Merry Market Murder(72)

I even thought I’d seen a sketch of some spring garden ideas. When I told Allison about the sketch, we decided not to question or push them to tell us their plans. They still had just enough hippie left in them that they might rebel against our wishes that they stick around. Rebellion would always be a familiar behavior pattern.

Jason and Polly Robins had probably experienced more than their two daughters ever could imagine. As parents they didn’t talk openly about all of those experiences, but frequently Allison and I would catch a look, a glance, a shared smile that tied them together, perhaps because the end result had been a short stint in jail, an adventure into something that was illegal, or at least skirted along the edge of legal.

Anyway, neither my sister nor I wanted the details. We were fine not knowing all of our parents’ secrets or even most of them.

Jason and Polly had changed since they’d left for their previous road trip about two and a half years earlier, though. They’d become more conservative in their dress and less vocal when it came to discussing issues that were important to them. They’d never been particularly argumentative, just firm in their beliefs—and firm that everyone else had a right to believe whatever they believed; live and let live. Now my parents just didn’t feel the need to talk about their causes as much.

Allison thought it had something to do with the fact that Mathis was, at the age of almost three, a sponge to the world and the people he loved and spent the most time with. He’d pick up a word or a mannerism so quickly that we all tried to be as well behaved as possible around him.

I disagreed with my sister on this point, though. I thought our parents were simply mellowing. They still cared fervently about their causes, but they preferred to spend their time baking bread, fixing the roof, or sketching plans for a spring garden rather than throwing themselves completely into causes.

And, despite the panicked nature that must have characterized Vivienne Norton’s plea for decorating help, I imagined my parents were thrilled to take on the task, even if it had required that my mother take extra doses of allergy medication. One of their biggest causes, their biggest loves, was their hometown of Monson. Being able to help make the Christmas parade a more enjoyable and better event was right up their collective alley.

I found them both on Main Street and both on ladders this time, but neither of the ladders was high or wobbly. They were placing poles with wide weighted bottoms next to each of the fully decorated trees. Then, they’d step up onto a short step ladder and thread a pennant onto the top part of the pole. Each pennant had been painstakingly drawn with the tree winner’s name.

“Did you paint all of these?” I asked Mom as I handed her the pennant she was reaching for.

“Your dad helped. It wasn’t too difficult.”

“Oh, Mom, I should be a better help to you.”

“My dear, you have a million things going on, and you’ve had to bake all those cookies. They’re delicious, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Polly!” Dad called from a few trees down. He was standing next to a tree that was all silver and gold—tinsel, ornaments, miniature wreaths. At the moment, the entire tree was sparkling from a thin ray of sun, which had peeked through a slit in the gathering and darkening clouds.

“Yes, dear?”

“I don’t think I have the right winner. Who was highest bidder on this one?”

Mom reached into her back jeans pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Dell, the pharmacist.”

“Nope,” Dad said as he looked at the pennant, “this doesn’t say Dell.”

“Check the stack on the library steps.” Mom pointed behind him.

“Should I do it for him?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly. He’s right there, he’ll figure it out.”

“Is it really just the two of you doing this? There must be fifty trees this year.”

“Fifty-three, and no, Vivienne and a couple of the other officers helped with the other side. They had to leave. Sam called them in for something. They’ll be back if they have the time.”

I glanced down the street, past Dad and past the line of trees, to the building that housed the small police department. I wanted to run down and see what was going on, if Sam had any more news from Brenton, but I couldn’t have abandoned my mom even if she’d told me to.

I grabbed some poles and some pennants and followed along on her list as the three of us finished the task. Sam and I had bid on a few trees, but we hadn’t won any of them. The train tree went to someone I didn’t know from Smithfield.

After the pennants were set up, we brought out the tables and set them up in the middle of the street so that people could sit and visit or eat their treats, or just look at the trees. The tables had been stored inside the shoe store. Once we pulled them out, we taped holiday-decorated paper tablecloths onto them.