The Valentine Grinch (2 page)

Amanda stepped into his arms and hugged him back. “A
little icy, but I have winter tires on.”

“Good girl.” As he pulled back, the can fell out of
his pocket. He picked it up and handed it to her mom. “We’ll, ah,
finish decorating that dessert later, right, Dora?”

Wink, wink.

Too much information. Amanda turned her back on her
parents and peered into the living room, doing a quick search for
strange wisps of fog that looked like Gramps. Nothing, nada, zilch.
She rubbed the lump on the back of her head and turned to face her
parents. “This may sound weird, but have you seen Gramps
lately?”

Her dad shook his head and picked up the suitcase.
“That’s my girl. Always the joker. Just don’t be joking around your
grandma like that.”

“Seriously, you haven’t seen Gramps hanging around?
Has Grandma mentioned him lately?”

Her mom exchanged a concerned look with her dad.
“Only about a hundred times a day. I’m surprised Morty still wants
to marry her. She’s taken to lugging your grandpa’s urn around.
We’ve tried to talk to her but she refuses to listen. It can’t be
healthy. Maybe you could talk to her, honey.”

“Where is Grandma?”

“Already asleep.” Her mom slipped one arm around her
waist and urged her toward the hallway. “Tom, get Amanda’s
suitcase, will you?”

He held it up and wiggled it. “I’m way ahead of you,
babe.”

Amanda took a deep breath and forced herself to
relax. “Is Steph here yet?”

“Your sister’s not coming till the day of the
wedding. Apparently work is keeping her busy.”

Behind them, her dad grumbled. “You’d think with her
being a wedding planner and us paying for her education that she
could take a little time off to help with Grandma’s wedding.”

“Now, Tom, you know I enjoy planning parties.” Dora
Goodwin had a reputation for getting the job done, which was why
she was in charge of pretty much everything, including Grandma’s
wedding.

“Well, I don’t,” he grumbled back.

Amanda felt her mom’s hand against the back of her
head and tried to wiggle away, but her mom had a firm grip on
her.

“That’s quite the lump you’ve got. Tom, come feel
this.”

He did as he was requested, his warm fingers
tunneling through her hair. “Maybe we should call the Doc.”

“I’m fine, really. Tired from the drive. I’ll just
get washed up, climb into bed and catch up on some sleep.”

“Are you hungry, honey?”

Her stomach rolled at the mention of food. “No.”

“Come on, kiddo. We’ve got your room ready.” Her dad
lead the way up the stairs to the second floor. “You should move
back to Cranberry Cove. The city is no place for a girl like
you.”

“I like the city, Dad.”

Amanda followed him up the stairs with her mom
bringing up the rear. The walls were lined with family photos of
her parents’ wedding day, school pictures of her and Steph, and
other favorites taken over the years.

At the top of the steps, her dad turned right,
opened the door to her room and flipped on the light switch. “Sorry
about the mess.”

Along with a ratty old armchair that her mom had
wanted to toss and her dad had wanted to keep were Valentine
decorations. Lots of Valentine decorations. There were red
cardboard cutouts of Valentine hearts and grotesque cupids with
bows. Enough for a massive wedding or a massive headache.

Her head throbbed again, reminding her that she
already had a headache. As she turned to face her parents, she
rolled her neck a couple of times with hopes of releasing the
tension.

Dora moved to the bed, gathered an armful of the
decorations and handed them to Tom. “You should have let us know
you were coming a day early. We would have cleaned this up for
you.”

Amanda watched her dad set the decorations down in
the corner of the room. “Are these all for Grandma’s wedding?”

“Uh huh.” Her mom gathered up the rest of the
decorations and pulled down the covers on the bed. “We thought you
might bring a date for the wedding.”

“No date, Mom.”

“Not even a boy that’s a friend?” her mom continued
as she smoothed her hand over the sheets, then one handed, fluffed
the pillows. “Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, you
know, and it would be nice if we had grandchildren before we
died.”

Amanda groaned. “Bug Steph. She’s the one infatuated
with weddings.”

Her mom straightened and faced Amanda, her shoulders
squared, her arms wrapped around the decorations, looking as though
she wasn’t about to back down from her favorite topic. “Did your
father mention that Dane Weatherby is back in town? And that he’s
taking over the newspaper office so his grandpa can retire? He’s
single, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Dane, her best friend till
college, when they’d gone their separate ways and lost touch. An
image of her childhood friend floated up from the nether regions of
her mind. Black rimmed glasses with thick lenses. Tall and lanky.
Yeah, they’d been quite the pair of geeky misfits. She pushed the
memory away. “I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up.”

As her mom headed for the door, she said, “I have a
list of chores for you tomorrow, so don’t be sleeping all day.”

Her dad had a look of resignation on his face. “I’ll
try to keep her away as long as possible. Goodnight, kiddo. It’s
good to have you home.”

He closed the door, leaving her alone.

The nervousness from earlier returned. With the off
chance that her grandpa was lurking somewhere in a corner, she
climbed between the sheets fully clothed, pulled the covers up to
her chin, and turned off the light. Darkness enveloped the room.
She shivered beneath the heavy down quilt and waited for her
grandpa to appear.

Nothing, only the sound of her mom’s giggle and her
dad’s seductive baritone.

Amanda lay down on her back,
pulled the pillow around her ears and stared into the darkness. But
with every breath she took, her anticipation grew until she could
stand it no longer. “Gramps, are you there?”

A flash of white lit up the center of the room and
she bolted up in bed, the covers clutched to her chin, her heart
thundering in her chest.

The ghost of her Grandpa George floated across the
room, headed straight for her.

Certain that she was awake and not hallucinating,
Amanda yanked herself out of her stunned state and back to — she
glanced around her, then back at him — reality? She leaned forward,
gazed into his familiar gray eyes and spoke slowly. “Gramps, what
do you want with me?”

“Elvira is still my wife and I need to protect her
from that con-artist, Morty Weatherby.”

“Mr. Weatherby is a con-artist?”

“That’s right. He wants her money.” Grandpa got this
calculating look in his eyes. “If you help me out, I’ll make sure
she leaves you a little in her will.”

“Hard to do when you’re dead. Besides, I don’t want
Grandma’s money. I just want her to be happy.” He looked exactly
like her grandfather. If it wasn’t for the fog swirling through his
body, she could almost believe he was really here. “I know for a
fact that Mr. Weatherby was born in Cranberry Cove, eighty-five
years ago, just like you.”

Grandpa stopped pacing, bent at the waist to lean
toward her and seemed to grow six inches. “I’ve known that weasel
since we were in the crib and I tell you, he can’t be trusted.”

Amanda shifted away from him, nervous. “The wedding
is in three days, Gramps. Even if I was inclined to help you out,
heck, even if I believed you were really here, there’s not enough
time. Besides, I don’t want to break Grandma’s heart.”

He shrank down to his regular size, his shoulders
slumped, and the tightness in her stomach eased. “What if I could
prove to you that Morty’s not really in love with her? That the
fricking bastard is just trifling with her heart? And after he has
his way with her, he’ll discard her, like he’s discarded his past
three wives? Bumpkin, you have to stop the wedding.”

She stared back at him, not knowing what to say.

Looking calmer now, he dragged the old armchair over
to her bed, sat down and pulled his toque off his head. “Close your
mouth, bumpkin, and let me tell you the story of how Elvira and I
met. Back in 1933, I was just a wee boy of six...”

Having heard this story at least a dozen times
before, Amanda tuned out.

Valentine’s Day brought out the
worst in her grandpa, but maybe he had a point. It seemed like
Grandma Elvira
had
rushed into the wedding.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Amanda woke to the bang of a
downstairs door and the clank of a heavy pot hitting the counter,
followed by the familiar sound of her mom calling up to her from
the first floor. Like she’d done a zillion times before.

“Amanda, time to wake up. The day is getting shorter
but my list sure isn’t.”

With a groan, she rolled over and pulled the pillow
over her head.

Sheesh. It felt like only a few moments since she’d
fallen asleep. Gramps had talked and talked and talked—

Gramps?

With a start, she sat up and searched the room for
tendrils of the foggy mist that warned her that her grandpa was
nearby. But there was nothing in the air, only dust motes dancing
in the sliver of sunlight streaming through the narrow gap between
the window blinds.

It had to have been a dream. Yeah, that was it. A
dream initiated by the knock on the head. With her fingertips, she
found a tiny bump. Sweet relief sapped the starch from her body and
she slumped back on the bed.

Outside her room, she heard the heavy footsteps of
her dad as he stomped up the stairs. He stopped outside her bedroom
door and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Wake up, kiddo. I’m
opening this door, so make sure you’re decent.”

“I’m up, Dad.” She pushed the pillow against the
headboard and scootched back on the bed. The door swung open and
her dad stepped into the room. “Morning, Dad. What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” He glanced over his shoulder before
he turned back to her and lowered his voice. “I ran interference as
long as I could, but your mom insists you get up. She’s making your
grandma’s wedding cake and that list of hers keeps getting longer
instead of shorter.”

For the first time ever, Amanda noticed how much her
dad looked like Gramps, the silver running through his hair a
perfect match to his gray eyes. She gave him a reassuring smile.
“That’s why I came early.”

“Thank God you did. Your mother is running in twelve
different directions at once and she’s got me spinning in circles
after her.” The frustrated tone of his voice softened and he huffed
out a sigh. “Don’t make me come back up here to get you.”

“I won’t.”

He started to pull the door shut, then stopped.
“What’s that?”

Amanda followed his gaze, saw her grandpa’s toque on
the seat of the armchair next to her bed, and panic flashed through
her body.

No way
.

Her dad crossed the room and picked up the toque.
“Where did you find this old thing?”

“I—uh—Grandma must have left it in here.”

“My dad’s been gone for nearly fourteen years now. I
thought Ma was over it a long time ago.” With a loving gesture, he
stroked the soft knit, then set the toque back on the chair where
he’d found it before he headed back toward the door. “Maybe you
should pack that old thing in your suitcase, kiddo, so your grandma
doesn’t see it again.”

As the door closed behind him, Amanda glared at the
offensive bit of material, then looked around the room, expecting
to see her grandpa pop up at any moment. Nothing. “Come on, Gramps,
where are you hiding?”

Still nothing.

“Fine, be that way,” she muttered. She slid her feet
out from beneath the covers and just as she felt the cold floor
against the bottom of her feet, Gramps appeared. He came through
the wall like it wasn’t even there, his silver hair bare until he
floated to the armchair, retrieved the toque and pulled it over the
top of his head.

Not a figment of her imagination.

She pinched the fleshy part of her arm and
winced.

Not a dream
either
.

The blurred outline of his body shimmered and danced
in the slice of sunlight coming through the window. Battling the
urge to run, she took a deep breath and forced herself to remain
calm. “Gramps, why are you here?”

“I told you last night, bumpkin.” He laid his right
hand against his chest, as though he’d been mortally wounded. “You
must convince your grandma she’s making a mistake. Morty can’t be
trusted.”

Amanda glared at the white glow shimmering around
his familiar form. Praying he wouldn’t follow her, she stood up and
headed for the door. “You’re not my grandfather. You’re a ghost. Go
back to where you came from and leave me alone.”

Downstairs, the yellow can of whipping cream had
been moved from the front entrance to the hallway. She wiped it
from her mind — there was enough going on without adding more
troublesome thoughts to the mix — and pasted on a cheery smile as
she entered the kitchen. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, honey.” Her mom stood at the cupboard
stirring a bowl of batter. She lifted the spoon and used it to
point across the room. “Look who stopped in to say hello.”

As Amanda followed the direction of the spoon, she
encountered Dane Weatherby’s familiar green gaze. Without the
glasses he’d worn in high school and college, the color in his eyes
seemed more brilliant. Heat warmed her cheeks. Suddenly, she wished
she’d taken the time to shower and change. With nowhere to run and
hide, she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and took a
single step back. “Dad, you didn’t tell me we had company.”