Let There Be Suspects (12 page)

Through the years the costumes have been perfected. To cover their heads the shepherds wore the traditional keffiyeh of various homespun prints, held in place with a rope circlet. Their robes were simple, of roughly woven cotton tied with more rope. They leaned on staffs with the traditional crook at the top.

The wise folk and their servants had come to rest at one side where a sheep and a goat were tethered. The animals seemed to be old pros, or else they were so interested in the feed scattered at their feet that the horde of two-footed beasts that had descended on the scene didn’t impress them. They stood quietly, as did the animals tethered inside.

Maybe it was the presence of angels that had calmed them all. There were half a dozen in white robes, with impressive feathery-looking wings and gold circlets bobbing over their heads. One adorable little angel looked to be a kindergartener. I wondered if she and Teddy had discussed theology.

Mary and Joseph were high school students, serene under the traditional costumes and focused on the empty manger. They didn’t look up when a brass sextet began the strains of “It Came upon a Midnight Clear.” The animals, too, were resigned to the noise. The pageant was going off without a hitch.

Just about the time my gloved fingers were starting to freeze and people were stamping their feet to stay warm, the choir launched into “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem.” I knew this was the signal to leave for our own service and my watch confirmed it. Ed caught my eye and nodded. He took off before the last verse was sung so that he could be at our church to greet the congregation when they arrived.

Since everyone was cold, the manger scene was quickly abandoned. Up the driveway and back to the Oval, people streamed in all directions, some sneaking home, having completed their Christmas Eve ritual, some to services at the nearby churches. We walked toward ours, but near the door Sid drew me to one side.

“Save me a seat, will you? I’ve got to make a quick trip to the parish house.”

I noted other people making trips that way. The restrooms were up on the second floor and there would be a line. “If the service starts, the ushers will ask you to wait in the narthex until there’s a break. It might be quicker to run home.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll catch most of it.”

I waved her off and let my daughters pull me inside with Vel and Junie following behind.

Our church is nearly as old as the town of Emerald Springs. Old churches of every denomination have a special feel, as if generations of prayers and hymns still echo silently. I think of the people who have come to this sanctuary at times of sorrow and joy, as a step toward moving on to a new phase of their lives. I feel honored to be in their company.

Tonight the old windows were lit with candles in brass candlesticks. A Christmas tree adorned with colored bulbs and ornaments handmade by church children sat in the side of the room away from the pulpit. Esther, our organist, was playing a prelude of French carols, and our choir was assembling in the back for the processional.

I hadn’t realized until that moment how little Christmas spirit I’d absorbed this year. I was grateful to be here, sitting quietly, with nothing to do except celebrate.

The processional began. We stood and Ed walked in at the head, wearing a black robe and a bright Christmas stole. I lost myself in the music and the flickering light of candles.

The service had almost ended before I realized that Sid had never rejoined us. As we lit our own candles and stood to walk out to the Oval with members of the other churches, I looked around the sanctuary but didn’t spot her.

“Have you seen Sid?” I whispered to Vel. “She was supposed to meet us here.”

She shook her head and shrugged. The lights were so low I knew if Sid was sitting in the back of the church, I might not see her anyway. The pews in the back emptied first, and we waited our turn. Deena complained when wax dripped over her finger, but she didn’t blow out her candle. I gave her a tissue to pad the hole in the paper candle holder, and Teddy looked on, jealous that she was stuck with an electric candle this year.

When it was our turn to file out, I realized that it had begun to snow. The sky sparkled with it, silvery flakes that were only just beginning to stick. We walked across the street where all the trees were now ablaze with tiny white lights. Deena’s candle flame wavered then died, followed closely by mine. I promised her we would relight them when we reached the manger scene. For the first time Teddy was glad to have batteries fueling hers.

We crossed the Oval on the way toward St. Benedict’s, when I realized the crowd had stopped. Although there are always police cars blocking the road that circles the Oval so people can cross to the various churches without incident, now at least two police cars were blocking the driveway that led to the St. Benedict parking lot. The twinkling of Christmas lights on the Oval had been eclipsed by rotating red lights on their roofs.

I put my arm out to hold Deena back and held tightly to Teddy’s hand. “There’s a problem,” I said.

Junie and Vel stopped on either side of us. “What do you think this is about?” Vel asked.

“Maybe somebody had a”—Junie’s gaze flicked to Teddy then to mine—“an incident.” She splayed her hand over her chest.

I’d thought the same thing. But these were police cars, not the Emerald Springs rescue squad. And if the squad was back there stabilizing a patient or worse, would the police block the exit? I tried to remember if there was another way out of the lot and realized there was a two-lane drive that separated the St. Benedict Primary School from the rectory. It ended at Cardinal Street.

“That’s probably it,” I said.

“What’s
it
?” Deena demanded.

“Somebody probably got sick, and they had to call an ambulance.”

“Does that mean we won’t get to see the baby in the manger this year?”

This was little-girl-Deena talking. Apparently she’s already adopted this ritual as one of her own.

“It might,” I said. “Why don’t you stay here with Aunt Vel and Junie and I’ll see what’s up. If it’s going to be awhile, we might not want to wait.”

When Deena opened her mouth to protest, Vel rested her hand on her shoulder to keep her in place.

I wound my way through the murmuring crowd, looking for Ed or someone who might know what was up. I spotted a couple of church members, but they didn’t know any more than I did. Closer to the police cars I saw that one of the policemen was stringing crime scene tape across the driveway behind their cars. My throat went dry. This was no heart attack.

Ed found me before I found him.

“Aggie.”

I turned, and he put his arms around me. That simple gesture said it all. In a matter of moments the situation had gone from an unknown delay to one that was going to be personal. I knew this from the look in his eyes and the warmth of his embrace. For a moment I wished this would all go away, that I was back in the church listening to Ed read the story of the birth of Jesus.

Finally I looked up at him. “Sid?” I whispered.

He shook his head and frowned. “Sid’s not with you?”

I felt such relief I could hardly push out the next words. “No. Ed, who?”

“I’m afraid it’s Ginger. Father Carnahan slipped out at the end of their Mass to turn on the lights in the stable. He found her body in front of the manger.”

8

Together Vel and I sat at the kitchen table and killed what was left of a bottle of wine, but maybe, under the circumstances, that wasn’t the best way to think of it. Alcohol is not a helpful response to shock and grief, but for now it was all we had. Junie was upstairs trying to cope with the facts as we knew them, and my daughters, having been given an abbreviated, sanitized version, had gone to sleep with more to worry them than what would appear under the Christmas tree in the morning. Ed hadn’t even been home yet. He had left from the Oval to find and comfort Cliff. And Sid?

We had no idea.

“No more,” I said, when Vel offered to pour what was left of another bottle in my glass. “It’s just giving me a headache.”

“I doubt that’s the wine.” Vel didn’t pour more for herself either.

“Where could she be?”

Vel isn’t one for false comfort. She shrugged, but not in an offhanded way. The shrug said everything. I’m afraid. I’m confused. I wish I had stayed in Manhattan and gotten my holiday jollies at Rockefeller Center and Radio City.

Once the girls were in bed and pre-merlot, I had bundled up and used my van to search the local streets for my sister, widening my grid until I was forced to admit I’d gone farther than Sid would have on foot. Snow dusted the road when I left, but by the time I’d turned and driven the same route one more time for good measure, the roads were solid white. They were also quiet, and for the most part, empty. Sid was nowhere to be seen.

“The husband is always the first suspect,” I said.

“We don’t even know Ginger was murdered.”

“Come on, Vel. What are the chances she was so awed by the manger scene that she died on the spot?”

Vel massaged her temples. “Jumping to conclusions isn’t helpful.”

“But coming up with a hypothesis might be.”

“So if it was murder, you think it was Cliff?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said he’ll be the first suspect. And if he was working on putting new switches in the Victorian, he was only seven or eight blocks from the manger scene.”

“From everything I saw he was nuts about her.”

“And from everything I saw, she treated him badly.”

“Okay, so he finally figures out Ginger doesn’t love him, kills her, and puts her at the nativity scene, making it easy for someone to find her?”

“Or as some odd sort of plea for forgiveness.”

“Who else?”

Cliff had been easy. This was harder. I said what hadn’t been said yet.

“Sid.”

“Sid despised Ginger, but not enough to kill her.”

I was surprised Vel hadn’t started with the usual:
My little sister would never commit murder.

“Obviously, I don’t think so either,” I said, “but others might see this differently. Sid shoved her into a punch bowl, oh, let’s see, day before yesterday?”

“Let’s be completely accurate, please, in case we’re questioned. Sid shoved Ginger, and Ginger tripped and
fell
into the punch bowl.”

“The fine points aren’t going to impress the police.”

“So what, Sid left the church to find Ginger and murder her? Then she planned to slip back inside for the final chorus of ‘Bring the Torch, Jeanette, Isabella,’ but got busy elsewhere? Doing what? Packing Santa’s sleigh?”

I knew Vel was upset. I ignored the sarcasm. “The point remains that she wasn’t with us at the time Ginger was murdered. I hope she was with somebody else who can vouch for her, but she doesn’t know anybody else.”

“So who else might have done this?”

“A stranger. A burglary gone wrong. Maybe Ginger was on her way over to the church for our service and got waylaid.”

“We can probably assume that’s not true. She didn’t seem like a churchgoer to me.”

“Okay. Maybe she was downtown finishing her shopping and was cutting across the Oval on the way to her car and—”

“You told me yourself on Christmas Eve everything closes at five except the drugstore.”

“Darn it, Vel, maybe she had to get a prescription filled. Maybe she was getting a sore throat. Maybe she needed bubble bath.”

“Okay, maybe a stranger killed her. Who else?”

I’d run out of options. Who did Ginger know in Emerald Springs other than us? And the only “us” who wasn’t accounted for was Sid.

“She was at the open house,” Vel said. “Did she hit it off with anybody? Somebody she might have been with this evening?”

“Apparently she hit it off with Bix. But by now he’s back in the Hamptons drinking hot buttered rum with Steven Spielberg and Jerry Seinfeld.”

“Anybody else?”

“She talked to every male at the party. They were hanging all over her, young and old.”

“Maybe she struck up a friendship, or worse. We have no idea what she did during the hours she wasn’t here.”

“She said she spent all day yesterday at the spa.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t true.” Vel sat up a little straighter. “Remember? I saw her on a sidewalk near the Italian grocery.”

We couldn’t go any further with that because we heard the door open and close, and before either of us had moved, in walked Sid. Her arms were clasped around her chest, as if she was trying to protect what little heat she was generating. From the bright red of her cheeks and nose, I was sure that was exactly what she was trying to do.

Her eyes were red, too, and not from the weather.

Vel jumped to her feet first. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“I-I-need something hot to-to drink.”

“I’ll make a pot of coffee.” I sprang up, but Vel was already at the refrigerator, reaching for freshly ground beans.

“Sit, Aggie. Sid, you do the same.”

Instead I headed for the living room to get a pile of Junie’s hand-crocheted afghans. When I returned Sid had managed to slip out of her snow-dampened coat and I tucked them around her. Vel had already soaked a dish-towel in warm water, and Sid held it to her face.

It was too soon to ask. I knew this. But still I asked anyway. “Where have you been?”

Sid shook her head. “Can’t . . . t-talk.”

Vel grimaced but went back to the coffeemaker, which was dribbling hot coffee into the glass decanter. She got a mug and poured a large dollop of milk in it and set it in the microwave. By the time it had heated there was enough coffee to make café au lait.

“Here.” She thrust the cup at our sister, who put the towel on the table and took the cup gratefully. Sid sipped slowly, as if her lips and tongue were half frozen and she was afraid she might burn them.