Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery Page 3

  “Woo-hoo! Anybody home?” Paula poked her head into the kitchen.

  I shot Drake a look. He shrugged and held up the newspaper he’d carried in. Yeah, I tried to convey, you forgot to relock the door.

  “Coffee! I smell coffee,” chirped Paula. “Do you mind?” She’d already begun opening cabinet doors, looking for the cups.

  I handed her a clean one.

  “Judy and Wilbur don’t drink coffee,” she said. “Can you believe it? God, I can’t believe there’s a household in America where they don’t make coffee in the morning.”

  She took a long sip and let out a satisfied sigh. “Man, I needed that.” She settled into the chair across from Drake and reached for his newspaper. My husband is too well-mannered to actually swat her hand, but I could tell the temptation was there.

  Paula wore a skin-tight pair of black jeans, high heeled boots, and a fluffy sweater in a bright shade of magenta. Her short black hair was slicked back from her forehead with some kind of gel and would have looked model-like except for the patch in back that still had a little sleep tangle in it.

  “Catherine’s getting ready now,” I told Paula. “She mentioned that you were going shopping this morning.”

  “Yeah, silly me.” She did a little forehead knock with the heel of her hand. “Here I show up at Christmas without any gifts. When I saw all the stuff Wilbur and Judy have under their tree, well, duh, figured I better get with the program.”

  “I’m sure they weren’t really expecting much,” I offered gently. Least of all were they expecting you to show up unannounced.

  “Guess I’ve just had a few other things on my mind. This hasn’t been an easy year, I’ll tell you. Divorce. That’s really hit me hard.” Her voice had turned from perky to teary in an instant. “And my job—huh, that’s a joke. Downsized, they’re calling it. Truth is, they’re cutting out everybody who might be getting close to collecting any of their precious retirement fund.”

  She took another deep sip of her coffee.

  “Hah! Guess that’ll teach me to trust those corporate types.” A cackle started down in her throat and turned nearly hysterical on its way to her lips. “Lucky I had kids to come home to.”

  I glanced at Drake. He was intently studying the stock market pages.

  “Um, maybe I should let Catherine know you’re here.” I refilled her mug and dashed toward the bedrooms.

  “Gosh, are the stores even open yet?” Catherine asked after I tapped on her door.

  “Take your time,” I said. “I can always send her back to Judy’s for awhile.”

  When I got back into the kitchen, Paula was rummaging through my refrigerator. “Got any jam?”

  I pointed to the jars sitting in the racks on the door. I noticed that she’d helped herself to a couple of slices of bread, which were browning in the toaster oven. Drake had abandoned his newspaper, probably deciding to get dressed and find something to do outside. The dogs were sitting in front of the toaster, their bright-eyed gazes traveling between the food and Paula. She didn’t appear to notice them.

  I busied myself rinsing Drake’s mug and putting a few things into the dishwasher. Paula made herself comfortable at the table with her toast and our newspaper.

  “Are you thinking about staying here in Albuquerque?” I asked. A quick image flashed through my mind of Paula coming over early every morning, helping herself to my coffee, some breakfast, and our newspaper. I dropped a knife into the sink with a clatter.

  “Hmm? Oh, I don’t know yet,” she answered. “Maybe sometime after New Year’s I’ll start checking out the want ads.”

  Poor Judy.

  Catherine came in, dressed in a pair of tailored gray wool slacks and a deep blue sweater that gave a rich tone to her sleek, dark hair. She took in the scene and raised an eyebrow toward me. Paula mumbled a “good morning” through a mouthful of toast and turned back to the horoscope section of the paper.

  “Well,” said Catherine, trying to work some cheerfulness into her voice. “I guess we could get going anytime.”

  Paula brushed crumbs off her hands onto her jeans and stood, leaving her plate and mug beside the rumpled newspaper.

  “Don’t worry about those dishes, Paula. I’ll get them.” Like she’d planned on cleaning them up. As they left, I glanced up at the clock. She’d been here a whole twenty minutes. It was going to be a long week.

  5

  Drake was busily checking the outdoor lights once more when I opened the front door to look for him. The sky had turned white again, an ominous indicator that there might be snow later in the day.

  “Hon, I think those bulbs haven’t had time to burn out yet,” I teased.

  “It wasn’t the bulbs I was saving,” he said, peeking around the huge blue spruce by the dining room window.

  “Your mother is really a doll. Anyone who would voluntarily spend a day shopping with Paula . . .”

  He walked toward the front porch and put his arms around my waist. His face was red and chilly. “Hey, do you realize we’re alone? For probably the only time this week.”

  “Uh, not exactly.” I spotted Judy Garfield walking across the lawn toward us, bundled up in wool slacks and a puffy car coat.

  He groaned, dropped one arm, and turned to face her.

  “Oh, Charlie, I’m sorry Paula came over so early this morning,” she began. “I thought she was still in her room—it takes her forever to get dressed and made up in the mornings.”

  “It’s okay. Catherine was almost ready.” I glanced up at Drake, who was eyeing the neatly placed luminarias along the sidewalk.

  A dark blue car cruised by, the driver looking at addresses. I got an impression of a male with longish dark hair and wraparound sunglasses. When he realized the three of us were staring at him, he sped up and took a left at the intersection. I glanced toward Drake, but he was still staring after the car.

  Without a jacket, I was feeling the chill in the air. I’d ask him about it later. I turned to Judy. “Want some coffee—or how about a cup of tea?”

  “Tea would be great,” she said, pushing a wisp of mousy hair behind her ear.

  In the kitchen, I set a kettle on the burner and found two muffins left from earlier in the week. I gathered the scattered newspapers into a relatively neat pile and set mugs and tea bags out. Judy slumped into one of the chairs.

  “I tell you, Charlie, I’m whipped,” she sighed. “Having Paula around is like inviting a tornado into your home. She’s a bundle of constant energy, the kind that needs to be the center of attention. And the phone rings constantly for her. What did she do—tell everyone she knows that she’s visiting us?”

  I didn’t mention Paula’s comment about possibly making it more than a visit.

  “Course, I guess that also describes what having a child must be like,” she laughed. “Maybe this is good practice for me.”

  “Well, at least a baby starts out small and unable to get into everything,” I offered. “You have a little time to get used to it.”

  She dunked her teabag four times and wrung it out by twisting the string around a spoon. Laying the wet bag on a saucer, she began to peel the paper off a muffin.

  “I’ll tell you, though,” she said, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I won’t ever get used to having Paula around. Wilbur won’t do anything about her. He’s . . . well, she’s ingrained a lot of intimidation into him. But I will. And pretty soon.”

  I sipped my tea and watched her rip the muffin paper into tiny shreds.

  By four o’clock that afternoon I’d stuffed the last of the packages under the tree, helped Drake straighten the luminaria sacks, and had the pot of green chile stew simmering on the stove. Catherine had come home around three, looking somewhat frazzled. She’d opted for a nap before the evening festivities and, thinking that sounded like a pretty good idea, I crawled onto our bed and pulled a quilt over myself.

  Drake’s gentle hand on my shoulder woke me. “Hey, you gonna sleep all night?” he teased.<
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  I mumbled something incoherent.

  “Elsa just showed up at the back door with corn bread, and I have a feeling the others might arrive any time.”

  “Oh, my god, what time is it anyway?”

  “Almost six.”

  I realized the windows were dark and couldn’t believe I’d slept nearly two hours. I whipped the quilt aside and stood up too fast.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I turned on the outdoor lights. Cars are already coming up the street. The stew is doing fine, and Mom and I set the table in the dining room. I think everything’s under control.”

  The doorbell rang. “Uh-oh, get that, okay? I’ll brush my teeth real quick and get the tangles out of my hair.”

  He blew me a kiss from the doorway. “No rush.”

  I emerged five minutes later to a houseful of people. Catherine was setting food on the table and Drake had managed to satisfy everyone’s needs drink-wise. I slipped past Judy (looking a little tense around the mouth) and Paula (dressed in green leather pants, a tight red sweater, and red flats) and made my way to the kitchen. Tasted the stew, just to be sure it had turned out all right, before we began ladling it into bowls.

  “How did the shopping trip go today?” I asked Catherine, keeping my voice low.

  “Interesting.”

  “Just—interesting?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, I learned more about Paula that I ever wanted to know. She gave me the whole lowdown on what was wrong with each of the five ex-husbands, and a few juicy tidbits about some new young hunk she’s seeing.”

  “Oh boy, I’ll bet that was fun.”

  She rolled her eyes and began carrying the bowls of hot stew into the dining room. I followed with another batch and called everyone to the table. I noticed that Catherine chose to sit by Drake’s side at one end, staying as far from Paula’s chair as possible. Wilbur sat near Paula, probably at Judy’s insistence, although from what she’d told me, if Paula got out of hand Wilbur would be the last person to do anything about it. Judy seated herself on the other side of her husband, undoubtedly for the close proximity to his shins.

  Actually, dinner went quite well, with Elsa entertaining us with stories of Christmases in the ’50s. When she got to the point where she was about to reveal some of my crazier antics as a kid, it looked like a good time to start our tour of the neighborhood lights.

  While I have to admit that having the neighborhood barricaded and watching bumper-to-bumper traffic snake its way down our street until the wee hours of the morning doesn’t sound like an appealing way to spend Christmas Eve, we local residents have discovered a nice side benefit. We get to slip behind the barricades and walk the closed-off streets, enjoying a private show of our own.

  “Looks like it could snow a bit,” Drake said, peering out between the bedroom drapes as I slipped on heavy socks and walking boots. “That sky’s awfully white.”

  “Better caution everyone to bundle up,” I said, remembering Paula’s attire.

  Out in the living room, everyone had put on heavy coats, gloves and caps. Rusty and Kinsey were waiting by the door expectantly.

  I eyed Paula’s leather slacks and thin leather flats without socks. “Paula, I’d be happy to loan you some sweats and some socks,” I offered.

  “Oh, thanks, Charlie, but that’s okay. I’ll be fine in these.” Her chic winter jacket of red faux fur just wouldn’t have been the thing with sweats, I guess.

  I clipped a leash on Rusty’s collar, and Catherine did the same with Kinsey. By default, because we were being dragged ahead by the dogs, she and I ended up leading the little procession. I glanced back to see Drake lock the front door behind him, then offer Elsa an assisting hand on her elbow.

  We walked past Elsa’s house and the next one, holding our breath against the exhaust of the tour buses. At the corner, we turned left, slipping past a barricade that kept traffic off the side street as well as two other blocks behind ours. By the time we were one street over from our own, the difference was incredible. The traffic noises and smells faded away and we strolled leisurely down the middle of the streets enjoying our own private show of all the homes not on the regular tour.

  Catherine exclaimed over the number of luminarias lining the sidewalks and driveways. “I can’t imagine how much work went into all this,” she said. “And the lights, look how beautiful they are!”

  “Oops!” cried Paula. “I sure didn’t see that crack in the street.”

  Wilbur reached out and grasped his mother’s arm, steadying her. I wondered how many martinis she’d made for herself after the one Drake had given her. I reined Rusty in and held him back until Drake caught up with us. He slipped his arm around my shoulders.

  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I whispered to him. No matter how crazy the rest of the holiday got, I was glad we had each other.

  “Hey, look,” he said. “Told you it looked like snow.”

  A big, fat white flake drifted in front of me and landed on Rusty’s back. Soon, there were thousands of them and the street had a thin white cover. I smiled, remembering Drake’s and my first Christmas together last year at the Taos Ski Valley. There’d certainly been no shortage of snow there. I tilted my face up to the sky and let the flakes land on my eyelids. I would ignore Paula and do my best not to get involved with my neighbors’ problems.

  Well it was a good intention, anyway.

  6

  I awoke to gray light filtering around the edges of the drapes and utter silence outside. My first thought was: the buses have gone away. I rolled toward Drake and he pulled me into his arms. The next thing I knew he was planting little nibbles along my neck and shoulder and the rest became a pleasant blur of sensation as we pulled the covers over ourselves and enjoyed each other.

  I awoke for the second time to a brighter gray light. I reached for Drake again, but he wasn’t there.

  “Snowed about three inches,” he whispered, emerging from the bathroom.

  “Really?” I was instantly awake and wanting to go out and play in it. He pulled me back into his arms and wrapped the comforter around both of us.

  Rusty sat by the edge of the bed, signaling that he’d soon require attention. We ignored him.

  “I’ll make breakfast if you want to go out there and build a snowman or something,” Drake said. “I can tell you’re itching to get up.”

  “Well . . . if you’re sure.” I was up and rummaging in the closet for my ski pants almost before he’d finished the offer.

  He laughed out loud and tossed a pillow at me. I dashed into the bathroom and brushed my teeth in record time, then slipped into ski pants and boots.

  “C’mon, Rust, we’re gonna have some fun.”

  I heard water running in the guest bath, so I opened Catherine’s bedroom door and let Kinsey dash out. “You too,” I told her. “We’re gonna play!”

  The two dogs beat me to the back door by a longshot and bounded ahead of me. Kinsey leaped through the fresh powder, her stubby little tail pointing straight up. Rusty made his usual rounds of all the trees and sniffed to make sure intruder dogs hadn’t used them during the night. I packed a bit of the powder and tried for a snowball, but it was pretty hopeless. The stuff was dry as shredded cotton. I had to be happy with running around the yard, tossing handfuls of white powder at the two dogs and watching them try to bite at it as it hit their heads.

  “Breakfast!” Drake called from the doorway. He batted at the dogs’ fur with an old towel, knocking the powdery white off them. Kinsey had loads of it imbedded in the long blond hair around her legs and belly and in her long, curly ears.

  “Your cheeks are red,” he said to me.

  “Umm, feels good. Don’t worry about the dogs—they can’t hurt the kitchen tile too badly.”

  An hour later, we’d finished a fabulous breakfast of eggs Benedict and fresh fruit and were well into the loot under the tree in the living room. Catherine had given us matching robes and Drake gave me a heart-shaped diamond pendant
and my very own .380 automatic. He’d been teaching me to shoot at our local range where I usually used his 9 mm Beretta. This would be lighter to handle and small enough I could carry it in my purse. My gift to him was a set of aviation references—lacking the romantic element, but something he’d been wanting for a long time. Together, our gift to Catherine was a vacation trip she’d been wanting to take to visit her elderly aunt in Vermont. Drake had told me that Aunt Ruthie was a real pistol at eight-nine years old, but just couldn’t quite manage a two-thousand-mile-long journey.

  “This is the best,” Drake sighed, plopping himself on the couch, gazing fondly at his mother and then at me, while stroking one of the reference books in his lap. I wasn’t sure which of the above made him the happiest, but it didn’t really matter. I stretched out in one recliner and Catherine took the other. I had an instant’s déjà vu as I remembered holidays in this same room when I was a kid.

  “Well, if we’re going to have turkey tonight, I think I better put it in the oven,” I finally said, pulling myself out of my little haven.

  The phone rang just as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Merry Christmas, Charlie.” It was Judy. “If you’re not terribly busy right now, could I come over for a minute?”

  “Sure. We’re pretty much just laying around, fat and happy,” I told her. With eggs Benedict for breakfast and a full turkey dinner coming up—fat and happy was a pretty good description.

  A couple of minutes later, I heard Drake open the front door then Judy came into the kitchen.

  “Thanks so much,” she breathed, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. “I just had to get out for a little while.”

  “Coffee?” I offered, belatedly remembering that she didn’t drink it.

  “Please. Strong.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I could make you some tea, if you’d rather.”