Twisted

Christmas? Can you imagine how interminable that song would be if there were twenty?” He sang, “Twenty muggers mugging, nineteen burglars burgling . . .”
    Thom sighed and said to Sachs, “All I want for Christmas is a nice, complicated jewelry heist right about now—something to pacify him.”
    “Eighteen aides complaining,” Rhyme continued the song. He added, “See, Thom, I am in the holiday spirit. Despite what you think.”

    Susan Thompson climbed out of Rich Musgrave’s Malibu. The large, handsome man was holding the door for her. She took his hand and he eased her to her feet; her shoulder and knee still ached fiercely from the spill she’d taken on the ice that morning.
    “What a day,” she said, sighing.
    “I don’t mind getting pulled over by the cops,” Rich said, laughing. “I could’ve done without the guns, though.”
    Carrying all her shopping bags in one hand, he helped her to the front door. They walked carefully over the three-inch blanket of fine snow.
    “You want to come in? Carly’s here—that’s her car. You can watch me prostrate myself in front of her and apologize for being such a bozo. I could’ve sworn I left that note on the table.”
    “I think I’ll let you run the gauntlet on your own.” Rich was divorced too and was spending Christmas eve with his two sons at his place in Armonk. He needed to pick them up soon. She thanked him again for everything and apologized once more for the scare with the police. He’d been a nice guy about the whole thing. But, as she fished her keys out of her purse and watched him walk back to the car, she reflected that there was no doubt the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. What was the problem? Susan wondered. Rough edges, she supposed. She wanted a gentleman. She wanted somebody whowas kind, who had a sense of humor. Somebody who could make her laugh.
    She waved good-bye and stepped into the house, pulled the door shut behind her.
    Carly had already started on the decorations, bless her, and Susan smelled something cooking in the kitchen. Had the girl made dinner? This was a first. She looked into the den and blinked in surprise. Carly’d decked out the room beautifully, garlands, ribbons, candles. And on the coffee table was a big plate of cheese and crackers, a bowl of nuts, fruit, two glasses sitting beside a bottle of California sparkling wine. The girl was nineteen, but Susan let her have some wine when they were home alone.
    “Honey, how wonderful!”
    “Mom,” Carly called, walking to the doorway. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    The girl was carrying a baking dish. Inside were some hot canapés. She set it on the table and hugged her mother.
    Susan threw her arms around the girl, ignoring the pain from the fall that morning. She apologized for the mistake about the note and for making her daughter worry so much. The girl, though, just laughed it off.
    “Is it true that policeman’s in a wheelchair?” Susan asked. “He can’t move?”
    “He’s not a policeman anymore. He’s kind of a consultant. But, yeah, he’s paralyzed.”
    Carly went on to explain about Lincoln Rhyme and how they’d found her and Rich Musgrave. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and took it off.“Mom, I want to give you one of your presents tonight.”
    “Tonight? Are we starting a new tradition?”
    “Maybe we are.”
    “Well, okay . . .” Then Susan took the girl’s arm. “In that case, let me give you mine first.” She got her purse from the table and dug inside. She found the small velvet box. “This is what I got out of the safe deposit box this morning.”
    She handed it to the girl, who opened it. Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Mom . . .”
    It was an antique diamond and emerald ring.
    “This was—”
    “Grandma’s. Her engagement ring.” Susan nodded. “I wanted you to have something special. I know you’ve had a rough time lately, honey. I’ve been too busy at work. I haven’t been as nice to Jake as I should. And some of the men I’ve dated . . . well, I know you didn’t like them that much.” A laughing whisper. “Of course, I didn’t like them that much either. I’m resolving not to date losers anymore.”
    Carly frowned. “Mom, you’ve never dated losers. . . . More like semi-losers.”
    “That’s even worse! I couldn’t even find a red-blooded, full-fledged loser to date!”
    Carly hugged her mother again and put the ring on. “It’s so beautiful.”
    “Merry