‘The last time I saw my parents was Christmas morning, 1983. I woke up anticipating presents under the tree, but instead found them unconscious from a mixture of pills and booze, surrounded by parts of the bicycle Santa was supposed to bring me. I went into the kitchen and called my grandmother. She arranged for the local police to bring me to her house and I never went back.’
‘I’m so sorry, Clemson. Had I known, I wouldn’t have—’
‘No, please, don’t be sorry,’ Reade soothed. ‘It was a turning point in my life, and a good one. My grandmother was on a fixed income, but I always knew she was there to love and support me. And those cops who collected me? I’m one of them now. Granted, I started out wanting to be a doctor, but I have no regrets about where I am now. I haven’t rescued any kids from negligent parents, but I like to think that I help out the community by enforcing the law while not trampling on anyone’s rights or souls.’
‘Well, I haven’t been here long, but I think you’re doing a great job.’
‘I’ve lived here nearly twenty years, and you’ve done a terrific job,’ Mary Jo shouted from the kitchen, prompting Tish and Reade to laugh.
‘Well, since you’ve both given me a high job approval rating, may I have a slice of gingerbread?’ he asked.
‘Sure. I usually top it with cinnamon-scented whipped cream, but it’s still too warm for that.’
‘I don’t care. I never could wait until it was cool – which is why my grandmother dubbed me “asbestos mouth.”’
Tish grabbed a serrated knife and sliced into the warm cake. ‘Would you like some, Mary Jo?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t. I had cookies last night.’ Mary Jo emerged from the kitchen, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. ‘But you know how I love your gingerbread.’
‘I do.’ Tish positioned a square of gingerbread on a white plate and handed it to Reade before slicing another one.
‘The first time you ever baked it for me was sophomore year of college. Neither of us could afford to go home for Thanksgiving, so we drove Jules home to West Virginia and had dinner with him and his mother, then we returned to the dorm Friday morning and, in between studying for exams, decorated our room with Christmas lights and used the shared kitchen to bake treats.’
‘Feeding people even then,’ Reade remarked and plunged a fork into the gingerbread.
As Reade and Mary Jo chatted and devoured their gingerbread, Tish spied Schuyler in the parking lot. Excusing herself, she left the counter and greeted him at the door with a kiss. ‘Good morning.’
‘Morning.’ He returned the kiss and slid both arms around her waist. His face was cold, but cleanly shaven and redolent with musky aftershave. ‘I thought I’d try and catch you before you headed off to the fair.’
‘I’m glad you did. Can I get you some coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I filled my travel mug in the Keurig before I left the house. But something smells good.’ He inhaled deeply and undid his cashmere scarf and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his navy Chesterfield coat.
‘Gingerbread. Fresh from the oven.’
Reade and Mary Jo looked up from their plates and gave a wave in Schuyler’s direction.
‘Yum. Looks like I’d better act fast. Would you mind if I steal a piece to go with my lunch later?’
‘Of course not. Where are you headed?’
‘Well, unless you need me to help out today, a town council meeting. There may be some zoning law changes coming next year and I want to be prepared. But if you need a hand, I’m more than happy to stick around.’
‘No, I should be fine. I have Jules and Celestine, and since the café has been super quiet, I’ll probably bring MJ along. I know Charlotte’s just seventeen, but she’s learned enough to hold down the fort here.’
‘Sounds as though you’re covered, then.’ Schuyler wrapped his arms around her waist and bestowed upon her another kiss.
‘Yeah, um, speaking of Mary Jo’ – her voice sank to a whisper – ‘can I talk to you?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
With a quick word to Mary Jo and Reade, Tish led Schuyler upstairs to her apartment. ‘As you know, Mary Jo has that great big split-level she’s now running on her own. Although Glen is paying the mortgage and for the kids’ activities, Mary Jo’s responsible for all the utilities and taxes and she’s falling behind.’
‘Yeah, that’s a tremendous burden. Does she need a loan? I’d be happy to give her one.’ As if to show his earnestness, Schuyler reached under his coat and into his trouser pocket.
‘No.’ Tish rethought her words. ‘Well, yes … but I already promised her one. Just to cover this month’s gas and electric bill.’
‘Can you float that on your own? I mean, you’re just getting your business off the ground.’
‘I can float it, for now. What I wanted to tell you, as my landlord, is that I invited MJ and the kids to stay here until they can get back on their feet.’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea. It gives her a fresh start in a new environment, some breathing space from the bills, and an additional person to help with her parenting duties or just for support. The only problem it doesn’t fix is the property tax, for which MJ will still be responsible, even if she’s living here, but filing for an abatement should resolve that.’
‘An abatement,’ Tish repeated. ‘Could you help us with that, or do we need to contact an accountant?’
‘It’s a simple form. I’ll pick one up while I’m at the town hall for the meeting.’
‘You’re wonderful. Do you know that?’ She smiled.
‘I’m not wonderful. Just in love with you.’ He returned the smile and pulled her close. ‘If it’s OK with you, I’ll have a new lease drafted to include MJ. That might sound finicky to you—’
‘Not finicky, just “attorney-ish.”’
‘But it’s protection for all of us. With her name on a lease, MJ can get a renter’s insurance policy that will protect her belongings in case of fire or theft. Likewise, with her name on the lease, my insurance will cover any damages should her kids accidentally break through a wall with a field hockey stick. But, more importantly, a lease gives MJ more security. If she’s a co-tenant, she can go on living here even if you don’t.’
Tish was dumbfounded. Live somewhere else? When her business, blood, and livelihood was rooted in the kitchen and dining area downstairs?
Schuyler watched Tish’s face and broke into a broad grin. ‘That last part wasn’t an eviction. It was a proposal.’
‘A proposal?’
‘Will you move in with me?’
Tish was thunderstruck. ‘What?’
‘Move in with me.’
‘I–I don’t understand.’
‘I’ll try to make it clearer. Move in. With me. Move. In. With. Me. I’ve changed the pacing, but you’re still looking at me with a question in your eyes, so maybe I’ll change the words. Please share my humble abode. The two of us cohabitating at my dwelling place would give me great pleasure. My house is empty without you in it. Have you got the idea now?’
‘But my business, my café, my kitchen are all here.’
‘And they’ll still be here, even if you live elsewhere. You’d simply need to drive your little red car five miles or so to get to them.’
‘I don’t know, Schuyler. I’ve only just begun to get settled into this place.’
‘But now with Mary Jo and her kids moving in, you’ll be “unsettling.” That’s the wrong word, I know, but everything you’ve put into place is going to be undone. Not intentionally, of course. It’s just the nature of the beast.’
‘I know.’ Tish meandered over to the sofa and plopped down on to it.
‘Let them have this place to themselves. You’ll still be around to help them through things; you’ll just be outside the chaos. In fact, although you’ll have to drive to work in the mornings, you’ll gain more time in the end. Those Monday mornings you spend catching up on laundry? I’ll have done it on the weekend. Th
ose days when you’re running the café and a catering job simultaneously and are too tired to even think of cooking anything else?’ Schuyler waved his hand in the air and sat down beside her. ‘Your boy here will have fixed your favorite salmon supper or have ordered from that Italian place in Ashland that you like so much. And did I mention the foot rubs?’
‘That does sound tempting,’ Tish conceded as she leaned her head on Schuyler’s shoulder. ‘I appreciate your offer – your very sweet, very lovely offer – but I’m just not sure I’m ready.’
‘But you’re ready to share this space with three other people?’
Tish looked Schuyler in the eye. ‘In theory, yes. In practice, it will be difficult. I was thinking of moving my storage room to an outbuilding and then converting the storage room to an office/bedroom.’
‘Orrrrr,’ he sang, ‘you could move in with me. I have three bedrooms, one of which could be your office. You can have free rein in the kitchen, too. Rearrange it to suit you and your needs. Hell, make over the whole condo – I don’t care. All I want is you.’
Tish teared up. ‘I love your proposal. I love you. I just feel as though it’s too soon.’
‘My parents got married two weeks after meeting each other.’
‘You’re talking about two different people living in a different time. When you and I met, we said we wanted to take things slowly.’
‘We did. And we have. In a way.’
‘Moving in together after only four months of dating isn’t taking things slowly.’
‘Maybe not,’ Schuyler acknowledged. ‘But I don’t think that’s a valid reason for saying it won’t work.’
‘I never said it wouldn’t work. I said I feel rushed.’
‘And maybe that’s the answer. Maybe we “unrush” you. How about you spend a little more time at my place this January? Get used to being there, tweak some things to make it feel more like home. Feng shui the living room, alphabetize my refrigerator—’
Tish laughed. ‘I’ve already organized it by height.’
‘That’s true. Then we’ll buy a houseplant together or something.’
‘Oh, you don’t want to have a houseplant with me. My cooking skills never have translated to gardening skills.’
‘Well, then we’ll get some throw pillows or a new mixer. In the meantime, you’ll still have your time here in the café, with Mary Jo, Jules, and the kids. Let’s make it a slow transition with an eye on you eventually moving in with me, instead of a sudden move. Would that work?’
‘That sounds perfect. Thank you for being so understanding.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? I want you to move in with me, but I’m not going to strong-arm you. As long as we’re in agreement that you’ll eventually move in, I can wait because you’re worth waiting for.’
TEN
‘I can’t believe you turned him down,’ a perplexed Mary Jo told Tish as the former replenished the small change of the fair booth till. ‘It’s like you’re actually looking forward to being crammed into an apartment with me and two teenagers.’
‘Well, I think it’s romantic,’ Jules broadcast while stirring his famous mulled wine. ‘Him willing to wait for you until you’re ready.’
‘It’s not romantic. It’s what real men do,’ Celestine announced. She had brought along a fresh batch of cakes and was loading them into the glass countertop case.
‘Aww, did Mr Rufus wait for you?’ Mary Jo posed.
‘Nah, I got pregnant just about a second after he looked at me,’ Celestine guffawed. ‘Nine months later, though, he waited with me and held my hand through twelve hours of labor. He waited with me for the births of the other three as well, but they took no time at all.’
‘Amazing, isn’t it? Gregory’s delivery was so difficult, I swore I’d never have another child. I did, of course, and Kayla’s delivery was a breeze.’
Celestine nodded. ‘Mine got easier with each go. Number four was so fast, Mr Rufus likened her to an airplane passenger zipping down one of those inflatable emergency evacuation slides.’
‘Mr Rufus has a way with words,’ Tish noted.
‘And, apparently, his eyes,’ Jules joked.
Amidst boisterous laughter, Tish set about adjusting the temperature beneath her kettles of stew and alphabet soup. As her friends continued to discuss children, marriage, and life in general, she took note of Sam Noble approaching the booth. He was dressed in his usual outfit of insulated flannel work shirt, jeans, and apron, and in the company of a young girl.
‘Morning, Sam,’ she greeted.
‘Mornin’, Tish.’
‘And who do you have with you?’
‘This is my daughter, Lily. Seeing as she enjoyed your lunch so much, I thought she should drop by and say thank you.’
Tish bent slightly at the waist so as to be closer to eye level with the youngster. ‘Hello, Lily. Nice to meet you.’
The raven-haired girl dug her hands deep into the pockets of her bubblegum-pink, fur-trimmed puffer jacket and stared at Tish with wide brown eyes but said nothing.
‘Lily, what do we say to the nice lady who made you that delicious lunch yesterday?’ Noble prompted.
‘Thank you,’ Lily recited in a near-whisper.
‘You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed the lunch and the show. Will you be here for another show later today?’
Lily nodded.
‘Good. Now that I know who you are, I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t pay for your lunch. And maybe we’ll have a special treat in store, if Mom approves.’
‘I can’t let you do that, Tish,’ Noble argued.
‘Don’t be silly, Sam. Had I recognized your wife and daughter in yesterday’s lunch crowd, I wouldn’t have charged them in the first place.’
‘That’s mighty kind of you.’
‘We both own restaurants in this town and we’re both vendors at the fair. I know had I or any member of my staff popped over to your booth, you’d have done the same.’
‘I would have, but I still thank you.’ Sam looked down at his daughter. ‘What do you say we get set up for the morning?’
Lily nodded and the two walked off hand in hand. ‘See ya, Tish,’ Sam called.
‘Bye, Sam. Bye, Lily.’
At mention of her name, Lily turned around and stared over her shoulder at Tish, until a gentle nudge from her father urged her to look forward.
Tish watched as they walked toward Sam’s booth and her thoughts went instantly to Jenny Inkpen. Had Jenny, in her childhood, ever felt safe clutching the hand of a caring parent or adult? Or had her early years been filled with neglect and abuse? What had occurred in her short life to drive her away from family and home, to change her name, bury her life story, and seek sanctuary in the streets? What trauma had Jenny endured to make her consider a homeless shelter a safer place than home?
Home. Once again that word came flooding into Tish’s consciousness.
Although her parents’ separation and her mother’s subsequent death had brought pain and uncertainty into Tish’s young life, there was always a sense of home. Be it the apartment she shared with her mother, her grandparents’ Cape Cod house, or even the noisy inner-city flat her father rented after the separation, there was at each residence a sense of safety and security. So strong was this sense of security that, on difficult days, Tish still longed to crawl on to her grandparents’ well-worn sofa, snuggle beneath one of her grandmother’s crocheted afghans, and watch one of her grandfather’s favorite detective films.
And yet the word ‘home’ had a connotation of loss and sadness as well. After ten years of marriage, Tish split from her husband and sold the Richmond home they shared together. The silver lining of that loss was that the money from the sale enabled her to start the café. The café that was her lifelong dream. The café she had just started to call home – the home that Schuyler was asking her to leave.
Perhaps that was the real reason Tish was reluctant to agree to move in with Schuyler. She had, after her divorce
, been seeking another ‘home’ and she thought she had found it in her little apartment above her beloved café, but now she was being asked to leave that space before she could finish putting down roots.
It wasn’t as if Tish doubted her ability to ‘root’ at Schuyler’s condo. Indeed, she liked the idea of seeing him each evening and recounting the day’s events over dinner, but she was concerned how her absence would affect the ‘home’ her café offered to its employees and patrons.
Tish was roused from her thoughts by the sound of the ladle Jules used to serve his mulled wine crashing upon the counter. ‘What’s he doing here? I thought the police had him in custody.’
Tish looked up to see Bailey Cassels entering the fairground from behind the stage. His hair was uncombed, his face unshaven, and he wandered the grounds like a lost soul, with his head hung down and hands thrust deep into the pockets of his navy-blue parka.
‘Mind if I remove my barman hat and replace it with my newsman cap?’ Jules asked.
‘Only if I can play detective first,’ Tish replied.
‘Even better. Then I can really get the scoop.’ Jules rubbed his hands together.
‘You can listen in, but the conversation will be off the record.’
Jules threw his hands down at his sides. ‘You know, people in this town really have to start being more open.’
Tish cast him a side-eye before calling out to the forlorn actor skulking down the fair midway. ‘Bailey! Bailey Cassels!’
The young man was stirred from his reverie and looked up at Tish, his face quizzical.
‘Come here,’ she beckoned.
He obeyed and approached the booth, albeit with trepidation. ‘Hi, Tish. Look, I’d love to talk to you, but if you’re going to ask me about my stay with your illustrious police force, then “Bye, Felicia.”’
‘Who’s Felicia?’ Celestine demanded.
‘It’s a way younger people tell someone to get lost or go to hell,’ Mary Jo explained.
‘Why not just tell them to get lost or go to hell?’
The Christmas Fair Killer Page 10
