Liv couldn’t have agreed more.
“We’d better get going, Edna,” Ida said. “I’m sure every other merchant will be more generous than that . . . that Scrooge. Merry Christmas, Ted, Liv.”
Ted tipped the brim of his plaid hunter’s hat. “Miss Ida, Miss Edna.” He turned to Liv. “Shall we gird our metaphorical loins and confront the . . . words fail me.” He opened the door and gestured Liv in.
“Coward,” Liv said, and stepped ahead of him into the Trim a Tree shop. She jumped at the “Ho, ho, ho” that greeted her, then realized that it wasn’t the nearly comatose Santa slumped on a PVC throne reading a newspaper, but a motion-activated plastic Santa standing by the entrance.
In the center of the room, Penny Newland, a young single mother, balanced her three-year-old son on one hip as she tried to pick up pieces of broken glass from the floor. A few feet away a thin, dark-haired woman stood with her hands planted on her nearly nonexistent hips. A mangy-looking orange cat peered from behind her ankles.
Grace Thornsby was the worst case of miscasting Liv had ever seen. Not only her name, a contradiction in terms, but her whole person. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face. She was dressed in black slacks and sweater with an array of heavy, gaudy gold jewelry. And her expression could only be called sour.
A malevolent Olive Oyl with an unfriendly cat.
The cat jerked his head toward Liv, hissed, shot out from behind the manager’s feet, and disappeared beneath one of the artificial Christmas trees.
Not very customer friendly, Liv thought. And if that cat was going to attack every child that tried to pet it . . .
Ted bent down to help Penny pick up the rest of the broken pieces. She gave him a heartfelt smile. She was a pretty girl, with light brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and a round little face that was currently blushing furiously.
“Ms. Thornsby,” Liv began.
The manager pulled her angry stare from the unfortunate Penny to Liv. And Liv had a quick déjà vu of a mother of the bride she’d once had a confrontation with over the bride’s choice of color scheme.
Liv had handled her with her usual efficiency, though the MOB had taken every opportunity to make Liv’s life miserable, while she could. Which, fortunately, had been only a matter of a few days.
Here, they were looking at a good month of the unfriendly atmosphere of a store that was supposed to be bubbling over with good cheer. Instead, it was imbued with bad feeling and reeked of smoke.
“Ms. Thornsby,” Liv said again, and introduced herself and Ted, who finished his cleanup and came to stand beside her.
“Just a minute.” Ms. Thornsby turned from Liv to Penny, who was trying to make herself and her son invisible. “You’ll have to make arrangements for that child if you intend to continue working here. I can’t have you bringing him to the store. I don’t know why Clarence thought he owed your family any favors. He paid more than this place was worth. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning at nine, without the child.”
“But my paycheck,” Penny ventured in a small, timid voice.
“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, after I’ve taken out the amount of the damages.”
Penny opened her mouth but closed it without speaking.
“I want to go home,” Bobby whined.
“Shh, shh.” Penny deliberated for a second. It was pretty obvious that she needed the money today. But she mumbled, “I’ll be here tomorrow.” She turned to leave.
“Do you have a ride?” Ted asked.
“I can walk. Jason’s car broke down. It isn’t far.”
“If you wait . . .”
Penny shook her head, clearly on the verge of tears. And with another mumbled thank-you to Ted, and avoiding looking at anyone else, she ducked out the front door to the mechanical “Ho, ho, ho” of the plastic Santa.
That did it. It was Christmas, for Pete’s sake. “Ms. Thornsby, I’m Liv Montgomery, event coordinator for Celebration Bay.” Getting no response, she plowed ahead. “As I’m sure you’re aware, all businesses are required to read and agree to certain town-wide stipulations.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the town ordinance.
“Here’s the one that Trim a Trim signed, agreeing to abide by the town ordinances, specifically the one-Santa rule. . . .”
She indicated the paragraph, gave Grace a pointed look, and glanced toward the North Pole alcove, where the Santa had roused himself enough to sit up. He was watching Liv, the newspaper dropped in his lap. The fake white beard hung from a string around his neck, revealing a square jaw covered with dark stubble.
What was wrong with these people? How did they think this would appeal to customers? And it would be such a blemish on the town’s festivities.
Grace Thornsby just stood there.
Liv began to lose her patience. So she cut to the chase. “Since your Santa is in direct conflict with the signed agreement, I must ask you to cease and desist. Santa and his accoutrement must be removed immediately.”
For a moment, the grinning face of Chaz Bristow, the local newspaper editor, flashed before her. He always laughed at her for her use of overly formal language. But Liv had found it to be a great intimidation technique. And it usually got the job done.
“What the hell?” Santa heaved himself from the dais, pulled the beard over his chin, and slouched over to where they were standing. His belt lay by the side of the throne, and the top buttons of his Santa suit were undone, revealing polyester padding. He was a disgrace to the name of Santa, and Liv just hoped no one came in before she could get rid of him.
The manager motioned him away with a flick of her long fingers and a jangle of bracelets. He stopped but didn’t retreat.
“You signed this agreement.” Liv held it up for her to see.
The woman’s eyes flitted over the paper and her mouth tightened. “You’ll have to talk to my husband. He signed the lease agreement, and he’s the one who insisted on the Santa. And as far as this ordinance, the real estate agent assured us that it was never enforced.”
Ted and Liv exchanged glances. Ted had called that one.
“I’m afraid the agent misinformed you. The ordinance is enforced. Agreement is mandatory.” Liv didn’t actually know that it was enforceable; she’d been in town only since September. All she did know was that it was going to be enforced from now on.
“Either you discontinue your use of Santa immediately, or the town will have no recourse but to close you down.” Liv smiled her don’t-mess-with-me smile that had quailed bridezillas and CEOs alike. “Shall we say . . . by tomorrow morning, ten o’clock. That should give you time to remove the Santa chair and replace it with something else before the parade tomorrow evening.”
“The hell you will,” Santa growled. He turned on Grace. “You can’t fire me. I turned down other work for this job.”
“Make him an elf,” Ted suggested.
“I’ll do no such thing. I paid a fortune for that suit. Is the town going to reimburse me?”
“Not until her plastic hula girls grow white beards,” Ted said sotto voce in Liv’s ear.
“I heard that.” Grace glared at Ted.
Just as Ted had intended, Liv thought.
“Lose the Santa, Grace,” Ted said.
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll just drop by to see how you’re doing.” Liv didn’t wait for an answer but turned on her heel. Ted rushed to open the door for her, as if he were an office lackey instead of her right-hand man. She stepped over the threshold.
Over the mechanical greeting, Liv heard the hired Santa say, “You’re crazy if you think you can get rid of me.” The door shut on the rest of the sentence.
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Cold Turkey Page 9