Arvid was either helping a lot of customers or he was hiding from her. Well, you could run but you couldn’t hide from an Icicle Falls cop. She decided to pay Arvid a little visit on her way to work.
When he saw her walk into the store all dressed in her police uniform, accessorized with her 45 mm Glock, he blanched like a crook caught with the goods. “Oh, Officer Morrison. I’ll bet you’re anxious to have that great stove.”
“You could say that.” She leaned on the counter. “What happened to my stove, Arvid?”
“I do apologize. We hit a snag.”
“A snag. You were supposed to deliver it last week. And then you were supposed to deliver it yesterday. And now it’s Tuesday and I still don’t have it. I’m cooking dinner for my family on Christmas Eve, and I’d like to be able to use it once before then. You know, get the hang of it.” She gave him the look that made even honest citizens tremble.
“I guarantee you’ll have it,” he promised, sounding like a human oil slick. “You’ll get it...”
“Tomorrow,” she finished with him. “Have you noticed what I’m wearing?”
“Very flattering,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Glad you like it.” Okay, she’d burn in hell for this. “What kind of car do you drive, Arvid?”
The grin faltered and Arvid’s forehead began to glisten as tiny beads of sweat formed. “Oh, just a nondescript little compact.”
“And I’m sure you obey all the traffic rules.”
He blinked. “Of course.”
“Because you’re just as good a citizen as you are a businessman.”
He nodded eagerly. “Of course.”
“And my stove will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
And, of course, it wasn’t. Arvid had better drive very carefully.
Chapter Fifteen
A little impromptu party with friends at a local gathering spot is a good way to relieve holiday stress.
—Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas
“Let’s do something tonight,” Deirdre said as she and Ivy stood at their twin cash registers, ringing up sales.
“I’m too pooped. All I want to do is go home and flop on the couch for about a million years.”
“You sound like an old woman.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” demanded a gray-haired customer wearing a Santa hat. “We old women have a lot of life left in us.”
“Oh, yes,” Deirdre murmured, her whole face glowing red. She took a string of candy-cane lights from the woman and rang them up. Once the woman had muttered a disgusted, “Hmmph,” and departed, Deirdre returned her attention to her sister. “It’s Rob’s weekend to have the kids, right?”
“Don’t remind me.” The weekend was already stretching out in front of Ivy like a long, lonely, rock-strewn path, and she wasn’t looking forward to rattling around in the house with only the dog for company.
“Come on, it’s Friday. You can’t sit around the house moping.”
“Sure I can,” Ivy said, and dredged up a smile for another customer. “Hello, Merry Christmas.” Bah, humbug.
Nicole had joined them now, having just helped someone find an ornament shaped like the infamous leg lamp from A Christmas Story. “Are you guys going out tonight? I wanna come.”
“Deirdre’s going out,” said Ivy. “I’m staying home.”
“Like a lump,” Deirdre said, obviously hoping to shame her into wanting to party when she was in a no-parties-ever-again mood.
“Come to the Man Cave with me,” Nicole said. “There’s a darts tournament tonight. Winner gets a bottle of peppermint schnapps.”
Deirdre made a face. “The guys who go there are all such losers.”
“Not all of them,” insisted Nicole. “And what about that cute bartender?”
“He’s married.”
“I’m not talking about Todd. I’m talking about his brother, Devon. He fills in on Fridays.” Nicole fanned herself. “Oh, my gosh. He’s just what I want for Christmas.”
“It might be kind of fun,” Deirdre said. “Anyway, it beats sitting at home,” she added, and looked meaningfully at her sister.
“I’ll pass.” The last thing Ivy wanted to do was go trolling for men in a seedy dump like the Man Cave. Actually, she didn’t want to go trolling for men anywhere. What was the point? You fell in love, had a family and wound up alone. Whoo boy, the pity party was starting early. Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, guess that won’t be me.
“If you change your mind...” Nicole said.
“She won’t. Once she decides something, it’s set in cement.”
Deirdre said this as if it was a bad thing and Ivy frowned at her. “What’s wrong with that?”
Deirdre shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Except sometimes it’s good to change your mind, go with the flow. Live a little.”
“I’ll remember that,” Ivy said, and greeted another customer.
Live a little. Easy for her sister to say. She didn’t have kids. Who had time to live when you had kids?
A woman who didn’t have hers for the weekend. She should do something.
But once she’d picked Hannah and Robbie up from her parents’ and gotten home, she didn’t have the inclination to do anything other than tap into her inner Scrooge. She had them ready to go by the time Rob arrived, Hannah’s clothes packed in her pink-and-lavender princess backpack with its quilted castle and her name on it, and Robbie’s diaper bag full to overflowing, in addition to his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack.
“Daddy!” Hannah squealed, and jumped for Rob’s arms when Ivy opened the front door.
Not to be outdone Robbie stretched up both hands. “Dada, uppy.”
He kissed Hannah, set her down and lifted up Robbie. Then he smiled at Ivy, the polite, wary smile of a man walking on thin relationship ice. “You look good.”
No, she didn’t. She looked tired. She needed to get her hair done. Maybe she’d do that tomorrow, stop by the salon on her lunch break and see how Missy had enjoyed her honeymoon in Hawaii.
“You got plans for the weekend?”
None of his business. But she’d let him think she did. Going to the salon counted as plans, didn’t it? “For tomorrow. Tonight I’m too tired to do anything.” And why was she confessing this to her ex as if they were buddies or something?
He nodded. “Figured you would be.”
“Let’s go, Daddy,” Hannah said, grabbing his hand, tired of sharing her father’s attention.
“Okay, time to go get pizza.”
Friday night was always pizza night when they were married, and Rob was keeping up the tradition with the kids. Ivy hadn’t had a pizza since the divorce was final. “Don’t give Robbie pepperoni or sausage,” she reminded him.
“I know already. Don’t worry,” Rob told her.
She couldn’t help worrying. But it wasn’t her weekend. She didn’t get a say in what the kids ate when they were with Daddy. She didn’t get a say in anything. You need a break, she lectured herself. Be glad he wants to stay involved in their lives. He wanted to be part of hers, too. Tough. People didn’t always get what they wanted in life.
Once she decides something, it’s set in cement. Nothing wrong with that. Cement was sturdy. It protected you.
“Daddy,” Hannah said imperiously.
“Right. Off we go.”
Ivy watched as they went down the front walk, Robbie looking at her from over his father’s shoulder, Hannah skipping alongside Rob, the tassel on the red hat Ivy had knitted for her bouncing. Ivy sighed and shut the door. She turned on her TV, got out her knitting and wished she was going out for pizza with her family.
No, no. She was better off sitting here o
n the couch, encased in cement.
Half an hour later, she was still on the couch, just a girl, her yarn and the TV, when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find a man in jeans and a parka, bearing a large insulated pizza carrier.
“I didn’t order a pizza,” she told him.
“Someone ordered it for you.” He handed her the box and a folded sheet of paper. “Have a nice night,” he said and hurried down the walk to his car with the lighted Italian Alps sign on the roof.
Ivy shut the door and read the note. So you don’t have to cook. Rob. She frowned. Now he was trying to bribe his way back. Well, she couldn’t be bribed.
But darn, that pizza smelled good. She opened the box. Barbecued chicken, her fave. She carried it into the living room and set it on the coffee table. Now it was just a girl, her yarn, the TV and her favorite pizza. Come to think of it, she was hungry. No sense letting this go to waste.
Oh, wow, that was good.
But she was eating alone. She was going to spend the whole darn night alone.
Rob had a life. She should have one, too.
She finished her slice of pizza and went upstairs to take a bath. And shave her legs. And put on her tightest jeans. She was going out.
Eight o’clock found her walking into the dark, seedy den that was the Man Cave. Billy Williams, one of the town characters, was playing pool with two other guys all decked out in worn jeans and baseball caps worn backward to cover their bald spots. A hefty man sporting a Santa hat and a beer belly was working the pinball machine, while several men, most of them older, hunched along the bar at the far end of the tavern, nursing beers or whiskies. The real action was taking place in one corner. There, a couple of cute guys in their early thirties were busy playing darts and flirting with Deirdre and Nicole. Then there was the man standing behind the bar, washing glasses and observing the action. Devon Black. Oh, he was enough to make a woman consider a second chance at love. Except she’d seen him hanging around Tilda’s place. If they were an item, she didn’t want to poach. She would never poach another woman’s man.
Unlike the cheap blonde coming out of the restroom. Ashley Armstrong. There wasn’t a man in town she hadn’t gone after since Garrett Armstrong divorced her, and that included Rob. In fact, she’d gotten her talons into him practically the second he moved out. Someone had seen them having dinner at Zelda’s on Valentine’s Day, and it had gotten back to Ivy faster than Cupid’s arrow. He hadn’t stayed with Ashley for very long, but she was still the other woman. Oh, this was beyond awkward.
She spotted Ivy and narrowed her eyes and tossed her long blond, split-ended hair. Then she sashayed over to where the dart players were partying and took a seat at the bar, picking up a half-downed glass of what looked like cola. Probably rum and Coke. Was she playing darts? More to the point, were Deirdre and Nicole playing darts with her, the traitors?
Ivy hovered near the entrance, trying to decide if she should go back home to her pizza. Yes. Bad enough to have been humiliated, but then to hang around and have Ashley looking down on her with an I-took-your-man smirk. Eew.
Just then Deirdre saw her. She waved and called Ivy’s name, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Okay, if she left now, it would be a case of letting the other woman win—again. She had no choice but to join them. She should’ve stayed home. Why had she bothered to shave her legs? There was no one here she wanted.
“Well, if it isn’t the perfect Mrs. Bohn,” Ashley sneered as she walked past. “Except it turned out you weren’t so perfect, didn’t it?”
“And it turned out you weren’t so sexy, didn’t it?” Ivy retorted, making Ashley’s face redden.
“I dumped him, you know,” Ashley said. “He was lousy in bed.”
“Funny, that’s what I’ve always heard about you.”
“Hey, now, ladies. No fighting,” Devon said pleasantly. “What can I get you?” he asked Ivy.
“Give her some Icicle Orchards cider,” Deirdre told him.
“Is she playing darts with you?” she asked Deirdre, nodding in Ashley’s direction.
Deirdre bit her lower lip. “It’s a tournament. We couldn’t tell her to take a hike.”
“I knew I should’ve stayed home,” Ivy muttered.
Ashley, who’d been pretending not to eavesdrop, inserted herself in the conversation. “Then why don’t you go home? You can’t play now, anyway. The tournament’s already started.”
Ivy picked up her glass. “I’m just here to watch.” She turned her back on the tacky man stealer and went to stand by Nicole, who was watching as one of the guys threw his darts.
“Wow, two triples and a bull’s-eye,” Nicole gushed. “I wish I could do that.”
“Just takes practice,” said her competitor. He smiled at Ivy. “Hey, there.”
Nicole introduced her. Then, as he walked over to the dartboard to retrieve his darts, she leaned over and whispered, “He’s the new guy who works at Safeway. Isn’t he cute?”
Yeah, but he didn’t have as cute a butt as Rob did. Right now Rob would be putting Hannah to bed, listening to her bedtime prayers. Maybe he was reading her a story. After that, he’d probably watch some action flick.
She remembered when they used to cuddle on the couch and watch movies together and suddenly felt like crying. Instead, she downed some more cider. That stuff had a kick.
The other guy, introduced as Ben, took a turn and his three darts all embedded themselves in one of the red bars in the middle of the circle.
“Nice,” said his pal. “But I’m still kicking your ass.”
“I’m gonna kick all your asses,” bragged Ashley from her bar stool. Ivy wished she’d fall off and break hers.
It was now Deirdre’s turn with the darts. Since when did she play darts?
Since never. Two of her darts bounced off the board onto the old wooden floor and one stuck in the wall. “Oops,” she said, and giggled.
“Ha! She can’t even hit the dartboard.” Ashley chortled.
“Isn’t it time for you to go home with someone?” Ivy asked her sweetly.
Ashley turned her back. “Give me another rum and Coke.”
Another drink. Good idea. Ivy finished the rest of her cider and ordered a refill.
The competition went on, with the men doing backward math and writing numbers on the scoreboard. And Ivy sipped away at her cider and visited.
This was kind of fun...as long as she ignored Ashley. Oh, who cared about...Ashleeeey? Ivy’s tongue was feeling fuzzy. Just like her head.
Deirdre stepped up to the line again, her lower lip caught between her teeth, concentrating on her target. One dart stuck at the outside of the wheel. The other two wound up on the floor.
“Another loser, just like her sister,” Ashley said under her breath.
Ivy whirled on her. Whoa, let’s not turn around so fast. “Talk about losers.” Had that just come out as looshers? “You haven’t been able to keep one single man you’ve latched onto.”
“I kept yours. Until I didn’t want him anymore. And that’s more than you can say, isn’t it?”
Critical mass, boiling point, had enough! With a screech, Ivy lunged for Ashley. Ashley lunged right back and suddenly they were pulling at hair, trying to scratch out eyeballs, bouncing off tables and pretty much putting on a show while the other patrons of the Man Cave cheered them on.
Ashley landed a solid punch to Ivy’s right eye. Oh, look, the stars had come out in the Man Cave. Maybe Ashley would like an indoor night-sky tour, too. Ivy took aim and missed, her ring cutting Ashley’s lip in the process, making her squeal like a stuck pig.
Of course, now that blood had been drawn, the fighting really started, with the combatants ricocheting off the bar, sending glasses and beer bottles flying and tipping bar stools. “I’ve got a ten on Ash,” somebod
y called as another bar stool crashed to the floor.
Ivy was vaguely aware of her sister crying, “Call the police!” as she landed in some guy’s lap.
“Don’t spoil the fun,” he said right before Ashley knocked her onto the floor.
Oh, yeah, they were having fun now.
* * *
“What a surprise,” Jamal said as he hit the siren, “a brawl at the Man Cave.”
“It beats lurking on Icicle Road, giving out traffic tickets,” Tilda said.
“How much you want to bet we find your buddy Black at the bottom of it?”
“He’s not my buddy,” Tilda said through gritted teeth. Which of them was she trying to convince?
“I hope you’ve got better taste than that, Til.”
So did she, but ever since she’d witnessed Devon Black scooping that little boy out of harm’s way in the Safeway parking lot, she’d had the sneaking suspicion that her taste was beginning to change. Of course, they probably would find him behind the trouble tonight, back to his old tricks, hitting on other men’s women, picking fights, showing his true colors.
The atmosphere as they entered the tavern was like a Las Vegas fight night, with men cheering and hooting, money changing hands as bets were made. There, at the center of the mayhem, were two women intent on beating the crap out of each other. And one of them was...
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Tilda growled, and pushed her way through the spectators.
Jamal was right behind her and each of them took hold of a combatant. In the process Ashley tried to throw a punch at Ivy and caught Tilda on the side of the head.
“Whoa, that’s enough of that,” Jamal said, pulling her away while Tilda hung on to Ivy.
“She started it!” Ashley cried. “You bitch!”
Ivy?
“I did not!” Ivy yelled back.
Tilda frowned at her. “What the heck are you doing?”
“I’m...” Ivy waved a hand about wildly. “I’m...”
“You broke a nail,” Tilda informed her, and Ivy burst into tears.
“Who started this?” Jamal was asking.
Christmas on Candy Cane Lane Page 22
