“Candles!” she bellows. “Get your red-hot kinky Christmas candles for the low price of twenty-four ninety-nine. Get your shopping done early and with free shipping!”
“Oh, my stars up in heaven,” I moan as my nausea kicks in once again.
Evie jumps over and takes up both my hand and Everett’s.
“Come on, guys,” she says, pulling us toward the back of the room at lightning speed. “It’s our last Christmas together as a family before the little runt makes an appearance, and I want to remember us in this pristine state before it’s nothing but dirty diapers and baby puke.” She shoots Everett a look. “Dad, you’re going to have to wear a bib around the kid or it’s going to ruin those expensive Italian suits of yours. Mom, you don’t have to worry. No one will be able to tell the difference between chocolate cake batter on your shirt or baby poop.” She shrugs. “That’s pretty much why I’ve made the decision to admire the kid from afar.” She quickens her clip. “Look, there’s no one in line to take a picture with Santa. This is going to be epic. I vote we all sit on his lap.”
“No way,” Everett doesn’t hesitate to protest. “I’m not sitting on any man’s lap. Neither are you, Lemon. Come to think of it, neither are you, Evie.”
Evie clucks her tongue and gives Everett some snappy comeback, but I pretty much miss it because Mrs. Claus seems to be having a rather tense exchange with a tall brunette dressed as an elf just shy of the velvet throne. The poor thing is wearing the requisite green tights, curly shoes, and multi-pronged hat with bells sewn on it. And truth be told, if I were forced to dress like that, I’d be a little ornery, too.
The woman plucks at Mrs. Claus’ wrist, and Mrs. Claus hauls off and slaps her right over the face.
A breath hitches in my throat and my muscles go rigid as I witness the attack. No sooner does the smackdown happen than the testy elf stalks off looking visibly upset, but Mrs. Claus heads over to greet us as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.
The photographer does his best to situate us in the traditional pose, but Everett chooses to stand behind Santa, as do I, while Evie lies lengthways in his lap. Once Evie makes up her mind about something, she’s pretty much unstoppable.
And once we’re efficiently blinded by the blast of the flash, Evie takes off again while Everett steps over to the side to take in the crowd—on the lookout for a killer, no doubt.
Santa gets off his throne and plucks down his beard a notch.
“Geez, Gloria,” he grouses to Mrs. Claus. “I knew you hated me, but I had no idea how much until tonight.”
Gloria, aka Mrs. Claus, moves in close with her red sequin, barely-there gown.
“I’ve had about enough of you, Eb. Don’t you even think about starting with me tonight.”
Wow. It looks as if Gloria is having a banner night with everyone in her midst.
Santa leans her way rather aggressively. “Let’s not forget it’s you who started with me, little lady. And I’m going to finish it. This ends tonight.” He stalks off, and soon he’s engulfed with a crowd of women screaming with delight at his presence.
“Did you see that?” I whisper to Everett, and he gives a covert nod.
“Santa is in a mood,” he mutters. “Let’s hope it’s not a killer mood.”
Suze races over. “There you are, Gloria!” She jets past us, much to my relief, and grabs ahold of Mrs. Claus. “Everything is going perfect so far.”
“Everything is falling in the crapper,” her friend snips back. “And don’t play Ms. Innocent with me. I know what you’ve done, and you’ll rue the day you chose to challenge me. You have crossed one serious line, Suze Fox.”
Suze narrows her hateful peepers over the woman in the sparkling red dress.
“Why, I don’t care to be spoken to that way, Gloria. I do believe you just crossed a serious line. And we both know what happened to the last person that crossed a line with me. I did away with him, and I’ll do away with you.” She brushes past us in a fury just as the lights blink on and off overhead.
The pretty caramel-haired girl we met earlier waves everyone to attention as the music turns down a notch, and it’s all eyes on her. I can’t help but admire her red velvet shoes with their pointy toes and squared-off heels. Now, those shoes look as if they’re made for comfort.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” she shouts into the microphone in her hand, and behind her I note Cormack Featherby in her midst.
Cormack is the blonde featherhead that Noah saw fit to steal from Everett all those years ago, and he’s been regretting it ever since. As fate would have it, Cormack has turned into a first class stalker of his. She’s obsessed with making Noah her very own possession, but only because she knows that Everett is off-limits. Noah is, too, but she’s too dimwitted to realize it.
“Good evening!” The woman’s smile broadens, and as she bares her teeth, it’s hard not to notice they look a little bit like fangs. “My name is Candy Brighton, and I’d like to welcome all of you to the Jingle Hop Ball! The silent auction is already off to a fantastic start, so please take a look around at all of the lovely trees that have been impeccably decorated and will be delivered to the winners’ homes thanks to the ultra-generous Jolly Holly Tree Lot.” The lights dim another notch, and a hushed ooh circulates around the room as a spotlight falls to that velvet-draped object to her left. “Now for the reveal of our mystery auction item. But first, I’d like to thank Chris Holiday for donating what will undoubtedly be the hot item of the night.” She motions to a man in a pale gray suit with honey brown hair that stands next to the mammoth display. He gives a quick wave to the crowd, and a light applause breaks out in his honor.
Candy motions for someone to join her, and soon both Mr. and Mrs. Claus are standing on either side of the mystery display.
“Drumroll, please!” Candy shouts into the mic, and sure enough, the rattle of a drumroll takes over the speakers. “And reveal!”
No sooner does she say the words than an entire flock of elves, including the tall brunette who just got her cheek heated by way of Mrs. Claus’ hand, pulls the enormous velvet sheet off, only to expose a large painting seated on an easel.
The crowd oohs and ahhs as we all take it in at once.
Set in an ornate gilded frame about five feet tall by three feet wide is the portrait of a somewhat handsome man in riding gear while seated on a small bench. The majority of the background is black as night, and it only makes him look that much more illuminated. His short dark hair is tufted, and he has a broad forehead and a strong Roman nose. There’s just a hint of a smile, nothing that screams say cheese for the artist painting your portrait but just enough upturned lips to suggest he’s had a good day. But those dark eyes—they seem to be looking right at me. In fact, I swear they are.
Candy waves to the crowd. “This portrait is entitled Awaiting Justice. This piece is as old as time. And the best part? It’s rumored to be haunted.” The crowd gasps with delight once again. “So whether you’d like to gift this to the naughty or the nice on your holiday list, or perhaps you’d like to add this to your own collection of curios, by all means, let the bidding begin!”