Swamp Santa (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 16)

by Jana DeLeon

  Once the shepherds and sheep were in place, Joseph and Mary entered. I was impressed that Mary was actually riding on the back of a donkey. Sinful really did go all out. The story progressed from the arrival to the inn being full and to the birth of Jesus. That part was glossed over a bit with the baby magically appearing after a bright glow enveloped the stage.

  “Nice cover,” I whispered.

  Carter grinned.

  There was a song break after the birth and the audience sang along to O Holy Night. While the robust but rather off-key rendition was performed, the cow took an opportunity to deposit its most recent meal onto the stage. The shepherds, who were positioned next to the cow, lifted their robes to cover their noses and I coughed, trying not to laugh out loud. I could feel Carter shaking beside me but didn’t dare look at his face, or I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

  Then came the time for the three kings to enter. They walked onto the stage at the same time, their steps in unison. Each carried their offering for baby Jesus in their hands, but only one had a live parrot on her shoulder. A general murmur passed over the crowd and I was sure Gertie had succeeded in confusing everyone in attendance.

  Except for me and Carter, of course.

  I already knew about Francis being part of the show and nothing Gertie did confused Carter. His policy where she was concerned was to always expect the unexpected. His policy was also that unless he was on duty, it was an opportunity to catch a moment on film. He pulled out his phone and started filming. I noticed a lot of other people around us doing the same.

  The first king stepped forward and started his lines about his offering of gold.

  “Melt the gold,” Francis said. “Trade it for the guns.”

  The audience chuckled and one man called out, “Got that right!” Gertie popped a grape in the bird’s mouth. That kept him quiet long enough for the second wise man to present his gift. But when Gertie stepped forward, Francis had finished the grape and was ready to chat.

  “You’re smoking hot,” Francis said, looking at Mary.

  The chuckles turned to outright laughter and I didn’t even bother with the cough cover any longer. Everyone who hadn’t pulled out their cell phone before had it out now. Pastor Don, who was the official director, of sorts, waved from the edge of the curtain, probably gesturing for Gertie to get on with her lines.

  Gertie knelt down in front of the manger and held out her offering. “I present to the Lord Jesus, frankincense.”

  “Frank Sinatra is dreamy,” Francis said. “Frank Moretti will do the hit.”

  Joseph reached out to take the gift and I could see his whole body was shaking as he did it. Mary had lifted baby Jesus up until he was almost covering her face.

  “Will you shut that bird up?” Celia said. “He’s ruining everything.”

  “Why don’t you shut up, Celia?” a woman shouted.

  “Celia Arceneaux is the Antichrist,” Francis said.

  The entire auditorium erupted, no longer making any effort to contain themselves. The noise startled Francis and he took off from Gertie’s shoulder, but his leg leash only allowed him to fly as far as the goat. He landed on the goat’s head and started belting out Away in a Manger. The startled goat bleated and jumped on top of the hay bale that the cow was currently munching on.

  The cow was not impressed with the goat or the singing bird and kicked one of the supports holding up the stable, which sent the entire thing toppling onto Mary and Joseph. Mary involuntarily flung baby Jesus—who, thank God, was a prop—and it hit the donkey right between the eyes. The donkey spun around and took off, dragging the shepherd who’d been charged with holding him. The sheep assumed that the donkey was running for a reason and took off after him, knocking the shepherds down as they scrambled.

  And sending Celia face-first into the cow poop.

  Some of the audience scrambled onto the stage to lift the barn off Mary and Joseph. Others attempted to corral the panicked animals. Carter, apparently feeling that it was his place as law enforcement to help out, shoved his phone into my hand.

  “Keep recording,” he said. “This is the most awesome Christmas show ever.”

  He headed for the stage and as I watched the drama unfold, Ida Belle sidled up to me, shaking her head.

  “I told you that bird was going to be trouble,” she said.

  “Yeah, but it’s hilarious.” I pointed to Celia, who’d just managed to get upright, then as she took one step, slipped on the poop and fell right back in it.

  “She’s going to throw her back out if she keeps that up,” Ida Belle said.

  “I notice her crew didn’t stick around to help.”

  “There are limits to what one will do for Celia. Cow poop is probably one of those lines.”

  “Look! Gertie nabbed Francis.”

  Gertie had finally managed to reel in the wandering bird and plopped him back on her shoulder. Then she walked to the edge of the stage, grinned, and took a bow.

  The applause was thunderous.

  All the kids and more than a few adults rushed toward the stage to get a better look at the bird that stole Christmas.

  “Santa is going to be a real snoozefest after this,” I said.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Chapter Two

  The cafeteria had been transformed from a place where lunches of questionable content were served to children who would have preferred frozen chicken fingers and into a winter wonderland. It was really quite the accomplishment. I knew that from firsthand experience as I’d been on the decorating committee—thanks to Gertie—and had spent the last three days erecting false storefronts, hauling in a million elves, dancing polar bears, and packages, and making sure fake snow was underneath the whole shooting match. Fake snow with glitter so that it sparkled. No matter how many times I showered, I couldn’t get all the glitter off. I had resolved myself to looking like a stripper until I had time to do a large-scale exfoliation.

  Snowflakes hung from the ceiling and projectors added to the display by showing flurries on the ceiling, creating the effect of a snowstorm. It was actually really pretty. And with all the colorful buildings that created the fake village, it was very festive. A giant Christmas tree stood off to the side, with bags of candy and cookies hanging on the branches. Each child would receive a bag and the decorating committee had already laid claims to any leftovers, especially as Ally had donated the cookies.

  But the big draw was Santa’s platform. It was covered in fake snow and had giant candy canes across the back. In the center was a massive red chair with gold trim. There was a section to form a line in front of the platform, created with red-and-white streamers, and the kids were already running for their spots. Santa, in all his glory, was perched in his chair, looking every bit the part.

  Except that he was asleep. Or drunk.

  He was slumped slightly to the side, his head resting against the curved side panel of the chair. To be fair, I’d given the chair a test run while decorating. It was padded with memory foam and super comfortable. If I’d had the opportunity, I might have taken a nap in it as well. At least, I hoped he was taking a nap. Drunk Santa wasn’t a good look for a Christmas event.

  Someone had apparently notified Ida Belle of the issue and she ducked under a streamer and headed for the platform. She leaned over to whisper to Santa then straightened up and motioned to me.

  “Fortune, can you please help me adjust the chair?” she asked.

  I frowned. The chair wasn’t adjustable. It was molded plastic and the only way to change it would be fire or a chain saw. But even though her expression was pleasant and her tone was normal, there was a slight edge to it. And I’d seen her stiffen slightly when she’d bent over.

  Crap. Drunk Santa.

  I ducked under the streamer, trying to figure out how we were going to get him out of the cafeteria without the kids catching on. Then we had to strip him down without risking a sexual harassment lawsuit, so that someone who wasn’
t drinking could fill in. Then we had to find someone who wasn’t drinking. That last one might be the clincher.

  I stepped onto the platform and next to Ida Belle.

  “Drunk?” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “Dead.”

  I stared. Death was one of those things we had no contingency plan for.

  “You’re sure?”

  “No pulse.”

  I reached out and felt his neck, careful to position my body so that no one behind me could see what I was doing. Yep, he was dead. But he was still warm.

  Before Ida Belle could say a word, I pulled the man out of the chair and dropped him onto the platform. People gasped and several of the kids screamed that I was killing Santa. I tore open the suit, yanked away the padding, and started performing CPR. Ida Belle dropped next to me and delivered the breaths.

  The noise level in the room went through the roof and a young man I recognized as Brett, one of the local paramedics, jumped up onto the platform. He checked Santa’s vitals then took over for me.

  “I called 911 as soon as I saw you drop him on the platform,” he said as he pushed.

  “I’m glad you didn’t think I was assaulting Santa,” I said, checking again for a pulse and finding none.

  “You were CIA,” he said. “You guys don’t do anything and leave witnesses.”

  Carter came running onto the platform and knelt down. “What happened?”

  “Ida Belle found him this way,” I said. “I started CPR. Brett called 911 and took over for me.”

  Brett gave Carter a nod. “He’s still warm but there’s no response. We need a defibrillator.”

  “I don’t think it will do any good,” Ida Belle said. “He’s been in that same position in the chair since I walked into the cafeteria. And that was at least five minutes ago. I thought he was napping and would wake up when people started filing in. By the time the ambulance gets here, he will be too far gone, and that’s assuming he arrested right before we arrived.”

  Brett removed his hands from the man’s chest, sat back on his heels, and sighed. He knew the score better than anyone. Even if there was a slight chance he could get the heart pumping again, the brain had been without oxygen for too long. The damage would be severe.

  “That’s why you didn’t start CPR yourself,” I said to Ida Belle. “Well, crap. I probably just scarred a whole generation of Sinful youth for life.”

  “You tried to save him,” Ida Belle said. “I think that’s the side of things that parents will be pushing.”

  Gertie stepped up next to Carter and stared down at the disassembled Santa, tears in her eyes. “At least Rollie went out doing something he loved. This was his favorite day of the year.”

  “Hunting season opens,” Francis said.

  “Okay, second favorite,” Gertie said.

  So far, the crowd had remained behind the streamers. But the quiet that had descended over them when we were administering CPR had grown to a murmur, and now people were softly crying.

  “I need to do something,” Ida Belle said, and for the first time that I can remember, she looked completely lost.

  “I got this,” I said and rose to face the crowd. “I’m so sorry, kids, but the weather leaving the North Pole was rough and Santa has a little motion sickness. You know, like when you go out on your boat and the waves are really big and it hurts your stomach.”

  Some of the kids stopped crying and several nodded. Good. I had them.

  “The paramedics are on their way to pick Santa up and then doctors will get him all better in time to deliver presents on Christmas Eve. In the meantime, you’re going to tell Francis the parrot what you want, and he’ll make sure Santa gets a list when he’s better. How does that sound?”

  I saw a lot of nodding and a couple smiles. Parents looked ready to pass out in relief.

  “We’ll get Gertie and Francis a place near the Christmas tree. In the meantime, help yourself to some punch and sweets.”

  The parents, cluing in that we needed them to move the kids away before they saw more than I could erase by dangling a visit with a parrot in front of them, began to usher their kids toward the food table.

  Gertie looked at me wearing a slightly stunned expression. “That was great.”

  “Exceptional,” Ida Belle said. “Thank you. I completely blanked but you covered that so well.”

  “Well, I might have had some experience in that area,” I said.

  “You’ve witnessed more than one dead Santa?” Gertie said. “That has to be some kind of record.”

  I frowned and Carter glanced at me before responding.

  “I think she means distracting children from death,” Carter said.

  Gertie’s and Ida Belle’s expressions cleared in understanding.

  “Oh,” Gertie said. “Sorry. I didn’t think…”

  “Hey, I never had a parrot to work with,” I said. “This one was easy.”

  Ida Belle nodded. “It will certainly help make up for the lack of Santa. Let’s get those streamers moved. Good call choosing the Christmas tree.”

  The tree was at the opposite end of the cafeteria from Santa, which is exactly why I’d picked it. The farther away we could move the crowd the better.

  “I guess I better call Rollie’s son,” Carter said, and sighed. “You don’t know how much I hate making this kind of call, especially right before Christmas.”

  Gertie had been staring down at Rollie and was now frowning. “Maybe you best hold off on that just yet.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hebert,” Brett said, “but there’s nothing the paramedics can do.”

  “It’s not that,” Gertie said. “It’s that mole peeking out of his fake mustache.”

  Ida Belle turned around and stared.

  “What about it?” I asked, not understanding why a mole mattered since the man was dead.

  Carter cursed. “Rollie doesn’t have a mole.”

  “Then who the heck is this?” I asked.

  Carter leaned over and pulled off the hat and glasses and completely removed the beard. He looked up at us and shook his head.

  “I have no idea.”

  Ida Belle and I managed to get the kids organized for a visit with Francis, and Ally worked overtime pushing baked goods and punch at everyone. Between the fiasco of a show, Santa getting CPR, the sweets, and all of them getting to pass on their Christmas wishes to a talking bird, I figured their parents were never going to get them to sleep. It was excitement overload.

  I had to admit, I was beyond antsy myself. Immediately after discovering that Rollie was not our deceased Saint Nick, Carter had checked Santa’s pockets but come up empty. Then he’d placed a quick call to Rollie to see if he could explain what was going on. After receiving no answer, he’d torn out for Rollie’s house. Other than a brief text some time later to say that Rollie was all right, we’d been in the cafeteria for hours with all those unanswered questions eating us alive.

  “I’m going to explode if we don’t find out something soon,” Gertie said as we crawled into Ida Belle’s SUV.

  “You and me both,” I said.

  “The explosives are under the couch,” Francis said.

  Ida Belle and I both looked at Gertie.

  “Not my explosives,” she said. “You don’t ever keep your weapons near the front door. That’s the most likely point of entry for the bad guys. Then you wouldn’t have time to access your goodies.”

  I really hoped that dynamite wasn’t Gertie’s go-to choice in the case of a robbery or home invasion, but I was too tired to pursue the topic.

  Ida Belle let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why can’t this town manage a holiday without a death?”

  “There has been a run on holiday corpses this year,” Gertie agreed. “But hey, at least we don’t know this one and it was a heart attack, so there’s that.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “But who convinced Rollie to let him take his place? And why? I can’t come up with a single good reason. At least
not anything that doesn’t belong in a dark thriller story. And if there was a good reason, then why didn’t Rollie let you know?”

  Gertie frowned. “It is weird. I’ll give you that.”

  “I don’t like it,” Ida Belle said. “Something about it feels like a dark thriller story.”

  “I agree,” Gertie said. “I’ll be glad when we know something. Anything.”

  “I’m sure Carter will come by as soon as he can,” I said. “That could be ten minutes from now or tomorrow, for all we know. But if you guys want to camp out with me for the duration, I have a crap ton of food and my new reclining couch was delivered this morning.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I need to take a huge crap.”

  All three responded at once and Ida Belle gave the bird a hard stare.

  “If that bird craps on my seat, you’ll be paying for cleanup,” she said.

  Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s just repeating things he’s heard.”

  “Not helping,” Ida Belle said.

  “He didn’t hear it from me,” Gertie said. “Good Lord, I don’t walk around my house talking out loud about bathroom business.”

  “We should drop off Francis before we go to my place,” I said. “I don’t think he and Merlin can be friends.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Gertie said. “My shoulder’s starting to ache anyway. He gets really heavy after a while. And he did have all those grapes…”

  Ida Belle shot her a dirty look, then glanced over at me. “So tell us more about this bevy of food you have?”

  “Between Ally and Gertie baking for this holiday, I have at least sixty pounds of body weight on my kitchen counter,” I said. “I can’t eat it all. Friends don’t let friends go up a pants size over the holidays.”

  Gertie laughed. “You have so much to learn about Southern living. Most people have winter clothes and summer clothes. Southerners also have everyday pants and holiday pants. Of course, now that you can get most everything with spandex in it, it makes things a lot easier.”