Mistletoe Bay (2 page)

The dog took one look at the approaching ghost and gave an earsplitting howl while tugging on the leash.

The post gave a small groan.

Coop dropped the biscuit onto the rotten floorboards and grabbed Bojangles's leash to take the tension off the post. The dog grabbed the treat and the post fell silent. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think your post is dry rotted.” He knelt down and poked the tip of his pen into the base of the post. It went in about a half inch without a problem.

“Tell me something I don't know.” Jenni frowned at the post.

“Mr. Brown, Mr. Brown!” shouted the ghost as he sprinted up the rickety steps, almost tripping on the hem of his costume. “You caught our dragon.”

“Afraid not—your mother did.” He turned to the woman standing beside him who was still studying the post. “I'm afraid I don't know your name.” She was barely five feet four inches tall, but she was cute. No way would he have placed her as the mother of three small boys. Thick nearly black hair that hung past her shoulders was pulled back into a ponytail. At one time this morning, he would guess, she had been squeaky clean and fresh as the ocean breeze. Now she looked like she had lost a battle with a shaving cream–covered dog and had just crawled out from underneath the porch.

Her most amazing feature was her eyes. One minute they looked hazel; the next he could see amber sparkles within their depths. Tucker the Terror had his mother's hair and eye color. The younger boy had reddish hair beneath his green mask and hood.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Jenni stuck out her hand, took one look at it, and quickly hid it behind her back. “Jennifer Wright, mother to these monsters and the neurotic dragon—Jenni to my friends.”

Coop smiled. The name suited her. It was plain and simple and gave you the impression of the girl next door. Of course, when he had been growing up in Sullivan, his next-door neighbor had looked nothing like Jenni. His neighbor had been a sixty-year-old lobster fisherman who was as mean as a snake and had more tattoos than a circus performer. “You don't look like your mother.”

“My mother?”

“Dorothy, the woman who usually signs for all the packages.”

Jenni gave a small, painful smile. “Dorothy is my mother-in-law. My parents passed away years ago.”

He felt like he had just kicked a puppy. “I'm truly sorry.” And he was. He could see the pain, along with the acceptance in her gaze. “I seem to be really putting my foot into my mouth this afternoon.”

“It's okay. How would you have known?” Jenni reached down and unclipped the leash from the pole. Bojangles hid behind her back and wailed when the ghost waved its arms at him.

“Tucker, stop that.” Jenni reached down and patted the dog on the head. “Can't you see you have traumatized the dog enough for one day?”

Tucker pulled the sheer curtains over his head and grinned. “What's drama . . . whatever mean?”

“Traumatized. It means you scared him.”

“I scared him shi—”

“That word coming out of your mouth, young man, better be ‘spitless.'”

Coop looked up at the weathered underside of the porch roof and tried not to laugh.

Tucker seemed to think about it for an awfully long time before groaning, “Spitless.”

“That just saved you from spending the rest of the night in your room, with no trick-or-treating.” Jenni tapped her foot on the floorboards. “Since it was a close call, and you are the one who caused all this commotion, you can help me give Bojangles a bath.”

“Mommmmmm!”

“Don't ‘Mom' me. Go put your costume on your bed and then strip down to your Skivvies. You're the one going into the tub with him and scrubbing. I'll be doing the holding.”

“But Mom, Chase says if we do it, we can say it. Besides, he knows how to spell it.” Tucker crunched up the sheer curtains and crushed them to his chest.

“I'll give you points for trying to switch the blame onto Chase instead of your usual target Corey, but it's not going to work, Tucker. You know that word is bad, and if I hear it come out of your mouth, something worse than spinach will be going into it. I'm thinking oatmeal cranberry soap.”

Tucker's eyes grew round with fear. “Yuck, oatmeal!” He turned and hurried into the house.

Corey, the green caterpillar, gave Coop a wave—“Bye, Mr. Brown”—and followed his brother through the front door.

The slamming of the wooden front door coincided with Jenni's sigh.

Coop laughed. “You just threatened your son with oatmeal?” Soap he understood. When he had been eight, he had had the misfortune of being in the same room where his mother's sewing circle had been meeting when he repeated a phrase his mean old neighbor had said nearly every day of his life. To this day he still couldn't use Ivory soap.

“Tucker would take soap as a challenge. I already know he despises oatmeal.”

“At least you know his weaknesses.” He saw a stack of boxes by the front door. “Are they to go?”

“Yes.”

He picked up the first two boxes. “What are you going to do about the post?” He didn't want her to forget about it and have it come crashing down on top of someone's head.

“Put it on my list.”

She tossed out the answer a little too nonchalantly. “How long is your list?” Considering the shape the house was in, he could picture an entire notebook filled with her to-do list.

“Longer than your arm.”

He carried the boxes to the truck and came back for the rest. It really wasn't his business, and he had a route to finish. Maybe he could get her a list of handymen who were looking to make some extra cash. Shouldn't take more than twenty men and a year's worth of labor to spruce the place up. “Can I ask what Mistletoe Bay Company makes?” He usually picked up more boxes than he delivered. Whatever it was, he hoped it was profitable. His gut and trained eye were telling him the foundation beneath the house might be crumbling.

Jenni smiled. “Bath and body products, including the cranberry oatmeal soap I threatened Tucker with. If you would like, I can do up a sampler and you can give it to your wife or girlfriend. Call it free promotion and a thank-you for not running over my sons.”

“No wife, no girlfriend, and believe me, it was my pleasure not running over your sons.” Considering what his ex-girlfriend, Candace, used to spend on lotions and potions, there obviously was a market for such things. “Thanks for the offer, though. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, and thanks again.”

Coop got into his truck and slowly drove down the gravel driveway while glancing into the rearview mirror. Jenni was struggling to hold on to Bojangles. The dog obviously wanted to do his daily routine of chasing him down the driveway until Coop threw a treat to him. Coop wasn't interested in the dog.

It was the enticing woman wearing a baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and Ked sneakers whom he watched. He doubted Jenni was even thirty years old—so young to be a widow, and to be left raising three small boys. To top that, she was living with her mother-in-law. Yet when she smiled, it lit up the day and warmed the wind.

Amazing.

He shook his head as the woman, dog, and dilapidated porch disappeared from view. Wasn't his problem. So why did he keep picturing that dry-rotted post in his mind?

 

 

Jennifer Wright would have given her right arm for an hour in a hot bathtub filled with bubbles and a solid eight hours of sleep. It was a good thing no one offered the exchange. She was barely managing the business and the kids with both hands; she couldn't imagine what it would be like trying it with only one arm.

She shifted Corey in her arms and tried not to grimace when three of his caterpillar legs dug into her ribs. “That's it, boys. This is the last house.”

“But Mom,” moaned Tucker, “I still have room in my bag.”

“Your bag is big enough to hold your bicycle.” The boys had started off this evening wanting to hit every house in the town of Misty Harbor. Corey had conked out two streets ago, and she had to carry him from house to house. Chase, the wizard from the
Harry Potter
movies, had lost interest in accumulating piles of candy after the first street. He was more interested in looking at all the other kids' costumes and finding his schoolmates in the parade of kids going door-to-door.

Tucker, on the other hand, would keep ringing doorbells all night long if she let him. “You have enough candy in that bag to have you bouncing off the walls till Christmas.”

She nodded to the house directly in front of them as she put Corey back on his own two feet. “This looks like a good one. Check out all the decorations. I bet they will give out the big candy bars.” The house had orange twinkling lights strung from every eave and window. The trees were bending under the weight of lights and ghosts, and there had to be at least two dozen carved and glowing pumpkins. A life-size Frankenstein was standing on the front porch holding a lantern to light the way to the door, and eerie music was coming from somewhere.

Someone obviously had a little too much time on their hands.

She smiled as the boys made their way up to the porch. Frankenstein had made a movement the boys hadn't seen. They were about to get a surprise. Chase and Tucker were going to love it. Corey was a different matter. He was almost four and idolized his older brothers, but underneath the tough act, he was still a little boy. She moved up the driveway a little bit in case Corey got scared.

Just as Tucker was about to reach for the doorbell, Frankenstein leaned down and in a creepy deep voice said, “Welcome to my castle.”

Chase and Tucker jumped about a foot in the air, then laughed. Corey did what she'd thought he would do; he screamed, dropped his bag of candy, and sprinted off the porch right into her arms.

“Easy, hon. Remember, it's only a Halloween costume.” She hugged Corey tight for a moment. “I told you, even adults sometimes dress up for trick-or-treat night.”

Corey lifted his head from where he had buried it in her shoulder, and glanced back to the porch. Frankenstein was giving Tucker and Chase high fives. Corey relaxed slightly.

“Hey, little fellow!” bellowed the six-and-a-half-foot monster. “I didn't mean to give you that much of a fright.”

Corey stopped shaking and whispered into her ear, “Is it a man inside or a kid?”

“Sounds like a man, hon. Probably some dad who wanted to have some fun on Halloween.” She gave him another squeeze.

“Do you want me to give one of your brothers your candy bar, or do you want to come get it yourself?” asked the monster.

She whispered to Corey, “How about I go up with you?” Corey nodded his head. “Carry me.”

“Will do.” She thought her son was extremely brave to go back up there. She kept both arms around him and walked up the pathway to the porch steps.

Frankenstein bent down and picked up the bag of goodies Corey had dropped. “Here you go. Sorry for frightening you.” The monster, who had a really great lifelike mask on, looked at her. “Sorry about that. My wife warned me the little ones weren't going to like it, but I couldn't resist. I dress up every year, and the older ones love a good fright.”

“That's okay.” Chase was down on his knees examining Frankenstein's boots. Tucker was studying the mask.

“Wow!” exclaimed Tucker. “How does it move when you talk?”

“Painfully.” The man chuckled. “I forgot to shave before applying the glue.”

“Glue? Wow, we have glue at home.”

“Not that kind of glue, Tucker.” She shuddered to think what her son would glue to his face. “It's a special kind of glue made for masks and such.”

“Your mom's right, son. You have to send away for this stuff. The guys in Hollywood use it for special effects in the movies.”

“Cool.” Tucker looked duly impressed.

Chase tapped his knuckles on the huge black boots. “What are these made of?”

The man chuckled. “Plaster of paris. Made them myself. It's the same technique they use when you break your arm and they wrap it up in all that gauze. I just spray painted them black when I was done.”

“Can I touch one of your bolts?” Tucker was looking for something to stand on so he could reach the man's neck, where two bolts were sticking out on either side.

“Boys, I'm sure Mr. . . . ummmmm Frankenstein has better things to do with his evening than to have a bunch of boys poking at him.”

“Pete Kingsman, at your service, ma'am.” He bent down, and Tucker gingerly touched one of the bolts.

“It's rubber.” Tucker sounded disappointed that the man didn't have a metal rod holding his head on.

“What did you think they were going to be, real?” Mr. Kingsman laughed as Chase touched the other bolt.

“How did you get your face so green?” asked Chase.

“Are you really that tall?” asked Tucker.

“That's enough, boys. Mr. Kingsman has been more than patient with you both.” She knew if the questions kept coming eventually there would be one that would embarrass her to death.

Corey whispered into her ear, “Can I touch him?”

Mr. Kingsman must have had excellent hearing, because he laughed and said, “Sure, you can. Want to touch a bolt like your brothers did?”

Corey nodded his head as she slowly put him back on his own two feet. She watched as her son gathered up his courage and very slowly touched the bolt that appeared to be screwed into the man's neck. There was even a trail of blood leaking out of the bolt hole.

Mr. Kingsman smiled and slowly ran his finger down the front of his throat. He held up the green-tipped finger for all the boys to see the grease paint. “See, fake.”