The trio dived into the food, each of them mumbling that his or her cholesterol was in the normal range.

Ten minutes into the food orgy, Jack dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He fixed his gaze on Maggie. “Are Harry and I sitting this one out? I haven’t heard a thing from the mountain.”

Maggie stopped eating long enough to say, “I don’t think so. The last thing I heard was you guys are going to be front and center. Stay on the alert.”

“We’re always on the alert, aren’t we, Harry?”

Harry glared at Jack.

Jack tried for one of what he hoped was his more innocent expressions, and said, “Maggie, what do you think of champagne as a color?”

“Oh, I love it. When we were on the mountain, we were talking about interior decorating. It’s all the rage. It’s so clean and elegant looking. You know, regal somehow. I seem to remember Nikki and Yoko saying they liked it. Why? Are you going to do some redecorating?”

“Not right now. Down the road possibly. Maybe in the spring,” Jack replied. He risked a glance at Harry, who appeared to be in a trance. He winked at Maggie and reached for his fifth hot dog.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dressed in a faux white mink coat and hat, Lizzie drew stares as she exited the luxurious limousine, wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes against the blinding whiteness all about her. She looked like a Russian spy in a popular movie as she strode toward the building that housed Baron Bell’s offices. The door was thrust open by a smiling doorman. He watched as the striking woman, her every move choreographed, sailed across the ornate lobby toward the elevator, which opened as though by magic. And then the goddess was gone, and the lobby’s occupants went back to what they were doing before the vision in white had graced their space.

The only occupants of the old-fashioned elevator were Lizzie and an elderly lady with blue-white hair. The grandmotherly woman carried a cane and was tapping it to the upbeat Christmas music that seemed to be piped in on the top of the elevator. Lizzie’s thoughts were on what she considered the impossible task of finding just the right present for her husband. She leaned forward and pressed the number twelve.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and the elderly lady moved forward. “Merry Christmas, dear. May I say you look lovely today.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and Merry Christmas to you, too.” Impulsively, Lizzie moved forward, and said, “Ma’am, do you remember your first Christmas when you got married?”

“As if it were yesterday. Why do you ask, dear?”