Kristmas Collins (25 page)

Alyson read my mind. “I did a full search when I picked him up at the station, and it was all clear. And I made sure we weren’t followed to the ranch.”

The ringing of a phone interrupted our conversation. It was Alyson’s. Her face fell when she answered, and I immediately knew something was wrong. She handed to me with an eerie warning, “It’s for you.”

Libby drove her Mercedes up the long driveway and parked in front of the manor house. Wainwrights were always on time, and she had five minutes to spare until the six o’clock dinner.

She arrived with her mind more at ease. Alex had finally texted her back—she wasn’t sure why they called it a phone, when all he ever did was text. He wrote that their father had asked them to feed Alyson’s dogs in the Brooklyn apartment, since he was going on a trip … one that he had failed to mention to Libby. And that his sister’s phone battery had died, which explained why she didn’t answer Libby’s numerous calls. It sounded like an elaborate story to excuse their tardiness, so she warned them of the unprecedented consequences that would occur if they were a second late.

Alex responded that they’d kept proper clothing at the apartment from the last time they’d visited their father, so they could go straight to Greenwich without stopping home, which would allow them to arrive on time. Libby and her children usually had a different definition of “proper attire,” but it was too late now.

Libby was relieved they were safe and on their way, but concerned that they’d acquired their father’s off-the-cuff style, which often led to trouble. She thought they could learn something about structure from their younger sisters, as she unhooked them from their car seats. They wore matching red and green plaid Christmas dresses with bows in their hair. The outfits would probably spark another lecture from Taylor about how dressing them the same would limit their creativity. But since the creative side of their genetics was working on his second trip to prison, she thought that it might be a good thing.

Before they left their home in Pound Ridge the twins had to have everything organized for Santa, down to the placement of the cookies and milk. They were worried that spending the night at Ned’s place in the city might cause St. Nick to pass by their house, so every light in the house had to be turned on. They were leaving nothing to chance.

Libby adjusted her dress—a classic sheath that was refined enough for dinner with her parents, but would be able to put Ned in the Christmas spirit later on tonight—and headed for the front door. She was surprised that no security or house staff met her. She hoped that they’d been given Christmas Eve off, but that didn’t really sound like her parents.

The door was open, which was not normal, and caused a hesitance in her step. The lights were on, but the house seemed empty. “Hello?” Libby called out.

“Hello … hello,” her little parrots echoed.

“We’re in here,” Libby’s mother called out.

This sparked the twins to make an excited dash to the dining room, their Mary Janes slipping on the slick floor. But they wouldn’t be deterred until they got to their beloved grandparents … even if Grandma constantly threatened to lock them in the coal cellar.

The grand dining room looked like it did every Christmas Eve. Her parents sat at the long table, underneath the twinkling chandelier that was decorated for the season—her father in a sharp suit, and her mother in a sequined gown, looking like a politician’s wife with her blonde hair even more helmet-y than usual. But there was one major difference. While her father was present, he wasn’t sitting at his usual position at the head of the table. Stone Scroggie sat in that seat.

Libby stopped in her tracks, pulling Franny and Zooey back toward her. “What’s going on?”

“We have a guest for dinner this year, Elizabeth,” her mother said with a forced smile. “Please take a seat.”

“That’s what I love about you Wainwrights,” Scroggie rose to greet her. “Always on time … and so predictable.”

“Either tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to call the police,” Libby pushed.

“Your father is right—you
are
the rebel of the family … although, nothing can compare to your ex-husband in that regard.”

She pulled the girls even closer to her side. They were on the verge of tears—they thrived on organization, and to use one of Taylor’s terms, they didn’t “go with the flow” very well. She pulled out her phone and began to punch in the number for the Greenwich police.

“Before you make that call I’d like to give you your Christmas gift,” Scroggie said. Right on cue, a handsome man in a suit entered the room. It was the man that Falcone had showed her the picture of—Gooch. And he had Taylor and Alex with him.

Alex looked placid, as usual, refusing to show his emotions. But his sister looked ready to introduce her captors to one of her lacrosse sticks.

“Seems he found them sneaking around their father’s apartment. Looks like they trust him as much as their mother does. Not that I can argue with the sentiment,” Scroggie said.

“I’m sorry that they didn’t have time to change into the proper clothing like I mentioned in the text,” Gooch said. They were still in the sweaters and jeans they’d worn on what Libby thought was a simple trip to the mall with their father. But nothing was simple when it came to Kris Collins.

Libby had no choice but to put the phone away and take a seat. Scroggie remained at the head of the table, with her parents closest to him, facing each other. Libby made sure that she sat between Gooch and her children—just the thought of him near them made her shudder.

A satisfied smile came over Scroggie’s face as he took a seat. “Now that we’re all here, it’s time for Christmas Eve dinner to be served.”

Scroggie tapped his glass with a spoon and a waitress entered, carrying a tray of soup bowls. She wasn’t wearing the same disguise she wore when they’d met in her office last month, but Libby still recognized her. But just in case, Scroggie reintroduced them.

“Libby—you might recall Jacqueline Helada from the work she’s been doing for you, tracking your ex-husband. With all of Kris Collins’ deception, one would think that would monopolize her time, so I consider us lucky that she was able to squeeze us in tonight.”

Jacqueline just grinned as she placed a bowl of minestrone in front of her.

Taylor turned her anger to Libby. “I can’t believe that you hired someone to follow Dad!”

Alexander spoke up in his daughter’s defense … sort of. “Your mother should have hired her the day she met that cheating louse.”

Scroggie shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re pointing fingers at others, Alexander. How many clients did you bilk out of money over the years with those fictional IPOs? I should know—half of them were mine. And then you’d trade favors and inside information with me in exchange for helping you artificially jack the prices up.”

“Question my ways all you want, Scroggie, but at the end of the day I’m a businessman, and you’re an extortionist.”

“You were so offended by my tactics that you’ve willingly invested my money all these years. And even took an extra fee for laundering services.”

“I made you what you are, and how did you repay me? By leveraging our relationship so you could steal from me … that’s how!”

“It was business, Alexander, and it’s not like I twisted your arm. You couldn’t wait to get in on the Kerstman deal once I gave you that
insider information
about Harry Crawford’s imminent return.”

When her father didn’t deny it, Libby felt hurt. She didn’t think he was a saint, but she never thought he was a cold-blooded thief. And she had always defended his practices to Kris. She hated when he was right.

Her mother looked stunned by the accusations, but it didn’t strike Libby as sincere. “Alexander—I can’t believe you’d stoop to such a level.”

“I might have been in business with Stone Scroggie, but at least I didn’t sleep with him!”

“Mother!” Libby blurted out.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Spare me the indignation, Elizabeth. Compared to that unmitigated disaster you called a marriage, my relationship with your father is practically pristine.”

“I think I’m going to throw up … gross,” Taylor said.

Alexander re-joined forces with Beatrice. “This is all your fault, Elizabeth. If you hadn’t brought Kris Collins into our lives, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“This is not my mom’s fault—own your mistakes, Grandpa,” Alex surprisingly spoke up.

“The boy speaks—who says there aren’t Christmas miracles!” Alexander sneered.

Libby appreciated the support, but she could fight her own battles. “Kris is far from perfect, but at least he didn’t purposely go into business,” she shot a disapproving look at her mother, “and do
other things,
with a known gangster.”

“I told you he was a bad seed and you failed to listen to me. And now we’re all paying for your mistakes,” her father shot back.

“Kris has more integrity in his little finger than you have in your entire being, Father.”

“You’re as delusional today as you were then.”

Scroggie nodded at Gooch, who stood and walked to Alexander … with a knife in hand. He swung the weapon toward the table in one swift motion.

Libby thought she was going to be sick, but scrambled to cover Franny and Zooey’s eyes. Gooch had chopped off her father’s pinky finger.

“We have no time to be debating little fingers,” Scroggie stated coldly. “Too much is at stake tonight.”

Libby’s mother didn’t move as the blood poured out over the tablecloth. When it inched close enough to threaten her dress, she called for the servants. But they had long been sent away.

Taylor ran to the kitchen and got a wet rag and ice. She returned and wrapped it around her grandfather’s hand. His skin had lost all color and he appeared to be in a daze.

And just when Libby thought it was safe to look, an even worse sight was before her—Stone Scroggie was staring directly at the twins.

He talked in a calm voice, “Do you know why we are celebrating tonight?”

Nobody answered at first, and then Franny hesitantly said, “Because Santa is coming?”

“Yes, I’m sure Santa will be coming this year and bring you everything you want. But the real reason we celebrate Christmas is because of the birth of the baby Jesus. Do you know who that is?”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow,” Franny said.

“I played him in the Nativity play this year,” Zooey stated proudly.

“I played one of the Wise Men. We followed a star to Bethlehem to bring gifts to the baby,” Franny added.

Scroggie looked to Libby. “Your children are very smart. And if I’m to assume they inherited their intelligence from their mother, you’ll call Kris Collins and invite him to dinner. And if he’s a
wise man
, he will also bring gifts … specifically the money he stole from me.”

Libby stared up at the cathedral roof. She focused on the twin Juliet balconies and kept hoping that someone would swoop down and whisk them away. Or that Santa would enter through the chimney, place Scroggie on his naughty list, and turn him into a blubbering child. Ironic, since she’d never believed in Santa Claus throughout her life.

They sat in the Great Room, waiting for Kris—it had been over two hours since Libby was forced to make the call. It was clear that nobody was leaving, at least alive, until Scroggie got his money. He did allow her to call Ned and let him know that they were running late—citing a medical emergency concerning her father, which wasn’t completely untrue. Ned was understanding, mainly because Ned was always understanding.

Scroggie sat patiently on the couch between Libby’s parents. Part of her felt sympathy for her father, who was pale as a ghost, with his pinky-less hand wrapped in ice. But the bigger part of her was angry with him for his cheating business tactics. And speaking of cheating, she agreed with Taylor—the thought of her mother and Scroggie together made her nauseous. She couldn’t forget how sanctimonious her mother was when the subject was Kris’ infidelity. She couldn’t look at either of them right now.

Jacqueline was pacing the room with gun in hand, while Gooch remained disturbingly still. He stood like a statue, barely moving a muscle, and rarely blinking. Libby marveled at how anyone could stand in one place for so long, but also found it a little scary. It was like he wasn’t human.

The monotony was broken by a
flop-flop-flop
sound coming from outside. It drew closer … and louder.

Jacqueline slid the drapes enough to peek out, and announced, “It’s a helicopter.”

It was hovering directly over the manor house, the whirring of the blades sounding like they would slice right through the roof.