A Small Town Christmas Part 7

"Oh, you poor thing."

The cat took a tentative step out into the open. And then another, sizing her up. Maybe wondering where the tuna was.

"Come here, kitty," she cooed, leaning over.

It took one more step, a poor little animal craving affection, a good deed in need of doing.

She reached out a hand to pet it. And got a nasty Halloween present.

EIGHT.

Yow!" Emma howled, grabbing her hand.

The black cat dove back into the bushes, and Emma went inside and slammed her door. "Fine. No tuna fish for you."

"Who are you yelling at?" Jamie was coming down the hallway in an Old Navy black ribbed top and plaid jammie bottoms, her slender feet stuffed into fuzzy pink slippers. She looked like Cameron Diaz. Only better.

If Emma stopped eating things like candy corn and went to the gym three times a week, she, too, would look like . . . Wait a minute. Who was she kidding? No she wouldn't. "Do you ever look bad?" she said in disgust.

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Never. You're bleeding." She pointed to Emma's hand. "Very Halloween of you."

"My good deed scratched me," Emma said, and moved to the kitchen. "I think I've got a homeless cat camping in my flower bed."

"You've got a p.i.s.sy cat camping in your flower bed," Jamie corrected.

"You'd be p.i.s.sy, too, if you were scared and cold," Emma said, already forgiving the cat for its bad manners. She turned on the faucet and ran her bleeding hand under the water. "It's hungry. I gave it a can of tuna last night. Maybe that was its last meal. I know I get grumpy when I don't eat."

Jamie walked over and inspected the long scratch. "Grumpy is one thing. That animal needs to be in a horror movie."

"It just needs more food." Emma blotted her hand dry with a paper towel and went to forage in the cupboard where she kept her canned goods. The cat was in luck. She had one can of tuna left. "Well, there goes the tuna ca.s.serole I was going to make for dinner tomorrow, but what the heck. It will be my good deed for the day, although feeding a cat's not exactly up there with rescuing a lost child."

"Saving an animal from starvation hits my top ten," said Jamie.

And so another can of tuna fish went out on the porch. And come morning it was empty and there was no sign of the cat.

"It'll be back," Jamie predicted. "It's found a sucker."

"I think I'd better buy some cat food," Emma decided.

"I think you'd better wear work gloves next time you feed the thing," said Jamie. "Scratches won't exactly make a shining testimonial when we're launching our good deed campaign."

"I'll be fine by then," said Emma. "Gosh, I hope we get a good turnout."

The ghost of her last failed event rose from where she'd buried it at the back of her mind and whispered, Failure.

What a terrible thought.

Jamie shrugged. "If not, we can at least say we tried."

Obviously, Jamie wasn't holding out much hope for the success of this campaign.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea, like so many of Emma's ideas. Things always played out in her head like a happy ending on the big screen. It was so frustrating that in real life those great endings tended to fizzle.

But not this time, Emma told herself firmly as she began the countdown to the big meeting. They were getting free publicity, thanks to the Heart Lake Herald, and she had other people on board, people like Sarah who was a pillar of the community. This was a great idea. Others would catch the vision.

She tried to talk up the meeting to her customers when they came in.

"I'll be with you in spirit," her friend Kerrie promised. "But the in-laws are coming to town and we'll be in Seattle that night. We've got reservations at the s.p.a.ce Needle. Do you know how long it's been since I've been to the city, not to mention a nice restaurant? And I've actually never eaten at the s.p.a.ce Needle."

"Say no more," said Emma.

It seemed everyone had an excuse. Shirley Schultz thought she was coming down with something. Ruth Weisman had her book club meeting at her house that night. The teller at the bank had to take her beagle to dog obedience cla.s.ses.

No one was coming.

"Well, I am," her mother had promised when they talked on the phone. "And I'll bring Grandma."

At least there'd be three of them. No, five. Sarah and Jamie would be present, too. Five people was better than no people, she told herself. But hardly.

"Don't worry," Sarah said when Emma called her. "We'll have some bodies. Sam's coming, so the fire department will be represented, and I think Pastor Ed will be there. Everyone likes Pastor Ed, so if he gets on board this thing will really get off the ground."

"That would be awesome," said Emma. A vision of the Grange Hall packed with people sprouted in her mind. "If you build it, they will come," she murmured. It would be her new mantra.

"Something like that," said Sarah. "But if you're worried we can always make some flyers and pa.s.s them around."

"Oh, great idea," said Emma. Mantras were good. Flyers were better. "I'll print some out when I get home tonight."

She did. With her pretty, red script and the red heart in the corner, the flyers looked like a graphic artist had designed them. "You've got the eye," she told herself with a smile. She'd drop some off to Sarah and Jamie, and the day before the meeting she'd close the shop early and walk around the neighborhood and pa.s.s some out.

"These are great," said Jamie. "I'll give out one with every purchase."

"With all the customers you get, that should take care of your pile," Emma said. "Me, I'm going to walk the streets."

"Business is that bad?" Jamie teased.

Actually, it was. "Maybe someone will get inspired and decide to make me their good deed and come in and buy a truck-load of fabric."

"Or you could put an ad up on Craigslist: 'Sugar daddy wanted. Must love quilts.' "

"Good idea. I'll post your picture," Emma retorted as she sailed out the door.

Sarah was equally impressed by the flyers and promised to distribute a bunch to her neighbors and put some out on the counter at the bakery. "There's nothing like a personal invitation for getting people to attend something they'd otherwise be too lazy to come to," she said.

Although the last thing Sarah wanted to do after being on her feet all day was to wander around her neighborhood pa.s.sing out flyers. But she'd promised Emma. It won't take that long, she told herself.

Of course, she'd forgotten about Betty Bateman. "Oh, Sarah, I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been?" Betty was a vision in faded green sweats and pink bedroom slippers. She put a hand to her rumpled red hair in an unconscious attempt to comb it.

Sarah barely had time to answer before Betty started talking. "What is this, a meeting at the Grange? Oh, good deeds! I love the idea. But wouldn't you know, I have to babysit for the kids that night. Oh, speaking of, you've got to come in and see the latest pictures of the grandchildren." She threw her front door open wide, urging Sarah into her overstuffed living room. "We just went to Ocean Sh.o.r.es last weekend with them. Little Beanie is nine now. Can you believe that? And such a cutie. Now, what did I do with those pictures?" She scuffed over to a TV table set up in front of an easy chair, which was overflowing with envelopes and bills.

It could take Betty hours to search, not only the TV tray but the various piles of papers and magazines stacked on the coffee table, end tables, and kitchen counter. And if she ever found the pictures, it would take her hours to tell Sarah about each one. "Gosh, Betty, you know I'd love to see them," Sarah lied, "but I've got a lot of houses to hit today. How about a rain check?"

Betty frowned. "Of course. I understand."

And she did, which made Sarah feel guilty. "Bring some in to the bakery. We'll take a coffee break and the coffee will be on me." And that would be her good deed for the day.

Betty smiled like they were now best friends. "Great idea. I'm sure I'll find them right after you leave."

"Isn't that how it always goes?" Sarah said, edging toward the door.

"I just had them." Betty was scrabbling through another pile of papers now.

"I'm sure you'll find them. See you soon." Sarah opened the door and fled.

The rest of the neighbors didn't take long since most of them weren't home from work yet. (So much for the personal invitation.) Only a couple of houses left. And one of them belonged to their new neighbor, Leo Steele. Maybe she could just overlook him. Or not ring the doorbell and leave a flyer on his front porch. Good idea. That was what she'd do.

But when she got to the porch, the front door opened and there he stood, chewing on his cigar and smiling at her. "I saw you coming."

"Oh. Well."

"You giving away coupons for free coffee cake? If you are, I'll take a handful. That was the best thing I've had in a long time."

If that was a hint for more coffee cake, she wasn't taking it. "Just an announcement for a little movement we're starting to make Heart Lake friendlier."

"It already seems pretty friendly to me," he said. His grin made Sarah think of lounge lizards. He took the flyer and perused it. "I might just have to check it out. Will you be there?"

"I'm one of the organizers."

"Well, then, I'll come. Thanks for thinking of me, Sarah."

"You and the whole block," she said, keeping her voice light. She motioned to the empty street as if someone were waiting for her. "I'd better be going."

He gave her a friendly salute. "See you at the meeting."

She hoped not. Maybe he'd forget.

Emma closed up shop at four on Tuesday so she could get home before dark to invite her neighbors to the big meeting the next night, but other than Mrs. Nitz, who couldn't hear the doorbell over her blaring TV, no one appeared to be home.

Don't give up, she told herself, and marched up to a two-story yellow Victorian.

There she actually found someone-a woman about her age with a three-year-old girl peeking behind her.

"That sounds great," said the woman, taking the flyer. "My husband works nights, so I don't have anyone to watch our daughter."

"Bring her," Emma urged. "We'll have cookies." She'd pick some up at Safeway tomorrow.

The woman smiled. "Thanks."

Emma smiled, too. Pa.s.sing out flyers had been a good idea.

She was starting back down the front walk, still saying goodbye, when a German shepherd came trotting toward her. The greeting committee. Where had he come from? Emma was about to bend over to offer her hand to smell when the animal lunged at her with a growl and chomped down on her calf. Hard. "Yow!" And just to make sure she got the message Doggie Dearest took a swipe at her hand, too. Oh, pain. Oh, not fun.

"Willie!" cried the woman. The dog lowered its ears and tail and slinked to her. "Bad dog! Get inside." She hurried to where Emma was trying to examine her leg. "I'm so sorry. He's never bitten anyone."

"I guess there's a first time for everything," said Emma. Was she going to get rabies? What was it with her and animals these days?

"Are you all right?"

The woman looked so upset, Emma couldn't bring herself to admit that her leg was on fire. Her jeans were toast. "I'll be fine," she a.s.sured both the woman and herself.

"Are you sure? He's never done that before, really. He's had his rabies shot. G.o.d, I feel awful."

Not half as awful as Emma felt. "Don't worry. It's no big deal," she said, and started limping off. "Nice meeting you."

The woman didn't say anything. She was already retreating behind her front door.

Okay, that was enough of pa.s.sing out flyers. They had the newspaper article coming out tonight. It would have to do.

She got home just in time to catch a phone call from her mother. "I stopped by the shop. You were closed," said Mom.

"I closed early to go invite my neighbors to the meeting tomorrow night."

"Now that was a good idea," Mom said approvingly.

"Not really. I got bit by a dog."

"Oh, no. Is it bad?"

Emma pulled off her jeans and examined the wound. There was a big, long scratch and another, smaller one above it. Bite marks. And lots of blood. She fell onto a kitchen chair, suddenly light-headed. "I'm bleeding."

"I'll be right over," said her mother. "We should take you to the clinic and get it looked at."

There was nothing good about going to the doctor. You were always getting probed at one end or the other. "I'm sure it'll be fine," said Emma. But she was bleeding and she hurt. She laid her head on the kitchen table.

"You should get a teta.n.u.s shot. It's been over ten years since you had one."

How did moms keep track of all that stuff, anyway? "I don't want a shot." Shots were the worst things in the whole wide world.

"You don't want teta.n.u.s, either," said her mother firmly. "It's a terrible way to die."

Die? "Okay, let's go to the clinic," Emma decided.