Drowning In Christmas Part 8

I propped the door open with a deck chair, and we returned inside to help Emma and Armando wrestle open more windows. After what seemed like an eternity, the smoke alarms stuttered, then stopped. If we ever have a real fire in the middle of the night, I thought, we'll be far more likely to have heart attacks from being awakened by these h.e.l.lacious alarms than to expire from fire or smoke.

Armando had propped open the front door, as well, to create a clearing draft straight through the house. The four of us stood shivering in the cold living room. In the sudden quiet, an obscene, wet pop burst from the turkey carca.s.s on the deck. Joey snorted.

"Turkey fart," he choked before exploding into guffaws.

Armando struggled to keep a straight face but quickly gave up the battle, joining Joey in raucous laughter. Emma and I exchanged eye rolls. Boys will be boys. She trudged upstairs to begin closing windows while I went to shut the doors. The men made a half-hearted attempt to deal with the downstairs windows, still chortling and wiping their eyes.

Jasmine, roused from her endless nap not by the noise, thanks to her deafness, but by the strange smells and drop in temperature, came into the room, sniffing madly, which was when we all remembered the cat shut in Armando's room. The poor thing probably wished herself back in the airport parking lot.

"Oh, boy, have we got a surprise for you," I told Jasmine, scooping her up and ruffling her fur, "but first, let's get this fireplace going."

An hour later, stuffed with candied yams and green bean ca.s.serole, we considered and rejected dessert. The ginger cat, having been fed and shown the litter box, hid behind the sofa. Jasmine lay on her pillow before the fire, quiet but alert for a possible sneak attack by the newcomer.

"At least she's not asleep," I observed, leaning contentedly against Armando where we sat together on the sofa.

"Which is more than can be said about Armando," Emma pointed out. I turned my head to look at him sleeping soundly where he sat. It had been a long flight and an eventful day.

"I've never understood how he can sleep sitting up," I mused.

"I do it all the time. Justine says I sleep better in the recliner than I do in bed," Joey chimed in.

"It has to be a guy thing. Show them a good time, fill their bellies, and they fall asleep on you every time," Emma concluded with her old sa.s.siness. "Well, as much fun as this has been, I think I'll go have a drink with Lori and John. They're having some people over tonight, and I'm invited." She consulted her watch. "Good grief. It's not even nine o'clock." She scrambled to her feet and looked at her brother. "Feel like coming along?"

Well, well, I thought, the ultimate peace offering.

"Thanks, but I think I'd better get back to my old lady," Joey replied. "The flu's made her cranky enough already. Besides, I don't want to have to witness you taking all the abuse they're going to give you about Jared. I might have to defend your honor or something." His eyes conveyed more sympathy than his gruff words, a fact which was not lost on Emma, I felt certain.

"Yeah, well, I might as well get it over with," was her mild reply. "They all told me ... you all told me," she corrected herself, "that Jared was bad news right from the start. I may as well wash down the crow I'm going to have to eat with some decent champagne. I can always crash there for the night. Come on. Help me clean up these dishes before we go."

Her brother got to his feet and helped her collect the detritus from our casual meal in front of the fireplace. The sounds of dishes being rinsed for the dishwasher and their amiable banter drifted in from the kitchen.

"You're not really asleep, right?" I said to Armando.

He smiled but kept his eyes shut. "It is good to hear Emma sounding more like herself, is it not?"

"Believe me, n.o.body's happier about that than I am." I fell silent, not wanting to blow his cover.

A few minutes later, Emma and Joey departed after whispering goodbyes and kissing my cheek. As glad as I had been to see them, I relished the peace and quiet that filled the house after they left.

"All clear," I told Armando. He opened his eyes but didn't move. "Would you like some dessert now? G.o.d knows, there are plenty of choices. I even made a coconut layer cake, if you can believe it. I know Margo couldn't," I chuckled.

"Dessert, yes, but cake is not what I have in mind." He captured my hand in his and brought it to his lips. I began to get his drift.

"I thought you were tired," I teased him.

"I have never been too tired for dessert, Cara," he a.s.sured me and turned toward me for a lingering kiss.

I had to admit that despite his long day, he seemed pretty feisty. My own exhaustion seemed to be disappearing, too.

"Well, then, dessert it is," I murmured. "My place or yours?"

"Don't think of it as incarceration. Consider it protective custody," I told the ginger cat. She sat on the floor next to Armando's bed, ready to dart beneath it if she felt threatened. Apparently, she felt threatened a lot, since she spent as much time under the bed as she did on top of it; but despite her surface timidity, I was beginning to see signs of a mischievous spirit.

"At least it is warm and dry. You could still be freezing your bonita tail off in that parking lot," Armando reminded her.

We were installing two baby gates, one on top of the other, in the doorway of Armando's bedroom to keep Jasmine away from the newcomer until she could be tested by the vet for feline leukemia and other contagious diseases. The baby gates had been thoughtfully provided this morning by my octogenarian neighbor Mary, who to my knowledge hadn't thrown anything away in decades. Her house looked like a Goodwill store, but I had to admit that her packrat tendencies came in handy from time to time.

"There," I said, having adjusted the tension bar on the topmost gate to my satisfaction. I released it, stepped over the bottom gate to join Armando in the hall, and put it back into position. "You can see out, but you can't get out. More to the point, Jasmine can't get in. You can get used to each other's scents for a couple of days. Then we'll get you tested, and we'll see."

The cat yawned and retreated beneath the edge of the spread, unimpressed with my logic. We were about to start down the stairs when Armando put a hand on my arm and pointed. Sitting at the foot of the staircase like a self-appointed sentinel was our old girl, her tail wrapped tightly around her feet.

"A very good sign, is it not?" said Armando quietly. I nodded.

"Up until last night, she hadn't been out of my room in days except to use the litter box. Your being home improved her outlook, but the new cat has given her a whole new interest in life."

"So we are keeping her?"

I refused to attach myself before I knew her feline leukemia status. The last thing poor old Jasmine needed was an infectious disease. "Jury's still out," I said firmly and led the way to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee.

Having dreaded Christmas for weeks, it was lovely to have Armando safely at home and the day pretty much to ourselves. I had missed him terribly. True, Christmas Eve had been a disaster in many ways, but at least the Jared situation had been resolved, and Emma seemed well on her way to becoming her old self. Margo and Strutter would be relieved to hear it, I knew. I wondered how Margo's restaurant dinner with John had gone last night and whether Strutter and her family were on the road to recovery from the flu, but I knew we would catch up before the day was over. For the moment, it was more than enough to have Armando drinking coffee with me and Jasmine basking in the sunlight at the foot of the stairs, instead of moping in my bedroom.

Against all odds, we had gotten through the events of yesterday relatively unscathed, and the next ordeal, Jeff's and Donna's wedding, was two days away. The situation with the UCC and the O'Hallorans was undeniably tragic, but I had done everything I knew how to do, and now it was up to the professionals to solve the case. Margo's information about Joseph and Roberta being married was startling, to say the least, but then, everything about this sad little saga had been surprising. I certainly had no insights to offer.

Margo and John were enjoying their first Christmas as a married couple, and Strutter's mom had her household well in hand. Emma and Joey would spend today with their father and Sheila. I was officially off duty.

Being with Armando, with nowhere that we were committed to go and no one we were obliged to see, was more Christmas than I had expected this year, and I planned to savor every moment. We took our mugs into the living room and pulled the drapes wide open to enjoy the morning sunshine. After a week of sleet, rain, and spitting snow, Christmas day was a dazzler.

"It is good to be home," said Armando, drawing me close for a coffee-flavored kiss. "Look, Cara." He pointed out the window toward the treeline. "Your feathered friends have come to see you."

Three, four, then seven wild turkeys bobbed cautiously across the back lawn, keeping close to the woods.

"They probably think it's safe to come out now that everyone's Christmas dinner is already in the oven," I smiled. I remembered the ruined carca.s.s on the deck. "We'd better get that burned turkey into the garbage before some poor scavenger gets a bone stuck in its throat."

The turkeys heard me open the door to the deck and fluttered in agitation before scuttling into the underbrush.

"Sorry, guys," I apologized. Last night's dinner was exactly where I had deposited it, greasily charred and intact. "I guess even the local wildlife wouldn't touch it," I joked to Armando, who held open the door. A sudden snarling was our only alert before two coyotes, gaunt and leggy, slunk from the woods and made a dash for the deck, intent on the pan I held. I was momentarily stunned. "Drop it!" Armando yelled. He shook the turkey out of my hands and s.n.a.t.c.hed me roughly back into the house. Within seconds, the coyotes were tearing the carca.s.s apart as three more rushed out of the woods to join the fray. We watched, aghast, as they ripped through the eighteen-pound bird as if it were a canary, their yellow eyes gleaming, bones flying in all directions. The coyotes snapped and snarled for perhaps one full minute. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone, melting back into the brush along with the wild turkeys.

I looked at the empty roasting pan lying face down in the back yard and considered going outside to retrieve it. Maybe later, I decided. Maybe never. I turned away from the window. Armando shut the inside door firmly and pulled me close for a hug. "That was interesting," he commented with his usual understatement. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, everybody's got to make a living," I said as lightly as I could manage. "I'd rather they ate our burned turkey than one of the live wild ones."

I straightened up and smiled brightly at him, determined not to let the incident spoil our day. "How about brunch at the diner? They're open today. Then maybe we can catch that new Meryl Streep comedy we've been wanting to see. It would be a good time to go, since everyone else will be doing their Christmas stuff at home today."

"Good idea," Armando agreed, going along with me. "Even you cannot get into too much trouble eating scrambled eggs and watching a movie." He gave me a final pat and went upstairs to get into the shower. I sank into the big easy chair with my back to the window and drew deep breaths. I had had quite enough of the wonders of nature for one morning.

As a rule, Christmas was the one day a year that the diner was closed, but this year, Marianna and her husband, the owners, had decided to experiment with keeping it open. Judging from the line of waiting customers that filled the entryway, the experiment was a success. Nothing like being the only game in town. We were trying to decide whether to leave or wait it out when Marianna spotted us from her post behind the cash register.

"Your friends are already inside," she called out, waving us in. "Yes, Kate, you," she added in response to my puzzled expression.

With apologies to those still waiting, we eeled through the mob and entered the main seating area, where Margo and John occupied a booth along the near wall.

"Marianna a.s.sumed we were meeting you. Can we crash your party?"

Margo whooped and jumped up to give Armando a hug before hustling us into the booth and reseating herself next to her husband. I noticed there was no food on the table, just cups and saucers.

"Did you just get here? How on earth did you snag a booth with that crowd in the lobby?" I wanted to know.

"We've been here for quite a while," John sighed. As always, he was immaculately turned out in a cream-colored turtleneck and gray slacks. "I'd settle for coffee, if I were you, because the kitchen is overwhelmed."

As if to ill.u.s.trate his words, Sherri rushed up to our table bearing a pot of coffee. At her signal, a beleaguered busboy plunked down cups and saucers, which Sherri filled deftly. She refilled Margo's and John's cups before speeding off to the next table. I sympathized with her and the rest of the staff, who wore the same sh.e.l.l-shocked expression on their faces. Clearly, it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

"This is crazy," was Armando's only comment, "but at least the coffee is good."

"It always is," Margo agreed. "That's partly why we keep comin' here. So tell us all about Emma's fella. Was he worth all the fuss and feathers? Did Christmas Eve come up to his standards?"

Armando and I groaned in unison, but by the time we had filled in our friends on the events of the preceding twenty-four hours, a hara.s.sed waitress I had never seen before during my regular visits had somehow contrived to take and deliver our orders. I could not imagine how these hard-working people could put in a grueling shift at the diner, then go home to serve a meal to their families, let alone deal with Christmas. For their sakes, I hoped they were all Jewish.

My story of the ruined turkey, complete with smoke alarms and coyote attack, hadn't been especially funny at the time, but my recitation had Margo laughing so hard, she had to wipe her eyes, and fastidious John nearly spit coffee on the table. "Turkey fart," he choked, and we all howled yet again.

"Stop now," Margo gasped, holding her sides. "I can't take anymore. Our quiet little dinner at Spris can't compete with your evenin', although it was absolutely wonderful," she added, putting her hand over her new husband's.

John beamed back at her. "Dessert was spectacular," he agreed.

At the word dessert, Armando smiled broadly at me. "It is always the best part, is it not?"

I grinned at him. "Well, it was certainly better than the turkey. Who's up for a movie? We haven't seen one in ages and thought we'd go see the new Meryl Streep comedy while everyone else in town is doing their Christmas thing."

Margo and John were in. "Might as well make the most of my first Christmas Day off in ten years," said John. "I always used to work that day so the married guys could be with their families, but now, I'm one of them." He didn't look at all unhappy about his change in status.

We made our way out of the diner and consulted a newspaper, the last one in a nearby vending machine. "We can just make the matinee in Plainville, if we get a move on," I reported.

"You'll have to give us an extra minute," John commented, his hand on Margo's shoulder. "Our car doesn't move until Mrs. Harkness here fixes her lipstick." Honestly, the two of them were bordering on downright sappy with all of this billing and cooing.

"I know," I sympathized. "Sometimes I think I've waited half of my adult life while Margo checks her make-up. We'll see you there."

On the way to the theater, I called Strutter's house to check on the invalids and was surprised when Strutter herself answered the phone. "Oh, I wish I could go with you," she moaned before a coughing fit overtook her. "Where is that blasted Kleenex box? Answering the phone is about all Mama will let me do. Says I can do it right from this bed, so that's where I stay. John drops by now and then, and my son was allowed to show me his Christmas loot from the doorway this morning, but I'm not sure I still have a baby. Mama won't allow Olivia anywhere near me. I miss her fat cheeks," she finished mournfully.

"Think of it as a well-earned vacation," I offered in an attempt to mollify her.

She harrumphed. "A vacation is Mai Tais on the beach. A vacation is a big ol' cruise ship with Disney characters and activity directors for the kids. This is just solitary confinement, Girl." She paused to honk into a tissue. "What's going on with the O'Halloran situation?" she asked. "I'm so bored, I exist on other people's drama."

I spent the rest of the ride filling her in on the latest about Roberta and Joseph O'Halloran, while she continued to cough and blow her nose. "Don't worry about Vista Views," I finished up. "Nothing happens during the week between Christmas and New Year's anyway, and Margo will keep an eye on things, if she can tear herself away from John for ten minutes."

Strutter chuckled. "Still honeymooning, huh?"

"Ad nauseam," I confirmed. "You take care of yourself."

We pulled into the parking lot at the Plainville 20 Theaters in good time for the one-thirty showing that had been listed in the newspaper. The sea of cars confronting us was daunting. I had never seen the lot so full. John and Margo pulled up next to us as we dithered at the far edge of the lot where a few empty s.p.a.ces still remained.

"A new three-D movie opened today," said Armando. "Perhaps that is the reason for the crowd."

"I'll go see what's up," John decided. "You guys park, and I'll be right back." He got out of the car and loped off, moving as easily through the rows of parked cars as a man half his age.

"Is he cute, or what?" Margo cooed as she walked around to the driver's side and took his place.

We wedged our cars into slots, and Margo climbed in with us to wait. In just a few minutes, John returned, only slightly out of breath. "It sold out right in front of me," he reported. "One minute, seats were available, and then pffft! Sold out." He opened the rear door of the Jetta and perched on the seat next to Margo, his long legs folded nearly under his chin.

"It's just amazin' that all these people spend Christmas Day at the movies," Margo marveled. "So much for Norman Rockwell's depictions of Christmas in small-town America."

"Let's not go there," I begged her, still smarting from the events of the previous evening.

John's cell phone rang, and he got out of the car to take the call. "Occupational hazard," Margo explained. "Even when he's not officially on duty, he's on call."

Armando nodded his understanding. "That is true of so many jobs these days, is it not? The TeleCom technicians must always be available by telephone. Instead of freeing us to do other things, I often think all of these devices just keep us on electronic leashes, pulling at us day and night." He changed the subject. "Where can we go that others will not be today?"

"I have a suggestion," said John as he rejoined us. "How about Riverside Park?"

We looked at each other blankly. "Gee," I said, "a brisk walk by the river in twenty-degree weather. Sounds like fun."

"Not fun, maybe, but interesting. A call came into the Hartford Police Department a few minutes ago and was referred to Wethersfield. A jogger at the park spotted a folded-up wheelchair in the brush behind the main building where the path runs right next to the river. The water's high now, because of the rain we had, so it kind of bothered him. Said there was a plastic bag with some men's clothes in it."

"You think it's the chair James O'Halloran took out of the Wadsworth last week," I surmised.

"I more than think it. There's a metal tag on the frame identifying it as property of the Wadsworth Atheneum." He headed for his car. Margo climbed out of the Jetta and joined him.

"We'll go with you," said Armando.

Eleven.

Riverside Park lay just north of downtown Hartford on the Connecticut River. As we drove along the entry road, I was struck by the abandoned feel of a summer venue in the dead of winter. Even the dazzling sunshine couldn't mitigate the desolation. Anyone who has had reason to visit a lakeside cottage in December has doubtless had the same lonely sensation. The park, which would be bustling with boaters and ballplayers in a few short months, seemed almost eerie in its emptiness.

Our two-car caravan pulled into the parking lot next to the Jaycees Community Boathouse, an inelegantly named structure that was actually a s.p.a.cious banquet facility. It, too, sat empty. Only two cars were in the lot, a Hartford police cruiser and a beat-up Chevy. We parked next to the cruiser and joined the uniformed officer who stood talking with a young man wearing wind pants and sneakers. Presumably, he was the jogger who had spotted the wheelchair.

The officer, fortyish and leathery, acknowledged John's introductions with a short nod and got back to the business at hand. "Mr. DiNardi here," he gestured to the jogger, who lifted a hand in greeting, "jogs in this park three times a week. Has a regular route about two miles long. Goes up that path there by the river, runs a mile out, turns around and finishes back here at the boathouse." DiNardi nodded in confirmation. "He hasn't been here in about a week."

"I pulled a hamstring," DiNardi admitted sheepishly.

"He got back to it today. Took his usual route, arrived back here, and sat down on that wall over there to cool out."

"Big Christmas brunch at my in-laws," DiNardi grinned, then quickly sobered. "That's when I saw the chair over there." He pointed to a nearby clump of bushes and underbrush. A collapsible wheelchair and a plastic garbage bag sat on the gra.s.s where the sidewalk ended.

We all trooped over to have a look. I was amazed that no barrier existed between the sidewalk and the river. The muddy water slid by swiftly and silently just a few feet from the sidewalk and at nearly the same level. Anyone who was the least bit unsteady on his feet could fall right in. I shivered and kept to the inside of the path. I noticed that Margo did the same thing.