Page 3 of Grump Hard
I won’t hold my breath on that, of course…
Not from people happy to worship at the altar of Kathy’s Kountry Store.
I circle the historic building, pushing at the bottom of each window until one slides up with a soft groan. I’m about to pull myself up on the ledge and climb inside when, on impulse, I decide to see just how trusting these fools are.
Mounting the snow-dusted steps to the rear entrance, I reach for the doorknob. It turns easily in my hand, swinging open without so much as a squeak of protest, let alone the blare of an alarm.
With a jaded grunt and a sliver of pity for these poor trusting country bumpkins, I step inside, closing the door behind me.
I start down the hallway toward the “museum” in the front room, where the leg is on display the eleven months of the year it isn’t giving the town square the middle finger. There’s enough illumination streaming through the windows from the outdoor lights to find my way, and I don’t want to risk attracting attention by lighting up town hall after hours.
Besides, it’s actually kind of enjoyable, skulking through the shadows…
I’m a hard no on “frolicking,” but skulking?
I think I could learn to enjoy a good skulk.
I creep down the hall into the museum space, weaving my way through display cases containing the scintillating artifacts of Silver Bell Falls’ history. There’s Captain Herbert’s taxidermy parrot, Susie Pie’s 1931 National Spelling Bee trophy, a photo of one of the dumber presidents taking a sleighride through the square, and a newspaper article chronicling the time an escaped convict holed up right here in the town hall root cellar for two weeks, getting drunk on the apple cider they were saving for the harvest festival.
Then, there it is—the peg leg.
Ole’ Stiffy.
Opening the case, I grimace as I reach for the prosthetic the captain once strapped to his stump every morning. I swear as I draw it out, I catch a whiff of festering flesh.
My stomach roils.
There’s a chance I haven’t consumed enough eggnog for this detour into memorabilia theft, but once I’ve fixed a goal in my mind, I never back down. So, I force myself to grip the leg more firmly, relieved to find it dry to the touch.
Very dry.
And likely highly flammable…
Prize in hand, I’m about to retreat to the lobby fireplace to get this embarrassment blazing, when a beam of light bounces off the window in front of me. I spin, clutching the artifact like a club, prepared to defend myself from another escaped convict or the ghost of Christmas past—both equally unpleasant propositions.
But it’s neither.
It’s a pint-sized woman with long, curly brown hair and clear blue eyes in a reindeer costume, complete with antlers and a bulbous red nose.
I lower my weapon, cursing my luck. What the hell is she doing here this late?
The rest of the “reindeer 5k” crowd finished their cocoa and headed back to the ski resorts hours ago.
“Well, well,” she murmurs, trailing her light from my shoulders to the floor, “Is that Captain Herbert’s peg leg, or are you just happy to see me?”
I glance down at the wood in my hands, currently positioned in front of my crotch. I shift it quickly behind me, refusing to acknowledge the heat rushing to my cheeks as I glance back to the sassy reindeer, wondering how much I’ll need to pay her to keep this quiet.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say vaguely, buying my eggnog-soaked brain time to come up with a plausible explanation.
“Oh, good,” she says cheerfully. “Because it looked like you were stealing a priceless Silver Bell Falls artifact. But of course, you wouldn’t. Not when you’re a member of such an important local family and all.
Shit. I’ve been recognized!
And strangely enough, this woman looks familiar to me, as well.
I take a closer look at her, my brow furrowing. “Do I know you?”
“Of course, you do.” She cocks her head, her dimples popping as she adds with a soft laugh, “Luke Ratcliffe, where have you been all these years? It’s been too long. How are you, friend?”
