The Christmas Shoppe Read online

  Just as the high school marching band started playing “You’re a Grand Old Flag,” Tommy turned away and ducked back into the newspaper office. That was more than enough parade for one day.

  Even with the doors closed, he could still feel the thudding beat of the big bass drums reverberating through his chest. He hurried to his office, closed the blinds and the door, put in his earbuds, and cranked his iPod to the Bee Gees. He wasn’t proud of the fact that it took these sappy soft rock songs from his childhood to get him through the day sometimes. But it was cheaper than therapy and safer than bungee jumping. He had to get out of this town before it made him crazy . . . or crazier.

  Taking a deep breath and humming along to “Staying Alive,” Tommy opened his laptop computer and stared blankly at his screen saver, watching the same electronic fish doing the same electronic things . . . for years. He really needed to switch to another screen saver . . . one of these days.

  Tommy didn’t have any urgent projects to finish—no heavy edits, no fires to put out, nothing was pressing today—but that was expected since the weekly paper had just gone out yesterday. The same paper that was probably lining the bottom of a number of the town’s birdcages by now.

  He used to obsess over the pathetic waste of perfectly good trees just to make stupid newspapers. Then he switched to a green paper manufacturer. This company used a combination of poplar trees, grown exclusively for pulp on a tree farm. “Not only are these happy trees beautiful to see from the road, they improve the air quality too,” the salesman had assured him. After these happy trees were chopped down and reduced to mulch, they were combined with a variety of other recycled materials and ultimately turned into newsprint, which would end up being recycled all over again. Unless they went on to some other inglorious tasks like wrapping up dead fish, lining pet cages, joining compost piles, or starting cozy evening fires now that the air was getting colder.

  Tommy had devoted an entire issue of his paper to living green. He’d even gone as far as to suggest that he might turn the Spout into an online paper, but the good people of Parrish Springs kindly told him to forget it. They claimed they liked the feel of a real newspaper in their hands, flipping through the pages with their morning coffee, enjoying the smell of the ink, clipping the retailers’ coupons. Besides, as Gladys Lepenstein pointed out, not everyone had access to those fancy-schmancy computers in the first place. So there you go.

  Tommy clicked on his notepad (on his fancy-schmancy computer) to see if there was anything there that he’d forgotten or neglected to do. He was reminded that he still hadn’t made a point to meet the mysterious Matilda Honeycutt. That was partly due to busyness, partly to procrastination, and partly because he felt sorry for her. The poor woman had been in the Barton Building for only about a week and already she was catching flak. He’d heard her name come up in a number of conversations, and although it was often paired just with natural curiosity, sometimes it was paired with criticism and hostility.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine where this negative flak was generating from. Not blatantly, of course, but Councilman Snider had numerous friends. Some in high places and some in low. It was Tommy’s guess that some of Snider’s friends owed him favors. Consequently, there had been three strikingly similar letters to the editor in the past few days, all regarding the city’s sale of a particular piece of property and whether or not that sale was handled in a respectable manner.

  Tommy had just laughed and placed the letters in his “under consideration” pile, which usually ended up in the trash basket. But it irked him that Councilman Snider was being so underhanded. He was tempted to go over and meet that Matilda Honeycutt in person—and he would welcome her to Parrish Springs. If she struck him as a good person, perhaps he’d even write a friendly article about the town’s newest resident, encouraging the good people of Parrish Springs to make her welcome too. After all, if the pen was mightier than the sword, surely it must be mightier than the sharpest tongue as well.

  After the parade festivities were over and the town quieted down to its usual subdued self, Tommy told Helen that he was going out. He didn’t want to tell her his destination because he’d already heard her making some comments about Ms. Honeycutt too. Not the mean-spirited kind that George Snider was so fond of, but Helen had mentioned the newcomer’s strange fashion sense more than once. Maybe it was just a female thing.

  Tommy crossed the street and noticed that the windows looked cleaner and the lights were on inside. He tapped a few times on the door, but no one answered. Since the door was unlocked, he let himself in. “Ms. Honeycutt?” he called. “Hello?”

  “What’re you doing in here?” a small, dark-eyed woman snapped. She had on blue jeans and a sweatshirt, and her hair was tied back with a bright purple bandana, similar to what his mother used to do with her hair when he was a small boy. But this woman was scowling at him, looking like she might even smack him with the rag mop she was clutching to her chest.

  “I’m looking for Ms. Honeycutt. I wanted to—”

  “Can’t you see we’re not open for business yet?”

  “Well, yes, but I—”

  “And can’t you see I’m trying to mop this floor here?”

  He looked down at the wet wooden floor. “Oh, no, I didn’t—”

  “No, I expect you didn’t! Look at those dirty footprints you left too.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should stop by another—”

  “Maybe you should just get on your sorry way.”

  “I’m going.” He attempted a smile. “Sorry about—”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, mister.”

  He just nodded, gingerly backing out the door, but the next thing he knew he bumped into someone, stepping right on their foot. The shriek of a feminine voice confirmed to him that this was just not his day.

  “Excuse me!” He stumbled to regain his balance, nearly knocking over the dark-haired girl who was looking at him with a mixture of shock and pain. “I’m so sorry.” He knelt down and looked into her face, then peered down at both her feet, which were still intact. “Did I hurt you badly? Anything broken?”

  She mustered a smile, and her brown eyes twinkled. “No, I’m okay.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked. “Because I know these big size thirteens could seriously injure someone. I got kicked out of dancing lessons when I was twelve because I stomped on too many little girls’ toes.”

  The girl actually laughed, and he felt better. “Really, I’m okay.” She pointed down. “These are pretty sturdy shoes.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Who are you anyway?” She peered curiously at him.

  He pointed to the newspaper office across the street and formally introduced himself.

  Her dark eyes grew large. “You run the whole newspaper?”

  He laughed. “Yes, the whole thing.”

  “Do you ever hire kids?”

  “Hire kids?” He frowned, imagining child laborers hidden in some dark attic.

  “You know, to deliver your newspapers. My cousin has a paper route in Idaho, and I’ve always wanted to have one too.”

  “How old are you?” he asked in a businesslike voice.

  She stood up straighter. “Ten and a half.”

  “I’m sorry, but my paper carriers have to be eleven.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “My birthday’s in April.”

  “Then you check with me in April.” He grinned. “I told you my name. What’s yours?”

  She frowned. “I’m not really supposed to talk to strangers.”

  He nodded. “That’s sensible. I’m sorry to have initiated a conversation like this, but after trampling you the way I did, it seemed an apology was—”

  “Megan,” she said quickly.

  “What?”

  “My name is Megan.”

  “Oh. Is that your last name?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s my first name.”

  “Pretty name. Pretty girl.
And now I will be a gentleman and let you go on your merry way.”

  “I was just going in there.” She jerked her thumb toward the Barton Building.

  “In there?” He cocked his head to one side. “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “I just got thrown out of there.”

  She peeked through the glass door then laughed. “Abuela threw you out?”

  “Abuela?”

  “That’s Spanish for grandma.”

  “Oh. That’s your grandma?”

  “Yeah. She’s working for Matilda.”

  He considered offering his condolences but thought better of it. “Well, just so you know, she’s mopping the floor right now, so you might want to step carefully if you go inside.”

  Megan laughed. “I’ll bet she bit your head off.”

  He nodded. “Pretty much so.”

  “Well, if you met Abuela, I guess you’re not exactly a stranger.” She waved toward a dark-haired woman about a block away from them, walking their way. “And that’s my mom.”

  He studied the woman. Average height, slender, wearing stylish jeans and heeled boots with a bulky cable-knit cardigan. She seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her, although she seemed the kind of person you wouldn’t easily forget. He couldn’t help but notice that the closer she came, the prettier she appeared. “Hey, is your mom the new city manager?” he asked Megan.

  “Yeah. It’s a holiday, so she’s got the day off. No school today either.” Megan jogged toward her mom, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward Tommy. “I just met the guy who runs the newspaper,” she said, “and he’s going to give me a job on my next birthday.”

  “What?” The woman looked suspiciously at him.

  “She wants a paper route,” he explained. “I told her I can’t hire her until she’s eleven.” He stuck out his hand for Susanna to shake. “I’m Tom Thompson. I accidentally stepped on your daughter’s foot while I was making a swift exit from—”

  “He was coming out of Matilda’s. Abuela had just bit his head off for walking on her clean floor. It’s no wonder he smacked into me. I’m pretty sure he was running for his life.”

  “Oh dear.” Megan’s mother laughed. “Well, I think our paths have crossed before, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Susanna Elton, the new city manager.”

  “Yes, I know I’ve seen you at some meetings, but I just didn’t recognize you in your civilian clothes.”

  She looked down and grinned. “It’s my day off.”

  “I’ve been meaning to do a more complete piece on you in the newspaper,” he said, “but . . . well, I guess I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Sorry about that, Ms. Elton.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. And you can call me Susanna. Everyone else does.” Her eyes twinkled. “Am I mistaken, or do you go by Tommy rather than Tom?”

  He grinned. “That’s true. My father was Tom. I got Tommy, and I guess it just stuck.”

  “I think Tommy is a cool name,” Megan chirped.

  “Mr. Thompson to you, sweetie,” Susanna told her daughter.

  “Anyway, I would like to do a piece on you, uh, Susanna. You’ve actually made history in our town.” He turned to Megan. “Did you know that your mother is the first woman to manage the city of Parrish Springs?”

  “Really?” Megan looked suitably impressed.

  “It’s true.” He turned back to Susanna, trying to prolong this pleasant conversation and wondering why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to get acquainted with her before. Probably just part of his general funk. “Anyway, I really have no good excuse for not doing a piece on you sooner.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you must be quite busy running a newspaper.” She studied him closely.

  “So they say.” He shrugged. “But being your own boss makes it easy to slack off sometimes.”

  “And you can’t fire yourself,” Megan pointed out.

  “Sometimes I’d sure like to.”

  “Speaking of firing someone . . .” Susanna peered through the plate-glass window. “I should apologize for my mother-in-law’s ill temper. She’s a dear, but she has a rather short fuse.”

  “Especially when it comes to people messing up her housework,” Megan added.

  “She doesn’t hold much back.” Susanna’s brow creased. “I just hope Matilda doesn’t mind a little fireworks now and then.”

  “The good thing about Abuela is that once she’s blasted you, she goes right back to normal. Sometimes she even apologizes or bakes cookies.”

  “I was actually trying to find Ms. Honeycutt,” he said. For some reason he was caught off guard by hearing that the ill-tempered woman in the purple bandana was Susanna’s mother-in-law. Not because the woman was rude, but because he thought he’d heard that the new city manager was single. It seemed unlikely that a single woman would bring her mother-in-law to a new town. Perhaps he’d heard wrong. For a man expected to be up on the latest news, he was sure behind the times.

  “I think Matilda is upstairs,” Megan told him. “She’s setting up her apartment. It’s really cool with all these windows and everything.”

  “Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Perhaps you could give her this for me and ask her to give me a call when she has time.”

  “Oh, you can go up there and talk to Matilda if you want,” Megan assured him.

  “But your grandmother’s clean floors . . . I don’t think I want to upset her a second time.”

  “It’s okay.” Susanna gave him a sly smile. “Stick with us and we’ll get you safely past the gatekeeper.”

  Despite his misgivings, Tommy was under their spell, and he allowed these two dark-eyed females to lead him like a lamb to the slaughter, or perhaps he was headed straight into the lions’ den. Well . . . he knew that was a bit melodramatic, not to mention cliché, but it was how he felt as they entered the building.

  Susanna was relieved to see that her mother-in-law was nowhere in sight as the three of them tiptoed over the still-damp wood floor, then quietly headed for the stairs. “See,” she whispered to Tommy, “that wasn’t so hard.”

  “So far so good.” His smile looked a little uneasy, but at the same time it almost seemed to brighten the dimly lit stair corridor. Susanna wondered how old he was. For some reason she’d assumed he was a lot older the first time she saw him at the city hall open house last month. She knew he ran the newspaper, but something about his posture or demeanor had made her think he was more like her father’s age. Seeing him up close this morning, she thought she must’ve gotten that wrong. Maybe he really was older but was blessed with one of those timeless sorts of faces, as well as boyish charm. Anyway, she liked him. She could tell Megan did too, and that was surprising. Even more surprising was that, as she knocked on Matilda’s door, she was wondering if Tommy Thompson was married. Just the realization that her mind had gone there made her cheeks grow warm.

  “Hello, Susanna.” Matilda smiled as she opened the door wide. “I thought you might drop by. And Megan too. Delightful.” Matilda eyed Tommy. “Who is this handsome stranger you’ve brought with you?”

  “Don’t tell me you dragged someone up here.” Rose stepped from behind Matilda with a sponge and bucket in hand. “Don’t you people care that we have work to do here?” Rose scowled at Tommy. “Not you again!” She let loose a foul word in Spanish and Megan giggled. Susanna glanced at Tommy and hoped he wasn’t fluent in Spanish.

  “I’m sorry to intrude like this,” he said quickly. “If this isn’t a good time, I’ll just be on my—”

  “You got that right.” Rose shook her sponge so hard that droplets of water splashed from it. “Unless you’re here to roll up your sleeves, you can just be on your way!”

  “I could lend a hand,” he offered.

  “Oh, I’ll just bet you could.” Rose shook her head.

  “Be nice, Abuela,” Megan scolded. “This is Tommy Thompson, and he owns the newspap
er. If you’re mean to him, he might write a bad story about you in his paper.”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that. I just wanted to ask Ms. Honeycutt some questions,” Tommy explained, “when she has time.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time,” Matilda told him. “We really do have a lot to do in order to open my shop next week.”

  “So it is a shop?” Tommy asked. “What sort of shop?”

  “A Christmas shop.” Matilda smiled mysteriously. “Please don’t tell anyone about it yet. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “A Christmas shop will be a wonderful addition to the downtown area,” Susanna told her. She could just imagine the spacious room below them filled with all sorts of lovely Christmassy merchandise, artificial trees, strings of lights, plush toys, and the works.

  “So that means you’ll carry things specifically for Christmas?” Tommy asked. “Like ornaments and such?”

  Matilda tilted her head to one side. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see about that, now won’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Rose said sharply. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out. And keep your dirty feet off of my wet floor!”

  “Rose!” Susanna frowned at her. “Really.”

  Rose switched over to Spanish, going on and on about how useless men were and how the world would be better off without them and how they were always in the way and taking, taking, taking—never giving back.

  Susanna pulled Megan into the apartment. “Help Abuela to tone it down,” she whispered. She nudged Tommy out the door and followed him into the corridor, then apologized. Even as she spoke, her mother-in-law’s voice could still be heard through the door. “She’s not usually that rude,” Susanna said. “I hope you can forgive her.”