The crowd gave a somber, collective moan and shook their heads.
“I’m thankful for … Oliver!” Martin Blarty said.
“Oliver?” a few said in astonishment.
“Why yes. A great friend and the best used car salesman this side of the, uh, the equator!”
Oliver smiled proudly. He said, “Why thank you, Martin. I’m thankful to own my own business, and to be able to sell cars at more than 20 percent less than my competition, plus offer my customer satisfaction guarantee and personal service you just can’t get anywhere else.”
Then it was Garth’s turn, who said with a bit of a dramatic flare, “I’m thankful for the Parkers.”
“Hear, hear!”
Garth smiled radiantly. “They’re wonderful people to open their home to us, aren’t they?”
Everyone agreed heartily, and Wolfe watched Melb melt into her chair with a strange, silent anger. But then it was his turn, and before he knew it, all eyes were on him, and enough time had passed to cause an awkward silence. Still, he didn’t want to rush things. He had so much to be thankful for this holiday season, and to name just one seemed impossible. Yet as he thought about it, he knew he could sum it all up with one word. And he needed to quickly, he realized, because Ainsley was fidgeting next to him in the silence, worried, he was sure, that he had nothing to say.
“God.”
The word seemed to reverberate off the walls, and by the way everyone glanced nervously at each other, Wolfe thought maybe he’d pronounced His name wrong.
“I’m thankful for God,” he said again, and a peace poured through his body as he said it. He knew every good thing he had came from God, and though it was a simple thanksgiving, he meant it. He caught Reverend Peck smiling at him warmly.
He turned to Ainsley, indicating it was her turn. Ainsley paused, and then said, “Me too. I’m thankful for God too.”
It was Sheriff Parker’s turn, and he said with an exacting expression, “Well, who isn’t thankful for God?”
Everyone nodded but said nothing.
“It’s time to bless the food,” Sheriff Parker said, and then he turned to Wolfe. “Wolfe, why don’t you lead us in prayer?”
“What?” Ainsley said.
“I said, Wolfe, why don’t you lead us in prayer?” Sheriff Parker said without taking his eyes off of Wolfe.
“Daddy,” Ainsley said in a lowered tone, “you always pray at Thanksgiving. I can’t think of a year that you haven’t prayed. It’s practically a tradition.”
“Well, times change, honey,” he said. “After all, it was Mr. Boone here that said he was thankful for God. What better way to show his gratitude than to lead us in prayer on Thanksgiving?”
Wolfe knew Ainsley’s apprehension. He wasn’t eloquent and had no practice praying in front of people. In fact, the prayers he had managed so far had been so deeply personal and private that he’d had trouble expressing them in words. They’d been uttered from the innermost part of his heart. He scratched his head, wondering how in the world he would pray on behalf of everyone at the table. How could he even try to sound articulate? His mouth went dry as he looked around the table at the many eyes staring at him.
“Well?” said the sheriff.
“Daddy …”
“Sure, of course,” Wolfe said, standing. “I’d be honored.”
The sheriff looked a bit surprised, as did everyone else except the reverend, who had already bowed his head. Wolfe cleared his throat, took quick note of the reverend’s folded hands, and folded his own in front of him.
“God, today is Thanksgiving, and I thank you for it.” He paused, trying to think of what else he could say. “We’re thankful for the Parkers, as Garth mentioned, and for inviting us all here to eat. And for a nice warm house, a good shelter from the cold snow outside.” He heard a few nervous throat clearings, but figured he’d better continue, because he was pretty sure he hadn’t prayed long enough.
Then, suddenly, something exceptional happened. He felt everything around him fade and realized he was speaking directly to God—and that, remarkably, God was actually listening. And before he knew it, he was expressing all that he’d been feeling for God and everything he was thankful for, and to his astonishment he wasn’t at all having a hard time finding the words, and in fact they were flowing out of him so fast that he could hardly even think. Yet inside, his spirit felt free and joyful and truly thankful. He spoke of the character of God, the very attributes to which Wolfe had been drawn at the beginning. He spoke of love and forgiveness and salvation. He thanked God for the church and the people in the church and for newfound friends and fellowship. On and on he went, until finally, with hardly enough breath for it, he said, “Amen.”
He opened his eyes, but it seemed to him everyone else had already opened theirs long ago. Eyes gawked at him, and he wasn’t quite sure why, but he tried to smile as he took his seat again. He looked at Sheriff Parker, whose mouth was hanging open just slightly.
“Well, wasn’t that an interesting prayer. Um, thank you, Wolfe. You did, however, forget to bless the food.”
“Daddy,” Ainsley said, “I think God got the point.” She glanced at Wolfe. “I thought it was a wonderful prayer, straight from the heart.”
“Yes, well, what do you say we stop talking and start eating before this wonderful food gets cold!” the sheriff said, and everyone began digging in.
Wolfe felt Ainsley’s hand on his shoulder. “That was a lovely Thanksgiving prayer, Wolfe.”
“So,” Garth Twyne said as they were all getting seconds, “how’s the writing going these days?”
Though they’d been sitting next to each other for the entire meal, this was the first time they’d spoken. Ainsley was engaged in conversation with her father and Miss Peeple. Wolfe didn’t want to be judgmental, but there did seem to be something a little off about Garth, and he never quite knew how to take the guy.
“The writing?”
“Yeah, like the next book. When’s it coming? What’s it about? You can discuss these types of things, can’t you? I mean, it’s not top secret or anything, is it?” Garth laughed—it was more like a snicker—and picked at a piece of turkey between his teeth.
“It’s not top secret, but there’s nothing to tell you. I’m not working on anything right now.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Aren’t writers always working on something?”
“Usually. But I’m not right now.”
“So any ideas? I mean, somewhere in that dark mind of yours has to be a story just waiting to jump out and scream bloody murder.”
Wolfe tried not to seem impatient, but he didn’t really want to talk about it. Apparently everyone was having a hard time dealing with the idea that there were going to be no more horror novels from Wolfe Boone.
“Listen,” Garth said after a moment, “I heard a rumor, and listen, I’m not one for rumors. I mean, frankly, I think you should just come right out and ask someone about something if you’re not for sure. So the rumor is that you’re not going to be writing any more of those scary books. Is it true?”
Wolfe scooted his cranberry sauce around his plate. “It’s true. I don’t want to write those kinds of books anymore. There are plenty of stories to tell without deliberately creating fear in people.”
“So this is all a result of your new conversion.”
“I guess it is.”
Suddenly something rubbed Wolfe’s leg, and he jumped before realizing it was just Thief. Wolfe shooed him away.
“Thief thinks he’s one of the family,” Garth said.
“I’m not really a cat person. More fond of dogs.”
“I know what you mean.” There was a long pause before Garth said, “Look, I think it’s the totally right thing to do. About the writing.”
Wolfe set down his fork. “You do?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s a conviction, right? It’s what you feel you need to do. I respect that.”
“Thanks.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, I mean, it must be a hard thing to turn from a career that’s brought you so much fame and money and stuff.”
“Well, I never wrote because of that. I guess I got into horror because I liked to surprise the reader, and when I was a kid I loved ghost stories. But somewhere along the way, it turned into something a lot scarier, a lot worse than just a ghost story. I guess I caved to the will of the market, so to speak, and I feel that—”
“Uh-huh, well, I gotta tell you that you’re a bigger man than I am. And that’s saying a lot. But,” Garth said, his voice suddenly hushing, “you’re probably going to have to break the news to a certain somebody rather gently, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Garth’s eyes averted to Ainsley, who was nodding politely to Miss Peeple.
“Ainsley?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think she’ll eventually come around to the idea, but it won’t be easy at first.”
“What won’t be easy?”
“About the books. That you’re not writing them anymore.” Garth stuffed a huge wad of dressing in his mouth.
Wolfe let him chew, trying to process what Garth was trying to tell him. “Are you saying … What exactly are you saying?”
Garth swallowed and looked concerned. “She hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
Wiping his mouth he said, “I’m sorry, I just assumed. It’s just that …” Garth again looked around at Ainsley before he spoke. “She was really excited about being in a relationship with a novelist. She just keeps talking about it, like it’s her dream come true. She even said she hoped you’d take her to New York sometime. I mean, who doesn’t dream of being hooked up with a famous novelist?”
Wolfe stared at his plate. Could this be true? Ainsley had never given any indication that she liked him because he was a writer. And in fact, he was pretty sure she’d always been very turned off by what he wrote.
“Where did you hear this?”
Garth shrugged. “Bits and pieces here and there. Ainsley’s a private person, but she’s let it be known. Perhaps she’s given you the opposite impression, but you know how women are. They say one thing but mean the other.”
“To you? Did she say this to you?”
Garth’s face seemed tight with apprehension. “Well, not to me directly, I guess, though I’ve picked up on it on my own—”
“So it’s a rumor.”
“A rumor. Yeah, I guess, it’s a rumor. But rumors tend to be awfully reliable in small towns.”
Wolfe reached over and tapped Ainsley on the shoulder. She turned to him with a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt your conversation.”
“What are you doing?” Garth asked quickly.
Wolfe turned to Garth. “Well, I think you were right on track earlier when you said you just ask someone about a rumor instead of believing it.”
“What rumor?” Ainsley asked.
“Well, Garth heard that you want me to take you to New York City.”
Ainsley laughed. “What? That’s absurd. I’ve never wanted to see that place. It seems like one chaotic nutty bin.”
Wolfe smiled. “What about always wanting to be, um … hooked up, as Garth puts it, with a novelist?”
Ainsley’s eyebrows rose as she stared at Garth. “Well, I’ve only known one novelist in my life, and thank the good Lord he’s not writing what he used to anymore. So no, I don’t guess that’s true, either.”
Wolfe sighed in relief and turned to Garth. “You’re right, Garth. The direct approach is definitely the best.”
Garth smiled, but he didn’t look happy. Miss Peeple said, “Rumors are nasty old things, aren’t they? Where they come from nobody knows. But thank heavens they eventually are stopped in their tracks.”
Ainsley smiled and patted Wolfe on the knee. “Well, I’d better go get the dessert ready. Want to help?”
“Sure.”
Wolfe followed Ainsley into the kitchen but stopped near a window. The snow was so beautiful, falling in sheets of delicate flakes onto the already white ground. Wolfe suspected the temperature had dropped several degrees in the past hour, and he was thankful for how warm and cozy it was inside the house.
He glanced down and noticed his shoe was untied, but as he bent down to tie it, the engagement ring he had removed from the box and put in his pocket had somehow worked its way up and out. It chimed as it struck the tile, and Wolfe gasped, scooping it up quickly and tucking it away before glancing over his shoulder to see if Ainsley had noticed. She was at the oven, pulling out what smelled like a pecan pie. He stood and sighed with relief.
He turned away from her and nearly knocked Miss Peeple over.
“I’m … I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you, I mean I didn’t know … How long have you been there?”
She winked at him as she leaned on her cane. “Long enough, deary, long enough. Don’t you worry your pretty little self. These lips are sealed. There’s nothing worse than a flapping tongue out of control to terrorize the community.” She smacked her lips shut.
“Oh, thanks. It’s not for sure. It’s just in my pocket. I mean, this probably isn’t the time, or maybe it is, I don’t know—”
She waved her hand at him. “Don’t worry. It will work itself out.”
Wolfe caught his breath and realized how much he’d babbled and what he’d revealed. He stared at the ground, rubbing his temples.
“Wolfe! Come look at this pecan pie I just pulled out of the oven.”
“Excuse me,” Wolfe said. He quickly turned to the kitchen, where Ainsley was hovering over her newest pie.
“It’ll have to cool for a while, but that will give everyone time to digest round one, and”—she looked at the guests crowded around the pies she’d already set out—“it looks like they’ve got a good start over there!” She looked at him and frowned. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
He tried to smile. “I’m fine. The pie looks incredible. And the food was incredible. You’re incredible.”
Ainsley looked surprised and pleased all at once. She set her oven mitts down and stared into his eyes. “I like you more and more every second I get to know you.”
“I feel the same about you.”
“I have a lot to be thankful for, but most of all that I know a man as sincere, genuine, kind, and honest as you are.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to get to know you. It should’ve been sooner.”
He grabbed her hands. “Let’s just believe the timing is perfect.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
A throat cleared, and they turned to find Sheriff Parker and Butch standing near the kitchen counter. “Sorry to interrupt,” Butch said with a brotherly smirk on his face.
“You’re not,” Ainsley said, eyeing both of them carefully. “How’s the dessert?”
“Great, as always,” her father said.
“Then we’d better try some before it’s all gone,” Wolfe said, and with boldness that he never knew he had, he took her hand and guided her between Butch and Sheriff Parker to the dessert buffet. She was smiling from ear to ear.
“I love when you do that!” she said.
CHAPTER 27
“IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” Garth exclaimed.
Miss Peeple flapped her hands and said, “Sssshhhh! Keep your voice down, you moron.” Luckily everyone was gathered around the dessert buffet.
“I did my job. He didn’t bite. Obviously your plan, whatever it was, didn’t work either, so stop pointing fingers,” he said, pointing his own long, skinny one in her face. “And don’t you forget, I’ve got a certain little recording that I’d be happy to use as entertainment on this wonderful Thanksgiving Day.”
“Don’t you threaten me, you little beanpole. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“You? You’re like two hundred years old and your back’s curved like that cane of
yours. How am I supposed to be frightened of you? I’ve got evidence of your craftiness that would blow this little town away. And I’ve made fifteen copies of that tape just in case you get any funny ideas. So don’t think you can push me around with that marmy schmarmy ‘I’m so wise and deceitful’ business. You don’t know wise and deceitful, Missy.”
She shook her head at him and laughed. The poor lad tried hard, but at his best he was just a lot of hot air blowing out a few not-so-impressive words. Sure he was tall and physically much stronger than she. But he was no match for Missy Peeple. Few were. And so for a moment she stood silently, quietly, allowing him to think that in some way he’d affected her. The more she let him float, the bigger the bubble would become. She loved to pop big bubbles.
“Well?” he finally said. “Are you just going to stand there and pout, or are we going to come up with a plan?”
Miss Peeple knew long before this moment that Garth Twyne was a desperate man. And she knew desperate, lovesick men were capable of just about anything. This man’s world was about to be turned upside down, and she would count on his desperation to stir up something akin to the storm of the century. But first she was going to have to put him in his place.
“I know about Thief.”
Garth’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you botched the job. I know Thief, in fact, is not neutered.”
She actually heard him gulp. “What’d you do? Sneak into my office?” He gasped. “Did you look at my files?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? The truth is, you botched the operation and told the sheriff he was neutered. You and I, dear Garth, know exactly why this town is overly populated with cats. And that’s one too many to know such a thing.” She smiled sweetly at him.
Garth was processing all this, and Missy let it sink in for a moment before saying, “It’s too late, besides.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s hopeless now.”
“What are you talking about?”
In barely a whisper, one that was so quiet she was sure he would only be able to catch every third word, she said, “Boo is going to ask Ainsley to marry him. Today.”
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