Midnight Before Christmas (7 page)

“You mean—”

“That’s what I mean. The food was poisoned. Rat poison, we think. Enough to kill an elephant.”

Megan felt as if her heart had been crushed in someone’s fist. A cold chill rippled through her body. She had known all along that Carl was bad news, desperate, irrational. But somehow she had never quite believed he was capable of killing his own child.

Until now.

“You’re absolutely sure about this, Barney?”

“No doubt about it. When we have a sample this large to work with, it’s pretty impossible to make an error.”

Megan nodded. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.” She pushed the End button and disconnected the line.

Bonnie and Tommy still weren’t paying any attention to her, and she was glad for it. She would in time, of course, have to share this dreadful news with Bonnie, but not now. Not while Tommy was here. He had enough to handle without knowing that the dad who had kidnapped him had also tried to kill him.

“Will you two excuse me for a moment?” Megan decided to blaze a trail through the crowd so she could check in with the judge’s clerk. She was starting to make some progress when her feet suddenly disappeared out from under her.

She slammed down on the floor hard, briefcase first. “What the—”

Twisting her neck around, she saw nothing behind her except a boy, maybe ten or so, who was working a little too hard at not looking in her direction.

“Did you trip me?” Megan said in a voice more than sufficient to turn many heads, including the boy’s mother’s.

The kid continued to look away, suddenly very interested in the dot pattern in the ceiling panels.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Megan pushed herself to her feet. “Did you trip me?”

The boy’s mother, a large woman who seemed plenty stressed out already without taking on any additional problems, intervened. “I’m sure it was just an accident. There are so many people crowded into this tiny room.”

“If it was an accident, let him tell me so.” She placed her hand on the boy’s jaw and turned his head to face her. “How about it, kemo sabe? You think it’s funny to trip people?”

The boy affected a pained expression. “Mommy, she’s hurting me.”

The mother slapped Megan’s hand away. “Leave him alone!”

Megan was outraged. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but after all she had been through today, she didn’t need this. “Why are you defending him? He could kill someone like that.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Leave us alone!”

“Your kid is a menace!”

The mother’s voice was becoming fluttery and semi-hysterical. “I want you to leave us
alone!”

“I want an apology.”

“If you don’t leave my son alone, I’ll call the police!”

“Call away. I may decide to file charges for battery!”

“All right, all
right!”
The boy squirmed around in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he said, under his breath. “I didn’t mean it. Exactly.”

“What, was it something I said? Something about my suit you didn’t like?”

The boy shrugged. “Nah, I was just bored.”

His mother patted the boy in a rough and rapid manner Megan suspected was not at all comforting. “We’ve been here since nine-thirty.”

“And you haven’t seen the judge yet?”

“Our lawyer hasn’t shown up. He keeps calling, making excuses. So we’re stuck waiting.”

Megan rubbed her hand against her brow. Been in this hellhole since nine-thirty? No wonder the kid was stir-crazy.

“Look.” Megan reached down to the bottom of her bag. “Ever seen one of these?” She pulled the ball-bearing contraption out and plopped it onto the kid’s lap.

“No.” He lifted one of the silver balls and let it crash down into the others, starting the chain reaction. “What does it do?”

“You’re doing it already.” Megan smiled at his mother. “Keep it. It may amuse him for a while.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly …”

“Please. I’ll be glad to get it off my hands.”

The mother reached for her own purse. “Then let me give you something.”

“That really isn’t necessary.”

The mother withdrew a large glass bottle filled with green liquid. “I got this last night at the office Christmas party. You know, one of those gag gift exchanges.”

Megan took the extra-large bottle of Listerine. “Boy, those gag gifts are some kind of funny, aren’t they?”

“I gave a giant-size roll-on Arrid Extra Dry.”

“That’s clever, too.” She dropped the mouthwash into her bag, which was now even heavier than before. “Well, thanks very much.”

The mother smiled and waved. “Merry Christmas.”

Megan waved back. “Ho, ho, ho.”

As it turned out, once they got in, the hearing took less than ten minutes. Judge Harris, a middle-aged career judge who knew her way around domestic law backwards and forwards, was particularly expeditious, in part no doubt due to the size of the horde outside. The judge would probably be on duty till midnight no matter what she did.

Megan put Bonnie on the stand to give a brief account of her nightmarish life since her breakup, of how Carl had stalked her and her son, threatened her, even tried to poison Tommy. Then, in a broken voice, barely able to speak, she told the horrific account of Carl’s visit to her home that morning, of punching her boyfriend and neighbor, of smashing his hand through the windowpane. Megan suspected Bonnie could’ve gotten her restraining order right then and there, but after Bonnie proceeded to recount Carl’s attempt to kidnap Tommy, there was no uncertainty about the outcome.

Just for good measure, Megan entered into evidence a copy of the police reports for each of the earlier incidents. And in return, she got an impressive-looking restraining order signed by the judge, prohibiting Carl Cantrell from coming near Bonnie, Tommy, or their home.

“I’ll schedule a formal hearing for three weeks from today,” Judge Harris said, marking the date on her calendar. “You’ll have to serve notice on her ex-husband before then.”

“I’ll take care of it, your honor,” Megan said, making notes.

“Do you have any idea where the man is?”

“No. But I’m hoping the police will find him. They do have his license-plate number.”

The judge nodded. “I hope so, too. For everybody’s sake.”

B
Y THE THIRD ROUND
, Carl was drinking Scotch and water, hold the water. But the medicine was doing its work; the liquid comfort coursed through his veins, numbed his body. After a while he was able to forget the pain—the physical pain, at any rate. The only reminder came every time he bent his elbow, as the sharp stabbing agony reminded him that he had sliced up his arm only hours before.

He tossed back the remains of his shot glass, savoring the sensation of hot burning fluid hitting the back of his throat. Feel the burn, as the boys on the force used to say. Feel it washing away all the hurt, all the misery. It erased everything, Carl realized.

Everything except memory.

He couldn’t forget that it was Christmas Eve. He couldn’t forget that his son would be spending the day with some slimeball who wasn’t his father. He couldn’t forget that his wife would be spending the night with the same slimeball. And he couldn’t forget that he had failed to do a damn thing about it.

“I’ll have another round,” he said, marginally aloud. Was he slurring his words? Damn, he thought maybe he was. And maybe that was a good sign. He’d long since acquired the skill of drinking to excess and not letting the effects show. Maybe this meant he was crossing a new threshold, reaching a new peak.

Or maybe he was just becoming a sloppy drunk. Who the hell knew? Either way, he wanted another drink.

“Hey, Joe!” he shouted. “Hit me!”

The substantial, big-boned man with the white apron around his waist pivoted in Carl’s direction. “My name ain’t Joe.”

“Ain’t—” Carl slapped his forehead, a bit harder than he really intended. “Right, right. Joe tossed me.” He attempted a grin that he hoped might be something like charming. “And your name is—?”

“Mister Bartender to you. And I think you’ve had enough.”

“Aw, don’t start with that. I hate that.” He could tell he was weaving a bit, which could be dangerous on a bar stool. He cleared his throat, concentrated on controlling his body movement and diction. “Come on, please. I’m just getting started.”

“I could get my license yanked if—”

Carl spread his arms wide. “Hey, it’s Christmas!”

Mister Bartender whipped a Scotch bottle out from beneath the counter, a bitter frown on his face. “This is the last one, buddy. And I mean it.”

Carl scooped up the refilled glass and cradled it in his hands. “You’re a Christian saint, pal. A Christian saint.” The glass was mere inches from his lips when he heard a shrill beeping noise from somewhere nearby.

He jumped, almost spilling the precious contents of the glass. He focused his eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. Was that some kind of fire alarm? Was there a raid?

He noticed that all the other patrons at the bar were looking at him. Did they know something?

The burly bearded man at the next stool leaned his way. “It’s your phone, you mook.”

He pressed his hands against his chest. Damn! His cell phone; he’d almost forgotten he had the thing. Not like anyone ever called anymore.

He whipped the phone out of his coat pocket. He hoped he had enough battery power to take the call; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d charged it. ’Course, at the moment, he couldn’t remember much of anything.

He flipped the lid open and pressed the Send button. He twisted away from his neighbor, finding some measure of privacy on the other edge of his bar stool. “Yeah?”

“Carl, is that you?”

Carl froze. His lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think—

“Bonnie?” It was barely a whisper, as if he didn’t dare risk shattering the dream by saying her name out loud. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, baby. Can you talk?”

This can’t be real, he thought to himself. This can’t be happening. “I—I can talk.”

“Carl, I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened. I never meant for things to turn out like this.”

“I—I didn’t either, honey.”

“We shouldn’t be fighting. A family should be together on Christmas Eve.”

Carl’s head was swimming, supercharged with adrenaline and excitement. “I know, honey. That’s what I’ve been saying. That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

“I’ve been so wrong, Carl. I’ve been so bad. I know I have.”

“No, honey. It was me. All me.”

“No, I’ve treated you like hell. I’ve kept you away from your boy. That was wrong. A boy needs his daddy.”

Tears cascaded down Carl’s cheeks. He couldn’t help himself. She was saying all the right words. “It’s okay, honey.”

“It’s not okay. It was wrong. But I’d like to make it better now. I mean—if you’ll let me.” He could hear her breathing deeply, swallowing her pride. “If you’ll still have me.”

“Of course I will, honey. You know I will.”

“You’re so good to me, Carl. You always have been.”

“Aw, honey, I love you. You know I do.”

“I know, Carl. I want you to come to me. Please. Now.”

“But—” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Was this a dream or a hallucination? “But what about Frank?”

“Frank is gone, Carl. Gone forever. He’s out of my life.”

“Are—are you sure, honey?”

“I’m sure. That was such a mistake. I don’t know what came over me. But I know this: I want to start doing things right. Starting today. Starting with you.”

“I do too, baby. I do too.”

“And—oh, there’s so much more I want to tell you. To show you. I’ll—well, I’ll let it be my Christmas surprise.”

“I love surprises, baby. Especially from you.”

“Please come to me, Carl. Come now.”

Carl’s hand began trembling. “I—I’ll be right over, sweetheart. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Don’t ring the bell; I don’t want Tommy to know that we’re together again yet. Let it be his Christmas surprise. He’ll be so happy.”

“Whatever you want, Bonnie.”

“Just come to the house and wait outside. When I see you, I’ll come out to meet you.”

“I’ll be there, Bonnie. I’m leaving right now.”

“Please do, Carl. I can’t wait to be with you. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, to feel you pressing up against me—”

“I’m coming, Bonnie. I’m coming right now.”

“And Carl?”

He jerked his head back to the receiver. “Yes, baby?”

“I love you, Carl. I—I always did, you know.”

The line disconnected. Carl suddenly realized his face was bathed in tears. He was blubbering like a baby. Everyone in the bar was staring at him—and he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

It would take him ten minutes to get back to the alley where he’d ditched the pickup. Maybe less if he ran. After that, it wouldn’t take him fifteen minutes to get to Bonnie’s house.

To
their
house.

He tossed the contents of his wallet down on the counter, wiped his eyes, and raced out the door. The bracing wind gripped him, shook him, roused him, cleared his head.

This was really happening, he told himself. Really, really happening. He was coming home.

He was part of a family again. On Christmas Eve.

Bonnie stretched across the sofa and punched the button disconnecting the speakerphone. “How did I do?”

Frank sat at the end of the sofa, her feet in his lap. “You were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” He bent down and kissed her big toe. “Do you think he’ll come?”

She laughed. “I know he’ll come.” She readjusted the pillow under her head. “Idiot.”

“Good. And all will go as planned?”

“Are you kidding? The stage is set. After that scene you provoked this morning, after the fool tried to kidnap Tommy—hell, by now the police must assume he tried to poison the kid. They’re scouring the city for him, and I’ve got a restraining order in my pocket—which the chump is about to violate. Everything is set up perfectly.”

“I’m so glad.” Frank wriggled the top of her foot into his mouth and nibbled on the tips of her toes.

“Will you be ready?” Bonnie asked pointedly.