Hark the Herald Angels Slay

by Vicki Delany

  “That should do. You have a lovely shop here, Marie. Perhaps I’ll be back later.” Once more Erica leaned forward and air-kissed my cheek, drowning me in the scents of French perfume and American tobacco.

  The crowd parted—Erica playing the role of Moses at the Red Sea—and she sailed out of the shop, while Muriel scurried along behind clutching the tote with the gift from Max. Jason and his camera followed.

  Half of the watchers rushed after them to see where Erica went next, and the other half surged forward. In seconds every last one of the decorations had been snatched off the display table, the rosemary bush itself had been snapped up, the singing angels were gone, the jewelry had been picked down to the bones of black cloth and display frame, and Jackie was fighting her way to the storage room in a hunt for more stock.

  I staffed the cash register, ringing up purchases, running credit cards, and accepting money. Jackie staggered back laden with boxes; the goods were grabbed before she’d so much as finished laying the items out.

  Max leaned against the back wall, a smile on his face, watching. Amber picked her way through the store, taking pictures with her phone and talking quietly to Willow, who jotted down notes.

  Finally, the mass of shoppers left. I surveyed the wreck of my store. In the main room scarcely an item remained, although some goods were still on the shelves in the alcoves.

  “Wow!” Jackie smiled at Max. “You’re good for business.”

  He shrugged. She cleared her throat, tossed her hair, and wiggled her hips. “I just so happen to be personal friends with the girl who made that necklace you bought for Erica. I’d be happy to introduce you to her and you could maybe get Erica a surprise present. I’ll model some pieces for you, if you’d like to see what they look like on.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He turned to me. “Merry, I . . .”

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Jackie said. “It’s no trouble.”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” he said. “Amber, Willow, did you get what you need?”

  “We have pictures, at least, of the merchandise,” Willow said. “Merry, can you order more of whatever got sold out?”

  “It shouldn’t take long to get more stock. Most of my pieces are hand-made by local artisans. The cranberry strings are by Alan Anderson, who Amber knows, and the necklace Erica liked was made by a teenager named Crystal Wong, who works here part-time. She’s very talented and is heading to New York for jewelry design in the fall.”

  “That would make a story in itself,” Willow said. “What do you think, Max? Our readers absolutely adore handcrafted goods.”

  “I know Crystal really well,” Jackie repeated, trying to force herself into the conversation. “We’re great friends.” I refrained from pointing out that as far as I knew they couldn’t stand each other. “I’ll go around to her house right now if you like, and see what she’s working on. Hey, I’ve an even better idea! I can bring her stock down to New York City myself. It’s no trouble.”

  “Unlikely Erica will let us run another story on a jewelry maker,” Max said, ignoring Jackie. “We’re doing that woman in North Carolina in November.”

  Willow snorted. “You mean that talentless hack who strings colored beads and shells she buys by the truckload on a string and sells them for a thousand bucks a pop—I mean offers them for sale, there’s a difference. The one who got into the magazine because she went to college with Erica?”

  “That one,” Max said dryly. “Merry, we’ll do the photo shoot on Saturday, after closing.”

  “What photo shoot?”

  “Of the shop. Didn’t you hear Erica? She wants to feature you and your shop.”

  Jackie squealed.

  “I don’t have a lot of stock at the moment.” I pointed to the almost-empty shelves.

  Max shrugged. “Get stock, then. Willow, arrange it, will you?”

  While we talked a few customers continued browsing. The flapping of their ears was creating quite a wind.

  “Merry,” Max said. “Can we talk privately?”

  I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hear what couldn’t be said in front of a roomful of people. But, it had to be done. Last night he was telling me he was going to call off the wedding, and today he was all adoring fiancé. Either he’d changed his mind, or Erica had refused to listen. Wouldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say, I decided. Perhaps he intended to apologize.

  I wanted to take him to my office. I’d sit behind my desk; he’d take the visitor’s chair. We’d have an intelligent conversation in a calm business environment as befits two mature adults.

  Unfortunately, my office was occupied by a giant, slobbering, very friendly dog, and the chaos of invoices, packing slips, accounts receivable, accounts payable, company catalogs, sample products, and boxes of stock (if any were left) didn’t make for calm.

  “This way.” I led Max through the curtain into the back. I opened the door to my office. Mattie leapt to his feet, all doggie smiles, flapping tongue, and drooling jaws.

  “Whoa!” Max said. “Is that a dog or a . . .”

  “No, he is not a pony. That’s Matterhorn.” I gave him a hearty scratch behind the ears as a reward for not jumping on us.

  “Are you babysitting him?” an incredulous Max asked.

  “Nope. He’s all mine. And I’m all his.”

  Max, never an animal lover, suppressed a shudder. Once again, I wondered why I thought I’d loved this man.

  “Mattie needs a stretch.” I took down the leash and snapped it onto his collar. “We can talk in the back alley.”

  As soon as we stepped outside, I thought this might not have been the best idea. If Vicky’s ovens broke down she could use the pavement out here to bake bread. I let the extendable leash out to its full length, and Mattie sniffed at corners and under trash cans. In the recessed doorway of Cranberry Coffee Bar, a few doors down, something rustled. Mattie strained at the leash to check it out, but I held on tightly. I didn’t want him chasing mice.

  “Erica seemed happy this morning,” I said. “I assume the nuptials are back on. Congratulations.”

  “Actually, Merry.” Max rubbed at his head. “I want to talk to you about that.”

  “What has it to do with me?”

  “After you . . . uh . . . left the restaurant, Erica and I went back to her hotel. We had a walk in the garden, and I told her the truth. I told her I am very uh . . . fond of her, but you’re the woman I love.”

  “What? Max, this conversation is over. I’m going back inside.” Max had dropped that bombshell on Erica last night, and she was huggy-kissy with me this morning? Good thing I didn’t have anything to drink when she was in the shop. I wouldn’t put it past her to wear a ring with a secret compartment containing poison.

  “Wait, Merry. Hear me out. I love you. I want to be with you. It can still work out. Erica did some talking, too. She told me she doesn’t much care what I get up to, but the wedding’s all planned, and Jennifer’s pushing her for great-grandchildren. Erica’s parents died in a car crash when she was small and Erica’s Jennifer’s only grandchild.”

  “I know that. But I don’t understand.”

  “The wedding can’t be canceled. The magazine’s done so much on it already. Erica shopping for gowns, selecting a florist, going to bridal shows. They even ran a piece on me hunting for the perfect ring. If it doesn’t happen, she’ll be humiliated and Jennifer furious.” Max took a deep breath. “Erica’s promised me five million dollars six months after the wedding, with another ten million as soon as she gets pregnant. And five million more on the birth of a second child. That’ll be my own money, to use as I like. In addition to the normal living expenses associated with being with her, of course.”

  Of course. All I could say was, “Wow!” Then I said, “How nice for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

&nbs
p; “Don’t you see, Merry? That means we can be together.”

  “It means nothing of the sort!”

  “It won’t be a real marriage, except in the eyes of the law. She wants to be married, she wants children. I’ll be the prop so she can play happy families. The rest of the time, I can do what I want. And what I want is to be with you. She was only angry last night because you and I were out in public.”

  Mattie pressed his nose up against the leg of Max’s immaculate dark jeans. He looked very New York, I thought, in a white button-down shirt tucked into a belt with an unadorned buckle, worn under a lightweight, but perfectly tailored, gray jacket. He shoved Mattie’s head aside. “Think about it, Merry. We can live together most of the time. You can even bring your dog, if you want.” He smiled.

  I did not smile back. I was horrified. What kind of sick world did Erica live in? What kind of sick world did Max want me to be part of?

  “Mattie, here!” I gathered up the leash. “Good-bye, Max,” I said, and went inside.

  Chapter 4

  Jackie complained bitterly, but I put my foot firmly down. I had to be on the boat with Santa, therefore she had to be in the shop. I was not going to close on Saturday afternoon. So there!

  “Why can’t Crystal work? She doesn’t have to sing.”

  “Jackie, stop arguing. Crystal is not only part of the choir, she has a solo.”

  “Not fair. I was going to ride behind Kyle’s friend Sam on his Jet Ski. How about if I make up a banner advertising Mrs. Claus’s Treasures and I can pull it along behind?”

  “No!” If she’d told me a week ago she wanted to be part of the water parade, I might have been able to arrange something. One of Vicky’s many cousins is always ready to help out in the shop if I’m desperate. But it was nine o’clock the night before the big event, and everyone in town would have an assigned role to play. I briefly considered just giving in, closing the shop for a couple of hours, and letting Jackie have the time off. If she was here, she’d be so sullen, she’d chase whatever customers we had away.

  Instead, I decided to take a page out of Erica Johnstone’s book and pay for loyalty. “Because I need you here, and because you’re such a good employee, I’ll give you a bonus of an extra fifty dollars.”

  She sniffed. “Only fifty? We pretty much sold out earlier, and you’re going to be part of a photo shoot for Jennifer’s Lifestyle.”

  “We’re going to be the photo shoot,” I said. “The store. I won’t even be in the pictures. One hundred.”

  Max hadn’t come back inside after our little discussion in the alley earlier, but Willow arranged that they’d come to the store tomorrow after closing to take the required photos. I’d spent the remainder of the day on the phone and on the road, having managed to get Crystal to put in a few extra hours helping Jackie at the shop, trying to pry additional stock out of my suppliers, and if needed driving to pick the stuff up myself. Most of the artisans I regularly bought from were thrilled when I said their work might be part of a Jennifer’s Lifestyle feature. Alan told me he’d be working all through the night making more cranberry strings and the choir of wooden angels that had proved to be so popular. Crystal, fortunately, had been busy in her jewelry studio now that it was summer vacation. As for the rosemary bush, I remembered that my mom had one in her herb garden and called to beg her to give it to me. She agreed to drop it off later.

  By closing time, if the shelves weren’t exactly overflowing, at least there were no gaping spaces, and extra boxes were stacked in the back. Thank heavens, I thought, not for the first time, for locally sourced goods.

  Not yet entirely mollified, Jackie didn’t know to quit when she was ahead. “It’s bad enough that I’m missing the start of the dance party at the bandstand because you made me work late.”

  “You always work until nine on Friday. You wanted to go to a teenage dance party?”

  “Kyle’s there.”

  “Jackie, grow up. Do you want the hundred dollars or not?”

  “Okay.”

  Sometimes I wondered why I put up with her, but then I always remembered. She was an excellent sales clerk. Polite, friendly, borderline flirty when it suited, serious when it didn’t. Some of the staffing horror stories I heard from my fellow shop owners would curl the hair on my head, if it wasn’t a mass of unruly dark curls already.

  “Time to close up,” I said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  As usual, Jackie was determined to get in the last word. “I’ve decided not to wear my costume. Not if I’m not going to be in the pictures. So there.”

  “That will be fine,” I said.

  Jackie left. I locked the door behind her and flipped the sign to “Closed.” I went into the back to get Mattie, and we left the shop by the back door. The sun was almost down and the alley was wrapped in dusky gloom, but the heat of the day still lingered in the pavement and the concrete walls, and the humidity was intense.

  The door to the shop next to mine opened, and Margie Thatcher, owner of Rudolph’s Gift Nook, came out carrying a bag of trash. “What are you doing hanging around the alley?” she asked me.

  “Good evening, B . . . I mean, Margie,” I said as sweetly as I could manage. “Lovely evening.”

  She harrumphed. Margie was the sister of Betty Thatcher, previous owner of the Nook. When Betty left town shortly before Christmas last year, Margie stepped in to take over. The women were twins, identical looks as well as identical—meaning foul—temperament. “You had quite the fuss and bother earlier today.” Margie sniffed. “It seems to me there were a good many more people in your store than fire regulations would allow.”

  “We were busy. Don’t you ever get busy?”

  “When some people couldn’t get into your shop, they came into mine. I simply didn’t have time to call the authorities to come and investigate. You should make sure you comply with all safety regulations at all times, Merry. I wouldn’t want to file a complaint, but I know my civic duty.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Mattie sniffed at Margie’s sensible shoes. Her lips pursed into a tight pucker of disapproval and she recoiled. “Keep that vicious creature under control.” He’d moved on to check out the garbage bag she’d tossed into the bin. I ground my teeth. As much as I didn’t like her, I had to keep things reasonably pleasant between us. Or who knows what damage she might try to do to me and my business, not to mention my dog?

  My phone beeped with an incoming text, and I reached gratefully for it. Margie tossed her head and went back inside. The door slammed behind her.

  It was Vicky. She’d called me earlier to say that not only had the café filled with people wanting to have lunch where Erica Johnstone was eating, but crowds were gathering on the sidewalk, peering in the windows. She’d sent one of her waiters into the crowd with trays of samples and the bakery brochure advertising catering services and wedding cakes. The implication being that Erica was considering asking Vicky to make the cake for her wedding.

  Vicky: Finished here. What U doing?

  Me: Going home.

  Vicky: No Alan?

  Me: No.

  Alan was working, making more cranberry strings and singing angels to satisfy the hordes of eager Jennifer fans. Word had gotten out on social media that Erica was in town. Frankly, I wished she’d leave. Never mind anything personal between us—this weekend was supposed to be about Santa Claus and kids, not a skinny, spoiled diva.

  Vicky: Pizza and wine. I can pick up.

  Me: You’re on.

  Vicky: Saved you a cookie.

  Me:

  The sound of a live band filled the night air long before I reached the park. A good-sized crowd had turned out. The butcher shop had set up a barbeque and was grilling hamburgers and hot dogs, and a line stretched out the door of the North Pole Ice Cream Parlor. Young people spilled out of the park, moving
to the music, smiling and laughing. An almost-full moon hung over the lake, casting a long white streak across the dark water.

  A young couple, walking close, holding hands, smiling up at each other, approached me. “What a beautiful dog,” the girl said. “Can I pat him?”

  “Sure,” I said. “He’s friendly.”

  She crouched down and touched her nose to Mattie’s, letting him lick her face. She giggled and her boyfriend smiled. Alan. Yes, I knew Alan was working tonight. He was working because I’d asked him to. But if not, would it have been another excuse not to get together on a Friday night? The excuses, I realized, were coming from me, not him.

  Mattie and I went home.

  • • •

  The first day of Santa’s vacation was another hot, humid, sunny day. Perfect for a boat parade.

  The parade organizers, including my dad, had ordered that anyone on a boat had to wear a life jacket, so I decided that the clothes part of my costume didn’t matter all that much. Shortly before we’d broken up, Max and I had vacationed in the Turks and Caicos islands. I’d forgotten to pack a beach wrap and grabbed the first thing I saw in the hotel’s massively overpriced gift shop. A flowing, one-size-fits-all, ankle-length wrap in lime green with Pepto-Bismol pink trim. It was hideous. Meaning absolutely perfect for Christmas in July.

  I planned to top off the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat on which I’d tied a pink ribbon, and massive dollar-store sunglasses. I tossed everything into a tote bag. Once the parade was over and Santa was greeting kids on the beach, my task would be to help keep the lineup organized. To that end, I’d bought a giant bag of small candy canes and a wicker basket.

  “Sorry, buddy, but no work for you today,” I said to Mattie. “I’ll be in and out of the shop all day.” I collected the beach bag and candy basket and left the brokenhearted dog staring mournfully after me.