Mistletoe Bay

by Marcia Evanick

  “My mother?”

  “Dorothy, the woman who usually signs for all the packages.”

  Jenni gave a small, painful smile. “Dorothy is my mother-in-law. My parents passed away years ago.”

  He felt like he had just kicked a puppy. “I’m truly sorry.” And he was. He could see the pain, along with the acceptance in her gaze. “I seem to be really putting my foot into my mouth this afternoon.”

  “It’s okay. How would you have known?” Jenni reached down and unclipped the leash from the pole. Bojangles hid behind her back and wailed when the ghost waved its arms at him.

  “Tucker, stop that.” Jenni reached down and patted the dog on the head. “Can’t you see you have traumatized the dog enough for one day?”

  Tucker pulled the sheer curtains over his head and grinned. “What’s drama . . . whatever mean?”

  “Traumatized. It means you scared him.”

  “I scared him shi—”

  “That word coming out of your mouth, young man, better be ‘spitless.’”

  Coop looked up at the weathered underside of the porch roof and tried not to laugh.

  Tucker seemed to think about it for an awfully long time before groaning, “Spitless.”

  “That just saved you from spending the rest of the night in your room, with no trick-or-treating.” Jenni tapped her foot on the floorboards. “Since it was a close call, and you are the one who caused all this commotion, you can help me give Bojangles a bath.”

  “Mommmmmm!”

  “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. Go put your costume on your bed and then strip down to your Skivvies. You’re the one going into the tub with him and scrubbing. I’ll be doing the holding.”

  “But Mom, Chase says if we do it, we can say it. Besides, he knows how to spell it.” Tucker crunched up the sheer curtains and crushed them to his chest.

  “I’ll give you points for trying to switch the blame onto Chase instead of your usual target Corey, but it’s not going to work, Tucker. You know that word is bad, and if I hear it come out of your mouth, something worse than spinach will be going into it. I’m thinking oatmeal cranberry soap.”

  Tucker’s eyes grew round with fear. “Yuck, oatmeal!” He turned and hurried into the house.

  Corey, the green caterpillar, gave Coop a wave—“Bye, Mr. Brown”—and followed his brother through the front door.

  The slamming of the wooden front door coincided with Jenni’s sigh.

  Coop laughed. “You just threatened your son with oatmeal?” Soap he understood. When he had been eight, he had had the misfortune of being in the same room where his mother’s sewing circle had been meeting when he repeated a phrase his mean old neighbor had said nearly every day of his life. To this day he still couldn’t use Ivory soap.

  “Tucker would take soap as a challenge. I already know he despises oatmeal.”

  “At least you know his weaknesses.” He saw a stack of boxes by the front door. “Are they to go?”

  “Yes.”

  He picked up the first two boxes. “What are you going to do about the post?” He didn’t want her to forget about it and have it come crashing down on top of someone’s head.

  “Put it on my list.”

  She tossed out the answer a little too nonchalantly. “How long is your list?” Considering the shape the house was in, he could picture an entire notebook filled with her to-do list.

  “Longer than your arm.”

  He carried the boxes to the truck and came back for the rest. It really wasn’t his business, and he had a route to finish. Maybe he could get her a list of handymen who were looking to make some extra cash. Shouldn’t take more than twenty men and a year’s worth of labor to spruce the place up. “Can I ask what Mistletoe Bay Company makes?” He usually picked up more boxes than he delivered. Whatever it was, he hoped it was profitable. His gut and trained eye were telling him the foundation beneath the house might be crumbling.

  Jenni smiled. “Bath and body products, including the cranberry oatmeal soap I threatened Tucker with. If you would like, I can do up a sampler and you can give it to your wife or girlfriend. Call it free promotion and a thank-you for not running over my sons.”

  “No wife, no girlfriend, and believe me, it was my pleasure not running over your sons.” Considering what his ex-girlfriend, Candace, used to spend on lotions and potions, there obviously was a market for such things. “Thanks for the offer, though. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, and thanks again.”

  Coop got into his truck and slowly drove down the gravel driveway while glancing into the rearview mirror. Jenni was struggling to hold on to Bojangles. The dog obviously wanted to do his daily routine of chasing him down the driveway until Coop threw a treat to him. Coop wasn’t interested in the dog.

  It was the enticing woman wearing a baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and Ked sneakers whom he watched. He doubted Jenni was even thirty years old—so young to be a widow, and to be left raising three small boys. To top that, she was living with her mother-in-law. Yet when she smiled, it lit up the day and warmed the wind.

  Amazing.

  He shook his head as the woman, dog, and dilapidated porch disappeared from view. Wasn’t his problem. So why did he keep picturing that dry-rotted post in his mind?

  Jennifer Wright would have given her right arm for an hour in a hot bathtub filled with bubbles and a solid eight hours of sleep. It was a good thing no one offered the exchange. She was barely managing the business and the kids with both hands; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like trying it with only one arm.

  She shifted Corey in her arms and tried not to grimace when three of his caterpillar legs dug into her ribs. “That’s it, boys. This is the last house.”

  “But Mom,” moaned Tucker, “I still have room in my bag.”

  “Your bag is big enough to hold your bicycle.” The boys had started off this evening wanting to hit every house in the town of Misty Harbor. Corey had conked out two streets ago, and she had to carry him from house to house. Chase, the wizard from the Harry Potter movies, had lost interest in accumulating piles of candy after the first street. He was more interested in looking at all the other kids’ costumes and finding his schoolmates in the parade of kids going door-to-door.

  Tucker, on the other hand, would keep ringing doorbells all night long if she let him. “You have enough candy in that bag to have you bouncing off the walls till Christmas.”

  She nodded to the house directly in front of them as she put Corey back on his own two feet. “This looks like a good one. Check out all the decorations. I bet they will give out the big candy bars.” The house had orange twinkling lights strung from every eave and window. The trees were bending under the weight of lights and ghosts, and there had to be at least two dozen carved and glowing pumpkins. A life-size Frankenstein was standing on the front porch holding a lantern to light the way to the door, and eerie music was coming from somewhere.

  Someone obviously had a little too much time on their hands.

  She smiled as the boys made their way up to the porch. Frankenstein had made a movement the boys hadn’t seen. They were about to get a surprise. Chase and Tucker were going to love it. Corey was a different matter. He was almost four and idolized his older brothers, but underneath the tough act, he was still a little boy. She moved up the driveway a little bit in case Corey got scared.

  Just as Tucker was about to reach for the doorbell, Frankenstein leaned down and in a creepy deep voice said, “Welcome to my castle.”

  Chase and Tucker jumped about a foot in the air, then laughed. Corey did what she’d thought he would do; he screamed, dropped his bag of candy, and sprinted off the porch right into her arms.

  “Easy, hon. Remember, it’s only a Halloween costume.” She hugged Corey tight for a moment. “I told you, even adults sometimes dress up for trick-or-treat night.”

  Corey lifted his head from where he had buried it in her shoulder, and glanced back to the porch. Frankenstein was giving Tuc
ker and Chase high fives. Corey relaxed slightly.

  “Hey, little fellow!” bellowed the six-and-a-half-foot monster. “I didn’t mean to give you that much of a fright.”

  Corey stopped shaking and whispered into her ear, “Is it a man inside or a kid?”

  “Sounds like a man, hon. Probably some dad who wanted to have some fun on Halloween.” She gave him another squeeze.

  “Do you want me to give one of your brothers your candy bar, or do you want to come get it yourself?” asked the monster.

  She whispered to Corey, “How about I go up with you?” Corey nodded his head. “Carry me.”

  “Will do.” She thought her son was extremely brave to go back up there. She kept both arms around him and walked up the pathway to the porch steps.

  Frankenstein bent down and picked up the bag of goodies Corey had dropped. “Here you go. Sorry for frightening you.” The monster, who had a really great lifelike mask on, looked at her. “Sorry about that. My wife warned me the little ones weren’t going to like it, but I couldn’t resist. I dress up every year, and the older ones love a good fright.”

  “That’s okay.” Chase was down on his knees examining Frankenstein’s boots. Tucker was studying the mask.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Tucker. “How does it move when you talk?”

  “Painfully.” The man chuckled. “I forgot to shave before applying the glue.”

  “Glue? Wow, we have glue at home.”

  “Not that kind of glue, Tucker.” She shuddered to think what her son would glue to his face. “It’s a special kind of glue made for masks and such.”

  “Your mom’s right, son. You have to send away for this stuff. The guys in Hollywood use it for special effects in the movies.”

  “Cool.” Tucker looked duly impressed.

  Chase tapped his knuckles on the huge black boots. “What are these made of?”

  The man chuckled. “Plaster of paris. Made them myself. It’s the same technique they use when you break your arm and they wrap it up in all that gauze. I just spray painted them black when I was done.”

  “Can I touch one of your bolts?” Tucker was looking for something to stand on so he could reach the man’s neck, where two bolts were sticking out on either side.

  “Boys, I’m sure Mr. . . . ummmmm Frankenstein has better things to do with his evening than to have a bunch of boys poking at him.”

  “Pete Kingsman, at your service, ma’am.” He bent down, and Tucker gingerly touched one of the bolts.

  “It’s rubber.” Tucker sounded disappointed that the man didn’t have a metal rod holding his head on.

  “What did you think they were going to be, real?” Mr. Kingsman laughed as Chase touched the other bolt.

  “How did you get your face so green?” asked Chase.

  “Are you really that tall?” asked Tucker.

  “That’s enough, boys. Mr. Kingsman has been more than patient with you both.” She knew if the questions kept coming eventually there would be one that would embarrass her to death.

  Corey whispered into her ear, “Can I touch him?”

  Mr. Kingsman must have had excellent hearing, because he laughed and said, “Sure, you can. Want to touch a bolt like your brothers did?”

  Corey nodded his head as she slowly put him back on his own two feet. She watched as her son gathered up his courage and very slowly touched the bolt that appeared to be screwed into the man’s neck. There was even a trail of blood leaking out of the bolt hole.

  Mr. Kingsman smiled and slowly ran his finger down the front of his throat. He held up the green-tipped finger for all the boys to see the grease paint. “See, fake.”

  Corey laughed. “He’s not really green.” He took a step back just in case.

  Mr. Kingsman handed Corey a big candy bar from the bowl near the front door. “Only leprechauns and Kermit the frog are green.”

  “What do you say to Mr. Kingsman, boys?” So much for her drumming it into their heads all night long to say ‘thank you’ to everyone.

  “Thanks, Mr. Kingsman,” said Chase politely.

  “Thanks.” Corey grinned and he dropped the goodie into his bag.

  “Thanks, Frankenstein.” Tucker chuckled as he sprinted down the steps.

  “Thank you for taking the time to reassure Corey, Mr. Kingsman.” She followed her sons down the pathway.

  “My pleasure. I have grandsons about their age on the west coast. They made me feel like a real grandpop there for a little while.”

  “It was our pleasure.” She didn’t want to think about how much her own parents would have loved their grandsons. But at least she had Dorothy. She wouldn’t know what to do without Dorothy, the boys’ only grandmother.

  “Okay, kids, to the car. It’s parked around the corner. I can’t walk another step.” She bent down and picked up Corey. It was getting dangerously close to Corey’s bedtime, but she couldn’t tell his brothers that. Chase wouldn’t care much, but Tucker would hound Corey for a week for making them stop trick-or-treating earlier than he wanted.

  She had wasted half this afternoon, between dragging Bojangles out from underneath the porch, bathing the hysterical mutt, and bathing Tucker after he’d made a bigger mess in her tub than the dog. Then she’d had to sop up the water all over the bathroom floor, clean the tub, and take a shower herself. By that time Dorothy had dinner ready and none of the boys wanted to eat anything nutritious before they went out. It had been a battle of wills, of which she probably came out on the short side.

  She still had a good four hours’ worth of work out in the shop tonight before she could think about heading for her own bed.

  She helped Corey into his car seat and wrestled the seat belt on. All of his caterpillar legs were getting in the way. Tucker and Chase got their own belts buckled and were working out a deal on what candy could be swapped for what. She closed the door as they started to argue what was worth more, a Snickers bar or a peanut butter cup.

  She smiled as she headed for the driver’s side of the car. When it came to her sons, she was the world’s biggest pushover. She made a mental note to work on that before they hit their teenage years.

  Chapter Two

  Coop was pounding in the last nail when Jenni and the kids pulled up in front of the house. He had wanted to be done and out of there before she even returned, but Dorothy Wright had had other ideas. The older woman kept plying him with fresh hot coffee, pumpkin cookies, and praises.

  It really wasn’t any big deal, and he had told Dorothy that the first six times she had thanked him. It was for his own peace of mind that he had returned after work with an eight-foot-long four-by-four and tools. He had kept picturing the porch roof caving in on top of a ghost, a caterpillar, and their hazel-eyed mother.

  He had had less frightening nightmares after watching horror movies as a kid. A piece of lumber and some nails were a cheap price to pay for a good night’s sleep.

  “Wow! Hi, Mr. Brown,” shouted Tucker as he rushed from the car. “What’ya doing?”

  Coop tried not to chuckle as he climbed down the stepladder and took a look at the Wright family as they tumbled, rolled, and stepped out of the midsize SUV that was a couple years old. The vehicle appeared to be in a lot better shape than the house, which was good, considering he didn’t know what he would have done if he’d spotted duct tape on the car, like the porch.

  Instead of using nails, someone had duct taped three of the porch balusters onto the railing. The one shutter to the dining room window also was held on to the house by a dozen strips of the silver tape. Here he had thought it was part of the overzealous Halloween decorating. It wasn’t.

  “‘Hi’ back.”

  Tucker had a string of lights lit under his ghost costume. Coop guessed that to a kid it would appear cool. To his eye, if Tucker added some big wings and a halo he would look like an earthbound angel. He chuckled at that comparison.

  A second kid followed Tucker up onto the porch. He guessed this was Chase, the boy
he hadn’t met yet. Chase, who was a couple inches taller than Tucker, was dressed in a purple and gold robe with shimmering stars all over it. A purple dunce cap was perched on his head and a fake gray beard was covering most of his face. Chase was also carrying a five-foot-tall wooden walking stick.

  “What’ya doing?” asked Tucker again as he stuck an unwrapped candy bar up under his costume and into his mouth. Under the porch light Coop could see chocolate smears all over the sheer costume. Tucker was beginning to look like a Dalmatian ghost.

  Coop glanced at the SUV as Jenni reached in the back door and unbuckled a squirming caterpillar. Corey exited the car carrying a bag almost as big as he was. It appeared to be holding an impressive amount of candy.

  “What did you do—hit every house in Misty Harbor?” Jenni was bundled up against the cold, her cheeks were pink, and she looked tired. But at least she wasn’t covered in pink shaving gel and muck.

  For a woman who’d just herded three kids through the streets of Misty Harbor, she shouldn’t have looked that beautiful.

  “Just about,” answered Jenni as she climbed the steps. “What are you doing?”

  He looked at the three boys and couldn’t very well tell her the roof was about to cave in on them. He didn’t want to frighten the boys. “Since I noticed the dry rot this afternoon, I figured I’d just give this post some additional support until you get a chance to have it replaced.” He had almost purchased a new post at the hardware store after he had finished his route, but that would have been like putting a new door on one of the cabins in the Titanic. Without a major overhaul, Jenni’s house was still going to sink.

  “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.” Jenni looked embarrassed. “What do I owe you?”

  “I already have a job.” He didn’t want Jenni, or anyone else, thinking he was trying to hit them up for money. “Consider it a good deed.” He could see the uncertainty on Jenni’s face. “Besides, Dorothy has already paid me with enough coffee and pumpkin cookies to fatten me up till Christmas.”