One of the French doors stood partially open. Shards of glass covered the carpet beneath it, slowly being covered by a light dusting of fresh snow. The pages of a book open on the center table fluttered in the breeze. I was in my winter coat, but a chill ran down my spine.

  My mother, for all her elaborate clothes, diva airs, and stories about her glory days, was anything but a fanciful woman. If she said someone had been in her bedroom while she slept, then someone had been in her bedroom while she slept. I knew that, but still, I’d hoped she’d been dreaming.

  “Looks like your mother did have an intruder after all, Merry,” Candy said.

  “Did you doubt it?” I asked.

  “People imagine lots of things in the night,” Williams said. “I’ll check upstairs.”

  I spotted something out of place on the carpet and stepped forward. Candy shouted, “leave it,” but I ignored her and bent over to have a closer look. It was, of all things, a white bed sheet, one corner caught in a door hinge, crumpled and cast aside as one might throw off a coat without caring where it landed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I bundled my Mom into her coat and boots, and Alan and I took her to my place while the police finished searching the house and called for someone to come and take fingerprints. Mom told me not to worry my father, but I ignored her as I’d ignored Candy Campbell earlier and gave him a call. I explained what had happened, as calmly and succinctly as was possible. He said he’d had a couple of beers with his friends earlier so didn’t want to drive but would try to find a cab. Mom grabbed my phone and insisted she’d be all right until the morning. Alan and I went into the kitchen to give her some privacy while they talked. When we emerged with tea and toast, I was relieved to see some of the tension had left her face. “Your father will be here first thing in the morning,” she informed us. “Earlier, if I know him.”

  We settled in the living room. It felt strange to be in my own place without Mattie’s bulk filling every corner. No doubt he thought it strange to be at Alan’s without me. I hoped he and Ranger wouldn’t get up to too much trouble while we were gone.

  Mom had told the police briefly what happened, but once we were settled on my couch, Mom with a heavy throw gathered around her shoulders, Alan asked if she remembered anything more.

  She shook her head. My mom rarely faces the world, or even her own family, without hair done and full makeup applied. Tonight she looked so pale; her cheeks shrunken and the shadows beneath her eyes deep. “Nothing new. I don’t normally go to bed before midnight, but with the opening of the play tomorrow, which I suppose is now today, it’s going to be a very long day so I decided to turn in early. I read for a while and then drifted off. I thought I heard a noise downstairs, but you know what old houses are like when the wind gets up. It’s always creaking and moaning.”

  I knew. This house was much the same. I’d almost expected Mrs. D’Angelo to be standing on her front porch when we drove up. But the lights remained off and the property quiet in the falling snow. I guess even Mrs. D’Angelo has to sleep sometimes.

  “I tried to get back to sleep,” Mom continued. “Unlike when I was touring, your father and I rarely spend nights apart these days, so I told myself I was being nervous in his absence, jumping at nothing.”

  “You likely heard the glass on the music room door breaking,” I said.

  She shuddered and took a sip of her tea. “I might have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew, I was not alone. Someone, something, was standing by my bed, looking down at me. I thought I was dreaming at first. It was … white, the arms not visible, the shape shifting. Remarkably similar to the Ghost of Christmas Past. I remember thinking how odd that was. In all my years I’ve never dreamt I was living one of my own roles.”

  “Is that your part in the play?” Alan asked.

  “One of them.”

  “Did you see the face?” I asked.

  “No. It was white, that’s all I noticed. I mean excessively white. As in applied with theatrical or clown makeup, as though an exaggerated version of my own costume. The face might also have been partially covered by a hood or a sheet. Everything happened so very fast, I didn’t notice a lot of details. I told Candice that.”

  “It, whatever it was, said nothing?” Alan asked.

  “Not a word. The cloth moved, and a finger pointed at me. Directly at my face. It was then I knew this was no dream. I must have screamed and attempted to climb out of the far side of the bed. It was all so … confusing. Confusing and terrifying. By the time I got out of bed and turned to face it … it was gone. I heard footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. I immediately called you, Merry, and hid in the closet until you arrived. However, now that I come to think of it, the closet was not a particularly adequate hiding place. The door does not lock.”

  Alan and I said nothing. Mom took another sip of her tea.

  “It sounds to me,” Alan said at last. “As though this person, whoever it was, intended to do nothing more than frighten you, Aline.”

  “That was more than enough, thank you,” she said.

  “Agreed. If they’d wanted to do more …” My voice trailed off. I shook the image away.

  “This person must have known Noel was away,” Alan said. “It can’t be a coincidence. As you said, Aline, he doesn’t usually go out of town overnight, particularly not at the start of Christmas week. Who knew he’d be away tonight?”

  “It was no secret,” Mom said. “I don’t know who he might have mentioned it to.”

  “He told everyone who’d been at the dress rehearsal Wednesday night,” I said. “He said, in full view of the entire company, he wouldn’t be able to work on the set the following day, if something went wrong, because he was going away.”

  * * *

  I insisted on settling Mom into my bed for what remained of the night. I took the couch, and Alan offered to sleep on the floor, but I reminded him we’d left the dogs at his house. They hadn’t even been let out one last time.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked me.

  “I’m sure. The intruder isn’t going to come here, and Dad’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

  I walked Alan downstairs to the outer door. “You’ll call me if you or your mom need anything?” he said. “If anything … out of the ordinary happens, don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll bring Mattie to the store in the morning. Let me know if your plans change and you don’t go in.”

  “I will.” I kissed him and he pulled me close. We stood together for a long time, simply holding each other.

  “If I’m going to go, I’d better,” Alan said at last. “The play opens tomorrow. Tonight now. Do you think your mom’s up to performing?”

  I chuckled into his chest. “Are you kidding? According to her she sang Waltraute in Gotterdammerung at Covent Garden with a fever of a hundred and two and a full body rash. And that was nothing compared to the time—”

  He kissed me again and then let me go and stepped away. “Point taken. I’ll drop Mattie in the morning, and pick you up shortly after six tonight as arranged.”

  “I’ve just remembered. My car’s at your place.”

  “Do you need it today?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Then we can pick it up on the weekend. Before that, I guess you’re expecting me to dust off my suit.”

  * * *

  I doubt if Mom got any more sleep than I did. Dad made it from Rochester to Rudolph in record time and he was hammering on my door at six AM. I gave my parents a few moments of privacy and went into the kitchen to prepare another round of tea and toast.

  Mom sipped the tea, ignored the toast, and said, “I’d like to go home now, Noel.”

  “No hurry, sweetheart. I called Diane Simmonds as I got near town. She’ll meet us at the house at seven thirty.”

  “That will give me time to dress and prepare for visitors,” Mom said. She was still in the nightgown she’d had on last night. Candy asked us not to go back upstairs at the house until the bedroom had been thoroughly checked. “Then, I’ll need to get some rest and put all this fuss and bother behind me. I have a performance to give this evening.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Dad said. He didn’t bother to ask her if she was up to it after the fright of last night.

  “Do remember to get your suit from the cleaners, Noel. I’d prefer you not wear casual clothes this evening.”

  He gave her a fond smile and me a wink. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “We’re expected to attend Sue-Anne’s after-party. Someone told me a senator or two is coming. I do hope the town rises to the occasion. George Mann might not agree, but that does not mean serving his homemade wine.”

  My parents left and I got ready for work. I expected a busy day before Mrs. Claus’s, like many of the shops on Jingle Bell Lane, would close early so people could attend (or appear in) the opening night’s performance of A Christmas Carol.

  My apartment seemed so empty without Mattie. I hoped he’d had a good night and hadn’t worried too much about where I’d gone in such a rush.

  The store wouldn’t open for a few hours yet, but I decided to go in early. Not only was I too restless to go back to bed, but plenty of tasks always need to be seen to when the store’s closed. I munched on Mom’s uneaten toast while I showered and dressed for work. That done, I put on my outdoor clothes, and then tiptoed down the stairs, holding my breath and trying not to make a sound on the old floorboards. I opened the door slowly and carefully, shut it silently behind me, and darted across the snow-covered lawn as the weak winter sun slowly rose in a clear sky. I’d discovered a loose board in the back fence one summer and hadn’t reported it to the landlady to be fixed. It made a convenient exit route if I needed to sneak away unseen. Police cars had clogged the street in front of my parents’ house last night, lights flashing and sirens blaring, officers running in and out, shouting to each other. Mom had been bundled out of the house with a coat thrown over her nightgown and driven away in Alan’s truck. Attracted by the commotion, lights had come in on nearby houses, curtains moved, and people stepped onto their front porches to see what was going on. I’d long suspected some members of Mrs. D’Angelo’s network were neighbors of my parents.

  My instincts were spot on. As the loose board flopped into place behind me, I heard Mrs. D’Angelo’s voice approaching. I peeked through the crack in the fence. She wore an unbuttoned coat, and her feet were stuffed into rubber boots decorated with images of colorful umbrellas. She was talking on her phone as she came around the corner. “Joan, I’m on my way to check now. Before Merry goes to work, I want to pop in and make sure Noel and Aline are all right. Quite the kerfuffle at their house last night, I heard.” My landlady let herself in the back door with her key and her voice faded away.

  I congratulated myself on having the foresight to kick up snow behind me as I’d crossed the yard in an attempt to hide evidence of my passing.

  * * *

  The first person through the doors of Mrs. Claus’s Treasures on Friday morning was none other than Detective Diane Simmonds. I doubted she’d come to get her Christmas shopping done. “Do you have a moment to talk, Merry?” she asked.

  I considered saying no, as the second through fifth person came close behind her and they had that sharply focused, determined gift-hunting look on their faces I love so much. Fortunately Jackie arrived promptly on time this morning. She’d be leaving at three to get ready for the play, and Chrystal was coming in at noon to work until early closing at four-thirty.

  “You’ve been to my parents’ house?” I asked the detective.

  “Yes. I left them a short while ago. I’d like to talk to you about what you observed last night. Your office?”

  Jackie tore her attention away from greeting the customers. “What happened last night? What about Merry’s parents? Does this have anything to do with the play? It’ll be a disaster if Aline drops out. People are coming just to see her.”

  “Merry?” the detective said.

  “Mom’s fine,” I assured Jackie. “She’ll be there, right on time.”

  As Simmonds and I walked into the back I heard a customer say, “The play? You mean A Christmas Carol? We have tickets for tomorrow. We wanted to go to the opening night performance but it was sold out.”

  “You’ll love it,” Jackie said. “It’s going to be absolutely fabulous. I myself have a small but vitally important solo part. I’m playing Mrs. Cratchit as well as being a prominent voice in the chorus.”

  “Did you hear that, Marlene?” the woman said. “We’re actually talking to one of the stars of the play.”

  There’d be no living with Jackie now.

  Simmonds and I went into my office, and I shut the door. “Have a seat,” I said. I dropped into the chair behind my desk.

  She looked around the room. “Where’s Matterhorn? This place seems empty without him.”

  “As a bonus, the carpet’s dry. He’s at Alan’s. We left in such a rush last night after Mom’s call, we didn’t even stop to bring the dogs.”

  She took the offered chair. “Which is why I’m here. I was notified this morning of an apparent intruder at your parents’ house last night. The call was flagged for my attention because of your mother’s association with the Paula Monahan killing.”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘association’ is the right word. Neither is ‘apparent.’ There was an intruder, no doubt about it.”

  “You and Alan Anderson were at the house when officers arrived in response to the 911 call. Can you tell me what caused you to go there and what happened then?”

  I did so.

  “You didn’t see any evidence of this intruder, other than the broken door and the sheet on the floor?”

  “No. Whoever it was had gone by the time we arrived. It normally takes about fifteen minutes to get from Alan’s to Mom’s. We probably did it in ten. Maybe less. The roads were … uh … not busy at that time of night.”

  “Understood.”

  “Mom said he … or she … whoever … didn’t stay after she’d woken up. Mom jumped out of bed and the person fled. I don’t recall seeing a car parked on their street, though I suppose they wouldn’t have been dumb enough to drive their own car and park it right outside.”

  “You never know. If criminals weren’t morons, we wouldn’t catch half of them. I showed a photograph of the bedsheet to your mother. Plain white, mass produced, cheap, clean. She claims she doesn’t own one like it, but she did check the linen closet and the contents appear to be undisturbed.”

  “Which means they brought it with them. And, as most people don’t call on friends in the middle of the night bearing bedsheets, I can only assume wearing it to frighten Mom was their intent.”

  Simmonds nodded. “We’ve fingerprinted the music room and your parents’ bedroom as well as the staircase. It was a cold night, so it’s more than possible our intruder was wearing gloves, but we can hope. The sheet’s been sent for DNA analysis. If we get lucky, a hair or eyelash or something similar rubbed off on it.”

  “Doesn’t everyone these days know about DNA? Why would they leave the sheet behind?”

  “It was snagged on the door, caught on a hinge. I suspect that happened as the intruder left, and they were in too much of a panicked hurry to take the time to free it.”

  “That’s good then.”

  “If I don’t have a DNA sample to compare it against, anything we find isn’t worth much. I have to ask you Merry, if you can think of any reason someone might have broken into your parents’ house to attack your mother.”

  “Is attack the right word? She wasn’t harmed.”

  “She was badly frightened, although she’s attempting to pretend she wasn’t. I consider that an attack, but I won’t know if this person had further intentions until I determine the reason behind the intrusion.”

  “If they meant to harm her, they would have, surely.”

  “We don’t know that. Did the attacker hear something that caused them to believe someone else was in the house? Your mother says she immediately rolled off the other side of the bed. Did the attacker fear she was going for a gun or a knife? Or that your mother has a black belt in karate and was getting into position to attack?”

  “This has to be related to the killing of Paula Monahan.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “First, you yourself made the connection. Second, my mom doesn’t have enemies. She might tell you that some Estonian or Swedish mezzo-soprano has it in for her because she got the better role, but really … Even if that ever happened, which I doubt, Mom hasn’t sung professionally for several years now. It has to have something to do with A Christmas Carol. Although,” my voice trailed off, “I can’t think what.”

  “I asked your mother if she’d remembered anything about Paula Monahan’s death since we last spoke, and she says no. I also asked her who the understudy for her part is.”

  I sincerely hoped it wasn’t Jackie.

  “A woman by the name of Iris Kincaid. Do you know her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Your mother told me Iris has been in the company for many years and has always been content to be an extra. She’s the understudy for your mother because, in Aline’s words, she’s the one with the best voice. But she is, again according to your mother, nothing but terrified at the idea of stepping in.”

  “My mom’s a hard act to follow.”

  “Nevertheless, I had an officer pay a call on Ms. Kincaid this morning.”

  “And?”

  “Her husband and visiting daughter and son-in-law tell us everyone in the house was awake at midnight because Ms. Kincaid was either pacing up and down or locked in the bathroom being sick.”

  I gasped. “You think she was poisoned? Maybe someone’s out to get the entire theater company.”