Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

“Exactly what I thought,” I said. “I'd sure like to get that girl alone for five minutes. See what I could get out of her.”

Afton sighed. “I know how you feel, but for the time being I have to follow up on her story.”

Pearl, in front of the TV set, was watching us with a thoughtful expression on her face. I wondered what she'd overheard.

Afton opened the front door and jumped back, startled, as the press began shouting questions at him.

“You coming?” he asked me.

“You go ahead,” I said. “I need to talk to Mrs. Pof-fenberger for a minute.”

I'd just recalled that Praxythea had asked me to bring her something, preferably metal, of Kevin's. It couldn't do any harm, I thought, so I went in search of Mrs. Poffenberger. I found her in the bedroom with the baby.

She handed me a tiny pocketknife, saying it had been Kevin's birthday present. Although I wondered about the family's judgment in giving a small child a knife, I accepted it with only a word of thanks.

“They're going to find him, Mrs. Poffenberger. I know they will.” I wanted to offer her some encouragement, some hope.

“Yeah, sure.” Her voice was flat. I could tell she'd already given up.

I drove through late-afternoon shadows back to the borough. As I approached downtown, a volunteer traffic cop in a yellow vest signaled me to stop. I rolled down the window and asked, “What's the matter? Water main burst again?”

“Nah, they're setting up the Nativity scene in the square so the traffic needs detoured. You can take a right on Oak, a left on Elm, another left, this time on Maple, and then-”

“Thanks, I'll find my way.” Lickin Creek isn't very big, but its one-way streets could have been the inspiration for Dante's circles of Hell. Why the borough council chose rush hour to close Main Street was beyond my comprehension.

After circling aimlessly for about fifteen minutes, I ended up where I'd started, only this time the traffic cop took pity on me and let me through. As I drove past the fountain in the center of the square, I saw Yoder Construction Company workers busily turning it into a manger.

Because of the time I wasted being lost, it was dark when I pulled through the gates into the Moon Lake compound, but my house was illuminated by floodlights like a Broadway theater on opening night. Trucks and vans lined the dirt road and filled my circular drive.

More media people, I realized. Cables lay coiled in the grass like a nest of pythons.

Praxythea stood on the front porch in a black bodysuit that covered her from neck to toe but hid nothing. Didn't the woman own underwear? She was speaking into a microphone held by a beautiful, raven-haired Asian woman.

As I approached the house, I recognized some faces from the tabloid news shows, and I heard snatches of predictable phrases: “-astounding new developments-search for bearded man-tristate area-possible connections with children abducted in Florida and Texas-noted psychic's vision directed police to a deserted quarry where…”

“Be careful up there,” I called to Praxythea and several familiar talking heads. “That porch roof is liable to cave in.”

They ignored me, as did the news crews on the lawn, so I took my life in my hands, climbed the steps, and entered the house through the front door. I gathered up the mail that lay on the carpet and flipped through the envelopes while I hiked to the kitchen. Damn! Still nothing from Garnet. I tossed the envelopes on the table to look through later.

I refilled the cats’ bowls with Tasty Tabby Treats, and while they happily and noisily chewed their food, I checked the iguana to make sure it had water and some of the lizard food Oretta had left with it. As far as I could tell, he was all right, but I tossed in a little lettuce as a treat. Then I prepared two cups of instant coffee and doctored mine with the powders that represented sugar and cream.

Praxythea entered and sank into a chair across the table from me. “How did you know I wanted this?” she said with a smile, picking up one of the cups.

I didn't return her smile. “Maybe I'm the psychic.”

“You're upset with me,” she said.

“It doesn't take a psychic to know that.”

“Publicity is very important. Without the media attention, the people who need me most wouldn't know about me.”

“And it sells books.”

“Of course. Money is important, no doubt about it. It gives me the freedom to go where I'm needed.”

“Okay, Praxythea, you're a saint.” Before the protest could burst from her parted lips, I took Kevin's pock-etknife from my handbag and handed it to her. “See what you can do with this.”

It was a small knife, just the right size for a child's hand. I could imagine how excited Kevin must have been when he first saw it. Would he ever see it again?

Praxythea held it between the palms of her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head over it. I refilled my cup and waited.

Her eyes popped open, and she laid the knife on the table.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“He's still alive.”

Despite my disbelief, I experienced a surge of hope. “Can you tell where he is?” It was baloney, I was sure, but it couldn't hurt to check every option.

“You'll make fun of me if I tell you.”

“Come on, Praxythea. Tell me.”

She stroked the blade of the knife with her emerald-clad finger. “You're not going to like this, but here goes. I saw him… by the edge of running water.”

I groaned. “I should have known you'd say that. It's always something about ‘the edge of running water.’ You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I was right last night,” she said defensively. “They found the child exactly where I said he'd be.”

“But it was the wrong child, Praxythea.”

“There had to be a reason why I was sent those images when I was concentrating on contacting Kevin,” she said. “I'm sure there's a connection.”

“Like a serial killer who strikes every thirty-seven years? Give me a break!”

In the terrarium in the corner next to the stove, Icky squeaked. I think he was staring at me, but it was hard to tell. “I don't need your editorial comments,” I muttered to the reptile.

Fred jumped onto my lap and I stroked his soft orange and white fur. Medical testing has proved having pets is good for your health. I agree that petting a cat is soothing, but I wondered what on earth an iguana could do for anyone?

We'll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet

THE VOICE ON THE OTHER END OF THE TELE- phone line said, “Tori, dear, how are you?” I noticed this time Oretta had my name right. That alone should have warned me that she wanted something.

“Weezie had a little accident today and won't be able to make it to the pageant rehearsal tonight.” Her tone of voice spoke myriads about the kind of “accident” poor Weezie had experienced. I recalled what Ginnie had said Jackson would do to his wife when he found out she was in Oretta's pageant.

“So, I thought you could stand in for her. It's a dress rehearsal. Wear a black leotard and tights. I'll supply the rest of your costume.”

“But I-”

“Don't be modest, Tori. Of course you can do it. You were there last night, so you know what the part entails.”

“I have plans-”

“But everyone else I called has something important to do tonight. Besides,” she wheedled, “you're our town's only famous author, and people would love to see you up there. It'll show the town you don't really think you're better than the rest of us. See you at seven-thirty. Don't be late.”