Deadly Traditions, page 33
“We should get him to a hospital,” I said.
Barbie lifted her chin indignantly. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after him.” And then she muttered something about foreign doctors.
“Barbie’s a nurse,” Char told me.
“What’s that powder around the corners of his mouth?” I asked. “And his—” I was about to ask about the residue on his fingers when Barbie cut me off.
“Why don’t you tell us? It obviously came from the icing sugar on your biscuits!”
“It most certainly did not!” I shot back. “My cookies are glazed, see?” I held up what was left of a piece of reindeer. A paw print in the thick icing of a round ornament-shaped cookie told me D’Artagnan had been there. I pointed at it. “Besides, the cat seems to have had his fill and he looked fine.”
“I had a piece earlier,” Bob offered.
“Well, somebody did something,” Barbie choked out, her bottom lip trembling. “Luckily his pulse is strong and his breathing is regular.”
Carlo came in at that moment. “Dio mio!”
“Oh, Carlo!” Jackie let out a sob.
Carlo ran to her and pulled her into his arms. “Is he dead?” I was close enough to hear him whisper into her hair.
Barbie must’ve heard, too, as she snapped, “No, he’s not! But you’d both like that, wouldn’t you?”
Ralph snorted as he took a deep breath.
Jackie and Carlo broke apart.
Barbie gasped. “Ralph? Ralph, can you hear me?”
He groaned and started snoring.
Bob sniffed at him and chuckled, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like the old chap needs to sleep it off.” He took one of Ralph’s arms in a futile effort to lift him up. Carlo jumped in on the other side, and together they hoisted him out of his chair, half carrying, half dragging him out of the room.
Barbie followed with admonitions for the men to be careful with him, leaving Char and me with Jackie, who still held the stocking. I only realized that Char had been squeezing my hand when she let go.
“Whose stocking is that, Jackie?” I gestured for her to give it to me.
She gripped the stocking tightly to her chest before showing us the front of it. “Mine,” she whispered. “It’s mine.”
“I knew it!” came Barbie’s triumphant voice from the kitchen door. “I’d say a call to the carabinieri is in order.”
“Oh, Barbie,” Char protested. “Surely that’s not necessary. We don’t have all the facts.”
“I have all the facts I need. It was either Jackie… or you.” She pointed at me.
I let out a deep sigh. Barbie was really getting on my nerves. “Why don’t we wait for Ralph to wake up? Surely he’ll tell us what happened.” And then it hit me. If this was foul play, the guilty party might want to make certain Ralph didn’t wake up. “But maybe someone should stay with him through the night to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll do it,” Char volunteered.
“No, I’ll do it,” Barbie insisted. “After all, I’m the one with medical training.”
“Why don’t you both do it?” I suggested. “Unless Char’s trying to poison him, too.”
Barbie rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“I have medical training,” Jackie said. “And he’s my fiancé. I should be with him.”
Barbie sneered. “But I’m the one who completed medical training. Besides, we’re family. Come on, Charlotte.”
Ouch.
Char gazed back at me helplessly as Barbie took her arm.
“I’ll sit with you,” I said to Jackie. I felt bad for her.
And that’s how I found myself at the dining table, ringing in the wee hours of Christmas morning with my best friend’s great uncle’s fiancée.
Jackie was attractive for her age. Sure, she had that shiny Botoxed forehead, and her bosom had had a bit of “assistance.” But I was from L.A. and had seen much more garish work. It was no wonder Carlo was attracted to her. Even though he was at least twenty years her junior, I’d ordinarily be rooting for them if it wasn’t for the fact that she was already engaged.
There was obviously a lot going on beneath the surface, and my curiosity was piqued.
“So, Barbie’s… something,” I offered to break the silence.
“She’s always been like that,” Jackie replied. “Negative, jealous. She’s one of those unhappy people who hate to see other people happy.”
“Always? How long have you known each other?”
“Oh, yonks! We met at nursing college, actually.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Only I never finished since my dad took ill. I had to come home to care for him. After he passed… I never did go back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nodded her thanks.
“It’s quite a coincidence that you’re here, about to marry Barbie’s uncle. What’re the chances?”
Jackie shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, he’s not her uncle.”
“Sorry. I thought Char said—”
“Of course, everyone thinks Ralph’s her uncle on account of the fact that he wasn’t married to Barbie’s mum.” Jackie paused for effect. “Bob was.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Bob was, what?”
“Married to Barbie’s mum.”
“Oh,” I said. And then I got her meaning. “Ooooh. Does Bob know?”
Jackie shrugged. “I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. But I do care about how Barbie’s obsession with Ralph’s ‘last will and testament’ has been affecting him. She denies it, but she’s been trying to talk him out of marrying me. Said our age difference was ‘tacky.’ And now this… incident.” Her focus settled off into the distance. “You know, she’s probably the one who put my Christmas stocking on his head. To make it look like I wanted to hurt him!”
“Golly,” was all I managed for a moment.
If someone had wanted to hurt Ralph, I could understand how Barbie might be first in line. If he’d refused to acknowledge her as his biological daughter, all that hurt and rejection could be a powerful motive. And what about that bit about going back into the house to change her purse to match her shoes? Or so she said. If Barbie had found Ralph passed out when she came in, she could’ve easily put Jackie’s stocking on his head. Jackie struck me as a smart lady. She wouldn’t implicate herself like that. Each thought branched out to two more.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Jackie?” If I was about to pump her for some more info, she might as well have a hot beverage in hand.
She shot up out of her chair. “Oh, where are my manners? Why don’t I make us both a cuppa?”
I followed her across the room to the kitchen area where she directed me to the pantry to choose the tea I wanted. But when I went inside and flicked on the light, there were several boxes of teabags knocked over, some to the ground. And they weren't the only things on the floor. Lying on its side among an assortment of chamomile, peppermint and Earl Grey was a mortar and pestle. White powder coated the edges of the marble bowl and spilled onto the terracotta tiles. Was this the same white powder Ralph had on his mouth when we found him?
I bent down for an inspection. Someone must’ve meant to hide the mortar and pestle on the tea shelf, but either missed the ledge or knocked it off in their haste. It was a wonder the bowl hadn’t broken.
I was about to call Jackie in to confirm my suspicion, but stopped myself. What if she wasn’t being entirely truthful? So far, I only had her word for everything. And the way she and Carlo were obviously carrying on, maybe Barbie was right to be concerned.
“Finding it all okay in there, love?” Jackie called.
“Yes!” I scooped up the nearest teabag and led my way out of the pantry with it, closing the door behind me. I handed the packet to her. “Here you go. Sorry, I was having a hard time choosing.”
She glanced down at the wrapper and nodded sagely. “Smooth and Steady, eh?” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you worry. If this doesn’t do the job, we’ve got a big bottle of castor oil here. Ralph simply swears by it.”
So not the visual I wanted. And not only did Jackie now think I was constipated, I could only imagine what kind of effect this Smooth and Steady tea was going to have on my bowels that were moving-along-just-fine-thank-you.
I really wanted to talk to Char.
“I’m going to check on Ralph,” Jackie said abruptly.
“I’ll join you.” I was more than happy to leave that steeping cup of Smooth and Steady right where it was.
“By the way, thanks again for my Christmas stocking. That was a really lovely gesture,” I said as we headed for the stairs.
“Oh, you’re welcome, love. But I can’t take all the credit. I mean, it was my idea to get them, but Barbie was actually the one who embroidered your name on it.”
And spelled it wrong.
“Jackie, that threatening note you received, didn’t you say the person misspelled your name?”
“Yes, left the e off. Why do you ask?”
“Well, because my stocking—”
As we approached the top landing, a commotion interrupted me. It sounded like Barbie was crying, and Bob and Char were trying to calm her down. We hurried the rest of the way up to see what had happened.
“No, I will not be quiet! Who would do this to me?” Barbie wailed.
“Is everything okay up here?” Jackie asked.
Barbie pushed past Bob to confront her face to face. “Was it you? Did you leave this disgusting note for me? You have some nerve, madam!” She shoved Jackie. Hard.
Jackie fell back against me. Had I not been holding onto the banister, and had Carlo not grabbed Jackie’s hand, she and I would both have taken a tumble down the stairs.
Char gasped audibly and grabbed Barbie’s arm. “Stop it, Barbara! You stop it right now!”
We all turned toward her for a moment of stunned silence. She was not one to raise her voice. Barbie must’ve exhausted even Char’s saintlike patience, which was saying something.
Barbie dropped the note on the floor and collapsed into a nearby chair with her head in her hands.
Jackie sounded shaky as she told us she needed to check on Ralph. She and Carlo slipped into Ralph’s room, leaving the rest of us out on the landing. I picked up the note—written in the same block letters as Jackie’s.
I KNOW WHAT YOU’VE TAKEN, BARBI, AND I WANT IT ALL BACK. OR ELSE.
I read it aloud and then voiced what everyone wasn’t saying. “What does this mean? What have you taken?”
“Nothing!” she sobbed. “I don’t know what it means. Ask that witch, Jackie.”
“It’s utter tosh,” Bob said. “Of course nothing’s missing. And even if something was, our Barbie’s no thief.”
Barbie looked up at him through her tears. “I’m certain the little antique clock has gone, and the gilt picture frame from my room has disappeared now, too.”
“There, there,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually.”
Why wasn’t Bob more concerned about the missing items? And why did it seem he was trying to hush Barbie up about it?
I leaned over to Char. “How’s Ralph doing?”
“He’s still sleeping.”
“Shouldn’t someone call a doctor?” I knew Barbie was a nurse and everything, but if he couldn’t be awakened…
Just then, Ralph appeared in his doorway, clad in a silk paisley robe over silk pajamas. “The reports of my demise are grossly exaggerated. Or something to that effect.”
“Oh, thank God!” Char cried and went to hug the old man. “How’re you feeling? We were so worried.”
He appeared delighted to be fawned over.
“What happened? What was the last thing you remember?” Bob asked.
Ralph paused in thought for a moment. “I was eating those lovely gingerbread biscuits. The next thing I knew, I was tucked up in bed.”
Every gaze fixed on me.
“I… I don’t know what to tell you. I had one on the plane over, and I was fine.”
“Could it maybe be a blood sugar thing?” Char asked Barbie.
“He doesn’t have a blood sugar thing,” she responded with thinly veiled contempt before turning toward Ralph. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I’m sure someone tried to poison you.”
Chapter 3
Everyone gasped.
“No!” Jackie cried. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Certainly nobody here!” Bob protested.
“Now, now, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” Ralph waved off their concern. “Why don’t you all get some rest? I’m sure things will look better in the morning. After all, it’s Christmas!”
At his pronouncement, everyone reluctantly agreed and began to shuffle to their bedrooms.
I wasn’t so ready to let it rest, though. “Sorry, but what about the threatening note Barbie received? Surely we should be paying attention to that. And the other note? I don’t think that will look better in the morning.”
“What notes?” Ralph responded.
“Oh, it’s nothing really, darling.” Jackie put an arm around Ralph’s waist and made to turn him back to the bedroom door. “Probably just a Christmas prank. Nothing that can’t wait until morning,” she added, clearly for my benefit.
The bad feeling that had been steadily growing in my chest was now in full bloom. What the heck was going on here?
“Yes, I’m tired now,” Barbie said. “But I’m locking my door. Someone around here can’t be trusted.” She turned on her heel and strode down the hall.
“Bene, my door is unlocked, in case signorinas feel the fright before morning.” Carlo addressed Jackie, Char and me in turn, then grabbed each of our hands and planted a kiss, one by one, much to Ralph’s obvious chagrin.
I turned my face to Char to hide my incredulous expression. Though it was nice to be referred to as a signorina rather than a signora, it all felt so cliché. “Okay, thanks,” I said over my shoulder in Carlo’s direction “Night!”
Linking my arm with Char’s, I pulled her down the hall, around a corner and into my room. When I flicked the light on, D’Artagnan looked up and blinked at me from the bed. He burrowed his nose back under his tail, resuming his roly-poly shape, then went back to sleep. Char and I found our own spots on the mattress, making sure not to disturb the gray and white fluff ball in the center of the crocheted cover.
“What is going on around here?” Char said in a low, quavering voice. “It’s not the Christmas I wanted. I’m so sorry to drag you all the way over here for this. It’s a nightmare.”
“And we’re going to get to the bottom of it!” I dug around in my backpack and produced two wrapped candy canes. One was the traditional red and white peppermint, and the other was brown and orange and tasted like root beer. I thought the root beer ones were gross, but Char lit up.
“You remembered!” she cried, reaching for it. D’Artagnan made an annoyed kitty noise, and she whispered, “Sorry!” to him before biting into her candy.
I broke off a little piece of mine and popped it into my mouth. The peppermint vapors tingled my nose, and I marveled at how awake I felt. Well, it was only 4:00 p.m. to my body. I must’ve pushed past the exhaustion. That, or the adrenaline was taking over. “Okay, this is what we know—”
“Should I be writing this down?” Char asked.
“Ah, maybe.” I handed her a little notebook and a turquoise sparkly gel pen from my bag. “Okay, in no particular order, here’s what we know. Jackie received a threatening note from someone who didn’t spell her name properly. I thought maybe she’d written it to herself because the stocking she made for me had my name spelled incorrectly, too.”
“But why would she—”
“Hang on. I thought it might’ve been her, but when I thanked her, she said Barbie was the one who embroidered my stocking. So, I was convinced Barbie wrote the note to Jackie.”
“But then Barbie got a note, too.”
“Right!” I said. “And maybe she wrote it herself to throw suspicion away from her, but she was really upset.”
“Yeah, it’s doubtful she was faking it. Though she’s always been pretty dramatic.” Char jotted that down in the notebook.
“How does Barbie spell her name? With an i or an ie?
“Definitely ie,” Char confirmed.
“Then her name was spelled wrong, too.”
“So, we’re hunting for someone with bad spelling?”
“Maybe.” I sucked on the end of my candy cane while rubbing the spot between D’Artagnan’s ears. “And what about the missing antiques?”
“Oh, that!” Char bounced up, earning the side-eye from D’Artagnan. “When I was with Barbie and Uncle Bob in Uncle Ralph’s room, Barbie was just beside herself about it. She said when she visited in the spring, Uncle Ralph told her she could have anything she wanted from the house, so she’d made a long inventory list. Now several of the items just aren’t there. She said Jackie must’ve done something.”
“Did you know Barbie and Jackie knew each other in nursing school?”
“No! But that makes sense now.”
“What does?”
“Well, during her rantings, Barbie also said she wished she’d never run into her in London last summer. Next thing she knew, Jackie had moved to Italy, was living with Uncle Ralph and things started disappearing,” Char said.
“Maybe when they ran into each other, Barbie told Jackie about her rich uncle-slash-father, Ralph, and put the idea in Jackie’s head to do some gold digging?”
“Wait. What do you mean, ‘uncle-slash-father’?”
“Jackie told me that Ralph is Barbie’s father.”
“No. Uncle Bob is her father.”
“Bob may have raised her, but according to Jackie, Ralph is her birth father.”
Char gasped. “Does Uncle Bob know?”
“Jackie said she didn’t know. But how could he not, especially if everyone around him does?”
“Poor Uncle Bob,” Char said with a twinge of sadness.
I bit my bottom lip. “Something’s been bugging me about how Bob dismisses Barbie every time she mentions noticing another antique’s gone.”
