“I don’t think she recognized you,” Granddad said.
“We only met once. She hired me to cater tomorrow night, a birthday dinner for her father, Oliver Naiman, over on Belleview Avenue. You know him?”
“Not well. He didn’t grow up here. His parents used the house as a summer home. So did he after he inherited it. He only moved here for good when he retired a few years ago. I didn’t know he had a daughter in Bayport.”
“She lives halfway between Annapolis and Washington. She visits him every weekend.”
“That’s good. His late wife was sick for a couple of years, and I’ve heard he’s not too well himself.” Granddad put on his hat. “Time for me to go bah humbug everyone.” He straightened up, as if steeling himself for an ordeal, and plunged into the growing crowd on Main Street.
“Stop by the Title Wave if you need a tea break during the day. And you’ll come to the volunteers’ tea this evening, won’t you?”
He nodded and went off.
Val hoped he wouldn’t get depressed from playing a dispiriting role. He had a way of becoming what he pretended to be. Shortly after she moved in with him, he wangled a job as the newspaper’s recipe columnist without knowing how to cook. He succeeded by using her recipes and cutting them down to five ingredients for his Codger Cook column. Since then, he’d learned to cook, largely through his mistakes. But he wasn’t content with acquiring one new skill in his seventies. After taking an online course in private investigation, he’d touted his sleuthing skills. His reputation as a detective had soared after his illegal snooping helped to catch a killer.
Would he now take on the personality of Scrooge? He already shared at least one trait with Dickens’s character. Granddad was a tightwad, reluctant to spend money on the house where he’d lived most of his life. Val had coaxed him into repairing the termite damage and remodeling a leaky bathroom, but she couldn’t get him to buy new furniture.
Even if Granddad adopted other Scrooge traits, Val was sure it wouldn’t last long. When Val’s brother’s family came from California for the holidays, Granddad would play Santa for his great-grandsons, ten and seven. And he was always generous to them.
Val spotted the booth where a friend, Chatty Ridenour, was showing her beauty products to a middle-aged couple. She worked as a massage therapist at the Bayport Racket and Fitness Club, where Val managed the café. Though Chatty wore exercise clothes most of the time, today’s purple jacket and long black dress almost made her look like a Victorian matron. Her mauve lipstick and gel eyeliner spoiled that illusion.
Val stood to the side of the booth as Chatty described moisturizers, cleansing lotions, hand creams, and heel balms to a redheaded woman. “I can give you a 30 percent discount on a gift pack of three items.”
The redhead turned to her male companion. “I haven’t bought a present for my sister yet. Do you think she’d like a gift pack of skin products?”
The man’s smile was tight-lipped. “I think you’d like them. Elaine wouldn’t use anything like that.”
The woman sighed. “You’re right. She’s impossible to buy for, but now you know what you can get for me.” She gave him a coquettish smile.
He chuckled. “I’ll add it to your already long list.”
Chatty spoke up, apparently fearing she’d lost a customer. “An experiential gift is perfect for someone who’s hard to buy for.” She pointed to a poster with photos showing her giving a variety of massages. “Your sister might enjoy an aromatherapy or a Swedish massage. I’m a licensed massage therapist. Here’s my card.”
The woman glanced at it. “You work near here. My sister lives on the other side of Annapolis. Too far to drive for a massage.”
It hit Val that this couple might be Elaine Naiman’s sister and brother-in-law. Elaine had mentioned they would be at the birthday dinner for their father tomorrow night, along with some neighbors.
She was about to introduce herself when Chatty said to them, “Would you two like a picture with Santa as a festival souvenir? He’s right over there.” Without waiting for a response, she waved Santa over to the booth.
He started toward it, stopped suddenly, and pointed down the street. “I see some kids over there. Don’t want to keep them waiting for Santa.” He hurried away.
The couple drifted toward the next vendor.
“You did your best to turn that couple into customers,” Val said, “but it was hopeless.”
Chatty sighed. “Speaking of hopeless, that cloak you’re wearing . . .”
“It’s warm. I was going to lend it to you because you’ll be out here all day.”
“No, thanks. And you should ditch it if you see Bram coming. By the way, have you gotten him a Christmas gift yet?”
“No.” Val had been seeing him for barely six weeks, not enough time to guess what he’d like or what he’d give her. Buying gifts was the most stressful part of Christmas. “Maybe I’ll take your advice and go for something experiential.”
“I bet he’d like a massage, and I wouldn’t mind kneading his shoulder muscles.” Chatty grinned. “Or, even better, I can give the two of you a lesson in couples massage. Don’t look horrified. It’s not risqué. I just show you how to give each other a therapeutic back rub.”
Val had a vision of Bram caressing her bare back. Her heart sped up. She willed it to decelerate. A massage would certainly send a message, but how would he receive it? “Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m looking for the happy medium between a couples massage and a poinsettia.”
As Chatty turned to help two young women at her booth, Val waved goodbye to her and browsed at other vendors’ booths without finding gifts for anyone on her list. She headed toward Title Wave, feeling guilty about leaving the tea party prep to Irene.
Granddad intercepted her.
“You’ll never guess what I saw.” He motioned for Val to turn the corner onto a side street, away from the crowd on the main drag. He glanced left and right as if checking if anyone was close enough to hear him. “I know why Elaine Naiman crashed into me. She wasn’t paying attention to what was right in front of her because she was following someone.”
Val shrugged. “Someone she wanted to catch up with, I guess.”
“Nope. When the woman she was following browsed at a booth, Elaine pretended to shop until the woman walked on, and then continued to trail her. I saw that same routine three times, so wipe the doubt off your face, Val.”
Her skepticism gave way to curiosity about her client. “Where did Elaine and the woman she was following go?”
Chapter 2
Granddad showered bah humbugs on several festival visitors before getting around to answering Val’s question. He always enjoyed keeping her in suspense. “I don’t know where Elaine ended up. When she stopped to fiddle with her phone, I took my eye off her and lost her and the other woman in the crowd.”
“What did the woman she was following look like?”
“Shorter than you, with long, dark hair. I was too far away to see her face.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe Elaine’s husband is cheating on her with this woman.”
“Elaine isn’t married.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open when you cater for her tomorrow night. You may pick up signs she’s not what she pretends. What kind of work does she do?”
“She’s a project manager for a tech firm.”
“That could be a cover for what she’s really up to.”
He must have watched a suspense movie from his vintage video collection recently. “Just because she followed someone, Granddad, doesn’t mean she’s a secret agent or a hit woman. You and I have shadowed people now and then.”
“Only when we suspected they were involved in a crime. Maybe Elaine thinks the woman is a crook. Even more reason for you to stay alert tomorrow night. If she spotted a criminal, she could be in danger, and so could anyone around her.”
The plot had thickened in his mind. “I’ll be on my guard, Granddad.” She checked her watch. “Time f
or me to get to work on the first tea party of the day.”
They went back to Main Street and headed in opposite directions.
She stopped to chat with her friend, Bethany O’Shay, who was dressed for caroling in a long, red skirt, a black jacket, and a green cape.
Val reached down to pet Bethany’s dog, a mutt with the look of a cocker spaniel and the personality of a lapdog. The dog’s reddish blond hair matched Bethany’s. “Are you taking Muffin caroling?”
“No, she’d want to sing too. I won’t get home until after dark, so I’m taking her for a long walk before we start caroling. Aren’t you supposed to be at the bookshop serving tea?”
“Irene’s there, getting everything ready. I should be helping her, but I’ve been dawdling.”
“I just ran into your cousin. Monique’s taking festival pictures for Bayport’s Web site, but don’t let her take a picture of you in that army blanket you’re wearing.”
Val patted her cloak. “Poor thing. Nobody loves you.” She turned to go and said, “Happy caroling, Bethany!”
Within minutes, Val was standing in front of the Title Wave. She approved of the decorations in the display window—books tied with ribbons. No empty wrapped boxes here, no wasted paper.
Hard to believe she’d visited Title Wave for the first time less than two months ago, when she’d come to discuss catering the shop’s grand opening party. Since then, she’d catered other get-togethers in the shop’s Coffee and Tea Corner, abbreviated as CAT Corner.
Val removed her frumpy cloak before she went inside the bookshop. Dorothy was ringing up sales in a high-collared shirtwaist, reminiscent of what Mary Poppins might wear under her long jacket. With chin-length silver hair, Dorothy was older than the English nanny but shared some traits with her. An efficient, sensible, and good-natured widow, she was fearless enough to open a bookstore at an age when most people retired.
Waving to her, Val continued toward the CAT Corner at the back. Dozens of people browsed in the shelves along the side walls and the tall bookcases in between. The festival was good for Dorothy’s business. Her son, Bram, stood in the children’s book aisle. He wore a black cravat at the neck of his white shirt, and a black, high-collared jacket. He’d parted his wavy, brown hair far to the side, an unfashionable style today, but perfect with his Victorian clothes. He was the festival’s Charles Dickens, but he looked more like Lord Byron than the grizzled Dickens shown in most portraits.
A cluster of children gathered around Bram as he performed a card trick and made a coin vanish from his hand.
Not bad. Val had never seen Bram do any magic tricks, though she knew he’d practiced them as a teen. He hadn’t mentioned dusting off his skills for the festival.
“You’re not a real magician,” the biggest girl in the group said. “They wear capes and tall black hats.”
He nodded. “Some dress like that, but not all magicians do. This is the Dickens festival, and I’m pretending to be Charles Dickens today. He gave his first magic show the same year he wrote A Christmas Carol.”
Val was surprised to learn Dickens had practiced magic.
The girl who’d questioned Bram shook her head at his response. “I saw a picture of Dickens. You don’t look anything like him. He had a funny gray beard.”
Val suppressed a laugh. How would Bram react to this challenge from the audience?
He nodded. “He grew a beard when he was older, but not when he was a young man and doing magic tricks to entertain his children.” Bram patted his pants pockets and looked around the room. “Does anyone remember where I put the jokers I showed you from the card deck?”
“In the pocket of your jacket,” a boy said.
Bram reached into his jacket pocket. “You’re right. Here they are.” He offered a card facedown to the girl who’d questioned him. “Here’s one joker for you and one for me. Turn yours over and show it to everyone.”
She stared at the card in amazement. “It’s Dickens, not a joker.” She held up the card, showing the author with his straggly beard and walrus mustache.
“Mine must be a joker.” Bram flipped over the other card, revealing a man whose clothes and hair looked like his. “It’s a portrait of the young Charles Dickens.”
“You do look a bit like him,” the girl grudgingly said.
The other children nodded.
“Thank you all for watching a little Dickens magic. If you tell me what kind of books you like, I’ll show you where you can find them in the shop.”
Val marveled at how he’d thrown himself into jobs he’d never expected to have. After selling his tech company, he’d come to Bayport in October, intending to stay only long enough to help his mother set up Title Wave. He’d planned to return to Silicon Valley and invest his time and money in another start-up. Instead, he was still here, serving as the shop’s accountant, public relations manager, head of sales, and whatever other role Dorothy needed him to take on.
After he pointed the children in various directions for books, she said, “I caught the tail end of your magic demonstration. Good show.”
“I’m just glad the tricks worked. I didn’t have long to practice. My mother came up with the idea yesterday. She thought magic tricks would keep the children occupied so their parents could shop for books.”
“Was the girl with the questions a plant to set up your final card trick?”
He mimed effrontery like a silent movie actor. “Magicians don’t do things like that . . . usually.” He cocked his head toward the back of the shop. “Your second-in-command is already busy in the CAT Corner.”
“You mean Irene? She’s number two at the Cool Down Café, but she’s in charge of the teas today. She ran an English tea shop for years on Main Street. I’m just the helper, and I’m running late.”
A woman with a child in tow approached them. “Do you have any books about dog training?”
Bram nodded. “I’ll show you where they are.”
“See you later.” Val slipped through the curtain that covered the opening to the CAT Corner.
Irene was filling tiered trays with savory and sweet treats for festival visitors who’d bought tickets for the four afternoon teas. The open-faced finger sandwiches were on one tray. Curried chicken salad sprinkled with chopped scallions. Smoked salmon topped with capers and red onion. Cucumber and radish garnished with watercress. Irene had made scones dotted with dried cranberries, and Val had baked raspberry tartlets that she’d brought over last night.
She smiled at the woman in the food prep area behind the counter. “Hi, Irene.”
The sixtyish woman looked at her over glasses that had slipped down her nose. “Good morning.” Her tone reminded Val of a teacher reprimanding a student late for class.
The food looked more festive than Irene. Her wardrobe, like her hair, consisted of shades of gray. Today she was in her Sunday-best gray—a charcoal midi skirt and a taupe blouse. In her one concession to the season, she wore a green enamel holly pin with red crystals for berries.
Whenever Irene sported even a smidge of color, Val encouraged it. “I like your pin a lot. Where did you get it?”
Irene fingered the pin. “Roger gave it to me for Christmas a few years back.”
“Your husband has good taste. Speaking of good taste, the treats look yummy. What do you want me to do?”
“Set the tables.” Irene pointed at the black cat on the windowsill. “And let her out the next time she has a mind to roam. I’ve opened the door for her to leave or come back three times already this morning.”
Val sympathized. She’d served as the cat’s doorwoman when she catered for book clubs here. The cat had two favorite spots—the upstairs apartment she shared with Bram and the CAT Corner. From the windowsill here, she had a view of the churchyard, where she’d lived as a stray until Bram found and adopted her. The door at the far end of the CAT Corner gave her quick access to the graveyard whenever she became nostalgic for her former home.
Val set three tabl
es for four and two tables for six with cups, saucers, and plates of old-fashioned china in two patterns. One set had belonged to Grandma and the other to Irene’s mother. Still feeling guilty for not arriving earlier to help Irene, Val said, “Do you want me to get the food ready for the later tea parties? Then you can take a long break.”
“Fine with me. I’d like to visit the festival booths and shop for gifts.”
“I did that on the way here, which is one reason I’m behind schedule. Also, Granddad and I ran into Santa Claus, who had more to say than just ho ho ho.”
“That man! If he comes to the tea we’re doing for the volunteers this evening, I’m leaving early. I can’t stand to be in the same room with him.”
“I doubt if he’ll last until the volunteers’ tea. He has a bad cold.”
* * *
Six hours and four tea parties later, Val set the table for the volunteers’ tea. More than half of them had called to say they were too tired or busy to come to the tea, so one table for six would suffice.
The first volunteer to arrive was a middle-aged woman Val had glimpsed in the shop pretending to be a Dickens character. The woman wore a white gown and a lace veil that framed her small face. She greeted Val and Irene, and introduced herself as Holly Atherson.
As she sat down, Santa and Mrs. Claus arrived. Contrary to Val’s prediction, Jake had either lasted all day at the festival or gone home for a nap in the middle. His nose and eyes were redder than earlier, but he was upright.
Irene, who was behind the counter with Val, scowled at him.
He didn’t even glance at them. Maybe he thought women serving tea not worth his attention.
Jewel said, “Hi, y’all.”
He took the seat at the head of the table, coughed without covering his mouth, and turned to the woman sitting on his left. “Hi. I’m Jake Smith under the Santa suit. And my wife, Jewel.”
The woman in white studied Jake intently with her prominent eyes. “I’m Holly Atherson.” Her lips barely moved as she spoke.
Jewel tapped on the table, her fingers dancing like a chorus line with asynchronous kicks. “You’re dressed like a bride. I don’t remember any bride in A Christmas Carol, and I saw the movie twice.”
Gingerdead Man Page 2
