Page 2 of The Humbug Holiday
Mary tilted her head on cue. “I believe that’s Cameron’s office.”
“Your nephew?”
“Yes. His mother was my youngest sister. Sadly, we lost our dear Sandra years ago…God rest her soul.” She made a sign of the cross and closed her eyes briefly.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I replied automatically.
She sighed. “Thank you. She was far too young, and we miss her every day. No one more so than Cameron, though. Poor man has thrown himself into his work and while it’s certainly been good for his bank account, I don’t think it’s good for the soul. Georgia agrees with me.”
“Right. Well, sometimes keeping busy helps.” I gave an awkward smile to match my awkward tone, then gestured to the window. “The wallpaper has bubbled there too. The damage may originate from his office or the room above it. Could be a roofing issue or it could be corroded trim or fascia. I’ll have to check it out. Can I peek in the office now, or is he working?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll spare us a few minutes,” she declared cheerily.
“Great.” I headed for the stairs, politely waiting for Mary to lead the way.
She charged by me with purpose toward a row of shelves filled with boxes stacked taller than my six one, humming the chorus from “Winter Wonderland” as she wriggled a red-and-green bin free.
“Since we’re here, let’s grab a few things, shall we?” She gave me a conspiratorial wink before tugging at the lid of a red bin.
“Whoa! Let me help you with that.” I raced to her side, rescuing the bin before it toppled over her head.
“You’re a lifesaver, dear! Would you take that one upstairs too, please?”
“Sure thing.”
“Oh…and that one. And that one.”
Okay, I think I got bamboozled by a sweet old lady in need of manual labor. Whatever.
I dutifully pulled the bins from the shelves, sliding others out of the way to make room for a pile of red and green containers I astutely guessed were chockful of holiday shit.
’Tis the season, I grumbled to myself.
It took three trips up and down the rickety staircase, and at least fifteen, “Don’t worry, I’ve got its,” to slog all the bins upstairs and stack them neatly in the hall next to the one her sister had managed to bring up on her own. Call me a sucker, but I couldn’t let an elderly woman schlep heavy ornaments, wreaths, and crap by herself. That wasn’t right. And you know…it kind of pissed me off that her nephew hadn’t made an appearance to jump in and help.
You’d think he’d have at least popped in to see what the fuss was about. But no…nothing. And he had to have heard us by now. Mary wasn’t exactly quiet. Her voice rose an octave with every bin I deposited in the hallway. She squealed with delight, unsnapping the lids and unpacking treasures, singing a flurry of holiday jingles as she lined nutcrackers on the long table in the entry.
I dusted my palms on my jeans and unzipped my jacket. I should have taken it off a few laps ago. It was suddenly hot in here. I reached for my clipboard, clearing my throat in an attempt to steer us back on track.
“Ma’am, I need to get going. If you’ll show me that office window and any other areas of concern, I’ll get an estimate to you by tomorrow morning.”
She waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about an estimate. Cameron will pay for whatever you need, and there’s so much to do here…as you can see. With the holidays upon us, a little cheer will go a long way.”
I sauntered away from the bins, hoping to literally move away from holiday topics. “Right, but I need to assess the damage. I don’t want to overcharge your nephew.”
“By all means, overcharge him. He’s loaded.” She snickered, setting another nutcracker on the table.
“Ma’am…”
“All right, honey. Let’s poke the bear, shall we?” Mary gave a mischievous wink, motioning for me to follow her down the hall.
Okay, I had to admit I was curious about our reclusive mini celebrity. Only a couple of folks had caught a glimpse of him. Alma at the diner said he was a big man, and in her words…George Clooney swoony. And Finola at the bakery, who had to be my mom’s age, just fanned her face and fluttered her eyelashes.
Movie star? Musician? I forgot. But I wondered what he was doing in a small town in Vermont in a drafty old house at this time of year.
I gave in and asked, “What does your nephew do for a living?”
“Cameron is an author. He writes mysteries, and he’s gosh darn good at it. They’ve made five of his books into films. And one of those cable stations wants to make his recent bestseller into a miniseries. Oh, we’re so proud of him.”