Death of a Russian Doll Page 25
I took the package from her arms. “Come on in and warm up,” I said. “The coffee’s hot and we have cocoa. Or punch if you’d rather.”
“Children’s punch or big-people’s punch?” Lenora asked.
“It’s yummy,” I said. “But suitable for children—and let’s keep it that way, okay?”
As they made their way to the beverage table, I handed over the cookies to Amanda, who was ready to arrange them on a waiting platter.
Lori Briggs came rushing in with Glenda trailing behind her.
“You’re both here early,” I said.
“I need to get set up,” Lori said, pulling out a camera. “I want to get lots of pictures of happy little girls. I think it would be a great way to drum up support for the program, especially if we launch into phase two of the fundraising.”
“Phase two?” Glenda asked.
I looked around to make sure my father wasn’t in earshot. I nodded to give Lori the go-ahead.
She leaned in close to Glenda. “We want to do a police calendar.”
“The police department already does a calendar,” Glenda said. “A little magnet thing. I have one on my fridge.”
“No,” Lori said. “This would be a different kind of calendar.”
Glenda grabbed her arm. “With naughty pictures?”
“Not naughty exactly,” Lori said, taking her arm. “But definitely casting the boys and girls in blue in the best possible light.” She winked. “Drool-worthy. And the more pleased they are with tonight, the greater chance we get the green light for the project.”
“And the more likely we are to get volunteers,” I said, “when we show them pictures of their own kids having fun.”
“Too bad we couldn’t get Ken Young to pose,” Lori said. “Say what you want about him, he was quite a looker. I, uh, saw that his house is up for sale.”
“Maybe it’s for the best. There’s not much left here for him,” I said, then looked again in Dad’s direction. With any luck, he’d need help. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get in a long conversation about Ken Young with anybody. Not quite yet.
Glenda followed my gaze to where my father was setting up the Santa throne. “And you don’t want Hank to know about the calendar because, what? Think he’ll disapprove?”
“No,” I said, “but it’s …” I looked to Lori to finish.
She leaned closer to Glenda. “We kind of wanted him to be in it. He’d be very popular among some of our senior ladies. Liz thought he’d be more likely to participate if we didn’t spring it on him until he knew other people were already involved.”
“Hank McCall, centerfold,” Glenda said. “I’d buy that.”
I excused myself—another awkward subject for me—and turned on some cheerful holiday music.
Jack arrived, and not empty-handed, either. He carried in several boxes of munchies from the restaurant. Amanda had to scramble to find room for them on the overloaded table.
Parker carried Drew in, all bundled up in his snowsuit. He even cracked a drooly smile when he saw his mother. How he could recognize her with the elf ears and the face glitter, I didn’t know. Smart boy.
A few of the officers and their families wandered in next. Those who had never been in the store meandered the aisles before letting their sons and daughters find a space on the rug by the tree.
Reynolds walked in with the mayor, and Dad rushed up to greet them. He pulled down his Santa beard. “Congratulations,” he said to Howard, shaking his hand. “I heard it became official.”
“Thanks,” Reynolds said. “Your confidence means a lot to me.”
Behind them was Mark Baker, hand-in-hand with Hannah who was all decked out in a little red coat with a white fur collar.
“Uh-oh, better behave,” Reynolds said. “The Feds are here.”
“Well, one Fed accountant, and I’m off duty,” Mark said, shaking Reynolds’s hand. Then he made a beeline for me and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for including us. Hannah’s been talking about nothing else all day.”
That’s all he got to say before she grabbed him by the arm and tried to drag him toward the dolls displayed on the front table, along with a small collection of games and other toys, for children who might not be into dolls. Or who, like me, found them a little bit creepy, even when they didn’t seemingly move on their own.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I called after him.
“You can count on it,” he said.
With a flicker of the lights and a brief ching-a-ling, Santa stood up to give a brief speech.
“Thank you all for coming, and a special thanks to my main elves here. Cathy had half of a great idea when she decided she wanted to rehab old dolls and get them in the hands of children. And Liz—who’s out of her elf costume, but she is a Claus, a subordinate Claus.”
A couple of groans ensued.
“Although I should call her ‘Iz,’ today. You know why?”
“Why?” one of the kids asked.
“Because no L. Noel?”
The kids, who hadn’t heard it before, laughed. The adults just shook their heads.
“Anyway,” Dad continued, “she thought that the children of our bravest and finest deserve a little something special, so we have a gift for each child here today. And a picture with Santa, of course.”
Lori waved her camera.
“I see Mrs. Briggs brought her North Polaroid.”
After a few more groans, the children started lining up. Except for one little girl, who started crying immediately after being placed on Santa’s lap. Dad took it well, teasing that she must be Claus-trophobic.
When Hannah’s turn came, she marched right up and took her spot, turning to the camera with a cheesy smile, dimples and all.
Mark stole up next to me. “Your dad is great at this.”
I shushed him, trying to hear what Hannah was saying.
“I know who you are,” she said.
Dad leaned closer to her, the twinkle in his eye never brighter than as he cradled the little girl on his lap. “I’m Santa. Santa Claus.”
Hannah nodded. “And you know who else you are?”
“No, tell me.”
“Uncle Mark said that if he plays his cards right, you could be my new grandpa!” she said in a loud whisper.
Mark studied the floor, and his ears turned that signature red.
I pulled him aside. “Uncle Mark said that, did he?”
“Uncle Mark might have said that,” he said, backing away from me.
“Well, I’m not quite sure we’re ready for that discussion, but …” I waited until he realized he had no more ground, his back up against the display case of our oldest tin toys. And then I kissed him.
Also available by Barbara Early
Vintage Toyshop Mysteries
Murder on the Toy Town Express
Death of a Toy Soldier
Bridal Bouquet Shop Mysteries (writing as Beverly Allen)
Floral Depravity
For Whom the Bluebell Tolls
Bloom and Doom
Author Biography
Barbara Early earned an engineering degree, but after four years of doing nothing but math, developed a sudden allergy to the subject and decided to choose another occupation. Before she settled on murdering fictional people, she was a secretary, a school teacher, a pastor’s wife, and an amateur puppeteer. After several years living elsewhere, she and her husband moved back to her native Western New York State, where she enjoys cooking, crafts, classic movies and campy seventies television, board games, and posting pictures of her four cats on Facebook. This is her fourth mystery, and the third in her Vintage Toyshop series.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Barbara Early
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-702-9
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-703-6
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-704-3
Cover illustration by Hiro Kimura
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2018
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