Spoonful of Christmas (7 page)

—Carol Nelson

“H
OW COULD THE
gifts be stolen?” Andi demanded, circling the truck. “How did they break in?”

“Through the passenger side window,” Mike pointed. “Whoever did this smashed the glass to smithereens.”

Rachel handed her a piece of paper. “Look what he left.”

“ ‘Compliments of the Grinch,’ ”
Andi read. She spun around and glanced at the big, green, hairy Grinch cartoon painted on the front of their shop window. “He must have got the ‘Grinch’ idea from us! Kim, why didn’t you wash that off?”

“People like it, and besides, whoever vandalized the shop and stole the gifts is probably the same person.”

“A person who thinks he’s funny,” Rachel said with a frown and glanced at Stacey.

Stacey’s eyes widened at the silent accusation, but she didn’t say a word. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip.

“Did the security camera pick anything up?” Andi asked.

Mike shook his head. “The camera we installed outside the shop faces the front of the building, not the street.”

“What about Guy?” Andi looked at each of their faces. “Did you ask if he saw anything? Or if any of the other local business owners noticed anything odd?”

“No,” Kim told her. “No one saw anything.”

The full impact of the situation hit Andi with brute force, and she suddenly felt sick. “What are we going to do? I can’t let all those kids down.”

Jake closed the open doors on the back of the Cupcake Mobile. “We can start collecting new presents.”

“Ask everyone to donate again? How can I guarantee they’ll be delivered?” Andi thought of all those poor foster kids without a gift on Christmas day, and she ran and threw up in the bushes.

This was all her fault. She’d been too confident when telling Ian that no thief would be able to steal from them. Why, anyone who had overheard her would have considered it an open invitation.

I’m not going to let anyone steal away our Christmas!

Mia was right. All this holiday craziness was turning
her
into a Grinch. But only if she let it.

She drew in a deep breath, straightened, and returned to the group. “Somehow we’ve got to get gifts to the foster kids by Christmas.”

Mia looked up at her with those big blue eyes and asked, “There’s still hope?”

Andi wiped a stray tear away, gave into a quick smile, and nodded. “Yes. There’s always hope. Meantime, we’ll put out a reward—a dozen peppermint hot chocolate cupcakes to whoever helps us catch the Grinch.”

M
ONDAY MORNING,
R
ACHEL
arranged for their employees to watch over the shop while she, Andi, and Kim tried on dresses for the final fitting.

“We tried them on last week, and they were fine, Mom,” Rachel said with a smile. “But you know how I like looking at myself in the mirror.”

“ ‘Cinderella’ is conceited,” Kim teased.

Rachel laughed. “Yeah, but you know it’s true. Just wait until you get married someday.”

Kim pressed her lips together. “Yeah, can’t wait.”

Rachel slid the mass of white satin and lace over her head, but when she looked in the mirror, her eyes were drawn to something dark smudged on the skirt of her dress. She sucked in her breath. “What’s that?”

“What?” Sarah asked with a frown.

“I
do
look like Cinderella, and not in a good way! What is that on my gown?”

Andi bent down to take a peek, and when she rose, her face had paled, and her eyes warned of trouble. “Rachel—”

“Andi, what is it?”

“Cranberry walnut cupcake with creamy dark fudge.”

Rachel gasped as she picked up the material and drew it closer. “How did cupcake get on my gown?”

“It’s on my gown, too,” Andi told her, “and Kim’s.”

“This is a disaster!” Rachel shouted. “The most important day of my life, and our dresses are soiled by cupcakes?”

She shot a look at her mother. “It must be Stacey. Ever since she arrived, there’s been trouble. First the gifts were stolen out of the truck, now
this.
”

“You can’t blame your cousin,” Sarah scolded. “It could have been your grandfather. You know how he loves cupcakes.”

“And Stacey wasn’t here when the cupcake shop was vandalized,” Kim reminded her.

“This could still be her doing,” Rachel protested.

Sarah threw her hands up in the air. “It was your idea to have a party here this weekend to try to raise money to buy new gifts for the foster kids. You know we have a tiny house. You should have had the party at the cupcake shop.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment event, and you shouldn’t have had the wedding gowns hanging on the rack in the hallway.”

“Are you blaming
me
for this?”

Rachel burst into tears and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “No, I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it. But—look at me! The wedding is next week. Can we clean the dresses in time?”

Sarah looked as if she were trying not to cry. “I’ll do my best. I just hope it doesn’t stain.”

K
IM TOOK HER
paints and brushes up the hill to Astor Elementary, where Mia and Taylor went to school. The cartoon murals on the side of the building had been originally painted by local artists for the filming of the movie
Kindergarten Cop
starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. Today, she’d promised the woman in charge of its upkeep that she’d refresh the paint before more snow moved into the area.

When she rounded the corner, she discovered a boy of about eleven or twelve on a ladder painting over the brown spots on the bright, yellow giraffe.

“Looks good,” Kim said, admiring his work. “You must be Max Holloway.”

The boy turned his head to look at her and nodded.

“I’m Kimberly Burke. I was recruited to help you—although I was told you’re one of the best painters in the sixth grade.” She watched his brushstrokes and frowned, the front window of Creative Cupcakes flitting through her mind. “Do you know how to paint the Grinch?”

“I don’t paint much,” the boy said, dabbing paint on another brown dot. “I like drawing better.”

“Charcoal, pen, or pencil?”

“Pencil.”

Kim pointed to the sketchbook sticking out of the black backpack by his feet. “Can I see?”

Max climbed down the ladder, set down his brush, and wiped his hands on a white cloth. “They aren’t great.”

Kim took the sketchbook he handed her and flipped through the pages. The first image was of a pilot boat used by the Coast Guard to help navigate ships through the Columbia River.

“These are wonderful,” she said, looking at the next drawing of a wooden dock covered with sea lions. “You’ve really captured the fine details.”

She turned to the next page. There was a sketch of a woman about her age, in her mid to late twenties. The woman’s expression was sorrowful, yet it held a hint of hope. “Who’s this?”

Max looked away. “My mother.”

“Has she seen this?”

“No.”

“You should show her,” Kim encouraged. “I think she’d like to see this, Max.”

“She left.” He turned back around and met her gaze. “She promised to come back for Christmas, but she never did.”

Kim hesitated. “And your father?”

“In jail. He gave up his rights to me a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry, Max.” She didn’t know what else to say. “My mother died in a plane crash a long time ago. I do have a father, but . . . we’re not very close.”

“Were you in foster care?”

“What? Me?” Kim laughed, but then sobered when she saw his expression. “No. No, I wasn’t. Are you in foster care, Max?”

He shrugged and reached out for the sketchbook but not before she turned the page and saw the drawing of Creative Cupcakes.

“You drew a picture of my shop.” She glanced up and caught the startled look in his eyes.
Was
he the boy who painted a Grinch on their storefront window?

“My mother used to work there,” he said, taking back his sketches. “Before the place was a cupcake shop, it used to be called—”

“Zeke’s Tavern,” Kim finished. A closer look revealed his sketch was of the building before they’d added their frilly pink-and-white curtains and changed the name on the sign.

“I used to play there while she worked,” Max said softly. “Sometimes it still feels like . . . home.”

Kim stared at him, trying to imagine what his life must have been like up to this point, and something inside her clicked into place, like an answer to an unspoken question.

“I know the feeling, Max,” she said, opening a can of paint. “Everyone needs a home.”

M
AX LEANED AGAINST
the side of the building, next to the back party room door, waiting for Mia to come back. She’d already given him a coat, actually—it was a black magician’s cape—which she said might help him disappear if he really wanted to. It didn’t work, but at least it kept him warm. And in couple of minutes she’d return with a cupcake.

The side door opened, and Mia held out a white candy bird on top of whipped blue frosting. “Do you know the song about the twelve days of Christmas? Today is seven swans a swimming.”

“Awesome.” The smell of the sweet creamy icing was nothing compared to the homemade taste of the vanilla cake when he popped it into his mouth. “Must be great owning your own cupcake shop.”

Mia scrunched up her nose. “They won’t let me use the mixer or the oven. So I asked Santa for my own Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas.”

Max finished off the cupcake and threw the wrapper in the garbage can beside him on the street. “I don’t believe there is a Santa Claus.”

“Yes, there is,” Mia argued.

“I never get presents.”

“Did you tell him you moved? Maybe he doesn’t know where you live.”

“Believe me, Santa wouldn’t want to come to
my
house.”

Mia frowned. “Why not?”

Max shook his head. She was just a little girl. What did
she
know? “Well, for one thing, we don’t have cookies waiting for him; there’s no tree, no stocking—”

“I made you a stocking,” Mia said, her eyes wide. “I hung it on the wall of the shop next to mine. Santa Claus has to give you a present this year.”

“All I want is for my mom to come back.” He dug in his pocket and took out the postcard he’d kept for the last six years. “When she left, she handed me this picture of Hawaii. She told me to stay here, and she’d be back before Christmas. Then she’d take me there. But she never came back.”

“Is she in Hawaii?”

Max looked at the white sand beach and palm trees on the front of the postcard. “I don’t know.”

“My dad left and never came back.” Mia frowned again. “That made my mom cry. Then we met Jake and Taylor, and Taylor didn’t have a mom. Now my mom is her mom, and her dad is my dad, and we are a new family. Do you want a new family, Max?”

Before he could answer, voices came from inside the party room behind her.

“Oh, no,” Mia whispered. “Here they come. I have to go, Max. Bye!”

Mia ran from the door but left it open a crack. Max peered inside, careful not to let anyone see him. Two people entered the room, Jake and Mia’s mom.

“I spoke with his social worker,” Jake said, “and she confirmed that the Gilmores have filed for divorce. Mrs. Gilmore isn’t even living there, and Mr. Gilmore said she did. He lied right to my face.”

“Sounds like he just wanted his name in the paper,” Mia’s mother replied.

“Max was there,” Jake said, his voice raw, “hiding in the bushes, listening to that guy paint him as some kind of monster. I feel sorry for him, Andi. Earlier that same day, Max came up to me on the sled hill and asked if I could help find his mom—but that’s not happening.”

Mia’s mother dipped her head to catch Jake’s eye. She looked concerned. “Why not?”

Jake let out a grunt. “Max said his mother promised to come back before Christmas. He thinks she never returned. But she did.”

“And?”

“I found out she signed away her parental rights just like his drunken drifter of a father did a few years before.”

No!
Max sucked in his breath. It couldn’t be true. Jake was lying, just like his foster father had lied. They were all a bunch of liars.

Suddenly, his eyes burned, and he pulled himself away from the door. In fact, he was so filled with heat he didn’t even need the stupid cape Mia had given him. Ripping it off, he threw it to the ground and stomped on it again and again.

“What happens now?” Andi’s mother asked, her voice faint.

Max paused in his cape stomping to listen—even though Jake was a no-good-dirty-stinking liar.

“Right after Christmas he’s being placed with another family, but he’ll be in foster care until he’s eighteen.”

Max could hardly breathe, probably because of all the energy he’d used to stomp on the cape. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach squeezed tight.

He looked at the postcard still in his hand. Why had he kept this ratty thing for so long? There wasn’t even any handwriting on the back. After tearing Hawaii in two, he lifted the lid of the garbage can and threw the pieces in with the remains of his finished cupcake.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “What are you doing here?”

Not just someone, but Garth Gilmore.

A wave of weakness flooded over Max, making him dizzy. That’s probably what made it so easy for Garth to grab him by the shirt collar and haul him away.

Chapter Eight

The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.

—Burton Hillis

“S
TOLEN
AGAIN
?
” A
NDI
demanded. “How is that possible?”

She looked around the vacant shop, trying to quell the uneasiness in her stomach. The day before, Creative Cupcakes could have been mistaken for Santa’s workshop with all of the colorful new gifts, toys, candies, and little “elf” kids running around. Today, there was nothing left to suggest Christmas was only two days away—no tree, no red stockings, no mistletoe. Worse, the handmade gray bakery mouse ornament her mother had made her so many years ago had also been taken.