“Listen up, people, because I’m only going to say this one more time. The green frosting is for Christmas trees and not Grinches, lizards, or Yoda. Got that?” Lassiter rubbed flour off his hand onto his red apron. He paced Henry’s kitchen back and forth, watching the line of workers make the requisite cookies.
“What about zombies?”
“Christmas, Spencer. Not Halloween.”
Gus grabbed his rejected Yoda cookies and took a large bite. With a full mouth he added, “Zombies can be Christmassy.”
“Santa’s got to be a zombie,” Shawn said. “I mean, how else has he lived this long?”
“Oooo, we can make zombie Santa cookies!” Juliet said, finishing the last touches on her holiday bell.
“No,” Lassiter cut-in. “No zombies, Yoda, or Grinches. That’s final.”
“Does that mean you’re not allowed?” Gus asked.
“He’s got a point,” Juliet added as Shawn hummed you’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
Lassiter huffed before catching his cool. “We have two days to make 500 cookies for the annual Christmas party. Assuming we somehow manage to pull of this astronomical feat, do you really want to explain to Chief Vick why our cookies look like Halloween rejects?”
They exchanged glances and grimaces before the three finally acquiesced.
“Right,” Lassiter added, holding his head high with pride. “Now get to work.”
“What about you?” Juliet asked.
“What about me?”
“Don’t you need to get to work? As you just pointed out, 500 cookies isn’t easy.”
A brief stare down followed but at last Lassiter took up his station. “This sucks.”
“Right, baking holiday cookies near Christmas is such a terrible way to spend our time. How can we ever live with this burden?” Juliet asked, smiling.
“Guster!” Lassiter shouted.
“What?” Gus asked, his mouth full once again with cookies. Shawn nudged him in their usual silent conversation, motioning toward the headless gingerbread man in his hand.
“He said no zombies. Someone had to eat it.”
“Just like someone had to eat the lizard and the Spock?”
“Of course. And the Yoda. Never forget Yoda. He hates that.”
“Will you all please excuse me while I pound my head into a nearby wall?” Lassiter asked.
“Only if you do so quietly,” Shawn answered. “I’m trying to concentrate.” He added the last touches to his cookie which he happily held up.
“Dare I ask? What is that?”
“It’s an angel.”
“An angel with fangs?” Juliet asked.
“Those aren’t fangs just very sharp teeth and she happens to be very sensitive about it thank-you-very-much.”
“Well if you don’t want it…” Gus made for the cookie but Shawn swept it away at the last second.
“Dude, you’ve got problems,” Shawn said, before stuffing the whole cookie in his mouth.
“Remind me again why I agreed to let you help me?” Lassiter asked.
“You mean why we agreed to help you when you came begging us to do so?” Gus asked, searching through the cookies for the next reject.
“I did not beg.”
“You kind of did,” Juliet added.
“Does it really matter who asked who for help? We still have 500 cookies to make and we’ve been at this for over three hours. Now are you three going to help or am I going to have to arrest you all for impeding an official police mission?”
“First of all, we spent most of the previous hours cutting out the cookies. Not exactly wasted time. Second of all, I don’t think you can arrest us for that,” Shawn said.
“Not for cookies anyway,” Gus agreed. “Maybe for pie? Or cupcakes?”
“Or fruit cake,” Juliet added. “What? Stop staring at me. Fruit cake is a time honored holiday tradition.”
“And it’s completely disgusting, O’Hara,” Lassiter said.
“Look, do you want to bake cookies or not?” Juliet asked, grabbing a bag of red frosting.
“I bet I can make a more Christmassy cookie than you can,” Shawn said, nudging Gus’s arm.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Shawn.”
“You’re just scared to face me in a battle of the cookie wars.”
“Oh it is so on.”
“Whatever makes these cookies get made,” Lassiter added.
“Does that mean Yoda is back on the table?” Gus asked. “I’m thinking zombie-Yoda-Santa would help take this to the next level. What do you say?”