Beatrice watched the audience from behind the stage curtain with a sense of mounting dread. They had to actually perform? In front of all these people? And not be horrible? It seemed an awfully tall order.
“Don’t be nervous,” she said to the three cats at her feet. They were all wearing reindeer antlers, just because. Maybe that was distracting them because they didn’t look nervous, just really annoyed to have something on their heads.
“I really don’t like this,” the sheriff said. He looked much paler than usual and there was the sheen of sweat at his temples. “Reggie says I can’t take the script with me on stage. How am I gonna remember all those lines?”
“Just do your best,” Beatrice said, patting his arm. “I saw Sandra out there in the crowd and she looks so proud of you. It’s for charity, anyway. We don’t need to be perfect. Plus, the cats are going to carry the show.”
The sheriff looked down at the three antler-wearing felines and sighed as if the world was ending. “I’m going to pretend like none of this is happening,” he muttered.
But that was impossible. The lights went down, the stage curtain went up, and the sheriff was on. He shuffled into the middle of the stage for the opening scene, and then stood there, frozen in place, his mouth gaping open.
“I have to help the man,” Matthew said and strode on stage, script in hand, and flashed the papers in front of the man’s eyes. This seemed to trigger the sheriff into at least a limping start, as he began to deliver his lines without further prompting, albeit in the most wooden fashion possible.
Things livened up when it was time for Petunia to make an appearance as one of the many children in the play. As she strode out onto the stage, looking like a toasted marshmallow with legs and antlers, a collective “aww” came from the crowd. Beatrice snapped pictures on her smartphone, as proud as a mom watching her kindergartener’s first Nativity play. This served to distract the crowd for a while, but the sheriff’s monotone delivery quickly set them slumbering again.
So when it was Beatrice’s turn to appear as the first ghost, she decided to really light a fire under the production. At this point, all three cats were on stage. Not because they had to be, but because they simply wouldn’t leave. Beatrice came out running, making all sorts of unearthly screeches and moans that she thought were very ghost-appropriate.
Except that the cats definitely weren’t expecting this kind of intrusion. Hamish flinched and crouched down, ears flattened. Lucky skittered away under a table. Petunia, whose nerves might have been shot after all the recent adventures , went off in a tear, yowling. She began to scale the cloth painted backdrop but it wasn’t able to support her bulk and she fell down, her claws still hooked in the fabric, the backdrop coming with her. There was a moment of silence and then a gasp as the whole frame came crashing down.
Poor Petunia screeched and tore off stage. The sheriff started saying some very bad words that were unsuitable for children and Beatrice stood there, wondering what had just happened.
Which is when the cell phone started ringing in the crowd. Nancy Sullivan, the former mayor’s wife, answered it as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do. A moment later she was full-out bawling, tears sending mascara running down her face.
“Oh my God,” she sobbed. “It’s Bernie. He’s calling me from prison.”
“Oh heck,” Beatrice muttered under her breath.
“I’m out of here,” the sheriff said, storming off stage.
Thankfully, Matthew, who was still hovering at the wings, stepped forward and started hurriedly delivering the sheriff’s lines. By this time, people were getting up and leaving. The cast raced through the rest of the play as if they were on fast forward, finishing to a mostly empty room and a smattering of applause.
Matthew and Beatrice stood on the stage together, staring at the ruined backdrop. Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Do you think it was so bad it was good, kind of how pugs are so ugly they’re cute?” Beatrice asked.
Matthew wiped tears of amusement from his eyes. “Nope. Sorry, Bee. I think it was just plain stinkin’ bad. On the bright side, there were lots of people and all of them paid an entrance fee. So all that money’s going to buy Christmas dinner for people who really need it.”
“You know, that’s just the reminder I needed,” Beatrice said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’re doing what the Santa Bandit wanted, just with a little less mayhem. So who cares if we were any good?”
“Well, the sheriff for starters. I think we’d better take him out for pizza and beer.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all night. I could really do with a slice of chicken and artichoke right now.”
Petunia waddled over to their feet, her reindeer ears comically askew.
“Mraw!” she said insistently, sitting down on her fluffy haunches and looking up at her owner with insistent china blue eyes. Lucky and Hamish took up the cause and flanked her, their big eyes shining with hunger.
“But first, I’d better feed these little munchkins,” Beatrice said, smiling. “Acting is hungry work!”
12
Beatrice woke up in the dark, gasping for air. There was something furry on her face. It was rumbling like a car passing over a bridge. And it was moving.
Pushing aside the heavy, warm object, Beatrice spat out a mouthful of hair. Cat hair. Petunia sat on her chest, kneading her flannel pyjamas. Beatrice shifted slightly, trying to wake up her sleeping limbs and immediately another heavy object pounced on her leg and began to pat furiously at her foot. It wasn’t overly heavy, so it had to be Lucky.
“What is up with you guys?” Beatrice murmured sleepily.
Then it hit her: oh right, it was Christmas.
Hamish was crouched on the pillow next to her, fur sticking up at his haunches. It was time to get up or they’d never leave her alone. Beatrice hauled herself up in the darkness, pulled on her red plaid Christmas housecoat, stuffed her feet into slippers with reindeer faces, and padded downstairs.
Since she was awake, she might as well start preparing. She plugged in the tree and stood back to watch the effect. She’d bought a gorgeous thick Fraser fir that year. It towered in the cavernous living room of her converted barn house, covered in twinkling white lights and all of the decorations Beatrice had meticulously collected over the years—ribbon bows, pine cones, crocheted snow flakes, little knit red stockings, and golden birds.
It cast a cozy glow over the rest of the space. A big fir wreath festooned in white lights sat over the hearth, which was also covered in bows of spruce. Every surface was decorated with her favorite red cloths and green pine-scented pillar candles. She let out a long, satisfied sigh. It was going to be a lovely Christmas.
Beatrice scooped out some of the special salmon and oat treats she’d made for the cats. As they snacked away, their little mouths smacking on the delicious food, she set up the coffee maker and started the prep for Christmas brunch.
First up were her famous eggnog cinnamon rolls, which had eggnog in both the batter and glaze. Also on the menu was sausage casserole. Not too much to worry about for a life-long cook and baker. The rest of the crew insisted on bringing everything else, which made it easy. All she really needed to worry about was making sure there was enough coffee and tea.
As the sun came up over the trees, Beatrice kneaded and rolled out the dough. It was promising to be a perfect white Christmas. There was an even layer of snow on the ground that sparkled in the dim light and there was hoar frost on the trees, much to Beatrice’s delight.
The technical definition of this type of frost was frozen water vapor, but that didn’t even begin to capture the magic of it. It was as if each branch and twig had sprouted crystals. Even individual blades of long grass were evenly coated in the gem-like frost. It truly made the forest look like a winter wonderland.
Hours later, the doorbell was ringing and people were flooding into the cozy space. Gusts of frosty air blew in through the
front door. Beatrice kissed Matthew on the cheek and then Zoe and her boyfriend, Ryan Jackson and family, the sheriff and his wife Sandra, Reggie and his sister Bridget, Dr. Violet (the local vet), and many more.
Suddenly there were children running around and heaps of jewel-toned presents under the tree while “Jingle Bells Rock” played on the surround-sound stereo. More and more food appeared on her long wooden farmer’s table: a fruit salad in the shape of a Christmas tree, white chocolate cranberry scones, mini ricotta quiches and from Matthew his signature contribution: bottles of champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice for mimosas.
Matthew was put in charge of making the mimosas and then they all stood around the tree to give a toast. The cats sat by the tree, stuffed into their Christmas sweaters, looking extra wide and woolly. Petunia was mesmerized by all the Christmas ornaments—her little button eyes kept drifting up to look at the many ornaments dangling above her.
“To Beatrice,” Matthew said, glass raised. “For ridding Ashbrook of the Santa Bandit and putting together this wonderful feast. She does it every year, and we appreciate it so much. You’re the glue that holds us all together, Bee, and we love you for that. To Beatrice.”
“To Beatrice,” the rest said, raising their glasses.
Beatrice would be lying if she didn’t get a little misty eyed in that moment. She dabbed at her eyes with her Christmas sweater—the ugly one she always wore with a huge cat on the front wearing a Santa hat.
“What was with the toast?” Beatrice asked once she and Matthew had a moment alone. They were sitting at their favorite window seat, holding crystal flutes with mimosas as fat flakes of snow fell slowly outside.
“Well, I feel like we don’t appreciate you enough. You bring us all together. We’d have much lonelier Christmases, heck lonelier lives, if you weren’t here to make us see that family isn’t just who you’re related to—it’s who you choose to spend your life with.”
“You old softie,” Beatrice said, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m nothing more than an attention addict who needs to be surrounded by people at all times. You lot just happen to be my willing victims.”
Matthew laughed and then pulled a little gift box out of his pocket. “Can we exchange presents now?” he asked. “I can’t wait.”
“I can’t wait either.” Beatrice ripped the paper off to reveal a little black velvet jewelry box. She popped it open and saw the pink pearl earrings she had been coveting at the jeweler’s when she went with the sheriff. Her jaw dropped open.
“How did you know?”
“Sheriff gave me a little tip. I wanted to get you what you wanted, instead of subject you to my possibly bad taste in jewelry. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay. Thanks Matt! They’re so beautiful.” Then, nervously, she handed over his box. It was small too, and jangled when he shook it.
“Earrings?” he asked jokingly and tore open the paper. Inside was a set of keys on a sterling silver keychain, engraved with the words ‘Welcome Home. Merry Christmas, xo Bee.’
“They’re to my house,” she said shyly. “I know I’m always joking that you should have your own set since you’re here so often.” Matthew looked absolutely blank. “Oh dear, I got you the wrong thing. You wanted a stereo, or special socks…”
“No, it’s perfect. I mean, when I said special gift, I figured you would buy me slippers anyway. I never thought you would get me something so … touching.”
“Oh boy,” Beatrice said, going as crimson as her sweater. “Well, I do have a heart beating under his hideous sweater. Anyway, I should have given you a set a long time ago. I just fancied them up with a nice keychain.”
Matthew smiled—brightly and widely like a kid who’s just won the best stuffed toy at the fair. Then he leaned in to kiss her. This was normal. They kissed on the cheek all the time. But Beatrice was flustered and she leaned in wrong and it ended up that his lips touched the corner of her mouth instead.
It had been forty years since they’d kissed. More than forty years. So when Beatrice drew back, she felt like she’d gotten an electric shock. Kissing was not what they did as friends. Instead, all these feelings and memories came rushing back from when they were married—when Matthew wasn’t just buddy Matthew. He was the man she loved. That she married. That she made vows to. Who held her when she cried and who made her laugh after a bad day.
The two of them locked eyes for a moment—wondering, questioning.
And then Hamish jumped onto Beatrice’s lap, spreading cat hair all over her black pants. “Mraw?” he demanded loudly, licking his chops. Someone had been giving him scraps from the table.
“Hello precious,” she said. “You already got all your presents—stockings stuffed with catnip, feather teasers, fancy treats, and the list goes on. It’s human present time now.”
“Mraw!” Hamish chimed in, looking over at Matthew as if he was disrupting their moment.
And soon there was no moment. There were cinnamon buns to cut up and tarts to place on plates and more mimosas to pour. And so Beatrice and Matt were separated as they spoke to everyone else at the party except each other. But they kept looking at each other like they wished it was just the two of them, alone, enjoying Christmas together. Beatrice hadn’t had that feeling before—she loved people. But at that moment, she wanted to be with only Matthew and the cats. Why, she didn’t dare ask herself.
There was feasting and board games, more drinking and charades, present unwrapping and lots of hugs. Later, most of the guests went off to their family dinners but Matthew, Zoe, and Beatrice went to the church basement to serve up a Christmas feast.
“It’s funny, this is exactly what Bandit Santa wanted, in his own twisted way,” Zoe said, surveying the people gathered in the basement.
People sat at long tables, digging into steaming plates of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and more. The basement was festively decorated with pine boughs and it smelled comfortingly like roast bird. The cats, now wearing Santa hats, were eating up the attention they were getting from the crowd.
“I suppose so,” Beatrice said. “All I know is that it’s a very special Christmas indeed.”
Matthew looked over at her and smiled warmly. The pearl earrings sat in her ears. They didn’t really go with her ugly cat sweater, but their subtle weight reminded her of him. He touched the small of her back by reaching around Zoe.
And suddenly … Beatrice was falling.
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About the Author
Alannah Rogers is a retired librarian living in rural New Hampshire. She has three cats, all named after authors: Charlie, Wilkie, and Jane.
Alannah is an obsessive knitter and Scrabble player who loves a strong cup of English Breakfast tea. She makes a mean strawberry rhubarb pie and enjoys tinkering in her garden when time permits.
Email Alannah
Alannah loves to chat with her readers (please send cat photos!).
Send her an email at [email protected].
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The Santa Claws Bandit (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 5) Page 7
