Mistletoe Mix-up (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  What People are Saying

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  Mistletoe

  Mix-up

  Jody Day

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Mistletoe Mix-up

  COPYRIGHT 2018 by Jody Day

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2018

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0172-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Rise' Uttley, faithful prayer partner. Thanks for your ever-ready support.

  What People are Saying

  "An enchanting, heart-warming Christmas gift of a story."

  ~Lisa Hannon, Author of This Little Pig, A Flak Anders Mystery, and

  Volumes 1 and 2 of She's Thinking Out Loud.

  "The suspense and tension increase until the author brings everything together in a satisfying resolution. This is a delightful Christmas novella and will leave the reader wishing for more."

  ~ Donn Taylor, author of the Preston Barclay Mystery Series.

  1

  Evan bit his pencil so hard his jaws hurt. The Baroque and Classical periods blurred together, even after all he’d studied. The difficulty mounted as he tried to concentrate on his Music History final. He’d face Christmas break with no place to go as soon as he turned in his paper.

  What was it, Mom’s fourth or fifth marriage? For Evan, her honeymoon cruise meant another holiday in the dorm. She’d resorted to texted him her news this time. He didn’t know what hurt worse, the text wedding announcement, or the “Surely one of the churches would have a meal or celebration you could join? I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

  She would. She’d descend on him with lavish gifts and apologies. College was a welcome relief from another new daddy, or rather, sugar daddy. Still, he couldn’t bear another lonely Christmas.

  Would Mom keep her apartment this time? Could it really be love if she insisted on a backup plan? What would happen to his piano?

  He closed his eyes and mentally put himself on the piano bench next to Mrs. Miller. He’d been small for a fourth grader, and she wasn’t much bigger.

  “If you’re going to be here every day until your mom gets off work, you may as well have a lesson too,” she’d said at the end of a long day of teaching. Since Mom had started dropping him off at Mrs. Miller’s while she worked, he’d do his homework and then sit on the couch while she taught at the piano. One student after another came and went, some putting joy on her face, and others not so much. He’d watched her close the door behind unprepared students with a heavy sigh, and had determined to be one of the ones that made her smile.

  She fed him things he liked to eat, let him read her books, and sent him outside to shoot baskets into an old hoop nailed to the back of the garage. He developed a pretty good three-pointer, but none of the guys at school seemed to care.

  After lessons, she’d fix his dinner and tell him funny stories. He loved her funny accent. As his skills increased, Mrs. Miller featured him in recitals. Then his nickname changed from “four eyes” to “Maestro” to “Mozart”.

  She’d worked tirelessly to get him scholarship auditions. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have gotten into college. Mom never stayed with anyone long enough for the guy to help him out. Evan didn’t care; he didn’t want their money, anyway.

  Mrs. Miller had died his junior year. She left him her piano. He realized he’d never heard her first name, Dominique, until the funeral. Where were the students she’d spent her life teaching? Just a few members of her church showed up. He overheard someone say her much younger brother was out of the country on business.

  After that, Evan had thrown himself into his studies with a vengeance. He’d spent what little money he had on moving Mrs. Miller’s piano to his mom’s house. He’d dreamed of her beaming face at his program. Would Mom make it at least?

  There was no money for graduate school. He had no idea what he would do after graduation. Nothing would happen, however, if he didn’t finish the final.

  He chewed on his pencil and pushed his sliding glasses back into place. Seriously? A brief essay on the differences between Baroque and Classical? He reigned in the urge to just blow it off.

  Let’s see. The Baroque music was more complex and the Classical more conservative in form and theory. Or was it the other way around? The clicking of the clock on Professor Maybank’s classroom boomed in his ears. Focus, Evan. He summoned a little more determination and zeroed in on the essay.

  He looked up as he put the period on the final sentence, his pencil chewed to pieces. “I’m last?” Of course. Everyone else was anxious to get home for the holidays.

  Professor Maybank took the ornaments off of a bedraggled tree in the corner of the room. It reminded Evan of their tree before Mom started looking for a rich husband. He kind of hated to see the little tree come down.

  “Sorry I made you wait. I’m sure you have plans.” Evan placed his final exam on Professor Maybank’s cluttered desk. If it wouldn’t sound so lame, he’d ask to have the tree in his dorm room.

  “Hey, no problem. Where you headed?” The professor folded the little blue blanket that had circled the bottom of the forlorn tree.

  “The dorm, I’m afraid. My mom’s on her honeymoon.” No use explaining. His heart fell as Maybank stuffed the tree in a muslin bag.

  “Well, congratulations. I’d invite you, but we’re going to Florida,” he said. “I’ve been promising my wife a trip, and this is the longest I have off.”

  “Well, enjoy it.” Florida sounded like the least Christmassy place on earth. Except maybe the deep dark Amazon forest. Could he help it if he loved Christmas?

  “Hey, Edwards, I saw an ad on the bulletin board outside. Somebody needs a house-sitter over the holidays. Might be better than the dorm, and maybe there’s cash involved.” Professor Maybank put some papers in his briefcase and snapped it shut.

  “Thanks, I’ll che
ck that out.” Sounded good, but maybe too good to be true? They’d have to have a piano so he could practice for his recital. “Merry Christmas, Professor, see you in January.”

  “And to you. I’m really looking forward to your recital. How’s that Chopin coming? It’s my favorite,” he said as he headed for the door.

  “I still have some tricky measures to master, but I think it will be ready in time.” He hoped he could get it perfectly accomplished over the holidays.

  Evan left the building. A cold rain splashed in the street. He ran through the freezing deluge to the University quad and found the ride board, notices trying to detach from thumb tacks in the wind.

  Christmas Room and Board in Exchange for Holiday decorating in Candle, Tx.

  At least he thought that’s what he read. The phone number, the only part of the message not smeared in the rain, might be his holiday salvation. He punched it into his cell and sought cover under the student center awning.

  “Yes, hello, I’m calling about the room and board over the holidays? This is Evan Edwards. I’m a music student at East Texas University.”

  “Oh, wonderful. Can you climb a ladder? Put up Christmas decorations? Make sure they all stay in working order while we’re away?” The man’s thick French accent seemed cheerful and hopeful. “I’m Francis Cartier, by the way.”

  “I’ve done it many times for my mom. Sure, I think I can handle that.”

  “Well, it’s a big house and we have a lot of decorations. We will be out of the country until Christmas Day, and want to return home with everything ready. We’re hosting a large party on the 25th.”

  “Sounds good. Will it be a problem for me to stay until the new term begins in the middle of January?” Evan gulped and crossed his fingers in his jacket pocket.

  “Not at all, figured as much. Look, if you can give me a reference to call, we can seal the deal. Can’t let a perfect stranger in the house without a reference, you understand,” Mr. Cartier said.

  “Of course. You can call Professor Maybank. He’s also Dean of the Music School, and my piano teacher.”

  “The number, s’il vous plait?”

  Evan gave him the number. Surely the professor wouldn’t mind him giving the number out since he’d suggested the lead in the first place.

  “Merci. I’ll call you back when I’ve spoken to him.”

  Please pick up. He hoped the professor would answer since he was trying to get out of town. Nearly everyone was gone, or in the process of leaving.

  His cell buzzed a few minutes later.

  “It seems you come highly recommended. The address is 500 N. Frond Street. The key is under a pot by the front door. You will have to dig a little for it. When can you get there?”

  “I can leave today. It’s just a couple hours’ drive.” He felt his face lift in a smile. Christmas in a home, a nice one, at that.

  “Great! Your room will be just off the kitchen. You are welcome to spend Christmas with my wife and me. We’ll only be there for a few days, and then we will have to return to London. You’ll have the place to yourself. The pantry is stocked, and there’s an envelope of cash in the drawer next to the stove for incidentals. There’s a list of numbers to call posted on the refrigerator in case anything happens. You shouldn’t be bothered. The cook and the gardener are away for the holidays.”

  Cartier must be rolling in the dough. Must be the kind of people who hung out with people like his mother. Or rather his mother and whatever money bags she’d attached herself to.

  “Sounds good,” Evan said. Sounds amazing.

  “You can take the decorations down any time you want before you go back to school. Merci, of course. Oh, I forgot. Our neighbor’s daughter is a chef, and she will be coming in Christmas Eve to prepare the meal for us. She’s a bit temperamental, so you’ll need to stay out of her way. I’d appreciate it if you’d be her runner if she needs anything,” Cartier said.

  “Sure, whatever you need.” Evan couldn’t believe his luck. What if he’d just given up and stayed at the dorm? His friends always invited him home with them, but he hated feeling like the third wheel. Plus there was the whole gift thing, something he didn’t have the ready cash for. Unwanted guest, freeloader, and no gift to give. No way.

  “Oh, and one more thing. The chef’s father will try to help you with the decorating. Under no circumstances must you allow him. He has a heart condition,” Cartier said.

  “I hear you. I’ll be sure and not let that happen.”

  “Well, all right, then. We can be hard to reach sometimes, but as I said, the numbers of my people in the states are posted. The decorations are in the basement. You won’t have any trouble finding the door in the kitchen that leads down.”

  “Fine, thanks very much. Mr. Cartier, you wouldn’t happen to have a piano, would you?” Evan asked.

  “Oui. A Steinway. Will that do?”

  “Oh, yes. I need to practice for my graduation recital.” This just kept getting better and better.

  “Well, you’re welcome to play it. Possibly you could play some Christmas carols at our party that day?”

  “Sure! Perfect. Thanks again. Bye.”

  “Au revoir.” Mr. Cartier ended the call.

  The increasing rainstorm and Cartier’s thick accent made Candle sound like something else, but Evan knew where it was. Just two hours down I-20 East toward Dallas. Alone again, but at least it wouldn’t be in the freezing dorm where they turned down the thermostat over the break. He’d be in a home, with decorations.

  He splashed through puddles to the dorm and scrounged his closet for a backpack. Some jeans, a couple of sweaters—that should be enough. He scooped up his car keys and made his way to the parking lot. Maybe he’d run by the dime store and grab one of the giant candy canes his mom used to stick in his hot chocolate. No matter how broke she was, she always got him hot chocolate and a big one-dollar candy cane.

  His mother texted him just as he started the car. ‘Bout to board, Merry Christmas, sweetheart.

  He returned with, OK Mom. Found a job in Candle, TX over the break.

  He’d barely inserted the key into the ignition when she replied. Text me the address so I can send you something.

  He decided to call her. He wanted to hear her voice.

  No answer.

  Onward to Candle, Texas.

  ~*~

  Risé stood staring out the kitchen window. She scrunched her nose against a burning smell. “Oh, the cookies!” Ugh, she’d burned them. So much for trying sugar-free, gluten-free treats for Dad. Maybe the health food store downtown could fix him up. She dumped the whole mess in the sink.

  Not like she had anything on her mind, right? Not thinking about Jeff. Nope, nada, no way.

  “What happened in here?”

  “Oh, hey, Dad.” She pulled down her sleeve to cover a bruise on her arm. “Sorry, I burned your tree bark cookies.” Risé tried to laugh as she pecked her father on the cheek.

  “That was your idea, not mine. I don’t have to eat cookies at all,” Dad said. He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m just glad to have you home.”

  “Your diabetes diagnosis changes everything, Dad. Can’t have you eating all that calorie- and fat- laden Christmas food.” She patted his stomach, which competed with his belt for notches.

  He laughed. “It’s not that bad.” He ran his hand through graying red hair.

  Risé pulled away from him and grasped his shoulders. “This is serious. I have to take care of you.”

  “I may be getting older, but I think I can handle my problems and take care of myself. I’ve been doing great since the doc laid it on me. It’s you I’m worried about,” he said. His blue eyes searched hers.

  She looked away. “What? Why, Dad? Just because I burned the cookies?” This holiday can’t be about me. Hard enough without Mom here. She’d tell him her news, all of it, after Christmas.

  “You’re about to graduate with a degree in Home Economics, specializing in Culinary Art
s. I’ve never seen you burn anything. Well, not counting the cake you made me in the fourth grade. Plus, you haven’t been yourself since you got home. What’s up?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.

  The pride in his voice at the mention of her degree made a lump in her throat. How could she tell him? “Nothing, Dad, I just burned a batch of cookies, that’s all.” She turned to the sink.

  “Still hard to come home to a house without your mom here, especially at Christmas time, I imagine.” He looked down and tightened his lips.

  “Always, and definitely harder during the holidays. Mom loved it so much. But really Dad, I’m fine. Let me clean this up, and I’ll fix us some dinner.” With a steel wool pad, she scraped at the black bits of cookie on the baking pan.

  “Two years and it’s still hard. But we’re making it, right? Just so sorry that Carol and Fin won’t be across the street for you either. I don’t think she’ll be coming back from the hospital this time,” he said.

  How could she be so selfish? Her troubles were nothing compared to her beloved neighbors’. To think that family friends were experiencing what she and Dad went through just two years before. Too much. I hate cancer.

  Dad shook his head. “What’s wrong with me? I came in here to see about you, and I turned the whole thing into a downer.”

  “No, Dad. It’s OK. Let’s don’t talk about it anymore. It’s Christmas. Let’s go look at the lights after dinner, like we used to before I went off to University. I’ll take a thermos of hot chocolate, and it will be fun.” Did they have any sugar-free cocoa mix?

  “Yes, let’s. Will Jeff be coming to see you at all during this holiday? You know he’s welcome to come.”.

  She dropped the baking pan into the sink. “Oops, I’ve splashed water everywhere. I’ll clean it up. Why don’t you go get your jacket, and we’ll leave in just a few.”