Caught in a Christmas Conundrum (Christmas Tree, PA #6)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Kate

“All right, that’s the last of the mini cheesecakes for the Christmas Tree festival.” My assistant, Phyllis, stands in the kitchen after shutting the door to our big, industrial-size refrigerator.

My catering business is officially one year old, and while I’m not wildly successful, it’s been better than I had feared. I’m not in danger of going out of business before the end of the year anyway. Not with the Christmas Tree Christmas festival going on.

I better correct Phyllis.

“You mean the Christmas Tree Christmas festival,” I say, smiling, expecting her to smile and admit that she misspoke.

“No. The Christmas Tree festival.”

“We’re not catering the Christmas Tree festival. We catering the Christmas Tree Christmas festival.” I usually can let mistakes go. I’m not a perfectionist, exactly, but I do like to have things right. And I like the details to line up.

“On the schedule, it says the Christmas Tree festival.” Phyllis looks at me, her gaze steady. She’s not arguing. She pays attention to details the same as I do, and I’m sure she is waiting to make sure that I get it right.

I’m ready to open my mouth to argue again, but I decide that it’s smarter to just take the five steps over to the computer and check.

“I spoke with Mrs. Brown, who is in charge of coordinating the Christmas Tree Christmas festival, and that’s on Saturday. And that’s what we’re catering,” I say as I wake the computer up and click through a few screens.

“Mrs. Brown was also in charge of the Christmas Tree festival, and it is also on Saturday. That’s what I booked,” Phyllis says, her head tilted, as I glance up at her. Like she’s making sure I understand that she was the one who put this in the calendar.

That’s silly, because I put it in the calendar.

For some reason, my computer is being slow, and I patiently wait for the calendar to load.

Living in Christmas Tree, Pennsylvania, a town with Christmas in its very name, we take the holiday seriously. There are festivals galore, as well as parades and parties and dinners and galas this time of year. We’ll do anything to get the tourists in, and it’s been pretty effective. I would never open a business in a small town like Christmas Tree if we hadn’t had that steady inflow of tourist money.

Finally, the calendar loads, and it takes a few minutes of looking at the dates for me to understand what exactly the conundrum is.

A sinking feeling starts in my stomach, chased away by full-blown, painful, explosive panic.

I straighten and look at my assistant. “We’re booked for both.”

I swallow hard, although my throat is tight and my hands have suddenly started to sweat. What am I going to do? I’m not prepared to do both, and Saturday is tomorrow.

We have everything perfectly aligned, and all of our resources are going toward making sure that everything is perfect for the Christmas Tree Christmas festival, and somehow, probably because of the similarity of the names and the fact that they’re the same date, with the same point person, neither one of us realized that we were preparing for different festivals.

“Our town is the stupidest town in the entire world,” Phyllis says. “Just saying,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

I can’t disagree. The whole reason that there are two festivals is because there used to be one, which was run by two sisters. The sisters married men who couldn’t get along, and the sisters ended up splitting up, one of them going to one side of the town and one of them going to the other side of town, and each of them having their festival on the same day. It wasn’t too big of a deal back then, and we’re talking fifty years ago. But what started out as a bitter rivalry eventually became a friendly one, as the sisters made up. They continued the tradition of having two different festivals on the same day, with very similar names.

I know. It’s hard to keep track. No wonder we got confused.

“All right. The bright side of this is that we’re going to get paid twice as much as what I thought we were, and it’s going to be the biggest payday we’ve ever had.”

“You’re not actually thinking of trying to pull off both festivals?” Phyllis asks, incredulity in her voice.

“I guess I was hoping we could,” I say, because that’s the only solution I can stand to think about. Canceling one is unconscionable. First of all, it could start another feud, because whatever festival gets canceled is going to be mad at the one that doesn’t. Even though they’re both coordinated by Mrs. Brown, there are different people involved in both. Because they’re both a big deal. This is the biggest day for outside tourists for our town in the entire year.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t think we have the resources to do this. Even if we could find people to work with us, we’d need to get them trained and help them figure out what to do, and we just don’t have enough time.” Phyllis’s words are reasonable, and I know she’s right, but I don’t want to cancel. The reputation of my business depends on us being able to fulfill our obligations, perfectly, deliciously, and on time.

That’s my motto. Perfect, delicious, and on time.

“There’s gotta be something we can do,” I say, and I put my hands behind my back and start to pace.

I walk the hallway to the window in the back, turn around, and walk the entire way to the front of the store.

I stop and stare out the storefront windows. We don’t really have a store, although there is a small counter, and people can come in and place orders for catering in person. Every once a while, we have a day of takeout. Last year, when I didn’t have either festival booked, my grand opening was just having people come and get takeout on the festival day. So far, that was my biggest money day. We are set to overtake it this year, and if we do both festivals, we’ll easily triple it or more.

My eyes catch on a man walking down the street. He has on a black barbecue apron, and I don’t need to see his face to know that it’s Lucas Nearhoof. I also don’t need to see the apron to recognize it’s the one that says, last time I cooked, hardly anyone got sick .

Phyllis must have laid eyes on him about the same time I did. “You could ask Lucas to help.”

“No way. I would rather cancel first,” I say, but in my heart of hearts, I know I’m not going to cancel, and I’ll do anything. Even ask Lucas Nearhoof to help.

I brush my hands down my own apron. I’m wearing one that says, your opinion wasn’t in the recipe .

Our aprons aren’t the only things we compete with. He has won the Christmas Tree Christmas barbecue contest for the last five years.

I won it six years ago, and I’ve come in second place ever since.

It’s a bit of a sore subject for me.

“You need to put your rivalry aside, or you might lose one of the festivals,” Phyllis says, pulling her lip into her mouth and biting down on it.

“He’s a barbecue guy. I am a caterer. I don’t do barbecue. We do good food,” I remind her, and maybe I’m a little bit harsh as I speak. But Phyllis knows if my words come out hard, it’s because of the rivalry between Lucas and me. Maybe it’s also because of my hard feelings about him winning for the last five years. After all, I might not do barbecue every day, but mine is pretty stinking good, if I do say so myself. I think he cheats.

“All right. That’s fine. You want me to call Mrs. Brown and tell her that we can’t do one of the festivals?” Phyllis asks, moving from the window as I deliberately turn my back on Lucas.

I sigh. “No. Let me think about this for a moment.” I do some calculations in my head. I can go shopping today, I can get the ingredients, and Phyllis and I can work on making all the preparations we can. I assume that the menus are the same for both festivals, since there was never any discrepancy there. I can go back and make sure, but… I think it’s doable.

I’ll just need Lucas to share his cooler space and to do a little cooking on Saturday. I don’t have enough room to store everything, and I can’t cook it all either. Plus, he’ll need to use some of his people to deliver the food. We can probably stagger the delivery times; one is scheduled to be at 12:30, so we could have some ready at 11:30 for the Christmas Tree Christmas festival and deliver the other at 12:15. I don’t think those times will mess anything up too much.

The problem is, I’m going to have to go talk to Lucas, and I’ve made a point of not talking to Lucas for the last five years. Ever since he beat me the first time at the Christmas Tree Christmas barbecue contest.

“You can do it,” Phyllis says softly, patting me gently on the shoulder. I barely feel it.

“Let me put on a clean apron,” I say, lifting my chin and pushing my shoulders back. “Then I’ll talk to my nemesis. We’ll see if we can salvage this thing.”