Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (2 page)

Adelaide felt somewhat better, but not completely at ease. Brenda seemed tense, on edge. Changing the subject, she said, “How do you like the new computer system?” She glanced at the machine sitting on the desk.

Under their former minister’s tenure, there had been a computer in the secretary’s office along with one in his study, but neither had connected to the Internet. Upon Reverend Underwood’s arrival a year ago, he’d immediately installed two new computers, then secured an online service provider. Now the monthly newsletter could be e-mailed to those who wished to receive it that way. According to the latest finance report, this had saved the church over five-hundred dollars in paper and printer cartridges so far. They even had their own website.

“It’s a great system! It’s so quick, so easy. I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Brenda said enthusiastically. “Reverend Underwood says it is saving the church lots of money.”

“It’s good for the environment, too. Think of how many trees we’re saving,” Adelaide told her.

Brenda didn’t have a chance to reply because just then the phone rang.

Opening the door, Adelaide waved goodbye. “Tuesday. I’ll mark it on my calendar.”

Located on the Ohio River ten miles west of Marietta, Ohio the town of Crescent Falls was blessed in numerous ways. Not only did it have the beautiful falls to attract visitors, but it was near the Wayne National Forest, so there was access to fishing and camping. All of this helped keep the town afloat in the aftermath of L&C’s abrupt closure. However, Adelaide feared it wasn’t going to be enough over the long run.

The downtown section of Crescent Falls ran east to west along Main Street between Acorn and Birch Avenues. Hawthorne Avenue, running north and south, cut it down the middle. She left the church on Acorn Avenue, walked north, then turned west on Main Street. Along the way she passed the local hair salon called Tina’s Tresses. Next to it was Brie’s Boutique. Across the street sat Dora’s Diner. Even though the exterior was like most of the brick buildings on the block, inside, its Pullman car design replicated diners of the past—booths along the outer wall, a long counter opposite.

She took in all the elaborate Christmas decorations as she walked. Holly hung in baskets from antique lamp posts. Garlands with tiny white lights glistened from doorways. Outside the savings and loan, an elaborately decorated spruce tree was strung with colored lights that glowed brightly even in daylight. Christmas music could be heard coming from speakers mounted on the sides of various buildings.

Looking straight ahead across Hawthorne Avenue, she could see Fletcher’s Real Estate, and at the next corner, Hatfield’s Insurance. Gayle’s Gifts & Flowers sat across from the real estate office. Several vacant buildings where small businesses used to be dotted the landscape. However, in keeping with the spirit of the season, the town had put lights on the outside of even those abandoned structures.

It looks so festive! I always love the way the town looks during the holidays. Plus, it’s so lively, with all the extra people visiting the falls. I know you agree, Albert. Oh, how I wish you were taking this stroll with me right now. You’d love the way the church looks, too. I’m going to make sure to get that live tree from the sanctuary. I’ll plant it in the corner of the yard where I had to take out that dead lilac bush last spring. I hated to see that bush go. We planted it shortly after we bought the house, remember? Lilacs were my mother’s favorite, your mother’s too, as I recall. My father preferred peonies; he loved the heavy, sweet aroma.

Adelaide’s father had been the local postmaster, her mother an elementary school teacher. Her husband, Albert, had owned McBride’s Pharmacy, located on the corner of Main Street and Hawthorne Avenue. She’d never even considered closing the place after Albert’s death. Why would she, when their dear friend Vernon Dexter was doing such a good job of running the business? In essence, everything was going well. In her opinion, this Christmas promised to be a joyous one in spite of some recent setbacks.

So why do I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach? It’s the same way I felt the week before Albert finally died of that awful disease. A feeling of dread.

Trying to shake off the eerie sensation, she entered the pharmacy where Anne Hinderman, the sales clerk who had been with the pharmacy for over twenty years, immediately greeted her.

“I wasn’t sure we’d see you today, Adelaide, what with the bazaar starting tomorrow. I can’t wait to see all the goodies! I already told Ethel to save me back one of those lap robes she knitted.”

Anne was a short stocky woman with dark brown hair— thanks to Clairol—and vibrant green eyes. Divorced, with one grown son, she had a warm, helpful way about her that immediately put customers at ease.

The well-stocked pharmacy was laid out quite simply, with neat rows of products clearly labeled. Like many drug stores of the past, McBride’s had an old-fashioned soda fountain, located in the back left corner. The décor was reminiscent of the late 1950s. Local highs school students comprised the workforce. As had been the arrangement for over twenty-five years, half the proceeds went to the Crescent Falls High School Athletic Fund.

“I’ve put some very good people in charge of the displays, Anne. I’m looking forward to buying one of your pecan pies,” Adelaide told the woman.

“I’ll bake them tonight,” Anne Hinderman promised. “I thought I’d drop off three tomorrow, then three on Saturday.”

“Excellent,” Adelaide said as she continued toward the area of the store where the pharmacy was located.

As she approached the elevated counter, she spotted Vernon’s shiny balding pate. He was looking down, writing something on a pad of paper so he didn’t notice her at first. At the age of fifty-seven, he still had a youthful complexion. What was left of his hair was a smooth shade of sable brown. Even though he’d gotten a little pudgy over the past few years, he was still a nice looking man.

She, Vernon and Albert had been friends since grade school. She’d dated both of them in high school. In the end, her heart had gone to Albert. Although obviously disappointed, Vernon seemed to take it in stride. The three of them had remained good friends.

Albert’s father, Horace, who opened the pharmacy in 1939, was proud as could be when his son decided to become a pharmacist. Father and son worked together side by side until Horace succumbed to a stroke in 1989 at the age of sixty-three. It was then that Albert made a trip to Marietta, where his best friend Vernon Dexter was managing a franchised drug mart.

“It didn’t take much convincing, Addy,” Albert had told her upon his return that day. His big smile said it all. The next week Vernon began working at McBride’s. Albert loved telling the story of how he saved his best friend from wasting away in some “cookie cutter” drug store where the bottom line was more important than its customers’ needs. “To say nothing of the gas money he’s saving now that he doesn’t have to commute from Crescent Falls every day!”

In response, Vernon was fond of saying, “I just accepted his offer as a favor to an old friend. I mean, he looked so pitiful down on bended knee begging me to help him out.”

In spite of the good natured banter, Adelaide knew Vernon was as glad to be working in his hometown as Albert had been to finally have his best friend by his side.

Come on, Adelaide, you know there is more to it than that, at least where Vernon is concerned. He’s in love with you, always has been. I should be flattered to have such a fine man interested in me. But somehow I just can’t take that step. Not yet. Maybe never.

“Got everything under control at the church?” Vernon asked. His smile lit up an already cheerful face.

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” she replied. She looked around. Although no customers were waiting in any of the six chairs lined up against the wall to her left, she could see he’d been busy that morning filling prescriptions, by the number of bags in the plastic bins behind him.

“You say that every year, and every year things go like clockwork. They always will as long as you’re in charge, Addy.”

“I’m saving you one of my lemon meringue pies,” she promised.

“I’m counting on that.”

Suddenly his expression sobered. “I just filled a prescription for one of our long-time customers whose insurance has run out.”

Adelaide felt her dander go up. “Another ex-employee of L&C?”

He nodded. “That brings the total to over thirty.”

Adelaide hated the way the town’s largest employer had closed up shop, leaving its employees with little notice and only thirty days’ worth of medical coverage. Many of those people couldn’t afford to continue their benefits through COBRA for very long, so they were now without insurance.

“You know our policy, Vern. We still only charge the customer the three-dollar co-pay if they have it. If not, they get the medicine free.”

“I know. I’m not complaining about that, Addy. It’s the right thing to do. I’m just worried we won’t be able to keep this up for much longer,” His brow furrowed in a frown.

“We’ll find a way. The Lord provides, Vern, remember that.” Even though she knew Vernon wasn’t particularly religious, she didn’t think it hurt to remind him once in a while that there was a higher power at work in the universe.

Just then Adelaide heard an all-too-familiar voice, making her inwardly cringed a little. She couldn’t decipher exactly what the woman was saying, but she heard Anne’s cheery reply cut short. Momentarily, the sound of quick, snappy footfalls announced the arrival of Zelda Jackson. The petite woman came around one of the nearby shelves, the ever-present look of pent-up tension on her face. Her dark blue eyes darted between Adelaide and Vernon as her mouth turned down in disapproval. In her late fifties, Zelda had been a widow for many years and constantly referred to her late husband in a way that made it clear she viewed his untimely demise as a personal affront to her.

Although she’d been born in nearby Rosewood, Zelda liked to claim Crescent Falls as her hometown. Once a quality control manager for L&C Precision, she was extremely bitter about the way the company treated her when it shut its doors forever.

Zelda nodded a greeting at Adelaide, then laid a prescription up on the counter. “Can you get this right away, Vernon? I’m due at a Friends of the Library meeting in fifteen minutes. I need my allergy medicine.”

In Crescent Falls it was said that Zelda Jackson had her finger in every pie and her eye to every keyhole. She was president of the local Friends of the Library, vice president of the Crescent Falls United Methodist Women, tour coordinator for the local historical society, as well as secretary of the Church Coalition Board, the group in charge of running the local food pantry and thrift store.

Zelda took a ragged breath then turned to Adelaide. “I can barely breathe! That clerk in the front has so much perfume on it about choked me.”

Besides having many vague health problems, Zelda claimed to be allergic to all perfumes, all dairy foods, all seafood, all alcohol, all citrus, peanuts and pork. Her medications were varied, of course, which kept her coming into the pharmacy on a regular basis.

“I didn’t smell anything as I passed by,” Adelaide replied.

Zelda glared at her. “I’m very sensitive to such things, everyone knows that.”

Adelaide bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything unkind.

Zelda went to one of the chairs and sat down with a groan. “I thought you’d be at church all day. I was just over there. It looks like there is still plenty to do.”

“Everything is moving along just fine, Zelda. Thanks for your concern, though,” Adelaide said with a smile. “When are you scheduled to work?”

Zelda’s eyes narrowed a little. “Tomorrow in the kitchen, fixing the box lunches. I’ll also be there on Saturday all day wherever I’m needed.”

Adelaide knew from past experience that Zelda loved to over-extend herself so she could later complain about being overburdened.

Zelda folded her hands in her lap. “I just saw Harold Purcell headed this way, but he ducked into the diner first. I suppose he’s still making a fool of himself over Dora. Nancy hasn’t been dead a year and he’s already on the prowl.” Her eyes gleamed with malice as she curled her lips up in a disdainful sneer.

Harold’s wife of forty years had died of lung cancer nine months ago. Adelaide doubted very much if the stoic funeral home director was already looking for a replacement. More than likely he was just after some good home cooking, which was what Dora served at her diner.

Adelaide knew that Zelda’s scathing comment had less to do with Harold observing a proper period of mourning than it did with a personal vendetta. The animosity between the two was well known. When Zelda’s husband, Edward, died of a heart attack, she’d accused the funeral home of doing an inadequate job of embalming. She told anyone who would listen that the embalmer had used watered down solution, which made Edward’s remains turn dark before the service was even over. Later it was discovered that the fault lay with the manufacturer of the solution. Batches of that lot number had been recalled statewide. Regardless of that, Zelda continued to blame Harold. To this day she barely spoke to him in public.

“Maybe he was just hungry, Zelda. Today is Thursday, so meatloaf is the special. Harold loves meatloaf,” Adelaide suggested.

Zelda huffed. “I’ve seen the way he moons over Dora. Believe me, it has nothing to do with her cooking. I know what I’d tell him if he ever acted like that around me.”

“All set, Zelda. Here’s your prescription,” Vernon called. He caught Adelaide’s eye, giving her a wink. His expression seemed to say,
Don’t lose your cool
.

Turning to go, Adelaide almost ran into Harold Purcell as he approached the counter. His eyes flickered toward Zelda then away. He smiled down warmly at Adelaide. He was a tall, lanky man with neatly trimmed gray hair. His soft brown eyes were kind, his manner gentle.

“I was going to call you later, Harold. The men are going to start setting up the tables in the social hall at five this afternoon,” Adelaide told him.