Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Max
Narrator: Poor Max. What he thought was a mission accomplished turned into a night of disaster, because our dear friend Betty is smarter than he expected.
For she saw his flashlight moving through the woods.
She heard the crunching of the snow, and she was prepared for when the intruder snuck up on her cottage.
She was aware of his approach, and when the moment was right, she busted out of her front door and nailed him dead between the eyes with the only weapon she could find.
And the hardheaded Max—pun intended—broke the bottle open, causing Pepsi to be sprayed all over.
And as he lay there on the ground, dripping in the fizzy drink, knocked out, she called the cops, who cuffed him—looks like they would arrest him after all—and drove him to the small community jail, where he had one call . . . and one call only.
“I hate you,” Cole says as he stares at me through the cell bars.
I grip my forehead, the massive headache throbbing, making it unbearable to deal with anything at the moment.
“Please,” I beg of him. “I can’t take it right now. It feels like I was hit in the head with an iron.”
“More like a two-liter bottle of Pepsi,” Officer Marv says as he undoes the lock to the cell.
I stand and slowly make my way toward the exit of the cell. “Am I bleeding?” I flash my forehead at Cole.
“No. The bleeding has stopped.”
“Wait, was I bleeding?”
“You have a cut above your eyebrow,” Cole says. “And a cut on the top of your hand where your crowbar impaled you as you fell.”
Surprised, I lift up my hand, and sure enough, it’s bandaged with white gauze. “What the hell happened?”
Marv clears his throat. “You were acting like a Peeping Tom, trespassing, and you were caught. Out of self-defense from your victim, you were hit in the head with a bottle of Pepsi where you fell to the ground and were impaled by your crowbar. You were then carted off in the back of my police car, where you dizzily rambled on about intruders. You were charged with third-degree trespassing. You will have a court hearing in the near future.”
“A court hearing?” I yelp. “Am I going to jail?”
“It would serve you right,” Cole mutters while Marv shakes his head.
“No, you’ll probably need to pay a fine. Possibly community service. Given this is your first offense and you’re in good standing with the town, the judge will go very easy on you.”
I let out a pent-up breath, because fuck, jail? I wouldn’t survive. There’s no way. And my brothers and Cole would never let me live it down. I might look intimidating wielding an axe at the farm, but I’m not ashamed to say I’m a cinnamon roll.
“My suggestion to you: leave your new neighbor alone.” Marv then takes off, leaving me with Cole, who is shaking his head.
“I told you to leave. I told you to go home. But noooo, you just couldn’t listen. Jesus, Max.”
I nod, feeling the shame of being caught pulse through me. There’s only one thing to really say. “You were right, dear. You were right.”
Betty
I grew up in Colorado, and yet the weather in the mountains is so different.
Colder.
Windier.
More unpredictable.
The mornings are deathly chilling, especially if the wind is whipping around, which is why I find that I wear my ski mask in the mornings to avoid getting chapped skin during my runs.
I head down the street, passing the coffee shop, and look up just in time before I bump into the brick shithouse I bumped into the other day.
But this time, he’s wearing a winter hat over his head and a pair of sunglasses, his hands stuffed in his pockets with his head tilted down, like he’s trying to avoid all humans.
Smiling, I bump into his shoulder, causing him to look up and say, “Oh shit, sorry—” He pauses, and then recognition falls over him, the smallest of smiles tugging on his lips as he leans in. “Vigilante?”
I can’t hold back my chuckle. “Harpoon stealer? I almost didn’t recognize you. Are you incognito?”
He slowly nods and then glances over his shoulder. “There has been a breach in the town cheeriness, and I’ve been forced to go undercover. Beware. If seen with me, you might go down as well.”
Hate to admit it, but I was kind of hoping I would run into him again. This nameless man, who gave me such a strange but exhilarating interaction the other day. I kept thinking about him and how easy it was to just . . . pretend.
Leaning forward conspiratorially, I ask, “And who is at the helm of this breach?”
He glances around, checking over his shoulders a few times before he leans in as well and whispers, “The Easter Bunny.”
I snort all over my ski mask as he continues.
“Fed up with this year-round Christmas town, he’s ready to take everyone down, me being the number one target.”
I clasp at my chest in shock. “You?”
He points to his chest with a firm nod. “Me.”
“Wow.” I cross my arms. “What do I not know about you that would cause such close quarters to death by carrot?”
He smirks and says, “I spread too much Christmas cheer. I jingle, I jangle, I sneeze tinsel. It’s too much, and that white fluff of a tail wants me out.”
“Not the jingle, jangle, tinsel sneezing.”
He slowly nods. “The very one. And I have to warn you, you must not be seen with me. Not if you have any chance of taking out Cottontail.”
“You think I do?”
He places his hand on my shoulder and leans closer, his cedar-like cologne wafting toward me. “As the vigilante with the harpoon and harmonica, there is no doubt in my mind.”
“Very well. I’ll be on the lookout for jelly beans and eggs, a telltale sign of him being near.”
“Don’t forget the trail of carrot crumbs he leaves behind.”
“How could I ever forget?”
“Silly me.” He smiles. “Best of luck to you.”
“You too.” I start to walk away but then stop. “One more thing.” Pretending to pull something out of my pocket, I open my hand to him.
He gasps and takes a step back, horror written all over his face, which makes me chuckle.
Because where is he going to go with this?
“It’s . . . it’s . . . you. You’re Cottontail.
” He shakes his head in disgust, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
“No, get those jelly beans away from me.” He playfully swats my hand away.
“I will not surrender.” He sidesteps me and moves away, only to turn around and walk backward with that smirk of his stretching across his lips.
Goodness, he’s handsome. “Later . . . vigilante.”
I point my finger at him. “That’s Cottontail to you.”
He laughs and then takes off.
I should have gotten his name.
Maybe his number.
Then again, do I really have time for something like that?
Probably not.
“How was your first night in the cottage?” Uncle Dwight asks as he takes a seat across from me at the Caroling Café, where he grabs breakfast every morning.
The fifties-inspired diner is decked out in Christmas decorations, baubles and trinkets hanging from the ceiling, as well as garland.
Every booth has Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers, while up front, a stage is prepped and garnished in trees and fake presents, ready for someone to take the stage and start singing.
It’s . . . cute.
And I feel like I’d appreciate it more if I wasn’t so shaken.
“Um, it could have been better.”
Uncle Dwight’s brows crease. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was getting ready for bed when I kept seeing a flash of light in the woods. I didn’t think anyone should be on the property—”
“You’re right. No one should be on the property but you.”
“Well, I dimmed the lights, closed the curtain to the bathroom, and then waited. I perched myself in a position where I could see what was going on. And as I waited, I grabbed the one thing I knew that I could easily chuck at someone and do damage . . . a bottle of Pepsi.”
Uncle Dwight leans in, concern etched on his expression.
“And as I heard the footsteps approach closer and closer, I moved toward the door.”
“Wait, was there really a person out there?”
“Yup,” I say with a nod. “And he had a crowbar. He was trying to get in my window, but before he could, I jumped out of the house with a swing of the door and chucked the bottle at his head, nailing him and knocking him out cold.”
“Seriously?” Uncle Dwight says in disbelief.
“Yup. I then called the cops, and he was handcuffed and taken away.” I dust off my hands.
“Took care of the creep, but it left me a little shaken. I was thinking this morning about how I need to have better protection. I don’t really want a gun, because they scare me, but maybe a BB gun or something like that would do me some good. ”
Uncle Dwight scratches the top of his head. “I’m sorry, I’m still trying to process the fact that someone was trying to get into your window with a crowbar. Did they say who it was?”
“Uh . . . Heimer or something,” I say. “I was too shaken to really remember.”
Uncle Dwight sits taller. “Do you mean . . . Maxheimer?”
“Yes,” I yell. “That was the name. They kept calling him Maxheimer. Do you know who that is?”
Uncle Dwight’s nostrils flare as he stares off at a space behind me. “Yes, I know exactly who that is.”
“Is he dangerous?”
He wets his lips and mutters, “Very.”
Max
“What the hell happened to you?” Felix asks as he examines the cut above my eyebrow along with the bruising.
“Ran into a pole,” I say as I sharpen my axe, trying to avoid all conversation about what happened last night. Most likely the real story will start circulating the town, because no one can keep their mouth shut, but I have no problem lying until it does.
I’ll be honest; in the moment, I felt like a crusader, solving the crimes for the innocent. But now, the day after, as I nurse my wounds and attempt to use my left hand to wield my axe, I just feel . . . foolish.