Chapter 65
This was not the Christmas Sheila had planned. Every year she served her family dinner on her great-grandmother’s fine china, trimmed her tree with special ornaments full of family memories, took great care with her decorations, and found great joy in still playing Santa for her children. She embraced the ritual of it: leaving cookies out for Santa, food out for his reindeer, filling the stockings, all of it. But this year, she’d have none of her time-honored rituals. This year, the oven she was using barely held a turkey breast, let alone a whole turkey complete with her chestnut dressing, her great-grandmother’s recipe.
But here were her friends and family, squeezed into Cookie Crandall’s little house. Bedraggled, but there, determined not to let the Rogerses have a bad Christmas.
“Everybody needs a ham for Christmas,” Beatrice said, as she placed the Virginia ham onto the table. Sheila knew better than to argue with her. Besides, she didn’t have the fortitude. This holiday was a mess.
“Thanks,” Sheila said.
Annie set corn and mashed potatoes on the table, next to the ham. She said, “Okay, so many Jewish people would have a problem with this.” She laughed.
Beatrice and Elizabeth had strung popcorn on a “Charlie Brown Christmas tree,” which they brought with them, and Vera had also tied red ribbons on it. Vera always had a ready supply of ribbons. Paige had brought an extra set of blinking white lights and some ornaments. They managed to fashion a bit of Christmas spirit from their hodge-podge items.
Jon was still pale and jumpy, but he tagged along with a wounded shoulder and broken arm.
“I came all the way from Paris, France, to Cumberland Creek to get shot by a lunatic scrapbooking woman,” he said. And they all laughed. “But I’m still alive.” He lifted his glass and was joined by the others.
Lunatic was right, thought Sheila. If only she had known that Theresa Graves was so disturbed. Well, how would she? The police told Sheila that Theresa had been freshly divorced and when she met a “man” a few weeks before the cruise who was everything she wanted, she fell head over heels. He treated her like a princess and didn’t even pressure her to have sex. But her new boyfriend, “Sam” Milhouse, had secrets. He wanted vengeance and would have it by finally killing Sheila Rogers. Theresa had been questioned by the FBI and then figured it out. Sam had used her to gain access to Sheila’s scrapbook. Theresa was the last judge to see it.
All of the clues the FBI had gathered pointed to Theresa—thanks to her involvement with Sharon Milhouse. Theresa herself was beginning to figure it out when “Sam” suggested they leave the cruise and go to Cumberland Creek to a little bed and breakfast, take some time and get themselves together. When Theresa finally did figure it out, after another visit from the FBI, she turned what was originally planned as a surprise attack on Sheila in her basement into Sharon’s vengeful murder. She had tied “Sam” to the chair in the basement and force-fed her the ricin. Sharon Milhouse’s cruel disguise as a man had sent the already troubled Theresa over the edge.
“I know it’s strange, but I feel kind of sorry for Theresa,” Vera said. “She was hoodwinked.”
“Yes, she was,” Sheila said. “Can you imagine dating someone all that time and finding out that he was really a she?”
“Let alone that she was a cold-blooded killer using her for access,” Eric spoke up.
“I’ll never understand why Sharon hated you,” Steve said to Sheila.
Neither could Sheila, but at this point she didn’t care.
“You can’t understand something like that,” Beatrice said. “She was ill.”
“Funny how the damaged folks find each other. I mean, for Theresa to kill Sharon and leave her in your basement . . .” Vera said, shrugging.
“I don’t feel sorry for Theresa at all,” said Beatrice. “She’s exactly where she belongs, in prison.”
“On another note, that turkey was some of the best I’ve ever had,” Annie said.
“Thanks,” Sheila said. “It was hard to get used to the smaller oven in Cookie’s kitchen, but I managed.”
In fact, as Sheila looked around the table, where all of the adults were gathered over glorious food, she felt that she had managed very well indeed. The kids were all at the kitchen table and the college kids were in the living room. They were all managing Christmas.
It was unlike any she’d ever had. She felt a shift in her mood.
“I don’t know why I thought it was so important to celebrate Christmas in my own house, with my own decorations and tree,” Sheila said. The room quieted. “I think your generosity . . .” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Steve’s face was bright red with emotion. His arm circled around her shoulders.
The small house on the cul-de-sac was brimming with light, food, and emotion. Sheila bit into the mashed potatoes and said a little silent prayer of gratitude. In fact, she was filled with it, especially as she looked at Jon with his arm in a sling, and Annie, who had been more quiet than usual. Her pretty face had always been pensive. But now it appeared haunted.
Sheila took a deep breath, pushing away the remnants of guilt she had been feeling. All of this madness had happened because of Sharon’s twisted hatred for her. Four people dead: Allie, Harold, the FBI officer, and Sharon Milhouse herself. All that Sharon really wanted was one person’s life: hers. She chilled at that thought. But all things considered, Sheila had never been happier than at this moment, surrounded by people she loved, breaking bread, swapping stories, and sharing gratitude.
“Tell us about the job,” Beatrice said.
“I’ll be starting at the end of January,” Sheila said.
“Yay, Mom,” came Donna’s voice from the living room. “So proud of you!”
“Let’s toast to Sheila’s new job,” Steve said.
“Here, here,” Mike said, raising his glass.
Later in the kitchen, where most of the women gathered, while the men watched a football game, DeeAnn and Paige washed the dishes while Sheila sat at the table with Vera and Elizabeth. Annie was drying the dishes.
“Why are you so quiet?” Vera asked Annie.
Annie shrugged. “Not much to say, I suppose.”
“You know, I’m sure being tied up like that was terrifying,” DeeAnn said. “It’s going to take some time.”
Annie held up her wrists, pulled back her sleeves, and showed them the red circles of deep rope burn.
“Shouldn’t you have a bandage on those?” Vera asked.
“I bandage them at night,” Annie said. “I leave them on as long as I can take it, but they bother me.”
“How are Mike and the boys dealing?” DeeAnn said.
“Mike’s not happy with me,” she said, reaching for another dish to dry.
“Same old thing?” Vera said. “He doesn’t want you putting yourself at risk?”
Annie nodded. “That, and he walked into the B and B when Adam was holding me.”
The room quieted.
“Oh, surely he understands what a mess you were. You just needed comfort,” Vera said finally.
“I hope that’s the resolution he comes to,” Annie said, handing Vera a towel. “Right now, I don’t think he’s so certain.”
Later, after everybody had left, Shelia sat quietly at the small kitchen table and reflected on the evening spent with her friends and family. And she thought about her mother and father and aunts and uncles and the holidays they had spent together when she was a girl. A tear sprang to her eye. This Christmas had been the most like those Christmases past. How had she lost those holidays of her youth? How had she become so focused on the outer trappings of it? It didn’t matter one iota that she be able to gaze on her own tree with her own ornaments—what mattered was the people around her.
“You okay?” Steve asked, walking into the kitchen.
“I’m fine—better than fine, actually,” Sheila said.
He sat down with her at the table. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Sharon all those years ago and wondering that if I’d handled things differently . . . if she would have . . . I don’t know, been okay.”
“We were all so young,” Sheila said. “And remember that she had already been hospitalized before she’d gotten to college.”
“I come back to that every time I think on it. There wasn’t much I could do. I was in love with another woman. And I still am.”
Sheila grinned. “You better be.”
He reached out and rubbed his thumb along the ridge of her hand. “I guess there’s no point in dredging up the past. But I’m sorry that she blamed you all these years. Blamed you enough to want to kill you.”
“We don’t need to worry about her anymore,” Sheila said. “Let’s hope she finally found some peace.”
“What about you, Sheila? Have you found peace about this?”
She inhaled, then exhaled, and thought it over. “Not yet. I still need answers.”