Page 1 of Mayhem Under the Mistletoe

Chapter 1

Holidaysweretheworst.

A mild headache lurked in her temples as Fiona Perkins drove out of the lot of the school where she taught eighth grade. Rush hour had already reared its ugly head, and she hoped to reach home before the worst of it turned the roads into parking lots.

Technically, there were four more school days until the official start of winter break. But the kids had mentally checked out days ago, anticipation building for that two-week vacation at the end of the calendar year. At this point, trying to teach them anything was an exercise in futility, and the rest of the week would be packed with educational films, worksheets, and anything else that required minimal concentration yet kept them from climbing the walls.

A few car lengths ahead, horns blared when some jerk in a Camry cut across three lanes of traffic to turn in to the Publix. The driver ahead of her slammed on the brakes, and her heart leaped into her throat when she barely avoided smacking his rear bumper with the front end of her old Nissan Sentra.

To be fair, she was looking forward to the time off as well. Teaching could be a rewarding profession, but it was also exhausting. It was no easy task to keep a classroom full of hormonal eighth graders interested in science and engaged in each day’s lesson.

Fiona’s phone chimed as she merged into traffic, and she frowned at the sound of the chime she’d assigned to her ex. Long story there, one she had no interest in revisiting, and she ignored his message just as she had with all of the others he’d sent over the past few weeks. Sooner or later—God, she hoped it was sooner—he’d get it through his thick skull that she wasn’t ever going back to him and leave her the hell alone.

At the next light, she turned left, and a few miles later, she nearly sighed as her apartment complex came into view. Unfortunately, as with most teachers, her school day didn’t end at the ring of the final bell. She had her own homework to complete tonight. There were papers to grade, lesson plans to update, and emails from parents and administrators that required her attention. With luck, she’d get it all done by nine and have enough time to watch an episode or two of her favorite murder mystery series. The latest season just dropped the other day, and she couldn’t wait to experience the twists and turns of the latest whodunit.

There weren’t any open parking spots in front of her building, but she managed to snag one not too far from the mailboxes. She gathered her things, shoved the door closed with her hip, and, after a slight detour to pick up the junk mail clogging her box, headed for the stairs. The second-story studio apartment wasn’t much—she couldn’t afford anything larger—but it wasn’t like she needed more space anyway. Most important, cats were allowed, because she wasn’t about to live anyplace where Wanda wasn’t welcome.

The apartment also had a balcony with an unobstructed view of the nearby nature trail, which explained why Liz, her friend who lived two buildings over, was waiting at the door with a bottle of red and an impatient look on her face.

“About time you got here.” Dressed in jeans and a fitted gray tee, Liz held up the bottle. “They didn’t have the one you like, but the guy at the liquor store said this one’s just as good.”

Fiona looked longingly at the bottle. Sometimes it sucked being responsible. “I can’t tonight; I’ve got too much work.”

Liz stared at her over the tops of her glasses. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I wish I was.” To emphasize her point, she raised her briefcase full of worksheets that needed to be graded.

True to form, Liz made a dismissive sound. “Oh, come on, live a little. It can wait until after the show’s over.”

Realizing the futility of arguing, Fiona shoved her key in the lock and pushed the door open. As usual, Wanda was curled up on the recliner like a queen on her royal throne. She let out a soft meow as Fiona walked past and set her purse and briefcase on the floor beside the coffee table. One of these days, she’d get around to buying a desk, but it wasn’t all that high on her mile-long list of priorities.

Liz made a beeline for the kitchen, where she got two glasses from the cabinet and a corkscrew from the drawer by the stove.

“What do you think he’ll be wearing, blue or black?” she asked as she wrestled the cork from the bottle.

“Does it matter?” Fiona smoothed a hand along Wanda’s back, the most affection the cat was willing to tolerate before dinnertime.

The cork came out of the bottle with a pop, and Liz poured the wine into the glasses. She handed one to Fiona. “I suppose not. But it’s been a long, crappy day and I need a fix. Maybe he’ll shake things up and wear red this time.”

Trying hard not to laugh when Liz waggled her eyebrows—it would only encourage her—Fiona opened the sliding glass door leading out to her balcony. There wasn’t much on it—just a tiny green plastic table, two mismatched chairs she’d picked up at a garage sale, and a potted plant she needed to water—but it was her little oasis. She took one chair, Liz sank onto the other, and they clinked their glasses together.

“What made your day crappy?” Fiona stretched her legs out in front of her. In a perfect world, she would have changed from her conservative work clothes to something more comfortable, but there wasn’t enough time for that. As a consolation, she pulled the elastic band from her hair, letting the blonde strands uncoil from the tight bun it had been in since this morning.

“Eh, the usual.” Liz propped one booted foot on the metal rail. She and her two older brothers ran a microbrewery a few miles down the road. One brother brewed the beer, the other kept the books, while Liz was in charge of the employees and customer entertainment. “The band that I booked for Friday canceled—their singer got busted for possession—so I spent half the day scrambling for another act to fill the slot.”

“Who did you end up with?”

“No one, which really sucks. Jeremy’s going to do another Trivia Night.” She shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess. How was your day?”

“Same old, same old.” Fiona sipped her wine as the stress of the day began to ebb from her system. The guy at the liquor store was right. This red was fantastic, and just as good as the one she normally bought.

“Is that kid still being a jerk?” Liz asked.

“Yep. I’m pretty sure it’s his default setting.” For the most part, her students were great, eager to learn, and seeing the spark of light in their eyes when a concept crystallized in their mind was what kept her in the profession. A few misbehaved from time to time, but overall, they paid attention in class and kept up with their assignments. But every year there were one or two who gave her a run for the money. This year’s problem child was a thirteen-year-old boy who craved attention, and it didn’t matter to him whether it was good or bad.

“What did he do this time?”

Fiona swallowed another sip of wine before she answered. “Coach Abernathy caught him pooping in the boy’s room urinal. Apparently, it’s some new challenge that’s circulating online.” She wasn’t sure whether it was more disgusting than the last big thing that went around on social media, and she honestly didn’t care. If anything, she was more curious about who on earth came up with these things.

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