BETTER WATCH OUT

by Christina Freeburn

  I exited my car, shoes sinking into the mud. Fortunately, I was a sneaker or boots kind of girl and had opted for boots. Cats of all shapes and sizes rushed out of the barn toward me. There were about a dozen, weaving between my feet. Tails swished and trailed around my legs, it was like a multi-colored furry octopus was trying to drag me into the mud.

  I was paying so much attention to the felines, I almost stepped into a deep rut near the barn. The open barn door called to me, begging me to step inside, kind of like a hidden, wrapped package wanting you to slit open the tape for a tiny peek.

  I shooed the cats away, and slowly made my way inside the barn and tried not to think about the fact I was acting like I was on a clandestine mission. A flatbed trailer was covered by a tarp, giving the appearance of an area with hills and valleys. Excitement pinged through me. Jenna’s float. I’d just get one little peek to discount the rumor Rachel heard then head home to work.

  I lifted the end of the tarp. Lying flat on the bed was a large Santa naughty list. My mouth open. I stared. For the love of Christmas, what was the woman thinking? The list had two columns, one labeled “Name” and the other “Misdeeds.” The twelve-foot list was filled with names of town citizens and a few of the misdeeds were written. My name was on it. Along with Rachel, the mayor, another city council member Norman, Pastor Benjamin Heath, and her own husband. Fury rushed through me. Even her own family wasn’t safe. Across from her husband’s name was the misdeeds of drunkard and cheater. I took out my cell and tapped on the camera icon.

  A hand wrapped around my wrist. The tarp slipped from my grasp and fell back over the trailer.

  “What are you doing?” The question was a slurred mess of sounds and anger. Eric Wilcox swayed on his feet, his hair a tangled mess of unruly curls and lids drooping over his eyes. His ever-present red baseball cap was clutched in his hand. The man smelled like he’d taken a bath in rum and then ran a marathon. While the assessment of her husband wasn’t incorrect, I couldn’t believe Jenna would shame him before the whole town.

  I leaned back, trying to break his grip and get away from the stench. While Eric had every right to be annoyed with my snooping, it didn’t permit him to manhandle me.

  “Looking for Jenna. Let me go.” I used a firm, no-nonsense tone of voice.

  He tightened his grip. “Under the tarp?”

  “I wanted to confirm if the rumor about her float’s theme was true.”

  “Not your business.” His body tilted left and right, back and forth.

  The movement was starting to make me nauseated. “It’s my business since I’m organizing the parade.”

  “Don’t mean you can trespass.” His body swayed more, and he tightened his hold on my wrist. Pain vibrated up my arm.

  I was starting to think he was holding on to me to keep himself upright, not for anything nefarious. But I still needed him to let go before he hurt me. A broken wrist was a broken wrist whether it was done intentionally or not. It would be hard to work one-handed. “You’re hurting me, Eric. I need you to let go of my arm.”

  “Why? So, you can—”

  “Let her go,” Jenna’s voice was a like a gun shot, loud, unexpected and terrifying, causing us both to startle and separate. She tapped her foot on the wooden floor, her silver shoes sent sparkles of light around her feet. The woman was dressed like she was going to the Oscars. She wore a floral sheath dress, gold with hints of red throughout, that skimmed her modelesque body. Gold hoop earrings accented with crystals grazed her cheeks and her expertly curled hair tumbled about her shoulders. A Christmas-color hued scarf was tied onto a strap of her leather tote bag. Gold fringes from the scarf dangled down and skimmed her legs.

  “She was nosing around.” Eric jammed his hands into his front jean pockets and lowered his head. Miraculously, his swaying stopped, and he spoke every word in a careful tone.

  “I stopped by to talk to you about your float,” I said.

  “It’s not complete, but I can assure you it’ll be done in time for the parade. Just a few finishing touches needed.” She fought back a smile. Instead of being angry, she was happy I saw her handiwork before the parade.

  “You can’t use Christmas to shame people.” I clenched my hands. “Santa is about magic and belief. Happiness and joy. Not to disgrace people. That’s not what the holiday or the parade is about.”

  A Grinchy smile stretched her lips. “You do Christmas your way, I’ll do it mine.”

  I drove straight to City Hall to chat with Mayor Vine. If Jenna refused to listen to me, she’d listen to the mayor. Or at least, I hoped so. What she was planning on doing would destroy the parade and ruin people’s holidays. After pulling into a spot in front of the building, I dug around in my car for quarters, wishing the town had upgraded to new meters that accepted debit cards. I scrounged up two quarters, giving me an hour to talk some sense into the Mayor.

  The moment I entered the building, I froze and gaped at the new setup of the entrance of city hall. There used to be a free-standing sign listing the various offices in the building. Now there was a tall, hunky man in a suit standing in front of a metal detector. Next to it was an eight-foot collapsible table with six plastic bins lined up. The metal detector was off to the side and didn’t seem to be functional yet, judging by the fact the man’s watch and metal tie tack wasn’t setting it off.

  The man had a dark beard shot through with gray. Dark hair flopped over his forehead, with a slight movement of his head, the hair moved from his eyes and a twinkling green gaze settled on me. He was almost like a toned and younger version of Santa. Santa’s son who took very good care of himself and hadn’t turned completely gray.

  “I’m here to see Mayor Vine. Can I just go by? Doesn’t look like all your security gadgets are hooked up.”

  “I need to inspect your purse.” His voice was a deep rumble. He tapped a table in front of him and the suit jacket strained against his biceps. “Can you please place it here?”

  “Absolutely.” My voice sounded a little too gushy and flirty for a woman who recently lost her ex-husband, or husband, depending what the court ruled.

  He opened it and his brows rose. On the table, he placed my cell phone, a weeding tool with a hook, a scraper, a pair of tweezers, sharp-tip scissors, a small, lighted magnifying glass, and a box of bandages. In my car was a plastic container filled with decals to weed. I always brought along a few projects in case I found myself with a long wait. It was a habit from when I drove my children to umpteen practices and I was instructed to wait in the car. I no longer drove anyone anywhere, and didn’t have long waits, but still carried around craft projects.

  “I’d have left my tote in the car if I’d known there was a new security procedure.”

  He placed the sharp objects into a bin. “You can pick them up on your way out.”

  Was he afraid I was going to poke the mayor with them? The guard’s manner was a cross between polite and brusque, and he moved in a very efficient way. His eyes scanned the whole area the entire time. He took the job very seriously. I could guess what his prior profession was before becoming the security detail for city hall.

  “Prior police officer?” I asked.

  “No, military.” The security guard handed me my purse. “Next, I need your name and business to conduct. After checking the appointment book, I can let you pass.”

  This was getting a little too big brother for me. Cute or not, I wasn’t going to be forced into getting permission from some man to speak with the mayor. “I don’t have an appointment. Mayor Vine has always had an open-door policy for his constituents.” I hiked the strap of my purse back onto my shoulder. One he was likely to change after I threw a hissy-fit in his office.

  “That changed last night.”

  “It’s important that I speak with him. I’m in charge of the Christmas Parade and there’s an issue regarding it. This is a big event for
our town, and it can make or break the remainder of the holiday season. Which isn’t that long to begin with.”

  He looked at me skeptically. “Christmas Parade emergency?”

  “Yes. Call Mayor Vine and tell him Merry Winters is here to see him. He’ll tell you to let me through.” Or at least I hoped so.

  The guard unclipped a cell phone from his belt, swiped his finger across the screen, and hit a button all while keeping his penetrating, yet twinkling gaze, on me. “There is a Merry Winters requesting to see the Mayor.” He nodded a few times. “I’ll make a note of that.” He tapped the screen, twirled the phone around his fingers and holstered it in the clip attached to his belt.

  “Can I see him?”

  The guard moved the table out of the way. “Apparently, the seas are to part for you.” The words were clipped.

  Why did that irritate him? “The parade is important to this town and it’s happening tomorrow. We have to work out all these details.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  I had a feeling I was being judged by this man. Holding my head high, I marched right by not caring why my ability to see the mayor annoyed him. Why should he care if my unscheduled appointment messed with other items on the mayor’s agenda?

  I stepped into the mayor’s office and froze for a moment. The office was bare of all Christmas. Last week, there had been a Christmas tree in the corner and an array of porcelain Santa Clauses and reindeers on the shelves and lining the window sills. Now, there was nothing.

  I walked over to the desk. It was littered with proposals. There wasn’t a spot without a stack of papers. One was a large drawing of a park. The playground equipment was painted in traditional Christmas colors and statues were erected around the area of well-known Christmas characters: Rudolph, Frosty, Santa Claus. Hopefully, someone explained copyright infringement to the mayor.

  I let nosiness get the best of me and nudged away a sheet of paper to get a better look at the next proposal. New street lights for Main Avenue. I liked the design, very old-fashioned, Charles Dickinson Christmas. The next one was for a new library. Our town desperately needed one, but I wasn’t sure about the design. It was too futuristic in appearance, a lot of sharp lines with chrome detail and square windows with no shutters. Season’s Greetings needed something more in line with our Christmas feel.

  The door opened and the mayor’s new secretary, Sarah Heath, stepped inside. The reason for the lack of décor was clear. The woman felt we focused too much on the secular celebration for the holiday and not the true reason. Sarah, also known as the pastor’s wife, had wanted a more toned-down version of the Christmas parade, less kitschy parade floats, and more religious overtones with the school choir singing only Christmas-themed hymns rather than a mix of carols and popular Christmas tunes. Pastor Benjamin’s wife had replaced Nancy O’Neil, the town’s biggest gossip and his prior secretary of fourteen days. I was surprised Sarah took the job considering the Christmas holiday season was also the busiest time for a pastor.

  “Afternoon, Merry, what brings you by?” She wore a plain gray dress that fell past her knees, a frock suitable for an Amish woman. Her light brown hair was slicked back in a severe bun. The woman appeared to be in her mid-sixties rather than her early forties. If her shoes were visible, I was certain they’d be practical chunky heels or mules rather than dainty heels. No makeup. No jewelry. Her only adornment and splash of color was a handmade silk scarf with a leaf pattern in muted tones of gold, red, and green colors suited for Christmas.

  “The Christmas parade.”

  She flipped through the calendar on her desk. “You don’t have an appointment scheduled.”

  “This issue just came to my attention.” I walked to the door of the mayor’s private office and rested a hand on the knob. “The mayor is expecting me.”

  “I should buzz him first. He doesn’t like people barging in.” Sarah gestured toward a couch. “He threw quite the fit when Jenna Wilcox walked in a few hours ago without knocking.”

  Had she already told him about her float and that was the reason for his fit? My confidence waned. If the mayor knew and hadn’t been able to talk sense into her, I didn’t know who else could. The parade was doomed. Was there a way I could salvage it? Where could I put her float that it would get as little attention as possible? I settled onto the edge of the couch, hoping it wasn’t a long wait. There was a long to-do list waiting for me at home, half of it filled with crafting orders and the other parade prep. I pulled out my iPad and started designing some projects. At least some of my work was getting done.

  The clacking of the keys was in tune to the Christmas carol playing from the radio. After a fourth song began playing, I heard a buzz and Sarah reminding the mayor I was waiting for him.

  The mayor’s static voice filled the room. “Send her in.”

  I walked into the mayor’s private office and closed the door behind me. The mayor was standing in front of the large picture windows flanking the north side of his office and lining up a putt. He glanced at me then returned his attention to the golf ball. The blinds were closed tight. He shifted his weight and tapped the ball. It rolled down the strip of green carpet and stopped halfway to the hole.

  “Do you know what Jenna plans to have as her float’s theme?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Mayor Vine sat down and placed the golf club onto the desk, gaze skittering to the door.

  The security guard popped into my head. Was the mayor afraid he’d need it for another purpose other than golfing? For some reason, the mayor wanted the club nearby. Had someone threatened the mayor? “Are you stopping her?”

  “No.”

  The mayor’s one-word answered stunned me into momentary silence. No? That was it. No reason. No offer of help. Suggestions. Just no. “That’s not acceptable.”

  “There is no rule about including residents names on a float.”

  “It’s a naughty list. People will wonder why a person’s name is on it. It’ll hurt people’s feelings.”

  “They’ll have to get over it.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do? Because your name is on it. I saw it.”

  The mayor refused to meet my gaze. “Jenna offered to do some editing.”

  Which meant the mayor’s name was being taken off. “So as long as you’re safe, you don’t care about anyone else. What does she have on you?”

  Using the golf club, he pointed at the door. “This conversation is over. You may leave.”

  “You can’t sacrifice others in town to save your reputation.”

  “Don’t be so sure my decision isn’t to help others.”

  The look he centered on me caused a shiver to work up my spine. “Then stop her.”

  Mayor Vine tapped a folder on his desk. “I’ve read and reread the rules and guidelines about the parade. There’s nothing forbidding a participant from using names or likeness of town members in their float.”

  There had to be something to stop her. “It doesn’t seem like a good choice with reelections happening next year.”

  “I mentioned that to her. Jenna doesn’t care. She’s not planning on sticking around this town.”

  Which meant we had no leverage. She had nothing to lose by launching rumors and ill-feelings through the town. Merry Christmas to us.

  Three

  Turning the corner to my house, I almost slammed on the brakes. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. I blinked and blinked again. I wasn’t having a nightmare. The monstrosity was parked at the curb in front of my house. The RV I had bought a few weeks ago to start a new life adventure but brought instead the worst moment of my life had returned. My son had taken it to Morgantown to sell it and had now brought it back. Was I stuck with it forever? At least it meant my baby boy was visiting me. I pulled into my driveway and waved.

  My son and his friend Paul stood in the front yard, looki
ng rather pleased. My heart tugged seeing my son in “street” clothes rather than his police officer’s uniform. In his uniform, he was an adult. I couldn’t even see a glimpse of the little boy I sometimes longed for. In jeans and a sweatshirt, and with his bright grin, I saw my little boy Scotland.

  I rolled down the window and swallowed the lump in my throat. “What is that doing here?”

  “We modified it. Come take a look.”

  I shook my head. “Bad memories.”

  Scotland draped an arm over Paul’s shoulder. “They’re all gone. Trust us, Mom.”

  Even believing I’d regret it, I slid out of my SUV and walked to the RV. There was no way I’d disappoint my son. With a flourish, Scotland opened the door.

  “The renovations are a birthday gift from me, Raleigh, and Paul.”

  My birthday was a few days before Christmas, not really sure of the day as I was found in a stocking outside a church nearly forty-six years ago on Christmas Eve. I stood in the threshold of the RV. Tears filled my eyes. The RV was no longer the worst decision of my life. It was new. It gleamed. It was, without a doubt, a mobile crafting studio. “I love it. It’s a crafting haven.”

  The dinette area, the area that had turned into my second ex-husband’s place of death, no longer existed. In its place was a functional crafting area, suited perfectly for my needs. Instead of the dinner table for four with its two bench seats, there was a four-foot wooden table with two sturdy shelves attached to the wall. Everything that could be painted had a fresh coat, and all the old fabric was gone. In its place was upholstery and fabric in my favorite Christmas colors: gold, silver, and poinsettia red. There were even two poinsettia pillows on the couch.