Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery (3 page)

Wilbur placed a guiding hand on his mother’s elbow and ushered her toward the tables at the far right wall. Judy followed meekly, looking as if she wished the floor would swallow her up. As Wilbur and the red woman set their platters down, all eyes stayed on that end of the room and conversation had not quite picked up again.

“Well,” said Elsa. “That’s certainly interesting.”

Catherine and I both chuckled at her estimation of the situation.

I caught Judy’s eye and gave a little wave. She smiled and practically trotted across the room toward us. She wore a gray pleated skirt and gray and pink sweater. Her straight brown hair was pulled back with a pink headband.

“Your mother-in-law?” I asked hesitantly, nodding toward the other end of the room.

“Oh yes.” Her eyelids dropped for a moment, as if she had a headache.

“She’s certainly colorful,” Elsa offered.

“Oh yes,” Judy said again. “That she is.”

Wilbur had spotted us and was steering his mother in our direction. His scalp blushed extra pink through his thinning, sandy hair. As they approached, I noticed that the woman was really rather petite, no more than five-two, even in the high heels. Her hair was deep black and her brows were penned in to be the same color. Lipstick the same shade as the satin dress served to highlight the fact that there were deep creases beside her mouth, and the crow’s feet at her eyes were the kind caused by heavy smoking.

Wilbur spoke up. “This is my mother, Paula Candelaria.”

“Charlie! I’m just so
glad
to meet you,” she squawked as he introduced me. “Judy’s told me so much
about
you. A private
eye
—that must be so
exciting
!”

Her voice came out at least a dozen decibels louder than anyone else’s. Heads turned again.

“Well,” I murmured, purposely bringing my own voice lower, “I’m not really a private investigator. Just a partner in the firm.”

“But you solve
mur
ders and
every
thing,” she went on, not taking my hint to lower her voice.

I shrugged, scrambling vainly for another subject. “That eggnog sure looks good,” I suggested.

Paula’s head whipped toward the end of the long table. “Oh, my, yes. That does look good. I sure hope they made it strong enough.”

She began a sprint toward the opposite end of the room and stumbled in her spiky heels. Mr. Delacourte, a Methodist minister who lived two streets over from us, reached out instinctively to catch her elbow. She turned and placed both hands against his chest.

“Why
thank
you, kind sir. You saved me from embarrassing myself.”

Mrs. Delacourte turned three shades whiter and I could swear I heard her sharp intake of breath.

Mr. Delacourte removed Paula’s hands from his lapels and mumbled some kind of gracious reply.

Paula turned with a swish of her red tulip skirt and headed again for the punchbowl. I caught myself holding my breath as I watched her maneuver the ladle shakily toward her cup.

Beside me, Judy took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Wilbur headed to the end of the cookie table, where gold boxes with tissue linings waited for residents to fill with their choices of goodies to take home. Conversation in the room began to return to normal and Elsa had resumed her browsing.

“I’m so sorry,” Judy murmured. “I had no idea she’d make such a scene. I suspect she got into Wilbur’s special cognac before we left the house.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” I assured her. “Is she going to be staying through Christmas?” I tried to make the question sound polite.

“Ugh, yes. I hope I make it.”

“Judy, I don’t want to sound rude, but is she always like this?”

Her eyes rolled. “Her behavior is very off-and-on. It’s just that it’s been ‘off’ much more frequently since she left husband number five a few months ago. I just had this feeling, this dreadful feeling, that she’d show up and want to spend the holidays with us.

“See, she latches onto Wilbur in every crisis. In our twelve years of marriage, she’s been through two husbands and I can’t even guess how many boyfriends. It’d be sad if I could watch it from a distance, but every time she lands on our doorstep I just grit my teeth.”

“You’re right—it is sad,” I sympathized.

“And now, with the baby, I just don’t want her around. Can you imagine how you’d feel if she were your grandmother?”

“A baby? Judy, you didn’t tell me!”

She blushed. “Well, we’ve wanted this for so long and had a couple of miscarriages. I hadn’t planned to make it public until I get a little farther along.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone—except Drake. Would that be okay?” I reached for a cut-out Santa on a platter near me. “Does Paula know?”

“No! Sorry. I really don’t want her to find out yet. I just hope Wilbur can keep it quiet awhile longer.”

A crash and the tinkle of breaking glass grabbed our attention. Paula stood at the punchbowl, ladle in hand.

“Hey! Watch it, lady.” The abrasive male voice came from Chuck Ciacarelli, one of the richest men in town with a reputation for being nasty tempered. We called him Chuckie Cheese behind his back.

Paula was staring at the floor with a puzzled expression. Two women nearby knelt to pick up broken glass, while another reached for a handful of napkins.

“Careful, you’re bleeding,” the napkin woman said.

“Oh, my gosh,” I said to Judy, “it looks like Paula’s cut her hand.”

“At this rate we’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill herself,” Wilbur said, handing Judy his partially-filled cookie box and heading toward his mother.

“Or lucky if she does,” muttered Judy.

4

I gazed out at the early morning, trying to determine whether it was cloudy or merely too early for the sky to show any color yet. Christmas Eve. It was going to be a busy day and I really wanted nothing more than to snuggle in with Drake and wake up three days later to find the holiday hoopla all behind me.

We’d spent all day Monday setting the luminarias along the sidewalks and driveways. Paula had been much subdued after her antics at the cookie swap Sunday afternoon. Drake and I pitched in and set Elsa’s sacks out for her and then helped Judy and Wilbur do the last of theirs. A plan had evolved that the three households would get together for dinner tonight, then we’d go out and look at the lights.

One downside of living in the most popular section of town for Christmas light displays is that the police barricade our streets off and the traffic is so solidly packed that there’s no hope of getting out of our own driveway anytime after late afternoon. We’ve learned over the years to settle in and plan on Christmas Eve at home. I decided to make another batch of my green chile stew, since Drake had hardly gotten a taste of the last one. It could easily feed the whole group. Elsa would contribute cornbread and Judy planned to bring a salad. Paula said something about making eggnog, but Judy quietly nixed that. Paula without alcohol would definitely be easier to handle.

I nestled into Drake’s shoulder for a few more minutes but finally decided I was too wide-awake to actually get any more rest. I kissed his bare chest and rolled off the bed. Ten minutes later, quick-showered, dressed, and with a hasty swipe of the hairbrush, I padded to the kitchen in my socks. Rusty trotted along and Kinsey, hearing him in the hallway, nosed the guestroom door open and followed us.

I let the two dogs out into the back yard while I started coffee. By the time it finished trickling into the carafe, Catherine had emerged from her room, hair freshly brushed, wearing a cozy burgundy velour robe. We good-morninged each other while I pulled two mugs from the cupboard.

“I hope I don’t live to regret my offer to Paula,” she said, taking her mug and adding a slight drizzle of cream.

Catherine, with the patience of a saint, had offered to take Paula shopping for a few last-minute things. They planned to leave shortly after breakfast this morning and come back mid-afternoon.

“I’ll watch Kinsey while I make the stew,” I offered. “Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

“I think you’ve got that right. Once she smells something cooking, she’ll be right in your face.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. She’s such a little sweetheart. Easy to have around.” I opened the kitchen door and the dogs raced in. They both headed for the food dishes I’d set out.

Catherine and I toasted a couple of English muffins and finished our coffee.

“Guess I better get dressed. The sooner we hit the stores, the sooner we’ll get back,” she said.

Drake shuffled into the kitchen wearing pajama bottoms I’d never seen before and his favorite old robe. Catherine gave her son a quick kiss and headed toward her room. I gave him a much longer kiss and settled him at the table with a mug of coffee.

“Woo-hoo! Anybody home?” Paula poked her head into the kitchen.

I shot Drake a look. He shrugged and held up the newspaper he’d carried in.
Yeah
, I tried to convey,
you forgot to relock the door
.

“Coffee! I smell coffee,” chirped Paula. “Do you mind?” She’d already begun opening cabinet doors, looking for the cups.

I handed her a clean one.

“Judy and Wilbur don’t drink coffee,” she said. “Can you believe it? God, I can’t believe there’s a household in America where they don’t make coffee in the morning.”

She took a long sip and let out a satisfied sigh. “Man, I needed that.” She settled into the chair across from Drake and reached for his newspaper. My husband is too well-mannered to actually swat her hand, but I could tell the temptation was there.

Paula wore a skin-tight pair of black jeans, high heeled boots, and a fluffy sweater in a bright shade of magenta. Her short black hair was slicked back from her forehead with some kind of gel and would have looked model-like except for the patch in back that still had a little sleep tangle in it.

“Catherine’s getting ready now,” I told Paula. “She mentioned that you were going shopping this morning.”

“Yeah, silly me.” She did a little forehead knock with the heel of her hand. “Here I show up at Christmas without any gifts. When I saw all the stuff Wilbur and Judy have under their tree, well, duh, figured I better get with the program.”

“I’m sure they weren’t really expecting much,” I offered gently.
Least of all were they expecting you to show up unannounced
.

“Guess I’ve just had a few other things on my mind. This hasn’t been an easy year, I’ll tell you. Divorce. That’s really hit me hard.” Her voice had turned from perky to teary in an instant. “And my job—huh, that’s a joke.
Downsized
, they’re calling it. Truth is, they’re cutting out everybody who might be getting close to collecting any of their precious retirement fund.”

She took another deep sip of her coffee.

“Hah! Guess that’ll teach me to trust those corporate types.” A cackle started down in her throat and turned nearly hysterical on its way to her lips. “Lucky I had kids to come home to.”

I glanced at Drake. He was intently studying the stock market pages.

“Um, maybe I should let Catherine know you’re here.” I refilled her mug and dashed toward the bedrooms.

“Gosh, are the stores even open yet?” Catherine asked after I tapped on her door.

“Take your time,” I said. “I can always send her back to Judy’s for awhile.”

When I got back into the kitchen, Paula was rummaging through my refrigerator. “Got any jam?”

I pointed to the jars sitting in the racks on the door. I noticed that she’d helped herself to a couple of slices of bread, which were browning in the toaster oven. Drake had abandoned his newspaper, probably deciding to get dressed and find something to do outside. The dogs were sitting in front of the toaster, their bright-eyed gazes traveling between the food and Paula. She didn’t appear to notice them.

I busied myself rinsing Drake’s mug and putting a few things into the dishwasher. Paula made herself comfortable at the table with her toast and our newspaper.

“Are you thinking about staying here in Albuquerque?” I asked. A quick image flashed through my mind of Paula coming over early every morning, helping herself to my coffee, some breakfast, and our newspaper. I dropped a knife into the sink with a clatter.

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know yet,” she answered. “Maybe sometime after New Year’s I’ll start checking out the want ads.”

Poor Judy.

Catherine came in, dressed in a pair of tailored gray wool slacks and a deep blue sweater that gave a rich tone to her sleek, dark hair. She took in the scene and raised an eyebrow toward me. Paula mumbled a “good morning” through a mouthful of toast and turned back to the horoscope section of the paper.

“Well,” said Catherine, trying to work some cheerfulness into her voice. “I guess we could get going anytime.”

Paula brushed crumbs off her hands onto her jeans and stood, leaving her plate and mug beside the rumpled newspaper.

“Don’t worry about those dishes, Paula. I’ll get them.” Like she’d planned on cleaning them up. As they left, I glanced up at the clock. She’d been here a whole twenty minutes. It was going to be a long week.

5

Drake was busily checking the outdoor lights once more when I opened the front door to look for him. The sky had turned white again, an ominous indicator that there might be snow later in the day.

“Hon, I think those bulbs haven’t had time to burn out yet,” I teased.

“It wasn’t the bulbs I was saving,” he said, peeking around the huge blue spruce by the dining room window.

“Your mother is really a doll. Anyone who would voluntarily spend a day shopping with Paula . . .”

He walked toward the front porch and put his arms around my waist. His face was red and chilly. “Hey, do you realize we’re alone? For probably the only time this week.”

“Uh, not exactly.” I spotted Judy Garfield walking across the lawn toward us, bundled up in wool slacks and a puffy car coat.