The Christmas Thief (8 page)

L
em Pickens kept waking up. He was having bad dreams. He didn’t know why, but he kept worrying that something would go wrong, that maybe he had made a mistake after all about giving up the tree.

Just natural, he told himself. Just natural. He had read in a book somewhere that any cataclysmic event in our lives brings fear and anxiety. It certainly doesn’t seem to bother Viddy, he thought as she continued to make the depth of her slumber known to him. Right now the noise she’s making is somewhere between a jackhammer and a chainsaw.

Lem tried thinking pleasant thoughts to ease his anxiety. Think of when they flip the switch and our tree is lit up in Rockefeller Center with over thirty thousand colored lights on it. Just think about
that!

He knew why he was worried. It would be hard to watch the tree actually being cut down. He wondered if the tree was scared. At that moment he made a decision: I’ll wake up Viddy extra early, and after we have a cup of coffee, we’ll walk over and sit by our tree and say a proper good-bye to it.

That settled, and feeling somewhat content, Lem closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. A few minutes later the racket from his side of the bed was still no competition for Viddy, an Olympic snorer if there ever was one.

As they slept, a tearful Packy Noonan was sitting on the stump of their beloved tree holding a machete in his hand, the beam of his flashlight pointing to the name visible on the handle:
Wayne Covel.

W
ayne Covel was panting when he reached his back door, the piece of Lem’s branch with the crooks’ flask wired to it clutched in his hand. He laid the branch on the table in his messy kitchen, poured a tall glass of whiskey to calm his nerves, and then dug the wire cutters out of his tool belt. With trembling fingers he cut the wire that held the flask to the branch and freed it.

Flasks hold only good things, he thought as he took a sip of the whiskey. This one had been just about sealed shut, there was so much sediment around it, and he tried to un-screw it. He walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. A groaning sound was followed by a slight trickle of water that eventually turned hot. He held the flask under it until most of the sediment was washed off. It still took three powerful twists with his hands before the cap loosened.

He grabbed a greasy dish towel and rushed over to spread it on the table. He sat down and slowly, reverently, began to shake the contents of the flask onto the crowing rooster that marked the center of the raggy towel. His eyes bugged at the sight of the treasure unfolding in front of him. They weren’t kidding—diamonds as big as an owl’s eye, some of them the prettiest golden color, some of them with a bluish tint, one he’d swear was as big as a robin’s egg. That one he had to give an extra shake to get through the mouth of the flask. His heart was beating so fast, he needed another long swig of whiskey. It was hard to believe this was happening.

I’m lucky Lorna dumped me last year, he thought. She said eight years of me was enough. Well, eight years of her was enough. Nag, nag, nag. I was just too nice to kick her butt out. She moved forty-five minutes away to Burlington. He heard she was doing some of that Internet dating. Good luck at finding that sensitive man you’re after, honey, he thought.

He picked up a handful of diamonds, still not believing his luck. Maybe when I figure out how to unload some of this fancy stuff, I’ll take a first-class trip and send Lorna a postcard telling her what a good time I’m having—and that I don’t wish she was there.

Pleased at the thought of one-upping Lorna, Wayne got down to the business at hand. The minute Lem finds out that tree is gone, he’ll be yelling that I was behind it. I know my face got scratched, so I have to figure out an excuse for how that happened. I could always say I was pruning one of my trees and lost my balance, he decided. The one thing he did well was take care of the trees on the property that he hadn’t yet sold off.

The next problem was where to hide the diamonds. He began to put them back in the flask. I’m going to be under suspicion for cutting down the tree, so I gotta be real careful. I can’t keep them in the house. If the cops decide to search the place, with my luck they’ll find the flask.

Why don’t I just do what those crooks out by the tree did? he thought. Why not hide it in one of my own trees until everything blows over and I can make a trip to the big city?

Wayne wrapped the flask with brown masking tape and then fished around in one after another of the cluttered kitchen drawers until he found the picture-hanging wire Lorna had bought in a forlorn attempt to beautify the house. Five minutes later he was climbing the old elm tree in his front yard and, using the crooks’ fine example, he returned the flask of diamonds to the protection of Mother Nature.

A
fter her nightmare about Packy, Opal could barely sleep. She woke up again and again during the night, glancing at the clock at 2:00
A.M.
, at 3:30, and then an hour later.

The nightmare had really been upsetting and had brought to the surface all the anger and resentment she felt toward Packy Noonan and his accomplices. She had tried to make a joke of it, but it was just so
insulting
for Packy to say that he would give 10 percent of his earnings in the diner to pay back his victims!

He’s making fools of us again, she thought.

The television coverage of his release kept running through her mind. On one of the stations they had done a quick review of the scam and showed Packy with those idiots Benjamin and Giuseppe Como, better known as Benny and Jo-Jo, at their indictments. Opal remembered sitting across a conference table from the three of them when they were urging her to invest more money. Benny had gotten up to help himself to more coffee. He moved like such a shlump—as though he had a load in his pants, as my mother used to say.

That was it!
Opal thought. She quickly sat up in bed and turned on the light. She had suddenly realized that the man she had spotted putting skis on the rack of the van in front of a farmhouse when she was cross-country skiing the other day reminded her of Benny.

The group of skiers she was with on Saturday afternoon had been following the instructor, but the trail they were on had such a large group of slowpokes ahead of them that the instructor had said, “Let’s try going around them this way.” They ended up skiing through the woods near a shabby old farmhouse.

My shoelace broke, Opal remembered, so I sat on a rock, still in the woods but closer to the house. In front of it a man was putting skis on top of a van. He seemed familiar, but then somebody called him and he moved away. Even though he was hurrying, he seemed to shlump back into the house.

He was short and stocky. He shlumped. I’d swear now it was Benny Como!

But that’s impossible, Opal told herself, her mind racing. What would he be doing up here? The district attorney who was going to prosecute the Comos at their trial said he was sure that Benny and Jo-Jo had skipped the country when they were out on bail. Why would Benny be in Vermont?

There was no staying in bed. Opal got up, put on her robe, and went downstairs. The great room was one open space with a beamed ceiling, stone fireplace, and large windows that looked out on the mountains. The kitchen area was two steps up from the rest of the room and defined by a breakfast bar. Opal made a pot of coffee, poured herself a cup, and stood at the window sipping the special Vermont brew. But she barely tasted it. As she looked out at the beautiful landscape, she wondered if Benny could possibly still be out there at that farmhouse.

Alvirah and Willy won’t be up for a couple of hours, she thought. I could ski over to the farmhouse now. If that van is outside, I’ll copy down the license plate number. I’m sure Jack Reilly could check it out for me.

Otherwise we’ll just go watch the Rockefeller Center tree being cut down, visit Alvirah’s maple syrup tree, and then go home. And I’ll always wonder if that man was Benny and I missed a chance to get him locked up.

I’m not going to let that happen, Opal decided. She went upstairs and dressed quickly, putting on a heavy sweater under the ski jacket she had bought at the gift shop in the lodge. When she stepped outside, she saw that the sky was overcast and felt a damp chill in the air. More snow on the way, she thought—all the diehard skiers must be in seventh heaven to have snow this early in the season.

I have a pretty good sense of direction, she told herself as she stepped into her skis and mentally reviewed the way to the farmhouse. I won’t have any trouble finding it.

She pushed off with her poles and began to ski across the field. It’s so quiet and peaceful, she thought. Even though she had barely slept, Opal felt awake and alert. This might be crazy, she admitted to herself, but I need to feel as if I haven’t overlooked a chance to catch those thieves and see them in handcuffs.

Leg irons, too, she added. That would be a sight to behold.

She was moving uphill at a steady pace. I’m pretty darn good on these, she thought proudly. Wait till we’re having breakfast and I tell Alvirah what I was doing this morning! She’ll be mad as heck at me for not waking her up.

Half an hour later Opal was in the wooded area across from the farmhouse. I have to be careful. People get up early in the country, she reminded herself—not like some of her neighbors in the city whose drawn shades were never snapped up before the crack of noon.

But there was no activity at all around the farmhouse. The van was parked directly at the front door. Any closer, and whoever was driving would have gotten out in the living room, Opal thought. She waited for twenty minutes. There wasn’t a sign of anyone getting up to milk cows or feed chickens. I wonder if they have animals in the barn, she thought. It really is big. It looks as if it would hold all the animals on Noah’s ark.

She skied to the left to try to get a look at the license plate on the van. It was a Vermont plate, but from where she was standing, it was impossible to make out the numbers on it. It would be taking a risk, but she had to get closer.

Opal took a deep breath, skied out of the woods and into the clearing, and didn’t stop until she was a few feet from the van. I’ve got to make this fast and get out of here, she thought. Now very nervous, she whispered the numbers on the green and white plate. “BEM 360. BEM 360,” she repeated. “I’ll write it down when I’m out of sight.”

Inside the farmhouse, at the very table where only hours before conviviality had reigned, three hungover, tired, and angry crooks were trying to figure out how to recover the flask of diamonds that had been their ticket to lifelong easy living. The machete with Wayne Covel’s name engraved on the handle was in the center of the table. The local phone book was open to the page where Covel’s name and phone number had been circled by Packy. Covel’s address was not listed.

Milo had already made two pots of coffee and two batches of pancakes with bacon and sausage. Packy and the twins had devoured the breakfast but now ignored his cheerful suggestion: “One more batch of pancakes for growing boys?”

All three were casting malevolent stares at Covel’s machete.

Might as well rustle them up, Milo thought, as he began to spoon batter into the pan. Their bad fortune had obviously not affected their appetites.

“Milo, forget the Magic Chef routine,” Packy ordered. “Sit down. I’ve got plans for you.”

Milo obeyed. Intending to turn off the pancakes, he instead flipped the flame under the frying pan that was brimming with bacon grease.

“You’re sure you know where this crook Covel lives?” Packy asked accusingly.

“Yes, I do,” Milo confirmed proudly. “It’s in the second page of that article I showed you about the tree. It said how unusual it was to find two trees worthy of Rockefeller Center in the same state, never mind on neighboring property. Everybody knows where Lem Pickens lives, and Covel’s right next door.”

Benny wrinkled his nose. “What’s burning?”

They all looked over at the stove. Flames and smoke were rising from the ancient cast-iron frying pan full of grease. Next to it the pancakes were rapidly turning black.

“You trying to kill us?” Packy screamed. “This place stinks!” He jumped up. “I get asthma from smoke!” He ran to the front door, yanked it open, and hurried out onto the front porch.

Standing only a few feet away, a woman on cross-country skis was staring at the license plate on the back of the van.

Her head jerked around, and their eyes locked. Even though over twelve years had passed, there was instant recognition on both their parts.

Opal turned and in a futile effort to escape pushed down hard on her poles, but in her haste she slipped and fell. Instantly, Packy was on her, his hand firmly covering her mouth, his knee on her back, holding her down. A moment later, dazed and terrified, she felt other hands grab her roughly and drag her into the house.

A
lvirah awakened at 7:15 with a sense of anticipation. “It feels like the beginning of the holiday season, doesn’t it, Willy?” she asked. “I mean, to be seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree here in its natural setting, before it’s all lit up in New York.”

After forty years of marriage, Willy had long since become used to Alvirah’s early-morning observances and had learned to grunt approval of them even as he savored the last few minutes of drowsy near sleep.

Alvirah studied him. His eyes were closed, and his head was buried in the pillow. “Willy, the world has just come to an end, and you and I are dead,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Willy agreed. “That’s great.”

No use rousing him yet, Alvirah decided.

She showered and dressed in dark gray wool slacks and a gray and white cardigan sweater set, another of Baroness Min’s selections for her. She checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on the closet door. I look okay, she decided matter-of-factly. In the old days I’d be wearing purple slacks and an orange and green sweatshirt. Inside, I’m still wearing them, I guess. Willy and I haven’t changed. We both like to help out other folks. He does it by fixing leaky pipes for people who can’t afford plumbers. I do it by trying to straighten out situations when people are overwhelmed with problems.

She walked over to the dresser and picked up her sunburst pin with the microphone in the center and clasped it on her sweater. I want to record what people have to say when the tree is cut down, she decided. It will make a nice little story for my column.

“Honey.”

Alvirah turned. Willy was sitting up in bed. “Did you say something about the end of the world?”

“Yes, and I told you we were both dead. But don’t worry. We’re still alive, and they called off the end of the world.”

Willy grinned sheepishly. “I’m awake now, honey.”

“I’ll start packing while you shower and dress,” Alvirah said. “We’re meeting the others in the dining room for breakfast at eight-thirty. Funny, I haven’t heard a sound from Opal’s room. I’d better wake her up.”

She and Willy were in the master bedroom suite on the main floor of the villa; Opal was upstairs in another large bedroom. Alvirah walked into the great room, caught the aroma of coffee, and spotted Opal’s note on the breakfast bar. Why would Opal be up and out already? she wondered as she hurried to read the note.

With growing concern, Alvirah reread the note. Opal’s a good cross-country skier, but she doesn’t know all these trails, she told herself. They can go into pretty remote areas. She shouldn’t be out there alone. What was so important that she had to leave so early to check it out? she wondered.

Alvirah went over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. It had a slightly bitter taste, like coffee that had been sitting on the burner for a couple of hours. She must have left
very
early, Alvirah thought.

While she waited for Willy to dress, she found herself staring out at the mountains. Heavy clouds were forming. It was a gray day. There are so many trails out there, she thought. It would be so easy for Opal to get lost.

It was a quarter after eight. Opal had promised to meet them at eight-thirty. It’s silly to worry, Alvirah decided. We’ll all be eating a nice breakfast together in a few minutes.

Willy emerged from the bedroom wearing one of the Austrian sweaters he had bought at the gift shop. “Do you think I should learn how to yodel?” he asked, then looked around. “Where’s Opal?”

“We’re meeting her at the lodge,” Alvirah answered. I only hope we are, she thought.