Page 42 of The Christmas Extra

Our pride and joy ambulance as well as the two fire engines were parked outside of the bays, each one done up with garland and those fold-out paper balls that blew in the cold, cold wind. It wasn’t a nice night weatherwise for the yearly holiday dance and bake-off—all sales benefiting the Rockmount Fire Company—as sleet was blowing sideways across the parking lot. It felt like little stones hitting your face. Since we had a few inches of snow leftover from a short Canadian blast about a week ago, we’d have a white Christmas for sure. The white might be snow-covered with tiny ice balls, but it all worked.

Tony hustled along beside me, his coat up to his ears, and his dark hair coated with bits of ice. He threw a tortured look my way.

“We could be in Greece next year at this time. Just saying...” He jogged ahead to grab the door for the elderly Winetoast sisters. They were twin sisters who lived together in an old farmhouse up on Winetoast Hill. Last year, the town celebrated their ninety-fifth birthday right here in the fire hall. No one could knit a sweater like Lily and Lila Winetoast. Everyone in town had at least one of their cozy creations. Tony was wearing the one they’d given me four years ago. I’d never been able to get into it, but I smiled and thanked them for the gift every time I saw them out at the old folks home or at the domestic abuse shelter where they taught yarn crafts every Thursday.

Greece. Yeah, okay, that sounded really nice right about now. Being pummeled by Mother Nature’s version of a winter sandblasting sucked. I’d probably be up all night responding to auto accidents. God forbid people slow down for conditions.

I let his comment blow past. There was probably little chance that I’d be moved from this county anytime soon. I liked it here. A lot. It was safe here. Known. Routine. I could not foresee anything that would make me leave this comfy little village in the mountains for some whimsical fantasy to honor my mother. Mom would understand. She would get it. A safe home was important. And I had that here. Who knew what we might find in Greece, if we went, which we weren’t so might as well shelve that notion in the same mental filing cabinet where playing in Crazy Horse had been stashed many years ago.

I took the door from Tony so he could enter. Falling in behind him, the warmth enfolded us as did the arms of many friends. The mayor and his wife ran up to Tony to shake his hand. I got a pat on the arm and a raspberry cupcake to munch on while Tony was dragged off to talk to the more important people. Which suited me fine. I wasn’t big on socializing. I moved through the crowd, eyeing the big tree in the corner and the throne that sat in front of it. Sighing at the knowledge that in an hour I’d be sitting there with snotty kids on my lap filled me with all kinds of cheer. Not really, but I’d volunteered. What a nice guy I was.

The hall was alive with Christmas songs and laughing townspeople as most of the movie folks had blown out of here this morning on whatever planes, trains, and automobiles they could find to haul them home. Sasha was winging her way to France with the ladies-in-waiting. Tony had praised all the gods for her departure. Her scenes were in the can as they say, and no one was happier to see her gone than...well, everyone.

Teddy and Belinda were over in the corner, smooching under some dusty plastic mistletoe. I scanned the fire hall for her brothers. None were here. Yet.

Happy to keep to myself, I whiled away the time tasting baked goods, buying baked goods, and judging baked goods. And I wasn’t even an official judge. Someone just led me to a table to settle a tiff between Mary Johnson and Eileen Tittle. Both had brought fruitcake in the same tins. Guess Murray Tittle thought I would be best suited to calm the women down.

After tasting both fruitcakes and admiring the tins, I announced that both were tasty and that it was the season for love and not warring over fruitcake tins. After that, they calmed down a bit and allowed me to go and change into my red suit and fake beard.

Two hours later, the last toddler was off to bed, the fire hall was emptied out, and a few scattered volunteers remained to clean up the mess.

Teddy and Belinda had stayed as had a few of the local firefighters, but all seemed to be antsy to get home. The firemen had kids and wives, and Teddy and Belinda...

I wasn’t sure what their rush was, but I waved them both away while telling them to behave. Teddy grinned, took her hand, and out into the bitter cold they ran.

“Young love.” Tony sighed as he wiped down the dirty tables with a blue sponge.

“Young love is nothing but trouble,” I replied, carting a folding table past him on my way to the storage room in the rear.

“Oh now, stop that. Young love can be rapturous! Surely you didn’t forget our halcyon days at Drexel?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see him wink at me. The shitter. “No, I didn’t forget. Never could. Now wipe faster so we can get out of here. I think I feel a cold coming on already. I should have never let that snotty Lucas kid get on my lap.”

Tony chuckled. I bumped the door open with my hip, angled the long table through, then placed it along the wall with several others. It was chilly in this room. I took a few minutes to neaten up the stacked chairs. Mellow music filtered into the storage room, yanking me out to see what was up. Not that I didn’t know it was Tony fiddling with the sound system in the kitchen area. I walked out just as he was exiting the food prep area.

“I tried to find some Neil Young Christmas music among the CDs back there, but there wasn’t any, so I went with this,” he announced with a wave of his hand at the tunes flowing from the speakers in the corners. “It’s holiday waltzes.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You know how to waltz. I taught you back in college.”

He strode up to me, eyes glowing with love, and offered me his hand. “This is corny,” I said as I swept him into my arms. Yes, I recalled how to waltz, and that day in our sophomore year that he had taught me. Very little about our past was not crystal clear in my mind.

“No, it’s Korsakov’sWaltz of the Snow Maiden.”

“Idiot,” I said, nuzzling my face into his neck. “I love you,” I whispered as we moved around the fire hall, his body pressed to mine. The smell of him was intoxicating and if not for the blast of cold air billowing in, I’d not have known that someone had entered the hall.

They say that when you’re in a life-and-death situation, that time sometimes slows down or stops. Some say it races by. I’ve been called to a few scenes in my years that made time feel off or wonky. Once I had to help a farmhand who had gotten his arm caught in a hay combine. I’d been closest to the farm. Paramedics arrived after I’d helped the young man as best as I could. I’d been witness to several lethal car accidents and investigated a few missing person cases where we found the body in the thick woodlands of the state, death by their own hands most generally.

When I looked around Tony and saw Clint Marley standing by the kitchen door with a hunting rifle shouldered and pointed at Tony’s back, time not only slowed, but it crashed into a fucking tree.

“She moved out, and it’s on you!” Clint slurred, the shout echoing off the walls of the fire hall as he pulled the trigger. My reaction was instinctual. I pushed Tony a split-second before the round hit me in the upper left shoulder. I stumbled back at the impact, my Kevlar at home with my uniform. Tony shouted something. Clint bellowed in a rage for missing the vital shot. Drunken shooters rarely hit the target, which was good for me.

I went to my ass with a huff, my shoulder on fire, my right hand sliding down my right hip to find my service revolver. I’d been told many years ago by an old hand at this law enforcement game that police should always carry, even when off-duty. You never knew when you’d be confronted with a violent attack. Just like now. Cops made all sorts of enemies who knew how to hold onto a grudge. Clint being a case in point.

I popped off three shots, all three hitting our attacker, as Tony scrabbled on his hands and knees under the table he’d been wiping off not fifteen minutes ago. Clint crumpled to the cement floor, the rifle falling to the left as he listed to the right. The man was not reaching for the weapon, I was pretty sure of that. Both of his kneecaps were no more, and he had a sizeable wound in his upper thigh. Still, it would behoove me to get to my feet, but that didn’t seem to be happening right now. I glanced down at my wound. Oh. That was ugly. The exit was probably worse. Lightheadedness was already setting in. My shirt was soaked with blood, front and back.

Well shit.

At least Tony was okay. Right?

“Tony...” I croaked, but he was already skittering closer to Clint, his eyes wide with horror. “Call...for help...”

---