I blink, hardly able to take in the awful scene before me. It's horrible. Worse than I imagined. I can't believe I have to be seen in public like this.
"Well?" I can hear the laughter in my so-called friend Jeremy's voice and can picture him sitting patiently on the edge of my bed, waiting to see what the obnoxious garment-bag contained. Nothing good comes from red and green spandex. "You can't hide in there forever, you know. Maggie Pritchard is expecting you at the Hot Chocolate Hut in less than an hour."
I take one more look in the full-length mirror and wince, turning to the side. It's even worse than from the front and I try sucking my tummy in, which just makes me look weirdly deformed. Not to mention uncomfortable. I sigh and reach for my lipstick, outlining my bow lips in bold, bright red. When in doubt, wear red! I smack my lips together and make a kissy-face at the mirror but it doesn't do much to improve my reflection. I'm still a thirty-two-year-old, soon-to-be divorcee taking the only job I can get at short notice to pay the bills my charming ex-husband landed me with when he left.
"Don't laugh!" I warn Jeremy, as I wriggle into the skirt that comes with my red-and-green onesie and thank the Lord that something is going to help conceal my hips. The ruffle hits me at precisely the wrong place but by this point, I'm committed. There's no going back. I squint at my name badge before pinning it in place. Icey Sprinklecakes. Maggie has got to be kidding. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I fluff my brown curls, grateful that at least one thing looks good today, and step out of the en-suite into my bedroom where Jeremy is waiting. "Well?"
"You...look...nice." The effort he's making not to laugh is practically turning him purple and in the end, worried he's going to pass out, I roll my eyes.
"Go on. I know you're desperate to mock me. Just do it now, when we don't have an audience."
"Well, that isn't elf bad! I mean, it takes a whole lot of elf-confidence to wear something like that but I'm glad to see you still believe in yourelf."
"Ha ha." I shove my phone into my purse and slide it over one shoulder, hustling Jeremy towards the door. "Are you done?"
"Now, now. Don't be Grumpy!"
"Grumpy is a dwarf," I remind him, but he doesn't seem to hear me. He's still fighting back laughter.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't stop myself. But honestly, this isn't so bad! At least you aren't going to be the only elf in the grotto."
"You know, you're right." I shoot him an icy smile - living up to my elf-name - and force my words through gritted teeth. "Me and two teenage cheerleaders. What a trio we'll make." I tug my skirt down, wishing it was just an inch or two longer. "I am twenty years too old and twenty pounds too heavy for this gig, and I get two walking, talking assistants to remind me of that all day, every day. Remind me why I said I'd do this?"
"Because you love Christmas." Jeremy follows me downstairs and grabs the jacket he left on my sofa. "Because you have an extra supply of community spirit this time of year." He spies the pile of red-stamped overdue notices and tries to pretend he didn't. "Because you need the money?"
"Because I need the money," I agree, sliding my own coat on carefully over my costume. Not for the first time, I am grateful for my long mac which covers me from neck to ankle. Only my shoes - green felt, with an actual bell on the pointy toe - give the game away. I frown down at them, wondering if I can substitute my sneakers but before I can make the switch, Jeremy's spotted something else he can't help but comment on. I love him dearly, but goodness me, he's nosy.
"Hey, Merry, what's this?" He's reached past my pile of unpaid bills to another stack of papers I've been studiously ignoring. He cranes his neck to read the first line then whips his head around to glare at me. "You didn't sign these yet?"
"No." I glare back, and he drops my unsigned - and, honestly, unread - divorce papers back onto the table where I'd left them.
"Why not? Neil left. He's gone. And it's not like you want him back, right?"
I don't answer quickly enough for my overprotective guy-friend, because his glare becomes concerned in one swift moment and he's looking at me with those sad puppy eyes that make him – objectively speaking - one of the cutest guys in Silver Brook.
"No, I don't want him back," I say, hoping my voice sounds more convincing to him than it does to me. I don't. I don't. When your husband announces he's met someone younger and prettier and more successful than you the day before your tenth wedding anniversary when you have a huge party planned with friends traveling into town from all over the country, well, you don't just forgive and forget. Especially not when it later transpires he's drained your joint checking account and left you severely in the red on a whole bunch of bills you didn't even know were due. "I don't want him back," I say again, putting a bit more vehemence in my voice and satisfying Jeremy that I'm not going soft in my old age. "But that doesn't mean I need to sign the divorce papers right away." I sniff. "It's Christmas. Nobody gets divorced at Christmas."
"Right," Jeremy smirks, which somehow makes him even more handsome. Man, I hate that. "They wait until January, the seasonally-appropriate time to emancipate yourself."
"Hey, I don't need emancipating." I wave my hand, gesturing to the empty front room. "Look at all this emancipation I am enjoying. And I didn't need to sign a darn thing to get it." I roll my eyes. "Now, are you coming with me to the Christmas Market or what?"
"I am coming with you." Jeremy beams, looking far more enthusiastic than he has any right to be. "There's a cute girl running the fir tree stall that I want to get to know a little better..." He winks and I roll my eyes. At least one of us is going to have a happy Christmas this year.
"In that case, you can drive." I thrust my car keys at him and gesture to my jingle-bell feet. "I can't feel the pedals in these."
My so-called friend is still laughing when we pull into the parking lot in the center of downtown Silver Brook. "Downtown" implies a whole lot more than there really is to Silver Brook. There is precisely one main street, creatively called, wait for it, Main Street, and right now it looks busy, but that's only because it's lined with the festive fake-log-cabin stalls which make up the annual Christmas Market. From Thanksgiving to New Year, we do most of our trade in the great outdoors, regardless of sun, wind, rain, or snow. I risk a glance at the heavy clouds overhead and wonder just when the predicted blizzard is going to arrive.
"So, are you coming for a drink?" I ask Jeremy as we climb out of the car. My teeth are already chattering and I wrap my arms around my torso, dreading how cold I'm going to feel when I have to take my coat off and it's just thin lycra between me and the winter weather. The Hot Chocolate Hut has a cute wood-burning stove in one corner, but that's about as far from Santa's Grotto as it's possible to get.
"Trees first." Jeremy tosses me my keys. "I'm on the hunt for the perfect spruce."
I'm not rising to that and say goodbye, picking my way carefully past the line of bustling market stalls until I reach the largest of them all - Maggie's Hot Chocolate Hut. Usually busy at her cafe, the Jitterbug Junction, Maggie splits her time at Christmas between this temporary venue and the Silver Brook landmark at the other end of the street. I don't know how she does it, or whether it's worth the effort, but as she always pays for Silver Brook's popular Santa's Grotto out of her own budget, allowing all the funds raised to go to charity, I can't fault her. She's got prime real-estate this year, too. Slap bang in the middle of Main Street, between a stall selling candles and one selling freshly baked cookies. I inhale deeply, relishing the sweet, cinnamon scent, and step into the hut, making a beeline for the fireplace and waiting for the feeling to come back into my fingers and toes.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Maggie bustles over, beaming at me.
"The names Sprinklecakes," I say, in my best scots brogue. "Icey Sprinklecakes."
"Here you go." She nods, approvingly, and thrusts a cup of steaming hot chocolate my way. "Shaken, not stirred."
"Thank you!" I wrap my fingers around the mug, grateful for its warmth, and glance up at the sound of voices. Angry voices.
"Ivy...honey...!"
"Don't honey me! I thought we agreed -"
"I know, but this time -"
Santa - or as I know him the other three-hundred-sixty-odd days of the year, Bill Barraclough - follows his wife into the hut, stopping short when he sees me standing there.
"It's for charity," he says, catching my eye. "Right, Meredith?"
"What?" Ivy turns to glare at him, then spots me and her whole demeanor changes. She pulls herself up to her full height and offers me a tight-lipped smile. "Good morning, Meredith, dear. I see you've got yourself roped in this year, too. I like your..." Her gaze sweeps over me, at last settling on my feet. "Shoes." She turns back to her husband, all the warmth vanishing from her voice. "We'll finish this later."
"You have a good day too, sweetheart!" Bill calls, pulling the jacket of his Santa suit on over the plain white t-shirt he's wearing. He already has a beard, and I notice him fluff it absentmindedly with his fingers as he watches his wife stalk away.
Awkward...
I've been in enough married-couple-rows to know that the last thing you want when you're bickering with your spouse is an audience, so I turn away to enjoy the last of my hot chocolate and let Bill finish getting ready in peace. I'm staring out at the bustling crowds and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Carols are playing somewhere, the scent of cinnamon is in the air, and even I can't deny the Christmas Spirit is pretty strong around here. In everyone, that is, except for Peter Stalker. I hear him before I see him, striding out of his book shop with a face like thunder and marching right up to the Hot Chocolate Hut ready to pick a fight with Maggie. Fortunately, she seems to be ready for him.
"Good morning, Peter!" she says, all charm. "I've just made a fresh batch of cocoa. Do you want some?"
"No, I do not want some!" he yells, thrusting his hand out so fast it's a miracle he doesn't knock the tray Maggie's carrying out of her hand. She skips backward, lifting the tray and its contents safely out of the way and I'm in awe of her quick reflexes.
"Then what do you want?" Maggie asks, sweetly.
"I want to know what in God's name you think you're doing here."
***
A/N - I hope you are enjoying this fun little Christmas mystery! I will be updating chapters regularly here but if you want to read the whole thing in its entirety for free it is available on my Ream page (see link on my profile page) - sign up as a follower (for free) to keep reading and find out about all my other projects :)