Abigail Browining - Murder Most Merry

“Don’t!” she said. “Will I ever forget it? It was so real, and he knew I was scared of living here alone.”

Between them, they recalled Reg’s party tricks in recent years: the time he arrived with his friend masquerading as an African bishop; the year the Queen’s voice came out of the cocktail cabinet; and the live turkey in Geoff’s car.

“You’ve got to give him full marks for trying,” said Andy. “It would be a dull old Christmas without him.”

“I’d rather have it dull,” said Pauline.

“Me, too,” said Gemma. “I may be his flesh and blood, but I don’t share his sense of humor.”

“Only because it could be your turn this time,” said Andy. “Poor old Geoff got it last year. The sight of that turkey pecking your hand when you opened the door, Geoff, I’ll never forget.

Geoff stared back without smiling.

Ten minutes later, Pauline said, “I’ve had the cocktail sausages warming for over an hour. They’ll be burnt to a cinder. And we haven’t even opened a single present.”

“Want me to phone him, see if he’s left?” Andy offered.

“Of course he’s left.” said Gemma. “He must have.”

Pauline started to say, “I hope nothing’s—”

Gemma said quickly, “He’s all right. He wants to keep us in suspense. We’re playing into his hands. I think we should get on with the party without him. Why don’t we open some presents?”

“I think we ought to wait for Reg.”

“You could open the one we found on the doorstep,” Andy suggested to Pauline.

“Unless it is something personal,” said Gemma.

That induced a change of mind from Pauline. “I’ve got nothing to hide from any of you.”

Andy retrieved the parcel from under the tree, turned it over, and examined the brown paper wrapping. “There’s nothing written on it. Maybe it isn’t meant for Pauline after all.”

“If it was left on her doorstep, it’s hers,” said Gemma.

Pauline sat in a chair with the parcel deep in the froth of her skirt and picked at the Sellotape. She was too fastidious to tear the paper.

“You want scissors,” said Andy.

“I can manage.” She eased open the brown paper. “It’s gift-wrapped inside.”

“Where’s the tag?” said Gemma. “Who’s it from?”

“There isn’t one.” Pauline examined the tinsel-tied parcel in its shiny red wrapper.

“Open it, then.”

She worked at one edge of the paper with one of her long, lacquered fingernails. “Look, there’s more wrapping inside.”

“Just like pass the parcel,” said Gemma.

Andy gave his wife a murderous look.

The paper yielded to Pauline’s gentle probing. Underneath was yet another wrapping, with a design of holly and Christmas roses. She said, “I think you’re right. This is meant for a game.”

Andy swore under his breath.

“Let’s all play, then,” said Gemma with an amused glance at her husband’s reaction.

“After tea.”

“No, now. While we’re waiting for Reg. Pull up a chair everyone and sit in a circle. I’ll look after the music.”

‘Just three of us?” said Andy.

Gemma mocked him with a look. “You know how Pauline adores this game.”

Andy and Pauline positioned themselves close to where Geoff was already seated, while Gemma selected a CD and placed it on the deck of the music center.

“What is it—’The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’? “ said Andy.

Pauline was impervious to sarcasm.” ‘Destiny,’ ” she said as the sound of strings filled the room.

“That’s an old one.”

“Start passing it, then,” said Gemma. “I’m not playing this for my amusement.”

Pauline handed the parcel to Andy, who held it to his chest. “No cheating,” said Pauline.

He passed it to Geoff and the music stopped. Geoff unwrapped a piece of pink paper and revealed a silver layer beneath.

“Tough.” said Andy. “Play on, maestro.”

As the game resumed, Pauline told her sister, “You’re supposed to have your back to us. It isn’t fair if you can see who the parcel has reached.”

“She likes playing God.” said Andy. “Whoops.” The music had stopped and the parcel was on his lap. He ripped it open; no finer feelings. “Too bad. Give it another whirl, Gem.”

Geoff was the next to remove a layer. He did it in silence as usual.

“More music?” said Gemma.

“You got it,” said Andy.

Three more wrappings came off before Pauline got a turn. The parcel was appreciably smaller.

“This could be it,” said Andy. “You can see the shape.”

“But of what?” said Pauline “It looks like a box to me.” She was pink in the face as she peeled back the paper, but it was clear that another burst of music would be necessary.

When Andy received the parcel he held it to his ear and gave it a shake. Nothing rattled.

“Come on, pass it,” said Pauline, drumming her shoes on the carpet.

Geoff fumbled and dropped the parcel as the music stopped. Pauline snatched it up.

“Not so fast,” said Andy. “Geoff hadn’t passed it to you.”

But she had already unfolded the tissue paper from around a matchbox, one of the jumbo size capable of holding two hundred and fifty matches.

“One more round, apparently,” said Gemma, and she turned up the music again. To sustain the suspense, a longer stretch of “Destiny” was wanted.

“What could it be?” said Pauline.

“Matches,” said Andy.

“A silk scarf would be nice,” said Pauline.

“Game on,” said Andy.

The matchbox was sent on its way around the three players.

“No looking,” Andy reminded his wife. “We’re down to the wire now. This has to be impartial.”

“Faster,” said Pauline.

“She’s a goer, your sister,” said Andy.

The matchbox fairly raced from lap to lap.

“Do you mind? I didn’t know you cared,” said Andy when Pauline’s impetuous hand clasped his thigh.

Even Geoff was leaning forward, absorbed in the climax of the game. The music stopped just as he was passing the box to Pauline. They both had their hands on it.

“Mine,” she said.

Geoff apparently knew better than to thwart his younger sister.

“I suppose it’s only justice that you get the prize, as it was left on your doorstep,” said Andy. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unable to contain her curiosity, Gemma came over to see.

Pauline slid the box half-open, dropped it into her lap, and said in horror, “Oh, I don’t believe it!”

“It’s a joke, said Gemma. “It must be a joke.”

“It isn’t,” said Pauline in a thin, strained voice. “That’s somebody’s thumb. Ugh!” She hooked the box off her skirt as if it were alive and dropped it on the coffee table.

Large and pale, the offending digit lay on a bed of cotton wool.

“No it isn’t,” said Andy. “It’s too big for a thumb. It’s a big toe.”

“A toe?”

“Yes, it’s too fleshy for a thumb.”

“It must be out of a joke shop,” said Gemma. “If Reg is responsible for this, I’ll strangle him.”

“Typical of his humor,” said Andy.

Then Geoff spoke. “I think it’s real.”

“It can’t be,” said Gemma.

“Open it right out,” said Andy.

“I’m not touching it,” said Pauline.

Andy lifted the box and opened it, separating the drawer from its casing.

“I can’t bear to look,” said Pauline. “Keep it away from me.”

“It’s the real thing,” said Andy. “You can see where it was—”

“God in Heaven—we don’t wish to see,” said Gemma. “Put it somewhere out of sight and give Pauline some of that brandy we brought.”

“What a vile trick,” said Pauline.