Diva Wraps It Up, The (5 page)

Dear Sophie,

I’m married to a Christmas nut. For years my husband has wanted a lighted Christmas wreath attached to the front of his car. I’d like to surprise him, but I don’t know where to start. Do they sell wreaths for cars?

Santa’s Helper in Bow, Kentucky

Dear Santa’s Helper,

You can buy prewired artificial wreaths for cars at many automotive stores. If you would rather use a fresh wreath, then use a string of battery-powered lights, or twelve-volt LED lights that plug into the car’s cigarette lighter.

Sophie

My gaze drifted to Gwen, who fussed at Baxter. “I’m behind schedule now,” she complained. “There’s so much to do. My cookie swap is tomorrow. I don’t have time to coddle you. Can you walk? And Nina, don’t you dare bring store-bought cookies.”

Their front door opened again. Katrina, the Babineauxs’ youngest daughter, viewed the scene. Six years old with an adorable mischievous face and pudgy cheeks, she ventured toward her parents, her auburn tresses unkempt as though no one had bothered to comb her hair. “Mom? Mom! What if I promise—”

“Really, Kat. Can’t you see that I’m busy? The subject is closed. There will be no animals of any sort in my house. You’re allergic to them. End of story. Now get out of your father’s way.”

Baxter stood up unsteadily.

Kat watched with a crestfallen expression and whispered to no one, “But I’m
not
allergic.”

A tinny rendition of “Jingle Bells” played on our street, distracting us. A faded red and white VW camper pulled up in front of the Babineauxs’ home. A lighted wreath covered most of the front under the window and between the headlights. Colorful lights twinkled around the windows. A sign on the side read
No More Hungry Children
.

Gwen’s mouth hung open. “Noooo,” she breathed.

A man leaped out of the driver’s seat and yelled, “Baxter, baby!” He held his fists over his head and did a little dance of joy, rotating his ample middle.

Gwen hissed, “Please tell me that’s not your brother, Elvin.”

Baxter probably didn’t hear her. With a joyous cry, he charged toward the dancing man and held him in a bear hug. The guy looked suspiciously like a younger, chubbier version of Baxter. I’d have bet on them being related.

The passenger door opened and a long shapely leg emerged, followed by another. The owner wore her skirt too short, her makeup too heavy, and her sweater far too tight on the most ample bosom I could recall seeing.

Gwen gasped.

The woman’s curves made Gwen’s shapely figure seem positively scrawny.

The woman smiled and issued a happy little scream. “Gwen!” She sauntered toward Gwen on high heels and held out her arms for a hug. “I feel like I’ve known you forever!”

“Are you my Aunt Sugar?” asked Kat.

The woman released Gwen and placed her palms on the sides of Kat’s face. “Aren’t you the prettiest little angel? You must be Kat! Can I have a hug?”

Gwen pulled Kat to her, interrupting any attempt at a hug for Aunt Sugar. “Honey,” Gwen said to Kat, “why don’t you help your daddy and uncle park that, that bus?”

Kat eagerly ran toward her father.

Gwen hustled along behind her to Baxter and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “They cannot stay here. And move that embarrassingly unsightly vehicle to the alley this instant!”

Undoubtedly having forgotten all about us, Gwen propelled Aunt Sugar into her home as though she meant to hide her, much like the bus.

I rubbed my arms against the cold. A glance at Nina reminded me that we wore fuzzy slippers. But I paused anyway for one more moment. Now that they were inside, I dared to look at the ladder more closely. I nudged Nina. “Did you notice the ladder?”

I knelt beside it and examined the break. The second rung had given way. I didn’t want to touch anything in case the police could get prints off it. The closer I looked, the more convinced I was that someone had weakened the rung by sawing it.

Nina shrugged. “Old ladders break. I’m freezing. Let’s go.”

Back home in the warmth of my kitchen, I closed the window, fed Mochie minced turkey in gravy, and pulled out bread for cinnamon- and nutmeg-laced French toast.

“Seriously, Nina? You didn’t think it looked like someone cut that rung on the ladder?”

“You’re turning into a buttinsky, Sophie, one of those people who report neighbors to the police. Before long, everyone will run from you, shrieking.”

I whisked the eggs, added generous doses of cinnamon and nutmeg as well as a drop of vanilla, and dredged the bread through the mixture.

Had I become overly suspicious of everyone and everything, seeing maliciousness everywhere? Maybe I was wrong and no one had tampered with the ladder. Then I’d have egg on my face and permanently alienate the entire Babineaux clan. What if I
was
right, though? I would never forgive myself if someone meant to harm Baxter, and I could have prevented it. I heated the griddle and added oil. “Baxter could have been killed!”

“Okay, I’ll grant you that.” Nina poured water for hot tea. “But I hardly think Gwen is trying to knock him off. Not that I know them very well. Besides, we have something more important to do—find Brown-Eyed Girl for Horace!”

I grinned at her eagerness and handed her a plate with French toast that I had topped with dots of butter and maple syrup. We took mugs of tea and settled at the table. “How are we ever going to find a girl Horace loved thirty or forty years ago? She could be anywhere.”

Nina cut a piece of French toast and devoured it. “Mmm. So good. We could start by paying Horace a visit.”

“Think they’ll let us in?”

“Why not? We’re friends of his. Isn’t that what people do? Visit their friends in the hospital?”

If Horace was conscious, maybe he could point us in the direction of Brown-Eyed Girl. I supposed Edith had the power to chase us away, but it was worth a try. I couldn’t think of another way to follow up for him, and Horace certainly couldn’t do it himself.

After breakfast, Nina rushed home to change. I promised to meet her in fifteen minutes. I pulled on a white turtleneck sweater and my favorite stretchy jeans with an elastic waist. My boots were more functional than high fashion, but my jeans fit into them nicely, making me feel quite trendy. I added a warm black suede jacket, and an ultrasoft long white scarf that wrapped around my neck loosely twice and folded over itself in front. After a quick good-bye to Mochie, who lounged happily in the sunroom, I dashed out to my garage. Nina waited for me, wearing a beige corduroy skirt, boots, and a dark green jacket with a red and beige plaid muffler.

I drove to the hospital, planning to stop to buy pine roping and wreaths on the way back.

The woman at the front desk told us Horace’s room number without hesitation. The silence in the intensive care ward emphasized the dire condition of the patients housed there.

A nurse was exiting the room when we arrived. “Are you here to see Horace?” There was no mistaking the hope in her expression. “I’m so glad.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Doesn’t he have any family?”

“He has a wife,” blurted Nina.

The nurse stared at her. “Does she know he’s here?”

Nina and I exchanged a glance.

“She hasn’t been to see him?” I asked.

“No,” whispered the nurse. “Not a soul has come to visit.”

She ushered us to the door of his room, chattering the whole way. “He’s not responding at the moment. We don’t know if he can hear us or not, but it’s important that you talk to him. Okay?”

She watched as we turned our attention to Horace. He lay still and pale with his eyes closed, a mere ghost of himself.

Nina set her purse in a chair, and in such a cheerful voice that it almost sounded like she had burst into song, she said, “Hello, Horace! How are you feeling? You look wonderful. I hear you did splendidly in surgery yesterday and that you’re healing well.”

I threw Nina a questioning glance. Why hadn’t she told me? “Where did you hear that?” I whispered.

Clearly annoyed, she grabbed a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled,
You’re supposed to say encouraging things to a patient!

“Hi, Horace. It’s Sophie.”

Nina rotated her hand in front of her face. Evidently I was supposed to say more.

Instead I reached for his hand and clasped it in mine. “We’re so worried about you.” His cold hand lay in mine, motionless as a dead fish.

Nina babbled brightly, telling him what a glorious day it was and that his Christmas party had been fabulous. Throughout her cheerful rambling, Horace showed no recognition that we were in the room. I feared for him.

When Nina ran out of steam, I sat in the chair and spoke with him softly, holding his hand and telling him to be strong and that we were all pulling for him.

I couldn’t help noticing that the nurse hovered protectively just outside the door.

And then Nina leaned over him and, right in his face, said, “Moondoggie, we’re looking for Brown-Eyed Girl. I’m sure she’d want to know that you need her now.”

To my total amazement Horace’s fingers curled just enough to give my hand the slightest squeeze.

“I saw that!” gasped Nina. “Horace, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear us. Does Brown-Eyed Girl live in Old Town?”

The soft pressure pressed my fingers again. It was nothing more than an attempt to curl his fingers really. I gazed at Nina and said in a low voice, “You have to tell him what a squeeze means. One squeeze for yes, and two for no.”

The nurse interrupted. “Did he really squeeze your hand?”

We nodded.

“Have you been having a good visit, Horace?” she asked. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to change your bandages.”

She shooed us out in the nicest way, saying she hoped we would return because Horace needed interaction with his loved ones.

As we walked down the hallway, Nina said, “He needs Brown-Eyed Girl.”

“Isn’t it interesting that horrible Edith hasn’t been to the hospital?” I didn’t think I was particularly critical of people, but I couldn’t imagine anything harsher or more cold. “She must despise him,” I said. “Maybe Edith knows about Brown-Eyed Girl and that’s why she’s so unhappy.”

“He squeezed your hand. I saw him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Let’s be realistic. If Brown-Eyed Girl lived in Old Town, wouldn’t he have contacted her?”

“Maybe not.” Nina scowled at me. “You know things are different when you’re married. Most people don’t go calling up old flames. That’s extremely poor form.” Nina grabbed my wrist. “Look! That’s her! How could we have been so blind?”

Horace’s secretary, Phyllis, walked toward us. “Have you seen Horace? How’s he doing?”

We filled her in, omitting the fact that his wife hadn’t paid him a visit yet.

Nina widened her eyes and tilted her head toward Phyllis in little jolts. Phyllis definitely had brown eyes. She wore her hair yellow blond, but her dark eyebrows gave away her natural color.

When I didn’t take Nina’s oh-so-obvious hint, she burbled, “Phyllis, do you know the song ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?”

Phyllis smiled. “I do! It’s one of my favorites.”

Nina turned a smug, satisfied face toward me.

Nina was such a romantic. We couldn’t walk around questioning every woman in Horace’s general age range. I asked Phyllis to keep in touch and let us know if she heard about any changes in Horace’s condition.

Nina didn’t say anything until we were out of earshot. “We found her! Right under our noses. Why didn’t you say something?”

“First of all, everyone likes the song ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ That doesn’t prove anything. Second, unless I’m mistaken, over half the population has brown eyes. Are you planning to ask every brown-eyed woman in Old Town if she likes that song?”

“We’ll know soon enough anyway. I bet if she’s Brown-Eyed Girl, he’ll respond to her and get better right away.”

We drove out of the parking lot, Nina still insisting that Phyllis had to be Horace’s long-lost love. “Horace is such a nice guy. I can’t imagine how he tolerated Edith all these years.”

I couldn’t help thinking about Horace’s upset stomach the day before. “I don’t want to be swayed by the fact that Edith is such an unfriendly person, but the spouse is always the first suspect when something happens. It would be so easy for her to slip something into his food.”

Nina dreamily said, “He and Phyllis worked next to each other all along, never able to share their true feelings.” She choked. “Is Phyllis married? Do you know?”

“I have no idea.” I parked the car close enough to my house to have walked easily, but I needed my hybrid SUV to transport the pine roping and wreaths home. I thought I’d better get them up before Mars covered the house with lights.

Old Town was beginning to put on its Christmas finery. Lush pine boughs surrounded store windows and cheerful wreaths seemed to have appeared overnight. Even though it was early afternoon, lights sparkled everywhere I looked. Nina and I peered into a paned store window. A silver and white winter wonderland glistened inside. Giant three-dimensional snowflakes hung from the ceiling, lights glinted off their fuzzy spokes and gleamed on little beads. Stunning silver pieces graced a table set as though for a holiday dinner. The centerpiece took my breath away. Two elegant silver reindeer pulled a foot-high silver sleigh filled with white blown-glass ornaments. On the buffet behind it, silver candleholders in the shapes of stag heads with antlers held white candles laced with tiny silver stars.

“Ohh,” sighed Nina. “Do you think Jill could do my house in silver and white? There’s something so clean and wintery about it.”

I understood completely. It sparkled in a crisp, elegant way, making me long to change my traditional red and green Christmas décor to silver and white. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

We moved on to Rocking Horse Toys.

Jonah and Twiggy Lawrence had outdone themselves decorating the window of their new toy store. Jonah had been a sales representative for a major toy company in Arizona. He’d bucked the corporate life to pursue his dream—a toy store of his own. He and his wife, Twiggy, opened it with great fanfare in June, but this was their big season. They had re-created Santa’s workshop. Two-foot-tall elves wearing red and green outfits wrapped packages. Dolls in lacy dresses looked on. The giant unicorn and huge pony behind them were so cute I wanted to buy them. Colorful books lay in artistically arranged piles, waiting their turn to be wrapped. Gleaming red fire trucks competed for attention with a four-foot-tall sailboat. If none of that was enough to lure children inside, bright gift tags bearing names like Emma, Sophia, Kat, Jacob, and Michael were scattered around, as if they were waiting for the elves to assign them to gifts. A tower of colorfully wrapped gifts with mysterious contents waited to find homes.