Nutty As a Fruitcake

by Mary Daheim

  What wasn’t mentioned was crime—not the Goodrich murder, not the Shazri case, not so much as a minor mugging at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill. Awash with warm feelings, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and Galliano on the rocks, Judith put the neighborhood tragedy aside. Indeed, she was downright sleepy when the Prices announced they had to rescue their baby-sitter. Standing in the middle of the New England village, Judith, Joe, Renie and Bill waved them off. Then the Joneses started for their Chev. Bill was never one to linger over farewells.

  But to Judith’s surprise, he did an about-face at the edge of the lawn. “Joe—I didn’t want to say anything in front of Woody, but I’ve got two tickets to the NBA game tomorrow. It’s at noon, because it’s nationally televised. They’re excellent seats, center court, eight rows up. Would you like to go?”

  Joe waved the stub of his cigar. “Wow! That’s a big game, even this early in the season! Sure, I’d love to! How’d you get the tickets?”

  Bill shrugged modestly. “I had to commit someone yesterday. He’s a season-ticket holder. His wife and her analyst can’t make this one. I wish I had an extra so I could have asked Woody. He seems like a fine man.”

  “He is.” Joe was grinning from ear to ear. “What time?”

  “Eleven? Right after Mass, anyway. We’ll get out on time. Father Hoyle has season tickets, too.” With a wave, Bill got in the car.

  “Wow,” Joe repeated, but this time more softly. He started back toward the house, flipping his cigar butt in the direction of the old mill.

  “Pick that up!” Judith’s voice cut through the cold night air. In fact, it startled her as much as it did Joe. Anxiously, she glanced up at the second floor windows. All of her guests were settled in. Hopefully, she hadn’t disturbed them.

  Joe couldn’t find the cigar butt in the dark. Judith stomped over to the area where he’d thrown it, picked it up, and waved it in front of his face.

  “Here, you selfish creep,” she hissed. “Put it in the fireplace or the trash or up your…whatever.” Angrily, she marched into the house.

  Joe started to follow her, then stopped. For some moments, he paced the front yard, oblivious to the cold. The lights in the village went out. The first hint of frost was sparkling in the moonlight. Joe wandered over to the Rankers’ property. He looked at the Holy Family.

  On the stroke of midnight, Joe went inside.

  At breakfast, Judith was still angry. She had pretended to be asleep when Joe had finally come to bed around twelve-thirty. But in fact, she had lain awake a long time, at least until two. Now it was nine o’clock in the morning, and she’d been up since six. She was tired, cross, and mad at the world. Her ire was primarily directed at Joe, but she saved some for Bill. And Renie. She could hardly wait to confront her cousin at church. What was Renie thinking of in allowing her husband to sabotage Judith’s plans for putting up the tree?

  Judith and Joe had been consuming their meal in a silence as frosty as the ground outside. It was Joe who finally spoke, not mildly, as Judith had expected, but with an edge to his voice.

  “I’ll bring the damned tree inside and set it up now.” He rose from his chair without looking at Judith.

  “Don’t bother.” Judith stared furiously into her coffee mug.

  Joe ignored her. Five minutes later, she heard him grunting and groaning in the living room. Obviously, he’d carried the tree in through the French doors. Judith waited. More grunts and groans ensued, as did considerable cursing. Judith endured the first crash, but upon the second, she went into the living room. The card table had been upended; jigsaw puzzle pieces were scattered across the carpet. The piano bench lay on its side, along with a book of Christmas carols. Joe and the giant fir looked as if they were locked in mortal combat. Judith left the room.

  Shortly before ten, Joe came into the kitchen. Judith was switching on the dishwasher. She refused to turn in Joe’s direction.

  “The tree’s in the stand,” he announced, the gruffness in his voice undermined by a gasping for air.

  Judith didn’t respond. Five minutes later, she was still tight-lipped when they reached the parking lot at Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Joe got out of the car, banging the MG’s door behind him.

  “Wait!” Judith jumped from the MG. At the church door, Joe turned. “Joe!” Judith slipped on an icy patch but kept her balance.

  Several parishioners, most of whom Judith recognized, stared discreetly. Judith ignored them, hurrying to Joe’s side. She tugged at his sleeve.

  “I can’t go to Mass when I’m so angry,” she said in a low voice. “Come on, let’s go back to the car and talk this out.”

  “No.” Joe’s round face was inscrutable. “We’ll talk later.”

  Judith stamped her foot. “We have to talk now. You’re going to the basketball game later.”

  “So I am.” Joe shook off Judith’s hand. With an unconvincing smile for the Dooleys, he went inside the church. Glumly, Judith followed.

  “It looks like you’re my chauffeur again, coz,” Renie said brightly, after Joe and Bill had driven off to the basketball game in the Joneses’ Chev. “If you give me a ride, I’ll give you an eggnog.”

  “I’ll give you a sock in the kisser,” Judith snapped. “You traitor! How could you?”

  Renie stopped and stared as Judith stalked across the parking lot to the MG. “Hold it!” Renie yelled. “Why are you so mad?”

  It was all Judith could do to keep from driving off without Renie. She couldn’t even muster a smile for her curious fellow parishioners, who looked as if they were beginning to think that a Philistine had landed in their midst. Judith knew that her reputation for congeniality was fraying around the edges, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Gritting her teeth, Judith waited for Renie to climb into the MG.

  “You know why I’m mad,” Judith snarled. “Why didn’t you go to the game with Bill? You like basketball. How could you let him invite Joe?”

  Renie had taken out her compact and was reapplying lipstick. Reversing out of the parking space, Judith purposely braked hard. The lipstick careened off Renie’s mouth and struck her nose.

  “Damn,” Renie breathed. “I think we’d better wait until we get to our house to discuss this. You’re kind of fractious.” She pulled a Kleenex from her purse and began swiping at the errant lipstick mark.

  Inside the Joneses’ living room, another big fir stood unadorned in another heavy tree stand. The rest of the house looked very festive, from the garlanded staircase to the English village atop the spinet piano. Judith, however, was in no mood to appreciate Renie’s handiwork.

  Renie headed directly to the kitchen. “The kids are gone for the day. They went to a church-sponsored sleigh ride and then caroling at a nursing home on the east side of the lake. Do you want your eggnog with or without?”

  Renie’s concept of eggnog was unorthodox: She drank it straight, without milk or liquor, and claimed that she lost weight in the process. Her rationale was that instead of snacking between meals as she usually did, she got filled up on eggnog. And because she was so busy with annual reports, in addition to her regular workload, routine family duties, and a host of holiday-related events, she burned off calories. The strangest part was that it was true: One year, she had lost sixteen pounds in six weeks. Renie was the only person Judith knew who actually ended the holidays weighing less than when she started.

  But at the moment, Renie’s eggnog diet was of no interest. Judith’s request for a dollop of rum was made in a surly voice. Renie obliged, then ushered her cousin back to the living room.

  “Okay,” said Renie, settling onto the dark green sofa, “here’s my rationale—I don’t want Bill or the kids around when I decorate the tree. They argue; they bitch; they bunch all the lights together; they put the ornaments in the wrong place; they’re lucky they don’t knock the damned thing over. It might take me all day, but I’d rather put some carols on the CD player, drink a quart of eggnog, and take my time doing it right. It saves a lot o
f emotional wear and tear on everybody.”

  Judith glowered at Renie. “It doesn’t save on energy. Aren’t you ready to collapse by the time you’re done?”

  “Sure,” Renie answered cheerfully. “But so what? Inside, I feel good.”

  Judith wasn’t convinced. “It’s not right to let everybody else off the hook.”

  Renie looked askance at Judith. “Decorating the Christmas tree shouldn’t be a punishment, coz. It should be fun. It is, for me. But it’s a chore for Bill, and the kids only enjoy it during the first ten minutes. The real reason that you’re mad is because Joe isn’t exactly like you. And Bill isn’t exactly like me, either. For whatever reason, they don’t bring the same sense of exhilaration—or maybe it’s duty—to the holidays. That doesn’t mean they don’t like Christmas. It just means they aren’t us. Which is good, when we think about it rationally. Come on, coz—where’s your famous logic?”

  Judith sighed. “Maybe you’re right. But Joe acted like a real jerk.”

  “He feels guilty because he doesn’t share your joy. Cut him some slack. It’s taken me years and years to do the same with Bill. I still haven’t got it down pat.”

  Finishing her eggnog, Judith got to her feet. “I’d better get started on that tree.”

  “Me, too.” Renie walked Judith to the door. “The problem with you—and maybe me—is that we want to give, give, give. What we have to consider is that not everybody wants to get, get, get. It’s hard for us to realize that Advent is supposed to be a time for inner reflection. Putting up the tree all by yourself helps. Every ornament isn’t just a memory, but a prayer.” Renie winced, embarrassed by her private revelation.

  But Judith understood. She gave Renie a quick hug, and headed across the steep sidewalk to Joe’s MG.

  Judith had reached the tinsel stage when the front doorbell sounded. It was going on four, and she assumed it was one of her guests. The first two couples had checked in an hour or so earlier.

  Glenda Goodrich looked even more haggard than when Judith had last seen her at the funeral. She was huddled inside her down jacket, pale and without makeup. Judith’s offer of coffee was accepted, though Glenda seemed so distraught that she almost sat on a box of extra Christmas lights.

  “I stopped by Mama’s house just now,” she said, accepting the coffee mug with an unsteady hand. “You’ve done a good job cleaning. So far.” Glenda closed her eyes as she swallowed. “Do you think it will be ready for the real estate agent by Wednesday?”

  Judith was surprised. “So you’re going to sell it? Isn’t this a bad time of year?”

  “We can list it before Christmas,” Glenda replied, her eyes darting around the room but not seeming to take in the minor chaos of empty boxes, extension cords, and a trail of silver tinsel that hung from the very top of the tree. “Then, after New Year’s, buyers start looking again. Art and JoAnne have agreed to keep Pappy. At least until…” Her voice died away.

  Judith didn’t want to ask. But she did anyway. “Until he’s arraigned? Or someone else is arrested?”

  A spot of color flared on each of Glenda’s cheeks. “What takes the police so long? Why can’t they decide whether Pappy did it or he didn’t?”

  “Procedure,” Judith answered calmly. “They have to jump through all kinds of hoops. Sometimes, another case comes along that takes priority.” She paused, regarding Glenda with a sympathetic expression. “Does your father still deny his guilt?”

  “Yes.” Glenda snapped off the word. “I don’t blame him for saying that. In fact, I think he believes it. He probably blanked out. His memory has been failing lately. He admits it. I guess the rest of us just haven’t paid attention to how he’s been going downhill.”

  “That can happen,” Judith allowed, thinking of Gertrude. “It’s gradual, especially when you see the person all the time.”

  Glenda emitted a jagged little laugh. “He didn’t remember much about coming to my place for Thanksgiving. He swore Leigh never came to see him and Mama at all while she was in town. She wouldn’t have, either, if Mama hadn’t ordered her to come.” Bitterness dripped from Glenda’s voice.

  “Oh?” Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Why was that necessary?”

  Glenda’s lips clamped shut. She eyed Judith warily. Then she gazed off into the far reaches of the living room, above the plate rail, where the pine boughs hung with their golden pearls and gauzy ribbons.

  “Leigh has no morals. What’s wrong with young people these days?” Glenda demanded.

  “Revenge.” The word leaped from Judith’s lips and astonished both women. “I’m sorry,” Judith said quickly, putting a hand out as if she could retrieve the reply. “It’s none of my business, but your daughter still seems resentful about your breakup with her father. Isn’t that why she made a play for Gary Meyers?”

  Glenda went white to the lips. “How did you know?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  There was no point in evasion. “George took Enid to the doctor the Friday after Thanksgiving. You had to work that day—you told me so yourself. But your car was at your parents’ house, so it was natural to assume you were driving it. Nobody saw Leigh, but Gary was spotted when he left. Leigh borrowed your car, just as she did Monday when your mother asked to see her. I don’t know if your folks came home and caught Leigh and Gary, but it’s a good guess. Your mother read Leigh the riot act Monday night, and then told you about the rendezvous on Tuesday. That’s what all the screaming was about. Naturally, you broke up with Gary and told Leigh she wasn’t welcome anymore. Gary came back the next morning to see your parents. Did you know that?”

  Glenda looked as if she would faint. Judith jumped off the sofa, snatched up the coffee mug, and hurried out to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned, after adding a measure of brandy.

  “Drink this,” she said to her guest, who seemed to be in a state of semi-collapse. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but this is a murder case, after all. Secrets are outlawed.”

  Slowly, Glenda opened her eyes. Her expression was malevolent. “You’re an awful person, Judith. All these years, I’d never have guessed it.”

  “Think what you like. But I’m right.” Judith paused for an answer. She didn’t get one. “Well?”

  Glenda drank from the brandy-laced mug, then choked, sputtered, and tried to sit up straight. “Yes. But I didn’t know about Gary coming by Wednesday morning. I don’t believe it.”

  “He was seen by at least three people.” The statement was only a slight exaggeration.

  Glenda took another swig. Her temper rose. “This neighborhood! It’s always been full of snoops and meddlers!”

  “They’re people who care about other people. It’s better than locking yourself away like your mother did and never giving a flying fig about anybody else.” Judith’s tone was stern. “If I were you, I’d talk to Gary. The police probably have done that already.”

  Glenda drained her mug, then shot Judith a venomous look. “I’ll do that. I certainly don’t want to talk to you again—not ever.” Clumsily, she got up from the sofa and stormed out of the house.

  If Glenda had looked back, she would have seen Judith smiling. Grimly.

  Joe thought the tree looked gorgeous. Judith silently agreed with him, but when she finished just before five o’clock, she was too tired to be enthusiastic—or angry. In fact, she had been worried for the past hour: The game should have ended by three, and the drive from the coliseum at the bottom of the Hill took less than ten minutes, even in heavy traffic.

  “Triple overtime,” Joe informed Judith. “Plus, they take all those extra commercial time-outs when the games are nationally televised. Is that top a little crooked? I could straighten it.”

  Judith was too weary to care if the top took a left-hand turn. “I was just going to get Mother so she could take a look. You can stick her up there. I don’t give a damn.” Staggering to the French doors, Judith felt a blast of cold air. She flipped on the porch light and gasped. “It’s snowing!”


  “Right,” Joe said equably. “That’s another reason we were late getting home. Driving up Heraldsgate Hill was kind of tricky. Bill did all right in that big Chev, but a lot of other cars were spinning out.”

  “Good grief,” Judith muttered, closing the French doors. “I had no idea…I was so busy putting up the tree. It must have clouded over this afternoon.”

  “Let’s walk up to Athens Pizza after your guests are served,” Joe suggested. “Your mother can eat a TV dinner.”

  Judith started to protest, then stopped. Gertrude actually liked TV dinners. The pizza parlor was only five blocks, albeit uphill. “Okay,” Judith said. “I’ll start the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “I’ll fix them,” Joe volunteered. “I found a recipe in a magazine the other day for sole and calamari with ginger.”

  Judith gaped. “We don’t have any sole or calamari.”

  “Yes, we do,” Joe replied. “Bill and I parked in the lot by the coliseum that’s next to TLC Grocery. He picked up a bunch of deli stuff for their dinner so Renie wouldn’t have to cook. How about a scotch?”

  Feeling weak, Judith toppled onto the sofa. “Sure,” she said in a thin voice. “Why not?”

  Five minutes later, Judith was reclining with a drink in her hand, the Oberkirchen Children’s Choir on the CD player, and 240 multicolored lights glowing on the Christmas tree. In the kitchen, she could hear Joe singing along with the Austrian choir.

  Renie was right. Sometimes it was better to receive than to give.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Judith warned Renie as the cousins joined forces in making spritz cookies, “but this Goodrich case is beginning to make sense.”

  Renie twisted the cookie press, spewing snowflake-shaped dough onto a pan. The kitchen windows were covered with steam, and the aroma of baking cookies filled the house. Monday afternoon had turned warm, bringing rain, which had almost washed away the scant two inches of snow. But Phyliss Rackley had begged off coming to work: She didn’t trust the barometer and was afraid of getting stranded on Heraldsgate Hill. In consequence, Judith had been forced to postpone the Goodrich cleaning project. She was philosophical, however, since the time could be used making spritz and preparing the food for the Lutheran buffet.