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His cop’s face didn’t work though.
Overly cheerful people, perhaps on eggnog and sugar cookie highs, made giddy entrances and exits from the shops while calling out hellos and “Have a good day” to him. A few informed him of the cowboy Santa as if he could have missed hearing about the darn thing. And way too many mentioned the anniversary of the “incident.”
Most of those mentions were muttered “Hugs,” “Thinking about you today,” and other such sentiments better reserved for social media posts and greeting cards. Probably because the bulk of residents didn’t want to say aloud what had actually happened.
Well, not aloud to him anyway. And not within hearing distance of any kids. Because the incident wasn’t for little ears.
Calen figured this anniversary was still a tasty side dish served up by gossips, especially since some of them had personally witnessed the X-rated event that’d caused him to end his engagement to his ex, Sasha Peterson. Specifically, many had seen Sasha in the elf costume she’d donned for the dress rehearsal of the annual Christmas play.
Or rather they’d seen Sasha partly in that costume.
She’d been naked from the waist down, her green tights pooled around her ankles when all sixteen members of the chorus, Calen, and several others had walked in on her with the mayor, Owen Granger, who’d been in a Santa suit.
Both Sasha and Owen had insisted their encounter was a one-time mistake. One brought on by too much alcohol during a holiday party. They’d begged for forgiveness and had sworn it wouldn’t happen again, but Calen hadn’t been able to erase that image of them together. He also hadn’t been able to shove aside the punch-to-the-gut betrayal by the woman who’d sworn her undying love to him. An equally hard punch from Owen, Calen’s friend since childhood.
Pushing the “poor pitiful Calen” looks aside, he made his way past the Yuletide Tea Shop, which had opted to pipe out “Silver Bells,” as Gladys Herman, the owner, stepped out.
“Sheriff, you’re looking lower than a fat penguin’s butt,” Gladys announced. “When you’re done fixing that Santa, you ought to come into the shop for a cup of peppermint chai. It’ll perk you right up.”
He made a sound that could have meant anything, but Calen knew tea wouldn’t fix his mood. Nothing could. He just needed to get through this day, and then he’d have the one-year anniversary under his belt. Maybe day 366 would bring an end to the gossip about his crappy personal life.
Calen reached the Santa and squeezed past the inflated cowboy hat and around a couple of the toppled longhorns, too, as he spotted one of his deputies, Mick Webster, who was calling out instructions to Wheezer and his workers. Thankfully, they were already in the process of hauling up the Santa by pulling ropes they’d attached to various parts of the inflatable.
That was the good news. The bad was that the task had drawn gawkers, and somebody could get hurt. Calen was betting the sucker weighed over a hundred pounds. It was a miracle it hadn’t smashed into someone or something other than a few of the plastic longhorns.
“All of you need to back up,” Calen called out to no one in particular before he turned to Mick. “You got here fast.” Mick was on patrol duty so he could have been anywhere in town or the outlying areas.
“I was in Frosty’s having lunch.” The deputy hiked his thumb to the diner across the street where the bottom of Santa’s sleigh was smashed against the door. “Had to go out through the back.”
Calen could see why Mick had needed to do that. With the darn thing wedged across Main Street, Santa’s sleigh was now a barricade. It blocked the front door and windows, along with smooshing the diner’s Frosty the Snowman mascot against the glass. One of Frosty’s arms stuck out in what looked like a “help me” gesture.
“Happy holidays, Sheriff. We got this,” Wheezer called down to him. “Oops,” he immediately added, obviously remembering the greeting Calen didn’t want to hear.
Wheezer was wearing a Santa suit, and the man was no doubt grinning beneath his fake white beard. “Sure sorry to add this to your downer of a day. When we’re done, come on into the store for some hot cider.”
Calen shrugged, neither accepting or declining, but the man was right about its being a downer of a day.
“This is bad news number two,” Mick reminded Calen. “First, that group of tourists at Kris Kringle’s Pond and now this.”
Calen was well aware of the tourists who’d walked out onto the faux icy surface to pose for pictures despite the clearly posted signs not to walk on it. The plywood surface had bobbled and toppled them into the pond. Not exactly icy but close since the temps were in the low forties. The rule-breaking morons had been rescued without injuries, and Calen had been finishing up the paperwork on that when he’d been called about the fallen Santa.
“Bad stuff comes in threes,” the deputy grumbled.
Thankfully, Calen didn’t believe in that superstition any more than he did Santa Claus. Or the stability of the fake ice on Kris Kringle’s Pond.
“You okay?” Mick asked him.
Calen sighed, wishing his deputy hadn’t gone there. “Yeah,” he lied, hoping it would be the end of it. It wasn’t.
“You think she’s okay?” Mick pressed.
Because most of the crowd was following his orders and dispersing, Calen looked behind him, following his deputy’s gaze to the one person who wasn’t moving back. Instead, the tall brunette was making a beeline toward him.
Emmy Kendrick.
Calen’s longtime friend and partner in this worst anniversary in the history of worst anniversaries. Because Emmy’s ex-fiancé, Owen Granger, had been the naughty Santa screwing around with Sasha. Emmy’s and Calen’s “we got cheated on” partnership wasn’t a situation they’d ever thought they’d find themselves in, but here they were.
Emmy was wearing a gold Christmas fairy outfit, complete with wings and a glittery wand, and she had her purse and a grimy gray sack hooked over her shoulder. Probably,hopefully, it was a costume for children’s reading time at her bookstore, ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, which was just up the street. Calen hoped Emmy hadn’t given in to the holiday spirit because he was in misery-loves-company mode and didn’t want any more cheer.
