The carolers are busy belting out “Frosty the Snowman,” and there’s a line a city block long that leads right to the fat man in the red suit. The golden throne is situated at the base of that overgrown evergreen we’re all here to adulate, and Santa looks regal with his white curly beard and red velvet pantsuit.
“Hey?” I take a moment to warm myself against Shep’s chest. “Who’s the poor soul brave enough to play the part of the head elf?”
“That’s Mayor Wright. Come on over. I’ll introduce you.”
Before I know it, we’re at gift ground zero just as one of the elves in charge announces Santa will be taking a ten-minute break.
The moans and groans of those tiny tots in line echo all up and down Main Street.
A woman dressed as Mrs. Claus, with a long red velvet dress, a matching velvet hat that looks more or less like a shower cap, and white curly wig heads over to the jolly old elf himself and straightens his beard then irons out the front of his suit with her hands. I can’t help but note it looks intimate, and my guess is that Mr. and Mrs. Claus are a true-blue couple.
“Mayor Wright,” Shep calls out and Santa looks this way, the curls in his beard bouncing like springs. “I’d like for you to meet someone.”
We head his way and Shep holds a hand out my way.
“This is my”—his mouth opens and closes as if he wasn’t sure what direction to run with it. Truthfully, neither do I.
“Lady friend.” I shrug as I hold a hand toward the man. “Bowie Binx. I run the Manor Café. Come in anytime for a cup of our famed peppermint cocoa.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” he belts it out like a seasoned pro. “Nice to meet you, Bowie.” He shakes my hand before giving Pixie a quick pat. “And your little cat, too. Any friend of Shepherd’s is a friend of mine. I’m a huge fan of his work.”
The sound of shouting ensues from behind, and we turn to find a woman dressed in a skimpy green dress that allows for bare shoulders, a bona fide shower cap sits crooked on her head, and her long dark hair looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in a week. She’s slipping and sliding in the snow while having it out with the man in the dark coat that I saw Shep speaking with earlier. And the man in the coat looks as if he’s trying to contain her.
“Aargh,” Santa bellows it out as if he were about to morph into a pirate. “Holly,” he riots. “That’s enough.” He glances back to Mrs. Claus traipsing up next to him. “I’m sorry, Kaila, but you’re going to have to close down shop until I can contain this fire.”
Kaila, aka Mrs. Claus, takes off to break the news to the weary masses just as the woman in the short green dress staggers over. Her burgundy lipstick is smeared over her lip line, giving her that insane look no woman is after. But, then again, it might just serve as a harbinger for things to come with this one.
“I’m the only Mrs. Claus around here,” the ornery woman shouts.
A murmur breaks out among the crowd just as Kaila makes the big announcement and the line disperses with a groan.
“Hear that, Gus?” the woman in green crows. “You’re letting ’em down. But then again, that is your specialty.”
The mayor pulls down his beard a notch as he looks my way. “I’d introduce you to my ex-wife, but she’s not nearly worth the time.”
That woman straightens and sputters. “Your brother thought I was plenty worth the time!”
A gasp circles the crowd as the man in the dark coat that Shep was speaking to earlier stalks his way over.
“That’s enough, Holly,” he barks it out before strong-arming her toward the hot cocoa booth. Good move. A shot of comfort should set her straight—straight to worshipping a porcelain toilet god.
Kaila, the original woman dressed as Mrs. Claus, makes her way over. “Gus, I’m going to take a quick stroll. I think I need to decompress after that nightmare.” Her face is pretty, and when she pulls off her hat and curly white wig, a waterfall of red hair cascades over her shoulders. “I’m Kaila Clark.” She bites down on a smile as she looks to the two of us before settling her gaze on Shep. “And I happen to know you’re S.J. Wexler.”
A dry laugh bounces from him. “That would be my nom deplume.”
Shep writes books about the mob—ironically, those books are heavily based on my own family—and that little tidbit of information actually predates our meeting. It’s almost as if Shep and I were meant to be together, our destiny as a couple written in the stars—or at least written in a bullet-riddled wall somewhere.
“I’m addicted to your thrillers.” She glances to Mayor Wright. “We both are.” She looks back to Shep. “Hey? I work at the library and I know you’ve done a few signings there, but that was before my time. Any chance you can make it over at some point this month? We’d love to have you.”
“You bet. In fact, I’ll swing by this week and we can work out the details.”
“Perfect. I’ll tell my boss. She’s here, too.” She shoots a cold look in the direction the mayor’s ex just took off in. “And she’d better hope our paths don’t cross again tonight,” she says that last bit under her breath.
Sounds to me like someone will be looking for new employment opportunities in the very near future. Life’s too short to spend under the tyranny of a vindictive boss. And seeing that my ex doubled as my superior back in
