All I needed to do was find a minute to review the footage, and I'd see who'd broken into my shop and stolen the tree.
Shelley arrived around eleven, and I put her to work inventorying the Dead End Pawn merchandise. She finished that quickly, so I made her Chief Candy Cane Hander Outer, which she loved, and the morning flew by. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch, but we were too busy to stop.
When I walked into the back room to grab a bottle of water, Shelley followed me, her little face serious.
"Tess, can we talk?"
I handed her a bottle of water and uncapped one for myself, expecting a question about boys or school or Christmas presents. "Absolutely, sweetheart. What's up?"
She fidgeted with her water while I took a long drink, and then she squared her shoulders and looked up at me. "I don't know how to feel about what happened to Mr. Peterson."
Oh. This was not a talk about boys.
This was a serious, "almost-ten is not a child" talk.
"Oh, honey." I put my water down and hugged her. "I know. Death is hard. And especially a death like this. But any way you feel isn't right or wrong. It's just how you feel, and that's okay."
Her eyes glimmered with the tears she was fighting hard to keep from falling. "It's just that I know Mr. Rooster, and I was glad it was the wrong Santa. Is that wrong? Am I a horrible person because I thought that?"
"Of course, you're not a horrible person. I'll let you in on a little secret. When I found out it wasn't Rooster, my first reaction was relief, too. It's only human and normal to have feelings like that about someone you know and care about. Being glad they're alive, I mean. It doesn't mean that we're not sad about Darryl—Mr. Peterson." I kissed the top of her head. "I think sadness about things like this may be proportionate to how well we knew and loved somebody. Like I said, it's not that it's right or wrong, it's just that we're human. And nothing you ever feel will be wrong. Please always talk to me about stuff like this. Don't ever be ashamed of your feelings."
"I will," Shelley said, wiping her eyes. "It's just that it's hard to talk about stuff like this to old people."
"Well, Uncle Mike and Aunt Ruby aren't really that old—"
She gave me a quizzical look. "No. I meant you and Jack. Anyway, thanks Tess. I better get out there in case anybody needs a candy cane."
I stared thoughtfully after her and drank my water, wondering if I should stock up on adult diapers and a walker now or later. Then I had to laugh, remembering how Molly and I had thought people in their late twenties wereancientwhen we were Shelley's age.
"What goes around comes around, or something like that," I murmured to the empty room.
And then I cheered my elderly self up by taking the compliment clock out to the front room and letting it share its bounty with all the customers. Surely there was somebody out there who wanted their goats to have twins and would snap it up.
For once, luck was smiling at me. Because not thirty minutes later, two sisters in probably their mid-forties walked in, and one of them caught sight of the clock and headed straight for it.
They weren't just sisters; they were twins. Both had curly brown hair, sparkling brown eyes, and huge grins. Within a minute or two, they were best friends with Eleanor and talking about her upcoming wedding.
"We're just over from Tampa," the sister in the orange shirt—Mindy, I think—burbled. "I'm looking for something for my horrible mother-in-law."
The sister in the green shirt made a tsking sound and touched Mindy's arm. "Now, you know you don't mean that. Or at least you shouldn't say it out loud."
They burst into laughter.
"Anyway. It can't be something awful. I'm going to be the better person if it kills me. Do you have anything that seems nice on the outside but isn't, really?"
Just then, the clock struck noon, and went into its routine.
"You are a fit subject for the pleasant songs of youthful poets."
I narrowed my eyes. "Really? I get twin goats, but they get songs for poets?"
Shelley giggled, Eleanor grinned, and Mindy looked at me, her mouth open. "Did that clock really just say what I thought it said?"
I nodded. "Oh, it gets better. It will also tell you your hips are wide for child birthing or that your farm animals will have twins. It likes to give compliments, but they're compliments from a time long gone."
"Not all that long gone," Mindy's sister said darkly. "You should meet her in-laws."
With that, the haggling was on. Mindy was my favorite kind of customer—she loved to bargain. We jockeyed back and forth for a while, both of us enjoying the give-and-take. I needed to get at least fifty dollars more than I'd paid for it, because of overhead, salaries, etc. When Mindy got me down to about seventy-five dollars in profit, I put an expression of sadness on my face and slowly shook my head.
