A Cherry Cola Christmas (18 page)

Periwinkle was beaming, holding her phone above her head like a sports trophy. “If they all turn out, I do. But even if they don't, Waddell has already signed six glossies for me.”

“My tried and true head shots,” Waddell added, pushing out his chest. Then he suddenly lowered his voice and cocked his head. “Except I really should update 'em, ya know. I've been sendin' these out since I was twenty-two. In case you were wonderin,' I'm pushin' thirty now.”

“In my opinion, you haven't changed a bit,” Periwinkle told him, unable to resist the opportunity to flirt. Then she snapped her fingers, remembering her hostess duties. “Well, now that that's outta the way, are we all ready for some dessert? Our Mr. Place here has some wonderful choices for you. We have his famous crème de menthe cake, chocolate-chip crème brûlée, and chocolate éclairs with amaretto filling. Who's interested?”

When a forest of hands went up, everyone moved back to their places at the long table, and Lalie Bevins, her son, Barry, and the rest of the restaurant staff shifted into high gear taking orders.

23

Crème Brûlée Saves the Day

C
ouncilman Sparks and his Evie had pulled up a couple of extra chairs on either side of Waddell Mack to continue their conversation with him while the dessert course was being served. Periwinkle had particularly recommended Mr. Place's chocolate-chip crème brûlée when she had been pressed further.

“Which dessert do you like best?” Fingers had asked her. “Come on, now. Cross your heart and hope to die.”

And Periwinkle's answer had resulted in a flurry of crème brûlée orders, with Councilman Sparks and Evie in that number. Now, everyone had started to dig in, and the compliments were flying across the table.

“You sure didn't lie, Miz Periwinkle!” Fingers exclaimed. Then he turned in Mr. Place's direction and nodded. “My compliments to the chef!”

“I thank you,” Mr. Place said. “It's fast becoming our best-selling dessert here at The Twinkle.”

Meanwhile, Waddell had pulled his chair back from the table just enough so that he was face-to-face with Councilman Sparks while the two of them continued to hit it off. “My uncle, Billy Monroe Mack, was in local politics over in East Tennessee,” Waddell said, carefully balancing his crème brûlée dish on his knees. “He didn't run his hometown the way you do, but he always had a vote in whatever was goin' on. I think the two a' you would've gotten along famously.”

“Well, the Sparks family has been running Cherico for over seventy-five years now,” Councilman Sparks continued. “I take it all very seriously. I only want what's best for our little town.”

Across the table, Maura Beth exchanged furtive glances with Jeremy but said nothing. At least Councilman Sparks seemed to be rounding somewhat into form. His energy level had picked up, and there were even hints of his reelection smile now and then. She couldn't help but think—with no little amusement—that perhaps it was in his genes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“What's the population of Cherico?” Waddell wanted to know in between bites of his dessert.

Councilman Sparks put down his spoon and shook his head. “I wish I could say five thousand and counting, but I'm afraid it's going the other way these days. We're not exactly setting the woods on fire. Unfortunately, some downtown bid'nesses are leaving and their owners are going with 'em. We're in a kinda slump, I'm afraid.”

“Aw, I'm just as sorry as I can be to hear that. Seems like a real nice place to live to me.”

Maura Beth could not resist speaking up. “Oh, it is, I can assure you. And things aren't completely gloomy. We've got a brand-new library going up on the shores of Lake Cherico. We're all right proud of that.”

“That's just great,” Waddell said just as he lifted his spoon to his lips for another mouthful of crème brûlée. “I always did like goin' to the library during the summer when I was growin' up.”

And that was when it happened.

Somehow, a generous blob of Mr. Place's sensational chocolate-chip crème brûlée fell off Waddell's spoon and landed smack dab on the very respectable toe of his left cowboy boot.

“Oops!” Waddell cried out. “Looks like I made a mess. You can't take me anywhere these days!”

“And on your beautiful cowboy boot, too,” Evie added, sounding as solicitous as possible as she craned her neck.

Waddell picked up his napkin and leaned down, carefully enveloping the custardy mass and tossing the wadded cloth on the table. “Oh, no harm done,” he said. “It's not like it was blood or red wine or somethin' even worse. Snakeskin don't take too kindly to nasty spills like that, ya know.”

“Cowboy boots are big business these days,” Councilman Sparks remarked. Then without even thinking twice, he decided to elaborate. “We almost had one of the big names locate here in Cherico—Spurs 'R' Us. I thought we had it in the bag, but the CEO backed out at the last minute. We were all set for a new plant with hundreds of new jobs and a real Christmas high this year. It really would've pulled us out of the doldrums.”

Waddell put his unfinished dish of crème brûlée on the table with a look of astonishment. “You're kiddin' me?”

“What? About Spurs 'R' Us? I wish I were.”

Now Waddell was looking up at one of Periwinkle's mobiles, shaking his head. “When did this happen?”

“A month or so ago.” But there was genuine puzzlement on Councilman Sparks's face.

“I can't believe it. Dillard did somethin' like that?!”

Councilman Sparks drew back dramatically, almost as if Waddell had sneezed on him. “You know Dillard Mills?”

“Know him? Heck, I'm one of his major investors. When I was lookin' for a smart place to put some a' my money a while back, I put a huge chunk of it in Spurs 'R' Us. Hey, I own near 'bout forty percent of the whole company, and I never leave the house without Spurs 'R' Us boots on my feet. Got a pair on right now, crème brûlée traces and all!” He pointed to the floor and then narrowed his eyes. “You mean Dillard snatched that new plant away from you folks down here and didn't tell me about it? Did you know about this, Rankin?”

At the other end of the table, Waddell's manager had a defensive look on his face. “I never have any contact with him at all, Waddell. I just concentrate on your bookings—you know that.”

Waddell's easygoing charm dried up instantly as the anger continued to rise in his voice. “Maybe this is all my fault. I haven't checked in with Dillard in well over a year. I mean, the company's doin' real well—I've gotten a great return on my investment so far—so I haven't been keepin' up with it. I even missed the last stockholders' meeting. Guess it's time for me to put my hand back in.”

Councilman Sparks was tentative but hopeful as he spoke up. “Does . . . could this possibly mean . . . Cherico has a chance of getting that plant to locate here after all, Waddell?”

“If I have anything to do with it, yes. I'm gonna get on this right after we wind up the tour in Tupelo and Natchez, I promise you that. Rankin, you be sure and make a note of it and remind me.”

“Will do.”

Councilman Sparks looked and sounded like a man reborn, finally returning to fighting form. “That'd be terrific, Waddell. I mean, if you could actually pull that off for us!”

Waddell leaned over and stuck out his hand, and the two men shook on it firmly. “Hey, if you folks down here need a big economic boost like that, I'll see to it that you get it. You can bank on it. Dillard wouldn't dare go against my wishes. No way, no how.”

The excitement that quickly spread throughout the room was palpable, and Maura Beth was the first to express what everyone was thinking. “That would be some Christmas present for Cherico, Waddell. What a wonderful and generous gesture on your part.”

“It's more than a gesture,” he continued. “It'll be good for business, having you folks behind the plant the way you are. Spurs 'R' Us sells to the small-town guy or gal who wants that country and western, cowboy look. I can see myself doin' a print ad or two down here, too. I'll do what I can to put Cherico on the map.”

“Strange the way things work out, idd'n it?” Periwinkle said. “And I'm proud The Twinkle could be a part of all this.” Then she quickly surveyed the table. “Do I have any seconds on the crème brûlée, by the way? One for the road or for those sweet dreams tonight, maybe?”

Waddell laughed and hoisted his dish. “I'll take you up on that, Miz Periwinkle. Especially since I got a little sloppy with that first helping.”

24

A Cherry Cola Christmas

T
he last thing Maura Beth had expected from Councilman Sparks was an invitation to his “Inaugural Cherico City Hall Christmas Eve Celebration.” Boy, was that a mouthful! But that was precisely what had arrived in the mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy McShay at their little cottage on Painter Street. Now, she and Jeremy were less than an hour away from the big event and were putting the finishing touches on their Christmas outfits of choice. The PS on the invitation had read:
FUN CHRISTMAS COSTUMES OPTIONAL BUT SUGGESTED!
Was this a new and different Councilman Sparks or what?

So in that spirit, Maura Beth had decided to wear the absolutely awful green and red large, checkerboard pattern sweater Cudd'n M'Dear had sent along from New Orleans as a present.

“It's . . . well, it's just plain ole loud, and I'll bet she painstakingly knitted it herself,” Maura Beth had told Jeremy the moment after it had been unwrapped and the light of day had revealed the scope of its lack of style. In addition, Cudd'n M'Dear had made sure that her idea of Christmas fashion would not be postponed until Christmas morning.
Open well before the 25th, dear Maura Beth,
the card Scotch-taped to the wrapping had read. “But since I'm not exactly sure what Councilman Sparks is up to with this first-ever holiday bash of his,” Maura Beth had continued at the unveiling, “I'll happily wear it and pretend it's the most glorious garment I've ever lifted over my red head. I mean, what do I have to lose? If the party turns out to be lousy, I'll be dressed for the occasion.”

For his part, Jeremy had gone more conventional—even a bit on the corny side—opting for a clip-on Santa beard and pointy green elf 's cap that tilted ever so slightly to the left.

“You're a mixed metaphor if there ever was one,” Maura Beth said while he was checking himself out in their full-length bedroom mirror, obviously unable to find an angle that suited him.

But he had a snappy retort at the ready. “And you are the Queen of Ugly Christmas Sweaterdom!”

“Touché!” Maura Beth chuckled and then glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We'd better get a move on, though, if we don't want to be late.”

“What's your hurry, Maurie? As you said, who knows what Councilman Sparks is up to with this party?”

To be sure, all sorts of thoughts were swirling through Maura Beth's head as she sat down to apply the finishing touches to her makeup. For the first time ever, she was considering the possibility that Councilman Sparks was actually doing something nice for everyone without expecting anything in return. Wouldn't that be a kick in the head? After all, he and the entire town of Cherico had been euphoric for a week now over the decision that Dillard Mills had made to locate the new Spurs 'R' Us plant in their little community after all—thanks to the decisive and timely intervention of Waddell Mack. The economic ripple effect had been almost immediate, causing Audra Neely to reverse her decision to close down her antique boutique and tough it out a little longer with the promise of new jobs and new citizens arriving as her incentive; Justin Brachle had further reported that Spurs 'R' Us was interested in acquiring property out at the lake to build a new apartment complex in order to provide affordable housing for prospective employees. That, in turn, would benefit the local construction industry, and things would trickle on down from there.

“Well, you have to admit that fortunes have changed for the better here in Cherico, Jeremy,” Maura Beth replied. “And I have this gut feeling that our Councilman Sparks isn't conducting business as usual these days. I guess we'll never really know what went on at the hospital that night, but if he's learned a little humility as well as what true cooperation is all about as a result, then I'll go to his party, kick up my heels, and drink a toast to the future.”

Jeremy's expression remained on the skeptical side, but he clearly wasn't in the mood for an argument with his wife. “I'd have to agree it would be a trip if you and Councilman Sparks were able to declare a truce once and for all. There's been way too much energy spent on unnecessary scheming—on his part, of course. You've just tried to parry the blows.”

“Yep, you're absolutely right,” she told him while standing up and lightly spritzing her neck with perfume. “It would definitely be a wonderful present to find under the tree.” Then she gave a little gasp. “Oh, and don't forgot to act surprised when Periwinkle and Mr. Place announce their engagement tonight. She phoned me this afternoon and said this was going to be their time to finally go public with everything. It'll certainly be a relief to have it out in the open at last and not have to keep it a secret anymore.”

He nodded and quickly crossed his heart. “I promise. And I certainly hope everyone is gracious to them when they get the news.”

“Don't be silly. This is the twenty-first century. Periwinkle and Mr. Place are the best of Cherico.”

His tone was hopeful. “And Christmas is always the perfect time for people to act on their better nature.”

 

Maura Beth had never seen City Hall's Multi-Purpose Event Room this spruced up before. Full of drab, faux-wood paneling and ordinarily reserved for “rubber chicken” awards dinners of a civic nature, it was now in full Christmas drag; there were great holly wreaths at the windows, white votive candles on all the tables, an enormous, fully decorated tree with blinking white lights in one corner of the room, and the scent of pine in the air for that essential holiday touch. Not to mention an instrumental version of “Sleigh Ride” playing in the background as Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy McShay presented their invitation at the door to Councilman Sparks's secretary, Mrs. Lottie Howard—wearing bifocals, a white wig, and a red and white dress with
Mrs. Santa
embroidered across her ample chest.

“Ho, ho, ho, and Merry Christmas. So glad you two could make it,” Lottie told them with an easy smile. “Come right on in . . . have some eggnog or fruitcake or sugar cookies . . . or maybe some bourbon balls and mingle to the jingle.” Obviously taken with her rhyming prose, Lottie burst into giggles like a schoolgirl. “Couldn't help myself. I've already had a little eggnog, you know . . . well, more than a little, if you wanna know the truth. And, yes . . . I can definitely vouch for the fact . . . it's spiked. Oh, and the bourbon balls . . . well, they've got a kick, too.”

Maura Beth returned the smile but backed up a bit as the whiskey on Lottie's breath hit her nostrils. “I never would have guessed.”

Then Lottie cleared her throat and assumed a more serious demeanor, even though she was obviously still under the influence. “Councilman Sparks . . . asked me to tell you to be sure and track him down when you got here. He . . . uh . . . especially wanted to speak to you tonight. Of course, I have no idea what it's about. Not even a little bit. Because . . . he's been acting so peculiar lately . . . and by that I mean he's been downright pleasant to be around at the office. Yes . . . it's true. It's been quite a while since he's barked at me about anything the way he usually does. Why, it's almost seemed like a Christmas present to me . . . from him, of course.” She suppressed a small belch. “Do you . . . think maybe I should write him a little thank-you note?” She giggled again and wagged her brows in exaggerated fashion.

“Well, that's up to you, Lottie. But I wouldn't even think of missing the opportunity to find out what's on the good councilman's mind,” Maura Beth answered. “This whole thing tonight—this party—it's most unexpected.”

Lottie looked around briefly, then leaned in and lowered her voice just above a whisper. “Isn't it, though? Why . . . I nearly fell out of my chair when he gave me a list of things to go out and buy for . . . umm . . . the decorations. You know . . . I even asked him why he was doing this, since it's never happened before. It really hasn't. And . . . guess what? He wouldn't tell me a thing. Uh . . . nothing. But . . . I think he's gonna make some kinda speech tonight.”

“No doubt. I can't remember a time when he hasn't on these auspicious public occasions.” Then Maura Beth caught sight of Justin and Becca Brachle over by the eggnog table and waved at them, giving her the excuse to escape Lottie's incessant meanderings. “Well, I do believe it's high time for us to go and do a little of that mingling you mentioned, Lottie.” And then she and Jeremy headed over to greet the Brachles.

“Merry Christmas, you two. And I like those antlers on your heads, Becca,” Maura Beth said as they reached the table.

Becca smirked and pointed to her husband, who was taking a generous swig of his eggnog. “Merry Christmas right back to you. And, by the way, this was my Stout Fella's idea of a costume. I went along with it because I really couldn't find anything that looked halfway Christmas-y in maternity clothes. Everything I tried on made me look like a gigantic maraschino cherry.”

Everyone laughed as the two men shook hands; then Jeremy ladled two cups of eggnog, handing Maura Beth hers. “Well, what's the latest on your blessed event, my real-estate friend?” Jeremy wanted to know. “You two still on schedule for mid-January?”

Justin shrugged. “It might be before then, though, the doctor says. Because of that false alarm and Becca's bladder infection, he says he won't rule out the possibility of doing a C-section to make sure nothing happens. Not that he thinks anything will. It's just that we all want him to get here safely, you know.”

Jeremy exchanged glances with Maura Beth. “Him?”

Becca spoke up quickly. “Well, we both finally broke down and went for it. We told the doctor we just couldn't stand not knowing any longer. So, yes, we're having a little boy—Mark Grantham Brachle.”

“If he weighs as much as I did when I arrived in my birthday suit, he'll be one
big
boy,” Justin proclaimed, standing tall and looking every inch the proud father. “Hey, my Becca dudd'n call me Stout Fella for nothin', you know!”

Congratulations, hugs, and handshakes quickly followed between the two couples, and Maura Beth said, “You should have included such exciting news in your Christmas cards, especially to his godmother.”

“Oh, I would have, but I'd already mailed them before we found out, sweetie,” Becca explained, keeping the smile in her voice. “But we're going to spread the news right here at this party, and you're practically the first to know. We're so excited to have you as Mark's godmother, of course. We couldn't possibly have picked anyone better for the job.”

Maura Beth winked. “You might as well know that I'm absolutely going to spoil him. Plus, I promise to attend every school play and athletic event he's in.”

“Why do you think Justin and I chose you?”

“Fair enough.”

Just then, Miss Voncille and Locke Linwood walked up, formally dressed but without a hint of a Christmas theme to their apparel.

“What, no costumes tonight?” Maura Beth asked, after everyone had exchanged greetings.

Miss Voncille managed an impish grin. “We opted for the optional option on the invitation. I'm afraid we're just not the type of couple that goes in for cutesy, right, Locke?”

“My beautiful and sensible wife speaks the truth. When you come right down to it, we're just two old fuddy-duddies,” he answered, nudging her affectionately. “My tuxedo and her gold cocktail dress will just have to do.”

“You most certainly are not fuddy-duddies!” Maura Beth protested. “I think the two of you are an inspiration to those of us who believe in second-chance romance, and I won't hear anything to the contrary.”

Then Becca shared her news about the baby with Locke and Miss Voncille, and there were more congratulations all around. “It certainly seems to be a night for big news,” Miss Voncille added when the excitement had died down. “Periwinkle Lattimore and Mr. Place are going around announcing their engagement as we speak. They just told us over there by the Christmas tree. I'm very happy for them. They've made quite a success of The Twinkle together.”

As promised, Jeremy sounded surprised and delighted. “Well, that
is
big news. I think we've all hoped they would finally make it official, and now they have. Good for them!”

Maura Beth quickly backed him up. “I'm such a sucker for a good, old-fashioned romance. Of course, they've both been through so much lately. It'll be nice to see them settled and helping each other out even more.”

Then Maura Beth and Jeremy continued to make the rounds, encountering in order: Renette dressed as one of Santa's diminutive elves; Marydell Crumpton in a long, flowing white gown and insisting she was The Ghost of Christmas Past; Mamie Crumpton, who caused Maura Beth to nearly do a spit take with her eggnog when she obliviously announced, “I'm a large nutcracker!”; Nora Duddney and her beau, Wally Denver, as Salvation Army bell ringers, thankfully with deadened clappers; Chunky Badham and Gopher Joe Martin, daring to describe themselves as two of the Three Wise Men—to Maura Beth's great amusement; and Connie and Douglas McShay, duplicating the outfits of several others in attendance as Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus.

It was more than heartwarming to Maura Beth, however, to encounter Emma Frost with her Leonard on her arm—the two of them sporting a pair of red-and-white checkered Christmas sweaters that looked exactly like serviceable tablecloths at an Italian restaurant.

“Oh, my,” Maura Beth said, embracing Emma warmly and then leaning in to give Leonard a peck on the cheek. “I didn't think it would be possible for anyone to outdo what I've got on. But I do believe you and Leonard win the Christmas Sweater Contest hands down.”