The Twelve Crimes of Christmas (27 page)

“Yeah,” said the sergeant. “How?”

“These illusions die hard,” said Ellery. “Wasn’t
it Comus who phoned a few minutes ago to rag me about the theft? Wasn’t it
Comus who said he’d left the stolen dauphin—minus the diamond—on our doormat?
Therefore Comus is Bondling.

“I told you Comus never does anything without a
good reason,” said Ellery. “Why did ‘Comus’ announce to ‘Bondling’ that he was
going
to steal the Dauphin’s Doll? Bondling told us
that—putting the finger on his
alter ego—
because
he wanted us to believe he and Comus were separate individuals. He wanted us to
watch for
Comus
and take
Bondling
for granted. In tactical execution of this
strategy Bondling provided us with three ‘Comus’ appearances during the
day—obviously confederates.

“Yes,” said Ellery, “I think Dad, you’ll find
on backtracking that the great thief you’ve been trying to catch for five years
has been a respectable estate attorney on Park Row all the time, shedding his
quiddities and his quillets at night in favor of the soft shoe and the dark
lantern. And now he’ll have to exchange them all for a number and a grilled
door. Well, well, it couldn’t have happened at a more appropriate season; there’s
an old English proverb that says the Devil makes his Christmas pie of lawyer’s
tongues. Nikki, pass the pastrami.”

BY THE CHIMNEY WITH
CARE

by Nick
O’Donohoe

Nick O’Donohoe has worked as a
surveyor, an English teacher and as an operator of a puppet show. He is
presently working on his dissertation, in the Humanities Doctoral Program at
Syracuse University. He plays the guitar and a poor game of poker and is
teaching part-time at Virginia Polytechnic Institute. In addition to his Nathan
Phillips-Roy Cartley series of short stories, he has completed two novels and
is working on a third. He is very fond of his cat, who is sometimes fond of
him.

It was the one day a week I could sleep late—so
naturally the phone rang. I muttered, “Go away,” and tried to sleep through it.
Nobody would keep trying me forever.

But the phone kept ringing, and suddenly there
was a furry black tail swishing back and forth in my face. I sat up and dumped
the cat off my chest. “Thanks a bunch, Marlowe.” He sneered. “You my answering
service these days?” He stood on the bed, lashing his tail and waiting.

I gave in and picked up the phone. “Cartley and
Phillips, home office. And Phillips speaking.”

“Nathan.” It was Cartley’s voice, as rasping as
I’ve ever heard it. “Nate, I’ve got my living room blocked off, and I want to
keep the kids out. It’s that time of the year, you know.” He was trying to
sound lighthearted; I’ve heard lighter pile-drivers.

I’m slow at that hour. “And you want help in
the living room, right?
Ho-ho-ho!
But
it’s a whole week before—”

“Can’t say, Nate, there’s an extension phone,”
he broke in sharply.

A high-pitched giggle came on the line. “Hi,
Uncle Roy! Are you talking to Nathan?”

I got the idea, finally. “Who is this? Amy?
Paul?” After two outraged denials I had it easy. “Aw, I knew it was you, Howie.
Listen, I’ll be right over. Who said you could listen in on us?”

“I can be a detective, too.”

I tried to sound injured. “Why are you bugging
me, Howie? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Not yet.” He was triumphantly confident. I was
going to be a crook, and the kids would catch me. That always happened when
they visited Uncle Roy before Christmas. I loved it.

I said goodbye and stumbled into the bathroom,
where I nearly brushed my teeth with Ben-Gay. After that I drove over. By the
time I hit the boulevard around Lake of the Isles I was awake enough to wonder
why Roy had wanted me over right now.

At the front door I was surrounded; I knelt to
hug Amy and Paul, then twisted my right arm forward just enough to shake hands
with Howie. “Hi, Howie. Old enough to know better, yet?”

“Getting older,” he said, trying to look
world-weary and not doing badly—for a ten-year-old. “Have you been behaving
yourself, Nathan?” he added.

I narrowed my eyes and curled my lip. “That’s
for me to know and you to find out.” I wasn’t sure what kind of a bad guy to be
just yet. “Only person I’ll talk to here is my accomplice.” I stood up and
called to Roy, “Merry Christmas, almost. We have plans to make in the living
room?”

“Sure.” I looked at him and suddenly knew we
weren’t going to wrap presents. He edged through the living-room door, blocking
the view with his body; I did the same. A haze of cigarette smoke drifted out
over our heads. As I came through, Roy glanced behind me nervously. I shut the
door quickly, braced it with the doorstop and turned around.

I spun back around, hung my coat over the
doorknob to block the keyhole, then walked quickly over and shut the front
curtains. Roy sat down in one of the chairs.

“Good thinking,” he said, and rubbed his face. “God,
I haven’t been able to think of a
thing.”

“Who is he?” I said. It was all I could think
of to say.

“What do you mean, ‘who is he?’ ” Roy said
irritably. “Don’t look at his chest; concentrate on his face.”

It was hard. My eyes were drawn to the knife
wound. He was up against the chimney, his knees folded under him, his body
somehow suspended upright. The flesh on his face was sagging. It made him look
weary beyond belief.

Then I pictured the same face, slouched forward
in the back seat of a squad car. “Gam Gillis!”

“Right.”

“What’s he doing
here?
You don’t even
have
a safe.”

Roy gestured at the fireplace, below the body. “He’s
hung on the damper. Look at his jacket. The collar must be hooked in back, and
all his weight’s on it. When the collar button pops off, down he’ll go.” Cartley
felt his pockets methodically, then drummed his fingers against one knee in
frustration. “Nate, you got any cigarettes?”

“Sorry.” For the first time in my life, I
wished I smoked. Roy was a wreck. “Want me to go for some?”

“No, I want you to take the kids somewhere
while the police are here.”

“When are they coming?” He suddenly looked
stricken.

“Jesus, Roy, you forgot to
call?”

He wiped at his face, nodding. I picked up the
phone and began dialing. “By the way, who do you think put Gillis here?”

“Who else? Petlovich.”

“Oh,” I said—but it was a big
“oh”;
Roy and I had gotten Gillis to turn state’s
evidence on Petlovich two years ago, over a jewelry theft we’d been checking
out for an insurance company. “You think Petlovich left Gillis as a message. In
other words—” I stopped. I didn’t want any other words.

Just then the police answered. “Give me
Lieutenant Pederson, please.” While I waited, I asked Roy, “You gonna tell your
wife?”

“Hell, no! Her mother sprained her ankle at
just the right time. Maybe this’ll be over before she’s back.”

“What about the kids—can you send them
someplace?”

“Not a chance. My brother goes wilderness
camping in California. The National Guard couldn’t get hold of him.” He felt
his pockets again, automatically.

Just then the phone said, “Homicide. Pederson
here.”

“Good to hear you. This is Nathan Phillips. How’s
Minneapolis’s second finest?”

He answered levelly, “Phillips, any time you
give me your full name and say it’s good to hear me, something’s Up.
What’s
up?”

I must have been as rattled as Roy. “There’s
been a murder at Roy’s house. James Gillis, an ex-con; you can look up his
connection with us. Oh, and bring a pack of cigarettes?”

Roy called out “Camels,” just as Pederson said,
“Camels, right? Sure thing. Wait a minute, aren’t Jack’s kids Visiting Roy now?”

“Yeah. Can you hurry?”

“You bet.” He added too casually, “Did Roy do
it?”

“I…”
I turned to look at Roy. “Uh, Roy’s okay,” I
said carefully. “No. No, of course not. You’ll see.” I hoped he would. “See you
when you get here.” I hung up.

“Thanks, Nate. Now let’s go collect the kids.”
He stared at the fireplace. So had I, on and off. We were both watching the
collar-button hole stretching.

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I said, “When
the bough breaks—”

“Nathan, for Christ’s
sake!”
He glared, and I kicked myself.

“Sorry.” I edged out the door, and the kids
jumped up. I said to them, “There wasn’t anything in there at all. He just
wanted a quiet place to yell at me for not taking you guys anywhere. So we’re
going sledding, right now.”

They scrambled for their coats. Los Angeles
kids don’t get much chance for winter sports. Afterwards, I’d take them to my
apartment for lunch, and call Roy from there.

Howie grinned and said, “You gonna crash sleds
with opened my mouth and Cartley said, “Sure he will.”

Howie grinned and said, “you gonna crash sleds
with me?”

“Nathan will love that.” It was the closest to
a grin Cartley had managed all morning.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling on my stocking cap, “Nathan
loves bruises.” We went.

Incidentally, Nathan got creamed.

The kids loved my apartment. I hadn’t put a
thing away in weeks. All kinds of fragile, fascinating oddities were lying
about within reach. I said. “Don’t break anything I haven’t already broken,”
and went to the kitchen to heat soup and make sandwiches. While I was out
there, I heard a giggling and the sound of a cat losing hold of the upholstery.

Before I could get to the door, Amy came into
the kitchen, hugging Marlowe and holding him up by his armpits. Marlowe was
hanging limp, purring frantically. He raised his pleading eyes to me. His
claws, bless his heart, were in.

“Cats break, too, Amy.” I took Marlowe out of
her arms, putting an arm under his back legs. He let his claws out just enough
to show he was unhappy. “He looks like he wants to go out.” About as far out as
Skylab. “Could you open the door?”

She ran over and reached up to the knob. When
the door opened four inches Marlowe streaked out. Good enough. I could go down
and let him all the way out later.

Paul peered around the kitchen door, then
stepped in. “You done anything against the law yet, Nathan?”

“I’m not telling. What’s in your hand?” He
opened his fist. Clutched in it was a glass cat.

I took it from him, held it up to the light and
polished it, then put it back on his palm and played with the tail to make the
cat dance. “That’s Marlowe’s girl friend. A friend gave her to me and said
Marlowe needed a steady girl friend.”

Paul examined the statue. “How come she’s
clear?”

“My friend said Marlowe’s girl friend should be
hard to see, so his other girl friends wouldn’t get jealous.”

In came Howie, then, glancing quickly around
the kitchen for signs of iniquity His eyes lit triumphantly on the scotch
bottle next to all the dirty dishes.

“So
that’s
what you’ve been
doing, Nathan.” He pointed to the bottle, then to me, like the world’s smallest
prosecuting attorney. “You’ve been drinking alone!”

Amy scurried to my defense—sort of. She stood
on tiptoe, hanging onto the counter-top and peering over it. “No, he hasn’t,”
she said primly.

“How do you know, Blondie?” For a ten-year-old,
Howie had a hell of a sneer. I quit being that tough at nine.