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Krank.”
    It was Spike Frohmeyer, no doubt heading home after some clandestine juvenile meeting. The kid slept less than his father, and the neighborhood was full of stories about Spike’s nocturnal ramblings. He was a nice boy, but usually unmedicated.
    “Hello, Spike,” Luther said, catching his breath. “What brings you out?”
    “Just checking on things,” he said, as if he were the official night watchman.
    “What kind of things, Spike?”
    “My dad sent me over to Stanton Street to see how many Rudolphs are up.”
    “How many?” Luther asked, playing along.
    “None. We smoked ’em again.”
    What a victorious night the Frohmeyers would have, Luther thought. Silly.
    “You putting yours up, Mr. Krank?”
    “No, I’m not, Spike. We’re leaving town this year, no Christmas for us.”
    “I didn’t know you could do that.”
    “This is a free country, Spike, you can do almost anything you want.”
    “You’re not leaving till Christmas Day,” Spike said.
    “What?”
    “Noon’s what I heard. You got plenty of time to get Frosty up. That way we can win the award again.”
    Luther paused for a second and once more marveled at the speed with which one person’s private business could be so thoroughly kicked around the neighborhood.
    “Winning is overrated, Spike,” he said wisely. “Let another street have the award this year.”
    “I guess so.”
    “Now run along.”
    He rolled away and said, “See you later,” over his shoulder.
    The kid’s father was lying in ambush when Luther came strolling by. “Evening, Luther,” Vic said, as if the encounter was purely by chance. He leaned on his mailbox at the end of his drive.
    “Evening, Vic,” Luther said, almost stopping.
    But at the last second he decided to keep walking. He stepped around Frohmeyer, who tagged along.
    “How’s Blair?”
    “Fine, Vic, thanks. How are your kids?”
    “In great spirits. It’s the best time of the year, Luther. Don’t you think so?” Frohmeyer had picked up the pace and the two were now side by side.
    “Absolutely. I couldn’t be happier. Do miss Blair, though. It won’t be the same without her.”
    “Of course not.”
    They stopped in front of the Beckers’, next door to Luther’s, and watched as poor Ned teetered on the top step of the ladder in a vain effort to mount an oversized star on the highest branch of the tree. His wife stood behind him, helping mightily with her instructions but not once holding the ladder, and his mother-in-law was a few steps back for the wide view. A fistfight seemed imminent.
    “Some things about Christmas I’m not going to miss,” Luther said.
    “So you’re really skipping out?”
    “You got it, Vic. I’d appreciate your cooperation.”
    “Just doesn’t seem right for some reason.”
    “That’s not for you to decide, is it?”
    “No, it’s not.”
    “Good night, Vic.” Luther left him there, amused by the Beckers.

      Six      
    Nora’s late-morning roundtable at the shelter for battered women ended badly when Claudia, a casual friend at best, blurted out randomly, “So, Nora, no Christmas Eve bash this year?”
    Of the eight women present, including Nora, exactly five had been invited to her Christmas parties in the past. Three had not, and at the moment those three looked for a hole to crawl into, as did Nora.
    You crude little snot, thought Nora, but she managed to say quickly, “Afraid not. We’re takinga year off.” To which she wanted to add, “And if we ever have another party, Claudia dear, don’t hold your breath waiting for an invitation.”
    “I heard you’re taking a cruise,” said Jayne, one of the three excluded, trying to reroute the conversation.
    “We are, leaving Christmas Day in fact.”
    “So you’re just eliminating Christmas altogether?” asked Beth, another casual acquaintance who got invited each year only because her husband’s firm did business with Wiley & Beck.
    “Everything,” Nora said