Fries, Fritters and Fears: Book 7 in The Bandit Hills Series
Page 7
“We could sell him,” Mom suggests.
“No way. I told Vinnie I’d take care of him. Can’t sell him. But at the same time, condemning him to the storage room just feels… wrong.”
The three of us stand at the entrance to the small rear room, gazing upon the leering Vincent Price and wondering what the heck to do with him. For the last five days, while the dust settled from the fire and the case, Mr. Price has sat in the storage room. Just this morning Sheriff Phil gave us the okay to keep him, confirming that he would not be admitted as evidence in Vinnie’s trial.
“Is it just me,” I ask, “or does he look… happier?”
“Y’know, he kind of does,” Mom agrees.
“Yup, super creepy.” Dash nods. “Too bad Halloween is past now. You know, during tourist season—if we ever have a tourist season again—people would love this guy. You know how they eat this stuff up.”
“True.” Even though he seemed like he creeped out a lot of the passers-by, I can’t help but agree with Dash that out-of-towners would get a kick out of him. Besides, if I’m being honest, the wax Vincent Price has kind of grown on me.
Light bulb!
“I have an idea. Help me drag him to the window.”
Twenty minutes later, the three of us admire our handiwork from outside, gazing through the window at Vincent Price, who stands in his preferred spot (in full view of everyone, pointing toward the produce stand across the street).
The only difference now is that he wears the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen pass through my shop.
“There,” I say. “Looks good on him. And, you know, we’ll change it out seasonally. I have a god-awful Hawaiian shirt I could put him in for summer.”
“It’s a good look for him,” Dash agrees.
“The reindeer antlers might be a tad much, honey,” Mom suggests. “But very festive.”
And just like that, Miss Miscellanea got itself a new mascot.
THE END