Boo Who (10 page)

Ainsley rushed passed Wolfe and into the living room. Her father was still speaking to Garth about Thief when she pulled him to the side.

“What is this about an exorcism?” she asked, hardly able to hide the tension in her voice.

The sheriff rubbed his chin, glancing down at her. “Hmmm. Had never thought of it before, but maybe that’s what would get Thief back on his feet.” This brought a wry smile to Garth’s lips. It quickly faded as Ainsley shot him a look.

Suppressing her exasperation, she said, “I don’t think it’s for
Thief
.” She gestured toward the mayor, who was sniffing the Christmas tree as if it were a huge bouquet of daisies.

“Oh.” The sheriff shrugged. “Well, whatever works.”

“Dad! It is Christmas! I will
not
have an exorcism in this house on Christmas!”

“Lower your voice,” the sheriff said as a few people glanced their way. “Honey, can’t you see there is something wrong with the mayor?”

“I realize that,” she scowled. “But we are supposed to be roasting chestnuts on an open fire, not casting demons into one.”

The sheriff pulled her into a side hug. “I know how much Christmas means to you, and how you always want everything to go perfectly. You are so much like your mother. Tell you what. I’ll speak to the reverend and make sure no exorcisms take place until after we eat.”

She wanted to cry all over again, but her anger was crowding the tears out. Was the whole world going mad? She was just about to lose her temper when the reverend walked in with a somber expression that quieted the whole room. He looked at the mayor with a compassion that suddenly reminded her of the human being standing by the tree in his pajamas. She watched as the reverend patted the mayor on the back, then looked at the crowd as if the only thing that mattered in the world was this man.

Guilt now replaced anger, and she sighed, walking back into the kitchen. Melb was in there and said, “The flag popped up. Turkeys ready.”

Ainsley pulled on her oven mitts. “Thanks.”

Melb Cornforth stared at the giblet gravy, her hand hovering over the fancy silver ladle. She then stared down at her plate. She’d chosen white meat over dark and two rolls minus the butter, skipped the mashed potatoes, and gotten the green bean casserole instead, which looked very curious with onion rings on top and some kind of lumpy creamed concoction floating the beans. She also had a nice pile of pimentos, her favorite condiment, thanks to Ainsley being generous enough to let her raid the pantry. She’d cut a lot of calories, but the giblet gravy beckoned her.

“Sweetie pie, you okay there?” Oliver asked.

“I’m fine,” she breathed. “I, um, I’m just deciding on the gravy.” “Oh.”

Seconds ticked by, and she was suddenly aware that the line behind her was now waiting for the gravy. She bit her lip. She couldn’t remember ever eating turkey without giblet gravy.

“Maybe just a little bit,” she said.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“Nothing. Um, sorry. I’ll just be getting some gravy.” One ladle full. One. That’s all. She dipped the ladle into the gravy, spread the sauce over as much as one ladlefull would cover, and moved on to the drinks.

In the living room, she sat down on the couch and put her plate on the coffee table. In the corner, she caught Thief lying on a blanket, watching her without interest. The last time she’d sat here, she thought that cat was dead and she was sniffing its fur. Bad memories. She decided to move over to the other couch by the fire. As she sat down, she remembered this was where she blew out the seams in an extra small T-shirt when she sneezed over the mayor’s cologne. More bad memories.

Across the rug, there was a nice wingback chair. She moved over there and decided the haunting might cease because she’d never sat in this chair before. She stared at the plate in her hands, but all she could hear in her head was
four dress sizes
echoing over and over again.

She could do this. She was Melb Cornforth, for crying out loud. A strong woman, and soon to be married to Oliver S. What more motivation did she need? She glanced up, watching Oliver lick mashed potatoes off his wrist before spotting her across the living room and giving her a big grin. She smiled back, but her stomach grumbled its protest that she had forgone the mashed potatoes. Small portions. Chew food until it’s liquid. Don’t eat more than the size of your fist. Drink eight glasses of water. She smiled. This was doable.

Wolfe had never played host in his life, but he thought he was getting the hang of it. He’d offered people drinks, brought others napkins, made sure everyone had a place to sit. He’d even refilled the gravy bowl after Melb Cornforth practically poured the whole thing on her plate after her third pass through the line. He didn’t blame her. Ainsley made the best giblet gravy he’d ever tasted.

He scanned the crowd. Everyone looked happy, and it sort of reminded him of Thanksgiving, minus the sinister plots and not-so-dead cat. Not to mention his near-death experience. Even Alfred looked to be enjoying himself, and he was glad his old friend didn’t have to spend the holidays alone. The mayor looked somewhat perplexed as to why he was eating turkey and stuffing in July, but he was eating nevertheless.

What bothered Wolfe, though, was knowing Ainsley was not having a good time. Though she was able to pull herself together enough to offer that winsome smile everyone came to expect, her eyes reflected disappointment. He knew he had to cheer her up.

His first plan was to remind her of her excellence as a hostess, not to mention her knack for decorating. In fact, he realized, he hadn’t had a chance to admire the special manger she’d set up. After a quick glance around to make sure there were no dire needs, he decided he’d go look at the manger, then find Ainsley and tell her how wonderful it looked.

Over the fireplace, she’d fashioned an amazing setup. A large wooden manger, complete with details like hay and sackcloth, was the backdrop to the story the figurines told … the story of the day the earth’s soul found its worth. Somehow she had used tiny Christmas lights to give the illusion of a majestic glow. In the middle of the manger, a small, bundled baby Jesus lay quietly asleep. Kneeling over him was a serene-looking Mary and a proud-looking Joseph. Between these two, a mighty and beautiful angel hovered, arms swept up in worship, wings spread. To their left, humble and lowly shepherds stood with their staffs in their hands, their animals in tow. Two were kneeling. One stood with his hand over his heart.

And to their right … to their right … nothing. Where were the Wise Men? Wolfe stood baffled. The space was completely empty, as if something had formerly been there, but was now gone. He peeked around the side of the manger, just to see if the Wise Men had somehow gotten distracted and needed to quickly wrap their gifts. But there was nothing. He rubbed his brow line, trying to decide what to do. If Ainsley had indeed forgotten to put the Wise Men out, she’d be horrified to realize that no one had told her. That was not the likely scenario, though. Biting his lip, Wolfe decided he’d better go tell her. She would want to know.

He found her in the kitchen, alone. The guests were happily munching away at Christmas dinner. Ainsley was putting another batch of rolls in the oven.

“Hey,” Wolfe said.

She mustered a smile for him. “Hi.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sweetheart, don’t let this ruin your Christmas. Everyone is happy. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s working out.”

“I know,” she said quietly, adjusting the temperature on the oven.

“Then what’s wrong? You look so down.”

She shook her head, staring at the tile beneath her shoes. “This is just very hard for me to take.”

“What? The company?”

“No. Not the company.”

“What then?”

She guided him to the doorway and pointed to the crowd in the living room. Everyone seemed fine. He shrugged, raising his eyebrow to indicate he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“TV trays.”

“TV trays?”

She nodded, her words choked. “People are eating off TV trays.”
“And …?”

“And I never would’ve imagined the day people would eat off TV trays in my home. I didn’t even know we had TV trays in this house. Dad said they were Aunt Gert’s.” She looked up at him. “I probably sound like a horrible snob. But to me, a dinner as special as Christmas needs to be shared at the table, with a linen tablecloth, candelabras, wineglasses, garlands fashioned with scented pine cones and silky red ribbon. Instead, I’ve got … TV trays. And a buffet line.”

He squeezed her hands. “You’ve always had such high expectations for yourself. There is no way you could’ve predicted this many people would come for dinner. And the fact that you were able to feed a crowd with no notice is nothing short of miraculous. Everyone will be gone soon, and then we’ll sit in front of the fire, just the two of us, and you can unwrap the gift I got you.”

Through teary eyes, she smiled brightly at him. “I can’t wait. I have a gift for you too!”

He stroked her cheek and then kissed her forehead. And also realized this was not a good time to mention the Wise Men. She retreated into the kitchen, and he gazed at the TV trays in the living room. Frankly, he’d always liked eating off them.

CHAPTER 10

T
HE REVEREND STOOD
near the mayor, who was sitting in a wingback chair reading a book about sailing he’d taken from the sheriff’s library. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the entire room, huddled in several groups in various places in the living area, was staring at him. Their collective breath-holding nearly depleted the room of oxygen.

“Well?” the sheriff asked after a few moments. “What are you waiting for?”

The reverend cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m, um … just a tad nervous. I’ve never done this before.” He looked down at the paper sack he was carrying and carefully began pulling out a book.

“Is that your exorcism book?” Melb gasped, eyes wide.

“No, it’s Wolfe’s fourth book,
Spirits Within.”

“What?” Wolfe stepped forward, from behind Ainsley. “What’d you bring that for?”

“Don’t you remember? You wrote an exorcism scene on page 266.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s the only thing I have to go by.”

“But it’s fiction,” Wolfe said. “I made it up!”

The reverend shrugged. “Scared the daylights out of me, so I figure you must’ve gotten something right.”

The room took a step back as the reverend took a step forward. The mayor continued to read about sailing, still unaware that his head might start spinning any second.

After several minutes of unabated silence, the sheriff blurted, “Well, what are you waiting for? Permission from the demon?”

The reverend shook his head, his face dark with contemplation. “There’s just something not right. I’m not quite sure.

The crowd glanced around, and then Oliver suggested with a jab of his thumb over to the stereo, “Maybe we should kill the Christmas music.”

Everyone heartily acknowledged with nods that “Jingle Bell Rock” was probably not setting the right mood for the exorcism, so Oliver turned off the music.