Death By Chocolate 6 (Mystery and Women Sleuths) (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) by Abigail Keam Page A

only mother a Christmas gift,” I remarked.
    Asa threw up her hands. “See what I mean.”
    Matt started putting presents under the silver aluminum tree. “I think it has to do with your saying you didn’t want anything.”
    “No one really means it when they say that. It’s just what mothers do to look self-sacrificing. It’s part of our shtick. But what we really want is for the children to make a big fuss. After the child is twenty-one, it’s the parents who should get a little attention at Christmas,” I admonished, glaring at Asa.
    “Are we invited for Christmas dinner?” asked Franklin as he put away the wrapping paper and ribbons. “I’m not going home this year.”
    “Asa and I are going to the Big House for Christmas dinner. How about Christmas breakfast? We can eat and then open our presents.”
    “I guess that will have to do,” whined Franklin.
    “I’m inviting you all to my house for Christmas Eve. I’ll have something edible and lots of champagne to make it go down if it’s not,” said Matt.
    “Sounds great. Love to,” I replied.
    I noticed Asa studying my face. Her expression was soft as she came over and gave me a hug. “Thanks, Mom.”
    “Thanks for what?”
    She shrugged. “For just making it. For not dying on me. For not giving up.”
    “I wouldn’t think of it.”
    “Last Christmas you could barely walk or even talk. Now look at you.”
    “I didn’t ever think I would want to live after that accident. The pain was so horrible, but I am here because of you, Asa.” I looked at the three of them. “You all are so dear to me. Even you, Baby. Would someone get his big head out of the popcorn bowl?”
    Matt held up his Coke can. “Here’s to Josiah. Hoping for a pain free year.”
    “Hear. Hear,” rejoined Franklin. He then stepped back to let Asa pass and inadvertently tripped over one of Baby’s kitty cats, falling into the Christmas tree and knocking it over.
    Rattled and gasping for air, Franklin reached for his Christmas gift and shook it close to his ear. “Ahhh, it’s rattling now, Asa.”
    “That was an antique water bowl that had been part of the Lincoln estate,” I wailed.
    “Oh, no!” lamented Franklin. “What rotten luck.” Downcast, he slumped on the couch, almost reduced to tears.
    This is where I’m a stinker.
    Franklin is a notorious gift hound. He likes to open his gifts when no one is around and then rewrap them. His real present was hidden in my closet while he was shaking a broken cheap candy dish, which I had planted as a decoy.
    He looked so disheartened, I was tempted to tell him that he still had something special coming. But the temptation came and went.
    After all, he stole my Waterford vase and if he was going to keep it, then Franklin was going to have to pay for it . . . with his misery.
    I’m sure Jesus would never act this way, but then Jesus doesn’t have to put up with Franklin on a daily basis.
    I do.

34
    Taking a deep breath, I dialed the number Dwight’s secretary, Amanda, had given me for Susie Brinkman. To my surprise, I heard a cheerful “Hello?” on the other end.
    “Hi, my name is Josiah Reynolds. I’m calling for the Dwight Wheelwright estate. Is this Susie Brinkman?”
    “Wheelwright estate? Has something happened to Dwight? Oh God, no!” rushed the voice on the other end.
    “Ms. Brinkman?”
    “Yes, this is Susie. Has something happened to Dwight?”
    “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Dwight has been missing for almost six months. Do you know where he is?”
    There was a long silence on the phone.
    “Ms. Brinkman. We are trying to talk to anyone that had a connection with Dwight. I understand that you worked with him.”
    I paused. “Farley Webb suggested that you were close to Dwight and that he might be living in Houston. If you could shed light on this, his family would be most grateful. All they want to know is if Dwight’s alive. No one will bother him . . . or you. Ms. Brinkman? Ms.