The Christmas Shoppe (5 page)

“Yes. So it seems.”

Susanna reached across the counter and patted Lauren’s hand, looking directly into her eyes. “Please accept my apologies on her behalf.”

“Of course!” Lauren smiled brightly. “No one expects you to control your mother-in-law.” She laughed. “Good grief, you should meet mine someday.”

Susanna smiled and thanked her as she took her bag. Trying not to look like she was in a rush, she pretended to browse a bit as she casually left the shoe store. But the truth was she wanted to tuck her head and run.

Once she was in her car, she took a deep breath and just shook her head. As if managing the complexities of a small town like Parrish Springs wasn’t enough of a challenge, doing damage control on Rose was going to push her to the limit.

Helen Fremont checked her image in the mirror as she dried her hands on a paper towel. Patting her perfectly styled hair with satisfaction, she knew the hairdresser had been absolutely right. Softening her hair color into a nice strawberry blonde did make her look younger, and the color hid the gray roots better too. Her visit to the day spa over in Greenburg while she’d been on vacation hadn’t hurt either. It had been her sixty-fifth birthday present to herself and well worth the expense.

Oh, she knew some folks in town thought she’d gone under the knife while on vacation last month, but that didn’t trouble her. Helen had been born and raised in Parrish Springs. Accustomed to small-town talk, she rarely attempted to set gossipers straight one way or another when it came to her personal life. She figured that it was when people
quit
talking about her that she should be concerned.

Helen retouched her lipstick, smiled to check her teeth for any stray spinach left over from today’s salad at Zephyr’s, then nodded in satisfaction. Yes, let them talk about her nips and tucks if it made them feel better about themselves. Thanks to a lot of spandex and a bit of Botox, Helen Fremont didn’t look half bad for her age.

She wiped down the countertop and straightened the mirror above the sink. Satisfied all was in apple-pie order, she turned off the light and returned to her desk. The newspaper office was quiet as a morgue. Thursdays were always slow at the paper, but being that today was a holiday, it was dead. Most of the time Helen didn’t even come in on Thursdays. But after watching the parade then having lunch with Violet, she’d decided to stay in town for a bit and put this quiet afternoon to good use. Without the interruption of the phone or people stopping in, she could clean out her desk as well as some old and overly crowded file drawers.

She’d spotted Tommy across the street earlier, talking to the new city manager and a young girl. Then they’d all entered the Barton Building together. Curious as to what that was all about, Helen figured she’d find out sooner or later. She expected Tommy to return at any moment since he’d left the lights on in his office and the front door unlocked. In the meantime, she was enjoying the freedom of emptying out drawers and making a temporary mess in order to gain some order and fresh storage space.

She’d been meaning to do this much-needed task for ages, ever since she’d taken over for Tommy’s mother more than a dozen years ago. Being tidy by nature, Helen abhorred the idea of making the reception area look like a yard sale, if anyone was around to see it. She took pride in making the newspaper office—at least the entrance—attractive and appealing. What happened once you got past her end of the building was Tommy’s problem.

From her own pocketbook, Helen had gotten sepia-toned reprints of historic photos beautifully matted and framed. Some were related to the paper and some were just highlights of town, but they were hung evenly along the big wall by the front entrance, and newcomers always seemed to enjoy them. She’d scrounged to find a nice leather couch, side table, and brass lamp to put on the other wall and added an old oriental rug from her own attic. She felt these efforts gave what had once been an eyesore entrance a feeling of a somewhat elegant lobby. For that reason, she’d been reluctant to tear things up like she was doing today.

She lugged a heavy stack of faded manila file folders over to the couch and dropped them with a splat. The whole lot of them probably belonged in the dumpster, and that’s likely where they’d end up. Just to be sure, she wanted to skim through them first. Out of respect for her old friend.

Betty, bless her heart, saved everything in hard copies and duplicates. Never comfortable with computers, Tommy’s mother had been certain that anything stored electronically would one day disappear into cyberspace. Or worse yet, her old PC would be sabotaged by a crazed hacker, determined to undermine the
Spout
. Then where would they be? There had been times, like when their whole system crashed a couple years ago, that Helen thought perhaps her old friend had been right. Then a computer expert had arrived, and like Superman—although he looked more like Clark Kent—he’d miraculously retrieved the lost files, fixed their system, and restored all back to electronic bliss and order.

Helen pulled a fat old file from the mess she’d created on the couch. Blowing the dust from the top, she saw that the neatly typed label on the tab proclaimed “Past Due.” Inside were yellowed copies of letters that had been sent to their advertising customers for overdue bills. The top letter, to the Clothes Horse, was dated January 15, 1995. It figured that Cindy had been late on her payment back when that store first opened up. She was still late now. For some reason that date stopped Helen. She thought hard and realized that must’ve been shortly after Betty’s diagnosis.

Out of curiosity, Helen scanned the letter and couldn’t help but smile at the tone of the scolding. Obviously Betty had been thinking about things other than late payments. The second paragraph really grabbed her.

You are young and your business is new, and you think you have all the time in the world to catch up with these things, Cindy, but the next thing you know it’s too late. I encourage you to keep the slate clean. If you owe a debt, pay it. If you owe an apology, say it. Do not leave anything undone!

Helen felt a lump in her throat as she laid this letter back with the others. Too bad Cindy hadn’t heeded Betty’s counsel. At least Betty had taken her own advice. She used the last year of her life to tie up loose ends. Why, she’d even done her Christmas shopping the summer before her death. Knowing full well that she would probably be gone by the holidays, she had carefully picked out and wrapped the presents and stacked them in her hall closet. She’d died just days before Christmas. Poor Tommy didn’t even find the festive packages until the following summer after he’d decided to rent out his condo unit and move back into his parents’ old home. Helen still remembered how he’d come into work that day with a sad smile, pretending to be Santa as he disbursed Betty’s gifts in the midst of summer. Christmas in July.

“Excuse me.”

Helen looked up from Betty’s old letters with misty eyes. A young man, or young by her standards, peered down at her. Caught off guard, she blinked at him. “I’m sorry. We’re not really open today.”

“I didn’t figure you’d be open, but then I saw the lights on. And the door’s not locked.”

She set the folders down and brushed the dust from her hands as she stood. “It’s a small town. A lot of people don’t lock doors.”

He smiled. “Charming.”

“So . . . what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Tom Thompson.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Are you a personal friend? Or did you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly. I mean, Tom and I met at a seminar about a year ago. He mentioned then that he wanted to sell the newspaper.”

“Sell the newspaper?” Helen was shocked, but as usual in a dicey situation, she put on her poker face.

“Yes. He said he hadn’t done anything official, although, like I said, that was a year ago. Anyway, I told him I might be interested, so he gave me his card. He told me to call him if I ever got serious.”

“I see.” She nodded. “And now you are serious?”

“If the price is right I am.”

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Helen Fremont. I work for Tommy, but I’m also an old friend of the family.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Garth Price. I was actually passing through town and thought I’d stop and chat with Tom.”

“Passing through?” She frowned—or attempted to, which was not possible thanks to her recent Botox shots. Didn’t this upstart know that Parrish Springs was not on the way to much of anywhere?

He gave a half smile. “Okay, it was a little out of my way.”

“Well, Tommy was in here a bit earlier,” she told him. “Let me try his cell phone.” As usual, his cell phone went straight to voice mail. Sometimes she wondered why he even bothered to carry it with him at all. He would always say the phone was for him to call others, not for others to call him, and then she would remind him that he was a newspaperman and was expected to be available when a big story broke. Of course, he would just laugh at that.

“If you want to wait, I think I might be able to find him,” she told Garth.

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“Have a seat,” she said. “Or, if you want, feel free to look around.” She wanted to add, “Perhaps you’ll see just how lackluster and run-down this place is and decide you don’t want it,” but that didn’t seem very professional.

“Really? You don’t mind if I wander a bit? Not worried I’ll make off with something valuable?”

“Like I said, we’re a small town. We tend to trust people around here.” She cocked her head slightly to one side. “I’ll only be across the street, so don’t get any ideas.” She smiled sweetly and let herself out, then hurried across the street and knocked on the door. After a couple minutes, a pretty young girl answered. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had a small paintbrush in her hand.

“Excuse me,” Helen said. “I’m looking for Tommy Thompson. I think I saw him come inside here awhile ago.”

“Are you his mother?”

Helen laughed. “Not exactly. But sometimes it feels like it.”

“Tommy left.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you remember how long ago it was when Tommy left?”

The mysterious gray-haired woman came over. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and instead of her usual long dress, she had on overalls and a tie-dyed shirt and her feet were bare. She too had a paintbrush in hand. “Please come in,” she said.

“You must be Matilda Honeycutt.” Helen smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Helen Fremont.”

“Yes, I’m Matilda.” She looked down at her paint-smeared hand. “I don’t want to get paint on you.”

“No, of course not.” Helen lowered her hand. “I work at the newspaper across the street, the
Parrish Springs Spout
.”

“With Tommy,” the girl said.

“Do you happen to know where Tommy went?” Helen asked. She was beginning to think this was a waste of time, but she was curious. This was her first encounter with the mystery woman. She glanced over to where a ladder was set up, trying to see what it was they were painting on the walls. It looked like letters or words.

“I have no idea where Tommy is, but it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Matilda told her. “I do hope you’ll come back again when I officially open up my shop.”

“What kind of shop will it be?” Helen asked.

“It’s a secret,” the girl said quickly. “No one is supposed to know until opening day.”

“I don’t expect you’ll be wanting to run an advertisement in the paper then,” Helen said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Tommy said he’s going to write an article about her,” the girl said. “That’s probably as good as an ad.”

Helen smiled at her. “You’re right. May I ask who you are?”

“I’m Megan Elton,” the girl told her. “My mom’s the new city manager.”

“Aha.” Helen nodded. “I thought I’d seen her down here today too.”

“What is going on here?” a small, wiry, dark-haired woman demanded. “I thought we were all supposed to be working.”

“That’s my grandmother,” Megan said quietly. “She can be a little grouchy.”

“We’re going back to work,” Matilda called out.

“There’s still a lot to do if you want to open next week,” the other woman snapped.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Helen said as she backed toward the door.

“Unless you want to scrub down the bathroom,” the woman called.

Helen laughed. “No thank you.”

Megan looked apologetic. “Nice to meet you,” she called out. “Hope you find Tommy. Tell him I said hi.”

Helen waved. “Will do.”

As she waited to cross the street, she tried to make sense of what she’d just seen. The girl was adorable, but that grandmother, well, she was a little scary. And Matilda was hard to read. Polite enough, but something seemed a little strange about her. And those bare feet. Who went shoeless this time of year? Very weird indeed. No wonder people were gossiping.

As she opened the door to the newspaper office, she wondered what they had been painting on the walls. She suspected the letters would eventually comprise words, but they had made no sense to her. Perhaps a different language. For the life of her, Helen couldn’t begin to guess what kind of business that place was going to be, but she’d definitely gotten a weird feeling in there.

As she returned to her desk, Helen remembered a friend she’d had in the sixties, a real hippie who had gone braless, smoked marijuana—the works. She wasn’t sure what had become of Sylvia, but she’d heard she and her man had joined a commune that eventually got in trouble for selling illegal drugs. Something about Matilda reminded Helen of Sylvia, and suddenly she wondered if Matilda planned to do some kind of illegal business in town. Surely the city manager wouldn’t allow her child to help out someone like that.

“Did you have any luck?”

Helen jumped, knocking a stack of files to the floor. “What?” She stared at the young man. “Oh my, I completely forgot about you.”

“Sorry to startle you. I assume you didn’t find Tom then?”