“Why don’t you introduce those boys to Mattie while they’re waiting,” Simmonds said.

  I smiled at the boys. “He’s a good dog, but very big, so he can hurt you even though he doesn’t intend to. You don’t want to frighten him. If you hold out your hand to his face, like this, and move slowly, he’ll get to know you and want to be your friend.”

  The first little boy did as instructed, and Mattie gave his hand a slobbering lick. The boy laughed and said, “That’s wet.” The second said, “Can I ride him?”

  “He’s not a pony,” I said.

  “Run along now,” Diane Simmonds said, and they did so. “We’ve had a lovely day and we were heading for the car when I saw you and wanted to say hello.” She pointed to the banner strung between two trees near the food tables. “Rudolph Community Theater Players. Are you part of the group?”

  “Not me. My mom is, and Vicky’s catering this picnic. I’m just helping her.”

  “What are they putting on this season?”

  “A Christmas Carol. Opening night is Friday after next, and it’s going to run until a matinee on the 24th. It’s the musical version.”

  “I didn’t know there was a musical version.”

  “Everyone’s done some version of A Christmas Carol. Even the Muppets.”

  “I like that one,” Charlotte said. “Can we go to the play, Mom?”

  “Better get your tickets early,” I said. “It’s going to be a sold-out show.”

  “I’d like to see it,” Judith said.

  “Then we’ll go. “We won’t keep you,” Simmonds said. “Have a nice evening. Take care of Merry, Matterhorn,” she added. He woofed in confirmation.

  Judith nodded to me, Charlotte gave me a shy wave, and Detective Simmonds walked away with her family.

  Not a lot was left at the food table, but I was able to snag a roast beef sandwich and the scrapings from the bottom of the soup pot. While I ate, I stood to one side and watched the activity. My mom and dad had disappeared, and other people were gathering their things and preparing to leave. Irene was standing by the playground, a soft smile on her face, watching Lucy, her granddaughter, swing higher and ever higher. I didn’t see either Kevin Monahan or his ill-behaved son, but Paula was refreshing her wineglass and offering the same to Jackie. Alan laughed heartily at something Ian McIntosh said. Dave French had moved on from the real estate agent, and was now chatting with Desmond Kerslake, the director, while Dave tried his best to ignore his father, Lloyd, frantically making gestures indicating he was ready to leave.

  Catherine Renshaw played the room. Or the lawn, I should say. Her husband had freed her from the attentions of Mayor Baumgartner and once again she was all smiles and light chatter. More than just providing money to the theatrical company, she’d brought new life to what was becoming a rather stodgy old group resting on its laurels.

  Rudolph, New York, wants to be known as America’s Christmas Town. Here, we celebrate Christmas all year round. In July, the town goes all out to take advantage of its prime location on the shores of Lake Ontario and its Christmas Town theme, when Santa arrives for his summer vacation in a grand boat parade. He sets up his umbrella on the beach to meet visiting children, and high school students dressed as vacationing elves serve as his attendants, as does Alan in his toymaker getup.

  We might play at Christmas all year, but it’s the beginning of December when everything comes together. The hotels go all out with the decorations and seasonal activities, and the restaurants offer special menus featuring traditional holiday fare. Vicky’s bakery goes heavy on the mince tarts and gingerbread and even old-fashioned fruitcake of the sort that people buy and almost no one ever eats. (Although Vicky’s is fabulous!) The theater group always does a play with a holiday or Christmas theme, and it’s an important part of the town’s annual celebrations. Last year’s production of Miracle on 34th Street had been an enormous flop, or so I’d heard. Mom told me the company was desperate this year to recover from that disaster. They’d never attempted a musical, but encouraged by the new artistic director to be bigger and bolder than ever before, they were taking a chance with A Christmas Carol.

  By six-thirty most of the skaters had gone home, the lake resembled a cloth of smooth black velvet, and the trees surrounding the park were nothing but black shadows. The lights of the tree on the bandstand blazed with color. Houses surrounding the park had switched on their holiday lights and illuminated decorations. Alan came up behind me, put his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me close. “Nice night,” he murmured in my ear.

  I put my hands on his and settled into the embrace. “Nice enough. I think Mom’s coming to regret getting involved in this thing.”

  “She’ll forget her regrets the moment she steps on stage.”

  “Probably.”

  “She couldn’t talk your dad into taking a part?”

  “Ha. He’s not about to take a role, to everyone’s relief, I’m sure. He’s busy enough with the Santa gig, but he agreed to help with the sets. I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to be the stage carpenter.”

  “They did. As they do every year. And as I do every year, I told them I simply don’t have time. Besides, they don’t need a craftsman to make their sets. Hammer a few boards in place on the stage at the community center, and slap some paint on them. It’s done. Not like repertory theater where everything has to be carefully constructed in order to be able to be quickly broken down and then reassembled for the next show.”

  The party was starting to break up; people called good night as they headed for their cars. Alan and I went to help Vicky clean up.

  Chapter Three

  “Those earthenware dishes will be perfect,” my mother said. “They have that cheap rustic look everyone knows costs an absolute fortune.”

  “Surely you’re not buying a complete set of dishes for the play?”

  “I’m not buying anything. I’m simply serving as a props scout. Isn’t that the job you did when you were with Jennifer’s Lifestyle?”

  “Something similar. Before I was a design editor, I scoured secondhand shops and antique fairs searching for things to use in photo shoots, yes. But our magazine had a heck of a bigger budget than the Rudolph Community Theater Players.”

  “Catherine asked me to be on the lookout for items we can use on set,” Mom said. “I get the feeling, dear, price is to be no object.”

  “That’s no way to run a nonprofit endeavor.”

  My mother glanced around the shop. It was the Monday afternoon following the picnic, and she’d popped into Mrs. Claus’s Treasures on her way home from a meeting at Catherine’s house. Customers were browsing, and Jackie was ringing up pieces of handmade jewelry at the check-out counter. She’d made the sale by telling the customers the items had been made by a young woman who worked in this very store. One woman studied the toy selection while next to her two others were flicking through the limited selection of Christmas-themed children’s books that were new additions to my stock this year. I’m not intending to compete with the Rudolph Bookstore, so I simply tucked the shelf into a back corner as an experiment to see if the books would sell. Over the summer I had the idea that a few titles would be a good match with the toys: one-stop shopping.

  Mom jerked her head and slipped behind the curtain separating the storefront from the back rooms.

  I could do nothing but follow. “Be right back, Jackie. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “What’s up?” I said to my mother.

  “This is not for public consumption, dear, but the Rudolph Community Theater Players is rapidly becoming more of one person’s hobby than a nonprofit endeavor.”

  “Let’s go into my office so I can check on Mattie. You can tell me what you’re talking about in there.”

  Being a Saint Bernard, Mattie isn’t welcome in my china shop, thus he normally spends most of the day in the office. His breed isn’t known for having an excess of energy; the walk to and from work is usually enough for him, and he passes the time happily snoozing in the office. I pop in regularly throughout the day to fresh his water bowl and to take him for short outings in the alley. He opened one eye when Mom and I came in. Saw it was only me and closed it again. His water bowl had tipped over and a puddle was soaking into the carpet.

  I picked up the bowl. “What do you mean someone’s hobby? Surely the theater group’s everyone’s hobby. No one’s being paid to take part in this, are they?”

  “Catherine is taking it to excess, exerting more control than I think wise. She is, for example, making executive decisions about the set without consulting the set crew. George Mann attempted at one time to argue with her, and she simply walked away, leaving him in mid-sentence. He was fit to be tied, and you know how easygoing George usually is. I’m surprised he hasn’t quit. Loyalty perhaps. He’s been doing the sets for years. Decades probably. As for why I am here: Catherine suggested I keep an eye out for items to decorate the homes of the Cratchit family and Scrooge’s nephew, Fred. Those dishes will make a nice addition to the background of the Cratchit’s meager Christmas dinner when Ian, I, as Scrooge, and the ghost of Christmas Past pay them a visit.”

  I went to the washroom and filled the dog’s bowl. When I came back, I said, “I’m not lending you any of my stock. I sell things, I don’t rent them.”

  “Catherine told me to pay whatever necessary.”

  I put the bowl on the floor and gave Mattie a hearty scratch behind his ears. He grunted in contentment. “In that case, I’m happy to sell them to you. At full price.”

  “You fail to see my point, Merry. Catherine is taking over to a degree I consider unhealthy. Take this meeting we just had. I thought it was to be a gathering of senior cast and crew, but I was the only invitee.”

  “Why?”

  “She warbled on about my years of professional experience. How I’m the only one she can count on to ensure the group has a true understanding of the meaning and importance of the stage.”

  “She’s flattering you to get you on her side.”

  “Flattery,” Mom said, patting her hair, “will not work with me.”

  I nodded sagely, as a way of preventing myself from rolling my eyes. My mother lives for flattery. The more lavish the better.

  “I fear, dear, she is planning a coup. She’s not happy with Desmond’s direction, thinking him too restrained. She wants to get rid of Ian.”

  “Ian? You mean Ian McIntosh? Ian’s been with the company forever.”

  “She doesn’t think he has the gravitas to play Ebenezer Scrooge or the dramatic range to properly depict his change of heart.”

  “It’s less than two weeks until opening night. If she fires Ian, who’s going to step in to take the lead role?”

  “She wants to ask Dave French. Dave is currently cast as the ghost of Jacob Marley and later as Old Joe.”

  “Not that it matters, but who’s Old Joe?”

  “The lowly fellow of the criminal element selling off Scrooge’s possessions after his demise. As shown to Scrooge by Christmas Yet to Come.”

  “That would be the young and handsome Dave French?” I gave Mattie a final pat and pushed myself to my feet. I tried not to grunt too loudly in the presence of my mother. “I don’t see him suiting either role.”

  “His looks might have something to do with it,” she said dryly. “His youth, comparatively speaking, experience, and enthusiasm will bring something to the production if he’s in the starring role. So says Catherine at any rate. He’s been at all the rehearsals so he should be able to learn the lines quickly. Plus he’s done some professional acting. But Ian’s not to be trifled with, Merry. Ian is a founding member of the company and he’s been in every production they’ve put on, usually taking the starring role. Other than last year, when he had a heart attack only a week before opening night, and had to drop out.”

  “Can Dave sing?”

  “And there, my dear, is where Catherine has a problem. He does sing, and reasonably well too. Far, far better than Ian. Marley has the major male song in the entire production. Many of the other so-called singing parts are nothing but a lot of speak-singing.” She let out a long theatrical sigh. “Although I am doing my best to keep them in tune. Ian cannot sing Marley, no matter how much rattling of chains he does. If Ian is replaced as Scrooge, and unable to play Marley, there’s no other part suitable to his position in the company, and we’ll have no one to take Marley.”

  “Did you tell Catherine this?”

  “Of course I did. She assured me she has full confidence in my ability to instruct Ian. In little over a week, I’m expected to turn a candy store owner into a professional singer.”

  “As well as be a prop buyer.”

  “That too.”

  “Sorry, Mom, but I have to get back out there. Jackie’s alone today, other than me, and we’ve been busy for a Monday. I have no advice to give you on this; you’ll have to sort out your theatrical problems yourself.” I told Mattie to guard the office, shooed my mother out, and followed her into the store.

  Paula Monahan stood at the counter, chatting to Jackie. She turned to us with a bright, brittle smile. “Aline. Hello. Fancy running into you here.”

  “Considering my daughter owns this fine establishment, I can often be found here, yes.”

  Paula’s smile didn’t falter. “Jackie and I were just chatting about the costumes.” Jackie nodded enthusiastically. “We both feel Irene needs to be given a freer hand. I’m sure she can come up with better designs, given the right direction.”

  “Do you want the plates, Mom?” I asked.

  “Yes. Six sets, please.”

  “Jackie, can you wrap up set six sets of the blue earthenware design for my mom, please.”

  “In a minute,” Jackie said. “I was saying to Paula that—”

  “This isn’t a place for theater company business. Aside from selling them six sets of blue earthenware dishes. Do you want a tablecloth and napkins too, Mom?”

  “I’m not sure. Did nineteenth-century, working-class English families have tablecloths?”

  “I doubt they had matching tableware. They certainly didn’t know the word ‘tablescape’”.

  “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” A customer put down a box containing an Alan Anderson–made train set. “I have a degree in social history, and until well into the twentieth century, in both Europe and America, the working classes, and even quite a few members of the so-called middle class, wouldn’t have even had enough cups to serve tea to guests. People brought their own when they visited.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “I’ve always thought we don’t know enough about how the real people lived. Far too much Bridgerton and Downton Abbey.”

  “Can never have too much Bridgerton,” another customer said.

  “You’re buying props for the play?” Paula asked Mom.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “A play!” Customer Number One said, “I love live theater. What are you putting on?”

  “A Christmas Carol,” Jackie said. “Opening night is Friday next week. December 15. At the Rudolph Community Center. I myself have an important role. It’s going to be the musical production. Tickets are going fast.”

  “I might get some then,” Customer Number One said.

  “How much are the tickets?” Customer Number Two said.

  “Uh …” Jackie said, “Aline, do you know?”

  “Information is available online. Now, Jackie, I don’t have all day. The dishes, please.”

  “Aline!” Customer Number One gasped. “Don’t tell me you’re Aline Steiner. I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and I’d heard you were living in Rudolph these days. I have to say, if you’ll allow me, your interpretation of Carmen at the Met was the best I’ve ever seen.”

  Mom beamed. “How kind of you to say so. What did you say your name is, dear?”

  I stifled a groan. Now I’d never get her out of here.

  “I don’t think the blue’s suitable,” Paula said. “Too modern. Do you have those dishes in another color?”

  “We have brown.” I indicated a shelf displaying more items.

  “Much better for the way I intend to interpret Mrs. Cratchit. A hardworking, no-nonsense woman, who still finds time to do the best she can with limited resources for her husband and family. A dining room is a reflection of a woman’s personality, wouldn’t you agree? I’ll take a full set. Six will be enough.”

  “You’re buying these for the play?” I asked. “What about what Mom’s going to get?”

  “My small contribution to the production. Tell Aline it’s my pleasure.”

  “Mom wasn’t going to pay herself,” I said, but Paula’s attention had moved on. While Mom was entertaining an adoring Customer Number One with details of her life post-retirement, including the important contribution she was making to the Rudolph Community Theater Players, Paula was pulling boxes of brown earthenware table settings off the shelf for the Cratchit family to dine on their roast goose (later turkey). “I don’t think we want a tablecloth. If my legs are going to show, I’ll need a fuller skirt, don’t you agree, Jackie?”

  “Yeah, I do. Do you think Irene would mind if I make some minor alterations to my costume myself?”

  “What if she does? It’s up to the artist to interpret their role, and costuming is so important as to how we see that role.”

  When Jackie played an elf on the Mrs. Claus’s float at the Santa Claus parade a couple of years ago, she’d altered her costume to the point I was afraid we’d have an ‘adults only’ sticker slapped on us. I reminded myself that the goings on at the theater group had nothing to do with me.

  “I have a small, although not insignificant, role in A Christmas Carol,” Mom said modestly, “but I’m primarily acting as the musical director for the play. It’s important to give young people a chance to shine, I’m sure you’ll agree.”