main part of town, sweat beaded on her skin. Because the wagon, borrowed from Perkins’ toolshed, held one very wanted, fresh-from-his-bath and smiling-out-at-his-adoring-public Randolph.
The adoring public, however, was not smiling back. They were scowling. At Regan, not Randolph.
Regan tightened her grip on Holly, giving her hand three little squeezes. When Holly didn’t give her usual squeezes back, she stopped and looked down at her daughter, who looked back—terrified.
Dropping to her knee, Regan smoothed Holly’s silky hair. “You did nothing wrong. I made a mistake and I have to fix it, but I can bring you to Pricilla’s and pick you up after this is over.”
Holly took in the crowd, the not-so-welcoming glares, and shook her head. “Nope. You and me is family. A mistake is only wrong if you don’t right it.” With her me-too squeezes, Holly tugged her forward toward the town Christmas display.
Already packed with spectators wearing their mourning best, a gilded podium, and the mayor at the mic, it looked more like a funeral procession than a Christmas celebration. Reminding herself that there was nothing left to lose, Regan threw her shoulders back and kept on moving through the crowd, around St. Vincent’s upper-class glee club singing, “Randolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” past an overjoyed Isabel, only stopping after she had squeezed her way up to the podium.
“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,” the glee club belted out.
The mayor took one look at the stolen goods in the wagon and stepped back. Regan walked up to the mic and tapped it. The muffled thump echoed throughout the street, instantly silencing the crowd and cutting off the glee club right as the altos sang an ominous, “Ho Ho Ho.”
“Um, hello, everyone,” Regan began, with her best the-funniest-thing-happened-on-the-way-over smile. No one smiled back. “Merry Christmas?”
Silence.
Holly looked around. Sensing that her mom was a total bust, she held up a finger and whispered something to Randolph, whose smile oddly appeared to grow bigger. Then Holly wheeled him in front of the podium and pushed his nose.
“Merry Christmas, one and all.”
When the greeting wasn’t returned, Holly ran up on stage and pulled Regan close. “Like a Band-Aid, Mommy.” And then she ran back to the front row and gave her a double thumbs-up.
Quick and painless. Right. “I know you all have a busy schedule this morning, so I’ll just come out and say it—”
“I stole Randolph.” A voice came from behind. The crowd parted, all three hundred heads turned in unison to stare back.
Frankie stood on the curb in front of Stan’s Soup and Service Station, covered in dirt and grape stains. Her hair was a disaster and she was holding Randolph. Well, not Randolph, since Regan had the stolen Randolph in her stolen wagon. But it was a close match.
The crowd looked back and forth between the two statues, trying to determine who had the real Randolph and who was the big fat liar.
She had no idea where her friend had bought the reindeer or why she was doing this, but Regan was touched. That Frankie was trying to take the fall made the lump in her throat that much tighter.
Sweet or not, though, she couldn’t allow it. Holly was in the crowd, and Martin women didn’t hide from their mistakes. No matter how bad it sucked to fess up. “Frankie, that is so incredibly wonderful of you, but—”
“We stole Randolph,” the three Mrs. Clauses chimed in while marching across the street, each one carrying a Randolph look-alike.
“Impossible,” Mrs. Lambert said, coming from the general direction of the Grapevine Prune and Clip, a Randolph in her clutches. “I’ve had him all along. See?” She pushed his nose.
“Merry Christmas, one and all.”
From the back row, Regan could see a bundle of auburn curls rise. Abigail DeLuca stood on her chair, and the entire audience gasped at what was most likely going to be the best throw-down in St. Helena Christmas history.
Regan stood frozen, her palms sweating and her heart thundering in her chest. Last night had been one of the hardest moments of her life, which was saying a lot because she’d weathered more than her share of heartache. But this was something she refused to weather, not in front of Holly.
She stepped down from the podium and took her daughter’s hand. Before she could speak, Holly gave three squeezes and said, “Mrs. Dee, are you also going to fib and say you had Randolph?”
Abby looked down at Holly and then to Regan. The woman didn’t say a word,