Page 18 of The Forever Christmas Tree

“Weren’t you and Wendy a thing at one time?” Ina inquired, her face brightening at the prospect of yet another “match” possibility.

“A thing? Yeah, that about sums it up.” Gus, where are you? I need to escape.

Ina apparently didn’t understand sarcasm because she cooed, “Oooh, do I sense a Christmas romance in the air?”

Forget sarcasm, he went directly to rude. “The only thing I smell is gasoline and Mrs. Gustafson’s Christmas Kraut Cake and some really overpoweringly sweet flowers.”

“Oh, that’s my Shalimar,” Ina said, beaming and waving a hand airily as if he’d given her a compliment.

What the hell is holding Gus up?

“You better get your foot in the door with Wendy real quick, if you’re interested. Those SEALs she’s bringing here might be heavy competition.”

“What SEALs?” he asked, before he had a chance to bite his fool tongue.

“I heard at the market this morning that Wendy invited a bunch of those SEALs here as holiday houseguests. And you know what they say about Navy SEALs?”

Not in a million years would he ask what she meant by that statement.

“Uh-oh! I knew I should have had my roots done this morning.” Ina was attempting to fluff her short, unnaturally black hair while craning her neck to alternately see into the mirror behind the deli and out the front window.

Now what? Ethan followed Ina’s glance. Looking beyond the pump stations, he noticed what was holding Gus up. Something had caught Gus’s attention, along with that of Dylan Hall, an attendant who worked for Gus and had been serving another car, and the fascinated gawking of customers who were lined up for gas, all with a sudden need to be on the premises at the same time. It reminded Ethan of the time there were hurricane warnings for the Outer Banks, and everyone decided to fill up. A royal mess! He recognized his friend Tony’s CRACKED CRAB panel truck, Belle Dawson’s pink Mary Kay Cadillac, and Ed McMullin’s turkey farm pickup loaded with frozen poultry.

Pulled onto the side berm of the road was the star attraction: a convoy of SUVs and commercial vans with small satellite dishes, all with the logo, “NBX-TV News” and “Morning Show.”

He was not one bit surprised to see the anchors Annie Fox and Sam Castile walk into the store then, followed by the herd of Bell Cove gawkers. Over their shoulders he could see his daughter waving at him frantically, wanting to get out of the Lexus and see what was going on.

Not a chance!

“Oooh, oooh, look over there,” Annie yelled to Sam. “It’s one of those grinch contest thingees. We should get a picture of this for the story.”

“Yeah, and that crazy-ass billboard we saw heading into town,” Sam agreed, looking around the store, intrigued by the variety of offerings, no doubt. In fact, his mouth dropped open as he noticed the items in the cold case. What? He’d never seen blood pudding (a kind of sausage which Ethan actually liked in small doses for breakfast with eggs) offered alongside homemade Norsk herring-potato salad (Gus’s mom’s specialty, which Ethan did not like, passionately)? Can anyone say fish breath? Flanking the cold case were a display of crudely carved duck decoys (Dylan’s work) and a carousel of North Carolina maps.

Ethan homed in on one thing. “Are you talking about the ‘Welcome to Bell Cove’ billboard?” Nothing unusual in that.

“The one that says: GET GRINCHED! WELCOME TO BELL COVE!” Sam explained. “It has a picture of a Grinch-like character on it, ringing a bell. Except this grinch wasn’t green. He was sun-tanned, wearing shades, a bathing suit, and flip-flops, dragging a scrawny Charlie Brown–type tree.”

Ethan gave Gus a questioning stare.

Gus just shrugged, but he was grinning like a Viking baboon as he left to wait on a customer who’d just pulled up, one who actually wanted gas.

“Do you folks know any of the grinches on this list?” Annie inquired, tapping away on some kind of electronic notepad, probably inputting the twenty-one names listed on the poster behind the Mason cash jar.

Everyone in the store turned to look at Ethan.

Just then, Ethan’s cell phone vibrated in his back pocket. He gave it a quick glance. A call from his grandmother. He clicked it on. “Doreen is here with a chain saw. Wants to cut down your blue spruce for the town square Nativity scene to impress some TV crew. Should I call the police?”

Since when did they have a town square Nativity scene? The only law enforcement in Bell Cove this time of year was Sheriff Bill Henderson, Doreen’s son-in-law, Francine’s husband. He would probably help Doreen cut down the damn tree, just because Ethan had failed to vote for his pay hike this year.

“Over my dead body,” Ethan exclaimed. “Dammit! It’s my tree. I don’t care if it’s freakin’ Christmas, or if the Pope is arriving with the paparazzi in the NBX news truck. Jesus doesn’t need a blue spruce tree near his manger.”

“Stop blaspheming,” his grandmother said. “You’ve no call to disrespect the Catholics.”

“Huh? I wasn’t disrespecting any . . . never mind. They probably didn’t have blue spruces in Bethlehem anyhow. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you hold Doreen off until then?”

“I’ll get my rifle.”

Ethan would be nervous about that remark if his grandmother actually owned a weapon, or knew how to use one. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he yelled, “Gus, where are you? Here’s twenty bucks for my gas. I’m outta here!”