The Christmas Night Murder Read online

  Jack took our suitcases out and a carton of gifts, which I carried. I had bought handmade gifts from a senior-citizens craft group that met in a church near Oakwood. The members of the group came from all religions, their common interest being their handiwork. I had picked up knitted gloves and mittens, hand-loomed scarves, slippers, monogrammed linen napkins, ceramic coffee mugs, and hand-carved napkin rings, things the nuns could use and enjoy.

  We hadn’t even reached the front door when it opened and my old friends poured out to greet us, hug and kiss us, and pull us into the warmth inside. It was absolutely beautiful. A fire was burning in the huge stone fireplace and I stopped to watch it. I find fires seductive, often more interesting than television. It isn’t only the flames that bewitch; the smell of a wood fire has its own mystique.

  I had the sense of everyone talking at once, of at least three nuns trying to make Jack comfortable—which was sure to make him uncomfortable. The suitcases were shunted off to a side—we would stay overnight in the college dormitory, a separate building—and someone took Jack’s coat and led him to a long table laid with Christmas goodies and a full punch bowl.

  The decorations were as accomplished and magical as I had imagined. Elegant, ethereal, the indoors had become the outdoors. All around me were snow, sky, stars, the star, the crèche in one area, a fantasyland in another.

  “You look like you’re far away.”

  I turned to see Sister Angela standing next to me. “Angela, how good to see you. Merry Christmas.” We hugged. “I’m not far away. I’m right here, just where I want to be. It’s beautiful. It’s wonderful. How on earth did you get that wreath on the roof?”

  She laughed. “With a lot of difficulty. I thought Harold was really going to quit once and for all and leave us in the lurch over it.”

  Harold was the handyman who’d kept the convent buildings going forever. “But he didn’t.”

  “It got to be a challenge he couldn’t walk away from. Chris, you look wonderful. Come and have some punch.”

  We walked over to the table. “Have you heard from Hudson?”

  “He called this morning. He went to mass in Buffalo, where he’s been visiting with an old friend. He should be here very soon.”

  “Any minute,” a familiar voice said. It was Joseph, looking happy and relaxed. “How’s everything? How is your wonderful neighbor, Melanie?”

  “She’s fine. All the Grosses are fine. She sends her best and hopes you’ll visit again.”

  “Hudson called about an hour ago from somewhere this side of Albany.”

  “You’re right. He should be here any minute. How does he sound?”

  “The same as always. I don’t think he’s changed since he turned sixteen.”

  “I can’t wait to see him.” I ladled a glass of punch into a cup and sipped it. “This is good,” I said. “Mmm, really good.”

  “Put enough cinnamon and nutmeg in a punch bowl and anything you add tastes good,” Angela said.

  “Oh, there’s Father Kramer.” And I went off to say another hello.

  We had hardly had time to say anything when I saw the door open. Harriet Gold was just entering, offering a gloved hand to the nearest nun. Behind her, Arnold came in, stamping snow off his shoes. A tall, wiry man with gray hair that doesn’t always stay in place, he had a bright red scarf around his neck today.

  I went over and hugged both of them. “Arnold, that scarf looks very flamboyant.”

  “Why do secretaries always think they have to give their bosses something for Christmas? I thought it was the other way around.”

  “It is the other way around,” I said, laughing. “They do it because they love you.”

  “Just what I told him,” Harriet said, taking her coat off. “What a great fire. Look at that, Arnold. Isn’t a fire like that reason enough to have a little cabin somewhere that we could go to weekends?”

  “If we had a little cabin, we’d close it up for winter and come back to Brooklyn. So your fireplace would just be for show.”

  “Hopeless,” his wife said. “You look wonderful, Chris. Where’s Jack?”

  I had started to look for him when Arnold said, “Sister Joseph is the one I want to see. We were having an unusually intelligent conversation at your wedding when someone put some rose petals in my hand and that was the end of our talk. There she is.” And he was off.

  I took Harriet’s hand and we walked over to the table where Jack was standing, talking to two of the nuns. As Harriet caught his eye I stepped back, feeling an enormous rush of emotion. This was my family: my husband, Jack; my friend and former spiritual director, Sister Joseph; Arnold Gold, who had given me away at my wedding; Father Kramer, who had married us; and all the nuns I had lived with for nearly half my life. It was warm in atmosphere and sentiment, and I felt both happy and fortunate.

  Arnold was already engaged in an earnest discussion with Joseph, and Jack was now sitting with Father Kramer. Harriet Gold was talking to one of the older, retired nuns who lived in the villa, the home maintained by the convent for elderly sisters. I went through the group, stopping to talk to each nun. Many of them taught in the college that was part of the convent, where I, too, had taught for a number of years. It was good to hear about old students, how they were doing, what their plans were, what new courses were being offered.

  I turned and saw Arnold standing alone. Joseph was bending over the chair where Jack was sitting as he was struggling to stand up and she was obviously telling him to stay where he was. I glanced at my watch and was surprised to find that an hour had passed since I had begun talking to the nuns.

  Jack was standing now. I walked toward them, vaguely aware of an uneasiness in the air.

  “Don’t worry,” I heard Jack say as he walked away. Joseph did indeed look worried.

  “He should have been here by now,” she said as I approached.

  “Hudson?”

  “It’s a long time since he called, too long. Even allowing for traffic—and this is Christmas Day; there isn’t much to speak of—he should have been here a long time ago.”

  “Is Jack checking with the state police?”

  “He’s calling them now. If there are any traffic tie-ups, the local troop will know about them and any other road conditions.”

  We stood around rather awkwardly, waiting for him to come back. Joseph looked at her watch. “We should be sitting down for Christmas dinner,” she said. “It smells so good, it must be about done.”

  As she said it Sister Dolores came out of the dining room. “Is he here yet?” she said, looking at Joseph. “Everything’s ready.”

  “Another few minutes.” Joseph looked as worried as I had ever seen her. A woman whose face rarely showed any of the burdens she shouldered, today she could hide nothing. She looked at her watch again, as though another reading of the time would bring Hudson safely to the door. Then, abruptly, she walked away from us. Without a coat, she went out the front door.

  “He’s a good driver,” Father Kramer said to me. “I don’t believe he’s had an accident. Knowing Hudson, he probably stopped to help someone else. We’ll be hearing from him any minute.”

  I surveyed the large room. The Christmas cheer of earlier in the afternoon had been replaced by tense faces. The nuns, a Franciscan order, all wore the obligatory brown habit, the skirt at about midcalf, a simple brown veil with a plain white crown at the hairline. I looked from one to the other, then to Arnold and Harriet.

  Joseph came in, a gust of cold air sweeping across the room. “It’s very clear out,” she said. “No snow. Maybe he lost his way. It’s been a long time.”

  Jack came back and Joseph and I went to find out what he had learned.

  “No report of any accidents on the thruway from Albany down almost to New York.”

  “What about secondary roads?” Joseph asked. “He might have taken those.”

  “Nothing reported. Road conditions everywhere are excellent. The weather’s fine the length of the thruwa
y. I left the phone number for them in case something turns up.”

  “Then I think we should have dinner,” Joseph said decisively, and we all went into the dining room.

  Like the room we had left, the dining room had been decorated festively. The guests were asked to spread out among the nuns and I watched Harriet go to one table and Arnold to another. I sat with Angela and Jack sat with Joseph. One nun at each table served us and the meal was splendid. It had been cooked by the nuns in the villa, the youngest of whom was past seventy. Father Kramer offered a prayer and included Hudson. I thought the amen was a little stronger than usual.

  At my table we talked about everything except Hudson, and when dessert was finished, we sat around the tree and Joseph distributed the gifts. Arnold shook his finger at me when his name was called, but when he saw the shape of the package, he grinned with pleasure. As we all opened our gifts I glanced over at the tree. A group of beautifully wrapped packages was still there, awaiting the absent guest. I am generally a very up person, but the sight of those unclaimed packages made my heart sink. I had lost count of how long it had been since Hudson had telephoned from “this side of Albany.” It was hours, long enough for him to have reached New York and turned back.

  My gift was a whistling teakettle, something I had wanted for a long time but hadn’t asked for. Not only would it boil water quickly for my frequent afternoon cup of tea, it would look smashing on my kitchen stove. I started around to thank everyone as everyone was also making the rounds.

  Then the telephone rang.

  3

  Jack and Joseph got up and ran to answer it. I restrained myself from joining them. Since leaving St. Stephen’s, I have relied less and less on prayer, but as I stood there, watching the doorway through which they would return, I found myself praying for Hudson’s safe passage.

  They were gone a long time. Arnold came over and put his arm around my shoulders. “Think positive,” he said. “I’ve never believed in miracles, but I’ve seen some happen.”

  “How could he have driven all the way from Wyoming to Albany without a problem and then gotten into trouble a few miles from here?” I didn’t expect an answer; I just needed to say it out loud.

  “We don’t know that he has.”

  Joseph appeared in the doorway and everyone turned to look at her. “Something’s happened,” she began. “No one seems to know what. A black clerical suit was found a little while ago near a rest stop along the thruway. There’s no identification with it, his car isn’t there, and there’s no sign of Hudson. The state police are combing the area, looking for anything at all that can tell them what happened.” She looked at Jack.

  “That’s about it,” he said. “We don’t know if that’s where he called from or even if the clothing belongs to him, but the state police are taking this very seriously and they’re not waiting the usual twenty-four hours to start a search for a missing person. Sister Joseph just called Buffalo and it’s certain he was dressed in a clerical suit at Christmas mass this morning, but no one is sure whether he changed before he got into the car. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  “I think it’s time for evening prayers,” Joseph said, and there was a murmur of agreement. Everyone went for a coat.

  As Jack offered me mine, Arnold and Harriet joined us. “I don’t like the sound of it,” Arnold said.

  “Me neither.” Jack put his coat on and we followed the nuns to the door.

  “Want to drive over to the scene and take a look? After prayers?”

  “Good idea.”

  It gave me some comfort to know that Arnold was personally interested in Hudson’s fate. We walked out into the darkness together, the nuns in a long line making their way to the chapel.

  If anything brought back memories, that did. How many evening prayers does one attend in fifteen years? Thousands of them, and thousands of morning prayers. The nuns were singing now, their voices drifting back to us on the cold breeze as the line curved along the path, a gracefully moving silhouette. It was Christmas Night and the joy of the day had been rent from us, torn from our hands and hearts. The sharp cold of the wind brought tears to my eyes; the anguish of the situation clutched at my throat.

  We entered the chapel and I heard Harriet say softly, “How lovely.” The four of us sat in the last row, Harriet beside me. She patted my hand and told me not to worry. Then I listened to the service, once again becoming part of the convent family.

  —

  The nuns filed out first, looking peaceful, but I knew they felt as unsettled as I. We drove in Jack’s car, getting on the thruway at the first opportunity. The rest stop, when we reached it, looked like any other with a large gas station at one end and a low building with food and other conveniences alongside a parking lot at the other end. What made this one different was the police presence. There were several marked state-police cars and numerous tall state-police officers wearing the distinctive campaign hats. Jack introduced himself to one of them and there was a brief exchange of confidences, Jack opening the scuffed leather case, a flash of the gold badge, and the trooper responded by leading us to the place where the clothing had been found. It was behind the buildings and over a small rise. A dog walker had found the jacket and collar.

  A state policeman was standing guard at the taped-off area, but inside the yellow plastic tape there was nothing to see except trampled snow. The small, roughly square space was illuminated by four hand lanterns at the corners.

  “Any sign of a struggle?” Jack asked.

  “Nothing we could see. Maybe a little dancing around in the snow back here.”

  “Find his car in the parking lot?”

  “ ’Fraid not. We were told to look for Wyoming plates and there weren’t any. Checked with the gas station, too. No one from Wyoming charged gas today and none of the attendants remember any Wyoming plates.”

  “You mind if we look around?”

  “Don’t mind at all. I don’t think you’ll find anything. We’ve had so many boots over the area, if anything dropped you’ll have to wait for the spring thaw to find it.”

  “Any estimate on the size of the man from the suit of clothes?”

  “Tall,” the officer said. “Thin. Got a waist smaller’n mine, I can tell you that.” ’ He grinned. He was in great shape.

  The sketchy description fitted Hudson to a tee. Tall and lanky, he had never shown an ounce of fat during the years I knew him.

  “I guess you guys have been all over the area,” Jack said.

  “Up and down the hill, up the road, down the road. We were told his name and we’ve called it hundreds of times. Even used the car’s loudspeaker system. If he’s alive and out there, he heard us.”

  “Thanks, Officer.”

  “From the look of the snow,” Arnold said as we walked away, “they’ve covered every inch.”

  “I agree,” Jack said. “I don’t think we’d gain anything from sliding over the snow ourselves. I want to look at the license plates in the parking lot.”

  We walked back and started going down rows. “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Something that doesn’t fit. When I see it, I’ll know. Any chance he was driving a spanking-new car that a car jacker would want to get his hands on?”

  “Very little. It would have luggage in it, though.”

  “They’ve all got luggage. Tons of it.”

  He was right. In one car it was piled so high I couldn’t imagine how the driver could see out the rear window.

  The license plates were mostly from New York. There were a few from Ohio, Ontario, Massachusetts, and Michigan, and one each from Illinois and Vermont. There wasn’t a single car from the west.

  We looked at every car and I sensed that Jack hadn’t found anything remarkable. We walked toward the building and found the Golds talking to two state policemen. When Arnold saw us, he said, “They’re bringing bloodhounds in. Since they’ve got the suit, they’re going to try to fol
low the scent while it’s still fresh—if there’s anything left in the snow to go on.”

  “Here they are,” the officer said.

  A state-police van had just pulled into the lot. Two police officers got out of the front and came around to the back, where they let out two large, beautiful dark-haired dogs. Jack went over and talked to the handlers and then waved the Golds and me over. I watched with fascination as the articles of Hudson’s clothing were produced for the dogs to sniff. They were then taken to the taped-off area in the snow, where they sniffed the ground, then moved out from under the tape, looking for a lead.

  They found it almost immediately and bounded toward the parking lot, their handlers running along to keep up with them. It didn’t take long for the chase to end. They ran down the aisle between the second and third rows of cars, now pausing, now barking as they picked up the scent again. Then both dogs stopped at a parked car, barked, pawed the ground, and sat down.

  The car had a Pennsylvania license plate and was empty. As we stood there a family with two young children came toward us.

  “Is anything wrong?” the woman said. She was short and a little plump. An unhappy child was hanging on to her hand, telling her he was hungry.

  “No, ma’am,” the officer in charge said. “Can you tell me when you parked here?”

  Her husband looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago. We just stopped to take the kids to the bathroom. We’re late for Christmas dinner.”

  The officer asked to see his driver’s license and registration, then wrote something in his notebook. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Drive safely.”

  The man unlocked the car and they piled in. Just as the motor turned over, the dog nearer the front of the car started yelping and pulling away. I watched as man and dog started toward the building with the restaurant. But before the dog reached the building, he turned right and headed back toward the snowy area where the clothing had been found.