Miz Scarlet and the Holiday Houseguests (A Scarlet Wilson Mystery #3) by Sara M. Barton Page B

it, even if you try!” said the woman with the sly smirk as
she disappeared out the door. I heard the latch click into place in
the stunned silence that followed.
    “Mom?” Michaela stood there, hands at
her side, dazed and confused. It was too late. Larry had already
fled the scene. I could see her hurriedly crossing the driveway to
her vehicle.
    “Well, what do you know? Larry named
her kid after a Yankee legend!”
    “Bur, don’t you dare cause trouble for
Larry! I’m warning you!”
    “Why would my mother do that?” Mickey
asked, still trying to fathom the news. “She knows my grandfather
hates the Yankees!”
    “Maybe it had nothing to do
with his team affiliation. Let’s face it. He was one of the all-time greatest
center fielders,” Bur said, trying to console her. “And it’s not
like Boston ever had one of their own in the last forty years,
except maybe Dom DiMaggio or Fred Lynn.”
    “Wow....”
    “Don’t feel bad, kid. It could have
been a lot worse. Your mother might have called you Dominique or
Fredericka. Dom...that would have been the kiss of death in school.
Dumb Dom....It makes you sound like a lollipop.”
    “Not true,” the teenager retorted. “My
nickname could have been Nicky. That’s cute. Or Ricky.”
    “Or Icky,” Bur teased. I left them to
it, making my way back to the kitchen to get some work
done.
    Bur and Mickey left for the mall just
after five. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I had a few
hours to myself, to get things done. I took the dogs for a long
walk, bundled up against the cold, and I let them sniff to their
hearts’ content as we made our way down the snowy trail in White
Oak Park. Half an hour later, I met Lacey on the front porch. She
had a hot date with one of the widowers in her social
circle.
    “He’s taking me out for a burger and a
Diet Coke,” she informed me. “I won’t be late.”
    “Have fun.”
    There seemed no reason to cook for just
two, so I offered to take my mother out for a bite at the Cheswick
Cafe. We ran into friends and lingered over our meal, engaging in a
lively conversation about the new plans to expand the library. By
the time we stopped at the grocery store for a couple of items, it
was nearly eight.
    “Shall we take a drive to see the
Christmas lights?” I suggested.
    “Oh, yes.” My mother sat in the
passenger seat, delighted as we cruised down street after street,
checking out the holiday decorations. From automated snow globes to
nodding reindeer, the neighborhoods were alive with illuminated
splendor. “I love this time of year.”
    Twenty minutes later, I stopped the
Ford Focus by the handicapped ramp off the porch, retrieved my
mother’s wheelchair from the back of the car, and helped her into
it. Once she was safely inside the house, I returned to the
driver’s seat, shifted into gear, and proceeded to drive into my
bay in the carriage house. As I was retrieving the packages, the
other garage door lifted. Bur pulled his car into the empty bay
next to mine, his teenage companion waving enthusiastically from
the passenger seat. I waited for them.
    “Hey, Scarlet! Guess what I got
pierced!” Mickey yelled to me as she climbed out of the
car.
    “Tell me you didn’t,” I
groaned, trying to imagine what it might be. Larry was going to
kill me for encouraging the trip to the mall. Please let it be something like an ear, God, not a lip or a
tongue...or worse. I saw the pair of them
laughing.
    “Told you she’d fall for it,” my
brother told her.
    “ Boy, did you looked
scared,” giggled the fourteen-year-old.
    “Very funny!”
    After I showed Mickey where to find
snacks and drinks in the butler’s pantry, I led her up to the third
floor and gave my temporary guest the grand tour.
    “We share the sitting room and
bathroom. Feel free to watch TV. This is my bedroom,” I said,
pointing to the open door on the left side, “and this is
yours.”
    I stood in the doorway, enjoying the
fourteen-year-old’s