Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3) (7 page)

“Yeah, I know. You’ve got a stiff in
the morgue. I get it.” Was that resignation I heard in the
teenager’s voice? Things were definitely off-kilter at the Rivera
house.

“Any reason why I can’t take her to the
mall?” Bur wanted to know, even as the homicide cop attempted to
make a quick exit out the front door of the inn. Did my brother
just offer to drive a teenager across town, fight traffic, and hang
out during the busy holiday madness less than a week before
Christmas? He must be trying hard to get into Larry’s good graces.
It occurred to me he might be trying to snag a date for the big New
Year’s Eve party we were hosting.

“Ah....” Larry hesitated long enough
for me to realize she hadn’t completely shaken her concerns about
being followed. Oddly enough, Bur seemed to pick up on
it.

“I promise I’ll remain in the mall at
all times.”

“Let me guess,” said the experienced
investigator. “You two worked this out before you walked
in.”

“Please, Mom?” As I watched the
tension-fraught mother-daughter negotiations, I was struck by how
much Michaela resembled Larry, especially around the eyes. Thirty
pounds lighter and two or three inches shorter, the
fourteen-year-old was a chip off the block. When she grew into her
adult body and the braces came off her teeth, she’d be every bit
the knockout her mother was.

“I don’t know....” Larry was reluctant
to say yes.

“I swear I’ll bring her home in one
piece,” he added. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’d better, Bur Wilson. It’s not a
matter of ‘you break it, you buy it’. I wouldn’t want to be
arrested so close to Christmas.”

“Arrested?” He seemed baffled as he
stood there. “Why would you be arrested if something happened to
Michaela?”

“Because I’d kill you,” she replied,
making her point in rather dramatic fashion. “Nobody messes with my
kid.”

“Right. Got it. What did you want to
talk to me about?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, that. I...I just wanted to make
sure you can pick my dad up at the airport tomorrow.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“No problem? Are you kidding?” Mickey
giggled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bur
wanted to know.

“Seriously? You think my grandfather is
going to get into your car?” Mickey thought that was hilarious. “No
way!’

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he?” I saw the
mental fog that overtook him and I winced. My brother, the baseball
nut, had a New York Yankees decal on his back window.

“There’s something I should probably
mention....” Larry began to say, but her daughter cut
in.

“Big Larry will take a chunk out of you
if you’ve got that nasty thing on your window. He might even take a
baseball bat to the glass.”

“Nasty thing?” repeated the clueless
Yankees fan.

“Michaela!” Larry warned her
daughter.

“What?” the teenager retorted. “You
know it’s true!”

“Bur, there’s something you need to
know about Big Larry,” I broke in hurriedly. “He’s a big baseball
nut, too. He’s an assistant coach up in....”

“Oh, no!” A look of horror came over my
brother’s face. “Please tell me your father is not Larry Rivera,
former center fielder for the Boston Red Sox!”

There it was, out in the open. For a
long moment, I held my breath, waiting to see what Bur would do
with the knowledge.

“Leaping Larry the Lawnmower, scourge
of the Yankees....” His eyes traveled over Larry like he was seeing
her for the first time. In a stunned voice, he asked, “Is he your
father?”

She nodded, watching him cautiously for
a moment or two before she spoke. “Yes. Is that going to be a
problem?”

“The guy coached his team to victory,
even when Jessup had that injury and Marston was embroiled in that
embarrassing fiasco down at spring training.” Bur sat down on the
chair by the console table, took off his knit cap, and ran a hand
through his thick bangs. “I can’t believe he’s your
father.”

“Are you going to be okay with that?”
Larry seemed to be studying him the way she might study a suspect
about to flee. “I need to know, because I can make other
arrangements if....”

“Wow, I’m going to meet Leaping Larry
the Lawnmower,” he sighed. Was that awe in my brother’s
voice?

“It sounds like Grandpa’s got an
admirer,” Mickey laughed. Larry and I were still waiting for the
other shoe to drop. Could it really be this easy to transform a
diehard Yankees fan?

“So, you’ll pick him up at the
airport?” the homicide investigator inquired.

“Oh, sure. Anything for you,
Larry.”

“You can take my car, Bur,” I offered.
Decked out in the Four Acorns logo, my trusty Ford hatchback was
the official inn vehicle and wouldn’t offend the assistant baseball
coach. It also happened to have more trunk room that Bur’s rather
sporty set of wheels.

“Yeah, sure...whatever. Wow, I can’t
believe I’m going to meet a baseball legend. What a great
Christmas!”

“Who knew?” Laughing, I turned to
mother and daughter. “We wasted all this time worrying about
whether they’d get along.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t wasted time. You
folks still haven’t met Leaping Larry the Lawnmower.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a tough, old goat.” The coach’s
daughter shook her head. “Hard-headed, stubborn, and bossy...talk
about bossy! The man’s a maniac when it comes to
baseball!”

“I know!” Bur gushed, like a high
school boy about to meet one of his childhood heroes. “He’s a
walking encyclopedia of baseball history. I can’t wait to talk to
him.”

“And bend his ear,” I added, rolling my
eyes towards the heavens. “That might not be a good
idea.”

“Are you kidding?” Mickey giggled. “If
there’s one thing Grandpa loves, it’s talking about baseball. He’ll
even tell you all about the importance of the stitching on the
ball, if you let him.”

“On that note, I’ve got to get going.
I’m interviewing witnesses.” Larry wrapped Michaela up in a loving
hug and kissed her cheek, threw an affectionate arm around me, and
then leaned down and planted a sisterly kiss on Burr’s forehead.
His timing was off and he just missed brushing his lips on hers by
a fraction of a second.

“Be careful,” I told her, as I saw her
to the door. “Tread lightly through that quicksand in the
swamp.”

“I will, Miz Scarlet. And thanks again
for looking after my kid.”

“Are you kidding? My mother is already
going through ‘Jenny withdrawal’. She’s miserable whenever there
isn’t a crowd here around for the holidays.”

“By the time the Rivera clan leaves,
she may regret that.”

“Nonsense.” As I opened the door, I
felt the chill penetrate my bones. The air was heavy with moisture
and the conditions were ripe for a killer snowstorm. Larry noticed
it, too.

“I just hope Edna’s flight isn’t
canceled. All I’d need is for Big Larry to be here for Christmas
and have my mother stuck in Atlanta. Santa might as well give me a
cemetery plot, because I’ll be a goner.”

“When’s she arriving?”

“First thing Saturday morning. Lucky
for me, my father will be on his way to Boston with
Mickey.”

“Mickey....Oh, good heavens!” Bur
suddenly exclaimed, dancing around the baffled teenager. “Were you
named after Mantle?”

“That’s my cue. I’m out of here.” As
Larry’s hand turned the door knob, she gave a final instruction to
her daughter. “You get to bed at a reasonable hour, young lady. And
you’re home by ten.”

“You named your daughter after Mickey
Mantle, the Yankee center fielder?” Bur wasn’t going to let it go.
“You naughty girl!”

“Her name is Michaela and you’ll never
prove it, even if you try!” said the woman with the sly smirk as
she disappeared out the door. I heard the latch click into place in
the stunned silence that followed.

“Mom?” Michaela stood there, hands at
her side, dazed and confused. It was too late. Larry had already
fled the scene. I could see her hurriedly crossing the driveway to
her vehicle.

“Well, what do you know? Larry named
her kid after a Yankee legend!”

“Bur, don’t you dare cause trouble for
Larry! I’m warning you!”

“Why would my mother do that?” Mickey
asked, still trying to fathom the news. “She knows my grandfather
hates the Yankees!”

“Maybe it had nothing to do
with his team affiliation. Let’s face it. He
was
one of the all-time greatest
center fielders,” Bur said, trying to console her. “And it’s not
like Boston ever had one of their own in the last forty years,
except maybe Dom DiMaggio or Fred Lynn.”

“Wow....”

“Don’t feel bad, kid. It could have
been a lot worse. Your mother might have called you Dominique or
Fredericka. Dom...that would have been the kiss of death in school.
Dumb Dom....It makes you sound like a lollipop.”

“Not true,” the teenager retorted. “My
nickname could have been Nicky. That’s cute. Or Ricky.”

“Or Icky,” Bur teased. I left them to
it, making my way back to the kitchen to get some work
done.

Bur and Mickey left for the mall just
after five. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I had a few
hours to myself, to get things done. I took the dogs for a long
walk, bundled up against the cold, and I let them sniff to their
hearts’ content as we made our way down the snowy trail in White
Oak Park. Half an hour later, I met Lacey on the front porch. She
had a hot date with one of the widowers in her social
circle.

“He’s taking me out for a burger and a
Diet Coke,” she informed me. “I won’t be late.”

“Have fun.”

There seemed no reason to cook for just
two, so I offered to take my mother out for a bite at the Cheswick
Cafe. We ran into friends and lingered over our meal, engaging in a
lively conversation about the new plans to expand the library. By
the time we stopped at the grocery store for a couple of items, it
was nearly eight.

“Shall we take a drive to see the
Christmas lights?” I suggested.

“Oh, yes.” My mother sat in the
passenger seat, delighted as we cruised down street after street,
checking out the holiday decorations. From automated snow globes to
nodding reindeer, the neighborhoods were alive with illuminated
splendor. “I love this time of year.”

Twenty minutes later, I stopped the
Ford Focus by the handicapped ramp off the porch, retrieved my
mother’s wheelchair from the back of the car, and helped her into
it. Once she was safely inside the house, I returned to the
driver’s seat, shifted into gear, and proceeded to drive into my
bay in the carriage house. As I was retrieving the packages, the
other garage door lifted. Bur pulled his car into the empty bay
next to mine, his teenage companion waving enthusiastically from
the passenger seat. I waited for them.

“Hey, Scarlet! Guess what I got
pierced!” Mickey yelled to me as she climbed out of the
car.

“Tell me you didn’t,” I
groaned, trying to imagine what it might be. Larry was going to
kill me for encouraging the trip to the mall.
Please let it be something like an ear, God, not a lip or a
tongue...or worse.
I saw the pair of them
laughing.

“Told you she’d fall for it,” my
brother told her.

“
Boy, did you looked
scared,” giggled the fourteen-year-old.

“Very funny!”

After I showed Mickey where to find
snacks and drinks in the butler’s pantry, I led her up to the third
floor and gave my temporary guest the grand tour.

“We share the sitting room and
bathroom. Feel free to watch TV. This is my bedroom,” I said,
pointing to the open door on the left side, “and this is
yours.”

I stood in the doorway, enjoying the
fourteen-year-old’s enthusiasm as she explored. Her eager eyes
glanced all around, taking in the vibrant colors and quirky
furnishings in Jenny’s funky garret.

“This is awesome.” Michaela loved
everything about it, from the bohemian beaded table lamp to the
purple leopard-upholstered headboard. She dropped her small
suitcase on the floor and flopped onto the comforter-covered bed.
“Jenny’s so lucky to live here.”

“Luck had little to do with it. When
Jenny came to live with us, this was just a storage room in the
attic,” I explained. “We worked hard to fix this space up. She even
painted the floor herself.”

“She did it? That’s so cool,” said
Michaela, the girl with a mouthful of metal, as she admired Jenny’s
artistic efforts. “She could be a professional
decorator.”

It was probably true. As a big fan of
HGTV, Jenny had picked up some tips and used them to transform her
attic into a cozy, charming space. It was the teenager’s idea to
paint the floorboards in alternating lime green and lavender
stripes.

“I love this bed. And the fluffy rug is
so soft.” Mickey kicked off her shoes and danced barefoot on the
area rug that Jenny and I found on clearance.