A Big O Heaven's Day story by Pygmalion
"Good afternoon, Roger," Dorothy said as Roger stepped out of his bedroom, tying his robe closed.
He looked toward the piano. For once, she had let him sleep without acting as a self-appointed alarm clock. Despite this (or was it because of this?) he felt muzzy and slow-witted. The sight of Dorothy, neat and alert as always, caused him a momentary stab of envy, instantly suppressed. The irritation remained, though, and he indulged in a gruff, "Morning, Dorothy. I'll have my coffee outside."
Before he could take another step, she replied, "I have it right here," and, stepping down to the low table in the center of the room, she poured a mug and held it out to him. He would have found her prescience annoying, but the coffee's aroma drew him down the stairs. He half-drained the cup before taking a breath.
Now the room took on a brighter aspect. As she refilled his cup, Roger looked around at his surroundings. Something had changed. He absently drained his second cupful, trying to identify what was different. He nearly dropped his cup when he saw that the novelty was a small fir tree, placed opposite the piano beside the French doors to the balcony.
"What is this?" he demanded, pointing toward the tree.
"It is a Heaven's Day tree, Roger."
He stalked over to the tree. "I know it is a Heaven's Day tree." It really was an elegantly decorated tree, with velvety black ribbons, silver, burgundy and dark green balls, and tiny white lights. Topping it was a larger light in the shape of a candle.
"What is a Heaven's Day tree doing in my house?" Now that he had a focus for his irritation, the annoyance he'd felt over Norman tricking him yesterday welled up again. "Is this another one of Norman's tricks? Come to think of it, where is he?"
"Today is a holiday. Norman is visiting a friend." Her voice had the flat tone that warned him he had overstepped his usual standard, but he was in no mood to be chided.
"He never said anything about taking the day off."
"He always takes Heaven's Day off."
Roger opened his mouth, considered, and closed it. "No, you're right." He looked ruefully toward her. "In that case, I guess we are on our own today."
She walked to him and held out a small envelope. "This was attached to the tree when it was delivered this morning."
Roger opened the flap, and slid out a card. On it, two cherubim held a streamer that said "Merry Heaven's Day." Inside, the preprinted message said "Happy Holidays from" and below that, handwritten, "A Friend." Roger's mouth crooked.
"It seems to be from a secret admirer," he said, holding out the card to Dorothy. He looked speculatively at the tree. "Norman did check it, right?"
"Yes. The wire in the original ribbon looked suspicious, so he disposed of it and substituted this." She touched the black velvet.
Roger smiled. There was nothing like a mystery to liven things up.
After breakfast, he and Dorothy took the elevator down to Norman's workshop in the basement. Dorothy pulled out the metal box Norman had stored the ribbon in.
Roger opened the box and examined the ribbon. It was red, with metal wire along the edges to keep it stiff. It had been folded into a large bow. Without saying a word, he felt along the length of it. There was a lump in the center, larger than could be explained by the knot, and he loosened the knot slightly to reveal a small black box. Cautiously, he lifted the whole ribbon back onto the metal box, closed it, and motioning Dorothy to follow him, he walked back to the elevator.
Inside the elevator, he let out a breath, and said, "That was either a very small transmitter, or a bomb." At her concerned glance, he added, "It's safe enough in that metal box; radio signals won't get to it."
"Norman said that he would examine it more closely when he returned," Dorothy said.
"If it is a bug," Roger mused, "it would be safe enough as long as we keep it shielded. But a bomb may be set to explode at any time." He pushed the button for the first floor. "Let's see what we can find."
But examining Roger's recent cases gave no hint as to who might have sent such a thing. He sighed and slapped a file folder onto his desk. "Beck is the only one I can think of who'd have both the ability and the motivation to do something like this." He looked at the telephone a moment, picked it up, and dialed. "Yes, this is Roger Smith … I'd like to speak to Dan Dastun." He put a hand over the receiver and said to Dorothy, "There's another who doesn't observe Heaven's Day – oh, hello, Dastun, this is Roger Smith. Yes. No, I wanted to ask if Beck's still in prison." He held the handset away from his ear as a sputtering sound erupted on the other end of the phone. Gingerly he held it back to his ear. "Okay, that's all I wanted to know. Thanks." He hung up the phone.
"Not Beck," said Dorothy.
"No," agreed Roger, absently. "For some reason, Dastun seemed to find the question funny."
"Roger, it's time for me to start dinner."
"No, that's fine," he said. "I'll be down here a bit longer."
Dorothy nodded, then walked back through the gloom to the elevator. Roger sat, fiddled with his hourglasses, and tried to come up with a name – any name but one, that is – that fit the pattern of this mystery. That one name kept pushing its way up into the front of his mind, and eventually he sighed, and flipped through his file of business cards to find "Casseey Jenkins."
The card was not there. He flipped through all the cards in the file, and it still wasn't there. He checked his drawers. No card. "It couldn't have just vanished," he said to himself, and looked again. No luck.
On any other day of the year, he would have driven to the Speakeasy, paid his money, and heard Big Ear's news about Paradigm City. But the bar was closed on Heaven's Day, and his informant was not to be found out of it.
As he checked to see if the card had dropped behind the file folders, he heard the elevator open. He stood and started toward the elevator, just as the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" he called to Dorothy, and stepped to the front, unbolting and opening the massive door.
Dan Dastun stood on the steps. "Hello, Roger."
"Hello, Dan," replied Roger. "Is this a social call, or have you found out something about Beck?"
Dastun smiled. "Sorry, no, it's only social today. I was invited to dinner." At Roger's expression, he added, "By Miss Wayneright."
Roger was astonished at her presumption, while he mentally kicked himself for not having invited Dastun himself. "In that case, let's eat." Roger led the way to the elevator, and the two men rode up in silence. Dorothy met them at the eighth floor, carried off Dastun's overcoat, seated them, and brought out the food. Dastun tried to help, but was politely rebuffed. Once the men were served, Dorothy sat down at her place.
Perhaps it was the dinner. Perhaps it was the wine, though Roger had drunk more without intoxication. Perhaps it was the companions at dinner. At any rate, this dinner was one of the most convivial that Roger had had in some time. He felt a faint pang of regret as Dorothy cleared the dishes and Dan stood.
"Would you like to play something?" he asked Dorothy as she emerged from the kitchen. She nodded, and the three climbed the spiral stair to the penthouse. Dorothy was by the piano selecting a piece when Dastun walked over to the fir.
"A Heaven's Day tree, Roger?" he asked with a smile. "Are you mellowing with age?"
"No such thing," Roger shot back. "This came from 'A Friend.' That's why I called you earlier, to see if Beck might have been behind it."
Dastun started chuckling, then bent double with laughter. When he caught his breath, he said, a bit breathlessly, "I would like the red ribbon back." Dorothy silently carried the box from the piano seat to him. He nodded his thanks.
"Red. Ribbon." Roger repeated tonelessly. His eyes rounded in astonishment. "Dastun?"
Dastun started laughing again at the expression on Roger's face. He nodded, caught his breath, and wiped his eyes. "Oh, it was worth it." He opened the box, lifted out the ribbon, and pressed the center. There was a small pop, and paper strips shot out from the ribbon. A clockwork music box played "Jingle Bells."
Roger took on a mulish expression. "You set me up."
"Merry Heaven's Day, Roger. This is your present; a little mystery to keep you busy during a dull day."
Roger rounded on Dorothy. "You were in on this too," he accused.
She nodded.
"And Norman, too, of course." Roger sighed. "How can I hold out against the good wishes of my friends?" He passed a hand over his face, and smiled bravely.
"Merry Heaven's Day."