“I agree with you there. A present or two might be nice, but these days it’s a glut. Even people without much money way overspend.”
Brother Ed, who had a trimmed Vandyke, pulled out his gloves and said, “The American way. That’s one reason I joined the brotherhood. Kind of like stop the ‘merry- go-wrong’ I want to get off.”
“I understand,” replied Harry, who did.
No sooner did the laden truck leave than Cooper pulled up. The tracks were already glossing with ice.
Tucker barked again, and Harry, seeing Cooper’s well-worn Accord, put up the coffee. Harry didn’t drink coffee but enjoyed making it for others.
Cooper knocked, then came in. She took off her coat, stamping the snow off her boots. “We’re making up for the last few years of little snow.”
“Coffee will be ready in, umm, two minutes.”
“Good.” Cooper carried two medium-size presents with big shiny bows. “Don’t open until Christmas.”
“Promise. Hold on a minute.” Harry walked back to the bedroom and came out with a long, oddly shaped wrapped present. “Same applies, although once you pick it up you may know what it is.” She leaned it against the wall by the kitchen door. It was a power washer, a useful present for a country person.
“Hey, a tree!”
“Brothers Sheldon and Ed just dropped it off.”
Cooper put presents under the tree, which caused Pewter to investigate.
“No catnip?” The gray cat was disappointed.
“Will she tear open the wrapping?” Cooper cast a stern eye toward the living room. Pewter pointedly ignored her.
“You never know about that one.” Harry poured the coffee and also put out a dish of sliced cheese and apples.
“Thank God, no cookies.”
“It’s a wonder all of Virginia doesn’t go into sugar shock over the holidays.”
They caught up. Cooper, glowing, gave an account of Lorenzo. Harry hoped this was “the one” for Cooper. They talked about Big Mim, Little Mim, the fact that Fair truly needed a partner in business. They went on to political events—always dispiriting—and finally to Brother Christopher.
“It’s not a break, but it’s more information.” Cooper informed Harry that Christopher had received letters from an investor who felt Christopher should go back to work and pay off those who lost money.
“Contact the letter writer?”
Cooper half-smiled. “He was pissed that Christopher was dead. I suppose... well, I don’t know. The point is, the money is lost.”
“Somehow I think time lost is worse than money lost,” Harry thought out loud.
“Could be.” She put a piece of cheese on an apple slice, biting into it. “Any thoughts?”
“Ha. I can’t believe you’re asking me.”
“You can get in the middle of things and you’re often right, but, Harry”—Cooper shook her head—“you take some dumb chances.”
“I know,” Harry admitted. “Actually, I have thought of a few things. I believe that Christopher knew his killer.”
“Why?”
Tucker and Mrs. Murphy perked up to listen.
“No sign of him running away. No sign of struggle. If he’d fought, the snow would have been kicked up. No torn clothes, no bruises. Nothing knocked over.”
Cooper told her, “Right.”
“Another thing: if he’d run through the cut trees and the ones already in pots, he might have knocked some over. I believe he knew who killed him and didn’t fear harm from whoever did it. The killer brought him down. Fast.”
“It seems he didn’t fear whoever cut his throat. I wonder how they could have walked behind him, though. Most of us are uncomfortable with someone directly behind us.”
Harry spoke slowly. “It’s a Christmas tree farm. Any ruse might work. For instance, the killer is there to buy a tree but wants Christopher to measure its height. If he stood behind him measuring, it wouldn’t be so strange.”
“It sure makes you wonder if you ever really know anyone.” Cooper sighed.
“It’s hard enough to know yourself.” Harry smiled.
15
Lush dark-green pine garlands were wrapped around stairwells and adorned the top of the hand-blown twelve-pane windows. At either end of the great hall at St. Luke’s, a magnificent magnolia grand flora wreath greeted celebrants as they opened three main doors to stand inside the vestibule with its coatroom, which was also decorated.
Alicia Palmer and BoomBoom Craycroft had knocked themselves out as heads of the decorating committee. They were decorated, as well. Alicia wore a shimmering dress of Christmas red, while BoomBoom wore a long white dress with expensive green bugle beadwork on the shoulders and arms. Stunning as they were separately, they were unbelievable standing side by side.
The Reverend Herbert Jones beamed at the lovely decorations and the crowd of people clearly enjoying themselves. He looked at Alicia and BoomBoom with gratitude for their work. When Alicia and BoomBoom had first announced their love, some church members pitched a fit. Most thought about it, questioned themselves in their hearts, and accepted it. That’s what Herb had hoped for. What good is a Christian who doesn’t think, change, and depend on compassion from one’s sisters and brothers?
Resistance flowed from Bill Keelo. He had even left the church for half a year, but his wife and children missed their friends, the wonderful programs, and, most of all, they missed Herb, who practiced what he preached.
While Bill was civil to the two ladies, no one could accuse him of being accepting. A few others remained implacable, as well. They also opposed women as ministers. Dr. Bryson Deeds was an interesting case. Love between women made perfect sense to him. Love between men did not, and he voiced this one too many times. After all, some of his patients were gay men, and he visited the AIDS patients, too. On a one-to-one basis, he was a caring and fine doctor, but he assiduously avoided gay men as a group. His friendship with Bill Keelo seemed to be reinforced by their mutual dislike.
Bryson liked Brother Morris but was appalled by the brother’s time of disgrace. Racquel just laughed when Bryson had wondered how any man could carry on the way Brother Morris once had. And who would sleep with such a fatty?
St. Luke’s reflected Herb’s outlook. Big Mim with her millions was as welcome as old Hank Malone, poor as a church mouse—not that Cazenovia, Elocution, and Lucy Fur would countenance mice in their domain. Rich, poor, intelligent, not so intelligent, old, young, all nationalities, all manner of pairings: Herb threw open the church doors for all.
His philosophy was that St. Luke’s was a workshop for sinners, not a haven for saints. And Herb believed in saints, those people who suffered for others or who quietly helped throughout their lives to no fanfare.
Not that people didn’t already know, but tonight demonstrated that his embrace of all drew many to him and ultimately to one another.
The fireplaces blazed at each end of the hall, which was jammed with three hundred people, give or take a few. An ebony Steinway built in 1928 was positioned between the windows in the middle. The rich tone of the big grand, rebuilt in 1989, thrilled people who loved music. This was all the accompaniment that Brother Morris, selected brothers, and the St. Luke’s choir needed.
After an hour of socializing, the program began, with rousing carols interspersed with special hymns like “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”
When Miranda Hogendobber stepped up to the dais with Brother Morris, the place fell silent with expectation. Although untrained, Miranda possessed a remarkable instrument that could melt a heart of stone. Her voice blended perfectly with the famous tenor’s as they sang duets.
The magical effect added even more to a glorious night. When the program was over, the applause rolled on. The two returned for an encore, performing “O Come All Ye Faithful” first in English and then “Adeste Fideles” in Latin.
Susan Tucker, favoring her right foot, which she’d twisted slightly slipping on ice, came up next to Harry and whispered, “Best Christmas party yet.”