It's Murder at the Buy-Right

46

But Christmas miracles still happen, and Daisy Ann was awfully glad they did.

She closed her eyes, squishing them as tightly as possible. There was no time to breathe. No time to pray. No time to scream.

The parachute snagged on a large tree limb. She heard the material rip, and the sound tore through her like a saw mill through soft pine.

Her oversized black boots plowed through boxes, sending them helter-skelter over the edge of the Buy-Right's roof.

Daisy Ann swung like a clock's pendulum, back and forth and forth and back along the side of the store.

"Santa! Santa! Are you alright!"

She felt the tug of arms pulling her up onto the roof.

Daisy Ann opened her eyes.

"Why ain't you in Florida?"

"Daisy Ann! Of all the screwball things, this takes the cake! What are you trying to do? Kill yourself!"

"Calm down, boss."

"Don't calm down boss, me! I ought skin you alive for this stunt! Jumping out of a plane."

"But Foslo and I practiced in the shed! He told me everything to do. Count, roll, and make the kids' Christmas!"

"You've made the kids Christmas, alright. Why these kids are probably so traumatized, they'll need years of therapy! Seeing Santa free falling to his death will do that to you!"

"Deke! I'm fine. See. Ow!"

"You are not fine. Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To the clinic and get you checked out."

"But Deke! What about the candy for the kids?"

"Monroe and Richmond will pass it out. Come on."

Daisy Ann gave up. It was no use arguing with Deke when his mind was set. Her left ankle really was throbbing.

"Do you need the stretcher?"

"Deke Dewitt! These traumatized children do not need to be driven further over the edge by the sight of Santa Claus being loaded up on a gurney and rolled off in a sleigh with flashing lights and a siren. That's not how it goes. Just give me a hand. I may be limping, but Santa's exiting this stage on his own two feet."

She sneezed.

"This beard is murder!"