Killing Santa

by Stacey Alabaster

  He was still laughing. A lot harder this time. “Oh gosh, I think I may have given you the wrong impression. It’s nothing like that, Rachael, trust me.”

  “Well, what is it like, then?” I asked. But he suddenly looked ashamed and wouldn’t answer the question. “Well, if you aren’t going to answer me, I can’t stay here.” I started to pick up my purse. I might have been starving, but he was wasting my time.

  Our pizza arrived at the table. Chicken and pesto with field mushrooms on top and a light sprinkling of sea salt. It smelled amazing and my stomach ached for it, but I wanted to make sure Jarod was going to start talking before I started to eat.

  “It’s embarrassing, all right…” he said, shifting uncomfortably before he took a slice of pizza and started to chew on it. “Not something I like to advertise.”

  All right, I could hold out no longer. I pulled a slice out and watched the mozzarella stretch, my mouth watering. I took a nibble off the end. It was amazing.

  “Just tell me. I can handle it. Come on, Jarod, I’m involved now.” He owed me the explanation at the very least.

  He sighed and rubbed his temple before putting the slice of pizza back on the plate. “I accepted a job a few months back, a painting job on a house just out of town. It was a huge job, on one of the new estates. They paid all the money upfront…but I never completed the job.” He couldn’t quite look me in the eyes. “I needed—well, I wanted—to take a long weekend to go away for a music festival. It turned into a week. And, well…”

  “But you kept the money?” I asked.

  He looked a little guilty, but also kinda complacent about the whole thing. Like he was taking it very lightly.

  “Yeah, well, I’d already spent it. The festival wasn’t cheap.”

  “I see.”

  I chewed on my pizza for a while and waited while the roaring fire next to me warmed my outside, and the pizza warmed my inside.

  It wasn’t as bad as thousands of dollars in gambling debts, but it still wasn’t great by any stretch of the imagination. I guessed Jarod was just one of those guys who still acted at twenty-eight like a kid who had no responsibilities and no concept that his actions actually had consequences. Taking off to go to a music festival at a moment’s notice, for instance, and never paying the money back. Angering people. But I didn’t think he was a bad guy, deep down. Just needed a heck of a lot of maturing. But Pippa was right, maybe he just wasn’t the man for me.

  At least, I hoped that he wasn’t a bad guy deep down. There was still the nagging doubt. Just how desperate had he been to get the Santa job? We still had a dead Santa on our hands.

  I gulped. “So, Jarod, with all your money problems, I suppose you must have been pretty desperate to get a Santa gig this year.”

  He looked at me strangely. “What are you getting at, Rachael?”

  I finished my slice of pizza and wiped the excess grease off my hands. “Nothing. I’m sorry, Jarod. I need to get going.”

  Chapter 6

  I counted at least a dozen trays before me. No, more than a dozen. Two dozen. Three dozen. Was I hallucinating? They were multiplying in front of me. Christmas trees. Santas. Snowmen. Stars. Angels. This was what you saw when you hallucinated, right? “What are all these for?” I asked, stunned, as Bronson pulled tray upon tray out of the oven. They just kept coming! “Have you lost your mind, Bronson? This is more cookies than we’ll be able to sell in a month!” I knew that Christmas was our busiest time—maybe equal with Valentine’s Day—but this was ridiculous. This was enough cookies to feed an entire town.

  He was red-faced after removing the last tray from the oven. He set it down and took off his baker’s cap, fanning his face. I’d only missed one day of work thanks to the snow—just how out of control had my employees gotten in that time?

  “What did you do, multiple the original recipe by a hundred?” I asked, my eyes bulging out of my head.

  He laughed at me and nodded. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I did.”

  I blinked a few times. Usually Bronson was so reliable. I couldn’t believe he could have mixed up the quantities like this. I was about ready to explode.

  “You…you what? Did you accidentally add a couple of zeros to the end?” I asked, exasperated. Where was the money going to come from to pay for all these extra ingredients? This would cut so far into our Christmas profits, it wasn’t funny.

  Bronson was still laughing, though. “Have you forgotten, Rachael?”

  I blinked a few times. “Forgotten what?”

  He nodded at the calendar on the wall. “Today’s date?” I edged toward it and squinted. Was this supposed to mean something to me?

  Bronson shook his head. “You really have been out of it this week. It’s only Belldale’s biggest winter event. The town’s annual Christmas parade. You agreed to cater the refreshments for the Santa meet-and-greet after the parade.”

  I slapped my hand to my forehead. Of course. The parade! It was that night! The local news channel and newspaper had been advertising it for weeks. “Right! Oh, thank you, Bronson, you’re a lifesaver,” I said, reaching out to give him an apologetic and thankful hug. I had to take back what I’d said; he hadn’t made a mistake at all. He’d saved my bacon, in fact. He was my Christmas angel.

  Thankfully, the roads had been plowed, but they were still a little icy. I was wearing two pairs of mittens and jumping up and down to try and stay warm. Pippa had agreed to help me out, even though she was still officially boycotting the bakery. “For the parade, I am willing to put my grievances aside.” The parade always brought the town together.

  “I thought that Jarod might have been here to give you a hand,” Pippa commented, glancing around as I pulled another batch of cookies out of the back of my car. A little shiver went through my body as she said his name. I composed myself before I turned around.

  I shook my head. “I think you were right about him, Pippa.”

  She looked smug. “Of course I was.”

  I leaned back against the car once I’d shut the trunk and given the last tray over to Bronson. “He’s in trouble, Pippa,” I said with a heavy sigh.

  “What kind of trouble?” she asked me, looking worried, as a float full of snowmen with bobbly heads went past us, waving wildly and throwing candy canes into the crowd while children cheered and grabbed for them.

  “Financial trouble,” I said as a stray candy cane hit me in the face. I closed my eyes and let it fall to the ground. When I opened my eyes again, someone had already snatched it up.

  “I have to ask,” Pippa said, leaning against the barrier that kept the parade-goers away from the floats. “Do you think he did it?”

  The wind was icy against my cheeks. “I don’t think anyone would be so desperate to be Santa that they would kill for it,” I said finally. “Right? Not even someone as un-Santa-like as Jarod, who had literally no chance of getting the gig unless all the other Santas were dead.”

  Or maybe that was just what I wanted to believe.

  Pippa mused over this for a minute. “You are probably right,” she said with a heavy sigh. “It was my theory that whoever killed Santa wanted his job.” She shrugged and turned around and leaned with her back to the barrier. “But all the Santas are too scared to turn up to Christmas Village now. So that blows that theory.”

  I was shivering. “Is this thing over yet?” I asked, eager to get back indoors. After a few days in Christmas Village, all these Christmas celebrations and festivities weren’t exactly a novelty. And it was freezing cold. I wanted to see a warm fire, not another float full of elves.

  She laughed and shook her head. “You’ve really never been to one of these before, have you, Rach? It’s not over until Santa arrives! That’s kind of the whole point of it.” She passed me a flier that included the timeline of the evening’s activities. Yep. She was right. Santa didn’t arrive until the end of the parade. He was the main event. In the distance, the float started to make its way onto the road, and I
could hear some faraway cheers.

  I could see that all around me, the children and parents were buzzing with anticipation for Santa’s arrival. But I couldn’t help but groan. I had seen enough Santas to last me a lifetime by that point. I didn’t need to see another one.

  “Well, I am going to head back to the bakery,” I said, turning to leave now that all the trays of cookies had been delivered to their proper place. “Baking hundreds of cookies in one day means there’s a volcano of flour and batter to clean up…”

  There was cheering and squealing from the crowd, which told me Santa was getting closer to us, and closer to sitting on the big throne at the end of the parade. That was my cue to leave.

  Pippa gasped and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back. “Look!” she said, frantically pointing to the sleigh where Santa was being pulled by three small horses wearing fake antlers and looking rather unimpressed about it all.

  I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Sure, it was another Santa. I had no idea why Pippa was getting so excited. She worked with them all day every day.

  “What?”

  “Can’t you see?” she asked desperately.

  All I could see was a man in a red suit with a white bushy beard and a big belly. “He looks like every other Santa. Isn’t that kind of the point?”

  Pippa was breathless and her eyes were wide open. “Yes,” she said, “That is the point. That Santa there, he’s Santa Number Three. Or, at least he was until he stopped showing up for work. He is one of the best Santas on rotation. The second most realistic-looking one. And one of the most popular with the children.”

  I shook my head. Was this all supposed to mean something to me?

  Pippa shook me by the shoulders. “Don’t you get it, Rachael? Being the Santa in the Christmas parade is the highest honor there is for a Santa.”

  I hadn’t been aware that there was a highest honor for Santas in Belldale, but I supposed it all made sense. The Santa in the float got to be regarded as the “one true Santa.” Plus, he’d get to have his photo taken by someone from the local newspaper and he’d probably get the front cover as well if it was a slow news day.

  “Hmm. I suppose it is quite a coveted position, isn’t it?” I asked Pippa as I leaned over the barricade to take a closer look.

  Santa was ‘“ho-ho-ho-ing” and rather than just throwing candy canes like the elves and snowmen, Santa had the good stuff to throw out into the crowd—chocolates and fudge and small toys like the kind you get in boxes of cereal. And when he got to the end of the parade, he climbed out, surrounded by Santa’s helpers, and sat on the official Santa throne, which was far more regal than anything we had down at Christmas Village. Flashlights went off and I had to shield my eyes. We were witnessing a real-life celebrity. Santa had come to town and he was living for all the attention.

  Maybe all this fuss was worth killing for.

  And Pippa had another bombshell to drop. The Santa we were looking at was a last-minute fill-in.

  “The Santa who was supposed to be in the parade was Santa Number Two, Rachael. The one who died.”

  “We need to find out more about him,” I said, getting into the car now that the parade was over and children were getting in line to meet Santa face to face. Even though they were still apprehensive about meeting him, I did notice that without the scare of pulling the curtain back and shocking the kids with no warning, there were less tantrums and crying. They had gotten a chance to warm up to him by watching the float slowly approach. That seemed to be the secret.

  “What else is there to know?” Pippa asked as she got in beside me. “He’s Santa.”

  I shot her a strange look. “Yes. But he’s not actually Santa, is he, Pippa? He takes off that costume and he is just a normal, regular man. Do you know what his real name is?”

  Pippa frowned for a moment before answering. “Actually, I don’t know. I just call him Santa Number Three. Or just Santa. That’s what I call all of the Santas. Well, except for Jarod, but that’s because he doesn’t actually look like Santa.”

  I had to stop myself from jumping in and defending Jarod right then. He might have looked the least like Santa, but he had been there when everyone else had chickened out and he had a really wonderful way about him with the children. That counted for more than how realistic his stuffed belly looked, right?

  “What does he do for the rest of the year then?” I asked, getting back to the subject of Santa Number Three. I was watching him out the window. To be fair, he did look exactly like your classic Santa Claus. He was probably seventy years old, real rosy cheeks and nose, wrinkles that didn’t need to be put on with makeup, and a belly that probably didn’t even need to be stuffed. But there was something a little bit off about him as the children gathered around him. Instead of acting warm and jolly and like he was at ease with the kids, he had a sort of “diva” air around him. As though he was a celebrity and the children should just be grateful to be in his presence.

  When one of them took one look at him and started screaming, I had to stifle a laugh.

  Pippa frowned. “What do you mean for the rest of the year?”

  “Well, Santa work is seasonal,” I explained. Geesh. I was starting to worry about Pippa. I was starting to think that she actually thought that Santa was real. Of all the people in the world, she was the one who had had the biggest peek behind the curtain. She’d seen inside the Santa factory. She knew how they were made. Didn’t she? “The Santas have other jobs. For instance, some of them are painters…”

  “Oh, are they just.” She raised an eyebrow at me as she pulled her seatbelt on.

  I kept one eye on Santa as I backed my car away from the parade. There was something off about this guy, and I was going to find out what it was.

  Chapter 7

  “Ashley,” I said, almost dropping the jingly hat and elf ears I was carrying.

  A scared-looking Ashley blinked a few times and backed away into the hall of the caves. “Wait, come back!” I shouted. I couldn’t believe she was finally at work.

  “Apparently, we are operating multiple caves again,” she said sullenly. “Ellon begged me. But I am not going into Cave Number Two, you hear me?”

  I glanced around and reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone until I found the picture I needed. “Do you recognize this man?” I whispered, showing her a photo of Marcello, while I looked around to make sure that Pippa wasn’t watching or listening.

  “I, uh, I don’t know…” Ashley looked panicked.

  “He was getting his photos taken right before Santa was killed,” I said. “Or maybe at the same time.” I showed her the photo again. “Please, it’s important…if you remember anything…”

  But Pippa was calling for me from the front of the caves, so I quickly put my phone away while Ashley scurried off.

  Pippa was filling in for Ellon at the greeter’s desk, and she was having trouble reading the schedule and figuring out who was supposed be in each cave. And she was having a meltdown because Jarod hadn’t shown up for his shift yet and we needed to get started. There were fires to put out all over the place. And there was a line forming. Less than a week until Christmas and people were running out of time to get their Santa snaps.

  A scowling woman, dragging a three-year-old behind her, came right up to the front of the line and cut in, not even flinching when the other customers shouted at her and asked her who she thought she was.

  I was wondering who she thought she was as well.

  “Oh no,” Pippa said, her face falling as she scurried to hide behind a tree. “Quick, hide! Trust me! This is Gilda, the worst customer we have ever had.” She pulled me out of the way and we watched the woman approach the counter.

  She had her hair in a bouncy bob that looked like it should be too weighed down with hairspray to move, but it floated in waves. With Ellon still running late, and Gilda demanding loudly to speak to a manager, Pippa had no choice but to deal with her.

  Gilda threw her Santa p
ictures down on the counter and they spilled out of the envelope.

  “My daughter Sandy is crying in all of these, not to mention that the coloring of the photos is all wrong!” Gilda exclaimed while I picked them up to take a look. Pippa ducked out of the way when Gilda threw a second lot of photos down on the counter.

  Pippa finally had to poke her head up. “I tried my best to get her to stop. I…I even sang to her to distract her from Santa,” Pippa said.

  Gilda crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You only made things worse! You’re singing made her cry harder! Look at these photos!”

  “Gilda, it is not uncommon for children to cry during their Santa photos,” I tried to explain to her gently, looking through the shots. “To be honest, these aren’t the worst I’ve seen.” Not by a longshot.

  Pippa stood up straight. “It is hard work we do here. We work ten-hour shifts, trying to make people like you happy. You have no right to come in here, cutting in line like this, to yell at me!” Pippa’s voice was starting to shake.

  Gilda’s face turned red. She gripped her daughter’s hand and stared Pippa down. “You are the worst photographer and elf I have ever had the displeasure of being served by here in Christmas Village.”

  Pippa was not about to take her insults laying down. “Well, that is uncalled for.”

  It was incredibly uncomfortable. I stared at the photos just because I didn’t know where else to look. It was eerie seeing Santa Number Two in the photos, still alive.

  “I want you to fix these photos,” Gilda said.

  Pippa shook her head. “First of all, if you weren’t happy with them, then you shouldn’t have paid for them. And secondly, you’ll have to get to the back of the line and we’ll address your issue when it’s your turn.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to deliver them to my house after hours!” Gilda said. “Because I am certainly not waiting here for an hour.”

  Pippa took her elf hat off and threw it on the counter. Uh oh. “Well, I think you’re a rude, ungrateful woman, and you are the exact opposite of what the spirit of Christmas is all about!”