When the Snow Falls Page 11

  Any time. Hmmm . . . “Okay.”

  “Thanks, Jane,” Mom said, heartfelt. “You’ve given both Roberta and me the best Christmas present ever.”

  We talked for a while longer, and I tried to convince myself I’d done the right thing. I may struggle with the commercialism of the holidays, but really, isn’t this what Christmas is all about? Sharing, giving . . . making my mother and her friend happy? Sure, I was going to have a complete stranger living with me, but what the hell? I’d be helping someone in need. There’s a reason marriages break up at this time of year, and people are depressed, and yeah, suicidal, with all of the stress that runs parallel to all the fun and good cheer.

  When I entered the house, my pug, The Binkster, jumped down from the couch where she’d been sleeping and circled my legs a few times, wagging her curly tail enthusiastically. Luckily, she’s not much of a barker, although she’s had her moments of alerting and protecting me. I’ve only had her a few months, and I resisted her as much or more than I’d just resisted taking in my mother’s friend, but hey, adopting a dog had worked out, so maybe this would, too. I don’t know what I’d do if The Binks wasn’t part of my life. I never really understood the attachment you can have with an animal until I became The Binkster’s owner. It’s like scary; I’d kill for my dog.

  I played kissy face with her, which means I lean over and she gives me a quick tongue lick on my lips, which I thought was gross before I had a dog and now look forward to. She’s very stingy with her kisses. Not really into PDA, I guess. But she curls up against me every chance she gets and we watch a lot of television together.

  “I can’t stay,” I told her as I walked into the kitchen and pulled out her bag of low-cal kibble. She has a healthy appetite and I have to watch everything that goes into her mouth like a hawk. The first time I took her to the vet, I got scolded because she was gaining weight that she didn’t need. Since then, I’ve learned to exhibit tough love when it comes to the food intake, so I poured a paltry fistful of kibble into her bowl and then watched her scarf them down.

  “Best fifteen seconds of the day,” I said aloud as I refreshed her water bowl, but she was too busy to acknowledge my wit.

  I patted her head on the way out. The Binkster ran into a moving car a few months ago, an accident that nearly stopped my heart. Luckily, she wasn’t hurt as badly as I’d first imagined, and she’s made a full recovery, though the fur’s still growing back on one of her legs. Before the accident, I was already obsessed with her, but now I’ve moved into crazy dog person territory. I’ve found this is acceptable behavior for dog owners, so I don’t stress about it.

  The Wexfords’ house was an imposing Tudor behind a wrought-iron gate and a circular drive. I had to ring a bell to be admitted, and as the gates swung inward, I thought of suicidal Karen Aldridge being brought here by Darcy and “talked to” all night. Man, I don’t know. I think I might have found a way to scale the walls, depressed state or no. A little bit of Darcy goes a loooonnnnggg way.

  I wondered if she’d offered food to Karen Aldridge during her stay.

  “Chamomile tea,” Darcy said, when I posed the question to her fifteen minutes later. She’d been waiting on the other side of the door, apparently, because it flew open after the first rap of my knuckles. She whisked me inside, and I was afraid she was going to link her arm through mine so we could stroll along, but she restrained herself.

  “She was just shaking like a leaf,” Darcy was going on. “She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t realize it at first. When I gave her the tea, the cup rattled so much, she sloshed it on the carpet. See?” She pointed out a small brown stain on a thick carpet that covered the expanse of the large sitting room Darcy had shown me into.

  “We sat right here,” she said almost wistfully, pointing to two wingback chairs that were angled to face each other and covered in a wild pattern featuring peacocks. She also had a peacock-tail antique brass screen in front of the fireplace, which was merrily throwing off gas heat. It was cold enough that I wanted to warm my hands by it, but Darcy had practically grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me to where I now stood. A ten-foot-high, lavishly decorated Christmas tree was situated in front of the windows, so that anyone coming to their house would see it first.

  Darcy hadn’t changed much in the twelve years since I’d last seen her. She was still slim and attractive, with short, frosted blond hair and artfully made-up blue eyes. She wore a wool, cranberry-colored dress and brown leather boots and was as earnest as ever. There was not an ounce of humor in her smile, which was strained and fell completely off her lips as soon as she had me captured inside the Wexford enclave. I had asked her where James was, and she’d said, “Upstairs,” and that’s all I got out of her for the moment. I’d chanced a look at my watch to see what time it was: straight up seven. I sure hoped they ate on time. They’d gotten me here with the promise of dinner and I prayed we would eat first, but no such luck.

  “I talked to her for a long time,” Darcy said, motioning me to one of the peacock chairs. I sat down gingerly. There was a museum-like, don’t-touch quality to the room. I’d bet if anyone had spilled tea on her rug besides Karen Aldridge, the person she’d been so desperately intent on saving, Darcy would have had that stain immediately cleaned and the bill sent to the perpetrator tout de suite.

  “How long?” I asked.

  Darcy appeared to be lost in her remembrance of her time alone with Karen. “What?”

  “You said you talked to her a long time. How long was she here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved a hand. “Ten hours . . . twelve, maybe.”

  “You kept her here for twelve hours?”

  “It went by in a blink.” She seemed to come back to herself. “It’s so good to see you, Jane. So good.” She’d said the same thing when she’d met me at the door and had squeezed me tight enough to force air from my lungs in a choking gasp. “I can’t believe you’re a private detective. No, scratch that: I totally believe it. You’re just the type to go out and do something incredible.”

  “I don’t know how incredible it is.”

  “It’s totally incredible. If only more people would follow their dreams. I always have, and I have a terrific life with James because of it. We’ve forged our love, all these years. You know, when you have so much love inside you, it’s just fantastic to meet a soul mate who feels just the same.”

  I have this theory that people who bandy words like soul mate around are covering up some deficiency. Prudently, I kept that to myself. “So, the twelve hours went by in a blink, and then what happened? Did you drive her home? How did she leave?”

  “James took her. She was crying by then. Her defenses had broken down and she’d really gotten in touch with her core. She told me how grateful she was that I’d saved her.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but yes. Her body language. She hugged me so tight when she was leaving . . . she just didn’t want to let go. I had tears in my eyes, too.”

  And lo and behold, her eyes filled with tears anew. She shook her head and looked away, pressing her knuckles to her lips.

  “James said she’s suing you,” I said.

  “That’s right,” James said, striding into the room at that moment. He’d changed into a long-sleeved shirt and jacket. No tie, thank God, as I hadn’t even considered this dinner might be formal-ish. Luckily, I’d changed into my good jeans and tucked them into boots, and I’d purposely put on a red, V-necked sweater in a nod to the season. One of my better outfits, even if I was still a lot more underdressed than either of them, but then, it’s kind of my MO, so I wasn’t going to feel bad about it.

  “The lawsuit’s complete bunk,” James said. “Karen knew Darcy was trying to help her. She was grateful, until that lawyer got a hold of her.”

  “James is a lawyer, too,” Darcy put in, smiling adoringly up at her husband. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t
see how I can help you,” I started, and Darcy’s head whipped around.

  “Oh, but you can. You need to talk to her,” she declared. “She’s been all turned around. If someone doesn’t step in, she could be right back up there on that bridge!”

  “We want you to meet with Karen,” James added. “Talk to her. She’s getting some bad legal advice, but she’s not going to listen to either me or Darcy.” There was the soft tinkling of a bell, and James said, “Dinner’s served.”

  I waited as James helped Darcy to her feet, then followed them down a walnut-wainscoted hallway to a room with an elegant chandelier above a long, dark, polished table with no less than five red poinsettia plants artfully arranged along its center. Three place settings sat at the far end. James seated Darcy, then me, then took a place at the head of the table.

  It felt a little like playacting, and I was definitely starting to feel underdressed despite my intentions not to, but with this intro, I figured the food had to be pretty spectacular.

  Those hopes were dashed when a middle-aged woman carrying a soup tureen waddled in as if her feet hurt. She waddled back out without saying a word, and I waited as James thanked her, then opened the tureen and began ladling up a thick green liquid into Darcy’s bowl. He then held out his hand for mine.

  I handed it over carefully, wondering what that soup was. Note to self: ask what’s on the menu before saying yes to a dinner invitation.

  James saw my look and said, “It’s kale soup. Darcy and I are trying to eat healthier.”

  “Ahh . . .”

  Darcy said, “It’s just such a food fest around the holidays. We’re trying to keep things in line.” She shook her head dolefully. “Y’know, I kept her from jumping, and we really got along. Why is everybody so mad now? What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Who else is mad?” I asked, spooning up some of the green glop. Thankfully, it tasted a helluva lot better than it looked.

  “We asked Andrew Jagger to represent Darcy,” James said, pouring me another glass of red wine from a crystal decanter. I reached for my wineglass, also crystal. I was glad it was heavy and dense rather than some delicate, spindly wisp that I might snap in half without thinking.

  “He works with James. Or, James works with him,” Darcy said, sipping at her glass of wine. “That’s why we moved to Portland; James is a partner at Connington, Long and Barrow.”

  I made appropriate noises and we settled in to eat. The bad news was that that was apparently the extent of the meal. I learned that Merina, the sometime cook, could prepare about four recipes that Darcy had perfected and then had her make for them. Darcy’s own much-vaunted skills in the kitchen seemed to have fallen into disuse, if they’d ever truly existed. I know it’s a little unfair, the way I continually judge her, but those high-school years are burned into my brain.

  I escaped an hour later with the promise to meet with Karen Aldridge. I tried, once again, to point out that they should probably just rely on their lawyer, who seemed to be a good friend, but Darcy wouldn’t hear of it. She walked me to the door and out to my car, hanging onto my arm and keeping me from getting in, even though a very cold rain was pelting down.

  “I’m so glad to see you again,” she said, giving my captured arm a squeeze. “When James was offered this great job in Portland, I thought, ‘Jane Kelly’s there, so let’s go.’ My money’s in investments and this house, so it was an easy move. I planned to look you up. At least this terrible injustice has given us a chance to renew our friendship.”

  “Uh . . . yeah. . . .”

  “When are you going to contact Karen?”

  She’d given me Karen’s address and place of work, which she’d apparently inveigled from her during the chamomile tea marathon, so there was no reason to wait. “I’ll go tomorrow.” I was anxious for her to let go of me. Darcy nodded and I mumbled thanks for the meal, and that I’d be in touch. She hung onto my arm for a moment longer, then finally let me go.

  I exhaled as I got behind the wheel. Sheesh. Being with Darcy was exhausting. That hadn’t changed over the years. Switching on the radio, I heard “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” as hailstones the size of The Binkster’s kibble pounded on the roof of my car in rapid-fire, silver streaks.

  I was woken from a dream about termitelike bugs eating the walls of my house by my ringing cell phone. It was the default tone, I realized, as I chased away the remnants of the dream, fully aware that it was part of the worry I had about my almost-new landlord, Chuck Narwood. He was someone I knew from the Coffee Nook, my regular morning hangout, and he was loud and full of excess bonhomie, with all the warmth of a boa constrictor. My current landlord was in the process of selling the cottage to Chuck, who’d swooped it up with glee. He just loooovvved the idea of being my landlord, and though the deal is still in escrow, I now live in a permanent state of low-grade anxiety, believing I should move just to get away from Chuck but believing more that leaving the canal and . . . well, my home, will only make things worse.

  As my hand scrabbled for the phone, I heard The Binkster inhale a long doggy snort, as if I’d ruined her beauty sleep. She was curled up next to me. I try to get her to sleep in her little furry bed, and she does during the day, but she’s certain that if I’m in the bed, she should be, too, and well, fine. It’s not like anyone else is sharing it with me these days.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Jane? This is Roberta Lambden. Carole told me I could call you. You’re an angel, an absolute angel to let me stay.” Her voice clogged, and she couldn’t go on for a moment. “I . . . don’t know what I’d do without my friends.”

  “Uh, hi . . . did Mom tell you I only have a couch in the living room?”

  “Yes, dear. It’ll be fine . . . just fine. . . .” She started struggling again, and I spent the next ten minutes soothing her and giving her directions, and even telling her where I kept a spare key.

  She said she would be by later in the day with her personal items, and when we hung up, I flopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  Christmas . . .

  The way things were shaping up, this was going to be one of the worst on record for me. Were Roberta and I going to be spending it as a lonely couple? I made a note to myself to pin Dwayne down on his plans. Then I made a second note, reminding myself to forget the first one.

  The Binkster and I went outside to the deck through wisping snowflakes that melted before they hit the ground. We headed down the steps from the deck to the sloped yard, where she nosed around for the right spot to squat. This always takes longer than I expect as she’s very particular about where she drops her fanny. She can access the backyard through her dog door, but the job gets done faster if I tag along.

  My thoughts were on the task at hand—wrangling a meeting with Karen Aldridge—and I hadn’t come up with a solution by the time The Binks was jumping up the back stairs to the deck and slipping through the flap of her dog door so she could quickly get to her feed bowl. She was impatiently waiting for me as I entered, twirling around in tight circles, as I dumped some more kibble into her bowl. I was mentally kicking myself for not signing Darcy and James to a contract. I had this idea about offering Karen a free lunch if she would just meet with me, something I always fall for, but I didn’t feel like forking over for a meal unless I was going to be reimbursed by Darcy and James.

  So thinking, I put a call into Darcy, who didn’t pick up. Maybe it was too early for her. I thought about leaving a message, but the world’s gone text mad and no one seems to listen to personal voice mails unless they have to. I cut off the ringing phone and texted her:

  Forgot to have you sign contract. Will bring by this morning.

  Most mornings I run the two and a half miles to the Coffee Nook for my usual black coffee, but the weather looked like it could turn into out-and-out snow or sleet at any moment, so I took the Volvo instead. As soon as I walked into the place, I knew I’d made a mistake. Chuck was there, big as life
, and as soon as he saw me, he called, “Jane! I gotta stop by today and check out the winterizing. S’posed to get damn cold. Don’t want to burst any pipes.”

  “Don’t want to burst any pipes,” I repeated reluctantly. My current landlord had never been nearly so conscientious, and I was already kind of missing the neglect. I could maybe drain a pipe myself, but I knew from experience there was no stopping Chuck once he got started, and explaining to him that he wasn’t really my landlord yet was a technicality he would dismiss as if he were swatting a fly.

  Plucking a paper cup from a stack, I filled it up with regular coffee from a thermal carafe. Seeing that Chuck was going to be there awhile, I made some excuse to leave earlier than usual and hightailed it out of there. I drove down to the new office and parked in the back lot, letting myself inside with my key.

  Dwayne was already there, scanning away. “You’re early,” he said.

  “Back at ’cha. What’s so all-fired interesting about document scanning?”

  “Just want the work done.”

  I get the feeling Dwayne’s itching for a big case. He didn’t like being sidelined a while, and he’s not the kind who does well with inactivity. I brought him up to date on my evening with the Wexfords, finishing with, “I’m going to try to meet with Karen Aldridge today.”

  “How’re you gonna do that?”

  “I don’t know. You want in?” I didn’t really expect him to say yes, but when he seemed to be mulling the idea over, I sweetened the pot with, “I was thinking about inviting her to lunch.”

  “On whose dime?”

  “Mine . . . once I get the Wexfords to sign a contract with expenses.”

  “I’ll join you,” he said, which blew my mind, until I remembered how bored he was.

  While I was waiting for Darcy to call me back, I helped Dwayne with the scanning. It was pretty easy work, and it gave me a chance to glance over old files that went back before I came on board.

  “What are you looking at?” Dwayne asked, coming up behind me and peering over my shoulder.