Free How Hard Can It Be? by Robyn Peterman Page A

the inside of my cheek, and my bottom lip to tamp down the hysterical laughter that was threatening to escape. Cackling at a little person, regardless of his likeness to Herbie the Dentist, was not going to endear me to anyone. Especially Santa. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. Herbie the Cop-Dentist watched me chew on my mouth warily as he took his place next to Santa.
    “Is she all right?” Herbie asked Santa, handing him a piece of paper.
    “No clue, don’t care,” Santa replied callously. He read the note with his beady little eyes.
    I wondered if it was from Yukon Cornelius. That did it . . . My body was no longer my own. I became possessed by the Inappropriate Laughing Monster. I could not, for all the money in the world, control myself.
    To disguise my disgraceful behavior, I threw myself down on the dirty linoleum floor and groaned in between peals of hysterical guffawing. I prayed it looked like I was upset and crying. I beat the grimy floor with my fists, hoping to cause myself some pain. If I broke a few fingers or knuckles I was sure I could manufacture some real tears. I peeked up to see if the Christmas Boys were buying it. I couldn’t say for sure, but they were definitely alarmed.
    “Should I get a straitjacket, Sergeant?” Herbie whispered.
    Sergeant? Santa is Jack’s sergeant? Crap.
    “No, she’s going home. All charges are being dropped,” Sergeant Santa groused with disgust. He held up the piece of paper Herbie had given him and flicked it disdainfully. “Apparently the little lawbreaker has friends in high places.”
    WTF? I don’t have any friends in high places . . . Did Jack do something? That made no sense. Could he get my charges dropped? Sweet Baby Jesus, did they call my parents? Wait, my parents don’t have any pull. Mom’s a librarian and dad’s a dentist . . . like Herbie. Oh fuck no . . .
    I quickly clawed my arms to suppress the wild surge of laughter that wanted freedom from my throat. I’d be a bloody mess by the time I left here.
    “You are a very lucky young woman,” Santa sneered. “A paragon of virtue has come to the station to plead your case. This person is taking full responsibility for you. You owe this person your life. Without Evangeline O’Hara, your ass would be in jail.”
    I no longer needed to laugh. I felt like I’d been plunged into the Arctic Sea during January. My stomach clenched and my breathing became erratic. What in the hell was Evangeline doing here? Shit, shit, shit. Had Jack called her? Had Cecil-Belvedere-Kato admitted his guilt? That doesn’t seem right . . . Maybe Cecil-Alfred-Benson had admitted guilt and she got pissed because she still wanted my idea. It would be difficult to collaborate from the pokey. That had to be it. She didn’t have one compassionate bone in her skinny body . . . or maybe she did. Why am I always such a bitch? Maybe she’s not as bad as I think.
    “Follow me,” Herbie the Dentist barked, knocking me back to reality. I idly wondered if he’d gotten his uniform from a children’s costume store.
    Santa and I followed Herbie down the hallway to another room identical to the one we’d just vacated. It might have been a tad bit cleaner, but not much. The major difference in the room was the company. Evangeline was perched on the table looking like the cat that had eaten the canary. Her outfit would have been slutty on a teenager; on her it was positively gruesome. She wore a teal miniskirt, a purple midriff-baring net top, a teal bra, and thigh-high stiletto boots. My mother would have beaten my ass if I tried to walk out of the house in that. I prayed that Evangeline wasn’t going commando again, but just in case, I kept my eyes trained on her face.
    Cecil the Betrayer stood behind her and my fantasy boyfriend Jack leaned against the wall on the other side of the room.
    “Oh my sweet darling,” Evangeline cooed, “Are you all right?”
    “Um, I think so,” I muttered, confused and wary of her loving