Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

Primrose glared at me. “Really, Tori. The man's suffered a dreadful loss. He's lost his home. And maybe his wife…”

Matavious lurched forward suddenly, ran a few steps, and dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped around a large dog. “Petula, you got out. Thank God. You got out.”

Primrose put her hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure Oretta got out, too, Matavious. She's probably at a neighbor's right now.”

He looked none too hopeful, but nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You must be right.”

Within a few minutes, Matavious found another of his dogs, two cats, and a Vietnamese potbellied pig. A cage containing a canary hung from a tree branch in the neighbor's yard. His delight was obvious. “They're all safe,” he said. “Oretta got them all out of the house.”

I was confused. If Oretta had let the animals out and even had time to rescue her canary, where was she? Something was dreadfully wrong.

And at that moment, a shout came from the ruins. “Found something!”

Matavious's face blanched. He staggered and would have fallen if Reverend Flack hadn't grabbed his arm.

Away in a manger

THE FIREMEN EXTRACTED ORETTA'S BODY from the ruins of her home and placed her on a stretcher on the brick sidewalk. The crowd gasped, and I turned my head away from the gruesome sight. Henry Hoopengartner, carrying his black bag of coroner's equipment, officiously pushed his way through the spectators and dropped to his knees beside Oretta.

Jackson Clopper, trailed by his wife, Weezie, was close behind Henry. Jackson walked up to Matavious and extended his hand. “Real sorry, man.”

“You son of a bitch,” Matavious screamed. “You said you'd do anything to stop me. Even kill my wife!” He swung his right arm, strong from years of chiropractic manipulations, and slugged his distant cousin in the jaw.

Weezie uttered a shrill scream, while Jackson responded with several brutal chops to Matavious's mid-section. Luscious needed the help of six bystanders to put an end to the fight.

Sweat and tears poured from Matavious's face, while Jackson's red face and throbbing neck veins made him look perilously close to a stroke.

If this was what a family Blue-Gray squabble was, I was glad everyone in my family had been a Northern draft dodger.

“If you two don't stop this feuding right now, I'm gonna lock you both up,” Luscious threatened.

They stopped glaring at each other and turned their fury on him.

“I mean it,” Luscious told them, standing his ground. “I'm damned sorry about your wife, Matavious, but you can't blame Jackson for the fire. Now are you two going to shake hands, or am I going to have to take you both downtown and lock you up?”

After a long pause, Matavious stuck his hand out, and Jackson gave it a perfunctory shake. Weezie led Jackson away by the arm, and Primrose suggested to Matavious that he come with her to her house. He nodded, seemingly dazed, and let her and Reverend Flack guide him to their car.

“I'm proud of you,” I said to Luscious. I couldn't help noticing his hand trembled as he pushed his hair from his forehead.

My Wizard of Oz T-shirt showed below my coat and my fuzzy pink bunny slippers were covered with mud and soot. “Guess I'd better go home and change,” I said. “I need to get to the office.” Before I left the scene, I got the names of the firefighters who'd found Oretta's body. Another tragedy to write about! Sometimes I hated being a reporter.

I looked for Praxythea, but she was nowhere in sight, so I walked home alone, calling for Fred and wondering, as I skirted the lake, why Oretta had gone back into the house after getting all her animals out. What was so important in there that she'd gambled her life and lost?

After showering and donning gray wool slacks and a Norwegian ski sweater I'd picked up for five bucks at the Goodwill, I went downstairs. Praxythea was waiting for me at the foot of the staircase with a strained look on her face. She'd exchanged her negligee for designer jeans and an expensive-looking rhinestone-studded sweatshirt from the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego.

Alarmed, I asked, “What's wrong? Is it Fred?”

She shook her head. “No… I mean… actually, I don't know. Luscious walked me home, and we noticed a break in the bushes on the side of the house. There was a door hidden behind them, leading to the basement-you'd never know it was there, except for the broken branches.”

I dreaded what I knew must be coming.

“It was open, Tori.”

I sat down hard on the stairs. Fred had never been out on his own. All the traffic-the fire engines-the noise-

“Luscious checked it out and told me it was the old servants’ entrance. Said all the old houses had them. The kids that broke in yesterday most likely live in this neighborhood and knew about the side door. They must have left it open.”

I wiped a tear from my cheek. “And ever-curious Fred just had to investigate.”

“Don't cry, Tori. I'm sure he'll come home. I made some fresh coffee. Let's have a cup.”

In the kitchen, I automatically accepted the mug of coffee she handed me. It was delicious. “You're spoiling me,” I told her.

“I enjoy doing things for people,” Praxythea said. “Please don't worry. Most likely Fred's just out looking for a girlfriend.”

“He wouldn't do that. He's been neutered,” I said. “I'm a very responsible cat owner.”

“I am sure he's all right,” Praxythea said soothingly.

“He's never been outside by himself. What if he gets hit by a car? What if he can't find his way back? What if…”

Praxythea took my coffee mug. “He'll be back. I know he will.”

I left for the office, but only after Praxythea promised she'd keep searching for Fred.

She also promised to put the house back in order and to start preparing her famous fruitcake. She really was spoiling me.

As I approached the town square, I saw a crowd of shepherds, wise men, angels, sheep, and cattle gathered around the manger. Now what? I wondered. I parked in the vacant lot where the courthouse had stood before September's fire and hurried over.

I walked up to an agitated woman wearing a blue bathrobe and a lopsided halo, who I guessed was supposed to represent the Mother of God. A baby doll, wrapped in burlap, cried “Mama, Mama” every time the woman moved.

“What's up?” I asked, pulling out my notebook.

“We're the Friday-morning creche people-from the Living Word Church-on the corner of Second and Maple,” Mother Mary said. “Be sure you get that address right. We're not the Living Way people-they're out on Rabbit Road, and they voted not to help with the manger scene, so why should they get the credit? Anyway, when we got here we found the baby Jesus tossed right out of his manger bed. Look. It's full of trash!” She smoothed the baby doll's blond curls over its forehead. “Some people got no respect for religion.”

“How true,” I murmured. I saw Luscious, who was waving at me. “Excuse me, I need to talk to the police chief.”

“He's an asshole,” said the Mother of God. “Nothing like this happened when Garnet was here.”

The people gathered around Luscious were all talking at once. His boyish face was more flushed than usual, and despite the chilly air, there were drops of perspiration on his brow.

“Press,” I announced as I approached. “Coming through.”

As the crowd broke apart, I heard murmurs of “What's this town coming to?” and “Damn teenagers.”