The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6) by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“So exactly what is it supposed to represent, dear?”

I shot Kenan a look. The fire hall was packed with people and gingerbread artwork. Mrs. Prickett, the head of the Whiteham Christmas Fete Committee and co-chair of the gingerbread bake-off, was about a hundred years old, thin as a toothpick, and wearing a tinsel dress. She was also greatly befuddled over our, our as in Kenan and Brann’s, entry. Our. A couple. Sort of. Maybe. Possibly. Ugh. I did not do uncertainty well.

“Well, it’s a nightmare scene from Silent Hill,” I tossed out like spaghetti at the wall in hopes my explanation would stick. Mrs. Prickett blinked up at me through her thick bifocals. “Silent Hill is a scary movie.” I thought of delving into Pyramid Head and how the monster represents the protagonist’s guilt about murdering his wife, but this ho-ho-ho celebration hardly seemed the place. I mean, there were elves all over. And Mrs. Prickett did not seem to be the one to discuss such dark and possibly masochistic things with. She was older than dirt and wearing a tinsel dress.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she replied with a weak smile as Kenan placed our terrifying attempt at recreating Graceland on a long folding table. The entry beside ours was Santa’s workshop, complete with little gumdrop reindeer and a fat marshmallow Santa. Fucking Wanda Wilkes. She always had to go that extra mile, or gumdrop Rudolph as it was. Good thing I didn’t own a dog because she sold the licenses at the courthouse, and I would be damned if I’d pay eight bucks to someone who was such a gingerbread exhibitionist. I could be cranky and spiteful. Ask anyone in town. They’d all agree.

“It was supposed to be Graceland,” Kenan politely tried to clarify, but that only made it worse. There was no resemblance to that grand estate that Elvis called home. Although the tiny blue shoes—globs of dough that we’d spray painted blue—that we had placed on the uneven front steps gave it a nice touch we had felt. Those little sapphire loafers were the only thing that could tie this monstrosity to the King. “But it ended up looking like the Addams Family house.”

“Oh, I remember that show. Such a lovely couple. Just like you two!” Mrs. Prickett beamed up at us. I stammered.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kenan said and got a little pat on his arm from one of the four gingerbread judges before she rushed off to find a priest to bless the horror that was our bake-off entry.

“You don’t have to say that we’re a couple,” I quickly said as a group of unruly urchins raced past with bags of apples. Probably for the apple dunking booth the local Presbyterian church was manning under the American flag on the wall.

“Do you not want people to know that we’re together? If not, I’m afraid that ship has sailed, sugar.” He nudged me in the side and swept his hand outward. Every eye in the fire hall was on us.

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