Breaking the Mould

by Victoria Hamilton

  Nezer, a smirk on his face, lowered the cell phone. “Got it on video, you Neanderthal. Now let’s see what the police say about that!” He hustled to his car, jumped in, and roared off.

  “Bill, are you okay?” Jaymie asked, her voice shaking. She went to her friend. His face was red and he was panting. “He pushed you pretty hard. Did he hurt your back?” He looked dangerously close to a heart attack or something similar, and the pained grimace was even more pronounced. He didn’t answer, he just shook his head. “Take deep breaths. Calm down. Was that wise, tweaking Nezer like that when we’re trying to get his cooperation?”

  “Someone has to stand up to him, Jaymie, or he’s gonna ruin this year’s Dickens Days.” He straightened with a grimace, one hand to his back. “Bullies need to be faced. Otherwise, somehow, some way, Evan Nezer is going to ruin Christmas for everybody.”

  Jaymie understood his point, but felt that sometimes people like Nezer must be appeased, or the consequences could become calamitous. Finn Fancombe, who had backed away during the argument, turned and headed around the pine trees toward the Nezer residence. Sarah Nezer climbed the steps into the Emporium and Jacklyn Marley retreated as well, climbing the steps back up to her apartment over the store.

  Jaymie sighed. “Let’s take advantage of the fact that he’s gone to get to work and set up the other structure.”

  “The diorama?” Bill took a deep breath.

  “You have it made, right?”

  “I do, but it’s in pieces.”

  This year, in keeping with the Dickens Days theme, they were setting up a life-size diorama of the Cratchit family’s Christmas feast, complete with a child-size mannequin dressed as Tiny Tim, a painted Mrs. Cratchit and a Bob. On the table was going to be the flaming pudding bedecked with a sprig of real holly from Jaymie’s own backyard.

  “Would it take long to put it together?”

  “Nope. It’s made to go together in a jiffy. I figured if you wanted to keep it for another year it would store better in flat panels so I attached hinges. All we have to do to set it up is screw the hinges to the side panels. Let me bring them down here on a handcart, and you can hold them in place for me while I attach them.”

  “Are you up to doing this?” Jaymie asked, still concerned.

  Bill’s face was a better color, and the merry twinkle was back in his eye. “It takes more than that humbug college professor to take me down!”

  He had constructed it carefully, but inevitably there was more to it than screwing the pieces together. Finding a level spot was vital, and next was arranging where to face it. Jaymie postulated that there would likely be folks stopping to examine it and maybe even take photos, so they didn’t want it to interfere with potential lineups at the cider booth. They settled on a spot by one of the Victorian light posts that lined a paved path through town. It was closer to the Nezer home but still on public property, and had the row of pines as a backdrop. It would look lovely if there was some snow, Jaymie thought.

  Together, they began. Townsfolk passed by. A few stopped to talk and take photos, asking what it was. She had wanted it to be a secret, but in Queensville the gossip increased by social media would make that impossible, so she explained to each. Everyone in the village was excited about Dickens Days, and her diorama would probably be posted online before the day was over. That was okay; it increased excitement and possibly would help get a larger crowd out for the opening!

  As they finished putting it together, a police car cruised to a stop. Bernie, dressed in her uniform and with a heavy police bomber jacket over it, got out. She looked embarrassed and unenthusiastic. “Jaymie, Bill.”

  “What’s up, Bernie?” Jaymie asked, noting the reluctant gaze.

  Bernie walked around, investigating the cider booth. She eyed the rope and the stake, buried now among the pine trees, then returned to the two, who stood, awaiting her purpose. “We got a call from a Mr. Evan Nezer saying that Bill, here, threatened his life.”

  Bill chuckled. “What a chowderhead!” He met Bernie’s gaze. “Oh, not you, Bernie, I’m talkin’ about that Nezer character!”

  “That wasn’t a threat, Bernie, truly, it was more—”

  “Mr. Nezer showed us a video and Bill’s exact words were, and I quote—” She flipped open a notebook and read, “‘So help me God, I will plant you in the ground, you condescending little turdwipe,’ unquote.”

  “I did say that,” Bill admitted with an unrepentant grin.

  “And there was more. You also said you’d plant him six feet under his precious turf.”

  “He didn’t mean it, Bern!” Jaymie cried. “Mr. Waterman wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

  The senior handyman’s smile died. “I mighta gotten a little annoyed. Like Jaymie says, I didn’t mean it literally. It was said in a moment of anger, and didn’t reflect any intention of doing bodily harm. Pure exasperation.”

  Bernie nodded, her dark eyes twinkling, though her expression remained neutral. “Having met the gentleman on many occasions in my capacity as a peace officer, I can imagine a context where I might get exasperated with Mr. Nezer. However, Bill, I have to warn you not to say anything like that again. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bill said, his eyes twinkling in the dull light.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Nezer what you said. I suppose my job here is done.”

  “What about the stake in the ground he was complaining about?” Bill asked, motioning to the cider house.

  Bernie hesitated and walked back to the structure, which she circled again. “Where is his property line?”

  Bill followed her around the back of the cider house. “You see this electrical post?”

  She nodded.

  “Right on the other side of that.”

  “You can’t keep the stake on public property?”

  “Nope. If I could, I would. Honest. But that’s too close to the structure.”

  “Have you asked Nezer formally for an easement?”

  “He’d never agree to that.”

  “You don’t know that,” Bernie said.

  “We never had to do that before!”

  Jaymie exchanged a look with Bernie. “Bill, things change. He wasn’t living in the house before. We can at least consider asking.”

  Bill nodded. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Okay, then,” Bernie said.

  Jaymie eyed her handyman friend; something about Nezer rubbed Bill so wrong that he was being stubborn about the whole affair. Nezer was being a jerk, yes, but it didn’t help to make him angrier. Sometimes to obtain an objective one had to swallow one’s pride and plead. She’d have to check into why Bella hadn’t done what she said and asked Evan to reconsider.

  “Thanks, Bernie,” Jaymie said. “We’ll find a way to make it right.”

  The diorama structure put together, Jaymie said farewell to Bill, who trudged off to his workshop pulling his handcart and box of tools. He left for her the tarp and twist ties he had used in the workshop to keep the diorama clean and dry. She examined the internal painting closely, smiled in satisfaction at the scene, then attached the tarp to the front opening, slipping the long twist ties through the tarp grommets and the holes Bill had drilled in the top and sides of the diorama.

  By the time she was done her nose was dripping and her hands freezing. She backed up across the road, slid her hands into her jacket sleeves to warm them and eyed the result, the blue tarp over the plywood structure. It looked like an ugly box. She’d have to think of a better system because she hadn’t considered how it would look from the outside, and it was hideous. For now the tarp worked to keep it protected from inclement weather.

  It was a letdown.

  She was going to head back toward the Queensville house but, out of curiosity, took a detour and wandered past the line of pines, toward the Nezer house. It was large, a lovely old Queen Anne, similar to the Leighton house but bigger. A Wolverhampton renovation company truck was parked outside, and two men were working on the win
dows, with Bella Nezer standing outside huddled in a heavy cable-knit cardigan, watching.

  “Lots of work to do on the house,” Jaymie commented, joining her.

  Bella glanced over at her. “Oh . . . yes. We haven’t had much time to get it ready for company, but we’ll be almost there by the party on Friday. It’s been sadly neglected over the years.”

  “Whose idea was it to move here? Yours or Evan’s?”

  “Does it matter? It’s a lovely home, and shouldn’t have been neglected for so long,” she said with an airy wave of the hand.

  “I agree. As a fan of historic homes, I’m truly happy the Nezer family is back in it. Does Ben live here too?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. Just me and Evan, rattling around this big place all alone.”

  “Except for the housekeeper.”

  “Oh, of course. Erla. She has her own suite of rooms.”

  “In the house?”

  “Aren’t you a curious little busy bee,” Bella said, her voice tight with tension. “Of course in the house. Do you think we keep the help in a shed out back? No, not that way!” she shouted.

  Jaymie was startled, but Bella glided away, flapping her hands at a fellow who was putting up a shutter.

  “That’s upside down, you tosser!”

  The worker took it down and turned it the other way, moving to the other side of the window.

  Jaymie walked on and passed by the driveway and the back of the house. A door opened and Finn Fancombe emerged, then turned back as a woman followed him out, handed him a shopping bag, and pushed him to a back path that led away from the house and toward a sturdy shed at the back. A robust, strong-looking woman, she appeared worried and glanced around, her gaze resting for a moment on Jaymie before returning to Finn. She shook her head ever so slightly. The young man looked toward Jaymie, then circled the shed and disappeared behind it.

  So that was Erla Fancombe, the Nezer housekeeper. It must be awkward for her to work for Nezer, when her son had been bounced from collegial life because of her boss. Or more accurately, if the plagiarism claim was justified, because of something her son had done.

  Lots of bad feelings surrounding Nezer in this town, Jaymie thought. The Friday evening party should be interesting.

  Four

  Jaymie woke on Wednesday with a knot in her stomach. She had to appear in court at a preliminary hearing to determine if the accused in a tragic crime the month before would stand trial. It had been delayed time and again over the last month by the killer’s attorney troubles, but today was the day. She dressed carefully, and, accompanied by Jakob, who held her hand through the whole thing except when she gave evidence, did her duty, avoiding looking at the accused.

  After it was over, they walked out of the courthouse into the brilliant November sunshine, brittle and cold. She was so relieved she wanted to celebrate. She and Jakob went to lunch at the donut shop where they had had their first coffee together, then headed home and had an intimate hour before he had to work. She spent the rest of the day writing as best she could. The court case in the morning had thrown her off-kilter, but she was not going to let it stop her from getting something done.

  • • •

  Wednesday evening was girls’ night. Bernie was working a double shift, including the graveyard shift, never popular for police officers, so it was just Jaymie, Valetta and Heidi gathered in Valetta’s cottage-style home a block or so from the Emporium. It was a low-key evening of gossip and munchies, with much of the talk centering around the upcoming Dickens Days festivities and the holiday season. Jaymie had used it as an opportunity to test a couple of bar cookie recipes, which everyone enjoyed.

  “What do you think Nezer’s problem is, with the Dickens Days festivities?” Jaymie asked, sitting back in a snug chair and stroking Denver, her used-to-be crabby tabby, now become purring master of all he surveyed since he had moved in with Valetta. He lolled across her legs, perfectly at his leisure, something he had never done while living with her.

  Valetta stretched out her long legs, her feet clad in fluffy cat slippers complete with yarn whiskers and bead eyes, propping them on an ottoman in front of her shabby-comfy sofa. “I don’t think it has anything to do with Dickens Days,” she said.

  “He’s always been like that,” Heidi said. Like Jaymie, she wore leggings and a long sweater. “Like I said in the historical society meeting, he called the cops on me for wearing a bathing suit top while mowing, but only after I confronted him about leering at me.” She shivered. “He used to drive by real slow and smile at me. Creep!”

  “So when he’s caught doing something shady, he doubles down,” Jaymie said.

  “We’ve all seen that kind of personality, haven’t we?” Valetta remarked. “Politics seems to teem with people who can’t man up, admit they were wrong and let something go. Petty people.”

  “But no one has confronted Nezer about Dickens Days.”

  “Except Bill,” Valetta pointed out, “who won’t back down either.”

  Jaymie smiled at Val’s comment. “You’re right about that. I’ve known Bill a long time, and I’ve never seen him so angry. He was red-faced.”

  “I’ve known him most of my life,” Valetta said. “The thing about Bill is, he’s a real old-fashioned gentleman. He doesn’t like men who abuse women, and he doesn’t appreciate people who make a big deal out of small things. He doesn’t like folks who aren’t community-minded. Nezer is all of those things.”

  “He abuses women?” Jaymie said.

  She shrugged. “He talks down to females, at any rate.”

  “Oh, no,” Jaymie said, watching her friend, her smile growing. “Don’t tell me . . . he didn’t try talking down to you, did he?”

  “Once,” Valetta said, her chin going up, the soft light of the TV screen glinting on her thick glasses. “He told me that I clearly didn’t understand the economics of government debt.”

  “Do you?”

  “I know enough,” Valetta said. “I knew enough to tell him he was spouting crap.”

  “How do you know so much?” Jaymie was genuinely curious. Valetta was intelligent, as proved by her pharmacy degree and knowledge of medicine, but she had a broad range of other esoteric knowledge that often puzzled Jaymie.

  “I read! You know me; I read everything. I read NPR online, and The Atlantic, and Slate and GQ, Rolling Stone. I read anything and everything.”

  Jaymie smiled. “My Google friend. I always know to ask you first if I don’t understand anything. When was this and where?”

  “At my pharmacy window, where else would I see him? He isn’t choosing to socialize with me, I can tell you that. Until Friday night, anyway.” She smiled wickedly. “While I filled out his prescription he was on his phone spouting crap, and I called him on it. He said as an ignorant woman, I could never understand the complexities of government domestic debt. He said that’s why there were so few women in economics.”

  “What did you do?” Heidi asked.

  “I told him that maybe there were so few women in economics because females of my generation—and I experienced this myself—were actively discouraged from math-related subjects.” She grinned. “And then I reminded him that I fill his prescriptions. It would be a pity if this poor wittle silly woman couldn’t count or understand the prescription dose and did it wrong.” She looked over the top of her thick glasses and waggled her eyebrows. “Then I handed him his bottle of pills.”

  Jaymie collapsed against the back of her chair in peals of laughter, which Denver did not appreciate, adjusting himself on her lap with a sour expression. “Use your ‘Don’t make me drug you!’ coffee mug around him.”

  “I wish he’d stayed where he was, in your neck of the woods, Heidi, instead of right in the middle of town.” Val looked over at their friend. “Sorry, hon; I know you’re probably glad to have him gone as a neighbor.”

  Heidi shrugged. “Bernie had a little talk with him when he complained about me wearing the bikini top while I mowed my la
wn. He didn’t bother me after that.”

  “Did she wear her uniform?” Jaymie asked.

  “She said that would be . . . what did she say? An abuse of power. She just headed on over in her civvies and reminded him that I had done nothing wrong, and she said as a friend and neighbor she hoped she could say the same about him.” Bernie lived a few blocks away from Heidi.

  Jaymie chuckled. “Smart woman.”

  “Is he going to sell that house?” Val asked, and Heidi shrugged. “I don’t know who he’s going to get to sell it, now that he’s crossed Brock off his list of real estate agents.”

  “Oh, he’ll bring someone in from Wolverhampton,” Jaymie said. “No doubt. But now I get why you’re bringing Brock to the party Friday night. I thought there had to be a reason; it’s to tweak Nezer.”

  “Maybe,” Val said.

  Jaymie yawned. “It’s been a long week so far, and today was stressful. I’m going to call it quits and head home.” She gave Denver a big kiss on the top of his fuzzy head, then moved him off her lap over onto the sofa. “I do not know what you have done to this cat, but you’ve transformed him.”

  “He likes being king of the castle,” Valetta said. “He’s the Evan Nezer of cats.”

  Jaymie laughed in horror. “Oh no! Don’t say that about poor Denver. He was never as mean as that jerk. And he’s a lot cuter.” She stood and dropped another kiss on the cat’s head. He sighed and snuggled down into the blanket on the sofa.

  They all rose, and Jaymie retrieved her coat from the coat tree, nabbing Heidi’s cute ski jacket at the same time and handing it over to her. She grabbed her purse and fished around for her keys, jingling in the bottom somewhere. “Aha, got ’em,” she said, grabbing her key chain as the sound of sirens filled the air, coming closer. “Wonder what that’s all about?” She pulled on her favorite plaid wool jacket, one with toggle buttons and a hood, over her cardigan and leggings.

  Valetta opened her front door and stepped out onto the porch, wrapping her long cardigan around her body to protect against the frigid air of late November. She cocked her ear, a troubled look on her face. “That sounds like it’s . . . good lord, I hope it’s not the Emporium! I’ve been bugging the Klausners for years to get the wiring checked.”