Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3)

by Barton, Sara M.

  “You’re not just a pretty face anymore,” I added. “Of course, I hope you realize now it will be almost impossible to find a guy to date.”

  “Impossible? What do you mean?” asked the horrified teen. “Why won’t I find a guy?”

  “It’s a joke, Jen. Relax!” I gave her a little poke. “I only meant you won’t be satisfied with dopes.”

  “Oh! Thank heavens. I thought there was something wrong with me!”

  “Goodness, no! You’re fine. It’s the males of the species I worry about,” I laughed. Bur actually made a face at me in response, before challenging my opinion.

  “Don’t listen to Gladys Gump here. She’s a spinster, for heavens sake! What does she know about men? You’re a knockout. How can any guy walk away from you?”

  “I never said she wasn’t adorable, Bur. I said she was smart.”

  “Men like adorable and you fit the bill, squirt.”

  “Smart women can also be adorable, Jenny. You can’t really trust what Bur tells you. What he knows about real women you could fit into a thimble.”

  “Oh, please! Do you really think you’re smarter than the majority of men?” Bur rolled his eyes in disgust before turning his attention back to the teenager. He caught her in the act of trying to hide her amusement, and thus began his lecture. “Let me tell you about real men, Jenny. They’re looking for cute girls who don’t drive them batty. With your looks and personality, you’ve got nothing to worry about. As long as you’re not a smarty-pants know-it-all or a lemon-sucking sourpuss, like Miz Scarlet here, you’ll do just fine.”

  “Are you two bickering again?” My mother appeared in the doorway of the sun porch, her hand manipulating the controls of her motorized wheelchair. She maneuvered it over the threshold ramp and pulled up to inspect the tree. “Here we are at Christmas time and we’ve got to contend with the usual sniping? Can’t you two call a holiday truce?”

  “Sibling rivalry lives,” Jenny announced cheerfully. “Today’s subject is men and women.”

  “You poor dear,” my mother commiserated with the teenager. “How you ever put up with these two is beyond me.”

  “I know. How did you manage all those years when they were growing up?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” my mother feigned exhaustion. “If it weren’t for my other two little angels, Emory and Palmer, I might have been driven mad.”

  “That presumes you started out sane, doesn’t it, Mother? The jury’s still out on that one.” Bur gave her a kiss on the cheek as Scrub Oak, the inn’s resident house cat, arrived to inspect the shrouded tree. With his nose to the cotton tree shroud, the inquisitive feline circled the new addition to the sun porch, decided it wasn’t worth losing any sleep over, and padded off to the living room, no doubt to curl up in front of the fireplace for another nap.

  “We were discussing the fact that Jenny’s so smart, she won’t be able to find suitable boys to date,” I informed my mother.

  “Why?” My mother looked up at me expectantly.

  “Because she will be bored with idiots and jerks,” I replied confidently. “They won’t understand what she says to them.”

  “Good heavens, Scarlet Wilson! Have you learned nothing all these years?” my mother demanded, wagging her index finger at me in warning.

  “What?”

  “You’re not supposed to talk honestly in front of the m-e-n.”

  “Ha! Burn,” said Jenny to my brother, laughing.

  “Very funny, ladies. I’ll remember this. And wait until I sit down for a chat with Santa. Coal for all of you!”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I would much prefer a more environmentally-friendly material in my stocking, Bur.” Jenny’s eyes twinkled.

  “Touché!” he shot back. “And so it begins. The cute girl morphs into the old crone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, missy! If you’re not careful, you’ll turn absolutely hideous, like Miz Scarlet here.”

  “If only you had the brains to match wits with the rest of the world, instead of being just another pretty boy....” I teased.

  “Pretty is as pretty does,” he announced, pirouetting into the dining room with all the grace of a blind Baryshnikov on steroids, leaving us in stitches.

  “When can we decorate the tree?” Jenny called after him. “I can’t wait!”

  Bur reemerged with the tree stand in hand. “Let me make sure this will fit over the trunk first.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” she wondered.

  “We’ll go dump it in the woods and start again. There are plenty of other trees in the forest. We’ll just keep chopping until we find one that fits.”

  “You can’t do that!” Her shocked face said it all. “That’s just so...wrong!”

  “No? What do you brainy women suggest?” he inquired. That’s when she realized he was yanking her chain. “Ha ha! I’ll have you know I wrote the book on Burn 101, little girl!”

  “Give me strength, Lord,” my mother groaned with great exaggeration. “These children try my patience.”

  “Somebody has to keep you on your toes,” Bur replied. “Okay, we’re good to go. Help me carry the tree into the living room. We have to let it stand a few hours, so the branches rest. Then I’ll put all the lights on and you can hang the ornaments, squirt.”

  “I love Christmas!” She and I grabbed the trunk in tandem while my brother took the top. Together, we waddled our way through the dining room, down the hallway, and over to a corner in the living room, where we unwrapped the covering and managed to set the tree upright. I held it in place while Bur screwed the long bolts into the trunk.

  “Lovely tree. Well done,” Laurel declared as she watched from behind.

  “Look!” the excited teenager pointed. “There’s a little bird’s nest!”

  My mother rolled her wheelchair forward to take a peek. “It looks like a cardinal’s nest.”

  “But how do you know it wasn’t built by a chickadee... or a sparrow?”” the inquisitive teen wondered.

  “It’s twiggy. Cedar waxwings use more grass and leaves when they build theirs. Every bird has a preference for where to build its nest,” my mother explained. “Some do it in the cavities of tree trunks or a bird house. Some prefer the branches of deciduous trees, where they can fly out easily. Others prefer to hide in evergreens like this, or even shrubs.”

  “I just assumed all birds just pick any old tree.”

  “Bite your tongue!” Bur poked her. “There is no such thing as ‘any old tree’, not in this family, anyway.”

  “When you want to identify what type of bird crafted a nest, look at the materials and construction techniques. Is there mud, twigs, grass, or moss? You’ll find the robin’s nest in the fork of a tree. Vireos make nests that look like a cup hanging down from a tree branch, and Baltimore orioles make nests that look like woven bags. Goldfinches build on the ends of the tree branches and line their nests with the dander from the thistle plant,” Laurel told her.

  “Who knew?” Jenny smiled. “I just thought birds were birds. They sing their pretty little songs and eat birdseed.”

  “Oh heavens, no!” my mother laughed. “Their diets and their behaviors are quite diverse. Hummingbirds are territorial fighters. Starlings are absolute pests that take over the nesting areas of woodpeckers and bluebirds. Cowbirds will deposit their eggs into the nests of other birds....”

  The sudden sound of dogs barking broke the conversational thread. We all heard the ruckus in the front hall as January, Huck, and Mozzie greeted a new arrival.

  “Well, well!” Lacey, my mother’s cousin and one of the permanent residents of the Four Acorns Inn, waltzed into the living room, her arms laden with packages. She unburdened herself by depositing them on the sofa by the fireplace. “Finally, we have a tree! I was beginning to think you people would never get one. Please tell me it’s not going to take you another two days to decorate it.”

  “It’s four o’clock now,” Bur announced, glancing at the wall clock. “I promise you
it shall be festooned with lights by eight this evening. You have my word on that.”

  “And then we get to put the ornaments on?” asked the excited teenager.

  “Yes, then you get to go nuclear on that tree. Make it glow.””

  “Perfect. I shall be your assistant,” Lacey volunteered, pulling off her red wool coat and white angora hat. “I just have one rule; when it comes to Christmas, more is better.”

  “Right,” the teenager grinned. “By the time I’m done, you won’t even see these branches. Bring your sunglasses, because it’s going to be blindingly bright in here!”

  “Just the way I like it,” said the elderly woman in the sequin-encrusted sweater with an enormous reindeer with a pompom nose. Her jingle bell necklace tinkled every time she moved. “Lordy, the mall was a madhouse today. It was wall-to-wall shoppers, all in search of those last minute bargains....”

  Chapter Three --

  The next few hours passed as we engaged in a flurry of activities in the kitchen. From her conversation, I gathered that the last few years of her mother’s decline had taken a toll on the holidays.

  “It must have been rather lonely for you and your mom,” I commented, as I put some dinner rolls into the oven to heat.

  “It was. She couldn’t really raise her arms all that well, because of her mastectomy and all the scar tissue, the swelling. My mom was feeling really betrayed by her body. She had spent her whole life trying to live a healthy life, and then....” Jenny turned away, remembering. “She loved Christmas in New England. The snow, the lights, the decorations...I tried to put up the tree by myself, but it was a real failure. Mr. Torkelson, the neighbor, came over to help me. And his wife took me Christmas shopping, so I could buy presents.”

  “What about your stepfather? Didn’t he help?”

  “He kept telling me it was his ‘busy season’ at work.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. I took a stab at the work he was doing.

  “Partying with his girlfriend?” I asked.

  “He was. I never understood it, Miz Scarlet. My mother was such a beautiful person, with cancer or without. How could he not appreciate her? Why did he even bother to marry her? Oh,” she held up her hand. “I know it was all about my mom’s money. He just wanted a meal ticket. But I don’t understand how he could do that to someone who was so sick.”

  “Some people are born predators, Jen. They never look at the rest of us as human beings. It’s too bad, really. They miss out on what really matters in life. Without relationships to keep us civilized, it’s a cold, cold world.”

  “Is that why you rescued me in New Jersey?” For all the times we talked since the teenager came to live with us at the Four Acorns Inn, she had never posed this particular question.

  “Of course it is,” I smiled. “I could tell you were a good kid. How could I possibly leave you behind with those creeps? People aren’t disposable. We don’t just use them and toss them away like they’re tissues.”

  “You and my mom would have been friends,” she decided. “She’d have said you were both on the same wave length.”

  “There’s your answer as to why I brought you home, Jenny. I saw in you what your mom did, what she worked so hard to nurture.”

  After dinner, I sat in the dining room, lingering over coffee with the Googins girls, as we awaited the invitation to proceed to the living room for the official tree decorating. I could hear Bur directing Jenny as they toiled to get the twinkling lights to work. We had been warned not to peek.

  “Which do you think it will be this year, white or colored lights?” Laurel asked. My brother had a thing about tree lights -- big bulbs, little bulbs, white or colored, flashing or steady, and everything in between.

  “If it’s just Bur making the decision, it’s probably colored lights.” I decided, as I poured the ladies more decaf.

  “This is Jenny’s first Christmas with us,” my mother pointed out. “He might let her choose.”

  “Possibly,” Lacey answered. She added cream and Splenda to her cup, stirring her spoon around in a clockwise fashion. “In which case, who knows what we’ll get?”

  “But technically, she won’t be celebrating with us,” I pointed out. “She’s off to California, to visit her grandparents. Bur might not let her choose.”

  “Of course he will,” said the funky sweater lady.

  “I agree,” said Laurel, agreeing amiably, “but I have no idea what she’ll pick.”

  Well past the age of believing in Santa Claus, the excitement of the two cousins grew as we came closer to Christmas week. How else could you explain the carols my mother constantly hummed as she moved about the inn or her cousin’s blindingly bright reindeer sweater?

  “Rumor has it we’re having Larry’s father stay with us for Christmas,” Lacey declared. “Who else is coming?”

  “At the moment,” I looked up, “no other paying guests. I planned on taking some time off and....”

  “Hmm....” said my mother, as she brought her cup to her lips and sipped from it.

  “Hmm what?”

  “I’m just surprised that Larry’s mother isn’t also staying with us,” was her reply.

  “Edna doesn’t get along with Big Larry,” I explained. “Larry wants to avoid holiday heartbreak.”

  “I’m surprised that Edna doesn’t mind him staying at the inn, while she’s stuck at Larry’s cramped condo,” Lacey shrugged.

  “If it’s any consolation, I suggested she send her mother to us and let her father stay with her, but Larry insists Edna will claim she’s second fiddle to Big Larry.”

  “That bad, eh?” My mother shook her head. “It sounds like Larry’s the family wishbone, yanked every which way but loose.”

  “Apparently. She’s not looking forward to this holiday visit, especially because she’s been working overtime on a new homicide case. Bur thinks we should invite them all to Christmas dinner. His theory is that Edna and Big Larry still have the hots for each other.”

  “It’s possible,” Lacey decided. “They might have gotten married too young. Or they split up without really trying to work out their differences.”

  “More than possible,” Laurel agreed. “It must be hard on their daughter. For them to both come to Connecticut for a holiday visit and expect Larry to make them each happy...well, it’s hardly fair. Their daughter is a busy state police investigator and she’s already under a lot of stress. Call her back and tell her to send her mother to the inn, too. That way, she won’t have to worry about either parent. We can entertain the pair of them.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Larry says they don’t get alone. We might just make things worse for her if we interfere.”

  “Scarlet Wilson, Larry’s your friend.” My mother pulled the guilt card out of the invisible pack and played it. Trump.

  “But....” I tried to explain that I was leaving my calendar open for a visit from Kenny Tolliver. It would be our first Christmas Eve together as a couple. I had hoped to take the time off from my work as an innkeeper and concentrate on my love life for a change, but my mother wasn’t interested any of that.

  “No ifs, ands, or buts, Scarlet Wilson. We will not hang Larry out to dry for Christmas. This family owes her a debt of gratitude for all she’s done to keep us alive. If you don’t make the call, I will.”

  I could see that my mother’s dander was up, and that meant there was little chance of changing her mind, short of smoothing those ruffled feathers. Why was she so determined to invite the Rivera clan for Christmas? Was it because Jenny would be gone? My mother had grown attached to the young woman, acting as a surrogate grandmother. Or maybe it was because this was the first Christmas in a long time that my siblings weren’t going to be with us on the twenty-fifth. Who knows? As I sat there, I recognized the unwinnable battle. Her expression made it clear that she was not about to concede anything to the likes of me, not now that she had made her decision.

  “Fine, I will call her, but don’t get your hopes up.” Excusing
myself, I headed to the library for a private conversation. With each step, I considered what I might say. How was I supposed to convince my friend to send her parents to the inn for the holidays? Did I soft-pedal the idea or hammer it home? I dialed Larry’s cell phone and waited for her to pick up.

  “Rivera,” said a rather cranky voice in my ear.

  “Hey, it’s Scarlet, Larry.”

  “Oh, Lord!” the very exasperated investigator groaned. “Do you have any idea what I have been going through here? Hold on.”

  Distant disembodied voices came through my earpiece as I waited. Larry was issuing commands to a junior state trooper, and from what she said, I surmised he had royally screwed up a witness interview. I should have waited until later in the evening. I just assumed she was at home by now, kicking back in her living room and watching television.

  “And I want it on my desk pronto, Moron,” she growled at the unseen trooper before returning her attention to my end of the telephone. “What do you want, Scarlet?”

  “Did you really just call that guy a moron?” I was honestly surprised, given that Larry often lectured incoming recruits on the appropriate behavior code for state troopers.

  “What? No! Morin. M-o-r-i-n. Good heavens, I’m not that far over the edge! What did you call about?”

  “Sorry to bother you,” I hurried through the conversation. This could wait until tomorrow. “I know you’re working your case. Call me back when you have a chance.”

  “Working a case? Who the heck has time to do that when the Rivera family is in the middle of a crisis? Do you have any idea what my mother has pulled? I’m thinking of changing her royal title to ‘Queen of Mean’, because she’s got a really snarky side that just got ugly.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She has informed me that she is canceling her plane ticket because I don’t think enough of her to put her up at the Four Acorns Inn. In other words, if I want to see her for Christmas, I am supposed to get my sorry ass on a jet to Atlanta, with my kid in tow.”