The Snow White Christmas Cookie (30 page)

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Grisky concluded, rubbing his hands together.

“Real solid work, Master Sergeant,” Sam Questa said.

Grisky nodded his jarhead in agreement. “Good job, girlfriend. If you ask me, your talents are wasted in this town.”

Des looked at Paulette, who was still staring out the front window, before she said, “You couldn’t be more wrong, Agent Grisky. This is where I’m needed. And I’m
still
not your girlfriend.”

E
PILOGUE

(ONE DAY LATER)

T
HE WORLD-CLASS PISSING CONTEST
didn’t stop after Paulette’s arrest for the murder of Hank Merrill. Since Hank was an employee of the U.S. Postal Service his murder constituted a federal crime and the Department of Justice wanted to take the case away from Connecticut’s prosecutors and try it in a U.S. Court. What with Casey Zander being a postal service employee, too, the feds also wanted their hands on Tommy the Pinhead, hoping they could persuade him to flip on Slick Rick Fontanella and the Castagno crime family.

The case got a lot of media attention in the days leading up to Christmas. Mitch followed it online when he was feeling well enough. Mostly, he stayed in bed with his two cats and his ten toes that ached beyond belief. His fingers weren’t so terrific either. He also had a wicked headache, blurry vision and got so dizzy whenever he tried to stand up that he had to lean against the nearest piece of large furniture. But Dr. Cindie had assured him his head would feel a little bit better every day. Also that he’d suffered no permanent nerve damage to his fingers or toes. He just had to take it easy for a while.

Des stopped by regularly to fuss over him and to remove her yellow string bikini from his Chanukah bush. Much to Mitch’s delight, she’d found his wallet and his grandfather’s Omega in the trunk of Tommy’s Trans Am. Tommy hadn’t bothered to dispose of the stuff after he and Gigi left Mitch on the beach with Casey to die. Apparently, he’d been more interested in scoring a pizza and boinking Gigi.

They didn’t call him Tommy the Pinhead for nothing.

When Mitch started to feel a bit more alert he logged on to the NOAA Web site and computed the temperature, wind velocity and windchill factor out on Breezy Point when the sun was falling that day, to determine just how long he could have survived out there. Near as he could tell, if it had taken Des and Yolie longer than twenty more minutes to find him he’d now be hobbling around with no toes—if he was lucky enough to be hobbling around at all.
If
being the operative word.
If
Rut Peck hadn’t called Des from the Rustic when he had.
If
she and Yolie hadn’t made a beeline to the Rustic, then the Yankee Doodle, then Tommy the Pinhead’s apartment.
If
Tommy the Pinhead and Gigi hadn’t been home in bed.
If
 …

He was stretched out on the loveseat in front of a roaring fire when he got a phone call from Rut Peck, who was back in residence at Essex Meadows.

“Glad to hear that you’re on the mend, young fella.”

“Rut, I sure do apologize for abandoning you that way at the Rustic.”

“No apology necessary. Liveliest afternoon I’ve had in ages.”

“I also want you to know how sorry I am about Paulette.”

The old postmaster fell silent, breathing heavily in and out. “Me, too.”

“Did you have any idea what she was up to?” Mitch asked, recalling how uneasy the old fellow had seemed that night in his cellar, when he first told Mitch about the grinch.

“I knew that Casey was no good. I figured if things were going missing he had to be mixed up in it somehow. But I never imagined that Paulette was in on it with him. That she’d betray the job and do something so awful to Hank. No sir, not in a million years. But you never think that way about the people who you’re fond of—no matter how old and wise you get. Not that I feel very wise right now. Just kind of sad.”

“I guess Paulette felt she had no choice.”

“We always have a choice, young fella,” Rut said. “Always.”

Josie stopped by a few minutes after that toting a blender full of something that looked a lot like purple diarrhea. “I’m
so
happy that you’re up and about, naybs,” she exclaimed, all bright eyed and pink cheeked. “I made you one of my smoothies. It’s got bananas, raw kale and a bunch of Big Sister wild blackberries that I found in the freezer. Just what you need right now. Go ahead, taste it.”

Mitch forced himself to take a small sip, swallowing hard. “Yum, it’s as good as it looks. I’ll have the rest of it later. I’m kind of full right now.”

Josie tilted her blond head at him. “I’m not going to find another stash of Cocoa Puffs in your fridge am I?”

Right away, Mitch flashed back to Casey hurling his Cocoa Puffs in the parking lot of the Rustic after Tommy the Pinhead punched him in the stomach. It was one of the last things Mitch remembered before Tommy K.O.’d him with that snow shovel. “Naybs, I won’t ever eat Cocoa Puffs again.”

“Wow, I actually believe you.” Josie perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair, clearing her throat. “So now you know everything sordid and awful about me, don’t you? Des must have told you.”

“She told me a bit,” he acknowledged. Actually, she’d told him all about the life that Josie had led before she arrived in Dorset. Des had done so in a flat, emotionless voice. Had taken no pleasure in the telling. Des Mitry wasn’t wired that way. “For starters, that your father didn’t abandon you and your mother when you were twelve. He was killed in some kind of a hunting accident.”

“It was no hunting accident,” Josie said quietly. “My mother shot him. The police gave her a pass because they knew he’d been beating the crap out of her for years. Also that if they put her away there’d be no one to take care of me. Not that she was much good at the mothering thing. All she ever did was get loaded every night. I told you the truth, Mitch. I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I’ve done whatever I had to do to survive. Plenty of things that I’m not particularly proud of. But I’m not any kind of evil, scheming bitch. Just someone who’s been trying to make my own way.” Her big blue eyes locked on to his pleadingly. “Is that so horrible?”

“No, it’s not.”

She gazed into the fire now. “I know how it looks. I’ve lived with two older men, James and Bryce. They both killed themselves. And they both made sure I wouldn’t get kicked out of the house after they died. I didn’t ask either of them to do that for me. I didn’t even know that they had. James and Bryce were messed up. They needed help badly. I tried to help. I failed them. I failed Casey, too. That doesn’t make me a rotten person. But now everyone in Dorset thinks I am, just like they did in Castine. Because I’m an outsider. Because I’m
different.
I had to leave Castine, you know. People started spray painting the word
whore
on my car. They drove me out of there and now they’ll drive me out of Dorset. Preston Peck will see to that. Glynis told me he’s prepared to offer me a ‘generous’ cash settlement if I’ll clear out. That’s pretty much what I’ve decided to do. I’m just waiting for the medical examiner’s office to release Bryce’s body. I promised Bryce I’d cremate him and scatter his ashes on the beach here. I intend to keep that promise. And I don’t give a damn what Preston thinks.”

“I’d like to be there when you do it, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. I’d like you to be there.”

“I’d also like you to reconsider your decision. Don’t let him drive you away. Stay here and slug it out.”

Josie looked at him curiously. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I’ve gotten used to having you around. I’ll miss you. You’re not the only person in the world who’s
different
, you know. I’ve been
different
my whole life. My idea of a good time is sitting in a dark room staring at a wall.
Normal
people think I’m completely crazy. But
normal
people are total bores. They’re also the ones who’re responsible for pretty much everything that goes wrong in this world. I think you should stay, Josie. You’ve made a home for yourself here. You have clients who need you. Don’t go.”

“A certain resident trooper wouldn’t like it very much if I stayed.”

“Who, Des? She’ll be fine with it. Lots of people will. Dorset is changing fast. This isn’t the same place it used to be. She’s living proof of that.
We’re
living proof of that. Besides, you can’t keep running away your whole life. You have to put down roots.”

Josie shook her head at him. “No, you don’t.”

“Where will you go?”

“Somewhere warm. Anywhere warm.” Josie let out a mournful sigh. “Anywhere but here.”

*   *   *

It was starting to snow again as Des eased her cruiser across the causeway, a huge bag of groceries riding on the seat next to her, along with Mitch’s Christmas present. Eight inches of fresh white powder were expected overnight. Happily, Mitch’s concussion symptoms were starting to ease off. Des knew this because tonight he’d placed his first highly specific dinner order—her smothered pork chops with home fries and sautéed collard greens. If Mitch had his normal appetite back then all was right in his world. And in hers, too.

He had a bottle of Chianti Classico open when she got there. A big fire blazed in the fireplace. Neil Young was on the stereo. And that wasn’t all.

“Mitch, how did my little yellow bikini end up on that Christmas tree
again?
”

“I can’t remember,” he replied, beaming at her. “I’m still concussed.”

“You know what I was thinking while I was driving over here? This is going to be my happiest Christmas ever. Would you like to know why?”

“Because I didn’t freeze to death?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m kind of happy about that, too.”

As soon as they got comfy in front of the fire with their wine she handed over his present.

“Hey, I thought we were going to wait until Christmas morning to exchange gifts,” he said.

“Hey, I changed my mind,” she said. “Open it.”

He tore open the wrapping to reveal an old book. But not just any old book. It was a signed Random House 1941 first edition of his all-time favorite Hollywood novel,
What Makes Sammy Run?
by Mr. Budd Schulberg, who also wrote the screenplays for two of his favorite films,
On the Waterfront
and
A Face in the Crowd
. It was in perfect condition, dust jacket and all.

Mitch drew in his breath, awestruck. “Do you have
any
idea how rare this is?”

“Pretty good idea.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“And yet I did. Nothing’s too good for my boyfriend.”

“Wow, girlfriend … Thank you large.”

“You’re welcome large.”

Now he fetched a mailer pouch from his writing table and handed it to her. “I haven’t wrapped yours yet. And it’s going to seem like a dog biscuit in comparison. Promise me you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.” She opened it to find a navy blue wool beret inside.
A hat? He bought me a HAT?
Wait, there was something else tucked in the pouch. A letter-sized envelope containing … a pair of open-ended first-class tickets from JFK to CDG—as in Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris, France.

“We still haven’t spent time together in Paris,” he explained as she stared at him with her mouth open. She was not laughing. “It’s something we’ve just got to do. And we have to do it in April. No other month’s nearly as glorious. I figured we’d spend a couple of weeks there, then rent a car and get lost down in the Loire Valley until we max out your vacation time. Sound okay?”

“Sounds
incredible
. I can’t wait.” She tried the beret on for size, adjusting it this way and that. “How does it look?”

“Saucy,” Mitch replied. “And I happen to be a major fan of saucy.”

“Guess what I’d like to do tonight after we eat.”

“I’m hoping I have a pretty good idea.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah. But first I want to watch
Palm Beach Story
.”

“I must be drifting back into la-la land. It sounded like you just said you want to watch
Palm Beach Story
.”

“Can we?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered grimly. “I have to soldier on with my Danny Kaye Film Festival. I made it all of the way through
The Court Jester
this afternoon and tonight I intend to endure
The Man From the Diner’s Club
.”

“Mitch, you don’t like Danny Kaye.”

“That’s not entirely accurate. I loathe Danny Kaye.”

“So why are you watching all of his movies?”

“Because I have to.”

Des peered into his eyes. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Never better.”

She gazed into the fire, sipping her wine. “You know, you were babbling about some pretty strange stuff when we found you on that beach.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Like what?”

“Kids.”

“
I
was talking about kids? Boy, I don’t remember that at all. What did I say about them?”

“That we never had any. You seemed awful sorry about it, too.”

He got up and put another log on the fire, poking at it. “Are you sure? Because that really doesn’t sound like me.”

“Oh, it was definitely you. The only other man there was Casey and he wasn’t doing much talking.”

“Des, I must have been delirious.”

“So you didn’t mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you want to have kids.”

“I honestly don’t know what I meant. Can’t even imagine what I … Why, do
you
want to have kids?”

“Who, me? Maybe someday. But not right now.”

Mitch nodded his head. “Not right now. I agree a hundred percent.”

“Are you sure?”

He took a long time before he answered her. “Honestly? I’m not sure about much of anything anymore. But as long as I’ve got you and your little yellow bikini on my side I’m okay with that.”

“I guess that means the bikini stays on your Christmas tree.”