The Slay of the Santas

by Kacey Gene

  “You think he owns the place?” Jake asks. “Although, he’s dressed a bit formal for this job,” he says, cleverly smiling at Jennifer.

  “Everyone makes that joke.”

  The voice that says those words is bland, monotone, and anything but amused. It’s also hidden behind the fortress of books covering the countertop.

  And then a rather unenthusiastic young girl -- maybe in her late teens or early twenties -- stands up. Her brown hair is dingy and jaggedly cut. Her eyes look tired with laziness, which is magnified by the large, circular wire glasses she’s wearing. And her clothes are a collection of shabby colors layered on top of each other -- earthy browns, muted tans, dusty greys, and faded blacks.

  “Hi,” Jennifer says, walking over and reaching out her hand. “I’m Jennifer. Do you own this place?”

  “No, I don’t own this place,” the girl says, greeting Jennifer’s hand with a limp and emotionless shake. Then, under her breath she says, “Although, seeing as I’ve been left to do everything by myself the past couple of days, you’d think I did.” Her words are quiet. Bitter. Angry.

  “Is the owner here?” Jake asks.

  “That would be me,” an extremely jolly and rotund middle-aged man says. Jennifer looks at Jake to confirm that he just saw what she just saw -- that this middle-aged man literally emerged from the bookshelf.

  “False walls,” the man says when he sees their looks of disbelief. “Most of these open right up,” he says, demonstrating by pulling open one of the few bookshelves that doesn’t have a stack of books in front of it. It opens and reveals a small room that, not surprisingly, has more books in it. “Great for storage,” the man says.

  He closes the bookshelf and runs his hands through his thinning, grey hair. “So what can I do you for? Come to buy a last-minute Christmas gift? Better get it now because once we close up tonight at 5:00 we’ll be closed for the holidays.”

  “Actually,” Jake says, pulling out his phone as the man arranges the books piled on the front countertop, “we’re here to ask you about a book you sold a little over a week ago. On December 14th, to be exact.”

  “We sell a lot of books,” the man says, pulling his brown, wool sweater over his khaki pants. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember the one you’re asking about.”

  “This one is special,” Jennifer says. “It’s an old edition of A Christmas Carol.”

  The man’s hands freeze.

  He stops arranging the books. He keeps his eyes diverted, so he doesn’t have to look at Jake and Jennifer, but everything in his body goes into shock. And then, just as suddenly, he resumes his task of organizing the books.

  “I’d remember if we sold that book,” the man says, “and I haven’t had a copy of A Christmas Carol in...well, I don’t know how long.”

  The man is lying. Jake and Jennifer both know it. And Jennifer wants to know why this man is lying and why he’s eyeing the girl behind the counter with a warning in his gaze. That girl crouches down among her castle of books and frantically looks from Jennifer to the shop owner.

  She knows something. Jennifer can tell in the way her fingers fidget and her eyes jump around.

  “Well, the purchasers have a receipt from your store,” Jake says, showing the receipt to the man. “And it’s for December 14. That is exactly nine days ago.”

  The man looks at the photo, but then he quickly shrugs. “I don’t remember selling that book.”

  “How about you?” Jennifer asks the nervous, monotone girl behind the counter.

  “Wendy wouldn’t remember that,” the shop owner says before the girl has a chance to answer. “She rings up hundreds of books a week. Isn’t that right, Wendy?”

  Wendy shamelessly hangs her head. She lets out a soft, “That’s right,” and she looks down at the ground when she does. A tension transfers between the shop owner and Wendy, which Jennifer knows is the cause for the girl’s silence.

  “Wendy is my niece. I’m doing her a big favor by having her work here, aren’t I, Wendy?”

  The girl’s eyes fall to her brittle fingernails that have chipped blue nail polish on them. She puts one of those fingernails in her mouth and begins to chew. When she looks up at Jennifer and Jake, her eyes are the size of grapes, and they’re as nervous as chattering teeth.

  “You know, Jake, maybe we should get a gift for my mom while we’re here,” Jennifer says. “She’s been going on and on about that Jane Austen book.”

  “Jane Austen,” the shop owner belts out. “I’ve got any and every Jane Austen you could want.”

  Jake nods at Jennifer, knowing her exact motive.

  “Where at?” Jake asks.

  “Just follow me, young man.” And they trail off to the far corner of the store where Jennifer knows Jake will keep this man occupied while she turns her attention to Wendy.

  “You sold that copy of A Christmas Carol, didn’t you?” Jennifer asks directly, knowing there’s no time for preheating the conversation oven.

  Wendy looks up at her, but her face doesn’t soften or reveal information like Jennifer expected it to. In fact, she hardens, dead-eyeing Jennifer before she says, “You heard John. There’s no way I could remember.”

  “Look,” Jennifer says, glancing over her shoulder to check on Jake and John. When she sees that they’re still occupied, she leans closer to Wendy, “two people have been murdered, and a young orphan boy has been falsely arrested. Knowing about the book could give us clues to help solve these crimes, so if you know anything, please tell us.”

  “What orphan boy?” For the first time, there’s animation and life in Wendy’s voice.

  Jennifer knows the rules; she shouldn’t disclose any specific information about the case, especially not to a perfect stranger. But Wendy is looking at Jennifer like she’s on the edge of a verbal cliff. She must somehow know Junior, which means she might help clear his name. So that’s why Jennifer breaks the rules and says, “It’s a boy named Junior.”

  A deep breath fills Wendy’s chest. Her hands fly up and cover her mouth as she jumps to her feet. “Junior got arrested?” she asks, her voice too eager and too loud. It catches the attention of John, so Wendy pretends to pet the cat, who’s sleeping on an open book.

  “You know Junior?” Jennifer whispers.

  “I can’t talk to you here,” Wendy says, and Jennifer hears a strain of desperation in her voice. Wendy is about to say more, but then she glances over at John, and her mouth snaps shut.

  “Here,” Jennifer says, quickly scribbling down her mom’s address. “I’ll be staying here and here’s my phone number. Come by or call me anytime.”

  “I...I don’t think I can,” Wendy nervously says, and then John is upon them, having gotten the scent of their rebellious conversation. He quickly leads Jake back to the front.

  The surprising part, though, is that Jake places a copy of Mansfield Park on the counter.

  “Are you buying that?” Jennifer asks as Wendy tucks the note in her pocket and nervously rings up the book.

  “I figured if I’m here I might as well get your mother a gift.”

  Jennifer smiles at Jake’s announcement. No matter how much Eleanor despises him, Jake is always trying to win her affection. Or, at the very least, win some sort of approval. Jennifer doesn’t have the heart to tell him that an old, hardback copy of Mansfield Park isn’t going to do it for Eleanor.

  “Fifty-two seventy-five,” Wendy says, grabbing their attention.

  “Whoa. What?” Jake asks.

  “It’s a great edition,” John says. “Worth every penny,” but even he doesn’t sound convinced by this. In fact, he turns right around and starts frantically stacking more books in order to avoid Jake’s skeptical glance.

  “Well, it is Christmas,” Jake says, handing the girl his credit card.

  “Sorry, we’re cash only,” Wendy says, but then she gets busy handwriting what Jennifer imagines is the receipt. But that wouldn’t make any sense. The receipt from Matt Kiley’
s parents was a printed one.

  Wendy slips the paper inside the cover of Mansfield Park and throws a secretive glance at Jennifer.

  “You know, I don’t think I have fifty-three dollars in cash,” Jake says, thumbing through his wallet.

  “I do,” Jennifer eagerly says, willing to pay hundreds of dollars to see what Wendy just slipped them inside that book. She and Jake pool their money together, and within minutes the book is in a bag, which gets transferred to their hands. They quickly say goodbye to Wendy and John.

  “Come and see us again,” John says, but his voice is tight, and his look is vicious when he turns it on Wendy.

  The biting Chicago air pinches every part of Jake and Jennifer’s skin when they step outside. “Fifty-three dollars for a book?” Jake asks, completely shocked. “I was wondering how that place stays in business, but now I know -- robbery by book.” A dark layer of clouds have coated the sky like thick icing, so Jake and Jennifer hustle to the car.

  Jennifer quickly glides into the passenger seat after Jake opens her door, and he hands her the bag. Without hesitating a second, Jennifer reaches in, grabs the book, and opens the cover.

  “Does your mom even like Jane Austen?” Jake asks when he slips into the driver’s seat. He blows on his hands to warm them up.

  “Who cares,” Jennifer says, holding the slip of paper from Wendy. “Look what Wendy left in the book.” Jake eyes the handwritten note.

  Go to Saks on Michigan Avenue. Ask for Alexa.

  Before Jennifer even says a word, Jake has the car started and put into gear.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A Shopping Surprise

  Even though Jennifer’s mind is fully occupied trying to glue together the clues and the frustrations surrounding Fred’s and Earl’s murders -- not to mention how her heart continuously breaks whenever she thinks of Junior and the dogs, especially Eb -- she can’t help but be taken in by the Christmas revelry of Chicago.

  Even though it’s just now four o’clock, the air has already turned a soothing grey, as if night never really left the city. The red and green stop lights shine like jewels, all the tree trunks are wrapped in white lights, and the street posts have glimmering wreaths and candy canes hanging from them.

  As she and Jake walk from the parking garage down Michigan Avenue, there are shoppers rushing in and out of the rotating doors -- their hands filled with bags and their bodies covered in hats, scarves, and thick coats that button up to the neck. There’s a group of carolers singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” at the far corner of the street, and as Jake and Jennifer walk past Macy’s window displays, Jennifer falls into the different storybook scenes that are decked out in Christmas themes.

  “Look at this one,” Jennifer enthusiastically says, running over to the window that frames Peter Rabbit and all his friends sitting around the fireplace -- reading books, drinking cocoa, and towered over by a Christmas tree draped in ornaments and flickering candles.

  “Always a sucker for the bunnies,” Jake says, playfully nudging her.

  “They’re just so cute with those ears,” Jennifer says. She could stay and look at the window displays for hours, seeing as this was always a tradition that she and her mom did a few days before Christmas. That’s when her mom does all her shopping -- loving the hustle and bustle and the efficiency of checking everything off her list all in one day.

  “Come on,” Jake says, turning a reluctant Jennifer away from the window display, “we need to go talk to this Alexa woman.”

  Within a few minutes, they’ve left the cold streets of Chicago and entered into the warm glow of Saks. The sound of the piano playing a jazz version of “Here Comes Santa Claus” from the second floor echoes throughout the entire store, which is showered in large silver and gold balls that sparkle against the lights of the cosmetic counters. A tree standing sixty or seventy feet tall is set right in the middle of the store, with large boxes of presents surrounding it on all sides.

  The white lights, the trays full of hot chocolate for sampling, and the smell of cinnamon in the air, all warm Jennifer from the inside.

  “Jennifer.”

  When she hears her name, all of that warmth inside Jennifer ices over.

  “Jennifer.”

  The woman says her name again, and that’s when Jennifer turns around and sees her mother.

  “Jennifer, what are you doing here?” Eleanor asks.

  David, her mother’s driver, and Patrick, her mother’s assistant stand next to Eleanor, their hands and arms dripping with shopping bags.

  Her mom has on a pair of wide-legged, pinstripe trousers and a silky white button down shirt that’s accented with a silver and diamond necklace. That necklace matches the diamond bracelet and diamond earrings that shine and sparkle under Saks’ lights. Her blonde hair is cut bluntly at her chin, and her makeup accentuates her almond eyes and defined cheekbones.

  “Mom,” Jennifer says, feeling the word get stuck right in the middle of her throat. “Um, surprise,” Jennifer says, throwing up her hands like all of this was planned.

  “You aren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.” Eleanor says, narrowing her eyes at Jennifer, knowing that she’s not telling her something.

  “That’s why this is a surprise,” Jake says, stepping next to Jennifer.

  Eleanor doesn’t move when Jake says these words. She doesn’t turn to Jake. She doesn’t acknowledge Jake. Instead, she takes a few steps closer to Jennifer and fixes her hair.

  “It’s a wonderful surprise,” her mother says, straightening Jennifer’s peacoat and pinching a thread off of it. “You’ll come to my party tonight.”

  “I, uh…” Jennifer wants to protest, but her mother is already putting plans in motion.

  “Patrick,” Eleanor says, “cross Jennifer off the list for calls to be made this evening. David, cancel the trip to the airport you had scheduled for tomorrow. And, Patrick, make sure Jennifer has a dress for the party tonight. I want it steamed and ready for her when she arrives home at seven o’clock this evening.”

  “Mom, I…” Jennifer tries to interrupt, but her mother washes those words away with more demands.

  “I also want her room fixed up perfectly, and that includes having her tea ready for her arrival promptly at seven o’clock.” It’s no accident that Eleanor repeats the expected arrival time. Jennifer isn’t being asked if she wants to arrive at seven, she’s being told to arrive at seven.

  Jennifer throws up her hands. “I guess I’ll see you at seven.” But then a small protest shoots up in Jennifer. Yes, she feels somewhat guilty about not telling her mom she arrived early in Chicago, but this is one of the reasons why. Her mother takes over her schedule and starts dictating every minute. That’s why Jennifer stubbornly crosses her arms and says, “I’ll only go to the party if Jake also comes.”

  Jake’s mouth drops open like his jaw just detached at the hinges.

  Eleanor turns and eyeballs Jake like he’s a small rodent with dirty feet. She keeps her eyes on him as she says, “Patrick, we’ll need to make sure this man has a proper suit for the party. He very well can’t wear what he has on now.” Her eyes move up and down Jake like he’s a broken street light. “It’s all settled then,” her mom says, leaning in and kissing Jennifer. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  And as quickly as she appeared, Eleanor turns and walks away. Patrick hands her the black, fur pashm cloak that Eleanor circles around her shoulders like it’s a magician’s cape. Jennifer’s mom always wears these high-end ponchos, liking the drama of fabric spinning around her before it settles around her shoulders.

  “I like this outfit,” Jake says, looking down at his dark jeans and the button down shirt he has tucked under his grey sweater.

  “Come on, Fashion Man,” Jennifer says, “let’s go find Alexa.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Turn up the Volume

  “This feels very strange,” Jennifer says, as she and Jake turn down another hallway. They’re in
what Jake has named the “intestines” of Saks. It’s the basement level, away from all the glitz and glamour of the store, and it’s where the offices are. Specifically, it’s where Alexa’s office is, according to the security guard they talked to.

  “The security guard said room 14,” Jennifer says, as they continue down the tile hallway that’s completely empty and has minimal lighting. They walk past room 11, 12, 13, and when they get to 14, the door is closed. Jennifer knocks, and she hears the sound of high heels walking across tile.

  The door swings open, and a woman in her mid-forties, who’s easily six feet tall, greets them. She has blonde, poofy hair that hits right at her shoulders. She’s has an athletic build that she slims down in her black pantsuit.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asks.

  “Are you Alexa?” Jennifer asks.

  “I am,” she says.

  “I’m Jennifer and this is Jake,” Jake smiles and Alexa nods at them both. “We’re investigating a case from Middlebridge, Wisconsin, and Wendy from Pelznickel Used Books sent us. We wanted to ask you about a copy of A Christmas Carol that--”

  Before Jennifer can get another word out, Alexa abruptly gestures for Jennifer to stop talking. Jennifer obeys the non-verbal command. She’s confused, but she still obeys.

  Alexa steps into the hall and looks down the empty corridor before silently hustling Jake and Jennifer into her office.

  She closes the door behind them.

  The office is small, maybe eight feet by eight feet, and besides the desk that holds Alexa’s computer and stacks of papers, there isn’t much else to look at. Two chairs. A small shelf filled with supplies -- a box of staples, a dish of paper clips, and a cup of pens. Everything, though, is meticulously organized.

  “Did anyone follow you?” Alexa asks, fiddling with her computer.

  “No,” Jake says, cautiously, “we weren’t followed.” He looks at Jennifer with a look that says: Are we dealing with a nut case here?

  “If you’re from Middlebridge then you know Fred and Earl? You know about their murders?”