The Slay of the Santas

by Kacey Gene

  Jennifer and Jake both look at Alexa in shock. How in the world does she know Fred and Earl and about their murders?

  “Yes,” Jake says. “We’re investigating the murders.”

  Alexa gestures to the chairs on the opposite side of the desk, telling them to have a seat, and she turns her attention back to her computer. That’s when Jennifer notices the door that’s directly opposite of the door they came in. She wonders what in the world that back door could lead to, but then she’s distracted by the Christmas music that Alexa puts on.

  It’s not the song itself -- “Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer” -- that weirds Jennifer out; it’s the fact that Alexa turns the computer speakers up so high that they’ll have to strain their voices to talk.

  Alexa takes a seat in her chair and rolls it over so all three of them are only inches apart. “What do you know so far?” Alexa asks, wide-eyed and straight to the point.

  Jennifer and Jake look at each other, not knowing who this woman is, or if they can trust her. That’s why they give her the bare information.

  “We just know that a friend of ours bought a special copy of A Christmas Carol--”

  “Leather bound with gold writing and gold-edged pages?” Alexa interrupts.

  “Exactly,” Jennifer says, now leaning in even closer.

  “They bought the book about nine days ago,” Jake continues, “but Wendy and John at the bookstore don’t remember selling it to them.”

  Alexa lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You mean John won’t let them remember.”

  “What do you mean?” Jennifer asks.

  “Those books are nothing but bad luck.”

  “Books? You mean there’s more than one?”

  Alexa nods. “There are exactly fourteen books in that edition of A Christmas Carol.”

  Jennifer’s heart leaps and Jake adjusts in his seat. Fourteen copies. So they were right -- she and Jake have the 14th edition of the books, hence why the number combinations ending in “14” led them to the message in their particular book. That means there are thirteen other books out there and thirteen other parts to the message.

  “Here’s the story around those books,” Alexa says, leaning further into Jennifer and Jake, who do the same. “They were given out to the men who played Santa Claus at Diamonts.”

  “What’s Diamonts?” Jake asks.

  “It was a department store,” Jennifer says, remembering it well. Her mom told her about it going out of business just last year. “It was a huge department store. As big as these other ones.”

  “But Diamonts was locally owned.” Alexa says. “By John’s family.”

  “Wait,” Jennifer stops her, “you mean John from the bookstore?”

  “The exact one,” Alexa says. “His name is John Diamont, and he’s a terrible man. Don’t let anyone tell you different. He’s holding poor Wendy there like a prisoner.”

  “I thought he said he was doing her a favor by giving her that job,” Jennifer says.

  Alexa shakes her head. “John is Wendy’s uncle, and when Wendy’s dad discovered that she was going out with a boy he didn’t approve of, he basically locked her up in that bookstore where John watches her all day like a hawk, and then her dad watches her all night. Wendy is trapped, and the poor girl is so depressed.”

  Jennifer can’t disagree with that statement. Wendy’s excitement for life was as drab as her clothes, which were deep earth tones of sadness.

  “How do you know Wendy?”

  “We’re in school together. At the Art Institute. I met her last year when all of this drama started happening.”

  “Is she connected to Diamonts?” Jake asks, pulling out his notepad.

  “Through family name only. Wendy’s dad is a lawyer and was never interested in business, but her uncle John wanted to take over Diamonts.”

  “So John took over, and--”

  “No, he never got the chance to take over,” Alexa says, interrupting Jake. “John’s dad, Robert -- who owned Diamonts -- he died about two years ago. And he didn’t have a will; at least, not one that anyone could find, but I’ll get to that,” Alexa says, taking a breath. “So Diamonts sat in limbo month after month after month with lawyers and random family members all coming forward and saying that this person owned it, or that Diamonts rightfully belonged to this person.” Alexa tosses her hair over her shoulder. “It was a total mess. I was working at Diamonts during this time, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. No one was managing the store because everyone was too busy arguing over who the store belonged to.”

  “How long did you work at Diamonts?” Jake asks, scribbling down every detail in the notepad.

  “I worked there since I was a teenager, so a little over twenty years, up until they closed down. That’s how I met Fred and Earl. They were both still Santas at Diamonts when I was in high school and working during holiday breaks.”

  Jake writes this down.

  “Poor Fred and Earl,” Alexa says, hanging her head. “They were the best Santas that store ever had, and they were such good men.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if you know much about what they did, but Fred and Earl saved so many boys’ lives.”

  “We know about the Society of Santas,” Jennifer says, “but not the details of it.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen with those boys now,” she says, “Robert, John’s father, fully supported the SOS. But no one else in the Diamont family is stepping up, and there’s no way greedy John is going to take over the program. He’s interested in money, not public service.”

  “Was John left anything when Robert passed?”

  “That bookstore,” Alexa says. “Robert, on his deathbed, verbally willed certain things to each of his kids. Wendy told me her dad, I think his name is Bob Jr., got a donation made in his name, her aunt got a house in the woods, and John got the bookstore. From the way Wendy tells it, no one was exactly thrilled with their gifts.”

  “Yet, John seemed happy when we saw him at the bookstore.”

  Alexa purses her lips. “If he’s acting happy, then he’s hiding something. That man is only interested in money, and that’s not what the bookstore offers.”

  “I don’t know,” Jake says, “I paid over fifty dollars for a book there.”

  Alexa leans back in her chair and with a straight voice says, “I helped with Robert’s financial books when he was alive, and Pelznickels never made a profit. But Robert loved that place. He adored books, especially the old-timey kinds of books that were hand-rolled and had thick pages with block lettering for the type.”

  Jake stops writing notes, and Jennifer knows he’s thinking about what she’s thinking about: The printing presses in Fred’s building. Those presses could make the kind of old-timey books it sounds like Robert loved.

  “That’s why Robert had 14 special editions of A Christmas Carol made and hand-printed. He gave one to each of the thirteen men who played Santa at Diamonts throughout the years, like Fred and Earl, and he kept one book for himself.”

  “But neither Fred nor Earl had a copy of A Christmas Carol in their places,” Jennifer says.

  Jake gives Jennifer a cautious look, non-verbally reminding her that they don’t know how trustworthy Alexa is. They still need to keep their discoveries close to their chests until they check out her story.

  “The reason Fred and Earl were murdered is because of those books,” Alexa says, her voice growing louder and eyes growing bigger. “It’s rumored that those editions of A Christmas Carol hold Robert’s will, so you can imagine how everyone is after them. Because Diamonts may be out of business, but that plot of land is worth millions of dollars. Anyone with one of those books is in danger.”

  Alexa takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then she stands up. She moves over to the far corner of her office, and crouches down. Jake and Jennifer eye her every move as “Up on the Rooftop” belts out from her computer speakers.

  She wiggles a floor tile loose and there, sunken into a piece of
wood below, is a combination lock. Alexa turns it this and that way and unlatches the wooden top of the floor. Reaching into the space below the floor, Alexa pulls out a book that sends chills all over Jennifer’s body.

  “I never wanted this,” Alexa says, handing the copy of a red leather-bound A Christmas Carol to Jake. “Wendy gave it to me the first Christmas we met. Neither she nor I knew its significance then, but when we heard the rumors about the will just a few weeks ago, I locked it away, and we swore each other to secrecy. But I don’t want this book, and if it helps bring Fred and Earl’s murderer to justice, then I think you should have it.”

  Never before has Jake cared about books, but this edition of A Christmas Carol feels like it’s made of pure gold.

  “We can’t thank you--” but Jennifer’s words are cut off when a loud knock comes from Alexa’s office door. Then, the door handle starts shaking and rotating with force.

  “I thought you said you weren’t followed,” Alexa says, a quiver in her strained voice.

  “No one was behind us,” Jake says, but all of them are distracted with the jiggling doorknob. The door is locked, offering the person on the other side nothing but resistance. Then, they hear what sounds like a drill.

  “We need to get out of here,” Alexa says, grabbing her coat and quickly latching the chain lock. “That will only hold them for a bit.”

  She opens the door opposite the one the intruder is now drilling the lock out of.

  “Follow me,” Alexa says, and Jennifer and Jake don’t look back as they all three step through the door and take off running down a dark tunnel without an end in sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A Tunnel Run

  They run down the dark tunnel, lighting the way with their phones, for what seems like forever, but part of that is because Jennifer’s heart is working double time -- pumping from the running and pumping from the adrenaline coursing through her body. When the tunnel comes to an end, it spills out into the lower level of the parking garage of Saks.

  “We need to get out of here,” Alexa says.

  They didn’t hear any feet behind them in the tunnel, but the intruder can’t be far behind.

  “Do you two have a safe place to go?” Alexa asks.

  Jake and Jennifer nod, keeping their eyes on the tunnel that led them here.

  “Then this is where we’ll say our goodbyes.” Alexa reaches out and grips each of their hands. “Good luck, and thank you,” she says. “Fred and Earl were amazing men. They didn’t deserve what happened to them, and they deserve to have their killer brought to justice.”

  The sound of quick-paced steps echo from the tunnel. They’ve run out of time.

  Alexa splits off, hopping into her car and squealing out of the parking garage. Jennifer and Jake run toward the elevator, knowing that they need to get to the second floor and into the store. They can hide among the hoards of shoppers and then slip out and walk to their car.

  That’s exactly what they do, anxiously looking over their shoulders as they curve through batches of shoppers and weave their way back to the front of the store.

  Somehow the Chicago air has gotten colder in the last hour, so it bites rather than pinches their skin when they walk outside. Jake and Jennifer bundle into their coats and Jennifer’s boots click against the sidewalk like a fast-paced metronome. She’s determined to get to Jake’s car, open this book, and mentally organize all the pieces that just got added to these crimes.

  As they’re approaching Jake’s car, his phone goes off. He furrows his brow at the number.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jake says, picking it up and saying hello. He fumbles with the key fob, cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder, and finally gets the car unlocked. He and Jennifer slip inside and Jake turns on the ignition and puts the heat on full blast.

  “Slow down. Slow down,” Jake says to whomever is on the phone. “What do you mean you left?”

  Jennifer looks over at Jake, whose eyes are large with worry. His hand is brushing up and down the dark scruff on his face that’s grown in the last day.

  “No, I’m not there,” Jake says. “Jennifer and I are in Chicago, but you need to go back down to the station. Hello? Hello?”

  Jake looks at his phone, but the caller is gone. He turns to Jennifer. “That was Junior. He ran away from the police station.”

  “What?” Jennifer asks, knowing that this is only going to cause more problems for Junior. “How?”

  “I have no idea,” Jake says, “but this isn’t good. Junior kept rambling about how Sharb was going to ‘put him away.’ He said Sharb had all the evidence he needed to put him behind bars.”

  “You think that’s true?” Jennifer asks.

  Jake shrugs, but his voice is confident when he says, “Sharb may be a grumpy man, but he’s a good cop. If he says he has the evidence he needs, then he does. He’s not one to bluff.”

  Jennifer closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I can’t believe that Junior is the murderer. There’s no way he had any part of this.”

  “We can’t know that for sure.”

  “I can,” Jennifer says, defensively. “And if Fred put his trust in Junior...it just doesn’t add up.”

  “I agree with that,” Jake says. “Although…” Jake’s voice trails off into his thoughts.

  “What?” Jennifer asks.

  “Fred and Earl were both poisoned, and to poison someone, you have to get close to them.”

  Jennifer shakes her head. She knows what Jake is saying, but she can’t agree with the conclusion: That Fred and Earl both trusted Junior, so they’d have no problem eating food that Junior made, even if it was pudding laced with cyanide.

  “Junior has no motive,” Jennifer says, standing by her conviction. “It sounds like Fred and Earl were the only things keeping the SOS together, so why would Junior kill the system that helped and supported him?”

  Jake’s eyes fall to the book that’s resting in Jennifer’s lap. She opens the book, and, just like their brown-leather copy, this book has number combinations all over it. Every thick page is dotted and speckled in five, six, and seven letter codes -- each ending in a different two digit number between 01 and 14.

  “How do we know where to start?” Jennifer asks out loud. She flips to the front of the book, and even though it has the Pelznickel sticker, there isn’t a handwritten message like the one that guided them to an entry point of book 14.

  “We need our book from the trunk,” Jake says. “Remember how the last letter in our message of ‘Ebenezer’s Home’ ended in a 13, which led us nowhere?”

  “This is book 13,” Jennifer enthusiastically says.

  “We don’t know for sure until we--”

  Jake’s words are cut off when Jennifer leaps into action and crawls into the back of Jake’s car. She pulls down the black-fabric seat, and grabs the book she zipped in the top of her bag. She crawls back into the front, opens up the 14th edition of the book, and goes to the last letter in their message (page 105, paragraph four, letter nine). She hands Jake the book Alexa gave to them.

  “The combination above the ‘e’ is 234713,” Jennifer says.

  Jake flips to page 23, paragraph four, and letter seven, but there’s no combination above that letter. It’s a dead end, which can only mean one thing.

  “This isn’t the 13th copy,” Jake says, running his hands through his hair. “Basically, we need to have all fourteen copies of the books in order to decipher the code,” Jake says, his eyes twinkling with a plan.

  “What are you thinking?” Jennifer asks.

  Jake turns in his seat so he’s fully facing her. “If Wendy, who works at Pelznickels, gave this book to Alexa, and Matt Kiley’s parents somehow bought a different edition of the same book from Pelznickels, then all signs point to one place.”

  Pelznickels, Jennifer thinks.

  Jake looks at the clock in his car. It’s 5:03.

  “What time did John say the b
ookshop was closing?” Jake asks.

  “5:00,” Jennifer says. “And he said that they’d be closed for the holidays.”

  Jake picks up his phone and starts dialing.

  “Who are you calling?” Jennifer asks.

  “I’m calling in a favor from the Chicago PD,” Jake says. “But this is going to take a miracle, so I hope you haven’t used your Christmas wish yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Behind the Bookcase

  Just as John said, Pelznickels is locked up and shut down for the holiday season -- no lights on, no movement inside, and a curtain pulled down over the main door, which has glass inlay framed in green-painted trim. The gallery window -- which is next to the main door and has the name Pelznickel Used Books stenciled in gold letters that curve across the glass -- isn’t covered, so Jake keeps peering into the shop as they wait.

  The cold, slicing air of Chicago has softened and small, white snowflakes start to fall from the sky. The powdery flakes land on Jennifer’s black boots, and they melt into liquid before waterfalling off the side of her boots.

  They’ve been waiting outside the bookstore for almost twenty minutes. In those twenty minutes, Jake has assured Jennifer hundreds of times that his contact, Erin, is going to come through. But now that time is ticking close to six o’clock, Jennifer has a different stress on her.

  She has to be at her mother’s by seven o’clock. She’s already on thin ice with her mom, and if she doesn’t show up at seven, that ice is going to crack, and Jennifer is going to fall straight through it.

  “There she is,” Jake says, his eyes lighting up.

  Jennifer follows the direction of Jake’s view, and she sees a tall, maybe around 5’7”, brunette woman -- in her mid-to-late forties -- taking long, lean strides toward them. She has on black boots with a tall heel and her black, wool coat is accented with a red and grey plaid scarf.

  She’s pretty, Jennifer thinks. But as the woman gets closer, and her wavy hair and creamy flawless skin come more into view, Jennifer changes her sentiments.