What's a Clinkerbell? Find out now!

Frozen By Confetti - Exclusive Sneak Peek

I was heading toward the storage area when Lucy’s husband, Ricky, appeared at the front window, his expression shifting from cheerful to concerned.

“Everyone go home. The storm’s arriving sooner than expected. It will be here at any minute,” Ricky told the customers. “Juniper, you should stay here until it’s over.”

“It’s okay. Krissie shouldn’t be alone at the lodge. I can make it there if I leave now. See you later!” I grabbed my knitting bag and headed for the door. I’d never experienced a clinkerbell storm, but how bad could it be? The lodge was on the edge of the village, which was only a short distance away.

Outside the Shiver Shack, I began to walk as quickly as my legs would carry me. Others from the village rushed to get inside ahead of the storm. Their urgency encouraged me to walk faster.

And then the clinkerbells arrived. They were like nothing I’d ever witnessed before. The precipitation wasn’t what we had in the North Pole. What came across Snowhollow Crossing wasn’t snow or rain. It was ice—tiny, razor-sharp daggers of frozen water that glinted in the fading light like a thousand needles. The sound was awful, a high-pitched hissing as the ice daggers pelted everything in their path. At first it was only a few clinkerbells at a time, but their rate and speed increased by the minute.

The festival grounds emptied in minutes. Vendors abandoned their booths. The cheerful decorations that had hung from lampposts moments ago were now being shredded by the tiny ice daggers and vicious wind.

I kept my head down and pushed against the gale. Clinkerbells stung my exposed cheeks, causing tiny cuts that burned with cold.

I passed Blinky McSnowball, who was desperately trying to secure a section of the stage scaffolding that was threatening to collapse. The stage was a necessary component for the Christmas In July finale. The polar bear’s broad frame was hunched against the storm, his movements quick and practiced. The icy daggers bounced off his fur and fell to the ground with tiny tinkling noises, like the bells on Santa’s sleigh, if those bells had teeth and a voracious appetite.

“Juniper! Get inside!” he shouted.

I called back, “You need to be inside, too! The lodge isn’t too far, if you’d like to come with me.”

“Got to save what I can!” he yelled back, then laughed, the sound coming out as hollow as a Christmas stocking the day before Christmas Eve. “Plenty of time now that construction work has dried up!”

I didn’t have time to respond. The storm was worsening by the second. Blinky’s fate in the village weighed as heavy on my shoulders as a red velvet sack full of children’s toys. Even though he’d been exonerated of the accidental death of a beloved yeti shortly after I arrived at the South Pole, the villagers still gave him a wide berth. I hoped I could help improve his situation before I went home to Santa’s Village.

A few steps later, I saw a figure in a distinctive blue winter coat heading toward the village square instead of seeking shelter. My heart lurched at the thought of anyone being out in the storm for too long.

“Wait!” I called out to her, but the wind swallowed my voice.

She didn’t hear me. Or maybe she did and chose to ignore it. Either way, she kept walking away from me. She soon disappeared into the wintry precipitation.

Cozy mysteries with caffeine, chaos, and charm.
Romantic stories with heart, hope, and absolutely zero heat.
The only thing steamy in here is the coffee.
www.beckymuth.com

“The magic is inside you, there ain’t no crystal ball."
~ Dolly Parton

Share

Heads up: Some links may be affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission (at no extra cost to you). Thanks for supporting my books!