Part 2 (2/2)
Alan opened his gift from Sophie. Good, reliable ski gloves, just shy of being top notch.
Like Sophie herself, solid, respectable, but most definitely not the best.
Wendy sipped at her champagne and watched the rest of them opening their gifts, enjoying the refreshments, laughing and flirting.
Lorraine sat alone on the edge of the sofa, clinging to her gla.s.s. If she were a nice person, Wendy would feel sorry for the girl. Thinking she was in love with a good looking guy from a good family and a great university with a highly-promising future, whod do nothing but screw her and wave bye-bye out the car window as he left town.
But she wasnt a nice person, and so Wendy didnt bother herself to care about pathetic little Lorraine.
”There must be a present for our Lorraine,” Mrs. C said, having trouble getting her lips around the words. Wendy suspected shed been into the Champagne already. Alan had a secret store in his room, and he always knew how to b.u.t.ter up the hired help.
”Ill have my Christmas at home in the morning,” Lorraine said, ”with Mom and Dad, of course. Therell be plenty of presents.” Her eyes slid to one side, and Wendy knew she was lying.
”Nevertheless there must be something for you under our tree.”
Kathy, Mrs. Cs daughter, another precocious teenager you might as well crush under your shoe as you would a c.o.c.kroach, rolled her eyes. ”As if,” she muttered.
Jeremy laughed.
”Keep digging, Kathy,” Mrs. C said. No sugar was left in her voice.
And sure enough Kathy came up with a small box. She handed it to Lorraine.
The girl hesitated before taking it, looking as if shed bolt. Then she accepted the box and rubbed her fingers, nails bitten to the quick, across it. ”Its so beautiful.” She pulled at the ribbon, all the colors of the rainbow, and then at the paper.
”Whos it from?” Sophie asked.
”Jason, of course.” Lorraines eyes shone. ”See, it says right here on the label. To Lorraine, Merry Christmas, from Jason.”
”Whats in it?” Sophie again, sounding as if she were actually excited.
Lorraine opened the blue box. She gasped, and they all, Wendy included, leaned forward.
Gold earrings. Small, perfectly round hoops.
”How lovely.” Wendy reached out her hand. Lorraine hesitated, but Wendy kept her hand in place, and Lorraine reluctantly put the box into it.
Gold. Pure gold.
The hour hand of the clock in the lunch room approached three.
Evans leaned back in his chair and stretched. Like Smith, hed taken off his coat and Kevlar vest. ”Im going to Emilys soon as Im off. She made something she calls a late supper and told me shes looking forward to celebrating our first Christmas together.”
How nice of you to let me know you have food and s.e.x in your immediate future.
Smith herself would stagger home and go to bed where shed eventually wake to welcome Christmas day alone. All alone. As every Christmas since...
Enough. Adam Tocek had asked her on a hiking date in the summer, and shed made a feeble excuse not to go. Undeterred, he was still sending her loud and clear signals. Shed chosen to ignore them, and that was her choice.
It was still too soon.
The hands of the clock touched three. Evans grabbed his coat.
”Say Merry Christmas to Emily for me.” Smith got to her feet.
He was in such a rush to get out the door and off to his girlfriends place he didnt hear her.
”Have a nice screw,” Smith muttered.
”Whats that, Molly?” Ingrid, the night dispatcher, asked.
”I was wis.h.i.+ng Constable Evans the complements of the season.”
”My aunt f.a.n.n.y.”
”Night, Ingrid.”
”Night, Molly.”
”See you tomorrow.”
”As there is no lottery draw on Christmas Day, that will probably be the case.”
The radio spat to life. Smith listened as Ingrid answered. 911. House fire. Christmas tree in flames.
”Forty-two, forty-two,” Ingrid said. Solway answered and Ingrid gave her the details.
”This has been one miserable Christmas Eve,” Smith said. ”But at least its over.”
”Maybe not.”
”Hold on, Im going home.”
”Halton called back.” The dead men in the car pulled out of the river were both carrying wallets containing Ontario licenses. The driver, Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth, was from Oakville, and Ingrid had called the regional police to request they contact the address on his license. The yellow SUV had been a local rental.
”They went to Wyatt-Yarmouths address,” Ingrid said. ”Merry Christmas. Your brother/son/husband/father/friend/life-long enemys bought the farm. Dont let us spoil your turkey dinner. Night. Couldnt possibly be our Jason, the parents said, as hes in Trafalgar, B.C., skiing. Hes staying at the Glacier Chalet B&B with his sister and a group of friends.”
”Tough.”
”You got that right, Molly. Tough enough for the sister to hear the news straight off. Not to sit up all Christmas Eve wondering where her brother is.”
”Come on, Ingrid. Tough stuff happens all the time. Why are you laying this on me?”
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