I nodded. “I desperately need to get my mind on something else. Give me some tasks, and I’ll be much better.”
“Sweetie. This is crazy! And not even two months after that whole incident at the church bingo hall!”
I winced, and Esther looked sorry. “I need to be quiet,” she said.
“No, it’s okay. It wasn’t someone I knew—just a man who was playing Santa at the school where a friend of mine, Jenny, teaches. That’s who I was bringing the food for; they had a big Christmas event today. She said the guy was a local actor named Brad Whitefield.”
Esther stiffened. “Brad Whitefield. Why do I know that name?”
I shrugged.
“What age is he? Around thirty?”
“Probably. I mean, he had the Santa beard and hat, so I couldn’t really tell, but he looked youngish.”
“Oh dear. I’m going to call Mark. I think he might have known this man.”
Mark was Esther and Jim’s oldest child; he worked for a computer firm in the city. Sometimes he came by and mooched food and flirted with Gabby and Nicole and me; I liked him, although not romantically.
“Call him tomorrow, maybe. I don’t want to get you off schedule.”
Now Esther was looking at her watch. “I think we’re okay. I think we’re just fine. Now you do as Jim said, and rest here.”
She got up, but then bent and kissed my forehead. “You and the two girls out there—you’re like daughters to me, you know that?”
“Thanks, Esther. That’s sweet.”
She left, looking a bit shaken, and I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes in their nice, quiet retreat of a living room. One of their cats, Penelope, leaped up and leaned against me as if in solidarity. She purred so loudly that it made me laugh; she squinted at me with her little white face, and it calmed me. I scratched her head for a while, then closed my eyes. I was on the verge of falling asleep when I shook myself and took out my cell phone. I didn’t want to upset my mother and father—I had endured enough emotional scenes for one day. Their reaction could wait until tomorrow. Instead I called my brother, Cameron, whom I knew I could count on not to cry in my ear.
“Hello?” he said, sounding distracted. Cam was always distracted, and usually by his ridiculously beautiful girlfriend, Serafina.
“Cam. It’s me.”
“Hey, kid. We were just talking about you. We thought—”
“Cam, listen. There’s been—an incident.”
“What? With Mom or Dad?”
“No, no. I seem to have witnessed another murder.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Cam yelled.
“No. I wish I was.”
I could hear Serafina questioning him in rapid-fire Italian; Cam turned away from the phone to yell some Italian back at her. Cam taught Italian as a foreign language at Loyola University. Serafina was an Italian in America, studying chemistry at the University of Chicago.
Finally he was back. “So what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But—Detective Parker—”
I held the phone away from my ear as Cam let loose with a stream of invective. Then he said, “Why do you have to deal with that guy? Tell them you want to talk to someone else.”
“That’s not how it works, Cam.” I felt a little glow at my older brother’s protectiveness. He had been very angry at Parker back when the latter walked out on the fragile little something that we had.
“Fine. Then I’ll deal with him. I don’t want you talking to that guy.”
“Anyway, will you let me finish?”
“What, then?”
“He wants me to stay with other people. Not to be alone. He wants to make sure I won’t be . . . targeted.”
“I have déjà vu. You just went through this in October, when you had to stay at Mom and Dad’s.”
“I know—it’s crazy. It’s going to ruin Christmas.”
“No, it won’t, Sorellina.” Cam always broke into Italian when he said tender things. “We’ll be fine.”
“Well, anyway. Unless you want Parker coming to get me at the end of my shift—”
“I do not.”
“Could you guys come and get me, and could I stay at your place for a couple of days?”
“Of course. Serafina would have insisted, anyway. And we have a new landlord, so you can bring your big, goofy dog, too.”
“Oh, good. I was going to ask Mom and Dad to take him, but that would have involved explaining to them . . .”
“That can wait. What time should we be there?”
I told him, and he said that I should relax. Typical Cam. To him, everything could be remedied with a few deep breaths.
Still, I drew in a deep breath before I went into the kitchen, where four busy people stole secret glances at me as I readied my bowls and ingredients for the Gruyère and chive soufflés we were making for a family Christmas.
I began whisking eggs, and Esther pointed at me. “Once those are in the oven, Lilah, could you be an angel and chop the walnuts for the salad?”
“Of course. And I’ll head to the location early tomorrow so I can help prep the salads in their kitchen.”
Esther and Jim exchanged a glance. “We’ll see,” Jim said. “What might work better is if you also prep the dessert batter tonight; then we can just bake them tomorrow in their oven. You can stay where you are, and we’ll call you if we need you. Will you be at your parents’ house?”
“No—I’ll be at my brother’s in the city.”
“See—that would be a big pain to get back here in time, especially with traffic on the Eisenhower. Just set up those desserts, and Gabby and Nicole can bake them on-site.”
The desserts were also soufflés, which were to be baked in little individual ramekins and served at the table with a crème anglaise. This was one of Haven’s specialties, and customers asked for it by name.
“If you’re sure, Jim. . . .”
“I’m sure. This will be great. And the girls have already agreed to help tomorrow, right, kids?”
Gabby and Nicole, who were normally caught up in gossiping with one another, had summoned up sympathetic expressions and now both nodded eagerly, looking like twins with their dark ponytails. “We’re excited to work on location,” Gabby said, wiping a fleck of mushroom from her cheek with the back of her hand.
Esther looked at her watch. “Those look great, Gabby. You and Nicole go get your serving outfits on, and then we can all head over in our van. Jim and I will wrap these up.” Before they could move, the door opened again, and Bart Andersen came strolling in, wearing his habitual smug expression. Bart was a high school freshman who washed dishes at Haven. I wasn’t sure what Esther paid him, but he seemed pleased enough to be a wage earner while he was still fifteen. Bart was a nice kid, but he suffered from a severe case of overconfidence and teen narcissism, which we sometimes joked about in his presence. This never bothered him, due to the qualities previously mentioned.
“Hey, Bart. You’ve got your work cut out for you tonight, dude,” Jim said.
“Whatever. I’m the greatest, so I’ll probably be done in about five minutes,” Bart said. When I had first started working at Haven, I had thought Bart was merely being ironic, and perhaps there was a slight dose of irony there, but in general Bart just liked to praise himself. The more he did it, the more I felt obligated to cut him down. Oddly he seemed to enjoy this.
“Are those three hairs on your chin your attempt at a beard?” I asked.
Bart stroked the red hairs I spoke of; they matched the red curls on his head. “The ladies aren’t complaining,” he said.
Everyone in the room started laughing, but as ever, Bart was impervious to mockery. “I’ll be in my kingdom, serfs,” he said, wandering into the sink room.
“That kid will go far,” Ji
m murmured with grudging admiration.
“Far into denial,” Esther said with a snort.
“Far away would be better,” I said. “Am I stuck with him all day?”
Esther shook her head. “I’m only paying him for two hours.”
“That should be fun.”
Esther laughed, and then she and Jim got to work wrapping the hors d’oeuvres. Half an hour later she, Jim, and the girls were wearing their serving black and piling things into the Haven van.
“Thanks for keeping the home fires burning,” Esther said, squeezing my hand. “Try not to kill Bart.”
I smiled and waved, then went back to refrigerate my soufflé batter. I loaded some dirty dishes onto a cart and wheeled them back to the self-proclaimed king.
He stood at the scrub sink, his hands immersed in soapy water, his iPod making him immune to my approach. I pushed the cart until it made contact with his blue-jeaned rear. He turned, smirk in place, and pulled one earbud out of his ear.
“Bring them on, Lilah. I’m in the zone.”
“Why are you in such a good mood? It’s annoying.”
He grinned at me. “I’m on vacation, dude! Not to mention, I just heard there was an incident at my old school! Don’t get me wrong, it’s terrible what happened to that man and everything, but it’s also the most exciting thing that could have happened—and at my school!”
“You went to JFK?”
“Yeah. Graduated last year.”
“So did you know—Mr. Whitefield?”
He sobered slightly. “Sort of. He played Santa a couple times for us, too. He was a nice enough dude, but also kind of a tool. I guess he was some kind of actor? But, like, super failing at it. I mean, if you have to take Santa jobs at grade schools, right?”
“Huh.”
“Plus my mom kind of knew his family, and they think he’s kind of a jerk.”
“What do you mean?”
Bart rinsed off a dish, set it in the rack, and then turned to me fully. “When I was in fourth grade, he got married to this pretty hot lady. My family was invited to the church part of the wedding, and my mom actually went. She said it was really pretty and romantic and blah blah.”
“So?”
“So when I was in seventh grade there was this rumor that he was in trouble with his wife and staying at someone else’s house.”
I felt my lips curling with my skepticism. “And how would your mom know that?”
“Because she’s gossipy, and ladies are always scrambling at the chance to call her on the phone and tell her stuff. Her friend Betty was friends with Mr. Whitefield’s wife, so that’s how we knew.”
“So he got divorced?”
“Nope. He got back with his wife. But my mom figures he was a cheater. My mom says once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“That’s not proof.”
“No. I just heard some things. But I don’t want to, like, speak badly about a dead man and stuff.”
“You just did. You called him a tool.”
“Yeah, well. He was a nice guy sometimes, too. When I was in eighth grade and he played the Santa, he gave me five bucks. The eighth graders didn’t even get in the present line, because that was for the little kids. We were on the sidelines, singing carols for the little kids and crap like that. I went to the drinking fountain when Brad was leaving in his Santa suit, and he said that us older kids should get something, too, and he handed me five bucks.”
“Huh.”
“He said when you had a windfall at Christmastime, it was always good to pay it forward. I know, because I had to go home and look up the word windfall.”
“That’s swell.”
“You crack me up,” Bart said, turning back to his dishes.
“Bart,” I said, before he could plug his earbud back in.
“What?”
“The other stuff you heard—was it all about him having affairs? Cheating on his wife, I mean?”
“No, man. My dad says Whitefield was a major gambler and that he was in serious debt.”
“And how would your dad know this? Is he a gambler, too?”
Bart smirked. “My dad is a lot of things.”
That didn’t sound good, but I didn’t want to trod on that territory. “Thanks for the information,” I said.
I went out into the kitchen and sent two text messages. To Jay Parker, I sent: A boy from JFK said Whitefield cheated on his wife and had serious gambling debts. Also I have arranged to stay with my brother tonight—no ride needed.
To Jenny, I wrote, Are you OK? Have things calmed down?
She texted back almost immediately. We need to meet. When are you free?
I typed, I’ll be at Cam’s for a couple days. MB after that.
OK. I’m fine—how about U?
Hanging in there. I hope all the kids are OK.
She decided to call me then, rather than text a long response.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey. The kids are all right. I think we handled it well, and they went home without being too traumatized. We made it clear that they were all safe. The little children were just told that we had a police incident, but that everything was fine. The older children were told there had been a shooting, and that it had not involved any students or teachers at the school.”
“This is crazy, Jenny.”
“I know. I have to run—call me soon,” she said.
Nowadays people were always in a rush, including me and my family and friends. This did not make me feel Christmassy—nor did the day’s tragic events. Perhaps a couple of days away were just what I needed to put me in touch with my holiday spirit. Living at Cam’s would give me a chance to relax, breathe, enjoy the sights of Christmas in the city, and get some perspective. Serafina would undoubtedly have decorated their house with European flair, and I would make a point of enjoying their hospitality. It would be all right.
I just had to focus on the invigorating cold air, the peace of Christmas, the joyful contemplation of a New Year.
And forget that I had seen a man die.
CHAPTER FOUR
By eight o’clock I had prepped all the food for Thursday’s gig. The salad fixings were chopped and stored; the soufflé batters, both cheese and chocolate, were refrigerated; and the ramekins were carefully wrapped for travel. Bart had finished and gone, and I had moved to Jim and Esther’s impressive wine wall to find the bottles Jim had selected for the next day’s event: a 2010 Côtes du Rhône and a 2011 Oregon Pinot Noir, both of which Jim had tasted recently and had found an appropriate match for this particular cheese blend.
My phone buzzed, and I saw that I had two text messages. One was from Parker. It said, Thanks for the info. In touch soon. Typical Parker. His Tarzan-like texts weren’t that different from the way he communicated in person. He was definitely the tall, dark, and silent type, but he also seemed uncomfortable in any context beyond police work. I would have drawn the conclusion that Parker didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, except that I knew that to be untrue. One just had to plumb the depths of Parker.
The other text was from Cam, and it said, We’re on our way. I’ll toot the horn when we get there.
I heard the horn about a minute after Esther and Jim got back, so I just had time to show them all of my prep work, and then Jim walked me out to the street where my brother waited. “I’m sure this is all just a ridiculous precaution,” I said, but I was glad to have Jim’s arm around my shoulder as I stepped onto the cold, dark street.
Then I was tucked into Cam’s warm car and being softly serenaded by Andrea Bocelli while Serafina handed me a box of Frango mints, and my sweet dog, Mick, nuzzled my cheek.
“Thanks for picking him up, guys,” I said.
“He was happy to see us,” Serafina said. “I also put some of your clothes in a bag. Now eat a chocola
te. I got them at the lab today from a friend of mine,” she said.
“A guy who’s in love with her, she means,” said Cam, but without any apparent jealousy.
“He is too late,” Serafina said, diving at Cam with one of her luxurious kisses, almost sending him veering off the road.
I tensed, holding Mick more tightly. “Geez! You guys are supposed to save me from death, not plunge me into it.” It was only about eight thirty, but it felt like two in the morning, and I was exhausted.
Serafina looked at me over her left shoulder with wide brown eyes. “I’m sorry. But I love your brother so much that I couldn’t resist him anymore. So I married him,” Serafina said, flashing me a pretty white smile.
“Right,” I said. Then I leaned forward. “Wait—what?”
Serafina stuck out her left hand, which contained a beautiful diamond ring and a thin silver band. “Cameron proposed to me last week, and I accepted. And then, because we are very spontaneous, and because we realized that I could apply for my permanent residency if we married now—we did it!! At city hall. Very romantic, and snowing.”
“Oh my God—Cam! Serafina! I’m so happy for you! Mom is going to have a spaz!”
“She already did. We called her just before we came to get you,” my brother said, meeting my eyes in his rearview mirror.
“Oh my gosh. So what—you’ve been on a kind of honeymoon? And I’ve ruined it by asking to stay at your love nest?”
“No! We love to have you, especially at Christmas!” Serafina cried, reaching back and taking one of the chocolates. She had a terrible sweet tooth, I’d learned. I held her hand and studied the ring—Cam had good taste. It was a large, center-cut diamond on a band that looked silver in the dark car.
“Is this platinum?”
“Yes. Isn’t your brother a lovely man? He chose by himself.”
I let her hand go. My big brother. I met his eyes again and saw his happiness. “Great job, Cam.” I ate one of the chocolates myself and suddenly felt a little burst of my Christmas spirit coming back. The car was warm and merry; a light snow was falling; and my brother was a married man.
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