Murder Most Merry (26 page)

Deborah’s a sad little girl. Not that she doesn’t have reason, what with her father running off just before the wedding and leaving Caroline in trouble; I never did like that Wesley Sladen in the first place. The Social Security doesn’t give enough to support three on. and nobody around here’s about to marry a girl going on twenty-nine with another mouth to feed, and I’m too old to earn much money, so Carrie’s working as a waitress at the Highway Rest. But thanks to my Jake, we have a roof over our heads and we always will. My father was against my marrying him. I was born a Horvath, and my father wanted me to marry a nice Hungarian boy, not a damn foreigner, but I was of age and my mother was on my side and Jake and I got married in St. Anselm’s and I wore a white gown, and I had a right to, not like it is today.

That was in ‘41 and before the year was out we were in the war. Jake volunteered and. not knowing I was pregnant, I didn’t stop him. He was a good man, made sergeant, always sent every penny home. With me working in the factory, I even put a little away. After Marian was born, the foreman was nice enough to give me work to do at home on my sewing machine, so it was all right. Jake had taken out the full G. I. insurance and, when it happened, we got ten thousand dollars, which was a lot of money in those days. I bought the house, which cost almost two thousand dollars, and put the rest away for the bad times.

My daughter grew up to be a beautiful girl and she married a nice boy, John Brodzowski, but when Caroline was born, complications set in and Marian never made it out of the hospital. I took care of John and the baby for six months until John, who had been drinking, hit a tree going seventy. The police said it was an accident. I knew better but I kept my mouth shut because we needed the insurance.

So here we were, quiet little Deborah pulling at me and pointing at that teddy bear, all excited, and smiling for the first time I can remember. “That’s what I want, Grandma,” she begged. “He’s my bear.”

“You have a teddy bear,” I told her. “We can’t afford another one. I just brought you to the firehouse to look at all the nice things.”

“He’s not a teddy bear, Grandma, and I love him.”

“But he’s so funny looking,” I objected. And he was, too. Black, sort of, but shining blueish when the light hit the right way, with very long hair. Ears bigger than a teddy bear’s, and a longer snout. Not cute at all. Some white hairs at the chin and a big crescent-shaped white patch on his chest. And the eyes, not round little buttons, but slanted oval pieces of purple glass. I couldn’t imagine what she saw in him. There was a tag, with #273 on it, around his neck. “Besides,” I said, “I’ve only got eighteen dollars for all the presents, for everything. I’m sure they’ll want at least ten dollars for him on account of it’s for charity.”

She began crying, quietly, not making a fuss; Deborah never did. Even at her age she understood, children do understand, that there were certain things that were not for us, but I could see her heart was broken and I didn’t know what to do.

Just then the opening ceremonies started. Young Father Casimir, of St. Anselm’s, gave the opening benediction, closing with “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” I don’t know how well that set with Irma Rozovski and the other poor people there, but he’ll learn better when he gets older. Then Homer brought up Irma, with Petrina in her arms looking weaker and yellower than ever, to speak. “I just want to thank you all, all my friends and neighbors, for being so kind and...” Then she broke down and couldn’t talk at all. Petrina didn’t cry, she never cried, just looked sad and hung onto her mother. Then Homer came and led Irma away and said a few words I didn’t even listen to. I knew what I had to do and I’d do it. Christmas is for the children, to make the children happy, that’s the most important part. The children. I’d just explain to Carrie, when she got home, that I didn’t get her anything this year and I didn’t want her to get me anything. She’d understand.

I got hold of Homer in a corner and told him, “Look, Homer, for some reason Deborah’s set on that teddy bear in the top row. Now all I’ve got is eighteen dollars, and I don’t think you’d get anywhere near that much for it at the auction, but I don’t want to take a chance on losing it and break Deborah’s heart. I’m willing to give it all to you right now, if you’ll sell it to me.”

“Gee, I’d like to, Miz Sophie,” he said, “but I can’t. I have to go according to the rules. And if I did that for you, I’d have to do it for everybody, then with everybody picking their favorites, nobody would bid on anything and we couldn’t raise the money for Petrina to go to New York.”

“Come on. Homer, this ain’t the first time you’ve broken some rules. Besides. I wouldn’t tell anyone; I’d just take it off the shelf after everybody’s left and no one would know the difference. It’s an ugly looking teddy bear anyway. ‘

“I’m real sorry. Mrs. Slowinski,” he said, going all formal on me, “but I can’t. Besides, there’s no way to get it now. Those shelves, they’re just boxes piled up with boards across them. You look at them crooked, and the whole thing’ll fall down. There’s no way to get to the top row until you’ve taken off the other rows. That’s why the numbers start at the bottom.”

“You’re a damned fool. Homer, and I’m going to get that bear for Deborah anyway. I’m going to get him for a lot less than eighteen dollars too. so your stubbornness has cost the fund a lot of money and you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

We didn’t go back to the firehouse until two days before Christmas Eve. Monday, when Carrie was off. Deborah had insisted on showing the bear to her mother to make sure we knew exactly which bear it was she wanted, but when we got there the bear was gone. Poor Deborah started crying, real loud this time, and even Carrie couldn’t quiet her down. I picked her up and told her, swore to her, that I would get that bear back for her, but she just kept on sobbing.

I went right up to Homer to tell him off for selling the bear to somebody else instead of to me but before I could open my mouth, he said, “That wasn’t right, Mrs. Slowinski, but as long as it’s done, I won’t make a fuss. Just give me the eighteen dollars and we’ll forget about it.”

That was like accusing me of stealing, and Milly Ungaric was standing near and she had that nasty smile on her face, so I knew who had stolen the bear. I ignored what Homer said and asked, “Who was on duty last night?” We don’t have a fancy alarm system in Pitman; one of the firemen sleeps in the firehouse near the phone.

“Shorty Porter,” Homer said, and I went right off.

I got hold of him on the side. “Levi, did you see anyone come in last night?” I asked. “I mean late.”

“Only Miz Mildred.” he said. “Just before I went to sleep.”

Well, I knew it was her, but that wasn’t what I meant. “I mean after you went to sleep. Did any noise wake you up?”

“When I sleep, Miz Sophie, only the phone bell wakes me up.”

She must have come back later, the doors are never locked, and taken the bear. She’s big enough, but how could she reach it? She couldn’t climb over the shelves, everything would be knocked over. And she couldn’t reach it from the floor. So how did she do it? Maybe it wasn’t her, though I would have liked it to be. I went back to Homer. He was tall enough and had arms like a chimpanzee. “Homer,” I said, “I’m going to forget what you said if you’ll just do one thing. Stand in front of the toys and reach for the top shelf.”

He got red, but he didn’t blow. After a minute he said, sort of strangled, “I already thought of that. If I can’t reach it by four feet, nobody can. Tell you what; give me seventeen dollars and explain how you did it, and I’ll pay the other dollar out of my own pocket.”

“You always were a stupid, nasty boy, Homer, and you always will be. Well, if you won’t help me, I’ll have to find out by myself, start at the beginning and trace who’d want to steal a funny-looking bear like that. Who donated the bear?”

“People just put toys in the boxes near the door. We pick out the ones for the auction and the ones for the Santa Claus boxes. No way of knowing who gave what.”

I knew he wouldn’t be any help, so I got Carrie and Debbie and went to the one man in town who might help me trace the bear, Mr. Wong. He doesn’t have just a grocery, a
credit
grocery, thank God; he carries things you wouldn’t even find in Pittsburgh. His kids were all grown, all famous scientists and doctors and professors, but he still stayed here, even after Mrs. Wong died. Mrs. Wong never spoke a word of English, but she understood everything. Used to be, her kids all came here for Chinese New Year—that’s about a month after ours—and they’d have a big feast and bring the grandchildren. Funny how Mrs. Wong was able to raise six kids in real hard times, but none of her children has more than two. Now, on Chinese New Year, Mr. Wong closes the store for a week and goes to one of his kids. But he always comes back here.

“Look I have for you,” he said, and gave Debbie a little snake on a stick, the kind where you turn it and the snake moves like it’s real. She was still sniffling, but she smiled a little. The store was chock full of all kinds of Chinese things; little dragons and fat Buddhas with bobbing heads and candied ginger. I knew I was in the right place.

“Did you ever sell anyone a teddy bear?” I asked. “Not a regular teddy bear, but a black one with big purple eyes.”

“No sell,” he said. “Give.”

“Okay.” I had struck gold on the first try. “Who’d you give it to?”

“Nobody. Put in box in firehouse.”

“You mean for the auction?”

“Petrina nice girl. Like Debbie. Very sick. Must help.”

“But...” Dead end. I’d have to find another way to trace the bear so I could find out who’d want to steal it. “All right, where’d you get the teddy bear?”

“Grandmother give me. Before I go U. S. Make good luck. Not teddy bear. Blue bear. From Kansu.”

“You mean there’s a bear that looks like this?”

“Oh yes. Chinese bear. Moon bear. Very danger. Strong. In Kansu.”

“Your grandmother
made
it? For you?”

“Not
make
, make. Grandfather big hunter, kill bear. Moon bear very big good luck. Eat bear, get strong, very good. Have good luck in U. S.”

“That bear is real bearskin?”

“Oh yes. Grandmother cut little piece for here,” he put his hand under his chin, “and for here.” he put his hand on his chest. “Make moon.” He moved his hand in the crescent shape the bear had on its chest. “Why call moon bear.”

“You had that since you were a little boy?” I was touched. “And you gave it for Petrina? Instead of your own grandchildren?”

“Own grandchildren want sportcar, computer, skateboard, not old Chinese

bear.”

Well, that was typical of all modern kids, not just Chinese, but it didn’t get me any closer to finding out who had stolen the teddy bear, the moon bear. Deborah, though, was listening with wide eyes, no longer crying. But what was worse, that romantic story would make it all the harder on her if I didn’t get that bear back. She went up to the counter and asked. ‘Did it come in?”

“Oh yes.” He reached down and put a wooden lazy tongs on top of the counter.

“I got it for you, Grandma.” Debbie said, “for your arthritis, so you don’t have to bend down. I was going to save it for under the tree, but you looked so sad...”

God bless you, Deborah. I said in my heart, that’s the answer. I put my fingers in the scissor grip and extended the tongs. They were only about three feet long, not long enough, and they were already beginning to bend under their own weight. No way anyone, not even Mildred Ungaric, could use them to steal the moon bear. Then I knew. For sure. I turned around and there it was. hanging on the top shelf. I turned back to Mr. Wong and said, casually, “What do you call that thing grocers use to get cans from the top shelf? The long stickhandle with the grippers at the end?”

“Don’t know. In Chinese I say. ‘Get can high shelf. ‘ “

“Doesn’t matter. Why did you steal the bear back? Decided to sell it to a museum or something?”

“‘No. Why I steal? If I want sell, I no give.” He was puzzled, not insulted. “Somebody steal moon bear?”

He was right. But so was I. At least I knew
how
it was stolen. You didn’t need a “get can high shelf.” All the thief needed was a long thing with a hook on the end. Or a noose. Like a broomstick. Or a fishing rod. Anything that would reach from where you were standing to the top of the back row so you could get the bear without knocking over the shelves or the other toys. It had to be Mildred Ungaric; she might be mean, but she wasn’t stupid. Any woman had enough long sticks in her kitchen, and enough string and hooks to make a bear-stealer, though she’d look awful funny walking down the street carrying one of those. But it didn’t have to be that way. There was something in the firehouse that anyone could use, one of those long poles with the hooks on the end they break your windows with when you have a fire. All you’d have to do is get that hook under the string that held the number tag around the moon bear’s neck and do it quietly enough not to wake Levi Porter. Which meant that anyone in town could have stolen the moon bear.

But who would? It would be like stealing from poor little Petrina herself. Mildred was mean, but even she wouldn’t do that. Homer was nasty; maybe he accused me to cover up for himself. Mr. Wong might have changed his mind, in spite of what he said; you don’t give away a sixty-year-old childhood memory like that without regrets. Levi Porter was in the best position to do it; there was only his word that he slept all through the night and he has eight kids he can hardly feed. Heck, anyone in town could have done it. All I knew was that I didn’t.