Steeled for Murder (21 page)

A day reading in my own room would certainly beat that. I could go for a walk any time I wanted to. So I should stop feeling sorry for myself and appreciate what I had, for now, at least.

Cutting through an alley and across the corner of a vacant lot, I saw two men taking down strings of Christmas lights and rolling twine into a ball. They had been selling Christmas trees, but they had only three or four straggly ones left and they were closing up shop. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should offer them a few bucks for one of the remaining trees.

But what would I do with it? I didn’t have any decorations at all, and I really had no place to put it in my one-room apartment. Unless I jammed it between my bed and the wall, where it would block my only window.

Not a good way to spend any of my unanticipated financial windfall.

I kept going.

I took the front steps up to the library two at a time. As I came through the door, I saw Mandy at the circulation desk. She frowned at me.

My heart sank. Usually she smiled when I came in.

She was Mandy Radman, I knew now. Came back to work here despite her husband’s undoubtedly substantial income. I wondered if sometimes being married could be even more lonesome than being single. She didn’t look happy.

“We’re closing early for Christmas Eve.” She straightened up a pile of books on the counter. “You only have about ten minutes.”

“Okay.” I could see through the doorway that the lights in the book stacks had already been turned off. I went to the new book display. I could find something there. Looking over the selection, I grabbed a slim volume and flipped it over to read the back.

Historical romance. Not what I was looking for. I took another.

Murder mystery. That hit too close to home.

Fantasy. Maybe. I held onto that one.

Espionage. A fat book. I kept that one, too.

A nonfiction on the Civil War. Sounded good.

I took my three selections to the desk and dug out my library card.

Mandy wore a bright red fleece top with reindeer leaping across her trim but shapely bosom. I tried not to stare at it. She performed the computer magic that made the books mine for the next month. Computers had really taken over the world while I’d been locked up. One of these days, I’d have to come into the library and sign up for the one of the computers they had for public use. See what everybody else took for granted.

I thanked Mandy and started to scoop them up.

Her frown softened. “Would you like a plastic bag for them?” she asked. “Looks like we may get more snow. Or sleet.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, watching as she slipped them into a grocery bag from a supply under the counter. “You have a good holiday, now.” I grinned tentatively.

She smiled back. “And a very merry Christmas to you, too.”

I was pleased to see her smile. But her smile looked brittle, as if the wrong words might break it.

She followed me to the front door and locked it behind me as I stepped out. Mandy was right about the weather; a spitting of sleet stung my face as I went down the steps.

I ducked my head into the wind and cut across the now-deserted Christmas tree lot. On to the grocery store. Maybe I would get a can of tomato soup and some bread and cheese. And margarine for the grilling. On freezing wet days like this, Mrs. Coleman used to make tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. The thought made my mouth water.

I thought about the warm buttery scent of the sandwiches in the frying pan, the creamy smoothness of the tomato soup as it slid down my throat. An always-changing array of foster children seated around the oilcloth covering the worn kitchen table. Maybe not really loved, but safe and warm and well cared for. As good a substitute as anyone could ask for.

Mrs. Coleman had been so disappointed in me. I’d sent her a letter from prison, but Mr. Coleman had written back. “Please don’t contact my wife,” he’d said. “She had such hopes for you; she cried after she read about your crimes in the newspaper.”

Really, I didn’t kill anybody, Mrs. Coleman,
I’d wanted to shout.
Please don’t believe I’m such a total failure. If I could just explain.
But I’d had to respect the request not to contact her.

No point thinking like that,
I told myself.
What’s done is done. Be grateful for the good parts. Get the stuff to make the soup and sandwiches.

Wrapped up in my thoughts but still paying attention to my surroundings—a prison survival technique—I noticed something big on the sidewalk a little way up in front of me, partially blocking my way. I looked more closely.

A Christmas tree. Bundled up and tied in twine. A car was parked by the curb next to it. A woman was bent over, struggling to lift the Christmas tree.

I slipped my hand through the handle of the plastic bag that held the books and reached down for the trunk of the tree. Giving it a heave, I lifted the bottom half up on the roof. The woman managed to get the top part of the tree up, too.

“Got something to tie it on with?” I asked. “I’ll hold it while you tie it.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” the woman said.

Surprised, I turned my head to see a familiar face.

Hiding surprise was another prison survival technique. “Anytime, Kelly.”

She snorted. “Christmas Eve is a rotten enough time to be out trying to get a Christmas tree. Without having it fall off.”

I laughed. “Got some twine or something to tie this with?”

“Yeah. I tried that. But that’s where I ran into trouble. If I tie it through the windows, I can’t get the door open. So I tied it on with the door open, but the twine must have broken when I shut the door. The tree slid off after I’d driven two blocks.”

“Can’t you tie it on and then climb in a window?” I asked. “Then you can just leave the windows a little open.”

“Fat chance,” she said. “Look at me. I’m not exactly a featherweight. Or hugely agile. You think I’m going to manage to climb in the window? And get myself into a sitting position with my feet actually down by the pedals?”

I couldn’t help grinning at the mental image of her substantial rear disappearing through the window into the interior of the car. “I bet if you took off that bulky jacket, you’d do fine,” I told her. “But you get in and close the doors. I’ll tie it on through the open windows.”

“How will I get out?”

“You cut the twine. Or I can tie it so you can reach the knots from the driver’s seat.”

She got into the car and opened the front windows. I took the twine and tied the tree firmly to the roof. Then I tied a piece to the top of the tree and the front bumper. Same thing with the trunk and the rear bumper.

I stood back and looked at it. “That ought to hold till you get home,” I said. “‘Course, it might be a little chilly driving with the windows open like that. Not to mention wet.” The sleet was turning to snow.

“Why don’t you come and help me set it up?” she asked.

My stomach lurched. “What?”

“Come help me set it up. And have dinner.”

A very appealing idea.

“What else have you got to do?” she asked.

“True, that,” I said.

“What time do you have to be home for the monitor to be read?” She brushed her hair back.

“Off monitoring for the holiday,” I said.

“Then get in.”

“The doors are tied shut.”

“So climb through the window.” She rolled the passenger window all the way down. “Like you told me to do. You’re not nearly as fat as I am.”

I stripped off my jacket and gloves and tossed them with the bag of books into the back seat. Hoisting myself up on the edge of the roof, I swung my feet through the window and dropped into the passenger seat of the car.

Kelly stared at me. “Where did you get Mitch’s sweatshirt?” she asked. “He leave it at work?”

“Long story,” I said, settling into the seat and closing the window most of the way. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell her.

Kelly eased the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “I wasn’t going to get a Christmas tree at all this year. I think I told you…The kids are supposed to be with their dad all this week.” She shivered. “Can you see if you can get that heat kicked up?”

I fiddled with the buttons on the heater, turning it to high. “Yeah, you said something like that.”

“Well, I got a call from Fred’s sister this morning. Seems he’s been out drinking—surprise—and left the kids with his mother, who’s almost eighty and really can’t handle them. So the sister’s gonna bring the kids to my place tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Kelly hunched forward and stared through the windshield. “They’re Polish; they do their holiday thing on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day. So after they have this big dinner and open the presents, she’s gonna drop them off.”

“At least you get to see them on Christmas.” Seemed like a good thing; she’d been morose about not seeing them on the holiday.

“Yeah. I was kind of all broken up over that. But then I got used to the idea. Got me a fifth of Southern Comfort. Figured I’d have a few drinks tonight, get up tomorrow and finish off the bottle. Watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
or something else stupid.”

Watching a movie, especially that one, didn’t seem stupid to me. The drinking did. But who was I to judge how other people chose to cope with what life dealt them? Not like I had a good handle on my life or anything.

“And now I haven’t gotten anything ready for Christmas at all,” she continued glumly.

“You got a tree now.”

“I do have a tree now. And I have some of the presents I was gonna give the kids when they came home. I can wrap them up tonight.”

“So you can have a good Christmas with them,” I said, remembering Sam and the twins with their tree and presents.

“I guess. But I didn’t do much grocery shopping.”

“They’re kids; fix something they like for dinner. Anything. Doesn’t have to be a big, fancy meal.”

“I know you’re right.” Kelly sighed. “Just hard to change plans so fast.”

I glanced over at her. Tears were forming in her eyes. I’m no good with people who cry. Not Reggie. Definitely not Kelly. I looked away, at the brave Christmas lights shining through the gloom from the few stores that were still open.

“I just didn’t think I’d ever be in this position is all, I guess,” she said.

“What position is that?”

“Divorced. Single mother. I used to feel sorry for women who were trying to take care of a family on their own. Like my mother. She always seemed so lonesome after my dad left.”

“Don’t see nothing to feel sorry for,” I said. “Lots of women raise kids by themselves. Lots of happy families like that.”

Not that I knew any.

We left Rothsburg’s ragged commercial area and headed into a residential neighborhood. Big, old houses, some of them divided into two apartments, lined either side of the broad road. Snow was beginning to cover the ice. I shivered and wished I hadn’t taken off my jacket.

Kelly’s house was impressive. Big, two-story brick structure with an attic, probably built in the 1920s. An expansive front porch and a driveway next to the house leading back to an equally impressive brick garage with a yawning door.

Kelly stopped the car by the back porch and started tugging on the twine. I unrolled the passenger side window the rest of the way, climbed out and went around to untie it. I lifted the tree from the roof and stood it next to the steps.

“I’m gonna put the car in the garage,” she said, rolling up the windows and pulling forward.

I tried to shake the snow and ice off the tree, but it was frozen on pretty good. Kelly came out of the garage carrying my jacket and plastic bag. She unlocked the back door and held it open wide.

“Gonna drip all over,” I said.

“Can you get it into the shower in the bathroom here?” Kelly opened a door just inside. “It can defrost for a while.”

I carted the tree in and stood it in a corner of the shower. Coming into the kitchen, I looked around the huge, chilly room. An ancient kitchen range took up most of one wall. The sink under the windows was an old, white porcelain one, with a drain board attached to either side. The refrigerator was much newer. A sturdy kitchen table with four chairs stood to one side, barely taking up any room. Worn linoleum covered the floor.

“Big kitchen,” I said, looking around.

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “The whole house is big. And old. I’m probably out of my mind, trying to hang onto it since the divorce. But I love it, and it’s in the best school district in the area. And the kids are used to it.”

“If you like it, it’s worth hanging onto if you can.”

“I hope so. Between the mortgage payments and upkeep, it takes the best part of my paycheck. And now it’s worth even less than we paid for it.” She stripped off her jacket and hung it on a hook next to the back door.

I put my jacket and the plastic bag on the hook next to it.