by Kacey Gene
“I never expect to see an angel, and then you appear,” Bradley sweetly says, reaching out and grabbing Jennifer by the hand. “But I guess that’s the way angels work.” He gestures to the open spot across from him, gives her his full attention and says, “I’m guessing you’re here to talk about the fella who was murdered.”
This is what Jennifer loves about Bradley. He’s a straight-shooter. No small talk, just right to the point.
“I am,” Jennifer says.
“But the question is, which one do you want to know about?” Bradley asks, and Jennifer almost falls out of the seat she’s just taken. Somehow, Bradley knows about both murders. She doesn’t even understand how that’s possible seeing that the murder of the man in 9N was just discovered a few hours ago. “Oh, yes,” Bradley says when he sees her surprise. “I know all about Fred and Earl.” He takes a proud swig of his coffee and confidently leans back.
The man in 9N must be named Earl, Jennifer thinks, and she stores this in her memory so she can tell Jake all these details when she returns to their table.
“You see, Fred and Earl were Santas together way back in the day.”
“What?” Jennifer says, cursing herself for not having brought her purse with her; then she could take out her pen and notepad and write this down.
“Oh, yes,” Bradley says, “about thirty years ago -- before your sweet face was born,” he says, winking at Jennifer. “Fred and Earl were the talk of the town when it came to playing Santa. In fact, it was right around when you were born that they took their Santa Clausing to Chicago. Went to some fancy department store downtown, and they never did dress the part back in Middlebridge again. A shame if you ask me,” Bradley says.
“Did you know Fred and Earl?” Jennifer asks, trying to suss out where Bradley might be getting his information -- from himself or a different source.
“I knew them a while back, but I haven’t spoken to either of them for over ten years. That’s when they had their falling out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never got all the details, but something with Fred’s brother. He wanted a building of theirs, and Earl refused. Drove a wedge between Fred’s brother and Earl, which drove a wedge between Fred and Earl.”
“Really?” Jennifer says, completely enthralled.
“But the way I hear it,” Bradley says, leaning in, “Fred and Earl made up. And Fred’s brother got kicked to the friendship curb. That’s what I hear; although, you know I’m not one to listen to gossip.”
As Bradley pours information out of him, Jennifer tells herself to commit this all to memory: Fred and Earl were Santas together. Fred has a brother. The brother caused issues between Fred and Earl.
“Do you know Fred’s brother’s name by any chance?”
Bradley scratches his nose that has broken blood vessels at the tip of it. The skin on his face hangs loose like an unused sail, and his lips are peeling and cracked. “You know, I can’t recall his name. He never lived here, and I don’t take much bother with people that don’t take much bother with our town.”
“I can understand that,” Jennifer says, smiling at his earnest responses.
“There’s that smile I love,” Bradley says. “Now, when are you going to dump that old dud Jake and come be my girlfriend?”
“Come on, Bradley,” Jennifer says. “You know Jake and I are just friends. And if I were going to have eyes for anyone, it would be you.”
“Not what I hear,” Bradley says, and then he impishly takes a swig of his coffee.
“What exactly have you heard?” Jennifer asks.
“Oh, you know,” Bradley says, “just that you’ve got a possible date with that new guy in town. The teacher. Matt Kiley.”
“How in the world do you know about that?” Jennifer asks, completely floored by the powers of knowledge that Bradley possesses. “And Matt Kiley has been here for two years,” Jennifer says. “I don’t think we can still call him ‘new’ anymore.”
“I can call him whatever I want since he’s trying to steal the girl I love,” Bradley says. “And the way I see it, he doesn’t talk to anyone in town, he’s not on any teams or committees, and he’s never at town events, so that makes him as new as a stranger that came to town today.”
“Who are you gossiping about now?” Judy asks, coming over to Bradley’s table and putting down a bowl of steaming oatmeal and a side of nuts and fresh berries.
Bradley slides his meal in front of him, and Jennifer half expects him to ignore Judy’s question. She knows Bradley has been coming in here for decades, but that doesn’t mean he feels indebted to socialize with anyone he doesn’t see fit to socialize with.
“Just commenting on our favorite girl Jennifer here possibly going on a date with that non-town-participant Matt Kiley,” Bradley says.
“You’re going out with Matt Kiley? The teacher?” Judy asks, but it’s not surprise or even wonder in her voice when she asks this. There’s something else. A worry. A strain. And it gives Jennifer pause.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,”Jennifer says. “And it’s not like it’s a date or anything. We’re going to simply get together and talk about school.”
“Good,” Judy says. “Don’t trust that guy.”
“Why?” Jennifer asks, getting a terrible feeling in her stomach from the look on Judy’s face. “Has he done something?”
“It’s a feeling I get about him,” Judy says. “And my feelings are always right. Plus, he’s come in here twice and both times he asked if we had oat milk for his coffee. What kind of place does he think we’re running here? We serve our oats hot and steamy, not in liquid form.”
“Hot and steamy is the only way to serve them,” Bradley says, his full attention now on his breakfast. Judy pats Bradley on the shoulder and tells Jennifer her order will be at her table in just a minute. Seeing that Bradley’s attention has gone from gossip to food, Jennifer gives him a “thanks,” and let’s him kiss her hand before she gets up and returns to Jake.
Within seconds she tells Jake everything that Bradley told her, and Jake writes it down, trying to connect all the dots that are floating around in his notebook and their heads.
“There’s something else,” Jennifer says, wanting to tell Jake about the way Judy warned her about Matt. But then she thinks better of it. If she tells Jake that Judy doesn’t trust Matt, then there’s no way Jake will agree to let her go out with him tonight, and Jennifer is determined to get answers from Matt.
“What is it?” Jake asks, when he sees her eyes grow to the size of grapes. That’s her tell-tale sign that she’s either worried or hiding something.
“The rules,” Jennifer says, grabbing the piece of paper Jake wrote the list on. “I wanted to let you know that I agree to these rules.”
And that settles it. Tonight she’ll be on a date with a man who is not only linked to the murders through some weird license plate situation but also the man in town that people don’t seem to trust.
I really know how to pick them, Jennifer thinks as she sips her steaming peppermint tea.
Chapter Twelve
It Could Have Been a Nice Date
After Jennifer agreed to Jake’s rules for her meet-up with Matt, she needed to do some maneuvering, seeing as Matt’s suggestion for a drink broke Jake’s rule #1.
So, she text Matt, apologizing and saying that she couldn’t actually go get a drink, but was there any chance he’d be interested in building a gingerbread house with her instead. She saw the three dots on her phone alert her to the fact that he was typing, erasing, retyping, and then again erasing his response. She imagines that gingerbread house building was not exactly the adult hangout he was hoping for. But, eventually, he wrote back, “That could be fun. Let’s do it.”
And here they are.
They walk through the door of the quaint house where the smell of gingerbread immediately hits them. When they get inside, the house is more like a cabin with its creaky wooden floors and shiplap wa
lls that are painted a distressed white. The walls are covered with wreaths, garland, and dozens of lanterns filled with burning red candles.
There are three old wooden baker’s racks lined against the side wall, and they’re covered with handmade stockings, knitted mittens and hats, fluffy pillows that have reindeers and santas embroidered on them, and other Christmas decorations for sale.
Traditional carols play over the speakers, and when Matt and Jennifer walk up to the hostess desk, they see that the back room not only glows in golden Christmas lights, but there are also long wooden tables covered in gingerbread house materials, including bowls overflowing with candy that will soon turn into decorative house materials. And behind the tables, lining the entire back wall, are four Christmas trees -- all decorated by specific color combinations.
One tree, from its ornaments to the tinsel, is only outfitted in silver and gold. Another is navy and red with giant bows dotting almost every branch and a shiny red ribbon threaded through the entire tree.
“Okay, I have to admit. I was a bit skeptical when you suggested gingerbread house building, but this place is amazing,” Matt says, leaning past the hostess desk to get a better look at the sleigh displayed behind the desk. The sleigh is outlined in low-lit, soft bulbs, and it holds two trays of steaming mugs filled with hot chocolate and topped with whipped cream. The chalkboard signs propped behind the mugs has the words “Warm Your Insides” scrolled across them, but Jennifer knows she can’t indulge in those hot chocolate delights. Rule #1 and all.
“How do you know about this place?” Matt asks, eyeing the wrapped presents and flickering candles that trail behind the stationary sleigh.
It’s a fair question, seeing as the outside of the house looks as plain as a piece of paper. But the owner, a woman named Michele Taylor, does that on purpose. She doesn’t really open this place to the public. To be here, you have to be invited. And every holiday Michele decorates the place and throws some kind of traditional revelry. Even though Michele is young, only a few years older than Jennifer, her recently deceased husband, James, was white-haired, frail-boned, and triple her age. He was also one of the wealthiest men in town, and these small holiday gatherings is one of the ways Michele decides to spend the money he left her.
Jennifer has an open invitation because Jennifer not only taught Michele’s twins, Nick and Nora, but Jennifer was the only teacher to actually help them. Before her, Nick and Nora were more like Tazmanian devils than children. Screaming. Hitting. Terrorizing any kid that got in their path. The first day of class, Nick even launched his backpack fully across Jennifer’s classroom like he was in the Olympics for discus.
Yet, by the end of the first quarter -- and Jennifer’s consistent tactics of giving the twins specific responsibilities, making them feel purposeful and welcome in class, and always holding them accountable for their actions -- the twins not only learned to listen and control their outbursts, but they also absolutely fell in love with Jennifer. They still come and see her before recess, and she always hugs them when she sees them in the hallways.
Their mother, Michele, is eternally grateful and told Jennifer she had a free pass to the holiday festivities anytime she wanted, which Jennifer is very grateful for in this moment.
“I know the owner,” Jennifer lightly tells Matt. “Actually, she’s the mom of two students I had -- Nick and Nora.”
“The twins?” Matt asks, surprised.
“Yeah, do you know them?”
“They’re in my fourth-grade class,” he says, matching Jennifer’s excited smile. “Elementary school is a small world,” he says, and then he reaches out and puts his hand on Jennifer’s back, “but thanks for inviting me. I think this will be fun.”
All of Jennifer’s nerves stand at attention when Matt touches her. It’s not a nerve-standing-up situation because she finds Matt attractive. His curly hair is a bit too long for her liking; his teeth are a little too stained from what she can guess is from years of drinking way too much coffee, and his soft, unkept body make her think he could never go on long walks or chase down a criminal, which are both common activities in Jennifer’s life. The reason her nerves go haywire is because Matt’s hand is on her back, and that means she’s breaking rule #4.
A loud cough comes from behind them, causing Jennifer and Matt to turn around. Their eyes fall on the same thing. Jake.
“Evening, folks,” Jake says, towering over Matt, who maybe reaches to 5’7”. If that wasn’t enough intimidation, Jake is in his full uniform, and he actually has his billy club out and is hitting it against his hand like it’s a mini baseball bat.
“Evening,” Matt says, his voice a bit shaky. His hand drops from Jennifer’s back as he continues to stare at Jake’s presence.
Jennifer gives Jake a sweetly annoyed look, which is also a reminder that she got him on the invitation list for tonight, so she can just as easily remove him from it. But that power she holds over him dissolves like snow hitting water when they walk into the main room and Michele, the owner of this place, gets one look at Jake.
Giving Jennifer a wave, a hug, and a quick, “So happy you could be here; the twins send their love,” Michele eye-trails Jake, who has moved and stationed himself at the furthest table from them.
Jennifer and Matt sit at the closest table, but Jennifer keeps her gaze on the way Michele sashays over to Jake -- in her tight-fitted cream sweater, skinny jeans, and high-heeled boots. When she stands next to his table, she flips her hair and her giggles in Jake’s direction, who gives that dimple smile of his.
“Wow, they really do expect you to use icing as glue,” Matt says, having opened the box of gingerbread materials. He flips over the written directions and investigates the provided drawings. That’s when Jennifer reminds herself that she’s not here to watch women fawn over Jake; she’s here to get some answers. Plus, Michele isn't Jake’s type. Jennifer is sure of it.
It’s not until Matt and Jennifer have the full base and roof of their gingerbread house built that Jennifer thinks she can move into the questions she’s determined to ask.
The thing is, she’s having more fun with Matt than she expected. They talk about the students that both of them have had, the monthly faculty meetings that both of them find completely boring, and why they love teaching so much.
She never gets to talk to anyone about teaching -- her mother despising that she even has a profession, her brother, Michael, only interested in his finance job or sentences that begin with “The stock market is…” and his wife, Julie, always judging and one-uping Jennifer whenever she even mentions teaching. Jake listens to Jennifer’s stories about school, but he was the kind of student who couldn’t wait to graduate and never return, so he doesn’t understand her love for the classroom, and teaching, and curriculum, and homework.
But Matt is different. He’s like her. And, he’s proving to be much funnier than she ever expected.
“Shouldn’t we be building gingerbread garages for these houses? I bet gingerbread car thievery is rampant in these gingerbread towns,” Matt says. “The resale value on our gingerbread property is plummeting without a garage.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jennifer says, playing along. “And you know why people are stealing those gingerbread cars? It’s not for the peppermint steering wheel as one might think. It’s for the gumdrop wheels. Green gumdrop wheels are all the rage in the gingerbread world.”
“Uh, and in the real world. I’d give my left arm for a set of gumdrop rims,” Matt says, smiling at Jennifer. “In fact, they should make gumdrop bumpers. That way no one could ever do a hit and run. They could only do a hit and stick.”
Jennifer laughs at this idea, and then sees her perfect segue. “Well, I could have used a gumdrop bumper yesterday. I got hit, and the person didn’t even stop,” she says, hoping this will lead Matt into a confession about his license plate.
“What?” Matt says, his eyes and voice bulging. “Are you okay? I mean, you look okay. Better than okay.” He shyly clea
rs his throat. “But were you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. I just couldn’t believe that someone would run straight into the back of my car and not stop,” Jennifer says, thinking about what she can and cannot disclose to Matt. She hates to lie, so even though the context around her story doesn’t include all the details, the information she’s giving is accurate.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Someone actually stole my license plate the other day.”
“Really?” Jennifer says, her ears perking up even though she’s pretending to be fully focused on covering their gingerbread roof in wafer candies.
“Well, they weren’t really my license plates,” Matt says. “They got delivered to me. And get this, it was from a guy named Fred Gailey.”
Jennifer’s hand jolts at the mention of Fred’s name, and she knocks the wafer shingles straight off of their gingerbread house.
“Fred Gailey?” Jennifer repeats, not believing what she’s hearing.
“Yeah, like the dad in Miracle on 34th Street.”
“Why would Fred Gailey send you a license plate?” Her voice is too eager. She can tell by the way that Matt is side-eyeing her.
“I wish I knew. All I know is that I got a package in the mail last week with a letter that said there was some kind of advertising promotion going on, and if I put these holiday vanity plates on my car I’d get $250 a week.”
“Seriously?” Jennifer asks.
“Yeah, I know,” Matt says, directing his focus back to the yogurt-covered pretzel fence he’s building. “I’m now convinced it was a scam, but at the time it seemed legit. Plus, an extra 250 bucks a week sounded so nice. And, I thought, what could it hurt?”
“True,” Jennifer says, even though in her head she’s thinking about all the people those plates might have caused to get hurt. There’s Fred, who is dead; Earl in 9N, who is dead, and the fact that she and Jake also almost got killed.
“Even worse,” Matt says, “the person who stole the plates did something pretty bad.” There’s an innocence in Matt’s voice when he says this. “I don’t know what, but the cops called me just yesterday asking about those plates that I registered under my name last week.”
