by D. D. Scott
HULLABALOO AND HOLLY TOO
(A Cozy Cash Mystery Christmas Novella)
By: D. D. SCOTT
PRAISE FOR D. D. SCOTT’S BOOKS:
"…one of the top Romantic Comedy/Humorous Mystery writers out right now." —ENT (Ereader News Today)
Praise for The Cozy Cash Mysteries (THUG GUARD and LIP GLOCK):
“As soon as I read her first book, “Bootscootin’ Blahniks,” I put all her books on my Kindle. They have it all … romance, high fashion, adorable animals, feisty women, gorgeous guys, quirky characters, good food, great dancing …. The ultimate escape without spending a fortune on a vacation.” — Pj Schott of Survival for Blondes
“WOW…What an Adventure…Zoey, Roman, Fashion Week in Europe and the bad guys chasing them. Makes for fun light reading. Great read for me after some heavy and deep murder mysteries. One needs a break and this is it. — Older but Wiser
“Who Needs Bourne When You’ve Got Zoey Witherspoon…Everyone in Hollywood packs a hyphen; you’ve got your writer-directors, your agent-producers and your actor-parking valets. Well, Zoey Witherspoon is a completely different kind of Hollywood Hyphenate. She’s a studio stylist-interior designer-P.I. Picture Stephanie Plum here, but with a tall, dark and brooding Bond-type as her sidekick. Together, they’re hot on the trail of a Ponzi-scheming con man who makes Madoff look like a Filene’s bargain basement mark-down. Their trail takes them from Rodeo Drive to the Riviera, butting heads with everyone from crown royalty to the Russian mob. This is one fast and furious, funny as H-E-Double Hockeysticks caper story, and I literally found my abs aching from laughter by the end of the first chapter. With books like Bootscootin’ Blahniks and Stompin’ on Stetsons under her belt, D.D. Scott is already a master at wise-cracking characters and action that moves as fast as any Ludlum flick. In fact, think of Zoey Witherspoon as Jason Bourne – with a good set of French tips and a designer holster for her Glock. The difference is, D.D. is a master at making you laugh while both you and Zoey are hanging by your fingernails, over the edge of her latest cliff. Like a lot of the characters in D.D.’s latest book, Thug Guard just plain kills. Buy it. Read it. Laugh your hindquarters off. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” — Jeff Lee, Author of The Ladies Temperance Club’s Farewell Tour
“I thoroughly enjoyed Thug Guard and instantly took a liking to lead protagonist Zoey Witherspoon. She's sassy, witty and she's also feisty and one tough chick. I also happen to be a big fan of The Rachel Zoe project and part of the reason this story appealed to me is because it has it all - mystery, suspense, humor, a HAWT hero (Roman was delightful) and Fashion Week! I've just hopped on board DD.Scott's Cozy Cash Mysteries train and I'm enjoying the ride! Next stop - Lip Glock!” — Lisa Lim, Author of Confessions of a Call Center Gal
Praise for The Stuck with a Series:
This was a cute, and quick read, that highlights the intricacies and downsides of living in a small town where just having an argument can make you a suspect in murder. Murder, romance, and humor. Enjoyable read. — clu
I subscribed to receive the serial format as soon as it was offered. I was bummed when I'd finish each new chapter, knowing I'd have to wait another week for the next one. Looking forward to seeing what D.D. and David come up with next. Highly recommend Stuck with a Stiff! — George H
The "Stuck with a ______" is a fun series! I love the characters…..some are a little quirky…..but such fun to see what will happen next. The authors hold your attention, as they draw you in to keep reading. This one is both funny and interesting, so I'm looking forward to the third one. — Ann
Praise for The Bootscootin’ Books (BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS, STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS, and BUCKLES ME BABY):
“Wow! I loved this…The descriptions are so vivid and colorful it really feels like the reader's going through the same wild rollercoaster ride…It's a funny, sexy, sassy attitude of a read, and I can't wait to get stuck into the next one.” — Sibel Hodge, Author of The Amber Fox Mysteries
“I laughed from page one on…The author has a way with twisting phrases. Bootscootin' was a delight. I'm loading up on her other books. She's a shoe-in for one of my favorite chicklit authors.” — Barbara Silkstone, Author of The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland Age 42 and Three-Quarters
“Are you ready for a really fun read? I hope so…So sit back and get ready to laugh.” — Karen Cantwell, Author of Take The Monkeys and Run
“…who doesn’t need a laugh? Laugh ‘til you (you fill it in) with D. D. Scott’s BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS, and more…” — Steve Windwalker, Kindle Nation Daily
This one’s for you Steve Rush, and the ornery, bowl full of jelly laughs you left in the hearts of those who knew and loved you.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOTE FROM D. D. SCOTT
ABOUT D. D. SCOTT
Full Bio
BOOKS BY D. D. SCOTT
INTRODUCING THE LATEST D. D. SCOTT CHRISTMAS READ…
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
And here I thought livin’ in a castle was gonna be rough.
Want to know what’s worse?
Or at least has the potential to be worse?
Goin’ home for the holidays.
That’s my current crazy trip…and when that trip includes your new fake husband, who has yet to meet his crazy-ass in-laws, the threat to your sanity ratchets up to unheard of levels.
But wait…there’s more.
And no, that’s not a line from my favorite infomercial, no matter how much I wish it was.
This is reality. My quirky-crazy reality.
So what happens when your pretend spouse finds out his in-laws are not your average in-laws?
What if…and I’m just gonna toss this idea out there.
What if…they’re Mr. and Mrs. Claus?
At least that’s who they think they are.
I know, I know…it sounds like something from a Tim Allen Santa Claus movie, right?
Well, it ain’t.
It’s my hullabaloo of a Whoville life.
Think of my world as a for-real Dr. Seuss Whoville, but one with a cast of characters makin’ it feel very Christmas with the Fockers…all year long.
And I know what you’re thinkin’…
More egg-nog, please.
And cheers to that…’cause y’all are gonna need it.
CHAPTER TWO
I’m Zoey Witherspoon, Duchess of Caserta, and I’m about to take my pretend husband, Prince Roman Bellesconi Umberto-Vittorio Emanuele Vanvitelli, the Duke of Caserta, home for the holidays.
We’re Italy’s version of Will and Kate.
And we’re headed to the States and my childhood home - the Midwestern suburbia version of Whoville - for one helluva holiday hullabaloo!
I’m about to tell my prince about my parent’s mental issues, and it ain’t gonna be easy. But that’s okay. ‘Cause, for me, life has not been easy since the age of five, when my parents stopped being the Witherspoons of Lakeshore Drive.
That’s when they decided they were Mr. and Mrs. Claus, who lived in a new version of The North Pole alon
g the fabulous shores of Lake Michigan.
My parents, George and Suzie Witherspoon, suffer from a delusional disorder.
Well…that’s not exactly correct either.
They don’t suffer. They have no clue their beliefs are delusional.
I’m the one who suffers. I’m the kid who’s always simply smiled and shrugged off their eccentricities.
I mean really…what’s not to love about living Christmas all-year-long?
Okay. So maybe our family elves and reindeer have been a bit much to reconcile with John Q Public. But other than that, life in Santa and Mrs. Claus’ workshop ain’t all that bad, as long as you’re on “the nice list”.
I thought about all this and how I was gonna break it to my prince while I snuggled up to our pot-bellied pig’s cozy warm snout. Soaking in the love that his squirms and happy-go-lucky ouff-ing noises stirred in my soul, I did find some comfort. But I could use a bunch more.
“We’ll be landing in about a half hour,” Roman said, as he returned his cushy seat to its upright position aboard our private jet.
Thank goodness he was tired from our stop-over in LA. We’d been there just a few days - long enough to help-out Lily Vaughn, one of our Mom Squad Members, and her brother, Wayne, deal with some Hollywood film industry thugs.
Thanks to their predicament, I’d managed to prolong the obvious for as long as possible. But my time had now run out.
When Dad came to pick us up from the private airstrip near our home in one of our reindeer-drawn sleighs, I was gonna have some major explaining to do. I might as well get a jump on our out of the ordinary greeting committee.
“So, yeah…about meeting my parents,” I said, deciding to just go for the gusto.
It’s not as if I could somehow get out of the spectacle Roman was about to become part of.
“Are you finally going to tell me about them?” He asked.
The genuine kindness I’d come to expect and adore from him lit up his eyes brighter than the lights on all thirty-nine Christmas trees my parents had in their home.
“Have you ever heard of delusional disorder?” I asked.
While I tried to explain my parent’s condition, the age-old knots in my stomach tightened in a very familiar way.
“You mean like a person thinks something is true that the rest of society doesn’t? Kind of like when you’re a child and believe in St. Nick?”
Oh boy. How do you explain that your parents don’t just believe in jolly ol’ St. Nick and his Mrs., they think they are ol’ Nick and his Mrs.?
“Yes, that’s it. And it’s funny you should mention the St. Nick delusion…”
I looked straight into Roman’s extra-shot-of-espresso brown eyes, knowing his warmth would always be there for me, but still hating like hell to have to burden him with my family’s insanity.
“Go ahead,” he coaxed me, totally unaware of what he was about to get himself into.
He took a seat next to Vinnie the Swine and me on the vanilla-colored leather sofa in the jet’s spacious cabin and put his arms around both of us.
“My parents definitely believe in Santa Claus,” I began, taking one last and very deep breath before I unloaded the whole truth. “They believe…because…they also believe they are Mr. and Mrs. Claus.”
Trying to purge my fears along with the extra carbon dioxide from my last air intake, I exhaled slowly.
“But there’s a catch to this kind of illness, right?” Roman asked.
I tilted my head, not sure I’d heard him correctly, but knowing that if I had processed what he’d said in the right way, he’d totally thrown me for a huge loop.
“What do you mean a catch?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve been doing some reading…”
“On St. Nick Schizoid behaviors?”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. “You knew about my parents this whole time?!”
“No offense to your intelligence there, my princess, but I am a prince which means I have access to just about anything I need or want to know.”
I don’t know if I should be pissed or relieved. I was pissed ‘cause he’d obviously done a background check on me and my crazy-ass family. But I was also relieved ‘cause he still chose to make me his fake princess.
“As I was saying, there’s a catch to this type of illness. If everybody believes the delusion or acts like they do, then the person doesn’t actually have the illness, right?”
Great. Now my prince and primary thug guard was also a pseudo-psychiatrist.
“All of the websites I’ve visited have said the most effective help for a person suffering from delusional disorder is psychotherapy, not drugs.”
“Yeah, I know. But you don’t know how many times I’ve wished they made a little blue pill for this,” I said, for comic value only.
That wasn’t even close to my true feelings about my parent’s illness.
I was just trying to do like I always do and sweep my fears and insane-upbringing under the rug with inappropriate wisecracks.
I would never want my parents to be all doped up. They were the most loveably insane people I knew. In fact, everyone who knew them loved them.
“Seriously, you’re right, Roman. There is a ton of research out there advising loved ones not to attempt to argue away a delusion,” I said, knowing how tenaciously my parents held to their North Pole fantasy in the face of reality.
“I know about the research. And it’s fascinating at that,” Roman said, taking from his pants pocket a small folded-up piece of paper.
“Did you know there’s an actual empathy model teaching us how to respond therapeutically to their delusions?” He asked.
My prince looked so proud of himself, I didn’t have the heart to talk him down from his comfy, on the couch, pay by the hour approach to meeting my parent’s mental issues.
“I’m not sure those kinds of therapy work for my parents, but you’re more than welcome to give ‘em a whirl.”
“I think I might. Oh, and one more thing,” he said, tilting-up my chin so that my mouth was deliciously close to his, “don’t you worry. I have a feeling I’m going to really enjoy getting to know your family.”
Our pilot came over the cabin’s speaker system and advised us to buckle-up and prepare for landing.
“We’ll see,” I said, handing Vinnie to Roman.
“I hope Vinnie likes reindeer,” Roman said, while shoving him into his carrier.
What’s not to love, I thought to myself, knowing this was gonna be a holiday none of us would ever forget…including Vinnie.
CHAPTER THREE
Standing beside Roman in the doorway of our private jet, I watched as the royal-crested, red-and-gold-carpeted stairway unfolded onto the tarmac. Vinnie watched too, cradled in Roman’s arms and wearing his own little wool coat.
I breathed in the fresh, ice-cold, lake air.
Nothing beats the crisp chill of winter around Lake Michigan.
Truth be told…I always looked forward to coming home for the holidays. During the Christmas season, it truly is rather magical here.
But for years now, I hadn’t dared to bring anyone new into my nutty family mix. I just didn’t have the energy to explain my zany childhood.
This time, though, I didn’t really have a choice, did I?
Now that my PI Gig had landed me permanently in Thug Guard and Pretend Princess Land, I couldn’t very well hide this part of my life from Roman.
He deserved to know everything about his fake wife. So here we go…
Snow swirled through the air, brushing against our cheeks, which must be bright cherry red by now.
Stepping out into the lakeshore’s winter fury, it wouldn’t take us long to get frostbitten.
Large, white, crystaline flakes tumbled from the sky onto Roman’s dark hair then toppled over onto the shoulders of his gorgeous Alpaca wool mohair overcoat.
When I heard the jingling of Dad’s sleigh bells getting closer and closer, the snow globe m
agic of the moment was lost.
Here we go, I thought.
Ho-freakin’-ho.
When Santa’s sleigh glided to a stop in front of us, Roman handed off Vinnie to me and dashed down the jet’s stairway to wrap my St. Nick Dad in a tight hug. He followed this up with very Italian kiss-kiss sweeps across both my dad’s ruby red cheeks.
“God, I love Europeans,” my dad said, giving Roman a nice jolly-ho Italian kiss-kiss in return. “I’ll have to have Mrs. C break into our stash of limoncello. I always grab a couple cases during my Christmas Eve fly-ins.”
While Dad temporarily abandoned his limoncello dreams to scold Vixen for nipping at his ass, Roman looked to me for help.
“You’d best be checkin’ your empathy model a bunch more than twice, my luv,” I whispered in his ear.