A Christmas to Dismember Addison Moore (feel good books TXT) 📖

The girls to the right and left of me link arms with mine, and soon we’re moving in a slow and steady circle to the delight of the crowd.

The crowd! Oh my word. Is it awful to hope that Jasper got a flat on the way? Perhaps a small fender bender that requires an auto shop?

A couple of girls scoop me up from behind, and before I know it, I’m in the air, moving toward the front of the stage, ten feet off the ground at least.

“Hands up!” the girl to my left shouts, and instinctively I raise my arms into the sky. And just as the song comes to a close, an explosion of red and green pyrotechnics explodes from either side of the stage.

The audience is on their feet, and I hear Georgie and Juni screaming my name with glee.

The song ends, the women remove their arms, and I fall softly into another set of Mistletoettes’ arms.

We walk off stage in single file, and I jump back into my clothes, much to the screaming chagrin of the red and green brigade.

“Keep the shoes,” I shout as I kick them off and land in the flats I came in. I rush right out of the side door, only to find throngs of humanity pouring into the foyer as the intermission begins.

I spot my mother, Georgie, and Juni at the front of the concession stand clamoring for popcorn and T-shirts. Here’s hoping they get me an extra-large in both the popcorn and the T-shirt. Souvenir shirts from the theater are my favorite to sleep in.

“Excuse me, miss?” an all too familiar voice strums from behind, and I freeze solid before spinning on my heels to see the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life holding out a red bouquet of roses. Jasper dips his chin as he shoots me a look. “Can I have your autograph?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I only give them out naked and in bed. But I’m pretty sure I have a vacancy for the evening. My husband has had it with me.” I bite down over a smile as he hands me the flowers and I bury my face in them.

His chest rumbles with a dark laugh as he pulls me in. “I’ll take that spot. Your husband sounds like a donkey.” He winces. “Bizzy, you scared me to death. I almost rushed to the stage to catch you. You could have broken a leg.”

“That sounds like something my husband would say.” I pull him in close by the tie. “Because he loves me. How about we stock up on nachos and M&M’s before the lights flicker?”

“All right, but I’m taking you to dinner afterwards. It’s the least I can do before I get that autograph.”

“Sounds like a delicious plan.”

“That and I think we’re going to need to fuel up for the big endeavor.”

We meet up with my mother, Georgie, and Juni who come bearing T-shirts and popcorn for me included. We sit and enjoy the rest of the Mistletoettes pre-performance, and when the show is over, Jasper and I pick up some takeout and make a beeline for the cottage. I tell Jasper everything I gleaned from Arthur Silver, and when I’m done, we make a pact not to speak of the case for the rest of the night. We have far more interesting topics to explore.

And when all is said and done, I put on a whole other performance, a private show just for Jasper.

Arthur Silver is still on the suspect list. He has a motive. He said himself that he spoke to Quinn after the show, which could put him right at ground zero when that axe went swinging. Now to corroborate his story about a certain blonde named Tracy.

Who knows? She might just hold the missing link to this entire case.

Macy Baker, hold onto your sassy skirt because I’m coming for you next.

Chapter 10

Main Street in December in and of itself is magical, but add snow to the equation and it’s as if we’ve left reality and landed in a fairytale.

It’s almost one in the afternoon and things have fallen just a touch behind for the official grand opening of my mother and Georgie’s new shop. There were delivery issues, shelves that kept falling apart, and the last-minute software glitch on the ultra-modern register system. But it seems as if it’s finally all systems go as an entire mob has gathered outside to help usher in this victorious moment.

The crowd is thick with mostly women, and mostly women of a certain age, each one rubbing their proverbial hands together looking as if they can’t wait to rush inside and part with their money. Honestly, they’re most likely rubbing their hands together so they won’t fall off. And I’m guessing the reason they want to rush inside has to do with getting out of the elements. But still, the sentiment is nice.

A refreshment table has been set out front with coffee, hot cocoa, cider, donuts, and mounds of peppermint bark—all provided by the Country Cottage Café, of course. The doors to the establishment have been painted bright red, and there are curtains hung over the windows in an effort to build the suspense of what these shiny new patrons might find inside.

Up above the entry a sheet is draped over the wooden sign, leaving the people to wonder what the name of this shop might be as well. It’s not a marketing concept I would have gone with for opening day, but nonetheless they have plenty of prospective customers here ready to storm the castle, so it seems to be working.

“Mom”—I laugh while bouncing Rudolph in my arms—“where did all these people come from?”

She gives me a look. “You know, Georgie. I told her to spread the news, and she shot it across the four corners of Cider Cove like a cannon filled with rainbow glitter. She’s got every senior