CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I couldn’t stop eating the Moroccan chicken dish and I leaned back in my chair to make room in my stomach.
When Ida went next door for Christmas sweets, I said quickly, “Anita is meeting me at the center tomorrow so I can look at the encaustics. I’ve run out of ideas, but there might be a clue there.”
“Let’s hope so, darlin’.”
Ida returned with a gingerbread house surrounded by frosted sugar cookie cutouts, tea cakes dusted with powdered sugar, peanut butter blossoms, crinkles with crevices oozing chocolate, and airy angel kisses.
“You’ve been busy, Ida,” I said, and thought of Ricky, working so hard to give their home a sense of holiday. “Anita brought Ricky home tonight and he looks fabulous.” I should have been ecstatic, but Dad picked up on my reticence.
“What’s wrong? Did he seem unwell?”
“No. It’s just that Anita said she can’t afford a Christmas tree.”
Ida looked at Dad who looked at me and all three pairs of eyes glittered with the same intention.
“I’ll call Pete to see if we can borrow his truck,” said Ida.
“I’ll empty the reservoir under the tree.” I shoved away from the table.
Dad waved a box of clear wrap. “We’ll batten down the hatches.”
Dad and I encircled the tree, girding the ornaments and lights for the trip across town. Dad put on the finishing touches, reinforcing the wrap with packing tape. Minutes later, Pete knocked on the door, pushing it open at the same time, eager to play Santa again. Ida held the door and it took Pete, Dad, and me to carry the tree to get our load into the cargo bed. We secured it with a blue plastic tarp, and the four of us shook with jolly laughter. Giving felt good.
“Katie, your dad’s exhausted.” Ida said. Dad yawned as if on cue, and Pete made sure he made it inside. She patted my arm. “Ricky should be asleep by now and it’ll take all three of you to get that tree inside. You’d better go with Pete.” My laughter dried up in my throat. She thrust the tray of cookies into my hands and shunted me out the door.
I couldn’t stand the quiet in the truck cab. “Can we turn on some Christmas music?”
Pete pushed the button, and I nearly swallowed my tongue when Wham’s Last Christmas came over the radio. I sat back and stared straight ahead until reprieved by Jingle Bell Rock.
Fewer lights were on at the Jones’ house, but Pete could still see the damage done in the yard and followed the tracks as close to the front door as he could get. A bright grin splashed across his face, and I think I would’ve melted if I could’ve, but I couldn’t. So, I just smiled back. He jumped from the truck and up into the cargo bed. He grabbed one end of the tarp and slipped it under the tree. I held onto the other end, creating a sling, and we hauled it up the steps to Anita’s landing. I knocked.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Santa and an elf.”
The door opened a crack. “Katie?” Then the door opened as wide as her eyes.
“Merry Christmas.”
She stepped back and we carried the bundle into the room. She shoved furniture to one side as she said, “You didn’t have to—”
“We wanted to. Oh!” I dashed out to the truck for the cookie tray and Pete followed me. He heaved a sack over his shoulder and a wrapped box tumbled to the ground. I picked it up and he winked. We waltzed back in and handed over the goodies. I gave Anita a hug and we were gone.
“Did you see the look on her face? Imagine Ricky in the morning.” Giddy, we needed no music on the ride home.
Pete stopped at a light and his demeanor changed. “Anything new on Ida?”
“No. Anything on Daniella?”
Pete looked confused. “I thought Susie told you.” He cocked his head.
My ears felt hot. I never called her back.
“Jericho wanted to make amends before he died and must’ve thought he could buy his way into heaven, so he left his substantial estate to various charities. Daniella’s friends confirmed that she’d been cut out of an iron-clad will. He left her with only what he’d already given her. Not bad, really. She had some valuable jewelry, some impressive art, a fancy car, and one of their homes. According to those in the know, she’s sold off most of her belongings and exhausted her resources to remain solvent. Lately, however, she’s been bragging about coming into some big bucks. She started to spend again.”
“Like the matching pledge at the gala?” I’m sure a confused look came over my face too. “How does that help Ida? Daniella didn’t benefit directly from either Miss Grace or McCall dying. Pete.” I inhaled deeply. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Just do your thing. You have the knack.” He put up his hand to quiet my protests. “Ida didn’t do it. The truth will come out.”
The light changed and he stepped on the gas. Bright headlights popped on from his left and came directly at us. I shielded my eyes and screamed. Pete stomped on the gas and his evasive maneuvers took us into a four-foot-high snowbank. My seatbelt held tight, but I’d be wearing a black-and-blue sash in the morning.
“You okay?”
I opened my eyes and shuddered. “I think so. You?”
He exhaled. “I’m fine. Where did he come from?” He surveyed our surroundings. He put the truck in reverse. The frozen surface crunched but held fast. He shoved the gear shift into drive and rocked forward. Then he put the truck in reverse again and revved the engine. We pulled free. We bumped over the icy chunks in the street, and I decided I needed to get me a big blue truck—maybe.
A weird ringtone filled the cab and Pete quickly punched the console. “Hi, Susie.”
“What are you doing, lover?” The slinky voice came over the speakerphone and I shuddered again.
“I’m playing Santa.”
“Without me,” she whined.
“It was a last-minute gig and more of a Santa delivery than a performance.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“I’m bushed. Okay if I tell you about it tomorrow?”
“O-kay. Love you. Good night,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Pete disconnected the call. I stared straight ahead, afraid if I looked at him, I’d burst into snickers. I heard the rasp of the multiple-hours-older-than-five o’clock shadow as he scratched his chin. I faulted the emotional roller coaster but when he chuckled, I couldn’t stop myself.
We bounced up Ida’s driveway. “Looks like everyone is down for the night. Are you sure you’re all right?”
I nodded. “Good night, Pete.” I hopped out and saluted as he backed out. Maverick met me with a giant wag of his tail, a good tongue lashing, and a friendly reminder that he had one more duty to take care of before I could meet the sandman.
He pranced energetically in the snow, and we turned around at the end of the block. “I can’t wait to hear what Ricky has to say about the tree,” I said, double stepping to keep up. A beam of light raked through the limbs of a craggy tree and cast moving shadows across my entry. I jumped, but instead of finding someone behind me, I saw the light switch off in Miss Grace’s house. “I think someone’s there, Mav. I’ll be right back.”
Not thinking too deeply, I scooted across the street, up the front steps, and banged on the door. “Who’s there?” I waited and pounded again. “I know you’re in there. I saw the light.” When no one answered, I tried the knob. It opened with a squeal I thought would wake the neighborhood.
I punched in a number on my phone.
“Katie?”
“Someone’s in Miss Grace’s house.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m checking out Miss Grace’s—”
“Get out of there. I’m calling the police,” Pete said in a stern voice. He hung up.
“Hello,” I called again.
Fast footsteps pounded across a floor and a door slammed at the back of the house. I released the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. My hand inched to the switch on the wall. I flipped it but nothing happened. The cold temperature of the house made the hairs on the back of my neck curl and my breath appeared in warm puffs. The furnace must have been off and if the pipes froze the house would have major problems. I followed the dim gray patches faintly illuminated by the streetlights through the windows and edged toward the door to the utility space. My leg knocked against a sharp corner. I muffled a grunt and thudded to the floor, holding my shin, and prepared to rumble with the nuisance. I peered into the shadows to catch the culprit and spied a child-sized bench.
I turned on my phone light to get my bearings. Miss Grace provided books for her young piano students to read while they waited their turn. Ratty, dog-eared copies of picture books and chapter books, classics and comics packed two short shelves of a bookcase, lined up from thickest to thinnest. My finger trailed across the titles, while the ache in my leg subsided, and stopped on the second to the left, Barrie’s Peter Pan. It took both hands to tug it free. Then the bookcase clicked and popped away from the wall. I inserted my fingers behind the bookcase and pulled, revealing a wall safe.
And I had numbers.
I sat cross-legged on the floor and propped my phone against the back of the bookcase. The angle of the light wasn’t ideal, but it was all I had. Charles used to kid that the role of a cryptanalyst was to decipher digital and analog coded messages without prior knowledge of the key. This time I had a key. I rubbed my hands together to warm them.
I spun the dial counterclockwise and clockwise, stopping precisely on each number, finally returning to zero. I took a deep breath and rotated the handle. It didn’t budge. I wiggled the dial. The door stayed fast. My shoulders slumped. Then I looked at the lock again and blinked rapidly. The opening index that looked like a bird track, pointed up from the six o’clock position. The safe was installed upside down. Leave it to Miss Grace.
I pulled myself to a standing position, stood with my back to the wall, and bent over. I reached for the lock. Seven. Twelve. Nine. Three. And back to zero. With a satisfying click, I pulled the handle. Stuffed into the space reserved for a music teacher’s stickers, candy, trinkets, and novelty rewards sat a red velvet bag. I stared for a moment, wondering if I’d be contaminating a crime scene but my nosiness got the better of me.
My first grab into the bag retrieved some jewelry and a fork. They clinked when I dropped them back in. I reached for my phone, and my world went black.