Ten o’clock at McKinney’s, Silvia and David met me at our usual booth in the back. It wasn’t a pie kind of night, but we did have drinks. And a tall pour of Cabernet was just what I needed.
“This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” David intoned after I related the events at the ice factory. I showed Silvia a couple of the bruises on my arms to prove it. I thanked David again for picking me up at the hospital and driving me back to the ice factory to retrieve my car.
“It’s out of my hands now,” I said, gladly turning the work over to Lance and the police. “But it was quite a spectacle.”
“Chilling,” David added. “I didn’t want to say anything, but that place gave me the creeps every time I drove by.”
“That factory has quite a history,” Silvia said. “It’s probably haunted by other times.”
I drank my Cabernet, my face brightening in the warm flush of the alcohol. “The ice factory has a history,” I said. “I just hope it has a future.”
“This guy . . . Milt. He sounds like he’ll keep it going for the Carringtons’ sake,” Silvia said.
“I hope so,” I answered. “If not for him . . . .”
We lifted our glasses in a toast.
Silent in the aftermath of our latest adventure and the ease of our friendship, we sat in the booth and listened to the music playing on the intercom—tones of Sleigh Bells, Joy to the World, White Christmas. Silvia watched the mistletoe bobbing over the bar. David pulled at a raveling on his new chartreuse sweater.
As I neared the bottom of my wine pour, Silvia noted the time. “You’ve had a long day,” she advised. “Don’t you think you’d better get home to Lance? I’m sure he’s finished his work at the precinct by now.”
I nodded.
“Yes, I’m sure he’s got more work for you to do tonight,” David added with a wink.
Silvia elbowed him in the ribs. “Is that all you think about?”
“Hey,” David said. “Give me a break. It’s a guy thing. You know the facts. You’re a librarian.”
I gathered up my things, amazed that my cell phone had survived the violence at the ice factory. My coat pockets, still chilled, were constant reminders of what could have been. I warmed my scarf in my hands and then wrapped it tightly about my neck, anticipating the final onslaught of the cold.
“So, how do you think Rose is going to receive all of this?” Silvia wondered.
“She knows more than you think,” I told her. “She knew what she was getting into when she took this job.”
“Yes, but can she deal with your penchant for mayhem?”
I drank half a glass of water, stood, and faced the front door of McKinney’s. “She’s tough,” I observed. “And I have a feeling she’s going to help me out of a scrape in the near future. I have a sense about these things.”
I knew I was right. And as I stepped out of McKinney’s that night into an uncertain future, I gave thanks for Lance and such good friends. I knew it was coming, but nothing was more surprising than the cold.
When I slipped into my car and started the engine, I imagined my father looking down on me, protecting me, somehow, through the Christmas name. Surely the season wouldn’t let me down. Nor I, it.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered. “Truly.”