Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

The eeek escaped as the man reached out and touched her right ear with one finger.

Ginnie's face turned red as she swung around and glared at the intruder. “Oh, it's you. Hello, Cletus,” she said coldly.

He appeared to be a well-preserved sixty-five or seventy, and had a good-looking, if florid, face. “You don't sound happy to see me,” he said, smiling. His eyes were now staring at me. “Who's your pretty little friend?”

Ginnie sighed. “Tori Miracle, I'd like you to meet another of your Moon Lake neighbors, Dr. Cletus Wilson. Cletus is a retired dentist.”

I shook hands with Cletus, who held on a little longer than necessary while gazing soulfully into my eyes with his baby-blues. My mother had once said of an unpleasant visitor to the embassy, “I don't know why, but I dislike him immensely.” That was how I felt about Dr. Wilson.

“May I join you ladies?”

“Bingo!” a woman shouted.

“Damn,” Ginnie muttered and crumpled up her cards.

I recalled Luscious's police report from early this morning. “Are you the Dr. Wilson whose house was robbed?” I asked.

“I certainly am,” he said. “Damn teenagers. It's got so a man can't even be safe in his own house. Back when I was a kid, we were taught respect for other people's property. Nothing like this would have-”

“Oh, stuff it, Cletus,” Ginnie interrupted. “It wasn't all Happy Days back then. There's always been bad kids around. Always will be.”

He didn't seem at all taken aback by her outburst. “You're right, my dear,” he said with a smile, then leaned close to me so our shoulders were touching. I got a whiff of denture breath and turned my head slightly.

“I know who you are,” he said, playfully touching my chin. I drew away, dislodging his finger. He smiled a white, false-toothy grin. “You're that girlfriend of the police chief's, running the Chronicle. Bet you're surprised I know that.”

“Mmmm,” I said, wondering how I could escape.

“You must be feeling lonely with that man of yours in Costa Rica. Since we're practically neighbors, maybe you'd like to come over for a drink some evening this week. Take a look at my Civil War collection. Ginnie can tell you it's well worth seeing.” The leer he gave me indicated he had a lot more on his mind than showing me his cannonballs.

“I'm very busy,” I told him. “The paper takes a lot of my time-”

“I'll call you,” he said. “Excuse me, ladies, I see someone I need to talk to.” The new object of his attention was a blonde woman with a disastrous permanent. She barely looked up from her cards when he sat down next to her.

“Charming gentleman,” I remarked to Ginnie.

“Pond scum,” she said cheerfully. “I actually made the mistake of going over there one night. I can tell you it was all I could do to escape with my girlish virtue intact. Oh, good-they're going to play inside-square next. That's my lucky game.”

It was only a little past ten when Ginnie dropped me off, but it seemed much later. I'm not sure if that was because my bruises had been throbbing painfully for the last hour or because I'd been half bored to death all evening. Bingo was definitely not my thing, and I hoped Ginnie wouldn't invite me again. Perhaps now I'd get that hot bath and cold Scotch I'd been craving all evening.

Praxythea was in the kitchen, scratching Icky's chin.

“Get him off the table,” I said sharply. “They carry all kinds of horrible diseases.”

She stared at the pie basket I'd won, then tut-tutted when she noticed my bedraggled condition.

“I've spent the day with a child who's a wannabe serial killer, I've been pummeled with rocks, my house has been broken into-and don't even ask me what I think of bingo,” I warned.

It was probably too late for ice packs to be effective, but I thought I'd give it a try. Since there was only half a tray of ice cubes in the refrigerator, I retrieved two bags of frozen peas from the freezer on the porch and positioned them on either side of my neck like bright green shoulder pads.

Praxythea gently placed Icky back in his terrarium and washed her hands. “He's so sweet,” she murmured. She was still a vision of lavender loveliness, but her stage makeup had definitely seen better days. “I just got home, myself,” she said. “It's been a long day.”

“Amen to that,” I agreed. “Did you visit the Amish market in Lancaster?”

“I never got there. While I was on camera, word came in that Kevin had been found, exactly where I said he'd be. I spent the rest of the afternoon giving interviews to the network newspeople. So exhausting!”

I retrieved my jaw from where it had dropped. “You took credit for finding him? I can't believe you.”

She smiled sweetly. “He was by the edge of running water, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was. But around Lickin Creek, it's hard to find any place that isn't near running water. You know that.”

She sighed. “I'm used to disbelievers, Tori. Come see what I got for you.”

I knew it was no use arguing with her; she was the mistress of illogical thought. I followed her out of the warm kitchen, through the cold interior rooms of the mansion, and into the large front parlor where a magnificent, long-needled Christmas tree dominated the center of the room.

“Isn't it beautiful?” she asked.

“It's gorgeous,” I gasped. “How did you get it here?”

“The limo driver was kind enough to strap it on top of the car. He could barely see the road through the branches. It was like driving home through the forest primeval.”

“Now I know stretch limos are good for something,” I said.

“I thought we could decorate it tomorrow. Do something countryish-maybe make some popcorn and cranberry garlands, tie little red and white checkered bows on it.”

“It's lovely, Praxythea. And I do appreciate it. But now that Kevin's been found, won't you be going back to New York?”

“I thought I might stick around for Christmas.”

“Don't you have family or some close friends you'd rather be with?”

She shook her head and said softly, “Not really.” She drifted over to the tree and pulled off a single dry needle.

I studied her back. It hadn't occurred to me that someone as rich and famous and beautiful as Praxythea could be lonely.

“Okay,” I said cheerfully. “Neither one of us has family, so let's make it the best damn Christmas ever.”

Her smile, when she turned to face me, was radiant.

“I'll fix us drinks,” she announced. “We can toast the coming holiday.”

“Sounds great. Make mine Scotch-a big one, please.”

With a cat on each of our laps, we toasted the holiday and Kevin's rescue. As the first sip of Scotch hit my bloodstream, I felt a rush of warmth, and after a few minutes all my aches and pains were gone.

She refilled our glasses, and we toasted our continuing friendship. By the time I'd finished the second drink, I realized the alcohol was hitting me hard and fast. I was starting to feel weepy, and my speech was slurred as I said, “I wish I'd paid attention to Bernice when she asked for help. I might have shaved her.”

“Shaved her?” Praxythea giggled. “I think it's time for us to go to bed.”

Something woke me. I heard it again; a sound that wasn't loud, but was out of place. I remembered the possum in the laundry room and hoped we didn't have another unwelcome visitor. As I struggled to find the switch on the bedside lamp, the digital numbers on the clock radio told me it was nearly three in the morning. My mouth was dry from too much Scotch, and my head threatened to ache.