I fell back, dragging them with me. A woman who feared being a cat lady had obviously never owned a cat.
Chapter Sixteen
I spent the morning working with Mom at the Hearth. The roads had been cleared overnight, and the skies were a cloudless blue. Tour buses lined the county road outside Reindeer Games, dropping eager shoppers off for a day of memory making. This was exactly what six days until Christmas was supposed to look like in Mistletoe. I, for one, was thankful for a return to normalcy.
Mom’s favorite Andy Williams Christmas album played through the crowded room. She lined warm cutout cookies on a rack behind the counter. Rows of colored icing bags stood at the ready. I hummed cheerfully as lyrics to “Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season” carried me around the room. I refilled drinks and took cookie orders with a joyful heart and a sugar high. Hard to believe there was a killer on the loose when the world inside our little bakeshop was so perfect.
I ferried hot chocolates and fancy cookies to a table near a window. “There you are.” I unloaded the tray and tucked it under one arm. “If you’re around at four, I hope you’ll stop back for Holiday Bingo. Winners get free snickerdoodles and apple cider. We provide the cards and the peppermints to mark your spaces.” I braced one stiff hand beside my mouth to share a secret. “The markers are also delicious in cocoa.”
The woman on my right straightened her little green pillbox hat. “That sounds delightful. We’d hoped you were still doing bingo. It was scheduled for yesterday, but that wretched storm closed half the town.” Her slow southern drawl was sweet and strong.
“We couldn’t skip bingo,” I said. “It’s an annual hit. We’re going to play yesterday’s bingo and today’s trivia back to back this afternoon.”
“Wonderful.” She fiddled with the napkin beneath her cup, lining it perfectly with the table’s edge. “We were stranded in our rooms all day. It was maddening.”
The other woman at the table fluffed her thick salt-and-pepper hair. “I suggested a walk to take photographs, but that idea was dismissed.” She slid a polite gaze toward the woman with the hat. “We never see snow like this in Georgia.”
“You came from Georgia?” I asked, a little thrilled. I’d never been that far south. “That’s incredible. How did you hear about us?”
“We’re part of the Macon Historical Society. We visit other historic towns every fall. This is our first time in New England. We pushed the trip back by a month this year just to see what Mistletoe was all about.”
My smile widened. “What do you think? Aside from the blizzard,” I teased.
“Beautiful,” she said. “Absolutely stunning, and the weather does nothing to diminish that. Your Historical Society deserves an accolade. I hope the people here recognize the efforts.”
A bud of sadness bloomed in my heart for Mrs. Fenwick. It seemed as if everyone in Mistletoe had preferred to argue with her. “Thank you.” I excused myself with a nod.
I paused passing the front window. Dad was helping a family tie their new Christmas tree to a car roof. Others loaded freshly chopped evergreens into the beds of pickup trucks. A farmhand flagged the trees’ ends with red ribbon, lest traffic follow too closely.
Cookie blew inside a moment later. Her puffy white hair was a mess, and her boots were covered in snow. “Next year, I’m buying a snowmobile,” she huffed. She unraveled the scarf from her neck, then dusted loose snowflakes from her coat sleeves. “You think I can get a sidecar for Theodore?”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “If you can’t, I bet Dad can make you one.”
“Good. I’d pay for that. Theodore hates being left behind.”
“True, true.” I walked her to the only available booth and sat across from her for a much-needed break. “Are you staying for bingo?”
Her rosy cheeks rounded with a broad smile. “I’m the caller.”
“What numbers are you going to call first?” I asked with a wink.
“Hey, there’s no cheating in bingo,” she said. “The cheating comes later, during trivia.”
I laughed. “Not this year. Mom is insisting we turn our cell phones facedown and keep our hands where she can see them. There were too many accusations last year about who should’ve won.”
Cookie made a face and patted her purse. “Then I’d better finish my brandy now. Bring me a pot of tea with a dollop of cream and heap of sugar.”
“On it.” I went to put another kettle on.
I kept up a frantic pace until nearly three, taking and delivering orders until the lunch rush ended and the last customers finally cleared out. Then it was time for phase two. Holding the Reindeer Games at the Hearth was convenient, but it required an extreme hustle. I wiped the tabletops and seat cushions, then ran a dry mop over the floor to eliminate any traces of melted snow while Mom cleared the counters and put on fresh pots of everything in the kitchen. We had less than thirty minutes before the early birds would show up to secure their spot for afternoon bingo. Even with folding chairs lining the room, space would be tight.
Cookie swished a mouthful of her “special” tea and did a dramatic sigh after swallowing. “B-10,” she called suddenly.
I jumped.
“B-10. B-10. B-10.” She spouted the letter-number combination in different accents. “I liked that last one. Did you?”
I looked over my shoulder to find her staring. “Yep.”
“It was British.”
“Yes.” I laughed. “Very.”
“I think people will have more fun if I sound foreign. It’ll make the experience exotic.” She opened the holiday bingo set and dumped the chips into a little cage with a handle, then cranked them until they were mixed. “I always wanted a man with an accent.”
I grabbed a stack of well-worn bingo cards and turned them all around and right-side up.
The door opened, and a trio of women made a beeline for the corner booth farthest from the entrance. Wise—that’d be the warmest seat in the house.
I took their orders and handed out bingo cards and a mitten-shaped bowl of peppermints to be used as markers. “We’ll get started in about twenty-five minutes.”
I checked my watch and hustled into the kitchen to pour their hot ciders.
Mom hefted a large tray of cookies from the oven and slid them onto the stove top. She wiped her brow with an oven mitt and smiled. “How’s it going out there?”
“We’ve got our first arrivals,” I said, loading mugs onto a tray. “Do you need any help back here?”
“Nope. You’d better get going. Your job’s about to get a lot harder than mine.”
I darted back to the table of women and dropped off the drinks before taking orders from three more booths that had become occupied in my absence.
The entire room was packed to the perimeter by four sharp, and I was beat.
Cookie shuffled to the front counter and cranked the cage of bingo chips. She poised the mic before her lips and cleared her throat daintily to start the show. “’Ello,” she said in an Oliver Twist–worthy accent. “You may cover your center squares at this time. Right-O. Now let’s see what we’ve got in here.” She cranked the handle a few more times for dramatic effect.
I hurried to get bingo cards into the hands of a couple passing over the threshold. “There are folding chairs along the wall. Feel free to pull up to any open table, and just wave if you need anything once you get settled.”
“Hey, lady,” a weird voice called on my return trip toward the counter, “I got a kiss for you.”
I turned a death stare in the man’s direction.
Ray Griggs burst into laughter, dangling a Hershey’s Kiss from its tiny paper stem. “Clever, right?” He looked like a frat boy in loose-fitting jeans and an open flannel button-down. The baby-blue shirt beneath worked well with his eyes.
I took the kiss from him. “Gimme that.” I put it in my pocket and collapsed onto the limited space at his side. He had the outside spot in a booth with three older women.<
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He looked at the woman positioned between him and the wall. “Did you see that, Ma? This lady stole a kiss from me.”
I kicked his shoe beneath the table. “Stop being goofy.”
The woman leaned around him. “Lucky you. She’s as pretty as you said.”
I looked to Ray for an explanation.
“Holly White, this is my mom, Fay Griggs. Mom, this is Holly White.” He smiled at the two women seated across from them. “These are my aunts, Kay and May.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He pressed a palm to his heart. “I swear it.”
His mom smiled. “Our family loves to rhyme. That’s how he got his name.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over my face. “Do tell.”
Ray swung an arm over the backrest behind me. “I have two older sisters, Shae and Renee. I was lucky. I could’ve been named after my uncle Gay.”
A rocket of laughter burst through me. I wished I’d remembered him from high school. Was he always so silly and fun? I could’ve used that drop of sunshine then as much as now. His natural disposition seemed to run on happy thoughts; mine was fueled by concern. Concern for the weather, my friends and family, strangers, families on long-distance telephone commercials, and everyone holding a telethon. “Stop it. You’re kidding.”
“No,” his mother assured. “My brother was Gay before it became all the rage.”
I slapped my knee. “Now I understand where he gets his sense of humor.” I offered a hand to his mother. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Griggs.”
“You as well.”
I shook hands with his aunts next. The women looked alike, all fair haired with blue eyes and freckles. They seemed close in age but much older than my mother, who’d had me at twenty. I puzzled at the notion. If I’d had a baby at twenty, I would’ve had to drop out of college, and the baby would be nearly seven by now. Good grief. I looked toward the kitchen with renewed appreciation for Mom. How had she done it? I could barely make my ten AM classes at twenty.
“I-21,” Cookie called in her fake accent.
Ray’s Aunt Kay put a mint on her card. “I love this bingo caller. I could listen to her all night. She sounds just like Mary Poppins.”
I covered my laugh by pretending to sneeze.
Ray chuckled. “Cookie’s a hoot. You should hear her do Arnold Schwarzenegger.” He pushed his bingo card in my direction. “Want to help? I’m failing miserably. My markers keep disappearing.”
I looked at his blank card. Not even the free space had a mint on it.
His mom snickered. “Ray says you went to school together?”
I put a mint at the center of his card, and he ate it. I leaned against him with another round of soft laughter. “Yes. Though I’m sorry to say I don’t remember him.”
“He remembers you,” she said.
Ray caught my eye with a warm smile. He’d told me as much, but I’d assumed it was a lie or a line.
“How’s your article coming?” I asked him. “Have you found enough material to use?”
His brows pulled together. “The editor’s a tough nut. He says feel-good pieces are fine for Christmas Day specials, but people want dirt the rest of the year.”
“Right.” Sad but true. “Too bad for us our season ends on Christmas Eve.”
“You still deserve the nod. This place is the heart of Mistletoe. I haven’t found a single person who disagrees.”
I shivered as a gust of frigid air blew down my back. Ray rubbed a warm palm over my shoulders where the chill had landed.
“Ray.” Sheriff Gray’s voice startled me.
I spun in the little space and gawked.
He approached our table with slow, confident strides. “Mrs. Griggs.” He tipped the brim of his sheriff’s hat at the women before turning an odd expression on me. “Holly.”
I did a little waist-high wave. “Hey.”
Ray’s mom reached for his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Sheriff. Join us, won’t you? Pull up a chair.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to interrupt. I just wanted to see how everyone was doing.” His gaze slid to me.
“You already know Holly?” Mrs. Griggs asked.
He gave Ray a strange look before answering. “I do.”
“She went to high school with my Ray,” she said. “I’ll bet she was lovely in high school—just look at her now.”
He grinned. “What was she like at sixteen, Ray?”
“I don’t know.” Ray worked the mint around his mouth. “She was a senior when we met, but she was smart. Elusive. Always had her nose in a book. What was it that you carried with you everywhere?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“I’ll think of it,” Ray promised. “Give me a second.”
Sheriff Gray looked more amused than I preferred. “Let me guess. Had to be a Brontë novel. No. Wait. Pride and Prejudice?” He smiled in my direction.
I squirmed.
Ray snapped his fingers. “Count of Monte Cristo.”
I felt my lids fall shut. How did he possibly remember that? And why did he have to think of it now? I dared a look at the sheriff.
His blue eyes had zeroed in on Ray’s hand on the backrest behind me. “We were just talking about that book. Funny, she didn’t mention that at all.” He opened a folding chair at the end of our booth and stuffed it beneath him. “You know what? I have a few minutes. Maybe I can stay for one round of bingo.”
“B-4,” Cookie called in perfect examples of strained British and cosmic timing.
Sheriff Gray cast a weird look in her direction.
I pushed onto my feet and hugged the remaining bingo cards to my chest. That last call was destiny. As in I should definitely go B-4 our crowded booth became any more uncomfortable.
Chapter Seventeen
I tied a crimson ribbon around another box of Mom’s famous cutout cookies and sighed. Five more days until Christmas, and I was already dragging. I hated to think of the condition I’d be in by Christmas Eve, possibly curled under the tree, covered with the skirt and resting my head on a tissue paper pillow. I stuck a sprig of evergreen in the bow’s knot and tucked a Reindeer Farms card underneath. It was my third cutout cookie order in thirty minutes. The only things selling faster were Caroline’s cupcakes. She’d delivered two dozen this morning on her way to work at the bakery, and I’d sold them all before lunch. With flavors like white mocha truffle, how could anyone leave them behind?
A yawn split my face, and I stopped organizing cookies long enough to refill my coffee. This was traditionally the last day of decent tree sales. From here on out, very few trees would leave the farm. I needed to pep up and get my game face on. For the next four days, my parents would rely on gift and food purchases alone to line the coffers until next season. It seemed like a lot of pressure.
The swinging door to the Hearth’s kitchen swung wide, and Mom arrived in a puff of powdered sugar and enthusiasm. “I’ve iced another batch of cutouts. What can I do out here?”
I scanned the room in search of something I hadn’t gotten to or thought of. “Nothing. Why don’t you have a seat and rest?”
She collapsed onto the stool in front of me without argument. Slowly, she lowered her head to the cool marble surface. “Ah.”
I laughed. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m exhausted, and all I do is take the orders and box up your work.”
“You do much more than that,” she said, lifting her head for a better look at me. “How are you feeling? You know . . . otherwise?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. I was feeling shockingly good about the canceled engagement. A week in Mistletoe had put things into perspective. I was sad I hadn’t come home more often over the last few years, but I was extremely proud of what my family accomplished every year with dedication, teamwork, and love.
I sipped my coffee and scrutinized her expression. Maybe she was thinking about Mrs. Fenwick or the person who’d threatened my life and her
farm. Those things terrified me, but what could I do about either? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’ve been through a lot lately. I worry about you.” A little smile rose on her lips. “It looked like you were having fun at bingo last night.”
“I was.” I set my coffee aside and folded another pastry box into existence. “You never told me how it went with the pickles.”
She dropped her head back and made a strangling sound. “Terrible.” She righted herself and frowned. “I don’t think anyone found the pickles I hid before the storm. Either no one’s looking at our five-year blue spruces this season, or they aren’t checking for the pickles.”
“Bummer.” I frowned. “I can go out and take a look at the situation if you want.”
“No. We’re too busy for that. The pickles will keep, and I can always store the prizes for next year or reassign them to another game. Speaking of . . .” She gave me a curious look. “How do you feel about helping out tonight?”
Tonight’s installment in the Twelve Days of Reindeer Games was called One-Horse Open Sleigh. Though sleigh rides weren’t much of a game, we did our best to make it special, and folks who didn’t live on a tree farm seemed to enjoy the experience. Plus, the rides were free with a tree purchase. “I love the sleighs. Of course I’ll help. Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She fidgeted with an invisible crumb on the counter. “I just want you to be comfortable. That’s all. If you want to take the night off, your father and I would understand.”
“Comfortable?” I glanced at the crowded tables around us where the soft buzz of conversation and clanking of silverware mixed with the sounds of Michael Bublé. “What are you talking about?” I whispered.
“The romance. Your breakup. I don’t know, honey. I’ve never been through what you’re going through, and I don’t want to make it worse by asking you to help happy couples share a blanket and a romantic sleigh ride.”
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