Page 5 of Death By Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries #7)

THREE

The standoff of the Santas.

The local Santa—Peanut—as Eleanor had called him, wobbled slightly back and forth. His rotund little body reminded me of the Weeble Wobble toys I had when I was little. I could also say without hesitation that I’d never seen this man in my life. And I’d been here for the holidays last winter.

Then there was the Saint Nicholas who Cameron had brought in for the day. He was clad in an expensive-looking velvet cloak with a white fur-trimmed hood, and his beard was real. And centered on his face, unlike Peanut’s. The man really had the market on the Santa Claus beard.

I heard a groan, at first not sure where the sound came from.

Then I realized the sound came from Ashley.

I followed her wide-eyed gaze, not quite sure why she looked so stricken by the scene in front of us.

If anything, the interaction taking place in front of a semicircle of carolers, with other festival attendees watching, was rather humorous.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Saint Nicholas said, keeping his tone even, although his eyes hardened. “I’m here today at the behest of the inn’s owner.”

Peanut rocked back on his feet, a sneer appearing to one side of his crooked beard.

“‘Behest’?” he questioned. “I don’t know what the blazes that means, but I’m the Santa in Friendship Harbor. I’ve always been the Santa in Friendship Harbor.”

His words slurred a little, making it seem as if he would have a hard time staying upright, much less hearing the Christmas wishes of the town’s children. I imagined he probably smelled like whiskey and mothballs.

I spotted a couple of holes in the fuzzy material of his suit. So maybe not mothballs.

“Okay. I think it’s time you move along now,” the proper Saint Nicholas said. His tone was still calm, he looked even colder. I got the feeling he could easily lose his temper. “You don’t want to cause a scene.”

Peanut snorted at that. “Don’t want to cause a scene? Oh, I’ll definitely cause a scene because this is ridiculous. This isn’t how this town works.” He drunkenly waved an arm around. “Everyone here,” he slurred, gesturing widely, “everyone here knows that I am this town’s Santa Claus.”

Saint Nicholas shook his head. “Listen. Not today.”

Peanut seemed completely oblivious to how much bigger Saint Nicholas was than his sad, little not-so-jolly—self. He stepped forward and jabbed the larger man in his chest. “Listen. I am Santa Claus. ”

Saint Nicholas frowned down at where Peanut had poked him, then looked back at the smaller man. Did Peanut really think he was going to win this fight? He barely came up to the larger, younger man’s chin.

“You’re also drunk,” Saint Nick said. “I think you need to head home.”

Peanut clearly wasn’t taking that as an answer.

This time, rather than just a poke, he shoved Saint Nicholas hard.

Even though irate Peanut had just jabbed him in the chest, Saint Nicholas seemed surprised by the sudden attack and stumbled backward, nearly tripping on his velvet cape.

But he caught himself before he lost his footing completely.

And now he was clearly furious. Even through his perfect white beard, I could see the grim set of his jaw.

“I’m giving you one more warning. You need to move along.”

In response, Peanut balled up his fist and wound up to punch the man. His drunken state made his movements awkward and clumsy, which this time gave Saint Nicholas plenty of time to sidestep the attack.

Rather than connecting with his target, Peanut stumbled forward and smashed into the beautiful front of the Opulent Occasions’ booth.

Several platters of elegantly displayed finger foods clattered to the ground.

Peanut pitched forward and tried to catch himself, ripping down much of the evergreen boughs as he fell.

“What the—” Brad shouted, rushing over to the damaged booth.

To my surprise, instead of running after Brad, Ashley ran toward Saint Nick. Before I could figure out what was going on, Cameron pushed through the gathered crowd, drawing my attention toward him.

“Everyone, let’s head over to the front of the lawn where we have a puppet show going on,” he called out loudly. He pointed in the direction back down the alley of booths.

The gawking crowd glanced at him, most of them looking puzzled.

“A puppet show?” a man in a John Deere cap and a Red Sox t-shirt who I recognized from the occasional visit to Steamy’s said, confused. “They don’t have fried dough, but they have a puppet show. What is this world coming to?”

The lady beside him shook her head and shrugged. “This is a weird festival, that’s for sure.”

They also didn’t move, still watching Peanut, who flopped around on the ground like a largemouth bass as he tried to get his bulky body up onto his feet.

Peppermints fell from somewhere out of his dingy Santa suit.

Oliver appeared behind Cameron. He had the juggler with him, who was now tossing five shiny apples and a pineapple up in the air.

“Folks,” Oliver said with a smile that looked forced, “let’s follow our wonderful juggler here to the show. You’re going to want to see this. It is an authentic Punch and Judy show like the ones that were popular in Victorian England.”

“I’m not your puppet,” Peanut stopped rolling around long enough to shout.

“Is Santa okay?” the little boy asked his mother.

“He’s fine.” the woman said, taking her son’s hand. “Let’s go see the puppets!”

A few other families followed Oliver and the juggler. But plenty stayed to continue watching the real life drama.

Dave leaned onto the counter beside me. “Wait until they see the puppet show.”

I shot him a confused look. “Have you seen it?”

Dave shook his head. “No. But if it’s a Punch and Judy show, they’re going from watching Santas beat each other up to watching puppets beat each other up.” He sighed, then took a sip of his Elf-tini. “Man, Victorian England is really violent.”

I gave him another glance, then turned my attention back to Ashley and the out-of-town Santa. She was talking to him quietly, clearly trying to calm him down.

Did she know him? Or was she just trying to help?

“Get that imposter out of here,” Peanut shouted from his place still on the ground, then he shrieked like a horror movie heroine as Jack ambled over, catching scent of the peppermints on the ground. “What is that? What is that?”

Jack ignored his screams, scooping up a peppermint in his lips.

George caught Jack’s lead, and Dougie moved to help the little man to his feet. Peanut wobbled but managed to keep upright.

“Who let this drunk in here?” Saint Nick called out to Cameron and Oliver. A sneer twisted his face as he looked at the still blustering local. “Get him out of here. Or I’ll leave and you can have this pathetic, inebriated loser entertain your visitors.”

“Nick,” Ashley cajoled the tall, velvet-clad man.

Was she calling him Nick because that was who he was dressed up as or did she know his name? There was a familiarity between them.

“I was doing this as a favor to our troupe director,” Saint Nicholas said, his deep voice booming. “But I can walk away right now.”

I glanced at Brandy who exchanged a look with me.

“Oh, the drama,” she said, shaking her head.

It was true. Sure, it was annoying to have a drunk Santa show up, but Saint Nick didn’t have the excuse of being drunk, so why didn’t he just walk away?

“Maybe you should go find Justin,” I murmured to her.

“I would, but he got a call from the station and had to leave.” She grabbed a plastic cup and pulled the spigot to pour some bright green Grinch punch. She offered it to me, and I considered taking it, but then shook my head. More drinking wasn’t going to help this situation.

That didn’t stop Brandy and Dave. They clinked their glasses before turning back to the scene still playing out.

Saint Nick continued to rant about how he was an esteemed actor, and he didn’t need to take a menial job like this. And he certainly didn’t need to deal with this ridiculous attack.

Dave leaned toward us and said quietly, “Let’s see how long it takes for someone to threaten to sue.”

Literally, the next thing not-so-jolly Saint Nick said was “I’ll call my lawyer if this drunk isn’t removed.”

Ashley tried to calm him again. “Just let it go,” she said.

“This guy does know he was just attacked by some old guy who is about a foot and a half shorter than him and three sheets to the wind, doesn’t he?

” Brandy said, regarding the actor with a wrinkled nose as if she could smell the ugly scent of narcissism rolling off the man.

She took a drink. Then made a more pleasant face. “Hey, this isn’t bad.”

I ignored her, watching the ongoing fight.

I didn’t know “Nick”, but I did know actors just like him. Ones who took even the smallest part very, very seriously. Saint Nick seemed like that type, for sure.

“Could you walk Jack around? We need more distraction,” Oliver asked as he returned from ushering some of the crowd away from the spectacle of the feuding Santas. Plenty of onlookers still lingered.

A llama was always a good distraction.

“Sure.”

Oliver smiled his thanks. “I would myself, but I have to go finish preparing the dining room for the dinner tonight.”

Oliver had been working so hard to be sure everything was ready and perfect for this whole weekend.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m sure this will be the only snafu of the day.”

“I hope,” Oliver said, tipping his top hat with forced good cheer. He rushed off toward the inn.

“Dave, can you walk Jack around?” I asked as he was about to refill his own glass with the Grinch punch.

Mixing Elf-tinis and Grinch punch seemed like a poor choice, anyway.

He nodded readily, setting aside his plastic glass. He headed over to where Jack stood, nibbling some of the fallen baubles from Opulent Occasions’s garland.