Christmas Chiller Page 4

  “Hi, Carl,” I said to the doorman as we walked into the building. When my father moved in, the building didn’t have a doorman. Carl had only been working there a short while, but he had memorized the name and family history of practically everybody in the building.

  “Hi, Stacey. Hi, Claudia. Your father’s not home yet, Stacey, but he should be here any minute,” Carl told us. “How was your day?”

  “Definitely perfect,” said Claudia.

  “It was fun,” I said. I was about to introduce Carl to Ethan when I got a bit of a shock.

  “Hello, Ethan,” said Carl. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, thanks,” said Ethan.

  “How’s the art career?” asked Carl.

  “I’ll be in the Met by next week,” said Ethan. He paused, then added, “I’m going there to see a new American artists exhibit.”

  Carl laughed loudly. “Good one,” he said.

  As we waited for the elevator Claudia and Ethan talked happily away about art, but I began to brood.

  How did Ethan and Carl know each other? I had never invited Ethan to my dad’s apartment.

  Had Ethan been to see my dad when I was in Stoneybrook? No. That would be too strange, I decided.

  The elevator arrived and another strange thing happened.

  As the doors opened, Ethan suddenly scrunched down, making a big production of tying his shoe — only his shoe wasn’t untied. He stayed bent down as someone stepped out and held the door for us.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Merry Christmas,” the woman replied.

  Ethan straightened up, making a noise that sounded very much like a sigh of relief, and followed us into the elevator.

  I’m imagining things, I told myself. This is too weird. It’s like an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

  But I knew that it wasn’t just my imagination.

  When Ethan left, Claudia said, “He’s super, Stacey. Your taste in boyfriends gets better and better.”

  What could I say? After today, I wasn’t so sure that Ethan was such a great boyfriend after all.

  “Yes,” said my mother into the telephone receiver. “Of course…. No, she told us all about it…. We will, but I think you should tell her.”

  Mom turned, saw me, and said, “It’s for you, Mallory.”

  “Who is it?” I asked as I took the receiver.

  Her answer almost made me drop the phone. “Chief John Pierce.”

  My voice rose. “The chief of the Stoneybrook Police Department?”

  “Yes. He wants to talk to you about Mary Doe.”

  Mary Doe was the name that the news media had given the mystery woman whom Jessi and I had found Thursday afternoon. She had been taken to the hospital, where it was discovered that she had a mild concussion. The police believed she might have been mugged and had her purse or wallet stolen, which would explain why she didn’t have any identification. And, of course, a blow to the head could have caused the amnesia.

  Meanwhile, Mary Doe had become the story of the moment. By late afternoon her picture, with captions such as, WANTED: HER REAL NAME, had appeared on television in Stamford and New York. But no one had come forward to identify her.

  “This is Mallory Pike,” I said into the phone.

  “Chief Pierce here,” an unfamiliar voice boomed. “We’d like you to come down to the station — with your parents, of course — to talk about how you found Mary Doe. Maybe you can help us solve this mystery, too.”

  Chief Pierce was referring to the time that I, along with my friends in the BSC, had helped find out what was going on when dogs all over Stoneybrook began to disappear. It was nice of him to remember, I thought. “Sure,” I said. “Should I bring Jessica Ramsey? She was with me.” (I didn’t include Becca because she’s young and shy, and it might have upset her to have to go to the police station.)

  And that’s how Jessi and I found ourselves in the chief’s office of the Stoneybrook police station early Friday afternoon.

  We told Chief Pierce everything we could remember, even how we searched the street for clues. “But we didn’t find anything,” I said regretfully.

  Jessi said, “Chief Pierce, hasn’t anybody recognized Mary Doe?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say no one has. It’s terrible. And happening at this time of year just makes it worse somehow.” He sighed heavily. “But maybe you can help,” he added, looking at me.

  “How? I’ve already told you everything I know,” I said.

  “She remembers you. She’s asked about you — by name. You’re the first thing, or person, I should say, that she can clearly remember. Before you, everything is a blank.”

  “Wow,” breathed Jessi.

  “So I was thinking that maybe if she could see you again, it might help jog her memory,” the chief concluded.

  “We could visit her at the hospital,” I said. I glanced at Mom and she nodded, smiling.

  “We can stop by on the way home,” Mom said.

  “Good,” said Chief Pierce. He stood up and shook our hands. “I’d appreciate that.”

  When we walked into Mary’s hospital room, I was pleased and surprised to see the flowers that filled it. I was also glad to see that Mary looked better than she had when we found her by the graveyard.

  “Hi,” I said. “It’s Jessi and …”

  Mary had been staring out of the window at the gray, cold-looking sky. She turned her head quickly at the sound of my voice. “Mallory,” she supplied.

  “We just thought we’d stop by and see how you were doing,” I said.

  With a wan smile, Mary said, “I’m doing fine, physically. I just can’t remember anything. I — I don’t know who I am, and no matter how hard I try, everything is a blank.”

  “Do you mind if we call you Mary, then?” asked my mom. She sat down in a chair next to Mary’s bed and patted the young woman’s hand. “I’m afraid that’s what the newspapers and television stations have named you.”

  “I know. Mary …” She seemed to be trying out the sound of the name. “It could even be my name, for all I know. Sure, call me Mary. It’s as good as any name.”

  “These are beautiful flowers,” I said. Mary looked so sad and confused that I wanted to change the subject.

  Her eyes brightened a little. “Yes. Everyone has been so kind. Your church sent me that bouquet over there, and people from the church have already been to visit me. And some of the patients who are checking out have brought me flowers, too.” She paused and said, “Well, I know the names of the flowers, at least. That’s a peace rose, and those are baby’s breath, and the purple ones are irises, and the smaller flowers are dianthus …”

  “It’s a start,” Jessi said encouragingly. “Maybe you are a florist. Or a farmer.”

  As Mary talked, I listened to her carefully. I was hoping I could hear an accent, something that might give us a clue as to where she came from. I was pretty certain that she couldn’t have come from around Stoneybrook. Chief Pierce had told us that no one in the area had filed a missing person report with a description that matched Mary’s.

  But she had no accent. I stared at her, trying to imagine what it would be like not to remember my own name, or my family, or where I was from.

  I couldn’t.

  Mary turned toward me. “Thank you again for all you did,” she said.

  “We were glad we could help,” I said. Then I noticed the gold ring on her finger. It was made of strands of gold in a woven pattern. Tiny seed pearls were nestled in among the strands.

  “What a beautiful ring,” I said.

  She looked down at it with an almost childish pride. “Yes, it is, isn’t it. I like it very much. I’m lucky it fits so tightly. I guess that’s why it wasn’t stolen when my things were taken.”

  I bent forward to study it. She was right — it was a tight fit.

  Mary said, “I think I must have had it for a long time. I bet it didn’t fit as tightly before I got pregnant.” She patted her stomac
h.

  “Everything gets tighter when you have children,” my mom said, and she and Mary began to talk about babies.

  Jessi and I stared at the ring. I’d never seen one like it. Had it been made especially for her? She was wearing it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Was it a wedding ring?

  I was still thinking about the ring as Jessi and I drank hot chocolate in the kitchen back at my house.

  “It’s definitely a clue,” Jessi agreed. “Do you think the police checked to see if her name was on the inside of it? Sometimes people put names and dates on their wedding rings.”

  I stared at Jessi. “Of course.” I gasped. I jumped up, grabbed the phone, and dialed the police station.

  “The ring?” said Chief Pierce. “You’re right, it looked like our best clue. Fourteen-karat gold and custom-made. But there are no identifying words or dates inscribed. We already checked.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed.

  “If you think of anything else, let me know.”

  “I will.” I hung up the phone. Mary Doe might have a name, for now, but who she was remained a big mystery.

  I was glad we would have a BSC meeting that afternoon. Maybe then we could come up with some answers.

  “Hanukkah is also called the Festival of Lights. It celebrates a time over two thousand years ago when the Jewish people regained their Temple in Jerusalem from their enemies. They wanted to relight the Temple’s lamp, but they had only a tiny amount of oil, about enough to last a day. Nevertheless, they lit the lamp and it burned for eight days. It was a great miracle, and the commemoration of that miracle became Hanukkah.”

  Anna stopped speaking and sat down. I stood up and moved to the middle of the living room to face our family and friends: Mom and Anna, Kristy, Mary Anne, Dawn, Mallory, and Jessi. I smiled and touched the diamond pendant that had once been half of a pair of diamond earrings that my father had given my mother. Mom had had the earrings made into two necklaces, one for me and one for Anna, when we had become Bat Mitzvahs. My friends had been there for that celebration too.

  “Welcome to the Stevenson family’s celebration of the first night of Hanukkah,” I said. “In memory of that long-ago miracle, we celebrate Hanukkah for eight days and light candles, beginning with two candles on the first night and adding a new candle on each successive night after sundown. The candles are lit in a menorah.” I gestured toward the candelabra on the table by the living room window. I picked up a candle in the center from its position slightly higher than the other candleholders in the menorah. “This is the shamash. It is the candle used to light the other candles. Before we light the first candle, we recite the blessing that is repeated each night of Hanukkah.”

  I handed the shamash to my mother, who stood up and recited the blessing as she lit the candle. When she finished, Anna took it from her and lit the first candle in the menorah. Hanukkah had begun.

  “Wow,” said Dawn. “That was very cool.”

  I grinned. “Hanukkah is one of my favorite celebrations. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “What’s next?” said Kristy.

  “Next, we cook and play games,” I said. “There are many traditional foods for Hanukkah, but Anna and I love real jelly doughnuts, so that’s what we’re going to make.”

  “Jelly doughnuts?” Mallory laughed. “Too bad Claudia’s not here. She’d love it.”

  Mom said, “And we’re also going to make latkes — potato pancakes. They’re fried too. Oil is a key ingredient in Hanukkah food, because of the miracle of the oil in the lamp. I have to admit, doughnuts give me indigestion, but latkes are a little easier on my stomach.”

  We’d prepared everything ahead of time, and soon we were making doughnuts and latkes. The kitchen was filled with the warm, delicious smell of two of my favorite foods. (Thank goodness I’m not allergic to either of them.) We sprinkled powdered sugar over the doughnuts and ate an amazing amount of both the latkes and the doughnuts.

  Finally Jessi groaned. “Stop! We have to take a break or I might die of a jelly doughnut overdose.”

  “This is serious sugar,” agreed Kristy.

  “Okay,” I said. “Who’s ready to play games?”

  Anna and I brought out the dreidel, a squared-off spinning top with a different Hebrew letter inscribed on each of its four sides.

  “What do these mean?” asked Mary Anne.

  “A very good question,” I said. I pointed to each letter in turn and pronounced it: nun, gimmel, hay, shin. “Those are the first letters of the words in the phrase ‘Nes gadol hayah sham,’ which means ‘A great miracle happened there.’ ”

  Then Anna brought out the jar of pennies that we save up every year for Hanukkah and showed our guests how to play. Each player puts a penny in the pot. Then one player spins the dreidel. What happens next depends on which letter faces up when the dreidel stops. Nun means neither win nor lose (so the dreidel is passed to the next person and everyone puts in more pennies); gimmel means take the whole pot; hay means take half; and shin means put one coin in the pot.

  In no time at all everybody was shrieking and laughing. And Mary Anne’s face grew redder and redder as she kept winning all the pennies.

  Suddenly Kristy cried out, “Hey! I’m out of money.”

  “Do we have to stop?” asked Dawn.

  “I’m almost out, too,” said Anna. “We can go look for more change.”

  “No,” said Kristy, “Watson keeps a change bowl in his study. I bet he’ll let me have that.”

  “You think so?” I said.

  “He better,” said Kristy. “I want to keep playing.”

  She jumped up, grabbed her coat, and whisked out of the house.

  “When Kristy comes back, Anna and I have gelt for all of you,” I said.

  “Gelt?” asked Jessi.

  “A treat traditionally given at Hanukkah,” I explained.

  “What is it?” asked Mallory.

  “I’ll give you a hint — it’s gold and it tastes good.”

  “Is it fried?” asked Dawn, looking worried.

  “No,” I said. I exchanged a smile with Anna. Gelt is a chocolate coin wrapped in gold foil. We’d loved it when we were children, and we still thought it was great.

  “You know,” said Dawn unexpectedly, “homemade doughnuts are much better than the commercial ones.”

  That was high praise indeed from Dawn, who is so careful about eating healthy food.

  “It’s the jelly,” I quipped. “It’s organic.”

  We all laughed.

  Then Mary Anne said, “I wonder what’s taking Kristy so long? You don’t think she slipped and fell on some ice or something, do you?”

  “It would take more than a little ice to slow Kristy down,” I replied. “It would take something major.”

  At that moment, the kitchen door banged open and Kristy burst in, her eyes blazing with excitement. “You’ll never believe what’s happened!” she shouted.

  “Thieves! Burglars!” gasped Kristy. “They’ve hit the Papadakises’ house.”

  “What?” cried Abby. “No way!”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Do you mean someone robbed the Papadakises’?”

  Kristy fell dramatically into a chair. “Yes. The Papadakises were away for a couple of days. They just came back.”

  “Is it as bad as the Hsus’ house?” asked Jessi. By now, everyone had heard how thoroughly trashed the Hsus’ place had been. We also now knew that only a few pieces of electronic equipment had been stolen. No jewelry, no money, no silver.

  “The dreidel can wait,” Abby declared. “We have more important things to do!”

  “Like what?” said Anna.

  “You’re right,” said Kristy, sitting up.

  “What are you talking about?” Anna cried. She’s not a member of the BSC, so she’s not used to Kristy’s take-charge ideas and full-steam-ahead attitude.

  But we were. “We’re going to offer some baby-sitting help,” Dawn explained. “Right?”r />
  “Right,” said Kristy.

  We did a quick kitchen cleanup and then headed out the door and over to the Papadakises’, who live across the street and one house down from Kristy.

  Every light in the house was on. Two police cruisers were parked out front, and although their lights weren’t flashing, the sight of them gave me a chill.

  Mr. Papadakis met us at the door. His normally good-humored face was creased by a frown. It lightened a little when he saw us. Kristy said, “We came to help. We thought you could use some baby-sitting services. Complimentary, of course.”

  “Ah, Kristy. Welcome words,” said Mr. Papadakis. “Come in.”

  He stepped back and looked surprised as the rest of us trooped into the house. “You gathered the BSC to help?” he asked.

  Mallory grinned. “No. Even the BSC isn’t that efficient. We were at Abby’s Hanukkah party.”

  “Then it’s a good deed for you to leave your party to help us,” Mr. Papadakis said. “We just sent the kids to their rooms to start cleaning up. They’re pretty upset.”

  Upset seemed a mild word to describe the state in which we found Linny and Hannie Papadakis when we trooped up the stairs. Linny, who is nine, was walking around his room, scooping things up from the floor and hurling them onto the crumpled mess that was his bed. He was muttering as he worked.

  “Linny, hi,” I said.

  Linny looked up. “I hate cleaning my room,” he said. “And I’m not even the one who made this mess!”

  At any other time, I might have been tempted to smile. But the shock of the mess was overwhelming.

  “We’re going to help you,” said Kristy.

  “You are?” Linny looked a little less angry.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  Kristy said, “Linny, do you know where Sari is?”

  “She’s with Mom.”

  “I’ll go find her,” said Kristy.

  “I’ll come with you,” Abby added.

  Meanwhile, Jessi and Mal and Dawn had gone into seven-year-old Hannie’s room. She looked even more upset than Linny, and in a much sadder way. She’d gathered all her stuffed animals into her arms and was holding them, as if she had to protect them from the chaos around her. Her face was woebegone, not angry.