Death, Snow, and Mistletoe - By Valerie S. Malmont Page 0,1

so tight I wondered how she swallowed. Looking at her, I promised myself I most definitely would restart my diet tomorrow. I know how it happens; one night you go to bed a size ten and you wake up the next morning an eighteen.

Not a hair dared to move in her bright gold bouffant as she glared down at me. “You're the new Chronicle editor?” It was more an accusation than a question.

I couldn't keep from staring at her gravity-defying bosom. I had no idea anyone still manufactured corsets like that. Maybe a special order? I fought back a giggle and said, “I'd like to take the picture now. I have other stops to make.”

“We always have our picture taken during the final, dramatic ending of the pageant rehearsal. You'd know that if you weren't new to town.”

“I really don't have time to wait,” I said. “I'll just snap a picture or two and—”

Oretta tapped her foot. She was staring at me as though I'd lost my mind. “You'll wait until the end. It's the way we've always done it!” she announced.

In the short time I'd lived in Lickin Creek, I'd become very familiar with that phrase and its evil twin, “We've never done it that way.” Hit me with a two-by-four half a dozen times and I get the idea. There was no use in arguing; I might as well find a comfortable place to park myself for the next hour.

Oretta turned to face her cast. “No point in waiting for Weezie any longer. She doesn't have any lines near the beginning, anyway. Places, everybody. Bernice, stand over there—stage right—next to the palm tree. Have you all highlighted your parts? It would be nice to hear you reading the right lines tonight.” She glared at one of the hapless women, who seemed to shrink several inches. Another rummaged through her purse, extracted a bright yellow marking pen, and began to diligently mark her script.

Silently cursing myself for being such a wimp, I shrugged off my jacket and took a seat on a metal folding chair in the front row. Ginnie Welburn appeared next to me bearing a cup of steaming coffee and a couple of cookies wrapped in a red paper napkin. “Thought you might like some nourishment,” she said with a grin.

“How did this happen to me?” I whispered, accepting the gift. Little Santa faces smiled at me from the napkin.

“Whatever Oretta Clopper wants, Oretta Clopper gets,” Ginnie said. “She's one of those natural forces you just can't fight.”

“Who is she? The name's familiar. Isn't the new borough manager named Jackson Clopper? Are they married?”

Ginnie snickered. “Don't let her hear you ask that. Oretta's the ultimate snob, and in her opinion, Jackson crawled out of the lower depths when he was hired to be borough manager and should be made to return there as soon as possible. I believe her husband, Matavious—who's almost a doctor—and Jackson are some sort of fifth cousins once removed, or whatever they call it around here.”

“What do you mean by ‘almost a doctor'?” I asked, curious about her strange choice of words.

“Chiropractor.” I could practically see the sneer in her voice. Apparently, Oretta was not the only snob in the room.

Ginnie continued. “The Clopper men don't speak. It's one of those Blue and Gray family squabbles.”

“You mean a family feud going back to the Civil War?” I remarked. “Now that's what I call holding a grudge!”

“A lot of people are still actively fighting that war here in Lickin Creek.”

“Quiet down front!” Oretta snapped. “Ladies, let the play begin.”

Ginnie groaned, winked at me, and moved back to the kitchen. I tried, but failed, to find a comfortable position on the cold metal chair and nibbled on a heavenly chocolate-macadamia-nut cookie.

Before any of the actresses spoke, a tiny woman fluttered down the center aisle and shrugged off her red ski jacket to reveal a most un-Christmasy yellow cotton housedress covered with tiny blue flowers. “I'm so sorry,” she twitted. “You'uns know how my husband is. He don't like me to go out at night, so I thought it best to wait till he fell asleep.”

Oretta nodded sympathetically. “We do indeed know how he is. Let's get started, or we'll be here all night.”

I silently breathed an amen to that.

She stepped to the edge of the stage and peered down at me. “Just wanted to make sure you're still here, young lady.”

I sniffed at the “young lady.” After all, I am a tiny bit past thirty,