The Christmas Shoppe Read online

  Tommy couldn’t help but smile. “So does that mean you were going to get it for half a song? Or maybe a chorus or just a ditty?”

  “Never mind that.” The councilman thumped his forefinger on the one cleared space of Tommy’s desk. “Thing is, I know this woman’s not on the up-and-up. First of all, why’s she sneaking around like that? What brought her to Parrish Springs? How did she know about the sealed auction? Why is she staying in a hotel instead of with family or friends? Why does she go around town dressed like a bum? Especially when, according to my sources, she’s paying cash.”

  “What sources would that be?”

  “I can’t give it all away, son. You’re the newspaperman. I expect you to do some of the sniffing around for yourself. Just take my word for it, that woman’s got something to hide. The sooner you get to the bottom of it, the better off our town will be.”

  “Something to hide?” Tommy pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, trying to act like he was taking this all in. In actuality he was thinking about lunch, wondering if today’s blue-plate special was a meatball sandwich or mac and cheese. He was hoping for the meatballs, but Belinda at the diner kept switching it around. “What do you think she’s up to?”

  “Like I already told you—no good! Why, you can tell just by looking at her that she doesn’t belong in a town like Parrish Springs.”

  “How so?”

  “For starters, she wears these offbeat, ratty-tatty clothes. Sort of like the hippies used to wear, with beads and strange shawls and these long, weird dresses. Oh yeah, she’s got long hair too.”

  “Long hair?” Tommy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and laugh. “That’s something to get in an uproar about, Councilman. Maybe I should write an op-ed piece about long hair and how you can tell so much about a person just from the length. You think?”

  “It’s long gray hair. Stringy, you know, like a witch.” The councilman pointed a crooked forefinger in the air. “That’s it! That’s exactly what she reminds me of, Tommy—a witch.”

  Tommy glanced at his desk calendar, which was still open to October. He sighed and flipped the page over. “Halloween was just a few days ago. Maybe Ms. Honeycutt is still in her costume.”

  “You can joke all you want, Tommy, but I’m telling you there’s something weird about this lady. I can feel it in my bones. I’ve got a good sense about people, and this Matilda Honeycutt, if that is her real name, is up to something. Mark my words, boy. She’s dangerous.”

  “So that’s all you have?” Tommy asked. “A stranger in weird clothes, a few half-hatched hunches, some innuendo, and small-town suspicion?”

  “I’d say that’s enough. Besides, you’re the newspaperman.” The councilman slowly pushed himself to his feet. “You’re supposed to be out looking for the news—you get the story.”

  “It seems obvious you’re miffed that this woman outbid you for the Barton Building.” Tommy stood too, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “If she really did get it for a song, why don’t you simply offer her a fair price? For all you know, she might be happy to make a few extra bucks and head off on her happy way.”

  “Hmm . . .” The councilman rubbed his chin as if seriously considering this option. “I suppose I could try to offer her a bit more. If nothing else, it might be interesting to see her reaction.”

  “By the way, Councilman, I’m curious what you planned to do with the building if you’d gotten it.” Tommy walked his visitor through the building toward the front door. “Was it for investment purposes? Or did you have a particular business in mind?”

  “I had a prospective client.” He coughed then cleared his throat. “Someone who’s wanted a prime piece of downtown real estate for quite some time.”

  “You’re not talking about that big chain discount outfit that got turned down by the planning commission for a development over on—”

  “Business is business, Tommy. And times are hard. I expect that some folks in town might’ve appreciated a store where your dollar stretches a ways further.”

  “Even if that particular discount chain ran some of our respected and longtime businessmen and retailers right into the poorhouse?”

  The councilman shrugged as they reached the door. “Whether or not you plan to do any investigative reporting on Ms. Honeycutt, I will continue my pursuit for the truth, Tommy. I will get to the bottom of this.”

  “If I see there’s a real story in it—other than an intro paragraph in Business Beat—I’ll be sure to cover it. It’s not like I’d intentionally overlook an actual news story. Not in a sleepy town like this anyway. Don’t you worry.” Tommy smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Good to know. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised if I learn anything of interest.”

  “Appreciate it.” Tommy watched Councilman Snider’s eyes light up as he told Helen goodbye. He wouldn’t be surprised if old George was thinking about asking her for a date, but he would be shocked if Helen said yes. Helen was a fairly sensible woman and like an aunt to Tommy. He’d known her all his life and was thankful when she came to work at the paper when his mom got too sick to come in.

  Fortunately, the councilman just politely tipped his head to Helen and quietly exited.

  “Is George bent out of shape over losing that Barton Building?” Helen asked as they watched the councilman look both ways before he crossed the street.

  “Oh yeah. You could say that.”

  “Are you really going to write a story?”

  Tommy chuckled. “There’s no story, Helen. Not unless I finally decide to take up fiction. As much as I’ve always wanted to pen that great American novel, I don’t see George Snider as the protagonist type.”

  She shook her finger at him. “You should write a novel, Tommy. For years I’ve been telling you that very thing.”

  “One of these days,” he called over his shoulder as he returned to his office. He went inside and just sat there for several minutes. Staring blankly at the clutter on his desk, he wondered what it would feel like to actually attempt a novel. He’d dreamed of it for years, but the tyranny of the urgent always kept him back. Like today. He still had several articles to edit and an editorial to finish, and he hadn’t even begun the piece on Coach Harper’s last year of football at PSHS.

  Just like he did every day, Tommy opened his laptop and told himself it was time to get to work. Although he still doubted there was much of a story regarding this Honeycutt woman, he did make a note to look into it later—after this week’s Spout went to press tomorrow evening.

  He made a note to first verify that the sale was firm and had actually cleared with the city, and then he’d find out what kind of business, if any, this woman planned to open up. If nothing else, he might run a human interest story on her next week—as filler and to appease Councilman Snider. Besides, Tommy actually was curious. What could possibly motivate an outsider to relocate to a hick town like Parrish Springs? And why would an old woman want to buy a decrepit building? He did feel relieved that the councilman had been outbid. It was no secret that this economy had been tough on local businesses. Many were fighting for their lives and livelihoods already, and the cheap goods at a discount chain store would’ve only made things worse. What had Councilman Snider been thinking about anyway? Probably the almighty dollar—in his own pocket!

  To go to the extreme of initiating what sounded a lot like a witch hunt was unsettling. Talking about this poor woman’s long gray hair and strange clothes as if Parrish Springs had some sort of enforced dress code ordinance made Tommy’s skin crawl.

  He shook his head as he opened the Spout email account. Maybe the bigger story would be to put the spotlight on Councilman Snider. Except that Tommy had attempted something like that years ago. Naturally, Snider had come out squeaky clean while Tommy was the one left with dirt on his face. Oh, Snider forgave Tommy in time. He may have even forgotten all about it by now. But Tommy still had questions about the old codger. Some people softened with age,
but George Snider seemed more hardheaded than ever.

  Tommy let out a long sigh. What was it with small towns anyway? They seemed to bring out the worst in some people and the best in others. As for Tommy—well, he just tried to keep his head low and remain neutral. It had never been his plan to stick around this long, and although he felt fairly well trapped by this worthless old newspaper business, he still experienced occasional moments when he entertained daydreams of escaping. Especially this time of year.

  He stared at the calendar on his desk. It seemed impossible that it was already November. Next week was Veterans Day, and already he could feel the holidays barreling down the track, straight toward him, like a diesel-snorting locomotive going full speed. Tommy was itching to hop that train. More than anything he wanted to get out of town for good . . . or bad or whatever. Christmastime brought too many sad memories to him. Too much loneliness.

  Although Tommy knew forty-two was far too young to turn into an old curmudgeonly bachelor, he felt certain he was on the cusp of doing that very thing.

  Susanna checked her BlackBerry as she entered city hall. It was barely noon, and already she had more than a dozen messages that would have to wait until she finished with the Beautification Committee. The topic of today’s discussion would be holiday decorations downtown. She was running a couple of minutes late, but these luncheon meetings seldom started or finished on time.

  As she entered the meeting room, she was taken aback to see Councilman Snider sitting at the head of the table. Box lunches were just being distributed, and Alice was playing hostess by filling water glasses.

  “Glad to see you could make it,” Councilman Snider told her in a slightly sharp tone.

  “Sorry to be late.” She smiled at the small group. “I was just helping our newest member of the community settle into the Barton Building.”

  “Settle in?” The councilman frowned. “Has it even gone to escrow yet?”

  “Ms. Honeycutt made a cash offer. As soon as her check clears at the bank, the property is hers.”

  “But not until her check clears,” he stated. “So why, pray tell, is she taking occupancy now?”

  “She’s not taking occupancy,” Susanna said. “Not that this has anything to do with this meeting—”

  “You let her remain in a city-owned building—”

  “Ms. Honeycutt is simply doing some planning and measuring, Councilman Snider. She will return the key to my office when she’s done.” Susanna smiled at Lois Bowers, the head of the committee. “I’m sorry to be wasting so much time on this. Feel free to call this meeting to order if you like.” She wanted to ask why Councilman Snider was present. Especially since, despite the always-open invitation to all council members, he’d never attended any Beautification Committee meetings before. She suspected that he’d shown up for one reason only—to get her goat. Well, just let him try.

  After Lois called the meeting to order, they began to discuss whether or not their budget was sufficient to purchase some new energy-efficient decorations for the downtown area lampposts. A manufacturer had approached the city, offering them a “steal of a deal” if they could purchase the materials immediately. It seemed another town had backed out on an order, and the company didn’t want to sit on them for a year.

  “We all know we need to do some upgrading, and as you can see by the copies of the brochure in front of you, these lovely Christmas decorations are top-notch,” Lois said. “The question is, can our budget afford them this year?”

  “Not Christmas decorations,” Janice Myers corrected. “Winter holiday decorations.”

  “That holiday still happens to be called Christmas,” Lois pointed out. And just like that the committee fell into the quagmire that had been disrupting city meetings for several years now—arguing over the separation of church and state. Nativity scenes versus Santa Claus. The usual dividing lines that made so many people act crazy. Susanna had seen it before and wasn’t surprised to see it again.

  “Might I make a suggestion?” Susanna had to speak loudly to be heard above the fray of voices. “How about if we all agree to disagree on what we call that time of year, but focus instead on deciding whether or not we can afford these new energy-efficient candy-cane lights?”

  Back on track, they looked over the numbers and finally determined that the new lights would have to wait until next year.

  “That is exactly why I’m here today,” Councilman Snider announced.

  “Are you going to play Santa Claus and donate the lights?” Lois asked.

  He laughed. “Not this time. But I do have a suggestion.”

  “Please, share,” Lois encouraged him.

  He launched into a long-winded plan about how it was important to involve the local businesses in covering the expense of making the downtown area more attractive and viable.

  “Are you suggesting some kind of fee or business tax?” Lois asked with a creased brow. “Because you know we’ve tried that before, George. It might’ve flown back in times of prosperity, but not these days. Money is tight.”

  “Our businesses are barely staying afloat as it is,” someone else chimed in.

  “We can’t punish them just because it’s Christmas,” Lois added.

  “You mean the winter holidays,” Janice said. Suddenly they were back at it—Christmas versus winter holidays. Would they never get over it?

  “Let’s get back to Councilman Snider’s suggestion,” Susanna interrupted again. She knew a big part of the city manager’s role at these meetings was to play referee and peacekeeper.

  “Thank you.” The councilman looked grateful.

  “I have some thoughts,” Susanna continued quickly, not allowing him time to push whatever plan he was hatching. “Lois and the others are right. The local businesses can’t afford to bear the expenses of the decorations. But I’ll bet they’d be willing to participate in a downtown fund-raising event. If we got the chamber involved, we might be able to pull it off without any cost to the city either.” She described an event that her previous boss had done to raise money for an urban development project. Just as everyone was getting on board, Councilman Snider decided to play the wet blanket.

  “That’s all fine and good,” he said. “But I don’t see why we should let the businesses take a free ride. They need to pay their fair share too.” He turned to Susanna. “For instance, the Barton Building.”

  She felt her eyes narrow at him ever so slightly, hopefully not enough that anyone else would notice. “What about the Barton Building?”

  “Well, as you know, it’s a real eyesore. Being that it’s at the dead center of town, it’s detrimental to the entire downtown area. Are you suggesting that everyone else should cover the expenses for it? That smacks of communism to me.”

  “What expenses?” Susanna asked.

  “For bringing it up to standard.”

  “Up to whose standard?” she persisted.

  “Everyone’s standard. That run-down building needs a good steam cleaning, the trim needs painting, there should be some flower boxes out front, and—”

  “I’m sure in due time these cosmetic needs will be addressed.”

  “In due time?” He frowned. “Whose doggone due time?”

  “In a reasonable amount of time, Councilman Snider. Good grief, you pointed out already that Ms. Honeycutt isn’t supposed to take occupancy yet. Do you honestly expect her to whip that building into shape by tomorrow?”

  This aroused a few chuckles.

  “I’m just saying that perhaps someone from the city would be wise to go and advise Ms. Honeycutt in regard to the expectations of maintaining a property in the downtown area. After all, she is an outsider. It’s possible that she is unaware of the standards of, say, the Beautification Committee.” He nodded to Lois. “Wouldn’t you think it’s our duty to inform Ms. Honeycutt that property ownership comes with a price?”

  “Well, I suppose she should be aware . . .” Lois glanced at Susanna.

  “Perha
ps you’re suggesting that you, Councilman Snider, should go hand in hand with the welcome wagon, and while they’re giving Ms. Honeycutt a gift basket, you could present her with a spreadsheet for what you estimate her maintenance expenses will amount to in the upcoming year?” Susanna said.

  There were some snickers.

  “It might not be a bad idea to inform future business owners of what’s expected of them.”

  “Which is precisely why we have such things as business permits, Councilman. But that is not what we’re here to discuss today.” She glanced at the big clock on the back wall. “I have another commitment in less than ten minutes. Could we please stay on task?”

  Fortunately that seemed to shut him down. At least for now. She could tell by the reaction of Lois and the other committee members that she’d just gained some of their respect. Even though that was edifying, she suspected that she’d won only the first round in this particular battle. Who knew how many rounds this old guy could go for?

  The Veterans Day Parade had always been an important event in Parrish Springs. The tradition began in the 1950s, before Tommy was born. As a child, he’d watched both his grandfather and his father marching in their uniforms. He had always imagined that one day he’d march in the parade too. That, like so many other things, had never happened. By the time he was old enough, Tommy had no interest in going off to war—unless it was to report on it. Being a foreign correspondent had always appealed to him. But over the years, he’d seen enough on the History Channel to know that the old adage was true. War really was hell. That seemed confirmed further when he saw Coral Phillips riding on a float today.

  Last summer, he’d included a bit about Coral’s return from Afghanistan in his Armed Forces Updates column, saying she’d been injured by a roadside bomb and was receiving medical treatment in Virginia. This was the first time he’d seen her in person. What he saw choked him up so badly he was forced to look away. Coral had been only seventeen when she’d worked as an apprentice for him at the paper. She’d wanted to be a journalist someday, but her family was short on college funds. Even though Tommy offered to help her out in that department, she’d fallen for the old GI Bill lure and shipped off to Afghanistan. Well, maybe Uncle Sam would see to her college education after all. And maybe he could give her some artificial limbs while he was at it.