Page 37 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
One minute passed. Two. Five.
No response.
“Let’s get this last booth set up,” she said finally. “Church location, then we’re done.”
She threw herself into the setup with almost manic energy, stringing lights with sharp, precise movements, arrangingsupplies with militant organization. Brice secured the booth while Felicity added decorative touches, and through it all, Jade kept one eye on her phone.
Nothing.
Father Michael came out to admire their work, blessing the booth with casual enthusiasm and promising to spread the word among his congregation. A family stopped to ask about Sunday’s schedule. Two teenagers wanted to know if they were hiring for the evening.
To each person, Jade smiled and answered and wished them happy holidays, even though panic was starting to claw at her throat.
By the time they had finished the third booth and loaded the empty truck bed, it was past noon. The sun was high and bright, glinting off snow and Christmas decorations, making everything look magical and perfect.
Jade’s phone remained stubbornly, devastatingly silent.
“Want to grab lunch?” Felicity asked too casually. “Talk through Sunday’s schedule?”
“We’ve been working non-stop for hours.
“You need to eat something that isn’t cookie dough,” Felicity announced, physically removing the inventory clipboard from Jade’s hands. “And I have something to show you. Something big.”
“Fee, I have a million things to?—”
“They can wait thirty minutes. Come on.” Felicity was already grabbing her coat, her eyes bright with the particular gleam that meant she’d uncovered something juicy. “Trust me, you’re going to want to sit down for this.”
Ten minutes later, they were settled into a corner booth at the Frost Pine Cat Café, where a sleek gray tabby had immediately claimed Felicity’s lap and an orange marmalade cat was investigating Jade’s purse with intense interest.
“I still can’t believe this place exists,” Jade said, gently moving the cat away from her bag. “A cat café in Frost Pine Ridge? How in the world did they get Cecily Glick to approve of this?”
“Sara O’Conner opened it two years ago. It’s actually doing pretty well—tourists love it.” Felicity was already scrolling through her phone with one hand while petting the tabby with the other. “But we’re not here for the cats. Well, not primarily. Order something. You look like you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Jade ordered a turkey, stuffing and cranberry sandwich she wasn’t sure she could stomach, and a coffee she definitely needed. Felicity did the same, then set her phone face-down on the table with deliberate drama.
“Okay, so remember when I said I was going to do some research into why Cecily has it out for you?”
“Vaguely.”
“Right. Well, I spent last night in the library archives with Emily Clark, going through old newspapers. And Jade?” Felicity’s eyes were sparkling. “I found something.”
She flipped her phone around, displaying a grainy black-and-white photograph of what appeared to be a newspaper clipping. Two women stood on either side of what looked like a judge, both holding elaborate fruitcakes. One woman was beaming with pride, a ribbon pinned to her dress. The other looked like she’d been forced to swallow something particularly bitter.
Jade leaned closer, squinting at the image. The photo quality was poor, the fashions clearly from another era—dropped waists and cloche hats. “Is that...?”
“Your great-grandmother Eleanor,” Felicity confirmed, pointing to the smiling woman. “And that sour-faced woman next to her? That’s Constance Glick. Cecily’s great-grandmother.”
“When was this?”
“April 1928. Listen to this.” Felicity swiped to another photo showing the article text more clearly and read aloud: “‘Mrs. Eleanor Bennett’s traditional fruitcake took first prize for the fifth consecutive year, despite formal complaints from Mrs. Constance Glick regarding recipe authenticity. Contest judges dismissed Mrs. Glick’s objections after thorough review, confirming the superior quality and traditional preparation of the Bennett family fruitcake.”
Jade stared at the photo, pieces clicking into place. “A baking contest. They had a feud over a baking contest?”
“Not just any contest. This was apparently the social event of the season back then. And it wasn’t just one year.” Felicity swiped through more clippings. “Look—1929, Eleanor won again. 1930, same thing. I found articles dating back to 1926. Your great-grandmother won every single year.”
“And Constance Glick lost every single year,” Jade said slowly.
“Worse than that. She didn’t just lose—she kept filing complaints. Accused Eleanor of using non-traditional ingredients, of bribing judges, of all sorts of things. And when none of that worked...” Felicity pulled up another clipping, this one from 1931. “She started going after the bakery itself. Look at this headline: ‘Local Business Owner Questions Competitor’s Compliance with Town Ordinances.’”
