A party with a serious purpose, but that didn't mean we hadn't enjoyed preparing for it and wouldn't have a great time celebrating. The decorations this year were exceptional all around. My office manager, Ted Smalley, had opted for a galactic theme in this time of worldwide dissension, hanging from the garland silver stars, moons, planets, and crystal beads to represent the Milky Way. The architects on the opposite catwalk, Chandler amp; Santos, had fashioned a cityscape of colored lights and neon tubing; and their neighbors, a group of certified public accountants, had suspended cardboard cutouts of people of all races and genders holding hands. Below was a miniature Santa's Village, complete with electric tram (marketing consultants); a forest of small live fir trees dusted in realistic-looking snow, where replicas of various endangered animals took refuge (ecological nonprofit); swirls of rich, colorful cloth that a fan moved in a kaleidoscopic pattern (fashion designer); a Model T Ford with Santa at the wheel and presents in the rumble seat (car leasing agency). One of these would win the big loving cup perched on the high pedestal for best of show.
I sighed with pleasure-both at the prospect of an enjoyable evening with good friends and at the knowledge that we would be bringing happy holidays to at least a few of the city's many homeless. Already the barrels of canned goods, new toys, and warm clothing were filled.
As I glanced at the one for cash offerings, I spotted my colleague and friend Wolf approaching with his wife Kerry. The party was limited to Pier 24-1/2 workers and their guests, but for the past month Wolf had been on my payroll, assisting on a complex fraud case that I hadn't had time to attend to myself, so I'd urged him to attend. It had taken a lot of urging. Wolf hated large gatherings, and I was certain he'd only agreed to come as a favor to me and his outgoing advertising-executive wife.
It wasn't the only way I was going to reward him for saving my butt, I thought with some anticipation. The job he'd done for me was an important one, for a client who threw a lot of business my agency's way. I'd been tied up on a long investigation into improprieties in the city's building-inspection department that had revealed a senior official was taking kickbacks in exchange for speeding up the permit process.
Only half an hour ago Ted had given me a disk containing my report, which I would deliver to the mayor's office on Monday-the only copy, as the deputy mayor who was my contact there had insisted on total confidentiality. It currently rested under a stack of files in my in-box, unimportant looking and labeled "Expenses, November, 2001," rather than in the office safe, which had been broken into a few days ago.
Wolf was already looking overwhelmed by the crowd down below. I donned my fuzzy Santa Claus hat and went to try to put him at ease.
"WOLF" Kerry said, "Doesn't the pier look nice? So festive."
"Yeah," I said. "Festive."
"Look at all the different displays. Some are really clever."
I looked. "At least they don't have some poor jerk dressed up in a Santa Claus suit."
"I suppose that's a reference to the Christmas Charity Benefit. You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
"Ho, ho, ho."
She poked me in the ribs. "Don't be grumpy."
"I'm not grumpy."
"If you're going to be grumpy…"
I said again, grumpily, that I wasn't grumpy. It was the truth. What I was was ill at ease. Parties of any kind have that effect on me. Large groups of people, no matter how festive the occasion, make me feel claustrophobic; I don't mix well, I'm not good at small talk even with people I know. Kerry keeps trying to socialize me and it keeps not working. The quiet of home and hearth is what I prefer, particularly during the Christmas season. The one other time I'd let her talk me into attending a Yuletide party, the infamous Gala Christmas Charity Benefit a few years back, had been an unmitigated disaster. And only partly because I'd allowed myself to be stuffed into a Santa Claus suit, with little kiddies to make dents on my knees and share with me their innermost, toy-laden desires.
"Let's make a donation," Kerry said.
She'd hauled me into the midst of the Pier 24-1/2 party and we were now stopped in front of a red, white and blue barrel in the center of the concrete floor. Propped up in front was a sign: HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Season of Sharing Fund. Be Generous!
Kerry put a folded twenty-dollar bill into the barrel. I took a five out of my wallet.
"For heaven's sake," she said, "don't be a Scrooge. Read the sign."
I said, "Be generous, Mr. Spade."
"What's that?"
"Never mind." I exchanged the five for two twenties and slotted them into the barrel.
"That's better. Oh, here's Sharon."
McCone came bustling up. The furred Santa Claus cap she wore over her black hair made my scalp itch. She hugged Kerry, waved some green plant stuff over my head, and then kissed me-on the mouth.
"Hey," I said, "I'm a married man. And you're young enough to be my daughter."
"Don't mind him," Kerry said. "He's in one of his grumpy moods."
"I am not grumpy!"
McCone said, "Well, whatever you are, I'm glad you're here. Both of you."
"Where's Ripinsky?" I asked her. Hy Ripinsky was her significant other and a fellow P.I.
"He had to fly down to RKI headquarters in San Diego. Urgent business. But he'll be back in time for us to spend Christmas together."
She and Kerry proceeded to jabber about how festive the pier looked, how innovative the displays were, particularly McCone Investigations' galactic theme, how all the businesses here were hoping to raise at least five thousand dollars for the homeless. It never ceases to amaze me how adaptable women are. Put two of them together, even a pair of strangers, into any social situation and they're not only immediately comfortable with each other and their surroundings, they never seem at a loss for words.
While they were chattering, I looked around some more. What galactic theme? I thought.
Pretty soon Kerry paused long enough to suggest I go and get us something to drink. "I'd like white wine," she said. "Sharon?"
"The same."
So I waded through the partygoers to the bar. The noise level in there, enhanced by a loud-speakered version of "Deck the Halls," was such that I had to raise my voice to a near-shout to put in my order. Two white wines, nothing more. My brain gets fuzzy enough at parties as it is.
Somebody came up and tapped my arm while I was waiting. McCone's office manager, Ted Smalley, and his bookseller partner, Neal Osborn, both of them wearing red stocking caps with tassels. Neal said, "Great party, isn't it? Didn't Ted do a terrific job of coordinating the decorations and displays?"
"Terrific," I said. "Great, uh, galactic theme, Ted." He beamed at me. "Everyone cooperated beautifully." Neal ordered for the two of them. When he was done he said to Ted, "Shall we tell him now or wait until later?"
"Now. I can't wait to see his face."
"Do you want to do the honors or shall I?"
"You go ahead. It was your idea."
"No, it was your idea. The surprise itself was mine. Mine and Sharon's."
I said, "What're you two talking about?"
"You'll find out," Neal said, "if you go upstairs to Sharon's office. There's something on her desk for you."
"A present? Why would you get me a present?"
"For all your help on the Patterson case," Ted said. "Do you still have the spare key Sharon gave you?"
I didn't know what to say, except "yes" and "thanks." I'm not used to getting presents from anyone other than Kerry and my assistant, Tamara Corbin.