Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3) (3 page)

“Who knew?” Jenny smiled. “I just
thought birds were birds. They sing their pretty little songs and
eat birdseed.”

“Oh heavens, no!” my mother laughed.
“Their diets and their behaviors are quite diverse. Hummingbirds
are territorial fighters. Starlings are absolute pests that take
over the nesting areas of woodpeckers and bluebirds. Cowbirds will
deposit their eggs into the nests of other birds....”

The sudden sound of dogs barking broke
the conversational thread. We all heard the ruckus in the front
hall as January, Huck, and Mozzie greeted a new arrival.

“Well, well!” Lacey, my mother’s cousin
and one of the permanent residents of the Four Acorns Inn, waltzed
into the living room, her arms laden with packages. She unburdened
herself by depositing them on the sofa by the fireplace. “Finally,
we have a tree! I was beginning to think you people would never get
one. Please tell me it’s not going to take you another two days to
decorate it.”

“It’s four o’clock now,” Bur announced,
glancing at the wall clock. “I promise you it shall be festooned
with lights by eight this evening. You have my word on
that.”

“And then we get to put the ornaments
on?” asked the excited teenager.

“Yes, then you get to go nuclear on
that tree. Make it glow.””

“Perfect. I shall be your assistant,”
Lacey volunteered, pulling off her red wool coat and white angora
hat. “I just have one rule; when it comes to Christmas, more is
better.”

“Right,” the teenager grinned. “By the
time I’m done, you won’t even see these branches. Bring your
sunglasses, because it’s going to be blindingly bright in
here!”

“Just the way I like it,” said the
elderly woman in the sequin-encrusted sweater with an enormous
reindeer with a pompom nose. Her jingle bell necklace tinkled every
time she moved. “Lordy, the mall was a madhouse today. It was
wall-to-wall shoppers, all in search of those last minute
bargains....”

Chapter Three
--

The next few hours passed as we engaged
in a flurry of activities in the kitchen. From her conversation, I
gathered that the last few years of her mother’s decline had taken
a toll on the holidays.

“It must have been rather lonely for
you and your mom,” I commented, as I put some dinner rolls into the
oven to heat.

“It was. She couldn’t really raise her
arms all that well, because of her mastectomy and all the scar
tissue, the swelling. My mom was feeling really betrayed by her
body. She had spent her whole life trying to live a healthy life,
and then....” Jenny turned away, remembering. “She loved Christmas
in New England. The snow, the lights, the decorations...I tried to
put up the tree by myself, but it was a real failure. Mr.
Torkelson, the neighbor, came over to help me. And his wife took me
Christmas shopping, so I could buy presents.”

“What about your stepfather? Didn’t he
help?”

“He kept telling me it was his ‘busy
season’ at work.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. I took a stab at
the work he was doing.

“Partying with his girlfriend?” I
asked.

“He was. I never understood it, Miz
Scarlet. My mother was such a beautiful person, with cancer or
without. How could he not appreciate her? Why did he even bother to
marry her? Oh,” she held up her hand. “I know it was all about my
mom’s money. He just wanted a meal ticket. But I don’t understand
how he could do that to someone who was so sick.”

“Some people are born predators, Jen.
They never look at the rest of us as human beings. It’s too bad,
really. They miss out on what really matters in life. Without
relationships to keep us civilized, it’s a cold, cold
world.”

“Is that why you rescued me in New
Jersey?” For all the times we talked since the teenager came to
live with us at the Four Acorns Inn, she had never posed this
particular question.

“Of course it is,” I smiled. “I could
tell you were a good kid. How could I possibly leave you behind
with those creeps? People aren’t disposable. We don’t just use them
and toss them away like they’re tissues.”

“You and my mom would have been
friends,” she decided. “She’d have said you were both on the same
wave length.”

“There’s your answer as to why I
brought you home, Jenny. I saw in you what your mom did, what she
worked so hard to nurture.”

After dinner, I sat in the dining room,
lingering over coffee with the Googins girls, as we awaited the
invitation to proceed to the living room for the official tree
decorating. I could hear Bur directing Jenny as they toiled to get
the twinkling lights to work. We had been warned not to
peek.

“Which do you think it will be this
year, white or colored lights?” Laurel asked. My brother had a
thing about tree lights -- big bulbs, little bulbs, white or
colored, flashing or steady, and everything in between.

“If it’s just Bur making the decision,
it’s probably colored lights.” I decided, as I poured the ladies
more decaf.

“This is Jenny’s first Christmas with
us,” my mother pointed out. “He might let her choose.”

“Possibly,” Lacey answered. She added
cream and Splenda to her cup, stirring her spoon around in a
clockwise fashion. “In which case, who knows what we’ll
get?”

“But technically, she won’t be
celebrating with us,” I pointed out. “She’s off to California, to
visit her grandparents. Bur might not let her choose.”

“Of course he will,” said the funky
sweater lady.

“I agree,” said Laurel, agreeing
amiably, “but I have no idea what she’ll pick.”

Well past the age of believing in Santa
Claus, the excitement of the two cousins grew as we came closer to
Christmas week. How else could you explain the carols my mother
constantly hummed as she moved about the inn or her cousin’s
blindingly bright reindeer sweater?

“Rumor has it we’re having Larry’s
father stay with us for Christmas,” Lacey declared. “Who else is
coming?”

“At the moment,” I looked up, “no other
paying guests. I planned on taking some time off
and....”

“Hmm....” said my mother, as she
brought her cup to her lips and sipped from it.

“Hmm what?”

“I’m just surprised that Larry’s mother
isn’t also staying with us,” was her reply.

“Edna doesn’t get along with Big
Larry,” I explained. “Larry wants to avoid holiday
heartbreak.”

“I’m surprised that Edna doesn’t mind
him staying at the inn, while she’s stuck at Larry’s cramped
condo,” Lacey shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I suggested
she send her mother to us and let her father stay with her, but
Larry insists Edna will claim she’s second fiddle to Big
Larry.”

“That bad, eh?” My mother shook her
head. “It sounds like Larry’s the family wishbone, yanked every
which way but loose.”

“Apparently. She’s not looking forward
to this holiday visit, especially because she’s been working
overtime on a new homicide case. Bur thinks we should invite them
all to Christmas dinner. His theory is that Edna and Big Larry
still have the hots for each other.”

“It’s possible,” Lacey decided. “They
might have gotten married too young. Or they split up without
really trying to work out their differences.”

“More than possible,” Laurel agreed.
“It must be hard on their daughter. For them to both come to
Connecticut for a holiday visit and expect Larry to make them each
happy...well, it’s hardly fair. Their daughter is a busy state
police investigator and she’s already under a lot of stress. Call
her back and tell her to send her mother to the inn, too. That way,
she won’t have to worry about either parent. We can entertain the
pair of them.”

“I don’t know, Mom. Larry says they
don’t get alone. We might just make things worse for her if we
interfere.”

“Scarlet Wilson, Larry’s
your friend.” My mother pulled the guilt card out of the invisible
pack and played it.
Trump.

“But....” I tried to explain that I was
leaving my calendar open for a visit from Kenny Tolliver. It would
be our first Christmas Eve together as a couple. I had hoped to
take the time off from my work as an innkeeper and concentrate on
my love life for a change, but my mother wasn’t interested any of
that.

“No ifs, ands, or buts, Scarlet Wilson.
We will not hang Larry out to dry for Christmas. This family owes
her a debt of gratitude for all she’s done to keep us alive. If you
don’t make the call, I will.”

I could see that my mother’s dander was
up, and that meant there was little chance of changing her mind,
short of smoothing those ruffled feathers. Why was she so
determined to invite the Rivera clan for Christmas? Was it because
Jenny would be gone? My mother had grown attached to the young
woman, acting as a surrogate grandmother. Or maybe it was because
this was the first Christmas in a long time that my siblings
weren’t going to be with us on the twenty-fifth. Who knows? As I
sat there, I recognized the unwinnable battle. Her expression made
it clear that she was not about to concede anything to the likes of
me, not now that she had made her decision.

“Fine, I will call her, but don’t get
your hopes up.” Excusing myself, I headed to the library for a
private conversation. With each step, I considered what I might
say. How was I supposed to convince my friend to send her parents
to the inn for the holidays? Did I soft-pedal the idea or hammer it
home? I dialed Larry’s cell phone and waited for her to pick
up.

“Rivera,” said a rather cranky voice in
my ear.

“Hey, it’s Scarlet, Larry.”

“Oh, Lord!” the very exasperated
investigator groaned. “Do you have any idea what I have been going
through here? Hold on.”

Distant disembodied voices
came through my earpiece as I waited. Larry was issuing commands to
a junior state trooper, and from what she said, I surmised he had
royally screwed up a witness interview.
I
should have waited until later in the evening. I just assumed she
was at home by now, kicking back in her living room and watching
television.

“And I want it on my desk pronto,
Moron,” she growled at the unseen trooper before returning her
attention to my end of the telephone. “What do you want,
Scarlet?”

“Did you really just call that guy a
moron?” I was honestly surprised, given that Larry often lectured
incoming recruits on the appropriate behavior code for state
troopers.

“What? No! Morin. M-o-r-i-n. Good
heavens, I’m not that far over the edge! What did you call
about?”

“Sorry to bother you,” I hurried
through the conversation. This could wait until tomorrow. “I know
you’re working your case. Call me back when you have a
chance.”

“Working a case? Who the heck has time
to do that when the Rivera family is in the middle of a crisis? Do
you have any idea what my mother has pulled? I’m thinking of
changing her royal title to ‘Queen of Mean’, because she’s got a
really snarky side that just got ugly.”

“What did she do?”

“She has informed me that she is
canceling her plane ticket because I don’t think enough of her to
put her up at the Four Acorns Inn. In other words, if I want to see
her for Christmas, I am supposed to get my sorry ass on a jet to
Atlanta, with my kid in tow.”

“Ouch. I was calling to tell you that
the Googins girls insist on having both your parents stay here for
Christmas. They’ve already decided it’s a done deal.”

“Are they nuts? Do you have any idea
what a disaster that would be?”

“I know, but I was outvoted. And if you
say no, I should warn you to expect to hear personally from Laurel
on the matter.”

“Wow, your mother and her cousin have
guts. How, pray tell, are you people supposed to keep my parents
from killing each other?”

“We’re going to put your father in the
library downstairs and your mother in the Black Oak Room upstairs.
Laurel and Lacey have promised to entertain them while they’re our
guests. It might just work,” I told her. “At least you’ll still
have some peace and quiet at home.”

“I don’t know, Miz Scarlet. It’s a
mighty tempting offer.”

“Give it some thought and let me know.
In the meantime, I’ll let you get back to your corpse.”

“That poor guy’s not going to go
anywhere. Geez, Miz Scarlet, I hate having to notify families at
this time of year. It’s heartbreaking.”

“I’m sure it is, Larry,” I empathized,
imagining how tough it must be to knock on some stranger’s door
with the bad news that a relative wasn’t ever coming
home.

“What am I supposed to say to his mama?
‘Happy holidays, and oh, by the way, your boy is dead.’ Does that
sound right to you?” The experienced homicide investigator’s voice
was close to breaking. I could hear sadness permeate every word she
spoke.

“This case is getting to
you, isn’t it?” I announced lamely.
Don’t
worry Oprah. Your job is safe. I won’t be getting my own talk show
any time soon.
Then again, sometimes
rubbing salt in the wound can have a positive effect, even when the
immediate results aren’t pretty.