A knock on his office door made Bob jump.
Joy poked her head around the door. “That was Sharon Benedict. She said Pete’s been trying to access the site where you guys did your shopping and it’s not coming up.”
Sharon knew. Joy knew. That meant soon all the women would know, and all their men would lynch him. If only he hadn’t gotten cocky and offered to write that piece for the paper. If only he’d done some shopping somewhere else. If only he had more time. If only the earth would open up and swallow him.
“Bob?” Joy prompted.
He nodded his head. “I know. I just tried it. I think it’s a scam.”
“Oh, no,” she said, horrified.
“Oh, yes. Every man in Holly is going to be out tomorrow looking for presents, including me. I’ll be lucky if I come home alive.”
He braced for her to rub it in, to say something like he deserved this. But, bless her, she didn’t. Instead she came to him, draped her arms over his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “My poor guy. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal that he’d played Pied Piper to every man in Holly and led them all into shopping ruin. “Can you get me Benedict’s number?” he asked. “Also, give me the Frederickses’ number. I’d better give Glen the bad news.”
She nodded and left the room. A couple of minutes later she was back. “This isn’t your fault,” she told him. Who was she kidding? Not him.
It was no fun making the calls.
“What are you going to do about it?” Pete wanted to know.
Like he was the Lone Ranger or something and he was supposed to go track down these crooks? “I’ll call the cops first thing in the morning to report it. But it’s an Internet fraud and there’s probably nothing they can do.”
“Well, somebody must handle that stuff,” Pete said. “The FBI, the CIA.”
“Whoever handles it, they won’t be able to get our presents for us in time. Every man in town who used that site is going to have to hit the stores, so if you know anybody who did, spread the word. And tell them to keep an eye on their credit card statements.”
“You think these guys could be involved in identity theft or something?” Pete asked.
“I don’t know. At the least they could try and have fun with our credit card numbers.”
“This sucks,” Pete said before he hung up.
There was an understatement. Who knew what horrible fallout they’d have to deal with from this Internet debacle? And then there was the shopping. Bob hated crowds. He always got his present for Joy well before Christmas. Now he’d be out there with all the other last-minute losers, scrambling for something to put under the tree for not only his immediate family, but the in-laws and friends they exchanged presents with. And he’d have to get something for his folks and his brother’s family, get it all in the mail, then call and tell everyone the presents would be arriving late. All this because he’d had to be the world’s biggest know-it-all. Well, he’d lost that title. Now he was the world’s biggest sucker.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was that he was going to lose the whole day, valuable time that he needed to finish up the surprise he’d dreamed up for Joy a couple of days ago. It was the perfect present, something that would mean a lot to her, and it was costing him something to do it. Now, with this latest development, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish on time. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d live to do it. A sudden vision of an angry mob of disappointed male shoppers pouncing on him made Bob shudder.
Never mind that, he told himself. Do this all one step at a time and take first things first. Get to work on Joy’s present. Maybe if he stayed up all night he might get it done in time.
The all-nighter lasted until some time before midnight, when Bob fell asleep in his office. He woke up with his head on his desk at two. Two in the morning and he wasn’t done. The day ahead loomed before him like a death sentence. He rubbed his stiff neck and stumbled off to bed, hoping he’d be able to finish in the morning.
When he finally woke up he was alone in the bed. The scent of yeast and cinnamon drifted in to him. Joy had already been up baking cinnamon rolls. That meant it was late morning. Oh, no!
He sat up in a panic and looked at the bedside clock. It was 10:00 A.M. already—10:00 A.M. Christmas Eve day, and he had a daunting to-do list. He had to call the cops and confess he’d been suckered, then he had to rush out and shop, a misadventure that would be followed by a frantic effort to finish Joy’s present. He looked out the bedroom window. The streets were an icy, snowy mess. That made the morning complete.
He fumbled into sweats and his favorite sweatshirt and ran downstairs to find some coffee. He rushed past the tree so fast he almost didn’t see the pile of presents under it. Whoa, what was this? He put on the brakes and bent over to look at the tags on the packages.
Some were from their son to each of them, and he found Joy’s present to him under there, too. But the rest, the ones for Melia and her family and for Bobby, were signed from Joy and him. It was a miracle.
He hurried on into the kitchen to find Joy and Bobby seated at the table, sharing coffee and cinnamon rolls. The presents were under the tree and Joy was baking again. She was all dolled up in her favorite Christmas sweater and had a pair of goofy-looking Santa earrings dangling from her ears. The old Joy was back. It was as if the past few horrible weeks hadn’t happened.
She smiled at Bob and opened her mouth to speak, but Bobby was ahead of her. “Hey Dad, that Web site you shopped at made the news,” he said, and held up the paper.
Bob took it and read the headline. PERSONAL SHOPPER RIPS OFF HASSLED HUSBANDS. Back to ugly reality. Rosemary Charles was in fine form today. Who had contacted her, and when? At this point, what did it matter?
He read on. “Men all over Holly are having difficulty contacting the personal shopping site recommended by Bob Robertson, the mystery writer whose wife started the Christmas strike.” Bob felt an invisible steel band tightening around his forehead. There he was in black and white, the spoiler of Christmas. “Detective Ben Samuels from the Holly Police Department warns that this site could be a scam. Any readers who have used it should contact their credit card company immediately.”
Bob shook his head and dropped the paper on the table. He needed that coffee right now. The phone rang just as he was pouring himself a cup and he looked at it warily. It probably wasn’t Santa calling to see if he had been a good boy.
“I wouldn’t answer that,” Joy warned him. “We’ve already had six calls from hassled husbands.”
“Great,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I put a message on the answering machine explaining how outraged you are and offering your regrets that so many men, just like you, were taken in. And I said the police are working on it.”
“Are they?” Bob asked.
“I got the ball rolling,” she said.
Bob leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, hon. I probably owe you my life for that.”
“Oh, and I also offered free copies of your latest book to anyone who sends their mailing address to your Web site. I figured that would smooth most ruffled feathers, and you might pick up some new readers.”
Brilliant. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “So, is it helping?”
“For the most part.”
“What does that mean?”
“Some of the callers want to rip off your head,” Bobby elaborated. “I don’t know what their problem is, though. It’s not like the credit card companies are going to make them pay, since it’s fraud.”
But their wives were going to make them pay, since it was a major screwup, a screwup for which Bob was responsible. Nobody would forget that. The steel band got tighter. Bob took a fortifying gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue in the process.
“I bet there’s going to be a lot of guys running around looking for presents today,” Bobby predicted.
“Speaking of presents, where did the ones under the tree come from?” Bob asked as he put a fat cinnamon roll on his plate. “Obviously not from my personal shopper.”
“Well, not the one on that Web site, anyway,” Joy said.
“You.”
“I had a few things tucked away,” she said modestly.
She’d saved him. His wife was a true heroine.
“So I guess you don’t have to go out after all,” Bobby said. “You lucked out, Dad. You can hide out till the storm blows over.”
He lucked out the day he married Joy. “But I’ve still got to get presents for the families,” he said, and slumped against the kitchen counter. All those great things he’d ordered wouldn’t be arriving on anyone’s doorstep.
“I called your mom and your brother and explained,” Joy said. “You’ve got a few days’ grace. And I already had something tucked away for Lonnie and Al and Suki and her husband.”
“Friends?”
“Done.”
“I don’t have to go out?”
She shook her head. “All you have to do is get ready for tonight.”
Thank God. At least he’d be spared a public beating.
“Speaking of getting ready, I’m going to get a shower,” Bobby said, and left the two of them alone.
Bob sat down at the table opposite his wife. “You saved me.” It was a funny way to conduct a strike. And, cocky bastard that he’d been, he hadn’t deserved saving.
She nodded. “Yep. I did.”
“I would have gone out and gotten the presents, you know.”
“I know. But there was no need for me to get spiteful about the whole thing. It wasn’t like you didn’t try, after all.”
He took a moment to digest that. It didn’t digest well. He took a bite of his cinnamon roll and it was like homecoming for his taste buds. “These are good.”
“No, they’re fabulous,” she corrected him.
“Just like you.”
His words didn’t have much impact. She simply murmured a polite thank-you and took another sip of her coffee.
The unspoken question hung in the air between them for several minutes. Bob finally voiced it. “So you’re no longer on strike?” he asked casually.
She shrugged. “I gave up.”
Those words didn’t make Bob as happy as they should have. In fact, they pierced deeper than anything she’d said and done so far this season. “So, I’m hopeless, is that it?” Please don’t say yes.
Her smile was tinged with sadness. He was a disappointment to her. All his earlier anger and resentment had been the feelings of a fool. No man should put that look in his wife’s eyes.
“You’re not hopeless,” she said, “just different. I guess we’ll always be two very different people. Anyway, everything doesn’t always have to be done my way.” Her gaze dropped to her coffee cup. “I’ve been kind of a brat, expecting you to leave your comfort zone just so I could be happy. I always figured that deep down you really enjoyed the celebrations, that you just needed a nudge. I guess it’s hard for me to imagine anyone not wanting to live like my family.”
Like everyone would want to be stuck in a never-ending holiday version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding with mobs of people coming and going all the time? What was it about large, loud families that made them think everyone wanted to be just like them? Bob wisely didn’t ask. Why his wife thought the way she did didn’t really matter. She was who she was and he loved her. And he wanted her to be happy.
“I should be glad you even come to my family’s,” she continued. “And I’ll settle for any kind of party you want. I just don’t want us to grow apart. I don’t want to experience important events by myself. I don’t want you to draw away.”
She was regarding him earnestly now, waiting for him to assure her that he wouldn’t.
There was nothing he would like better than to pull free of her obstreperous family, to never again have his house full of noisy people during the holidays. If he could he’d whisk her off to a desert island every holiday season where he could have her all to himself, where she would laugh and sparkle for him alone. But the best setting for all that sparkle was a social one. He’d always known it. She lived for her friends, her family, her parties. And this time of year was her time. Anyway, he’d been wrong to be so stubborn and vindictive when she was trying desperately to make a point. She spent eleven months of the year working on making his life good, doing everything from cooking his favorite food to running interference for him at book signings and chatting up the customers. Surely, for one month he could try to do whatever made her happy.
“I’m not going to,” he promised, and patted her hand. “Don’t give up on me yet. I can be taught.” And one thing he’d learned was that having a few holiday traditions was good for the soul. He smiled at the memory of his adventures in the kitchen with Melia, and of how funny Hank and Linda had looked at his party in their crazy costumes.
Now Joy was smiling, too, looking at him with tears in her eyes, and he leaned across the table to kiss her. She met him halfway.
Just then Bobby sauntered back into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a sweater, his hair still damp. “Hey, you two. Get a room.”
Bob chuckled and went to pour himself some more coffee. Everything was right with the world again. At least for him. He hoped the other men in Holly were doing okay.
Glen had already gotten into a tug-of-war at Toy Town over the last Shopping Babe doll. She came complete with shopping cart, purse, and charge card, and after the costume screwup at the school concert, getting her was penance he had to do. He’d won, but the goon had actually threatened to sue.
Now he’d nearly gotten into it at Hollyworld with a guy wearing a baseball cap and a kill-you look over the last chick flick DVD on the shelf in the movie section until he realized it was Pete Benedict.
“Go ahead,” Glen said, letting go of the prize. It was a consolation prize, anyway. He’d been everywhere looking for the Smoothiccino maker Laura had wanted and he’d come up empty.
“Sorry, man,” Pete said. “But I had to come through with something good.”
“I don’t know,” Glen said, scratching his head. “I don’t think a movie’s gonna do it.”
“The movie’s part of the package. I’m getting chocolates and bath shit, too.”
Another husband of one of the strikers walked by just then, his jaw clenched around an unlit pipe. Jack Carter, Glen remembered. “Sorry,” he said. “The bath department’s cleaned out. I got the last bottle.”
“Try getting a gift certificate to that nail place,” Glen advised. “That’s what I did.”
“You’d better get over there fast,” Carter said. “I was there half an hour ago, and it’s a zoo.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t think it would be so hard to get a few presents would you? And so expensive. My God, I had no idea.”
Pete nodded. “Things go a lot better with my wife in charge.”
There was an understatement, thought Glen.
“I better get going,” Pete said. Then, clutching the DVD, he hurried off down the aisle.
From two aisles over, Glen could hear raised voices. “Hey, where do you get off reaching over my shoulder?”
“You didn’t want it.”
“I was looking at it.”
“Well, too bad. Piss or get off the pot.”
A new shopper had joined Glen on the movie aisle. He saw the empty shelf and burst into tears. Glen decided it was time to go. Anyway, he still had to hit the hardware store and the grocery store.
The hardware store! Maybe, just maybe, Hank would have a Smoothiccino maker.
Don’t get your hopes up, Glen told himself. About the only food-related merchandise he’d seen in Hank’s were George Foreman grilling machines and barbecues. But it was Christmas, and maybe he’d brought in some extra stuff for his hassled customers whose wives were on strike.
Hank’s was a zoo, too, with guys lined up for gift certificates. Glen decided a gift certificate would be great for his father-in-law. But first, the small-appliance aisle.
Hank did have a few more items than usual: a mixer, a blender. And, whoa, what was that? It sure looked like the Smoothiccino machine Laura had been drooling over in that catalog. Glen picked up his pace. Yes, it was. One left.
And then he saw the guy coming from the opposite end of the aisle. Oh, no. He couldn’t be. No sense taking any chances. Glen broke into a trot. The guy saw him and bolted for the machine.
“Not that one!” Glen made a flying leap, but he was too late. The other guy was hunched over it, hugging it like a quarterback would a football.
“I saw that first,” Glen snarled.
“Get away or I’ll call the cops,” the guy threatened.
Glen resorted to pleading. “Come on, man. I really need that.”
“What? You think I don’t? I’ve looked all over town. I’ve even been to the mall. This is the last one left anywhere. I’m going to be sleeping on the couch if I don’t come home with this.” He hauled it off the shelf and hurried away like a troll with treasure.
“Yeah, well I hope it breaks,” Glen called after him.
The guy gave him the one-fingered salute and scurried around the end of the aisle.
Glen leaned his head on the shelf and tried to collect himself. Nobody liked to see a grown man cry.
“Okay, shake it off, pull yourself together,” he muttered. It wasn’t like he’d gotten Laura nothing. He’d get a rain check for the Smoothiccino maker and slip it into the envelope along with the certificate for the nail place and hope that would be good enough. Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?
At least he could get his father-in-law’s present here. He joined the long line at the checkout counter. The Smoothiccino maker thief was standing three guys up, clinging to his prize. I hope you choke on the first frappé you drink, Glen thought sourly as Hank rang up the purchase. He gave the guy a dirty look as he passed. The creep pretended not to see.
Finally, Glen reached the counter. “I need a twenty-five dollar gift certificate.”
“I’m out,” Hank said.
“How can you be out of gift certificates?” Glen demanded.
“You saw the line. All you last-minute idiots cleaned me out.”
“Whoever heard of being out of gift certificates,” Glen said.
Hank scowled. He grabbed a steno tablet, flipped to a fresh page and started writing. Then he ripped off the paper and pushed it across the counter. “Okay. That’ll be twenty-five bucks.”
Glen looked at the green, lined paper with its barely legible pencil scrawl. “Oh, yeah. That’s impressive.”
“It’ll work. Do you want it or not?”
“No, and maybe you should stock up for the holidays better. You’re out of Smoothiccino makers, too.”
Hank glared at him. “Yeah, well I get a lot of demand for those in a hardware store. What do I look like, anyway, Linens and Things? You clowns are lucky I even had one. Go get a hammer. I got plenty of those left.”
“My father-in-law has three hammers already. What else have you got?”
Hank threw an arm in the direction of the shelves, stocked with a thinning selection of merchandise. “Go look for yourself.”
Like he had time. Glen walked up and down the aisles, trying to make a decision. He couldn’t. He hadn’t been gifted with the shopping gene, and by now his brain simply refused to work. He finally grabbed some drill bits and marched back to the counter. He spotted a can of nuts and grabbed that, too.
“Big spender,” Hank observed.
“Yeah, well, I’d have been a bigger spender if you had any gift certificates left,” Glen growled.
He got to the grocery store in time to get the second-to-last turkey in the meat section. The thing was still frozen. How long did it take to cook a frozen turkey, anyway? Hopefully, not more than four hours. That was all he had left until the family arrived. Not for the first time he found himself wishing he hadn’t missed the deadline for getting the precooked turkey. He snagged a couple of boxes of instant spuds, some boxed stuffing, and the last two cans of gravy. Then he ended his shopping spree with dinner rolls and frozen peas. His mom had promised to bring cookies, so he was okay for dessert.
The checkout lines were long, mostly guys looking frazzled or ready to punch someone. Glen got behind one with a cart piled high with frozen turkey dinners. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
“Good idea,” he said to the guy. “Any of those left?”
“I got the last ones,” the guy said, and put a protective hand over the pile.
You’d think it was the end of the world, Glen thought, looking around. That was when he saw the guy with six cartons of eggnog in his cart.
Shit. Drinks! Glen pulled out of line and raced to the milk cooler, just as another shopper with a cart full of eggnog was taking the last one. What a hog!
“Hey, do you mind if I have that one?” Glen demanded.
“Sorry, pal,” said his fellow shopper. “I’m buying for the neighbors.”
Yeah, right, Glen thought bitterly. He settled for a gallon of chocolate milk, then went to the pop aisle. It had been picked nearly clean. He barely beat another frantic shopper to the last bottle of diet grapefruit, then wheeled back to the checkout.
The lines stretched halfway to the North Pole, and they were all moving at the speed of a glacier. He still had to get home, put this turkey in the oven, wrap presents, set the table, then make all the rest of the dinner stuff. Oh, God, just let me live through tonight. Please. I’ll do anything. Anything.
Finally back home, he hauled the presents up to the bedroom, brought in the groceries, and stuck the turkey in a pan in the oven. Then he went in search of wrapping paper, turning his face from the clock as he passed. The last thing he needed was to be reminded that everyone would arrive in less than three hours.
Bob was at the computer, trying to finish his surprise when Joy stuck her head around the door. “It’s time to go.”
He was so close. Another hour and he’d have it. “I’m not quite ready. Can we be a little late?”
“I guess,” she said, disappointment plain in her voice.
“I just need a little longer.”
“Bob, you can write all you want in just a couple of days.”
“Not this. It’s something I need to finish.” He smiled at her over his shoulder.
She sighed and shut the door.
Half an hour later she was back again. “We really need to go.”
“Okay,” he said, typing frantically. “You and Bobby go ahead. Take your car. I’ll meet you there.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely. I’m a changed man. Remember?”
“Okay.” Her tone of voice said she was determined to believe him even though the evidence was shaky.
“You won’t be sorry,” he promised, and returned to his fever pitch writing pace.
“So, where’s Dad?” Bobby asked as Joy came down the hall.
“Working.”
“Working? On what?”
“On some kind of surprise.” She went to the kitchen and fetched the fruit salad, then rejoined her son. “Let’s go. Dad will show up later.”
Bobby picked up the shopping bag of presents that had been set out to go to Al’s and followed her out the door. “Maybe he’s going to stay home and hide out so nobody gives him a bad time about the Internet scam.”
“If he said he’s coming, he’ll come,” Joy said.
They got to her big brother’s front porch just as he threw open the front door. “Ho, ho, ho,” he greeted them. He peered around Joy. “Where’s Bob?”
“He’s coming a little late,” she said, and hurried past him.
She had the same response for everyone who asked, and everyone drew his or her own conclusions and dropped the subject.
Except for Joy’s sister-in-law, Lonnie. “But what’s he doing?”
Joy got busy fussing with a platter of cheese. “I’m not sure. He’s working on some kind of surprise.”
“A surprise, huh?” Lonnie looked skeptical.
“He’ll be here,” Joy insisted. But what was taking him so long? She heard a shriek down in the party room that sounded like Melia—probably getting teased by one of her cousins. The party was in full swing and no Bob yet. Joy resisted a sudden urge to grab her cell phone and call him and ask when he was going to get there.
They ate appetizers. Bob didn’t show. They ate dinner. Bob still didn’t show.
“Maybe he’s had a heart attack or something,” Melia worried.
“He’d better have at least broken his leg,” Lonnie muttered, and put an arm around Joy.
“He’ll be here,” Joy said. Come on, Bob. Please.
The women cleared the tables, and the holiday cookies and candy made their appearance and still no Bob.
Joy sat at a table, drinking coffee with her sisters-in-law. Lonnie pushed a cookie platter toward her. “Come on, Joy. You can’t drink coffee without a cookie to go with it.”
Joy was having trouble even drinking the coffee. It landed like acid in her stomach. Maybe something had happened. Maybe he’d gotten in a car accident. Maybe she would just get the cell and give him a quick buzz.
“Well, look who’s here,” cried Susan, smiling.
Joy turned and saw Bob walking through the doorway, a pile of typed pages in his arms. What on earth?
Al came up to Bob and gave him a friendly slap on the back. “We’ve got plenty of food left.”
“What’s that?” called one of the nephews. “Your latest book?”
Bob shook his head. “Nope, it’s your entertainment for the night.”
Susan left the table and went over for a closer look. “What have you got for us?”
“The first annual Johnson murder mystery,” Bob told her, and handed her a few papers. “This is your part.”
She took the pages and read, “The Cooking of Joy.” She grinned over at Joy. “Ha! I like it.”
Others had gathered around him now, and Bob began passing out papers.
“Hey,” crowed Melia, “I’m Bonita Bon-Bon, the most beautiful woman in Holly.”
Al was looking at his. “Big Al Capone?”
Bob shrugged.
“So how does this work?” Al asked.
Joy watched in amazement as Bob explained to everyone what to do. They all had five minutes to find some kind of makeshift costume, then they’d meet again and read through their parts. Everyone had a clue on his or her pages that no one else had. They’d have to pool their clues and use their powers of deduction to find which one of them was the murderer.
With yelps and shrieks everyone scattered, lifting table runners and tree decorations to make their costumes. And Bob stood there in the middle of the chaos, smiling at Joy. Then he said, “Surprise.”
And she burst into tears.