Seven

 

Inkerman’s expressive face blotched with red. He set down his drink, his hand shaking so much it sloshed, and fled the group. Jaymie watched as he bumped into Valetta, apologized, and moved on. Val joined her, looking over her shoulder. “What was that all about?”

Jaymie explained.

“Poor guy,” Valetta murmured. “What a thing to find out at a party, that your host is your mortal enemy! Let’s look around some more. Where’s Heidi?”

Heidi was nowhere to be found and Jakob had been absorbed into a group of men near the Christmas tree, as had Brock, so the two friends went along on their own. Valetta, even snoopier than Jaymie, led the way. At the end of the hall was a dark space and a door. They pushed it open and peeked. There was a dowdier area beyond the front of the house, which explained why there was no lighting in this end of the hall. Bella Nezer had no doubt had her hands full getting the rest of the house ready for the party. She couldn’t do everything in two months. This space had peeling wallpaper, stained with moisture, and chipped floor tiles.

But there were no signs commanding them to keep out and the door was unlocked. Jaymie and Val passed through the heavy door. They noticed a small washroom, which Val used. Then it was Jaymie’s turn. She did her business, then opened her clutch to get her lipstick. There was the note the woman in the bushes had handed her. She held it to the light, too weak for a bathroom, but designed to hide the tiny room’s flaws.

The note was folded over and taped, and on one side was written Ben in a large scrawl. So, this was for Benjamin Nezer? Her curiosity, always an itch under her skin, tickled. What did it say? Why hand it to her?

She ran her lipstick over her lips, smacked them together in the mirror, then pushed the note back in her clutch and exited the bathroom. She’d have to find Ben, at some point, and give it to him. Valetta was peeking into the room beyond. Jaymie joined her at the door. It was the kitchen, bustling with caterers who whipped trays of hors d’oeuvres out of the oven and filled platters that servers awaited as they chattered among themselves.

It was a huge, open room with sparse furnishings and centered by a large high worktable. The housekeeper—Jaymie assumed it was Erla Fancombe, anyway—leaned with one hand on the counter as she faced Finn Fancombe, her expression tense. “You should not be here tonight, you know that!” Her son hung his head, looking more like he was ten than the thirty-something-year-old he must be.

“Jaymie Leighton!” gasped a familiar voice nearby.

She whirled. “Austin Calhoun! What are you doing here?”

Austin was an acquaintance who had helped her sneak into a business building a year ago when she was trying to solve a murder. They hugged and she introduced Valetta as her partner in crime, the woman with whom she had gotten locked into that office building. He giggled. When she stood back she could see his plump form was clothed in the black and white of waitstaff. “You’re working?”

He rolled his eyes. “I need money for the holidays. My mom wants the latest iPhone and I’m a poor student now.”

“Student?”

“I’ve decided to do something with my life,” he said, beaming. “At least that’s what my mom says.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s relieved I’ve got a goal. With my sparkling personality and ready wit I decided hospitality is a natural, so I’m taking the hotel management course at WC.”

“Oh, WC!”

“It’s cheap,” he said with a shrug. “And local. I moved back in with my mom to save money.”

“You will be a natural,” she agreed. It was a perfect fit for him. He loved people and could talk to anyone.

“I’m still working at the call center part-time, but when the listing was posted on the college work board for this party I signed up. Extra moolah for Christmas.”

“I was surprised to see waitstaff, actually,” Jaymie said, her attention still straying to Finn and his mother, arguing by the back door. Valetta had moved into the kitchen and snatched a treat from a tray, bouncing it back and forth between her hands until it cooled, then popping it into her mouth as a caterer gave her a censorious look. “Most parties in this town are there’s the buffet; help yourself.”

“That would never do for Mrs. Bella Nezer,” Austin said with an edge to his tone, as two of his fellow waiters pushed past through the door. “When she arrives at the college to check up on her hubby she always makes such a production out of it, swanning through campus, Louboutin shoes, Hermes handbag and matching scarf wound into a turban over her hair like Joan freaking Crawford. The students call her La Bella.”

Erla Fancombe glanced over, perhaps hearing her employer’s name. Finn smiled woozily at Jaymie and shrugged. What was he doing there on the night of a party? Surely Evan didn’t know about this. His mother handed him a bag and pushed him toward the back door, then sent an unfriendly look at Jaymie and Val.

“Austin, you’d best get one of those trays and get going before the shrimp goes off,” she said loudly, her gruff voice tinged with impatience. She bent over and pulled a heavy roasting pan out of the oven and easily hoisted it up onto the counter. “Mr. Nezer doesn’t wait for anyone. Get a move on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, rolling his eyes at Jaymie.

“We’ll follow you back to the front of the house,” Val said.

As they pushed through the door to the front hall another server was on her way through, returning to the kitchen with an empty platter for more food.

“Jacklyn?” Jaymie exclaimed.

It was indeed Jacklyn Marley, dressed in black and white. Her face burned red and she grimaced. “Yeah, well, I’m getting money out of the bastard one way or another,” she joked as she shouldered past them.

“That is odd,” Jaymie said as she followed Val.

“Why?”

“Why would she work here, given her animosity toward Evan Nezer? And why would Bella hire her, knowing their history? That makes zero sense.”

Val knew Jacklyn as a new tenant of the apartment above the Emporium, but she didn’t know the whole story. As Austin waved and mouthed toodles, then headed back toward a crowd of people with his platter of shrimp, Jaymie strolled with Val and told her friend about Jacklyn’s bitterness toward Nezer for his failure to pay her, as his ghostwriter, what she was owed.

“What does he write?” Valetta asked.

“A couple of fiction books back in the eighties, according to Jacklyn, but his more recent work that she ghosted, I haven’t a clue.”

“Ladies! I’m so happy you both could come,” Bella Nezer said, drifting over to them. She was, of course, gorgeous, in an off-the-shoulder body-hugging black gown, ruched across the stomach, and with a glittering halter of rhinestones that held it up, as the front plunged deeply, displaying her impressive décolletage. She emanated a cloud of good wine and expensive cologne. “Where is your little blonde friend, Heidi whatever her name is?”

Jaymie exchanged a look with Val. That was the most passive-aggressive way to describe Heidi Lockland imaginable. Her last name could not be difficult to remember, as it was the same as Haskell Lockland, whom she seemed to remember quite well.

“She’s around here somewhere,” Jaymie said. “Lovely house, Bella. You’ve done an amazing job with it in such a short time. I don’t know how you did it!”

“It wasn’t easy. We haven’t even been here long enough to have our mail delivered properly, for heaven’s sake! Evan has had it all routed through the college until we’re settled properly. Très incommode,” she said with an airy wave of one elegant hand. “But my dear husband wanted to host all his friends from the college and community, so I knew I had to make it happen. He’s busy with all his work, and teaching, and writing. It’s the least I can do to provide a lovely home for him.”

There was no answer to that and fortunately she appeared to need none, drifting off to graciously speak with others, touching a shoulder, smiling beneficently, beaming at her husband, air-kissing the college president.

Austin, Jacklyn, and the other waitstaff, probably students at WC as well, threaded through the crowd offering a variety of appetizers and hors d’oeuvres: crostini, smoked salmon bites, stuffed endive, rumaki, and a dozen more were endlessly supplied from the caterers. Sparkling wine flowed, punch was available, a traditional wassail, as Bella announced, to celebrate the season. Funny, Jaymie thought, when all Nezer seemed to want to do was end the festive Dickens Days, where such traditions as fellowship, wassail and gathering with friends were celebrated.

Jakob, standing with Brock, looked across the room to her and winked. She winked back and rolled her eyes. Jacklyn Marley sailed past with a tray of tiny quiches and she snagged two, handing one to Valetta, who stood next to her chatting to a stranger.

Her question about the host’s writing was soon to be answered. Nezer, at the heart of a circle of folks, including the college president and her minions, held forth about the meaning of Christmas, and how if they were going to be true to it and their society, they needed to embrace the commercial aspect. It was only through unfettered buying that the lower orders could be gainfully employed and thus lifted out of the poverty in which they toiled. “If our society would toughen up a little, those who are laying around on food stamps would be forced to get off their butts and work for a living. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise?” Inkerman said, standing up from his sofa seat behind the group. “Otherwise where should we put them? Your book The Literary Economics of Charles Dickens says the Victorians had the right idea and Dickens was full of bunkum for painting such a grim picture of the prisons and workhouses. Am I right?”

Nezer swiveled his gaze and stared at the pastor over the top of his glasses. He raised his wineglass in a salute. “So you’ve read it. I hope you found it illuminating.”

“I found it horrible,” the pastor said. “Rife with heartless judgment and void of compassion.”

“Interesting. I suppose you have to say poppycock like that, being a man of God—” Nezer paused and glanced around, as if waiting for a laugh, even though he hadn’t said anything particularly funny. A couple of the college colleagues politely tittered. “But I stand by that one hundred percent, Inkerman. False hope of some miraculous deliverance isn’t doing them any justice. Not like that ‘best of all possible worlds’ crap you peddle.”

“Now we get to the heart of it!” Inkerman howled, jabbing his finger at his host as he pushed through the crowd toward him. “Now I understand you, why you haunt me and torment me wherever I go. You’re a heartless contrarian who can’t bear anyone having a different opinion than you.”

Jaymie noticed Jacklyn Marley standing close, transfixed, her platter drooping dangerously, the tiny quiches sliding to one side, then looked back to the two men, edging closer and closer. Jakob was paying attention too, from his spot near the front window, where he stood with a drink in his hand chatting with Nezer’s son, Benjamin.

“You’re just angry your book was panned as pie-in-the-sky silliness.” Nezer turned away.

“By you, you . . . you sour, faded, hack Scrooge! You’re jealous of Dickens because besides being a brilliant author and devoted humanitarian, he had a heart. You wouldn’t know what that was if someone ripped out the vital organ dripping with blood and slapped you with it!” That violent and evocative image was followed by a physical attack of sorts. Inkerman threw his drink at Nezer’s back. It splashed his expensive suit, the silk blotching in drips.

Nezer whirled, shards of ice scattering around him. “Why you wheedling little pathetic excuse for a writer.” The words grated from between gritted teeth. From coolly amused, he had transformed into fuming fury, his skin red above his trim beard. “Get out of my house. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Your wife invited me, you louse.” Inkerman set his empty glass aside. “She, at least, is graceful and gracious. How she ended up married to a doddering old has-been like you I’ll never understand.”

“Has-been? Me?” Nezer bellowed. “Look who’s talking! A never-was. Your book was so bad that when I reviewed it, I had to hold back the worst points.” He looked around at the crowd gathered. “Yes, that’s right, folks. No one would have believed its awfulness until they read it for themselves!” He turned again and glared at the pastor. “I probably did you a favor. At least I steered a few people away from it. Readers are laughing at the drivel you’ve spewed.”

Inkerman launched himself at Nezer, but the older man held his ground and grabbed the pastor, whose blonde locks were in his eyes, interfering with his vision. “Give it up, Inkerman,” he said, shaking him. “You know you only wrote that piece of crap to try to hide your past affairs.”

The pastor roared in anger and swiped ineffectually at Nezer, who was certainly stronger than he looked. Jakob calmly set his drink aside as people started to shout and gabble. He pushed through the crowd, stepping between the two men and physically separating them with his bulk, grabbing a handful of fabric from each man’s shirt. “Gentlemen, let’s remember where we are,” he said gruffly, lasering stern looks at each of them. “And that there are ladies present.”

Inkerman retreated first, his pale face blotched in red spots of color that stretched in blobs down his neck. He swept his fair hair back off his forehead, gasping and wheezing in distress. Nezer, with a sneer still on his face, shifted his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again and stood his ground, even as Jakob kept his big hand on the professor’s chest.

“This poor fellow is suffering humiliation over the devastating failure of his book in comparison to mine,” Nezer said.

“I’d rather have a tender heart than one of stone,” Inkerman said, his eyes welling and his voice breaking. “I’ll be leaving now.” He stepped back, settled his rumpled shirt, turned and bowed to his hostess, who stood, hand over her mouth in mortification at the quarrel. “Bella, beauteous lady, radiant morning star, my most sincere apologies to you, and my condolences on wedding the worst human being I have ever met in my life.” He threw a disgusted look over his shoulder. “I’ll take my coat now and leave.”

Alone, he walked to the door, where the coat check attendant retrieved an elegant black wool trench, handing it to him.

Nezer chuckled. “Bravo, little peacock,” he said loudly as the pastor exited. “He handled that better than I expected.” Some of his friends, including the college president’s minions, chuckled. He nabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by Jacklyn Marley.

Jaymie blanched; given how Jacklyn felt about him, he’d better hope there was no poison in that glass. He didn’t appear to notice who held the tray, but then, that was the fate of most servers, as she knew from serving tea at their annual Tea With the Queen event.

“You’re a spiteful old gasbag, aren’t you,” Brock said, his voice slurring as he stumbled toward his host.

“Oh, crap,” Valetta mumbled, setting her drink aside and dusting quiche crumbs from her fingers.

“I beg your pardon?” Nezer said, turning slowly. “Nibley, are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

“Then you ought to shut up. Or I’ll tell everyone what I really think of your skills as a real estate agent.”

“Darn. How do we stop this?” Val asked, almost vibrating in agitation next to Jaymie.

Jakob, nearby, put his hand on Brock’s arm. But the fellow shook it off. “You tell ’em whatever you want, Nezer, about me. Everyone here may kowtow to you, but every single one of ’em knows exactly what you are. Poisonous old Farty McFartpants.”

“Wow, he’s been hanging out with his kids too much,” Jaymie said, stifling a laugh.

“Tell me about it. Farty McFartpants is Will’s favorite insult this week,” Valetta said about her nephew, Brock’s son. “And lately Brock has been calling me ‘dude’ a lot.”

Jaymie laughed out loud, and Brock turned with a sideways smile. He straightened, pounded his chest, and said, “I’m a good real estate agent.” He nodded drunkenly and turned back to Nezer. “But you were a lousy client,” he said, stabbing the air with a finger as, increasingly, those around them hid smiles.

“Lousy client? How can the customer be a lousy client?” Nezer appeared aghast. “Without clients you would be nowhere. Your client is your boss!”

“Hey, it happens. A lousy client is one who won’t take good advice even when it’s spoon-fed to him. No harm, no foul.” The situation was defused as Brock ambled off and collapsed on a sofa in the space Inkerman had vacated. “Farty McFartpants,” he mumbled with a drunken giggle.

As Brock snoozed, the party continued on a more subdued track. Nezer spent much of the next while huddled with the president and her two colleagues. Hazel Belcher appeared to be taking him to task. Heidi reappeared, shadowed closely by Benjamin Nezer, seemingly infatuated with her. She decided to call it a night early, and after hugs all around, headed out.

Jaymie sighed in exasperation after her friend left. The night was not going as she had anticipated. She had thought that after charming Nezer with her witty banter, she could subtly ask him to discard his animosity toward Bill Waterman and allow the historical society an easement on his property to anchor the cider booth. It had always been a long shot, given that she suspected he was the one who set the cider booth afire, but you don’t get anything in life without asking, as she was learning. However . . . nothing had gone according to plan.

Valetta was soon yawning, too. “I’m taking my dear brother home,” she said, motioning to Brock, who was snoring on the sofa, his head on a bemused young woman’s shoulder. “My feet are killing me, and Denver is waiting up.” She hauled her brother to his feet, slung his arm over her shoulder, and departed.

Jaymie leaned her head on Jakob’s shoulder. “Can we escape too, do you think?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Together they found Bella Nezer by the front window, looking out as her party went on all around her, albeit somewhat muted.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Jakob said.

“And thank you for a lovely evening. You’ve done a wonderful job with the house in such short order!” Jaymie said, taking her hand and shaking it.

She sighed and her eyes looked slightly teary as she squeezed Jaymie’s hand. “I had hoped inviting Pastor Inkerman would be a good move to get the two men to behave politely to each other, but their animosity is too deeply held, I suppose. Poor Vaughn loathes Evan.”

“Did you know that your husband is the reviewer who slammed Pastor Inkerman’s book so badly?” Jaymie asked.

“I did not,” she said indignantly. “My husband is a very private person and his work is his own. I don’t interfere.” She gazed earnestly into Jaymie’s eyes. “You know, Evan means well, he just has strong opinions.”

“So their animosity predates the pastor knowing your husband was the negative reviewer?”

Bella sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Both work at the college, you know, and . . . they have philosophical differences. I knew they didn’t see eye to eye, but I never would have expected it to end with such . . . animosity.” Her gaze hardened and her lips thinned. “I’m a little shocked at Pastor Inkerman, in truth. That was not Evan’s doing, that altercation.”

It sounded like Bella was defending her husband, which was understandable, but Jaymie felt there was bad behavior on both sides. Nezer was a name-calling taunter, and surely had inspired his share of fights before the pastor threw a drink at him. Bella had certainly invited and employed a whole host of folks who were antagonized by Nezer . . . Inkerman, Brock, Jacklyn Marley . . . even herself, who had had her own run-in with Nezer. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing and moved on, deciding on diplomacy over honesty in that moment. “We’ll be heading out now. Can’t let the babysitter wait up too late. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Good night,” she said, grabbing Jaymie’s hand. “I truly hope you all have a lovely Dickens Days festival. I’m so excited about it, you know. Living here, I feel we’ll be a part of it, right in the thick of things! I look forward to strolling the town and enjoying the amenities.”

Jaymie was speechless, and beside her she knew Jakob was struggling not to laugh. How could Bella say that, given her husband’s intent to ruin it with one lawsuit after another? Jaymie even considered Nezer the prime suspect in torching the cider booth, so deeply did his animosity toward their lovely little town tradition appear to run.

Bella returned to her husband’s dwindling group and stepped between him and the president, who were having an animated disagreement. Life with him must be a tornado of stomping out the fires he created with his fractious personality and divisive behavior. She almost pitied the woman.

“I need to use the little girl’s room first, Jakob,” Jaymie said and headed to the back hall. The guests had been pointed to an elaborate washroom up the stairs, but she preferred the closer option Val had used earlier.

She did what she had to do, then thought she’d stop and thank Erla for all her hard work. She ducked into the kitchen. Austin and the other servers were gone, and there were only two of the catering staff left, now that food service was done. They were packing their equipment. But Erla was busy; Pastor Inkerman must have circled the house and entered the kitchen, perhaps with the same mission she had of thanking the housekeeper for all of her labor. Inkerman stood near the back door speaking with Erla Fancombe most earnestly, his fair hair gleaming in the light from the pendants that hung over the counter.

Jaymie decided not to interfere and headed back to join Jakob. He was chatting with the coat checker, who must be another of the hired college students. She was by the office door, but it was closed.

“We’d like our coats,” Jaymie said.

Jakob handed the young woman the numbered ticket. “It’s a dark gray parka and a faux fur cape or . . . what do you call it?” he asked, turning to Jaymie.

“It’s a shrug,” she said to the young woman. “A black faux fur shrug with a diamante snowflake pin on the shoulder. That and the dark gray parka ought to be together.”

The girl looked embarrassed. She looked over her shoulder, shifting from foot to foot, folding the coat check ticket in her hands, looking nervous. “Uh, can you wait a minute?”

Jaymie glanced at the closed door. “Why? What’s going on?”

“N-nothing, it’s just . . . it’s . . .” She shook her head. “I . . . I can’t . . .” She shrugged helplessly, a frightened look in her blue eyes.

“We’ll get them ourselves,” Jaymie said, deeply weary and unwilling to wait a moment longer. She slipped around her, pushed open the office door and marched over to the rack, with Jakob following. “Why have a coat check girl if . . .” She stopped and turned to look at a weird glow behind the desk. Someone was there, in the shadows, she could hear them tapping away. She walked across the room to find Jacklyn Marley huddled behind Nezer’s desk, the computer screen illuminating her pale face.

“What are you—”

“Shh!” Jacklyn said, looking past Jaymie to the open door.

“What are you doing, Jacklyn?” Jaymie whispered. “This is crazy.”

Jacklyn glared up at Jaymie, the white reflected glow making eerie long shadows under her eyes. “That butthole is hiding revenue from me. He’s claiming the book I helped him write hasn’t made any money,” she muttered. “If I can find royalty payments on his computer it’ll make it worth my while to sue him. But I have to have info first, to know I’ll win. He’s a maniac jerk about lawsuits! I need that money.”

“Can’t you ask the publishing company?”

“Shhh!” She bobbed up, looking toward the door, which had been closed by the coat checker. “My agreement is with Evan. The publishing company won’t even return my calls or answer my emails. Please, Jaymie, go away. Pretend you didn’t see this!”

“You’ve got that poor girl standing guard for you,” Jaymie whispered, pointing toward the door. “She’s scared to death. What is she, a student at WC?”

Jacklyn nodded.

“And you’ve got her standing guard for you? That’s not right. Any second Nezer could come here and she’d be in big trouble.”

“Look, I’m almost done.” She shoved a flash drive into the USB and tapped the keyboard. She looked back up at Jaymie. “Get out and let me finish! I’m almost there. Please!”

Conflicted, Jaymie shared a look with Jakob. “What do you think?”

He shook his head. “Look, I don’t know the whole story here and you do,” he murmured, putting his arm over her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “This is your call, Jaymie. We’ll do what you think best. No harm, no foul either way.”

She stared down at Jacklyn, then back at the door. Sighing heavily, she said to her husband, “Let’s get our coats and leave.”

“I owe you!” Jacklyn softly called after her.

“No, you don’t,” Jaymie said, her tone firm, as Jakob found their coats. “I won’t cover for you if Bella or Evan comes in here this moment.”

Jakob helped her on with her shrug and they slipped out the door, closing it behind them, and headed past the coat checker, whose face was red and blotchy, her eyes full of fear.

“I didn’t . . . poor Jacklyn . . . I mean, like, Mr. Nezer was so mean to her,” she stammered. “And she was such a good teacher, and I . . .” She shrugged.

“I didn’t know she taught at WC.”

“Yeah. She was . . . cool. Creative writing and English classics.”

“But she no longer teaches there? Why?”

“Well, uh . . .” The young woman glanced around, then leaned forward. “Mr. Nezer got her fired, I heard.”

“Why?”

The girl shrugged.

“Enough,” Jacklyn hissed, slipping out of the room as she pocketed the flash drive. “Good night, Jaymie. Thanks again.” She stalked down the hallway toward the kitchen as another couple came toward them to retrieve their coats.

Jaymie took Jakob’s arm. “Look out for yourself,” she whispered to the student. She nodded with a tentative smile as she turned to her new customers and took their coat check ticket.

Jaymie and Jakob stepped out the front door. It was a frigid night, crisp and clean-scented, a hint of snow on the breeze. A few flakes fluttered down, but there were also some stars winking in the sky. Jaymie felt a calmness descend over her and she breathed in deeply. “I think I was tense most of the time we were there,” she whispered, strolling down the path arm in arm with Jakob. “Maybe that’s why I feel so relieved now.”

“Why tense?”

She handed Jakob the keys so he could drive. “I’m not sure, but . . . the altercation between Nezer and Pastor Inkerman, for one, and Brock getting drunk and insulting the host.”

“But neither of those were your doing.”

“I know, I know. I guess I tend to worry about those things too much.” She had a moment of clarity. “Maybe that’s why functions have always been difficult for me. I usually need a few minutes in the middle to decompress.”

“That’s why you head off to examine the bookshelves at any house party we’ve attended.”

“Well, partly, but mostly because I think you can tell a lot about a person by what books they read.”

They circled to where their car was parked, along the lane near the back of the house. As Jakob unlocked and got in the driver’s side, Jaymie glanced over to the back door and saw Finn Fancombe arguing with his mother again, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp still air.

“Mom, I need to talk to Professor Nezer. He has to write me that letter! I’m going to lose everything if he doesn’t. The president would listen to him, I know she would. She as good as told me that all that was holding me back from re-admission was him.”

“Let me handle it, Finn,” Erla Fancombe said, grabbing his shoulder as he tried to slip past her into the house. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

“You promise, Mom? You promise?”

“I promise, Finn. But you have to get out of here before Mr. or Mrs. Nezer sees you. Tonight’s not the night.”

“But the president is still in there. I saw her through the window. The prof could solve it all tonight, if he wanted to.”

“Not tonight.”

“It’s his fault in the first place! I hate him so much,” he said, his voice rising in anger, sounding on the edge of tears. “I hate that I have to beg him for help. It’s not right!”

“Jaymie, you coming?” Jakob called out the SUV window.

Fascinated by people as always, and wanting to hear the rest of the conversation, Jaymie waved her hand, shushing him, and continued listening, lingering in the shadows of a large blue spruce that perfumed the cold air around her.

“Finn, go!” Erla said, trying to push her son away from the back door. “Let me handle this. I can’t help you if the professor gets mad again. That’s what happened in the first place. You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t made him angry by complaining he’d used your work.”

“I know, I know! My effin’ bad. I didn’t think the stupid jerk would be such a big baby. He should have said he’d used my stuff accidentally and we’d all have moved on. But noooo, he has to take it out on me. He’s such a frickin’ liar!”

“You’ve known him your whole life, you should know what he’s like,” she said, her voice carrying through the cold, crisp air.

“Yeah, I’ve known him my whole life. I know enough to know he’s a cheat and a jerk.”

“Son, you shut your mouth right now and go away,” the woman said, a hysterical edge to her voice. “You know if you put a foot wrong, or say something about him, he’ll come back on you twice as hard. Look what happened to poor Mrs. Sarah.”

“Okay, but Mom, this has to happen if I’m going to be able to restart my master’s. I’ve sunk everything into this. I can’t get a job, even, with a black mark on my academic record. Please help me!”

“You know I will, hon. Now go!”

“But you and I need to talk. Prof Nezer said he has something to tell me tonight, and I can’t—”

“Go now!” She looked over her shoulder. “I have work to do. Go. Trust me.”

He turned and fled into the darkness, down a path toward the back of the property. Erla retreated inside.

“Poor guy,” Jaymie said as she got in and closed the door behind her.

“What’s that all about?” Jakob asked as he started the SUV.

As they drove home Jaymie explained about Finn Fancombe, the plagiarism scandal, and his subsequent ouster from the studious halls of Wolverhampton College. She told Jakob how Finn had been in the kitchen earlier in the night, and had returned to plague his mother. It was weighing on his mind, and he clearly wanted to clear the air with the college president, who was so close, and yet so far away.

“Given everything you’ve told me, I’d bet that Nezer has some crooked angle on the whole thing.”

Jaymie frowned as they pulled up to the cabin. “I never thought about that, but I wonder. The paper reported on it. I wonder what Nan’s take was on the whole thing? That was a month ago or so.”

“Let’s not borrow trouble, as your grandmother says. It is time for bed, my dearly beloved,” Jakob said as he got out and raced around to open her door for her. “Milady,” he said with a deep bow and flourish.

Jaymie chuckled and took his arm. Jakob wasn’t often playful, but when he was, it was a delight. Dearly beloved, indeed. She was a lucky woman.