by Laura Durham
"As much fun as this is," I said, giving my assistant a pointed look, “we really need to get to work if we're going to get everything done before the weekend."
"That's why I popped by, dear," Leatrice said. "My honeybun wanted to see if you needed anything for your engagement party in the way of performers."
Leatrice had recently married Sidney Allen, an entertainment coordinator who provided costumed performers for events. The two had met when Leatrice crashed a Venetian-themed wedding I'd planned that had been filled with Carnival characters courtesy of Sidney Allen.
"Performers?" Richard sucked in a breath. "What type of performers does 'honeybun' suggest for an engagement party?"
"It is two weeks before Christmas," Leatrice said. "We thought elves could be fun."
"Elves?" Kate cocked her head to one side. "Like the hot Orlando Bloom, Lord of the Rings kind or the short jingle-bell hat, Santa Claus kind?"
Leatrice giggled. "The Santa Claus kind, of course."
"Oh, no." Richard held up his hands, palms out. "Just because this party is taking place in December does not mean we're going to have an apartment full of little people in pointy shoes running around."
"Sidney Allen doesn't actually use little people for his elves, does he?" I asked. "I feel like that isn't very PC."
Leatrice nibbled the corner of her bottom lip. "I'm not sure. They might not be little people. They might be children."
"Child labor," Richard mumbled. "Even better."
"I don't think we need any elves," I said to Leatrice, "but please tell Sidney Allen that we appreciate the offer."
“The party’s pretty set,” Kate added. “Food by Richard, décor by Buster and Mack. Annabelle doesn’t want a fuss.”
My elderly neighbor shrugged. "Probably for the best. My poor sugar muffin is stretched pretty thin with all the Santas he's providing for holiday parties. But don't worry. I can still bring my pigs-in-a-blanket wreath."
Richard clutched my arm for support, and I hoped he wasn't going into a full-on swoon.
"I think we're set on food, too," I said. "Richard's doing the catering, and you know his rules about outside food."
The official rule was that he preferred outside food not be brought to events he catered because he was responsible for the food safety of the party. The reality was that he would toss it out a window.
"Too bad," Kate said. "I love a good pig-in-a-blanket. Especially when said pigs are arranged to look like a Christmas wreath."
Richard shot her a look, but before he could say something, the door swung open.
Fern, hairdresser to the rich and famous of DC and our go-to wedding hairstylist, staggered into the room. His dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore cranberry-colored pants and a dark-gray turtleneck. A few strands of hair fell in his face as he leaned against the armrest of my couch. "Thank goodness you're all here."
"What's wrong?" I asked. Fern was always impeccably put together, rarely a hair out of place.
"It's Santa Claus," he said, pressing a hand to his throat. "He's missing."
Chapter 3
“Have I been sucked into an alternate universe?" Richard asked, looking from face to face. "Santa can't be missing because . . ." He darted a glance at Hermès. "Well, I don't want to say it out loud."
Kate put her hands over the small dog's pointy ears. "Because he's not real?"
"Not the real Santa Claus," Fern said. "Kris Kringle Jingle. The man who dresses up in a Santa costume and walks around Georgetown singing holiday songs to people."
Leatrice clapped her hands together. "Oh, I love him. He always compliments me on my hair and does the best version of “Jingle Bell Rock." Her face fell. "Did you say he's missing?"
Fern nodded, dropping into the overstuffed yellow twill chair positioned across from my couch. "At least according to my friend, Jeannie."
I headed toward the kitchen to get Fern some water, since his cheeks were flushed pink. I snagged a bottle from the fridge and leaned my head over the divider between the rooms. "How does Jeannie know he's missing and not just taking some time off? I'm sure wearing a Santa costume when it's almost eighty degrees isn't fun."
"Jeannie knows everything that goes on in Georgetown," Fern said, fanning himself with a linen handkerchief, his head tipped back against the cushion. "If she thinks he's missing, then he's missing."
I returned to the living room and handed Fern the bottled water, then perched on the arm of the couch, resigning myself to the fact that nothing was going to get done until Fern finished his story.
He winked at me. "You're an angel, Annabelle."
"Is this Jeannie someone you work with?" Kate asked. "Have you taken on a new stylist in the salon?"
Fern took a long drink of water, then laughed. "Aren't you a stitch? No, Jeannie is one of the housing challenged of Georgetown."
"Housing challenged?" Richard tilted his head. "Do you mean homeless?"
"Yes, but it's not like she lives on the streets. She moves from shelter to shelter," Fern said. "We met when she was sitting outside the salon one day, and I offered to give her a wash and dry. Now she comes in just about every week. And she's the one I save all my hotel toiletries for. Jeannie loves the little bottles."
"How often do you stay in hotels?" Kate asked.
Fern smoothed a loose strand of hair back into his ponytail. "I'm in hotels almost every weekend. I may not stay there per se."
"Are you telling me you take the toiletries out of the hotel rooms where our brides are getting ready?" I asked, caught between feeling scandalized and impressed.
He gave a half shrug. "Maybe. Trust me when I tell you that Jeannie gets more enjoyment out of them than anyone could."
Richard gave an impatient sigh. "So how did this street person decide that the singing Santa is missing?"
"Like I said," Fern gave Richard an equally impatient look. "She knows everything that goes on in Georgetown. She's the one who told me that Violet Drummond was having an affair with a diplomatic intern thirty years younger than her."
Richard's eyebrows shot up, but I jumped in before he and Fern could go down the rabbit hole of society gossip they both adored. "So how long does Jeannie say he's been missing?"
"At least a day." Fern sat up. "She claims that Kris Kringle Jingle told her he was nervous about something he'd seen the day before yesterday. He wouldn't go into more detail, but claimed he saw something he shouldn't have, and he hoped they hadn't seen him."
Leatrice's eyes were as round as the googly reindeer eyes on her sweater. "Hope who hadn't seen him?"
"That's what she doesn't know," Fern said. "But Jeannie hasn't seen him since then, and she's convinced something bad has happened to him."
"It does sound suspicious."
We all swung our heads toward the deep voice and the doorway where my fiancé, Mike Reese, stood listening.
I jumped up, my heart fluttering a bit seeing him. Even though we now lived together, I still got butterflies each time I saw my tall fiancé with dark hair and hazel eyes. "I didn't know you'd be home so early."
He scanned the crowd in our apartment, one eyebrow lifting slightly. He'd gotten used to my colorful friends coming in and out of our place—mostly work-related, since Wedding Belles operated out of our Georgetown apartment—but it wasn't every day so many of them were camped out in the living room.
Leatrice leapt to her feet, jostling Hermès, who gave a disapproving yip, and she rushed over to Reese. "It seems like we've stumbled into another mystery, Detective."
"No." I waved a finger. "No, we haven't. There's no mystery." The last thing I needed to add to my already jam-packed schedule was a criminal investigation. I knew from past experience that our investigations usually took over everything, and I could not afford the distraction this week.
Reese grinned at me. "I'm glad to hear you saying that. I don't know if I've ever heard you insist there isn't a case."
I resisted the urge to make a fa
ce at him. "There's a first time for everything. Besides, Richard just told me he arranged to have a Wedding Belles magazine shoot in our apartment this week on top of the wedding we have to pull together for Saturday and the party we're supposedly hosting on Sunday."
Reese ran a hand through his hair, and an errant curl flopped down on his forehead. "Maybe I should plan to clear out until next week."
"Don't you dare," I said, walking over and slipping my hand into his. "You're the only thing that's going to keep me sane."
He smiled and pulled me close to him. "We definitely don't want you going insane."
"So what do I tell Jeannie?" Fern asked, tapping one toe on the floor. "That it's bad timing for her friend to go missing?"
"You have to admit," Kate said, “two weeks before Christmas is not the time to get anyone's attention."
"Who is the missing person?" Reese asked.
"Kris Kringle Jingle," Fern said.
Leatrice bounced up and down on her toes. "You know. The fellow who dresses as Santa and walks around singing holiday songs in Georgetown."
A look of recognition flashed across my fiancé's face. "I do know him. He's been doing that for years. We keep him on our radar--like we keep any street performer--but he's never gotten any complaints. How long has he been missing?"
Fern stood. "At least twenty-four hours. Possibly more. My friend Jeannie can tell you more."
Reese nodded, then looked down at me. "Why don't I go talk with this Jeannie? That way you don't have to get sucked into an investigation, and I can file an official police report if we need to."
"You mean do things the official way?" Kate tapped a finger on her chin. "No hiding bodies or searching for evidence behind the backs of the police? Now that's a novel approach."
I ignored her comment and stared up at my handsome fiancé. "You sure you have the time?"
He kissed me on the forehead. "I'm sure, as long as it will keep you from running around trying to solve the case on your own. I'm on my lunch break, anyway. I'll just grab something quick while Fern and I are out."
"Lunch break?" I glanced up at the clock on my wall, preparing to tease him about taking such an early lunch, but swallowing hard when I saw the time. "It's after eleven already? Ugh! We have a floral meeting soon, and I'm not dressed."
Reese gave me a quick kiss and stepped back. "I'd better leave you to it, babe. I'll see you tonight." He beckoned Fern. "You're with me."
Fern trilled his fingers together as he followed Reese out the door, turning to wave at us. "This is so exciting. An official police investigation."
The butterflies in my stomach that my fiancé had produced had morphed into a tight ball. I hadn't gotten any of the confirmation calls made for Saturday's wedding, and I could only hope that the meeting with Buster and Mack would be quick.
Kate stood and steered me toward the hallway. "You get dressed while Richard and I talk about the photo shoot and the party."
"And why don't I take Hermès downstairs with me while you kids work?" Leatrice asked. "It's been ages since I babysat."
Richard's gaze went between his little dog and his crate of decor. "Fine, but no elf caps on him."
Leatrice's smile drooped, but she made a criss cross over her heart as she scooped up the Yorkie and headed out of my apartment. "You have my word."
I thought there was a much greater chance she had a matching set of reindeer antlers for him, but I didn't say anything as I hurried down the hall to get dressed. My mind went to the potentially missing Santa, then I shook my head. I'd been honest when I'd told Reese that the last thing I needed was to get pulled into another investigation, but I also felt a pang of guilt when I thought about Kris Kringle Jingle.
Just like everyone who lived in Georgetown, I'd grown used to the cheery sight of the slightly rumpled Santa who sang merrily as he strolled up and down M Street. He was as much a part of the neighborhood as the C&O Canal that cut through it and the colorful row houses lining the narrow streets. I forced myself not to think the worst as I pulled off my jeans and pawed through my dry-cleaning bag.
First a heat wave and now a missing Santa? The holidays weren't off to a great start.
Chapter 4
“That's not half bad for something you grabbed from the floor," Kate said as she appraised my black pants and hunter green top while holding open the door to Buster and Mack's flower shop.
The bell overhead tinkled as we walked inside Lush, and we were greeted by the store's familiar aroma of cut flowers and espresso, now mixed with the sharp scent of evergreen.
"I didn't grab it from the floor." I tried to sound indignant, even though, to be fair, the pants had been rescued from my dry-cleaning bag.
She plucked a strand of carpet lint from my pant leg. "I stand corrected."
"Fine," I said, under my breath, even though I didn't see any customers milling about the display tables that were stacked tall with holiday candles, glittering ornaments, and frosted-glass vases. "I may have gotten a little behind on laundry."
Kate held up her hands. "No judgment. I told you we needed some downtime. December is supposed to be the month where we get all our wedding day dresses cleaned and mended."
I sighed, knowing she was right. My dry-cleaning bag was jammed with black dresses, and my favorite black flats were in desperate need of a little love and a lot of shoe polish.
We stepped further inside and started to weave our way around the displays. Lush was usually what I would have called industrial chic, with concrete floors and metal shelves filled with galvanized buckets of fresh flowers lining the walls. Since November, however, it had transformed into a winter wonderland with a towering frosted Christmas tree in each corner, and the buckets of hydrangea and roses replaced with white birch branches and crimson amaryllis.
"Annabelle! Kate!" Mack appeared from the back of the shop, waving with one large hand and holding a tiny espresso cup with the other. "Make sure you pull the door closed tightly. I don't want the heat to wilt all of our evergreens."
As he lumbered toward us, I was reminded how incongruous a burly, leather-clad biker with a dark-red goatee, tattoos, and piercings was in a floral shop decked out with Christmas trees glistening with fake snow, pine wreaths hanging from velvet ribbon, and white twinkle lights dripping like icicles from the ceiling. When he reached us, I realized he wore a baby carrier strapped to his back, and a small, fair head poked around the side of his.
"Hey, Mack." I stood up on tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, and then reached out for the child's chubby fist. "And hi, Merry."
"She's gotten so big," Kate said as the child unleashed a torrent of happy chatter and clapped her hands.
"Well, she is a year old," Mack reminded us, twisting his head and catching the little girl's eye.
"I can't believe it." Kate shook her head as Mack led us to the back of the shop and a long, high metal table surrounded by tall barstools. "Has it really been a year already?"
I thought back to the same time last year when Buster and Mack had found Merry on the doorstep of their biker church. A lot had happened since then, including Merry and her teenaged mother coming to live above Lush, and Buster and Mack becoming surrogate fathers to both of them. I looked at the chubby legs dangling from the metal frame carrier hooked on Mack's back. Only a few months ago, Merry was traveling in a front-facing fabric carrier, and now the little girl with blond hair curling around her ears looked almost ready to walk.
"We were going to do a big birthday party," Mack said, downing the last of his espresso. "But you know how crazy December is for florists. Between the home installations and the holiday parties, we're stretched thin."
"And this year it's also crazy for wedding planners." Kate hopped onto one of the barstools and set her pink purse beside her.
"You two don't normally have more than one wedding over the holidays, do you?" Mack asked, waving a hand toward the elaborate, chrome espresso machine behind him. "Cappuccino? Espresso?"
&n
bsp; "No, we don't, to the question about holiday weddings," Kate said, "and yes, please, to the cappuccino. I need all the caffeine I can get."
"Make that two," I said, taking a seat as Mack bustled around the machine, Merry bobbing behind him.
"Now which wedding are we meeting about today?" Mack asked, then swiveled his head around quickly. “Son of a nutcracker! It's not the bride for this Saturday, is it? I've already placed her floral order."
"No," I assured him. "We're all set for that one. This is for the New Year's Eve wedding."
"Thank heavens." He glanced toward the ceiling, and I suspected he was saying a small prayer of thanks. Aside from being the city's top event florists, Buster and Mack were also members of a Christian motorcycle gang and the Born Again Biker Church. They'd reformed their previous lives, and now they never drank, cursed, or took the Lord's name in vain. It also appeared that their creative alternatives to cursing were seasonally inspired.
"Don't get too happy," Kate told him, raising her voice to be heard above the screeching of the espresso machine's steaming wand. "We only booked the wedding recently, and we know almost nothing about it."
"Except that they fired their old planner and are throwing out whatever work she'd done for them." I shifted on the barstool and put the client's thin file on the table in front of me. "The bride isn't even joining us today. She just called us to say something came up and to go ahead without her.”
Mack looked over his shoulder. "Do we have creative carte blanche?"
"As long as you stick with the theme of 'time'," I said. "And the couple wants an Old World feel."
"So that's a no," Mack said, then shrugged. "That's fine. I'd rather have some direction than none at all."
I opened the file and stared down at the notes I'd taken when I'd talked to the bride on the phone. "Aside from keeping the venue and photographer and basic theme, we're starting from zero. I'd hoped to get the old floral proposals this morning so you could see what the client doesn't want, but we got a little derailed."
