by Robyn Neeley
He watched the film’s final scene with a big ole grin that had nothing to do with the movie’s happy ending. He was having yet another great time with Bethany. He wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up, and he wasn’t in any hurry to call it a night. As the movie credits rolled, he stretched his legs and flipped open the pizza box. “Want to split this last one?”
“Sure.” Bethany took her half and swirled it in the sauce. “So what exactly is in this this?”
He shrugged. “Good question. I don’t know.”
“But you worked for Ralph all those years. He never had you make it?”
“Nope, and he guards that secret recipe better than Emma does those mixing spoons. No one knows it—although . . .” He tapped his knuckle on his seat arm. “I bet who might be able to tell us.” He chuckled and waved the container in the air. “Hey, MR, if you happen to know what Ralph puts in his sauce, can you spill the beans?”
“MR.”
Adam turned to see Bethany’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“MR,” she repeated, but this time in a whisper.
“It’s a nickname. MR. Mary Reed. Like calling you LB.”
“Right.” She stood and tripped over the glass she’d set on the floor, wine spilling everywhere. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He grabbed the napkins. “I know where Caitlin keeps her mop.” He grinned. “No biggie.”
“I need to go.” She grabbed her jacket and shoved it on.
Why was she so freaked out? “Okay. Do you want me to drive you? I’ll clean this up. It’ll take five minutes, tops.”
“No. My car’s in the parking lot.” She stepped around the spilled wine. “I’m sorry for leaving you this, but I really need to go.”
“Okay. No problem.” What was up with her mad dash? Was it something he said? “Bethany,” he called out.
She turned, looking like she was going to tear into him if he didn’t let her leave.
“Thanks for coming tonight and having dinner with me.”
Her expression softened, and she pulled the door open to the balcony. “I had a great time.” She turned and disappeared.
“Me, too,” he said to the empty balcony. What was going on in that pretty head of hers?
It only took a few minutes to clean up the spilled wine. Grabbing his jacket, he walked down the corridor and stopped at the black-and-white picture of Mary, holding what they all came to realize was the box containing the shimmering blue mixing spoon. The picture had been taken on the theater’s opening night and now hung in the corridor along with other old pictures of the theater throughout the years.
He tapped on the frame. “Listen, Mary, in addition to sharing the ingredients in Ralph’s sauce, can you clue me in on Bethany Wilson?”
Chapter 10
“Thank you for meeting me here.” Bethany opened the Christmas Corner’s front door. She’d returned Abby’s demand yesterday that she drop everything and meet her with an urgent one of her own.
There was no denying it. She was spooked.
Was Mary Reed the MR in MR Wedding? If so, how was it even possible that she was sending all the boxes that now filled the back office? Did ghosts have their own FedEx account?
“So what’s going on?” Abby pulled off her green mittens and then her matching hat, letting her red hair flow past her shoulders. “Need me to cast a spell for more ornaments?” She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in front of the tree.
“Aren’t you only able to pull off spells that involve Brandon?”
“Don’t believe anything you hear from Josh. He’s just jealous.” She put her hands on her hips. “So, what’s up?”
“I’m not sure where to begin.” Bethany motioned for Abby to follow her into the back where she’d carried in yesterday’s shipment. They weren’t heavy, considering they were full of garter belts. Hundreds of white, gold, and silver ones.
She took a deep breath. “So, for the last week I’ve been receiving mysterious packages. My parents have no idea who is sending them.”
“What’s in them?” Abby asked, eyeing the shipment.
“Beads, tiaras, heels, lingerie, and yesterday . . .” She paused and reached down for a silver garter, twirling it with her finger. “These came in.”
“And you think I know who they’re from?”
“Yes. I mean, maybe.” She pulled one of the flaps back. “My name is on all the boxes, but look at the return label. MR Wedding.”
“MR Wedding? Hmm . . . Doesn’t sound familiar.” Abby tapped her finger to her chin. “I haven’t booked a catering gig with them if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, but you’ve met MR—whose full name is . . .” She paused, feeling the hair on her arms stand at attention for the big reveal. “Mary Reed.”
Abby’s eyes immediately widened. “Oh, my God. You think Mary’s been sending these?” She walked in between the boxes, her high black boot heels clicking on the wooden floor.
“I have no idea.”
“So these all came this week?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after you opened the hope chest?” She pulled out a handful of beads and held them up in the air.
“Before.”
“Interesting.”
“And spooky.”
Abby set the beads down, examined each box for a few minutes, and finally waved her hand. “You have nothing to be scared about. If it’s even her, I’m sure there’s a good reason why she’s sending these to you. We just need to figure it out. Besides, Mary is practically family, and she’s Adam and Tom’s distant cousin. She’s not doing anything malicious.”
“But why me? I’m not in either of your families.”
“Yet.”
“I told you Adam and I are just friends.”
Abby came up beside her, squeezed her shoulder, and pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall above Bethany’s desk. “It’s so wonderful to see how supportive you are of his modeling debut.”
Crap. Bethany glanced at the calendar. “I like cats.”
“So how long has Mr. July been up there?”
Bethany could feel the blush that gave her feelings away. “A while,” she admitted. “My apologies to Mr. December.”
Abby laughed. “He won’t hear it from me. My lips are sealed.”
Bethany knew that Abby wasn’t talking about the fact that her husband was the model for that month. “Thank you. It’s only a crush.” She sighed. “Mr. July will never know.”
“Why not?”
“Because he only sees me as a friend. He’s made that totally clear. He was with Rachel for so long. Even if he saw me as anything more than his neighbor—which he doesn’t—the timing’s never been right.”
“But it could be now.” Abby nodded her encouragement. “Although, you may have some competition if the mystery blonde that he’s been talking about decides to show up out of the blue.”
“That won’t happen.”
“How do you know?”
“It was me.”
“What?” Abby cocked her head to the side. “How?”
Bethany leaned against her desk. It might actually feel good to confess what she’d done, and she could trust Abby. “Mary’s dress wasn’t the only thing I put on that night. I came back downstairs in one of the wigs that Emma and Caitlin bought. When I saw Adam alone in the hallway, I . . .”
“Went for it?”
“Yeah. Stupid, right? It was one kiss.”
“Not stupid.” Abby lowered her eyelids. “He didn’t know it was you?”
“No, when Betty announced the Holiday Hook Up was about to begin, I ducked outside.”
“Wow. Discovering an enchanted hope chest and kissing Adam incognito. You had a busy night.”
“Tell me about it.” Bethany straightened. “It’s that dress. It did something to me. I had this overwhelming sense of self-confidence. I’ve never in my life experienced it. I could have done anything in that dress,
so I did the one thing that I’d been wanting to do for as long as I could remember.”
“Kiss Adam.”
“Yeah.”
Abby maneuvered through the boxes, reaching in and pulling out a pair of silver strappy heels. “Well, let’s focus on what we have here. If I had to guess, I think Mary is planning your wedding.”
“My wedding.”
“To Adam.”
“Well, she can stop. It’s never going to happen.”
Abby knelt down and inspected one of the boxes. “Although, there is a lot of stuff here. I’m not sure it’s only for your wedding.”
“Who else is it for?”
A loud knock on the front door, interrupting their conversation. Bethany peeked out. “It’s Danny.”
“More boxes.” Abby headed for the front. “Let’s see.”
Bethany straightened her sweater and joined Abby at the door, unlocking it for the FedEx delivery man. “Hey, Danny.” She peeked around him but didn’t see his dolly that was normally full of boxes. “How many are you leaving for me today?”
“Just this one.” He nodded to the box under his arm. “But it’s not for you this time. Although, it has your address.”
“Who’s it for?” Bethany asked.
“Adam.”
Bethany and Abby exchanged worried looks.
“I’ll sign for it. I’m seeing him later.” Abby lunged for the clipboard and scribbled her name. That seemed to be fine with Danny. He took his clipboard back and handed over the small box to Bethany.
She inspected the top. Sure enough, the label read “MR Wedding.”
Abby took the box out of her hands and placed it on the counter. “Let’s see what’s in it.”
“But it’s Adam’s. Isn’t that a federal offense?”
“When the deceased could be the sender, I think we’re okay. Do you have some scissors?”
Bethany walked around the counter, pulled out the pair she kept by the cash register, and handed them to Abby.
In no time, Abby had the box open. “Oh, God.”
“What is it?”
Abby pulled out a long, blonde wig, holding it up. “Is this what you wore when you kissed Adam?”
Chapter 11
Adam pulled into his driveway and shut off the lights. He’d spent the whole afternoon shopping with his father who always waited until the last minute to buy his Christmas gifts. It’d involved a trip to a mall a few towns over followed by a relaxing dinner and a game of cards, in which Tom and Bridget joined them.
It would be another year—two tops—and then he suspected his brother and Bridget would start a family of their own. He was rather looking forward to being called Uncle Adam. He’d no doubt spoil any nieces or nephews like crazy, especially on Christmas.
He glanced over at the huge green Tupperware container his stepmom had given him full of her famous beef lasagna. His not being much of a cook was well known among his family. She always sent him home with enough leftovers to feed a small army, which he appreciated.
He climbed out of his truck, noticing that Bethany was home. Since her living room light was on and the curtains were drawn, he had a clear shot of her sitting on the sofa. She looked like she was settled in for the night, sporting red pajamas with her hair up in a long, messy ponytail.
Must be ready to retire early.
He cocked his head to the side, watching her bring up a wine bottle to her lips and tilt it up for several seconds.
Or not.
Someone was enjoying herself. Maybe he should go over there and see what was causing her to get smashed alone on Christmas Eve. At least he thought she was by herself. There wasn’t another car in her driveway.
He reached back in his truck for the lasagna that would go excellent with red wine if she hadn’t eaten. Crossing his driveway, he headed up her walkway and knocked on the door.
She didn’t make a move to get off the couch, so he pulled on the door handle, but it was locked. Stepping back, he moved to the window and tapped. “Hey, Bethany.”
For some odd reason, seeing him caused her to take cover. Did she purposely duck from him?
More amused than worried, he tapped again. “Hey, LB. Everything okay?”
She popped up and opened the window. “Oh, hey. Hi, Adam,” she said, while setting the wine bottle down on her glass coffee table. “How are you doing?”
“Good. Spent the evening at my dad’s.” He pointed to the ground. “Roads are getting a little slick, though. Thought it would be best to get home before it got messy out here.”
“That’s good.” She stared at him without another word.
“Want some company?” he finally asked.
“Sure,” she said, but made no motion to leave the couch.
“Right.” He nodded to the door. “Want to let me in?”
“Yes!”
He watched her leap up and proceed to stumble, straighten herself, and grab on to her recliner for balance.
Well, it was official: Bethany Wilson was tanked. Chuckling, he walked back over to her front door. Not only would he feed her his lasagna, but he’d encourage her to take a couple of aspirin before she went to bed.
She flung open the door and threw her arms around him, falling forward. “Hi, Adam the Elf. I’m so happy to see you.”
Her arms were latched around his middle, holding on for dear life. “Looks like I’ve come to the right place for some Christmas spirits. Have you eaten?”
She let go and eyed the lasagna container in his hand. “Not yet. Is that for me?”
“Yes. My stepmom sent it home with me.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle!” She waved him in and shut the door.
“I don’t know if it’s quite that miraculous, but it’s pretty damn good. I thought maybe you’d like some.” He wiggled out of his coat and hung it up on the coat hanger next to the door.
“I’d love it. Would you like a beer?” She stumbled toward her kitchen before he could answer, humming Jingle Bells.
A beer sounded good, and he was more than curious to why Bethany had decided to go on a binge tonight. He’d find out while he warmed up the lasagna.
He slid off his shoes because that seemed like the right thing to do. Her home was way cozier than his sparse bachelor pad with colorful accent carpets and breathtaking scenic framed pictures decorating the walls. He admired the one of Buttermilk Lake, taking in the deep blue water and pink sky. She, no doubt, took this picture and all the others hanging up. Bethany was one talented photographer.
“So, LB . . .” He turned the corner for her living room and stopped in his tracks.
What do we have here?
He stepped closer. Not what he expected to see next to her wine bottle on the coffee table. Not at all. Sure, if it was at Emma’s, Abby’s, or maybe even Josh’s house, he wouldn’t blink an eye. “What are you doing with a Ouija Board?” He bent over and touched the planchette, sliding it to the “yes” in the left-hand corner.
“Nothing.” She appeared in the doorway with an open bottle of beer and brought it to him before plopping back down on the couch. “I was just messing around.”
He took a sip of his beer and sat down next to her, noticing the white pillar candles that had been lit on her mantle while a scented one glowed on her coffee table. “Who are you trying to reach? A ghost of your Christmas past?”
That question caused her to reach for the bottle and tip it up before answering. “I was bored and thought it would be fun.”
“Where did you get it?” he asked, reaching for the box on the floor, he turned it over. Did toy stores even sell these anymore?
“Abby loaned it to me.” She sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “After I got this really unsettling package earlier today.”
“More random wedding stuff?”
“Yep.” She nodded, but then shook her head. “Well, not this time. Something was returned to me.”
“What?”
“Nothing I ever want to
wear again.”
He eyed her. Whatever she had received seriously rattled her, but why so much that it caused her to get drunk and conduct a séance? He lowered the box and leaned it against the sofa. “Who are you trying to contact?”
“Someone . . .” She waved the wine bottle in the air. “. . . who has been freakin’ messing with me. Well, they don’t know who they’re dealing with, because enough is enough.”
Adam reached for the bottle. There was no way that he’d let her spill red wine on her beige sofa. Not on his watch. Although, he suspected she’d pretty much finished the bottle. It was time to get some food into her. “Why don’t we have some of that lasagna? Do you have garlic powder, bread, and butter? If so, I know my way around a toaster.”
She laughed. “My kitchen is your kitchen. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He got up and bent down, grabbing Bethany’s legs and stretching them. He next pulled off a red wool blanket from the back of the couch and covered her. “You, my patient, are to stay right here and get cozy. Dr. Adam’s orders. No séances.”
“Fine.” She settled into the sofa. “Dumb thing doesn’t work anyway.”
He grinned and headed into the kitchen. He wasn’t an expert in magic by any means, but he was realizing that sometimes you couldn’t control when it happened. Even with his limited experience, he doubted he could call a spirit up on demand.
Pulling out some bread, he found her garlic powder, butter, and a baking sheet. Screw toast. He knew how to also turn on an oven. Bethany was going to love this meal.
While waiting for the lasagna to heat up, he brought out a nice large glass of ice water. It probably wasn’t her drink of choice at the moment, but she’d thank him for it tomorrow.
It didn’t take him long to bring out two plates with the lasagna and garlic bread. “For my Holiday Hook Up,” he said, extending one to her.
“Thank you.” She sat up and positioned herself to eat. “You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It was nothing. My stepmom is seriously a fantastic cook.”
Bethany took a bite and then another. “That she is.”
