Feliz Navidead

by Ann Myers

  “Root beer,” I said. “What happened?” I half expected him to clam up, especially in front of Jake.

  “Petty drug pusher,” he said. “A new client for you, counselor? Or do you only look for big-time criminal clients who can pay?”

  Jake smiled serenely. “Me? I’m dreaming of a no-crime Christmas.”

  Me too, and after tonight’s calm performance, I could almost believe that my dream would come true.

  Outside, my festive mood soared higher. Colored lights sparkled in the Plaza, strung in pretty loops high in the treetops. Mary and Joseph had found shelter in the bandstand, decorated as a manger. Mary sat on a hay bale and munched a cookie. Joseph joined the singers in a borderlands version of “Deck the Halls,” complete with mariachi-style yells and yodels. Volunteers served up hot cider and goodies under heat lamps. Barton and the third devil hammed it up for photos with audience members. Shasta was double-tasked with managing Sidekick while also playing the role of devil portrait photographer. The goat aimed his ribbon-wrapped horns at the knees of any passerby in his reach.

  When we reached Mom, she kissed Celia on both cheeks.

  Celia adjusted her devil horns and said, “So? What’d you think, Gran?”

  Mom told Celia that she was the very best devil in the entire performance. “The best I’ve ever seen, in fact,” she added.

  I had to hand it to Mom. She wasn’t going to lie and say that she thought a Christmas devil was a great idea. However, she knew good devil acting when she saw it.

  Manny went back to work, taking a reluctant Deputy Davis with him. I spotted Flori standing under a heat lamp handing out hot cider. Or, rather, she was warming her hands with a cup of cider and letting everyone else ladle their own. Sky and Cass headed for the snacks, along with Celia, Mom, and Gary the ever-hungry guard.

  Jake and I were about to follow when I heard my name being called. I looked but saw only happy people enjoying cider and swaying to the Christmas music.

  “Over here!” Dalia’s voice sounded far away.

  “There,” Jake said, amusement in his voice. “Over by that garbage can by the kitchen gifts store.”

  “Oh dear,” I said with a smile. Dalia was trying to pull Mr. Peppers away from a trash can. A boy in angel wings, chased by a girl devil, weaved in and out between the beams of the portico.

  Dalia sighed in exasperation when Jake and I joined her. “This donkey is under strict instructions to avoid processed wheat and sugar, so I kept him away from the cookie table. But then he smelled something in this trash can. I think it’s a donut box. No, no, Mr. Peppers. Think of your health, dear.”

  Eddie came to a panting stop. He held a Mexican wedding cookie as big as his fist and his nose was dusted in powdered sugar. His sister, seeing me and Jake, assumed a bored pose, leaning against the wall.

  Jake patted Mr. Peppers and whispered something in his big donkey ear. I swear, Mr. Peppers grinned. Taking the lead from Dalia, Jake gently moved Mr. Peppers away from the tempting trash can. They stood a few feet away, both facing the Plaza in a charming Western silhouette.

  “The teeth on that donkey,” Dalia said with a shudder. “I love all creatures, but he latched on and chewed a hole in my best wool shawl.” Then she smiled. “But it was a lovely evening, wasn’t it? The stars are in alignment, finally. Barton did a fine job, and Celia was an angel. Well, a devil angel.”

  I beamed at the praise heaped on my favorite devil. “No threatening notes? Nothing amiss?” I asked.

  Dalia didn’t know of anything. “Thank the stars! I’m so relieved, especially for Judith’s sake. Now she can concentrate on enjoying Christmas and getting better. We all can.”

  Everyone except Francisco. I felt sad for him, forgotten in life and death, except by Lorena.

  Dalia nudged me. “Your handsome cowboy has a way with donkeys, doesn’t he?” Before I could answer, she said. “I hate to ask, but I don’t suppose Jake could take Mr. Peppers back to his pen? I’d like to go check on Judith, make sure she’s doing okay.”

  “We’d be happy to,” I said, a sentiment echoed by the wheezy bray of Mr. Peppers.

  Jake offered to do the task alone. “You’re sure you don’t want to hang out with Celia and your mother?” he asked. “I think I can handle this wild minidonkey.”

  Mr. Peppers was walking along between us like a well-trained show dog.

  I was reluctant to leave Celia. However, she was surrounded by friends, family, and Gary, and I’d love a bit of time alone with Jake. I jogged over to the cookie table and told my daughter where I’d be. While I was there, I took Sidekick off Shasta’s hands. She barely had time to thank me before Barton barked at her to take more photos.

  Sidekick was happy to join his donkey buddy, and Jake and I and the miniherd took a twisting route of side streets to avoid traffic and known sources of baked goods. Peppers and Sidekick sped up as we neared Tres Amigas. On the last block, the donkey and goat began to trot. Jake and I jogged along, unable to resist laughing at the donkey’s excited honks and wheezes. Once back in their garden manger, Peppers and Sidekick bellied up to their hay bale. Jake leaned over to kiss me.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, warming me from my heart to my toes. He cupped my chin and kissed me again as fluffy snowflakes fell on my cheeks.

  “Snow!” I said, delighted.

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and we both gazed up at the falling crystals.

  “Beautiful,” he said, looking at me. We secured the livestock and walked, arm in arm, back to the Plaza, taking our time. When we turned the corner, however, my heart leapt, and not from romance. An ambulance was screeching up to the curb, lights flashing and siren blaring.

  My maternal worries kicked in full force. What if I’d relaxed too soon? What if the ambulance was coming for Celia? Dropping Jake’s arm, I took off at a run, pushing through the crowds to find my daughter.

  Chapter 16

  Jake, at my heels, repeated that it would be okay. I knew he was probably right. No, surely right, I told myself, slowing a little. I spotted Sky, his imp horns rising above most other heads. He stood by the bandstand. As I got closer I saw that he was holding devil horns, limp and sagging. My stomach lurched.

  “Sky!” I called out, eyes fixated on the horns. Behind the snacks table, with its festive hot cider and cookies, EMTs were working frantically.

  Sky looked my way, his young face wrinkled in concern. “She passed out,” he said when I reached him. “She was fine and then . . .”

  “Then she fell out of her chair,” Celia’s voice nearly made me swoon with relief. She and Mom came around the side of the bandstand. Celia looked fine. Mom was shaking her head and screwing the top back on a water bottle.

  “Rita, where have you been?” Mom demanded. “There’s been a medical emergency.” Then catching sight of Jake, she shook her head some more.

  Now was not the time to explain. “What happened?” I asked.

  “It’s Ms. Crundall,” Celia said. She pointed toward the cluster of EMTs still blocking my view. “Sky and I were right there. She looked fine, and then all of a sudden, she was out of it.” My daughter shuddered. “She was breathing and all, but she wouldn’t wake up. We called 911.”

  The EMTs lifted a stretcher and hurried it to the waiting ambulance. One of the EMTs held a bag of fluids high above the pathetically small and blanket-covered figure of Judith Crundall. They hefted her into the back of the ambulance and climbed in after her. We watched as the lights flashed into the distance.

  Jake put his hand on the small of my back. “I’m sorry about your friend. You’re okay?”

  I reached down and squeezed his hand, relieved but also worried about Judith and her family. “Where’s Dalia?”

  Celia tilted her head to the south. “Dalia missed it all. We think she went over to talk to the hotel that sponsored the first devil. Flori went to find her.” My daughter pulled an exaggerated frown. “I volunteered to go, but Flori said I should stay here w
ith Gary.”

  Gary stood guard over the cookie table, his eyes darting between plates of bizcochitos and the remains of pie.

  “Looks like you’re in good hands, then,” Jake said with a hint of a smile to Celia. He kissed the top of my head and asked if there was anything he could do. When I said no, he said he’d call it a night. He tipped his hat to a still-frowning Mom, gave friendly fist bumps to Sky and Celia, and slid off through the crowd. Sky made his goodbyes too. “Mom went back to her studio,” he said. “I better go tell her what happened.”

  “We should get going as well,” my mother said, pointing to her watch. It was nearly nine, Mom’s appointed bedtime.

  Celia watched the ambulance turn the corner. “We tried to help,” she said again.

  “Ms. Crundall will be okay,” I told Celia. I hoped I was telling the truth.

  My daughter’s mouth was firm set. “Yeah. I hope so. I like her. She comes off kinda harsh sometimes, but that’s because she does and says what she wants. She’s cool.”

  Like Flori, I thought, as we weaved through the crowd to an unpopulated spot by a park bench. The bench was covered in festively colored yarn. The knit bandit stood nearby with her white-haired husband, Bernard, and a distraught Dalia. When they saw me, Flori waved me over.

  “Perfect,” Flori said. “Rita, Dalia here needs a ride to the hospital and Bernard can’t find our car keys.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “The old fool.”

  Said fool winked at me and patted his front jacket pocket. Bernard went to great measures to discourage Flori from driving at night. “I’m gonna flag a cab,” Bernard said.

  Finding a cab seemed as likely as flagging down a flying reindeer. Streets were still blocked off for Las Posadas and crowds clogged those that were open. My car wasn’t far away.

  “Mom?” I said. “Do you mind if we—”

  She read my mind and answered before I could finish asking. “Of course we’ll take you, Dalia,” Mom said.

  “She doesn’t have her protectors.” Dalia held up a small kachina to a nurse, whose unsmiling face contrasted with the happy dancing pandas on her pastel scrubs. We’d waited a good fifteen minutes for the crabby nurse to appear. Dalia had spent the time giving a tarot card reading to an ashen-faced woman with an obviously broken wrist.

  “The protectors are her spiritual medicine,” Dalia added, enunciating as if the nurse might not understand English.

  “She’s got medicine,” the nurse replied. “We’re a hospital. You can see her soon.”

  Dalia thrust the kachina into the nurse’s hands. “Take this to her. Please. She’ll want it.” The nurse looked rightfully dubious. With a put-upon sigh, she stuffed the figure in her pocket and disappeared through the swinging doors marked staff only.

  When the broken-wrist lady left for treatment, Dalia paced the room. Mom and Celia worked on a crossword, and I turned my thoughts to the puzzle of the dead devil. We’d all thought that the play went off without a hitch. Perhaps it had. Judith was elderly and ill, and by her own admission, she might be nearing death’s door. Or was someone trying to help her get there? Francisco had worked at her estate. If he’d discovered a plot to kill her . . . I grasped at possibilities, but couldn’t get a firm grip on any.

  When Dalia paced my way again, I asked if she’d been with her half sister before her collapse.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice wavering. “I was with her most of the night. Most days lately too. My husband’s joking I left him.” She gave a nervous laugh and said it was good that Phillip’s online spiritual consultation business was keeping him busy.

  “It’s not your fault, Dalia,” I said. “What was Judith doing before she passed out? Had she eaten or drunk anything?”

  “Only half a cookie,” Dalia said, shaking her head. “It’s so hard to get her to eat and drink enough since her stomach’s been feeling off. I forced her to have some warm cider. I shouldn’t have let her come out, but she insisted. She always gets her way, just like our father.”

  “So you got her the cider,” I said, hoping to steer Dalia back to the timeline of events.

  Dalia rubbed a purple crystal hanging from her neck. “No, I asked Trey to. He was walking by, not even going to stop and say hello. I insisted he do something nice for his mother. He heaved and sighed like a big child. I swear, that man will never grow up.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my stars, Saturn protect us!”

  I knew exactly what she was thinking. Or at least, I thought I did. “Trey got that drink—” I started to say.

  “Trey! No one’s told him yet! Oh, how could I be so scatterbrained? Here I was badmouthing him and he doesn’t even know his mother’s in the hospital.” Dalia patted the layers of her flowing skirts, searching for her phone.

  I kept my thoughts to myself. Maybe Trey already knew. He would, if he’d dumped poison in his mother’s cider.

  An hour later, I was being the dutiful child, politely nodding as my mother repeated the word, “See?”

  The “see” was uttered with such triumph that Mom didn’t need to add “I told you so.” But, of course, she had told me so and would continue to do so for as long as I lived seven thousand feet above sea level. I took a swig of water to show I’d learned my lesson.

  “Water, Rita. Hydration. I’ve been telling you, you need to drink more. Dehydration can have very dangerous consequences. I told your sister too. Don’t think because you’re at an ocean that you’re getting enough water.”

  Mom turned to Celia, who wisely held up her bottle of water, acquired at ridiculous cost from the hospital’s vending machine. “Yum,” Celia added, further shielding herself from the hydration lecture.

  A few minutes earlier, the nurse had returned with Judith’s doctor and his diagnosis of her condition. Simple dehydration. Just like Mom had been warning about. Mom was downright smug. We were all relieved.

  “The body’s electrolytes can go haywire,” the doctor had said, to Mom’s chorus of “See” and “I knew it.”

  “You have to be careful,” the doctor then preached to the Mom choir. “Especially this time of year. People think about water in the summer when it’s hot. In the winter, folks tend to forget.”

  “It’s just as well I couldn’t get Trey on the phone,” Dalia said as Mom, Celia, and I prepared to leave. Judith was going to stay with her sister. “I hope he listens to the messages all the way through,” she said. “Oh, what if he doesn’t and thinks his mother is dying?”

  Maybe it’ll shock some proper fear into him. I kept this thought to myself and said he’d probably listen to all the messages. “I would,” I said. “If I saw a bunch of messages.”

  Dalia twisted her crystal necklaces. “I wouldn’t! I’d hear that first one and rush right up here in a panic. An utter panic.” She seemed to have forgotten the part about forcing Trey to get his sick mother hot cider. Pulling me aside, Dalia said, “Rita, I hate to ask after you’ve already done so much, but could you maybe possibly, if you have time, stop by Judith’s house and see if Trey is there?”

  Frankly, I didn’t want to. I was beat and yearned to get home to my comforting cat and uncomfortable sofa bed. But Dalia rarely asked favors, and I knew she was worried. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll drop off Mom and Celia first and then run down there.”

  Dalia promised me baskets of brownies and cakes. Between her and Lorena, I’d have a bounty of holiday sweets. Maybe the real Santa would bring me a gym membership.

  Back at the casita, I told Mom to lock the door. “I’ll be back soon,” I promised.

  “You’re sure you don’t want me to come along with you?” she asked through a yawn.

  I declined with thanks. “Go on to bed,” I urged Mom. “We’ll have a full, fun day tomorrow. Let’s go get the Christmas tree and decorate and make some more cookies.”

  I drove the few blocks down to Judith’s house feeling tired but relieved that Judith was going to be okay. No one was poisoning her, and no one had targeted Las Posadas. My qu
est for a happy holiday was back on track.

  I pulled into Judith’s drive. As I expected, the main house was dark, including Trey’s wing in the back. I couldn’t help a snarky thought. This full-grown man child had his own mansion wing. If he’d grown up with my family, he’d be lucky to get the corner of Mom’s basement not devoted to canning supplies and the laundry machine. I bet Trey didn’t even appreciate the advantages he had. Like having someone go out on a cold winter’s night to protect his nonexistent feelings.

  With a resigned sigh, I parked, stepped out into a biting December wind, and rang Judith’s doorbell. I wasn’t going to wait long, not in this cold. When no one answered, I tugged my scarf tighter and started to turn back to my car. A sound caught my attention. A thump, followed by a snapping of branches. Just the wind, I told myself, though peering across Judith’s xeriscape garden, I saw a flickering light in the archives room.

  Was Barton still working? He’d surely want to know about Judith, if he hadn’t heard.

  I walked across the gravel, the wind sweeping up the crunching noise of my feet. The air held the faint sweetness of moisture, a scent I’d become attuned to since living in the desert. Something made me tiptoe and bypass the door to the archives room. I sneaked around the corner to a window where the candlelight was brighter. Through a filmy curtain I saw two forms locked in an embrace. One was thick and shaggy-haired. The frivolous heir, Trey. The other had long, loose hair and a voluptuous figure. Shasta. I guessed Barton’s assistant wasn’t getting overtime hours for this activity.

  I looked away quickly. Trey clearly wasn’t overwrought about his mother. Time for me to call it a night.

  My steps sounded extra loud now that I feared discovery as a peeping Tom. There was another sound too, though. The sound of footsteps that were not mine. I froze, trying to hear above the wind and rustle of dried grasses. The sound seemed to be getting fainter. I rounded the corner and glimpsed a figure slipping into the darkness beyond my car.