“Yup. With the planning commission. I’m goin’ over there right now. Just had to do a quick errand first.”

“Here?”

“Yup.” His eyes sparkled. “Jo’s great about always making this place look nice for Christmas and ’specially for the Christmas Eve party, but I wanted to add extra fun this year.” He bounced on the tips of his toes.

My eyes narrowed. I knew from experience that Grandma Jo liked things to be a certain way, especially when it came to her holiday decorations, so Dr. Raymond making any changes without telling her first struck me as unwise.

Then he took out a sample of what he had in the plastic bag and his grin widened.

I frowned. “Is that an herb?” I asked, at least grateful that it in no way resembled pot leaves. Not that I could for one fraction of a second envision Dr. Raymond high on anything other than nitrous oxide.

But then he explained, “It’s mistletoe.” And when I peered closer, I saw that it did look like the plant Grandma Jo had held up at the parade. “For kissing,” he further explained, and I wished he hadn’t because I never needed to have the notion of “kissing” and Dr. Raymond in the same vicinity.

Ever.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and wished he would just leave already.

He didn’t. He was too proud of himself.

“I put batches ’round here. For a surprise.” He smiled that perfect veneer of a shiny white smile. “Fun, huh?”

“Hmmmmmm . . .” was all I could muster.

Thankfully, he checked his watch and his eyed widened. “Yikes! Gotta skedaddle! Don’t wanna be late for the meetin’. I’m on the board now, ever since Micky Fleck got kicked off on account of his arson. Here.” He tossed me the bag and I caught it right as Arthur entered the lobby. Dr. Raymond glanced at Arthur as he told me, “Use it wisely.” Then with a “Howdy, Arty!” he bounded out the front door, headed for the planning commission meeting. And Grandma Jo.

Arthur straightened his shoulders. “For the record, I have never before been called Arty, nor do I ever wish to be again.”

“You’re in luck,” I said. “This is an Arty-free zone.”

“Thank God.”

I took him in for the first time since we’d parted in the second-floor hallway.

To my surprise, he was wearing the Wranglers again. They’d been washed since the trip to the farm, and the fit was more relaxed. There was no ornament-vomiting reindeer sweater this morning. Though he had managed to sneak in a more traditional reindeer “jumper,” one with midnight blue on the sleeves and shoulders, claret red on the lower half, populated by white snowflakes and, of course, white deer and pine trees silhouettes all around.

I hid a smile. As long as I lived, I would forever associate reindeer with Arthur Chakrabarti Watercress.