The Perfect New Year's Eve by Annette Dashofy

The last time Zoe Chambers-Adams had worn a dress was at her wedding almost two years ago. That had been long and white. This one was short and red. And really really tight. 

Clutching a pair of brand-new red heels, she padded barefoot through her living room, pausing to check the mantle clock. Almost eight o’clock. She and her husband, Police Chief Pete Adams, were supposed to be at the New Year’s Eve party by nine. It was a good forty-five-minute drive to the hotel near the Pittsburgh Airport. 

And Pete wasn’t home yet. 

He’d texted her a half hour ago about a traffic collision. Compact car versus deer. The occupants were fine. The car and animal? Not so much. But Pete was helping direct traffic while the tow truck and fire department cleared the road. 

Don’t worry. I’ll be home in plenty of time. 

Zoe dropped onto her cushy sofa, let the shoes hit the floor with a thunk, and reminded herself it was a New Year’s Eve party. As long as they made it by midnight, all would be well. The friends they were meeting knew Pete was a cop and all that meant. And that Zoe was the county coroner, although she’d left the Coroner’s Office in capable hands tonight. She and her husband were rarely on time for anything. 

The crunch of gravel outside brought her to her feet. Good. Pete was home. Unlike the hour or more it took Zoe to get ready for a night out, Pete would be in and out of the shower and fully dressed within fifteen minutes. 

Merlin, one of her two ginger tabbies, streaked through the living room, away from the kitchen. His paws sounded like an elephant pounding up the stairs. Zoe tensed. Merlin would not bolt from Pete arriving home. Whoever had pulled into her driveway was not her husband. 

She moved into the threshold to the kitchen and waited. Footsteps stomped onto the porch followed by a sharp rap at the door. Zoe made out the silhouette through the sheer curtains hanging in the door’s window. A vaguely familiar feminine silhouette. She crossed the kitchen floor and unlocked the deadbolt. 

“Mom?” Zoe said, opening the door. “What are you doing here?” 

Kimberly Jackson burst inside attired in a lightweight trench coat and knee-high fashion boots—suitable for a “chilly” evening in St. Petersburg, Florida, but hardly appropriate for the twenty-two degrees Pennsylvania was experiencing. “My luggage is in the car,” she said. “Bring it in. Please.” 

Zoe leaned outside, looking toward the black luxury rental car parked next to her own Subaru. Looking for her stepfather. “Where’s Tom?” 

“I have no idea and, frankly, I don’t care.” Kimberly stood in the middle of the kitchen, taking in every detail before settling on Zoe. “Where did you get that outfit?” 

Zoe looked down at the form-fitting little red dress. “Online.” 

Kimberly scanned her, then shrugged. “It’s cute.” 

Zoe staggered. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?” 

“I’m just overjoyed to see you in something other than jeans and a sweatshirt.” 

And there she was. 

As if to reinforce her identity, Kimberly snapped her fingers. “My luggage. Go.” 

Zoe opened her mouth to argue but another realization struck her. “Luggage? You plan to stay here? In my house?” 

Kimberly sashayed into the living room and stood before the unlit fireplace. “It’s freezing in here. Why don’t you have a fire started?” 

“It’s not freezing.” Zoe followed her mother. “You just have thin Floridian blood. And we never have a fire lit when we aren’t going to be home.” 

“You’re not going to be home? Where are you going?” 

Zoe again looked down at her little red dress. “Uh, Mom, it’s New Year’s Eve. Pete and I are going to a party for county officials.” At Kimberly’s blank stare, Zoe added, “Of which I am one. I’m the coroner. Remember?” 

Her mother fluttered a dismissive hand. “You deal with dead people. Hardly a career worth bragging about. And I don’t think it counts as a county ‘official.’” 

Zoe pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead in an effort to keep her brain from exploding. 

Kimberly was on the move again, heading into the dining room where the staircase led to the second floor. “Nevertheless, you go on to your party. I know where the guest room is.” 

The guest room, which wasn’t made up and contained several pieces of furniture that Zoe and Pete had moved to make room for the tree and other decorations. “I didn’t know you were coming,” she called from the foot of the steps as she watched her mother disappear down the hallway at the top. 

“Bring in my luggage,” Kimberly called down. 

As Zoe backtracked to the kitchen, she calculated options. The nearest hotel was twenty miles away, but there were a couple of bed-and-breakfasts within five. What were the odds they’d have a room available on New Year’s Eve? 

She reached the door, pulled her Muck Boots on over bare feet, and shrugged into her barn coat just in time to see headlights turning into her driveway. 

Pete. 

Zoe stepped onto the porch and waited, pulling her collar up against the stiff winter breeze. The coat didn’t cover her legs, and she wondered how long before unprotected skin developed frostbite in twenty-degree weather? 

Pete parked on the far side of the black rental and was eyeing it as he came around it. He spotted Zoe and pointed. “Whose car is this?” 

“My mother’s. Can you grab her luggage out of it?” 

He stopped cold. Zoe could tell he was asking all the same questions as she had. Unlike her, he didn’t waste his breath putting them into words. Instead, he opened the trunk and dragged out two large suitcases. 

Holy crap. How long was her mother planning to stay? Zoe stepped inside the kitchen, shivered, and picked up her phone. She found Tom’s number and hit the green button. The call went directly to voicemail. Zoe swore. 

“What’s going on?” Pete asked as he banged through the door with the luggage. 

“I wish I knew. Mom showed up without Tom. He’s not answering his phone.” 

“And where is she?” 

“Last I saw, she was on her way to the guest room.” 

Pete’s gaze shifted over Zoe’s shoulder and from his expression, she knew Kimberly was back. 

“You can’t expect me to stay in that room the way it is,” she said before spotting her suitcases. “Oh, good. Thank you, Pete.” She gestured toward the ceiling. “Please take them upstairs.” To Zoe, she said, “And get all that junk out of my room. I hope the sheets are clean.” 

“Yes, they…” 

But Kimberly was ambling away again. 

Zoe looked at her husband. Pete was a cop who faced criminals on a daily basis—who had been shot and nearly died—but who looked utterly shellshocked. 

Kimberly had that effect on people. 

* 

Pete delivered his mother-in-law’s suitcases. What the heck did she have in there? A pair of baby elephants? Bellmen usually received tips for such service. He was ordered to remove the boxes and a pair of tables stored in the guest room. Once he had, the door slammed. 

“Happy New Year,” he grumbled. After shoving the stuff into his and Zoe’s room, he plodded downstairs to find his wife slumped on the sofa, a cat curled up next to her and her phone in hand. 

She looked up. “Tom still isn’t answering. I’ve left messages and texts. Nothing.” 

Pete took a seat beside her, opposite the cat. “You look amazing.” He’d taken notice of the sexy red dress and Zoe’s sexy long legs as soon as he’d gotten home, but the time hadn’t been right to say anything. 

“Thanks.” She sighed. “So much for the party. Maybe next year.” 

“Why? Your mother showed up unannounced.” And uninvited. “She’s a big girl. I’m sure she can manage on her own for the evening.” 

Zoe cocked an eyebrow. “This is Kimberly Jackson we’re talking about. She couldn’t be bothered to bring her own suitcases in from the car. You seriously think it’s safe to leave her alone in our house?” 

“In her defense, the suitcases weigh a ton. Plus…” He held up a finger. “She did manage to save your life during a blizzard a couple of years ago.” He held up another. “And she’s the one who gave us this house.” Granted it had taken months and months and many paychecks to make it livable. 

Zoe considered his words. “I admit, the way she rescued me in Erie during that snowstorm was amazing. And badass.” 

“It earned her a lot of extra brownie points where I’m concerned.” 

“But alone? Here? With no room service and no Tom? I don’t know.” 

Pete wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I do. I’m going upstairs to get a shower and put on my suit. We might be a little late, but we’ll be there well before midnight.” 

“Okay.” She smiled at him. “While you’re doing that, I’ll keep trying to reach Tom.” 

“Deal.” Pete gave his wife a quick kiss, rose from the sofa, and headed upstairs. 

As he reached the top step, he heard the unmistakable hiss of the shower running. The guest room door was open, and Kimberly wasn’t inside. 

He shook his head. They might be considerably later than he originally thought. 

* 

Zoe had her shoes and good coat arranged next to the door. Pete had let her know he had to wait until Kimberly cleared out of their lone bathroom before he could get his shower. That was almost an hour ago. 

The sound of footsteps on the upstairs floor and muffled voices filtered down to Zoe. She assumed this meant her mother was finally done in the bathroom. After yet another call to Tom went to voicemail, Zoe decided it was time to find out what the heck was going on. Steeling herself, she climbed the staircase. 

The guest room door was closed. She knocked lightly. 

Kimberly, wearing a fuzzy baby-blue robe, had her hair wrapped in a towel. Her face was barren of makeup, leading Zoe to realize she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her mother bare-faced. She also realized her mother’s eyes were red. She’d been crying.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” 

Kimberly puffed out her chest and lifted her chin. “Nothing. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to be alone.” 

“I do mind.” Zoe brushed past her into the room and turned to face her mother. “You show up unannounced at my house on New Year’s Eve. I feel I deserve an explanation.” 

“There’s nothing to explain.” Kimberly closed the door. “I’m getting a divorce.” 

Zoe’s knees weakened, and she dropped onto the bed. “What? Since when?” 

Kimberly’s shoulders drooped. “Since this morning.” 

This morning? “Okay. What happened?” 

Eyes gleaming, Kimberly crossed to the bed and sat next to Zoe. “Tom doesn’t love me anymore.” 

“He told you that?” 

“Love is a verb.” 

Zoe mulled that one over. It wasn’t the quote—she agreed with it—but the source was another matter. “What did he do? Or not do?” 

“He told me I was a spoiled child.” 

Zoe caught her lower lip between her teeth, biting down a little too hard, to keep from laughing. When she could speak without snickering, she asked, “What made him say that?” 

“He was insisting we go to an intolerably boring party tonight with some of the people he used to work with.” 

“Other than the boring part, what’s wrong with him wanting to go to a party with his friends? You’ve been married for almost thirty years. Surely you’ve spent time with them before.” 

“Exactly. I have. And I did not want to do it again. They were meeting at a restaurant. A casual restaurant.” 

Zoe remained silent. Casual sounded pretty good to her right now. 

Kimberly huffed. “It’s New Year’s Eve. A time to celebrate with Champagne and lobster. Not beer and fish and chips.” 

Which also sounded good to Zoe. 

Kimberly waved a hand at her. “Look at you. My beautiful daughter and her husband know what New Year’s Eve is all about.” She lowered her voice. “That dress is stunning, dear.” 

And yet here Zoe sat, in her guest room, watching her mother sob over life not going her way on this one evening instead of mingling with county politicians at the kind of party Kimberly would love. 

She must have read Zoe’s mind. “I’m keeping you from your night out, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” 

Kimberly rarely noticed or cared about anyone else’s feelings, even Zoe’s. And she never apologized. “It’s okay, Mom.” Zoe draped an arm around Kimberly’s shoulders. “To be honest, I’d rather stay home with you and Pete.” 

“Nonsense. You need to show off those legs.” Kimberly nudged Zoe and offered a hint of a smile. “I’ll be fine here alone.” 

Kimberly’s tone dropped on the word alone, and Zoe wondered if her mother would want to tag along with her and Pete. No one at the party would care. She was about to ask if Kimberly had perchance brought appropriate New Year’s Eve attire with her when the house echoed with a loud rap on the kitchen door downstairs. 

“Who on earth?” Zoe jumped up and padded out into the hall where Pete was coming out of the bathroom wearing his best suit, his salt-and-pepper hair still damp and slicked back. 

“More company?” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” She thumped down the stairs, her husband on her heels. At the kitchen door, she peered through the curtain-covered window before yanking it open. “Tom?” 

Her stepfather stood there, tall and ruggedly handsome as ever. His scowl softened into a smile at the sight of her. “Hi, Sweet Pea. Don’t you look beautiful.” He crossed the threshold and swept her into a hug. Once he released her, he faced Pete and shook his hand. “Clearly, I’ve interrupted a night out for you two.” The scowl returned. “Or, I assume, my wife did. That black car in your driveway is her rental, isn’t it?” 

“It is.” Zoe closed the door. “I’ve been trying to call you.” 

“Ah.” Tom pulled his phone from his coat pocket. “It’s been on airplane mode. I forgot to change it back once we landed.” 

Pete took Tom’s coat and hung it on the hall tree next to the door. “Do you mind telling us what on earth is going on?” 

“I was talking to Mom. She said she left because you wanted to go to a smaller New Year’s Eve party than she did.” Zoe crossed her arms. “I have to think there’s something more.” 

Tom lowered his head. “There is.” His face came up, but his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t let on that I told you this, but your mother is having trouble coming to terms with…age.” 

Zoe kept her voice low as well. “She doesn’t like getting older? As a coroner, let me tell you, it beats the alternative.” 

Tom grinned, a dimple he’d had in his younger days now lost in a ripple of creases. “I agree. But she has a birthday coming up—a big one—and she’s not handling it well.” 

Zoe did some quick math. “Sixty? But she looks amazing. She could still pass for forty any day of the week.” 

Tom flung both hands up in exasperation. “I’ve told her that. But my desire to have a more relaxed, casual New Year’s Eve this year triggered her into thinking I didn’t want to show her off anymore.” 

Pete mumbled something that Zoe couldn’t hear. 

Her mind started whirling, building on her earlier thought. “I assume you brought luggage.” 

Puzzled, Tom aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “Just an overnight bag.” 

“So, you don’t have a suit.” 

“No.” 

She glanced from Tom to Pete and back. “You’re about the same size as Pete. Mom has two suitcases that, from the weight of them, must contain half of her wardrobe.” 

“Or they’re packed with bricks,” Pete said. 

“This is Mom, we’re talking about. If anything, they’re gold bars.” 

Tom snorted. 

“Anyway, assuming she has something dressy to wear, and one of Pete’s suits fit you, you’re both going to join us at the county government party.” 

“It’s ten o’clock,” Pete whispered. “By the time they get ready, it’ll be ten-thirty. Another half hour to drive to the hotel…” 

“Half hour to get ready?” Tom said. “Have you met my wife?” 

Pete shrugged. “As long as we get there by midnight, we’ll be fine.” 

* 

Zoe and Pete sat on the couch bookended by orange tabbies. Tom had gone upstairs twenty minutes ago. Raised voices filtered down through the floor to them at first, but for the last ten minutes all was quiet except for the soft thud of footsteps. 

Zoe kept watching the old mantle clock’s hands marking off the time. Making it to the party by midnight seemed optimistic. She would be perfectly happy ringing in the New Year right here—provided she could slip into her pajamas first. 

The footsteps moved to the stairs and started down them. Zoe watched the doorway, expecting to see Kimberly in a ball gown. Twenty minutes, though? That would be a new world record. 

Tom led the way, still wearing the long-sleeve polo shirt and khakis he’d arrived in. Kimberly, wearing an off-white tunic-style sweater over leggings, entered the living room behind him, her blond hair in a ponytail, her face still bare. 

Zoe couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother like this. She looked young enough to pass for Zoe’s sister instead of her mom. 

“We want to apologize for ruining your New Year’s Eve,” Tom said. 

Kimberly slipped her hand into his. “Let’s be honest. I was the one who ruined your New Year’s Eve.” She looked up at her husband. “Yours too. I’m sorry.” Her focus returned to Zoe and Pete. “I’m sorry to all of you.” 

“No apologies necessary,” Pete said. “But I gather you’ve decided against joining us at the party?” 

“We…I appreciate the offer.” Kimberly lowered her face. “However, we’ve decided we’d rather spend a quiet evening in.” 

Tom cleared his throat. “Provided you two don’t mind putting us up for the night. I’ve booked us a flight home for tomorrow.” 

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Zoe said and meant it. This was a different side of her mother—one she would like to get to know. 

“I don’t think our old bones could tolerate the cold that long,” Tom said with a grin. 

Zoe looked at Pete who gave a nod. “This quiet evening in you mentioned,” she said. “Would you object to some company?” 

“Oh.” Kimberly appeared surprised. “I don’t want you to miss your party.” 

It was Pete’s turn to clear his throat. “I’m pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say we would prefer that quiet evening over a noisy party. We’re both always on call. Tonight, for once we’re covered at our jobs.” 

“You definitely speak for both of us,” Zoe said. 

Kimberly pointed at her. “But your dress. You look so beautiful.” 

Zoe shrugged. “I’ll save it for next year.” 

Pete leaned closer. “It’s red. You could wear it for Valentine’s Day.” 

Kimberly clapped. “Perfect, since that’s also your anniversary.” 

“Then it’s settled.” Zoe stood. “I’m going to put on my pajamas.” 

* 

Zoe snuggled against her husband on one end of the couch while Kimberly and Tom claimed the loveseat. Flames crackled in the fireplace, and the cats occupied the chair closest to it. Above the mantle, the television broadcast Times Square in New York where revelers packed to watch the ball drop. Two minutes until midnight. 

A bottle of Pinot Grigio and four wine glasses—wedding gifts from Kimberly and Tom—waited on a side table. 

“Hadn’t you better pour that?” Kimberly said, pointing. 

“You’re right.” Pete moved to the edge of the seat and reached for the wine. 

Zoe slid forward on the couch as well. “If I’d known this is what we’d be doing, I’d have bought a bottle of Champagne.” 

“Nonsense.” Tom rose and moved to help. “Sometimes simpler is better.” He shot a look at his wife. “Right, darling?” 

Kimberly smirked. “I’ve already admitted you were right. Stop pushing.” 

With the wine poured and glasses in hand, they all stood to watch the countdown. 

“Five…four…three…two…one,” they chanted in unison. “Happy New Year!” 

After clinking glasses and sipping, they exchanged hugs. 

Kimberly held onto Zoe longer than usual. “Thank you,” she whispered to her daughter. 

“For what?” 

Kimberly gently grasped Zoe’s arms, drawing her away but not releasing her. “For letting us have this time together instead of turning me away at the door.” 

“I would never—” 

Kimberly cut her off with a shake of her head. “I know you wouldn’t, but you had every right to. I truly am sorry.” She looked at Tom, who was smiling at them. “Well, maybe not too sorry. To be honest, this is the nicest New Year’s Eve I can remember.” 

“Me too,” Zoe admitted. She held up her glass. “To a quiet, simple New Year for all of us.” 

“Cheers to that,” Tom said as they again clinked. 

Kimberly leaned over and pressed a kiss to Zoe’s cheek. “Happy New Year, Zoe.” 

“Happy New Year, Mom.”

 

The End 

FIRE ALARM ON FIRST NIGHT: A NEW YEAR'S EVE STORY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Margaret S. Hamilton

 

 

New Year’s Eve, Jericho, Ohio

 

Up to her elbows in mounds of washed lettuce and spinach in the parish hall kitchen, Lizzie Christopher assembled large bowls of mixed salad garnished with carrot peels and dotted with sliced radishes. The parish hall would be one of many event spaces serving dinner to the townspeople on First Night, or New Year’s Eve, before the evening concerts, one-act plays, and fireworks. The whole town would turn out for the family-style afternoon and evening celebration.

 

Tommy Pfeiffer, a ten-year-old who did odd jobs around town, knocked on the kitchen door carrying two tote bags. “Hi, Lizzie, Dolores sent two containers of her special salad dressing from the diner.”

 

Lizzie put down her vegetable peeler to accept the salad dressing. “Thanks, Tommy. You’re a big help.” Tommy had grown taller since the summer, his curly hair flopping over his forehead.

 

“Want to grab a snack and stick around for a few minutes?”

 

“No thanks. I’m on my usual route, checking things out.”

 

“Around one-thirty, I’ll drop by the library to check on my kids running the crafts and chess activities. Won’t you join me?”

 

“Yeah, sure, I haven’t seen Phillip and Claire since day camp last summer.” He wiped his nose with a wadded tissue. “Will I need a First Night Button?”

 

First Night attendees wore large metal buttons on their coats, which gave them admission to all the events.

 

“I have an extra I’ll give you.” Lizzie pinned it on his jacket.

 

“Thanks for the button.” Tommy flipped through a small notebook before he tucked it into his coat pocket. “See ya later.”

 

Five minutes later, Paul Battelle, a local attorney, carried twenty-four packs of soft drinks and flavored waters into the parish hall. “Have you seen Tommy Pfeiffer?”

 

“He just left with his little notebook. Tommy mentioned something about making his usual rounds.”

 

Paul furrowed his brow. “Tommy lives with his mother and grandmother in one of the duplexes on the other side of Main Street. The landlord, Stan Harrison, is harassing the tenants, trying to force them out so he can sell the buildings as teardowns to a developer who wants to build luxury apartments. I asked Tommy to tell me if anything is amiss, not to gather evidence against his landlord.”

 

Lizzie smiled. “Tommy’s like me.” Her sleuthing skills had served her well, particularly investigating unscrupulous townspeople and their nefarious deeds.

 

“Harrison is in debt, desperate, and actively endangering his tenants.”

 

“Including Tommy’s family?”

 

Paul’s face turned sober. “Especially Tommy’s family. Tommy’s mother is a capable businesswoman. Not only does she run a non-profit, but she also organized all the tenants to fight eviction. I help the group with their legal matters.”

 

“Tommy promised to meet me here at one-thirty.” Lizzie checked her phone. “That gives him an hour to snoop around the duplexes.”

 

Paul pulled out his car keys. “I need to find him before Harrison does.”

 

“Tommy calls himself a free-range kid. I know he carries a basic version of a cell phone.”

 

Paul unlocked his phone. “Good idea. I’ll ask Tommy’s mother for his number. You have mine. Text me when he shows up.”

 

Lizzie peeled more carrots and chopped what was left into tiny bits to add some crunch to the salads. She put plastic wrap on top of each bowl and placed the containers in the walk-in refrigerator.

 

Paul called her at one, requesting her assistance at the duplexes, near the intersection of Oak and First Streets.

Lizzie shrugged on her heavy down parka and wrapped a long scarf around her neck. She raced to Main Street, which was behind barricades to accommodate outdoor children’s activities—ice carving, a giant bubble machine, and noise parade—on the Green.

 

After crossing Main Street, she strode down a side street to the four-block section of town known as “the duplexes,” two-family clapboard houses, each with a shared front porch, one apartment on each floor. Many college students and staff members lived in the close-knit neighborhood.

 

Lizzie continued to the intersection of First and Oak Streets. Paul waited with Tommy next to a line of fire trucks and police vehicles.

 

“Hi, guys, what’s up?”

 

Paul kept his voice low. “Tommy told me Stan Harrison cut the gas to several buildings, then entered the apartments and left electric heaters with frayed or damaged cords running full blast. Stan’s not allowed to turn off the gas—only the utility company can do that—and the electric heaters represent a serious fire hazard. All the affected apartments are unoccupied, because the occupants are out of town. The police have alerted the residents who are home.”

 

Lizzie gasped. “But if one of the duplexes catches fire, others will burn, too.”

 

“When Tommy saw what Harrison was doing, he called 911. Fire and police responded.”

 

“Did the police arrest Harrison?”

 

“They can’t find him. He may be hiding in one of the unoccupied units. He has a master key to all the apartments.”

 

Lizzie’s mouth was dry. “He might be in Tommy’s apartment. Can you discretely call his mother?”

 

Paul stepped behind a fire truck and made the call. He joined Lizzie a minute later. “No answer.”

 

“Tommy,” Lizzie said, “is your mom running errands today?”

 

“Nah, she’s working at home. After she finishes, we’re going to one of the First Night dinners and the fireworks.”

 

“What a great way to spend New Year’s Eve,” Lizzie said. “It’s time to deliver snacks to the chess and craft programs. Want to come with me?”

 

“I have to check on Mom and Grandma,” Tommy said. “I’m not going anywhere until I know they’re all right.”

“Paul, would you find a police officer?” Lizzie asked. “Tommy, do you have a house key?”

 

He nodded, pulling out two deadbolt keys on a chain from under his sweatshirt. He handed the chain to Paul. “The key with the blue dot is our upstairs neighbor. I’m watering their plants and taking in the mail while they’re out of town.”

 

“Thanks,” Lizzie said. “Tommy, you stay with me. Let the police do their job.”

 

“Don’t you need to deliver snacks to Phillip and Claire?”

 

“I’ll text them. They can run across the street from the library.” She patted his shoulder. “You and your family are more important.” She smiled. “I know Dolores at the diner appreciates your help running errands.”

 

“Dolores gives me take-out dinners instead of paying me, so we save money on groceries. Wednesdays are best because it’s hot meatloaf sandwich day.” He rubbed his nose. “Paul isn’t back yet. I need to find Mom and Grandma.”

 

“Just a little while longer. First, the police need to check all the apartments for defective electric heaters. And then the utility company will turn the gas back on. Brrr. The apartments must be cold with no heat.”

 

“Harrison’s done it before,” Tommy said. “In the summer, he turns off the electricity so we can’t use our window air conditioners.” He paused. “What’s a fourplex?”

 

“It sounds like a building with four apartments, two on the main floor and two on the second floor.”

 

“Double the apartments in the same space as a duplex. And no parking. Harrison already won’t let Mom park her car in the driveway. And I’m not allowed to leave my bike on the front porch. Dolores keeps it in the storage shed behind the diner.” Tommy chewed his lip. “Please, Lizzie, can we move closer to my house?”

 

“Do you promise to stay with me on the sidewalk? That’s a mom question. How would you answer your mother?”

 

“Yes, Ma’am!”

 

Tommy led the way to his duplex. Lizzie texted Paul that they were outside on the sidewalk.

The gray clapboard building was quiet. No lights were on. The shades on the windows were drawn.

 

“Tommy, do you live up or down?”

“Down. Our upstairs neighbors work for the college.” He stared at the duplex. “In the winter, we always have the shades up during the day. Grandma likes the sunshine. And we can lower the thermostat to save money, too.”

 

Paul Battelle joined them. He knelt on the sidewalk to talk to Tommy. “Hey, buddy, we need your help. You know all the ins and outs of your duplex, right? Basement windows, back doors, what’s locked, all that good stuff.”

 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Tommy trotted to the far side of the duplex. “The window on the side has a broken lock. During the summer we put an air conditioner in it. The screen lifts out.” He positioned two plastic recycling containers under the window and removed a chisel taped inside one of them. “You can stand on the containers to reach the window and use the chisel to pry it open. Sometimes Harrison locks us out of the apartment, but I can always get in.”

 

Paul made a call to relay the information. “Let’s stand across the street.”

 

“Did you find Mom? Where’s Grandma?”

 

“They’re inside your apartment. The police went upstairs. They could hear Mom and Grandma talking from downstairs.”

 

“Harrison’s hiding in their apartment, isn’t he?” Tommy asked.

 

“Yes. But we’re going to get him.”

 

Two more fire trucks screamed to a stop. The firefighters jumped off the trucks and, carrying large fire extinguishers, entered the front door to the upstairs unit in Tommy’s building.

 

“There’s a fire in the apartment! I need to get Mom and Grandma out.” Tommy started to run after the firefighters.

 

Lizzie grabbed Tommy’s arm. He could move at warp speed. Fastest mile runner at day camp. “Tommy, please stay put. My job is keeping you safe.”

 

He shifted his shoulders. “I know, I know.” His eyes teared up. “But Mom and Grandma are trapped inside with Harrison. He might hurt them.”

 

Lizzie whispered in his ear. “Your mom is a strong, capable woman. Trust her.”

 

Tommy gulped. “Yeah, she lifts weights and does kickboxing.”

 

The front door of Tommy’s apartment burst open, and Stan Harrison emerged. He stumbled down the steps and headed straight for Lizzie and Tommy.

“Tommy, let’s get him!” Lizzie wrapped the strap of her crossbody bag around her hand and charged.

 

Tommy dove for one of Harrison’s legs and hung on, not losing his grip, no matter how much Harrison kicked.

 

Lizzie whirled her bag in a circle and slung it into Harrison’s head. He crashed to the ground. She put her hiking boot-clad foot firmly on his back. “Paul, I could use some help.”

 

Paul added his foot to Harrison’s back. “I didn’t learn this in law school.”

 

“You need to get out more,” Lizzie said.

 

Two police officers took over, cuffing Harrison before guiding him inside a patrol car.

 

Tommy’s mom and grandma emerged from the apartment. “Tommy, are you all right?”

 

Lizzie called to them. “Grab your coats and boots, ladies. I’ll take you for a cup of hot coffee.”

 

She hugged Tommy. “We’ll drop you off at the lightning chess tournament.”

 

“Checkmate and happy new year!” Tommy raced to greet his mother and grandmother.

 

THE END

 

Margaret S. Hamilton writes the Jericho Mysteries series about a small Ohio college town. She has also published forty short stories, many of them featuring amateur sleuth Lizzie Christopher.

Home - The Official Website of Margaret S. Hamilton

 

“Fire Alarm on First Night” was originally published in Kings River Life Magazine in December 2024. Our thanks to Lorie Lewis Ham for allowing publication on the blog.

 

Fire Alarm On First Night: New Year’s Eve Mystery Short Story | Kings River Life Magazine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Words and Pictures

 

by Paula Gail Benson

            Sara Gibbons felt as if she had been sleeping on a cumulus cloud forever. Perhaps she had. That’s how time seemed in Heaven—without boundaries or limitations; restful, peaceful, and floating leisurely through eternity while angst and conflict circulated among the residents of Earth below.

            Rolling from her side onto her back, she stretched, trying to gauge the quality of light around her from behind closed eyes. She had no true sense until she opened her eyelids, just the briefest crack, and blinked at the dazzling celestial sky shining around her. Like the sparkles from the silver and white sheath gown she wore when Chad Howard took her to the University’s spring formal in 2011.

Until then, they had been classmates and self-acknowledged journalism geeks. But when he asked her out in advance for that event, it became their first date.

            Remembering how that night ended, she sat up straight, crossed-legged beneath the pale dress she wore. Chad drove her back to her sorority house, lingering on the outside steps as she climbed to the top (only three, not a significant task at all). She looked back at him. He made no effort to follow. She never told him how many drunken frat boys had trailed her to within inches of that door. After all, she needed no rescuing and had no difficulty letting them know what they could do with their over-active libidos.

            Unfortunately, she wished Chad had shown some kind of passion toward her. Instead, he stood contemplating his shoes, one on the ground and the other on the first step.

            She took the initiative to end the evening with dignity. “I had a lovely time. Thanks for taking me.”

            He looked up, his eyes sparkling from the streetlamp’s light. “You deserve better.”

            “Better than what?”

            “Than I’ve been able to give. I’ve been so caught up in my own imagined misery that I didn’t appreciate I was out with the most beautiful girl in the room.”

            Sara stepped back toward him. “Well, all is not lost since you recognize it now.”

            “Will you forgive me?”

            She reached the second step. “That depends.”

            “On what?”

            She gave him her most sultry smile. “On how you intend to think of me going forward.”

            He bowed his head, remaining still for a moment. Then, he nodded. “Can you give me a week to sort out my stupidity?”

            Not what she had hoped to hear, but it did keep the option open. She shrugged. “Take the time you need.”

            “Great.” He whipped out his camera. “Meanwhile, let me get your photo to commemorate the evening.”

            She posed, and he kept giving her directions. Turn toward the streetlight. Put your hand on your hip. With each command, he moved closer until unexpectedly he was no more than an inch away and quickly bent toward her to plant a lingering kiss on her mouth. She drew back in complete and happy surprise. That’s when he snapped the shot.

            “Perfect!” He stepped back. “See you soon.”

            When had that been? A lifetime ago? The year before they graduated college and got married. They both had dream jobs in the city where they attended the university. She wrote words for a local magazine, and he supplied pictures from a photography and graphics business.

            They were happy. But . . .

            Sara wrapped her arms around her legs and gathered them toward her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She felt the cool fabric of her pale dress against her cheek.

            “I know you loved me, Chad,” she whispered. “Even though I wasn’t your first love.”

            “Does it really matter so very much?”

            Sara looked up, in the direction of the voice. She wasn’t sure if it was male or female or how old. Heaven had a way of obscuring personalities so you couldn’t tell gender or ethnicity or historical background. It was meant to have an equalizing effect, but sometimes it caused confusion. How could you talk reasonably with someone who had no comparable experience with your generation, with the items you used daily, or the devices upon which you depended?

            Of course, she supposed love was universal.

            “Perhaps it shouldn’t matter,” she said, looking up at the hazy figure that stood before her. “But, when you know the person you love had another love first, you always wonder how you measure up.”

            A small fuzzy shape, perhaps a hand, reached to touch what might have been a chin. “I see what you mean.”

            “It’s not like Chad and I weren’t always very honest with each other. He told me about his crush on Franny Morgan. So did his schoolteacher, Miss Runyon, who taught them both. Franny’s mother admitted it, too, although she was more reticent about most things, particularly after Franny disappeared.”

            The hidden voice seemed sharper. “Franny disappeared?”

            “Yes. It was after Chad’s and my first date. Franny made an appointment with him a week later to take her photo in a Colonial American costume. After that, no one knew what happened to her.”

            Chad kept the photo of Franny hidden away in the back of a drawer where he thought Sara would never look. But Sara found it. Chad’s photo seemed to take hold of Sara the same way a miniature portrait had once consumed Franny’s focus.

            The shrouded figure laughed. “You say ‘Colonial America.’ Do you mean the colonies that broke away when Great Britain was governed by George III?”

            “Yes.” Sara almost laughed herself at the ability to make a connection with an unknown person. “Are you familiar with that time?”

            “I lived and died in it.”

            “Oh.” The words sobered her immediately. “I’m sorry.”

            “Please don’t be.” The voice was kind, comforting. “In many respects, I lived a charmed life. I fought in a war for a cause I truly believed in, and I married a beautiful, accomplished woman who traveled a long distance to meet me after only seeing my miniature portrait.”

            Sara’s brow crinkled. “How odd. Chad told me that Franny spent years researching the subject of a miniature by the famed colonial artist Charles Fraser. Of course, she lived about two hundred and fifty years after the American Revolution.”

            “It would seem very unlikely that we could have met on Earth, but I will tell you the woman I married was named Franny Morgan.”

            Sara squinted at the cloudy figure. “Was her father a doctor?”

            “Yes. A very gifted one named Amos.”

            “And, was her mother a librarian?”

            The figure was briefly quiet. “I never knew her mother. Franny was quite ill as a baby. Amos had Dorothy take her away so Franny could receive treatment. Later Franny returned. Dorothy never did.”

            Sara held her hand to her heart.

            “I can see I have upset you,” the voice said.

            “No.” Sara shook her head, then took a breath. “Well, yes. It’s just that the Franny Morgan from my time—her mother’s name was Dorothy.”

            Again, the figure was silent for a short time. “Would it be so terrible if the Franny Morgan I married was the one that Chad loved?”

            Sara pushed away from the figure. She stumbled to the edge of the cloud floor, knelt, and looked down toward the Earth. She hadn’t seen Chad in Heaven. Could he still be on Earth with their son, Gibb? How old might they be now?

            Beneath her the cloud cover cleared, letting her focus on the town where she had lived, married, and had her son. For a few hours, she and Chad had been so happy to welcome their child and plan for their family. Then, in her sleep, a pulmonary embolism traveled to her heart. She died the day after becoming a mother.

            She never wanted Chad and Gibb to have to be alone, but it was difficult to think of them being with someone else. Her gaze narrowed, concentrating on Payne Liu’s restaurant where she and Chad had spent so many happy evenings. Now, in their traditional booth, she saw Chad, not much older, but with a slight graying at his temples. With him, an eight-year-old boy sat and beside the boy was a vivacious young woman Sara recognized as Franny Morgan. Sara wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t. She needed to be happy that Chad had been reunited with his first love. She needed to be grateful Gibb had a mother.

            Franny told Gibb about her family. “My father was a time traveler. He was born in the twentieth century but found a way to journey back to the 1700s. He became a doctor and married my mother. When I was a baby, he realized I had diphtheria. No cure existed at that time, but it did in the future, so he sent my mother and me forward in time. My mother always wanted to return to him. Eventually, she did, but you already know about that.”

            Sara watched Gibb smile. “I was there,” he said, “because I got lost.”

            Franny nodded. “We were so glad to find you again. And, I was happy to see your father. I realized my future was with you both.”

            “In the twenty-first century!” Gibb said, clapping his hands.

Franny held out a small object for him to see. “This portrait was handed down in my family. I had to follow it, to understand who was in the picture. It took me back through time. This man was Edmund Fraser, my first husband, and he died in the American Revolution.”

            “Then, Chad wasn’t your first love,” Sara whispered, even though she knew the people on Earth could not hear her.

            “No, but they have found love together now.”

            Turning, Sara looked back toward the blurred figure, whose features had cleared and revealed a man with dark hair wearing colonial clothing. Looking up at his face, Sara saw the countenance from Franny’s miniature portrait.

Gently, Edmund Fraser took Sara’s hand and kissed it. “At times, our lives must be lived in different places. By searching for me, Franny gave me a family life I would not have had. By returning to your time, she can bring family to Chad and your son. Perhaps Franny and Chad’s connection leads to the one that we can share now. I’m willing to try if you are.”

            He held an outstretched hand toward her. Sara took it. Together, they walked toward the celestial sky, leaving behind the words and pictures from Earth.

THE END