Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  “So it’s a go?” Alfred asked.

  “Alfred, give us a couple of days, will you?” she said, aware of Wolfe’s growing frustration. “It’s Christmas, and we shouldn’t be focused on such things.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right.” Alfred stood, sliding on his gloves. “Okay. I will call you in a couple of days.”

  She shook his hand. “Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate your confidence in my abilities.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Have a Merry Christmas.”

  “Um … yeah …”

  She stopped him as he pulled on his coat. “Alfred, what are you doing for Christmas? Where are you staying?”

  “Oh, just up at the motel they ripped off from Wolfe’s The Gleaming. Previously called The Wonderlook, but now I think they’re calling it wonder-if-we’re-booked’.” Alfred was the only one laughing at his joke.

  “But what are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

  “He’s fine, he’s fine,” Wolfe said, trying to usher Alfred to the door. “Alfred hates Christmas, right?” “Right.”

  “Wrong! Nobody I know hates Christmas. Alfred Tennison, you must join us for Christmas lunch tomorrow.”

  She did not miss Wolfe’s obvious eye roll, but how could she let the poor man spend Christmas alone? “I insist,” she added.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I know that is family time for you,” Alfred said, looking at Wolfe.

  “Yes. Family time. Now run along.”

  “Wolfe, tell him he has to stay. We’ll have plenty of food.”

  Wolfe shot her a look, but minding his manners as she knew he would, he said, though rather meekly, “Yes. We insist.”

  Alfred grinned. “Well, my goodness, how could I miss out on an opportunity to spend Christmas with the most famous caterer in all of Indiana?”

  With a groan, he guided Alfred to the door. Ainsley stood behind him, her arms entangled with his.

  “Good night, Alfred. See you tomorrow,” Wolfe said. “And listen, no talking catering or business or anything else tomorrow, okay? I won’t even discuss my writing.”

  Alfred smiled. “You are sooo yesterday. Take a look at Skary’s new claim to fame. She’s the gorgeous blonde standing behind you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  WOLFE PULLED THE WARM COVERS over his body, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep. His eyes were heavy with the remnants of the hefty conversation with Ainsley last night after Alfred left. He didn’t get home until after 2:00 a.m.

  But sleep eluded him. It was, after all, Christmas morning. Wolfe stretched his arms over his head and smiled, imagining that in just a few years, a little boy, or maybe a girl, would be tugging at his pajamas whispering that Santa Claus had come. “Get up, Daddy!” He would touch Ainsley’s arm, who would lazily roll over into his shoulder and cup their little one’s face.

  But for now, he would have to settle for Goose and Bunny, his German shepherds, who stood next to his bed whimpering out their bladder pain.

  “Okay, okay,” he said to them. “Give me just a minute.” He pulled on some warm pants and a sweater and then went downstairs to put on some boots. He thought about making himself a cup of coffee first, but by the way his dogs’ ears were urgently perked, he realized he’d better take them for their morning walk now. And there was no just letting them out the back door. He’d failed to walk them yesterday. Today he was not getting off the hook.

  Outside, he was delighted to see it had snowed. He thought after his last experience with snow he might not ever want to see it again, but he couldn’t deny the beauty of a white blanket covering the landscape.

  Goose and Bunny were enjoying their usual romp outside their normal boundaries as they walked the quiet streets of Skary. He couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of spending Christmas Day with Ainsley. He’d always liked the holidays, but since his parents died, he’d spent them alone, usually going over picture albums. He liked listening to Christmas music, and a couple of years had actually fixed himself a simple traditional dinner.

  But this year … This year was going to be magical. Ainsley’s home replicated the North Pole with all its lavish decorations. One day soon, she would do the same thing to his home. Their home. The smile widened on his face.

  God had blessed him more than he could ever imagine. And the wedding wasn’t even here yet.

  Wolfe decided on his way home to stop by Reverend Peck’s parsonage. He knew the reverend rose early. He softly knocked on the door, and after a few seconds the reverend answered, beaming at the unexpected company. Wolfe ordered Goose and Bunny home and then accepted the reverend’s invitation to come in.

  “Merry Christmas, Wolfe!” The reverend embraced him enthusiastically, but Wolfe noticed he looked very tired and had dark purple circles under his eyes.

  “Reverend Peck, are you all right? You look tired.”

  The reverend smiled as they sat at the small breakfast table near a large bay window that was filtering in the morning light. “I am tired. I was up all night.”

  “Sick?”

  “No, not sick. Inspired.”

  “Really?”

  “I know how to fix my church,” Reverend Peck said, a twinkle in his eye. “I know how to get people to come.”

  “How?”

  “Can’t tell you. I’m still working on the plan. But it hit me last night. It all came rushing to me like a giant wave.”

  Wolfe nodded, his curiosity piqued. “Well, I can’t wait to see what happens.”

  “Coffee?” the reverend asked.

  “No, thanks. But Reverend, may I ask where you will be spending Christmas this year?”

  “Here,” he smiled. “Now don’t go feeling sorry for me. Every year I get invited somewhere. But this year I thought I’d spend it with the Lord. Quietly.”

  “You’re sure?” Wolfe asked. “You know Ainsley will be very upset if she knows you’re here by yourself.”

  “Don’t tell her,” the reverend said. He grinned, and Wolfe couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the reverend this enthusiastic. He couldn’t help but wonder what the grand plan was. “But maybe you can drop by a plate of leftovers later.”

  “I’ll make sure I do that,” Wolfe said, standing and shaking his hand. “Have a merry Christmas, Reverend.”

  “It will be a Christmas I’ll never forget.”

  “See?” her father said, worry carving deep creases into his brow. “Nothing.”

  Ainsley and her father stood over Thief, who was flopped across the sheriff’s bed in his typical lazy way. Ainsley wasn’t sure what exactly her father was referring to. Cats by nature were lazy, and why Thief lying on the bed was any need for concern, she didn’t understand. But her father had been complaining that Thief hadn’t been himself since the surgery.

  “It’s only been a couple of days,” she said, patting her father’s shoulder. “Give him time.”

  The sheriff glanced at her. “It is a traumatic operation, I guess.”

  “Sure,” she said. “He’ll be back to his old self soon.”

  He stroked the cat’s body tenderly. “I just hope he’s okay.”

  “It’s Christmas morning, Daddy. Don’t worry about it today, okay?”

  They left the room together. “Let’s go downstairs. I have a present for you.”

  Her heart leapt the same way it had when she was a little girl. She loved this time of morning, when they’d go downstairs, drink gourmet coffee, open presents, and eat the special Christmas pastry she would bake. She galloped downstairs and to the tree.

  It sparkled in the morning light. She’d chosen silver to be her theme this year, and it was gorgeous. With just a bit of gold thrown in, their whole tree seemed to glow with heavenly snow.

  “Here,” her father said, handing her a small box, wrapped with the clumsiness of a male. She smiled. Her dad had never figured out how to make crisp corners or use invisible tape. She carefully unwrapped it. Inside there was a beautiful floral journal. She looked up at h
im. “A journal. You know how I love journals! I can record all my thoughts about the wedding.”

  He grinned. “Open it up.”

  Ainsley carefully picked up the journal, opened it, and gasped. Her mother’s handwriting filled the pages. She looked at her dad.

  “I’ve been waiting to give this to you until you were to be married. This was your mother’s journal that she kept while we were engaged, all the way up to our wedding day.”

  Tears blurred her vision, and she embraced her father, holding him tightly. After a few moments, he combed the hair out of her face and said, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded but couldn’t speak. As excited as she was about getting married, she also knew it meant leaving her father, something she’d wanted to do for years but now realized was going to be harder than she’d realized. Imagining him alone in this old house tore her heart to shreds.

  “Daddy,” she cried, “this is so perfect. I can’t wait to read it.”

  “I hope it brings you some guidance as you plan your own wedding.”

  She sniffled away her tears and then handed her father his present. Without regarding the silk bow or silver wrapping, he tore it open. She couldn’t help but smile. Luckily, she wrapped packages like that for her own satisfaction.

  “A cookbook?” her father asked with a laugh.

  “Not just any cookbook. The Male Species Guide to Cooking Anything.”

  The sheriff smiled. “I guess it’s time for me to learn the kitchen,” he sighed. “I know I’ll get tired of making myself cold cereal after a while.”

  “I love you, Dad,” she said, hugging him. “I’d better get to the kitchen myself. I have a big feast to prepare. By the way, Alfred Tennison will be joining us.”

  “Wolfe’s editor?”

  “Ex-editor. And I know, I know, Christmas is family time, but Alfred didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas, and he’s practically family to Wolfe.”

  “That’s fine, sweetheart,” he said. “You know what’s best.”

  Just as she was headed for the kitchen, the doorbell rang. She checked her watch. She didn’t expect Wolfe this early but would be glad to see him no matter what the time.

  Opening the door, she found Melb there heaving out sobs while trying to explain something that Ainsley couldn’t understand. She pulled her inside the house.

  “Melb, calm down. Calm down. Please. Take a deep breath. Are you okay?” She couldn’t remember ever seeing anybody this upset.

  Melb’s whole face was red and splotchy, her eyes bloodshot. “Oh, Ainsley,” she finally managed, “it’s all so terrible.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oliver!”

  Ainsley guided her into the living room, shooing her curious dad back into the kitchen. Taking her coat, she sat them both onto the couch. “Did you two have a fight?”

  “Not really,” Melb said. “Oliver doesn’t know I’m upset.”

  “Why are you upset?”

  “I just … I just don’t know if I can marry a man who is so frugal with his money. I mean, the man is saving us hundreds of dollars on this wedding.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  Melb eyed her. “I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t have to worry about money.”

  “Melb,” she said, “please, tell me what this is about. I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

  Melb shook her head. “Oliver is brilliant with money. He set up this account and this budget for us to plan our wedding.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “I guess. But I found this beautiful dress, Ainsley. My dream dress. But I went $550 over budget.”

  “Oh. Well, Oliver will understand.”

  “I thought he might. But then he told me he saved a bunch of money and was able to get us a horse-drawn carriage. And then I found out he also saved us four hundred dollars on our honeymoon.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the Bass Pro Shop up in Cincinnati.”

  Ainsley was about to say something but decided to each his own.

  “Anyway, he got some great deal on hotel rates there.” Melb sniffled. “He’s going to kill me!”

  “Over a dress?”

  “That’s not all. I also received the invitations in the mail.”

  “How exciting!”

  “Except I spelled Oliver’s last name wrong! I left out a couple of o’s and a p, I think.” Melb melted into sobs again. “I’m going to have to pay for them to be reprinted!”

  “Melb, Melb,” she said, patting her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She shook her head. “No. He’s going to think I’m some crazy woman who doesn’t know how to live on a budget.” She glanced at Ainsley. “And I am some crazy woman who doesn’t know how to live on a budget. I’ve never lived by a budget my whole life, Ainsley. I don’t know how!”

  Ainsley squeezed her hand, not sure what to say, except, “Melb, I do know your best bet is to be honest with Oliver.”

  “I don’t know,” Melb sighed, swiping at her tears. “Besides that, I have to lose four dress sizes by Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’m overly emotional because I’ve been depriving myself of sugar lately.”

  “Listen, everything is going to be okay. I know planning a wedding is stressful—”

  “You’re not stressed out.”

  “That’s not true. I have a lot to do before the big day.”

  “Your wedding is going to be perfect.”

  “So is yours,” Ainsley said, squaring Melb’s shoulders directly to her. “Melb, you are marrying the most awesome guy in the world!”

  A small smile erased Melb’s panic-stricken features. “I know.” The smile wilted. “I don’t know if I can live up to him.”

  “He’s just as lucky to have you. You are caring, tender, passionate. The guy is crazy about you, Melb. Don’t forget that.”

  “Okay.” She stood, but instead of heading to the front door, she went to the kitchen. Luckily, Sheriff Parker had disappeared upstairs to get dressed. “I smell some sort of pastry with cream cheese.”

  Ainsley pointed to the oven. “Breakfast.”

  “I’d love some. But just a small serving.”

  Martin Blarty awoke to the feeling of being attacked by birds. He screamed and flailed his arms until he realized it wasn’t birds, just massive amounts of paper on top of him. He’d fallen asleep the night before, doing research about the town while listening to an owl hooting outside his window. That made for a terrifying dream this morning, and now a mess of papers in a pile next to the couch.

  Martin’s back ached, and his eyes were practically glued shut, but he rose anyway. It was Christmas morning, and he always spent it with Mayor Wullisworth. This year Oliver and Melb would join them too. Just the thought of spending Christmas with his closest friends caused the sleepiness to fade. After a quick shower, Martin dressed, even put cologne on, and then went to the living room to gather presents for everyone.

  The vase in the corner will do nicely for Melb, he thought, and took it, packaging it carefully with bubble wrap before putting it in a box and wrapping it up. For Oliver, he decided on the nice Oriental print of a large fish his great Aunt June had given him three birthdays ago. Oliver always said he wanted to travel the world. For the mayor, he decided on a biography of Rudolph Giuliani. Martin had read it three times and figured it might inspire the mayor that he could be a good leader through tough times.

  There. Christmas shopping done. He hated waiting until the last minute, but it had been a busy winter.

  Then he went to the refrigerator to get his green bean casserole. He knew the mayor would be fixing his world-famous fried turkey, which everyone always anticipated. This was Martins first year to do green beans. Usually he brought the rolls. But Oliver said Melb was fond of bread, so Martin decided to be generous and let Melb be in charge of that.

  Surprisingly, the green bean casserole was not hard to make. The recipe on the side of the green bean c
an said to add some sort of cream-of soup. At the store, he’d decided on clam chowder. That was his favorite soup anyhow, and who in the world would like cream of celery? Those green stringy stalks were hard enough to eat with peanut butter. The recipe had also called for fried onions on the top, so he was fairly sure he could get away with onion rings from Big Bess’s Burger Joint. He’d laid them on top in a very precise way, a pattern resembling the Olympic rings.

  After putting everything in his car, he drove over to the mayor’s house, humming along to gleeful Christmas tunes on the radio. On his way over, he thought about his research on the town of Skary last night. It perplexed him how little information there was. He’d spent the evening at the town hall, trying to come up with some sort of history, but there wasn’t much to go on. Where had all the papers gone? Entire folders lay empty in the filing drawers. But a layer of dust on everything indicated these folders hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

  He forced the thoughts out of his mind. This was Christmas. There would be time to worry about Skary on another day.

  Pulling into the mayor’s driveway, he loaded his arms with presents and the casserole and went to the door. When there was no answer to his first ring, he pressed the doorbell again. Again no answer. And he was growing colder by the minute. Maybe the mayor was in the shower, though legend had it he showered only on Tuesdays.

  He decided to go around to the other side of the house. Maybe he could see in through a window. Tromping through the snow, he went to the back porch and gasped. He didn’t have to look through a window to find the mayor. There he was, sitting in his pajamas and smoking a pipe on a snow-covered lawn chair. His skin was tinted blue.

  “Mayor!” Martin cried, rushing to him. The mayor turned, regarding him with a wave of his pipe.

  “Martin! Top of the morning to you!”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Enjoying a beautiful and sunny summer morning.”

  Martin stood there, shivering beneath his wool coat. “Excuse me?”

  “Would you like to join me?”

  “Mayor, it is thirty degrees out here. There’s snow everywhere. It’s … it’s Christmas morning.”