Cozy Christmas Shorts

by Halliday, Gemma

  Kat looked equally mortified. "Charlotte!" she exclaimed. She recovered and met my gaze, forcing an even tone. "Bronwyn, this is Graham Sullivan. He helps run the Atlanta Sound Bytes blog, and he'll be one of our judges for the contest. Could you please escort him to the green room until the others arrive?" Kat gave me a pointed look, nodding toward the office door.

  I took the hint. "Right this way," I said to Graham, my voice flat. So what if he wrote for Atlanta's most popular music review blog? He could work for Spin, Rolling Stone, or the freakin' New York Times, and I still wouldn't like him. The guy had just ratted on one of my co-workers and insulted the whole staff, myself included, all in the same breath. What an asshat.

  "Seriously, Charlotte?" Kat's shrill whisper drifted through the door just before I shut it, and I winced. I led Graham down the hall, the stupid little bells on my boots jingling all the way.

  The chubby man fell into step beside me. "What exactly are you supposed to be?" he asked, running his finger over the velour fabric covering my shoulder. His touch made my skin crawl.

  "I'm from the Island of Misfit Toys," I said dryly, pulling my arm out of his grasp under the guise of scratching an itch. At the end of the hall, I ushered him into the green room for the Dungeon, our downstairs stage. "Here we are."

  Graham strode into the dimly lit room like he owned the place. He stretched his pudgy body across the gray leather couch and picked up the remote control, turning on the flat-screen TV mounted to the far wall. "Do you get any of the pay-per-view channels? I missed the last episode of Sorority Skanks."

  I cringed. "Um, I'll be right back," I stammered, practically flinging myself back into the hallway. I pulled the door closed behind me and sagged against it. Is he serious? What a sleaze! I made a gagging sound.

  "Are you okay, Bronwyn?"

  I looked up to find a petite brunette woman coming toward me from down the hall. "Hi, Em." I smiled at Emily Almond. She had been friends with Kat and Amelia since college and was the owner of another Atlanta venue called the Beat Barn. I was glad Ame had booked her to be a judge for the Battle of the Bands. "I'm fine," I told her, leaning in for a hug when she reached me. "Just having a weird day."

  "No kidding." Emily hiked her thumb over her shoulder. "Did you know there's a huge sleigh parked out front? It's as big as a tank, and it has chrome rims! I kept expecting that rapper from that car improvement show on MTV to pop out and explain how he'd pimped Santa Claus's ride."

  I nodded. "Sleigher must be here."

  Emily furrowed her brow. "Slayer? The thrash metal band?"

  "No. Sleigher." My lips twitched. "They're a metal band that covers popular Christmas songs."

  "Cool. They've got my vote." Emily rubbed her pregnant belly. "And the baby's." She grinned. "We count double, right?"

  "That's fine by me." I nodded to her tummy, my brows pinching. "Are you sure you're up for this? It's going to be really hot out and with all that loud music—"

  "Relax." Emily gave me a dismissive wave. "It'll be okay. I'm not due for several more weeks, and my checkup this morning went great. I'll just wear some noise-canceling headphones on my belly." I looked at her like she was nuttier than fruit cake, and she let out a tinkle of laughter. "Just kidding. As long as the judges' table is in the shade and not too close to the speakers, the baby and I will be just fine."

  "If you say so." I shrugged.

  Emily craned her neck toward the green room door. "Are the other judges already here?"

  "Ryan Hartley from 95Rox hasn't arrived yet, but the other guy is in there. A blogger named Graham Sullivan."

  She scrunched her nose. "I know Graham. He's kind of strange, huh?"

  "Kind of?" I snorted. "The guy makes Weird Al seem normal."

  Emily bit her lip. "Graham gives me the creeps."

  I glanced over my shoulder at the closed green room door. "He's a huge jerk too," I said in a low voice. "He got here less than half an hour ago, and he's already managed to piss off a third of the staff." I turned back to Emily to find her expression had grown troubled. "What's wrong?" I asked.

  She laid a protective hand over her pregnant belly. "I don't know. I just have an uneasy feeling about Graham Sullivan—like there's more to him than just a pervy attitude and a superiority complex." She met my gaze, her brown eyes serious. "Look out for him, Bronwyn. Bad things happen when he's around."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Welcome to the first annual Christmas in July Fest!" Kat called into the microphone as she stood in the middle of Castle Rock's outdoor stage. "Is it hot out here or what?" Her question was met with a cacophony of cheers, whistles, yells, and even a couple of boos.

  The courtyard was a sea of red and green. Nearly a thousand music fans were packed in, decked out in their holiday finest. Or tackiest. There were Santa hats, garlands, and even a few people wearing ugly Christmas sweaters despite the scorching temperature. I spotted one girl dressed in cut-off shorts, a Santa hat, and a red-and-white swirled bikini top. It looked like she had two double D-sized peppermints on her chest. As I watched, Doublemint Girl climbed onto the shoulders of a man dressed like Frosty the Snowman and pumped her fists in the air.

  Kat had donned her own festive costume: a tight brown dress that hugged her curves, dark brown ankle boots, and a headband with fuzzy deer antlers attached. A brown and white tuft of fake fur stuck out just above her behind, and the name Vixen was spelled out across the back of her dress in gold rhinestones. I glanced from her sexy reindeer costume to my own getup, scowling. Thanks to the mismatched costume pieces, Juan and Derek had been calling me Bron the Elf-prechaun all afternoon. Charlotte had freaked out and stomped on my foot, mistaking one of the little spider bells on my boot for a real arachnid. My toes still hurt.

  "Before we bring out the first contestants in our Battle of the Bands competition, I'd like to introduce the judges," Kat told the crowd. She gestured toward the folding table Derek and Reese had set up in the shade to the left of the stage. "Give a warm welcome to the owner of the Beat Barn, Emily Almond." Emily beamed and waved to the crowd. When the cheers had died down, Kat continued. "Next we have local music critic, Graham Sullivan from the popular music review blog, Atlanta Sound Bytes." More than a few people in the crowd booed. Graham stood up and gave a slight bow, his expression smug.

  "I'd like to smack that smirk right off his face," Charlotte muttered as we looked on from one of the bar tents. "And that stupid goatee too," she added.

  "You're lucky Kat didn't fire you," I reminded her.

  "Whatever." Charlotte shrugged. "Kat was more upset that it was Graham who caught me. She really doesn't like that guy."

  "That seems to be the popular opinion."

  On the stage, Kat introduced the final judge. "Last but not least, give it up for Rockin' Ryan Hartley from 95Rox."

  A thin, wiry man with short brown hair and unusually large ears rose from the third seat at the judges' table. The crowd went nuts. Rockin' Ryan was the goofy host of the local rock station's morning show. I was relieved to see him instead of 95Rox's most popular personality, Tim Scott. Wherever Tim showed up, drama was sure to follow. The whole staff was relieved that 95Rox had sent over laid-back Ryan instead.

  "And now it's time to get this party started!" Kat exclaimed. "The four bands performing today are competing for our two-thousand dollar cash prize and the chance to open for Johnny Thunder at our Rock the Halls Christmas concert in December. The bands will play a quick two-song set. At the end of their performance, they'll each receive a score from the judges. The two bands with the highest scores will move on to the next round, where they'll perform another two-song set. The highest-scoring band in the second round will be crowned the winners, and they'll close out the evening with a full performance." Kat leaned toward the edge of the stage. "Are y'all ready for some rock 'n' roll?" The crowd responded with more shouts of enthusiasm, and Kat grinned. "All right. Give it up for the first band of the afternoon, The Cereal Killers!"

  Kat pran
ced—yes, pranced—backstage, wiggling her little reindeer tail as she went. I leaned down to adjust the green-and-white striped leggings of my own costume, which was unbearably hot. I glanced up at Charlotte as she poured beers for a couple of thirsty patrons, feeling a twinge of jealousy over her cute, sleeveless gingerbread woman dress. It had oversized purple and green gumdrop buttons down the front, and Char had used green ribbon to tie her violet hair into two large pigtails. I sighed. Everyone else had a cute costume with matching pieces, and here I was looking like holiday hodgepodge. So not fair.

  "Hey, Bronwyn," Kat's voice crackled through my headset just as the band launched into a cover of "Jingle Bell Rock." I jammed my index finger in one ear and pressed the headphone speaker against the other, straining to hear her over the music. "Can you bring the judges some drinks?" she asked. "Ryan and Graham want our Christmas cranberry mojitos, and Emily would like a bottled water."

  I mashed the button on the radio clipped to my costume belt. "Roger that," I said. "I'll bring 'em right over." I repeated the drink orders to Charlotte, and she mixed the mojitos while I retrieved a Dasani bottled water from the cooler.

  Charlotte held out two clear plastic cups filled with red liquid with flecks of mashed mint leaves. There was a green straw in one and a white straw in the other. "Give this one to Graham," she said, holding up the cup with the green straw. An odd little smile played across her lips. She turned to serve the next customer at the bar counter without offering up any explanation.

  Shrugging it off, I balanced the three drinks in my hands and carefully made my way across the courtyard, giving the crowd a wide berth. When I reached the judges' table, I set the cranberry mojitos in front of Graham and Ryan and handed Emily the bottle of water. The only person who didn't thank me was Graham. Big surprise.

  Graham swirled the green straw around in the liquid and then slurped the drink. "You might as well bring me a pitcher so I can keep refilling this bad boy," he said, holding up the cup, which was already half-empty. "I'm going to need a lot of booze if I have to listen to crap like this all day." He gestured toward the stage, where The Cereal Killers were thrashing about as they performed their rendition of "Little Drummer Boy." Emily and Ryan both gave Graham sideways glances.

  "Be right back," I said through clenched teeth. I headed back toward the bar tent, cursing under my breath. This guy is a real Grinch. "I need a whole pitcher of mojitos for Señor Jackass," I told Charlotte when I reached her drink counter.

  "Coming right up," she said, turning away from me and leaning down behind the counter. She popped back up a few moments later with a full plastic pitcher. "Here ya go." That same enigmatic smile from before curved her mouth.

  "What did you do to it?" I furrowed my brow.

  Charlotte gave me an innocent look. "Nothing at all."

  "Is that for Graham?" Kat asked, appearing at my side. "He's asking for more booze." She made a face and took the pitcher from me, hurrying back toward the judges before I could protest.

  Oh well. It's out of my hands now—literally. I watched Kat set the pitcher down in front of Graham. He reached for it without looking and refilled his glass, engaged in conversation with a short man with black hair. The man was dressed as Santa Claus, minus the beard. He must be burning alive in that suit, I thought. I turned my attention back to The Cereal Killers as they finished their set. The man in the Santa suit left the judges' table as the trio leaned their heads together to discuss their scores. After several minutes, they straightened in their seats and faced the stage.

  Rockin' Ryan turned on a cordless microphone. "That was great!" he exclaimed, giving the band a thumbs-up. "Your stage presence isn't bad. Maybe kick up the energy just a notch next time." He held up his scorecard. "All around, it was a good performance. I give it an eight." The crowd applauded, and the band members gave each other high fives.

  Emily held up her card next, also giving the band an eight. "I think that was a solid set, guys. You've got a lot of potential." She beamed at them.

  Graham cleared his throat and offered up a smug expression. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't impressed. My three-month-old niece takes dumps in her diaper that have more talent than you." He briefly held up a card displaying the number three before setting it back down to pick up his drink. He sipped his cranberry mojito, looking disinterested.

  The members of The Cereal Killers shuffled off the stage, heads bowed in disappointment after Graham's harsh insults. A collective sound of booing rose from the crowd, and someone threw a beer can at the judges' table, narrowly missing Graham's right ear. Emily cringed and scooted her chair away from him, her arms folded across her belly. She was right—he was bad news.

  I spotted Reese in the crowd and waved him over to the tent. "Why aren't you in a costume?" I asked, poking out my bottom lip. He was still dressed in the same cargo shorts and Atlanta Braves T-shirt that he'd been wearing earlier.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm already sweating my jingle bells off as it is—wearing a heavy Santa suit would only make it worse."

  "Babe!" I scrunched my nose and playfully shoved his arm.

  Reese grinned. "I told Kat it didn't fit."

  "Why didn't I think of that?" I said sulkily. We sat together in the shade as the next band performed. The acoustic rock duo, Sullen Lullaby, received glowing compliments and high scores from Ryan and Emily, only to be torn apart by Graham. "Does he even like music?" I asked Reese after Graham made the female singer run off the stage in tears.

  Reese opened his mouth to reply, but his words were drowned out by a sudden shriek radiating from the speakers. My gaze darted to the stage, where Sleigher, the Christmas metal band, had stopped in the middle of their first song. The singer was pointing toward the judges' table. Another scream sounded just as I spotted Emily Almond and realized her cries were being picked up by the cordless mic on the table in front of her. Emily's expression was a mixture of surprise and fear. The chair next to hers was empty, and it took me a moment to understand that Graham Sullivan was on the ground. Rockin' Ryan slid out of his own seat and knelt down next to the fallen man. "Someone call 9-1-1!" he yelled.

  Reese's jaw tightened, and his hand moved to the radio clipped to his shorts. "Kat, it's Reese. I think something happened to one of the judges."

  "I'm on it." I heard Kat's loud reply through Reese's headset. A few moments later, she and Derek Hayes appeared at the judges' table. Even from a hundred yards away, I could see the look of horror that crossed Kat's face as she stared down at Graham. Something was very wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Stay back!" Derek Hayes commanded. The six-foot tall bouncer used his large mass and intimidating posture to keep the curious onlookers at bay. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since Graham collapsed, and a large portion of the crowd had gathered around the judges' table. I followed Reese over as he joined Derek in holding them back. People craned their necks to get a better view. They snapped pictures of Graham lying on the ground and recorded videos with their cell phones as he was strapped onto a gurney.

  Graham's complexion was deathly pale, his features tight with agony as he clutched at his bulging stomach. Something red trickled from the corner of his mouth. Blood? My gaze moved to the half-empty drink pitcher on the table. It was more likely that he'd spit up some of his cranberry mojito. At least, I hoped so. "What happened to him?" I asked Emily as Graham was wheeled toward an ambulance parked at the edge of the courtyard.

  "I-I don't know," she said, her voice quaking. She clutched her water bottle with both hands. "He mentioned that he wasn't feeling so good. Then, about ten minutes later, he just sort of keeled over."

  "It probably wasn't such a good idea to chug all that liquor in this heat," Ryan remarked. "I think the dude's just wasted." He shifted his gaze to Kat. "What now? Are we going to continue the contest with two judges?"

  Kat's brow creased. "This is one of those times that I really wish Amelia was here," she muttered. "She'd know what to do." Kat looked toward the
sea of music fans, who seemed to be growing restless. "We need a third judge, fast."

  "I could call the station and see if anyone else is available to come down and help out," Ryan offered.

  Kat and I exchanged a glance. "Not Tim Scott," she said warily. Kat wasn't a fan of the arrogant DJ either.

  "Don't worry," Ryan said. "Tim is out of town running a broadcast at another festival. I'll see if Andy Perkins is around. He just wrapped up his afternoon on-air shift." Ryan turned his back to us and pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear. "Yo, Andy," he began, and he paced back and forth in the grass while he talked to the other DJ.

  I frowned at Kat. "I wouldn't think half a pitcher of cranberry mojitos would make Graham that sick," I said, my tone skeptical. "I saw Charlotte and Juan mix a batch of them earlier, and they didn't seem that strong." Of course, I hadn't taste-tested the drinks. Still, I'd watched the bartenders at Castle Rock make enough cocktails to know the ratio of mixers to actual booze that went into each concoction. Unless Graham Sullivan was an incredible lightweight, the paltry shot of white rum in each drink should've hardly been enough to give him a buzz.

  Ryan approached us just then, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Good news." He grinned. "Andy can be here in ten minutes."

  Kat's face lit up. "That's great! You're a lifesaver, Ryan." She combed her fingers through her light brown hair and then wiped the sweat from her brow. "I'll go make an announcement before the crowd starts to riot." She jogged toward the stage, climbing the steps and heading straight for the microphone.

  While Kat addressed the crowd, I turned to Emily. "Can I get you another bottle of water?" I offered.

  She gave me a weak smile. "Please."