Page 6 of Grump Hard
Fine, let him dismiss me, but he’s not weaseling out of taking accountability for breaking and entering that easily.
Actions have consequences, and clearly Luke needs a reminder of what Silver Bell Falls is all about nearly as much as he needs to remember his manners.
“Is that right? Your getaway driver, I presume?” I challenge, a plan forming in my always fertile imagination. “I’m sure he’ll be upset when he learns the heist has failed, and you’ve left empty-handed.” I hum beneath my breath. “Never took you for a thief, but time changes people.” I sigh. “Still, it’s a shame you’ll be making an appearance in the police report in the local paper so soon after returning to town. Doubt the rest of your family will be pleased. I’ve heard they’re all very nice people and big fans of Kathy’s peppermint drizzled pretzels. She’s had to increase production by twenty percent to meet demand.”
He turns slowly to face me, his scowl frostier than ever. “The leg is back in the case. I’m leaving. You can’t prove anything.”
“No, but Greg can.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Greg?”
“Gregory Hamish Blackwater the Third.” I nod toward the parrot in the case. “There’s a camera in his beak. The town voted to install one after Gina Jorgensen found out her son was breaking in to cook pot brownies in the basement and make out with his girlfriend.” I motion in the general direction of the stairs. “They also caught some kids drinking beer in the tower room, where I come to draw. I, however, have a key and permission from the mayor to come sketch anytime, with the caveat that I donate a few watercolors to the fundraising auction for the library. But you…” I tap my finger to my chin as I amble closer to my prey, flashlight beam still trained on his feet like a searchlight. “Well, you, on the other hand, broke in to steal a priceless antique and beloved piece of Silver Bell Falls history. And God only knows what you planned to do with it. That’s a serious offense, Mr. Ratcliffe. One I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for.”
“How much do you want?” His voice is a low, ominous rumble. “I’ll send the money via your preferred cash app as soon as I get back to the house. I don’t have my cell phone with me, but?—”
“It wouldn’t work if you did,” I say pleasantly. “Half the town is still a dead zone, especially on this side of the valley. Always has been, probably always will be, if people keep voting against installing new towers.”
He sniffs and glares some more. “All right. Well, as I said, I don’t have my phone, but if you don’t mind sharing your account information, I’ll send you the money as soon as I get home.”
I cluck my tongue. “Oh, please, I don’t want your money.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I want something far more valuable,” I say, bobbing my brows up and down. “Something that will help correct your deficiency of holiday spirit and make the punishment fit the crime.”
His eyes widen, and for the first time, he doesn’t look bored or grumpy.
He looks spooked.
Good.
I have him right where I want him…
I step closer, tipping my chin back to hold his gaze as I add, “You. Me. Three Fridays of Silver Bell Falls holiday volunteering. If you’re a good helper and spread holiday cheer like a happy Christmas elf for the next three weeks, I’ll delete the footage before Pam, the town clerk, gets around to checking it in January. No one will know how close you came to being a felon, and we’ll part ways as friends.” I pause, narrowing my eyes in an imitation of his signature glare. “But cross me, and I promise you I’ll be first up on the stand to testify.”
“You want me to help you spread holiday cheer?” he deadpans. “Seriously? Have you seen my face?”
“I have. Your attitude is bad, no doubt about it. But I bet you’re cheerier when you’re sober.”
“That’s a bet you would lose.”
I shrug. “Well, you’ll just have to fake it then. Or hope for a miracle to send some holiday cheer breezing into your heart.”
“I don’t believe in miracles.”
“How sad for you,” I say, meaning it.
Clearly, he needs this intervention even more than I previously assumed. His Christmas spirit is clocking in at alarmingly low levels.
His tone goes frosty as he murmurs, “Your pity isn’t required, Miss Hadley.”
“It’s not pity. It’s empathy, and it is required, Mr. Ratcliffe. Without it, I would already be calling the sheriff’s department to file a report. I’m friends with Alice, who works dispatch. She’d have someone out to take my statement in twenty minutes or less, even if that sleet ends up getting here sooner than expected.”
He mumbles beneath his breath.
I cup a hand to my ear. “Excuse me, what was that?”
“Diabolical. I said you’re diabolical.”
