Hullabaloo and Holly Too ( A Cozy Cash Mystery Christmas Novella) (The Cozy Cash Mysteries) (3 page)

The Witherspoon Women are definitely what you would very comfortably and correctly label well-endowed in the cleavage department, which could be considered a blessing or a curse, depending on your point of view.

“Zoey talks about me? I had no idea,” Roman said, the ornery twinkle in his eyes was quite hard to ignore, although I gave it my best shot.

So what if I may have talked about him a bit? These were my parents, after all. So that fact, on its own, didn’t mean much. Yeah. Not much at all.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, letting myself be the next squeezed-to-death victim. “It’s good to be home.”

“You really mean that?” She asked.

What was that supposed to mean?

“Of ‘course I mean it. Why wouldn’t I?” And I really hadn’t a clue why she would think otherwise.

She looked at the ground and played with her apron in the way she does when she’s wanting to say what she’s thinking but isn’t quite sure she should.

“After the last couple…”

Suddenly getting where she was going with this and chastising myself for not thinking of it on my own, I gasped. Evidently taking in too big of a lakeshore bitter-cold shot of air in one dose, I coughed a couple times before pulling myself together.

Thank the powers that be, Roman was too busy listening to my dad explain the cedar gingerbread shingles to pay attention to me and my mom.

“Not a word about that…little episode. Got it? And I mean it,” I said, and boy did I.

“As you wish, but I don’t think…”

“No thinkin’. Just please do as I ask this time.”

The teeniest of icicle-sharp points of fear pierced my chest. But, on this one, I knew I was making the right call.

Besides, my BFFs Roxy, Jules, and Audrey would be arriving soon, along with their significant others and The Mom Squad too. That would be enough to scare off anyone.

“So what’s up with Dad and this phone hacking stuff?” I asked, purposely steering my mother toward my father’s problems and away from mine.

But before she could fill me in, Santa and his elf-in-training were back.

“Well, let’s not stand out here in this frigid wonderland any longer. Into the house. I’ve got coffee and cocoa, plus cookies about ready to come out of the oven,” my mom said, herding us all into a little group then hustling and bustling us towards the front door.

Wanda Lu, my parents’ assistant and the best damn elf ever, had the door open and waiting for us, a huge beautiful grin across her beyond-wise face.

God, I’d missed her, perhaps most of all. All four feet of her.

Yes. My parents thought they lived at the North Pole, so they had an entire staff of little people. They could actually film one of those Reality TV dwarf shows right here in Witherspoon Whoville.

I let Wanda Lu burrow into me, feeling the warmth of her wonderful soul wrap me in her unconditional kindness. On many occasions, I’d thought about having her come to work for Roman and I in the castle, but I couldn’t bear to leave my parents without her. She was my eyes, ears and moral compass where they were concerned. And with her here, I knew they were well cared for.

“I’m so glad my princess is home. And look, you now have your very own prince, too.”

Roman leaned down to shake Wanda Lu’s sweet hand and instead got her tiny hug filled with a giant-sized helping of love.

After letting him out of her grasp, she giggled in her tiny, high-pitched, fairy-like laugh…a laugh I sometimes heard in my dreams.

She pointed to the rounded archway of the top of the door’s frame.

There it was…in all its glory.

A sprig of mistletoe.

The first of what was probably around 147 sprigs throughout our house. One hanging down from each door frame.

My parents had a thing for mistletoe.

“Well…what are you two newlyweds waiting for?” My Dad’s robust voice boomed through the grand entryway of his home.

Roman looked at me as if to silently seek my permission.

I nodded, then gulped.

Little did he know how much more-than-fine it was with me to make good on mistletoe superstition.

And then…my prince kissed me like mad.

But being as we were now in Witherspoon Whoville, there’d be a ton more madness under the mistletoe.

Holiday-themed mugs full of Wanda Lu’s amazing hot cocoa with chocolate-tipped peppermint sticks poking out of the tops and a Christmas plate full of her superfab spritz cookies sat on the giant coffee table in the center of our family room.

I grabbed another camel-shaped cookie, admiring the way the food coloring she’d added turned them the perfect shade of yellow. Of the green trees, reddish-pink poinsettias, and blue wreath-shaped cut-outs to choose from, the camels were my personal faves.

I settled into the sofa opposite the fireplace, while my parents took their usual places in their his and her’s high-backed wing chairs on either side of the mantle.

If the decorator-perfect holiday décor didn’t warm a visitor’s soul, the radiant heat from the crackling fire sure would.

Forget the fire, for me, though. All I needed were the thirty-nine Christmas trees my mom had throughout our home. Yep, even the bathrooms had Christmas trees, a couple with miniature rolls of toilet paper for decoration.

The thirty-nine trees, plus the grander-than-grand, twenty-five-footer sitting in front of the large, floor to ceiling picture window of our gingerbread house family room, warmed me up to nothing short of holiday magnificence.

I’ve definitely gotten the love of the season gene from my parents.

I loved the full balsam fir we all sat around now, but it was second in my heart to the tree in my old bedroom, which still held all my favorite ornaments, handmade by my mother each year since my birth.

I took a moment before starting any conversation and simply gazed at our grand tree.

It was filled with all my mother’s best work. Not a single store-bought ornament could be found anywhere in the Witherspoons’ Whoville.

Every red bow, every sparkling candy cane, every mouth-blown glass ornament or Styrofoam-based fabric, beaded and glitter-soaked ball came straight from my mother’s workshop.

It wasn’t just Santa who had a workshop in this Santa Claus Land. Mrs. Claus also had her own place to hang out, a special place that served as a playground for her muses.

“Your tree is like none I’ve ever seen,” Roman said.

“Why thank you,” my mom answered, the warm glow flushing her cheeks was not from the fire.

She was always so humbly taken aback when anyone complimented her talents. I’d been at her for years to sell her creations, but she said doing so would stifle her muses. She said she could only create out of love. Making anything for money would be her muses’ undoing.

“And Zoey tells me you’re not just Santa Claus, but an inventor as well,” Roman said, opening up who only knew what kind of invention tell-alls.

“Indeed I am, Son. But that’s precisely what’s now gotten me into a wee bit of trouble.”

Oh boy. My mom and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

“Better trade in our cocoa for egg nog. Spiced and well-spirited egg nog that is,” my mother said.

As if perfectly on cue, Wanda Lu brought in a tray with four Irish Coffee-style mugs filled with perfectly frothy, cream-colored egg nog and ground cinnamon sprinkles.

“I hope mine has plenty of
spirit
,” I said, winking at Wanda Lu.

“I fixed y’all right up,” Wanda Lu said, never missing a beat with my family’s needs.

Even if we didn’t quite know what we needed, she always did, especially when it came to our elixirs of choice.

Some people cope and de-stress with massages or rich and decadent food. Most of the year, I use my all-things-green Naked Juice. But from November first through January first, I switch to egg nog – spirited with brandy, not the moonshine my Dad prefers.

Okay. Sometimes it’s mid-January. The timing of the egg nog to Naked Juice switcheroo depends on how stressful the Witherspoon holiday has been that given year.

“So tell me about this trouble,” Roman said, taking a healthy pull from his egg nog.

Smart guy. See why I love him?

But just to clarify…

It’s not that I’m “in love” with him. I just really adore him. I love all he stands for. And love the man he is.

Anyhoo…back to the latest Whoville hang-ups…

“Ahhh, yes. Trouble there is. And I do so hope you can help me,” Dad said, practically chugging his egg nog.

“You see…my latest invention is really quite brilliant. So I can see why Father Time would love to get his hands on it. But anyway, yes. First, the invention itself. I’ve developed a revolutionary new reindeer diet formula. Guaranteed to lighten our sleigh load, if you know what I mean,” Dad said, his robust laugh shaking his bowl full of jelly.

“I’m not quite sure I do understand,” Roman said.

As for me, I thought I might have a pretty good idea what Dad was talking about. I knew he’d been working on some top-secret reindeer diet food for several years now.

“Does this have to do with Operation Holly?” I asked.

My mother shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

My dad played with his snow-white beard, which now, thanks to the roaring fire in the fireplace, had taken on a magical aura.

Both behaviors clued me into the fact that I’d nailed it.

“Operation Holly?” Roman repeated my inquiry.

“That’s Dad’s codename for his secret reindeer diet formula. The stuff is made primarily of holly, as in the flowering tree,” I said, beginning to explain, sure my dad would soon pitch-in the details.

“Not just any holly. My formula uses only the less prickly leaves that grow near the tops of our trees. And the flavor? Oh boy. The reindeer just love my new formula,” Dad said, giving us the full scoop on Reindeer Fodder 101.

“So what does this have to do with your former buddy Father Time and phone-hacking?” I asked.

And trust me, I was totally sure I didn’t really want to know, but I also knew I’d be faced with all the details whether I wanted ‘em or not.

Why?

Because this family has no secrets.

Okay. We have one. And I hope it stays that way.

‘Course I’d also bet on that bean bag being spilled way before Roman and I can escape back to our castle and kingdom of thugs.

“Father Time? As in the elderly bearded man with the scythe and hourglass? The one who, each year, hands over the duties of time to Baby New Year?” Roman asked.

“Yeah. That asshole,” Dad said, not mincing his words the least bit.

“That will get you on your very own Naughty List, Pops,” I said, unable to stop the laugh dyin’ to get out.

“Oh screw the Naughty List. That’s how our whole beef started.”

Here we go, I thought, downing another hearty swig of egg nog.

“Father Time, the old geezer, is pissed off ‘cause his precious Baby New Year is at the top of my Naughty List,” Dad said, shaking his head then pinching the bridge of his ruby red nose like he often did when he was at his wits end.

“What did the brat do this time?” I asked, knowing quite well that Baby New Year was lacking in the well-behaved department.

“The little shit threw a temper tantrum and busted Father Time’s hourglass.”

“It’s true,” my mom chimed-in, almost as if she wished she could deny it but knew there was no sense covering-up the truth.

Well, not this truth anyway.

“And that led to Father Time phone-hacking you how?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to know this part
at
all
.

Father Time and my dad had gotten into some fairly big doozies over the years, and this one seemed to rank right up there with the worst of ‘em.

“He got it in his weathered-by-time pea brain that if I was gonna rain on his errant child’s behavior then he was gonna do something to my pride and joy too.”

“Father Time is after you, Zoey?” Roman asked.

Gosh I luuuvvved this guy. How sweet of him to assume I was my dad’s pride and joy. Little did he know, Santa’s globe-trotting, cabbage remnant-emitting reindeer held that honor.

“No No,” my dad said, placing his hand over his evidently amused and once again shaking jelly bowl. “Father Time loves our precious Zoey. He’d never hurt her. After all, she’s his godchild. He’s after my Operation Holly.”

“Why would he be interested in a reindeer diet food formula?” Roman asked.

And it was more than a reasonable question for a guy who’s supposedly into scythes, hourglasses and new years…not reindeer.