Angel Lane Read online

  Emma’s reflection was completely depressing. Next to her hot friend she always looked plain and boring. But today she looked plain, boring, and half dead. And she felt completely dead. All she wanted to do was go back to bed. “Why are you here?” she moaned as Jamie began smearing foundation on her cheeks.

  “Because it’s Saturday and you are supposed to be open for business.”

  Saturday. Open for business. Going out of business! “Oh, my gosh. My sale!” Emma set the mug on the bathroom counter and turned to dash out the door.

  Jamie grabbed her by the arm. “You’re already pathetically late. Five more minutes isn’t going to make any difference.” She returned the mug to Emma’s hand. “I called Sarah and told her we were going to be another twenty minutes late.”

  “Called Sarah. Why?”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. She blinked, looking like a crook who had just made a misstep under interrogation. “Because she’s waiting for the sale to start.”

  The sale, the sale. “I’m late for my own sale,” Emma fretted.

  “People will wait,” said Jamie. “Eat your toast. Now, look up.”

  “Don’t poke my eye out.”

  “I won’t if you stand still. Quit fidgeting.” She finished with Emma’s eyes and surveyed her handiwork. “There. That’s better. Now, lipstick. Where’s your lipstick?”

  “I don’t know. I lost it. It doesn’t matter anyway. Let’s go.”

  Jamie growled and disappeared. A moment later she was back, her own lipstick in hand. “We are so taking you to Macy’s for a makeover for Christmas.”

  Lipstick and a spritz of perfume and Jamie was finally done. “Okay, let’s go. Bring the coffee.”

  And then they were off, Jamie driving as if she were at the Indianapolis 500. “Slow down. You’re making me sick,” Emma protested. Actually, the thought of having to preside over her going-out-of-business sale was making her a lot sicker than Jamie’s driving.

  Jamie took her foot off the accelerator and looked over at her. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

  Emma pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. Her friends had obviously committed themselves to getting her through this day. She’d make them proud and be brave. And gracious, even to Shirley.

  “By the way, it’s probably safe to tell you now that your sale ad didn’t make it into the paper,” Jamie said as they came down Alder to the four-way stop.

  Emma’s heart dropped clear down to her toes. “It had to. The woman I talked to promised.”

  “I know,” said Jamie. “We canceled it.”

  “What?” What kind of friends did she have?

  “Trust me,” said Jamie as she squealed through the four-way stop and turned left onto downtown Lake Way.

  Down the street Emma could see a crowd of people. Behind them . . . what? It looked like a marching band. She let down the car window and strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” floated in to her. “What on earth?”

  “It’s the welcoming committee,” Jamie said, and started honking her horn.

  “What are you doing? What’s going on?” Was she still really in bed, having some kind of weird dream?

  Now she noticed that every parking place on downtown Lake Way was taken, and the crowd extended all the way down the sidewalk and clear onto the little cobblestone street she usually drove down to park her car. Only one space remained, right in front of her shop, and in the middle of it stood . . . “Santa Claus?”

  He waved at them and stepped aside and Jamie pulled into the spot. The crowd cheered. Some people were holding up quilts like banners at a football game.

  Jamie turned to Emma with a smile and said, “It’s a wonderful life, Emma Swanson.”

  “What?” Okay, she was dreaming.

  Santa opened the car door. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas, Emma,” he said in Sam Goodwin’s voice.

  “Sam?” she squeaked.

  “No. Santa.” Behind him stood Lezlie Hurst from the paper, snapping pictures.

  She began to take in familiar faces. There was Mom and Grandma and Ruth Weisman and Emma’s friend Kerrie, and Hope from Changing Seasons Floral, and Kizzy who owned the kitchen shop. And there was . . . Shirley Schultz? Beaming at Emma as if Emma were her long-lost friend.

  “I don’t understand,” said Emma.

  “You will in a minute,” a familiar voice said in her ear.

  She turned to see Sarah standing in back of her, dressed like Mrs. Santa and holding a huge silver holiday ice bucket.

  “I hear you’ve been a very good girl, doing nice things for the people of Heart Lake all year,” said Santa Sam. “And now they want to do something good for you.” He crooked an elbow for her to take. “What do you say we open for business?”

  Still gaping, she took his arm and let him lead her to the front door of her store while everyone cheered and the band played “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

  “Give me your key,” he said. She fumbled out her key and handed it over and he ushered her into the shop, with people squeezing in after her.

  In a matter of moments the shop was full. Sarah set the ice bucket on the counter. “Okay, people, it’s time to celebrate Christmas early and show that we’ve got heart.” Everyone cheered as she ceremoniously dropped in a check. Then, while the band stood outside and played “The Twelve Days of Christmas” people crowded forward to put checks and cash into the bucket. Shirley Schultz squeezed toward the front with her contribution, saying, “I think this squares us. Merry Christmas, dear.”

  Emma stared in wonder, tears streaming down her cheeks. Now Mr. Pressman from the bank was actually contributing to the bucket. “No one wants to see you go out of business, Emma,” he said. “I hope this helps.”

  Was this really happening?

  From nowhere, several little girls dressed up like elves appeared, bearing plates of Christmas cookies. Two of them Emma recognized as Lissa and Mandy Armstrong. And there was Josh and his dad.

  “Merry Christmas, Emma,” said Josh, and dropped a check in the bucket.

  Her mom pulled her aside and hugged her. “Sweetheart, you should have told us you were struggling.”

  “So you could dip into your savings again?”

  “It’s all going to be yours someday anyway,” Mom reminded her. “We’d rather help you now, when we’re alive to enjoy watching you use it.”

  Emma hung her head. “I just couldn’t waste any more of your money.”

  “Since when is opening a lovely shop where you teach women how to make works of art a waste of money?” her mother said, and hugged her again.

  Jamie had been circulating with plastic glasses and Santa and Sarah were filling them with, thank God, no champagne, just sparkling cider. It would be a long time before Emma could even look at a bottle of alcohol.

  Jamie climbed up on the counter and raised her glass. “A toast,” she cried. She looked down at Emma. “To my friend Emma Swanson, the richest woman in Heart Lake.”

  She got down and hugged Emma while the band struck up “Auld Lang Syne” and everyone started singing.

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Emma, “it’s just like in—”

  Jamie held up a hand. “Don’t. Say it.” And then she smiled and hugged Emma. “You’re still in business. This should help you turn the corner. Merry Christmas.”

  It was such a movie moment. Emma burst into tears.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  On Sunday at seven P.M., Jamie sat almost front and center at Lakeside Congregational Church, with Josh and his dad on one side of her and Emma on the other. Emma sat smiling and watching with rapt attention as the angel choir with Mandy perched toward the top sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

  Coming in to church with Emma had felt a little like being part of a celebrity entourage. It seemed like half the congregation wanted to greet her, congratulate her on bringing the town together, or slip her a check. No wonder she was beaming. Heart Lake had given her a miracle and she’d be able to keep the s
hop open another six months; hopefully, enough time to plant her business roots deep in the community.

  Now that they were seated the focus was off Emma and on the kids, and Mandy, with her earnest smile and big, brown eyes was cute enough to steal the show. But not enough to make Jamie unaware of the fact that she and Josh were sitting shoulder to shoulder. She’d promised herself that after tonight she wouldn’t see him again, but maybe that was one of those promises that were meant to be broken. Maybe she should get to know this man better. Maybe he really was as easygoing as he seemed. What if he was? What if her theories about cops had been all wrong? What if this man represented healing rather than hurt?

  A little girl in a red velvet dress walked to the microphone and began reading the Christmas story. “ ‘. . . and she wrapped him in swaddling cloth and laid him in a manger.’ ”

  On cue, Lissa laid a baby doll in a straw-stuffed wooden cradle as a redheaded, freckle-faced Joseph stood watch. Jamie could have had daughters like Lissa and Mandy if she’d only made the right choice the first time around. A deep yearning tugged at her heart, saying, “You could have these girls if you made the right choice now. Come on, what are you waiting for?”

  A heart-back guarantee, maybe. A chance to see the future and know she would never get hurt again. Who ever got something like that, though?

  The shepherds came and the three wise men made their way down the aisle, the youngest tripping over his bathrobe and almost taking out the two in front of him. More little ones recited poems while Lissa solemnly watched over the baby Jesus. The angel chorus sang one more number, and then the program closed with everyone singing “Joy to the World.” After that it was off to the fellowship hall to drink punch and eat cookies.

  Mandy and Lissa found their dad and grandpa immediately. Mandy reached for her daddy, who hoisted her into his arms, but Lissa ran to hug Jamie. “You came.”

  “Of course I came. I couldn’t miss your stage debut,” Jame said, hugging her back.

  “Did I do good?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  “Absolutely,” said Jamie.

  Lissa moved close to her dad for a hug.

  “You did great,” he told her. “I was proud of you.”

  Just what every little girl wanted to hear. Had someone told him that or did he know it instinctively?

  “What about me, Daddy?” asked Mandy.

  “You were the best angel of them all,” he said, and tweaked her nose, making her giggle.

  “Can we get cookies?” she asked.

  “Go for it,” he said, lowering her.

  The minute her feet touched the ground she was darting through the throng after her sister.

  “How about you ladies?” Josh asked. “Want some punch?”

  “Sounds great,” said Emma.

  “I’ll help him,” George said, and disappeared after his son.

  “That man is perfect,” Emma said. “Did you see the article about him in the Herald? I meant to give it to you.”

  “No.”

  Before Emma could go into detail a woman came up to her to remind Emma that she had been at the quilt shop the day before. And given five dollars.

  Now Josh was back with punch. “Lissa has a present she’s dying to give you. Can you come by the house?”

  “A present. But I thought—”

  “It’s nothing she bought at the festival. I don’t have any idea what it is,” he said. “Look, I know you’re not interested, but if you could just humor me in this one thing.”

  Now was the time to tell him she was rethinking that, but George had joined them and was handing Emma a punch cup, and then the pastor’s wife was introducing herself. She’d tell him later. She’d drop off Emma, and then go to the house and find a moment alone to tell him. Just the thought of taking such a big chance made her heart speed up. She took a sip of her drink, then hiccupped.

  Josh raised an eyebrow.

  “Must be something in the punch,” she muttered.

  Emma talked most of the way home, about the people she’d seen in church from the day before, about how cute the girls were, how nice the program was, how it all reminded her of her own childhood. Jamie let her talk on, pretending to listen while fear and hope argued the case for starting a romance with Josh Armstrong.

  They were almost to Emma’s place when Jamie realized her friend had fallen silent. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

  “Just out of steam, I guess,” Emma said.

  “No,” Jamie said slowly. “That’s not it. What’s wrong?”

  Emma sighed. “Oh, I was just—” She bit off the sentence and looked out the window.

  “Just what?” Jamie prompted.

  “I know it’s ungrateful, but I was just wishing I had the whole happy ending. Maybe if Pye came back . . .” She shrugged. “There’s something kind of depressing about going to something fun and then coming home to an empty house.”

  There were worse things to come home to. Jamie knew. “So, move in with me already.”

  “No offense, but you don’t have the right plumbing.” Emma traced a heart on the car window. “I wonder if I’ll always be . . .”

  Jamie had stopped in front of the duplex now. “You won’t. You’ll find someone.”

  Emma nodded, but didn’t look her in the eye.

  Maybe that was just as well, because Jamie wasn’t sure if she’d find doubt there or reassurance. With her own track record Jamie was hardly in a position to be forecasting romantic success for her friend.

  “See you Wednesday,” Jamie said. “We’ll have lots to celebrate.”

  That brought back the old Emma smile. “Yes, we will. Life is good,” she added with a determined smile.

  She shut the car door and ran to her front porch. Jamie watched as she surreptitiously looked under the nearby bushes for a certain ingrate cat. Stupid animal. Oh, well. Come Christmas Emma would have someone special in her life again. It wouldn’t be the two-legged variety, but it would have to do.

  If only a girl could go to a man control shelter and pick out a mate. Ha! Man control. Too bad there was no such thing.

  And so here she was, speeding off to take a chance on another man. She should hold out for a cat.

  Lissa and Mandy greeted her at the door when she got to Josh’s. Both girls were in their pajamas. “Daddy said we could stay up extra if we hurried and got ready for bed,” Mandy explained.

  “Come on in the living room,” Josh said to Jamie, and led the way.

  A fire was crackling in the fireplace and rumpled sleeping bags decorated with Disney princesses lay on the floor in front of it like abandoned cocoons. Mandy climbed back inside hers, but Lissa picked a carefully wrapped shoe box off the coffee table and gave it to Jamie. “This is for you.”

  “Aw, that was nice of you,” said Jamie.

  “Open it,” Lissa urged, jumping up and down on her tiptoes.

  It was almost more tape than wrapping paper, but Jamie got it undone and open as quickly as possible. There, tucked inside a ton of tissue paper, lay a little white milk-glass hen on the nest. Just like Sarah’s—the one that had gone missing. But it couldn’t be the same one. Jamie could feel her smile faltering.

  Lissa didn’t notice at first. She was too busy explaining. “You said the best gifts were gifts that helped us remember special times together. This will help you remember when we got chicken hats.”

  Jamie ran her fingers over the chicken. Sarah’s had a chip in its tail, so this couldn’t be . . . there was the chip in the tail. “It will.” What should she do? “Thank you,” she managed. She was very aware of Josh studying her. She felt her cheeks warming. And then. Hic. Oh, geez, not now.

  “Jamie, could I see you alone a minute?” His voice was carefully neutral. “Come on out in the kitchen.”

  “Daddy,” Lissa protested.

  “We’ll be right back,” he said. He turned and walked to the kitchen, expecting Jamie to follow.

  She looked at her watch. “Actually,
I should get going.”

  “This’ll just take a minute,” he said.

  She followed him out with a wildly beating heart and a determination to lie.

  He flipped on the light and turned to face her. In a low voice, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing. I was just, it was such a surprise.”

  “Not a good one. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She forced herself to look at him. “I . . .”

  “Come on, Jamie. You’ve tried your best to lie to both of us about how you feel about me and I get that. You’re scared. But right now, for some reason, you’re lying to me about that stupid chicken my daughter gave you and I’m scared. Tell me what’s going on here.”

  She bit her lip. How did she tell a cop that she suspected his daughter was giving her stolen goods? Oh, God.

  “Please.”

  “It’s just that, well, it looks like a little chicken Sarah had in her kitchen. She told me it . . . disappeared.”

  “After one of the baking classes?”

  “She wasn’t sure.”

  “Is this the chicken?” He wasn’t yelling. He was calm. But determined.

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “And is there a reason you’re pretty sure?”

  “Sarah’s had a little chip on the tail. So does this one.” She shrugged. “Circumstantial evidence. Probably lots of these chickens have chips on their tails.”

  He took a deep breath and nodded, then walked out of the kitchen. Jamie followed him. She thought her heart had been going fast before. That was nothing. Now it was at the races, roaring around the track.

  Mandy had fallen asleep in her sleeping bag. Lissa sat on the couch, next to her grandpa. Both looked puzzled.

  Josh knelt in front of her. He pulled the trinket out of the box and held it up as if he were about to do a one-on-one show-and-tell. “Liss, I need you to tell me where you got this chicken.”

  He was trying to stay calm, but Jamie could detect anger in his voice.

  So could Lissa. She looked at him, her brows suddenly heavy with suspicion. She clamped her lips shut in a pout.