Veiled Threat (14 page)

twenty-four

Giulia peeked into the
lounge half an hour later, hoping to catch the exchange of vows.

A Justice of the Peace dressed like the Ghost of Christmas Present stood in front of the Christmas tree. He looked at least seventy years old, but carried the costume well. The false chestpiece helped. Mrs. Claus on his right held the hands of Cindy-Lou Who on his left. Judging from the backs of guests’ heads, representatives from classic Christmas television specials and the works of Dickens, plus various deities and multiple Father Christmases, had accepted invitations to this wedding.

Saint Nicholas detached one of the rings from the satin pillow. Mrs. Claus took it and held it against the tip of Cindy-Lou Who’s finger. “The Christmas Waltz” played through the sound system.

Mrs. Claus began, “With this ring, I thee wed …”

A green velvet Father Christmas at the end of the second row leapt out of his chair. He reached Mrs. Claus in one stride and ripped the ring out of her fingers. “Thieving bitch!”

He cold-cocked her. She fell backward onto one of the armchairs and slid to the floor.

Someone flipped the world’s slow-motion switch.

Giulia ran past the chairs.

Half the guests started to stand. Father Christmas grabbed Cindy-Lou Who.

“Don’t do this! Come back to me, please, please come back to me.”

Cindy-Lou Who struggled in his grip, trying to get her nails up to claw his face—the only part of his skin visible in the costume. “Let me go, Howard! Let me go! Angie, are you okay?”

His voice clashed with hers like carnival barkers competing for the same audience. “She poisoned you, Tessie! You have to come back to me. We can make it right again!”

Elves and carolers blocked Giulia’s path. Three different voices screamed for help. Half the guests tripped over each other to get to Cindy-Lou Who; the other half knocked over chairs to reach Mrs. Claus. Giulia shoved a different Father Christmas out of her way and broke through the pack. Off to her left, someone babbled directions to the Wildflower at a 9-1-1 operator. Two other voices shouted, “Give her some air!” “Lay her on the couch.”

“Howard, let me go! Angie and I are getting married!”

“No! Forget that bitch! You belong to me!”

Giulia and the ski instructor reached them at the same moment. The ski instructor’s long arms reached around the costume. He clasped his hands at Father Christmas’s sternum, planted his feet, and yanked backward. Giulia slipped into the space he created and stomped Father Christmas’s felt-covered foot with her sneakered heel.

He howled and tried to bend over in the ski instructor’s grip. The ski instructor wrenched Father Christmas around and threw him into the now-empty armchair. Cindy-Lou Who leapt to Mrs. Claus’s side.

Barbara and Maryjane waded into the turmoil, pushing the guests back, cajoling them to sit down, straightening chairs. Giulia and the ski instructor hovered over Father Christmas. He tried to strong-arm his way out of the chair toward Cindy-Lou Who, but the ski instructor pinned his costumed arms in place. “Sit, asshole.”

Giulia made herself into a wall between them and the couch.

Father Christmas collapsed in the chair, weepy now. Snot ran into his false beard. “Tessie,” he kept repeating. Giulia smelled whisky on his breath.

The chaos dwindled enough to let “Holly Jolly Christmas” be heard through the room. Giulia smiled at the ski instructor.

He rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not ‘The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.’ ”

Maryjane ran back into the room—Giulia didn’t recall seeing her leave—with an ampoule of smelling salts. She broke it and waved it under Mrs. Claus’s nose. Three hovering guests stepped backward, blinking. Mrs. Claus gasped and coughed and her eyes opened.

“Angie, are you okay?” Cindy-Lou Who said.

“I hope I broke your jaw, you bitch!” Father Christmas hiccupped.

The ski instructor bent down till they were nose to nose. “Listen, asswipe, shut your drunken trap. Think about Christmas in jail.”

Father Christmas glared at him. “Don’t matter. I’ll make bail. I’ll make Tessie see where she belongs.”

The ski instructor leaned away, possibly to let the full effect of his skeptical expression sink into his prisoner. “And that’d be with you.”

“Damn straight. Taking care of me and having my kids. What real women do.”

Giulia laughed. The ski instructor joined in. Behind him, one of the elves relayed Father Christmas’s last remark to the Tiny Tim next to her. The game of “telephone” ran the circuit of the room and everyone was laughing, even Mrs. Claus as she held her jaw.

Cindy-Lou Who got up from her knees and stalked over to the armchair. Giulia tried to say something calming, but stepped aside at the look on the other woman’s face. The ski instructor stepped back but stayed within arm-clamping distance.

Father Christmas looked up at her, eyes reddened and snot crusting on his face.

“I’m not going to hit you, Howard, because that’d be assault. I will be getting a restraining order against you first thing tomorrow.” She smiled. “Maybe not first thing. After all, this is my wedding night.”

Father Christmas started up, but the ski instructor slammed him back into the chair, keeping his hands on the costumed shoulders this time.

“I hope you die frustrated and alone,” Cindy-Lou Who continued, “because no woman will ever be desperate or lonely enough to come near you again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish my wedding ceremony.”

She looked at the ski instructor. He nodded, grinning, and caught Maryjane’s eye. She ran out and a minute later brought in her husband. The two men wrestled Father Christmas out of the lounge.

“Tessie, you bitch! You—let go of me—that’s my fiancée—Tessie—dammit—”

Giulia heard the ski instructor say to the maintenance man as they dragged Father Christmas away, “He’s got the right idea, but not the manhood to make it happen.”

Cindy-Lou Who and Barbara helped Mrs. Claus off the couch.

“I’m good,” she said. “The jaw’s going to be multicolored tomorrow, but I’ll live.” She squinted at the ceiling speaker, which had moved on to “The Little Drummer Boy.” “Can we get ‘The Christmas Waltz’ back again, please?”

“Right on it.” Barbara headed to the back office.

Giulia and both waitresses started to replace the chairs in their original rows. The Krampus got on her hands and knees by the tree skirt. Saint Nicholas righted the candle and lighters.

“Only a dent,” she said.

“Found the ring,” the Krampus said.

The music changed to the requested song.

“All right,” the Justice of the Peace said, resuming his position in front of the tree. “Fortunately our gate-crasher didn’t spill the wassail, and I for one am in need of spirits. Ladies?”

twenty-five

Giulia and the waitresses
squeezed into the doorway as the newlyweds lit the white candle together. Everyone applauded when they kissed—gently. Giulia brushed away tears, embarrassed, until one of the waitresses handed her a tissue and they ducked into the bathroom to blow their noses.

Red and blue lights flashed into the lobby when they came out. Barbara led two uniformed policemen into the lounge.

As Giulia ran back and forth, replenishing bathroom supplies, picking up empty wassail cups, wiping spills, she caught bits of the discussion with the police.

“You’re welcome to a copy of my recording,” the Virgin Mary said. “The camera had the perfect view of it all.”

“Ma’am, could you give me your contact information …”

“About that restraining order …”

Five minutes later, the policemen followed Barbara across the reception area. Giulia headed for the break room. Three staff members were already there.

“You put him where?” the masseuse said to the ski instructor.

“Face down on the bench for the Universal gym.” He swigged most of a bottle of water. “Phineas is sitting on him, figuratively speaking.”

“I wish I’d’ve been there. I wouldn’t have just stomped on his foot.” She noticed Giulia. “Oh, hi. Why didn’t you give that moron a taste of his own medicine?”

“I didn’t have enough room for a good swing.”

The ski instructor laughed. “Meaning you would’ve if I’d given you a couple more feet to work with?”

“I was tempted.” She found a box of teabags and happily avoided drinking the “coffee.”

“You know, honey,” the ski instructor said, “the Neanderthal lifestyle appeals to me. Cavewoman in kitchen, roasting a dinosaur leg for supper, cavelings sewing mammoth-skin clothes and trapping lizards for dessert, great male hunter reclining on a nearby rock awaiting service by his fur-clad woman.”

The masseuse’s smile became brittle. “Cavewoman barefoot and pregnant, of course?”

“Of course.” The ski instructor’s grin faltered. “All in good fun, right, honey?”

She leaned closer to him, but her whisper carried just like Sidney’s.

“Rub it in again, okay? Announce to the world that your wife’s had two miscarriages and she’s going to clock her mother if the subject of kids comes up again and that she’s already wondering if you’re looking at other women who might not have fertility problems.”

She stalked out of the break room toward the bathrooms, tears welling in her eyes.

The ski instructor shot Giulia an apologetic look and ran after her.

“Well.” Maryjane left her spot by the window and sat across from Giulia. “That poor thing.”

Giulia sipped her tea. “Holiday stress does things to people. My mother used to nag my younger brother something wicked. She got three years to spoil his kids before she passed.”

“I have three sisters and two brothers and my mother expects grandchildren from all of us.” Maryjane’s smile was less than perky. “As soon as Phineas got out of the Navy we started trying. I except her to corner Phineas soon and demand to know what’s wrong with him, since Myers women are always fertile.”

Giulia made a pained face. “Ouch.”

Maryjane perked up again. “I have faith that I’ll hold a baby in my arms one day.”

The masseuse came back into the break room, eyes puffy around the edges. “Regina, you’re welcome to crush my loving husband’s instep anytime.” She slammed the phone book onto the table, sloshing Giulia’s tea and Maryjane’s coffee.

Giulia wiped the spills. “What are you looking up?”

“Reiki practitioners. I saw an ad for one that teaches you how to align your chi. The crystals I bought aren’t doing a thing.”

“Penny, have you thought about prayer?” Maryjane said.

“I worship different gods. You know that. Aha. Here she is. Lady Morrigan.” She opened her cell and dialed.

Giulia stood. “I’d better make another check of the lounge.” She detoured into the supply closet for plastic bags first.

The wedding party—minus one Father Christmas—had moved into the private dining room. They’d left minimal debris: mostly wassail cups and monogrammed bubble containers. The handyman was already stacking chairs. Giulia took care of the last few and rolled the folding-chair cart against the far wall. The handyman lugged the armchairs back into place.

“Let me help with the couch,” Giulia said.

He appraised her. “Sure you can handle it?”

She gave him her “teacher” look. “I’ve lugged so much furniture I could open my own moving and storage business. I’ll take this end.”

They replaced the couch and the end tables. Giulia gathered the trash. The sleigh and reindeer she left for the maids of honor to deflate.

“Phineas?” Maryjane called from the front desk.

“Yeah?”

Maryjane’s voice came nearer. “Can you jump-start a car? One of the wedding guests needs to leave.”

“Sure. Thanks … Regina, is it? Nice to work with someone willing to help out”—he lowered his voice—“for a change. I like that in a woman.”

Giulia stopped her jaw from dropping, but not by much.

Maryjane came over to her, smiling, after Phineas left. “That’s a compliment, you know. Phineas is a little old-fashioned.”

That’s putting a kind spin on it. You poor thing.
She returned the smile. “Hard work builds muscles. Have to keep my girlish figure.”

Maryjane’s smile broadened. “We need to look our best for our men. That’s one of our jobs.”

Years of convent-trained politeness kept the smile on Giulia’s face till she escaped.

twenty-six

Four hours later, Giulia
plopped her aching feet on her coffee table and sank into the cushions. Antipasto and garlic pizza sent mouthwatering aromas through her living room; she was almost too tired to open the takeout containers.

“I am such a slug. Six hours of cleaning shouldn’t wipe me out like this.”

She stared at the Christmas movie on the TV. It took several minutes before she realized it was the movie-zation of that schmaltzy song “The Christmas Shoes.” Oh, no. No, no, no. No little kids buying red shoes for their dying mothers. Even in her most naïve early convent days she’d hated such blatant manipulation. She reached for the remote and almost knocked over her glass of Coke.

“All right; sit up. Eat. Write up notes from today’s shift.”

She speared the antipasto with one hand and clicked through channels with the other. The capicola in the antipasto helped wake her up—this takeout place used the extra-spicy kind. Twelve channels later, she found a Comedy Channel program about surviving the holiday season. She remembered to set down her Coke before every Lewis Black rant. Coke up the nose was a waste of good soda.

She outlined the ski instructor’s attitude and the masseuse’s conception difficulties. The desk clerk’s 1950s-sitcom attitude about marriage. The maintenance man’s raging paternalism. The combination almost made Giulia hope that one day a happy Maryjane would be able to show off photos of four or five 1950s-style children. Giulia muttered Italian insults at the blank page for the indebted sous chef.

As famished as she was, she didn’t snarf down the garlic pizza—she took the time to savor every bite of cheesy, spicy, yeasty delight. By ten thirty she began to feel human again.

The phone rang. She checked the caller ID, hit the mute button on the TV, and put the phone on speaker.

“Hello, Laurel.”

“Giulia, you’re awake. Have you found out anything? Did they call you instead of us?”

“No, sweetie, we’re still working on it. Of course they didn’t call us.”

The sound of shoes pacing back and forth on a wooden floor came through the speaker. “Nine hours till they call. They’ll call on time, right? Kidnappers always call on time in the movies.” The pacing sounded again. “Christ, we’re in a movie. A fucking Lifetime Network movie—the ones where horrible things happen to women, and sane people change the channel before the second commercial break.” Her voice quivered and broke.

A deeper female voice on the other end said, “You must stop crying. You’re going to make yourself sick. How will we help get Katie back if you are huddled in the corner?”

“Hi, Anya.” Giulia bolted a forkful of salad.

“Hello, Giulia. What is your opinion about that useless piece of officialdom? Do you think he’ll consider the phone call tomorrow morning worth an hour of his valuable time?” A pause. “You are coming too, correct?”

“Of course I’ll be there tomorrow for the phone call. I’m sure that tall cop won’t show up. Captain Reilly said he was taking charge of this case.”

“Good. Laurel, please go wash your face. I’ll reheat the soup.”

Giulia raised her voice. “Laurel, you have to eat. If you need to do things quickly tomorrow morning, you have to have energy.”

“I know.” Her voice still trembled. “Giulia, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The sound of footsteps receding, then Anya’s voice, softer. “We are both going to collapse. We spent all day at banks and pawnshops. We tried to get a home equity loan, but we haven’t been in the condo long enough.” The deep voice broke once, but she cleared her throat and continued. “We’re still twenty-seven thousand dollars short. Who knew that a schoolteacher and a soup kitchen owner wouldn’t be able to come up with half a million dollars on short notice? We should have robbed that
yobanyi
bank instead of begging the loan officers to bend the rules.” She began to sob in earnest this time.

Giulia said soothing things over the phone until Anya coughed, sniffled, and blew her nose.

“Sorry.”

“Stop it,” Giulia said. “Don’t apologize for anything. Have you eaten anything today, or are you too caught up in trying to coax Laurel to eat something?”

“I am managing. As my grandmother used to say, in Soviet Russia good comrades stay healthy to properly serve the State.” She sighed. “On a normal day, I would probably laugh at that.”

“You’ll be singing lullabies about the glorious Soviet regime to Katie soon.”

Anya snorted. “They do exist, did you know that? I found some old music books in my grandparents’ attic after they passed. I’ll translate the best ones for you sometime.”

“Yes, please. I want to sing them to my future children someday.”

Anya put on an accent as thick as something from a Cold War propaganda film. “We will find you good Russian farmer with head like barn wall. He will give you many sons to serve the state and not trouble you with much conversation.”

“That is priceless.”
Keep her talking. She needs distraction.
“Are there strong, virile Russian farmers in Cottonwood?”

“If there are, I can find one for you. I have the radar. Barring that, I could haunt the liquor stores to see who buys the most vodka.” She blew her nose again. “I understand that you have your eye on a certain Irish gentleman. The mythical farmer will buy extra vodka to drown his sorrows.”

Giulia’s Coke went down the wrong pipe. Over the speaker, Anya laughed.

“You used to be a teacher. You should know that nothing escapes us.”

Giulia took a deep breath and didn’t cough. “At least you’re not lecturing me on the perils of an office romance.”

“Do you need a lecture? I will be pleased to accommodate you.”

“Thank you, no. I’ve heard it all and knew it before things started. You sound so happy about a potential lecture. Do you use that tone of voice with your student-athletes?”

“They cower in fear when I do. It’s a wonderful sight. I understand that when some of their grandparents meet me they are reminded of the old USSR coaches from the Olympics. They tell all the horror stories the newspapers were full of about the training regimens back then, and I am blessed with model students for several weeks afterwards.”

“The habit used to trigger an automatic fear response.”

“Fear is useful for managing recalcitrant youth.” Her voice chilled. “It’s wreaking havoc on us, too. Laurel is wandering the rooms now. I will stop her before she starts crying by Katie’s crib again.”

“Go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Giulia closed the pizza box and finished the antipasto. The former could be reheated.

Her phone rang as she tossed out the salad container.

“Frank, it’s nearly eleven.”

“Yeah, and you’re still up. What did you learn?”

“That housekeepers work harder than most people, that I want to hire the Wildflower’s decorator, and that penis-shaped vibrators come in a much wider variety than I expected.”

“What?”

Giulia laughed. “Part of my day involved restocking the secret gift shop shelves.”

Silence. Then, “Every reply that’s coming to mind will get me slapped.”

“I’m glad you’re learning restraint.” She waited for him to splutter. “Calm yourself. When this is over, I’ll tell you about today’s wedding crasher. There is film and I’m on it. Father Christmas knocked out Mrs. Claus.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. If I wasn’t so tired I’d tell you, but Sidney should hear it too. After her wedding, I think.” She stood and walked the living room to keep herself alert. “Here’s what I know: The desk clerk and the maintenance man are married. The desk clerk is unbearably sweet and perky. The maintenance man’s views of women belong in a fifties sitcom. The masseuse made my back feel like I was a teenager again. She’s married to the ski and games instructor and is having pregnancy difficulties. I exchanged two sentences with the sous chef because of the wedding chaos. I’ll corner him in the kitchen or break room tomorrow, even if I have to flirt.”

Frank laughed. “Speaking as a professional only, your flirting skills need work.”

“Thank you. I am aware of my dearth of girlish experience. This will be a good opportunity to practice.”

“The interesting stuff always happens when I’m not around. Did you write out your report for today? I’m not near a pen or paper.”

“Which begs the question of where you actually are. Sitting in a car in the dark, staking out someone new on the Diocesan assignment list? Perhaps interviewing an unwilling snitch in a shady bar?”

“You’ve been watching too many old movies.”

“You still dress like Nick Charles sometimes. Association of ideas.”

“You’re punchy. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll meet you at Laurel’s house at seven fifteen tomorrow morning.” She yawned like a cave at the thought of her six-thirty alarm.

“Want me to pick you up? Oh, right, you have the rental.”

“It’s a rust bucket and the heater’s spotty, but it’s infinitely better than the bus.”

“No argument there.” Frank yawned this time. “See you
tomorrow.”

Giulia shut off the television and put the leftover pizza in the fridge, ran hot water into the empty glass, and immersed the silverware in it. Silence filled her apartment. Even the party animals next door were taking the night off.

“Cozy” became “desolate.” Christmas did that to her, now that she was on her own. The mini-tree with its generic decorations screamed “lame.” The handful of gifts under it broadcast her “outcast from the extended family” status. The single glass and fork in the sink said “alone” with biting eloquence.

She thought of Laurel and Anya, of the newlyweds at the resort, of Sidney and Olivier, of Frank’s brothers and their wives and kids.

She turned off the lights and stood in the middle of the short hall, staring. At her neat bed. At her just-cleaned bathroom. At her spotless kitchen. At her sparse living room. At her entire life encompassed by four hundred and fifty square feet of budget apartment space.

“It’s still better than the convent and you know it.”