Hullabaloo and Holly Too ( A Cozy Cash Mystery Christmas Novella) (The Cozy Cash Mysteries) (7 page)

My mother made the sign of the cross and sat there shaking her head while Kat sprung into action with the Cellebite device and began to capture everything we needed from Father Time’s phone.

“Hurry up over there,” my mom said, looking more and more nervous by the minute.

“Really, Suzie Snowflake. I’m tellin’ ya. We got all the time in the world. That asshole ain’t gonna be comin’ outta the loo for a long, long time,” Grams said, taking another cookie off the tray and putting her feet up on the edge of Father Time’s coffee table.

Several minutes later, Kat disconnected the Cellebite from Father Time’s phone and gave us a thumbs-up.

The Squad left Father Time on his throne, climbed back into my mom’s car and headed for home. We cheered and high-fived right along with them, well…with all of them except my mom, who still appeared to be rather traumatized by what she’d just taken part in.

Sometimes the only way to stop a vicious enterprise is to use the perps’ own tactics against ‘em. And that’s exactly what we were about to do.

Standing with my entire extended family, next to the gorgeous golden-star-topped evergreen trees my mother had decorated in ruby reds and over-the-top gilded splendor, we waited for the showdown to begin.

Any minute now, Dad would have his team of reindeer hooked to his favorite sleigh for his annual flight-simulation run.

With Christmas Eve only two days away, this was his final shot to make everything a “Go” for The Big Night.

Watching Rudolph’s mesmerizing back-lit nose cast out its GPS signals, I giggled inside. He looked as if he had a Tavernier Stone-sized ruby attached to his real nose.

Speaking of dazzling carats, I glanced at my mother, still amazed she and I had managed to keep our secret worries from my dad. He certainly had enough on his mind and didn’t need the added stress of our concerns.

Thankfully, though, Mom and I had already made up our minds that after the holidays, we’d tell Roman and R about our problem.

I took a deep breath, letting the crystal cold lake air rattle my lungs and shake me back into our present quandary.

“You think Father Time is dumb enough to bite on Zoey’s message?”

I overheard Kat asking R.

“Oh, he’ll bite all right,” R answered her, standing way too close to Kat to any longer be able to deny their growing relationship. “When I used this technique to bust the private investigator who was feeding stories to the London tabloids about Roman and Ross, it worked like a charm.”

I had to admit, R’s plan was brilliant.

He’d had me call my dad’s phone and leave a message with a fake story about tonight’s test flight. It would lead anyone who might be tapping into the conversation to think Dad was revealing his holly fodder secrets to major investors and government regulators.

I gazed out along our property lines, knowing our security elves were in their places and ready to jump into action, literally, when they were needed.

“What have we got here?” Grams asked, cackling like a wild hen. “Your dad looks more like a drag queen than Santa Claus.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, he does not,” Kat said, then playfully swiped at Gram’s silly feather-thin head-scarf. “You’re the crazy-ass one who thinks that damn chiffon scarf is protecting your bird-sized head from certain frostbite.”

“Your Dad’s coat is just beautiful this year,” my mother said, coming up to wrap her arms around me.

She looked rather wonderful too, I must say, in the matching frock I’d made for her.

Ever since I was a teenager, I’d been designing and sewing their Christmas gear. It was a project I looked forward to each year.

I checked out my Dad in his gorgeous red Italian wool coat. I’d found the fabric in Italy, where I buy almost all my fabric now that I call Tuscany home.

After cutting it and finishing the seams, I’d hand-sewn a gazillion sparkling gold threads and baubles onto it in the shapes of stars and s-shaped swirls. I’d envisioned a holiday season filled with stars on tree-tops and swirling blizzards of lake effect snow. That’s what I tried to convey on each piece I’d designed.

“Personally, I think it’s my cane that completes the overall look of your ensemble,” Roxy said, making us all fall into fits of mischievous giggles.

“I’ll second that,” my dad said, holding his bedazzled candy cane staff high into the air to all of our hoots, hollers and whistles.

I think the poor guy had more glitter in his beard than was left on his cane.

“I like the hats best,” R spoke-up, holding up the huge, puffy yellow balls I’d sewn onto the ends of each of our guest’s Santa hats.

My mom raised her eyebrows at me and winked. We knew those hats that we’d stayed up half the night finishing together would be quite the hit.

We wanted to celebrate our new Italian family too, and make them feel at home. So each of us was now the proud owner of our very own under the Tuscan sun Santa hats.

Not to leave out our elves and reindeer, we’d made sure each of them had a hat too. The reindeer also sported fancy yellow scarves. We always had to pamper their whiney asses.

That said, it had to be awful chilly up in that Christmas Eve sky. ‘Course they probably sweat their antlers off in the southern hemisphere.

“What are you thinking about, My Princess?” Roman said, putting his arms around me and pulling me close to his bundled up side.

Realizing I’d never seen my prince wear so many clothes and layers as he was here along the whimsical winter shores of Lake Michigan, I laughed all to myself.

“I’m thinking how much I’ve missed my parent’s crazy world. Sometimes, I just don’t think they’re all that crazy.”

“I think you’re right. They’re not crazy at all. It’s never crazy to live your passions. And it’s so right to live your truth with the ones you love most,” he said, the corners of his eyes filling with moisture.

Must be from the bitter cold, I thought.

“Let’s get this show on the road…or, in the sky. Shall we?”

My dad interrupted to the somewhat awkward, somewhat fabulous moment Roman and I were sharing.

Dad’s audience went wild. Whooping and cheering for our very own Santa Claus to let the show begin.

“So how does he pull off this part?” Roman whispered in my ear.

“You’ll see,” I said, squeezing his gloved hand in mine. “It’s all in how much you truly believe.”

My Dad began his reindeer call-out, just like Santa does in our favorite childhood storybook.

“On Comet. On Cupid…”

As he called out to each reindeer, they stammered and snorted, pawing at the ground with their polished hooves.

And before anyone’s doubts could be flamed any further, my dad and his team took to the skies behind our Witherspoon Whoville.

Like the storybook of all storybooks, however, there suddenly arose a major clatter, but not from our lawn, rather it sounded like it was coming from my parent’s rooftop.

When we all turned around to see what was the matter, what to our wondering eyes did appear, but Father Time and his what?!

Eight mechanical reindeer?!

Who the hell ever heard of robotic reindeer?!

Too bad Father Time, the goofball, forgot about metal not adhering well to ice.

Evidently, he’d tried to land on my parent’s roof, and his technobot team had lost their footing.

Now…there he lay, practically comatose, in a pile of steaming parts and wild springs, surrounded by pissed off elves.

Father Time’s own time might just be up…

The following evening, as I entered my parent’s large dining room with Roman at my side, I still couldn’t believe all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

Father Time, following an emergency room trip and a heavy talkin’ to from Grams, was now seated at our holiday table. One quick peek at his sullen face and battle scars, there was no denying what had occurred.

We’d busted him for phone hacking and witnessed his disastrous attempt at outdoing my dad’s invention with one of his own. The way I figured it, he thought, thanks to his high-tech eavesdropping, that the only way to beat my dad’s reindeer diet formula was to create reindeer that didn’t need a diet period.

Too bad for him, Dad’s invention appeared to be rather ingenious, while his never got off the ground. Although I guess, to be accurate, his technodunce deer did get off the ground, but obviously had major issues staying
on
the roof-tops.

What Father Time had done reminded me way too much of what the Murtledochs had done to Roman and his brother. Following getting busted for their phone hacking schemes, The Murtledochs ran full-page “We are sorry” ads in all of the London newspapers. But what if the London pundits responding to the Murtledochs ads were right? What if the Murtledochs, and Father Time too, weren’t sorry, but just sorry their apologies didn’t fool anyone?

I still wasn’t sure if the jackass regretted what he’d done, or was just sorry he got caught.

One thing was for sure, though, and it did comfort me. With Grams vowing to set Father Time on the straight and narrow, he’d better be sorry. And if he wasn’t now, he soon would be.

I took my seat at the table next to Grams. Roman sweetly scooted my chair into place before taking his seat to my left.

“Are you sure you can handle him, Grams?” I asked, pointing to Father Time.

“I’m the only one old enough to even attempt it,” she said. And that little sarcastic smile of hers was pretty damn convincing.

“But what about all the elves the bastard paid off to help him?” She asked. “I don’t have time to kick their asses too.”

I cleared my throat, hoping Roman hadn’t heard that. I then put my pointer finger to my lips, trying to get her to take the hint and hush up.

My mom and I had our own plan on how to deal with those scoundrels. No one else knew, as we did, why Father Time had such an easy time manipulating them to his side.

It wasn’t just Father T’s bullshit we had to deal with. There was much more. And whether or not all of the evidence still existed so we could act on our hunches, there was indeed a band of very bad elves that made Father Time and his cohorts look like novices.

Mom and I just hoped we could get through the holidays before the bastards upped the ante once again.

“This looks terrific,” Roman said, rubbing his hands together, either in anticipation of the huge feast on the table before us or in an effort to keep the friction heating up his skin.

I don’t think the poor guy had actually been cozy warm since he arrived in our Winter Wonderland. By now, his Mediterranean genes had to be in a complete deep freeze.

“It does look delicious,” I said, hardly able to wait till Dad carved the turkey and Mom and Wanda Lu started passing all the sides.

We had it all. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, yams and marshmallows, green bean casserole, cranberry molds, homemade rolls, pumpkin pie and more.

And ‘had it all’ didn’t just mean the food.

As I passed the rolls, I couldn’t help but survey our family and friends as they joined us at our night before Christmas Eve table.

For Witherspoon Whoville, this was always kind of the last supper, so-to-speak, before everyone dived into final preparations for tomorrow night’s big ride.

Beginning tomorrow morning, it would be nothing but Santa’s Coming and Reindeer Rule in our house.

“I can’t wait for y’all to open up your gifts,” my mom said, pushing back her plate, which I noticed she’d barely pecked at.

I didn’t like the looks of that one bit. When she was nervous, she didn’t eat. I knew this elf situation was really taking a toll on her, but I didn’t realize just how much till that moment.

“How ‘bout we don’t wait? I’m dying to see too,” Aunt Tulip said.

My Dad laughed his turkey-stuffed and forever jolly ho-ho-ho.

“What do you think, Mrs. C?”

I loved how his eyes still twinkled whenever he looked at my mom.

That’s one of the reasons I knew I cared much more for Roman than I’d so far let on. When he looked at me, his espresso eyes had that same twinkle. I could feel my connection to him being drawn straight from my soul.

It’s that unspoken understanding two people share that makes for one helluva life partnership. In my world, Mr. and Mrs. Claus were proof of that.

“I think it’s the perfect time for gifts,” Mom said, taking her napkin and wiping a stray piece of turkey from dad’s beard.

I watched with a warm heart as each person around our table picked up the gorgeous packages my mom had wrapped just for them.

Her packages were always so beautiful. Sometimes I didn’t want to open them. But if you knew you had a Mrs. Claus original ornament waiting for you inside those little boxes, you couldn’t resist.