A Gigolo for Christmas (3 page)

As they packed up their equipment
to leave, Mr. Kooper spoke to her quietly but with a steely resolve. “Expect an
eviction notice. You have damaged the apartment with the holes in the walls from
all those pins, and the punch stain in the carpet. You have broken the curfew,
and you have violated the maximum occupancy for the apartment, which is against
the fire code. Compliance with all local ordinances, as well as with the
curfew, are both points in your lease, as is damage to the apartment. By the
time we’ve patched the walls, painted over the patches, and replaced the
carpet, I expect there won’t be anything left of your security deposit, and
you’ll owe the complex for damages as well.” He turned his back on her and left
the apartment.

A quiet voice in her ear startled
her as Anders spoke from behind her. “Where are your towels? I can get that
punch out of the floor as long as it’s done before it dries.”

“In the linen closet.
But...that’s red Kool-Aid on white carpet. Mr. Kooper is right, it will never come
out.”

Even though she couldn’t see his
face, somehow Sheila knew Anders was grinning at her. “Watch me,” was all he
said as he moved off.

He returned moments later with
his tuxedo jacket missing, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and carrying Sheila’s
largest bath towel and a pitcher of water. He took out his cell phone and
snapped a photo of the punch spill, then poured half of the water on the punch,
and dropped the towel on it, walking back and forth across the towel until it
was sopping wet.

Anders then took the towel to the
kitchen sink, wringing it out as dry as he could, and repeated the process with
the second half of the pitcher of water.

A second towel and a third half
pitcher of water had removed nearly every trace of the punch from the floor,
leaving only a slight pink cast to the carpet. By the time Anders was finished
with the third towel and the last of the water, there was nothing left on the
carpet but a slightly damp place.

“I don’t believe it.” Sheila
stared at the spot, even bent down and touched it. There was no trace of the
bright red stain.

“Your towels may stain if you
don’t rinse them out before they dry, but...”

“But you’ve saved my carpet, and
the deposit, too. And you’ve ruined your tux in the process.”

Anders looked down at his pants,
which were covered with wrinkles and white fuzz below the knees, then shrugged.
“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a good cleaning and an iron.”

“At least let me pay to have it
cleaned for you,” Sheila offered.

“I can’t do that. It wasn’t your
fault it got a little dingy. I was reaching for the punch too, you remember.
Listen,” Anders continued, “I’ll come by next week when I’m dressed for it, and
we can patch the holes and repaint the walls for a lot less than whatever your
deposit was. What day will be good for you?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What? Helping clean up? Because
I helped make the mess.”

“You didn’t help push pins in my
walls though, that’s not your mess to clean up.”

He grinned again, the dimple on
the left side of his mouth playing peekaboo with her. “No, but I heard that
witch fire you, and I want to help you out, just to spite her.”

“That witch started the evening
as your date...”

“It’s all right. If you’ll
notice, she’s left without me, and I never plan to see her again. Now. What day
is good for you?”

Sheila’s shoulders drooped. “Any
day will work, as I just got fired. I’m supposed to go clean out my desk first
thing in the morning, but I don’t have anything there to clean out. What’s your
work schedule?”

“I work evenings. If it’s all
right with you, I’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning.”

Sheila nodded. She knew she was
close to tears, and didn’t want to end the evening by crying in front of total
strangers, especially ones as nice as Anders.

Anders rolled his sleeves back
down, retrieved his jacket from where it was draped across the half-wall, and
spoke briefly with the police officer at the door before he left her alone with
the uniformed men.

The two men who had been doing
door duty left as well, taking Santa and Jenny with them. The officer who had been
in charge all night returned his full attention to Sheila.

“Now, there are a good many
charges that might be able to be brought against you and your guests tonight,
but I think you’re going to get very lucky.”

“I am? I need some luck.”

“Your landlord has declined to
press charges for disturbing the peace. Because the party immediately quieted
and dispersed, I am also inclined not to write you a ticket on the same count.”

Sheila began to breathe a little
easier.

“The only person who seems to
have been damaged in the physical confrontation between you two ladies is
yourself. Miss...” he checked his notepad, “Jennifer Cameron decided not to
press charges against you after I pointed out that there were ample witnesses
in agreement that she started it and that you could press charges in return,
and you were the more injured party. Will you be pressing charges against Miss
Cameron?”

“No. But I’m never inviting her
to my home again, either.”

The officer chuckled. “Fair
enough. Now, the only property damage seems to be to your personal property,
and not to the apartment itself, other than the punch stain,” his eyes flicked
to the damp place in the now pristinely white carpet, “which seems to have
disappeared. That could be construed as tampering with evidence.”

“It had to be cleaned up while it
was still wet, so it wouldn’t stain, but Anders took a picture of it before he
started cleaning. If you need it for evidence, maybe you could get him to email
the picture to you.”

The police officer made a
notation in his book. “Do you know his last name, offhand?”

“Adamson, I think, but I only
heard it once, and that was hours ago.”

He nodded and continued writing.
“Well, it’ll be listed in the paperwork I get tomorrow from my colleagues.

“Now, charges of indecent
exposure and exposing themselves in front of a minor will be made against Miss
Cameron and Santa, but you don’t come into either of those, other than as a
witness in the case of Miss Cameron. As neither of the exposure incidents were
planned elements of the party, you as host are not held to be legally responsible
for them.”

“That
is
good news.”

“Santa, however, is clearly
drunk, so we need to investigate the alcohol content of the punch you were
serving.”

“There wasn’t any alcohol in the punch.”

“Oh, come now, Miss Everett,
there’s
always
alcohol in the punch at the office Christmas party, and
everybody
always
denies adding it.”

“There wasn’t any alcohol in the
punch. There isn’t even any alcohol in my house. Um, no, that’s not true. Several
of the guests brought me bottles of wine as hostess gifts. They’re all in the
refrigerator, unopened. But I don’t drink, and I didn’t put any booze in the
punch. Furthermore, I spent most of the evening in the kitchen within reach of
the punch bowl, and I didn’t see anyone else add anything to the punch either.
I’d offer to let you take some of the punch to the lab to prove it, but it all
ended up on the carpet.”

“Do you mind if I search your
kitchen for empties?”

Sheila shook her head, which made
her cheek hurt. “Feel free.” She waved her hand in the direction of the
kitchen. “While you’re in there, would you mind getting me...there’s a cloth
bag in the door of the freezer. I’d like it to put on my face.”

The officer made quick work of
searching not only the kitchen, but the rest of the apartment as well, then
returned with the cold bag from the freezer. Sheila placed the soothing
coolness gently against her battered cheek.

“No evidence of alcohol having
been added to the punch, either by you or by someone at the party, unless one
of the guests carried the bottle away with them. So what
was
in the
punch?”

Sheila sighed. “Two cups of
sugar, two packets of cherry Kool-Aid, two quarts of water, and two liters of
7-up. I made up a fresh batch each time I refilled the bowl. If Santa was
drunk, he got that way before he got here. As a matter of fact, I don’t think
he actually arrived at the party, other than making it as far as the front
porch. I never saw him come inside.”

The police officer made a few
more notes, closed his book, and put it away. “In that case, I think we’re done
here, at least for tonight. You’ll be notified if anything else comes up.” He
pulled out a business card and scribbled on the back of it.

“This is the number that will be
on the report I’ll be filing. Anything official that comes to you will have
this number somewhere on it. The courts are all pretty backed up, though, and
it will probably be at least a couple of months before you will hear anything.”

“Um...Mr. Kooper said he was
going to evict me...”

“That’s between you and him, and
depends on the terms of your lease. It’s not a police matter, but do call the
number on the front of the card when and if you have a new address. They’ll
need to know the report number, and they can update the records.”

He turned and left the apartment,
closing the door behind him.

Sheila followed the officer
across the room and locked the door behind him, then closed the window. Without
the body heat of the guests, the apartment was now quite chilly. She heard the
heater crank on, and turned off the light in the living room. All she wanted to
do now was sleep and forget tonight had ever happened to her.

She flipped off the kitchen light
and made a quick trip to the restroom. There was no new blood on the bandage,
so she assumed her scratches had stopped bleeding. She’d take a good look at
them tomorrow when she changed the bandage, and see how badly she was hurt. For
tonight, she just wanted to go to sleep and get this day over with.

Sheila walked into her bedroom,
automatically skirting the bed as she crossed to the window and pulled it
closed, then closed the blinds. She quickly pulled her ruined velvet pantsuit
off, and draped it across the top of the laundry bag where it hung from the
stand in the closet. Maybe a good dry cleaner could save the expensive outfit.
It was at least worth a try. She pulled on the favorite oversized sweats she
preferred to use for nightwear then made sure her windows were latched and the
door had been locked.

Emotionally exhausted, Sheila went
in to her bed and sat down...falling all the way to the floor. Somehow, her bed
had gone flat. Too sick at heart to discover the reason, Sheila pulled her pillows
and blankets around her and cried herself to sleep.

Sheila’s cell phone alarm went
off, and she reached out to silence it. She forgot that she was sleeping on the
floor, however, and her fingertips jammed very painfully into the side of her
plastic dresser.

She reached up and grabbed the
phone, shutting the alarm off as she pried her eyelids open for the day. Sheila
made quick work of a shower and breakfast, then surveyed the apartment which
had been pristinely clean just last evening. It was an utter disaster, and
other than the roof still being attached, she didn’t think a tornado could do
more damage.

Sheila sighed and pulled out a
trash bag and began collecting empty plates, cups, and napkins. Her guests had
stacked them on the half wall as well as the windowsill and in the corners of
her apartment, as well as on the board where the television usually perched -
now in an untidy heap on the floor. Quite a few had been dropped in the
bathroom sink and tub.

She unplugged the television and
righted it, but one glance told her it was unrepairable. She was picking up the
shards of television screen when there was a knock at the door. Now what?

“Just a minute,” she called out,
setting another piece of glass into the discarded deli-tray lid she was using
to corral the viciously jagged shards.

Carefully moving the deli-tray
lid to the low counter of her kitchen, she crossed to the door and opened it,
then sucked her breath in sharply. James Bond looked just as good in ratty
paint-covered sweats as he had last night in his tux. How had he climbed her
stairs without her hearing him?

"Good morning!" Anders
said. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Yes I did, how about
you?" Sheila moved aside to allow Anders to enter the apartment. He
grabbed two large canvas tote bags, and trooped into her living room, filling
it completely with his presence.

"Absolutely! I would never
dream about starting a day’s work without a good breakfast inside me." He
looked around the apartment. "I see you you've already been busy cleaning
up. Where would you like me to start?"

"I… um…" Sheila took a
deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess the Christmas decorations
should be taken down. I haven't really made a plan of attack."

"Christmas decorations it
is, then," he said cheerfully. "Do you want me to save them, or trash
them?"