Mistletoe Bay (4 page)

Chase had been constructing a tower out of marshmallows and toothpicks. Tucker and Corey had been doing noodle pictures, which consisted of lots of different-shape uncooked noodles and about a gallon of Elmer's glue. Three months ago the local vet, Merle Sherman, wasn't too happy with her or the boys when Bojangles ate Tucker's noodle picture of Spider-Man. The dog wasn't too happy with the vet, or its treatment.

“Please excuse the mess.” It didn't matter who it was, she always seemed to be apologizing for how the house looked. It wasn't her fault there weren't enough hours in the day or that she was born with only two hands.

Corey went running for the steps, clutching his bag of candy and screaming. Tucker was fast on his tail. “Stop!” she shouted and held up her hand. “Enough.”

Both boys came to a screeching halt. “But Mom,” whined Corey, who had somehow managed to get out of his caterpillar outfit, all but the green tights and a baggy T-shirt. He looked like a demented Robin Hood with his face still painted green, with purple polka dots. For some reason, Corey had insisted on the dots.

“No buts.” She held out her hand. “The candy stays in the kitchen, not upstairs.”

Tucker grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at his younger brother as he handed over the candy.

Corey started to cry. “He'll eat it all.”

“He will not.” She gave Tucker her sternest look. “You will not touch either one of your brothers' candy. Got it?”

“Yeah, but I just wanted to trade.”

“No trading.” She rolled her eyes. Tucker was either going to be a gangster or a politician. “Where's your bag?”

“In the kitchen with Grandmom.” Tucker started to head for the kitchen.

“You and Corey head on upstairs and get ready for your baths. I'll be up in a few minutes.” She gave her youngest son a hug and dried his tears. “I won't let Tucker get any. But you guys have had enough for tonight. We'll save some for the month of tomorrows to come.”

Corey sniffled. “Promise?”

She gave him another hug and a kiss. “Promise.” She turned him toward the stairs and lightly patted his bottom. “Now get going.”

Both boys dashed upstairs with pounding feet and shouts of who would be first.

Jenni took off her coat and scarf and added them to the pile of clothes on an overstuffed chair.

Coop chuckled and then cringed as a door slammed upstairs and one of the boys started shouting. The ornate chandelier hanging in the foyer area, at the bottom of the steps, shook above his head. He stepped to his right. “Is it always like this, or is Halloween a special occasion?”

“I would love to blame all the candy, but the sad truth is I can't. They are always like this.” She headed for the kitchen. “Come on back.”

Coop followed while taking in everything. The living room had recently been painted a khaki color, all but the wall on which the stairs were located. That wall still had torn and faded wallpaper from the sixties on it. It would take scaffolding to do that wall because it went clear to the third floor. The furniture looked comfortable and there seemed to be plenty of it. A brick fireplace was against the outside wall, and it looked like it hadn't been used in years. Hopefully Jenni would know to have it checked out before trying to light a fire in it. Ten to one the chimney needed some work, or at least a major cleaning.

Below his feet he could detect the rumbling of a furnace. At least the house was warm.

An orange cat came barreling down from upstairs and into the dining room. He had no idea if it had been Dumb or Dumber. By the noise the boys were making upstairs he would guess that hardwood floors were throughout the house. Jenni might consider looking into carpeting to lessen the noise.

“Who named the cats?” He knew of the movie, but Jenni didn't look like a
Dumb & Dumber
type person, and the boys were too young to have seen the movie.

“They're Felicity's. She's had them for about two years now.”

“She's a movie fan?” That made sense. Their names sounded like something a teenager would give them.

“No, let's just say they weren't the sharpest kitties in the litter.” Jenni placed Corey's candy bag on the kitchen table.

Although the rest of the house looked questionable, the kitchen was in top shape. White cabinets, some with glass front doors, new countertops, and top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances filled the room. Baking ingredients were neatly lined up on counters, and there seemed to be quite a collection of small appliances. Someone took her cooking seriously, and her name was Dorothy Wright.

He looked at Dorothy and knew she commanded the kitchen like a captain would his vessel. Everything had to be shipshape and in top working order. By the smell, whatever she was doing, she was doing it right. He counted five loaves of some type of bread cooling on racks, and she was busy icing leaf-shaped cookies.

“All done, Coop?” Dorothy wielded the plastic bag of yellow icing like a pro.

“Yes, ma'am.” He glanced at Chase, who was sitting at the large pine kitchen table counting his candy as he dropped it into a big plastic bowl. He was up to thirty-nine and it looked like he was only halfway through his pile.

“How many people live at your house?” Dorothy was now adding red icing to the two dozen leaves spread out before her.

“Only myself, ma'am.” What did it matter how many people lived at his place?

“No kids?” Dorothy glanced up from the cookies.

“No kids, no wife, not even a steady girlfriend.” He chuckled at the look of disbelief on Dorothy's face. “But my parents live in Sullivan. Does that count?”

Dorothy gave Jenni a look he couldn't decipher. “You like pumpkin bread?”

“Yes, ma'am, but you already paid me in coffee and cookies.” He was feeling guilty. The only reason he had supported that post was so that
he
could sleep tonight.

“Nonsense.” Dorothy put down the icing and wrapped one of the loaves in foil. “Since you won't take money, you have to take food.”

“I do?” He watched as Jenni dumped one of the boys' bags into a large plastic bowl. She sealed the bowl with a matching lid, slapped a piece of masking tape on it, and wrote Tucker's name.

“As my husband always said, ‘Union rules.'” Dorothy wrapped another loaf.

“I never heard of that rule.” He had been a union member out in California for almost twelve years.

“I've seen grown men strike over Dorothy's blueberry pie.” Jenni paid her mother-in-law the compliment as she dumped Corey's candy in the other bowl. “It's the only reason we got the countertop and appliances installed. Dorothy kept feeding the crew.”

“You also went on a three-hour hike with the boys,” Dorothy chuckled. “Tucker was inquisitive that day.”

“Is inquisitive the same as bad?” asked Chase.

Coop really did try not to laugh. Everyone seemed to have Tucker's number. Dorothy and Jenni ignored Chase's question and changed the subject.

“How many did you count, Chase?” asked Jenni.

“Seventy-two.” Chase looked extremely proud of that fact, either because he could count that high, or because they had hit that many houses.

“That will last you till Christmas.” Jenni picked up Tucker's bowl and compared it to Chase's. “Do I want to know how many candy wrappers are all over the backseat of my car? Your brother's stash seems to be short quite a few pieces.”

“He ate some,” Chase said.

Dorothy handed Coop two loaves of wrapped bread and a small container filled with cookies. “One is pumpkin, the other is cranberry nut. Since I didn't know what kind of cookies you liked, I put a couple of each kind in there.”

“Thanks, but you really didn't have to.” Dorothy didn't look like a grandmother to three very active boys. Her reddish hair had some gray in it and there might be a wrinkle or two by her eyes, but that was about it. No bifocals, no age-spotted hands, and no big flowery aprons like his own grandmother used to wear. Jeans, a pink long-sleeve T-shirt with a moose on it, and sneakers were this granny's baking outfit. The only flaw he could see was a smudge or two of flour on her nose.

The front door opened and the sound of a lighthearted argument could be heard.

“Come on, Felicity, you can't leave me like this,” proclaimed a male's voice.

“Sure, I can. Why don't you go ask Brittany to change you into a prince.” Felicity Wright entered the kitchen like a queen. To be more accurate, like a princess. She stopped and smiled. “Hi, who are you?”

Coop could see why Dorothy Wright was still a very attractive woman just by looking at her seventeen-year-old daughter. If girls had looked like that back when he had been in Hancock County High School he never would have headed for the sun and surf of California. Dressing up like a fairy tale princess instead of the wicked witch helped matters. “I'm Cooper Armstrong. I'm the UPS delivery guy and today I noticed the porch post out front was dry-rotted. I just stopped by to brace it up.”

Felicity grinned at Jenni. “Did you now? How interesting.”

He could see that his stopping by might not have been the smartest thing to do. His Good Samaritan number was about to get him matched up with a single mother of three. If that wasn't enough to make him run screaming from the house, nothing was. “Your mother is paying me in goodies.” He held up the baked goods to prove his point.

A six-foot-one-inch frog entered the kitchen.

Green rubber flippers smacked the wooden floors. “Come on, babe, one kiss, and I betcha I turn into your Prince Charming,” teased Sam Fischer as he made kissy noises toward Felicity.

Sam stopped in midpucker. “Wow, you're Cooper Armstrong.” The frog held out a flipper.

“Guilty, and you're a frog.” He laughed at the green-faced teenager. This must be Sam Fischer, the smitten boyfriend. Only a teenage boy on the brink of love would be caught wearing a green rubber suit. “Have we met?” He vaguely remembered Eli Fischer, the boy's father, from twelve years ago. Sam had been barely starting kindergarten.

“I'm Sam Fischer, and I just might be the one to break your record.”

“What record?” asked Jenni.

“Most yards per pass in a season,” replied Sam. “In 1993 he ran for an average of twenty-three yards per catch. That record still stands.”

He couldn't believe that no one had shattered that record yet. Back in '93 he could move like the wind and catch just about anything thrown his way. It had been a golden year. “So I take it you're a wide receiver?”

“Number 80, same number you wore.”

“Sam, is he the guy from the pictures in the showcase you showed me?” Felicity popped a cookie into her mouth and stared at him thoughtfully.

“Yep, that's how I recognized him.” Sam seemed very impressed. “Got any advice?”

“Don't drop the ball and run like hel”—he glanced at Chase, who was listening attentively to their every word—“heck.”

Sam laughed and Felicity rolled her eyes.

“How's your quarterback?” A wide receiver was only as good as the quarterback would let him be. He had been lucky back in high school to have a great quarterback who could throw a long ball.

“Decent, real decent. He can hit who he's throwing for as long as he's not rushed.”

“How good is your line?”

“Getting better with each game, and they are all juniors, like me. Not too many seniors on the team, so next year we are figuring to shatter a few of those records.” Sam had that certain gleam in his eyes, the gleam that said he lived and breathed football.

He remembered that gleam. He had seen it in his own mirror when he had been eighteen. “Maybe I'll come by the next home game.”

“Friday night at seven.” Sam nearly hopped with excitement. “Can I tell Coach Fellman you'll be there?”

“I guess, but I'll only be in the stands.” Why would the coach care one way or the other?

“Stop by the bench before the game starts. Coach Fellman would love to see you.”

“How do you know?”

“He talks about you sometimes. He saw you play when he was a kid.”

“Fellman? I don't remember a Fellman back in school.”

“Bob Fellman—he was about six years behind you.”

“Little Bobby?” He vaguely remembered a little kid who used to follow him around all the time. The kid was skinny as a post and barely broke the five-foot mark. “Who would have thought he'd become a coach.” He shook his head in amazement. “Tell him I'll stop by.”

“We'll be there too.” Felicity grinned at Jenni. “The boys would love to see Sam play.”

“Can we, Mom?” Chase joined the conversation.

Jenni looked at her son. “Sure.”

“I got to get going,” he said. He didn't like the way this was going. He'd rather be double teamed than to face a bunch of matchmakers. It didn't matter how nicely Jenni filled out a pair of jeans. “I need to unplug my extension cord from an outlet in the dining room.”

“I'll show you the way.” Jenni walked into the darkened dining room and flipped on the light.

“Thanks again, Dorothy.” He felt like an eight hundred–pound gorilla in the room. “I'll see you Friday night, Sam.” He quickly followed Jenni.

An aged, ugly, and large light hung above the fancy table. The beautiful antique mahogany dining room set was totally out of place in the room. This was definitely the room that no one had spent a dime on. The faded, peeling wallpaper had to be at least fifty years old. The hardwood floor needed to be refinished, and he wouldn't have trusted the light above the table. The thing looked ready to come crashing down.