A Carol for a Corpse (26 page)

“To tell you the truth,” Benny said. “I knew it was Lydia, too.” He raised an eyebrow in Bernie’s direction. His partner ran his hands over his face, then nodded, resignedly.

“You
all
knew about this?!” Davy asked. “You were going to let her get away with murder?”

“Zeke’d been getting away with murder for years,” Bernie said wryly. “It only seemed fair.”

Davy looked revolted. Quill felt revolted, too.

“He was disgusting,” Lydia said.

Quill, looking at her, was struck with a sudden hallucination. It wasn’t Lydia standing there. It was a huge snake. Coiled, head drawn back to strike.

“Disgusting,” Lydia said, her voice sibilant. “He was a blot. That cocky smugness. That arrogance. That oily self-regard. You only had to look at him to want to smash his head like a rotten pumpkin. He polluted everything. Ruined everything. All he had to do was touch it, and it was tainted, destroyed. That hundred-pound thumb of his on my magazine was the last straw. I did the world a goddam service.”

It was, Quill thought, the first time she’d come across that particular motive for murder: Zeke Kingsfield just didn’t fit into Lydia’s elegant design.

“You don’t think I’ve done enough community service by tracking down and capturing a murderer?”

Meg looked so pathetic Quill’s heart was wrung. She patted her sister consolingly. “It could be worse. Howie could have sentenced you to salting municipal parking lots instead of a couple of hours out with the Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce caroling group.”

“At least Harvey dropped the Angel-ettes idea,” Meg muttered. “I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies.”

“You should be just as thankful that I’m going to be noble and spare your feelings. I am
not
going to remind you that I’m the one that tracked down and captured the murderer.”

“And I’m going to be equally noble and
not
say that getting Lydia Kingsfield hauled off to the pokey means we’re going to go bankrupt for sure.”

“No, we won’t. There’s a bit of a hitch in our proceedings that’s true. But the leasing agreement is still in place, and we’re still going to get a check every month from Kingsfield Publishing, so we’ll manage.”

“What about him?” Meg rolled her eyes in Albert McWhirter’s direction. He stood gravely next to Mark Anthony Jefferson, his knitted hat placed precisely on top of his head. His gaze met Quill’s. He looked very tired. It had been four days since Melissa’s disappearance. Caleb’s fate was hanging over them all.

“I don’t know,” Quill said truthfully. She looked down at Caleb, who was tucked safely next to her in the pew. Her beautiful borrowed baby. “It’s Christmas Eve, Meg, and Albert’s let Caleb stay with us for now. I’m just going to trust that this all turns out for the best.” Quill adjusted the knitted cap on Meg’s head. The cap was one of twenty knitted by the Hemlock Falls Ladies Auxiliary. The wool was a sprightly combination of red and green and stitched across the front of each one was the legend: H. F. CAROLERS. Meg’s hat was missing an L.

“Are you ready, Meg?”

“I suppose so. You know that I sing off-key. Harvey thinks I’m doing it on purpose.”

Quill gestured at the rest of the singers. “It’s the spirit that counts.”

It was Christmas Eve, and twenty of the twenty-four membersof the Chamber of Commerce were assembled at the Hemlock Falls Church of the Word of God. Adela Henry was passing out the rest of the knitted hats (and accepting the compliments on them as her due). Dookie and his wife, Wendy, each held flutes. Howie Murchison carried a guitar, and Miriam, with one hand on his coat sleeve in a proprietary way, carried a tambourine. Outside, the snow had started to fall in big, fat flakes.

Harvey clapped his hands together and said, “Carolers! Are you ready?! Let’s all line up at the door. The bus is warmed up and ready!”

Quill tucked Caleb in the baby carryall at her breast, and checked that he was well wrapped up against the cold. His lamb was clutched in one tiny fist. Quill had tied a red-and-green plaid ribbon around its neck. He waved the lamb with a chortle, then gummed the ribbon with a contented squeal.

Marge, Dina, and Doreen edged their way through the crowd toward them. Dina bent and stroked Caleb’s cheek, “And how’s Mr. Cutie this evening?”

“Gah!” Caleb said.

It took some time for the hopeful carolers to sort themselves out, get into line, and trickle onto the bus. Quill and Meg were near the back, Caleb between them. Albert took the seat ahead of them and sat alone, staring out the window. Marge and Harland sat across the aisle, and Dina sat shoulder to shoulder with Doreen.

“Well, at least you didn’t end up with the flu,” Meg said philosophically. “And Ajit’s going to run the
Good Taste
show past the new editor of
L’Aperitif
, who, as it turns out, is the old editor, Lally Preston, so there’s a chance she’ll at least consider it. So I suppose it’s not such a terrible Christmas after all.”

“Really?” Quill said. The snow on the window blurred the Christmas lights of Hemlock Falls to a celestial blur of color. Beside her, Caleb crooned to himself. “It seems a little sad to me.”

Harvey, his knitted cap rakishly askew over his ear, strode up the aisle, a pitch pipe in his hand. “People! Our first stop is the Gorgeous Gorges trailer park. We’re going to bring some Christmas cheer to those poor souls.”

“Wonderful,” Meg muttered. “What are the chances that if they recognize Marge and the two of us; they’ll dump eggnog all over our heads? I mean, we’re the ones that put the kibosh on their million-dollar jackpot finally and forever.”

Quill made a small movement of protest.

Harvey skidded to a halt beside their seat. “Meg!” he said accusingly.

“The very same,” she said agreeably.

“I’ve changed my mind about you humming instead of singing. You go right ahead and sing.”

“Thank you, Harvey.” She smiled impishly at him. “Merry Christmas!”

“And Merry Christmas to you.” He clapped his hands. “People! Let’s limber those voices up!” He blew into the pitch pipe. “Let’s have a nice, upbeat version of ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”

“Gah,” Caleb said.

This was followed by “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.” On the second verse of “Frosty the Snowman,” the bus bumped down the end of the path to the Gorgeous Gorges trailer park and came to a halt, and the choristers, for the most part, were in a merry mood. They all filed out of the bus and lined up in front of the single-wide trailer marked OFFICE. Caleb waved a delighted fist at the inflatable Santa’s workshop.

“I see these ornaments escaped the Christmas massacre,” Adela said as she passed by them. “Huh!” She stopped at the sight of the baby in Quill’s arms. “Well,” she said. “And who’s this then? Who’s the nicest little baby?” She patted his head.

“Would you mind if I held him a bit?” Albert said shyly at Quill’s elbow.

“Of course not,” Quill said. “You’re his grandfather, after all.” She extricated Caleb from the carryall. “Here, cup your right hand under his head and your left under his bottom.”

Albert held him, but the expression on his face was so terrified, that Quill laughed despite herself. “Just think of how warm and solid he is,” she suggested. “Think of how safe you want him to be.”

Albert relaxed a little. He looked down at the baby tenderly.

“You seem an old hand at this, Quill,” Adela said with heavy jocularity. “You sure you don’t have another one of these at home?”

Quill blinked at her. “What?”

“I said, are you sure you don’t have another one of these . . .”

“Yes,” Quill said. “Yes, I heard you.” She clutched at Meg’s arm. “Meg? Meg!”

“Not now, Quill. We’re getting ready to sing.”

“People!” Harvey shouted. “I want you all to line up in three rows now. Shortest singers in front. Tallest singers in back! First carol is: ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas!’ ”

As the voices rang out, twenty strong and accompanied by guitar, flute, and tambourine, the doors to the trailers of Gorgeous Gorges opened up and the residents came out to listen. Will Frazier stamped down the path to the circle of lawn where the singers stood and joined in. The large blonde with the curlers and the pink bunny slippers came out with a tin of cookies in her hand. The Mexican family from number 43 came out with mariachis, a stack of paper cups, and a large pitcher that sent steam into the air.

And from number 36, Mrs. Huston came out. She was well wrapped in a down coat.

There was a slight, brown-haired figure at her side.

Meg saw her before Quill did. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “Oh, gosh.” She took her sister’s hand and held it.

“Melissa,” Quill said. She closed her eyes against the sudden tears and bit her lip, hard. “She was with Mrs. Huston all the time. Some detectives we are. We should have guessed.”

Meg didn’t say a word, just held Quill’s hand all the tighter. And she was the one who tugged at Albert McWhirter’s sleeve and pushed him toward his daughter.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, as community service stints go,” Meg said cheerfully. She swung her feet up on the oak chest that Quill used as a coffee table. “And Myles said he’ll be home when?”

“A couple of hours,” Quill’s voice was muffled by the bathroom door. “Maybe you could give me a hand picking up?”

“Sure thing.” Meg set her glass of eggnog down and began to pick up the scattered toys, stuffed animals, and baby bottles. “That stuff you picked up at the drugstore make your stomach feel any better?”

“Nope.” Quill emerged from the bedroom.

“Oh, that’s a shame. What do you want to do with all this baby stuff? Do you think Melissa and her dad can use it?”

“Nope.”

Meg turned to look at her. She set a box of Pampers down. “My goodness, Quill. You look ecstatic.”

“All this baby stuff?” Quill opened her arms. “I should have known I’m too young to have an ulcer. We can’t give away that baby stuff. We’re going to need it.”

QUILL’S CHRISTMAS PROJECT

Meg and Quill are exceptionally fond of the holidays—but the decorations present a challenge. The smallest tree at the Inn is fifteen feet high, and the ornaments need to be as impressive if they aren’t to be lost in the greenery. This year, Quill purchased foam blocks to create a hanging village. You can do it, too.

At a craft store, purchase foam blocks in graduated sizes: eight inches, six inches, and four inches. Purchase cones in twelve-inch, eight-inch, and six-inch sizes.

Stack the blocks to form two-story houses, with the smaller blocks on top. To create a church, place a six-inch cone on top of a stack of blocks. Use cones with a small glass ornament on top to create the three kings. If you are adept with an X-Acto knife, purchase the heavy green foam that is used by florists and carve angels, animals, and other figures. Let your imagination run free.

Wrap the blocks and cones in luxurious fabric, such as satin, velvet, or taffeta, just as you would wrap a Christmas package. Cut the fabric to size first, do a trial run to see that the blocks are covered, then glue in place with a glue gun. If you are covering animal or angel ornaments, wrap the entire figure in ribbon, and glue in place with a glue gun.

Let the ornaments dry overnight. Then trim the ornaments with fanciful and elegant ribbons, fake jewels, gold lace doilies, fur trim, sequins, and gold wire.

Using short lengths of picture wire, affix hooks to the tops of the ornaments.

MEG’S CHRISTMAS DELIGHTS

JOY ON A CLOUD

MERINGUES

Whip the egg whites until they stand up in peaks. Add sugar and cream of tartar as the egg whites begin to stiffen. Drop a large spoonful of egg white onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Shape into flat clouds with a spatula. Put a depression in the middle with the bowl of a large spoon. Bake in a 250-degree oven for about an hour. Meringues should be dry and hollow to the touch.

CHOCOLATE MOUSSE