Not a Creature Was Purring

by Krista Davis

  “Where is Liesel?” Aunt Birdie pressed. Oma and Aunt Birdie had never gotten along very well. My mother lived in California, about as far away as she could get from her older half-sister, Birdie. My father and his sister had hightailed it out of Wagtail as well, leaving their mother, Oma, to run the family inn. Now that Oma was older, she had brought me on board as her partner. Maybe because they saw themselves as the family matriarchs, Oma and Aunt Birdie were prone to butting heads.

  Thin and gaunt, clothes hung beautifully on Aunt Birdie. But her skin sank in under prominent cheekbones and her eyes blazed with fury. In another time, she would have been called a handsome woman. She took great pains with her wardrobe, and even now she was the best dressed person in the room. I felt certain she didn’t sleep in those gray wool trousers.

  “Yeah!” called someone else. “She’s the mayor. She should handle this.”

  I held up my palm. “I have this under control.” A blatant lie, of course. “Now, everyone go home, and I will take care of the Grinch.”

  They still grumbled as they filed out.

  Only Aunt Birdie remained, one eyebrow lifted critically. “You should change clothes before you go. I don’t think Rupert will be cowed by an elf.”

  She was probably right, but I had a secret weapon. “You too, Aunt Birdie, go on home.”

  Pulling out my cell phone and dialing, I walked up the grand staircase.

  Officer Dave Quinlan answered the phone immediately. “If you’re calling about the Grinch, I’m on my way. I’ve already had twenty complaints.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I said.

  As fast as I could, I swapped my tights and elf coat for jeans, a sweater, and a puffy jacket. Trixie had taken off her elf hat by herself. I quickly exchanged her elf coat for a red fleece dog coat.

  We ran back downstairs.

  Casey was still in the lobby. “Your aunt scares me.”

  Aunt Birdie intimidated a lot of people, and Casey was still young enough to be easily rattled. He attended community college on nearby Snowball Mountain, and even though he wasn’t a kid, he reminded me of the young Harry Potter, with round wire-rimmed glasses and a shock of dark hair that fell over his forehead.

  “You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

  “What do I tell people who call and want to speak to your grandmother?” asked Casey.

  “Tell them we’re already on it.” I walked out the door, jogged down the steps and hurried along the sidewalk that bordered the green. Trixie raced ahead of me, sniffing scents as she went. The stores and restaurants to my left were closed, but lights shone in their windows. The Christkindl booths to my right, just inside the green, were shut down for the night as well. I barely noticed them as I drew closer to the Grinch.

  He loomed over everything, his sinister eyes angled ominously. The music grew in volume as I approached. No wonder people were complaining. What was Rupert thinking?

  Officer Dave and I arrived at the same time. Formerly a sailor in the Navy, he now worked for the police department headquartered on Snowball Mountain, but he lived in Wagtail and knew the residents well.

  A crowd of people on the street parted as we walked up. The base of the Grinch took up the entire front yard of Rupert’s home. The music blasted, drowning out conversation. We had to walk around the Grinch to get to the porch of his bungalow.

  Dave rapped on the front door. “Rupert?” he shouted. “It’s Dave Quinlan. Open your door. This is police business.”

  It wasn’t easy to hear Rupert over the music, but from behind the door he yelled, “Ain’t done nothin’ wrong!”

  “Rupert, you’re disturbing the peace. Now open up!”

  The door swung open just a crack. Rupert peered out at us. “I’m celebratin’ the season just like everybody else.”

  “Come on, Rupert,” said Dave. “Nobody can sleep with this racket and the lights beaming into their homes.”

  “I have a right to decorate. Look over there at the neighbor’s house. They have lights all over their house. I don’t see you makin’ a fuss over that.”

  Dave crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re not shining in bedroom windows, Rupert, nor are they blasting music. Now close down your Grinch for the night.”

  The door slammed shut.

  “You leave me no choice, Rupert!” yelled Dave.

  He leaned over to me. “Look around for the electric line. He’s probably got it plugged in somewhere out here.”

  Dave called it right. In less than two minutes we located the cord. Dave moved a chair out of the way on the porch, and I yanked the plug.

  The sudden stillness came as a shock. But after a moment of silence, the crowd in the street cheered.

  Dave whispered, “Let’s stand on the other side of the porch. Unless I miss my guess, Rupert will be out here any second to plug it back in.”

  Sure enough, the door opened wide and Rupert ran outside, so intent on the electrical connection that he didn’t notice us.

  Rupert bent to pick up the electric cord but Dave stopped him.

  I hurried to stand in the doorway so Rupert wouldn’t be able to retreat into his house and slam the door. But I stopped cold at the sight of his living room.

  A large live pine tree stood near the fireplace. Ornaments, bows, and garlands of beads covered every inch of the tree. A lighted star beamed on the top.

  Four more decorated trees between two and four feet tall stood around the room. Five knit stockings, each a different color, hung from the mantel, which was covered with fresh greens and a hand-carved reindeer collection.

  But the most enchanting part of all was the ceiling. Rupert had draped white fairy lights all the way across the room in rows. It was like looking up at stars.

  I could hear the two men talking behind me and turned around.

  “Rupert, I’m glad you’re in the Christmas spirit,” said Dave. “But you have to be reasonable. Folks need their sleep, and they’re pretty crabby if they don’t get it.”

  “I know who reported me. It’s that Aunt Birdie of hers.” Rupert pointed at me. “She’s the orneriest woman I ever met.”

  I could imagine that he would think that. I did, too. Aunt Birdie was never satisfied with anything. And Rupert, in his grubby jeans held up by old suspenders, and a baseball cap on his head that had seen better days, probably didn’t appeal to her much. He wasn’t unattractive. His dark hair had gone prematurely gray, but his eyebrows remained black. When he smiled, his fleshy face lit up and his belly jiggled, not unlike a bowl full of jelly. I guessed him to be in his early forties.

  He frowned at Dave. “I ain’t in trouble with the law, am I?”

  Dave shot him a look that would have put the most hardened criminal in his place.

  “What are you gonna tell your granma?” he asked me.

  I wasn’t sure. I wanted to give him a chance to be reasonable. “What would you like me to tell her?”

  “That I done paid some man in Houston, Texas, four hunnert dollars for this here Grinch, and I aim to use it.”

  Not exactly what I had hoped for. “Do you think you could decrease the volume when it’s on and turn the Grinch off around ten or eleven?”

  “Whoa! Ever’body in the house!” Rupert yelled.

  The Grinch must have been deflating, because it suddenly sagged around the porch, blocking us in.

  “Trixie! Trixie! I don’t see her.” Panicked, I searched the porch.

  “She’s right here,” Dave said calmly.

  I entered the house and spotted my little darling with her back paws on a kitchen chair and her front paws on the kitchen table. She was chewing a cookie she had stolen from the table. “Trixie!”

  She didn’t have the decency to hide or act ashamed. In fact, she snarfed it down in a hurry before I could take it away from her.


  “Won’t hurt her none. That’s an oatmeal cookie. No raisins. Never have cottoned to raisins.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you more.”

  “Buy ’em?” Rupert chuckled. “I bake my own cookies.”

  We followed him into a kitchen dressed for Christmas, from the poinsettia rugs on the floor to the dish towels, Grinch cookie jar, Santa and Mrs. Claus mugs on the table, and lighted Christmas village all around the tops of the cabinets. I counted four different kinds of cookies cooling on racks in the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Ain’t you never seen Christmas cookies?”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said.

  “My granny taught me to bake.” He held out the tray of oatmeal cookies to Dave and me.

  I took one and bit into it. No wonder Trixie couldn’t resist! It was chewy cinnamon heaven.

  Dave mumbled, “These are really good,” through a mouthful of cookie. He swallowed and said, “But that doesn’t mean you can inconvenience your neighbors. Understood?”

  Rupert leaned back against the kitchen counter, narrowed his eyes, and peered at Dave. “Your skin gettin’ a little green there? I didn’t need to pay for a Grinch. Looks like Wagtail has a Grinch of its own. What you got against Christmas, Officer Dave?”

  Dave was not amused.

  But I was still laughing when we left by the back door. The big green Grinch that had collapsed over Rupert’s house looked like it was hugging it. Everyone had gone home, and peace had returned to the street.

  “Tell your grandmother that I’ll be over in the morning to discuss this,” said Dave. “There’s probably some kind of ordinance on the books about noise and lights.”

  I promised I would tell her and headed back to the inn.

  There was no sign of Casey in the lobby. He was probably grabbing a snack in the kitchen. The only one waiting for our return was my beloved Twinkletoes. My long-haired calico cat stretched on the grand staircase before sauntering down to greet us.

  She turned her face up as I ran my hand over her head. As cats often do, Twinkletoes had chosen me as her person. Symmetrical rectangles of butterscotch and dark chocolate fur adorned the top of her head as though they were sunglasses and she had pushed them up on her head. She was mostly white, with the characteristic calico pattern, but her fluffy tail was dark chocolate through and through, especially beautiful and eye-catching when she wrapped it around her white front paws. Exotic large green eyes fairly glowed in her white face.

  The three of us tiptoed up to our apartment on the third floor of the inn and went straight to bed. I lay in the semi-dark, feeling like a safe child who didn’t want to take her eyes off the bright, lighted tree on the balcony. But it had been a long day, and sleep overcame me in spite of myself.

  • • •

  I was comfortably snuggled under one of the Sugar Maple Inn’s fluffy down comforters with Trixie at my side and Twinkletoes sleeping near my pillow when the phone rang.

  Casey, who stayed up to keep an eye on things while the rest of us slept, whispered, “There’s a lady crying down here. I don’t know what to do.”

  Three

  I promised to come right down. It was still dark outside. I rubbed my eyes and peered at the time. It was six in the morning, but I felt like it was the middle of the night.

  I pulled on jeans and a big sweater and ran down the stairs.

  Halfway down, I heard her quiet sobs. A few early birds were already drinking coffee in the dining area while the woman with a dark brown bob wept in front of the fireplace in the Dogwood Room. She stood alone with her back to me, sniffling. I watched her for a few seconds, debating whether I should interfere or let her have her moment.

  Trixie had no such qualms. She ran straight to the woman, looked up at her, and wagged her little tail as hard as she could.

  The woman saw me when she turned and knelt to the floor. Her bangs and hair bent at angles, as though she’d slept on them oddly during the night. She wore no makeup, not that it could have concealed those red-rimmed eyes anyway. She patted Trixie and then hugged her tightly.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.” She gazed up at the high ceilings and the grand stairway. “There aren’t many places for a private cry around here.”

  “There are a few nooks, but you have to know your way around. Could I get you a cup of tea?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’ll be fine. This little girl was the perfect cure for what ails me.”

  Surprisingly, Trixie didn’t squirm out of her grasp. She licked the woman’s nose, which produced a big smile.

  The woman looked up at me. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  I left her alone with Trixie. At the bottom of the grand staircase, I spied Casey.

  “Is she okay?” he asked. “She’s older than my mom. I didn’t know what to say to her.”

  “It’s fine, Casey. You did the right thing to call me.” When Trixie joined me in the lobby, we headed up to bed. I wouldn’t have known what to say to her when I was Casey’s age, either. I barely knew now.

  • • •

  Except for the occasional emergency, like the guest on a crying jag, I was enjoying my break from early rising. Feeling quite the lazy bum, I rose at ten. I dressed in jeans and a Kelly green turtleneck, and carried a bulky sweater that I could don for outdoor duties. Trixie and I headed for the dining area of the Sugar Maple Inn before the early lunch rush. We walked down the stairs—the railings wrapped with lush pine garlands, red gingham bows, and chubby pinecones.

  Twinkletoes, who must have left the apartment earlier through the cat door, raced up the stairs to greet me. She wound around my jeans-clad legs as I descended. Halfway down the stairs, I picked her up. She rewarded me with loud purrs and rubbed her head against my chin. “You’re such an early riser,” I said. “You don’t want to miss a single thing.” My curious kitty had no qualms about walking into guest rooms when the doors were open. She even had the nerve to jump into open bags and check out the contents of luggage.

  On the main level, three small pine trees in staggered heights adorned each side of the staircase. Warm golden lights twinkled on them all day and all night. I loved living in an inn at Christmas. It was loaded with holiday bling and cheer from top to bottom. I had done a lot of the decorating, but that had been fun.

  Twinkletoes squirmed and jumped from my arms. I stopped and watched as she darted down the hallway toward an elderly lady who walked with a stick. I worried that Twinkletoes might cause her to trip, but I could hear the woman cooing to Twinkletoes and watched as they stepped into the elevator together.

  “Holly!” Shelley waved at me. She, Oma, and Zelda were seated at a table near the fireplace, where giant poinsettias were clustered on both sides. Lights twinkled on a tall Christmas tree, which we had carefully placed away from the fire.

  Gingersnap, Oma’s golden retriever and the canine ambassador of the inn who made it her job to kiss and greet everyone, lay on the floor and flapped her tail when she saw us.

  I stopped to stroke her head.

  My Oma always looked impeccable. Her hair fell into place in a sassy short cut. She didn’t bother with makeup except for a touch of lipstick. Her dove gray turtleneck accented her silver hair and brought out the blue in her eyes. She was far from drab, though, with rosy cheeks and a hand-knitted vest in red, decorated with swirls of silver Lurex and tiny beads that caught the light when she moved.

  Shelley tucked her honey-colored hair behind her ears and her eyes lit up when she said, “Ava Schroeder saw Santa Claus at her house last night. She says at least eight reindeer were pulling his sleigh. Ethan Schroeder has suggested to his elementary school fr
iends that Wagtail might secretly be the North Pole.”

  I laughed and took a seat at the table. “This is so much fun! In the past, I was always busy packing, shopping, and trying to finish up at work before I left. Everything was just a big mad rush. I didn’t do anything to make Christmas magical for other people. I’m sort of ashamed of that now.”

  Zelda poked me. She nodded in the direction of a couple in their seventies. The woman was wrapping the contents of the breakfast bread basket in a large napkin. She tugged it around muffins, Danishes, and bagels, then jammed them all into her oversized purse.

  I exchanged a look with Shelley.

  “Should we say something?” asked Zelda.

  “No!” Oma hissed. “But maybe we shouldn’t give them so much bread in the future.”

  Her companion, a portly fellow with rosy cheeks and silver hair just long enough to curl on the back of his neck, placed a tip on the table and held out his hand in a gentlemanly gesture for the woman to leave first.

  Gingersnap walked over to him. Smiling, the man patted her.

  The woman, however, curled her hands under her chin and held her arms close to her as though she feared Gingersnap. She walked out and her companion followed.

  Gingersnap returned to our table and sat next to Trixie.

  “I hope they’re not guests of the inn,” Shelley said.

  “Shh,” Oma hissed. “They checked in yesterday evening.”

  The woman, who was gaunt but well-dressed in black slacks and a distinctive horizontally striped black and white sweater, returned to the table. She whisked the tip away in one smooth motion and marched out, stuffing the cash into her big bag.

  Four

  “Well, I never!” Shelley’s mouth hung open. She pulled out her wallet and replaced the tip. “What is wrong with people? Doesn’t she know we count on our tip money?”

  Oma picked up the money and handed it back to her. “You are very kind, Shelley. I will cover the tip.” Oma reached into her pocket and replaced the money. “The gentleman, Dale Thackleberry, is the CEO of a canine and feline attire company. He has been a guest before. We should not embarrass him.”