Boo Who (4 page)

“It’s okay, boy. You just rest,” he said to the cat. But Thief hardly acknowledged him. Instead he rested his chin on his paws and did nothing but stare forward.

Once home, he took great care removing the cat from the car. He swaddled him and was carrying him to the front door when he heard a strange noise.

“Whoo. Whoo.”

Looking high into the Eastern Red Cedar that sat at the corner of their house, he saw an amazing thing. An owl. As far as he could remember, he had never seen an owl in Skary.

“Whoo. Whoo. Whooo.”

“Who to you, too.” The sheriff noticed the owl was looking at Thief, and he pulled the blanket over the cat. He’d heard some owls ate unattended cats, and the way Thief was feeling, he would be easy prey. “Get outta here!” he yelled at the owl, but it sat there oblivious to his threat.

Inside, Ainsley jumped up and greeted him, looking at Thief. “Dad! How’d the operation go?”

“According to Garth, it went fine. But Thief seems different.”

“How so?” Wolfe asked as they came into the kitchen.

“Just … different. Garth says it’s the anesthesia.”

“He probably just wants to sleep it off, Dad,” Ainsley said. “Why don’t you put him in his bed, and we’ll check on him later. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He nodded and took the cat upstairs to his deluxe canopy bed that sat right next to his own. He even brought his food and water bowl up from the kitchen and placed it right next to Thief. But Thief hardly raised his head. And wouldn’t look at the sheriff.

Kneeling beside the cat, he said, “You’ll feel better in the morning.” He gave the cat one long stroke, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, and then left. Thief’s eyes were shut, and his once perky tail lay like limp rope across the bed.

Melb paced the length of her bedroom, biting at her nails and then scraping the skin off her bottom lip with her front teeth. Oliver would be arriving at her home any minute, and she was going to have to break the news to him that she’d gone slightly over budget on her dress. But surely he would see the brilliance of how much money she’d actually saved. The trick came in convincing him without showing him this glorious, three thousand dollar dress that she’d yet to try on.

Lying across her bed, the whole dress seemed swollen with anticipation of draping itself over her body. Catching a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror, she sucked in her tummy and pulled her shoulders back. Four dress sizes. That’s what she was going to have to lose to get in this gown.

Not going to be a problem.

Outside she heard a car door shut. Oliver! She quickly zipped the dress back into its case and hid it in her closet. She tossed her curls around on her head and made sure she had some lip gloss on before
running to greet the man she loved. Peeking through the peephole, she could see him gathering his things out of his car.

She stared down at the small diamond ring on her finger. It was gorgeous. And she knew it had been a lot of money for Oliver. After only two weeks of dating, he’d asked her to marry him. They found out on one of only seven dates before the engagement, that both their parents had dated only two weeks before getting engaged. Exactly two weeks from the day that Oliver had professed his love for her at Thanksgiving dinner, he asked her to marry him. Her parents had been married thirty-four years. His, forty-one. All deceased now. They knew they had history on their side.

Right before Oliver reached for the doorbell, she opened the door and greeted him with a big, fat kiss on the lips. He stumbled backward but managed to hold on to her shoulders and return the kiss with enthusiasm.

“Hello, darlin’,” he said in that low, sexy voice she knew he reserved for only her and a few select auto customers.

“How was work?” she asked. She knew she would never grow tired of asking the man of her dreams that question.

Inside, he explained it was Wolfe’s first day. “He was on time, but I hope he’s the right man for the job.”

“You don’t think he is?”

“Well, I’m a little worried about his work ethic.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged, munching on the dregs of a bag of Lay’s chips sitting open on the counter. She had meant to throw that in the trash when she got home, but it must’ve slipped her mind.

“Oh, you know. He was a writer. I’m not sure they understand eight-to-five. I just don’t know if he has the ability to work hard.”

She leaned on the counter, eying the bag of chips but trying to keep her concentration on Oliver. “Honey, I think the man knows how to work hard. He was a best-selling novelist.”

“I know. But can a man who lives in a fantasy world every day really
learn to dig his heels in and push himself? I mean, this is hard work. It takes a lot of concentration, a lot of endurance. And my goodness, you have to be able to handle rejection. What does Wolfe know of those things? Plus—and this is going to be a hard lesson for him to learn—you can’t just work when inspiration hits you. Whenever a customer comes in, you have to be at your very best, inspiration or not.”

She patted him on the arm. “He has a good teacher.” She winked.

Oliver grinned at her. “Well, I think he’s going to be a good student. He seems willing to learn. Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?”

Her skin tingled with fear and anticipation. “I did some wedding shopping today.”

“Me too! And boy, did I find the deal of the century.”

She cocked an eyebrow. She couldn’t imagine his being better than hers. “Really?”

“Yeah. You know how when we planned our budget for the wedding we’d both agreed we wanted a limo to take us from the wedding back to our house, right?”

She nodded.

“Guess what I found?” he continued after she couldn’t answer.
“A horse-drawn carriage!”
he shouted with a joy usually reserved for fourth-quarter touchdowns. She grew excited too. This was going to be perfect for her situation: He would tell her how he couldn’t resist a horse-drawn carriage, and though it cost a little more, it would be totally worth it.

She couldn’t contain her enthusiastic grin, which melted as he announced, “And I saved us a hundred bucks!”

“What?”

“Can you believe it?” His features radiated with pride. “My dear Melb, we are going to have the most beautiful wedding any budget has ever seen.” He took her hand. “I’m telling you, this wedding is going to be wonderful. I know you won’t be disappointed.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “So? What’s your big news? What’d you buy for the wedding?”

She smiled weakly. “It’s a surprise.”

He laughed. “Okay. I love surprises.” Then he said, “And hey, you have been practicing spelling what will soon be your new last name, right?”

She nodded, figuring now was not the time to “surprise” him again and tell him she’d not yet been able to spell Stepaphanolopolis without the index cards.

She grabbed a new bag of chips.

Martin Blarty studied his longtime friend and knew that something was terribly wrong. Mayor Wullisworth’s face was drawn downward, his lips in a perfect, upside-down half circle. But what frightened Martin the most was the untouched glass of bourbon on the table next to the mayor’s chair. Most people drowned their sorrows in alcohol. But for the mayor, alcohol was a sign he was celebrating the joys of life. He never, ever drank when he was depressed.

Martin, on the other hand, had finished off his glass.

“Sir, I think you’re overreacting a bit.”

The mayor’s dull eyes lit with anger directed at Martin. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Haven’t you looked at the numbers, Martin? Don’t you realize what dire straits we are in?”

“I know. But I don’t think you’re to blame, and resigning as mayor would only hurt this town, not help it. We’re in trouble, there’s no doubt about that. But there’s got to be another way.”

The mayor rose, circling his wingback chair and standing before the raging fire that crackled and hollered up through the chimney. “I’ve seen this town go through ups and downs through the years, Martin. But this time is different. We’re lost. We don’t even know who we are anymore. Once we were a small town with a silly name. Then we became a small town with a famous resident. Then we became a famous town. And now …”

From behind him, Martin could see the mayor take out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes. He noticed how thin he had become, his
pants hanging off him like a young boy in his brother’s hand-me-downs.

“I can’t sleep at night,” the mayor said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Martin hugged his longtime friend. The mayor patted him affectionately, but then retired to his bedroom, asking Martin to show himself to the door. Listening to the bedroom door close, Martin shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with a solution.

Mayor Wullisworth was depressed, and Martin wasn’t sure how to give him hope. He stood alone in the mayor’s study, thinking he might finish off his friend’s untouched bourbon, but decided against it. He needed to think clearly. Instead he stood solemnly, gazing at all the history books that lined the shelves of the study, his mind filing through options of how to solve this massive problem. How do you save a town on the brink of bankruptcy? If ever there was a hopeless situation, this was it.

And then something hit him. One word.

“History!” Martin cried. That was it! He would find out the town’s history, see how it began, go back to the roots. Surely there was something there that could help him find this town’s future.

The doorbell rang, and he left the study. No movement came from the hallway leading to the mayor’s bedroom, and he knew the mayor wasn’t expecting company. He went to the front door and decided to answer it so the mayor wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Hello, Marty.”

His chest constricted. Missy Peeple.

“Is the mayor home?”

“You have no business here, Miss Peeple,” Martin said. “After the Thanksgiving Scandal, I think you of all people should know that.”

He was about to shut the door when she said, “I know how to save this town.”

Martin swallowed. He studied her wrinkled face, smiling and scowling at the same time. This woman was a foe, he knew that. But he also
knew she would stop at nothing to save the town. Her fierce determination was what everyone feared the most about her.

“I’m sorry.” He slammed the door shut. Then he heard the strangest thing. An owl. Hooting. He listened, and then the sound faded into the night.

CHAPTER 5

R
EVEREND
P
ECK
T
RIED
to keep a warm smile steady on his face as he stood outside his church, shaking hands with the ten people who had showed up for the special Christmas Eve service. Even while he stood there, he could hear a town full of carolers, their vocal cords straining to climb the pear tree of all Christmas songs. What in the world were they doing singing about partridges on the Eve of Christ’s birth? He’d read somewhere this particular song had a secret Christian meaning behind it, but nobody he knew could tell him what that secret was. The reverend shook his head as they moved to a new rendition of “Jingle Bells” sung to the tune of “O Holy Night.”