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an investigator searching for evidence. Luther was a tax accountant by trade

admin — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 00:50:08 +0000

With his feet toasty and besocked with heavy wool, Luther fell fast asleep and woke up even faster. Nora was roaming. She was in the bathroom flushing and flipping lights, then she left for the kitchen, where she fixed an herbal tea, then he heard her down the hall in Blair’s room, no doubt staring at the walls and sniffling over where the years had gone. Then she was back in bed, rolling and jerking covers and trying her best to wake him. She wanted dialogue, a sounding board. She wanted Luther to assure her Blair was safe from the horrors of the Peruvian jungle.
But Luther was frozen, not flinching at any joint, breathing as heavily as possible because if the dialogue began again it would run for hours. He pretended to snore and that settled her down.
It was after eleven when she grew still. Luther was wild-eyed, and his feet were smoldering. When he was absolutely certain she was asleep, he eased from the bed, ripped off the heavy socks and tossed them into a corner, and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water. Then a pot of decaf.
An hour later he was in his basement office, at his desk with files open, the computer humming, spreadsheets in the printer, an investigator searching for evidence. Luther was a tax accountant by trade, so his records were meticulous. The evidence piled up and he forgot about sleep.
A year earlier, the Luther Krank family had spent $6,100 on Christmas-$6,100!-$6,100 on decorations, lights, flowers, a new Frosty, and a Canadian spruce; $6,100 on hams, turkeys, pecans, cheese balls, and cookies no one ate; $6,100 on wines and liquors and cigars around the office; $6,100 on fruitcakes from the firemen and the rescue squad, and calendars from the police association; $6,100 on Luther for a cashmere sweater he secretly loathed and a sports jacket he’d worn twice and an ostrich skin wallet that was quite expensive and quite ugly and frankly he didn’t like the feel of. On Nora for a dress she wore to the company’s Christmas dinner and her own cashmere sweater, which had not been seen since she unwrapped it, and a designer scarf she loved, $6,100. On Blair $6,100 for an overcoat, gloves and boots, and a Walkman for her jogging, and, of course, the latest, slimmest cell phone on the market-$6,100 on lesser gifts for a select handful of distant relatives, most on Nora’s side-$6,100 on Christmas cards from a stationer three doors down from Chip’s, in the District, where all prices were double; $6,100 for the party, an annual Christmas Eve bash at the Krank home,
And what was left of it? Perhaps a useful item or two, but nothing much-$6,100!

‘It won’t be the same.’

admin — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 00:54:34 +0000

‘Oh hush, Luther’
‘Are your feet wet?’
‘No. Yours?’
‘No.’
‘Then why’d you ask?’
‘Just worried.’
‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’
‘She’s on an airplane. You just talked to her.’
‘I mean down there, in the jungle.’
‘Stop worrying, okay? The Peace Corps wouldn’t send her into a dangerous place.’
‘It won’t be the same.’
‘What?’
‘Christmas.’
It certainly will not, Luther almost said. Oddly, he was smiling as he worked his way through traffic.

‘ Luther mused

admin — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 00:54:49 +0000

I hope you step in frozen water, Luther grumbled to himself. He fumed and muttered other unpleasantries. He switched the heater vents to the floorboard to thaw his feet, then watched the large people come and go at the burger place. Traffic was stalled on the streets beyond.
How nice it would be to avoid Christmas, he began to think. A snap of the fingers and it’s January 2. No tree, no shopping, no meaningless gifts, no tipping, no clutter and wrappings, no traffic and crowds, no fruitcakes, no liquor and hams that no one needed, no ‘Rudolph’ and ‘Frosty,’ no office party, no wasted money. His list grew long. He huddled over the wheel, smiling now, waiting for heat down below, dreaming pleasantly of escape.
She was back, with a small brown sack which she tossed beside him just carefully enough not to crack the chocolate while letting him know that she’d found it and he hadn’t. ‘Everybody knows you have to ask,’ she said sharply as she yanked at her shoulder harness.
‘Odd way of marketing,’ Luther mused, in reverse now. ‘Hide it by the butcher, make it scarce, folks’ll clamor for it. I’m sure they charge more if it’s hidden.’

‘ Nora asked

admin — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 01:08:18 +0000

And for what? I’m fine, Mom. Haven’t seen you in almost an hour. We all love each other. We’ll all miss each other. Gotta go, Mom.
The engine was running though Luther didn’t remember starting it.
‘You forgot the white chocolate?’ Nora asked, fully recovered.
‘No. I didn’t forget it. They didn’t have any.’
‘Did you ask Rex?’
‘Who’s Rex?’
‘The butcher.’
‘No, Nora, for some reason I didn’t think to ask the butcher if he had any white chocolate hidden among his chops and livers.’
She yanked the door handle with all the frustration she could muster. ‘I have to have it. Thanks for nothing.’ And she was gone.

Luther began to hate Christmas.

admin — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 01:11:18 +0000

A crowd had stopped to watch the old Mexican decorate his cigar store window. He was plugging in little robots who trudged through the fake snow, and this delighted the crowd no end, Luther was forced to move off the curb, and in doing so he stepped just left instead of just right. His left foot sank into five inches of cold slush. He froze for a split second, sucking in lungfuls of cold air, cursing the old Mexican and his robots and his fans and the damned pistachios. He yanked his foot upward and slung dirty water on his pants leg, and standing at the curb, with two frozen feet and the bell clanging away and ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’ blaring from the loudspeaker and the sidewalk blocked by revelers, Luther began to hate Christmas.

Six bucks and change for a pound of pistachios. He shoved the eager young sacker away

admin — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 01:09:29 +0000

The express line was, of course, slower than the other two. Chip’s outrageous prices forced its customers to buy in small quantities, but this had no effect whatsoever on the speed with which they came and went. Each item was lifted, inspected, and manually entered into the register by an unpleasant cashier. Sacking was hit or miss, though around Christmas the sackers came to life with smiles and enthusiasm and astounding recall of customers’ names. It was the tipping season, yet another unseemly aspect of Christmas that Luther loathed.
Six bucks and change for a pound of pistachios. He shoved the eager young sacker away, and for a second thought he might have to strike him to keep his precious pistachios out of another bag. He stuffed them into the pocket of his overcoat and quickly left the store.

he recognized a one-pound bar of Logan’s. Another step closer and it suddenly disappeared

admin — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 01:14:29 +0000

A stock boy was working hard on a display of Christmas chocolates. A sign by the butcher demanded that all good customers order their Christmas turkeys immediately. New Christmas wines were in! And Christmas hams!
What a waste, Luther thought to himself. Why do we eat so much and drink so much in the celebration of the birth of Christ? He found the pistachios near the bread. Odd how that made sense at Chip’s. The white chocolate was nowhere near the baking section, so Luther cursed under his breath and trudged along the aisles, looking at everything. He got bumped by a shopping cart. No apology, no one noticed. ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ was coming from above, as if Luther was supposed to be comforted. Might as well be ‘Frosty the Snowman.’
Two aisles over, next to a selection of rice from around the world, there was a shelf of baking chocolates. As he stepped closer, he recognized a one-pound bar of Logan’s. Another step closer and it suddenly disappeared, snatched from his grasp by a harsh-looking woman who never saw him. The little space reserved for Logan’s was empty, and in the next desperate moment Luther saw not another speck of white chocolate. Lots of dark and medium chips and such, but nothing white.

There were no shopping baskets near the checkout at Chip’s

admin — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 01:08:56 +0000

And every shop was full. Another Santa clanged away with the same bell outside the cheese shop. ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer rattled from a hidden speaker above the sidewalk in front of Mother Earth, where the crunchy people were no doubt still wearing their sandals. Luther hated the store-refused to set foot inside. Nora bought organic herbs there, for what reason he’d never been certain. The old Mexican who owned the cigar store was happily stringing lights in his window, pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth, smoke drifting behind him, fake snow already sprayed on a fake tree.
There was a chance of real snow later in the night. The shoppers wasted no time as they hustled in and out of the stores. The sock on Luther’s right foot was now frozen to his ankle.
There were no shopping baskets near the checkout at Chip’s, and of course this was a bad sign. Luther didn’t need one, but it meant the place was packed. The aisles were narrow and the inventory was laid out in such a way that nothing made sense. Regardless of what was on your list, you had to crisscross the place half a dozen times to finish up.

one-pound bar

admin — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 00:48:55 +0000

He wheeled into a space near a burger joint and demanded, ‘Give me a list.’
‘I’ll go,’ she said, but only in feigned protest. Luther would hike through the rain and they both knew it.
‘Gimme a list.’
‘Just white chocolate and a pound of pistachios,’ she said, relieved.
‘That’s all?’
‘Yes, and make sure it’s Logan’s chocolate, one-pound bar, and Lance Brothers pistachios.’
‘And this couldn’t wait?’
‘No, Luther, it cannot wait. I’m doing dessert for lunch tomorrow. If you don’t want to go, then hush up and I’ll go.’
He slammed the door. His third step was into a shallow pothole. Cold water soaked his right ankle and oozed down quickly into his shoe. He froze for a second and caught his breath, then stepped away on his toes, trying desperately to spot other puddles while dodging traffic.

Chip’s believed in high prices and modest rent. It was on a side alley, not visible from anywhere really. Next to it was a wine shop run by a European of some strain who claimed to be French but was rumored to be Hungarian. His English was awful but he’d learned the language of price gouging. Probably learned it from Chip’s next door. In fact all the shops in the District, as it was known, strove to be discriminating.

‘Can’t it wait

admin — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 01:12:42 +0000

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Sure.’ Whether he did or he didn’t, what did it matter at this point? She was gone; they couldn’t stop her.

He gripped the wheel with both hands and silently cursed the traffic slowing in front of him. He couldn’t tell if his wife was crying or not. Luther wanted only to get home and dry off, sit by the fire, and read a magazine.

He was within two miles of home when she announced, ‘I need a few things from the grocery.’

‘It’s raining,’ he said.

‘I still need them.’

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘You can stay in the car. Just take a minute. Go to Chip’s. It’s open today.’

So he headed for Chip’s, a place he despised not only for its outrageous prices and snooty staff but also for its impossible location. It was still raining of course she couldn’t pick a Kroger where you could park and make a dash. No, she wanted Chip’s, where you parked and hiked.

Only sometimes you couldn’t park at all. The lot was full. The fire lanes were packed. He searched in vain for ten minutes before Nora said, ‘Just drop me at the curb.’ She was frustrated at his inability to find a suitable spot.