Page 85 of Merry Mayhem
Thea is negotiating with hers, but Beckett has a huge inflatable sword drawn and is literally battling his Grinch.
I look at the guy standing in front of me. “What am I supposed to do here?” The big red plastic bag of presents I’m supposed to retrieve is on the ground right in front of him.
“Well, you can try to fight me for it,” he says with a grin. “Or you can negotiate.”
He’s shorter, thinner, and older than me. I’m not going to fight him. Even after he points to the giant inflatable mallets lying nearby.
“If you fight, you get bonus points.”
Dammit. But I don’t have time. Beckett is already running away with his sack of gifts. And his bonus points. “If we negotiate, what do you want?” I ask.
He shrugs. “What do you have?”
“Fifty bucks?”
He laughs. “Can’t be money.”
That’s probably a good rule. “I…” I’m having trouble thinking of something. If his house was on fire, I’d be his guy. Or if he was bleeding profusely from…anywhere.
“You know how to paint a garage door?” he asks.
“Never done it, but guessing I could figure it out.”
“That’s what I want. An assist on the garage door next weekend.”
“Done.”
He bends, grabs the bag at his feet, and tosses it to me.
Okay, that was easy enough. I look down the line. Is everyone else getting favors and baked goods?
Nope. Mitchell has gigantic inflatable boxing gloves on his hands and is fighting his Grinch. I grin. I wish I could hang out and watch.
“What’s your name?” I ask my Grinch.
“Dave. Don’t worry, I’ll come find you, Josh.”
Chuckling, I sprint across the ten-foot expanse that they somehow built up and decorated to look like the top of a mountain, then climb down the other side.
Thea is right in front of me.
“Hey,” I say to her. “We need to talk.”
She gives me a look of disbelief. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. Come on.”
“Not now.” She jumps off the bottom rung of the ladder-turned-mountain-side and sprints over to five gigantic wrapped gift boxes.
Each has holes in the top, and I watch as she digs in her bag, pulls out one of the gifts inside, then tosses it toward the hole in the top of the box that is wrapped similarly.
It bounces off the edge and, swearing, she goes to retrieve it, goes back to the yellow line that I just now notice on the ground, and tries again. This time the gift goes in the box.
“Do you want me to toss those gifts in the box?” Muriel calls to me.
“Do you want to?” I ask her.
She gives me a book that clearly says that’s a stupid question. “Chuck those gifts in that box! Let’s go!” she tells me.
