The Battered Body

EIGHT

Jackson stood in front of the open refrigerator in a state of befuddlement.

“There’s so much Tupperware in here I can’t tell if I’m lookin’ at green-bean casserole, lasagna, or a fruit cobbler.”

In normal circumstances, Milla would have leapt up to assist her fiancé, but she was out of earshot. In the den, she sat in front of the blank gray television screen, knitting an unidentifiable object made of navy blue yarn. The nervous clicking of her needles transmitted her state of mind more than any words could have, and neither of the Henry men had any idea how to console her.

“I’ll fix you both a plate, Pop.” James shooed his father out of the kitchen and managed to microwave a turkey tetrazzini casserole with a side of green beans mixed with butter and pecans. Carrying two plates into the den, he motioned for Jackson to erect a pair of TV trays while he returned to the kitchen for glasses of water.

Worriedly, he watched as Milla pushed the food around on her plate. Jackson ate hungrily, of course, asking for seconds by holding his empty plate directly under his son’s nose so that James had to interrupt his own lunch in order to fetch another helping.

“I just wish those deputies would get here so we could get this over with!” Milla exclaimed suddenly.

James put his fork down and studied her. “Are you nervous about being interviewed, Milla, or about what you might have to tell them?”

When she didn’t answer, even Jackson stopped chewing and looked at his fiancée with mild surprise. “It’s those kids of hers, ain’t it? You were actin’ funny after you saw them. I reckon things got nasty.”

“Have you met them yet?” James asked his father.

Jackson shook his head. “Nope. Thought I’d let them do their family thing alone, seein’ it’s been awhile since they’ve gathered together. I was paintin’ most of the day. Those baker hands…” He seemed to become lost in the image he held in his thoughts.

Milla’s expression was pained as she glanced at James. “You’ll see them all this afternoon. We’re meeting Chase, Chloe, and Wheezie for dinner at Dolly’s.”

The doorbell rang and Milla started in her chair, causing her ball of yarn to fall onto the floor and unravel across the braided rug. James rose, rewound the ball, and then placed it on Milla’s clammy palm. “Just tell the truth, even if it makes someone look bad,” he cautioned. “They’ll find out about Paulette’s children anyway. You know Lucy won’t rest until she discovers what happened to your sister.”

Both Lucy and Donovan were at the door, dressed in uniform and their espresso brown Sheriff’s Department parkas. After exchanging terse, polite greetings, James led them into the den. He carried in two chairs from the kitchen table and positioned them on either side of Milla. Jackson quickly left his recliner in order to seat himself to her right. With James on her left, the Henry men had created bookends of love and protection for a woman who suddenly seemed so fragile.

Lucy removed a mini recorder from her pocket and explained to Milla that she and her partner were simply gathering information. “Can you tell me what Paulette did yesterday, Friday, December nineteenth?”

Milla seemed relieved by the simplicity of the first question. “I don’t know when she got up or anything, but she was here for breakfast by eight thirty.”

“What did you eat?” Donovan demanded.

“Scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes.”

“You sure that’s all?” he prompted.

Milla shrugged. “Coffee and eggnog. Nothing else.”

Lucy nodded encouragingly and wrote something in her notebook. “What did you do after breakfast?”

“We went over the menu for the wedding supper. My sister is, was …” She got up and retrieved the tissue dispenser and quickly blew her nose. “Sorry. Paulette planned to make onion rolls and the wedding cake for us. I’d hired Dolly’s Clint to fix us his chicken in a cognac cream sauce with garlic mashed potatoes and mixed green salads too.” Realizing that last bit was unnecessary, she returned to the point at hand. “After breakfast, we picked up my sister’s assistant, Willow, ran a few errands, and then met our family at the Apple Orchard truck stop for lunch.”

“State their names please,” Donovan directed.

“Chase Martin is Paulette’s son, Chloe Martin-Hicks is her daughter, and Louise Rowe is the eldest of us three sisters. My maiden name is Rowe.”

Donovan narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “But Paulette’s last name is Martine . Why are her kids Martins ?”

Milla issued a derisive snort. “It’s all about marketing. First of all, her real name was Patricia Rowe. Growing up, everybody called her Patty. She married Chase Martin Senior but kept his name after their divorce. She just Frenchified herself is all. Probably ’cause she went to cooking school in Paris before she was married.”

“Any idea where the ex-husband is at the moment?” Donovan’s eyes gleamed.

“Across the planet in Hong Kong. He’s a chef there. They’ve been divorced since the kids were in grade school, and Chase Senior has lived in Asia ever since.” Milla pointed the sharp end of her needle at Donovan. “Can I ask a question now, or is this a one-sided conversation?” James smiled to see that she was recovering some of her pluck.

Lucy looked apologetic. “In a minute, if that’s okay. Could you tell us about your family lunch?”

Stroking the length of knitted yarn, Milla was quiet for a moment. When Donovan opened his mouth to prod her into speech, Lucy placed a restraining hand on his arm and held her fingers to her lips. James felt a rush of gratitude for the gentleness and consideration Lucy was showing Milla.

“It wasn’t the warm and fuzzy reunion I was dreaming of,” Milla admitted with reluctance. “Paulette was delighted to see Chase. Even though they live in the same city they’re both so busy that they rarely sit down face-to-face. They get along well, though, and they’re very similar. Chase is a wealthy and successful lawyer, and Paulette is real proud of him. She heaped praises on his handsome head the moment we sat down.” She sighed. “I only wish she’d been half as kind to Chloe.”

“The daughter,” Donovan stated unnecessarily. “So they don’t get along, huh? What’s her story?”

“Chloe saves manatees in Florida. She’s a widow. Her husband died in a boating accident five years ago.” Milla picked at the yarn. “She and my sister are, were, total opposites. Chloe’s a bit of a hippie. She likes baggy T-shirts, living on the beach, wears her hair long and loose, and is passionate about animal rights.”

“Bet she wasn’t happy to see her mama’s fur coat,” Jackson murmured lowly, but Donovan obviously heard and exchanged a quick, predatory glance with Lucy.

“Lucky for us she wasn’t wearing it,” Milla grinned briefly at her fiancé and then continued. “Louise, Wheezie, is our oldest sister. She lives in Natchez, Mississippi. That’s our home town. She and Paulette haven’t seen each other for a really long time, so things were a little strained between them.” Milla held out her hands plaintively. “You know how that can be.”

“It sounds like things were a little uncomfortable,” Lucy suggested.

Milla nodded in agreement. “Paulette started nagging Chloe about spending all her money on useless sea cows, and the poor girl started crying. Wheezie tried to stick up for Chloe, and Chase told her to mind her own business. Considering Wheezie’s his aunt, he should have shown her more respect.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s why I joined the ruckus. Wheezie deserves better than to hear fresh talk from that spoiled, arrogant boy.”

“Were any threats made at this time?” Donovan inquired hopefully. “You might as well tell me now, because we’re headin’ right over to the Holiday Inn after we’re done here.”

Milla’s face grew stormy. “There were arguments and that’s all. The kind that happen between related folks all the time. I doubt anyone went back to their hotel room after lunch and started building a bomb or loadin’ a gun!” She threw her yarn forcefully into a basket near her feet. “Now I want to know what killed my sister and I’m not going to say another word until you answer me in plain talk.”

“We don’t know,” Lucy replied softly. “The test results won’t be-”

“Don’t you give me the run around, Lucy Hanover!” Milla pointed an angry finger at the deputies. “I can tell Patty didn’t just lie down, close her eyes, and die-not with the questions you’ve been asking. You wouldn’t be sniffing for a trail if there wasn’t somethin’ wrong with how she passed. So what was wrong with how y’all found her? Tell me please. She was my sister!” Milla’s voice broke and she pressed a tissue over her eyes.

It pained James to hear her plead this way. He stared at Lucy, willing her to respond to Milla, but she avoided eye contact while Donovan studied the three of them with the smug posture of someone reveling in his position of authority.

“You’re not going to answer me, are you? In that case, I guess I need to call Chase and tell him to get a hotshot lawyer from his firm to fly down here.” Milla rose to her feet. “I don’t see why we should spill our guts and get nothing in return.” She directed her anger at Donovan.

“It’s possible that we’re dealing with a case of poisoning,” Lucy said in a nearly inaudible voice.

As Milla sank back into the chair Donovan hissed, “Shut your mouth, Hanover,” through clenched teeth.

“But that’s all the information we have until the medical examiner’s report is complete. Even then, we need to wait for the lab results,” Lucy continued as if she hadn’t heard her partner speak. “And I have to ask for your word that you won’t mention that fact to anyone outside this room.” She looked at each of them in turn. As Donovan spluttered in indignation, James, Jackson, and Milla all promised to keep the information to themselves. And despite the red-headed deputy’s attempt to bully more detail from Milla, she refused to talk to him anymore.

“I guess I can’t lay her to rest then,” was her only remark, and this was confirmed by Lucy’s regretful frown.

James walked the deputies to the door, noting that the sky had turned an ominous gray and a strong wind was battering the barren trees. Dried leaves skipped across the lawn and as Lucy pulled on her leather gloves, it began to rain. She gestured for Donovan to go on ahead and then said, “Maybe we shouldn’t think about dating until this case is done.”

“Or at all,” James whispered, stung by her suggestion. “I remember how you acted when Gillian was under suspicion at the barbecue festival. You were loyal to your job first and your friends second. Is this going to be a repeat of that experience? Now that Milla and her family are on your radar, all your other relationships are insignificant?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Lucy reached out for his arm, but James yanked it out of her reach. “But I swore an oath to uphold the law, James. Would you respect me if I wasn’t true to my word?”

“No,” he admitted, his tone softening. “But I’ll always come second with you. The law will be the forefront of your life. Before your husband or children. Isn’t that right?”

“Who said anything about children?” Lucy folded her arms across her chest, squinting as rain ricocheted off the open screen door and onto the exposed skin of her cheeks. “Can we talk about this later? It’s cold and Donovan’s going to filet me when I get in the car.”

Feeling that there wasn’t much else to say, James nodded anyway. “Sure. After the case.”

Crossing through the inside of the house, James walked into the dining room, parted the curtains, and watched as the cruiser disappeared down the gravel drive. He stood there for a long time, a familiar ache of loss blooming within his chest. Finally, when the rain eased into a downpour, obscuring his view of the ridged pine trunks surrounding their house, he turned away and headed upstairs. As he had done so often throughout his lifetime, he searched for solace in the one place he knew it awaited him: within the pages of a book.

The rain persisted overnight and then ceased as if a spigot had been abruptly turned off, leaving a wake of sodden, frost-tipped ground and a cold mist that seeped into every porous surface.

The weather befit James’s mood. He had fallen asleep reading the day before, to wake to yet another casserole. Milla and Jackson were feigning an interest in a wildlife program on turtles. During a particularly long commercial break, Milla informed him that the rest of her family had been interviewed all afternoon and instead of going out for dinner, each one of them escaped to their individual hotel rooms with cartons of takeout from a nearby Chinese restaurant.

Even his supper club friends were of no comfort. Bennett spent the evening with Jade Jones, who had driven up from southern Virginia in order to eat at Dolly’s Diner and play the role of Alex Trebek while her dinner companion answered dozens of trivia questions correctly. Gillian was having her business partners Beau Livingstone and Willy Kendrick over for a meal, and Lindy didn’t answer her phone at all, which meant she was probably having a long-distance date with Luis.

Scott and Francis, bundled up against the cold in bright orange ski parkas, barely acknowledged James’s presence when he arrived at the library that morning.

“Is that today’s Star ?” he asked them.

Francis nodded. “I guess you already know about the Diva of Dough. Sorry to hear about her passing, Professor.”

Glancing at the cover story, it didn’t take James long to figure out that Murphy was unaware that Paulette’s death was being viewed as suspicious by the Sheriff’s Department. The article focused on the Diva’s celebrity status and hinted that the deputies interviewed had been less than forthcoming, but promised to deliver more information after the late cake maker’s family members and New York staff were interviewed.

“Thank you, Francis.” James returned the paper to his employee.

“I hope Milla’s holding up okay. She’s one of the nicest people we know. If Scott and I…” He trailed off and then began again, “I couldn’t imagine not having my brother around.” Embarrassed, he tapped on the newspaper with his right finger. “Ms. Alistair’s dropped the ball with this edition. I’m sure she was busy covering her lead story, but there’s nothing in here about Glowstar’s ransom note.”

James froze in the act of unlocking the front door. “How did you know about that? Lucy told me they thought it was a hoax and had shredded it right after it was read.”

“Lottie told me,” Scott replied proudly. “I think Deputy Truett has a crush on her. He tells her everything they’ve got going on at the Sheriff’s Department. Guess he doesn’t know she’s my girlfriend.”

“You use any excuse you can to say that word, do you realize that? And a lot of good she’s done us. She didn’t consider the note newsworthy either!” Francis scowled, folded the paper, and stormed inside. He flicked the lights on with violent motions and then rounded on his brother. “Do you even care about Glowstar or this job or anything besides your girlfriend ? You’ve totally left me hanging on Age of Conan, and you don’t even read anymore!”

“What’s Age of Conan?” James looked at Scott. “Is that true? About not reading?”

Scott looked glum. “It’s a video game. We used to play online as a team. I was an assassin and Francis was a necromancer. His character got killed last night because he didn’t have me to protect him.” He slowly unzipped his jacket. “And I still love books, Professor. I just don’t have as much free time as I used to.” He lowered his voice. “If Francis had a girlfriend, this wouldn’t be so hard. I know he wants me to be happy, but he’s feeling left out.”

“You could always stake out the book return bin on Christmas Eve,” James joked. “Bring some of your high-tech gear and trap Glowstar’s kidnapper.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Awesome idea, Professor! The note said midnight, right?” He balled up his coat and ran toward the break room. “Hey bro! Let’s powwow!”

The morning passed quietly. Since school was out until after New Year’s, several mothers towed grade school children into the library in order to check out books and videos to serve as entertainment over the holidays, but other than the Children’s Corner, the shelves remained untouched. There were very few hold or transfer requests, and since the Fitzgerald brothers had already repaired three broken hardcover spines, emptied the shelving cart, cleaned the computer screens, and dusted the shelves, James had no qualms about leaving them in charge of the floor while he answered e-mails.

Shortly before three o’clock, when he was about to interrupt the brothers’ animated plotting concerning the recovery of Glowstar in order to suggest a coffee break, Willow entered the library carrying a covered cake plate.

“I baked you something,” she whispered almost guiltily.

James took the cake from her hands and said, “There’s no one here. You don’t have to whisper.” Smiling, he jerked his head toward the break room. “Come on back. Would you like some coffee?”

Nodding, Willow followed him into the room behind the circulation desk and seated herself at the round table. “I made this cake for you. I didn’t know what to do today, so I baked. It’s one of Paulette’s recipes. I think she was planning to make it on Friday, actually. Lots of people have served it at their wedding, but it’s a bit too sweet for me.”

“You look tired,” James said gently. “I think you and I could both use a caffeine boost.” He opened a tin and began to scoop ground coffee into a paper filter. “How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected, considering I’m out of a job and will probably be arrested any second now.”

James’s hand jerked, sending coffee grounds across the counter. “What makes you say that?”

Willow sighed lugubriously. “I hated her, for starters. And I was at the inn most of the day. I’m not an idiot,” she said more forcefully. “The cops wouldn’t have questioned us like they did unless there’s foul play involved.”

After setting the pot to brew, James studied Willow carefully. “Well then. Did you kill her?”

Instead of a passionate refusal, Willow simply shook her head. “I’ve been tempted to more times than I can count, but I wouldn’t gain anything by it. I can hardly be an assistant to a dead woman.”

“True,” James agreed. “But weren’t you going to ask her for a raise this week?”

“You’ve got a good memory,” she said with a thin smile. “And I asked on Thursday and was told to forget it.”

Above the gurgles of the percolating coffee, James scrutinized Willow carefully. “Weren’t you angry?”

“Of course! I smoked six packs of cigarettes between then and Saturday night!” she exclaimed. “I’m still mad. In fact, I hope the bitch suffered.” Willow’s hand flew over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I know she was about to join your family.”

Poor girl, thought James and smiled at her kindly. “Don’t worry about it.” He pointed at the cake plate. “I want to show you a magic trick. I’m going to lift the top off this cake and within one minute, twin twenty-four-year-old men, who also happen to be first-rate librarians, will appear in this room.”

Easing the lid straight up in order to keep the creamy lemon frosting from smudging, James took a whiff of the heavenly scent of sugar-laden sweetness and then glanced at his watch. “Fifty-five seconds remain. What is this marvel, anyway?”

“Lemon-strawberry layer cake,” Willow answered, visibly relaxing. “I made the jam in New York and brought a few jars with us.”

“So you’re an accomplished cook as well?” James positioned his body so that it blocked the beautiful, pale yellow confection.

Flushing attractively, Willow nodded. “I grew up in Vermont. My mom was an excellent cook, and she taught me a lot about preserving the taste of fresh foods. Every summer, we made tons of jams, pies, fruit tarts. Even homemade ice cream. That’s why Paulette hired me. Frankly, I can make anything she can. But the food I love to create is candy. Truffles, caramels, chocolates filled with fruit purées.”

“Did someone say chocolate?” Scott poked his head into the break room. “I only smell coffee.”

Francis pushed his brother forward and then lifted his nose and inhaled, his eyes narrowing. “No, not chocolate. It’s something else.”

“And with six seconds remaining, may I present Scott and Francis Fitzgerald?” James pointed at his employees with paternal pride.

“Did you know your boss was a magician?” Willow directed her question at Francis, who stared at their visitor with undisguised interest.

James stepped to the side in order to retrieve a few paper plates and a knife and thus, the cake was revealed. Scott nudged his brother in the side until Francis noticed the unexpected treat.

“Did you make that?” he asked Willow. When she bowed slightly in assent, he took the knife from James’s hand, quickly cut himself a slice, and stuffed a bite into his mouth. “ You’re the magical one!” he pronounced enthusiastically. “A cake enchantress!”

Scott rolled his eyes in mock disgust, but Willow’s face gleamed with pleasure.

“This is delicious.” Francis edged around his brother and sat down at the table. “You should move down here and open a candy shop. If your chocolates are anything like this cake, you’d be a big hit.”

“It’s true.” Scott pushed his heavy glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “There’s not much to do during the winter except read and eat. You’d be an instant success.”

“That’s really sweet,” Willow replied, her bright smile directed solely at Francis. “And I’m going to have to move, all right, since I can hardly afford the rent on my studio apartment in Brooklyn without a job, but I may go back to Vermont.” She caressed the mountain ridge on her Shenandoah County Library cup. “Though I really love it here. It reminds me so much of home, but I bet it’s a lot warmer in Quincy’s Gap during the winter.”

As James watched Willow chat with the twins, the young woman seemed to cast off her downtrodden air. The more she talked and smiled, the more he felt that this quiet, eclipsed person could truly bloom in a town like Quincy’s Gap. She and Francis obviously felt an immediate attraction, and James wondered if there were an occupation she might be able to take up somewhere in the Shenandoah Valley. After all, most jobs throughout the region were likely to promise a kinder boss than Willow had found in Paulette Martine.

This girl’s no murderer, James thought as he listened to Willow laugh at one of Scott’s jokes. And he was suddenly struck by an idea.

“Willow? Are you planning to go home to Vermont for Christmas?”

“No.” Willow’s smile evaporated. “Paulette insisted that I stay to help her make the wedding cake and rolls for your parents’ reception, so I don’t have a flight. Even if I could get one, I get the impression that I’m supposed to stick around.”

“In that case,” James clapped his hand on her shoulder. “How would you like to spend Christmas with my family? I may have thought of the perfect job for you.”

By five thirty that afternoon, it was already dark. James hated the winter solstice. The short-lived periods of December daylight were tinged with a grayness that eventually gave way to a deep, charcoal-colored sky and the horizon felt heavy, as though it were hanging too near to the ground. Food log in hand, James walked reluctantly up the flight of stairs leading to Ruth Wilkins’s office.

If I didn’t have this appointment, he thought, smiling at the irony of the situation, I’d be sitting on the sofa in front of the fire with a book and a bag of cheese puffs on my lap .

Dr. Ruth had a scented candle burning in her office and had strung glitter-covered snowflake garlands across her window. Dozens of holiday cards were tacked onto her bulletin board and the screen saver on her computer showed a man raising up a little boy so he could place the star on top of the Christmas tree.

“That’s a nice smell.” James gestured at the candle. “Orange and cloves?”

“Very good.” Dr. Ruth swiveled the candle and read the label. “As well as sandalwood, lemon, and bergamot. It’s supposed to be a type of aromatherapy appetite suppressor. It was a gift from a client.”

“I’m already thinking about what to have for dinner, so maybe it takes awhile to work.” James handed her his food log and then sat down in the chair across from her desk. “I was doing fine until this weekend.”

“That happens a lot. There’s a routine about the workweek that makes it easier to stay on track.” She fell silent and examined his log. “You did really well for the most part. I think I could offer you some substitutions for a few of these high-calorie casseroles and I’d like you to try to limit your dessert calories to one hundred and fifty per day.”

“We’ve still got about a dozen casseroles left,” James commented.

“Except for today, I don’t see any cakes listed here.” Dr. Ruth looked at him expectantly. “What happened to your role as official cake taster?”

James stared at her. Was it possible she didn’t know about Paulette’s death? “Do you read the Star , Dr. Ruth?”

“I’m not much of a newspaper person. I read the news online each morning, but I’ve been too busy getting ready for Christmas to even play games on Pogo. That’s my guilty pleasure.” She caught the worried expression on her client’s face. “Is there something I should know?”

“Paulette Martine is dead,” James said. “It happened Friday night.”

“Oh my goodness.” Dr. Ruth folded her hands together as though in prayer and turned her face toward the window. “We must have seen her just hours before she passed.”

James hadn’t anticipated this remark. Instead of asking her for any details, he decided to remain quiet and wait to see what Dr. Ruth would tell him.

“I was really mortified over how my boys behaved at the television station. Hank, my oldest, told me that Ms. Martine taunted him once the cameras stopped rolling. Apparently she said that I might need to pick up a McDonald’s application, since my clients were sure to desert me after they heard about how I’d floundered on the show.”

“That certainly sounds like her.”

Dr. Ruth smiled wanly. “No matter what she may have said about me, my boys were raised better than that. I’m afraid being at college, playing football, and spending all their free time hanging out in a fraternity house has allowed them to forget how to control their emotions and behave like Southern gentlemen.” She pointed at the photograph of her sons. “The younger ones were given their own penance, but since Hank behaved the worst, I wanted him to apologize to Ms. Martine in person.”

“When did you go?” James asked.

“Mid-afternoon. I had a client at two, so it was some time after that.” Dr. Ruth gazed at her desk calendar. “Ms. Martine’s assistant told us that her employer was in the kitchen and couldn’t be disturbed. I went ahead and knocked, and Hank and I were allowed in.”

James tried to imagine Paulette’s irritation at being disturbed. He was confident that she didn’t receive Hank Wilkins’s apology with the grace and courtesy Dr. Ruth would have hoped for. “How’d it go?”

“She listened to Hank, but wouldn’t look at him, because she was too busy cracking eggs into a bowl. When my son finished speaking, she dismissed us. That’s really the best way to describe it. And so we left.”

“Did Willow come into the kitchen with you?”

Dr. Ruth cocked her head. “That’s an odd question, but no, she didn’t. No one was around when we left.” She handed James his food log. “You must have had a very trying few days. If you feel like you need comfort foods this week, that’s completely understandable. However, you may find that other things can relax you just as well. A long, hot bath, for example.” She placed a blank sheet of paper in front of him. “And I’ve got more homework for you. I want you to pay attention to how hungry you are when you eat.” She drew the number five in the center of the paper. “This is your number when you’re satisfied. Anything above that means that you’re full. An eight, for example, means that you’ve stuffed yourself.”

“So what does a one mean? I’m about to die of starvation?”

“Pretty much,” Dr. Ruth replied seriously. “Most of us have never experienced the intense hunger at that end of the scale. When we’re really hungry, we’re more at a three. Four is the beginnings of hunger.”

James laughed. “I think I’m at a four right now.”

Dr. Ruth checked her watch. “It’s getting to be dinner time, so that makes sense. Do your best with your food log and remember to record any exercise you’ve done as well. Those are negative calories for your chart. I’ll see you next week, after you don your tuxedo for the wed-” She cut herself off. “I’m so sorry-I’m talking about things I don’t know a thing about.”

“That’s okay,” James assured her. “The wedding’s been postponed for now. We’re having a Christmas Eve memorial for Paulette, since her family’s in town.” Seeing the sympathy in Dr. Ruth’s eyes, he longed to have her return to her more optimistic self. “On the bright side, this’ll give me more time to fit into my tuxedo.”

His words resonated with callousness, and he quickly felt ashamed. “Have a lovely Christmas,” he told Dr. Ruth, and then slunk from the office. As he walked out to his car, he realized that he was now in possession of information that Lucy would need to know.

“It’s time for an emergency supper club meeting,” he declared to himself as he flipped open his cell phone.