"No," I said faintly. "1956 was a bit before my time."
"Oh, right. Old Mr. Gyorsky. Haven't thought about him in years. That man could fart like an exploding steam engine. I remember this one time—"
Ack! No!
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Frost, but I have customers coming in. I'll get these presents back to you today, I promise."
"No worries. Best to burn that tree, though. That's the only way to be sure, with these enchanted objects."
I assured her we'd take care of it and finally got off the call, shaking my head. Farted like an exploding steam engine. Maybe Shelley and Zane could putthatin their documentary.
I opened the shop and waited on a few customers and did some paperwork during the lulls. Jack, who'd been up and out of the house before I woke up, showed up around ten with donuts.
I needed to find less-generous friends, or I wouldn't be able to fit into my jeans.
Jack raised an eyebrow at my sweater, recycled from an Ugly Christmas Sweater party years ago.
"Is that … Rudolph?"
It was. Sort of.
"A friend of Aunt Ruby's knitted it, and I think she may have been in the early stages of—"
"Hating life?"
"The flu, I was about to say," I said primly. The purple, green, and orange reindeer—complete with yarn pom-poms in completely random places—looked more like a swamp monster than a reindeer, but I wasn't going to admit it. "I have one for you, too."
I rummaged in the box next to the counter and found the monstrosity: it was so large that two of Jack could have fit in it easily. Pink and purple stripes and tiny metal bells covered the entire thing.
The bells wereeverywhere.
All. Over. It.
I shook it, and tiny metallic chimes rang.
One hideous Christmas sweater: three dollars at the thrift shop.
The look on Jack's face: Priceless.
"You realize you couldn't pay me enough to wear that sweater," he said.
"But Jack—"
"Nope. I think we should burn it with the tree."
"Speaking of trees." I grinned at him, tossed the sweater back in the box, and told him about Mrs. Frost and the moaning tree/farting neighbor.
He laughed so hard he almost couldn't catch his breath. "I love this town."
After that, we sorted through the gifts. There were presents stolen from three different families, besides Mrs. Frost's. I bagged them up in some oversized totes I had in the back room, and Jack took them out to his car.
When he got back, he headed straight for the tree and unplugged it from the wall, so the built-in lights quit flashing.
"Okay. We've had enough of this. I'll take this bad boy out back and burn it," he said.
"I think that's best—"
But the tree didn't like that idea at all, evidently. Because its lights started flashing and the tree itself whirled around in increasingly fast circles on its base.
