Page 270 of Screwged for Christmas

“Mrs. December?”

“One and only. When did you get back into town, hon?”

“I..uh…last night,” she whispered, craning her neck for another look outside. Did she lock the back door last night after lugging her tired body in well after midnight?

“Oh, good. Listen when you come into town stop by and see Mr. December’s at the Slice of Heaven, eh? He’ll be thrilled to see you again. It’s been ages. Of course, it wouldn’t be Christmas without him and Hardt at it again. This year they didn’t even wait untilafterThanksgiving to start up their antics.” Ivy felt the other lady settling in for a long talk. An audibletsksounded through the phone’s speaker and Ivy fought a scream of frustration as the other woman filled her in on the town’s gossip.

Dixen, Alaska was a quirky town tucked in the hollow between two snowcapped mountains an hour north of Anchorage, and her people were known to take three things very seriously: tradition, Christmas, and baking. Well, hockey too.

“It’s good to see some things never change. Who do you think will win the bake-off this year?” Ivy crept up to her knees. All seemed quiet now.

“Last year we came within a snowball’s throw to knocking the stockings off that Hardt. If you’d been here, you’d have loved how those blubbery cheeks of his huffed out in surprise when it came down to the final vote last Christmas. But those two have yet to break their tying streak. At this rate, those two will be feuding well into the grave. But we have plenty of time to talk about them and the annual town party. I’m so happy you’ll be here for the annual Dixcemberfest!” There was a bit of rueful chagrin, one Ivy knew all too well from her past Ivy school teacher’s tone and she cringed. The fact was, Ivy wouldn’t be here now if she’d had better luck and fairer siblings.

Longer story short, if her Facebook updates were anything to go by, her family stood firmly by the belief their grandmother no longer operated with a full set of cards. Without a clue as to what the other seven Winters siblings were up to, her name landed at the top of the list as the most eligible to spend her holidays shoveling snow and painting walls before the mass of guests descended on the seasonal bed and breakfast for Christmas. She’d accepted her fate on one condition—her name be moved to the bottom of the list for the next seven years.

She failed to see any proof Gran needed her help, but they— meaning everyone but her—found Ivy to be the perfect spy as the favorite grandchild with her job description as a residential re-developer.

It didn’t help her case that her house went up in flames over Thanksgiving and she needed a place to live until she landed her job in New York City.

“Promise you’ll stop in and see us before all the commotion kicks up. I’ll be done with my shift before noon. Plus, I have a job for you. Thought of you the second your gran mentioned you were coming.”

Ivy flinched. The last thing she wanted was anything that would hold her here longer.

Ivy raised her eyes to see a big shadow looming over the opposite wall from the window and swallowed hard. “Um… Mrs. December. I might not make it. Is the sheriff there, or anyone with a badge, really?”

“Oh, why’s that, hon?”

“The ax-murdering woodchopper at my front door.”

CHAPTER 2

Ivy peered around the edge of the stove again, hoping for a better look. Max moseyed in for a quick drink of water before taking up his guard post on a pile of folded painter’s plastic by the far wall of the kitchen.

Her phone beeped twice, signaling the inevitable.

“Mrs. December, my phone is about to die.” Just like her.

“Can you see who it is? Mr. Murdoch might have fallen into the spiked apple cider again. You know it’s that time of year.”

The town’s drunk did not look like the Hulk!

“Not him! That much I can see.”

“No? Hmm. No, now wait a second. Red plaid, you said? I could be mistaken, but it sounds like the fire chief, maybe. Bumped into him this morning on the way to cover my shift. He said he’d be by your way today. Guess he got an early start.”

What time was it? Just then tiny bells on her smartphone chimed and filled the quiet kitchen. Might as well be the bat signal shining in the night’s sky over Gotham City with how furiously it filled the entire house. “I gotta go, Mrs. December.”

Ivy refused to die. Not this close to Christmas and with her gran upstairs sleeping. You could take her house, but by the sweet Jesus in the Manger, enough was enough. She bounded to her feet and cringed at the littlejingle-jangleof her house slippers.

If by any miracle she survived this, Ivy mentally scheduled a long talk with her grandmother about the fact she wasn’t twelve anymore.

She snatched the first thing her eyes landed one and busted through the kitchen door, weapon raised.

An odd old red Chevy truck took up space beside her gran’s white Caddie. Morning hues of blue pushed out the gray and lit the sky to create a wonderful contrast to the flawless sheet of white that covered everything beyond the steps of the large wrap-around porch. Pristine all but for the messy area where the stranger stood with freshly split wood in either hand. But she didn’t have time for pretty and peaceful.

Snow crunched and she rounded the various wicker chairs between her and the railing of the porch. “Freeze right there you crazy, out-of-your-mind ax-wielding loon!” She planted her feet wide and took aim down the short handle. “I’m armed and I know how to use this. What the heck do you think you are doing?” Ivy squinted, trying to make out the face of her supposed do-gooder. Morning barely had a chance to chase away the shadows. Tucked beneath the eaves where the porch roof dipped to a smaller section, she couldn’t see anything above the shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s what crazy usually means and I bet you do. No sane woman this far north would be caught not knowing how to swing a cast iron skillet.”

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