We Wish You a Merry Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Maybe you should stop trying,” Kathleen said. “After all, if Derek’s mother isn’t going to like what you give her anyway …”

  “And if Derek isn’t going to like what I do, no matter how hard I try to do the right thing …” Elizabeth sounded pensive. She picked up a thin spear of asparagus and snapped off the head. “Maybe I should do what I want. Shouldn’t I?” she appealed to Susan and Kathleen.

  “I would,” Kathleen said promptly.

  “I …” Susan thought for a moment that she might be causing an eruption in the Stevenson’s marriage—and it might start at her party. Well, what the hell. Maybe Elizabeth would be better off without the Duchess’s little boy. “I would, too.” Her tone was emphatic.

  “Then why am I eating these raw vegetables when there are bowls full of eggnog and punch in the other room?” Elizabeth asked, standing up with a determined look in her eye.

  “I …” Susan began, wondering what she had started and why it had to begin at her party. But she didn’t have a chance to say anything; Elizabeth was headed out the kitchen door.

  “Maybe this year the only thing the Duchess will get for Christmas will be an empty box. A big, beautiful empty box!” Elizabeth elaborated as the door closed behind her.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Kathleen said, following quickly. “And I’ll see if anything is happening between Jed and Claire, too.”

  “Jed and—” Listening to Elizabeth’s problem, she had forgotten her own. “Do that,” she called after Kathleen. “Please do that,” she repeated, picking up two trays of food to bring to her guests. But a stray thought struck her as she followed the other women out the door.

  An empty box. Why did that ring a bell?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Of course, if she keeps marrying lawyers, what can she expect?”

  “It’s the Merger and Acquisition men who have all the fun these days.”

  “They were roasting chestnuts in the fireplace—just like in the song—and the chimney caught on fire. Well, eight thousand dollars’ worth of repair work had to be done to fix the damage, and he’s allergic to nuts anyway.”

  “He applied for early admission to Tufts and he didn’t get in, but we’re hoping …”

  “Our caretaker in the Hamptons died and it turned out he was a millionaire. He invested in the companies of the people he worked for and then, when they stopped paying his bills on time, he would sell at a profit—right before they went bankrupt. He found an infallible system!”

  “So this short, fat, bald guy with the pinkest skin I’ve ever seen stood in front of the room and told us we’ve got to be lean and mean!”

  “Well, it’s obvious to me that Kelly kidnapped him. What else could …”

  So much for small talk. Susan hurried over to the large oval dining room table where she had set up a buffet dinner. She glanced at the table quickly; everything seemed to be in order. The party had begun less than an hour ago and most guests had confined their dignified grazing to the appetizer trays scattered throughout the living room and study. It was these trays that she should be checking. And, she reminded herself, on Jed. And Claire.

  But the first person who commanded her attention was Dr. Barr.

  “Susan …” He touched her shoulder.

  “Dr. Barr …” If he said something—anything—about the food she was serving …

  “Wonderful party, my dear. A wonderful, wonderful party. I thank you for inviting me.”

  “I— You’re welcome.” How nice that he was being so cordial. Of course, if he was expecting to become a member of the family, how else would he be acting? Well, now was no time to deal with it. She looked around for a distraction and spied Dan Hallard, her next-door neighbor. “Have you met Dan Hallard? You two might have a lot in common. Dan is a doctor, too.” A gynecologist is not a podiatrist, but it could be considered the same end of the body, she reminded herself as, smiling at them both, she hurried off to the den to find Jed.

  The Henshaws had given this party for almost ten years and they had worked the bugs out of the system. The bar’s location had changed a couple of times in the first few years, coming to rest in the corner of Jed’s study. As usual, there were a dozen or so men standing around and talking. She greeted a number of them on the way to her husband.

  “Well, here comes your beautiful wife,” said one of their more avuncular neighbors, moving back to allow her access to Jed, who was busy pouring Ivy League Punch into small round glasses.

  “Have you had some of the punch this year? I think it’s better than ever.” Jed smiled at his wife.

  “Your mother and I were just talking about the recipe,” Susan replied, matching his smile. “I—”

  “My mother … ?” Jed’s eyes asked the question that he didn’t want anyone to hear.

  Susan decided that one of her Christmas presents to her husband would be not revealing his tradition as a fraud. “Yes,” she answered. “She thinks your punch is a lethal combination. And Dr. Barr—”

  “Dr. Barr loves it,” Jed interrupted, looking relieved. “I think he’s had three or four glasses already.”

  “He has?” Susan picked up a glass of red wine and sipped. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it isn’t exactly health food.”

  “Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. I saw him eating shrimp a few minutes ago.”

  “Dr. Barr?” Susan repeated. This personality change was really remarkable.

  “Yes, Dr. Barr. I looked twice,” her husband assured her.

  Susan sipped her wine as another guest stopped to chat with Jed. Dr. Bobby Barr was certainly acting strange—or could he have a twin brother who was taking his place tonight? He certainly wasn’t acting in character, or like the character that he was, to be more exact. Or the character that he was pretending to be, she thought suddenly. Maybe Dr. Barr wasn’t who he said he was and all his strong likes and dislikes were just an act. Why hadn’t she and Kathleen looked up his credentials at the library? Or had Kathleen? Susan walked away from her husband’s group without a word.

  She found Kathleen just where the other woman had said she would be—talking with Claire and keeping her from announcing her engagement to Jed.

  Except that her impending marriage didn’t seem to be on Claire’s mind. She was more interested in the gardening section of yesterday’s Times.

  “… I met a woman on the cruise who was talking about that same thing. She had a grandchild—a boy I believe—who ate the leaves—because they’re really leaves on the poinsettia, not flowers, you know—and he was very sick. I think she said he was in the hospital for weeks and there was some possibility of brain damage—or was it liver damage? Well, we only have one of each so it’s serious no matter which one it was.”

  “I think they’re called bracts.” Susan hadn’t noticed that Dolores had joined the group.

  “What are, Mother?”

  “The leaves on the poinsettias.”

  “I—” Claire seemed anxious to retain control of the conversation.

  “But I didn’t know that they were poisonous,” Dolores interrupted.

  “Yes, very. I was just telling your daughter about the woman on my cruise whose grandson—”

  “We were given a beautiful poinsettia plant by one of the men that Jed works with, Claire. And two of the guests brought white poinsettias as hostess gifts.” Susan’s suggestion that maybe this conversation might offend someone was blithely ignored.

  “I heard that Kelly brought a salad to Evan’s party that was full of poinsettia leaves—bracts,” Claire announced. “We all could have been killed if it had been served.”

  “I had some salad at that party …” Dolores seemed concerned.

  “So did I.” Claire rubbed her stomach as though looking for a protruding piece of poison.

  “The salad Kelly brought wasn’t served,” Susan assured the woman. “It—it was spilled before it got to the table. How did you
hear about it anyway? I mean what the salad was made from?”

  “Susan, everyone is talking about it. There was something in one of the papers about poisonous plants. Rebecca is saying that Kelly tried to kill Evan and all their guests, and that she should be locked up,” Claire explained.

  “I don’t think they can arrest her for intent to kill,” Dolores said. “Especially since nothing happened; the salad wasn’t even served.”

  “I think— Oh, hello, Kelly. I didn’t know you were here,” Susan said loudly, hoping her mother-in-law would forgive the kick in the shins once she knew the reason. Kelly, wearing a full-length kilt and dark green silk blouse, looked neater than Susan had seen her since the cookie party. She smiled sincerely. “You haven’t met Jed’s mother yet, have you? And Kathleen’s mother, either?”

  “Yes, I’ve been wanting to get you two together,” Kathleen added. “Remember, I was telling you about the minestrone that my mother makes? And I know she would love to hear how you make those wonderful little Italian rolls.”

  Dolores looked a little startled, possibly at the thought of sharing recipes with someone whose favorite ingredients included toxic plants, but she had never been completely successful with bread. “Do you let it rise once or twice? I’ve tried both, but never been able to tell the difference. I never get a really crunchy crust.”

  “Oh, I have an easy way to get a really crunchy crust; I glaze the loaf all over with a mixture of yeast and water,” Kelly started enthusiastically.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Susan said. “I have some errands in the kitchen. Will you help me, Kath?”

  “Of course, of course. Be sure to have my mother tell you about the soup.” She squeezed Kelly’s arm in parting.

  “Do you want me to help you carry things or what?” Kathleen asked as they passed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  “Neither,” Susan whispered. “I just wanted to talk to you someplace private.”

  “Fine.”

  “Don’t sit down. This isn’t going to take very long,” Susan said. “Kath, did you look up Dr. Barr’s credentials in that book at the library?”

  “Is that all you want? Yes, I did. There weren’t any real surprises and he didn’t lie about anything. He graduated from an accredited medical school in Philadelphia; he did his internship at a hospital out on Long Island; he’s a certified podiatrist. There was no mention of any study in nutrition, but there probably wouldn’t be. He’s not doing anything illegal. He represents himself as a medical doctor and he gives advice about nutrition. Fair enough. The information I got anyone can get. It’s printed yearly in one or two medical reference books—almost all libraries have them. Why all the interest now?”

  “He’s out there eating seafood and drinking Jed’s punch.”

  “Not part of his usual creed, is it?” Kathleen asked thoughtfully.

  “No. You know, for a moment I wondered if his identical twin was attending this party for him.”

  “That’s an interesting thought,” Kathleen said.

  “I’m having a lot of interesting thoughts these days,” Susan replied smugly. “And I know if I could just attach them all together, I’d get a complete picture of what happened.” She frowned and licked the last of her lipstick off her mouth. “Well,” she sighed, “I’d better get back to my guests.”

  “Do that,” Kathleen urged. “I’m going to sit at your kitchen table and put my feet up for a few minutes. These shoes are killing me.”

  “Can I bring you anything?” Susan asked.

  “No, I’ll be out soon. Shouldn’t you be carrying a dish of food or something? You did say you were going to the kitchen for a reason, remember.”

  “That’s right.” Susan hurried to the refrigerator and grabbed a large pitcher of foamy eggnog. “I’ll go fill up the bowl in the living room.”

  “Great.” Kathleen had reached under the chair where she had stuffed her purse earlier in the evening and was rummaging through it. Finding what she wanted, she pulled out a small, half-filled notebook and a gold pen. She ruffled through the sheets to the page labeled barr in capital letters and, picking up the pen, she added a few words to her notes on the subject: family? twins? look-alikes? She skimmed through the rest of the notebook smiling. It was just like the old days when she was investigating for the police. Every answer seemed to lead to two more questions. Sometimes three.

  But the question of twins was something to consider, and she leafed through the notebook for Thomas and Travis’s page. Was it significant that they shared one page—that they were not listed as individual suspects, but as a team? She would have considered the question in more detail, but the kitchen door opened suddenly, and half a dozen women came dashing into the room.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The party was over. The beds were no longer covered with coats and scarves; the street was no longer lined with parked cars; the windows were open to let out the accumulated scents of perfume and cigarette smoke. And the Henshaws were still washing the carpet.

  “Will it stain?” Claire asked anxiously.

  “It’s so wet, I really can’t tell. But I keep thinking about all those eggs and heavy cream that have probably seeped through to the padding. I don’t want the living room to smell like rotten eggs.” Susan scrubbed harder as she spoke.

  “Maybe the bourbon will act as a preservative,” Jed suggested, entering the room. “Are you going to need this?” He indicated the bucket of fresh soapy water he was carrying.

  “Maybe one more rinse, just to make sure,” Susan answered.

  “This is going to be the best-washed carpet in Connecticut,” Claire commented as Susan took the water from Jed. “After all, one or another of your neighbors was busy cleaning it for the last few hours or so.” She moved a pillow behind the small of her back. “That was some spill, I must say,” she added.

  Jed chuckled. “I’m sorry I missed it. From what I heard, the moment of impact between the glass pitcher and the punch bowl was only slightly less than extraordinary.”

  “I still don’t understand why you threw the pitch—” Claire began.

  “I didn’t throw anything,” Susan insisted, not for the first time. “The pitcher slipped from my hands; it’s just unfortunate that it fell into the punch bowl.”

  “And that they were both crystal,” Claire added. “You know, there are some attractive plastics on the market these days. Maybe you should look into that when you get around to replacing what you broke tonight.” She yawned.

  “Mother, why don’t you go to bed? Susan and I can finish up here by ourselves,” Jed said quickly, understanding that his wife didn’t need any more questions or suggestions right now.

  “That’s a good idea,” Susan chimed in enthusiastically. “Why don’t you go up, too, Jed? It’s almost two a.m., and I’m going to quit. This can dry, and we’ll see what it looks like in the morning.”

  “When—” Jed started, helping his mother to stand.

  “In just a few minutes,” his wife answered his unasked question. “There are some things I want to do. Go up and turn on the electric blanket. I’ll be in bed before it has time to warm up,” she added, knowing he would be asleep the moment he got into bed and wouldn’t notice if she was lying. She dropped the sponge into the bucket and stood up.

  “You do look tired, Jeddy.”

  “Well,” he said, hesitantly, “I do have some shopping to finish up tomorrow, and it would be easier if I got to the stores early.”

  “You’d better. Everyone and his cousin will be shopping the last Saturday before Christmas,” Susan reminded him.

  “You should have shopped earlier. After all, it isn’t as though you didn’t know Christmas was coming. You’ve always been one for putting things off. I remember how you used to study for tests at the last minute. And you were always up late the night before your term papers were due.”

  “Why don’t we go upstairs like Susan suggested?” Jed reminded himself that this was the season of
peace and goodwill toward men—and that probably included mothers.

  Susan left mother and son to squabble their way to bed, and, picking up her buckets and sponges, she headed to the kitchen. Once there, she dumped the buckets into the sink, squeezing out the sponges before throwing them into the trash compactor. She left the now-empty buckets at the head of the basement stairs, and left, heading for the study and, not incidentally, to the bar, where she helped herself to a large goblet of burgundy.

  She loved the time after a party. Especially a successful party, like this one had been. Although, she smiled to herself, there had been moments when she worried. She sipped her wine and remembered. Kelly’s entrance had upset a lot of people; conversation had stopped, one or two snide comments had been made, Rebecca had looked as if she was barely resisting an urge to kill. Her second urge to kill? Susan mused, pulling candle stubs from their holders and throwing them into the embers of the fireplace. She watched them flare up and took another sip from her glass. Maybe her accident with the eggnog had been an unconscious inspiration after all. It had certainly given everyone something to think about, and anyone who wanted could keep busy by offering to help. She smiled again, remembering how many women had mopped and sponged down the coffee table and the rug. Luckily no one had been cut on slivers of glass. Too bad about the pitcher, but she had hated that punch bowl since they had gotten it as a wedding present.

  She put down her glass and checked around the rest of the room. Ashtrays had been dumped in the fireplace, extra Ivy League Punch had been returned to the refrigerator in the basement. She reached into the straw pot holding a large red poinsettia, pulled out some napkins a guest had stashed there, and threw them into the wastebasket. Then she walked around the room once more, switching off lights as she went. Glass in hand, she left the study and circled the first floor of the house, straightening and thinking. Until getting to the kitchen.

  Usually a complete mess, the commotion of her accident had mobilized a number of women, some of whom appeared to have cleaned counters, emptied trays, and rewrapped leftovers. Jed had carried numerous bags of garbage to the garage along with all the broken glass. Her dishwasher was humming through its third load of glasses, with one last pile of odds and ends waiting their turn. Susan put her glass on the table and sat down to pull off her shoes and stockings. Then she raided the refrigerator. Shrimp and crab legs, smoked salmon and caviar on crackers, pâté and spinach dip; she loaded a large plate. Desserts filled another. She grabbed some silverware and sat back down at the table. Any other time, she would have feasted and enjoyed herself. Tonight she had work to do. Kathleen had left the notebook she was keeping on the case, and Susan had promised to read it and add anything she thought pertinent.