Hark! The Herald Angel Screamed: An Augusta Goodnight Mystery (with Heavenly Recipes) (9 page)

“Give Clementine a hug and then hurry and wash your hands. Supper’s ready,” I told him, knowing his mother would probably haul out the antiseptic wipes if she saw the dog licking Teddy in the face. Jessica has become adjusted to having Clementine around, but she’s still having a problem with doggy hair, doggy slobber, and what she imagines to be doggy germs.

Roger waited until Teddy and his mother were stringing popcorn for the tree after supper before bringing up the subject of the unfortunate incident at Willowbrook. Augusta and I had been baking that week and now he snatched a Santa-shaped cookie and bit off its head as I arranged them on a platter. Jessica doesn’t serve sweets in their home but I think she’s finally given up on mine.

“So, Mom,” he began, reaching for another, “you seem to be starting off the holly-jolly season with a bang—or should I say, a thud? Have you developed some kind of sinister detector that leads you to dead bodies? I’m beginning to wonder if it’s safe for you to be about! Should we hire a bodyguard?”

Now, I’m proud of my son and love him all to pieces, but since he’s been made chair of the History Department at Sarah Bedford, our local college, he’s gotten obnoxiously bossy. I chose that moment to tell him so. “Look,” I said, “the man was already dead when we found him. I doubt very much if he picked that morning to jump or fall or whatever from the balcony just because I was in the vicinity.” (I didn’t dare mention the notion that he might have been pushed!)

“Well, something’s going on out there, and I hope you and Aunt Ellis will have the good sense to stay out of it. Let Cousin Grayson worry about it. After all, it’s his house.” Roger stood to clear the table while I scraped dishes at the sink. Ellis is the closest thing to an aunt my two will ever have since neither Charlie nor I had any sisters and my brother can’t seem to stay married. “Preacher Dave seems to think the guy might’ve been a homeless person who probably had too much to drink,” he said, stacking glasses on top of plates until they leaned precariously, “and I can’t get a word out of Ed down at the Police Department.”

Ed Tillman and Roger had been friends since kindergarten and I knew him well enough to know he could clam up tighter than a miser’s purse. I wasn’t having any better luck with my friend Kemper Mungo.

“Maybe he doesn’t have anything to tell,” I said, rescuing the tottering stack, “but if I learn anything, I promise I’ll let you know.”

“Just promise you’ll stay away from there.” He brushed my cheek with a kiss. “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know,” I said, giving his arm a damp pat. There was no way I
was going to tell him about our experiences at Willowbrook that morning. I just hoped I could count on Ben to keep his mouth shut, too.

“I ran into Nettie at the library this morning and she told me you had made new window treatments for Julie’s room,” Jessica mentioned later as we finished decorating the tree. “When do I get to see them?”

“Anytime,” I said, watching Roger boost Teddy up to put the star on top of the tree. It was a pitiful-looking star my great-grandmother had made by sewing gold oiled paper to cardboard but, dog-eared as it was, it was tradition, and traditions die hard in our family.

“What about now?” Jessica was already on her way upstairs so there was nothing I could do but follow.

Augusta had fashioned simple tab curtains from a heavy cotton blend, and since Julie loved purple, the pattern featured inch-wide vertical stripes in that color against a white background. At intervals, a scattering of fern fronds lent a bright touch of green.

Jessica fingered the fabric and inspected the lining. Naturally, she found it perfect. “This is absolutely lovely!” she exclaimed, turning to me with a new glow of respect. I know she must have been wondering how I learned to sew so well after the disaster of Teddy’s Halloween costume—or what was meant to be Teddy’s Halloween costume—but, of course, she was too polite to mention it. “I’ve been looking for something similar for that little upstairs bedroom. Bought those curtains in a hurry when we first moved in, and I never have liked them. Did it take you very long to make these?”

“Oh, not too long … I worked on them off and on, of course.” I stiffened. I could
feel
Augusta standing behind me and I didn’t dare turn around.

“Do you think you might show me how? I hate to pay somebody to make them, and I’d really like to learn if you think it wouldn’t be too terribly hard.” Jessica turned imploring blue eyes on me and I felt like the lowest kind of worm. My daughter-in-law seldom asks favors and I really wanted to do something special to please her.

“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Don’t tell me you
made
those!” Roger stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock—an expression, I thought, which was unnecessarily exaggerated. “When did you learn to
sew?”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very good instructor, but if you’ll measure your windows and decide on the fabric, I’ll be happy to make your curtains,” I said, turning to his wife.

Behind him in the hallway Augusta laughed silently.

“I guess I stepped into it this time,” I told her after the others had left. “You are going to help me, aren’t you?”

“Of course, but they really aren’t all that difficult to make,” she said. “I could show you how.”

“When I was in high school, I made a C-minus in home economics—and I was lucky to get it,” I said. “Our teacher, Mrs. Settlemyer, retired after that year. Everybody said she went to live in Alabama with her daughter but we always suspected the poor soul had a nervous breakdown. … You might be an angel,” I told her, “but you’re not a saint!”

The two of us sat in the darkened living room watching the lights of the tree reflected in the window while the fire burned low on the hearth. Since Teddy had done most of the decorating, a lot of the ornaments hung on the lower branches but that was fine with me. I closed my eyes, drinking in the fresh cedar smell. “Just two more days until the caroling party,” I reminded Augusta, “and we’ll finally get to meet Melrose DuBois!”

he next day was Friday and Weigelia Jones was coming to help me get ready for The Thursdays’ caroling party the following night. Weigelia and I became friends when I was her tutor in the literacy program several years earlier, and when I’m in a bind she’s good enough to work me in on her house-cleaning schedule. There’s no spot of dirt that can elude Weigelia Jones’s keen eyes, no cobweb too far from her reach, and when I see her coming I want to throw my arms around her and shout hallelujah. Instead, I put on a huge pot of coffee. Weigelia loves it almost as much as Augusta, only she fills her cup about halfway with cream.

I was hurrying through my breakfast of cereal and orange juice that morning when it occurred to me that Augusta was trying to get my attention. “Did you say something?” I asked, rinsing my bowl at the sink. I didn’t want to be in Weigelia’s way when she started working her miracles on my kitchen floor.

“Only two or three times,” Augusta said. “You must have been a million miles away. Is something on your mind?”

“It’s that blasted song!” I admitted. “That little snatch of melody we heard at Willowbrook yesterday. I can’t get it out of my head and it’s about to drive me crazy.”

“The violin music?” Augusta tapped her slender fingers on the table. “Why don’t you ask someone who might be familiar with the piece—perhaps someone at the college. Didn’t you tell me there was a group who played—”

“The Fiddlesticks! Of course! Our postmaster, Albert Grady, plays the violin and so does his wife, Miranda. I have to buy Christmas stamps anyway, and today would be as good a time as any.” And I bent to kiss her angelic cheek. “Augusta, you’re a genius! Now, what was it you wanted to say?”

Augusta flushed, which meant she was pleased. Although she tells me vanity is folly, I’ve seen her admire her own reflection too many times to take her seriously. “I asked what you had in mind to serve for your caroling party tomorrow,” she said. “I saw a recipe for individual meat pies in the newspaper the other day, and—”

“Perfect!” I said. “We’ll probably be chilled when we return so I thought I’d have some kind of hot soup … “

“Hmm … that butternut squash soup would be good … with a bit of ginger and nutmeg and a dash of sherry, of course. We had it last Christmas, remember?”

“Good but troublesome. Too much stewing and brewing!” I told her.

“I don’t mind stewing and brewing,” she said in what I thought was just a hint of self-righteousness. (I didn’t say so, of course.)

And so we decided on the menu—or Augusta decided on it. Not that I minded one bit. “Naturally, The Thursdays will bring finger foods,” I said. And I could guess what most of them would be. Ellis would bring a chafing dish with her famous hot clam dip; Jo Nell, sweet-and-sour meatballs; Zee, chicken salad puffs; Claudia usually brought marinated mushrooms; Nettie made a wonderful cheese ball; and I could count on Idonia to furnish fresh fruit.

“Of course, we’ll have sweets coming out of our ears,” I said, thinking of all the Christmas cakes and cookies everyone would bring.

Augusta’s eyes grew wide. “Out of your ears?” she gasped, and I laughed so, I hardly had breath to explain that it was merely an expression.

I was still laughing when I heard Weigelia’s car pull up behind the house. Besides going to the post office, I had several other errands to run and I asked Augusta if she’d like to go with me as she usually preferred to be out of the house while Weigelia cleaned. “Sometimes I have a feeling she suspects I’m here,” she once told me, “and I don’t like to take any chances.”

But this time she had other plans. “Ellis has decided she wants plum pudding for Christmas dinner,” she explained, “and I promised to help her make it. If you’re going by the library, however, I’m almost out of something to read.” Augusta has been on a mystery kick for the past few months and has already worked her way to the M–P section in the Stone’s Throw Library. I promised to see what I could do.