The same tack, tack, tack resounded across the street at Liza’s house. Luis appeared to be setting up a rooftop nativity scene.
I shivered in the cold wind, crossed the street, and looked back at my house.
Mars had deviated from his plan considerably. A plump Santa Claus had one leg in my chimney. Bernie clambered around, apparently fastening a sleigh on the roof. I hoped they would be okay. It was a long way down.
I hurried toward Gwen’s house, relieved to see that no one pounded on her roof. It was bad enough that the sound of staple guns reverberated through the neighborhood. Gwen’s front door bore an oversized wreath of greens covered with shiny pink and orange balls. A wide orange bow bordered with gold dominated the top. I rang the bell, and Gwen opened the door as if she had been waiting on the other side.
“Sophie!” She leaned toward me and kissed the air over each of my shoulders.
It took me exactly one second to realize that she had a pink and orange Christmas theme going. She wore an orange Christmas sweater that looked to be hand-knitted. A vivid pink border ran along the V-neck and the sleeves. A row of lime green Christmas trees lined the bottom and matched the color of her leggings. She twirled around. “I made it myself.”
“It’s lovely.” Behind her, though, I couldn’t take my eyes off something I had never seen before—an orange Christmas tree in her living room.
She followed my gaze. “Isn’t the tree incredible? It’s flocked!”
“Amazing,” I murmured, handing her the throw Baxter gave me to sit on in his car. “Baxter lent this to me. Where do I put my cookies?”
“Natasha is coming up the walk. The cookies go in the dining room, dear.”
So Mars had finally guilted Natasha into attending the cookie swap after all.
I had to give Gwen credit for one thing. Orange and pink were certainly festive. She had used a long orange tablecloth with a pink topper and tied it in swags with lime green bows. Except for the incredible silver sleigh centerpiece loaded with pink and orange ornaments, it could easily have been set up for a birthday party or a bridal shower.
Liza stood next to the table, arranging her cookies. “Do you believe this sled? Gwen says it’s sterling.”
“It probably is. I saw it in a store just yesterday. It’s gorgeous. Look at the detail. The bell on the front, the ornate scrolls on the sleigh. The reindeer are unbelievable.”
“They must have some kind of money,” she whispered. “There are matching deer-head candlesticks on the mantel in the living room. Luis would die of a heart attack on the spot if I brought home something like that in sterling.”
“It certainly wouldn’t be in my budget.”
Liza leaned toward me. “Don’t you think orange and pink are bizarre Christmas colors? To think that I was worried about using brown kraft boxes!”
She had tied the kraft paper boxes with plaid red and green ribbons and added a candy cane to the top of each one.
“What do you think?” she whispered. “Will I get away with it?”
“They’re adorable.”
“Get away with what?”
I looked up. Sugar observed us from the kitchen doorway. Her black leggings were as tight as Gwen’s. A long red sweater almost covered her derriere. A thick swath of fuzzy black trim ran around the bottom and up the zippered center of the sweater, which hadn’t been zipped quite as far as most women might have closed it.
Liza’s eyes went wide, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Um, I’m not much of a domestic type. Everyone else is so talented in crafting. Look at these tins with pinecone reindeer. That must have taken someone hours!”
“Those are mine.” Twiggy joined us, bashfully running a hand over her pixie haircut. “I’m so glad that you like them. I was up late last night gluing on the pipe cleaner antlers.”
“You should have followed my example.” Sugar grinned at us. “When you show up before you’re expected, you get to eat the cookies without any of the work.”
Nina charged into the dining room. “I’m making note of that and doing it next year!”
“I hear you’re a ballerina,” said Twiggy to Sugar. “I dreamed of being a ballerina when I was a little girl. It sounds so glamorous.”
“Keeps me in shape so I can eat all the cookies I want.” Sugar tossed her hair and eyed the table. “Are those Whoopie Pies? I haven’t had one since I was a kid.”
I didn’t think that was very long ago. She appeared to be about thirty. Not a single wrinkle creased her face yet.
“That was quite a scene with Mrs. Scroggins in your store, Twiggy. Why did you give her a discount? I would have thrown her out.” Nina reached for two Whoopie Pies, handed one to Sugar, and bit into the other one.
“Her husband is one of our biggest customers.”
“Horace?” I asked. “I didn’t know they had children, or grandchildren.”
“He—I guess I should say they—bought a couple thousand dollars’ worth of toys and had us deliver them to the Christmas toy drive for underprivileged children,” said Twiggy. “We can’t afford to lose that kind of business! We gave them a discount for that. I mean, who wouldn’t when they were buying so much and for such a wonderful cause? Maybe she thought she would always get a discount?”
“No Whoopie Pies yet!” Gwen sashayed in with Natasha. “As soon as Natasha’s cookies are on the table, I have to photograph them all! What a gorgeous display.”
Nina stuffed the rest of her Whoopie Pie into her mouth like a little kid caught at the cookie jar.
Gwen paused and stared at Liza’s contribution. “Goodness, Liza! You’re putting us all to shame with those cookies. It must have taken you hours to pipe snowflakes on the icing.”
Liza froze.
Since she was at a loss, I jumped in. “I love sugar cookies iced with blue frosting and decorated with white snowflakes. I try to make them every year because they’re so beautiful. Thanks for bringing them, Liza.”
Natasha’s nostrils flared. I suspected she was irritated that she wasn’t the one getting attention. She placed deep pink boxes on the table. Wrapped with lacy golden orange ribbon, they matched Gwen’s odd Christmas décor perfectly.
Gwen opened one box and organized them on a platter. “These are fabulous, Natasha!” She tilted her head to read the ornate label affixed to the box. “Balsamic Jalapeno Crisps Enrobed with Salted Dark Chocolate. Are these sweet or savory?” Gwen arranged the light brown cookies, half-dipped in chocolate, on a platter.
Her lips drawn thin and tight, Natasha uttered, “Both.”
Natasha tugged at my sleeve and drew me into the kitchen. It was worthy of a magazine spread. Ultra-fashionable with clean lines, a giant island dominated the room. The cabinets gleamed white. Two hefty pendant lamps shone over a white marble countertop. The gray in the marble picked up the silver of the aluminum bases on four stools with black leather seats. The steel theme repeated in a huge backsplash and range hood behind the stove. The only pop of color came from an orange-flocked Christmas tree in the corner of the room near what appeared to be a back stairway.
“She stole my Christmas colors,” hissed Natasha.
If anyone else had said something so utterly ridiculous, I would have laughed. But Natasha wasn’t joking. Her dark eyes sparked with fury. I half expected to see steam shoot out of her ears.
“How many colors are on a color wheel? If you won’t use red and green, don’t you think the odds are pretty high of choosing the same colors as someone else?”
“I do not! She waited to see my colors and stole my idea.”
“Pink and orange?” I said it sarcastically, but she evidently didn’t grasp that.
“It’s tangerine and magenta,” she said through gritted teeth.
“What’s the big deal? Let it go and enjoy the party.”
She squared her shoulders. “I
n the spirit of the season, I shall refrain from mentioning it today. But I’m not letting it go. It’s an outrage. She lives next door, for heaven’s sake. I work very hard at keeping my themes fresh, and I resent Gwen seizing my ideas.”
I tried one more tack. “Don’t they say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery? You set the trend. She’s just following it.”
Natasha stepped back and touched the base of her throat with her fingers. “Don’t I feel the fool? Of course that’s what it is. Just this once, I believe you’re right.”
Laughing privately about her little slight implying that I was never correct, I headed for the living room. From the foyer, I hadn’t seen the second tree. I knew people who decorated a tree in every room of the house, but two huge trees flanking the fireplace was a new twist to me. A wreath hung over the mantel, cedar branches draping from the bottom of it in both directions. A gold-flecked orange ribbon undulated the length of the mantel. Flanking the wreath were the two silver deer-head candlesticks I’d seen the day before in the store. They held pink candles with an orangey-bronze swirl cascading down them. Tiny lights shone in between pink and orange ornaments. It was lush and tasteful, if not exactly traditional.
“There you are!” said Gwen. “We’re just starting my favorite Christmas game. I’ll be the timekeeper, Sugar, you join Natasha, Sophie, and Liza’s team. Each team needs a leader. Volunteers?”
“I think it goes without saying that I am the leader of this group,” said Natasha.
“Okay!” Gwen handed Natasha a pair of pantyhose fresh from a box and gave me a bag of balloons.
Natasha held the pantyhose by the tips of her thumb and forefinger, as though thoroughly disgusted.
“When I sound the whistle, teams blow up the balloons and leaders stuff them into the stockings to make antlers. The first team to get the loaded antlers on the team leader’s head wins! Ready?”
She blew on the whistle. Liza, Sugar, and I huffed into balloons while Natasha insisted she was not wearing pantyhose on her head for any reason. Ever.
I tied a knot in a red balloon and handed it to her, muttering under my breath, “Be a sport.”
It took only minutes for us to fill all our balloons. All Gwen’s guests smiled and laughed, with the exception of Natasha, who dutifully, if a bit grumpily, rolled the pantyhose over the balloons. We were neck and neck with Nina’s group. Good-natured banter flew around the room. Cheering grew louder for each team. Natasha balked at actually wearing the antlers, but Liza and Sugar seized the pantyhose and plopped them on her head. Gwen swirled toward Natasha with a camera and was snapping shots when the doorbell rang.
Gwen turned to me and asked, “Would you mind getting that, Sophie?”
I slipped away from the gaiety and hysterical laughter, and opened Gwen’s front door.
A disheveled brunette with weary eyes appeared surprised to see me. “I’m so sorry. I thought this was the Babineauxs’ house.” She fumbled in a large purse and withdrew a tattered envelope.
“You’re in the right place. Come on in.”
“Oh no. Sounds like a party. I couldn’t barge in uninvited. I’ll come back later.” She peered inside. “Looks like everyone is having fun.”
“Come in out of the cold and join us.”
“Uh, well, if you’re sure.” She held her hand out to me. “I’m Patty. Bethany and Bradley Babineaux’s mom.”
I shook her hand. “Sophie Winston.”
Patty gasped and slapped a hand against her chest. “I’m Louise’s daughter! Our mothers were sorority sisters. I was going to your house next!” She clasped her hands together. “I don’t know how to thank you for putting me up. I hit the road without a clue of where I would stay. And look, you’re here! It’s like you were waiting for me.” The smile on her face faded, and her tone sounded like she was doomed. “Oh noooo. You’re friends with Gwen.”
She didn’t seem at all happy about that. It was a little misleading. It wasn’t like Gwen and I were bosom buddies. “We’re neighbors.”
That didn’t appear to console her. “Maybe I should stay somewhere else. Is there a Y in town? Someplace, you know, cheap?”
“Nonsense. We don’t dare severe the ties of Phi Mu sisters! Perish the thought of our mothers involved in such a scandal. You’ll stay with me.” I didn’t quite understand her reluctance. She came to Gwen’s house on her own. Mom had mentioned that Patty had some sort of problem. I deduced that it might be with Gwen.
“You’re as nice as my mom said you’d be.” Patty removed a navy peacoat and tugged her Christmas sweater straight. It bore a snowman and snowflakes on a sky blue background. “I must look a mess. I just drove nonstop from Chicago.” She fluffed her hair. “Are Bethany and Bradley here?”
“I haven’t seen them.” I took her coat and ushered her into the living room.
Gwen gasped at the sight of Patty, and a hush fell over the guests.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dear Natasha,
I’m throwing a cookie swap. My sister says it’s silly to offer prizes for the prettiest cookie and the tastiest cookie because it pits friends against each other. I say it will improve the cookies they bring! What do you think?
Loves Competition in Antler, North Dakota
Dear Loves Competition,
I agree with you. Spark up the cookie swap by letting everyone vote. There’s no question that it will improve the cookies. No one will dare cheat with store-bought cookies!
Natasha
Gwen recovered her composure quickly but her narrowed eyes and tight lips gave away her discomfort. “Patty! What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your party.” She laughed uncomfortably and pointed at a woman wearing balloon antlers. “The antler game. I bet you learned that from my kids.”
Gwen didn’t respond. She seized the coat I held. Towering over petite Patty, she ushered her into the dining room.
In hushed whispers, other guests asked who the newcomer was. “Apparently, she’s the mother of Gwen and Baxter’s two oldest children,” I explained, setting off a new round of whispering.
Sugar sauntered toward the dining room but did a poor job of hiding her attempt to eavesdrop.
I couldn’t remember seeing Natasha quite so angry. She ripped the reindeer antlers off her hair, which frizzed out loaded with static. I had to choke back a giggle at seeing Natasha so undone.
She strode to the deer-head candlesticks on the mantel. Methodically, and with savage glee, she plunged each balloon on an antler point, popping them in a rapid staccato rhythm.
Gwen glided back into the room, snapped a photo of Natasha looking like she’d stuck her finger into an electrical outlet, and announced that she thought it was time to sample cookies.
“I had no idea that you’re Bethany and Bradley’s stepmother,” said Twiggy.
Gwen smiled with her lips pulled tight. “Surely you didn’t think I looked old enough to have a teenage daughter!”
“Well, yeah, you do,” Nina murmured into my ear.
I elbowed her, even though I thought Gwen looked old enough to have grown children. I had put her at about fifty.
There was no sign of Patty. Had Gwen ushered her out the back door or sent her upstairs to visit with her children?
Other guests were busy sampling Gwen’s minipizzas, which were no larger than a cookie and decorated with a melted cheese Christmas tree on top. They tried an orangey dip and cut into a wreath of miniature sausages in pastry garnished with a red-pepper bow. Meanwhile, I hustled into the kitchen in search of Patty.
I was right! She had been banished. From the kitchen window, I could see Patty trudging through the backyard, turning now and then to look up at the windows. Snowflakes drifted down on her. She wiped her face. Was she crying?
I flew out the kitchen door and down the deck
stairs to the backyard. “Patty!”
She turned, her expression momentarily hopeful.
“What happened?”
Tears trickled along her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she snuffled. “Are you sure you still want to put me up?”
“Absolutely.” I shivered in the cold. “Where are you parked? We’ll get you settled right now. Come on. I could use a hot drink.”
We entered the alley, walked behind Natasha’s house and circled around to the front. We shivered and hurried down my street. I was half-frozen by the time we reached Patty’s car. We carried her bags to my house as fast as we could.
“I’m freezing!” I said as we entered the foyer.
Mochie greeted us, happy to have company. I didn’t hear any hammering and there was no sign of Daisy, so I presumed Mars and Bernie had left.
“This way.”
She followed me upstairs to the second floor and into the bedroom with the four-poster bed.
“Ohhh, this is beautiful.”
“Wait until you see the bathroom,” I joked. I only had one and a half bathrooms. While they were quite functional, they still had ancient green and black tile. If I waited any longer to renovate them, it would be back in style again.
“Make yourself at home. I’m going to change, then I’ll heat milk for hot chocolate.”
“That sounds good.” She blew her nose.
I headed to my bedroom and peeled off my sweater and trousers. Donning olive green fleece pants and a red turtleneck still didn’t warm me.
Mochie trotted downstairs with me. I lit a fire in the kitchen to thaw us. Mochie immediately curled up on one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace.
Should I call Gwen now to apologize for leaving so suddenly or wait until the party was over? Most of the guests probably wouldn’t even notice that I was gone, and I hated to interrupt Gwen when she was so busy. Hah. Modern technology held the answer. I texted Nina, who was rarely without her cell phone. If anyone asked, at least they would know why I had departed.
I mixed a little bit of cold water into powdered unsweetened chocolate in a pot and stirred to dissolve it. I added a teaspoon of vanilla, which reminded me of Horace, poured the milk over top, and heated it on the stove. Happily, I’d counted on needing whipping cream, and had some in the fridge. I beat it, adding a touch of vanilla and powdered sugar.
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