Six

 

Jaymie ran to speak with Haskell and Mabel. Among them they made the decision and arranged with Jakob to bring the booth out on his flatbed trailer right away. Bill hustled off to the nearby Lowe’s to get the paint he needed.

Meanwhile Detective Macadams had responded and Valetta was showing him the surveillance footage. An official investigation had begun.

Jaymie sat on a bench in Bill’s work shed and texted Nan some answers. She couldn’t comment on the fire, as that was a police matter, but Dickens Days would most certainly be going on, she wrote her editor. Nothing would stop it; they were all working together to ensure that.

She heard a commotion and rushed out into the chilly gloom. Jakob had arrived with the booth strapped into the back of his long-bed pickup; he expertly backed it up the hill and into the workshop, with much shouting and directing from the handyman. The two men, with Jaymie and Valetta’s help, wrestled it off the flatbed truck to sit in the middle of the concrete workshop floor. As Val returned to the pharmacy and Jakob helped Bill clean the booth to ready it for painting, Jaymie strolled to the door of the workshop and leaned against it, viewing her village from the slight rise.

The destroyed shell of the booth was a dark blot on the lovely outlook. Bill was certain that the cider booth had been set ablaze by Nezer, but Jaymie wasn’t so sure. However . . . who else had a motive? She mulled that over and couldn’t think of anyone else who had a problem with Dickens Days, which had become a lighthearted nondenominational celebration of the festive season. She turned back to look into the depths of the workshop and smiled. There was Jakob, up on a ladder, already starting to paint a primer coat. “You guys going to work here for a while?” she called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous depths.

“Don’t blame me,” Bill said, pointing his brush at her husband. “I told Jakob to go home, or back to work, but he said I needed help. So . . . I been told.”

“If you want to have any shot at all of having this ready to go Saturday, you need help, Bill,” Jakob said firmly, winking down at Jaymie. “I’ve got time today, and some tomorrow. Let’s knock this out in twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll leave you two gentlemen to it. I have work on the diorama to finish.”

She returned to her SUV where it was parked along the street that led away from the downtown. Using a handcart, she moved the small table and chairs to the diorama, pulled off the tarp, and placed them inside. She then returned to her vehicle and retrieved some other bits and pieces. She set the box of decorations from her SUV on the ground beside the scene.

Bill was better than a mere workman, he was an artist. The diorama was a three-sided open structure with a floor and top . . . kind of like an open box set on its side. Bill had painted, on the inside walls, a scene from A Christmas Carol, the Cratchit dining room and parlor. It was like a backdrop for a play. There was a fireplace, with Tiny Tim’s crutch painted leaning against it. Mrs. Cratchit was depicted, her comically rounded face and rosy cheeks worthy of a book illustration; she had her hands up in the air, as if she was about to clap at her plum pudding’s delectability!

The police officer who was still guarding the burned-out cider booth looked on in puzzlement, but no one had said she couldn’t proceed, so she continued. Finn Fancombe skulked by at one point, but only paused and watched her working for a moment before moving on. Bella Nezer strolled by from the direction of the Nezer home, pulling on gray wool gloves. She was about to walk past toward the Emporium but she paused. “What is that supposed to be?” she asked.

Jaymie joined her on the sidewalk and surveyed her work so far, as she explained. “It’s the scene in A Christmas Carol when Scrooge is visited by the Spirit of Christmas Present and the ghost takes him to see the Cratchits’ Christmas. The plum pudding, bedizened with a sprig of holly, is set alight and served, to the delight of them all.”

“So that’s the Cratchit kitchen?” She eyed Jaymie’s set decoration.

The small wood table from The Junk Stops Here, along with two rickety chairs, were the largest furnishings. She had some chipped old china on the table, and a copper pot, with a glossy fake baked chicken in place of the goose. Something was missing, but she couldn’t think what. “It is, kind of. I mean, at their income level their home would have limited rooms, so the kitchen and parlor and dining room would likely all be one.” She glanced over at Bella. “I’m about to place the mannequins. The Bob Cratchit one is a little heavy. Can you help me with it?”

Bella looked surprised, but agreed, and followed Jaymie to the SUV.

“I’m so glad you’re lending me a hand,” Jaymie said, handing her one of Bob Cratchit’s arms. She giggled, but Bella seemed coolly unamused.

She and Jaymie hauled it from her SUV and pushed and prodded it until he was sitting in the chair at the head of the table, fork in hand. He was far too good-looking to be Bob Cratchit since he was a mannequin from the fashion department of a store. He had dark, crisply waving hair and a square jaw, and an intense model-gaze. But he’d have to do; lucky Mrs. Cratchit. Well, if Scrooge wouldn’t pay his bookkeeper more, maybe old Bob could model for the Burberry catalogue.

“And now for the pièce de résistance,” Jaymie said, racing and skipping back to the SUV and getting the last item. She hauled the mannequin to the scene and placed little Tiny Tim—a child mannequin—at the table and adjusted his newsboy-style cap on his wig, tugging it askew to a rakish slant. The lad was overlooking the big, fake plum pudding Jaymie and Jocie had made using papier-mâché over a balloon. Painted a rich chocolate brown, it was adorned with blobs of color to represent almonds and figs. She had Jocie stick glistening red plastic cabochons all over it to represent candied cherries, and they had glued construction paper flames to it. She placed it on a chipped plate and stood back.

“Darn!” she explained. “It needs a couple of things. I forgot to get the holly to deck it with, and . . . something is missing.” She twisted her mouth into a grimace. “What the heck is missing? I’ll need to think about it.”

Bella stared at it for a moment.

“What do you think?” Jaymie asked.

“It’s . . . odd,” the woman replied. “I have to go now. If I’m going to get everything done in time for the party I can’t waste a minute.” She turned, walked up to the Emporium and disappeared inside.

“Well, all right then,” Jaymie muttered. There was still more to do. She opened the tote that held the strings of lights and pulled them out. Using zip ties, she strung them around the sides and top of the diorama, then ran a long outdoor extension cord to the electrical outlet, sneaking under the yellow crime scene tape to do it. The burnt smell of the booth was acrid in her nose, and she backed off, turning back to her joyful little diorama. Too bad it looked so bleak from the outside, the plywood dull. Too late to do anything about that now.

She finally remembered what was missing: the pudding mould! She had a cheap damaged vintage one at home that would do, and she wouldn’t worry about it being stolen. Everything in the scene was placed with that thought, that anything portable might be stolen. She had doubles of everything: more chipped china, more rickety chairs. She even had access to a couple of extra mannequins if she needed them, though she hoped she wouldn’t. With any luck father and son would stay in place over the holidays. She patted Tiny Tim’s thin shoulder. The best thing about A Christmas Carol, to her, was its inclusion of a little boy bravely struggling with a disability, and a family that stuck together, no matter what.

She dusted off her hands, finally, and stood back to examine the scene. If she thought of anything else, it would have to wait until Saturday morning, when Dickens Days would officially kick off. She sure hoped the fellows could get the cider booth done by then. Now it was time to replace her hastily rigged twist tie closures. She got out her tool kit and hammered pilot holes, then screwed in hooks for the corners of the open side of the diorama. She hooked the corner grommets of the tarp on those, then used pieces of nylon rope to tie the tarp securely to the holes Bill had already drilled all along the top. She then packed up her tool kit and put it back in her vehicle.

Time to go home, but first she wanted to see how Bill and Jakob were coming along. They had a crowd of onlookers at the door to Bill’s workshop. Haskell Lockland bustled up and pushed through the crowd, not noticing Jaymie as he elbowed past her. Ostentatiously dressed in crisp new workmen’s overalls, available at any home improvement store, he held a brand-new paint brush. “I’m here to help save Dickens Days, my fellow workmen!”

Jaymie bit back a snicker. Good to know that now that Haskell Lockland had shown up in crisp new overalls, which would likely never see a spot of paint, everything would get done.

 

• • •

 

Friday was another busy day. Cynthia and Jewel had been fighting over who would have Petty help them when, so Jaymie stepped in and offered her services. She worked all morning helping Cynthia arrange Christmas displays. She stopped in on Georgina at Queensville Fine Antiques and moved the table in the front window and vacuumed, something the older woman, slight and fine-boned, wasn’t strong enough to do. She snuck looks at her, and sniffed her breath when she got close enough. No gin breath that she could tell, and the slim woman certainly didn’t stagger or slur. Georgina might drink like a sailor on shore leave, but every single day every gray curled hair was in place, her sweater set and ironed trousers were impeccably neat and her pearls in place.

Georgina finally said, as Jaymie hovered close, “What is wrong with you today, girl?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Jaymie said, moving away hastily. “Hey, will you be coming to the start of Dickens Days tomorrow evening?” she asked, hoping to become friendlier with the frosty woman.

“Not bloody likely,” she said, ferociously polishing a silver candlestick. “I’m going to dinner tomorrow evening.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I hope you’ll have a look at my diorama,” Jaymie said, and described it.

With a nod, the woman said, “I’m sure I’ll see it . . . sometime.”

Jaymie slipped her coat on and walked up to Bill Waterman’s workshop to check on the handyman and her husband. They had finished painting and the cider booth was amazing, maybe even better than the original. “Bravo, gentlemen. Bravo,” she exclaimed, applauding as she examined it in the light from the big open double doors.

Haskell had not shown up that morning to work on the booth. That wasn’t surprising; there would be no admiring crowd gathered. But Johnny Stanko had; he had swiftly worked to lay a coat of weatherproof varnish over the whole booth. He was about to slip away, but Jaymie stopped the big fellow with one hand and said, “Thanks so much, Johnny. Your help was unexpected, but appreciated.”

He ducked his head, his face turning red. “It’s nothin’. Cynthia always says to look for opportunities to help. When you find one, she said, you can be an angel to someone.”

Jaymie smiled, her eyes welling. The fellow had had trouble in his life, and tragedy and sorrow, but he was determined to do better, stay sober, and work hard. Cynthia had been a good influence on him, but Jaymie knew that Johnny was an immeasurably good influence on Cynthia, his sober buddy, too. Everyone needs someone to help, especially in Cynthia’s case, when she had had a break in her sobriety. Helping others was a vital source of pride, and gave one a full heart, and in Cynthia’s case, a powerful motive to stay sober.

“Come by the booth when it’s up and running during Dickens Days. If you like brownies or cake, I’ll be making both. On the house, for all your help.”

He ducked his head, said he’d be back whenever they wanted to move the booth, and galumphed away. Jaymie checked in with Jakob, who was positioning a fan to blow on the building to dry the varnish completely, while Bill went to speak with the fire department, to see if they could clean up and remove the debris. A fan wouldn’t normally be used. There was a risk of dust and sawdust sticking to the booth. But time was of the essence, and it was important that it dried completely.

Jaymie sauntered over to her husband. They shared a long, lingering kiss, and Jakob, leaning back against a table, pulled her closer, holding her as he stared down into her eyes, his own glowing with contentment. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I could ask the same thing.”

“Are you looking forward to the shindig tonight at the Nezers’?”

“It’ll be interesting. I saw Bella earlier, but she’s a frosty one, for sure. I don’t know why I agreed to go, but I’m curious about the inside of the house. We don’t have to stay long.”

“We’ll play it by ear. If we’re enjoying ourselves, we’ll stay. As long as you want.”

She reluctantly pulled away and bid him adieu, bought some things at the Emporium, then headed to her SUV. Becca and Kevin were coming back to Queensville that afternoon after a few weeks in Canada, so she had done the shopping for them—bread, milk, coffee, and other staples. She drove over, stocked the fridge in the house, then headed out the back door. Remembering just in time that she needed it, she cut a few holly branches from her shrubs for the cider booth and her diorama, then headed home.

She took Hoppy for a long walk, cutting some long wild grasses for a dry arrangement in a vase, then spent some time updating her food blog, ruminating on Christmas treats her grandmother made when Jaymie was a kid. Hoppy and Lilibet napped in a basket near the fireplace. She looked up to the clock; it was a quarter to four. She wrapped herself in a thick cable-knit cardigan and headed outside, letting Hoppy out with her to snoop and sniff. He had been used to a measure of freedom in town, in their fenced backyard, but the only time he got outside now was with one of them. Too many coyotes in the country!

Along the front of the cabin was a bench, some planters brimming with chrysanthemums and two Adirondack chairs. She sat down in one, setting the Melody Heath novel, The Duke’s Delicious Distraction, a Regency historical with a duke as the hero and an earl’s daughter masquerading as a baker’s apprentice as the heroine, on the arm. Melody was an old friend and housemate from university. Jaymie sipped her hot tea and listened to the breeze rustle through the bare branches and pine trees across the road, and sniffed the air: poplar leaves, fresh earth, and the scent of her tea, like honey. It was peaceful. Occasionally a car zoomed past kicking up a cloud of road dust, and sometimes someone waved, but for the most part it was quiet.

She needed these moments of solitude. Her adult life had been spent living mostly alone except for a brief period when she lived with Joel. It had been a big adjustment having a husband and child. A half hour of alone time, just herself, a mug of tea and a book centered her the way yoga or meditation did others. Maybe it was her form of meditation. She wasn’t a shy person . . . never had been. But when she went to events, or was in a crowd, sometimes she needed to disconnect for a few minutes.

She read for a while, losing track of time, and then suddenly heard a roar in the distance. She looked up, traveling through the years from 1815 England to present-day Michigan in seconds, as she set the book aside. Hoppy, who was sniffing a clump of weeds along the fence line, heard the heavy noise, too. He wobbled and bounced to Jaymie’s feet and sat, watching, his ears pricked up as he stared down the road expectantly. Funny how quickly he had learned that sound, and what it meant. The big yellow school bus roared down the road and stopped in front of the cabin, the brakes squealing and the door opener screeching. Jocie clambered down, jumping the last step, as Hoppy went mad with excitement, yipping and whirling in wobbly circles. He loved his little girl fiercely, which warmed Jaymie to the core of her being. Jocie turned to wave goodbye to her friends, then ran toward the cabin, throwing her book bag down in the dirt, hugging Jaymie, and running off to dash about with Hoppy for a few minutes.

Jaymie’s cell phone buzzed and she picked it up, laughing as she answered. It was Becca, back in the Queensville house, and they went through the usual check-in after the couple had been in Canada for a couple of weeks. Jaymie asked about their grandmother, who was doing well, and business, which was also doing well. Becca thanked Jaymie for filling the fridge, and asked about Jocie. Jaymie described the scene going on in front of her.

“So, are you two free tonight?” Becca asked.

“Well, actually, it’s one of those rare occasions when we have plans,” Jaymie said, telling her sister all about what had been going on, including the cider booth arson.

“Holy mackerel, excitement in our little village!”

“I know. Big-time excitement.” She went on to relate the party invitation, that Valetta and Heidi were attending as well, and . . . “Valetta is bringing Brock. Ugh!”

“He’s her brother, little sis. You know he’s gotten better the last year or so.”

“I suppose,” Jaymie said, rolling her eyes.

“I heard that! I heard you rolling your eyes.”

Jaymie laughed. “So . . . we’re busy tonight. In fact, as soon as Jakob gets home we have to take Jocie over to her Oma and Opa’s to stay. I hope they don’t mind. We’ve been doing that a lot lately, and I know they have an evening alone tonight. Sonya and Helmut and their brood are off to visit her relatives this weekend since they couldn’t get there at Thanksgiving.”

“How about Kevin and I come over and babysit on premises?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I was going to suggest we come over tonight anyway, you know, bring snacks and a kid-friendly movie. So instead we’ll have the kidlet all to ourselves!”

Jaymie swiftly agreed and hung up, then told Jocie the change in plans. She called her mother-in-law, had a bit of a chat, got a recipe, and told her the change in plans too. Renate was good with that, and hung up. “Time to go in, Jocie. Dinner and bath, then Aunt Becca and Uncle Kevin are going to be here.”

 

• • •

 

Wolf whistle.

Jaymie whirled to see Jakob staring at her as she did last-minute primps in the mirror, before they were off to the party in Queensville.

“You look . . . wow,” he said softly, appreciatively.

She smiled and felt her cheeks burn as she smoothed the dress down over her hips. She curtseyed. “Why, thank you, sir. Heidi picked it out.” She turned back to the mirror and adjusted her updo, a simple twist fixed in place using the holly-bejeweled comb Becca had brought back from a vintage shop in Scotland on their delayed honeymoon.

“Remind me to thank Heidi,” he said, coming up behind her and encircling her in his arms, squeezing. His kissed her ear, his beard tickling her neck. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous, but you must admit, this does play to your attributes.” He stared at her in the mirror and winked.

Jaymie always thought of warm colors like rust, crimson and gold for autumn, but on their last shopping trip Heidi had insisted that for her coloring she should consider blues and greens even in fall, so together they had chosen a long soft dress in swirling shades of blue and teal. With delicate filigree silver jewelry she thought it looked pretty good. When she bought it she hadn’t been sure what she’d wear it for, but this was the perfect occasion.

“You look very handsome yourself,” Jaymie murmured, turning in his arms, hands on his shoulders.

Jakob wore a navy sport jacket over a taupe sweater and oxford shirt, with taupe chinos and boots. His dark hair glistened, as did his beard, and he smelled delicious. She didn’t particularly want to leave right that moment, but they had to.

Becca and Kevin had arrived an hour ago, so they were well-entrenched. Jaymie and Jakob descended to find Becca on the floor with Jocie pasting pictures into a scrapbook, as Hoppy sat watching and waggling his butt, hoping for attention. Kevin sat on the sofa with Lilibet stretched out on his lap and flicked through the TV stations.

“Woo-hoo, you two look good!” Becca said, her glasses reflecting the light from the TV screen.

Jaymie pulled on a long-sleeved black faux fur shrug while Jakob got his coat. Becca clambered to her feet and helped Jaymie pin a glittering diamante snowflake brooch on the shrug’s shoulder, making it glitter festively in the firelight. Jocie was entranced and wanted a picture with her mom right that minute. Jaymie obliged, of course, and then it became a picture-taking session with Jaymie and Jakob both, embracing by the hearth.

It took another fifteen minutes before they got out of the house, and another twenty to get into Queensville, but finally they pulled up by the Nezer home, which was ablaze with light in every window. Jaymie found a parking space wedged between another SUV and a Lincoln. “I’m nervous,” she admitted. She unlocked her seat belt, threw her keys in her evening bag and took in a deep breath. “We don’t normally go to fancy functions. What if I’m not dressed right? What if I’m mmph—”

Her protestations were stopped by a big kiss. Jakob, leaning across the center console, held her face in one hand. “You look gorgeous. I am going to be the envy of every man there, and you could never be inappropriate.”

“You messed up my lipstick,” she said breathlessly, and turned on the vanity light to fix it. She glanced at him. “And thank you. Every woman there is going to envy me.”

Hand in hand they followed a sidewalk from the parking lane by the house and strolled up toward the front door. Jaymie paused. Bella had done wonders to the exterior in the couple of months she had had access to the house. It had been painted a soft dove gray, with details and trim picked out in a creamy white. It was an unusual design, though in the Queen Anne style. A central square tower rose above the hipped roof, which was tiled in gray slate accented by lines of darker gray.

Some Queen Anne homes had a wide wraparound porch, but the Nezer home did not, just a square porch covered by a roof supported by double pillars. The big double doors had crimson glass sidelights, as well as a transom-style window over the door with the street number in silver gothic scroll. Lace curtains filtered the interior light through the windows in the lovely wood doors.

They approached the steps, but Jaymie paused and released Jakob’s hand when she heard a rustling in the snowball bushes to the left of the porch. She bent over and peered into them. “Hello? Who’s there?” she said. The rustling continued for a moment, then stopped.

“Probably a raccoon,” Jakob offered.

“I suppose.”

She was about to continue in, but the rustling began again and she glanced over once more, seeing a flash of white. “Wait!” She stared and saw the face of a woman, with white hair, in a dark cloak. Jaymie opened her mouth to say something but the woman smiled, mischievously, and put one finger to her mouth in a hushing gesture.

“What is it?” Jakob asked.

The woman held out a piece of paper to Jaymie. She reflexively reached out and took it.

“What’s going on?”

“Let’s go in,” Jaymie said as the woman rustled away. Jakob frowned and looked into her eyes, his own dark and shadowed in the dim porch light, but she shook her head, troubled and unsure. “It’s nothing. Let’s go!”

What had the woman handed her? It would take longer to explain than it took for it to happen. She’d tell him later. She slipped the paper into her clutch as they entered.

A young woman in a black skirt and black vest over a crisp white shirt took their jackets; a rudimentary cloak room had been set up in one corner of the den or office, racks of coats visible beyond the open pocket doors. She pointed them to the right, to a big parlor accessed by another set of pocket doors. Through the doorway they could see an enormous Christmas tree set up in the far corner. It was decorated with gold and silver faux mercury lights and tinsel, with a glittering star on top. There was a gorgeous wood fireplace along the far wall, which was painted a deep wine color, and atop the mantel was a snowy scene of a white ceramic village, with mercury glass globes interspersed.

Jaymie took Jakob’s offered arm and they strolled through, nodding to those they knew and smiling at those they didn’t. Quite a few people had already arrived. Haskell and Petty were there with a group of folks, laughing and chatting, drinks in hand. Haskell, who must have set aside his quarrel with Evan Nezer, was handsome as always in a dark gray suit, and Petty was lovely and sparkling in a floral damask skirt and silk blouse, in tones of rose and gold.

Haskell summoned them with a wave of his hand. “Pastor Inkerman, this is Jaymie and Jakob Müller,” he said as they joined the small group, and Petty gave her a brief hug and a smile. “Our little Jaymie is quite the author too, you know, as well as being a docent at our historic home; she writes for our local paper, a column called ‘Vintage Eats.’”

Jaymie held her breath, sure that the pastor would sneer at a food columnist being called an author.

Instead he smiled and nodded. “I have read your column! Quite entertaining. Not that I’m a cook at all. But I have heard of you, young lady. You’ve solved a few crimes around town.” He gave a mock look of alarm, one hand on his chest. “Should I be wary of you?”

“Not unless you’ve killed someone lately.”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter but looked discomposed.

“Jaymie, behave yourself, now!” Haskell said. “Pastor Vaughan Inkerman has written and published a wonderful book entitled Living Your Best Life Through Scripture.”

The man was slight and pale, with a lovely wave of dirty blonde hair across his forehead. He shook Jakob’s outstretched hand, then bowed over hers. “Haskell is too kind. Critics were rather savage, unfortunately.” He colored slightly, a peachy pink mantling over his cheeks. “One, a particularly vicious reviewer nicknamed Book Bookman, called it a Panglossian wonder.”

Jaymie traded puzzled looks with Jakob.

“Pangloss was a character in Candide,” the pastor explained. “He was a foolish optimist.”

She had read Candide in university, but the reference had passed her by. It had been more than a few years since she had read the work and it clearly had not made a lasting impression. “I’d rather be a foolish optimist than a clever cynic,” Jaymie said with a slight smile.

Inkerman’s eyes welled. “Thank you, young lady. You are both lovely and wise beyond your years.”

Jaymie spotted Valetta and Heidi lingering in the next room by an enormous marble-topped mirrored Eastlake sideboard that held platters of treats and an exquisite china tea set. She tugged Jakob away with a parting smile and nod. “He seems an emotional sort,” she murmured to her husband.

“Maybe all writers are?” he said.

“Not in my experience! My friend Melody—you know, the romance author—is as cynical and hard-nosed as they come. She says she can turn on the romantic spout and turn it off just as easily.”

“She married?”

Jaymie waggled her hand, thinking of Melody’s hurried and now regretted wedding of a couple of years before. “Kinda-sorta.”

“Lucky guy.”

She chuckled. “He’s no prize, let me tell you.” They strolled over to her friends and were enveloped in hugs. Heidi was gorgeous as always, in a slim-fitting long-sleeved black sheath dress topped by a silver shrug. Valetta, on the other hand, eschewed the fashionable lack of color embraced by others. She had chosen a long red velvet skirt and with it wore a green satin blouse, topped by a Christmas cardigan bedazzled with jacquard squares depicting holiday scenes picked out in sequins and tinsel thread.

“You’re . . . breathtaking,” Jaymie said, examining Val’s outfit.

“Is it too much?” Val asked, eyes wide behind the glinting lenses of her glasses. It was hard to discern, but she may have been kidding.

“Not at all,” Jaymie said warmly. “You’re gloriously festive.” She fished in her bag and took out her little digital camera. “You two, stand together,” she told Val and Heidi. She snapped a shot, and then took photos of the treat trays and sideboard. Val insisted that she take one of Jaymie and Jakob by the fireplace and the Christmas tree. They threaded through the convivial, chattering crowd and took photos of each other, giggling and chatting.

Brock joined them, glass of scotch in one hand. With a drink or two under his belt he was more bearable, friendly and happy, rather than sarcastic and judgmental. As he buttonholed Jakob, Jaymie took a glass of wine from a server and drifted away from the two men, ambling off to tour the house with her friends.

The main floor was all public rooms, the parlor and dining room on one side, then across the central hall a sitting room that led through another set of pocket doors to a library, all full of small groups of people clustered everywhere, their chatter drowning out the seasonal orchestral music that floated through the house on some kind of central sound system. The fireplace in the sitting room was topped by a gorgeous Eastlake-style mantelpiece, with family photos and mementoes. A large carved wood frame held a photo of Evan and Ben together, the handsome, dark-haired son behind his distinguished-looking father’s chair, hand on his shoulder, family ring displayed prominently. It looked very new, within the last few weeks, perhaps. There was another, matching, of Evan and lovely Bella, her beauty shimmering in the perfect professional lighting. It was a good-looking family. No photo of the ex, of course; no older photos at all.

They kept circling back to the dining room and snacking as they went, fighting through a crowd when some new delicacy had been served. But as well as the sideboard buffet and trays of food on the ten-foot-long table in the dining room, waitstaff dressed in black and white circulated with plates of hors d’oeuvres. So far she had seen neither her host nor hostess. Odd. As she speared a mini meatball with a tiny sword from a tray on the table, having lost contact with Heidi and Valetta for the moment, Jaymie edged close to a group composed of an older woman, very august and staid, with two middle-aged men. Pastor Inkerman approached them. It appeared that he was well known to them, as they greeted him by name.

“Good to see you, Vaughan,” the older woman said affectionately, hugging him and exchanging air kisses. “You look . . . happier.”

“Somewhat, Hazel,” he said. “I’m still wounded. It’s never easy when you’re criticized and don’t know where the disparagement is coming from. Listen, I’ve been told recently that that horrible reviewer, Book Bookman, is a local man. Who could it be, do you think? I’ve wracked my brain. Who would be so set on destroying me that he’d trash my book in such a manner?”

“Vaughan, you must let go of this,” the woman said, glancing over at the other two men and raising her heavily penciled brows. “Carter, Andy, please reassure him. Among many positive reviews, one negative should not hold so much sway.”

“If only it were just one criticism, but this Bookman fellow . . . he has stalked me online and continues to do so! Anywhere I blog or write, he follows and . . . what is it called? Trolling? He trolls me, makes disparaging comments, sarcastic jabs.” There was a plaintive edge to his voice. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it. I wish he’d leave me alone.”

The woman exchanged looks once more with the two men. There was something knowing in her gaze, something that arrested Jaymie’s attention. “Vaughan, whoever this unpleasant individual is, I have faith you will deal with him with grace and humility.” She turned once more to the other two men. “Isn’t that so, gentlemen? We must keep our college pastor happy, mustn’t we?”

The woman knew something, Jaymie was sure of it. She stole a look, as the two fellows obediently burbled about how the reviewer was probably some outsider, someone who didn’t understand, someone who . . . they trailed off, watching their host approach. Inkerman examined them, brow furrowed, lips pursed. When he saw where their gazes were directed he whirled around to find Evan Nezer standing behind him, a derisive expression on his face.

“Having a bad day, Inkerman?” he said, his lip curled.

The pastor’s face told Jaymie as clearly as if he’d said it aloud. In that moment he knew, and so did Jaymie: Nezer was the offending book reviewer, Book Bookman.