Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,70

flake.” ChiChi shook her head, her eyes going hard.

“Because you would be replaced by Isabel.”

“And you’d lose your job.” And Holly’s scholarship. “Which is why you’ve got to open your trunk.”

“My what?” Regan gasped.

“Lucinda went out and bought you a mess of fabric, and Pricilla is lending you her extra sewing machine. Your first committee meeting was last night and you all decided on a carnival theme. If they ask, say Jesus Christ, Superstar meets Cirque du Soleil. They love that kind of thing.” ChiChi was already shuffling back across the parking lot. “Now open that trunk and make room. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“I don’t even have a committee,” Regan hollered back, splaying herself across the back of her car.

“You do now. Lucinda is the fastest sewer in wine country. Seven years running.”

Five minutes. There was no way in hell she was going to show the Mrs. Clauses her trunk. She had to do whatever it took to convince the council that her ideas were brilliant and keep Holly at St. Vincent’s. And that did not include incriminating herself.

Turning around, she fished through her purse and pulled out a receipt, a pen, and a stick of gum. Blowing a bubble, she scribbled a note stating that she had to use the ladies’ room and to start loading if she wasn’t back in time. Then she scanned the parking lot for a place to hide Randolph. If ChiChi caught her with that deer...Regan didn’t even want to go there.

Certain she was alone, she cracked the trunk, threw a plastic tablecloth she had bought for Holly’s birthday over Randolph, and slapped the note to the back window with the hot wad of gum. Reindeer under her arm, she took off in a full sprint, heading toward a utility shed at the far end of the property. She was just rounding the side of the town hall when she saw Isabel in the window.

Their eyes locked. Isabel saw the bulge under Regan’s arm. She gasped with understanding and a sinister smile passed her lips before she bolted for the door...and straight for Regan.

“Crap!” Regan doubled back and slipped in a side door. She shuffled down the hall as fast as her heels would allow, trying every door along the way.

Locked.

Locked.

And locked.

Damn.

Angry heels clicked on marble behind her, gaining in venom and speed. Regan turned to see Isabel come around the corner, her focus zeroing in.

“You!” she accused.

“Merry Christmas one and all,” Randolph greeted.

“Shh,” Regan snapped and, pretending she hadn’t heard Isabel and that her tablecloth hadn’t just spoken, spun back around to head down another hallway, past the water fountain and seven more locked doors, finally toppling into a woman wearing blue scrubs and pushing a cart with a mop and bucket.

“Lo siento mucho, señora,” Regan said, gathering up the industrial-sized box of tampons and spare toilet paper, placing them back on the cart. She was dusting the powdered soap off the poor woman when she became aware of two things.

Randolph had decided to peek out from beneath his tablecloth to gift the janitor—who was rapidly making the sign of the cross, her eyes rapt on the stolen mascot—with a radiant smile and Christmas greeting. And, the designer clicking had stopped.

“Es el diablo,” the woman whispered, her eyes staring at something over Regan’s head. “Corre!”

Regan didn’t have to ask who was behind her; the description and look of sheer terror on the woman’s face was enough. She shoved Randolph into Regan’s arms and Regan in the direction of a janitor’s closet.

Once inside, Regan slammed the door, flicked on the light, and screamed.

Dozens of lifeless eyes stared down at her. Men, women, children, infants. All of them silent, their mouths gaped opened as if ready to speak. And all of them naked.

One hand over her mouth, the other over Randolph’s eyes, she backed up, right into a rack. Blue backpacks decorated with red crosses crashed to her feet with enough force to alert the entire building. CPR training pamphlets and supplies scattered across the floor.

Keeping her focus on the ground, she shoved all of the backpacks into a corner and tried to come up with a plan. One that didn’t include Isabel finding her with Randolph.

“Merry Christmas one and all,” Randolph greeted.

“They’re dummies. They aren’t real, so shush before someone hears you,” Regan hissed at the ceramic-and-plastic statue with the glittery red nose. She could swear that his smile grew a little wider.

Setting Randolph in the far corner of the closet, Regan