Beverley Green's First Territorial Christmas: Beverley Green Adventures, #2

By Andrea C. Neil

Books. Babysitting. Bad landladies.

Beverley Green has just started a new chapter in her (mid)life and is preparing for her first holiday season as a bookstore owner in her new hometown, Guthrie, Oklahoma.
But Guthrie doesn't just celebrate Christmas, it celebrates Territorial Christmas—a town-wide holiday extravaganza that tests Bev's bah-humbug approach to the season. To complicate things, she's the babysitter of last resort for her tween twin niece and nephew, leaving her extra busy during the busiest time of the year.
Thanks to a string of unfortunate events involving a turtle, a hamster, and a grumpy landlady, Bev finds herself on more than one naughty list, but let's not count out the magic of the season…

Find your way home for the holidays and pick up Beverley Green's First Territorial Christmas, the second book in the Beverley Green Adventures series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: 1631 Press, LLC
• Release date: Nov 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393905158

Book preview

ONE

I wiped the sweat from my brow and sighed heavily. The sweat was nonexistent, and the sigh was over the top, but still. Sometimes a situation called for a little extra drama. And this was one of those situations.

I was sitting in Hoboken, my favorite coffee shop, with my laptop, a notebook and pen, and a cappuccino. I sighed again as my favorite barista, Seth, came to my table and deposited the most delicious-looking cookie I’d ever seen in my life right in front of me.

Oatmeal raisin, on the house, he said, smiling. For good luck.

Thanks, I’ll need it. I looked at my laptop, wishing it would turn itself on and magically compute an answer to all my problems. But instead it sat there on the table as if it couldn’t care less. I was a Grade-A, award-winning procrastinator, but even I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to do it today. It was time to plan for Christmas.

And by plan, I mean several things. Most importantly, I had to come up with a holiday marketing plan for the bookstore I owned. I had opened it up earlier in the year, right after I'd moved to Guthrie. This was going to be the shop's first holiday season, and I wanted to do well, figuring sales during that time would set the tone for the next year. How could I ensure this first Christmas would be a good one? I hoped I would come up with some brilliant ideas to increase business. Or at least a few decent ones.

I also needed to create a work schedule for myself and my part-time employee. And write a few email newsletters for my mailing list. And make a social media posting schedule. And maybe an advertising budget. I wished again that my laptop would do it all for me while I ate my cookie. But it still just sat there, silently mocking me.

So here I was, the week after Halloween, doing my high-level planning. It wasn’t rocket science. But kind of like rocket science, sometimes you had to write it all out on paper so you could get a bird’s-eye view of what you were doing. I was caffeinated, and I was ready to brainstorm. Right after I ate my cookie.

Hiya, missy, a voice said right behind me. I recognized the voice—it belonged to Bill Turner, life-long Guthrie resident and part-time pain in the butt. He was charming, quirky, and persistent, and I just hoped to all get-out that he didn’t need a favor from me today. I didn’t have the time.

Hi, Bill, I said, eating another bite of cookie, without turning around to look at him. Instead he walked around the table to stand in front of me, cortado in one hand, and snack-sized Snickers bar in the other. I knew it was no use in telling him I didn’t have time to talk and, sure enough, he sat down across from me without asking. My shoulders drooped a little. What’s new?

Oh, not much, not much, he said, slurping his coffee and leaning back in his chair. It gave me a chance to check out his T-shirt. He had an interesting collection, and today’s choice didn’t disappoint. Apparently it wasn’t too early to break out the Thanksgiving decorations—his grey shirt read THANKSGIVING IS LIT, written in big white swoopy letters.

Did you need something, Bill? I’ve kind of got my hands full here. I looked down at all the things in front of me on the table.

Oh yeah? Whatcha got going on? Another Bigfoot article? He craned his neck, trying to see what was written in my notebook. It was my Marketing Plan Notebook. It was blank.

In addition to running The Book Store, I had also taken a job at the local paper, the Guthrie Ledger, as a reporter. I had written an article about a series of local Bigfoot sightings a few months back, and it rocketed me to local journalistic superstar status. Everywhere I went, I got stopped by someone who complimented me on my fine investigative reporting accomplishment. It was nonfiction to everyone else, but personally, I pretty much thought of it as fiction. But I seemed to be the only Sasquatch skeptic in town, however, so everyone else loved it.

Even now, I still couldn’t be sure if I’d actually seen a Bigfoot or not, but no one acted like they cared about that part. I had a feeling I had pigeonholed myself into being labeled a Bigfoot Enthusiast. I guess there were worse things to be called. Maybe.

No, I’m done with Bigfoot, I said, sounding a little more relieved than I’d meant to. Right now I’m working on a Christmas marketing plan for the Book Store. My bookstore’s name was the Book Store, which was incredibly handy for many reasons, least of which was not having to explain to anyone what I sold once I told them the name of the shop.

Oooh, Christmas! exclaimed Bill. You know, we do Christmas up something fancy here.

What do you mean?

Oh, it’s a big ol’ deal, Christmas. Yessirree. We all get dressed up, and sing songs, and drink warm cider. And there’s concerts and lots and lots of food… Bill drifted off, probably thinking about all the food.

Sounds like a regular Christmas. What’s so special about it? I couldn’t get all that excited about his description. I was used to New York City holidays—the epitome of the hustle and bustle of Christmas. Ice skating, the tree at Rockefeller Center, and the Winter Village at Bryant Park were just a few of the highlights. I doubted little ol’ Guthrie, Oklahoma could compare with all that.

It just is, okay? You better be ready. Bill pointed to my blank notebook, and we both stared at it. One of us sighed loudly, and it wasn’t Bill.

I’m working on it, I said, not convincing either of us. Now if you’ll excuse me…

He chugged the rest of his coffee and waved one hand at me as he swallowed. Oh sure, sure. I’ll let you go, he said. He set his glass down and started unwrapping his tiny Snickers bar.

I sighed once more. Since he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere except on my nerves, I tried grilling him again. Seriously, what’s so great about Christmas here?

It’s a Territorial Christmas, he said through a mouthful of candy bar. We celebrate like they used to back when we were the Territorial capital. You know, lots of old-timey stuff. Costumes and songs and whatnot.

Great. I was not a costume person of any kind—old-timey, Halloweeny, or any other -y type of clothing. I was always so happy once Halloween was over and the pressure to dress up was off. And now it would just keep on going and going.

He got up slowly. Just make sure you’re ready, missy, he said cryptically. He gave me a knowing look and shuffled off, leaving his empty glass and candy wrapper on my table.

Ready for what? I wondered. The Apocalypse? A Trader Joe’s cookie shortage? World peace? I had no idea what he’d meant, but it had sounded more than a little ominous. I tried to drown myself in my marketing plan and forget about it.

TWO

After spending another hour in the coffee shop, I gathered up my things and walked home. I had made a decent dent in getting things ironed out for the next few months, including ordering plenty of extra holiday books and some gift items. I felt good about my progress, and as I walked, I started to become excited about the season change and the approaching holidays. The weather was still mild, and the walk was pleasant, despite the wind. There was rarely a time when it wasn’t windy in Oklahoma. If the air was still, it often wasn’t a good sign—you might want to check the weather report for impending possible disasters. Just in case.

Today the wind was blowing as strong as ever, taunting my curly hair. But my hair was fighting back, and making a valiant effort. Unfortunately, my face was caught in the crossfire. I was going to have to do a better job of carrying something with me to keep my hair out of my eyes and mouth.

I decided to take a route home that passed by the Scottish Rite Temple. It was, according to its web site (because I just had to Google it, you know?), one of the largest Masonic temples in the world. On the one hand, I found this very difficult to believe. One of the largest in the world? Way out in the middle of Oklahoma? On the other hand, why the heck not here? This state was weirder than most people gave it credit for.

I rarely went by the temple, because to be honest, it kind of gave me the creeps. On the few occasions I had, it was always empty—or at least it always looked empty. It was absolutely humungous, and I could imagine having one heck of a party in there. Like, a roller-skating party. It would take you about thirty minutes to get from one side to the other on your skates, and I bet the floors were perfect for it.

Once, when I was walking past the back of the building, I looked up at the second-story windows. For some reason, this time I took a closer look. Where two external walls joined together, there were windows on either side, and I could see into the building and out the other