Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (5 page)

A
lthough
I'm not a religious person, I really don't object to Christmas in principle, I reflected as I dodged through the morning commuter traffic on Thursday. In fact, I enjoy the holiday in small doses. I'm especially partial to the decorations and music that accompany the season. I don't even object to the exchange of gifts within reason. My dread springs from the early years of my marriage. I hated having Christmas shoved down my throat not only by the media and the retail establishment, but also by my Midwestern in-laws who were a part of the package deal when I married Michael.

Left to my own devices, I actually would have enjoyed celebrating the season with Emma and Joey, introducing them to the spirit of the holiday through books, music, playing Secret Santa, exchanging small gifts, decorating, and maybe even doing some modest entertaining. It was the relentlessness of the thing that got my back up. It seemed as though everything from late October through early January was focused on buying, consuming, and attending things related to the omnipresent holiday, as if it were somehow un-American to turn one's thoughts elsewhere for the duration.

Michael's family was large and gregarious, and their holiday gatherings were both ritualistic and unavoidable. Early on, I had been labeled the family Grinch, but I found nothing enjoyable about joining more than thirty of Michael's family members in his mother's overheated four-room apartment at the end of what had already been an exhausting Christmas Day. The year I found myself huddled underneath my mother-in-law's dining room table, knees pulled under my chin to avoid having my feet stepped on by sugared-up, semi-hysterical children, I vowed that it was my last appearance at the annual horror. It was also the beginning of the end of our marriage, but then, hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

After a hiatus of many years following my relatively amicable divorce from Michael, I had settled into what was for me an acceptable level of festivity. It included a very few holiday gatherings, about forty-eight hours of Christmas music, and a Christmas Eve buffet in front of the fireplace in the company of whoever cared to drop by. In recent years, Emma and Joey, accompanied by ever-changing boyfriends and girlfriends, had spent the evening with me and Armando, whom they had accepted as a member of their extended family. Sometimes my sister, who had moved to the Midwest a few years back, came for a visit, as did one or another of the kids’ friends who were in the area visiting family. We ate all of our favorite foods, drank good wine, and played cut-throat games of Trivial Pursuit, Uno, and even poker. The evening's big winner had the privilege of designating which charity would be awarded the consolidated winnings.

In my opinion, it was perfect. Emma and Joey were denied nothing, since they enjoyed a traditional Christmas Day with their father, his second wife Sheila, and dozens of their family members. They exchanged a great number of expensive gifts, then tucked into an outrageous sit-down dinner, while Armando and I enjoyed the peace and quiet of Christmas afternoon.

The system worked beautifully, and I saw no reason to change it until Michael's surprising telephone call. Not only was I now attempting to coordinate a massive fundraising event and staging a traditional Christmas Eve for Emma's new boyfriend, I was expected to host a post-Christmas wedding, all without Armando's calming influence to keep me on an even keel. A pang of loneliness stabbed me as I merged into the traffic pattern around Pulaski Circle and negotiated the rest of my route to the UCC office with the growing confidence of an experienced commuter, despite the SUV jockey glued to my back bumper.

Somehow, the peace and solitude of my condo weren't nearly as appealing as they had been a week ago. Even Jasmine seemed even more lethargic without Armando, if that was possible. At least Margo and Strutter would be on hand to offer moral support this evening. It was a cheering thought.

The morning passed in a blur of pre-party jitters as everyone checked and double-checked their preparations. Four more volunteer waiters and waitresses had succumbed to the flu overnight, but enough replacements had been recruited to make do with some last-minute juggling of assignments. Strutter had been assigned to hospitality and check-in duty at the Atheneum Square North entrance, where her natural warmth and stunning good looks would make a wonderful first impression. Margo would be pleased with her assignment to circulate among the guests bearing a silver tray filled with cups of the champagne punch to which Sister Marguerite had referred.

By three o'clock, the entire staff had migrated to the Wadsworth. Even the Grinch-iest among us couldn't help but be impressed by the ambience. Although there was no snow on the ground as yet, the lowering clouds made for an early dusk. We had not yet had a significant snowfall in Connecticut, but tonight might just be the night. Instead of dampening our spirits, the gloom outdoors contrasted appealingly with the warmth and glittering lights inside the beautiful old structure. The overall impression was one of festivity and elegance, which was precisely the note we had hoped to strike.

I had not had an opportunity to visit the Wadsworth in a couple of years, so I slipped away from the others to familiarize myself with the layout of the area we would be using during the course of the evening. It was all on the first floor, and the main exhibit areas would be safely locked away from wandering visitors. Although the main museum entrance was on Main Street, that would be closed at 4:30 p. m. to minimize security risks.

All of the invited guests had been instructed to park on the surrounding streets and enter the Museum from Atheneum Square North. The Avery Lobby was there, along with a coatroom which contained several portable wheelchairs for the use of Museum patrons. I doubted that we would need any of those this evening, but one never knew. The entrance to the Museum's movie theater, which was located on the basement level, was next to the coatroom but was roped off for the occasion. No need to risk having a tipsy guest take a tumble down the stairs.

The Avery Lobby opened directly into a large hall, which was where the bulk of the evening's activities would take place. A large fountain in the center provided a dramatic focal point, and a dazzling array of trees, painstakingly decorated and donated by local organizations for the museum's silent auction, occupied every space inch of wall space. The only exception was a raised platform in one corner, where a chamber ensemble from the University of Hartford's acclaimed Hartt School of Music would provide background music.

Late in the afternoon, I took my black hostess trousers and white silk shirt with me to the women's room in order to change in one of the stalls. It must have been a popular idea, because a short line had formed outside the door. In a niche across the hall I noticed a door marked Women's Committee office and decided to use it as a makeshift dressing room. I tapped once on the door and ducked inside, not expecting anyone to be occupying it.

“Oh! You startled me.” A plump and pretty brunette whirled from behind a miniscule desk, where she was holding together the half-buttoned front of a gauzy cocktail dress with one hand. “Guess I shouldn't be using the office as a changing room, but there's a line outside the loo. Come in, come in. The least I could have done was lock the door.” She extended her free hand. “Mary O’Halloran.”

I closed the door quickly and squeezed her hand in return. “Kate Lawrence. I'm helping out at the UCC while Sister Marguerite's assistant is on maternity leave. You must be James’ wife. I believe you know my business partner, Strutter … uh, Charlene Putnam. James tells me that she represented the seller of the house you and he bought in Wethersfield a few years back.”

Mary fastened her top button and smoothed the burgundy frock over her full hips, wrinkling her brow in thought. “Charlene, Charlene. Why, yes! She was the gorgeous young woman with the dazzling blue eyes and the West Indies lilt. So nice, too. You work together?”

“Not so much recently. Our real estate firm, MACK Realty, has been reduced to a skeleton crew until the market picks back up, but yes, she's my partner.”

“Strutter, huh?” Mary twinkled. “Very appropriate, now that I remember that outrageous walk of hers.”

I returned her smile. “You caught me. I'm usually a little more circumspect with new acquaintances. You'll see her later, as a matter of fact, along with our third partner, Margo Harkness. The flu has claimed so many victims this week, I had to recruit Strutter and Margo to help out tonight. You're right about that line outside the women's room, by the way. Do you mind if I do a quick change in here, too?”

“Be my guest. In fact, I'll leave you in peace to do it. I was due to check in with the caterers five minutes ago, and knowing Henri, he's in a swivet wondering where I am. Then I have to find James and help him into his Santa suit. He can never quite manage the padding.” She bustled around the desk, and I took her place.

“
Henri
? Sounds fancy schmancy.”

Mary giggled. “It's plain Henry Kozlowski from East Hartford, actually, but that doesn't quite fit in with his upscale professional image these days. I waited for her to scoot through the door before I pulled my sweater over my head, but instead of leaving, she fidgeted once again with the buttons on her dress. Her merry expression had faded, and she appeared lost in thought. I couldn't help but notice the worry lines etched between her eyebrows.

“Anything I can help you out with?” I prodded tentatively.

“Oh, sorry. I'm a bit distracted is all. James’ brother Joseph is in town unexpectedly.” She sighed. “His visits are always unexpected. Now that I think of it, we haven't seen Joseph in probably eight or nine years. He and James don't get along, you see,” she confided.

“I'm sorry,” I sympathized. “Relatives can be trying at the best of times, but the hectic holidays are no time for a surprise visit.”

“Mmmm, you're right. It's a family thing. Joseph is the bad penny that keeps turning up, but only when he wants something. We just don't know what it is this time.” She gave herself a little shake. “No doubt we'll find out soon enough, so it's silly to waste time worrying about it now. James has spent his entire life getting Joseph out of hot water, and he'll take care of whatever the problem is this time, too, but not tonight.”

“Every family has at least one,” I agreed. “You're smart to be able to put Joseph on the back burner.”

“James works so hard, and he looks forward to playing Santa Claus all year long. I mustn't let anything spoil it, not even Joseph. See you later.” She waggled her fingers at me and vanished into the hallway.

A few minutes later I had changed into my black pants and white shirt and had freshened my make-up with the aid of the compact I kept in my purse. I wrapped my handbag inside my work clothes and stuffed the whole bundle under the desk, hoping I would remember where I'd left everything a few hours hence. I snapped off the light and opened the office door to scout the hallway. The coast was clear, so I slipped out and closed the door quietly behind me, wondering what the evening held in store.

It didn't take long to locate Margo and Strutter. It was no surprise to me that they were the center of attention among the volunteer waiters and waitresses who had gathered in the Avery Court to receive assignments from Henri/Henry. The sight of my two lovely friends, one sleekly blonde and groomed to a fare-thee-well, the other glowing and dimpled, warmed my heart.
How many other people would drop everything on less than twenty-four hours’ notice and rush to help out at a charity function?
I wondered. Then I looked around at the dozens of willing workers.
More than I would have thought a week ago, apparently.

Strutter caught my eye and blew me a kiss before scurrying off to the Avery Lobby with one of the security guards. I waved and hoped that the stylish little faux fur wrap over her shoulders would protect her from the chilly drafts that would inevitably accompany the opening and closing door. The last thing a new mother needs is a head cold. Margo finished flirting with the half-dozen young men who had already clustered around her and winked at me. She accepted a tray of hors d'oeuvres from a harried supervisor who shooed her into the waiting crowd.

I trailed along behind the line of wait staff making their way into the main exhibition areas. The display was absolutely smashing with thousands of lights on the donated trees twinkling and gleaming. A
Who's Who
of Hartford's elite, dressed to impress in jewel tones for the holiday, circulated among them, while the Hartt School musicians supplied elegant background music. Although it was not yet five-thirty, the crowd was already impressive. Every UCC staff member who passed me paused to point out State Representative So-and-So standing over by the entrance and Mr. and Mrs. Something-or-Other, who owned half of the commercial real estate in the city, chatting with the mayor by the musicians.

Every few minutes Sister Marguerite whirled by on her way to pay homage to one or another of the distinguished guests. Despite what had to have been a grueling day, she looked animated and elegant in her gray silk cocktail suit, if a nun could be said to wear such a garment, and low-heeled black pumps. I was grateful that my wide-legged hostess britches flowed all the way to the floor, nicely concealing my comfy ballet slippers. About two hours in high heels is my limit.

By six-thirty, the auction had begun. The guest auctioneer was a popular weatherman from a local television station, and he was really working the crowd. I had never seen so many people have such a good time spending money. Lois Billard and her volunteer crew were kept busy accepting large donations and distributing claim checks for merchandise to be collected later.