Breaking the Mould Read online

  Ever since the heritage society had purchased a wheelchair lift to give access to the front porch, Jaymie’s elderly friend, Mrs. Stubbs, had attended every meeting. So, among others who Jaymie knew and/or recognized were Mrs. Stubbs, her cousin Miss Perry, and her cousin’s niece, Morgan Saunders. They all sat in the front row. Mrs. Bellwood and Imogene Frump sat together; Jaymie had come to think of the Bellwood/Frump team as the Snoop Sisters for their insatiable curiosity and fruitless search for a hidden treasure in the manor. Trip Findley (Jaymie’s back-alley neighbor in the Queensville home), Bill Waterman, and even Heidi Lockland, who had recently become more active with the historical society, were in attendance.

  Petty Welch, who had moved to Queensville and started working at a couple of local vintage shops, as well as joining the historic society, was sitting near the front. A month or so ago she had started dating Haskell Lockland, the historic society president who was, of course, at the front standing near the dais looking over his notes and calling out to folks who entered. A murmur of voices in low conversation provided a background noise to Haskell’s louder voice. Off to one side at a low table sat Mabel Bloombury. As of the summer elections she was treasurer for the society. Jacklyn Marley had approached and was paying the fee to join, it appeared. She then took a seat nearby and rummaged in her bag, taking out her phone and scrolling through messages.

  After greeting all her friends, Jaymie, clipboard in one hand and purse in the other, took a seat about midway back next to Heidi’s chair, where her designer bag sat in lone splendor, waiting for the meeting to commence. The young woman herself was talking to Mabel at the front. Jaymie had to make a brief presentation, so she went over her notes to be sure she had everything ready. Heidi sat down beside her and had her phone out, texting someone, her thumbs rapidly flying over the onscreen keyboard.

  “Who on earth are you texting from a heritage meeting?”

  Heidi blushed and slipped the phone into her tan leather Louboutin bag. “No one,” she said primly, folding her hands on her skinny jean-clad lap.

  Jaymie smiled. Heidi had a new beau, one she was not yet ready to talk about, clearly. Later, maybe. Or another day. Conversation buzzed, and Jaymie glanced around at the beginning of the seasonal decorations. A few faux pine swags topped paintings and doorways, and the fireplace mantel was already decked with a collection of antique oil lamps snuggled among the branches of a faux greenery garland. The only Christmas tree in the house would be set up in a week or two, and would come from the Müller family Christmas tree farm, of course.

  At the last minute, as Haskell looked up and cleared his throat, with a smile, there was a bustle behind them all, at the doorway. Ben Nezer and a lovely dark-haired woman who must be his stepmother entered. They marched to the front and took seats at one end of the first row near Mrs. Stubbs and Miss Perry, who whispered to each other and examined them openly. Jacklyn glanced over at them, snorted in amusement, and returned to scanning her phone. Haskell appeared taken aback, and returned to his notes, hastily scribbling in the margins.

  All in all there were about thirty-five people in attendance. With everyone eyeing the newcomers, the room was abuzz with whispers and mutterings. Haskell called the meeting to order, and they dispatched a number of items of business. The minutes of the past meeting were read, no new business was introduced, so they got down to the Dickens Days committee reports.

  “We’ll now hear from Jaymie Leighton Müller. Jaymie, if you’ll come up?” Haskell made room for her on the dais.

  She took a spot and looked over the room, the variety of happy, calm, sleepy, disgruntled and attentive faces. “As you all know, I’m head of the food subcommittee for Dickens Days. I’m happy to report that several home cooks and a few commercial bakeries are providing treats to both give away and sell during the four weekends we will be celebrating. The pastry chef at the Queensville Inn will be creating some wonderful treats, and Tansy, of Tansy’s Tarts on Heartbreak Island, will be making miniature butter tarts from her special recipe for us to give away, with a dollar-off coupon for their bakery attached.”

  There was an ahhh of appreciation at that. Anyone who had tasted the Canadian treat, made by Tansy from her Canadian family recipe, became hooked. Free tarts were a surprisingly big deal.

  “I will be making hermit cookies and brownies, as well as miniature two-bite muffins. Treats will be sold, of course, at the cider booth.”

  She glanced down at her clipboard. She had covered everything, but had one more thing to say. Looking back up, she met the gazes of Mabel Bloombury, Jewel Dandridge, and a couple of others. “I’m looking forward to our Dickens Days this year. For anyone who needs it, even for our shops, I have holly bushes growing profusely in our Queensville yard. Becca has cut a few branches to use in her Queensville Fine Antiques holiday displays. If you need any, I’ll be happy to cut some. I’ll be using some for my secret project, but we still have plenty! Let me know how many you need and I’ll cut the appropriate amount.” She returned to her seat and sat down, smiling around her at the faces of her friends.

  Mrs. Bellwood and Imogene Frump stood up together, an inseparable duo since their long feud had been laid to rest, but they did not move to the dais, staying by their chairs. Together they were in charge of the cider booth, and had organized teams to cover all weekend evenings. They had a new recipe to try, Mrs. Bellwood said, and had sourced local apple cider, which they were purchasing at cost in exchange for an advertisement for the cider mill at the booth. “Jaymie, we’ll take you up on the offer of holly branches to decorate the booth. We’ll need . . .” She leaned over and consulted with Imogene Frump. “We’ll need four bunches. If you have enough.” She sat down.

  “I’ll get them before we open this coming weekend.”

  After that was dealt with, Bill Waterman stood and cleared his throat. He, too, stayed by his chair. Everyone hushed as he surveyed the group, his gaze finally resting on the Nezers before he returned his attention to Haskell. “We’ve got trouble,” he said. “I don’t know if anyone heard, but Evan Nezer is kicking up a big ole fuss about Dickens Days, as he does every year. Trouble is, this year he’s living in that house of his right on the village green.”

  His tone was dry and creaky, his face pale. Was he okay? Jaymie again wondered.

  “So, he was whining about me hammering a stake into his grass to anchor the cider house,” Bill continued. “He’s threatening to sue, and you all know what he’s capable of, ’cause he does it every dang year. Usually we can count on the judge throwing it out as a nuisance suit, but this year, with him living right there, it may hold water. What are we going to do?”

  The woman with Ben Nezer stood and turned toward Bill, a troubled look on her lovely face. Jaymie recognized her immediately from Jacklyn Marley’s description as the Nigella Lawson look-alike: dark hair, lush figure, full lips, classically beautiful face. Jacklyn was watching her with an avid gaze. “My name is Mrs. Bella Nezer, and I’m Evan’s wife. He means well, Mr. Waterman, really he does. He’s misunderstood, that’s all.”

  A ripple of laughter drifted across the room, spreading, then dying as folks saw she was not kidding.

  “Mrs. Nezer, we mean no disrespect toward your husband,” Haskell said, his courtly manner, well-trimmed mane of white hair and lanky stature giving him a commanding presence. “But we have had dealings with him in the past, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I have been married to him for two years. I’m quite aware of his feelings on the subject of Dickens Days,” she said stiffly, tapping the chair in front of her with one beringed hand.

  Haskell eyed her with some doubt. “Bill is, unfortunately, correct. In the past Professor Nezer’s suits have been dismissed as frivolous. Like last year, when we had that trouble and he went to court to try to halt Dickens Days, saying it was disrespectful to continue. And the year before, when he said that traffic drawn from other towns for Dickens Days was cluttering his street.”

  “That ‘trou
ble’ last year, Mr. Lockland, was a murder!” Bella said, her cultured, English-accented voice trembling over the word.

  Jaymie felt a squeeze of anxiety; it was indeed just one year ago that she had found a young woman dying in Bill’s shed. It was a terrible tragedy, true, but shutting down the festival had not been the answer. There was so much sadness in the world and it needed to be countered with joy, not defeat. Reflexively, she jumped up and said, “Mrs. Nezer, I know you’re supporting your husband, but Bill was doing nothing that we haven’t done for years.”

  “Just because you’ve done something for years doesn’t mean you should get to keep doing it,” she retorted, her voice crisp and clipped.

  Jaymie couldn’t argue with that, so she sat back down.

  Haskell put up his hands in a calming gesture. “Ladies, Bill, let’s take a step back. Bella, I understand your husband’s concern. Perhaps if I were to oversee the placement of the stake Evan would allow it?”

  She smiled brilliantly. “I’ll speak to him about it, Haskell.”

  They left things at that, but Jaymie, concerned, headed toward the front to speak with Haskell and Bill Waterman as people dispersed.

  “Haskell, you have to stand firm with that Nezer character,” Bill was saying as she approached. “If you give an inch he’ll take a mile.”

  “Let’s see what Bella can do. We worked together on a committee last year. She’s a very persuasive woman,” Haskell said with a sly smile.

  “I do hope I’m persuasive,” Bella Nezer said, joining them. Her stepson awaited her at the door, self-consciously examining the coffered ceiling. “We’re having a little seasonal soiree Friday evening at our home. Haskell, you’re coming, correct?” she said, glancing at the society president. He nodded. She turned to Jaymie. “Would you come too? I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, and I want to prove my husband is no monster. You could bring your husband?” she said, glancing down at Jaymie’s engagement and wedding set of rings. “And I believe I know a friend of yours, the delectably eccentric Valetta Nibley, from the Emporium? She is a true character. Will you invite her, too?”

  Jaymie bristled at the description. The woman made it sound like Valetta skulked around town wearing a tinfoil hat and tuning in alien mindwaves. And she had pointedly not invited Bill, who stood silently by. But it was important that the Dickens Days festival proceed, and the Nezers were critical to that. She didn’t want to offend Bella, so she nodded. “Sure. I’ll see if Valetta can pry herself away from her cat skeleton collection.”

  Bella Nezer stared at her, eyes wide, then she smiled. “Oh, you’re joking. How clever you are!” From her, that sounded like an insult.

  “Hey, am I invited too?” Heidi said, approaching with a luminous smile on her lovely face.

  Bella, her own smile fading, nodded. “Certainly. I’ll make sure you’re added to the list. Heidi, correct? It’s a very exclusive party, mostly Evan’s work friends from college. You may be bored.”

  “Oh, no, not at all! If Jaymie and Val are there, I’ll never be bored,” she said, grabbing Jaymie’s arm.

  Jaymie hugged her friend’s arm to her side, noting Bella’s determinedly neutral expression.

  “We’re having it catered,” she said, apropos to nothing. “Some of the students from WC are working as servers.”

  “That’s very kind of you, to give them work,” Haskell said. “So many of them need to supplement their scholarships.”

  “We do our best to be good neighbors and good citizens,” Bella said with a gracious lady-of-the-manor nod and smile.

  “You know, we were neighbors,” Heidi said, eyeing the taller woman. “I’m not sure you remember me.”

  “Of course I do,” she said coolly, looking down at the younger woman. “My husband’s son made sure to be in the front yard every time you went jogging.” She cast a look toward Ben, at the door, who was now examining the door frame.

  Jaymie bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly.

  “And your husband once called the police on me because I wore a bikini top to mow the front lawn,” Heidi said, still staring at the woman. Her tone had become unexpectedly flinty.

  Jaymie glanced over at her in surprise. Heidi was a sweetheart, but she occasionally showed fangs, like a kitten with needle-sharp teeth.

  Bella’s cheeks shaded a delicate pink. “Evan thought it was . . . distasteful. Said it brought down the tone of the neighborhood. There are . . . standards.”

  “Standards?”

  “Well, we don’t approve of lawn gnomes, do we?” she said, still showing that smile that was a thin veneer over a sneer.

  “What, seriously?” Jaymie said as Heidi rolled her eyes. “First, lawn gnomes aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but they aren’t illegal. And I’m sorry, but every guy in Queensville mows his lawn in August with no shirt on. It’s not a big deal, apparently, but a woman with a top on is?”

  Haskell looked alarmed. Bill, who had remained silent until now, huffed in disgust; normally the most equable of men and charitable to a fault, Nezer’s willingness to make others miserable rubbed him the wrong way. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he grunted. To Jaymie he said, “I’m finishing up the cider house tomorrow, come hell or high water, and I’d appreciate your help.”

  Jaymie glanced over at Haskell, who shrugged. “I hope we can find a compromise. Haskell, you said you’d be there? You and Evan can talk it over.”

  “That’s settled then!” Haskell said, clapping his hands. He put one arm over Bella’s shoulder and strolled away, down the aisle between the rows of chairs toward her stepson at the door, murmuring soothingly to her.

  “Tomorrow is going to be interesting,” Jaymie said to Heidi. “Let’s help Mabel and the others put the chairs away,” she said, setting her purse aside and starting to fold chairs as the treasurer and one of her daughters began.

  “You be careful tomorrow, Jaymsie,” Heidi said, squinting after Bella and Haskell as she began to stack chairs on the dolly cart used to store them. “That Nezer dude is a real pill. I didn’t want to say it with his wife there, but he used to leer at me as I mowed my lawn.” She took two collapsed chairs from Jaymie and stacked them on the dolly cart. “He’d slow his car down and cruise past, staring at me, then when I called him out on it and said he was a creep—I don’t mind guys looking, but there’s a difference between looking and leering—he called the police to complain.” She shuddered. “I told Joel about him,” she continued, naming her former boyfriend (and Jaymie’s before that) who had moved on and left Queensville. “But all Joel ever said was, what did I expect, mowing in a bikini top?”

  “Typical Joel,” Jaymie said. No one’s life was poorer for him having moved on. They finished the last of the chairs, hugged Mabel and walked out of the big double room into the entrance hall and toward the front door. “I’d better get going. See you Wednesday night for girls’ night?”

  “You bet.”

  They hugged, strolled out into the autumn chill, and Heidi hopped into her blue sports car, zooming off while Jaymie fished around for her keys and unlocked her SUV. She was ready to step up into it when, by the light over the garage, she saw Ben Nezer talking to a woman Jaymie vaguely recognized, someone she had seen around town lately. She was older, maybe in her sixties, pear-shaped and wearing a navy peacoat over long skirts, and with a white mane of long hair bound back in a braid.

  The two murmured to each other, seemingly arguing, then Ben walked away, to Bella, who was saying a lingering farewell to Haskell. Jaymie wouldn’t even have noticed, but it appeared so furtive. The older woman strode away, got into a small rusty Volvo, and drove off, her car rattling and roaring as if on its last legs. Jaymie shook her head, put it out of her mind, and headed home.

  Jocie was already in bed, but Jakob was sitting on the sofa, examining the business plan his brother had drawn up. Jakob and Jaymie, in partnership with his brother Helmut and her brother-in-law Kevin, had purchased the land abutting the Müller property
and were starting the process of planning a Christmas and holiday store, along with a family fun venue in back and a tobogganing hill, among other things. They had decided on the name Müller Farms Holiday Store because they didn’t want to limit themselves to the Christmas season, and they wanted everybody of every faith to feel welcome and included.

  After seeing to Hoppy, who danced around her feet and yipped until she picked him up and snuggled him, Jaymie plunked down beside her husband, setting her little dog on the sofa beside her. He slung his arm around her shoulders. Jakob was a handsome fellow, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, brown-eyed, with a beard that grew thicker and more luxuriant as winter approached. He kept it soft and touchable with beard balm, a bearded man’s best friend, he kidded. He kissed her enthusiastically. They got distracted for a while and then, hair delightfully mussed, sat back up, breathless.

  “Whew, Mr. Müller, you are one heck of a kisser.”

  His dark eyes even darker, he chuckled. “And you, Mrs. Müller, are quite the temptress.”

  “Mmmm . . . coming to bed?”

  “In a minute. I’m checking Helmut’s figures. He asked me to, though I don’t know why. He’s always so precise.”

  “He likes another pair of eyes, he always says.”

  He went back to examining the business plan. Helmut, who had a business degree from Wolverhampton College, had drawn up a proper formal business plan, since they would need to approach the bank for financing and the township for zoning. Jaymie read over his shoulder, the sections labeled Market Analysis and Financial Plan, among others, and the attached spreadsheet of projected costs, including the first-year break-even point.