A Happy Holiday by Frank W. Butterfield

Author:Frank W. Butterfield [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective, gay, holiday, mystery, San Francisco, Vermont
ISBN: 9781983964701
Google: 87-pswEACAAJ
Publisher: self-published
Published: 2018-01-18T12:52:05.252000+00:00

Chapter 8

Townshend Road

Grafton, Vt.

Friday, December 23, 1955

Half past 6 in the evening

"Where were the Misses Grace and Hyacinth?" That was John. He was setting the table while Carter tended to the fire. Roger and I were working on dinner, which was a big pot of chili con carne with beans. Louise had brought it over before going to the tree ceremony and put it on a low heat. All that remained was to make a pan of cornbread. Roger was working on that while I cut up a small onion to sprinkle on top for those who liked such things. I did not. I was also planning on grating some of the white cheese for the chili. That I did like.

I replied, "I don't know," while wiping my eyes with a towel. The onion was strong. "I don't think they go out in public very often."

Carter added, "We'll ask Ed when they get here."

"Where are they?" asked Roger.

Walking into the kitchen, Carter replied, "Ed's cutting down the tree so it will fit. They should be here any minute."

"Does that mean it won't have a top?" asked Roger.

Carter laughed. "No, he's cutting it from the bottom."

"Good. Every Christmas tree has to have a top."

"Speaking of that," said John, "where are the ornaments and decorations?"

I looked up and glanced out the kitchen window. I knew Carter would know and I knew that I should have known.

"They're coming with Ed and Louise," said Carter. "They bought a set down in Boston."

Right then, I saw the lights of Ed's truck turn in from the road. "They're here."

Carter said, "Come on, son. Let's go help."

I looked up, knowing he was talking about John. But John was looking at me. Roger laughed. "Y'all have got to decide who's son and who isn't."

John said, "I never call you son."

"I know, honey. I was talking about Nick and Carter."

Carter said, "When it has three or more syllables, I mean John. When I'm talking about Nick, it's short. But I rarely call him that in mixed company."

"Yeah," said John as he was putting on his coat. "Usually, it's Boss. Why is that?"

Roger said, "Because Nick is so bossy."

I snorted. "Get to work, you."

"See!"

Putting on his coat, Carter said, "It's because he owns everything, whether he likes it or not."

"What about Chief? What does that mean?" That was John.

"Because he'll always be the Fire Chief of my heart," I replied.

"Jeez, Louise," said Roger with a snort as the other two walked outside, both laughing.

. . .

"So, what time on Christmas Day are we eating?" That was John. He was in the kitchen, washing up with Carter. Roger and Ed were getting the tree set up in the far corner of the living room. Louise and I were sitting at the dining table. She had a notepad and a pencil.

"Noon, sharp," was Louise's reply. "Now, Nicholas, I'll bake the ham at our house tomorrow. If you put the turkey in at 4 on Christmas morning—"

"Pardon me?" I asked.

Without looking up, she nodded.

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