Owl Be Home for Christmas

by Donna Andrews

  “My brother and I used to own a company called Ackley and Sons. A company our grandfather founded. We were the third generation of Ackleys to run it.”

  Still blank looks on all the faces except Grandfather’s. Grandfather’s face was screwed up as if he were trying to remember something.

  “We’d still be running it, and planning for the day when we’d pass it along to our children if it wasn’t for you miserable owl lovers!”

  “Ackwood Lumber.” Grandfather nodded as if to confirm that he’d figured something out.

  “Yes!” Ackley shouted. “Ackwood Lumber was our largest subsidiary. We were one of the biggest, most successful lumber companies in the Pacific Northwest. We manufactured millions of board feet every year!”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door that led to the kitchen opening at a rate that would make an elderly snail look speedy. When it was open about six inches or so, an eye peered out. Horace. He seemed to be staring at Ackley’s gun. Or Grandfather’s head. They were so close he could hardly help seeing the one when he looked at the other.

  Just for a moment I found myself wishing that we were snowbound with Deputy Vern Shiffley instead of Horace. I felt guilty almost immediately. After all, Vern wouldn’t have been nearly as useful for the chief to have on site handling the murder case over the past two days. But now, I suspected, they’d be thinking about how to take down Ackley before he hurt anyone. And you couldn’t argue with the fact that if a situation called for the skilled use of firearms, Vern was the officer you wanted to have around. Vern regularly brought home trophies from a variety of marksmanship competitions. Horace always passed his annual firearms qualification, but he also always sweated it beforehand. If someone was going to try shooting Ackley without hurting Grandfather …

  I silently apologized to Horace.

  “And Oliver Frogmore was the worst of all!” I’d almost completely tuned out Ackley’s rant, but hearing him roar out the murder victim’s name snapped me back to attention.

  “Did you kill him?” someone called out.

  A look of malicious triumph crossed Ackley’s face.

  “He was the worst of you,” he said. “You all deserve to die, but him most of all.”

  He went on ranting about how horrible Dr. Frogmore had been—what a jerk, what a liar. Actually, he might have had most of the crowd shouting out “Amen!” and “Sing it, brother!” if it hadn’t been for the gun he kept firmly pressed against Grandfather’s head.

  Although any burgeoning feeling of solidarity vanished pretty quickly when Ackley moved on from vilifying Frogmore to asserting his God-given right to clear-cut every single tree in the Pacific Northwest if he wanted to, with a side order of pro-pesticide sentiment.

  At the kitchen door, Horace’s eye had been replaced by the chief’s eye. I found myself wondering if he was a better shot than Horace. I assumed he’d have to pass the same annual firearms qualification, but I’d never heard how he scored. Of course, the chief himself would know, if it came down to choosing between himself and Horace. And the chief would be very good at hostage negotiations, assuming Ackley would ever shut up enough to be negotiated with.

  I suddenly noticed that Grandfather appeared to be trying to catch my eye. He was doing something with his fingers. Very slight movements that I had to watch a couple of times to understand. Pointing to his own chest. Pointing down. Pointing up. And then at me.

  I deduced he was suggesting that he was going to dive for the floor, at which point I should rush Ackley. I shook my head slightly. He frowned and repeated the sequence.

  Great. Grandfather wasn’t just going to do something stupid and heroic. He was going to make me help him.

  Better to help him than let him act alone.

  I glanced over at Ben Green, who was sitting next to Grandfather. Maybe it was time to test my admittedly feeble ASL skills. I managed to catch his eye and sign out what I hoped was “It’s time.”

  He frowned, and signed back “Time for what?” At least I think that’s what he said.

  I signed back “Three, two, one, help Grandfather.” I was pretty sure I had the numbers right, and I saw him glance over at Grandfather when I’d finished.

  I repeated the numbers, this time just holding up three fingers, two fingers, and one finger. Green nodded.

  I wasn’t at all sure what he planned to do, but if Grandfather was going to start something, the more of us joining in the better. It would be better still if I could coordinate whatever Grandfather had planned with some action from the chief and Horace, but neither of them seemed to be peering through the doorway to the kitchen at the moment.

  I looked back at Grandfather, who was scowling openly at me.

  Mr. Ackley had segued off into a denunciation of global climate change, which was bound to enrage the assembled scientists. And his frenzy seemed to be reaching some sort of crescendo. I was afraid any minute now he’d decide the time had come to finish it. Or maybe he’d just get so angry he’d pull the trigger by accident.

  I nodded to Grandfather and held up three fingers.

  He nodded back and I could see him tensing.

  I changed my finger sign to two.

  Ben Green looked as if he might throw up.

  I held out only one finger. Then I lunged toward Ackley. Grandfather hurled himself to the floor, and Green lunged sideways, throwing his considerable bulk on top of Grandfather—and thus between Grandfather and Ackley’s gun.

  Ackley froze in mid-sentence when I started moving, and I was able to grab his gun hand and knock him to the floor. The gun didn’t fire. And mercifully he fell silent—probably because one of my knees had landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  Almost immediately other people joined the fray, rolling me off Ackley and pinning him down.

  “Dammit, Ben, I’m grateful, but you weigh a ton,” Grandfather was shouting. “Get up!”

  “Stand back, everyone.” The chief. “And leave the gun to me.”

  “Meg, are you all right?” Dr. Craine was looking down at me, offering me a hand up.

  When I was on my feet, I found myself face-to-face with the chief.

  Chapter 29

  I braced myself for the tongue-lashing to come. I’d endangered myself and others. Why hadn’t I waited for him to handle the situation? Did I realize how lucky I was to be alive?

  “Good job,” he said.

  “Good job?” I echoed. “I was expecting ‘are you crazy, tackling someone with a loaded gun?’”

  “I assumed you also realized that the gun’s safety was on,” he said. “Which doesn’t make it safe—it would only take a second to flick it off—but given the circumstances it does rather suggest that he was unaware of this himself, making it much less dangerous to tackle him.”

  “I wish I’d known that,” I said. “I only tackled him because if I didn’t, Grandfather was going to try doing it all by himself.”

  “Well, I knew it,” Grandfather said. “Or I wouldn’t have suggested you tackle him.”

  Had he really known? Or was he merely pretending, to avoid looking stupid and foolhardy?

  I sat down in the nearest chair before my knees gave way. Being the brave, stupid person wasn’t how I wanted to see myself. The chief led Mr. Ackley to the back of the room.

  “You’re under arrest,” I heard him begin.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Horace was standing at the front of the room, trying to get the crowd’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention!”

  “Someone go find Lindquist and tell him he’s off the hook,” Grandfather called.

  “… anything you say can and will be used against you…,” the chief was saying.

  “Could I ask those of you who took video of today’s events to please email it to me?” Horace was asking. “The email is…”

  “… if you cannot afford an attorney…”

  “Shut up and do what Horace says,” Grandfather shouted. “The sooner we d
o that, the sooner we can get back to the panel.”

  “… Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?…”

  “That’s Hollingsworth: H-O-L-L-I-N-G…”

  Eventually, the chief led Mr. Ackley away. After the third time Horace had spelled out his email address, Grandfather finally wrote it on the room’s whiteboard. The flurry of emailing died down, and the panel got underway again.

  “Before we get too deep in the topic at hand,” Grandfather said, “I understand there might be three or four of you who forgot to sign up for the dinner tonight. I’m told you can probably still get in if you grovel a little bit at the door. And you might want to. Everyone else will be there.”

  When I thought my legs would hold me up again, I decided to sneak out to see how the dinner preparations were going.

  In case it ever happens again, I should find out what you’re supposed to do when you’re trying to be unobtrusive and a whole roomful of people give you a standing ovation.

  Out in the hallway, I could see the chief and Horace standing on either side of Mr. Ackley, with an excited-looking security guard lurking helpfully nearby. Mr. Ackley appeared to have regained his former belligerence.

  “You’re damned right I’m exercising my right to remain silent,” Ackley was shouting. “I’m not talking! You won’t get a word out of me! But you know what? You might want to be careful what you eat around here. Or drink. Me, I wouldn’t put anything into my mouth that didn’t come out of a can or bottle. That I’d opened myself. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Then he folded his arms and not only shut his mouth but clenched his jaw so hard it was painful to see.

  I hoped not too many of the scientists had heard him back in the Hamilton Room, or it would cast rather a pall over the gala dinner. The chief waited a minute or so to make sure Ackley really had begun his policy of non-talking, then walked over to where Ekaterina was standing nearby.

  “Do you have someplace where I can lock him up securely?” he asked her. “Someplace you can spare until whenever I’m able to get him to town and lock him up in the jail?”

  “There is a small storage room across the hall from my office,” she said. “I will arrange to clear it out as soon as possible.”

  “Perfect,” the chief said. “And then I’d like it if you could let Horace and me in to search Mr. Ackley’s room.”

  “You might want to talk to Mrs. Ackley first,” I said as I joined them. “If she’s the sweet little old lady she appears to be, she’ll be frightened to death if you go barging into their room unannounced, and on the off chance she’s as big a fruitcake as her husband, you might want to know where she is and what she’s up to.”

  “There’s a wife?” Evidently the chief didn’t find this good news.

  “Yes,” I said. “And speak of the devil, here she comes.”

  I had spotted Mrs. Ackley trotting down the hall. Mother was following her, more slowly.

  “Horace!” the chief called.

  Horace left Mr. Ackley, now safely handcuffed and being watched by the security guard. He hurried over to us.

  “What’s up, Chief?”

  “Gunman’s wife coming down the corridor,” he said in an undertone. “In the pink dress, I assume,” he added to me—though without taking his eyes from Mrs. Ackley.

  “Yes, that’s her,” I said.

  “Thanks. Could you two stand between her and the prisoner?” the chief asked me and Ekaterina. “It can be very distressing to see a loved one in handcuffs.”

  We arranged ourselves to block as much of Mrs. Ackley’s view as possible.

  As Mrs. Ackley drew near, the chief approached her—warily, I noted. After all, we didn’t know for sure that she wasn’t involved. Though from the way her face lit up when she spotted him, I decided she probably wasn’t. I doubted that people involved in poisonings and hostage takings usually displayed such enthusiasm at the sight of a police uniform. She hurried up to him.

  “What’s wrong? Is Jim hurt? My husband? They haven’t murdered him, too, have they?”

  “Your husband is fine, ma’am,” the chief said. “But I’m afraid I’ll be taking him into custody.”

  “Well, isn’t this just typical.” She crossed her arms and looked belligerent. “You might want to take a look at the locals, instead of arresting someone just because he isn’t from around here.”

  From his expression, I deduced the chief was counting to ten before answering her, so I spoke up.

  “Actually we have a whole hotel full of people who aren’t from around here to suspect,” I said. “Your husband is the only one who’s been holding a bunch of his fellow guests at gunpoint.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “He wouldn’t.”

  “We have witnesses, ma’am,” the chief said.

  “And video,” I added.

  She looked from the chief to me. Then her shoulders sagged and she sighed deeply.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “This always happens when he stops taking his meds.”

  The chief blinked and stared at her for a few seconds.

  “Do you mean he’s done this before?” he asked. “Taken hostages at gunpoint in an attempt to get publicity for his, um, demands?”

  “Oh, no!” The idea seemed to shock her. “I can’t imagine why he’d ever do that—he just does crazy things, like yelling at the poor cashiers in the McDonald’s drive-through, as if it was their fault the company discontinued the hot mustard sauce, and having arguments about politics with perfectly nice people we’ve known for years and always got along with in spite of them being a little too liberal for his taste, and then the whole idea of moving to Florida.”

  She said all of that in one long burst. And she didn’t sound as if she planned on stopping anytime soon, but luckily Mother stepped forward, took her by the arm, and began to lead her away.

  “You’ve had a shock, dear,” she murmured as she gently tugged Mrs. Ackley back in the direction they’d come from. “Let’s go have some tea.”

  “We were perfectly happy in Sonoma,” Mrs. Ackley was continuing as they started back down the hallway. “Well, I was perfectly happy, and he was no more unhappy than he was anywhere else we’ve lived. But he stopped taking his meds for a while and the next thing I knew we were living in this gated community with no trees to speak of, and while I suppose it’s very nice, I miss our little house in the woods. And what nonsense, blaming these perfectly nice scientists for Ackley and Sons going out of business—as if his father hadn’t already run it into the ground long before the hoot owls showed up. And I’ll tell you one thing I like about owls—they don’t come around during the daytime, not like the birds in Florida. The size of some of them! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked out the back to see a huge bird with a bill as long as I am tall, stabbing the fish—gives me the creeps just to think about it—and of course I had to give up the idea of a koi pond. Egrets and flamingos and herons…”

  Her voice had gradually faded in the distance. I made mental note to thank Mother later for taking one for the team.

  The chief was watching them go with a look of annoyance and disbelief on his face.

  “We got an address yet on Mr. Ackley?” he asked Horace.

  “Yes, I’ve checked his wallet,” Horace said. “Town called Port Charlotte, Florida. You want the street address?”

  “Write it down for me, will you?” The chief was studying their prisoner. “I think I’ll get in touch with the Port Charlotte police to see if verbally abusing the McDonald’s employees is all Mr. Ackley’s gotten up to down there.” He turned to Ekaterina. “Might I ask you to rekey the Ackleys’ room and let me have the new key? We’ll need to search it. And is there any way you can find a new room for Mrs. Ackley? We don’t want her underfoot while we’re searching, and I think it will be better for everyone if we relocate her altogether.”

  “Of course.” Ekaterina strode off toward the lobby.

  “When you’ve got him l
ocked up, why don’t you and Horace join us for dinner,” I said to the chief. “I realize you still have a lot of work to do, wrapping up the case—”

  “But at least we can celebrate what we’ve accomplished so far,” the chief said. “Since there’s only so much more we can do while snowbound. I’ll take you up on that. Breakfast was a good long time ago.”

  A good long time ago, yes. It felt like several years. Luckily I’d had lunch—and rather late—but everybody else was probably counting the minutes till dinner. I glanced at the sign-up sheets on the information table. Grandfather was right. There might be three or four people who hadn’t signed up, but that was all.

  I should go make sure everything was ready.

  Chapter 30

  Down the hall, in the ballroom, things were chaotic. Tables and steam tables were set up, and dishes were emerging from the kitchen to fill them, but instead of putting them in place the waitstaff appeared to be running around with them in random directions. Had the drama next door unnerved them?

  After making a few inquiries, I figured out that half the staff had been instructed by Ekaterina to put all the special Hanukkah dishes in one section and the various nostalgic Christmas foods in another, while the other half were following Mother’s orders to arrange the meal by course and content—meat dishes together in one section, fish in another, vegetables in another, and so on. One poor busboy had been carrying a bowl of horseradish back and forth for fifteen minutes. I hunted down Mother and Ekaterina, explained the problem to them, and then sat down in a corner to watch them sort it out. They soon came to an agreement, and the buffet took shape.

  Not only was there a Hanukkah section, there were also sections with Indian food and Japanese delicacies. And everything was neatly labeled, so anyone who wanted to avoid anything—meat, milk, pork, beef, seafood, onions, garlic, gluten, mushrooms, and who knows what else—could safely navigate the buffet.

  “I think we’re ready,” Ekaterina said finally. And just in time. We heard a loud burst of cheering and applause from the Hamilton Room next door—apparently the last panel was over.