Dear Natasha,
My persnickety mother-in-law is coming for the holidays this year. She always makes comments about my simplistic decorating style. What’s the one overlooked item that I can wow her with?
Grumpy Daughter-in-Law in Angeltown, Tennessee
Dear Grumpy,
Everyone forgets the hanging light fixtures. Especially in the foyer and the kitchen. Drape the chain and arms with a short garland of pine, and add a lavish wire ribbon and berries, or even better, long feathers! You’ll knock her socks off.
Natasha
I regained my footing. I should have worn sneakers.
Daisy pawed at one of the storage doors.
“Daisy! No!” I didn’t want her to scratch it.
I gathered up my voluminous skirt and crouched to examine the door. “Aw, Daisy!” I fingered three perpendicular scratches. They didn’t run deep, but they marred the perfect door.
Daisy didn’t seem to care and scratched the door again. “Daisy!” I pulled her back, dropping the boxes of staples. Bars of the sharp things skidded all over the glossy painted floor. This was not what I had intended to do in my new dress. “Daisy, sit. Stop scratching that door.”
I released her leash and for a few minutes, she stayed perfectly still while I collected the staples. All I needed was for Mars or Natasha to drive over the stupid things and get them lodged in a tire.
When I thought I had them all, I turned back to Daisy. She was still sitting but had scooted over to the cabinet and was in the process of opening it with her nose.
Someone had hidden a Christmas gift there.
Gold stars glimmered on pink paper that had been wrapped around a box taller than me. Undoubtedly one of those nightmarish items that was hard to wrap. The top of the package gave it away. There was no mistaking the shape of a lampshade. It had to be from Natasha to Mars. Maybe a standing lamp for his study? A gold ribbon circled the middle of the tall package, ending in a big fancy bow with six loops, definitely handmade.
I hadn’t worn a watch, but I was fairly certain I needed to head home. It would be awful if Alex arrived to pick me up, and I wasn’t there.
I reached past Daisy to close the cabinet when, to my horror, she slammed a heavy paw on the package, piercing the wrapping paper.
“No!” I shrieked. “Oh, Daisy! What have you done?” I couldn’t just patch it with tape. I would simply have to apologize and rewrap the whole thing. There wasn’t anything else I could do.
I leaned over to grip her collar. There would be no more pawing at the gift. I hoped she hadn’t broken anything.
But when I leaned over, I realized something was very, very wrong. And it wasn’t just torn gift wrap.
The box hadn’t fit around the lamp perfectly. Someone, probably Natasha, had slit a box up the side to wrap it around the base of the lamp. Daisy’s claw had torn the tape holding the box closed. I thought I saw a shoe.
I looked closer. Definitely a woman’s shoe. Bending as close as I could without toppling over, I realized it must be a gag gift. Undoubtedly a joke similar to the sexy leg lamp in A Christmas Story. Didn’t seem like something Natasha would give anyone, though. Her sense of humor didn’t run in that direction.
Daisy worried me. If it was a gag gift, why was Daisy so interested in it?
I reached up to the lampshade and pried loose two pieces of tape. A curl tumbled out and lay atop the wrapping paper.
I screamed and jumped back, falling over Daisy.
No! It couldn’t be a real person. It just couldn’t. Maybe it was a gag gift from Mars to Bernie. That sounded more like it. I blew air out in relief, and clambered to my feet. That made perfect sense. Mars bought Bernie a silly “woman” lamp. Natasha had probably wrapped it for him, and they’d hidden it in the garage.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and picked up the curl to jam it inside. I was no authority on wigs but it certainly felt like real hair. I stared at the package. If it was Mars’s, he’d get a big laugh out of giving me a fright. But just to be sure, I tore open the box—and found myself staring up into Gwen Babineaux’s dead eyes.
The scream that shuddered out of my throat could have curdled milk.
My heart thudded. I checked her neck for a pulse. Her skin felt incredibly cold. I ran for Natasha’s workshop in search of a telephone to call for help. Black and silver ornaments crowded the counters, near orange and pink ones. A stack of pink gift boxes almost hid the wall phone. I punched in 911 and gave them the location.
The dispatcher tried to keep me on the line. I stepped on something soft and backed up. On the floor lay a five-inch-tall gray felt mouse. Unless I was mistaken, it looked a lot like the one Edith Scroggins had made such a fuss over at Rocking Horse Toys. I picked it up to examine it more closely. It wore a Santa hat, but the glasses were missing.
Stray thoughts about Edith passed through my head. Gwen invaded them, and I hung up the phone.
Breathing heavily, I hurried back to Gwen. I had little hope that she might be alive, but I checked her pulse again. Did I feel something? I wasn’t sure. I was using my forefinger and middle finger so I wouldn’t mistake my own pulse for hers.
What was taking them so long? I wished there was something I could do for Gwen.
An ambulance siren howled briefly.
I ran outside to guide the paramedics who disembarked with amazing calmness.
A police car had arrived as well. Officer Wong strode toward me purposefully, her uniform straining against her curvy figure. Her expression grim, she uttered one word: “Scroggins?”
I glanced at the mouse that I still carried in my hand. Where was Edith? And why was her mouse in Natasha and Mars’s garage? “No. It’s Gwen Babineaux from next door.”
They all followed me through Natasha’s workshop and into the garage. I jammed the mouse into my pocket.
Wong flicked a strong flashlight beam over Gwen and the wrapping paper. “Whoa! If she’s not alive, then don’t move her.”
I watched them, vaguely conscious that I held my breath. Maybe she was alive. Maybe they would find a heartbeat that I couldn’t feel.
They didn’t. Officer Wong called in on her radio and I overheard the words, crime scene.
“What happened here?” she asked.
I explained how Daisy had torn the wrapping paper.
“That’s really creepy.” Wong shuddered. “It’s like a message from the mafia or something to wrap someone up as a gift.”
I peered at her. She wasn’t kidding. I hadn’t taken the time to consider why Gwen was wrapped. If someone had done this to Gwen as a threat to Baxter, then it was the cruelest, most horrible thing imaginable. “Her husband sells real estate. That doesn’t seem likely.”
“Then why wrap her up?”
Good question. I had no answers.
At that moment, Baxter emerged through the door that led to the workroom. He squinted like he’d run in from the dark and the lights hurt his eyes. “Everything okay here?”
Wong said, “Baxter, let’s step outside.”
Baxter ignored her, his eyes fixed on the cabinet. He walked closer in haste. “Gwen?” It was barely a whisper. “Gwen!” He shouted her name in panic. Baxter lunged toward her between two of the paramedics. Wong stepped forward to restrain him.
“What happened to her? What’s going on?” shouted Baxter. “Is she okay? Gwen!” Baxter screamed her name as though he hoped she would respond.
Wong said calmly, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Babineaux.”
Baxter’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He held the back of his wrist to his nose and closed his eyes. His head fell forward and his shoulders began to shake.
One of the first responders gently escorted him outside. Baxter shuffled along without protesting, like an empty shell of a person.
We heard a little tussle, and Sugar burst into the garage. Like a ballerina on light feet, she crept forward, assessing the situation, and then cried out, “Mom!”