Christmas Pie Read online

  “Chinese Christmas ornaments?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? Christmas is for everyone.”

  When he looked down into her eyes, he felt a catch in his chest. Her lovely eyes glowed with excitement. And something else. His breath caught when he realized the something else was love. And it was aimed directly at him.

  The catch in his chest ached for a moment. Then, as if an angel reached inside his body and unlocked a steel barricade, it broke open. Suddenly his heart flooded with joy.

  Lifting his hand, he touched Polly’s face. She gently brushed her cheek against it, a reaction he considered most telling. Then he dropped his hand and said, a queer, unfamiliar sensation making his throat feel tight, “I’d be happy to help you decorate the tree, Polly.”

  So they decorated the tree and drank tea and ate gingersnaps for an hour or more. The longer James participated in the exotic activity, the more he relaxed. It wasn’t long before he was laughing along with Polly about whether it was proper to hang a Chinese lacquered figure next to distinctively Western, albeit tiny, sombrero, or if a wicker basket—which Polly deemed to be more Western than the figure—should be tied next to the hat.

  Finally Polly declared, “Oh, why not?” She added the Chinese figure to the tree.

  She laughed as she stood back, hands on hips, and tilted her head to peer at the odd grouping. James had a tremendous impulse to grab and kiss her.

  He restrained himself and hung a minuscule English bulldog next to the sombrero. “Might as well make it a truly international grouping.”

  Polly’s delighted laugh was interrupted by a tremendous blast followed by a blood-curdling scream. Chatter in the MacNamara parlor stopped with a shock.

  James, the first to recover, said, “My God, that sounded like a shotgun being fired.”

  “Did it? I’ve never heard one.” Polly pressed a hand to her hammering heart.

  “Dear gracious,” Lillian stared at Polly and James in alarm.

  Even the nearly deaf Mrs. Plimsole had heard the noise. She lifted a hand to cup her ear and said, “My word, what was that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to check on it. Better stay here, ladies.” James hurried to the front door and flung it open.

  Polly, unwilling to miss out on the excitement, ran after him. They burst out onto the porch together and stared up the street, from whence the noise had come.

  “My goodness, I believe something’s going on at Mr. Fleischer’s house.”

  “You’d better stay here, Polly. I’ll investigate,” said the gallant James.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Polly barreled down the porch steps in front of him. “I’m not going to miss out on this.”

  “Wait!” Laughing because he couldn’t help it, James dashed after her and caught her around the waist. “At least stay with me. If it’s a madman with a shotgun, we should be careful.”

  “I don’t think it’s a madman, James,” Polly told him in a truly bemused voice. “I think it’s Mr. Fleischer. And, oh, my goodness, who’s that with him? Look.”

  Sure enough, James followed Polly’s pointed finger with his gaze and saw her rotund neighbor step out of his house. Mr. Fleischer wore the tops to his long underwear, trousers, suspenders, and no shoes. His bushy gray side whiskers bristled and his heavy lips were working their way around a mouthful of blistering German.

  He held a shotgun in a menacing manner at the backs of a couple of black, huddled figures. There was only one light burning on the MacNamara porch and another at the Fleischers’, so it was difficult to see, but James thought at least one of the people held at bay by the intrepid Mr. Fleischer wore a mask. Both cowered and covered their heads with their hands.

  “Good God,” he muttered as he and Polly ran over to offer assistance.

  “Mr. Fleischer,” Polly cried, “what in the world is going on? Are you all right?”

  After they had run up the Fleischer steps, James could clearly tell that Mr. Fleischer was monumentally irate, and that his anger was directed at the men at the end of his shotgun. The old German’s cheeks were bright red, and his bristly brows met over the bridge of his nose.

  “Yah, yah, I’m all right. But these two rascals! Come sneaking into a fellow’s house at night and try to scare him. These two rascals I believe I should shoot.”

  One of the rascals shrieked, “No! No! For God’s sake, James, don’t let him shoot us!”

  Fleischer poked the man in the back with his gun and snorted angrily.

  James stared at the masked figure in astonishment. He turned to look at Polly, who was looking at him. Then they both turned their attention back to the masked men.

  “Bullock?” James reached out and twitched the mask away. Sure enough, the face revealed was that of Lawrence Bullock, and he was trembling with fright.

  James heard Polly gasp and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him, and he directed his attention at the other masked villain; the shorter, more slender of the two.

  Grimly, James said, “And I wonder who this can be.”

  To the accompaniment of Mr. Fleischer’s offended muttering, he ripped the mask away to reveal Walter Gregory’s weasel’s face. Only tonight, the supercilious sneer he had adopted during his tenure as James Drayton’s secretary was gone. Right now he looked merely terrified, and tears dribbled from his small, beady eyes and dripped from his pointy chin.

  “Good heavens!”

  James tightened his hold around Polly’s shoulders. “What in the name of all that’s holy do the two of you think you’re doing?”

  “We only meant to frighten her, James,” Bullock blubbered. “Honestly, we didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Frighten her?” Polly gasped. “You meant to frighten me?”

  Gregory nodded

  “Buy why did you try to frighten me by going into Mr. Fleischer’s house?”

  James saw her eyes widen as understanding hit her between the eyes. “Why, you horrid little man! You were spying on us in church today! You used the Lord’s house to spy on us!”

  “I’m sorry!” Gregory whimpered. “I’m sorry!”

  “He got the wrong house, James,” Bullock whimpered. “We didn’t mean to break into this man’s house. We didn’t mean anything. We didn’t take anything. There’s no harm done. Honest!”

  “Bah!” Mr. Fleischer dug the barrel of his shotgun into Bullock’s fat buttocks once more, eliciting a small scream from him.

  “No harm? No harm?” Polly stiffened in outrage.

  James believed her to be suffering from justifiable female spasms of fright. When he tried to give her another comforting squeeze, however, he suddenly found himself empty-armed as she burst from his embrace in an explosion of wrath.

  “No harm! Why you imbeciles! How dare you sneak into this good man’s house in the middle of the night? How dare you!”

  “We didn’t mean anything,” sniveled Gregory. She turned on him with the power of a Fury, and he shrank back until he felt the shotgun. Then he burst forward, nearly colliding with Polly, who reached up a hand and shoved him, hard.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, you miserable creature.” Whirling on Bullock, who cringed, she said, “And you! First you accost me on the street, then you try to kidnap me!” With a nod of contempt, she told Mr. Fleischer, “And he was inebriated both times, too.” Returning to Bullock, she said scathingly, “And now this—this monstrous criminal act! And here I had been feeling sorry for you! Well, I guess my sympathies were misspent, weren’t they?”

  Neighbors had begun to gather at the foot of the Fleischer porch. James eyed them with resignation and thought, Of course. Whenever he and Polly were together, they seemed to draw crowds. He wondered if it was some sort of omen.

  Since the captives seemed in no danger of escape, what with Fleischer holding his shotgun at their flank and Polly covering their front, James conferred with one of the throng. The man nodded, and sent his son running to the police station on the corner
. Then James returned to the scene of the crime.

  Grinning, he leaned back against a porch pillar and crossed his arms over his chest. He wondered how long Polly planned to harangue the pair of scoundrels and decided to let her do her best. Or worse. She deserved it, after what Bullock and Gregory had put her through. He also decided it would be to his advantage not to irritate her in the future.

  “And you,” she cried, rounding on Walter Gregory again. “You spiteful, nasty creature! I felt sorry for you in church today, knowing you’d lost your job for being such a nasty man. Why, I actually thought that perhaps you’d turned to God in an effort to straighten out your life, but I was wrong! You’re a bully and a wretch, just like this awful pig!” In case Gregory didn’t know who the “awful pig” was, she slapped Bullock on his belly. This evening, Bullock was not dressed in a suit and vest, and his rounded belly protruded slightly, making an easy target.

  Bullock whimpered, “Ow!” and Polly scowled at him. She had a shrewd notion she’d feel guilty later for being so mean to these two, but she aimed to give full rein to her fury now. There was no sense in feeling guilty unless one had something to repent, after all.

  “What on earth is going on?”

  James, amused when Polly seemed vexed at the interruption, turned to tell Martha Plimsole, “These two men tried to break into Mr. Fleischer’s house. He objected.”

  “Men!” Polly scoffed. “They aren’t men. They’re cowardly beasts!”

  Mrs. Plimsole, panting when she reached the top of the Fleischer steps, stared in astonishment at the two men quaking before Polly’s lashing tongue. A tiny beaded handbag dangled from her wrist, and she fumbled in it for a second and drew out a pair of eyeglasses. She put them on and squinted at Walter Gregory.

  When she said, “Walter? Walter, is that you?” Polly stopped in mid-screech.

  She stared at Mrs. Plimsole in surprise. “You mean you know this creature, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Plimsole’s mouth pursed in distaste. She snatched her spectacles from her nose and announced, “Know him? He’s my sister Mary’s child. My nephew.” She spat out the word “nephew” as though it tasted bad.

  “My goodness,” Polly said. “How astounding.”

  “Astounding, my foot!” Mrs. Plimsole walked up to Walter Gregory as if she and Polly had been assigned the task of vilifying him and it was now her turn.

  “You always were a sniveling, spiteful child, Walter Gregory, but this goes completely beyond the pale. I can’t believe even you would stoop to breaking and entering.”

  “But, we weren’t—”

  “Oh, be quiet, you fool.” Mrs. Plimsole whacked Gregory sharply with her beaded handbag, making him screech and cower.

  “Aha!” Mrs. Plimsole cried. “Cringe away from me, you coward! Just wait until your mother hears about this!”

  “Oh, no!” Gregory fell to his knees, wringing his hands. “No! Please, Aunt Martha. Don’t tell Mother! Please!”

  “Don’t snivel, you wretched boy,” Mrs. Plimsole told him with unutterable distaste. “I most certainly shall tell your mother.”

  She turned abruptly and marched toward the porch steps. She stopped long enough to tell the gathered crowd, triumph ringing in her voice, “I always told Mary she coddled the boy too much. I guess she’ll believe me now!”

  Head held high, she strode back to the MacNamara residence where she would, James guessed, regale Lillian MacNamara with the juicy details of the evening’s adventure.

  Apparently Mrs. Plimsole’s interruption had taken the wind out of Polly’s sails. She still looked like a storm cloud about to burst and rain on Bullock and Gregory, but she no longer hollered at them.

  Turning with a whirl, she asked James, “You know those papers you brought for me to sign this evening?” With a glance over her shoulder at Lawrence Bullock, she added, “The ones pressing charges against that man?”

  “Yes, Polly,” James said mildly.

  “Well, I won’t sign them until they’ve been amended to include this night’s work. And you can include that wretched Mr. Gregory, too!”

  “Yah!” bellowed Mr. Fleischer, who had been severely out-shouted by Polly up till now, “And me, too! I’m going to press them too!”

  Gregory whimpered. Bullock sniffled.

  James shook his head and chuckled. “Actually, I think we’ll have to draw up another complaint about this incident.” He eyed his two former employees with distaste. “But I shall certainly see to it first thing in the morning.”

  With an imperious nod, Polly said, “Good.”

  A policeman hurried up at that moment, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea for Moses.

  A brief flurry of confusion ensued. Mr. Fleischer offered to shoot the two men, believing such action would effectively thwart attempted escape, besides having the additional advantage of saving taxpayers’ money. The policeman declined, much to the general disapproval of the crowd.

  “He’s got the right,” one neighbor cried.

  “Aye! Them two rascals broke into his house.”

  “Shoulda shot ‘em when you had the chance, Fleischer,” another gentleman proclaimed, causing Bullock and Gregory to sob and lean toward the protection of the policeman.

  James held Polly firmly around the waist during the altercation. At last, when the policeman finally managed to get the crowd under control and clapped cuffs on Bullock and Gregory, he squeezed her gently. She was the most perfect of feminine bundles. He was sure she had no idea how delightful she felt in his arms.

  He was wrong. Polly knew very well how delightful she felt. She’d never, in fact, felt anything quite as wonderful as James’s arms around her. She felt safe, cared-for and protected in his strong embrace. They were conditions that had been in short supply in her life, and she longed to snuggle against his broad chest and bask in the warmth of him forever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The entertainment value of Lawrence Bullock and Walter Gregory’s perfidious deed lasted until almost midnight, much later than the MacNamara ladies generally stayed up on a Sunday night. Mrs. Plimsole, shocked and more than a little pleased that her dire warnings about her sister’s only child should have been so spectacularly validated, seemed too excited to go home. Mrs. MacNamara, also titillated by the evening’s events, demanded to know what happened in thrilling detail.

  Polly, repentant now that she’d cooled down, wondered if jail terms might not be too harsh a punishment for the misguided bumblers. James rolled his eyes, and Mrs. Plimsole expressed his sentiments.

  “Nonsense,” she said roundly. “They’re housebreakers, Polly. They meant to do you a mischief, and it was only chance that made them enter the wrong house. Who knows what they’d have done if they’d entered the right house.”

  “Well, but they’d have found us inside, and wouldn’t have done anything,” Polly said reasonably.

  Mrs. Plimsole snorted. “Ha! They’d have waited until the lights went out. You don’t know men, my dear.”

  Mrs. Plimsole, thought James, had a way of emphasizing certain words that changed their meaning entirely. For example, she made the word men mean snakes. He was impressed, although he rather resented being thrown into the same pit as Gregory and Bullock.

  Polly looked unconvinced. “Well, I’m not so sure. They both just lost their jobs, after all.”