by Vicki Delany
“Sure,” I said. “That would be nice. Let me check on Mattie, and I’ll follow you. Where are you going?”
“The bakery, of course. Where else would one go in Rudolph after a day of preholiday shopping?”
Except for Ruth, the women all bought something. They paid for their purchases and left. I watched them pass the front windows, heading up Jingle Bell Lane toward Victoria’s Bake Shoppe. Mom led the way, chatting to Constance, who’d pulled a gigantic pair of designer sunglasses out of her Michael Kors bag as they left the shop. Barbara and Genevieve walked together, Karla behind them. Ruth came last, well behind the rest of the group.
“Are they all staying at your parents’ house?” Jackie asked.
“Yes. You know how big the house is. Room enough for them all.”
“How’s your dad feel about that? A weekend of a houseful of women?”
“He’s fine with it. Which might be because he’s not here. He’s gone to Florida on a fishing trip.”
“Must be nice.” Jackie looked out the window. The sun was out in a brilliant blue sky but the air was cold, everyone heavily wrapped in coats, scarves, and mittens. Winter was on its way.
“I’ll try not to take too long at lunch.” Before leaving, I went in the back to check on Matterhorn, my dog. I usually took a break around now to take him for a walk. He’s a Saint Bernard, not exactly a small animal, and fully grown at just over a year old. Training’s important with a dog of that size, and Mattie and I had worked hard together, with the result that he was reasonably well behaved when he wanted to be. When he didn’t want to be was another matter altogether. Fortunately, most of the time he wanted to be good, and so I often brought him to work with me. Needless to say, he wasn’t allowed in the shop itself (“bull in a china shop” is the phrase that comes to mind), but he was content to spend the day in the back with the occasional break for a walk, and he never barked no matter how much commotion was going on in the store.
He leapt out of his bed as I came into the office. His big tongue hung out of one side of his mouth, and his entire body quivered in excitement. I scratched the top of his head, and he rubbed himself against my leg. “Can’t walk you right now, buddy. Family duties await. I’ll try and get back soon.” His water bowl was empty, and the carpet was soaking wet. I took the bowl into the staff washroom and filled it. When I put it back down, he ran to the door and stood there waiting, butt and tail wagging. “Sorry,” I said.
His head dropped, his ears lowered, his tail flopped, and his entire body collapsed into itself. At that moment, a picture of him could have been used to illustrate the dictionary definition of “crushing disappointment.”
“Sorry,” I said again, as I let myself out quickly, trying not to feel too guilty in the face of his enormous, sad brown eyes.
Another group of customers had come in, and Jackie was talking to them about the Thanksgiving table. I walked through the shop and stepped outside.
The street was busy with cars and pedestrians. People were wrapped up against the cold, but I hadn’t bothered to put on my coat as I wasn’t going far. Most of the shops had added Thanksgiving motifs to their usual Christmas displays. Santas with pilgrim hats on their heads, elves playing with turkeys, a cornucopia spilling small gifts wrapped in green and red paper. Cranberry Coffee Bar featured pumpkin-spiced everything, along with their usual eggnog-spiced everything.
I love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday. Don’t tell anyone in Rudolph, but I love Thanksgiving even more than Christmas. My mom and dad always make an enormous turkey with all the fixings—walnut and sage stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, a squash casserole, two types of pie. It’s my chance to take one last long deep breath before plunging headfirst into the madness of the holiday season.
I love Christmas, too—my dad is Santa Claus, after all—but now that I own the store, when Christmas Day itself arrives I’m totally exhausted. That’s a day to sit back, feet up, mug of hot chocolate in hand, open a few gifts at my parents’ house, and then have a hearty brunch and go to bed early before opening the shop the next morning for the after-Christmas sales.
I was determined that this year, unlike last, I wouldn’t find myself inviting twelve people around for Christmas dinner. I don’t even own twelve plates much less a table big enough to put them on.
I ran into Victoria’s Bake Shoppe rubbing my hands together and was instantly hit by a welcome blast of heat full of the scent of freshly baked bread, warm pastry, spicy cinnamon, and piping hot soup. The room was full, and a lineup waited patiently at the counter. Each of the red and white checked tablecloths had a miniature pumpkin in the center. A plush turkey sat on the high shelf next to the trophy from last year’s Santa Claus parade. That reminded me: I still had a lot to do to put together the Mrs. Claus’s Treasures’s float for this year, and not much time in which to do it. I shoved the unwelcome thought aside.
The big table in the center of the room was piled high with small shopping bags and surrounded by larger ones, while my mother and her friends lined up at the counter. I slipped behind Mom. “I’m here.”
“Good,” she said. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll place your order.”
“Thanks. I’ll have the butternut squash soup and a half turkey sandwich on rye.” I turned to the group behind Mom. “Everything is good here, made from scratch every day, but the squash soup might be the best you’ve ever had.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Constance said. “This place is so charming.”
“The whole town is charming,” Genevieve said.
“Do they use peanuts here?” Karla asked. “I’m highly allergic to peanuts.”
“No peanuts are allowed in the kitchen,” Marjorie said from behind the counter. “Ever. One of my nephews is also allergic, and he works here part-time, so that’s a principle Vicky sticks to. Although I can’t say the same for anything we sell that comes prepackaged.” She nodded to the rows of locally produced jams, pickles, and preserves on the shelf. “Tree nuts, however, like walnuts or pecans, are often used in Vicky’s baking.”
“Tree nuts aren’t a problem for me,” Karla said.
“Are they different?” Ruth asked.
“Totally different,” Constance said. “Peanuts aren’t actually a nut, they’re a legume.” She looked at Karla. “My son is dangerously allergic to peanuts, so I know how difficult it can be sorting out what you can eat and what you can’t.”
“I’ll save room for the dessert special then,” Karla said.
I glanced at the blackboard on the wall. Thanksgiving stuffing bread pudding with caramel sauce. Just looking at the words, I felt three pounds settle on my hips.
Genevieve eyed Karla. “A little preholiday treat, dear? I bet you’re going to be having a delicious Thanksgiving feast at home in Montana.”
Karla’s smile didn’t drop, but it turned very stiff. “I live in Minnesota, not Montana, as you well know, dear, and the dessert sounds lovely. I believe in enjoying the pleasures of good food.”
Genevieve, as tall and lean as a racehorse, ran her eyes down Karla’s short, chubby frame. “So I see.”
Karla’s smile cracked and her shoulders tightened.
Constance stifled a laugh and then she said, “Order whatever you like, Ruth. My treat.”
“I can pay for my own lunch, thank you,” Ruth replied.
“I’m only trying to be nice,” Constance said.
“Oh, I think we all know what you’re trying to be,” Barbara said.
Constance threw her a nasty look.
Interesting dynamics here, I thought.
“I thought I heard your voice, Aline.” Vicky Casey, owner and head baker, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her white apron.
Mom greeted her with a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. Greetings exchanged, Mom turned to her friends. “Every
one, meet Victoria herself, the artist in charge of our lunch.”
“Hi,” Vicky said.
Mom’s friends all said something along the lines of Pleased to meet you.
“How’s things?” Vicky said to me. “I hope you’ve been as busy as we have.”
“A good start to the season. Let’s hope it continues.”
“How’s your float coming along?”
My eyes involuntarily turned toward the trophy perched high on the shelf: a two-foot-tall gold-painted reindeer with a big red glass ball for a nose. If Vicky noticed where I was looking, she was polite enough not to smirk. Not too much, anyway. “Extremely well,” I lied. “I’m confident of doing even better than last year.”
“That won’t be hard,” she said. “Considering that last year yours was the only float that didn’t even get a participation ribbon.”
“Thank you so much for the reminder.” Last year I’d been determined to win best in parade, but my float had been sabotaged and withdrawn from competition, and Vicky had sailed to victory. I tried not to be too bitter.
Vicky and I had met the first day of kindergarten, when I, the shy one, had stood at the edge of the playground, nervous and frightened, and Vicky, the bold one, had walked up to me, looked down at me from her impressive four-year-old height, and informed me that we would be best friends forever.
And so we had been. Vicky still towered over me, and she’s still the bold one, but I like to think I’m not quite as shy as I once was.
“How about pizza and a bad movie one night soon?” she said.
“Sounds perfect. Dad’s away fishing and Mom has her old college crowd here for the weekend. Let me find out what her plans are, and if I’m included in them, and I’ll let you know.”
“Great. How’s Mattie?”
“Well. Healthy and happy. Most of the time, anyway. Right now he’s crushed because I’m here doing people things and not out walking him.”
Vicky grinned. “I’d better get back at it. Catch you later.”
Mom and her friends had taken seats around the big table, and I went to join them. They all had hot drinks in front of them. Genevieve stirred a packet of Splenda into her black coffee and threw a look of what might have been envy toward Karla’s hot chocolate, topped with a tower of whipped cream and a generous serving of finely grated chocolate. Karla scooped the top off the cream with her index finger and popped it into her mouth.
“There are spoons,” Genevieve said.
“Don’t get too anxious, dear,” Karla said. “Your lettuce leaf will be here shortly.”
I glanced at my mom. She rolled her eyes.
The waitress carried over a tray laden with our food. I inhaled the delicious scents emanating from my soup before digging in.
Once I’d come up for air, and the women had all enjoyed their first welcome bites, I said, “What’s the plan for the weekend? Too bad you won’t be here the first Saturday in December. That’s when we have our main Santa Claus parade, and it’s always hugely popular.”
“Your main parade?” Barbara said.
“We have one in July also. When Santa arrives for his summer vacation at the lake.”
“That sounds great,” Barbara said. “You can never have too much Christmas spirit.”
“You certainly can.” Karla took a big bite out of her roast beef sandwich. “I don’t believe Christmas music should be played or decorations put out until after Thanksgiving. It shouldn’t be allowed.”
“Good thing you don’t work for the justice department then.” Genevieve poked listlessly at her salad. “Or everyone in Aline’s town would be in jail. Her daughter first of all, right, Merry?”
“We’re only giving people what they want.” I gestured to the crowded restaurant. “No shortage of people visiting Rudolph before Christmas.”
“I didn’t mean people should go to jail! I simply happen to believe some restraint makes things more enjoyable.” Karla ran her finger around the inside of her now-empty mug and sucked on it.
“Some people enjoy the holidays more than others,” Ruth said. “That’s all. Each to their own, I always say.”
“Quite right you are, Ruth,” Mom said.
Karla wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “All I’m saying is that I taught my children, and now my grandchildren, that the best things in life are worth waiting for.”
I seized on the first thing I could think of to divert the conversation. “Are you from Upstate?” I asked Ruth. “You have the accent.”
She grinned at me. It was the first smile I’d seen on her. “Yeah. I live not far from here, in Rochester.” She’d ordered the roasted eggplant and mushroom sandwich with a small bowl of soup on the side.
“Isn’t that exciting?” Constance drawled.
“Hardworking, salt-of-the-earth people in Rochester,” Ruth said.
“Whatever.” Constance had ordered the Christmas salad. The greens were tossed with dried cranberries, slices of red and green peppers, slivers of white almonds. “I don’t know how you people can live here. I can’t abide this damp cold.”
“Cold?” I said. “This is nothing. And it’s not even damp. It hasn’t rained for days and the sun’s out.”
“What I hated most about our college years,” Constance said, “was the weather in New York. I couldn’t get back to California fast enough.”
“That’s not what I remember,” Barbara said. “Didn’t you have another reason for quitting in the middle of our junior year? How is Edward, anyway?”
“He’s doing well, thank you for asking. Since he took over my father’s company, it’s grown enormously.”
“Is Edward your husband?” I asked.
Genevieve snorted and Barbara laughed. Mom shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Karla’s head was down. She’d already finished her sandwich and the side of kettle-cooked potato chips.
Constance sorted through her lettuce leaves and found a minuscule piece of feta cheese. “My husband, Frank, died a few years ago. Edward is our son.” The huge square-cut diamond on her right hand caught the light from the celling lamps. It had probably been her engagement ring, and she’d moved it to the other hand after her husband’s death.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“We knew Frank in college,” Mom said. “That’s where he and Constance met. He was studying philosophy, as I remember. I was surprised when you told us he’d switched to business.”
“Simply the more practical choice,” Constance said.
“No grandchildren yet, Constance?” Karla said.
“Plenty of time yet,” Constance said.
“Don’t leave it too long,” Ruth said, as if Constance had any say in the matter. “You want to be young enough to enjoy them. I have four children and three beautiful granddaughters. You can never have too many grandchildren, I always say. My kids are doing so well. Would you like to see some pictures, Merry?” Without waiting for me to answer, she pulled out her phone, pressed a couple of buttons, and thrust the screen in my face. “These are my oldest boy’s daughters. That’s Jewell, she’s three. Natasha is five, and Madison one and a half. Of them all, I think Natasha looks the most like me, don’t you?”
I could see no resemblance whatsoever between the bright-eyed laughing girl and this woman with age and worry carved deeply into her face, but I said, “I do. They’re lovely.”
Not to be outdone, Karla flourished pictures of her grandchildren. “Only the two so far, but I’ve high hopes for many more.” She laughed heartily.
Once I’d admired all the photos, Mom said, “In answer to your earlier question, Merry, we’ll be getting a start on our holiday shopping over the weekend, but mostly we plan to hang around the house remembering our youth and catching up on all the news. It’s going to be so much fun.” She gave the group the smile that once lit up the balcony
of the Met. Today’s smile was as fake as it had been all the times her back ached, her costume was too tight, the tenor had trod (deliberately) on her toes during the duet, and she’d been fighting with the mezzo-soprano in the wings.
She was, I realized, already regretting this weekend. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile.
Chapter 2
When I got back to work after lunch, I was pleased to see the store was busy. I went into the back to put my purse away and check on Mattie. When I came out, intending to tell Jackie she could take her lunch break, she slid up to me. She glanced around the shop, checking that no one was in earshot before leaning in close.
“What?” I said.
“You didn’t take a necklace off the display and put it away, did you?” She kept her voice low.
“What necklace? And, no, I haven’t moved anything.”
“One of Crystal’s. The one with two chains and the wreath in the center.”
“I know the one you mean. They’ve been popular, and we have one left. She’s promised to make us more by parade weekend. What of it?”
“Stolen.”
“When?”
“I noticed it was gone when I was refilling the display after you went out with your mom and her friends. I hadn’t rung it up, so I did a quick check of the floor and the other tables in case it had been misplaced. Nope.”
I groaned. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
The chimes over the door tinkled merrily as more customers came in. I wasn’t feeling so merry. Shoplifting was a curse. I didn’t get a lot of it in here, maybe because my customers weren’t the sort to do that or because the Christmas atmosphere kept miscreants on the straight and narrow. Or maybe it was because a Santa holding his naughty-and-nice list watched over the shop from the shelves next to the curtain leading to the back rooms.
My heart sank when I remembered when I’d seen that necklace last.
