Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (8 page)

Chapter 8

Before I forgot about it, I walked over to Elsa’s and brought the posole home. I had just set it and the whipped cream into the fridge and was about to go back and reread the tabloid article when my phone rang.

Ron sounded like a man surviving on no sleep. I could picture that he hadn’t shaved or brushed his teeth in more than a day. When I asked about the weather situation he actually growled.

“Ice. That’s what they do here in place of snow,” he grumbled. “The roads are closed, can’t even get a cab to a hotel.
If
there was an empty hotel room anywhere nearby. They say the storm won’t pass through until tomorrow night and then it could be almost another full day before they get all the planes off the ground.”

I made sympathetic noises and assured him that things were going fine at home.

“How’s Rosa doing?”

“She’s been on the phone with Mel and Ivana. I get the feeling her sister’s condition is worse. Each call upsets Rosa but I can’t blame her for wanting to hear their voices.” An electronic beep cut in. “Look, my phone’s dying. I didn’t pack the charger because I was supposed to be in and out of this city in under twenty-four hours. I guess I’ve used up my charge talking to Victoria and to the boys. So, Merry Christmas. See you when I get home.”

I wished him luck but the connection was gone. The darn phone had either died or he’d cut the call short to save battery. I felt for both of them, mainly Rosa because of the added worry over her sister. I set my phone down and reminded myself that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to top off my own chargeable devices, just in case. I’d begun to rummage in the junk drawer for my charger when the phone’s musical tone went off again.

“What’s your weather like?” Drake asked.

I stepped out the kitchen door and stared at the sky. A chill wind sent the clouds eastward at a pretty good pace. I couldn’t see the western horizon for all the trees but it didn’t feel as if a clear spot would open up anywhere out there. I told him all this.

“It’s still snowing like a bi—blizzard out here,” he said. “I won’t be able to get out today, hon. I’m sorry for messing up the Christmas Eve plans.”

I assured him it would be okay and told him that the girls had come up with an alternate activity that would be fun in its own way.

“I’m saving the turkey dinner for whenever you do get home,” I said. “Ron was stuck in the Dallas airport overnight, so there’s no point in cooking a big dinner without two large man-appetites to help polish it off.”

“At least I have a motel room. Something to be thankful for in that,” he said.

I pictured him in some small town roadside place with wood paneling from the ’70s and orange shag carpeting that didn’t bear thinking about. The image wasn’t a whole lot cheerier than Ron’s description of his sleeping arrangement.

“I know one way we can spend Christmas Eve together,” he said. “Watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
on TV tonight. I will too, and I can pretend you’re cuddled in beside me.”

A romantic thought—what a guy—but I knew it wasn’t going to be the same. However, I couldn’t pout about the situation. We had to play the hand we were dealt. We exchanged a bunch of suggestive ideas, priming ourselves for a really good reunion in a day or two. Just as things were warming up I got another call. A glance at the readout told me it was Victoria. I didn’t interrupt Drake’s sexy voice but the mood was definitely broken. When we hung up, five minutes later, I called her back.

“Just checking to see if there are any last minute things you need from the store,” she said. “I’m taking gifts by for Jason, Justin and Joey then I’m headed your way.”

I wished her luck. Encountering Ron’s ex, Bernadette The Witch, was never pleasant but Vic had refused to be drawn into the fray and managed to stay cool no matter what
b.s.
got flung her way.

“Come early,” I reminded her. “Our street isn’t on the tour route this year, which means they’ll have us barricaded in by five. Plus, I’m going to be more than ready to break into the wine once it gets dark and I’ve finished lighting the hundred-plus luminarias at my house and Elsa’s.”

She laughed and agreed wholeheartedly with that plan, offering to help with the candles when she got here.

I set Elsa’s pot of posole on the stove with a low flame. The house would cheer up once it smelled of the spicy pork, hominy and chile stew. I put the rest of the groceries away, dropped the tabloid paper onto a stack of mail that I hadn’t opened yet, and began pulling out chips and crackers and dips so we could have a little appetizer before the meal. It took only the sound of crinkly cellophane bags to bring Freckles to my side. Well, that and the fact that I couldn’t resist tossing her an occasional broken cracker.

 
Setting the dining table for three seemed kind of sad. Elsa, Victoria and myself—without our guys and the extended family it would be such a small group. On the other hand, it promised to be casual and congenial and a whole lot less work.

A tap at the back door interrupted my thoughts.

Elsa stood there with a covered basket. “Blueberry muffins for tomorrow morning,” she said as she edged into the warm kitchen. “My, it smells good in here.”

I laughed. “It’s your recipe, warming on the stove.”

“Well, I guess at home I get so used to it I don’t notice anymore.”

Or maybe it’s such a rarity to walk into my house and catch the scent of a home-cooked pot of stew. I hugged her and put the basket of muffins on the counter. I’d just taken her coat and was hanging it on the hooks near the front door when I caught the flash of Victoria’s blue Cruiser pulling into the driveway.

“Hey, everyone,” she said with a big smile when I opened the door for her. “What a cheery Christmas Eve this is going to be. Oh boy, does it smell good in here!”

I waved a hand toward Elsa. “It’s all Gram’s doing. I wish I could take credit.”

I also wished I could get past the fact that Drake wasn’t here for Christmas Eve but the situation was what it was. My low-grade worry about my husband getting home safely would not change the circumstances. I vowed to stop being such a control freak—to settle in, enjoy the moment, and let all other extenuating circumstances work themselves out. Putting on a smile I offered beverages.

It didn’t take us but about fifteen minutes to find ourselves laughing over the image of my brother trying to catch a few winks in the confines of airport lounge seating. It wasn’t really funny, but Ron’s slightly chunky physique is much more suited to a recliner chair and the three of us, stretched out across the comfy sofa and armchairs in my living room, weren’t exactly a sympathetic crowd.

The light in the room began to fade and when I got up to plug in the lights on the tree I realized with a start that I still had other civic duties to perform.

“Vic, help. We need to get those luminarias lit.”

Her eyes went wide and she stood up suddenly, nearly upsetting her wine glass. Elsa got up too, ready to pick up her coat. I thought of the chill, now that the sun was setting.

“Gram, why don’t you take charge in the kitchen? Check the posole and get out some bowls for later? We can handle the outdoor stuff for now.”

Victoria and I donned our coats and gloves and grabbed the butane candle lighters. Several neighbors were already out in front of their homes, checking the straightness of the paper sacks and lighting the candles. Down the way, I could see that a couple of places were already done. Even though the tour buses wouldn’t come directly past our house this year, it was practically a mandatory tradition that every house in the area at least provide luminarias—other lights and decorations were optional. That way, as people gazed out the windows of their cozy transportation they would see a show no matter where they looked. Plus, those of us who live here love to stroll the back streets where the vehicles aren’t allowed. It’s a lovely and private little world we enjoy, in return for the work involved.

“I’ll start in front of Elsa’s,” I said, “if you can begin down here by the driveway.”

The air was calm, with a moist cold, and we made fairly short work of the job. I could remember windy evenings where the process was a near-impossible challenge and those nights of my childhood, before the invention of the long lighters, when we struggled with matches. See? This year was actually full of blessings.

By the time we met at the property line between my house and Elsa’s, Victoria commented that she could hear the buildup of traffic. I took another look at the sky, which was now dark behind the low-hanging clouds. The kind of clouds that promise snow. I envisioned the possibility, how beautiful the neighborhood would be with a coating of white, but didn’t get my hopes up. We rarely get snow on Christmas, and I spent a lot of childhood holidays being disappointed.

I have to admit that, as a group, the three of us are pretty light hitters. We ate Elsa’s delicious posole, which tasted even better than it smelled, exchanged the little gifts we’d gotten for each other, put on our cozy
p.j.s
and sat in front of the fire with glasses of eggnog, and by eight o’clock Elsa was yawning through
It’s A Wonderful Life
. I sneaked into the kitchen and called Drake; I had to ask if he was watching the movie, since he’d suggested it. We talked through the scene where Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed are staring at the moon. Finally, I told him I better get back to my guests.

By nine, Elsa abandoned the slumber party and decided to walk back through the hedge to sleep in her own bed. I didn’t blame her; there’s something about being in different surroundings that never quite lends itself to sound sleep. I told her to come back for breakfast.

After I walked Elsa home, Victoria and I polished off the remains of the wine we’d opened earlier. She got a little emotional over the fact that she and Ron were missing out on the romance of their first Christmas together. And that brought back memories of Drake and me on our honeymoon in the mountains, which was our first Christmas together. So we were both getting a little maudlin by the time we decided to call it a night.

She settled into the guest room but I had a hard time falling asleep. My mind wouldn’t slow down, missing Drake and having the holiday plans fall apart, and the fact that Ron was having to deal with Rosa Flores and her worries over her sister. I rolled over at least eight times before I finally gave up on sleep.

Restless, I slipped on my jeans and sweater that I’d worn earlier in the day and tiptoed into the living room. Freckles sat up in her crate and perked her ears at me. I didn’t want to let her run around the house—she would most certainly wake Victoria.

“Let’s go outside,” I whispered. The bus tours were over so I put on my coat, scarf and gloves then reached into the crate to clip on the dog’s leash.

She bounced with excitement and it was all I could do to get her out the front door quietly. Very first thing, she wanted to sniff at one of the luminarias but the thin stream of candle smoke must have gone up her nose. She quickly backed away.

I took a deep breath and looked around. Complete quiet blanketed the late-night streets. Tiny multicolored lights sparkled from rooflines, trees and shrubs, and the luminarias continued their all-night vigil in golden silence. My body soaked up the peaceful feeling and my earlier low-grade tension faded away. Even the dog relaxed and stopped tugging at her leash.

Without a word, we began walking. At the corner, I turned left and continued for two more blocks before I saw a car. It cruised slowly, the couple inside peering out and pointing toward the light displays. I gave them a small wave.

Freckles trotted along, more adult than I’d ever seen her, seemingly in awe of the beautiful frosty night. I lost track of time and distance, eventually figuring out that we’d wound our way back toward home and were only a block away from our warm beds. It was only when I stepped back into the house that I realized how icy my hands and feet had become. I turned up the gas logs in the fireplace and reheated water for a fresh cup of cocoa.

A paperback book I’d been trying to finish for a week lay on the end table. I picked it up, pulled a fuzzy blanket over my lap and began to read. My eyelids began to feel really heavy.

The mantle clock chimed, startling me into realizing it was one o’clock—Christmas morning. Freckles had fallen asleep at my feet, her spotted little nose resting on my fuzzy slippers. I gently set the book aside and leaned over to stroke her head. This time last year I’d been watching our dear old Lab as he spent his last aging days, deeply saddened that our time together was ending. Who knew that this little cutie would come along and heal the empty place for me.

She stretched in her sleep and I didn’t have the heart to make her get up and go to her crate. I edged my feet free, stretched out on the sofa and pulled an afghan over myself. The dog’s deep breathing lulled me and I drifted off.

When my eyes fluttered open I became aware of two things. The smell of coffee and the fact that the room was still cloaked in gray gloom. Little sounds began to register. Victoria’s smooth alto came through, humming
White Christmas
. A little embarrassed at being caught sleeping on the couch I sat up and rubbed at my eyes.

“Hey, Sunshine,” she said, walking up behind me with a mug of coffee. “I guess I crashed a little earlier than you did.”

I took the coffee and slurped two generous sips. “Um. I couldn’t sleep right away. Ended up taking a walk and then trying to read.”