Page 33 of The Forever Christmas Tree

Ethan hadn’t, but he’d heard about it. All morning.

—On the radio coming back from the mainland, where he’d overseen another load of bundled trees going out on a sweet reorder from the DixieMart chain.

—When he’d stopped at Gus’s Gas & Goods for a cup of coffee.

—At his local tree lot, where he’d helped his workers unload another two hundred and fifty trees from the mainland farm.

Business was booming, he was busy, and he didn’t have time, or the interest, for all this crap. Not that anyone asked his opinion on the subject. If they did, he’d probably earn another vote.

Tony, who was in the backseat, leaning forward between the two of them on propped elbows, said, “Yeah, I saw it, Laura. You looked great in the interview, especially when you talked about the history of Bell Cove, and how it was important to maintain the town’s historic integrity, like the bell street lighting, with proceeds from this contest. Was Sam hitting on you?”

“A little, but you’re right. This is a great publicity stunt for Bell Cove.”

That’s exactly what it was—a stunt!—if you asked Ethan. Which nobody did.

“My phone’s been ringing all morning,” Laura told them excitedly. “Media wanting to schedule interviews. People asking if we’re planning any special events around the grinch crowning on Christmas Eve. We should call for an emergency council meeting ASAP to plan some activities.”

I’ll match your ASAP with my NCIH, as in No Chance in Hell! No more council meetings before Christmas!

“Right,” Tony, the love-struck suck-up, agreed. “And, if we’re going to be bringing more tourists into town . . . the kind we like, the day-trippers who spend the day, spend money, and then go home . . . all the businesses in town should offer things related to the contest. Like, I could add a new menu item. Whoville Crab Hash, for example. Or Cindy Lou Bread Pudding.”

That was all the incentive Laura needed to go off on a tear. “Maybe Monique’s Boutique could get in a special order of grinch-type clothing. And Bob’s Butcher Bin would do a bonanza in business if it advertised Christmas Roast Beast. Frank could change the sign on the sleds he’s selling at his hardware store to be grinch sleighs, or something. And I bet someone,” Laura looked pointedly at Ethan, “could whip up some grinchy mistletoe wreaths.”

I wouldn’t, but my grandmother probably would. And what is grinch mistletoe anyhow? The kind that made a person kick someone, instead of kiss them? Ethan felt like he’d fallen into some Wizard of Oz garden hole of craziness, or rather a Whoville garden hole of craziness. At least it’s taking my mind off Wendy. For the moment. Still, I wonder if she stayed to have lunch with her Navy buddies. I wonder what she thought of me. Hell, I wonder if she’s thought of me at all these past twelve years. Should I call and ask her to meet me for a drink or a cup of coffee? Not to start something . . . hell, no! Just to clear the air and all that. Be grown-up about what happened all those years ago. Maybe even—

Laura jarred him out of his straying thoughts by asking, “So, Ethan, do you think you’d be able to duct tape some reindeer horns on Harvey for the parade, like the Grinch did with that dog, Max, in the book?”

“What? Are you serious? What parade?”

“Just thinking out loud here, Ethan. Be a team player. Get with the program. About Harvey . . . ?”

“The only way Harv would let me near him with duct tape is if I give him endless biscuits. Even then, there better be some hoochie mama poodle with loose morals around. Harv has a thing about poodles,” he said, then suggested, “Here’s a thought. You two looney tooners with all these great ideas could get Francine to offer green spray tans, instead of that yammy orange.”

Laura and Tony missed his lame attempt at sarcastic humor, which was evident when Laura eyed Ethan in an alarming way and observed, “Good idea, Ethan,” and Tony said, with a laugh, “Or maybe our grinch could be orange.”

“You two are nuts. First, I am not going to be named this town’s Grinch of the Year, even if it costs me a thousand bucks. And second, I wouldn’t let Francine near me with a spray gun if my life depended on it.”

“You’re brilliant, Laura,” Tony said, totally ignoring what Ethan had just said. “This could be really fun.”

“I know what fun is. This is not fun,” Ethan interjected. “Excuse my language, but this a fish fuck waiting to happen.”

“I think that’s supposed to be a goat fuck,” Tony corrected.

“Since when did you become the dictionary police?” He glared at Tony, who just grinned. Obviously, friendship meant nothing when sex, or the possibility of sex, was on the line.

“So many possibilities!” Laura cooed. “But there isn’t much time. This is Wednesday. Only five days until Christmas Eve.”

“Is it possible to make this happen on such a tight time line?” Tony asked.

“We’ll make it happen,” Laura assured him. “Let’s plan on a council meeting tonight.”

Ethan groaned. He wasn’t going to any more meetings this week. It was too much, just before Christmas. He was about to say that, but Laura was off to the races.

“Tony, you call Doreen and set up the meeting, and you know what? I just decided. I’m going to put out a special issue of The Bell tomorrow. I’ll probably have to stay up all night to pull it off, but it will be worth it. Oh, man! News about the grinch events. Wendy back in town. Hunky SEALs invade Bell Cove. The forge factory update. It will be my best edition yet. Maybe even earn me a prize in the state newspaper competition this year.”

“Oh, look, he’s already there,” Tony said.

Tony was right, Ethan noted, as he drove his car into the Bell Forge parking lot, which was three-quarters empty, even on a workday. Gabriel Conti, dressed in a camel-hair overcoat over a dark suit and tie, stood staring up at the mansard roof on the brick building. Of average height—about five ten or so—he had black hair that would probably be curly if it wasn’t styled so short, what they used to call a razor cut. He was clean-shaven, but with a dark stubble already at this time of the day. Probably a twice-a-day shaver.