The Christmas Shoppe Read online

  “You give Matilda credit for a lot.”

  “I’m just saying that’s how I feel, Tommy. She’s not helping matters either. She could cooperate with me a little. She could let me help her. Instead she wants to play games.” Susanna clenched her fists. “Well, maybe it’s time to play hardball with that woman.”

  He blinked. “Hardball?”

  “Well, think about it. The Christmas parade is tomorrow. Shoppers will be out and about. Law-abiding merchants will be trying to make a living. Why should I allow one spoiler to sit in the middle of everything, spreading her toxic discontent and division? Like Alice said, she’s stealing our Christmas cheer, and it’s just not fair.”

  Tommy looked like he was at a loss. Not for the first time, Susanna regretted her years spent on the high school debate team so long ago. As hard as she’d worked on diplomacy, she still didn’t know when to shut up sometimes. On the other hand, why was Tommy suddenly so defensive of Matilda Honeycutt?

  “Do you know something about Matilda that I don’t know?” she asked him. “Some reason I should cut her more slack?”

  “No . . . not really.”

  “I read your article yesterday,” she continued. “I didn’t see any direct quotes from her. Weren’t you going to give her the opportunity to defend herself?”

  “The opportunity never actually arose.”

  “Maybe it didn’t need to,” Susanna continued, knowing she was probably sticking her foot in her mouth. “It seemed to me that your article took her side.”

  “Took her side?” Tommy looked surprised and a bit hurt.

  “In my opinion, it did. Or perhaps you took the mayor’s side.”

  “I do not take sides, Susanna.” He frowned. “I keep my reporting impartial and save my opinions for the editorial page.”

  “So you say.” She folded her arms across her front. It was really weird, but for a moment she wondered if perhaps she and her mother-in-law had actually switched temperaments recently. Kind of like a version of the movie Freaky Friday. Only not so funny.

  “I can see we don’t agree on this.” Tommy stuck out his chin. “I think it might be best to agree to disagree.”

  “Fine.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll excuse myself. I forgot about something I need to attend to . . . uh, at the newspaper. I hope you understand.”

  Now she felt horrible. What had she done? Was she actually driving him away? What was wrong with her? But instead of apologizing or backtracking, she simply nodded and said, “I understand perfectly.”

  She knew she should get his coat and see him to the door. She also knew that to do so would reveal just how vulnerable she felt. Why had she let her guard down? Why had she let him get to her?

  To hide her feelings and her shaking hands, she told him goodbye, then turned and walked away. She went directly to her bedroom and closed the door. Taking in some deep breaths and trying to regain her composure, she had to admit that something about this was familiar. Painfully familiar. Despite years of therapy following the end of her miserable marriage, and despite her therapist’s continual warnings that until Susanna dealt with some old wounds, she would continue to push away any man who got too close—even if that man turned out to be Mr. Right—Susanna knew that she’d done it again.

  Tommy was a good guy, but he had gotten too close. He’d been on his way to the secret chambers when her security alarms went off—all the bells and whistles. As a result, Susanna went into her usual defensive mode, and now the thick cement walls were up and the barbed wire in place . . . and God bless the man who was able to get over them.

  Maybe it was due to the rain or the near-freezing temps, or, as a lot of merchants were saying, “Maybe it was due to Matilda (the witch),” but this year’s Christmas parade was dismal, soggy, and cold. Not to mention attendance was way down. As a result, Black Friday’s Christmas sales turned out to be unimpressive too.

  By Tuesday, Tommy wondered if perhaps Susanna was right. Maybe Matilda Honeycutt and her faux Christmas store were hurting their town. He wanted to ask Helen what she thought of the latest developments, but after being gone last week, she seemed to be buried in catching up. The upside was that she no longer seemed mad at him. Even when he told her he was still unsure about selling the newspaper, she had simply shrugged and pointed out that it was his decision and she would support him no matter what he chose.

  He’d been tempted to question her on that. Was she saying she would idly stand by if she thought he was making the mistake of his life? Didn’t she care? But then, she’d been at her sister’s home in Florida last week. Sometimes she talked of retiring there, so perhaps she was already making an escape plan of her own. Who knew?

  All Tommy knew was that this town was getting gloomier by the day. As a newspaperman, he should welcome a good fight. But the truth was he never had before, and he didn’t now. It was almost embarrassing to admit that. Especially when he was the one who always complained about small towns and the lack of interesting stories and events. How could he explain that even when there was a hot little controversy sitting right in front of him, he just wished everyone would forgive and forget and get on with it?

  For that reason, he was getting irritated at Matilda. Not only was she tearing this town apart, she had managed to put a serious wedge between him and Susanna. Oh, he wasn’t delusional. He knew that he and the city manager weren’t in a real relationship. At best, they were just friends. Rather, they had been just friends. Now they were simply professional acquaintances. She’d made that clear at last night’s “emergency” city council meeting when she’d given him a frosty smile and moved on.

  He skimmed over the story he was working on—another installment of the Matilda-versus-the-downtown-merchants battle—and frowned. He was trying hard to be impartial. In all fairness, he felt that if he were leaning one way or the other today, it was definitely away from Matilda. Still, something was missing. He needed a quote from her.

  “If anyone wants me, I’ll be over at the Christmas Shoppe,” he said to Helen as he pulled on his coat.

  Her auburn brows arched. “Why?”

  “Getting quotes if I’m lucky.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Maybe more than that . . . if you’re lucky.”

  “Huh?” He frowned at her.

  She smiled. “Take your time, Tommy.”

  “Yeah, right. Never mind that we have a paper to get out.”

  She waved a hand at him. “Oh, we’re doing fine. Don’t worry so much. It’ll make you old before your time.”

  He just shook his head, then went out. He felt the wind starting to whip up. They hadn’t received any of the snow that had been predicted yet, but there was definitely a bitter nip in the air. He hurried across the street, and seeing the Open sign on the door, which seemed a joke since Matilda never seemed to care whether she was open for business or not, he let himself in.

  As he walked inside, he saw old Mrs. Jarvis coming out. In her hands was a dog-eared children’s book. But it was her eyes that got his attention. Misty and yet sparkling at the same time. Mysterious.

  “Oh, there you are,” Matilda said cheerfully. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

  “Come back?” He cocked his head to one side.

  She smiled. “Well, never mind. Here you are. Would you like to look around?”

  “No.” He shook his head as he pulled his little black notebook and pen from his chest pocket. “I’m not here to shop. I’m here for the newspaper. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  She gave him a knowing look. “If you ask me some questions, does that mean I get to ask you some too?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “All right.” She strolled toward him. “How about if we walk and talk. That always helps me to think better.”

  “Uh . . . sure.” He fell into step with her as she slowly strolled down an aisle. She paused to adjust a windup toy monkey, then continued.

  “Do you
see anything that suits you here?” she asked.

  Without even looking, he shook his head. “No. As I mentioned, I’m not here to shop, Ms. Honeycutt. I came to—”

  “Please, call me Matilda.”

  “Yes. Matilda.” He clicked his pen. “I notice you haven’t been to any of the city council meetings. Does that mean you’re not interested?”

  “Not interested?” She looked puzzled. “I’m very interested . . . in the people. But you’re right, meetings don’t interest me too much. I’m more of a one-on-one sort of person.”

  “So you’re aware of what people are saying about you? The dissension your business is causing?”

  She waved an arm. “Dissension? This little place? Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “People are talking about you. Some say you’re a . . . well, a witch or some kind of mystic. Do you have a response to that?”

  She simply laughed.

  “I’ll take that as no?”

  “What do you think I am?”

  He peered at her. “I’m not sure, but I do think you’re a little strange.”

  She nodded and continued walking. “What about you, Tommy? Who do you think you are?”

  He paused, considering this. “Well, the obvious answer is that I’m a newspaperman.”

  “On the outside . . . but I’m talking about the inside, Tommy. Who are you really?”

  He shrugged. “Just a regular guy, trying to figure things out.”

  “How are you doing with that?”

  “What?”

  “Figuring things out.”

  He was getting aggravated. “My turn for questions. Why do you refuse to cooperate with the city in regard to permits and such?”

  “I did get a permit for my business before I opened my doors. Dear Alice in the city manager’s office helped me.”

  “But it’s the wrong kind of permit for a thrift shop.”

  She just smiled.

  “Are you trying to be a troublemaker or are you just stubborn?”

  Her smile faded. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “What will you do when the city shuts this place down? Will you sell? Or move to another location?”

  Her brows barely lifted as she made a tiny shrug. “When the time comes . . . you will see. But before that time comes, Tommy, are you sure you don’t want to look around? Are you sure there’s not something here that you can use?”

  He glanced at the useless old junk cluttering the shelves. “I don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps it’s because you’re not really looking.”

  “I have a paper to get out,” he said as he closed his notebook. “I would’ve liked to have included more of you in this story, Matilda, but it’s obvious you don’t want to cooperate.”

  “Cooperation, as you say, is a two-way street, Tommy.”

  “Right . . .”

  “I do hope you’ll come back again,” she called as he made his way to the door. “When you have more time to browse.”

  As he crossed the street, he decided that he absolutely agreed with Susanna. Matilda was certifiably nuts. She didn’t seem to care if her business got shut down or not. He would try to keep his article unbiased, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  Back in his office, Tommy hammered away on his laptop. Done with the article, he was now writing an editorial, and he was letting his opinions fly freely. After all, what did it matter? If this was what life in Parrish Springs had to offer him, why not just sell the newspaper and be done with it? Helen didn’t seem to care one way or the other now. And with Christmastime breathing down his neck, why should he stay and put himself through this holiday treadmill again?

  He finished his op-ed piece and sent it to his design man, then picked up the phone. He was going to call Garth Price and tell him that he could have the paper, electronic or not. If Garth’s offer was still good, the newspaper would be his for the taking. Tommy was done with Parrish Springs and the Spout. Maybe he’d head to someplace warm like Cancun or Hawaii.

  Instead of calling Garth, Tommy called the city manager’s office. He expected to leave a message, but the next thing he knew he had Susanna on the other end. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “That’s okay,” she said in a businesslike tone. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted you to know that I’ve come around to your side.”

  “My side?”

  “Well, I’ve given up on Matilda. I tried my best to get something out of her for tomorrow’s paper. She refused to cooperate. So . . . I guess you were right.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I also wanted to tell you that I plan to sell the newspaper.” He told her about Garth Price and his plan to go electronic. “I’ll be moving on. Just in case I don’t see you, I wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for having me at your place for Thanksgiving. I’m sorry we got into that silly fight over Matilda Honeycutt.” He let out a weak laugh. “See, I guess she really has divided this town.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Susanna said in a stiff-sounding voice.

  “That Matilda divided the town? You said as much yourself.”

  “No, that you’re selling the paper . . . and leaving.”

  “Well, I’ve been considering this for years, but the timing is right.” He brightened his voice. “I’m ready to call it a day.”

  “Thanks . . . I mean for letting me know.”

  “No problem.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”

  He told her goodbye, but as he hung up the phone, he felt a heaviness unlike anything he’d felt since the December his mother had died and Victoria had dumped him. If anyone had asked him, he would’ve sworn it was impossible to feel that kind of sorrow again. Who knew history would keep repeating itself? Even more reason to blow this joint.

  He put in his iPod earbuds and listened to the Bee Gees, imagining white, sandy beaches and tropical sunshine. He promised himself that it wouldn’t be long until he left behind this place and all the sadness.

  By Friday, Susanna was seriously fed up with Matilda Honeycutt, and she planned to tell her so in person. Not only that, she would present her with the letter of warning that Alice had put together for her. The city wasn’t exactly bringing out the big guns yet, but it was getting close. Being a peacemaker at heart, Susanna hoped they could manage this whole thing without any more drama.

  Bracing herself for Matilda’s usual verbal merry-go-round, Susanna was barely inside the shop when she cut to the chase. “You are in violation of a city ordinance,” she told Matilda as she held up the paperwork. “Unless you make some effort to comply, your shop is going to be shut down. Do you understand that?”

  Matilda smiled sadly. “I understand what you’re saying, Susanna. But is that really why you came here?”

  “Of course it’s why I came here. I want you to know how serious this is. Not only will you be shut down, you may also be fined and taken to court. The city attorney is already investigating this case.”

  “Yes, yes . . . but let’s talk about you, Susanna. I have a feeling there is something here that you need. Won’t you please just look around?”

  “I did not come to look—”

  “How about if we make a deal,” Matilda said. “You look around and I will look into all you’re saying.”

  Susanna blinked. “You will?”

  Matilda removed the paperwork from Susanna’s hands. “Let me get my reading glasses. I’ll read this while you look around.”

  “Oh . . . okay.” Susanna nodded. As Matilda went to the counter, Susanna pretended to browse the frowsy-looking shelves. Noticing what looked like bare spaces, she was curious as to how much merchandise Matilda might actually be moving. She was even more curious about who could possibly want this junk.

  She paused to listen to the music now playing. For some reason she hadn’t noticed it before, but it was an old Beatles song, one of her father’s favorites, “Let It B
e.”

  She hummed along to the tune as she looked at the odd items on the shelf in front of her. There was a pair of old ballet shoes, a woman’s handbag with a broken strap, a dented metal pencil box with a picture of Mickey Mouse on the front, a set of dog tags that were so worn she couldn’t even read the name . . . and then she stopped and just stared at the next object.

  It was a simple, heart-shaped silver locket. The embossed flowers on the front were scratched almost beyond recognition, the clasp was broken, and there was no chain. But it looked exactly like the locket her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday more than twenty years ago. Yet she knew it couldn’t possibly be the same one. Carl had destroyed that locket long ago. Just like he’d destroyed her heart.

  Almost afraid to touch it, she reached her hand toward it, then pulled back. This was crazy. But her heart was pounding hard and she couldn’t resist. She picked up the locket, and it was almost as if a jolt of electricity traveled down her fingers, through her arm, and into her chest. Breathing hard, she held on to the locket as the memory of Carl’s fury swept over her. She had caught him in a lie—just one of many. Using his dark-eyed charm and handsome smile, he tried to talk his way out of it, but it was useless. When he realized she wasn’t buying it, he hit her.

  Even though her father had passed on more than a year before, Carl accused her of being a daddy’s girl. He pointed to the locket she always wore and swore at her, saying that she loved her father more than she loved her own husband.

  “Of course I do,” she shouted back at him. “He was a good man—maybe the only good man. You will never be half the man my father—” That was when Carl lost control.

  Hours later, Susanna regained consciousness. She reported her abusive spouse to the police for the first and the last time, then moved herself and Megan into a women’s shelter. She’d never seen the locket since that awful night. Whether it had been lost in the scuffle or Carl had taken it was unclear. It had simply disappeared.