by Boone Brux
“Oh, look, Mr. Burner just got home.” Claire fluffed the fur on her hood and licked her lips. “He’s so handsome, don’t you think?”
No, I absolutely didn’t think. Don’s dating habits put Fred’s to shame. At least I could respect Fred for staying within his general age range. Don was a dog from the frosted tips of his brassy blond hair to the swing of his skintight polyester dress pants. Any female under thirty pinged his radar. Luckily, he’d retired from his finance job years ago because for sure he would have been brought up on harassment charges by now.
“Evening, ladies.” He half-sauntered, half-skated toward us. “Hope you two are behaving yourself.” His eyes lingered on me. “You don’t want to end up on Santa’s naughty list.”
A titter of laughter bubbled from Claire. “Oh, Don, you’re so bad.” She pressed her hand to her chest and leaned toward him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Just to let you know, I’ve been very naughty.”
His eyebrows lifted, and he finally looked at her. “Really?” From his bland tone, I didn’t think he was all that interested in Claire’s roughly disguised invitation. His gaze shifted to me. “What about you, Lisa? Have you been naughty too?”
He had no idea how bad I’d been this year, but I doubted it was the kind of naughty he’d be able to handle. And on top of that—gag—he wishes. “Nope.” I gave him a tight smile. “I’ve been a perfect angel.” Angel of Death.
The corners of his mouth curved up and around, reminding me of the Grinch. “Good girls can be fun too.”
Kill me now. I took a step toward my house. At this rate, I’d need a shower to wash off Don’s ick once I finally made it inside. “If you say so.”
“But, not as good as naughty girls,” Claire cut in. “Right, Don?”
Ignoring her question, he leaned toward me and peered into the pastry box. “Are those treats to share?”
“Sure are.” I backed toward the house. “With the kids. They’ve been so good this year,” I said, continuing to move toward the front steps. “It’s been really hard since Jeff died and the kids really rallied. Especially, Bronte, she’s taken on the job of watching the boys after school.” My heels hit the bottom step. “Plus, she’s starting on the varsity girl’s hockey team.” I stepped up. “Would you like to come in?” Don’s eyes brightened for a second, then I crushed his hopes of the invite being an adult interlude. “I’m sure the kids would love to tell you all about what they’ve done this year.”
“Some other time,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe some other time,” Claire agreed. “I’ve got a bottle of chardonnay calling my name.” She looked at Don. “Can I interest you in a glass?”
Repeating himself, he said, “Maybe some other time. I’ve got company coming over.” His gaze slid to me. “Miss Alaska, 2011.”
“Speaking of dating,” I said, ignoring his attempt to impress us with yet another age-defying date. “Claire, have you ever considered going to the VFW? I hear Wednesday afternoons are lady’s night.”
“Really?” She nodded, her gaze darting to Don and back to me. “I might just have to check that out.”
“I would if I was you.” Now halfway up the steps, I lifted the pizza a few inches. “Well, better get inside. Pizza is getting cold and the kids are probably starving.” With a quick jog to the front door, I called over my shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” Claire yelled back.
Don didn’t reply.
Once inside, I was greeted by a herd of thundering boys. “Mom,” they yelled in unison.
Bryce held out his arms and hugged my waist. Breck also held out his arms but wrapped them around the pizza and hauled it to the kitchen.
Taking what I could get, I gave Bryce a one-armed squeeze. “Did you have a good day?”
“Grandma and Aunt Vella are here,” he said, as if that answered my question. He released me. “We’re decorating the tree.”
“You are?” Disappointment washed over me. Pizza, decorating the tree and devouring the box of goodies Brenda had given me had been my plan for the evening, but it seemed they’d started without me. Pushing down my self-pity, I smiled and handed him the pastry box. “Well, here’s something to add to the decorating party.”
“Sweet!” Clutching the box, he spun and ran toward the kitchen. “Mom brought cookies.”
I sighed. I shouldn’t be upset that my mom and friend were picking up my slack. They’d been doing it since Jeff died, and with the holiday craziness, I should be grateful that I hadn’t had to ask, not brooding that I’d come late to the party—again. Slipping off my coat, I kicked off one of my boots. Then balancing on one foot, I kicked off the other and hung up my coat.
Vella met me halfway to the kitchen, a cold Corona in hand. “Tough day at work, dear?”
“You have no idea.” I accepted the beer and took a long, much-needed drink. “I love you.”
“I know,” she said. “Your mother’s here.”
“I take back what I said.” My brow furrowed in a scowl. “I don’t love you.”
“Of course, you do.” A sweet smile curved her perfectly lined lips. “I brought you alcohol.”
“You’ve got a point,” I growled. “I guess I love you again.” I took another deep drink and swallowed. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom. It’s just that we tended to butt heads on things like parenting, dating, and the color of the sky. But the kids loved her, and she’d always been there when I needed her, which was a lot being a grim reaper. Plus, she’d never questioned how much I needed to work. She seemed to understand how tough being a single mother was and simply supported me without complaint—lots of opinions about what I could do better—but never complaining about watching the kids.
“Hi, mom.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but the kids wanted to decorate the tree.” With my favorite glass ornament in her hand, she lifted onto her tip-toes and hung the green pickle around the back of the tree. “Doesn’t it look great?”
“Fantastic, I lied. Why would she put my pickle in the back of the tree?
“You’ve got too many ornaments at the bottom,” Vella said.
My mom backed up a few feet, cocked her head, and said, “What are you talking about? It looks perfectly balanced.”
“You’ve got two red bulbs hanging next to each other.” My friend moved forward, pointing out my mom’s mistake. “See, one of these needs to be hung higher.”
As they continued to bicker about the position of the bulbs, Bronte, my sixteen-year-old, sauntered into the room. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” I slung my arm around her and lowered my voice. “How long have they been here?”
“Like, two hours,” she mumbled.
“And the bickering?”
“From the first five minutes that grandma got here.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “I refereed for the first hour and then left them to it.”
“Thanks.” I dug in my front pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar-bill, handing it to her.
She straightened. “What’s that for?”
“For babysitting those two.” I flicked my head toward the arguing women. “Take it. You earned it by putting up with them and keeping them from killing each other.”
“I really did, didn’t I?” She pocketed the money. “Is that pizza I smell?”
“Yep, and a buttload of sugar.”
Bronte wrapped me in a tight hug. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“No, tell me again,” I said, returning her embrace.
“I love you…and pizza…and cookies.”
Giving her one last squeeze, I released her. “Better go grab some before your brothers eat it all.”
Thirty minutes later, the pizza had been consumed and half of Brenda’s goodies were gone. Fully sated, I stretched out my legs, resting them on the foot stool, and relaxed into my old but extremely comfortable couch to watch the news. Vella curled up at the o
ther end with her ever present glass of wine, and my mom flipped up the footrest of the recliner and set her plate of cookies on the side table. Peace at last.
“At the top of tonight’s news, an Anchorage icon passes away,” the news anchor began. “In an ironic twist, local celebrity Fred Lawson, also known as Santa Claus, was killed by another local celebrity, Jingle Bells the caribou.”
“Well, that is the stupidest way to die.” Vella’s eyes cut to me and she arched her right eyebrow. She knew I reaped people who died in idiotic ways and had obviously cued in that Fred had probably been one of my clients. “Don’t you agree?”
“Oh yeah.” I tipped my bottle back, drank and then swallowed. “About as stupid as they come.”
“Such a shame,” my mom said. “And in front of all those children. I can’t imagine the chaos.”
“Awful,” I said, hoping my neutral agreement would not draw me into a conversation about Fred. No such luck.
“From what my clients said, he was a real lady’s man.” Lifting her glass, Vella gave him a silent toast. “They were very satisfied clients, if you know what I mean.”
Fred’s love life was quickly becoming a giant pain in my ass. Wasn’t it bad enough that I’d spent all day interviewing the grieving geriatric population, enduring lengthy descriptions of his exploits? Now he’d taken over my homelife. I drank again.
“Oh yes,” my mom said, “the ladies in my Golden Bellies class rave about Fred. They say he was a gentle and attentive lover.”
“First off, ick. Secondly, what the hell are the Golden Bellies,” I asked.
“My belly dancing class.” Mom glowered at me. “I told you about it last week.”
With absolutely no memory of that conversation, I shrugged and shook my head. “I’m drawing a blank.”
A long-suffering sigh wafted from her. “Really Lisa, I worry about your memory sometimes.”
“There are so many other things to worry about besides my memory.” Like how I was going to nab Romeo. Unreaped souls were kind of like unrefrigerated fish. They were fine for a while but then started to stink and rot. No matter how good the person was when they were alive, if they didn’t crossover, they slowly turned into tormented ghosts. The last thing I needed on my plate was chasing a demented Santa for the next five months, trying to figure out where he would strike next. And the women he’d visit…I wouldn’t want to be one of them. No doubt his gentle attentiveness would turn into full on haunting. Even the threat of that didn’t conjure any surefire solutions for catching him. “Anyway, you were saying about your belly dancing class?”
“Golden stands for the over sixty crowd and Bellies, well, that’s self-explanatory.”
“So, you’re taking belly dancing now? What happened to the aerial yoga classes?”
She smiled. “I still do those too. Great for keeping the old hips limber.” She winked at me. “If you know what I mean.”
Sadly, I did. No child, no matter how old, wants to imagine their parents doing it. “God, I wish people would stop saying that.”
“In a bizarre twist to tonight’s top story,” the anchor continued, “an Anchorage woman swears she was visited by the spirit of Santa this afternoon.”
I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Fred, you naughty boy.
“At first, I thought I was seeing things. He materialized beside me on the couch,” the woman said. “Clear as day.”
“Did the spirit say anything to you?” the reporter asked. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“There was no reason for words.” She peered directly into the camera. “Love is a language in and of itself.”
The scene cut back to the newsroom. “Mrs. Franklin confirmed that the apparition stayed for approximately fifteen minutes before vanishing.”
“It appears the spirit of Santa is delivering his own special brand of Christmas magic this year,” said the other news anchor. Titters of laughter could be heard filtering from around the soundstage.
“Indeed, he is.” She shared a smirk with her coworker and then turned back to the camera. “Up next, what to get dad for Christmas.”
“It sounds like Mrs. Franklin has had a few too many hot toddies,” Vella said.
I cranked the volume down. “Yeah, poor thing.”
“Christmas can be a very lonely time for people.” Mom pushed the recliner footrest down and stood. “Well, I should get going. Your father will be home from play practice soon.”
Sometime around Halloween, my dad had taken up acting. His first role had been a corpse. Not a taxing role for a man who spent a lot of his time stretched out on the couch, watching fishing shows or napping. After years on the Anchorage Police Department, he’d earned the right to be as active or as inactive as he wanted. For this holiday, he’d been cast as the ghost of Christmas Future in A Christmas Carole. Not a lot of talking involved, but he needed to nail pointing with purpose. Again, not a big stretch for dad, but I admired his commitment to his craft.
“Thanks for helping with the tree and the kids.” I stood and walked her to the door.
“Night, Mrs. C,” Vella called.
“Night, Vella. I might stop in tomorrow and make an appointment for next week.”
“I open at ten.”
“Since when do you go to Vella to get your hair done?” I asked, surprised by the blossoming comradery between my best friend and mother. “What happened to Linda?”
“She’s in Cabo for the holidays,” mom said, shrugging into her coat. “Going to be there the entire month of December and she was booked up before she left so, I couldn’t get an appointment.” Next came the twelve-foot scarf she’d knitted in one of her many night classes. Round and round it went, adding a good six-inches to her neck. “I thought I’d give Vella a try. She keeps you looking presentable.”
“Thanks.” Despite the backhanded compliment, I smiled, knowing she meant it in a good way. I’d spent years learning to decipher my mom’s cryptic language. Keeps you looking presentable meant she liked my new short platinum hair. “I’ll call you later this week. We can finalize the plans for Christmas dinner.”
“Sounds good.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek and then yelled, “Bye beautiful grandchildren.”
“Bye, grandma,” came the chorus of kid’s voices from the downstairs TV room.”
“Such angels.” Hefting her ten-pound purse, she opened the front door. “Let’s talk on Tuesday.”
“Sounds good,” I said, parroting her previous reply. Man, I sure hoped I wasn’t turning into my mother.
After closing the front door, I returned to my comfy spot on the couch.
“So,” Vella said, “Fred Lawson, is he one of yours?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“And the crazy lady, Mrs. Franklin?”
“That was Fred too.” I twisted in my seat to face her, crossing my legs again, and lowered my voice so the kids couldn’t hear me. “He bolted when I tried to reap him. Seems he has some unfinished business with the ladies in his little black book.” Though I tried to resist, the words sprung from me. “If you know what I mean.”
She gave a low whistle. “That’s some Christmas miracle.”
“I know, right?” I snagged my beer from the table but didn’t drink. “Not sure I’d want to be on the receiving end of that gift.”
“Definitely not.” A tremor of revulsion rippled through Vella. “If he showed up in my bed, wiggling his jingle balls at me, I’m not sure what I’d do.” She shuddered again. “They’d probably have to lock me up in a padded room.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Mrs. Franklin is going to be his last visit.”
“It looks like you got your work cut out for you.” She unfolded from the couch and stood, holding up her empty wine glass. “And I’m out of wine.”
“You leaving so soon?” I said, trying my best to sound disappointed. I wasn’t. Even though my plans for decorating the Christmas tree had been a bust, there was still a chance fo
r snuggle time with the kids.
“Bob’s flight gets in tonight. I’ve got some last-minute purchases I need to hide.”
“Christmas presents?” I asked.
“Okay,” She shrugged. “Let’s call them that.”
My friend shopped more than anybody I knew. She could sniff out a bargain from ten stores away but had very little control when it came to limiting her spending. Luckily, her husband had known he was marrying a southern trophy wife with questionable money management skills. That didn’t stop him from complaining, and his grumbling didn’t prevent her from shopping.
I walked her to the door. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Girl, you know I love those kids.” She gave me a crooked smile and pulled up the zipper of her jacket. “And your mom isn’t too bad either.”
I harrumphed, not agreeing, but not necessarily disagreeing. “Hey, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, honey, anything.”
“If any of your clients happen to say something about Fred that might help me track him down, could you call me.”
“Immediately! The sooner he crosses over the better I’ll sleep,” she said.
“You and me both.”
I followed her onto the front porch and waited as she picked her way down our slippery front steps. A chilly breeze swirled around me. It felt like the temperature was dropping. As I rubbed my upper arm with one hand in an effort to stave off the cold, I waved at Vella’s departing car. Glad she came but happy to see her go.
A squawk screeched from above me. Looking up, I noticed the fat black raven sitting on the edge of my roof. He was my familiar, self-appointed and very bossy.
“Fletcher.” I smiled up at the bird. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in days.”