Eleven

A mechanical screech filled the air. I grimaced and covered my ears. Bonnie tugged her hat down to her chin and glared in the direction of the speaker. The sound stopped then started again, a pulsating static that gripped onto your spine and tensed your muscles. The few shoppers in the venue stopped milling about and looked up.

Grace’s voice floated throughout the building. “Good morning shoppers. The organizers have made the decision to end the craft show at noon. The Governor plans on declaring a state of emergency around 4 p.m. today, and we want our vendors to have plenty of time to pack up and arrive home before the worst of the storm hits.”

Shoppers scattered, not toward the exits but to the booths. The woman nearest me had a telltale gleam in her eyes. Sales. The bargaining was about to get intense.

Bonnie sent a sympathetic glance in my direction. She picked up the stack of decals she had branded with her nails. “How much are these?”

“Those are all the same.”

“They’ll make great office gifts.” She smiled at me. Kindly.

The mood shift baffled me. What was she up to? I fought back a frown. She was a customer. Not my dead ex-husband’s wife who thought I had something to do with his murder. I fixed my customer smile on my face and quickly calculated the total on my phone and then knocked off a few dollars for a bulk sale. “Twenty-five dollars.”

She pointed at my sign. “That’s less than the price states. I can afford to pay full price.”

I drew in a deep breath to steady my temper, nearly choking on cloying flower perfume scent. “I’m not insulting you, Bonnie. I usually give a discount for bulk items.”

“I think a business should be paid what they’re worth.” Bonnie took a small wallet out of the coat of her white coat. “I’m able to afford it.”

“Fine.” I told her the full price total. “Cash or credit?”

“Cash. I hate using credit cards.” She handed me two twenties.

“It’s easier to keep records with a card.” I gave her change.

“Exactly.” She pocketed the money and twirled around, tossing the end of her twelve-foot-long scarf. It trailed down her back as she glided away.

“Would you take twenty for the tree?” A woman was hunched over, her hand possessively around the base of one of the wooden trees. Her blue wool trench coat puddled around her feet. Her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her heavy, bold makeup choices distorted her features rather than enhanced them.

I swallowed down my ire. Half off. I’d have been willing to bargain if she asked for a reasonable discount. Now, I’d rather lug the thing through the snow than offer a price break. “No. It’s forty.”

“Do you really want to take it home?” Her eyes gleamed behind her tinted glasses, making it hard to tell her natural eye color. “You do have a lot of them still available. Isn’t it better to sell one?”

Not at that price. “I have other craft shows coming up. It takes a long time to perfect those trees.”

She stood, eyebrows raised. “Perfect them? Really? There’s one that has a slight blemish on it. Would you sell that one at a discount?”

“Which one?” I had inspected the trees before I loaded, and when unloading, and hadn’t noticed any damage. Then again, it had been dark during the removal of the trees and finding Samuel dead had thrown me off. I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed something. I choked back a cough. The heavy flower scent lingered in the area. Someone was generous in the perfume department, or the essential oil vendor was scenting the air with lilac, trying to sell some of her product. She should’ve chosen pine, matched the Christmas theme better.

“The one with the red splotch on the tip of the tree.” The woman walked into the booth and tapped the spot. “I noticed it yesterday.”

Yet, she hadn’t mentioned it. This was one of the bargain hunters who browsed and took notes on Saturday, then asked for large discounts on Sunday on imperfections they saw or created. Last year, an attendee was caught scratching up vendors items, or snipping threads, and then requesting discounts on the “inferior” items, as a favor to the poor crafter who hadn’t noticed the flaw before putting the product out for sale. It was why the organizers had requested all vendors keep track of discounts for damaged items, noting them on a sheet that was included in our packet. They wanted to investigate if vandalism was becoming a huge problem at the show. Some people were willing to do anything to get a deal.

“That’s interesting.” I kept my voice in neutral. “I didn’t use any red paint when I was making the trees.”

“It’s right here.” She pointed, using her cherry red painted nail, at some pin point size drops of red on the top of the tree.

I wondered if there was any red nail polish in her purse. For touch-up purposes. “Let me take a closer look at it.” I leaned forward, first trying to sneak a peek into her large bag, then examining the spot she indicated. There were four tiny spots on it. I frowned. It was a blackish-red color.

The color swirled in my mind. Red. Blood. My stomach clenched. How in the world—I slammed the question down. Not now. I’d think about it later. If I contemplated too much now, I’d either break down crying or throw up all over the customer’s tennis shoes.

She poked me in the shoulder. “Do I get a discount or not? I don’t have that long to shop.”

“That’s my tree, Merry Christmas. I put it in the back. Please don’t sell it.” Abraham’s beseeching voice came from behind me.

Abraham was shifting from foot to foot, biting his lip. “Mom told me to remind you that you promised a tree. I got first pick. That is the one I want.” He pushed past the woman to guard his tree. He covered the spot with his large hand.

I frowned. Abraham had declined the gift.

“I was here first. You can pick another tree.” The woman placed her hand on top of Abraham’s. He flinched and jerked back, nearly knocking down the wine shelf behind him.

He straightened, panic clear on his face. “It’s mine. Not yours.”

“I’m discussing purchasing it with the vendor.”

“My mom told me to get it. She’s in charge. You’re not.” Abraham challenged the woman. His voice growing angry. A flicker of concern crossed the woman’s face.

I wasn’t sure what was causing Abraham’s distress, which was coming out as anger, but I needed to calm him down. I faced the woman. “I can give you a discount on one of the other trees.”

The woman shook her head. “No, I want that one.”

“A discount on an undamaged tree. Why pay full price for a tree with an obvious imperfection on it?” I asked.

“Why can’t I have it?” The woman crossed her arms and glared at me. “I was here first.”

“I did promise my helper he could have the first pick of trees. I bet he marked the trees with those dots. I just hadn’t noticed it. He’s been very busy helping his mother who’s one of the organizers.”

Abraham nodded furiously.

“I don’t care,” she said. “We were making a deal on that tree.”

“No, we weren’t.” My temper was sparking to life. “You wanted me to sell you a handcrafted wooden Christmas tree for half price, and when I said no, you then said I had a damaged tree you wanted a discount on. A tree I know for certain wasn’t marked with a red color similar to your nail polish.” My voice rose with every word. Okay, the red on the tree had a darker hue but I wanted her out of my booth and the quickest way was to offend her.

Instead of leaving, she hunkered down, planting her feet apart and jamming her fists onto her hips. Her eyes snapped with anger. “Are you saying I marked it?”

“Is there a problem here, ladies?” A security guard stood near my booth.

Abraham clenched his fists, readying to defend me. I had to stop this. Now.

“Someone has been vandalizing items to get a discount,” I said, moving in front of Abraham. If nothing else, I’d slow him down for a bit.

The woman blushed and looked away.

“I am aware of that. The organizers asked me to keep an eye out for it.” The guard crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared at the determined customer.

“My helper reminded me that I gifted him choice of tree and that was the one he picked. He must’ve marked it.”

“Yep, that’s it. I marked it. With those dots. My tree. Mom said it was okay. To say it was mine,” Abraham spoke in a halting manner.

Compassion shone on the guard’s face. “It’s a good choice.”

“I offered the customer a choice of another tree at a discount,” I said. “For some reason she wants the one that belongs to Abraham.”

The guard smiled and winked at the woman. “I’m sure there’s another tree to your liking. As a bonus, I’ll carry it to your car.”

She blushed. This time it was a slow pinkening of her cheeks rather than a rush of red. I do believe the customer was developing a crush on the kind-hearted, and rather cute, security guard.

“I’ll buy one if you carry it for me.” An elderly, gray-haired lady scurried into my booth. She wrapped a hand around the officer’s bicep and squeezed. “With those guns I bet you could carry two trees. Mine and hers.”

The guard’s cheeks turned a dusty rose. Poor guy. He came over to help and was now being pawed at by a woman old enough to be his mother.

“I have a helper. I’m sure he…” Before I offered Abraham’s service, he fled, heading for his mom.

“Not a problem,” the security guard said.

“Wonderful, because my daughter wanted one of these and there just wasn’t a way for us to carry it. Her having a broken arm.”

The insist-on-a-discount shopper rolled her eyes. She wasn’t happy that she was being ignored for the older woman. “I changed my mind.” She huffed out a breath and stomped away.

“Sorry for losing you a sale,” the older woman smiled at me. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy two of your trees since this officer can carry them. One for me, one for my daughter. There she is.” The woman raised her hand in the air. “Over here, darling girl. Have I got a surprise for you.”

A pretty blonde woman wearing skinny jeans, a long sleeve top, leather jacket and brown knee-high boots waved using her left arm. The right one was in a sling. The guard perked up when the blonde walked in our direction. He heaved up two trees, one under each arm.

The older woman beamed and gave me her credit card. “Add in two sets of decorations. I like contemporary, my daughter prefers an old-fashioned Christmas style.”

I rung up the sale.

“You handled that well.” Grace draped an arm over my shoulder. “Abraham told me people were yelling and touching him.”

“An insistent discounter spoke in a very demanding tone and placed a hand on his. He didn’t like it.”

Abraham hated being touched. He had once explained to me that it was painful to him. It was like a flame getting closer and closer to his skin the longer someone touched him, until it felt like fire was consuming him.

“I sent him with my friend to unhook our car and tow cable from our RV to attach to yours.” Grace pulled a box plastic storage container out from under the product table and started placing the decals inside. “I’m driving you home. It’s terrible out there.”

“I know how to drive.” I removed the wine glasses from the shelf, wrapping them in bubble wrap before storing them in their container.

“In two inches of snow. In an RV.” Grace removed her cell from her back pocket and sent a message.

Two inches. Already. “I’ll manage.”

“Now you don’t have to. I’ve been granted permission to leave early, but the others on the organizing team must stay here until the last vendor leaves. Don’t let it be you.”

My phone pinged. A text from Scotland. Let Grace drive.

I narrowed my eyes on Grace. “You called my son.”

“I called your ex-husband and told him to pass my number onto your children. This way they’d know someone was looking out for you.”

“I can look out for myself.”

Grace centered a soft look on me. “Oh honey, your kids adore you. They worry about you. Embrace it. It’s a blessing to have children that look out for you.”

She was right. I was lucky. Some parents had children who turned on them even when they treated their children with love and affection and provided everything they could afford. My children understood the financial limitations I had and never made me feel guilty over it or pitted their father and me against each other. My children were kind and compassionate adults who believed looking after their mom—their family—was just done. No other reason needed. It was cruel to turn down that gift.

“Thank you, Grace. I appreciate you reaching out to my family and offering your driving services.”

She laughed and hugged me. “I would’ve asked you outright, but you can be stubborn at times. You cling to your independence too much.”

“I’ll finish packing up. I can meet you at the RV when I’m done.”

“There’s not much left for me to do,” Grace said. “I do want to explain the situation to Abraham again. I have my significant other driving Abe home, but this wasn’t the original plan. You know how my son is about change.”

Abraham didn’t like it. Matter-of-fact, most people didn’t like change though were able to adjust. Abraham, on the other hand, had his whole day, if not world, thrown into chaos and it set him on a mood roller coaster for days. “Your guy can always drive me.”

“But you don’t know him. I would hate to put you in a situation that was uncomfortable,” Grace said.

“You trust him with your son. That’s enough of an endorsement for me.”

Grace crossed her arms. “You’d be perfectly fine with housing a man you don’t know in your house overnight? The accumulation could reach eight inches in some parts of the state.”

Overnight. I covered my mouth and faked a cough to hide my grimace. I wasn’t so keen on that part. “It’ll be fine.”

“Merry, I’m not going to argue with you anymore. We’re wasting precious time. I’m driving you. That’s it. You might not have any problem taking a strange man home, but I do. I’m thinking about your reputation, not your comfort. Your ex-husband was just murdered and a detective thinks you’re responsible for it. How would it look for a man to spend the night at your house?”

“It’ll be easy to explain.” My voice trembled. She was right. It wouldn’t look good and as Brett liked to say, truth was determined by the eyes of the beholder, not by—well the truth.

Grace looked directly into my eyes. Not saying a word. The twitch of her lips told me she knew I was relenting.

Santa walked over, placing a large luggage trolley in front of my space. “Abraham asked me to deliver this to you. Says his mom is driving Ebenezer and you home. Have to keep you both safe.”

Grace grinned at me. “I knew my son would come around.”

I laughed. That young man would do anything for my guinea pig. Including giving up his mom.

“I’ll bring the RV out front,” Grace said. “Easier than pushing the cart through the snow.”