The three of us found our usual booth at McKinney’s—not a difficult accomplishment with such a thin, post-Christmas crowd. But Barton, the one-armed cook, was there proffering his delicious pies through the kitchen window. Much to his chagrin, we declined. But as always, he gave me a wink. “Maybe in a few days, Mary,” he told me. “After you come down from your sugar high I’m gonna get you back on that coconut crème if it’s the last thing I do. And make sure I’m included in your New Year’s resolutions!”
Silvia sat next me in the booth and David, wearing a high green turtle neck sweater, appeared to be poking his head out of his shell. Though only a few hours had passed since we’d last seen each other, it was as if we always had new topics to discuss. David wanted to talk about the harsh weather. Silvia wanted to revisit my engagement.
“We surprised you last night, didn’t we?” she laughed.
“Completely,” I admitted. “I didn’t think Lance even knew either of you existed.”
“He’s a sweetheart,” Sheila answered. “He’s been very good about asking for our help. He’s got a heart of gold.”
“If he was looking for a boyfriend . . . ,” David said, giving me a nod.
“Go find your own boyfriend,” Silvia said. “Lance is spoken for.” She grabbed my hand and held the diamond up to the light. “Nice rock,” she added. “Lance does good work.”
“Believe it or not, Lance actually asked me if you preferred white or traditional gold band,” David added. “He wondered if you’d like a round stone or other. So I hope I gave him good advice.”
“You know me,” I said. “You did well.”
“Naturally,” David noted.
Silvia slid out of the booth and headed over to the bar where, positioned on their usual stools, a few lonely men sat, slumped over their drinks. A few minutes later she was back with three tall stems of champagne. “We didn’t get to toast you last night,” she said. “And since we are not having pie and coffee tonight, we need to celebrate.”
“Nice touch,” David said. “A toast to Mary Christmas! May her name live forever.”
“To Mary and our friendship,” Silvia intoned.
Our glasses clinked mid-air, a gesture of old friendship born in a spirit and anticipation of the new. We sipped in silence. Stared out the windows at the gathering gloom and the street lamps glowing in the twilight. The rising moon a sickle.
“So . . . what’s giving you chills these days?” Silvia wanted to know. “It’s surely not the weather you wanted to talk about. You had a reason for meeting us here.”
I sighed. “I’ve got a dilemma. A quandary.”
“Surely not,” David said. “What could possibly go wrong in the lay away business?”
I quaffed my champagne deeply, felt the bubbles rising up in my nose. “I was called out Christmas morning, as you know. But I just met the husband to finalize the funeral plans. He’s clueless…and stubborn. His wife died of food-borne illness and they didn’t seek medical help.”
“Explain,” Silvia said.
“I guess they have a high tolerance for pain,” I added. “He’s sick, too. Very much so. But Sheila’s death looks rather suspicious from my vantage point.”
“So what’s the problem?” David said. “You know a good cop. Tell Lance.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “This is Christmas, after all. Lots of food being eaten, given away. It could be a coincidence. Or just bad luck. And Sheila did have a lot of other complications—heart disease, dehydration, she was a smoker. But it’s odd . . . the listeria.”
“Come again,” Silvia said. “What are you talking about?”
“Her autopsy and forensic report revealed she died of this bacterial infection: listeria. I believe that’s how Blanch described it.”
“I’m game for doing a book report on that one,” David said. “That’s weird.”
“Actually,” I interjected, “I’d like for Silvia to do that book report for me. She’s the expert librarian.”
“Oh?” asked David. “So I just sit this one out on the sidelines?”
“No,” I said. “I’d like for you to do a bit of snooping.”
“Glad to,” David answered. “I’ve got the wardrobe to cover it. Plenty of costumes, if you’re into that sort of thing.” He was right. I could picture his walk-in closet: purple and chartreuse pants hanging on hooks, apricot ascots deftly placed in drawers, paisley neckties, tie-dyed T-shirts folded neatly on shelves, green turtle neck sweaters.
“Just go out as yourself,” Silvia said. “That should be disguise enough for most people.”
“Just because a guy wears a little eye shadow . . . “
I didn’t want the conversation to go south. “Listen,” I said, “I’m serious. I want to find out about these toxins. And David, I need you to find out all you can about Phil and Sheila Carrington’s business. Their relationship. Friends. Where they had been on or about Christmas Eve. I talked to a guy named Milt who works for the Clarity Ice Company. Perhaps he might be able to shed some light on the situation, too. He’s doing Sheila Carrington’s funeral.”
“Who I am supposed to be?” David asked. “A reporter?”
“You’ll think of something,” I said. “You’re creative.”
“I’ll get started on it,” David said. “But this sounds like James Bond. The work will involve subtlety. Nuance. Subterfuge. Do you have a small gun or a wrist watch that shoots poison darts that I could borrow?”
“Just find out what you can about the company . . . leave the rest to Silvia. She’s a woman who knows how to dig.”
“What she said,” Silvia added—raising her champagne again. We clinked glasses. David burped. And when I looked up, Barton was leaning over the kitchen window throwing me a kiss. My world was suddenly complete and whole again.
“You see,” David said. “Everybody loves you, Mary. We’re even willing to be in harm’s way, to sell our bodies to the night.”
“We’re not in harm’s way!” Silvia interjected.
“Well then,” David said, “let me put it another way. If anything should happen to us, Mary, do you promise to cut us a deal on a used casket.”
“Just drink your champagne,” Silvia said.
“I’ll bury you in velvet,” I promised.
David shot me a smile and a thumbs-up.
We drank our champagne, shared a few more laughs. And, even without the cuts of pie, we were excited about the prospects of working together on a project. Christmas was still in force, and even with the mistletoe, the champagne, and the wonder of it all, we couldn’t help but notice how each of us rejected the chocolate pie when Wanda, the waitress, brought the cart around. Our stomachs were full . . . as well as our minds. And I could see the wheels of progress turning as we all attempted to counter our overindulgence with new focus and energy.
We laughed. We talked about nothing. And I could see that Silvia and David did not seem eager to leave, but I was thinking of Lance, wondering what new revelations might await us on the second eve of our engagement. “You’d better get back home,” Silvia told me eventually. “You don’t want to keep Lance waiting.”
“Yeah,” David said. “With a ring like that, you can bet he’ll be expecting a lot for his money.”
Silvia buried her head in her hands. I blushed. David knew he had scored a zinger.
“I have the funeral tomorrow,” I said eventually. “And I’ve already signed the death certificate. So . . . ”
“Work quickly,” David added. “I get it.”
“Should we synchronize our watches?” David asked.
“Enough,” Silvia said. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening. “
But it was a beautiful night—wonder and music all around. Someone had selected Nat King Cole on the jukebox. The tinsel and red lights outlining the door frames offered a shimmering array of hope. There was still a bowl of eggnog on the bar counter and, pressed into a niche near the cash register, a tiny wooden crèche gave witness to the gifts of love. A young couple, wrapped in the heaviness of winter, entered and sat at a table in the distant corner.
“You know what I’d like?” David said.
“What’s that?” I wondered.
“A snow cone.”
Silvia guffawed.
“Yeah,” David continued. “A snow cone would be good. Raspberry. It would make this weather more palatable. Even warm it up. I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to get a lot colder around here.”
I didn’t disagree. Somehow I knew that we were just beginning to shiver. Once we started lifting up the permafrost, we were going to uncover far more than we wanted to know.
There was ice all around.