Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

“Odd. It looks like a stuffed toy.” I pulled the little object out of the bag. It was one of those collectible bean- bag animals. Orange and white. Like Fred.

“Why, it's a little toy cat. How cute,” Praxythea cooed.

“It's not cute at all.” I held it so Praxythea could see there was a knife stuck in its belly, and some of the beans clattered onto the floor.

“Oh, my God!” I screamed.

“What?”

“A note. On the back of the tag.” I couldn't bring myself to read the foul words out loud and handed it to Praxythea.

She read, “‘Stay out of our business or I'll do this to your other cat, too.’”

CHAPTER 16

Jolly old Saint Nicholas

THE BLUSTERING WIND THREATENED TO PUSH my truck into a barren field as I drove the very quiet Maggie home on Saturday morning. Her face was a ghastly shade of green, and she kept the window on her side open all the way despite the near freezing temperature.

Hangover-free, I felt really pure, having chosen for once not to overindulge.

“Oh, shut up,” Maggie said to me.

“I didn't say a word,” I protested.

“You were thinking I'm an idiot. Well, I am.”

I couldn't argue with that.

“I'll never do this again.”

“We've all said that, Maggie. Many times.”

“This time I mean it.”

Bill Cromwell, Maggie's fiance, was waiting for us outside their small split-level home. As he walked over to the truck, I noticed he still walked with a limp, a painful reminder of our adventure last fall when he was injured while trying to help me trap a killer. He was wearing his Union Army general officer's uniform, plumed hat and all.

“Kinky,” I said to him. “Do you hang around your house all weekend in that getup?”

He grinned and opened the door on Maggie's side.

Maggie looked up from her struggle to unbuckle her seat belt and laughed. “His regiment is going to be in the Christmas parade today. Doesn't he look glorious?”

Kind of young and skinny, I thought, but refrained from saying so. I still wondered why Maggie came to the funeral service alone last night, but if there was a problem between them, she kept it to herself.

I drove on to the Sigafoos Home for the Aged, where the Chronicle's Christmas party was to be held.

“Why a nursing home?” I'd asked Cassie when she told me about the brunch plans she'd made there.

“Because the Holiday Inn's been booked for months. Besides, the Sigafoos serves good food and is really inexpensive.”

Inexpensive was the magic word at the fiscally challenged Chronicle.

The parking lot behind the home was only half full. I pulled in between two black vans. From one came a swarm of little Amish boys, all dressed in identical black overalls, blue shirts, and little flat black hats.

“ 'Morning, miss,” the non-Amish driver said. “Brought some of your paperboys down from Burnt Stump Hollow. I'll be back to get them after the parade.”

“What do you mean ‘after the parade'? The brunch only lasts till noon. I can't baby-sit them all afternoon.”

“You'uns wouldn't want the kiddies to miss the parade, would you? They don't get to town much-just for special occasions like this one.” He tipped his ball cap and pulled out in a rush before I could argue with him.

“Okay, men,” I said to the children, as we headed toward the canopy-covered back entrance of the nursing home. “Let's party!”

The Chronicle's “staff” consisted mainly of the delivery team: about fifty boys and girls under the age of twelve and ten retired men who drove the papers to places where the children could pick them up. The rest of the people present were the dozen men and women who sold advertising, six freelance writers, and the printer. Most were already seated, waiting eagerly for breakfast to be served.

Cassie greeted me with today's paper in hand. “Wait till you see the front page,” she said, laughing.

I unrolled the paper and was smacked in the face with a headline that said PUBIC SAFETY THREATENED. “Pubic Safety! For God's sake, I know I typed public.”

“Stuff happens,” she said with a shrug. “Half our readers won't notice. The rest will say something like ‘What do you expect from the Chronicle?' and then forget about it.

“It looks like everybody's here, Tori. Why don't you make your welcoming speech now?”

“Welcoming speech? Oh, dear. I never thought about-”

But Cassie was already tapping a water glass with a knife to attract everyone's attention.

“Sit down, please. Our editor has a few words to say to you.”

“Very few,” I promised, and was greeted with enthusiastic cheers from the group.

I thanked them all for their hard work. More cheers. Urged them to drop by the office any time for a visit. Cheers from the children, a frown from Cassie. Wished them a happy new year. Polite applause. Announced brunch was ready. Standing ovation, followed by a wild charge to the buffet table.

After everyone, including a few stray nursing home residents who dropped in to see what was going on, had filled their plates, Cassie and I helped ourselves to what was left: dry scrambled eggs, cold English muffins, and warm fruit cups. The coffee was good, though, and plentiful, since very few of the children drank anything but orange juice.

Everybody seemed to enjoy the party, especially when the waitresses came out with big trays of sticky buns. Everybody but me, that is, for I kept thinking about that dreadful stuffed cat with its stomach slit open that some sadistic person had left on my porch last night. Please, I thought, please let Fred be all right. Who hates me enough to want to hurt my cats? What does anyone have to fear from me?

As the waitresses cleared the tables, Cassie began distributing gifts. Apparently, I was the only person present who found it odd to have a practitioner of a pagan religion passing out Christmas gifts, but I decided it was quite likely that I was the only one who knew about her unorthodox beliefs.

Once the food was gone and the gifts were opened, it was time to leave for the parade. The logistics of getting everybody downtown could have been overwhelming, but Cassie had done it before and knew just what to do. After the children put on their coats and mittens, she had them line up side by side, flanked the two rows with the adults, stationed me at the tail end to round up stragglers, and led us out of the nursing home and out onto the sidewalk.

Four residents of the home, one man and three women in bathrobes and slippers, tried to follow us. One woman was tall and thin, and had silvery-blonde hair pinned in neat curls on top of her head. She looked something like my mother, making me wonder how Christmas was celebrated at the Willows, where she was warehoused. Or if she even knew it was Christmas.

When I led them back inside the home, they looked so disappointed that I asked the nurse if I could take them with me.

“They're going to be in the parade,” she said. “But thanks anyway.”

I tried to say good-bye to my mother-look-alike, but her attention was already on something else.

We had only a few blocks to walk, and we soon found a place to stand in the square right in front of the ruins of the burned-out courthouse.