’ll never serve a day in jail.”
He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “After this comes out, I’ll be virtually unemployable. We’ll have to sell the house.”
She gave a dismissive toss of her head. “I’ve got a law degree. It won’t kill me to put it to actual work for a change.”
He said, “It’s going to get ugly. The girls aren’t used to hard times.” He looked at her somberly. “You don’t h
ave to go through this with me. None of you do.”
Leona replied mercilessly, “Our daughters are spoiled, ungrateful and self-centered.” She wrapped her fingers around his arm, angling her body to look up at him. “They’ve gotten used to thinking of you as just the guy who brings home the paycheck. Maybe I have too, if I’m being perfectly honest. It’s easy to take things for granted when life is rolling along the way you want it to. We’ve all gotten lazy and spoiled and complacent, and maybe it takes something like this to wake us up, because that all changes today. Being a family takes work, Carl, it’s not something that just happens. And how dare you think we wouldn’t stand by you.” She pressed her cheek fiercely against his arm. “How dare you.”
He drew her into his arms and closed his eyes, just holding her. “I love you,” he said huskily. “And I’m sorry.”
“Me to,” she whispered. “On both counts.”
She stepped away from him as headlights flashed on the window and exhaled her relief. “Thank goodness,” she said. Over her shoulder she called, “Everyone! They’re back!”
Derrick hurried into the kitchen, where Paul was setting up the fondue pots for the informal fireside Christmas Eve supper. “As long as the booze holds up, I think we’re going to be okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “Everyone seems to have forgotten about the burglary and moved on to gossiping about Mr. Bartlett—which, fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind. Good heavens, how many criminals can this house hold, anyway?”
“Well, thank God the only ones we’re responsible for are of the juvenile variety,” Paul said. “Good decision to wait until tomorrow to give Purline her gift, by the way. One more gesture of kindness tonight would have done her in, I’m afraid.”
Derrick said, “You know what this makes us, don’t you?”
Paul refused to answer, and Derrick supplied, “Nice.”
“Well,” Paul admitted grudgingly, “I suppose there are worse things to be.” He handed a tray filled with fondue pots and sterno cups to Derrick. “By the way, did Mr. Phipps ever return? He left hours ago, and if he and his wife aren’t going to join us for supper …”