Purring Around the Christmas Tree

by Liz Mugavero

“Sure, yes,” Stan said, already wondering how she was going to fit this into her crazy schedule. “It sounds fabulous. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “My goodness, it’s a no-brainer.” Megan rose and flicked some dog hair off her pristine coat. “Would you be open to me bringing a photographer Saturday?”

  “I would love that,” Stan said. “Thank you.”

  “Excellent. It’s a date. I’ll have Carol call you. Bye now!” And she swept out the door, leaving Stan staring after her.

  Brenna rushed over. “I only heard some of that. She was from Foodie?”

  Stan nodded, still kind of shell-shocked.

  “Well?” Brenna demanded. “Aren’t you going to tell me what she wanted?”

  “She wants to do a follow-up article. So she’s coming back Saturday during the grand opening,” Stan said.

  “That’s awesome!”

  “It is. And … she—well, the editor—wants me to do a monthly column on pet nutrition for the magazine.”

  “What!” Brenna screeched. “That’s amazing, Stan!”

  “It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” Now that it had sunk in a bit, she was smiling. It felt good to be noticed for all the hard work she’d put in over the last year. And it took away, at least a little bit, from the sting of her earlier encounter with Jake.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Stan spent the next few hours in a completely different mental space than the one in which she’d spent the last three days. She felt happy. Her shop was doing well. The townspeople loved it. The dogs who’d visited loved it. She’d sold out of most of her treats all weekend long, and she hadn’t even had her official grand opening yet. And now? She was going to get more recognition in Foodie magazine. And a paying writing gig. Cyril would be proud—she was a journalist, after all.

  But after the euphoria lifted a little, she realized she was mentally exhausted. And annoyed.

  Annoyed at people getting angry at her when she was just trying to help. Annoyed at people who were pointing fingers at her friends for a serious crime, when they wouldn’t listen to any alternate solutions. Annoyed at Jake—yes, even her beloved Jake—for ignoring what seemed so obvious, what was right in front of his face. And for shutting her out and walking away from her. Something they’d promised not to do to each other.

  And she was annoyed at herself for worrying about the whole Harold/Seamus/Ray debacle. She had enough going on: a new store, houseguests, a Christmas decorating contest, her mother’s wedding, Kyle’s restaurant. Yet she continued to focus on things that really had no direct bearing on her life. And that netted her no gratitude for any help she tried to provide.

  So maybe she should just forget about it. Be like everyone else and go about her business. Ask Kevin to hit the road, and reclaim her couch. Forget about what anyone else was going through. That made her feel guilty when she thought of Char, but that was a different story. She could still try to help Char without putting herself through the turmoil of trying to talk sense into Jake or Jessie, or worry about finding their Mysterious Vanishing Uncle.

  “Yes,” she said out loud, startling the guy who’d just walked in with his dog. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She smiled at him. “Hi. How are you?”

  Once she’d served up some pumpkin cream-cheese treats for his dog and the store was empty again, she stuck her head in the kitchen. “I need to run one more quick errand.”

  Brenna sent her on her way. This time, she hurried to town hall and took the stairs to the second floor. Jessie’s office door was open, and she sat behind her desk, head down, intently focused on some papers in front of her. Stan rapped sharply on the door with her knuckles and strode in.

  Jessie looked up, startled. Before she could say anything, Stan went straight to her desk, slapped her hands on it and leaned forward.

  “Don’t ever come into my house and yell at me again. Especially not in front of your family,” Stan said. “Just because you don’t want to listen to reason and you want to control the story. You’re bothering people who didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t like it. But you know what? You win. I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want, arrest whoever you want. I have better things to do than waste my time worrying about something that no one wants me to worry about.”

  She paused and took a breath. Jessie stared at her like she’d never seen her before.

  “Stan,” she began, but Stan cut her off.

  “I’m not done. I have one more thing to say. I know you don’t want to hear it, but too bad. I also know your brother won’t tell you because God forbid he shares something that makes his precious uncle look bad. The guy you yelled at, also in my house? He came down to tell Jake that your uncle may have been spotted at the South Boston freight yard trying to accept a delivery. A car that got hijacked and crashed into a highway barrier. No one knows if he was in the car or not, but there are no records of him at any of the Boston hospitals. How do we know that? Because I called them all! So when you all try to tell me that I’m crazy for thinking your uncle may have been the target in this catastrophe, let me point out that anyone who can ignore all that is even crazier than I am. Now I’m done.”

  With that, she spun on her heel and stalked to the door. She’d almost crossed the threshold when Jessie said, “Stan. I know you’re right.”

  Stan stopped, waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, she turned. “You do?”

  Jessie sighed and got up, walking around to the front of her desk. “I admit there must be some element of truth to it,” she said. “I don’t have blinders on like my brother. I’ve been in touch with the Boston police. I know what happened the other night. I don’t know what it means, but I agree something’s not right.”

  Stan heaved a sigh of relief. “You do? Thank God!”

  Jessie held up a hand. “Don’t get too excited. That doesn’t mean that I’m not pursuing people who had a problem with Harold Dewey. It just means that I understand my uncle may have been involved in something, and I’m going to keep an eye on where the trail leads.”

  All the relief that had whooshed through Stan left her body. “So you’re still looking at Lester and Izzy,” she said flatly.

  “I have to. I have evidence … that I can’t discuss with you. But I have enough to talk to them both again.”

  “Why aren’t you looking at people who had a problem with your uncle? Heck, what about Abby? She threatened to sue him. Said he was the cause of her financial troubles, the reason she’s jacking up her prices at the store. And she said he deserved to die more than Harold. If that’s not an incriminating statement, I have no idea what is!”

  Jessie’s face didn’t change. She had that uncanny ability to keep her cop face in place during all sorts of confrontations. It was part of what made her a pro, Stan figured. But sometimes it was so infuriating she couldn’t stand it.

  “And,” Stan went on—now she was on fire—“Seamus’s own girlfriend told me he’s coming into some money and they’re taking off together! To Turks and Caicos, for goodness’ sakes! Viv is out buying fancy dresses. What’s that about? You mean to tell me Seamus got some kind of corporate bonus out of nowhere? Come on, Jessie. You’re a cop. You have to think that’s suspicious.”

  Jessie set her jaw. “Stan. I’m sorry about last night. I really am. I heard from Lester that you spoke to him and it made me mad. The stress of all this is getting to me. You’re right, I shouldn’t have come to your house and spoken to you that way. But I have to ask you—please stay out of this. I know what I’m doing. Okay?”

  She turned and walked back to her desk without waiting for an answer. Stan left without giving her one. She’d made up her mind anyway. She was staying out of it. Let Jessie figure it out and be the hero. She only hoped that the truly innocent people involved didn’t suffer needlessly. As for Jake, well, he’d have to figure out where he stood too. She couldn’t keep trying to talk sense into him. She had to start taking care of herself.

  Stan le
ft town hall and headed back to her shop, determined to do as everyone wanted and forget about this whole business. Good thing she had plenty to keep her mind occupied. And she needed to hurry back. Tyler and Eddie were due at the shop. She called over to Izzy’s—Izzy wasn’t there—and ordered coffee to go and a dozen cupcakes. Then she texted Brenna that she was picking up some goodies and she’d be right over.

  When she arrived, Brenna had closed up and was clearing away dirty dishes. Tyler and Eddie were sitting at one of the tables, both texting furiously on their phones. They both brightened at the sight of cupcakes.

  “Oh, sweet! Food!” Tyler exclaimed. “I’ve been at the paper all day and had to skip lunch.”

  “Some days you just need cupcakes,” Stan said, depositing the goodies in the middle of the table. She smiled at Eddie. “Hi, Eddie. I don’t think we’ve met officially.”

  “Nicetameetcha,” Eddie mumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket.

  The boys helped themselves to cupcakes. Brenna even came over and selected one.

  “Yum,” she said. “So what are we talking about?”

  “Grand opening,” Stan said. She grabbed a cupcake too. Why not? “You’re working that day, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Brenna said.

  “So we’re doing photos again?” Tyler asked.

  “I’d like to, yes. I have to line up Santa, but as long as you’re able to take pictures.”

  “Let’s offer a free Christmas cookie to every dog and cat who comes in to get their photo taken,” Brenna said.

  “I love it.” Stan made a note. “I was thinking a gingerbread-type cookie this time. We did cranberry-apple candy canes last weekend to go along with the red theme, but let’s maybe do stockings or trees this time?”

  “I like stockings,” Brenna said, making a note on her phone. “Who are we naming the treats after?” Brenna asked. “Or are we using Chuckie’s Christmas Cookies and Houdini’s Holly Jolly Catnolis?”

  “We’ll keep the original winners,” Stan said. “It’s only right. I think I’ll get more food from the Italian place. It was amazing. They’ll deliver it. Tyler and Eddie, can I enlist you to help with getting the tables back here to set up the food? And maybe pick the food up that morning?”

  Eddie nodded. “Where are you getting the tables? My dad has some I can just throw in the truck and bring over.”

  “I was going to borrow them from town hall, but if you have some, perfect.”

  “I’ll check with my dad, but I’m sure it will be fine.” Eddie hesitated. “Hey, I have a suggestion,” he said.

  Stan looked at him expectantly. “Sure.”

  “If you don’t have any luck with finding a Santa, I think my dad would love to do it. He was pretty bummed that Harold was doing it this year.”

  Stan frowned. “Bummed?”

  “Yeah, when Harold told him, I don’t think he could believe it. You know, Harold didn’t have a rep for being, well, jolly.” Eddie shifted uncomfortably, as if just realizing he was talking about a dead man. “Anyway, wanted to offer him up.”

  “Thanks,” Stan murmured as the boys walked out the front door. She remembered the feeling she’d gotten last night at Lester’s. That he’d been lying about something. Well, she’d just learned what he was lying about. He’d known Harold was going to be in the Santa suit taking Seamus’s place.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  After Stan closed up the shop for the day, Brenna headed to the pub to pick up a shift while Stan headed for home. When she got to her driveway, she paused a moment, then continued walking down the street toward Char’s. She really wanted to see her and make sure she was as okay as possible.

  When she got to the B and B and let herself in the front door, she was surprised to see Char at the stove while four men crowded around the dining room table. They were all in varying stages of conversation. One was a redhead. Another was bald. The third man had thinning blond hair, and the last guy wore a hat that looked a bit like the one Kevin had been wearing. All eyes turned to Stan when she walked in.

  “Hello,” she said, meeting Char’s eyes with a question.

  “Stan! Honey, come sit.” Char’s voice sounded more alive than it had since Friday night, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. “You won’t believe who came to visit me. These are Seamus’s friends. From the poker game.” Stan’s eyes traveled back to the table. The men raised their hands to wave to her. “Stan is Seamus’s niece, pretty much. As soon as she marries his nephew, anyway.”

  Stan shot her a bewildered look. Char must be feeling better. Where had that come from?

  “How’dya do,” the redhead said, his voice thick with Irish.

  “They think Seamus and Ray are in some kind of trouble,” Char went on, her voice rising in pitch with every word. “Maybe now someone will believe me! I knew my Raymond wouldn’t just up and disappear.” She jabbed her wooden spoon into whatever was bubbling in her Crock-Pot, like she was trying to spear it.

  “Wait, hold up,” Stan said, eyeing the four men. “It’s three days later and now you’re here?”

  The men looked at each other—a little nervously, Stan thought.

  “We didn’t really know what to do,” the bald guy said when none of the others spoke up. “See, Seamus kinda left us in the lurch. He was supposed to bring all this cash to our game. Promised us it was the real deal, that we could start inviting the big boys and really up our payouts, right?” The guy with the hat nodded encouragingly, so he went on. “So we found some guys to bring in. First they didn’t wanna, you know? Thought we were just jokesters. But they finally agreed to come and put some money in the kitty. Then Seamus doesn’t show.”

  “Really kinda messed us up,” the blond guy added. “Our new additions were not real happy with us. So we weren’t real happy with him, you know? But then, we started to get worried.”

  “About Seamus?”

  “About all of us,” Redhead said. “These guys were mad. And they could … do things, ya know? We started getting a little worried for ourselves. And for Seamus. So we thought we’d skip town for a few days. Maybe bump into Seamus down here. ’Course, we’d been hearing about the B and B all these years from Ray and had to come here and meet his lovely wife.”

  Char blushed.

  “So none of you saw Ray or Seamus this weekend?” Stan asked.

  “Nope. They never showed up at the game, like we said.”

  “I knew it. I knew they were in trouble,” Char said triumphantly. “Do you think these goons caught up with them? Have them kidnapped somewhere?”

  Redhead frowned. He seemed to be the spokesman. “Nah. These guys are too classy for that. But maybe they had people …” He trailed off when he saw the look on Char’s face.

  And Stan had been worried about Kevin coming here and freaking Char out. Now there were four of them.

  Kevin.

  “Hey,” she said. “Why did your other friend come without you then? Was he more worried?”

  Blank looks all around. “What other friend?” the guy with the hat asked.

  “Kevin.” She realized she didn’t even know the guy’s last name. And she’d been letting him stay in her house. Maybe Jake was right and she was crazy.

  More blank looks, then Bald Guy brightened. “Mc-Cready? He’s here? Get outta town.”

  “I don’t know his last name. He showed up at the pub the other night.”

  “Gotta be him. I didn’t know he was even coming to the game this weekend. He hasn’t been round lately. But see? Still loyal to his old pal,” Bald Guy said. “He staying here too?”

  “He’s staying at my house,” Stan said, avoiding Char’s gaze. She could feel her friend’s eyes boring into her head wondering why she hadn’t told her. She decided against mentioning the whole freight delivery and car chase incident in front of Char.

  “We’ll have to go say hello,” Redhead declared. “Meantime, where can we get a drink around here?”

  Chapter Thirty-si
x

  Stan went home thinking of Lester. Her first instinct, of course, was to talk to Jake about it. But she didn’t think she could. He was still upset, and she wasn’t supposed to be involved. It might just make things worse if she brought it up, even if they agreed to disagree.

  When she got there, Declan was hauling a suitcase to his car. “Are you leaving?” Stan asked, surprised.

  He nodded. “I have to get home. I’m really not in the mood to do a family Christmas party, with all this stuff going on with my dad.”

  “You don’t want to wait to … find out what’s going on?”

  Declan shrugged. “I’m not that far away. My brother will call me.” He hugged Stan awkwardly. “Thanks for everything. Really. I’ll stop by the pub and let Jake know.”

  Stan watched him drive away, thinking about how sad it was when families made such a mess of things with each other. Hers included. She went inside and peeked into the living room. Kevin’s bag was in there, but there was no sign of him. Liam, as usual, wasn’t around.

  She let the dogs outside and fed all the animals dinner—a special salmon and spinach dish she wanted to test for her meal delivery menu. They all approved, so she added it to her schedule. Then she made herself a salad and sat in her kitchen, enjoying the peace and quiet for a few minutes. When she finished eating, she picked up the phone and called Char, relieved when her friend answered. She’d worried about leaving her there with those men.

  “How are you?” Stan asked.

  “I’m still here,” Char answered. “I guess that’s all any of us can hope for.”

  “Did those four have anything useful to tell you after I left?”

  “No.” Char was silent. “The more time that goes by, the more hopeless it seems, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not hopeless, Char. Don’t say that.” But she didn’t have a good reason to offer her about why she shouldn’t feel hopeless, so the words sounded lame even to her own ears.

  “That other friend of Seamus’s came around here today,” Char said, changing the subject slightly. “The one who’s staying with you?”