But the mayor did not seem to hear him. Instead he puffed his pipe and hummed a tune about summer rains. His lips were purple. Martin’s own lips, he was sure, had drained of color.
“Come on, why don’t we come inside?” he suggested, taking the mayor by the arm and pulling him to his feet.
“I suppose it is time for me to get dressed,” the mayor said. “I have a full day of work ahead of me.”
Martin slid the glass door open and guided the mayor inside. He quickly poured him a cup of coffee and insisted he drink it immediately. After a few moments, color returned to the mayor’s face.
“Sir, it’s Christmas morning,” Martin said. “It’s not summertime.”
“Can’t you hear the birds whistling? The grass is so green! The sky so blue! It’s going to be a terrific day in the town of Skary, Indiana!”
Martin gulped down a ball of fear.
CHAPTER 8
AINSLEY SCURRIED ABOUT the house, trying to decide exactly how to set the table. She knew Alfred would be joining them, and that Butch, her ever-mysterious covert brother, was planning on being there too. Melb was loitering around the kitchen—surely she would spend Christmas with Oliver! But she didn’t look as though she was leaving anytime soon.
Chewing on a fingernail, she decided to go ahead with place settings for six. That was safe. She didn’t want to put the extra leaf in the table; it would ruin the decorations she’d fashioned for the smaller version of the table. But six could easily sit around the gleaming hardwood. Worriedly, she glanced into the kitchen at Melb, who was staring into the oven at the turkey.
“Melb, isn’t Oliver going to be worried about you?”
“I can’t face him yet,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell him about being over budget.”
“Look,” Ainsley said, “don’t do it today. Christmas is never a good day to break news to people. Get through the holidays, and then sit down and talk with him. He’ll understand.”
“When’s this turkey going to be done?”
Ainsley sighed. “Another couple of hours.”
A knock interrupted Melb’s next question, which Ainsley thought was going to be about the pumpkin pie. Hoping it was Wolfe, she couldn’t help but show surprise at what stood in her doorway. It was Martin Blarty, dressed in a sweater seemingly made of cologne, and the mayor, in his pajamas.
“Is your father home?” Martin asked, his eyes intense with worry.
She ushered the two in and called for her father, who was upstairs with a ball of yarn trying to induce excitement out of Thief. When the sheriff came down, Martin greeted him at the end of the stairs.
“He’s lost his mind,” Martin whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
His statement was met by skeptical looks until the mayor walked to the window, looked outside, and said, “It looks like a balmy afternoon, folks. At least in the seventies, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s morning,” Melb blurted out. Indeed it was. And with the heavy snow that fell last night, no one could imagine what the mayor was talking about.
“He thinks it’s summer,” Martin said. “I found him outside on his lawn chair smoking a pipe in his pajamas.”
“My goodness,” Ainsley gasped, holding her hand over her mouth. But the mayor seemed completely oblivious to all the concern. “Dad, what should we do?” she pleaded in a low whisper. Everyone but the mayor had gathered around the sheriff.
“There aren’t going to be any doctors available today,” the sheriff sighed. “We could take him to the emergency room at the county hospital, but knowing the mayor like I do, he would kill me if I made a fuss over him like that.”
“He’s having a nervous breakdown,” Martin said. “He’s been depressed lately, over the town, but I never imagined it would come to this.”
“Let’s just watch him today,” the sheriff said, studying the mayor as he stood almost catatonic at the window. “Keep an eye on him. If he doesn’t improve soon, we’ll take him to the hospital.”
Sorrow filled Martin’s eyes as he looked at the mayor. “I can’t believe this has happened. I should’ve seen this coming.”
“Martin, nobody could see something like this coming. He’ll be okay. The mayor is a resilient man.”
“I know,” Martin nodded. He looked at Melb and the sheriff. “Can we please just keep this a secret? I don’t want the mayor humiliated.”
Everyone agreed. Then the sheriff said, “Martin, why don’t you two stay here for Christmas dinner? I know the mayor always cooks a turkey for you all.”
“Fried turkey,” Martin sighed. “And I brought green bean casserole. Melb was going to bring the rolls. I think Oliver was fixing a pie.”
“We have plenty,” said the sheriff, giving a nod toward Ainsley. “She always fixes like were feeding an army.”
Ainsley managed a polite smile. Where was everyone going to sit? And where in the world was Wolfe?
Wolfe stood on his front porch watching the oldest woman he knew shiver as though she were cloaked in snow. The poor circulation probably accounted for her pale complexion too, because though it was cold, Missy Peeple was bundled like a mummy. It was going to be hard to speak with her out here for fear she might freeze to death in mid-sentence. Yet the memories were fresh from the last time he’d invited her into his house. She’d ended up at the hospital, and he nearly ended up in jail.
“Miss Peeple,” he said sternly, “I’m not sure I want to talk to you. It seems everything that comes out of your mouth causes trouble. Besides, it’s Christmas. Don’t you have someplace to be?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “I’m the only remaining member of my family.”
Great. He sighed. Lonely old lady needing attention on Christmas morning. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to have a frank discussion with you,” she said through chattering teeth. Wolfe couldn’t stand it any longer. He wasn’t about to have this woman pass out twice at his house. He invited her in despite his renewed angst.
The warm fire drew her, and she stood there for a moment before unwrapping two scarves and unbuttoning her coat. From inside her coat, she removed a lavishly decorated gift.
“This is for you,” she said.
Wolfe tried not to let his eyes roll. Accepting gifts from this woman was like taking money from the mob. Eventually it was going to catch up to you. “You brought me a gift?”
“Go ahead, open it,” she urged.
With great trepidation, he opened the gift. Half expecting toy snakes to fly out, he would’ve been less surprised at that choice than what was actually inside the box. “You, um … you bought me a copy of my own book?”
“Not just any book, Mr. Boone. Your greatest book ever. Black Cats.”
“Okay … why?”
“Because I want you to know how much it has inspired me. This town can make a turn, Mr. Boone. But we need your help.”
“Something about the word we makes me nervous, Miss Peeple. What have you got planned now?”
“Just to save this town. By making it known for its cats. Others have not seen my vision, but I thought you might, since you wrote a whole book about them.”
Wolfe suppressed a chuckle. The woman was adamant. “I appreciate your fortitude, Miss Peeple. Obviously, no one cares more about this town than you. You’ve proved you will stop at nothing to save it. But we can’t always be the savior.”
This brought a ferocious scowl to the already severe features of Missy Peeple. “No one understands,” she said. “I can save this town if given a chance. I know how to make it famous again. And all these crazy felines running around here can help us.”
He shook his head. “I can only imagine what you’ve stirred up in that head of yours. I want no part of it. God Almighty knows what this town needs. He has Skary’s best interest at heart. And I know He has a plan that doesn’t include your mischief.”
A small, satisfactory smile appeared on her face at his last word. Her nose li
fted high in the air as if the way she stood beckoned to be noticed. It did not. She was wobbly and weak, and if she hadn’t had a cane in her hand, it was not certain that she could make it across the room. Still, there was a semblance of importance that did not go unnoticed by Wolfe and others.
The novelist in him could not deny he was curious about this woman, what made her tick. Perhaps the truth would be scarier than anything he’d ever written about!
“Merry Christmas,” she said as she walked to the door. “Just know, my friend, that the key to saving this city is within the pages of your book.”
Wolfe opened the door for her, but did not say anything. This woman had something up her sleeve, once again.
Back at home a half hour later, Missy Peeple stirred her hot cocoa as she gazed out her bedroom window, watching people of all ages swarm into Blinkland next door. What was it about Mr. Turner that was so appealing to all his relatives? He had lived next to her for thirty-something years. They’d never gotten along. He was fifteen years younger than she, but his hair was frosty white, which did little to explain away the “winter flakes” that always covered the shoulders of his dark sweaters. Though he was continuously smiling, it only accentuated the fact that his nose hairs hadn’t seen clippers and his mouth hadn’t seen a mint in a decade. Yet every Christmas, oodles of people came to see him.
Sighing, she closed her curtains. From the corner of her eye, she caught the small, framed picture of her dear sister, Sissy. They’d spent holidays together before she died, though they never put up a Christmas tree or lights, or even gave each other presents. But at least it was somebody.
She picked up the picture, but she stared into the eyes of distant memories. She thought it so odd how childhood memories could seem so near, yet the events of yesterday could’ve been a century ago. Old age did strange things to people. Luckily, she hadn’t hit old age yet, unlike her neighbor, who was so needy he made everyone drop what they were doing to come visit him on one of the coldest days of the year. A little self-awareness might do the poor fellow some good.
Missy poked at her bun and set Sissy’s picture down. She was never one to second-guess herself, but she had to admit, her visit to Wolfe Boone was extraordinarily risky. What it was about that man that made her take such risks still baffled her. He baffled her. It amazed her that a man could throw away years of work that had led him into what every person in their right mind wanted in life. And not only that, throw away the entire identity of a town without a second thought. That kind of lack of regard fascinated her, and there was a certain strength in it that she found tantalizing.
Perhaps that is what had led her up the steps of his house and into his living room. Maybe that is what made her risk everything to give him that book. Little did he realize what truly lay in the pages of that book. He didn’t understand that inside was the key to saving the town.
It would be a last resort. There were other ways, and if people would listen to her, Skary would thrive again. But she was beginning to get that sinking feeling that nobody would listen to her anymore.
Thus, radical steps.
She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Because if it did, life would never be the same for her again.
CHAPTER 9
WOLFE WAS SURPRISED when he finally got to Ainsley’s house and Oliver answered the door, a grim look on his face. “Things aren’t good,” he said, greeting Wolfe with a handshake.
“What’s wrong?” Wolfe looked over the top of Oliver’s bald head to find a crowd of people in the living room. “Why is everyone here?”
“It’s a long story,” Oliver sighed.
But he didn’t have to wait long to find one thing out of place, besides all the people that were supposed to be at their own homes celebrating Christmas. Mayor Wullisworth stood in the middle of the room in his pajamas. And there was something odd about his face. It was bright and cheery. Mayor Wullisworth, by all previous impressions, never seemed to be the jovial type. Wolfe’s eyes quickly scanned the room.
Garth! What was Garth doing here? The sheriff had Ainsley’s former suitor in one corner, talking up something serious. Wolfe sighed. That man was the last person on earth he wanted to see, especially on Christmas.
Alfred stood in another corner, scanning the bookshelves and drinking an eggnog. Melb Cornforth was pacing nervously while holding a sliver of pie on a plate. Butch was checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. And Martin Blarty looked as though he’d just seen a ghost.
“Excuse me,” Wolfe said, rushing past Oliver and going into the kitchen, hoping to find Ainsley. She was in there, but, as he could’ve guessed, the Christmas cheer that put color into her cheeks had drained away.
“Are you all right?” he asked, turning her shoulders to him.
She looked up into his eyes. “Where have you been?” Her chin quivered.
“I’ll tell you later.” Wolfe sighed. “I am so sorry I’m late. What is going on?”
She pulled him into the pantry. Tears brimmed on her bottom lashes. “This is a nightmare!” she cried. “All these people! I planned for three other people for Christmas dinner, and then four when Alfred showed up, and now I’ve got … I’ve got … How many people are out there?”
Wolfe pulled her near and held her tight. She cried into his chest, then looked up at him. He said, “You can do this. I know you can.”
She sniffled. “I know. But it’s just not what I planned.”
“Is there going to be enough food? Should I run home and get something?”
She shook her head. “Ollie, Melb, and Martin all brought their dishes, and I do have a pretty big bird. I can easily make a few more side dishes.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but what is going on out there?”
She wiped her tears. “Apparently Mayor Wullisworth is having some sort of meltdown. I don’t know. And then Dad brought Garth over because Thief hasn’t been acting himself lately. This just isn’t how I pictured our first Christmas together.”
“Sweetheart, as long as I’m with you, I don’t care what else happens. Your house glitters and shines with all that is magical about Christmas. It’s like something out of a magazine. But as long as you are in my arms, that’s all I want.”
She swallowed back more tears and smiled. “I know. Me too.”
“And the more people that are here, the more there are to appreciate what hard work you’ve put into the house to make it look like heaven.”
She laughed, then looked at him sheepishly. “Did you see the manger scene I set up over the fireplace? I made it glow by adding lights under the cotton material I laid out.”
He squeezed her hand and led her out of the pantry. “I’ll go look at it right now. Do you need any help in the kitchen?”
“No, I’m okay. I’m putting you in charge of crowd control though,” she smiled. But her smile faded a little. “I swear, if one more person shows up for dinner, I’m going to—”
But before she could get the entire sentence out, Melb rushed up to them, her eyes wide with impending news.
“Set another place. Martin just went to get the reverend.”
“Why?”
“Something about an exorcism.”
Ainsley rushed passed Wolfe and into the living room. Her father was still speaking to Garth about Thief when she pulled him to the side.
“What is this about an exorcism?” she asked, hardly able to hide the tension in her voice.
The sheriff rubbed his chin, glancing down at her. “Hmmm. Had never thought of it before, but maybe that’s what would get Thief back on his feet.” This brought a wry smile to Garth’s lips. It quickly faded as Ainsley shot him a look.
Suppressing her exasperation, she said, “I don’t think it’s for Thief.” She gestured toward the mayor, who was sniffing the Christmas tree as if it were a huge bouquet of daisies.
“Oh.” The sheriff shrugged. “Well, whatever works.”
“Dad! It is Christmas! I will not have an exorcism in th
is house on Christmas!”
“Lower your voice,” the sheriff said as a few people glanced their way. “Honey, can’t you see there is something wrong with the mayor?”
“I realize that,” she scowled. “But we are supposed to be roasting chestnuts on an open fire, not casting demons into one.”
The sheriff pulled her into a side hug. “I know how much Christmas means to you, and how you always want everything to go perfectly. You are so much like your mother. Tell you what. I’ll speak to the reverend and make sure no exorcisms take place until after we eat.”
She wanted to cry all over again, but her anger was crowding the tears out. Was the whole world going mad? She was just about to lose her temper when the reverend walked in with a somber expression that quieted the whole room. He looked at the mayor with a compassion that suddenly reminded her of the human being standing by the tree in his pajamas. She watched as the reverend patted the mayor on the back, then looked at the crowd as if the only thing that mattered in the world was this man.
Guilt now replaced anger, and she sighed, walking back into the kitchen. Melb was in there and said, “The flag popped up. Turkeys ready.”
Ainsley pulled on her oven mitts. “Thanks.”
Melb Cornforth stared at the giblet gravy, her hand hovering over the fancy silver ladle. She then stared down at her plate. She’d chosen white meat over dark and two rolls minus the butter, skipped the mashed potatoes, and gotten the green bean casserole instead, which looked very curious with onion rings on top and some kind of lumpy creamed concoction floating the beans. She also had a nice pile of pimentos, her favorite condiment, thanks to Ainsley being generous enough to let her raid the pantry. She’d cut a lot of calories, but the giblet gravy beckoned her.
“Sweetie pie, you okay there?” Oliver asked.
“I’m fine,” she breathed. “I, um, I’m just deciding on the gravy.” “Oh.”
Seconds ticked by, and she was suddenly aware that the line behind her was now waiting for the gravy. She bit her lip. She couldn’t remember ever eating turkey without giblet gravy.
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