Spike was on the ladder, leaning precariously into the tree with a crystal angel in one hand and a fuzzy reindeer in the other, when Luther heard a car in the drive. He glanced out the window and saw Nora's Audi sliding into the garage. "It's Nora," he said. Quick thinking led him to believe that Spike's complicity in the tree should be kept a secret.
"Spike, you need to leave, and now," he said.
"Why?"
"Job's over, son, here's the other twenty. Thanks a million." He helped the kid down from the ladder, handed over the cash, and led him to the front door. When Nora stepped into the kitchen, Spike eased onto the front steps and disappeared.
"Unload the car," she commanded. Her nerves were shot and she was ready to snap.
"What's the matter?" he asked, and immediately wished he'd said nothing. It was quite obvious what was the matter.
She rolled her eyes and started to snap, then gritted her teeth and repeated, "Unload the car."
Luther high-stepped toward the door and was almost outside when he heard, "What an ugly tree!"
He spun, ready for war, and said, "Take it or leave it."
"Red lights?" she said, her voice incredulous. Trogdon had used a strand of red lights, one solitary string of them, and had wrapped them tightly around the trunk of the tree. Luther had toyed with the idea of pulling them off, but it would've taken an hour. Instead, he and Spike had tried to hide them with ornaments. Nora, of course, had spotted them from the kitchen.
Now she had her nose in the tree. "Red lights? We've never used red lights."
"They were in the box," Luther lied. He did not enjoy lying, but he knew it would be standard behavior for the next day or so.
"Which box?"
"What do you mean, 'Which box?' I've been throwing stuff on the tree as fast as I can open boxes, Nora. Now's not the time to get touchy about the tree.
"Green icicles?" she said, picking one off the tree. "Where'd you find this tree?"
"I bought the last one from the Boy Scouts." A sidestep, not a direct lie.
She looked around the room, at the strewn and empty boxes, and decided there were more important things to worry about.
"Besides," Luther said, unwisely, "at the rate we're going, who's gonna see it?"
"Shut up and unload the car." There were four bags of food from a store Luther'd never heard of, three shopping bags with handles from a clothing store in the mail, a case of soft drinks, a case of bottled water, and a bouquet of dreadful flowers from a florist known for his outrageous prices. Luther's accountant's brain wanted to tally up the damage, but he thought better of it.
How would he explain this around the office? All the money he'd saved now up in smoke. Plus, the cruise he didn't take getting wasted because he'd declined to purchase travel insurance. Luther was in the middle of a financial disaster and couldn't do a thing to stop the bleeding.
"Did you get the Yarbers and the Friskis?" Nora asked at the phone, the receiver stuck to her head.
"Yes, they can't come."
"Unpack those grocery bags," she demanded, then said into the phone, "Sue, it's Nora. Merry Christmas. Look, we've just had a big surprise over here. Blair's coming home with her fiancé, be here tonight, and we're running around like crazy trying to put together a last-minute party." Pause. "Peru, thought we wouldn't see her till next Christmas." Pause. "Yes, quite a surprise." Pause. "Yes, fiancé." Pause. "He's a doctor." Pause. "He's from down there somewhere, Peru I think, she just met him a few weeks ago and now they're getting married, so needless to say we're in shock. So tonight." Pause.
Luther removed eight pounds of smoked Oregon trout, all packed in airtight thick cellophane wrappers, the type that gave the impression the fish had been caught years ago.
"Sounds like a nice party," Nora was saying. "Sorry you can't make it. Yes, I'll give a hug to Blair. Merry Christmas, Sue." She hung up and took a deep breath. With the worst possible timing Luther said, "Smoked trout?"
"Either that or frozen pizza," she fired back with glowing eyes and clenched fists.
"There's not a turkey or a ham left in the stores, and, even if I found one, there's not enough time to cook it. So, yes, Luther, Mr. Beach Bum, we're having smoked trout for Christmas."
The phone rang and Nora snatched it.
"Hello, yes, Emily, how are you? Thanks for returning my call."
Luther couldn't think of a single person named Emily. He pulled out a three-pound block of Cheddar cheese, a large wedge of Swiss, boxes of crackers, clam dip, and three two-day-old chocolate pies from a bakery Nora had always avoided. She was rattling on about their last-minute party, when suddenly she said, "You can come! That's wonderful. Around sevenish, casual, sort of a come-and-go." ............