Page 1 of Jingle Bells and Shotgun Shells
CHAPTER 1
The scent of cinnamon, pine, and most likely desperation fills the air of Honey Hollow’s newly refurbished community center.
It’s a week until Christmas and it looks as if all of Vermont has filed into the community center for the Jingle Bell Jubilee, a holiday extravaganza open to both people and pets that showcases the town’s shop vendors.
Christmas carols blare from speakers that make Mariah Carey’s high notes feel as if they’re drilling directly into my skull. Crowds of holiday-crazed townsfolk shuffle between craft booths while their pets sniff each other in that awkward getting-to-know-you dance that thankfully only animals can get away with. Dogs of all sizes strain at their leashes, and more than one person has decided that stuffing their cat into a bubble backpack is somehow less traumatic than leaving the poor creature at home.
“I look like a Christmas stripper,” I mutter to my sister while tugging at the see-through green bodysuit that barely covers the essentials. “I’m pretty sure these outfits violate some kind of public decency law.”
The Honey Hollow Community Center has recently undergone a renovation and its transformation is almost as shocking as our elf costumes. Gone is the musty, dated meeting hall, replaced by what looks like a ritzy country club that Santa himself might frequent if he won the lottery. Crystal chandeliers—dozens of them—cast a warm glow over the dark wood floors. And at the front of the room, lush red velvet curtains frame the stage where an ornate gold throne sits, just waiting for the big man in red to park his jolly behind.
Of course, Santa is here, too, which only partially explains why my sister Niki and our coworkers Suze and Lily were coerced into wearing glorified lingerie to pretend we’re elves—naughty elves at that. Although with the four of us, the naughty part isn’t such a stretch.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” Niki gives a little shimmy that makes her strategically placed peppermint pinwheels spin.
Both Niki and I have dark hair, coffee-colored eyes, and the inability to keep our mouths shut when we want to let a sarcastic zinger fly.
We can’t help it. We come from a large Italian family where sarcasm and food are basically our love languages.
“I think Mayor Nash has excellent taste,” she goes on. “These outfits are going to put Honey Hollow on the map.”
“As what? The Christmas Gentlemen’s Club?” I adjust my outfit for the fiftieth time, trying to pull fabric out of places fabric should never venture. The giant peppermint pinwheels covering my chest are as subtle as a gun in a convent.
Suze scowls, yanking at her bodysuit. “We look like floozies.Christmasfloozies. I’m sixty-two years old. The only spinning pinwheels I should be looking at are in a retirement brochure.” Suze has short blonde hair—more gray than blonde, but don’ttell her I said that—and a stocky frame that she maintains through a steady diet of cupcakes.
“Well, I’m keeping my outfit on later for Alex.” Lily winks, referring to her boyfriend—who also happens to be Suze’s son. “He’s always had a thing for Christmas candy.”
“That’s my baby boy you’re talking about,” Suze groans, covering her ears. “I didn’t need that mental image. I’m going to need therapy. Or whiskey. Preferably both.”
Lily Swanson is a brunette looker who works alongside us at the bakery, too. She’s not-so-sweet, overly sassy, and can appreciate a good zinger like nobody’s business.
I crane my neck, scanning the crowd for any sign of Cooper. Cupertino Lazzari, aka Homicide Detective Cooper Knox, would be my official plus-one. He’s hot, he’s armed, and he’s mine.
He’s also supposed to be bringing Watson tonight, our shared custody oh-so-adorable golden shepherd mix. I hope Coop put the red ribbon on his leash that I gave him this morning.
Watson is going to look so stinking cute. I have no doubt he’s going to steal the show from Santa himself. Every single child in this room will beg to find Watson in their stocking come Christmas morning.
And, well, Coop is so hot that every single woman in this room will beg to find Cooper Knox in their stocking come Christmas morning, too.
“Looking for Detective Hot Stuff?” Niki nudges me with her pointy elf shoe. “If he sees you in that getup, he might forget all about your little career hiccup.”
By career hiccup, she means the tiny fact that I happen to moonlight as an assassin for our Uncle Jimmy, head of the Canelli crime family, while Cooper works as the aforementioned homicide detective. And have I mentioned that his real lastname is Lazzari? As in the Lazzari crime family—number one enemies to the Canellis? Talk about relationship complications.
My name, however, is Eufrasia Margarita Canelli, but people just call me Effie. I’m five feet five inches of fun, have dark, medium-length hair, dark eyes, and a knack for landing myself in the deadliest and some might say dumbest of situations—aka that whole hitwoman for the mob thing. Oh, have I not mentioned it? After I lost my job in big tech, I ran to my Uncle Jimmy for a job. He gave me two choices: either dance at his strip club or pump a few bullets into his enemies. I chose the latter since I’m not so big on public nudity. Oddly enough, I don’t have a problem with bullets or bloodshed.
My job at the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is mostly a front, though my boss, Lottie Lemon, is sweeter than her desserts. The gig at the bakery could realistically fund the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed—having a roof over my head and enough dough to spring for pizza every other night.
“Where is Lottie, anyway?” I ask, still scanning the crowd. “I still don’t know how she convinced us to dress like Christmas streetwalkers while she escaped the humiliation.”
“She’s running her booth.” Lily points toward the far corner where a line stretches halfway across the room—as it should. Lottie’s desserts really are that good.
The Cutie Pie booth is decked out with enough twinkle lights and candy canes to be seen from the space station, while Lottie presides like the queen of Christmas confections that she is.
Her platters are packed with holiday treats—snowman cake pops with tiny scarves, reindeer brownies with pretzel antlers, gingerbread cookies that look suspiciously like certain town residents, and her famous peppermint hot chocolate cupcakes topped with miniature marshmallows. There’s also a mountain of Christmas tree Rice Krispies treats covered in green frosting and decorated with tiny candy ornaments. Those last treats areheavily addictive. I should know, I ate two dozen myself before leaving the shop.
“Of course, she’s running her booth.” I sigh. “She gets to look professional while we’re out here auditioning for Santa’s Naughty Helpers—The North Pole After Dark edition.”
“Oh my goodness.” Suze’s jaw drops as she points to the stage. “Speaking of naughty helpers...”
