Cozy Christmas Shorts

by Halliday, Gemma

Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and thinks praying mantids make everything better. She lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest, where she is currently working on her next book and trying to learn to play the ukulele.

  To learn more about Leslie, visit her online at: http://www.leslielangtry.com

  BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

  Merry Wrath Mysteries

  Merit Badge Murder

  Mint Cookie Murder

  Scout Camp Murder (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

  Marshmallow S'More Murder

  Greatest Hits Mysteries:

  'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

  Guns Will Keep Us Together

  Stand By Your Hitman

  I Shot You Babe

  Paradise By The Rifle Sights

  Snuff the Magic Dragon

  My Heroes Have Always Been Hitmen

  Four Killing Birds (a holiday short story)

  Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas (a holiday short story)

  Other Works:

  Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations

  Hanging Tree Tales YA Horror novels:

  Hell House

  Tyler's Fate

  Witch Hill

  The Teacher

  SLEIGHED AT CASTLE ROCK

  an Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries short story

  by

  ANNE MARIE STODDARD

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Bah Humbug," I muttered to the dancing elf on my laptop screen. I clicked the x in the corner of the pop-up ad on the Castle Rock website, and the manic sprite disappeared. Why's he so jolly anyway? It's not like that slave driver in the red suit gives him dental or a 401(k). I sighed. Normal twenty-year-olds probably didn't talk to computer-generated elves—well, not unless they were logged into one of those online role-playing fantasy games anyway. My boss's ridiculous idea to host a Christmas in July music festival during one of the hottest seasons in Atlanta history had left me feeling grinchy, and here I was taking out my frustrations on the little virtual guy. Seriously, who celebrates Christmas on a summer Saturday in 104-degree weather? Bah Humbug, indeed.

  "Hey, gorgeous," a voice called from the break-room doorway. Reese Martin strutted in, looking irresistible as usual, with his mop of curly blond hair, handsome dimpled grin, and eyes the color of the ocean. Mmm. My boyfriend was the assistant manager of Castle Rock, the concert venue where we both worked. If I was going to have to suffer through all the heat and fake holiday cheer, at least I had some super-sweet eye candy to keep me company.

  Reese pulled out the chair next to mine at the break-room table and took a seat. "What's with the Scrooge impression?"

  "Oh, you know," I said with a little sigh. "Just updating the Castle Rock website and trying to pretend I don't think this whole Christmas in July theme is the worst idea since Creed's reunion tour."

  Reese arched a brow. "Come on, Bronwyn. Do you really think it's that terrible?"

  "Don't you?" I wrinkled my nose. "It's already scorching outside, and it's barely noon. By the time the event starts at four, it'll be hot enough to fry an egg on the courtyard stage." I shook my head. "Forgive me if I'm not really feelin' the holiday spirit."

  "It won't be so bad." Reese reached over to tuck a strand of pink hair behind my ear. "With all the tents that Derek and I set up out in the courtyard, there will be tons of shade. Plus the vendors will be selling snow cones and iced peppermint coffee with real candy cane sticks in them. And"—He reached into his back pocket and produced a small branch of green leaves with a red bow tied around it—"there'll be plenty of chances for me to catch you under the mistletoe." Reese dangled the little plant above his head and waggled his eyebrows at me.

  "Oh, yeah?" I felt a mischievous smile curl my lips. Any excuse to make out with my hot boyfriend was a good one as far as I was concerned. I gave Reese my best bedroom eyes and scooted my chair closer to his.

  "There's my girl," Reese said, returning my smoldering look. He patted his knee with his free hand. "Why don't you come sit on Santa's lap?"

  I rolled my eyes at the cheesy line but leaned in anyway and pressed my lips firmly to his. Just as things were starting to get steamy, someone cleared their throat behind us. "Looks like you two are going on the naughty list," Castle Rock's owner, Kat Taylor, teased as she sidestepped past the table to reach for the coffeepot. Reese and I had been so wrapped up in each other that we hadn't heard her enter the room. Whoops.

  Kat poured the steaming brew into a dark blue mug with the words I'm sorry for what I said before I had my coffee printed across the side. She took a few sips and then peered down into her cup, frowning. "This drink could use a little more holiday cheer," she said, reaching into one of the cabinets for a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps. Kat drizzled some of the sweet liqueur into her mug and took another swig. "Ahh." She exhaled and smacked her lips. "That's better." She perched on a chair across the table from Reese and me and took another sip of her coffee. "I hope you two are ready to work. With Amelia out of town, I need all hands on deck."

  Amelia Grace, Kat's best friend and co-owner of Castle Rock, was on the road all month working as the touring manager for Royal Flush, one of the hottest rock bands of the decade. As Amelia's assistant, I'd stepped up to fill her shoes as the venue's booking agent, and Reese was helping cover her managerial duties. We were both feeling a little overworked and exhausted, but neither of us wanted to let Amelia and Kat down.

  "You got it," Reese said, flashing Kat a confident smile. He gently shifted in his seat, and I scooted my chair back to its original position. Reese glanced at his watch. "Break's almost up anyway," he said. "We'll head out back in a few minutes."

  "Cool. Thanks, y'all." Kat rose from her seat and deposited her empty coffee mug in the sink before turning back to me. "Bronwyn, the judges arrive at two, so I'll need you out front to escort them in."

  "I'll be ready." I suppressed a sigh. We were hosting a Christmas-themed Battle of the Bands competition, and I was stuck catering to the needs of all of the musicians, as well as our three celebrity judges. I use the term "celebrity" loosely. We'd booked a local radio personality, a popular local music blogger and critic, and the owner of one of the city's other rock venues.

  "Perfect." Kat gave Reese and me a thumbs-up and then strode down the hall, her long, light brown hair flowing in a silk sheet behind her.

  When she was out of earshot, Reese turned in his seat and grazed my knee with his fingers. "So, where were we?" he asked, his voice growing husky.

  I tried to ignore his look of disappointment when I brushed his hand away. "Sorry, babe. I don't wanna start something we can't finish." I stood up and tugged him out of his seat. "Come on. Let's go get this 'deck the halls' stuff over with."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Reese and I found the rest of the staff out back in Castle Rock's courtyard, preparing for the day's event. The large field was fenced in by a gray stone wall that matched the concert venue's Gothic castle-style exterior. Several trees lined the wall, their branches thick with vibrant green leaves—not exactly the barren, brittle-branched setting of a real winter festival. Food and bar tents were set up near the back of the field, and the stage was in the corner of the lawn closest to Castle Rock's back entrance. It was positioned so that the venue and Atlanta skyline served as the backdrop during outdoor concerts.

  Charlotte Kelly stood atop a tall ladder on the edge of the stage, wrapping strings of twinkling colored lights around the awning's support beams. The curvy, purple-haired bartender glanced at Reese and me as we approached. "What's up, y'all?" she called.

  "Don't look down," I warned, but it was too late. Charlotte lost her balance, her expression panicked as the ladder wobbled back and forth. Oh no. Fear gripped my gut. The fall from the top of the ladder to the ground below the stage was at least fifteen feet. She could break her neck.

  Castle Rock's head bouncer, Derek Hayes, stood at the base
of the ladder. Realizing what was happening, he wrapped his beefy hands around its frame and steadied it. The wobbling stopped, and Charlotte recovered. As she climbed down to join us, I noticed her knuckles were white from her tight grip on the ladder. "That was close," she said, blowing her purple hair out of her face with a shaky breath. She wiped a few beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and looked at us, her expression sheepish. "I almost pulled an Amelia."

  I smirked. "Somebody had to take over as the staff klutz without her around," I joked. Pulling an Amelia was the term we'd assigned to any act of clumsiness that happened at the venue. Though we all loved Amelia Grace—or Ame, as we usually called her, like Amy without the y—everyone knew she was extremely accident-prone.

  "I'm sorry, Char," Derek said in his deep baritone voice. Even with his dark complexion, it seemed his cheeks were flushed.

  "Are you all right, Charlotte?" Juan Ramirez, our other bartender, dropped the strings of lights he'd been untangling and hurried across the stage. He brushed past Derek and took the pretty girl's tattooed hand. Behind him, Derek scowled. Both men were constantly competing for Charlotte's attention, but neither had a shot with her—though it certainly didn't stop them from trying. Even Reese had been captivated by her curvy figure, full lips, and amber eyes when she'd first been hired back in May. I'll admit I'd been jealous until I found out that the only staff member Charlotte was crushing on was yours truly. She had a thing for other girls with nose piercings and dark eyeliner.

  "I'm fine," Charlotte said, waving Juan away. "Just a little startled is all." She glanced at me. "Bronwyn, you wanna help me fill the ice buckets while the boys handle the rest of the lights? I'm done climbing ladders for the day."

  "Sure." I gave Reese's hand a squeeze before turning to follow Charlotte over to one of the white tents with the word BAR printed in black letters across the awning. We spent the next hour and a half filling the ice buckets, stocking the beer coolers, and slicing lime garnishes at each drink tent while the boys hung twinkling lights above the stage and along the stone wall. Juan draped silver tinsel on the branches of the trees and tied red bows around their trunks.

  "What time is it?" Charlotte asked as she sliced the last lime.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow and slipped my phone out of my pocket. "It's 1:45. The judges will be here soon." I blew out a breath.

  "What's wrong?" Charlotte gave me a sideways glance.

  "I'm just ready to be done with this whole Christmas in July mess. It's too hot out to feel festive. It's bad enough that local radio stations and department stores shove Christmas carols down our throats even earlier every year. Do we really have to hear them in the summer too?" I huffed. "Ain't nobody got time for that."

  "Clearly you've never heard Juan's rendition of 'Feliz Navidad.' It's amazeballs."

  "I'll take your word for it." I slumped against the bar counter, dipping a rag in some cold water and pressing it to my forehead. My shoulders sagged. "I'm just not feeling the holiday cheer."

  A sly smile curled Charlotte's painted lips. "I know something that'll help you mellow." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a joint. "Smoke break?"

  "Um, no thanks. I've got to head inside." I shifted uncomfortably. "And I'm gonna pretend you didn't show me that, seeing as I'm a police sergeant's daughter and all."

  Charlotte snorted. "Yeah, but you're not a narc." She shoved it back in her pocket, making a clucking noise with her tongue. "I'll win you over one of these days, Bronwyn Sinclair." She batted her lashes.

  Good luck with that, I thought. I made my way across the courtyard toward Castle Rock's rear entrance. A refreshing blast of frigid air greeted me as I stepped inside. I leaned against an air vent, shivering in pleasure at the cold sensation on my bare arms and legs.

  A frustrated cry erupted from Kat's office, just a few feet down the hall. "That idiot!" she shouted, her loud voice carrying through the partially open doorway. My eyebrows lifted in surprise. Kat didn't yell very often.

  "It's really not so bad," I heard Amelia reply, her voice loud yet fuzzy. She must have been on speakerphone.

  Kat groaned. There was a loud thud, and I pictured her banging her fist down on her desk. "But it is that bad, Ame. Ugh! I could just kill him."

  "Don't do anything drastic," Amelia said. "Promise me you won't." It could've been my imagination or maybe a bad cell phone connection, but I thought she sounded nervous.

  "Whatever," Kat muttered. "I can't deal with this right now. There's too much to do before the festival starts. I'll talk to you later." There was a click as the call disconnected. I waited a few beats and then knocked on the office door. "Come in," Kat called. She gave me a strained smile as I stepped into the room. "What's up, Bronwyn?"

  "I was heading out front to wait for the judges and thought I'd see if you needed help with anything." Though I was curious about what had upset her, I didn't want to be nosy. Kat was normally one of the nicest and most easygoing people I knew. It would take a lot to tick her off but when you did, she was a force to be reckoned with. I wouldn't want to be on Kat's bad side, I thought.

  "Actually, there is something I need you to do." Kat rose, stooping to retrieve a white shopping bag from beside her desk. The sack had a Party City logo on the side. "I need you to put this on."

  The bag made a jingling sound as she held it up. That can't be good. "What is it?" I asked, eyeing the bag warily.

  Kat thrust it into my hands. "I rented a costume for everyone on staff for the weekend. We're running short on time, so if it's too big then we'll just have to tie the belt as tight as it can go."

  I stared blankly at her. "Costume?"

  Kat glanced toward her desk as her phone began to ring. "Yes," she said, her tone impatient. "It's a holiday-themed festival, remember? We've got to look the part. Even I'll be dressed up." Kat gently gripped my shoulders and spun me around, giving me a little nudge toward the door. "The judges will be here any minute, so don't be long." She returned to her desk and answered the incoming call.

  With a sigh, I shuffled down the hall, dread pooling in my belly. I don't see why we have to dress up—it's not Halloween. I slipped through the door marked LADIES and peeked inside the sack. Oh no. I stared in open-mouthed horror at the fuzzy green thing inside. The velour dress had white faux fur trim on the collar and skirt and a black belt with bright gold buckle. White-and-green striped tights were wadded up at the bottom of the bag, next to a pair of black pointy boots. It was even worse than I'd imagined.

  Five minutes later I was glaring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I turned around slowly, taking in my narrow hips and petite, five-foot-three stature. The only Christmas-y thing about my getup was the red and green hat, which clashed with my short, hot pink hair. Closer inspection of the velvety emerald dress showed dozens of tiny, light green shamrocks sewn in a polka dot pattern all over the skirt. The jingling noise I'd heard before came from bells attached to the points of the boots. The little tinkling things were painted black and had fake spider legs and googly eyes super-glued to them. What are these supposed to be? Witch shoes? I frowned. I looked like I'd gone diving through the holiday bin at Goodwill.

  Stifling a groan, I stalked back to Kat's office. "I think there's been a mistake," I said as I stepped inside. "Unless I'm supposed to look like I have a case of holiday schizophrenia."

  Kat looked up from her computer, her blue eyes nearly popping out of her skull. "What is that?" She demanded, gawking at my outfit.

  I scowled. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

  Kat smacked her forehead with the palm of her slender hand. "I could've sworn I picked up the elf costume," she groaned. She closed her eyes, her lips moving silently. I think she was counting to ten. After a few moments, her eyelids fluttered open again. Kat exhaled a long sigh. "Well," she said, shrugging, "it's too late to take it back now. We're just going to have to make the best of the situation."

  My frown deepened. "How? I'm one pot o
f gold away from being a leprechaun—or one cauldron away from being the Wicked Witch of West Midtown, depending on which part of my outfit you're looking at."

  Kat glanced at her watch and gave me a tired look. "Can you just try to make it work, Bronwyn? Please?"

  "I guess." I looked down at the costume, glaring at the googly-eyed spider bells that stared back at me from the tips of my shoes. I was going to have to spend the whole day dressed like a holiday patchwork quilt—not to mention sweating my butt off in the sweltering summer heat.

  "Cheer up," Kat said, offering me a reassuring smile. "It could always be worse."

  I arched a brow. "Really? How?"

  You would think that by now I'd have learned not to tempt the universe by asking questions like that. You'd be wrong.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Footsteps in the hallway brought my attention to Kat's office door. Charlotte appeared, leading a short, chubby man with a greasy blond ponytail and a matching goatee. He was dressed in jean shorts and a black T-shirt that was at least one size too small. The phrase "Deck My Balls" was printed across the front in red, green, and white lettering. Charming.

  "Hello, Katherine." The man's voice was obnoxiously nasal.

  Kat stiffened, and her jaw clenched. She hated when people called her Katherine. With a tight smile, she squared her shoulders and crossed the room to shake his hand. "Hi, Graham."

  The man eyed Charlotte disdainfully. "Your welcome party was burning one down in the box office when I walked up, Katherine. Do all of your employees get stoned on the job?" His lip curled. "It would explain the crappy service."

  Charlotte's mouth dropped open. She squinted at Kat and me with red-rimmed eyes. "I-I wasn't—" the half-baked bartender stuttered. "I mean, it was just a quick—" She gave up trying to think of an excuse, and her head drooped. "Freakin' narc," she muttered.