A commotion erupts at Santa’s throne where my Aunt Cat and her BFF Carlotta Sawyer are decked out in Mrs. Claus outfits that seem to be missing about seventy percent of their fabric.
Carlotta is busy straddling Santa’s lap while Aunt Cat appears to be trying to swallow his face whole.
Mothers gasp in horror, covering their children’s eyes while making a beeline for either the exit—or more to the point, Lottie’s cookie display—because let’s face it, nothing soothes trauma like a good dose of sugar.
“Is that your aunt?” Lily asks with her eyes wide.
“No relation,” I say, though we both know that’s a lie.
Aunt Cat takes that moment to adjust her position, and Santa lets out a jolly “Ho, ho,whoa!” that echoes through the community center.
“Should we...?” Lily gestures vaguely toward the Christmas catastrophe unfolding on stage.
“Extract my aunt and Carlotta from Santa before they scar these children for life?” I finish for her. “Probably.”
Suze groans. “Effie, I think we should go collect those two now before they give Santa a heart attack,” she suggests, just as I spot Aunt Cat adjusting her costume in a way that makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a candy cane.
“Wait just a ho, ho, ho minute.” Niki grabs my arm, pointing toward the entrance. “Who are those guys?”
Two elderly men shuffle through the door, both dressed in partial Santa costumes minus their beards and hats—not thatthey need fake facial hair. They’re sporting the real deal—gray, scraggly beards that could house small woodland creatures. Both are bald, wrinkled, and moving with the speed of molasses in January.
One of them happens to have a pretty young thing attached to his side. Obviously, those two old men aren’t the only ones confused. Either that or they’re loaded.
“Why are they dressed that way? They look like a couple of derelict Santas. I’m pretty sure they’re going to scar a few kids for life,” Lily says, tilting her head like a confused puppy.
“They’re old,” Suze says with a shrug. “At that age, half the time you put on whatever’s at the front of the closet. My father once wore my mother’s blouse to work for a month.”
I’m about to laugh when Niki leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Why does that young slut hanging off the old coot’s arm look familiar?”
I squint to get a better look at the woman and my stomach drops like an elevator that just had its cables sliced clean.
Christmas just got a whole lot deadlier.
CHAPTER 2
Iclamp my mouth closed to keep from screaming.
The two geriatric Santas hobble closer, but it’s the woman between them who makes my blood pressure spike.
Loretta Salami—or whatever her full name is, I can never keep it straight—is Cooper’s younger sister. She’s got dark auburn hair teased and piled high enough to require its own zip code, big brown eyes rimmed with enough eyeliner to supply a makeup counter at a department store, and has a dress on that probably costs more than my monthly rent. She’s also been married more times than I can count, and by the looks of it, she’s interested in upping that number by one, or maybetwoold coots.
I close the gap between us in seconds.
“Loretta Salmonella.” I plaster on a smile faker than the plastic icicles dangling from the ceiling. “What a... surprise to see you here.” I was tempted to sayterror.
Her gaze travels down my skimpy elf costume with those giant peppermint pinwheels, and her lip curls like she’s just smelled something particularly unpleasant.
“Effie,” she grunts. “Working as an elf now? How appropriate.”
“This old thing?” I pinch at one of the pinwheels covering my chest and send it spinning. “My boss at the bakery asked me to moonlight. I’m just spreading a little holiday cheer,” I say through gritted teeth. “Speaking of which, who are your friends?”
The old, decrepit Santa-wannabes can hardly focus on me with their eyes. Obviously, their vision is going. And come to think of it, hers must be, too.
Loretta tightens her arm around one of the ancient Santas that she’s claimed as her own. “Mind your own beeswax,” she snaps with a huff that makes her look like a pouty teenager rather than a grown woman—which really explains a lot.
They take off just as Niki, Suze, and Lily sidle up beside me.
“Well, that’s settled, Effie.” My sister laughs. “She’s told you off. Let’s go eat cookies. Lottie brought along some of her Italian specials—pignoli, struffoli, and those amazing cuccidati with the fig filling.”
