Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I WANT AN ATTORNEY

Jack

I grab an unbleached paper towel from the pile on the sink vanity and wet it. I spend about a minute making a halfhearted attempt to blot at the brown stain spreading across the front of my sweater, then shrug, wad up the compostable towel, and pitch it into the basket. The stain’ll come out or it won’t. At least it blends with the forest green and brown pattern. I think.

I push the door open and walk out into the little coffee shop’s front area. During my brief attempt at repairs, the line at the counter has somehow grown exponentially.

As I weave through the crowd, making my way to the end of the queue, the elf behind the counter leans across it, waving her arms. “Yo! Yo, beardy guy!”

“Me?” I jab a thumb toward my chest.

“Yes, you. Don’t get in that line. Come to the front.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I don’t need?—”

“Make way, people. Bearded stranger coming through!” Her clear voice cuts through the overlapping conversations and the holiday music.

I cast a cautious glance toward the line but no one seems ready to mutiny. Instead, the crowd parts to create room for me to pass through. As they comply with the elf’s commands, they keep up a steady stream of loud chatter about a Christmas tree lighting. The majority of the patrons seem to be wearing holiday sweaters, and I spy several Santa hats.

I sidle past a tall, austere woman wearing a warm-up jacket with Maple Twist Fitness embroidered across the back and present myself at the counter.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Oh no. Go right ahead,” she says with an encouraging nod that sets the reindeer antlers on her headband bobbing.

The woman behind the counter flashes a grateful smile. “Thanks for understanding, Griselda. Our friend here was the victim of a splash and run.”

“No damage done,” I assure her, gesturing toward my chest.

“So what’ll it be?” she chirps.

I study the board behind her. “You know, I planned to get a cup of tea but whatever that Grinch spilled on me smells really good. I’ll have that instead.”

“One gingerbread latte with candy cane foam coming right up. If you buy a reusable tumbler, you get a discount on refills.”

I start to shake my head, about to explain that I’m just passing through town, when the tall woman behind me leans forward. “You should get one. I swear they’re magic. They keep drinks hot all day.”

I still have a long road trip ahead of me. A reliable insulated mug would be better than continuing to collect disposable cups as I rack up miles.

“Sure, why not.”

The woman clamps a strong hand on my shoulder. “Good choice.”

“Any particular color?” The elf asks, sweeping a hand over a neat row of shiny stainless steel travel mugs.

“Surprise me.”

She plucks a mug from the middle of the line then turns away to prepare the drink. She returns a moment later and places the snowflake-festooned tumbler on the counter in front of me.

I pull out my worn wallet. “What do I owe you?”

“Oh no, Holly took care of it.”

“Holly?”

“The Grinch,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.”

She waves her hand. “It’s fine. Honestly, she said she’d cover whatever you get. So if you want a cookie or croissant, you might as well live it up.”

I frown. “I don’t want to take advantage. At least charge me for the tumbler.”

“Nope.” She folds her arms over her chest. The woman behind me snorts.

I know better than to battle with a woman whose mind is made up, so I pluck a ten from the dwindling stack of cash in my billfold and start to shove it into the tip jar. The elf stops me with a hand on my arm.

“I appreciate the tip, but if you’re so inclined you could pay for a suspended coffee or sandwich instead.”

I throw her a blank look, and she points to a large cork board hanging on the wall to my right. I turn my head and scan a colorful calendar of community events—there are a lot of them. Then my eyes slide to the dozens of red and green slips of paper pinned to the board alongside the calendar. The row of red slips list beverages—I see ‘large coffee,’ ‘hot chocolate,’ ‘tea or chai,’ and ‘latte’ at a glance. The green slips are all foods—things like sandwiches, salads, and cookies.

Understanding sets in before she begins her explanation. “If you buy a suspended food or a drink, it goes up on the board until someone who needs one pulls the slip down. No questions asked.”

“That’s a great idea,” I tell her as I stuff the ten into the tip jar.

Disappointment flashes in her brown eyes and her smile falters.

Then I remove a twenty from my wallet and pass it over the counter to her. “Put this toward whatever people are most likely to need.”

The smile returns. “Thank you.”

I raise my new travel mug and tip it toward her. Then I take my first sip of the hot, sweet drink. It tastes exactly like a gingerbread cookie topped with peppermint frosting. “This is great. The Grinch doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“That one’s my fault,” she tells me. “I know Holly doesn’t like frou-frou coffee drinks.”

The woman in line behind me cracks, “She always says she takes it black and strong, like her heart.”

Both women chuckle.

“Still,” I say, shaking my head, “I can’t imagine why a person who hates Christmas would live in a town called Mistletoe Mountain.”

The chuckles turn into full-bodied chortles.

“She doesn’t hate Christmas,” the elf tells me. “Her family owns the inn. The Jollys love the holidays more than anyone—and in this town, that’s saying something. Holly just hates this Christmas.”

The woman behind me mutters something I don’t catch under her breath.

It feels as if an apology is in order. “I shouldn’t judge. Sometimes the holidays are hard.”

“Sometimes they are.”

“Well, tell Holly I said thanks for the drink.”

“I will.” She flicks her eyes toward the cork board. I follow her gaze to a flyer announcing a Christmas tree lighting in the town square. When I turn back to her, she’s grinning. “If you’re still in town tonight, you should come to the Christmas tree lighting. And you can thank Holly yourself. You know, the suspended meals and drinks were her idea,” she adds this last sentence out of nowhere.

Before I can respond, the jingle bells over the door jangle loudly as the door opens and two police officers plow through the crowd of caffeine seekers.

“Is the owner of the red station wagon with Florida plates in here?” the male officer booms in a commanding voice.

The room falls silent, save for the rendition of ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ piping through the cafe’s speakers.

I step forward. “That’s me.”

“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with us,” the female officer says, her hand resting on the handcuffs dangling from her hip.

“Did I park illegally?” I’m sure I didn’t.

The elf leans over the counter and addresses the male officer. “What’s going on, Ned?”

“Nothing to worry about, Delphina. Sir,” he jerks his chin toward me.

“Come on, Liza,” the Maple Twist lady presses the female officer, who shakes her head.

“Stay out of it, Gris.”

I follow them outside. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I’m up against the wall. Officer Ned takes my tumbler as Officer Liza snaps the handcuffs around my wrists.

“I don’t understand—” I begin.

She cuts me off and reads off a laminated card. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

I swallow hard. “I do. And I want an attorney.”