Boo Who (6 page)

A
INSLEY OPENED HER MOUTH
to speak, but it was Wolfe’s voice that filled the air.

“Alfred!”

She watched Alfred’s expression morph from cordiality to surprise to worry.

“Wolfe. I, um, I didn’t expect to see you.”

Wolfe stood next to her and folded his arms. “Where else would I be on Christmas Eve but with my fiancée?”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Alfred said, shoving a gift: into Ainsley’s arms. “Well, may I come in?”

Wolfe and Ainsley exchanged glances, and though she really didn’t want company tonight, she also knew it would be rude to turn away a guest on Christmas Eve.

“Sure,” Ainsley smiled. But Wolfe was not smiling. They followed Alfred into the living area. He looked around as if he’d never been in the house before. Maybe it was just bringing back bad memories for him. The last time he was here, Wolfe had nearly died.

Ainsley headed to the kitchen to fix them all hot caramel apple cider. She could hear light chitchat, but when she returned to the living room, Wolfe said, “What brings you back to Skary, Al?” He gestured for him to sit in the leather chair near the fire. “And to see Ainsley?”

“Straight to business, eh?” Alfred asked. He looked at her. “Why don’t you open that?”

“Oh … um … okay.” She untied the satin ribbon from the gold
Williams-Sonoma box. Inside, there was a shiny silver ladle engraved with her name. She looked up at Alfred. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled. “It’s pure silver. I figured you could use it tomorrow for that wonderful gravy you make.”

She nodded and looked at Wolfe, who was staring at Alfred. Alfred then said to him, “How’s everything going? Are you writing?”

“I’m working at a car dealership.”

A cocked eyebrow showed Alfred definitely did not approve. “That must be … stimulating.”

“It’s different.”

“Why aren’t you writing?”

He sighed, leaning back into the couch and grabbing his cider mug. “I don’t know, Al. It’s just not what I need to do right now. I’ve lived this extraordinary life, and it brought me to a place of complete emptiness. I can’t write the kinds of things I used to write. I thought I’d try living an ordinary life and see what God does with that.”

“God,” Alfred sighed. “Cheers.” He lifted up his mug to the heavens. “The most famous writer in the world selling used cars. God works in mysterious ways, eh?” His tone was flat.

“So why are you here?” Wolfe asked. “Bringing my fiancée gifts?”

“I really just wanted to talk with Ainsley alone,” he said, the steam from his cider flushing his face. At least
something
was flushing his face.

“Which is exactly why you’re going to explain why you’ve traveled all the way from New York to be here on Christmas Eve.”

“There’s nothing for me in New York anymore. They fired me, and nobody in their right mind would hire the editor whose fame comes from losing the most famous writer in the world to Jesus Christ.”

“I’m not the most famous writer in the world, Alfred. And you know, you might think about what Jesus could do for you.”

“He’s done quite enough already, thank you.”

“Well, stop stalling. What are you up to?”

Alfred shrugged. “I’m just trying to decide what to do with my life, you know? Well, of course you know. You’re selling cars. That makes you happy. I, on the other hand, need something a little more stimulating.”

“Such as?”

“You know, before I became an editor, I was an agent for ten years.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think I have a talent for spotting talent. I can’t see a major religious revival coming, but I can spot talent. That is one thing I know for sure.”

Wolfe set down his mug. “Alfred, I’ve told you, I’m done writing for now.”

“I’m not talking about you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m talking about Ainsley.”

“Me?” she asked.

He smiled warmly at her. “Yes, my dear.”

“What about her?” Wolfe asked, his arm suddenly in front of her like a mother shielding a child from a growling dog.

Alfred engaged her eyes. “Ainsley, as you know, Martha Stewart is on her way out of the Domestic Kingdom.”

“Al!” Wolfe shouted.

She looked at Alfred. “What do you mean she’s on her way out?”

“Because of the scandal,” Alfred said. “Al!”

“What scandal?” she asked, and suddenly Alfred was looking very flustered and Wolfe was looking very angry.

“You know, insider trading—”

“Alfred!”

“She doesn’t know about the scandal?” Alfred said to Wolfe. “I thought she adored all things Martha!”

“What scandal?” she demanded.

Wolfe sighed, turning to her. “Honey, listen. It’s nothing.”

“I want to know what he’s talking about!”

“How can she not know about this? It’s been all over the papers,” Alfred said.

“Alfred, shut your trap,” Wolfe commanded. Alfred nervously swallowed a sip of cider.

“Wolfe, what is he talking about? Did Martha get sued by someone? I thought that would happen to her someday. People get jealous.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said gently. “And tonight’s really not the time to discuss it.”

She felt herself growing angry. “Wolfe! I’m not a baby. I want to know what’s going on. How could something be happening to Martha and you not tell me about it?”

His eyes reflected hurt and confusion. He glanced at Alfred, who could only sit there with the cider up to his lips.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, “let’s not talk about it on Christmas Eve. There will be plenty of time to discuss this later.”

She turned to Alfred. “Alfred, I demand you tell me what’s going on right now. Why are you here, and what does this have to do with Martha?”

She watched his nervous eyes dart back and forth between herself and Wolfe. Finally he set down his mug and folded his hands together. “I’m betting my whole life’s happiness that Martha’s time in the spotlight is over. For good.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Alfred!” Wolfe yelled, but she held up a stern finger.

“And I believe I’m sitting in the room with the person who is destined to replace her.”

The town had settled into a silent Christmas Eve. Families were now gathered in their warm homes, carrying on traditions they’d grown bored with years ago, entertaining relatives they hated. The streets were quiet, except for the sound of two small feet dragging across the concrete of the sidewalk.

Missy Peeple walked north on Madson Street, her body rigidly cold, but her heart afire with purpose. The scrooge inside Missy wanted to take her hatpin and pop the inflatable manger scene that sat in front of
house number 255. But it was Christmas Eve, after all. Good tidings and all that nonsense. So she kept walking. She needed to get to 347.

Madson Street glowed with its lights and its razzle dazzle. Every Christmas this street won for being the most garishly decorated, though the plaque read something like, “Brightest Star in Skary.” It was a stupid contest anyway, mostly because there was one plaque and twenty-eight houses, which always caused “good cheer” to fly right out the window. Common sense tells you that you hand out candy canes, not a plaque, but she wasn’t the mayor. Oh, what she could do in an elected office!

From here she could see Garths house, unlit and looking like a black hole. It was the only dark spot on the street. At least she admired Garth for that. He never had gotten caught up in the Christmas nonsense.

Her legs ached. She couldn’t walk the way she used to. In her day, she’d walked all over this town with no problem. Now all she could manage was a few blocks. Huffing her way to the top step of his house, she rang the doorbell, the only thing glowing on the outside of his home.

After a few moments, the door opened. Garth crossed his arms and scowled. “What do you want? It’s Christmas after all. Isn’t your season in late October?”

“I just wanted to come in for a bit.”

He laughed. “Puh-lease. You coming in for a bit is like asking a cobra to … to … I don’t know, stay for dinner. Anyway, the point is, no.”

“Garth, you haven’t even heard why I’m here.”

“I don’t need to hear anything.” He lowered his voice. “You promised me Ainsley, and I ended up with—”

“Garth, babycakes. Who is it?”

Missy peeked around him. She could’ve sworn that sounded like Ginger, his not-so-bright assistant. “A close second,” Missy winked.

“A close nothing. The love of my life is now with the love of her life. And you know what? This week my life took an all-time low turn, as I neutered an animal at gunpoint. So you’ll have to excuse the trust issues here, you cranky bag of … of …”

“Charm?”

“Yeah. Right. Charm. You’ve charmed your way into being Skary, Indiana’s most hated resident.”

Missy Peeple swallowed, her eyes moistening just a tad. His frozen features made her realize that even he thought that sounded harsh. She mastered her emotions and looked him in the eyes.

“Our town is in trouble, Garth.”

“So what? I’m just the vet. With the number of animals running around this place, I’ll have work until the day I die.”

“But don’t you care what will happen to it?”

“I cared about one thing and one thing only. And now she’s tying the knot to Wonder Writer. I’ll never have another chance with her.”

“Never say never, dear Garth.”

And then the door slammed in her face. She regloved her hands and tightened her scarf around her neck. It took her twenty minutes to walk back home, and before she got there, she stopped by the community center to see what time Christmas lunch would be served.

She hated turkeys. The way the translucent skin around their necks hung like it was barely attached reminded her of her own fading beauty, neck skin and all. But she would eat the turkey anyway, because, after all, the head was chopped off.

Unlocking her front door, she realized that she’d been a little too credulous in her belief that the town would rally around her plan. Apparently she was the villain now. Well, so be it. They hated her. Soon they’d be indebted to her because, as she imagined it, within the next month this town would be filled with a new breed of people.

After a good five-minute cry, Ainsley recovered from the shock of hearing about Martha Stewart’s woes and tried to focus. But in the meantime, Wolfe had chewed poor Alfred up one side and down the other, all the while Alfred tried to explain he couldn’t imagine there was a person on earth who didn’t know about Martha.

It was true, she didn’t know. She’d heard a few rumors here and there but had dismissed them as tabloid. She never read the newspaper or listened to the news. The world was too horrible for her. She liked the quiet naivete of Skary.

The kingdom’s walls had now been knocked down.

After hearing Wolfe shout for the better part of five minutes, she stood and touched his arm. “Wolfe, it’s okay. Alfred didn’t mean anything by it.”

Relief flooded Alfred’s unsettled features. He smiled timidly at her, then shifted his attention to Wolfe. Wolfe gave him a sharp look and turned to her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “I guess I saw the signs and ignored it. It’s just so shocking.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear this on Christmas Eve,” he sighed. “I was going to tell you, but I wasn’t sure when. Anyway, innocent until proven guilty, right?”

Both of them turned as Alfred let out a laugh. His smile faded and he cleared his throat.

“Anyway, enough of this nonsense. Alfred, you need to go. You’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night.”

“Wait,” she said. “He hasn’t told us why he’s here.”

“Sweetheart, things can wait.”

“Actually, the time is now,” Alfred said. “There is urgency.”

“Urgency for what?” Wolfe demanded.

“May I?” Alfred asked, gesturing toward the seat he’d previously warmed.

“Sure” and “No” came out at the same time, and Ainsley and Wolfe exchanged glances. Wolfe shrugged and said, “It’s your home.”

She rubbed his arm, trying to cool the tension that had heated the room. “It’s okay, honey. Let’s just hear him out.”

Ainsley and Wolfe sat together on the couch. “So. Alfred,” she said, “why are you here?”