Cold Judgment (9 page)

CHAPTER 13

When Nora opened the door to the loft, the first thing she saw was the tree. It was a huge spruce, six feet tall, flocked in pastel pink. It had pink twinkling lights and pink satin balls. Little pink birds perched on the branches, and a huge rose-colored star glowed at the very top.

Nora clamped her hand over her mouth and shook with silent laughter. Elena had decorated while she'd been gone.

“Elena?” Nora called out, but there was no answer. The stereo played soft Christmas music and two wineglasses sat on the ivory table in front of the couch. The ashtray was filled with cigarette butts, Eve 120's with little flowers on the filters. They were Hope's brand. Hope had been here, visiting Elena.

“Elena?” Nora called out again, a little louder this time. She walked over to the alcove that served as their bedroom, but it was deserted. Elena's tote bag lay in a heap on the floor. The toe of one dance shoe stuck out the top. Her black leotard was draped carelessly over the bathroom door and her scarf was tossed on the dresser. Elena must have brought Hope home with her after dance class.

Nora tried to think positive thoughts. Elena loved her. She had decorated their loft for Christmas. Hope had merely come along to help her with the surprise. Nora knew she should be grateful, not jealous.

Even though she tried not to give in, Nora's eyes were drawn to the bed. It was unmussed. Of course they could have straightened it, after.

Nora went back to the living room. She did her best to ignore the pink atrocity as she picked up the ashtray and emptied it. Where was Elena? She was always home on Wednesday afternoons.

Elena's sheared beaver coat was on a chair in the living room. That meant she was probably downstairs in the workshop. Elena never went outside without her coat. She'd probably insist on wearing it in the middle of August.

Nora hung the coat on a padded hanger in the closet and sighed. Elena never picked up her clothes, and half the time Nora felt like a mother instead of a lover. In some ways Elena was still a child. She was half Nora's age, only twenty-three.

The coat had been a birthday present. Elena had squealed in rapture when she'd opened the box. Her first fur coat! Wasn't Nora a darling to buy it for her? She had worn it through the whole party and she'd kept it by the bed that night. Nora knew it was well worth the money she had spent.

Nora rinsed out the two wineglasses and made a cup of tea for herself. When it was ready, she carried it down the stairs to the workshop.

The stage lights were on and Nora tiptoed to a seat in the back row. They were near the apron, going over a scene. Elena's long black hair fell over her face in a shining wave as she leaned forward and laughed. Her arm was around Hope's shoulders as she led the girl back to center stage and gave her a cue.

Nora gasped with shock as she realized what they were rehearsing. It was her play,
The Heretic Mother
! She was opening in the lead role at the Guthrie on Friday. Elena must have given Hope the script.

There was no way she could control her jealousy as Nora heard Hope deliver the lines that she had rehearsed for so many months. Her hands started to shake and she clenched her fingers around the arms of the seat.

It took every ounce of self-control she had to sit quietly in the darkened theater. She wanted to jump up from her seat and kill that blond bitch on the stage. And Elena! Elena had betrayed her! Everything was perfectly clear now. Hope was trying to steal her role and Elena was helping her!

“You've got it all wrong, Hope. You owe me five bucks. I told you that scene was too difficult for you.”

“How does she do it?” Hope shook her head. “I watched Nora in rehearsal and I thought I picked it up.”

“Nora's a genius, it's that simple. If you ask her after the opening, she might coach you. Don't bother her now, though. Even great actresses like Nora get opening night jitters.”

“Do you think she'd come to a party tonight?” There was an eager expression on Hope's face. “I told some of my friends that I was in her class and they're dying to meet her. They say she's a living legend.”

A living legend? Nora had a mental picture of an ancient Chinese, glazing pots in some mountain cave. She wasn't sure she liked the image, but she wasn't about to quibble with terminology. Living legends certainly didn't sit in the back rows of theaters, spying on their lovers.

Nora didn't wait to hear any more. She got up quietly and went back up the stairs to the loft. She was still shaking, but it was from relief, not anger. She had almost made a dreadful mistake.

“Thank you for the gorgeous Christmas tree, darling.” Nora hugged Elena as she came in the door. “Pink's my favorite color.”

“I wasn't sure about that, but Hope convinced me.” Elena hugged Nora back and kicked off her shoes. “She says they have one just like it in the lobby of her bank.”

Nora grinned. She wanted to make a joke about First Flamingo Federal, but she bit her tongue. The tree would look better once they got some packages under it.

“I picked up something for you this morning.” Nora pointed to the box on the table.

“It's not Christmas yet.” Elena looked puzzled. “Why did you buy me a present?”

“Just because I love you so much.”

Elena lifted the lid on the box and gasped. “An ounce of Pheromone? Oh, Nora! You shouldn't have!”

She opened the bottle and sniffed at the stopper. “It's heavenly! I'm going to wear it right now. We don't have to go out tonight, do we? I'd rather spend a nice evening here and go to bed early.”

“That's fine with me.”

Nora smiled as Elena dabbed the perfume behind her ears. She hadn't even mentioned Hope's party. It was good to know Elena preferred to spend the evening at home with the living legend.

Debbie was waiting for him when he came in the door. Mac grinned as she held out her arms.

“As chairwoman of the reception committee, I welcome you with open arms.”

Mac stopped in the doorway and thought for a second. “‘Is that so? How late do you stay open?'”

“Right on! Groucho Marx and Margaret Dumont. I just caught the last of
Duck Soup
on Channel Nine.”

They laughed and hugged for a moment. Then Debra pulled Mac inside and shut the door.

“Something sure smells good!” Mac hung his coat on the hook by the door and kicked off his boots. “Don't tell me that besides being beautiful, you know how to cook.”

“Well . . . I'm not sure. If it doesn't taste right we'll eat the picture. It's supposed to be Yankee pot roast. Do you want a beer while you're waiting? There's a six pack of Newcastle Brown Ale in the refrigerator.”

“Newcastle Brown Ale? Where'd you get that? I've never heard of it before.”

“It's imported from England. The man at the liquor store thought you'd like it. It's on the top shelf, right next to the milk.”

Mac grinned as he sat down at the table and poured beer into the mug Debbie had chilled. It was almost frightening the way she was doing everything right. Dinner smelled fantastic. There was cold beer in the refrigerator. His sink was clean. He wasn't sure how he'd stumbled into this whole thing, but he wasn't going to give it up without a fight. If Debbie thought he was ever going to let her move back to her own apartment, she was crazy!

The phone rang as Debbie was dishing up his second helping of pot roast. Mac picked it up on the kitchen extension. “Hi, Kay. Did the family get back yet?”

Debra listened to the one-sided conversation. Mac was really good on the phone.

“You tell Charles he'd better keep an eye on you. You're too pretty to leave alone for two days. Is Ralph glad to be back from the vet's?”

Debra grinned as Mac held the phone out to her. She could hear Kay's little dog barking in the background. Mac always seemed to know what to say to people to make them feel good. Some people would call it Irish blarney, but Debra knew it was more than that. Mac cared. It came across in everything he said.

Nora called as they were finishing dessert. Everything was fine. She was just checking in. She and Elena were spending a quiet evening at home.

“Two down, one to go,” Debra said as Mac hung up the phone. “I wonder why Father Marx hasn't called yet.”

“I think I'll call him.” Mac frowned. “He seemed different today. Did you notice it, Debbie?”

“He was upset about his statue. Other than that, I thought he was all right.”

“Just a crazy hunch, I guess.” Mac shrugged. “I'll call him anyway. Then we're through for the night.”

Debra scraped the plates and put them in the dishwasher while Mac was on the phone. It was a short call.

“Father Marx says everything's fine.” Mac came back to the kitchen and leaned up against the refrigerator. “He just forgot to call, that's all. Get your coat, Debbie. We're going for a little ride.”

The snow had stopped falling and the night was crystal clear as they drove down the silent streets.

“Oh, look!” Debra pointed as they passed houses that were decorated for Christmas. “There's a sleigh with reindeer on that roof!”

“The people on the next corner always have a big Santa up by their chimney. There it is, Debbie. See?”

“We're getting a Christmas tree?” Debra laughed as they drove into the Golden Valley YMCA lot. “Oh, Mac! It's been years since I've had a Christmas tree!”

They stomped through the snow, trying to pick out the best tree. It was hard to tell. The trees were tied into tight little bundles to prevent the frozen branches from snapping off. Mac had a theory about the right tree. It had to be shaped like a carrot and it had to have an exact ratio of two to seven for its width and height.

“I certainly hope you brought your tape measure.” Debra tried to keep a straight face.

“Right here.” Mac pulled a Stanley collapsible steel tape out of his pocket. “You figure out the math and I'll measure 'em.”

Mac measured trees for forty-five minutes before they found exactly the right one. It was twenty-seven inches wide and ninety-four and a half inches high.

“Oh, no!” Debra started to laugh as Mac picked up the tree. “That's almost eight feet tall, Mac. We'll never be able to get it in the house!”

“You just leave that to me, Debbie. We'll lop a little off the bottom and a little off the top and it'll fit just fine.”

Debra was still laughing as they tied it on top of Mac's Toyota and drove toward home. She snapped on the radio and tried to find some Christmas carols, but all she could get was news. Finally she settled for
The Nutcracker Suite
on KSJR.

“We'll put the tree up tonight and trim it tomorrow after it thaws out a little,” Mac promised. “Do you mind using my parents' old decorations? Mary took all the new ones with her when she left.”

“I think that's even nicer.” Debra smiled. She thought about the old decorations her father had given her. She'd run over and get them out of storage tomorrow. The Scandinavian straw angel would look perfect on the top of their first Christmas tree.

CHAPTER 14

It was going to be a good Christmas this year in spite of everything. Kay smiled as she wrapped a red and green tree skirt around the bottom of the lovely Scotch pine. It stood in front of the mirrored wall and the reflection of the lights would make it look like two trees. She'd have to watch the kids to make sure they did a good job trimming the back.

Kay glanced at the grandfather clock that had belonged to her parents. It was noon and she had been up since six this morning. She had mixed up two batches of rum balls and baked all the sugar cookies before breakfast. Trish and James could frost them later. Last year James had been into ethnic origins. He'd insisted that all the Santas be black. He had mixed all the food coloring together and added it to the frosting. The cookies had looked so awful that no one had eaten them. James hadn't mentioned the black movement for a while, but Kay had stocked up on chocolate frosting, just in case.

The holiday season was busy this year. Kay sighed as she thought of her schedule. Sometime this afternoon she had to go to the Children's Medical Center and the Sister Kenny Institute to deliver toys. It was one of her annual duties as the mayor's wife. The other hospitals got pots of poinsettias. There were fourteen hospitals in all. She'd have to recruit Trish to help with the carrying. Later tonight the whole family was attending a performance of the
Messiah
by the Minnesota Symphony Orchestra.

Tomorrow was just as busy. She had a League of Women Voters luncheon and a drop-in at the Swedish Institute's holiday tea. Her therapy appointment was at three. Then she had to rush home, pick up the kids, and make an appearance at the city employees' Christmas party. From there they'd go directly to the Guthrie for Nora's opening night.

She couldn't do it. Kay got out her calendar and checked Friday's appointments again. Something would have to be scratched. There weren't enough hours in the day. She stared down at the blocks of time and arranged her priorities. There were want-tos, should-dos, and must-dos. Everything for tomorrow was a must-do, except for her shrink's appointment. She'd have to call and cancel again.

When could she work in her hour with the new therapist? Kay turned the page. On Saturday she was modeling in a charity fashion show at Dayton's Sky Room and she had to save the morning for a hair appointment. That night was a duty appearance at the governor's mansion for his annual Christmas party. Saturday was out.

Sunday was relatively free, but that didn't help. Her psychiatrist's office was closed. Monday was Christmas Eve and Tuesday was Christmas. There was no way she could reschedule her appointment until next Wednesday, at the earliest, and even that was inconvenient. Actually, she'd be better off waiting until the first of the year. The week between Christmas and New Year's was heavily booked and she had entertaining of her own to do.

Kay closed the book with a snap. Her therapy could wait. She was sure she'd be just fine without a shrink to hold her hand. Mental health was all a matter of positive thinking. If she was determined to stay cheerful and stable, she would.

“Another live Christmas tree?” Charles came into the room, carrying a stack of boxes. He stopped in the doorway and made a face.

“Oh, Kay! That means I'll have to chop a hole in the backyard and plant the damn thing after the holidays are over. It's a waste! You know they always die by the middle of February. Why don't you get a dead one in the first place? Everybody else buys cut trees.”

“But, Charles . . . that's not humane!” Kay took the boxes of ornaments from his arms and set them down on the table. “You know how I feel. I don't even like cut flowers.”

“You're too tenderhearted for your own good.” Charles laughed and ruffled her hair. “I wish I could stay home and help trim the tree, but I've got a council meeting this afternoon.”

“The kids'll help.” Kay rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Don't forget to bring home a collar with bells for Ralph. He just loves Christmas.”

“I'd better make a list.” Charles took out his leather-covered Daily Reminder. “Collar for Ralph. String of outdoor lights for the patio.”

He looked up and sighed. “I know you're busy, honey, but could you pick up my gray suit at the cleaners? I need it for the symphony tonight.”

“I'll stop in on the way to the florist's. Trish and I are doing the hospitals this afternoon.”

“While you're there, pick up a poinsettia for Rob's secretary. You'd better get one for Shirley, too. And I wouldn't complain if you brought home some mistletoe for our bedroom.”

“That sounds nice and festive!” Kay laughed and kissed him again. “Hurry up now, honey, or you'll be late.”

Twenty minutes later the living room was in shambles. Boxes of decorations lay open on the rug, and tissue paper was everywhere. Kay replaced the last bulb that had burned out last year and stood back to look at the tree.

“See those two greens together up there at the top? Switch the colors around, Trish.”

Kay turned around in time to see James with a fistful of tinsel. She knew exactly what he was going to do.

“Don't you dare throw it, James! Hang each strand separately and evenly from the branch.”

Kay grinned as she remembered her own mother saying the very same thing. The urge to throw tinsel must be hereditary.

“When I was a girl we had to tear the tinsel apart. It was made of real metal then, not the plastic we have now. My mother used to tell us to—”

“Count ten icicles for each branch so they were even!” Trish and James finished the sentence for her.

“Sorry.” Kay laughed. “I guess you've heard that one before. Did I ever tell you about the birds' Christmas tree?”

“I don't think so.” Trish looked interested.

“We used to trim a special tree outside for the winter birds. We hung apples and pieces of suet from the branches. That way the birds had a holiday, too.”

“That's sweet, Mom!” Trish grinned. “What's suet, anyway?”

“It's fat. Birds have a high metabolic rate and they need lots of fat in their diet to keep from freezing in the winter. Every time we fried meat, we poured off the grease in a jar by the stove. We saved it all year long for the birds' Christmas tree.”

“Oh, gross!” James made a face.

“I don't think it's gross at all.” Trish gave James a withering look. “Maybe we should make a birds' Christmas tree. We could trim the little spruce in front of the picture window. Can you buy suet in the store, Mom?”

“Probably not, but raw bacon would work just as well.”

“Can we do it, Mom?” James wore a devilish grin and Kay noticed that he had thrown some tinsel at the back of the tree while she'd been talking to Trish. She'd have to straighten it out later. Ralph was also decorated. He was chasing his tail, trying to get rid of the tinsel.

“Ralph! Calm down!” Kay grabbed the little dog and took off the tinsel. She managed to put a smile on her face as she turned to James. Sometimes it took every ounce of patience she had to be a good mother.

“We can make a birds' tree if you want to, James. It's a good way to learn the names of the winter birds. You might want to do a paper on ornithology for science class.”

“Well . . . maybe.” James shrugged. “I just thought it would be fun, that's all. Ralph'll go bananas when he jumps up at the bacon.”

It was four o'clock when the young couple left Father Marx's office. It would be a good marriage. Father Marx was convinced they took their responsibilities seriously. He glanced at his watch and saw he had two hours before confession started. It was just enough time to decorate the church for Christmas.

Father Marx smiled as he got out the boxes of artificial trees. He felt better today. He had read over the church's position on psychotherapy last night. For the first time, it made sense. He understood why it was impossible for a secular psychiatrist to counsel a priest. Father Marx realized he had erred when he'd gone to Dr. Elias. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He could get along just fine without therapy.

The boxes were very light. Father Marx picked up all four at once and carried them to the front of the church. He noticed that the trees were made in Taiwan, of nonallergenic manmade materials. Joyce Kilmer had been wrong. Someone besides only God could make a tree.

Buying the plastic trees was one of Father Marx's wisest investments. He had used them for the past three years and they would hold up for another six or seven. They had paid for themselves by the second year and now the Christmas tree fund could be used for other, more charitable purposes.

Father Marx chuckled as he opened the boxes. Not one of his parishioners had guessed that the trees were artificial. That was a secret between Father Marx and the Almighty.

It took a minimum of effort to assemble the trees. The branches fit into neat little holes on the plastic trunk. They were numbered. Branch eight fit precisely into hole eight. Of course it was possible to see where they joined, but Father Marx solved that by spraying a light coating of flocking over the joints.

The lights were still in their original packages, purchased at an after-Christmas sale. Father Marx started at the peak of the first tree, winding the lights around as he worked his way down to the base. There were three strings of bulbs for each tree and they connected to a large extension cord that ran behind the baptismal font to the wall socket.

The ornaments came next. There were eight boxes of shiny gold bells, molded in one piece of unbreakable plastic. Father Marx hung two bells on each branch, one at the tip and another near the trunk. A traditional flaxen-haired angel perched at the top of each tree, snowy-white wings spread gracefully, peering down on the pews with benevolent blue eyes.

Father Marx stepped back to look at his handiwork. The trees were perfect. Now St. Steven's was dressed in its Christmas finery. Only one final touch remained to complete his little deception. Father Marx put an aerosol can of pine-scented fragrance behind the altar rail. He would spray the church before every Mass and no one would suspect his trees were fake.

 

 

“Thank you, sir!” The young delivery boy grinned as he looked down at the size of the tip. “Make sure to ask for me when you order your tree next year.”

Dr. Elias closed the door behind the boy and locked it. There would be no Christmas for him next year. His shoulders were stooped with pain as he walked back to the living room and sank down into his chair. The tree stood there in all its splendor, lights twinkling brightly, the symbol of a holiday he would never again see.

He had ordered the tree this morning, the first Christmas tree he'd put up since he was a boy. It was the foolish whim of a dying man. He had pictured himself sitting in front of a huge tree blazing with lights, sipping a hot toddy while snow fell silently outside the window. There would be Christmas carols playing softly in the background and a cheerful fire in the grate. Obviously he had read too much Dickens.

He supposed the tree looked festive enough. The branches were symmetrical and every ornament hung in perfect balance. The boy had done a fine job of trimming, but Dr. Elias experienced none of the nostalgia he'd expected. The tree was merely a decoration, a dead one at that. Soon the needles would begin to fall and it would be relegated to the trash bin.

Dr. Elias took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. It reminded him of the cleaning compound the crew used on the kitchen floor. The Christmas tree had been a mistake.

The delivery boy had rigged a switch by his chair and Dr. Elias turned off the colored lights. He had wasted the whole morning on foolishness. Now there were important things to do.

The moment he sat down behind his desk, Dr. Elias felt better. A stack of reports had come in the morning mail. He knew the material they contained would be distressing, but it was his duty to read them. His father had often said that duty was the basis of all morality. Dr. Elias prided himself on being a moral man.

The first report was as he'd expected. Nora was still playing games with her therapist. Dr. Elias nodded as he read through the closely typed pages. There was nothing he needed to do at this stage. Nora's problem had not yet become critical.

Mac's therapist reported he was adjusting quite nicely. At least there were no obvious problems. Mac's case could safely wait. He would maintain on his own for a while.

Debra appeared relaxed and happy. Her therapist was confident she was making progress. Dr. Elias shook his head sadly as he read the glowing report. Debra's therapist had a lot to learn. The report glossed over the fact that Debra's illness was cyclical. There was always a period of euphoria preceding the onset of depression. Debra might be on an upward swing, but she would spiral inevitably downward into melancholia. Her happiness was nothing but a warning signal of the depression to come.