Cornucopia (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 16) Read online

  I rose from my seat and went to sit beside my mother and comfort her. The crying slowed and eventually ceased as I rocked her in my arms. Albert strode back into the room.

  “Well, that’s it. Christmas is off. I’ve got a big job to work on tomorrow,” Albert announced.

  “What do you mean, Christmas is off?” my mother challenged.

  “I mean Christmas is canceled. I just got a call from a contractor regarding an important job offer I’ve been waiting for. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Can’t the job wait until after Christmas?”

  “No, it can’t,” Albert barked. “I’m not one to put off what can be done now.”

  “But we drove all this way to be with you, Uncle Albert,” I tried.

  “Of course you can spend the night,” Albert retorted, “but I’ll be gone all of tomorrow. I can leave you a key, but you’ll be on your own.”

  “But Albert.…” my mother moaned.

  “It can’t be helped, Lucy,” Albert interrupted. “You should have taken my advice and stayed away. Anyway, now I’ve got to drive over to Bob’s house and tell Bob that he can’t have Christmas off this year like we planned, he’ll be working instead.” Albert almost managed to look ashamed of himself for a moment. “Some news you just can’t deliver over the phone.”

  Uncle Albert turned to remove his coat from a peg on the wall and my mother started jostling me.

  “Go with him, Chloe,” she insisted.

  “What for?”

  “Try to convince him to change his mind. No one should work on Christmas Day.”

  Still resisting, I was pushed out of my seat by my mother. When Uncle Albert turned back to face us I was caught standing. We considered one another uncomfortably.

  “Mind if I come with you?” I asked timidly.

  I was sure he would say no, but he didn’t.

  “Do as you like,” he replied.

  Since I’d never taken off my outdoor wear after entering the cold house, I was fully prepared to dash after Uncle Albert as he darted from his home. I literally had to climb into his massive truck and lever myself into the passenger seat. I’d barely closed the door before the ignition was turned over and Albert began backing out of his drive.

  “Gee, are you sure about this, Uncle Albert?” I asked.

  “I told her not to come. It’s not my fault if I have work to do.”

  “But on Christmas Day?”

  “It’s a day like any other when you have nothing to celebrate.”

  Wow. How do you respond to that, I asked myself as we drove the snow-covered roads to Bob’s home. You don’t, was the conclusion I came to. So I remained silent during the rest of our drive. It was starting to get dark outside so Uncle Albert turned on the headlights. Eventually we pulled up at the curb before a tiny careworn house. It looked like the roof probably leaked and it definitely needed a new coat of paint.

  As we walked across the property toward the front door, Albert was distracted by a child’s toy that he nearly tripped over. Bending down, he picked up the toy and cast it aside.

  “Uncle Albert, you shouldn’t be messing with other people’s property like that,” I protested.

  “Why not? I own the place,” he countered.

  “You mean that you own this dump?”

  Albert looked back to me and I could see by the expression on his face that I should say no more.

  “Come on,” he said, leading the way across the yard.

  As we walked we came upon a large window looking into the living room of the home. The scene inside the home caught my eye. It must have caught Albert’s too since he stopped beside me to have a look.

  The lights were on inside a cozy room where candles were burning. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, not a large one, but one covered in homemade ornaments. A modest collection of presents lay beneath the tree. The scene was so homey that it tugged at my heartstrings. And what really got to me was the sight of the four young children gathered at the feet of a man who sat in a rocking chair reading to them. “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” it had to be. A pretty woman sat on a nearby sofa knitting and smiling as her husband read to her children. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me, the littlest of the children wore metal braces on his legs. I felt my eyes begin to tear up at the beautiful sight.

  “I guess that explains why Bob is so tired all the time,” I said. “It must be hard holding down a job while trying to raise a family of four, especially when one of those four is lame.”

  Uncle Albert only grunted in response. He continued to watch the family through the window as Bob read to them. After a time I was afraid I was going to have to drag him away. Eventually he broke his rather poignant silence.

  “Perhaps I won’t be needing Bob’s assistance tomorrow after all,” he said.

  “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind and won’t be working on Christmas Day?” I responded, beginning to sense potential victory.

  “No, it does not,” Albert said pointedly before turning and walking back across the yard.

  Again I followed along and hoisted myself back into the truck. The ride back to Albert’s home was a long and dreary one. As we drove it looked as if Uncle Albert was mulling over something that weighed heavily on his mind. Whatever it was he provided no hint to me. I found that by the time we pulled into his driveway I couldn’t wait to get out of the truck and rejoin Alex and my parents in the cold house.

  To my surprise, the heat had been turned on in our absence. Additionally, the crew had raided Albert’s fixings for tomorrow night’s dinner and arrayed a smorgasbord of victuals on the kitchen counter for us to snack on for dinner.

  “Well, why don’t you just make yourselves right at home,” Albert commented snidely to my family as he hung up his coat.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” my mother replied cheerily. “So how did your ill-advised meeting with your employee go?”

  “Bob won’t be joining me tomorrow.”

  “He told you what you could do with your job, did he?”

  “No, he did not,” Uncle Albert replied emphatically.

  “Then you won’t be working tomorrow after all?” my mother asked, brightening up.

  “Mom, I already tried that tack,” I informed her.

  “And did it work?”

  “What do you think?”

  Albert joined us for our makeshift dinner round his dining room table. There was lots of banter between the four of us; after all, we were all excited about Christmas morning being less than twenty-four hours away. Albert chose not to participate in our lighthearted exchanges, instead continuing to brood over his own thoughts.

  After dinner, Albert told us that he would be going to bed early. Before retiring, he showed my parents to the guest bedroom and brought sheets, blankets, and pillows out for Alex and me so we could be comfortable on the sofa. In the end, Alex chose to sleep in the recliner instead under his coat. That meant that I got the sofa all to myself—bumps of padding, barely concealed springs, and all.

  I know that I must have fallen asleep at some time during the night; otherwise I wouldn’t have been woken by Uncle Albert running around his house like a lunatic screaming his head off in the early morning hours of Christmas Day. At the first shriek I jumped off the sofa. Alex, being a heavier sleeper, remained reclined until well after the ordeal was over. The parents came dashing out of the guest bedroom to find Uncle Albert with his shoulders pinned between my hands in the living room.

  “What day is it?” he wanted to know.

  “Why, it’s Christmas Day,” I informed him.

  “Amazing! They did it all in one night,” my uncle informed me.

  “Uncle, what’s wrong,” I demanded.

  “Nothing. I mean everything. I mean nothing at all,” he replied. “I can’t believe it. I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl.”

  Uncle Albert launched himself at the pull cord for the drapes and dashed the living room full of morning light. Then he saw the kids from
next door playing outside with a new sleigh and he ran for the door.

  “Uncle Albert, your coat,” I called before he was out the door.

  Though still in his pajamas, Uncle Albert managed to don his heavy coat before running outside to join the children in their play. We all watched through the living room window, all but Alex that is, as the children began to run away before they were called back by my uncle. Uncle Albert then proceeded to spend the next hour playing in the snow with the next-door neighbor’s kids. His fingers were blue and his cheeks flushed red by the time he returned indoors to join us.

  “Albert, are you alright?” my mother wanted to know, placing the back of her hand to his forehead.

  “I’ve never felt better,” Albert informed her.

  “What’s happened to you?”

  “It happened in my dreams. Let me tell you about it,” Uncle Albert said, taking my mother’s hands and guiding her to the sofa.

  The rest of us remained close by so we could listen in. My uncle directed his story to all of us, showing great flamboyance as if he was on stage.

  “I was visited by Death itself last night,” my uncle began. “All dressed in black robes, the specter of Death never spoke. Instead he only pointed the way as he took me on a journey. He showed me Bob’s family who were mourning the death of their youngest, greedy lawyers dividing up my property, and finally my disheveled gravesite where nobody came to mourn my passing.”

  “Gee, this sounds oddly familiar,” my mother commented.

  But that didn’t slow Uncle Albert down one iota.

  “I pleaded with the specter to tell me that it wasn’t too late to change my ways and avoid the awful visions it had shown me. I cried for mercy and then woke up. And here I am on Christmas Day with my family.”

  At this point in his story my uncle rose from the sofa and took my mother’s hands in his so that he could dance in circles with her. By the time he released her they were both dizzy.

  “Oh my,” my mother exclaimed, sitting back on the sofa.

  “Hee, hee, hee,” Uncle Albert tittered as he fell into his easy chair.

  “What do you think?” Alex asked me. “A stroke?”

  “Does it matter?” I replied, smiling.

  The truth is that none of us could help but smile in the light of Uncle Albert’s gaiety. It was like he was a child again, years of worry and unhappiness having been shed from his demeanor.

  “Well, I suppose I should see what we can scare up for breakfast since it looks like none of us will be going back to sleep anytime soon,” my mother announced.

  My mother rose but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She went to the door to let in the children from next door.

  “Yes, can we help you?” my mother asked the children who stood bashfully in the foyer.

  “Can Mr. Binder come out and play some more?” the youngest asked.

  “Oh, can I, Lucy?” Uncle Albert pleaded.

  “I suppose breakfast can wait,” she replied with a smile. “But this time wear your gloves and scarf so you don’t get frostbite.”

  My uncle bounded from his chair and after donning his outerwear filed outside along with the rest of the children. We all watched through the living room window as the children and Uncle Albert proceeded to have a massive snowball fight. My mother excused herself to start breakfast. By the look of him when he finally returned shivering from the cold, it appeared that my uncle had lost the snowball fight.

  “You know, I do believe those children asked me outside simply to cover me in snow,” Uncle Albert observed while shaking off in the foyer. “Oh well, I suppose I deserved it for all those years spent yelling at them. Is that bacon I smell?”

  That was bacon he smelled, along with pancakes and orange juice. We sat at the dining room table to enjoy our small feast, and this time Uncle Albert led the conversation.

  “You know, I can’t understand why I spurned this holiday all these years. It really is a lovely time for family and friends to get together.”

  “Hear, hear,” I chimed in.

  “Does this mean you won’t be working today?” my mother asked.

  “Oh, thanks for reminding me,” Uncle Albert said, jumping to his feet. “I’ve got to run. I have a job to do.”

  “So you will be working that silly job today?”

  “Not exactly. Chloe, would you mind accompanying me?”

  Uncle Albert grabbed one last piece of bacon to take with him on the run. He still hadn’t taken the time to change out of his pajamas. I downed the rest of my orange juice in a few gulps and followed him toward the door. He stopped off in the kitchen and dialed the phone.

  “Hello, Bert?” he said into the receiver. “This is Albert Binder. Didn’t I hear you saying while I was at your store that your Christmas sales were down this year? Yep, you’re right, it’s probably the economy. Well, how would you like to make up for lost sales by opening up for an hour this morning?”

  Uncle Albert smiled my way and then flashed me a thumbs-up to indicate that he’d received the answer he was waiting for. I couldn’t help but smile back. Then we were out the door and racing to the local store that served the community as grocer, department store, and toy store. Uncle Albert was a whirlwind and must have maxed out all his credit cards on his personal buying spree. He bought toys for the next-door neighbor’s kids, new clothes in both adult and children’s sizes, food for a feast, and then came even more toys. By the time we had finished lugging armloads of purchases out of the store, the back of my uncle’s truck was full. Mr. Taggard, the owner of the store, shook my uncle’s hand vigorously and thanked him heartily for his business as we left. Uncle Albert wished him a merry Christmas before hugging him goodbye.

  To my surprise we didn’t head straight back to Uncle Albert’s home. Instead, we stopped by Bob’s house. Uncle Albert received a cold welcome from the lady of the house when she opened the front door to find him standing on her stoop.

  “May I speak with Bob, please,” he said modestly.

  The woman grudgingly stepped aside to reveal her husband who had been standing behind her.

  “Mr. Binder, what are you doing here today?” Bob said with some concern.

  “Bob, I’m here to offer you a raise and to invite you and your family to Christmas dinner at my home,” Uncle Albert said.

  When Uncle Albert spotted the youngest child standing on braced legs and holding onto his father’s pant leg, he dropped down to one knee and addressed him directly.

  “Hello, little man. What’s your name?”

  “Timmy,” the boy replied shyly.

  “Would you like a toy, Timmy?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Well then, come with me,” Uncle Albert said, reaching out a hand.

  The little boy’s parents showed concern as Uncle Albert led their son slowly across the yard to the back of his truck. When they made it to the truck, Uncle Albert fished a football out of the back and handed it to the boy.

  “Here you go, you look like the football-playing type,” he said.

  “Gee, thanks, mister,” Timmy said, accepting the toy in wonder.

  “Come on kids, I need someone to play with all these toys,” Uncle Albert called back to the house.

  The rest of the children rushed from the front door and mobbed my uncle as he proceeded to bellow with laughter while he handed out presents. I remained back on the doorstep with the parents where I shared in the laughter over my uncle’s antics.

  That night, Uncle Albert, with the help of me and my mother, presented one of the most luscious Christmas spreads I’ve ever seen. Bob along with wife Mary and their kids were all in attendance. The next-door neighbor’s kids even stopped by for pie afterwards and to open the presents Uncle Albert had gotten them. That night Bob and my uncle discussed plans to repair and expand the house Bob was renting while Albert insisted on lowering the rent. There was even talk of making Bob a full partner in Albert’s business in the near future.

&n
bsp; In following years we invited Uncle Albert to come to Hope Falls for Christmas, but he was always already booked to either play Santa Claus at the local children’s hospital or preside over some feast in town. And more importantly, from that first Christmas forward Albert acted as if every day was Christmas and he was Santa Claus. It was said there was no finer or kinder person in the world by his ever growing circle of friends.

  As for me, I’m glad I was there to witness my uncle’s transformation. After all, in the end, all there is is love.

  For Whom The Bells Toll

  “But you don’t like haunted houses,” I said, dumbfounded. “Not even a little.”

  “But you do. And this has been a rough autumn. And winter. You deserve to have some fun.”

  Alex had that right. I had been too busy at Halloween to enter the pumpkin carving contest, had lost most of November to volunteering on a political campaign, and had spent Thanksgiving feeding turkey to a mountain lion. Then there was the episode with the dentist just days before Christmas.

  “Anyway, you should ace the scavenger hunt—and first prize is a snowmobile!”

  I had no desire for a snowmobile, but I could see that Alex was very taken with the idea and so I resigned myself to spending New Year’s Eve away from home. And I figured he could be right. I might really like going on a scavenger hunt, in a haunted mansion, on an island that could only be reached by boat, in the dead of winter.

  Whatever my lingering misgivings with the plan, Blue was dropped off at my parents and Alex and I were on the road early on New Year’s Eve morning. Thankfully we had neither rain nor snow to cope with as we headed for the coast, though a storm was expected later that night.

  Gifford House had opted to embrace its bizarre architecture and style itself as a retreat for those who liked mystery weekends, ghost tours, and things of that ilk. Approaching it from the water, painted in shades of red by the dying sun, I couldn’t help but think of that Agatha Christie story, And Then There Were None. Thinking about matters literary kept me from feeling the effects of the heaving water.

  There were others on the boat with us. Bill and Stephie Grant from Spokane. They seemed wonderfully sensible and quite normal. The other couple in our boat was a pair of aging goths by the name of Crowe who were from Oregon. Crowe might possibly have been their real name but I suspected that it was assumed.