Twelve Slays of Christmas

by Jacqueline Frost

  Chants from the crowd morphed into hysteric laughter as my world began to spin out of control.

  Dad’s voice boomed.

  My eyes opened in time to see him swing Cookie out of the way.

  Hallelujah! A burst of nausea and relief exploded in me. It was a Christmas miracle!

  My body flipped once more and jerked to a stop as I wedged beneath the belly of the Patsy’s Popovers truck.

  Mom’s boots hustled into view. “Holly!”

  I army-crawled out from under Patsy’s and flipped onto my back for a cleansing breath. “I’m okay,” I lied.

  Everything I had hurt, and I had no idea where my snowball had gone, but at least I’d beaten Sheriff Gray to the bottom.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I propped my probably sprained ankle on a throw pillow at the end of my parents’ couch and tugged a quilt around my shoulders.

  Mom set a tray on the coffee table and poured me a cup of tea. “Just the way you like it. Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can get you? A snack or a book? A doctor, perhaps?”

  I laughed and regretted it. “Ow.”

  “Be still.” Mom fussed. “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.” She tucked the blanket around my legs and adjusted my foot pillow. “You’re a mess. I can only imagine the bruises under those flannel jammies. What were you thinking flying down the hill like that? You know you have to pace yourself to make it to the end.”

  I’d been thinking I wanted to beat the sheriff, but I wasn’t about to admit that. As for the bruising, I’d taken my time in a hot shower, making sure all my parts were accounted for. Everything was still intact, though some pieces were a bit touchier than others. “I’m going to be fine. Besides, you should’ve seen the other guy,” I teased.

  “Oh.” Mom made a terrible face. “We did. The poor woman toppled into you after she tripped on that wonky barrel-shaped thing Sheriff Gray was kicking. She could barely get up when she stopped rolling. The cameraman she plowed over next will surely put his footage on the nightly news.”

  I swallowed the urge to scream. “I hope they’re both okay.”

  Mom tipped her head back and forth over her shoulders. “Embarrassed more than anything, I think.”

  Understandable. At least I’d had a rescue team.

  Mom and Dad had loaded me into a work truck and whisked me into hiding after my one-hundred-yard skid and roll down Spruce Knob in front of five hundred cheering fans.

  “Well,” Mom said, threading her arms into the sleeves of her coat, “I’d better get back. I put your clothes in the dryer and hung your coat in the mudroom.” She layered more toasty blankets over me. “There’s a deputy on the porch if you need anything, and I’ve got my cell on me. Enjoy your tea. I’ll be home in time for dinner. Don’t forget the memorial for Mrs. Fenwick is tonight at seven. A short candlelight vigil before the tree lighting in the square. Rest up so you don’t have to miss it.” She kissed my forehead and smoothed my hair.

  “Okay.”

  She slipped out, and I sipped my tea, desperate to doze off, but the way my week was going, the house would most likely burst into flames if I got any sleep. Cindy curled on my legs and let me pet her fluffy calico fur until I felt a little better. “Do you want to watch a movie?” I asked her. “We’re on our own for another couple of hours.”

  She rubbed her face against my belly, then flopped onto her side and bit my fingers.

  “Stop.” I flipped channels on the remote until the Grinch’s green face lit up the screen. “Oh, look!” I set my cup aside and dragged her higher on my lap for a proper snuggle. “This is where you got your name, Cindy Lou Who.” I nuzzled my cheek against her head. She struggled to paw my mouth and chew my nose. “If I’d have known then what I know now, I might’ve named you after a different character.”

  She jumped off the couch and gave me a backward glance before slinking away.

  “I interpret your rejection as love,” I called after her.

  I wiggled deeper beneath the blankets, warmed inside from the tea and outside from the thick pile of covers.

  “Knock knock.” Sheriff Gray poked his head through the newly opened front door.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, straightening myself begrudgingly on the cushions. “Why didn’t my mom lock the door?” What if he’d been the killer, or if I’d been indecent? What if I’d been binge-eating maple-covered bacon and not in the mood to share?

  “Sorry,” he said shyly, pushing the door shut behind him and extracting the key. He lifted it near his cheek. “She gave this to me in case of emergency. I’ll give it back when this is all over.”

  My muscles went rigid. “Is there an emergency?”

  “Well, no, but I could see you resting from the window and didn’t want you to have to get up, but . . .” His expression puckered. “I probably shouldn’t have assumed you’d let me in.”

  “I would have let you in,” I sighed. “I just don’t think I’ll be much company.”

  “I won’t stay. I was just checking in with my deputy.” He posed awkwardly beside the window, apparently unsure what to do with my house key or his hands in general. “I thought while I was here, I’d see how you’re feeling after that nasty spill.”

  I groaned as memories of my out-of-control penguin imitation flooded back to mind. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “I mean it a lot.” I moved the end of my blanket pile off my sore legs. “You can sit with me if you hold my feet. Normally, I’d hop up and get you something from the kitchen, but my ankle’s tender, and I’m being a baby. You could sit in the recliner, but then you’ll miss the best holiday movie ever made.” On-screen, the Whoville townsfolk held hands and sang.

  “Well, that looks familiar.”

  “Seen it before, have you?”

  He hung his coat on the rack and made his way to the couch with a soft chuckle. His clothes were dry despite his earlier tumble. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to go home and clean up. Though I was probably the only one vowing to take a few practice runs before the big event next time. “Yeah, every morning at the town square.”

  I laughed. “Mistletoe isn’t quite that jolly.”

  “Oh, no?” he asked with a grin.

  “Sorry I can’t get you something to eat or drink. You can share my tea.” I hooked a thumb in the direction of my cup. “There’s more in the kettle, but I only have one mug.”

  “I don’t need anything. I visited one or two food trucks before I came over.” He lowered himself into the space I’d made for him and placed my legs across his lap with careful hands.

  I flipped the pile of covers back over us. “The Grinch is my favorite.”

  He spread his arms along the back of the couch, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He crossed his arms instead and gripped his elbows.

  I smiled. “Are you trying not to touch me?”

  “What? No.” His gaze darted to the door.

  My smile grew. “You’re afraid my dad’s going to come in here and freak out, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You know, there are at least seven layers of clothes and blankets between us, I think my dad would let you live if he walked in, plus I’m getting the impression you’re a gentleman. He appreciates those.”

  The sheriff moved cautious green eyes to mine. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

  “You’re polite and compassionate, you never take advantage of your authority, you always thank my mom for the things she does, and you’re the first to pitch in when someone needs help, even a lonely, hungry cat. Plus, you don’t yell at me, even when I deserve it and think you are.”

  “So you admit I don’t yell,” he said. “Good. But if you get me mad enough, I might arrest you.”

  “Doubtful,” I said. “I’ve been kind of a pain, and I’m still free.”

  His cheek ticked up on one side. “I’ve got to admit, I didn’t know what to th
ink of you at first, always turning up with a side dish of trouble. Now I think you’re just being you. Curious and stubborn, sure, but I don’t think you irritate me intentionally.”

  I let my mouth fall open. “I irritate you?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  My cheeks hurt, and I realized I was smiling. “So what are you really doing here?” I asked, desperate to turn his attention away from me as my cheeks grew warmer.

  “Checking in,” he said. “You worried me back there. Everyone else crossed the finish line on their feet.”

  “I crossed first, though.”

  “Yeah, face first and without your snowball.”

  “Now you’re just being picky,” I told him.

  He laughed. “My snowball was smashed to smithereens. I finished without it, and I think I bruised my spleen. You guys should think about adding rules to that game—or an age limit.”

  “Rude.” I laughed. “Who are we to say when someone’s too old to chase a snowball?”

  “It’s all fun and games until you’re stuck under a food truck. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I wasn’t stuck, and it’s not up to us—or you—to decide who plays.”

  His expression fell, and he finally rested his hands on my lower legs, looking utterly defeated. “I know.”

  I tried to imagine the frustration he had when people made poor choices. “It must be hard to be the hero all the time.”

  He rubbed the back of his head. “I can’t protect everyone from everything, right?”

  “Right, but I’m confused,” I said. “Are we still talking about the Snowball Roll?”

  He turned sharp green eyes on me. “I went to the Historical Society today.”

  “Oh.” I fiddled with the hem of my top blanket. “When?”

  “After I stopped at home to change clothes following the snowball race. I ran into Mr. France.”

  “Hmm.” I pressed my lips tighter to keep from getting into more trouble. Suddenly his impromptu visit to “check” on me seemed more like an ambush to tell me I was busted. “He called while I was getting ready for the Snowball Roll. I planned to tell you about it, but I got sidetracked when I saw you were going to race.”

  He folded his hands on the pile of blankets over my legs. “Go on.”

  “He got my message and returned my call.”

  “Do you think he was really out of town all those days?”

  “I’m not sure. He sounded sincere when we spoke, but I don’t know what’s real anymore or who’s lying. Maybe the call was a ruse.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He says the HPS didn’t award the grant for the mill, but someone at HPS told me they did.” I swung my legs off the sheriff’s lap and winced. “Maybe we can go talk to him together and find out what made him think the grant was denied. He says he didn’t talk to HPS directly, but surely there are files on the matter among Mrs. Fenwick’s things.” If Mr. France hadn’t dumped them in the trash yet.

  Sheriff Gray extended an arm to stop me from jumping off the couch. “I’ve got this. You stay here and rest. It’ll mean a lot to a whole bunch of people if you make it to the square.”

  “But I can help,” I said. “We can revisit her home office. She had a ton of information on HPS there.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “You can’t even sit up without hurting yourself. You need to stay right where you are and let me handle this. It’s what I do.”

  I wanted to argue, but he was right about the pain. My body felt like a piñata after the party. I relaxed against the armrest, somewhat thankful he was as stubborn as me. “Fine.”

  He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “What if I promise to stay out of trouble until after Santa comes? That should give me time to heal up and make a new plan.”

  “No new plans. I’ll handle the plans.”

  “You aren’t the sheriff of plans,” I said. “If I’m going to be stuck on the couch, you know I’m going to be thinking about what to do next.”

  Sheriff Gray leaned forward and pulled my legs back onto his lap. “On second thought, as much as folks would like to see you tonight, I think everyone will understand if you want to get some sleep instead. The whole town saw you collide with Patsy’s Popovers.”

  “I went under it.”

  “Uh-huh.” He turned his attention to the movie as a cartoon dog’s sled went out of control. He kept watch on me from the corner of his eye, as if I wouldn’t notice.

  “Mr. France said someone from Mrs. Fenwick’s family is in town. Will you have to give Whiskers back?”

  He smiled. “I met they guy at her place to turn over the house key. He’s staying at a hotel outside of town. Cat allergies.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” I smiled at the television. “I guess Whiskers gets to stay.”

  At the next commercial break, I muted the television. “Who are you spending Christmas Day with?”

  “I’m working.”

  “What? Why?”

  He shrugged. “The deputies are on call, but they’ve all got families. They should be with them. I can hold down the fort.”

  I didn’t like the idea of him being alone on Christmas. “What did you ask Santa for this year?”

  “World peace?”

  “No.”

  He squeezed my calf gently through the blankets and chuckled. “I don’t know. I guess I’d like to have this case wrapped up. The sooner the better.” He turned sincere eyes on me. A look of determination lined his brow. “And I want to keep you safe.”

  My mouth opened, then silently shut. A familiar heat crawled over my cheeks, and I simultaneously loved and hated the effect he had on me. “Me too.”

  He rubbed his suddenly ruddy cheeks with one hand and grinned. “What about you? What does a woman like Holly White want for Christmas?”

  “I’m not sure.” For the first time in far too long, I felt 100 percent like myself. I didn’t feel as out of place as I’d suspected I might on my drive from Portland. Instead, it was as if I was the last piece of a puzzle that had been waiting for me. Despite the twisted ankle and recent scares, I was happy, wrapped in cozy blankets at my childhood home, sitting with a handsome new friend who kept me safe and made me smile. What else could I ask for?

  “There must be something,” he pressed.

  I looked him in the eye and smiled. “No. I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  His bright smile lifted my heart. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  I forced the front door mistletoe from my thoughts. “Pretty much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sheriff only stayed until the movie was over, and I couldn’t seem to get warm again without him. The house was too big. The wind was too strong. I didn’t even know the deputy who was keeping watch on the house, supposedly guarding me. I should’ve asked for an introduction before the sheriff left, but I didn’t think of that until I was alone with a stranger as my personal “protection.” For all I knew, the deputy was the killer, a suspect I hadn’t considered because he’d covered his tracks so well. I flipped myself around on the couch to keep both eyes on the front window, but neither eye was open when Mom and Dad arrived on a cloud of icy wind that nearly scared the tea out of me.

  “We’re home,” Mom chirped, in case the blast of frigid air hadn’t woken me. “The Twelve Days of Reindeer Games are officially over until next year.” She kicked off her boots and hung her snowy things on the rack beside the door. “How was your tea?” She lifted onto her toes to kiss Dad under the mistletoe before locking up.

  He bent at the knees to receive her little peck.

  I worked to right my hazy thoughts, which had been yanked sharply from the Land of Nod.

  Mom approached me with a frown and pressed a frigid palm to my head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Look at her, Bud. She’s pale, isn’t she?”

  “Peckish?” he guessed.

  Heavens, no. If I ate anything
else, I’d pop the button on my pants.

  Mom moved her hand to my cheek. “Are you fevered or is my hand cold?”

  “Your hand is a block of ice,” I told her. “You startled me, that’s all. I must’ve fallen asleep for a minute.”

  “That’s good.” Dad collected my tray and carried it to the kitchen. “I think we could all use a little rest after the week we’ve had,” he called to us.

  “It was a good day,” Mom said. “Injuries aside.” She lifted my achy legs and put them on her lap, snuggling in next to me. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Sore but not sprained,” I said. “I can put some pressure on it. It’s probably just bruised, but I’m going to keep it up until morning.” I waited for her to hear the other message in my statement.

  “Morning? You aren’t coming to the square tonight?”

  I made my best puppy dog eyes. “I don’t think so,” I admitted. “I’m emotionally and physically spent, and I don’t want to go into a crowd on an achy ankle. I thought I could stay here and rest up for tomorrow.” Unless things had changed since the last Christmas I’d spent at home, half the people in the square tonight would show up here tomorrow with food and Christmas wishes for my folks. “I can set a nice table for when you get back. Cookies. Cakes. Drinks. Maybe some old-fashioned wassail.”

  Dad reemerged from the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas. He lifted all but one blanket from my ankle and arranged the peas over tender muscles.

  Mom stroked his arm. “We haven’t had wassail in years, have we, Bud?”

  He eyeballed the peas. “Maybe I should stay with Holly.”

  “Nonsense,” Mom disagreed sweetly. “She’s a big girl. There’s a deputy out front if she needs anything, and we always watch the tree lighting together. Plus, this year we have the vigil for Margaret. I hear some extended family will be in town.”

  Dad gave me a peculiar look. “She’s right.”

  “I know. It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine on my own, and you won’t be gone long. Plus, I have a security detail these days.” I motioned to the front porch. “Do you guys know him?”