Bright Lights, Big Christmas(21)

“Kerry, I don’t think you appreciate what all is on the line here. These next three weeks, right here on this corner, this is what keeps Tolliver Tree Farm in business next year. We’re operating on a razor-thin profit margin, as it is. We’re getting killed with expenses. Had to buy a new baling machine last month, and the cost of fuel is sky high. We lost all those trees last spring. And now, missing the first week of sales, plus all these hospital expenses from Dad’s heart attack…”

A chill ran down her spine. “What are you trying to say? We might lose the farm?”

“Not saying that,” Murphy said, running his hands through his already wild mane. For the first time she noticed that his dark reddish hair was shot through with silver, as was his beard.

“I’m saying we gotta pay attention. Gotta maximize sales. Especially with those two goons over across the street calling the cops on us to try and make trouble.”

“You think it was the Brodys?”

“Hundred percent it was them. We know every cop in this precinct. They know us. I deliver a Tolliver tree to the station house every year, and give all the cops half-price trees.”

“Hey.” Claudia stood a few feet away, holding up the green velvet blazer.

“This jacket doesn’t even look like the one I bought,” Kerry marveled, taking it from her. “It looks brand new.”

“It is brand new. Or it was a few years ago. I found the price tag in the inside breast pocket. I don’t think it was ever worn.”

Kerry sniffed the collar and smelled something like lavender. “Smells new too.”

“Gave it a toss with a scented dryer sheet then ran my steamer over it,” Claudia said.

“Well, you’re awesome.” She poked her brother in the ribs. “Isn’t she?”

“Yeah, totally,” he said dutifully.

Claudia looked Murphy up and down. “So what are you wearing tonight, big fella?”

“I forgot about that party. And, uh…”

Claudia raised an eyebrow. “Let’s have a chat.”





chapter 15





Spammy’s bathroom mirror was only slightly larger than a pie pan, and the forty-watt bulb in the tiny space cast a dim yellow light on the faded pink walls.

Kerry twisted her dark-blond hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, then rolled and tucked the ends into a French knot. She finished her makeup with a coat of Chanel red lipstick, the same shade she’d been using since Birdie gave her a tube for her eighteenth birthday.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Gray eyes, the one on the left slightly smaller than the one on the right, stubby nose—just like Jock’s—and full lips, like her mother’s, and all the women on her side of the family.

The trailer door opened and Murphy stuck his head inside.

“Gimme a minute.”

She looked down at her ensemble. The rich bottle-green velvet of the jacket suited her coloring. The white blouse was nothing special, just something she’d tossed in her suitcase at the last minute. She’d tucked it into her best pair of jeans, which were at least clean, improvised a belt from red satin ribbon, and polished her old black riding boots to a high sheen.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Murphy was perched on the edge of his bunk, plucking at a small stringed instrument.

His conference with Claudia had apparently worked a miracle. His hair was damp, with comb marks. He wore black jeans, a black collared shirt, black loafers, and a silly green felt bow tie made to resemble a sprig of holly, complete with a blinking red light in the middle.

“I didn’t know you played the dobro,” Kerry said.

“Been playing for years,” he said, playing a bar of a mournful song she vaguely recognized.

“Don’t you know something less depressing and more seasonal?”

He closed his eyes and picked out a few bars of “Frosty the Snowman.”

“Perfect. You look nice, by the way. Especially love the bow tie.”

“Claudia’s contribution.”

“You two seem pretty friendly,” Kerry observed.

“We are. Especially since she finally filed papers on her loser ex last year. Actually, the shirt and shoes are his. Were his.”

He stood up and slung the dobro over his shoulder. “Okay. You ready to roll?”

“I guess. But compared to you, I look pretty sad.”

“You look fine.” It was as close to a compliment as she could expect from her taciturn brother.

Kerry grabbed her pocketbook, then, out of the corner of her eye, noticed the fringe of a red plaid blanket in the rumpled bedding on Murphy’s bunk.

It was a wool stadium blanket, in a vivid Stewart tartan. “Where did this come from?”

“Dad’s house, I guess.”

Kerry wrapped the blanket around her waist.

She slid off her riding boots and unzipped her jeans.

“What’s going on?” he asked, politely averting his gaze.

“Just a quick costume change. Give me five minutes, will ya?”

“I’ll go walk Queenie, but then you better be ready.”

Kerry had noticed her grandmother’s dusty mending basket under the bathroom vanity. Inside, she found tiny spools of thread, and a small pincushion bristling with straight pins and needles and safety pins. There was also an old jar of buttons, and a tiny pair of scissors.