Sinister Lang Syne: A Short Holiday Novel (Wicks Hollow)

by Colleen Gleason

  Maxine and Juanita had camped out in front of the fire pit closest to the balcony. Bruce Banner was dressed in a thick sweater that looked like a tuxedo, and he wore a jaunty white tie on his collar. Standing next to them was Doc Horner, the town veterinarian and the object of Juanita’s marital interest for over a decade. Perhaps she was hoping the idea of the wedding would rub off on him, Callie thought. Orbra and her trucker husband (who happened to be in town for once) stood next to them, along with the poor server whom Maxine had banned from leaving their proximity until the tray of s’mores needed to be refilled.

  Maxine was currently badgering a different server—who held a tray of drinks—to add extra Bailey’s to her next hot chocolate.

  Cherry and William Reckless—who was her high school flame, a tall, lean man who’d just returned from seven years in Tibet—wandered over to say hi to Bruce Banner and the others. They were holding steaming drinks of Orbra’s Honeybear Hot Toddy—tea spiked with whiskey and a syrup made from orange peel, honey, and sage. Callie could identify the drink from a distance due to the orange garnish perched on the cup rim and she nodded to herself. That was her favorite of the hot beverage offerings tonight.

  Fiona and Gideon stood near a different roaring fire, and were joined by Declan, the blacksmith, and Leslie Nakano, whom Callie knew owned the Shenstone House bed and breakfast—with its hidden speakeasy—up on the hill. They were chatting with another couple whom Callie hadn’t met, but she knew the pretty blond woman was the owner of the stage theater in town and her date was a doctor who made fresh bread in his spare time1. Her heart skipped a little beat when she noticed Ben Tremaine standing there too, and she watched for a moment to see whether he’d brought a date.

  Not that it mattered. He’d already made it clear that he wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship.

  But still…it was New Year’s Eve, and she simply couldn’t help remembering what happened sixteen years ago. Like it or not, it was an anniversary of sorts.

  The clock struck eleven-thirty, and despite the disappointment of her unrequited crush, Callie was filled with her own burst of energy and pleasure.

  Everything was going just perfectly. She’d been on and off the balcony, up and down the stairs (she’d change into heels for the reception later; but for now, she wore comfortable, warm shoes), checked on the caterers (not that they needed checking as they were Trib’s), and now she would head back inside to be there before the ceremony began.

  She paused to speak to one of the servers, then said hi to Maxine, Juanita, and company. She told herself she was only doing her job when she stopped at the cluster of people with Fiona, Gideon, Ben, and the others. She was proud of herself when her greeting to Ben was warm and casual, and even accepted a friendly hug from him as he congratulated her on a beautiful event.

  Dang, he smelled good. A little smoky from the fire, a little wintry from the air, and something else that was fresh and clean and yummy.

  She extricated herself reluctantly and had a few more words with Fiona—and met the stage theater owner, Vivien Savage, and the bread-making doctor, Jake DeRiccio.

  When Baxter approached, camera in hand for the story he was doing for the local papers, she gratefully excused herself to speak with him.

  Then she realized it was eleven forty-five and she needed to get upstairs! Fifteen minutes until the clock began to strike, and about eighteen minutes until the actual vows were to be exchanged.

  She hurried away and climbed up the stairs once more. She’d done it often enough her butt should be getting tighter, but sadly, she didn’t think that was the case. Still, she made it up in less than five minutes and let herself into the room.

  All right. Here we go.

  She started to walk toward the door of the balcony, intending to hover just at the back and out of sight as the clock striking and ceremony proceeded, just in case she was needed.

  But something stopped her. Something in the air…something shifting and cool and—

  “Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, looking around the room. “No, Brenda, no, please…not tonight. Please!”

  But the air was definitely moving, beginning to swirl, and Callie began to panic. Her palms went damp and her stomach began to cringe and twist frighteningly. She couldn’t get sick now, she had to stop this, she had to—

  “Ware…

  “Rail…”

  Callie froze. She could feel rather than hear the words…just as had happened before. Brenda had communicated with her this way once before—crying “Nooooo!” when Callie had first visited her—and now, for some reason, she was speaking again.

  Well, of course she knew the reason—the crazy ghost wanted to ruin Iva and Hollis’s wedding!

  “WARE… RAIL… !”

  “What are you saying? What are you talking about?” Callie walked up to the portrait of Brenda, her heart pounding, her stomach in knots even as the air began to ruffle and whip more violently at her. “I don’t understand why you can’t just leave—”

  Callie jumped when the clock began to strike and she started toward the door that led to the balcony.

  She had to be out there to make sure everything went all right. She didn’t have time to deal with a freaky ghost.

  She had to make sure everything went as planned: that the clock struck, the bells rang, the ball of light exploded—

  Exploded.

  Callie stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

  Black marks on the white trees.

  Ware… rail.

  Black marks… scorch marks?

  Scorch marks!

  It hit her, all at once, what Brenda had been trying to say—and what had happened, somehow—all those years ago.

  The clock was still striking, but in only a few moments, on the last bong, the glittery ball would burst into light—

  Callie burst through the door onto the the balcony, screaming as she ran outside.

  “Don’t touch the railing!”

  Twelve

  “Thank God you figured it out,” Fiona was saying. “You saved their lives!”

  She was about the fiftieth person to do so—to say those words, to hug Callie with relief, to pull back and look over at the happy—and alive—bride and groom.

  It was after one o’clock, and because the bride and groom were in their seventies—as were most of their friends—everything was winding down.

  “I almost didn’t,” Callie replied, then, unlike with most of the others who’d thanked her, she spilled more details to Fiona. “But Brenda came back and she was really insistent, and I tried to ignore her, to beg her to leave…and then it struck me. The deaths only happened on New Year’s Eve—and the only thing that happened differently on New Year’s Eve was when the ball lit up.

  “I had been here earlier today when Gertie was testing the ball, and I noticed black marks on the trees that were standing right up against the wrought iron railing. I thought it was oil from the railing, but I realized at that moment—just in time—that they were scorch marks.”

  “And you put two and two together in about ten seconds,” said Gideon, who still looked tense about everything even though no one had died. “Thank God.”

  Callie nodded, still trying to swallow the lump in her throat that had been there for over an hour. “Yes. I guess—I mean, we’ll have to confirm it—but I think there’s probably some exposed wire that touches the railing, and when the electricity is sent up to the ball to light up, it zaps through the railing. If you’re touching it, you’re…” She swallowed again, hard, and realized how close things had come to being a tragedy. “Toast.”

  “So it’s not really a curse after all,” said Fiona. “It’s just a faulty wiring job.”

  “That’s right,” said Gideon, who wasn’t one to openly discuss curses or phantoms. “Just a simple, scientific explanation.”

  “But you have to wonder whether Lonna Donne had something to do with it originally,” mused Callie. “For all we know, she somehow
planned it as her revenge.”

  “We’ll probably never know the truth about that, but I can promise that tomorrow Gertie will check everything over with a fine tooth comb,” said a familiar voice.

  Callie turned to find Ben standing there. The way he was looking at her made her stomach do a slow, pleasant roll. “You were brilliant,” he said. “Brilliant to figure that out. Amazing job, Callie. On the wedding and everything.”

  Her face felt very warm and she wasn’t sure what to think about this sudden look from him. She’d been wrong before… “Thank you, Ben. I—”

  He was still eyeing her, but his words were benign. “I…uh…as a member of the Tremaines, I want to thank you for settling the so-called curse legend once and for all.”

  “Well, I’m really happy to have figured it out. Otherwise….” She shuddered and grimaced. “I almost didn’t. I keep thinking about it…”

  “It’s over. And everything went perfectly. The ceremony was just what you planned—just what you’d described to me. I really liked that tea drink with the whiskey they were serving down there—and I’m not a tea drinker. And the s’mores…that was a great idea too! This has been a wonderful New Year’s Eve.”

  She realized that somehow as they were talking, they’d edged away from the main crowd of people and were standing kind of alone, off to the side. “Thank you, Ben, it really means…”

  She stopped because he was looking up.

  She tilted her head to follow his gaze and then she saw it.

  A ball of mistletoe…right above her head.

  It was new. Brand new. And she hadn’t put it there.

  She looked back at him, suddenly feeling very warm and very tingly. Her stomach rolled again, extremely pleasantly.

  Ben wore a little smirk behind his beard, but there was question in his eyes. “Ooops,” he said with fake surprise. “Look where you’re standing.”

  “I see that.” Warmth and joy flowed through her as she became certain. Well, pretty certain… She couldn’t tamp back a grin. “Oh dear, whatever shall I d—”

  Her words were cut off as he stepped close, pulled her to him, and covered her mouth with his. Heat, pleasure, and relief coursed through her as she met his kiss eagerly.

  So right.

  So perfect, so right, so damned long coming. His beard bristled softly against her face, his arms held her close, and they kissed with emotions that had been pent-up for over sixteen years.

  When at last Callie pulled back—just to catch her breath—she had to touch his face. “Did you…when did you…?” She could barely form words, but she could look up meaningfully at the mistletoe.

  “Earlier today,” he replied. His voice was low and rough and she liked that she’d made him sound like that. “I couldn’t let another New Year’s Eve go by without picking up where we left off…sixteen years ago.”

  “It’s about damned time,” she muttered, and pulled him back for another long kiss.

  He was the one to ease away the next time. “So, uh…how much longer do you have to hang around here?”

  She glanced around, saw that the caterers were doing their job of cleaning up, and grinned up at him as she settled her hips against his. Oh my. He was definitely very happy to see her.

  “Not long…why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve got a fire ready to go at my house, and I’d really like to see you naked in the firelight. As soon as possible.”

  The bottom dropped out of her belly and Callie felt like she was about to spontaneously combust from the look he was giving her. She managed to form the words: “Give me ten minutes.”

  As she walked away, she heard him say, “Only ten minutes and sixteen years.”

  Thirteen

  “When you stoke a fire, you really stoke a fire,” Callie murmured, sliding a hand over Ben’s bare chest. “That blaze went on all night.”

  And so had they.

  They’d had, as Ben had said, sixteen years to make up for.

  He gave her a loud smack of a kiss on her cheek—which was more than a little raw from lots of beard scratches—and slid from the bed. He stretched and scratched his beard, then his chest, and glanced at the clock—which read a little after ten. “Want some coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” she replied, snuggling back under the covers that were still warm from his body heat. She was, after all, quite naked.

  She was just beginning to slip back into a very satisfied slumber when she heard a wordless exclamation from Ben, somewhere out in the rest of the house.

  “What is it?” she called.

  There was a pause, then he replied, “You made the front page.”

  “I did? Oh, fantastic!” Callie bounced upright in bed, tucking the pillow behind her back and the blankets over her breasts. She’d been so pleased with how Iva and Hollis’s wedding had gone—and that she and Ben had finally moved from friends to lovers—that she’d almost forgotten about her hopes for some good press to go along with her stress-inducing marketing tactic. “Do you have the paper? Or is it online?”

  He came into the bedroom. He carried the Wicks Hollow Gazette and two cups of coffee, and was wearing a strange expression. As if he were trying to keep a straight face.

  “Both, probably.” He tossed the paper to her and Callie flipped it open to the front page.

  “Oh my God!” She stared at the large, full-color photograph that took up two thirds of the page.

  It was a beautiful picture of the bride and groom standing at the railing of the balcony. The huge clock face above their heads showed less than one tick mark between 11:59 and midnight. The white forest of trees and the candles surrounded them, creating a fairy-tale like scene. It was stunning…

  Except for the wild, wide-eyed, open-mouthed Callie bursting through the doorway behind them. She was caught in mid-leap and mid-scream, her arms flailing, her bright red hair a wild splash of color in the exact center of the photograph, her face positioned precisely between Iva’s and Hollis’s.

  The headline read: NYE CURSE CURED

  “I’m going to kill Baxter for this,” she said, starting to giggle as she stared at the terrible, awful, hilariously ridiculous photograph. “He just had to use that photo! Forget the curse—I’m going to murder him!”

  But she couldn’t control her laughter. It was just so ludicrous, and she was so relieved the wedding was over, that no one had died, and that she was here, with Ben Tremaine, at last.

  He was laughing too, and he leaned over to gather her into a great big hug. “I was afraid you’d be upset,” he said.

  By now she’d lost control of herself and was laughing so hard she decided she’d better get out of bed before she peed herself—and the sheets. “Only me,” she gasped, dragging herself out of bed, weak with laughter. “Only I would turn a brilliant marketing scheme into a circus.”

  He looked at her, his eyes so dark and serious. “And that’s what I love about you, Callie—one of the things I’ve always loved about you: that you can find the humor in even the seemingly worst situations.”

  She stopped laughing. Her heart stopped beating for an instant, then swelled with happiness. “Oh Ben, I’ve waited such a long time to hear you say something like that.”

  “I’ve waited longer to say it,” he replied. “And I just have one request from you, Callie Quigley.”

  “What’s that?” She stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at him—no longer laughing because of the very serious look in his eyes.

  “Actually, two requests,” he said, taking her hand in his.

  “All right. What are they?”

  “First, that the next wedding you plan will be ours,” he said—and she squeaked out a gasp.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone…” he began, quoting her favorite movie.

  “You want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible,” she replied, giving his beard an affectionate tug. “
I know the feeling.” She leaned forward to kiss him, and he dragged her back onto the bed.

  A few moments later, she pulled away from a very hot kiss, and some other very hot activity, and said, “Wait…what was the other thing?”

  He grinned at her. “That we get married after April 15th. Tax Day. Because I want a very long honeymoon.”

  She burst out laughing and shook her head. “It’ll have to be after wedding season then—like in January.”

  “A year from now, January? I am not waiting that long—”

  “You waited sixteen years already,” she teased.

  “Longer than that. How about we get married next week?”

  “Next week?”

  “It’s before tax season ramps up and after wedding season. It’s perfect.”

  “But—”

  “And you’re a wedding planner. You know how to make it happen.”

  She looked at him and realized he was absolutely serious. “Well,” she replied, feeling a little unsteady but ecstatic nonetheless. “I think that’s something we can negotiate.”

  “I’m good at negotiating. Let’s start now.” He was about to dive under the covers when he paused. And then a wicked, oh, so wicked grin spread over his face. “I have an idea…let’s play Trivial Pursuit. My nieces and nephews gave me the Harry Potter deluxe version for Christmas.”

  And that was how Callie ended up putting six articles of clothing back on…only to take them off again when Ben Tremaine, the Trivia King, handily won the game…

  But in the end, Callie figured she ended up being the real winner…sixteen years and one cured curse later.

  Orbra's Honeybear Hot Toddy

  Recipe

  Make this fabulous syrup and add to whiskey and/or tea (or both, as Orbra says!) and enjoy a wonderful winter drink.