Christmas on Candy Cane Lane

by Sheila Roberts

  “It won’t smell so bad once I replace the carpets,” Tilda said as much to herself as her cousin.

  Georgie made a face as they stepped into the living room with its stained carpet. “Tell me you’re going to do that before Christmas.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who volunteered me to have everybody over.”

  “Maybe it’ll be better once it’s aired out,” Caitlin said, walking to a window. She unlocked it and tried to open it. “It’s stuck.”

  “You are such a weenie,” Tilda said in disgust. She marched over to the window and quickly discovered it was, indeed, stuck shut.

  “Well, every house has its problems,” Georgie said. She gestured to the counters. “I think we need to clean these before we put out any food. In fact, I’m afraid to even set the grocery bags down.”

  “The counter’s probably safer than anywhere else,” Caitlin said, eyeing the scuzzy vinyl. “Wow, were these guys trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for the most cigarette burns on a floor?”

  Jamal was at the front door now, along with Enrico and Jay. “What do you want to bring in first?” he asked. “The boxes or the furniture?” He pulled a face. “What’s that stink?”

  “The place has been closed up for a long time,” Tilda said as she opened the kitchen door. At least that wasn’t stuck shut.

  “What’s been closed up in it?” Jamal retorted. “A dead body?”

  Tilda shot him a look that would’ve made lesser men quake in their boots. “Bring in the boxes.”

  “Start with the one with the cleaning stuff,” added Georgie.

  “Forget the cleaning stuff. We need a hazmat team,” Caitlin said.

  Tilda studied the gross living room carpet. “On second thought, don’t bring in anything yet. We’re going to yank up this carpet and get it gone.”

  “You’ll be down to plywood,” Jay protested.

  “I’d rather have that than peed-on carpet,” Tilda said.

  Jamal conceded with a shrug. “Come on, guys. We need to hit the hardware store and buy some tools.”

  “Bring the cleaner and disinfectant first,” Georgie called after him.

  “There isn’t enough in all of Icicle Falls to de-stink this place,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “Hey, while you’re there, get her an inflatable Santa,” Caitlin said with a smirk.

  “Do it and you’ll get dog shit for Christmas,” Tilda hollered.

  “I have something better than an inflatable Santa,” Georgie said. “Be right back.”

  “What could be better than an inflatable Santa?” Caitlin joked as her sister dashed out to her car.

  Maybe it was a quilt for her bed, Tilda thought hopefully. But when Georgie returned carrying a red gift bag with red-and-white-striped tissue sticking out of it, Tilda knew it wasn’t a quilt. Too small. Her cousin was also toting her pink plastic toolbox, which meant this was something to hang. It would no doubt feature some corny saying like Home Is Where the Heart Is, but that was okay. Tilda rather liked those homey sayings—in small doses.

  “I figured this would be perfect for Christmas,” Georgie said.

  So, a holiday decoration. Tilda took the bag and dug out her treasure. Yes, indeed, it was a sign. But wait a minute. “What the heck?”

  “You’re supposed to hang mistletoe at Christmas,” Georgie said.

  It was pretty, Tilda would give her that. Faux mistletoe berries were attached to a wooden plaque decorated with red ribbon; Kiss Me was painted on it in red script. “Thanks. It’s cute.” But what good did it do to hang mistletoe when she didn’t have anyone to kiss?

  Georgie took it out of her hand. “We can put it right here.” She pointed to the archway between the hall and the living room.

  “Now you have to find someone to stand under it,” Caitlin said as Georgie got out her hammer with the pink handle.

  There was the challenge.

  They’d just hung the mistletoe when someone knocked timidly on the open door.

  “Looks like they’ve already sent out spies,” Caitlin said to Tilda.

  Sure enough. There in the doorway stood a woman clad in a pink parka trimmed with faux fur, snug jeans and black boots with little pom-poms on them. A jaunty pink wool beret sat on her head, half covering chin-length blond hair. She had brown eyes, flawlessly made-up, and wore pink lip gloss. Between the outfit and the bottle of wine she was carrying, she looked like she might be applying for some reality show about housewives.

  “Hi,” she said. Tilda could tell the minute her visitor caught a whiff of the stinky carpet. Her eyebrows pinched and her lips pulled down at the corners. But she gamely recovered and put the smile back on her face. “I’m Maddy Donaldson. I saw the truck outside and thought I’d stop by and welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “Thanks,” Tilda said, taking the proffered bottle. “I’m Tilda Morrison.”

  “Good to meet you.” Maddy cocked her head. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “Only if you ran a red light or robbed a bank.”

  Maddy blinked.

  “I’m with the Icicle Falls Police Force.”

  Maddy nodded, smiling now that she got the joke. “Ah. Well, a policeman, er, woman, er, person living on the street, er, in the neighborhood. That’ll be reassuring. And we’re all happy someone’s finally moving into the house. It was sad to see it standing empty for so long. It sure wasn’t doing anything for the rest of the street, either.” She shook her head. “The people who were here before—bad news. They never bothered to keep the place up. Which kind of brought down everyone’s property values, you know.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would,” Tilda said, unsure how else to reply.

  “They never quite fit in, never got in the spirit of what Candy Cane Lane is all about.” Now Maddy studied Tilda. “Your Realtor did explain to you about the covenants.”

  “Covenants?” What was this woman talking about? Tilda hadn’t seen any paperwork involving covenants.

  “Well, nothing in writing, really. Just an unspoken agreement. We do have a reputation. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “It’s a great neighborhood,” Maddy assured her. “And we do go all out this time of year. Everyone loves it. As you can see, this is the weekend we start decorating. People expect to see us all lit up for the holidays,” she finished with a little booyah hand motion.

  “Well, I’m just moving in.” They couldn’t expect her to leave her boxes and furniture, and run right outside and string lights. Could they?

  “Oh, yes, of course. Don’t worry. You don’t need to do much this time around. It is your first year, after all. Some lights will be fine, so if you could manage that this week, we’d be thrilled... And candy canes, of course. My husband has them down at the hardware store. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a discount, to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Maddy added with a neighborly smile that made Tilda want to arrest her simply for being irritating. “And I know he’d be happy to string your lights for you.” Tilda found herself frowning. Did she look like the kind of woman who couldn’t string some Christmas lights?

  Maddy’s cheeks, which were pink from the cold, got pinker. “Anyway, I guess I should let you get back to work. If you need anything, we’re three houses down across the street,” she said, pointing to a mint-green two-story Craftsman already dripping with lights.

  “Thanks.” Tilda held up the bottle. “And thanks for the wine.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then with another cheery smile and a quick wave, Maddy vacated the front hall and went down the steps, the pom-poms on her boots swinging back and forth.

  Tilda leaned against the doorjamb and watched her go. “What have I done?”

  Behind her, Caitlin said
, “You’d better stock up on a case of that wine. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.”

  Chapter Two

  Holiday decorations put everyone in a festive mood.

  —Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas

  Okay, Maddy thought as she left Tilda Morrison, not the warm and fuzzy type. But then cops were like that, weren’t they? They couldn’t afford to be warm and fuzzy when they dealt with criminals all day long. Did Icicle Falls even have any criminals? If so, Maddy was sure her new neighbor would scare them onto the straight and narrow. And it would be good to have that comforting police presence right here in the neighborhood.

  Not that they needed it. Everyone got along fine. Almost everyone, she amended as she caught sight of Mr. Werner, who owned the house next to hers. His generous girth was bundled up in winter clothes and he wore a red, knitted scarf around his neck and a matching hat on his balding head. The clothes said, “Merry Christmas.” The facial expression said, “I hope you choke on a sugar cookie.” He was bearing down on Maddy, carrying three candy-cane yard ornaments, the kind that were supposed to light up. Oh, boy.

  She donned a pleasant holiday smile and called, “Hello, Mr. Werner. How was your Thanksgiving?”

  “Never mind about that,” he snapped, and brandished one of the candy canes. “I just bought these at your husband’s hardware store year before last and they’re already defective.”

  As if it was Alan’s fault. “I’m sorry, Mr. Werner. But you know, Alan only sells them. He doesn’t make them.”

  Mr. Werner scowled at her “Well, he should have better-quality things in his store.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be happy to let you exchange your candy canes for some that work.”

  “For this year. But what about next year when those crap out?” the old man demanded.

  “Well, then, I guess he’ll let you exchange those, too.” Honestly, Mr. Werner had to be the crankiest man in all of Icicle Falls. What a contrast to his sweet wife, who always made lebkuchen for everyone.

  He grunted. “You women and your silly ideas. Candy canes and lights and snowmen. You get us poor men out here in the cold all day putting up this junk and then wonder why we get pneumonia.”

  Maddy hadn’t heard of anyone coming down with pneumonia after hanging Christmas lights and, as she looked around the neighborhood, she saw plenty of women outside decorating, along with their husbands and children. She decided not to point that out to Mr. Werner. He wasn’t exactly in a receptive mood.

  “Being out in this cold doesn’t do my old joints any good.”

  Okay, so he was in pain and cranky. Maddy looped her arm through his and started strolling them back toward his house. “Mr. Werner, you know you enjoy how pretty our street looks when it’s all lit up. Why don’t you let Alan take care of your outdoor decorations after church on Sunday? Then you won’t have to be out in the cold.”

  Of course, now Alan would have to be out in the cold, and he wasn’t all that fond of outdoor decorating himself. In fact, he’d been known to do his share of grumbling when he used his day off to set up the Donaldson light show. Really, Maddy, do we need to hang this many lights? Just one Christmas I’d love to go away...someplace warm like the Caribbean where I don’t have to so much as look at a candy cane.

  Whenever he complained, she liked to remind him that he sold a lot of candy canes, Christmas lights, mechanical reindeer, and inflatable Santas and snowmen at the hardware store this time of year. “And besides, how can you live on a street called Candy Cane Lane and not decorate?”

  Whenever she used that argument he was swift to remind her that their street had once been named Laurel Drive and people had been free to decorate or not.

  Well, that had been years ago, and thanks to her, the street was now a special one, unlike any other in Icicle Falls. Changing the name from Laurel Drive to Candy Cane Lane had been her idea, and all the other women had happily come on board. She’d worked hard to get the change approved, but it had paid off. Turning their little corner of Icicle Falls into something extraspecial had definitely increased everyone’s property values. Why, only the year before, the Schumans had sold their house for twenty thousand more than they’d paid for it ten years ago.

  She’d never understood why the Schumans had moved. Now they were on Mountain Drive, where they claimed to have a better view.

  They had a slightly bigger house, she’d give them that. But if you asked Maddy, there wasn’t a bad view in all of Icicle Falls. How could there be, when the town was surrounded by snowcapped mountains?

  “I can string my own lights,” Mr. Werner said grumpily, bringing Maddy back to the unpleasant moment at hand.

  “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

  “I’d prefer not to do it at all. But if I don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from Berthe. Or the rest of you. And now I have to waste half an hour taking back these useless candy canes.”

  Maddy and Alan and Jordan had enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving with her parents and sister in Yakima. And on Black Friday she’d done a brisk business at her shop, the Spice Rack, where she was headed in just a few minutes. Everything had been going well and everyone she’d encountered was cheerful...until now. She wasn’t about to let Mr. Werner tarnish her holiday glow.

  “I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Call us if you change your mind and want Alan to help you with your lights.” Then, before he could do any more grumbling, she trotted off to her own house, which was already dressed for the holidays, lit icicles hanging from the roof, the windows and porch, and all the shrubs trimmed with blue lights. A crèche decorated the lawn and, of course, candy canes lined the front walk. Theirs was always the first house to be decked for the holidays and she liked to think it inspired her neighbors to get their holiday game on.

  She was barely in the door before her thirteen-year-old daughter, Jordan, was after Maddy to take her downtown to meet her friends at the skating rink. After that, there were plans to go to Herman’s Hamburgers.

  “Don’t you have homework to do?” Maddy asked.

  Jordan rolled her big blue eyes. “It’s Saturday! I’ll do it tomorrow. Come on, Mom. You don’t expect me to sit around here all day while you and Dad work, do you?”

  “No, I expect you to clean your room, which you’ve been putting off for the past two weeks.” Her daughter washed her long strawberry blond hair every day, redid her nails the second she discovered even the hint of a chip. And lived in a minidump.

  “I did it while you were out visiting the new neighbor.”

  That meant she’d shoved everything under her bed.

  “Come on, Mom,” Jordan wheedled. “Everybody’s going.”

  Well, who wanted to sit at home on Thanksgiving weekend?

  “And there’s nothing to do here.”

  Other than homework and room cleaning.

  “And you’re never here,” Jordan added, playing the guilt card.

  She was around more than a lot of working moms, always home by 5:15. “Hey, I close early every day just so I can be with you.”

  This produced another eye roll. “And make me set the table for dinner. And after dinner you’re out checking on the neighbors’ lights or giving people candy canes.”

  Only during December. Honestly, Jordan was the princess of exaggeration. Maddy decided this was a discussion they didn’t need to have right before she went to work. “If I take you downtown, you’ll have to wait until I close the shop or you’ll be stuck walking home.”

  “Afton’s mom will bring me back. She’s going skating, too.”

  Unlike some moms, who never have time for their daughters anymore. Of course, Afton’s mom, the perfect stay-at-home mother, would hang around and skate with the kids. She had nothing el
se to do but try and relive her childhood. What happened to the days when kids didn’t want their parents hanging around, anyway? It seemed as though lately all Maddy heard about was how “cool” her new friend’s mom was. Afton’s mom had hosted a spa night for the girls, whipping up egg facials for everyone and teaching them yoga. Afton’s mom had made milk shakes for everyone after school. Afton’s mom was into beading and had taught the girls how to make earrings. Afton’s mom needed to find someone her own age to play with, Maddy thought bitterly.

  Okay, she was jealous. No point in denying it. Maddy herself had done that kind of thing, too, BS (before the shop). After she became a small-business owner she didn’t have endless free time. But this shop brought in a good income, and once it was paid off, Maddy planned on using that income to put Jordan through college. The shop was an investment in her daughter’s future.

  Alas, thirteen-year-olds cared more about the present. And right now the present offered ice skating. What could a mother do but cave? “That’s fine, then.”

  “Thank you, Mom!” Jordan threw her arms around Maddy as if she’d granted her a week at Disneyland. She had friends to hang out with and a cute new boy in the picture who was bound to be at the skating rink, too, so this was probably just as good.

  Maddy gave her a kiss and said, “Get your skates. I’m leaving in a couple of minutes.”

  With a whoop, Jordan was off to fetch her skates.

  All right, Maddy thought with a smile, that had to earn me the daughter seal of approval.

  She was grabbing her purse when the phone rang. She looked at caller ID and felt dread wash over her warm holiday glow like a giant bucket of ice water. Don’t pick up, she told herself. She didn’t have time to talk. She had to get to the shop.

  The ringing stopped, thank God.

  A moment later, Jordan was in the room, holding out the cordless from the rec room. “It’s Grandma.”

  Maddy would rather have talked to Cruella de Vil. She took the phone, wishing they’d got rid of their landline and, forcing pleasantness into her voice, said, “Hello, Corrine. How was your Thanksgiving?”