Christmas Cloches and Corpses Page 3

  “I said something to that effect.”

  “And what did he say?” Zoe poured some dry food and water into Jazzy’s bowls.

  “He said, ‘you’re telling me that if I don’t treat you well, you’ll run off with an angel?’ Of course, I said I would.”

  “My mom thought I was nuts because I cried when Dudley left,” Zoe said.

  “Why would she think that?” I slid Jazzy’s carrier under the worktable. “It was sad.”

  “Yeah, but movies seldom make me cry.” Zoe turned away and busied herself with straightening bolts of fabric on the shelf. “But it made me think of you, Aunt Max. Will Amanda and I come in one day, and you—you’ll be gone?”

  “I don’t know, darling.” Max moved closer. “I don’t know why I’m here or how long I’ll stay; but since I’ve been here for—what? Eighty years?—I doubt I’ll be ankling out of here anytime soon.”

  Before Max could say anything further, Trish Oakes, the building manager, came into the shop.

  Max gave Zoe and me a wave before fading out of the room.

  “When Mrs. Meacham was overseeing the management of Shops on Main, she made it a practice to have the shopkeepers draw names for a Secret Santa Christmas gift exchange,” Ms. Oakes said. “Would you like to be a part of this tradition? There’s a twenty-dollar spending limit, and gifts will be exchanged next Sunday.”

  “Sure. That sounds like fun.” Glad she gave us plenty of time to find something for our recipient.

  Ms. Oakes held out a basket filled with strips of paper. She had apparently anticipated everyone would take part in Secret Santa.

  I was desperately hoping I’d get Connie’s name as I drew a slip of paper from the basket. I opened the slip of paper and tried not to show my dismay as I read Trish Oakes.

  “You didn’t draw yourself, did you?” she asked.

  “Nope.” I plastered on a smile.

  “Have a pleasant day, Amanda.” Ms. Oakes left.

  “Who’d you get?” Zoe asked.

  I handed her the slip of paper.

  She grimaced. “Dang—that’s the worst person you could’ve gotten.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Zoe and I searched online until we found a downloadable cloche hat pattern at an Etsy shop called Elsewhen Millinery. I didn’t have a printer in my shop, so I left Zoe in charge and went upstairs to borrow Jason’s.

  The door to his studio was open. I always left the doors to Designs on You closed to keep Jazzy inside.

  Jason was sitting at his desk painstakingly retouching a family photo.

  “Nice looking family,” I said, kissing his temple.

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “This is a welcome surprise. I need a break.”

  “Would you mind opening another tab on your computer so I can print out a hat pattern?”

  “No problem.” He opened the tab and then got up, giving me his chair.

  I sat and logged into my email account. “Are you having a good day?”

  “I am. Retouches are always a little tedious, but they make the photos look so much better.” He stretched his arms up over his head, and his shirt rode up slightly to show his toned midriff.

  Finding the email from the Etsy shop, I downloaded and printed the pdf pattern. “I have a client who wants a cloche hat, and Zoe had the idea of making some for the shop. I told her she can keep the profits from her sales—I’m guessing she can use the money.”

  “You’re really good for her,” Jason said.

  “She’s good for me. It’s great to have some help in the shop, even if it is only one day a week.”

  “Whose name did you get for that Secret Santa thing?”

  “We’re not supposed to tell,” I teased. “That’s why it’s called secret Santa.” I lowered my voice. “But I got Ms. Oakes.”

  “Yikes. What are you gonna get the old dragon?”

  “I have no idea. Who’d you get?”

  “Can’t tell you—it’s a secret.” He grinned.

  I arched a brow. “I told you.”

  “All right. I got Frank.”

  “Lucky! Frank will be easy to buy for.”

  “Oh, really? Then tell me what to get him,” he said.

  “I will, if you’ll tell me what to get Ms. Oakes.”

  “Sorry, beautiful—you’re on your own.” He gave me a quick kiss. “I have to get to an appointment. May I escort you back down the stairs?”

  “Of course.” I nearly shuddered at the remembrance that Max had died falling down those very stairs.

  When I returned to the shop, I told Zoe, “Jason got Frank.”

  “Would Jason be willing to swap with you? Frank would be a breeze to buy for. I think he’d like about anything you’d get him.”

  “Right?” I shook my head. “But, no, Jason won’t swap. I do have our pattern, though. And, thank goodness, I have enough white wool on hand to make both Ruby’s hat and her coat.” I went to the shelf and took out a bolt of red wool. “I thought you could make your first hat at the same time I’m making Ruby’s. I’ve always found it easier to learn by doing.”

  Since it was an even busier Saturday than usual given that it was prime holiday shopping season, we only managed to get the hats cut out. Still, it was a start.

  “Did you ever reach Dwight?” I asked Zoe, as we put the pattern pieces aside to sew up on Monday.

  “Yeah, and he’s fine.”

  “Would you still like to go see him today?”

  “No,” she said. “I believe he’ll be okay until Mom and I visit him tomorrow.”

  “All right. If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I’m kinda concerned because we haven’t seen Max in a while.” She looked around the room, obviously hoping our friend would appear.

  “I doubt we’ll see her again today,” I said. “She needs to recuperate from being present for so long yesterday.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “I’m positive.” I didn’t tell Zoe, but since she’d mentioned it this morning, I’d also begun to wonder if one day we’d come into the shop and Max would be gone—just like Dudley the angel in The Bishop’s Wife.

  Chapter Five

  I stopped and got Zoe a pizza on the way to her house. She could have a slice or two for lunch, and then she and her mom could heat up the rest for dinner. That way, Maggie wouldn’t have to cook when she got home from work.

  When I got to my house, I changed into comfy sweats before going online and placing an order with my favorite fabric wholesaler for a few bolts of wool in various colors. I wanted Zoe to have a variety of colors on hand for her hats, but I knew that going into winter I’d need more wool as well—especially when Ruby showed off her new coat while caroling.

  After ordering the fabric, I spent a relaxing afternoon in the living room near the Christmas tree. I read while Jazzy snoozed on my lap.

  As shadows lengthened in the room, I turned on the tree lights. I’d decorated it much as my mother had every other year. Habit, I guess—or tradition. I often felt conflicted that everything in the house was mine but not. You see, this had been my parents’ home before they’d moved to Florida. The only rooms I’d redecorated after they left were my bedroom and the guestroom, which I turned into a sewing room.

  Looking at the tree made me feel nostalgic. I considered calling Mom, but I changed my mind. She and Dad were planning on coming to visit in a few weeks. I’d talk with her then.

  Mom and I had a strained relationship. She didn’t believe I was living up to my potential and thought I relied too heavily on her father-in-law, Grandpa Dave. Dad and Grandpa Dave shared a lot of the same personality traits, and he and I got along great. We had such a strong rapport that I thought Mom sometimes got jealous of our relationship.

  I glanced at the clock and saw that I needed to get ready to meet Grandpa Dave at Peaceful Rest.

  I wore a navy, 1940s-style victory suit to the funeral home. Grandpa Dave was already there waiting for
me at the door.

  “Hi, Pup.” He kissed my cheek. “How was your day?”

  “It was great. Yours?”

  He opened the door for us. “The casserole crusades have begun.”

  “Oh, no.” I hid a smile. “I’m sorry.”

  The casserole crusades had gone on every year around the holidays since Grandma Jody had died. Various women brought casseroles to Grandpa’s house hoping they might set themselves up with a beau for the coming winter. Not that I could blame them—who wouldn’t want a handsome older guy squiring them around to church, Bingo, and the occasional grandchild’s birthday party?

  “How was Dwight today?” he asked.

  “He seemed to be in better spirits when Zoe spoke with him this afternoon.”

  A funeral home director approached and softly asked, “Which family are you here to visit this evening?”

  “Jansen,” I said.

  “The Jansen family is in the room to the far right,” he said.

  Having serious misgivings about coming to pay my respects with regard to someone I didn’t even know, I took Grandpa’s arm.

  He patted my hand. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ve done this far too many times to count.”

  We signed the condolence book before getting in line behind the other visitors. I heard people speaking in hushed tones about Bea:

  “She went downhill so quickly. She seemed fine in October, and here only a few weeks later, she’s gone.”

  “She didn’t seem at all like herself the last time I saw her. She was so subdued.”

  “Laurel thought maybe she was depressed.”

  “I believe she was—had to be. She had such a sharp wit—”

  “—strong opinions about everything—”

  “—and she became so listless—”

  “No spark whatsoever. She seemed tired all the time.”

  Grandpa Dave and I exchanged knowing looks. I could tell we were both thinking about Dwight’s assertion that he was “being good” so he wouldn’t be next.

  At last, we got up to the casket. I was relieved it was closed. I didn’t know whether I’d ever seen Bea Jansen at the nursing home, but I knew I didn’t want to see her this evening.

  “Laurel Sanders,” a small, soft-spoken woman said, extending her hand. “How did you know my mother?”

  “We didn’t,” I said, enveloping her hand and giving it a brief shake. “I’m Amanda Tucker, and this is my grandfather, Dave. Our friend, Dwight, was close to your mom, and he wanted us to come on his behalf.”

  “Dwight.” Ms. Sanders smiled. “Yes. They used to have fun together.”

  “I know he misses her terribly,” Grandpa said.

  “I understand Ms. Jansen wasn’t afraid to raise a ruckus,” I said with a grin.

  “Oh, no, she sure wasn’t.” A cloud seemed to move over Ms. Sanders’ face. “At least, she wasn’t until recently. She wasn’t herself at the end. It was as if she simply got tired of living and gave up.”

  “We’re very sorry for your loss.” Grandpa patted Ms. Sanders’ shoulder. “If you should need anything, please let us know.”

  With a hand on my back, he guided me through the room and back to the lobby of the funeral home.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I murmured.

  “Yeah. Dwight might be on to something.”

  I turned my head sharply to look up at him.

  “I’m not saying he’s exactly right,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Bea was being sedated.”

  “Me either. Want to ride to the McCready visitation together tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “I’ll pick you up.”

  When I got home, I changed my skirt for a pair of jeans to dress down my outfit for my date with Jason. Then I fed Jazzy and gave her fresh water.

  By then, Jason was knocking on the door.

  I greeted him with a kiss. “What do you have in mind for tonight?”

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  His words made me nervous. Although I smiled and didn’t say anything, I wondered, What kind of surprise? He’s not taking me to meet his parents, is he? I didn’t know whether or not we were that far along in our relationship; but even if we were, I didn’t want that meeting to be a surprise.

  As we drove to our surprise destination, Jason asked, “Did you and Dave go to Bea Jansen’s visitation?”

  “We did. It was sad. Her daughter—and other people standing around us—spoke about how she’d gone from being lively to being subdued,” I said. “Her daughter thinks she lost the will to live.”

  “That’s possible, you know.”

  “I know. But given what Dwight said…”

  He nodded. “I spoke with Ryan—the deputy I know in Winter Garden—today. Turns out, Dwight is a cousin or something. Anyway, Bea Jansen and John McCready’s official causes of death was heart failure.”

  “Did you say anything to Ryan about Dwight’s suspicions?”

  “I did. He didn’t seem terribly concerned about it, but he told me to let him know if there were any further developments.”

  “Further developments.” I turned the words over in my head. “Meaning what? Let him know if they start doping up Dwight?”

  “I believe he meant if we saw any suspicious behavior.”

  “Oh.”

  We pulled into the Brea Ridge Carriage Company.

  Turning to Jason with a widening smile, I asked, “Are we—?”

  “Yep. A carriage ride to see the Christmas lights followed by hot cocoa and cookies by the fireplace in the reception area.”

  Chapter Six

  I was still waking up—Jazzy hadn’t even stirred yet—when my phone rang. My heart started racing as I grabbed the phone from the nightstand and fumbled it onto the bed before getting it into close enough proximity to answer the call. The phone indicated the call originated from an unknown number—hospital? Fire department? Police? The possibilities flooded my befuddled brain as I answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Amanda? I didn’t wake you, did I?” The man’s voice was vaguely familiar.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Oh, sorry. It’s Ford. You know, from Antiquated Editions.”

  “Ford, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Take a breath.” He chuckled. “Shucks, I did wake you up, didn’t I?”

  “No. I’m just not used to getting calls from unfamiliar numbers so early on a Sunday morning,” I said. “I thought there had to be something wrong.”

  “Nope. Everything’s fine.” He paused momentarily. “I am in a little bit of a pickle, though, and I—well, Connie and I…that’s who gave me your number—thought maybe you could help.”

  “Does this pickle involve alterations?” I didn’t know of any other dilemma Ford might have that I could be of any assistance with.

  He gave another laugh, and this one sounded even more forced than the first one had. “Actually, my niece is going to be spending a few days with me.”

  “That’s nice.” I still didn’t see what that had to do with me or why the situation had prompted Ford to call me at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning.

  “Um…yeah…Sienna is a fantastic kid. Her mom has a new job and can’t take any vacation time yet,” he said. “So, since Sienna’s school has already closed for winter break, I’ll be bringing her to work with me for a few days.”

  I was beginning to see where this was going, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Connie said she’ll be glad to help me keep the munchkin entertained,” Ford continued, “since I’m guessing she’ll get bored with my dusty old books quickly. And Connie mentioned that Sienna and Zoe might enjoy hanging out together.”

  “That’s true, but Zoe only works on Saturdays.” I didn’t want to be rude to Ford or his niece, but I felt it was pretty presumptuous of him if he planned to pawn his babysitting duty off on Connie and me.

  “Won’t she be there more when school is
out?” he asked.

  “Not unless her mom can drop her off,” I said. “She doesn’t drive yet. I go pick her up on Saturdays, but I can’t do that every day. Besides, Winter Garden is still in school for at least part of this coming week.”

  “Oh.” He was quiet for a moment, and I knew he was coming up with another angle. “Still, I’m sure Sienna would enjoy seeing the fascinating work you do. I’ll bring her down and introduce her to everyone tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.” I felt as if I should say I’d look forward to it, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to form the words. While I wouldn’t mind meeting the child and maybe even taking her to lunch a time or two, I had too much work to do to give up hours of my day. And then there was Max to think about…

  “Oh, hey, while I have your ear, what’s something Connie might like?” Ford asked. “I drew her name in that Secret Santa thing.”

  “I imagine Connie would like almost anything you’d get her,” I said. “A pretty scarf, a tree ornament, a pair of gloves…” I was planning on giving her a pretty mug and some chocolates.

  “Yeah, any of those would work. Thanks,” he said. “By the way, who’d you get?”

  “Ms. Oakes.”

  “Ugh. Hate that for you. I’d get her a gift card to—to somewhere nice.”

  “That would feel as if I didn’t put any thought into her gift whatsoever,” I said. “Do you know of anything she might like?”

  He was quiet for a moment, so I figured he was thinking over my question. At last, he said, “Sorry, kiddo. I’ve got nothing.”

  Maybe Max could help.

  Once I’d finished talking with Ford, I opened the social media app on my phone to see if Max was active online. She was. I sent her a video chat request.

  Accepting, she smiled at me and said, “Well, look who rises with the sun—even on the weekend.”

  “Do I look bright-eyed and/or bushy-tailed to you?” I asked.

  “Sure, chickadee. You seem all right to me. But I’m guessing you’re not.”