Everything hurt. “Not sure.” I breathed deep, thankful I could fill my lungs, shutting my eyes.
Bud ran his hands down my legs, over my torso, and then my arms. “Don’t any feel breaks. Start with your legs and slowly start moving.”
I blinked and looked up to see not only Bud but several Santa Clauses and Florence staring down at me. The choir moved into a song about Rudolf, and the absurdity of the entire afternoon hit me. I started laughing. Hard and fast, I laughed, tears streaming down my aching face.
Florence frowned. “I think she’s concussed.”
“Move. Your. Body,” Bud said, his voice clipped.
Doc Springfield pushed him aside and knelt next to me, his authentic beard really making him look like Santa. “Stop laughing.”
I stopped laughing.
He leaned closer and looked into my eyes. “Does your head hurt?”
“Not really,” I whispered. “My face hurts.”
He nodded. “You’re going to have a heck of a shiner. On the other side of the one that’s almost gone, too. It’s a pity.” He gingerly probed my shoulders. “Any neck pain?”
“No.” I wiggled my legs and feet and then moved to my arms and hands. I frowned. “I think I’m okay.” The cotton batting had probably saved my bones from certain breaks.
“Vision clear?” he asked.
I looked up at the concerned senior citizens looking down at me. “Yeah.” Slowly, I moved to sit, letting him help me. The world remained stable and not swirling around me. “My hips hurt a little, but nothing I can’t handle.”
His eyebrows rose. “Let’s see if you can stand.”
I held his hands and stood, my stance set. Then I rolled my neck and shoulders. “I’m okay.” Thank goodness we’d hit the cotton and not the tile floor.
“Oh, you’re going to hurt tomorrow,” Doc Springfield said. “Nothing is broken, though. But you should ice anywhere it hurts, including your face, and take ibuprofen. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to take a vacation.” He kept my hand and assisted me out of the tub of cotton.
Food coloring from the fountain had turned Bud’s buzz-cut hair a dark green, and even the skin on his neck looked holiday-themed. He moved for Earl and jerked the hat and beard off his head. “You don’t deserve to wear these,” he muttered.
“Amen to that,” Jocko snapped. “You are officially out of the Kringle Club, Earl Jacobsen!”
Earl hung his head and looked at Florence. “I love you, Flo. Have my entire life. Why didn’t you give me a chance?”
Her hands shook when she clasped them in front of her stomach. “You killed Lawrence. Murdered him.”
Earl blinked. “He took advantage of me. It was all my idea—with Sharon Smith. Oh, Lawrence knew her and set it up, but I created the entire plan. Then he wooed you and got you to fall in love with him. Hebetrayedme.”
“So you killed him?” I asked.
Earl shook his head, tears in his eyes. “It was an accident. I doubled back after we’d left the night of the poker game and just wanted to threaten him. I waved the knife to scare him, telling him that Florence was mine. He fought back, and things went south.”
Right. “You stabbed him in the back,” I snapped, twisting my hips. Yep. I was gonna hurt in the morning.
Earl’s mouth opened and closed. “I want a lawyer.”
“It’s a little late for that,” I said. “But you go ahead. Find yourself a lawyer.” It sure as heck wasn’t going to be me.
Florence moved into Bernie’s embrace. “You were so brave to go after him like that.”
Bernie beamed, looking like the proudest Santa on the planet. “To think the time together that we lost because of him.” He hugged her close. “We’ll be okay now, Florence. I promise.”
Bud looked me over. “I have to take this guy in, and you’re coming with me. Front seat. Right?”
“Yes.” I gingerly stepped over spilled green water. I probably needed to make a statement for the record anyway.
