A Humbug Holiday Read online

  "Scottie Sherman is your contact," Parker continued. "She's the drama teacher at Smithville High. She's in charge of this year's production of A Christmas Carol."

  I looked up from the folder in my hand. "You mean the Scrooge story?"

  "Is there any other?" Parker asked as he dragged a box of throat lozenges out of his desk drawer.

  "I'm covering the production of the play?" My tone told him exactly how uninspired I was by my new assignment.

  "Yes. Interview the cast members and make sure to give a little shout out to their various businesses in the article. That kind of free advertisement is the reason they sign up to do the play. Hopefully, it will be enough to bring them around for some actual paid ad space in the paper."

  "In other words, write a glowing piece about the local production of A Christmas Carol and hope it translates to some advertising money," I said wryly.

  "Exactly. Now go out there and get the scoop. Just don't bring back any germs when you return to the office." He dropped the lozenge into his mouth and waved me out with his hand.

  Chapter 3

  Scottie Sherman, the woman in charge of the play, picked up on the first ring. "Sherman here. If you're calling to tell me you can't make dress rehearsal, then I'll find a replacement. That's my rule. Dress rehearsal or done," she said, short and to the point, in true high school teacher fashion.

  "Actually, I'm not in the play. My name is Sunni Taylor and I work for the Junction Times."

  "Oh yes, I read your column all the time. The only thing in that scrappy paper worth reading."

  My face warmed at the compliment. I liked her already. "Thank you so much. That's nice to hear. My next assignment is an article on the holiday play."

  A short laugh shot through the phone. "An article? You mean the free advertising bribe for the actors? Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to have so many fine thespians." She cleared her throat loudly in case I didn't catch the sarcasm. "It's only that I know the motive of the cast members has more to do with their business than with entertainment. Some of them are not much better than my students when it comes to attention span and enthusiasm. And yet, I volunteer for this play every year." It seemed I'd caught her at a bad moment. "I torture myself with this every year when I should be sitting at home by the fire, binge watching all the shows I'm too tired to watch during the school year. That's what the rest of the staff is doing, but no, I'm out here covered in glitter because the two high school students who volunteered to work on set and props decided not to show up." She finally took a breath. "But you don't need to hear all this." Her tone lightened. "I'll be here all morning working on set decorations. Come by anytime. I'm happy to answer questions."

  "Thank you. I was just heading out right now. Is this morning all right?"

  "Sure. You can't miss me. I'm wearing a pair of felt reindeer antlers on my headband."

  "Perfect. I will keep an eye out for antlers."

  After my declaration that I wouldn't be joining in on the Victorian fashion show, Myrna had been unusually silent the rest of the morning. She managed to scowl my direction a few times as well. It seemed like a perfect morning to get out of the office. It would be my first tour of the festival.

  A chilly snap froze my cheeks and nose as I walked along Edgewood Drive toward the center of activities. I pulled the collar of my winter coat up and shrank my head down like a turtle, trying to shield myself from the cold. Drifts of sooty colored snow lined the curbs, and puddles of melted ice dotted the sidewalk and street. Two mounted policemen rode by on their trusty four-legged partners. One of the officers had added red ribbon to his horse's bridle. A green sprig of holly fluttered on the band of his hat as he politely nodded at me. Even the policemen were more festive than I was.

  The town had pulled out all the stops for the festival. The city workers were halfway through with the task of hanging Raine's beloved stars on the streetlamps. Every shopfront was draped in twinkling lights. Festoons of evergreens and red berries framed windows and doors, mimicking the common holiday decor of the nineteenth century. The large wrought iron gazebo in the park at the end of town was nearly obliterated by pine tree branches heavily coated with silvery white flocking. A circle of bright green music stands decorated with tartan bows had been arranged in front of the town hall. A hand-painted sign framed in glittery snowflakes listing the hours when visitors could enjoy the caroling group stood next to the music stands.

  I strolled past the city hall. A small patch of green, adjacent to the city building, was being set up with a Nativity scene. A few people had gathered to watch the manger being filled with three impressively crafted wise men. A woman, thirty-something with curly brown hair and round hazel eyes that looked red from either crying or allergies, was arranging pale yellow straw around the wooden cradle. She paused her task to pull two pieces of straw out of her bright blue sweater. The sweater was covered in white satin snowflakes that looked as if they'd been cut and hand sewn onto the garment. Where on earth did people find the time? The woman lifted her face briefly. I quickly washed away the idea that the straw was causing her allergies. It was obvious she was distraught about something. I doubted it had anything to do with the way the straw was placed.

  I walked past the booth that was boasting 'sweet treats' and the 'most mouthwatering sugarplums in town'. I'd venture to say they were also, most likely, the only sugarplums in town. Someone had taken the time to paint a delightful army of nutcrackers across the large banner on the booth. Iced gingerbread men, raspberry and chocolate thumbprint cookies and chocolate glazed cream puffs filled the trays. A triple layer white porcelain cake stand stood proudly in one corner of the booth stacked heavily with round cookies that had been covered with a metallic purple glaze. A gold sign beneath the cake stand announced that sugarplums cost two dollars each. I had no idea what ingredients were tucked into a Victorian sugarplum, but I was certain the originals were not coated in metallic purple. Aside from the modernized sugarplums and, I suspected, the far from accurate mincemeat pies, the rest of the festival food was just what one could expect at a street fair. A massive char covered barbecue had been set with spits of tri-trip, and a stand dedicated solely to every kid's favorite vegetable, corn on the cob, boasted ten different toppings ranging from parmesan cheese to a secret holiday spice mix. Hot cider and hot cocoa were being served from under a red and white canvas pop-up tent. The line for hot drinks was already curled around the corner.

  On my way toward the giant white tent, the venue for the play, I scooted closer to the mincemeat pie booth. I had to admit, the golden flaky crusts and buttery aroma drifting from the hot pies made my mouth water. Maybe I would have to venture toward a Victorian style lunch after all.

  I stepped inside the large event tent. Its panels fluttered with the breeze outside, but the canvas did an impressive job of keeping out the chill. In fact, the atmosphere inside the tent was almost humid and warm. Large pieces of cardboard were half finished with fantastical scenes of Charles Dickens' London. One particularly wonderful display was the interior of a shop, Scrooge's shop, no doubt. The diamond shaped panes of the leaded glass windows were gray with soot but revealed a snowy scene outside. A single, half melted candle stood in the center of a wooden table. Stacks of gold coins surrounded the candle. The fire in the hearth behind the table was a small, sputtering flame.

  As I perused the richly painted backdrops, a pair of felt reindeer antlers popped out from behind a scene of the village. A pair of blue eyes followed. "You must be Sunni." Scottie stepped out from behind the cardboard prop. She was holding a clipboard, and I half expected to see a whistle hanging from a string around her neck. But it seemed Scottie had left her teacher's whistle behind and replaced her neck ware with a necklace strung with tiny blinking Christmas lights. She was wearing round glasses with candy cane striped frames.

  Scottie's mouth pursed slightly as she took in my very non-holiday outfit. I wondered just how many other people I'd offend throughout the day with my lack
of spirit.

  I gazed up at the painted backdrops. "Your sets are amazing. I feel like I'm standing in nineteenth century England. Did you draw them all yourself?"

  "I wish I had that kind of talent. The advanced art class drew everything. Unfortunately, they ran out of time before school let out. As I mentioned in my long winded rant, the two students who were supposed to help, never showed. I've just been painting them." She held up her free hand to show the red and brown paint for proof. "I apologize, by the way."

  "For what?" I followed her to a table where she had paints and brushes lined up on sheets of butcher paper.

  "For filling your ear with my complaints. You called right after one of the actors, the Ghost of Christmas Present, called to say he'd be late to dress rehearsal. It's so hard to get everyone's schedule lined up for rehearsal, so every little change of plans causes a big domino effect." She lifted the clipboard and lightly tapped her mouth. "There I go again whining and complaining to you." She set down her clipboard.

  "Truly, I don't mind. I can only imagine what a monumental task it must be to bring together an entire holiday play and with private citizens, no less. At least at school the students are right there, a sort of captive cast."

  "And ones that have an incentive, the threat of a grade hanging over their heads. Drama class counts just as much as the other classes when it comes to calculating grade point average.” She picked up a can of black paint. "If you don't mind, I'm going to outline the thatch roofs on the cottages while we talk."

  "Absolutely. I don't want to get in your way. If there are any cast members available, I could start with their interviews, so you can finish your work."

  Scottie adjusted the antlers on her thick blonde hair. "I'm afraid they are all still at work. They'll be here later this afternoon. I'm sure you'll get lots of information from them. Unfortunately, most of it will be about their businesses and not much about the play."

  I pulled out my phone and followed her to the cardboard sets. "Do you mind if I record our conversation? I normally bring a notepad and pen but my hands get too cold in this weather to write quickly. Then my notes look like an abstract collection of scribbles."

  Scottie stopped in front of the first cottage in the village scene. "I don't mind. I'm afraid I don't have too many exciting details to share. I chose A Christmas Carol this year because I knew it fit in with the Victorian theme the town council had chosen for the festival. We're doing a very pared down version of the original, of course." She paused to draw her paint covered brush along the edge of the cottage roof. "I'm afraid an hour is about max for audience attention span these days."

  I held the phone up to catch the conversation. "You mentioned the cast members are local business owners?" I said it as a question, hoping she'd fill in some details.

  "Yes, all from various businesses ranging from pizza restaurants to gift boutiques to dry cleaning. Then, of course, there are several local real estate agents. They almost always volunteer. In fact, Scrooge will be played by Evan Weezer, the number one agent in the state."

  "Yes, I've seen his name on a number of signs," I noted. "Other than the logistics of various schedules, what is the biggest obstacle to pulling off a successful show?"

  Scottie laughed. "How long do you have?"

  I smiled. "Maybe just a few of the more trying problems. I know you mentioned trying to get everyone on the same page as far as scheduling."

  "Yes, what's the phrase? Like herding cats." Scottie dipped the brush into the black paint. She turned to the backdrop and black paint dripped on the snow covered tree sitting next to the cottage. "Darn it." She pulled out a cloth and quickly wiped the drips away.

  "Scottie, you're so busy. I feel I'm in the way. I'll come back later when the cast members are around and try and get a few statements without getting in the way of your production."

  "Are you sure? I really don't mind answering questions." She pulled the brush away from the cardboard and managed to smudge her forehead with black paint as she reached up to adjust her antlers. She blinked at me. "I just painted my forehead black, didn't I?"

  I nodded. "I could get it if you have some clean cloth."

  Scottie waved off my offer. "No, I might as well wait until I'm finished and then stand under a hot shower to hose down. After all, I'm a teacher. I can't count how many times I've gone through an entire day with a streak of black permanent marker on my face without knowing it. In elementary school the sweeties are quick to let you know, but in high school it's comedy gold to let the poor kooky teacher walk around with it all day."

  I laughed. "I suppose that would be comedy gold."

  "Maybe it would be better if you come back later. If that's all right. I'm sure you're more interested in the cast member interviews anyhow. They are the stars, after all," she said with a smirk.

  "Looking at all you've done here so far and with what appears to be little help, I'd say you are definitely the star of this production."

  My compliment pleased her. "That's nice of you to say. Come back whenever you like, and we'll make time for you."

  "Great. I'm coming back here for lunch. I'll drop by after I sample the Victorian treats."

  "Don't bother with the sugarplums." She pushed the brush back into the paint. "They're just sugar cookie balls covered with an artificially sweet glaze. But the mincemeat pies are delicious."

  "Thanks for the tip. I'll see you later." My phone rang as I headed out of the tent. It was Lana.

  "Hey, Lana, did Mom get in O.K.?"

  There was a short pause. "Why, yes, she did as a matter of fact." Another short pause. "She brought along a friend." Lana was speaking in an unusually hushed tone, the opposite of her usual voice.

  "Why are you nearly whispering? Who did she bring? Oh my gosh, is it her bingo partner, Wanda? She never stops talking."

  "No, no it's not Wanda."

  "Is that Sunni?" Mom called from what sounded like another room. "Tell her to come by. I want her to meet Chris."

  "Did she just say Chris?" I asked.

  "Yes, yes she did." Lana's teasing tone was starting to annoy me.

  "Chris as in Christina, her book club friend?" I asked.

  "Nope," Lana said succinctly. "Chris as in Christopher, her new boyfriend."

  My foot landed directly in a mound of slushy snow, and I nearly slipped onto my bottom. My phone fell, but with quick reflexes, I caught it before it, too, landed in the pile of snow. "Ah ha, got it," I said triumphantly as if I'd just caught the homerun at a softball game. "You just missed my catch. I've still got lightning reflexes," I bragged into the phone. "Back to the conversation," I laughed, although it sounded more like a twitter. "I almost thought I heard you say that mom brought her new boyfriend along for the visit."

  "You didn't almost hear it. That's exactly what I said."

  I froze to the spot on the sidewalk and quickly tried to sort out my feelings, but they were way too jumbled and just a touch too cold.

  "You should come by this morning," Lana said. It wasn't a suggestion but more of a plea.

  "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

  Chapter 4

  I'd gone over and over in my head how I'd greet this supposed boyfriend, the man who mistakenly thought he could step into my dad's shoes. Every scenario sounded rude in my mind. We all adored Pops, and he was crazy-nuts about my mom. My brother was never too into team sports but I loved them. I was the competitive athlete in the family, so I always secretly considered myself Pops' favorite. We were extremely close. His loss was like having all the connective threads in my life cut at once. Emily and Lana were closer with Mom, but for me, it was always Pops. I knew it was ridiculous and totally immature, but I couldn't help feeling like Mom was betraying Pops by dating another man.

  Lana heard my jeep and came bounding out onto the front porch to get a few secretive comments in before we stepped inside. She grabbed my arm and leaned closer. "He's very nice and not exactly Clark Gable, but Mom seems happy so try and keep
it together."

  "What are you expecting from me, a full on temper tantrum?" I whispered loudly.

  "Judging from the tone of that whisper, yes, possibly. I know how you feel about Pops' memory, but just be open minded. Mom still has a long life in front of her."

  "Enough with the big sister lecture." I straightened my sweater and cleared my throat as if I was going into a job interview. "Let's get this over with."

  "That's the spirit," Lana chirped and then rethought her assessment. "Sort of."

  We walked inside. Mom's laugh floated out from the kitchen. I knew all her laughs, and this was definitely her extra feminine and charming laugh. She always used it when trying to get an extra nice cut of beef from Jeb, the butcher, a grizzled old sailor with leathery skin and a salty, rough voice who had a bit of a thing for my mom.

  My mom's travel friend, Chris, as it were, pushed politely up from the sofa as Lana and I entered the living room. He was short with a small paunch that hung over his belt. A bald spot seemed to be taking over most of his head, but I had to admit (as much as I hated to) he had a very nice smile.

  Mom hopped up and rushed over for a hug. "It's my favorite ray of sunshine," she gushed as she threw her arms around me. Mom had taken to wearing her hair in a short, modern bob cut where the front was longer than the back. She sent each of us about a dozen pictures of the haircut before she decided to go for it. At the time, I thought it was strange for her to go so contemporary and stylish, but it seemed she was setting her sights on a wider social circle, one that included a man. She was wearing her favorite Santa earrings and matching necklace, the sight of which sent a streak of nostalgia through me. Thinking about Christmas morning around the tree, playing with our toys, and Mom bedecked in her Santa jewelry and reindeer printed apron for making Christmas dinner helped wipe away some of the negative aura I'd carried into the house.

  "It's good to see you too, Mom." I forced a smile at her friend.