A Humbug Holiday Page 3

  He walked hesitantly forward to shake my hand. I wondered briefly if Mom had filled Chris in on the exact reactions he could expect from each daughter. I was sure she'd warned him that I would be the path of most resistance. That sent a cold weight to the bottom of my stomach. I was going to have to give the man a chance.

  "So nice to meet you, Sunni." His voice was sort of thin and quiet for a man. But there was nothing wrong with a soft spoken man, I quickly reminded myself. "I understand you're the reason your Mom's den is filled with trophies and ribbons," he said with a wink at Mom.

  He's been in the den? What other parts of Pops' house has he sat in? Ugh, be gone negativity. I was taking my Scrooge role to new heights today. "Yes, I guess most of them are mine." I grinned Lana's direction. She looked sort of stiff and tight jawed as if she worried I wasn't going to, as she so nicely put it, keep myself together. "There is one small trophy on the shelf that Lana won for best handwriting at Sycamore Elementary School."

  "And I'm quite proud of it," Lana piped up. "I'll go into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee." She loosened her posture, seemingly convinced I was going to remain civil. Which, of course, I had every intention of doing, but my sister was a worry wart. "Sunni, why don't you come in and help me," she added. Maybe she wasn't convinced after all.

  "Nonsense, Lana," Mom said. "Let Sunni stay here so we can catch up. I've already heard all about your business in the car ride home. I'd like to hear how Sunni's doing with her newspaper job and the Cider Ridge Inn."

  I flashed a wide cheeked smile at my sister and took a seat in the big upholstered arm chair next to the couch. I hadn't had much time to visit Lana in the past week since she'd put the finishing touches on her holiday decor. Naturally, she had outdone herself. A tall spruce tree was nestled near the rustic brick hearth in the living room. Every inch of the tree was covered in thick silver and red garland, twinkling gold lights and hand painted glass ornaments. A lush evergreen garland with the same lights and ornaments was draped along the mantel, and a large green and gold wreath with red velvet bows hung over the fireplace. There were even leafy swags of greenery hanging over the various doorways in the house.

  "Lana did such a wonderful job decorating," Mom said. "I can't wait to see what Emi has done to her place." She didn't bother mentioning seeing my house because she knew me too well. I might have won the trophies, but my sisters won when it came to interior decorating and making things beautiful. Mom folded her hands primly in her lap. "So how is your job at the paper?"

  "Your mom is very proud of your journalism career," Chris said with a smile that added a few lines to his cheeks. "I've read some of your columns. You are very talented."

  It seemed Mom's new friend was working hard to earn my approval. Was it already that serious that he was looking for kid approval? I pushed the silliness from my head. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, but I'm still always learning."

  "Aren't we all," he chuckled. "I'm constantly having to keep up with new technology at my job."

  "Chris is an electrician," Mom interjected.

  "An electrician? How interesting." I glanced pointedly at Mom. Pops was a proud plumber. He always considered electricians to be arrogant know-it-alls. His narrow opinion had come from working on many construction sites where plumbers and electricians had to work side by side. Mom knew exactly why I looked her direction, but she chose not to make eye contact on the subject.

  The rich aroma of coffee preceded my sister's light footsteps into the living room. "Emi made some apple crisp. If you're hungry, Mom, Chris, we can heat some up now."

  Chris got up to help her carry the tray to the coffee table. "It sounds delicious and your mom has told me Emily is a great baker. But I can wait until later. We had breakfast on the plane."

  Lana's phone buzzed from the kitchen. "Oops, left my phone behind." She headed toward the kitchen to retrieve her phone, leaving me alone with the couple again. I had to admit, Mom looked very happy.

  "Where did you two meet?" I asked.

  They both started to talk, but Chris politely bowed out and let Mom tell the story. "It was rather funny actually. I was in the grocery store at the refrigerator section trying to decide what flavor of yogurt to buy when a very nice voice behind me said 'try the key lime, it's delicious'." Mom paused to take a sip of from her cup. I waited for her to continue, figuring the humorous part of the story was just around the bend. She lowered the cup to the saucer and smiled.

  "Oh, was that it?" I asked. "I take it that Chris was the one telling you to try key lime."

  "Yes, of course. He has a very nice voice. And he was right. The key lime yogurt was delicious."

  Chris stared down at his cup, seeming a little embarrassed that the story of their meeting didn't quite live up to a rather funny story. His face popped up. His eyes had a nice warm glow. "And we've been giving each other yogurt suggestions ever since. We might even move on to ice cream recommendations soon, when things get more serious."

  I laughed at his comment, which caused my mom to wink at him as if to say good job, you might just win her over.

  Lana was just hanging up from a call when she walked back into the room. Her face looked decidedly more droopy than when she'd walked out.

  "What's the matter, Lana?" Mom asked. "You look upset."

  "Just a little business let down. A big wedding reception I have scheduled for January just fell through. Apparently, the groom got cold feet. I've already purchased some of the decorations and table linens."

  "That's a shame. Will you be out a lot of money?" Mom asked.

  "Fortunately, I always collect a good deposit before I start purchasing supplies. And it's non-refundable at this late date." Lana picked up a cup of coffee from the tray and sat on the opposite arm chair.

  "That's smart business sense," Chris said. "It's always good to get some sort of deposit first."

  "Yes, but I'm always disappointed when I lose a big event, and this one was going to have three hundred guests."

  "Wow, impressive," Chris added. He was working the whole room and doing a good job.

  Mom seemed to think so too as she settled proudly back against the seat cushion. "There'll be plenty more jobs, Lana. People are always getting married." She looked pointedly at each of us. "Well, most people." She seemingly forgot about the genteel, refined persona she'd been using around her new boyfriend and allowed her natural mom sarcasm to slip out.

  "Anyhow," Lana said with some force, "the bride-to-be sounded pretty distraught. Poor thing. I think she was paying for a lot of it herself. I haven't met the groom. He had no particular interest in the wedding planning."

  "He sounds like a toad," Chris said plainly. Lana and I had a good snicker. He'd gotten two laughs out of me in one sitting. Not too bad.

  "Well, I've got to stop by the inn and check on—check on things." Yet again, I came dangerously close to mentioning my ghostly tenant. Henry and Ursula had been working in the dining room since seven. I was certain the noise would have Edward tense and grumpy.

  Chris and Mom stood up to see me out. "How is the inn coming?" Mom asked. "I'm anxious to see the progress." She looked at Chris. "You should have seen how dilapidated that old place was when she first moved in."

  "Actually," I said with a glance toward Lana, who was holding back a grin, "Chris, you'll be able to see it in all its dilapidated glory after all. Progress on the remodel is slow and expensive."

  "I'll bet," Chris said. "Old houses like that generally need a lot of electrical work as well."

  "Yes, I'm happy to say I have that hurdle jumped already. I decided to update the wiring before digging into any more of the interior."

  "Smart girl," Chris said.

  I hugged Mom at the door. An awkward moment followed where it seemed Chris and I were expected to hug. We shook hands. Mom looked disappointed.

  "Don't forget, Sunni," Lana said. "We're all meeting at Emi's for dinner."

  "I haven't forgotten. See everyone then but now jou
rnalism duty calls. I'm interviewing the cast for the annual Christmas play. Yet another important assignment," I chirruped as I headed out the door.

  Chapter 5

  I never knew if it was a good sign or a bad sign when Edward didn't make an instant appearance as I stepped into the house. As usual, Ursula was berating her brother, Henry, for doing something wrong. Although, most of the time it was nothing more than a bent nail head or placing the ladder at the wrong spot on the floor. After months with the two of them traipsing around the house, hammering, sawing and arguing with each other, I'd learned to ignore Ursula's incessant harping. Just like her brother, Henry.

  My dogs, Redford and Newman, were napping peacefully in the kitchen. They'd also learned to ignore Ursula's shrill lectures. My footsteps startled them out of their naps. Both dogs bounded toward me for a hug and treat.

  "Hello," I called into the empty kitchen. "Anyone home? And by anyone I mean any unhappy spirits?" I said with a weak laugh. No response. I headed out of the kitchen to check in on Ursula and Henry. A cold swoosh of air fluttered through my hair from behind as I stepped into the hallway.

  "I'll soon go mad from the racket. Then you'll not only have a dead Englishman but a mad dead Englishman lingering in your house." I spun around. Edward was leaning against the edge of the kitchen table with his loose, rumpled cravat, shiny black boots and scowling expression. "And I don't mean mad in the angry sense like you modern people use. I mean it in the daft, lunatic sort of way."

  "Yes, thank you. I got that from the context."

  "I don't know what this means—from the context."

  "Not important." I stepped back into the kitchen. Newman was already at Edward's feet with a tennis ball jammed between his teeth. I couldn't tell a soul about Edward, but my two dogs not only knew he existed, they'd both come to adore him. The fact that he could ricochet a tennis ball off three walls with one throw certainly helped his status.

  "What will you do about it?" he asked.

  "Nothing. It needs to get done. Or do you want the inn to be declared uninhabitable so that the city can tear it down?"

  "It's perfectly inhabitable," he insisted. The ping of a hammer echoed down the hallway causing Edward's image to tighten with tension.

  "Look, I'm sorry that you have to put up with so much noise. I'm sure after years and years alone in this house, it's a dramatic change. Trust me, this, you included, is a dramatic change for me too. We just have to forge ahead and look for the bright side of things."

  Ursula screeched something at Henry in between hammer blows. It was an ill-timed disruption considering my quick pep talk.

  "And what would the bright side of that clamor be?" Edward asked. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky that she's only here from sun up to sun down and not through all hours of the night."

  I smiled. "See, you found a bright side."

  His dark brow arched. "I assure you it was not intentional." He surveyed me from head to toe. "Where are you going dressed in that drab attire?"

  "Back to work and it's not drab, it's professional. I'm doing a story on the Firefly Junction Festival play."

  "Riveting," he drawled and plucked the tennis ball from Newman's teeth. With incredible, otherworldly precision, he managed to throw the ball down the hall so it would bounce into the dining room where they were working.

  Newman tore after it. Seconds later, Ursula yelled at the dog for playing ball in the house.

  Newman came plodding back, ball in teeth and tail between his legs. I tilted my head and stared at Edward.

  He shrugged his broad, transparent shoulders. "What can I say? I have a talent for throwing."

  "And a talent for upsetting Ursula, which, in turn, makes her yell and fuss, which, in turn, makes you angrier, or as you say, mad. It would probably help things considerably if you stopped harassing her."

  "Harassing," he repeated in his annoying impression of my American accent. He made extra sure to flatten the middle letter a, which gave extra emphasis to the middle syllable 'ass'. "You use this word about me often. It no doubt means something unfavorable."

  "There you go—that's what 'from the context' means," I said, satisfied that at least one positive had come from my side trip home.

  "Who are you talking to, Sunni?" Henry's voice came from behind. He glanced around the room and saw both dogs sitting next to the kitchen table. What he didn't see was the focus of their attention. "Talking to those dogs again, eh?"

  "Yes, I know, I'm nutty." I was constantly using the dogs as an excuse for talking to myself. At least this time they were sitting close enough for it to be plausible.

  "Not at all. I used to have a parakeet that I talked to all the time. He was a way better listener than Ursula. But I'm sure a rock would be a better listener than my sister."

  "Indeed," Edward drawled. His image disappeared completely as Henry made his way to the refrigerator. "Just need a cold drink. I've worked up a thirst with that hammer. The room should be all ready for a Christmas tree by tomorrow," he said into the fridge. He emerged with a can of soda and popped it open.

  "I'm sorry—what Christmas tree?" I asked.

  His expression flattened. "Well, your holiday tree, of course. Aren't you planning on putting one up? Ursula and I put ours up two weeks ago. I told her it was far too early and that it would be just a trunk full of kindling by the time Christmas arrived, but you know how well she listens."

  "Yes, the rock comparison is still fresh." I decided a cold bottle of tea might give me a new burst of enthusiasm for the work day. I walked past Henry to the refrigerator. "I'll probably just skip a tree this year, Henry. My sisters have their houses decorated—"

  "Skip the tree?" Ursula said sharply as she entered the kitchen.

  Edward had vanished when Henry entered, but I didn't need to see him to know Ursula's arrival had sent him straight up to the second floor, to the farthest room in the house, most likely. Before she continued on her no tree tirade, she took the time to lecture Henry. Her hands went on her tiny hips. They got lost in the folds of denim fabric on her oversized overalls. Although they were only oversized because Ursula was as tiny as a wood sprite.

  "Henry Rice!" she bellowed. (Tiny as a wood sprite but with the personality of a giant.) "Doctor Yates told you no more than one soda a day. That's your second this morning."

  Henry defiantly dropped his head back and lifted the can straight up to drain it. He ended with a dramatic sigh. "I'm drinking ahead for tomorrow." He walked over and dropped the can in the recycling bin and headed out of the room.

  I became Ursula's new focus. "Did I hear you say you weren't getting a tree? How can you celebrate without the smell of pine in the house?"

  "I'm surrounded by the smell of pine every time I step outside, and my sisters have trees. Besides, my budget is tight because I'm paying several people a lot of money to renovate the inn." The last comment cut short her lecture.

  She nodded. "You could wait until Christmas. The lot on Crimson Grove sells the leftover trees for seventy percent off that day."

  "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I've got to get back to work." I tossed the dogs another treat and followed Ursula down the hallway.

  "We're almost done with installing the crown moulding," Ursula said.

  "That'll make someone happy," I muttered absently.

  She looked back at me. "Oh? Who? Was Henry complaining about all the work to you?" she asked quickly, gearing up for another sibling argument.

  "No, not at all. I was talking about Redford. The hammering makes him skittish. That's all." If my dogs only knew how often they became the scapegoat for my verbal blunders.

  Ursula stopped at the end of the hallway. "Really? That's strange. Just this morning, he came into the dining room to hang out with us. Even fell asleep next to the tool box."

  "Did he? I guess he's getting used to the noise then. I only know what my dog mom senses tell me. I'll see you later." I headed to the door before I tangled myself up any fu
rther.

  Chapter 6

  I parked near the newspaper office and headed on foot toward the hub of town where the festival was slowly growing in size and activity. Raine texted that she had booked three more card readings, the usual holiday rush, she noted, and that she'd have to skip our lunch date. I was just as glad. My detour home to see Mom and her holiday boyfriend surprise had thrown me off my schedule. I decided to grab a quick lunch and head toward the tent to interview the cast for the Dickens' play.

  The two officers on mounted police duty seemed to be having a great time with their festival assignment. Normally, they didn't ride horses around town, only to parades and big events. A group of teenagers had stopped them for selfies with the horses, and they didn't seem to mind. It wasn't as if a holiday festival was a hot bed of crime. People were in cheery moods and too stuffed to the gills with festival goodies to cause trouble.

  I headed past the selfie session and turned the corner to where the food kiosks had been set up. I knew there would be an overload of food tonight at Emily's dinner, so I opted for a fresh roasted ear of corn. I'd save my mincemeat pie adventure for a lunch with Raine.

  After applying copious amounts of parmesan butter on my well intentioned, once healthy corn on the cob, I was in the midst of a bite when a familiar voice rolled over my shoulder.

  "Fancy meeting you here, Bluebird."

  I hastily wiped butter from my mouth and swallowed before turning around. Detective Jackson was wearing a black windbreaker over his sweater and jeans. He'd pulled a black and red striped knit beanie down over long hair. It stuck out wildly as if he'd just snowboarded down a steep mountain. He lifted off his sunglasses and hung them on the front of his sweater. His amber eyes looked unearthly pale under the icy blue sky. That famous cocky grin of his lit up his face and nearly melted the parmesan butter right off my corn.

  "There you are, Detective Jackson. I was beginning to think they moved you to an entirely new precinct." I rarely used his whole title but it had been a few weeks and we were in a very public setting so it seemed appropriate.