by Tegan Maher
“How long for what?”
She breathed in deeply two or three times. “How long have you been carrying my doll around, taunting me with him? Did you take him out upstairs in the apartment and have a good laugh at my expense?”
I slowly stepped to the side until I was partially hidden behind a waist-level shelf. “Okay. You know it’s not real, right? It’s a doll.”
“Shut up!” Her scream echoed in the quiet toy store, and I realized this was a new kind of crazy even for me.
“Give it here! Give it here!” Keeping the gun still pointed on me, she motioned me with her left hand. “I want it!”
“I’m right here, Lexi,” Rex said. “I’ll wait for your cue.”
“Right. Um, Jessie, how about I give you the doll and you give me the gun?” I asked. “Does that sound like a fair trade?”
“How about you give me the doll, and then I shoot you in the head?”
“The police will know it’s you,” I said. “You called them, remember?”
“I’ll tell them there was a struggle and the gun went off. After I shoot you, I’ll force one of those losers in the closet to touch the gun, and it’s that simple.”
I looked down and saw a Talkboy recorder on the shelf. They’d been popular after one of the Home Alone movies came out. “What if they check for gun powder residue? Your hand will show you shot the gun.”
Jessie laughed. “I think you make half this crap up. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Just answer me one question.” I slowly reached out and pressed the record button. “Why? Why did you kill Stewart?”
“He called me the other night and says he needs me to come over. He has a surprise for me.” She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “I mean, I didn’t know him that well, so I couldn’t imagine what he’d have for me.”
“Okay. So you went over?”
“Yeah. And he invites me in to his pigsty. Offers me a drink. I could see he’d already had a couple. I ask him what’s going on and he says he has something to give me.” She let out a bark of laughter. “But first he proceeds to tell me that he has feelings for me. And to show me just how much I mean to him, he wanted to give me a present.”
I furrowed my brow. “So he gave you a Tickle My Tummy?”
“No!” she screamed. “He gave me a knockoff! He gave me some Tickle My Toes crap doll! When you pressed its feet, it didn’t giggle, it screamed with laughter and begged you to do it again! He thought it was funny. He said it was the latest craze since parents couldn’t get the original Tickle My Tummy dolls for Christmas. I thought it vulgar and kitsch! How dare he poke fun at me like that.”
“So you zapped him.”
“Yep. And if I hadn’t have caught him, he’d have gone down hard on that table. But I knew I had to get him nice and drunk before I could kill him. Otherwise it would be harder to prove his death was an accident. How could he stumble and hit his head if he wasn’t drunk enough? So I set him on the nasty couch and opened his mouth and poured nearly the whole bottle of booze down him. A couple times he came to, but he was too drunk to do anything. When I was pretty sure he was drunk enough, I stood him up and gave him a little push and down he went. Luckily a piece of glass got caught in his throat.”
“You must have taken the doll with you,” I said. “Because we didn’t see it there next to him.”
“I took it all right,” Jessie hissed. “I took it home and lit it on fire!”
“You’re insane. Like scary crazy,” I said. “Are you listening to yourself? You killed another human being because he got you a present you didn’t like.”
“And now it’s time for this crazy girl to kill you and take my doll.” She brought her other hand up to steady the gun.
“Now!” I screamed and dropped to the floor.
“What?” Jessie asked.
But Rex knew what I was saying. He’d been balancing and hopping from airplane to airplane that hung from the ceiling. He’d been practically on top of Jessie when I screamed for him to go. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I knew Rex couldn’t drop onto her before she got the shot off. So I tried to distract her by dropping to the floor. It worked, because by the time she got the shot off, I was already buried in a pile of stuffed animals. The bullet hit the shelf, and about fifty more stuffed animals fell down onto me.
As I popped up, Jessie and Rex were going round and round. Jessie fired another bullet into the ceiling, hitting the wing of an airplane.
“Jump! I’m going to blast her!” I shouted.
Rex leaped down onto a shelf of miscellaneous toys and I hit Jessie in the chest with as much power as I had. She flew three feet in the air and sailed back to the round counter, hitting her back and head. Screaming in pain, she crumpled.
“That was amazing! Nice hit!” Rex exclaimed.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever thrown anyone that far before.”
A sudden knock on the front door made me scream, and I gave a sobbing laugh when I recognized the detective from the other night. Checking one more time to make sure Jessie was out, I unlocked the door.
“What’s going on?” he said. “I could have sworn I just saw lightning in here.”
“It was probably the electricity ball,” I said. “It’s very realistic.”
He shook his head. “I guess.” He then noticed Jessie on the floor and his stance became all cop and he went for his gun.
“It’s okay.” I raised my hands in the air. “Jessie is actually the person that killed Stewart, and I’m pretty sure you’ll find the stun gun she used either at her house or in her purse.”
He frowned. “How do you know about the stun gun? I just received the MEs report a couple hours ago.”
“She told me,” I said. It was a half-truth/half-lie, but in my line of work, you take all the help you can get. “Bragged about how she stunned him then made him drink a ton of booze and then let him fall onto the table.”
We moved farther into the room to stand over Jessie. “Why?”
I snorted. “Can you believe it was all over this stupid thing?” I picked up the Tickle My Tummy and handed it to him.
“Oh man,” he said. “My kid has been asking for one for months. Just my luck it’s part of the crime scene.”
“Sorry,” I said.
The detective frowned. “I was led to believe there was a man and a woman who were being held here who confessed to the killing.”
“They’re in the janitor’s closet, and they’re actually innocent. To an extent.”
I quickly filled him in on everything that happened in the back alley. By this time a couple policemen had entered and were carrying out Trixie and Ralph and putting them in the back of a police vehicle.
“We’re in the process of getting warrants,” the detective said. “I’m just afraid this is all still circumstantial evidence.”
I reached down and handed him the Talkboy. “I think I recorded everything here.”
He laughed and took the cassette player. “You’re kidding. Now this is a first.”
He took down more of my statement and asked me a couple more questions. By the time we finished up, I was exhausted…and hungry.
“Are we good here?” I asked. “Do you have everything you need from me to make this stick?”
“Yep. You’re free to go. If I can think of anything else, I’ll stop by. You live upstairs, right?”
“Uh, right. Upstairs.”
He wiggled the Talkboy in his hand. “Thanks again for this.”
With a wave, I walked out the back door, Rex curled up snugly in my pocket, ascended the stairs to my apartment, and prepared for the journey back to my own time. If there was anything more left undone, the Agency would swoop in and take care of it. I’d done the job they assigned.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re sure I look okay?” I smoothed my hands over my floor-length silver and black dress.
When I travel back to my own time after an assign
ment, it was like no time passed at all. This time was no different. I had opened my eyes to find I was back in my apartment, still having a few hours until Shawn picked me up for Christmas Eve dinner with his family.
“You look beautiful.” He gave me a reassuring kiss and helped me into my wool winter coat. “You have your white elephant gift?”
I lifted my wrapped gift in the air. My beautifully wrapped gift. Who knew working one day at the gift-wrapping counter at a toy store would came in handy?
“What is it?” he asked.
I laughed. “I’m not telling.”
“You better. If you don’t, I’ll tickle it out of you.”
“Ugh, don’t even mention the word tickle to me,” I said.
Laughing, Shawn ran his fingertips over my stomach, causing me to laugh.
“I said stop!” I demanded.
“No, you said I can’t say the word tickle,” Shawn joked. “I didn’t say anything.”
Rolling my eyes, I lifted my hand in the air. “Talk to the hand.”
“Wow,” he chuckled. “I haven’t heard that saying since the nineties.”
Want to read more books by Jenna St. James? Click here http://jennastjames.com/ to find other books by this author.
About the Author
Jenna writes in the genre of cozy/paranormal cozy/ romantic comedy. Her humorous characters and stories revolve around over-the-top family members, creative murders, and there's always a positive element of the military in her stories. Jenna currently lives in Missouri with her fiancé, step-daughter, Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever dog, Brownie, and her tuxedo cat, Whiskey. She is a former court reporter turned educator turned full-time writer. She has a Master’s degree in Special Education, and an Education Specialist degree in Curriculum and Instruction. She also spent twelve years in full-time ministry.
When she’s not writing, Jenna likes to attend beer and wine tastings, go antiquing, visit craft festivals, and spend time with her family and friends.
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Twisted Tinsel Time
Ava Mallory
Twisted Tinsel Time
Mariana is a witch. She knows it. Her mother knows it. Her daughter knows it, and that’s it. Too many people in the know could spell trouble.
Her worst nightmare comes true when a stranger arrives on her doorstep in the middle of Christmas dinner, pleading for help. But there’s a catch!
He wants her to travel back in time to Christmas 1970. If she refuses, the outcome could be deadly for someone she loves. If she accepts, her big family plans and years of hiding her true identity will be destroyed.
Chapter One
Nothing like the Midwest on Christmas Eve. Fresh fallen snow blanketed the roads and walkways. The bone-chilling air didn’t bother a soul. Fun, family, and friends took priority. And, thankfully, not a dead person in sight. At least not yet. The night was still young, though.
“Mom, there’s someone here for you!” Camila, my seventeen-year-old daughter, yelled from her post at the front door where she awaited her boyfriend, a college freshman, from a neighboring town. “He looks like a weirdo. I don’t know how he got past security in that outfit.”
My child—the girl with no filter. Hashtag: she didn’t get that from me.
Our security detail comprised of one police officer, assigned to watch our front entrance, and a squad car with two officers on the street. All three must have drawn the short straw, because who wanted to guard a small-town mayor’s family on Christmas Eve? Every mayor received threats occasionally. No one took them seriously. At least not anyone in our family. We were the champions of empty threats. We had to be. We had kids. It was written in the rule book.
With a ladle in one hand and a rolling pin in the other, I ran down the hallway from the kitchen to the front door before my precious bundle of teenage angst insulted our surprise guest further.
“What’s in your hair? I know you’re old, but man, you didn’t have to let yourself go,” Camila mused as I greeted our guest with a headful of flour, cake batter, and who knows what else.
“Hello.” I didn’t want to say I didn’t recognize him, but I’d never seen the man before in my life. “What can we do for you? In the middle of my dinner prep. On Christmas Eve.”
“Subtle,” Camila whispered. “Why not just tell him to leave?”
His wide-set brown eyes widened as he took in my pre-holiday dinner outfit. “Mariana? Is that really you?” He chuckled as his mop of John Denver-like straight, dirty blond hair bounced on his head.
Camila and I exchanged glances.
“That’s her. In the flesh. She looks like a hot mess. Again.” Camila squeezed past him and walked outside. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” She turned. “Please don’t need me, mother.”
I scowled at her.
“Sorry. She’s a teenager.” That explanation worked for almost any occasion. When she insulted Girl Scouts, bell ringers, and anyone and everyone who got in her way, I told them she was a teenager, as if it was a condition. Frankly, since the second she became a full-fledged teen, I was sure it was a condition. The only cure was maturity but based on her continued maltreatment of everyone around her, that wouldn’t happen soon.
He nodded. “She’ll outgrow it.” He eyed the rolling pin in my hand. “Do you always greet guests with kitchen utensils?”
I hadn’t realized I’d carried them with me. “Oh, these? Christmas dinner.” I noticed he hadn’t brought anything with him. No clipboard. No box of candy bars for sale. “If you’re here to ask us to buy something or donate to your cause, right now is a bad time. Contact my husband’s secretary or reach out to someone on my team. Ever since we moved into this house, our life hasn’t been our own. Everything goes through our staff, including what we wear, how we wear our hair, and who we see.” Who was I and since when did I refer visitors to my people?
“Watch yourself. You’re the mayor’s wife,” my mother whispered.
I jumped and shooed her away like she was a pesky fly.
The man’s gaze followed my movements. “You shouldn’t swat at your dead mother.”
My breath caught in my throat. How did he know my mother was dead and how did he know she was here with us?
He flashed a smile full of discolored, crooked teeth. “You’re wondering how I knew that, aren’t you?” He snapped his fingers. “Magic.”
I placed the rolling pin and ladle on the entry table behind me and motioned for the man to step outside on the front porch. “Let’s talk outside.”
He glanced over my shoulder. “Your family doesn’t know who you are? Why am I not surprised?”
I forced him out of the doorway, forgetting Camila was already outside.
“Mom?” She moved behind me, a reminder she was still a young girl underneath all the bravado and snarky comments. “What’s going on?” She grabbed the back of my shirt.
I whispered, “Sweetheart, where is Officer Reynolds?” I didn’t see him anywhere. His coffee cup and cellphone were on a chair next to the door.
She swallowed hard and shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He wasn’t here when I came outside.”
I turned to the man. He’d made himself comfortable on a pile of firewood in the front yard. “Don’t look for him. He’s gone.”
My heart lodged in my throat.
Camila grabbed my arm. “Mommy?”
I swallowed my fear and grabbed her hand. “It’s okay. He probably went to run an errand.” I locked eyes with the man. “Didn’t he?”
He grinned. “Sure, whatever you say.”
I scanned the yard for any sign of the officer or any of the other officers assigned to us, but none were in sight.
“Ask him what he wants,” my mother urged.
I didn’t have to ask.
“Does your mother always tell you what to say?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t work for me. It never has. It never will.” He sneered at the spot next to m
e. “How quickly you forget.”
“Do you want her help or not, wise guy?” my mother asked.
“What do you want with us?” My shaky voice betrayed the bravery I put on display.
He stood, wiped his hands on his tattered Levi’s. “Okay. So, the cat is out of the bag. I need your help.”
In one swift move, I pushed Camila to the open door and grabbed a patio chair and threw it at the man. “Run, Camila! Call the police!”
She screamed like a madwoman.
“Do it now!” I demanded. “Run!”
My son, Jonah, ran down the front stairs from his second-floor bedroom. “Why is she screaming now?” He stopped cold when he saw the man. “Mom?”
I lifted my hand in a stop motion. “Don’t come out here, son.”
Like a typical young person, he had his cellphone in his hand. “I’ll call the police.”
The man barreled through me—like literally through me like an apparition—and made a beeline for Jonah.
My motherly instincts kicked into high gear. I don’t know how, but somehow, I got to Jonah before he did. “Stay away from my son!”
He backed away, his long, skinny fingers in the air to stave off an attack. “I wouldn’t hurt him. What do you think I am?”
I had half a mind to tell him what I thought he was, but my children were present, and it was Christmas after all. That’s the one day a year I swore off skirmishes, but that was reserved for members of my immediate family, not half-dead, sort of dead, not quite sure if he’s dead guys.
I grabbed the rolling pin off the table and brandished it like a weapon. “Get out of my house!” Cold chills ran through my body like shards of ice. I wasn’t dealing with an ordinary human. I didn’t know what he was, and I didn’t want to find out. “Go!”