Kate Hoffmann - Unexpected Angel

“I’m sure it’s on my map,” Santa said. “I know I’ve been to your house before, Eric Marrin.” He patted Eric on the back. “You’re a good boy.”

Eric smiled. “I try,” he said as he slid off Santa’s lap. “Oh, and if you hear I broke the rules coming to see you tonight, maybe you could understand? I know I’m supposed to go home directly after school, but I really couldn’t ask my dad to bring me here. He’s very busy and I didn’t want him to think that I—”

“I understand. Now, do you know how to get home?”

Eric nodded. The city bus would take him back in the direction of his school and he’d have to run the mile down Hawthorne Road to make it home before dinner. He’d already told Gramps he’d planned to play at Raymond’s house after school and Raymond’s mother would drive him home. He’d have to sneak into the house unnoticed, but his father usually worked in the stables until supper time. And Gramps was usually busy with dinner preparations, his attention fixed on his favorite cooking show while the pots bubbled over on the stove.

Eric waved goodbye to Santa and, to his delight, Santa tucked his letter safe inside his big red jacket. “Some of the kids at school say you aren’t real, but I’ll always believe in you.”

With that, he hurried through the crowd and down the escalator to the first floor. When he’d finally reached the street, he took a deep breath of the crisp evening air. Fluffy snowflakes had begun to fall and the sidewalk was slippery. Eric picked up his pace, weaving in between holiday shoppers and after-work pedestrians.

The bus stop was on the other side of the town square. He paused only a moment to listen to the carolers and stare up at the huge Christmas tree, now dusted with snow. When he reached the bus stop, a long line had formed, but Eric was too excited to worry. So what if he got home a little late? So what if his father found out where he’d been? That didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was that Eric Marrin was going to have the most perfect Christmas in the whole wide world. Santa was going to make it happen.

“I DON’T LIKE THIS. This whole thing smells like month-old halibut.”

Holly Bennett glanced over at her assistant, Meghan O’Malley, then sighed. “And last week you thought the doorman at our office building was working as an undercover DEA agent and our seventy-year-old janitor was an international terrorist. Meg, you have got to get over this obsession with the news. Reading ten newspapers a day is starting to make you paranoid!”

As she spoke, Holly’s breath clouded in front of her face and a shiver skittered down her spine. She pulled her coat more tightly around her body, then let her gaze scan the picturesque town square. There was no denying that the situation was a little odd, but danger lurking in Schuyler Falls, New York? If she took a good look around, she would probably see the Waltons walking down the street.

“I like to be informed. Men find that sexy,” Meghan countered, her Long Island accent thick and colorful, her bright red hair a beacon even in the evening light. “And you’re entirely too trusting. You’ve lived in the big city for five years; it’s time to wise up.” She sighed and shook her head. “Maybe it’s the mob. I knew it! We’re going to be working for wise guys.”

“We’re two hundred miles north of New York City,” Holly cried. “I don’t think this is a hotbed of mob activity. Look around. We’re in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting.” Holly turned slowly on the sidewalk to take in the gentle snowfall, the quaint streetlights, the huge Christmas tree sparkling with lights in the center of the square. She’d never seen anything quite so pretty. It was like a scene from It’s A Wonderful Life.

One side of the square was dominated by a majestic old courthouse and the opposite by a department store right out of the 1920s called Dalton’s, its elegant stone facade and wide plate-glass windows ablaze with holiday cheer. Small shops and restaurants made up the rest of the square, each and every one decked out for the Christmas season with fresh evergreen boughs and lush, red ribbon.

Meg surveyed the scene suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. “That’s what they’d like us to think. They’re luring us in, making us feel comfortable. It’s like one of those stories where the town appears perfect on the surface but it’s got a seamy underbelly that would—”

“Who is luring us in?” Holly demanded.

“Exactly my point,” Meg said. “This morning, we get a mysterious letter with a huge check signed by some phantom client with very poor penmanship. We’re given just a few hours to go home and pack, then take a train halfway across the state of New York and you don’t even know who we’re working for. Maybe it’s the CIA. They celebrate Christmas, don’t they?”

Holly glanced at Meg, then looked down at the letter clutched in her hand. The overnight missive had arrived in the Manhattan office of All The Trimmings just that morning at the very moment she’d learned her struggling business was about to finish yet another year in the red.

She’d started All The Trimmings five years ago and this Christmas had become a turning point. She was nearly twenty-seven years old and had all of $300 in her savings account. If her company didn’t show at least a few dollars profit, Holly would be forced to close down the tiny office and try another line of work. Maybe go back to the profession she’d trained for and failed at first—interior design.

Though she had plenty of competitors, no one in the Christmas business worked harder than Holly Bennett. She was a Christmas consultant, holiday decorator, personal corporate Christmas shopper and anything else her clients required. When called upon, she’d even dressed a client’s dog for a canine holiday party and baked doggy biscuits in the shape of candy canes.

She’d started off small, with residential installations, decorating New York town houses both inside and out. Her designs became known for unique themes and interesting materials. There’d been the butterfly tree she’d done for Mrs. Wellington, a huge Douglas fir covered with colorful paper butterflies. Or the decorations she’d done for Big Lou, King of the Used Cars, combining gold-sprayed auto parts ornaments and nuts and bolts garland. Over the next few years, she’d taken on corporate clients—a string of shopping malls on Long Island, a few boutiques in Manhattan—and the demand for her services had required a full-time assistant.

Holly had always loved Christmas. From the time she was a little girl, she’d anticipated the start of the season, officially beginning the moment Thanksgiving was over and ending on Christmas Day—her birthday. No sooner had her mother put away the Indian corn and Horn of Plenty centerpiece than she’d retrieve all the beautiful Christmas ornaments from the dusty old attic of their house in Syracuse. Next, Holly and her dad would cut down a tree and the whirl of decorating and shopping and cookie-baking wouldn’t stop until midnight on the twenty-fifth, when she and her mother and father would tumble into their beds, exhausted but already planning for her next birthday and the Christmas that came with it.

It was the one time of year she felt special, like a princess, instead of the shy, unpopular girl she’d been. She’d done everything to make the holiday perfect, obsessed with the tiniest details, striving for perfection. Holly’s mother had been the one to suggest that she turn her degree in interior design toward something more seasonal.

At first, Holly had been thrilled with the strange path her career had taken and she’d doted over the designs for her earlier clients. But lately, Christmas had become synonymous with business and income, profits and pressure, not happy memories of her childhood. After her parents had moved to Florida, Holly usually spent the holidays working, joining them once all her clients were in bed on Christmas night.