“No fair. Now you know what I’m getting you.” Morrie stuck out his lower lip. “I’m going to have to find something else so it’s a surprise.”
“That’s fine! You don’t have to—”
“You heard the woman. I’m turning it off.” Heathcliff strode across the room.
“You can’t,” Morrie piped up.
“Why not?”
“I glued the button down,” Morrie grinned, pointing to the top of the box. “This thing is gonna blast Snoopy’s Christmas all day and night. You’re welcome.”
“You’re dog meat.” Heathcliff’s huge hands wrapped around Morrie’s throat. Morrie’s eyes bugged out of his head in a spot-on imitation of Homer Simpson throttling his son.
The problem was, Morrie wasn’t a cartoon character, and he needed air to breathe and kiss me and be his usual annoying self. I grabbed Heathcliff’s hands and tried to pry them off. “Heathcliff, let him go. You’re hurting him—”
“Oh, how lovely. It’s nice to hear Nevermore getting into the spirit of Christmas this year!”
I jumped as Mrs. Ellis shuffled into the room, ushering a sullen-looking girl of about twelve toward the display of young adult books I’d arranged on the room’s one unobstructed shelf. Mrs. Ellis admired the snogging wise men in the nativity scene and beamed at us, seemingly not noticing the murder unfolding before her.
Heathcliff dropped Morrie, who slumped forward in relief, clutching his throat. “You saved my life, Mrs. Ellis,” he gasped.
“Don’t be so bloody dramatic.” Heathcliff shuffled back to his chair and slumped down. The sudden movement dislodged a hail of needles on top of him. He glared at the large tote bag slung over Mrs. Ellis’ shoulder. “Please tell me you have a flask in there? I’m in desperate need of Christmas cheer.”
“Not today, I’m afraid. I’m playing Santa Claus, delivering presents to all my favorite people around the village. The Banned Book Club. The Knobbly Knitters. My Bondage and Discipline for Pensioners circle…” Mrs. Ellis fished around in her bag and drew out a large box wrapped in bright paper, which she handed to the girl. “I brought my granddaughter Jonie around to put a gift under the tree. She’s staying with me over the Christmas holidays while my daughter Deirdre is in Paris with her new boyfriend. Jonie loves all kinds of animals. Deirdre doesn’t care for them, so Jonie’s not allowed a pet of her own, but she’s happy to help the animals of Argleton find their forever homes this Christmas.”
Jonie didn’t look happy to help. In fact, she and Heathcliff could’ve been twins with their scowling faces and stormy eyes. A pair of brown braids trailed over a sweatshirt, accentuating her long face and gloomy expression. Oblivious to her granddaughter’s mood (as she was to many things), Mrs. Ellis shoved Jonie toward me. “Go on, dear. Mina will show you where the tree is.”
“You can’t bloody miss it, you blind old bint,” Heathcliff muttered as I pointed Jonie to the pile of presents dwarfed by the gargantuan conifer.
“Hey!” I slapped his arm. “Don’t mock the blind.”
Despite his rotten mood, Heathcliff had the decency to look abashed. Even though I was doing a lot better since I learned that I had a rare condition called retinitis pigmentosa, I was still not quite ready to joke about my degrading eyesight.
However, Heathcliff did have a point. The treewashard to miss. I patted a branch, sending a shower of needles across the floor. “You can put the present anywhere you like. We’ve just started the collection today, but already we’ve had a few people make their donations.” I didn’t want to mention in Heathcliff’s presence that most of the presents there were from Quoth and me.
Jonie grunted as she bent down and slid her parcel under the tree. She stood up, rubbing her arms. “It’s freezing in here.”
“Agreed.” I shivered as a cold gust of wind whipped past me. Ever since the weather had turned, we’ve been experiencing random cold drafts in the shop. I’d added draft stoppers to all the windows, but it hadn’t helped, and we had no idea where the cold came from. Even spending a small fortune on wood to light fires on both floors hadn’t helped warm the place up. “Mrs, Ellis, you should introduce Jonie to Grimalkin and Quoth. I bet she’d love—”
“Mina, dear!” The shop bell tinkled as a familiar voice trilled through the shop. “I’ve got something amazing to show you.”
A moment later, my mother strolled through the door, swinging an enormous tote bag and juggling an armful of colorful wrapping paper rolls. Every inch of her was covered in Christmas bling – from the sparkly elf hat placed at a jaunty angle atop her head to the Christmas fairy pins stuck all over her blouse and the jingle-bell beaded bracelets on her wrists. She looked like a Christmas tree.
“My new range arrived, and it’s divine—Oh, Mina, howcouldyou?” Mum’s voice trembled with hurt as she flung down her supplies, sending wrapping paper and needles flying in all directions. My mouth dropped open as Mum whipped Jonie’s present from her hands and started tearing off the paper. “Itoldyou I was sponsoring the charity tree. All the presents are supposed to be wrapped in my special Bedazzled Bethlehem papers!”
Bedazzled Bethlehem was the name of Mum’s new ‘business.’ My mother had recently lost her job as a tarot reader at the local New Age shop after one of her DIY soap kits exploded. Luckily, Helen Wilde never let setbacks or cold, hard reality get her down. She’d thrown herself into her latest get-rich-quick scheme – selling overpriced designer Christmas wrapping paper, baubles, and decorations. Unlike many of her other schemes, the products were actually quite nice, but they were ridiculously overpriced and I knew when January rolled around she wouldn’t be able to sell a string of tinsel to an elf.
I never should have accepted two boxes of decorations from her to decorate the shop and tree in exchange for leaving a stack of her business cards on the counter. I thought that was what she’d meant bysponsorship. Apparently, she had much more dramatic plans.
“What are you doing to my present?” Jonie demanded, thrusting her hands on her hips.
I grabbed the box from Mum and tried to stick the tape back down. “Mum, you can’t expect everyone to use your products. Sponsorship means you donate the wrapping paper. If that’s what you’re doing, then—”
“Heavens no, I can’t afford that!” Mum started to pull more rolls of fancy foil paper and sparkly ribbons from her tote. “I know! I’ll set up a gift-wrapping table. Customers can pay me to wrap their gifts for them, and peruse my stock at the same time!”
Inwardly, I groaned. Maybe Heathcliff was onto something with that stiff drink. “It’s a lovely idea, Mum, but I’m afraid we don’t have room for a gift-wrapping table—”
“Nonsense. It won’t be in your way at all.” Mum swept a stack of books off the corner of Heathcliff’s desk. “I’ll set up right here, so the customers can see me as soon as they come in.”
