Page 21 of One Hundred Humbugs

As they reached the porch, Ruby turned to Becket. “Listen, why don’t you come in for a bit? You must be freezing after all that. I can make us some coffee, and we can start figuring out how to goat-proof the yard.”

Becket hesitated, glancing back at his truck. “I should get the other goats settled...”

“Come on,” Ruby insisted. “Just for a little while. Consider it my way of saying sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“Alright,” Becket nodded. “Just for a bit. But let me get this guy locked up first.” He turned to Houdini, who was eyeing him with what looked suspiciously like amusement. “Come on, you troublemaker. Time for a timeout.”

A few minutes later, Becket stepped into the house, shaking off snow and removing his damp coat.Something had shifted. This morning’s chaos had been unexpected, embarrassing, and more than a little stressful. But as he watched Ruby in the kitchen making coffee, he had the sense that he might be exactly where he was supposed to be. Glancing out the window at Houdini in his pen, a fond exasperation on his face, Becket looked forward to whatever adventure this strange little town might throw at them next.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ruby wiped sweat from her brow as she hauled another box down from the attic. She’d been at it for hours, sorting through Uncle Peter’s belongings in a desperate search for anything valuable. The events of yesterday—Houdini’s escape, the destruction of the town’s Christmas decorations, and her impulsive promise to make everything right—weighed heavily on her mind.

“Way to go, Ruby,” she muttered, setting the box down with a thud. “Promise to replace everything when you can’t even afford to feed yourself. Brilliant plan.”

Pausing to catch her breath, Ruby shuffled to the window. The world outside was blanketed in white, the season transforming Aspen Cove into a winter wonderland. In the yard, she could see Becket already up and about, tending to his goats. Even from a distance, she could tell he was giving Houdini a stern talking-to.

The sight almost made her laugh. Despite the chaos that he had caused, there was something oddly endearing about that troublemaking goat. And as for Becket ... Ruby pushedthat thought aside. She had more pressing matters to deal with.

“Alright, Uncle Peter,” she said, turning to survey the cluttered room. “Time to see if you left me anything worth selling.”

Over the next few hours, Ruby dove headfirst into sorting through her uncle’s things. She started in the attic, working her way down, uncovering years of accumulated ... well, junk. There was no other way to put it. Uncle Peter had been a collector of the strange, the useless, and the outright bizarre.

In one dusty corner of the attic, she found a collection of souvenir spoons from places he’d never been. “Really, Uncle Peter?” Ruby muttered, holding up a spoon engraved with ‘I North Korea.’ “I’m pretty sure you never set foot in Pyongyang.”

Moving to the bedroom, she discovered a box filled with pairs of mismatched socks, each meticulously labeled with a significant year. “1969 - Moon Landing,” read one tag. Another declared, “1980 - Who Shot J.R.?” Ruby grinned, realizing her uncle had found an unusual way to chronicle history—one pair of socks at a time. Each mismatched pair represented a moment in time, like a quirky timeline stitched together in fabric, as though he marked the passing of history not with dates on a calendar but with the most unexpected keepsakes.

The living room yielded a bookshelf full of self-help books with increasingly ridiculous titles. “How to Win Friends and Influence Yetis,” Ruby read aloud, shaking her head. “The Secret Life of Sasquatch: Unveiling the Mystery.” She snorted. “Well, at least now I know where you got all your crazy ideas from.”

As she worked, Ruby found her irritation giving way toamusement, and even a touch of fondness. Each item, no matter how useless, told a story about her uncle—his interests, his sense of humor, his unique way of looking at the world.

In the den, she stumbled upon what might have been Uncle Peter’s pièce de résistance: a collection of snow globes, each containing a different gnome scene. Ruby picked one up, giving it a shake. Inside, tiny gnomes rode even tinier bicycles through a swirl of glittery snow.

“Gnomes on Bikes,” read the label on the base. Next to it stood “Gnome Tea Party,” “Gnomes Go Fishing,” and—Ruby’s personal favorite—”Gnome Sweet Gnome,” featuring a gnome family gathered around a miniature television.

“Oh, Uncle Peter,” Ruby said fondly, placing the snow globes on a shelf. “You were one of a kind, weren’t you?”

Just then, a commotion outside caught her attention. Ruby moved to the window just in time to see Houdini making another bid for freedom, with Becket in hot pursuit.

“Oh no, not again,” Ruby groaned, though her words carried more delight than annoyance. She watched as Becket caught up to the troublemaker, scooping him up with both exasperation and affection.

Ruby was tempted to go outside and help, but the task at hand was too important. With a sigh, she turned back to her search.

The kitchen yielded its own treasures—or rather, its own unique brand of useless items. The drawers were stuffed with takeout menus from restaurants that had long since closed.“Pete’s Palindrome Pizza - We deliver forwards and backwards!”one proclaimed. Another advertised,“The Upside-Down Cafe - Where the floor is the ceiling, and the prices are upsidedown too!”

“Did you ever cook a meal in your life, Uncle Peter?” Ruby muttered, adding the menus to the growing pile of junk.

In a cupboard above the stove, she found a collection of novelty mugs. “I Believe in Bigfoot (He Believes in You Too),” read one. Another declared, “Aliens Abducted My Diet Plan.” Ruby imagined her uncle sipping his morning coffee from these ridiculous cups.

As the day wore on, Ruby’s search became increasingly desperate. She’d been through most of the house and had yet to find anything of real value. The pile of quirky, useless items had grown, but her hopes of finding something to sell had dwindled.

Just as she was about to give up, Ruby noticed a corner of something poking out from under a pile of old newspapers. Curious, she tugged at it, revealing a large, ornate trunk. It was locked, but the key hung from a piece of twine tied to the handle.

Ruby’s heart raced as she turned the key. This was it—this had to be where Uncle Peter kept his valuables. She lifted the lid, already envisioning the treasures within.

What she found instead was a trunk full of old takeout menus and a scrapbook labeled “UFO Sightings (Probably).”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ruby groaned, flipping through the scrapbook. Page after page was filled with blurry photos of what were just lens flares and oddly shaped clouds. Uncle Peter’s excited notes filled the margins: “Possible alien craft over Johnson’s cow pasture?” and “Martian scout ship or unusually reflective weather balloon?”

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