Claus for Celebration

by Laura Durham

  "What?" We weren't going very fast, but we were moving, and we were in the left lane. I slammed on my brakes as she opened the door. "You're getting out in the middle of the street?"

  "I need to give this guy a piece of my mind." She closed the door behind her and scooted through the other cars, waving as they honked at her.

  I slid down in my seat, glad once again that I didn't have a Wedding Belles sticker or magnet on my car. Keeping my eyes on Kate as she reached the sidewalk, I drove slowly to catch up with the stopped cars at the light.

  She was too far away for me to hear, but I could see Kate walk up to the Santa and wave a finger at him, then stop, gape, and burst into laughter. That was not what I expected. What was even more of a surprise was when Santa turned around and waved at me.

  Correction. Fern, dressed from head to toe as Santa Claus, waved at me.

  Chapter 18

  “I’m assuming you have an explanation for why you were wandering around Georgetown singing dodgy Christmas carols," I said to Fern as Kate and I followed him into his salon.

  Up close, it was easy to see that Fern's version of Santa was a far cry from Kris Kringle Jingle, or most Santas. His costume had slimming darts at the waist and the wide shiny black belt served to cinch his midsection instead of ring it, with the jacket belling out beneath the belt like a miniskirt. His red velvet pants had a wide white cuff but were not wide-legged and baggy. Somehow, Fern had acquired the only pair of slim-fit Santa pants known to man.

  "I beg your pardon." The bells on Fern's costume jingled as he flounced across the highly polished floors and deposited his red sack beside one of the two stylist chairs. "What was wrong with my songs?"

  Kate cocked an eyebrow at him. "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer?"

  He pulled off his fake beard and deposited it on the ornate wooden credenza in front of the red swivel stylist's chair, his enormous blue topaz ring flashing in the opulent gold mirror on the wall. "A momentary lapse, sweetie. I'd already gone through all the favorites and that little ditty popped into my head."

  "I guess a better question is why were you singing carols dressed as Santa in the first place?" I asked, noticing that the usually extravagantly decorated hair salon was even more ornamented than usual, with a frosted Christmas tree glittering at the back and red-and-gold wire ribbon garland draped in swags across the walls with massive bows topping each of the carved gold mirrors. Even the crystal chandeliers were swagged with red ribbon. Along with the usual scent of high-end hair products, the salon smelled faintly of fir tree and cinnamon, and Mariah Carey sang about all she wanted for Christmas faintly in the background.

  "For Kris, of course," Fern said, removing his Santa hat and inspecting his hair in the mirror. "His singing is a tradition, and I, for one, don't want to see it lost. These are dark times, girls. We can't lose Santa Claus on top of everything else."

  Kate shrugged and exchanged a glance with me. "He's not wrong."

  I'd never known how fond of Christmas Fern was or how attached he'd been to Kris Kringle Jingle's carols. "That's a really nice sentiment, but how do you plan to take up Kris's job and do yours? I assume your clients aren't taking the holidays off."

  "Sadly, no." Fern sighed, hiking up his shiny black belt as he headed to the mini refrigerator he kept behind a folding, tufted screen covered in red silk. "The holidays are prime time for blowouts and updos for parties, not to mention every floozy in town needs her roots done before New Year’s.”

  Kate touched a hand to her own hair and walked closer to one of the mirrors to look at it. "Don't remind me."

  Fern disappeared behind the screen, only his red velvet derrière poking out as he bent over. "Remember, Kate, we aren't coloring your hair, we're merely restoring it back to its original shade."

  "Maybe when she was five," I muttered.

  Kate ignored me and flopped into one of the red chairs and swiveled it in a circle. "Should I remind Fern how long it's been since you got a haircut?"

  I didn't have to look at my long, auburn hair pulled up into a high ponytail to be reminded just how long I'd let it grow. "You know I don't pay attention to my hair when we're busy."

  "Which is always," Kate said. "I'm surprised he hasn't thrown a smock around you already."

  To be honest, so was I. Fern usually relished any excuse to drag me into his chair and give me a trim, since I never remembered to schedule appointments. Today, he seemed to be too preoccupied by the Santa drama to give my split ends a second thought.

  Fern emerged from behind the screen with a bottle of champagne in one hand and three glass flutes in the other. "I'm hoping I can get some substitute Santas to take the shifts I can't."

  I eyed the champagne. "I hope this isn't your way of buttering us up, because we really don't have the time--"

  "Don't be silly." Fern let out a peal of laughter. "I know you two can't do it, plus I've heard you sing."

  I tried not to take too much offense at that, but I was relieved he wasn't going to try to sweet-talk us into donning Santa suits.

  "Let me guess," Kate said as she took one of the champagne flutes from Fern. "Is one of your stand-in Santas short with jet-black hair?"

  Fern beamed as he handed me a glass. "Did the old girl tell you?"

  "I'm a good guesser," Kate said as Fern poured her some bubbly, and the cranberries that had been in the bottom of her flute bobbed to the surface. "Who else loves dressing up as much as you do?"

  I gave his outfit the once-over. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but I don't think this suit will fit her. Not unless she wears platform boots."

  Fern poured champagne into my glass and giggled. "She's not wearing my suit. I had this custom-made, sweetie. Leatrice has her own Santa suit."

  Why was I not surprised about either statement?

  "So you and Leatrice are going to pick up the slack from Kris Kringle Jingle and sing carols all the way until Christmas?" Kate asked.

  "Only until Kris returns," Fern said, "and I doubt he'll lay low until Christmas. This is his favorite time of the year."

  I took a sip of champagne and the bubbles tickled my throat as I swallowed. "You're the second person we've talked to today who seems sure Kris is alive."

  "You know me. I'm an optimist." Fern filled his own glass and set the bottle on the nearest credenza.

  Kate raised an eyebrow at me. Fern was usually the first person to predict the sky was falling or take to his bed over the new Pantone color of the year being a shade that was horrible for his complexion.

  "You were convinced that something awful had happened just yesterday," I reminded him. "What changed your mind?"

  Fern's gaze darted around the shop as he drained his glass and reached for the bottle of bubbly. "I decided to get into the Christmas spirit and think positive thoughts."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "What aren't you telling us?"

  Fern poured himself another glass, his hands trembling slightly. "Can't a jolly old elf change his mind?" He upended the bottle completely and shook the last few drops into his glass. "Better get us another."

  When he'd slipped off the chair and bustled off to the back of the salon, I turned to Kate. "What's gotten into him, do you think?"

  "You know this season makes people crazy, and Fern's already got a head start." Kate spun herself around in the chair. "Maybe he can't deal with the idea of Kris being seriously hurt or dead and has decided to be delusional instead of realistic."

  That made some sort of twisted sense, although I couldn't help thinking that Fern's about-face was sudden. "You don't think he'd keep something from us, do you?"

  "Fern?" Kate laughed, stopping her spinning chair with one foot. "When have you ever known him to be able to keep a secret?"

  She had a point. If you wanted the world to know something, you told Fern.

  A shriek from the back made us both freeze, exchange a quick look, then run off to find the source of the screaming. We pushed through a heavy brocade curtain dividing t
he salon from the back storage area and found Fern standing with his hands pressed to his cheeks.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  Fern swung around to face us both, waving a hand at the door that led to the back alleyway standing ajar. "I've been robbed."

  Chapter 19

  My fiancé strode to the door that still hung open, running a hand through his hair. "So this was standing open when you came in?"

  Fern nodded, his fingers pressed to his lips. "I only use the back door for the occasional delivery. I don't use it to come in and out."

  Kate stood next to him, rubbing his arm while she held a freshly opened bottle of bubbly in her other hand. She'd been refilling both of their glasses since Fern had discovered the break-in and called the police.

  Reese hadn't been the first to arrive. His partner, Detective Hobbes, had beaten him there, and a pair of uniformed officers were checking the back alley.

  It had been a while since I'd seen my fiancé's partner. Since he'd started a long-distance relationship with our go-to cake baker who lived in Scotland, he'd been using lots of accumulated time off. Despite his frequent overseas trips, not much had changed with the slightly paunchy and slightly frumpy detective. Every time I saw him in his rumpled clothes, I was amazed he was dating our glamorous baker friend. But I'd seen lots of odd pairings in my years planning weddings--nothing should have surprised me anymore. One thing I knew for sure, you couldn't use reason or logic to explain love.

  "And you're sure you didn't leave it open?" Hobbes asked, bending down to inspect the lock and smoothing a palm over his light-brown comb-over. "It doesn't look forced."

  Kate topped off his glass, and Fern tossed it back. "I've had no reason to open it over the past few days, but I also don't remember checking it."

  Reese looked over from where he stood next to Hobbes. "And no one else has a key?"

  Fern cleared his throat. "Well, I've given keys to stylists who've worked for me so they can accept deliveries when I'm not here, and I had a receptionist for a hot minute and she still has a key, and I gave the shop owner next door and Leatrice a copy just in case I ever locked myself out."

  We all stared at him.

  "And then I keep a spare on top of the doorsill."

  Reese dragged a hand over his face as he shook his head. "So pretty much anyone could have walked in here?"

  Fern held his glass out to Kate, who promptly filled it. "But why would they? I don't have anything to steal except industrial-sized bottles of shampoo."

  "And champagne," Kate reminded him, holding up the bottle.

  The two uniformed officers walked inside from the back door. I recognized one as the rookie we'd talked to at the station and felt my cheeks warm as I saw a flash of recognition when he spotted Kate and me.

  "Nothing outside to tell us who might have done this," he said. If he did remember us, he didn't say anything.

  "Thanks," Hobbes said, waving for them both to follow him out front as he glanced at his partner. "We'll leave you to wrap this up."

  Reese nodded, thumping the detective on the back. I could tell from the quick look exchanged between the two men that they thought the call had been a waste of time. I was starting to agree with them.

  I noticed the rookie cop look at Kate as he passed, blushing when she winked at him. I wanted to thank him for not mentioning that he'd met us before, but I hoped Kate's wink conveyed our gratitude. If Reese noticed the exchange, he didn't remark on it. Of course, it wasn't unusual for Kate to flirt with cops. Or firemen or paramedics or security guards. Come to think of it, it would have been more unusual if she hadn't.

  "So what is missing?" Reese asked once the rest of the police had left.

  Fern swiveled his head to take in the storage area and the floor-to-ceiling shelving units. Fluffy beige towels were scattered in one corner along with a cellophane-wrapped family-size pack of toilet paper. "Not much. The towels have been strewn all over the floor, but I don't think any are gone. It looks like someone flattened my toilet paper, and I seem to be missing a box of biscotti."

  Reese's gaze flicked to me, and I could tell he was battling between frustration and amusement. "So we're not looking for a hardened criminal, just someone who was in the mood for cookies and likes to squeeze the Charmin."

  Fern slid his eyes to my detective fiancé. "Are you saying this isn't a crime?"

  "Not a violent one, and if the intruder used a key, it was barely a B and E."

  Fern blinked at him.

  "Breaking and entering," I said in a low voice.

  "Thank you, Annabelle." Sarcasm dripped off Fern's voice.

  Kate tapped one high-heeled foot on the tile floor. "I would suspect Brianna, but if it was her, I'd have expected her to do more damage."

  "Kate's right," I said. "Given her recent track record, Brianna would have broken mirrors or trashed the place. The intruder didn't even appear to leave this storage area. They clearly didn't intend to vandalize or steal."

  Reese eyed the towels. "If it was cold out, I'd think it was someone sneaking in to get warm."

  Fern's face lit up. "What if it was Kris?"

  Now it was my turn to study the towels with interest. "Then where's the blood? His Santa suit was pretty bloody. If he was injured badly enough to bleed like that, wouldn't he be dripping blood?"

  We all looked at the clean floor and unblemished towels. Fern's shoulders sagged.

  "I don't think we should rule it out," Reese said. "We haven't gotten the results back on the bloody Santa suit yet, and we can't be sure the blood belongs to Kris."

  "You think someone else was injured that badly while wearing Kris's Santa suit?" I tried to keep the disbelief from my voice, but it didn't work. It seemed out of character for Kris to let someone else wear his beloved suit and even stranger that person would then get severely wounded in it. "Then why did Kris disappear?"

  "And where's the naked, injured person?" Kate asked. "Because whoever was in that suit, ditched it and managed to run off."

  "I checked all the hospitals," Reese admitted. "None of them report a patient with injuries consistent with that amount of blood loss in the past few days."

  I swallowed hard. That meant that either the person was lying low or they were dead. I turned to Fern. "I think now would be a good time to explain why you're so sure Kris is alive."

  Reese walked over to stand next to me, putting a hand casually around my waist. The heat from his body sent a small jolt of pleasure through me, and I almost forgot what I'd asked Fern.

  Fern let out a long breath and shrugged. "If you must know, I learned a little more about Kris after you left yesterday."

  "From the other homeless people?" Reese asked.

  Fern nodded. "Did you know that Kris served in the Navy, and he did two tours in Vietnam?"

  "No," I said, leaning back into my fiancé. "I don't know much about him, aside from the fact that he has a nice singing voice and gives great compliments."

  "Well, he didn't talk about it much, but he did a bunch of covert ops with naval intelligence over there."

  "Wow." Kate shook her head. "I never would have guessed."

  "I doubt it's something you advertised much when you came back," I said. "So what does him being in the military have to do with your changing your mind?"

  "If Kris survived a war, he's smart enough not to get killed here," Fern said.

  Kate took a swig from her champagne flute. "He has a point. If he was involved in covert ops, he must know how to lay low."

  I glanced around the storage room. "And how to sneak into a building."

  Reese leaned down and whispered in my ear. "I wouldn't call it sneaking if the key is kept over the doorsill."

  “You know Kris isn’t the only person missing,” I reminded Fern.

  “At least we know Jeannie is safe,” he said.

  I’d told Reese soon after he’d arrived, but I’d forgotten to ask him about Kate’s claim the cops were watching her. I looked up at him. �
�Would there be any reason a couple of plainclothes cops would be keeping an eye on her?”

  He tilted his head at me. “As far as I know, I’m the only cop who even knows who she is.”

  He had a point. I turned my attention back to Fern. “There’s always the possibility that Stanley might have had something to do with Kris’s disappearance.”

  Reese arched an eyebrow at me. “You think?”

  I remembered that I couldn’t explain why I thought that or that I’d gotten the inside scoop from one of his fellow cops. “He did find the suit. Maybe that was because he was dumping it.”

  Fern gasped. “What an awful thought. You think he’s missing because he’s a killer on the run? I don’t want him coming in my salon and squeezing my Charmin.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” I said, quickly, avoiding my fiancé’s piercing gaze. “It’s just a theory.”

  “Which you promised not to come up with,” Kate said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “It came to me on the fly,” I said, more for Reese’s benefit.

  Reese laughed. “I’m surprised you only have one theory at this point.”

  I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

  Fern closed the back door and straightened his white fur collar. "Be that as it may, I'd better get back to caroling. Leatrice isn't starting her shift for another hour."

  "Do I want to know?" Reese asked me, his low voice tickling my neck.

  "Probably not," I told him, glad that he’d taken my murder theory in stride. "Just don't be surprised if you see a really short Santa around Georgetown."

  I felt Reese's phone buzz in his jeans pocket and he retrieved it, looking quickly at the screen before answering. "Mike Reese here."

  I watched as his face became solemn and then grim. He thanked the person on the other end and hung up, sliding the phone back into his jeans.

  "Bad news?" I asked.

  "I'm not sure. One floater they pulled out of the river, which is never fun. And a beat cop just found a guy knocked out cold and hog-tied down near the harbor with enough meth on him to kill an elephant."