Dead Jolly

by Boone Brux

  “Yeah, inconceivable.” He plucked the notebook from my grip and opened it. As he flipped through it his step slowed. “This guy was a regular Casanova.” Stopping, he handed me the book. “He’s got ladies all over Anchorage.” He continued to thumb through the pages. “Actually, he’s got them all over the state. Where do we start?”

  “We start with…” I craned my neck to see the first name on the page. “Brenda Alder.”

  “And how do you suggest we handle this?”

  “We knock on the door, inquire about Fred, and ask if anything weird has happened within the last few hours.” I gave him a solid pat on the shoulder and smiled up at him. “It will work, but, if you’re worried, you can do the talking.”

  “Nice try,” he said, shaking his head. “But this is your assignment. I’m just there for backup.”

  I harrumphed at my failed attempt to pawn off my more unpleasant duties. “Fine.”

  After pocketing the book, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and maneuvered me out of the mall entrance. Crap, this Christmas spirit was starting to be a major pain in my ass.

  Chapter Two

  Brenda Alder stood about four-foot-ten, was as wide as she was tall if she’d been a foot taller and reminded me of Mrs. Claus. Coincidence? I think not.

  After opening the front door, a bright smile stretched her pink plump lips. “May I help you?”

  “Mrs. Alder?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She smoothed her hands down the front of the green and white checked apron she wore. “I’m Mrs. Alder.”

  “Hi.” I shoved my hand out. “I’m Lisa Carron and this is my partner Nate Cramer.”

  She grasped my hand with surprising strength, probably from needing dough or knitting blankets. “Partner? Are you two police detectives?” Releasing me, her hands flew to her cheeks. “Am I in trouble? Are you here to arrest me?”

  “No, no,” I assured her, completely at a loss as to what law this sweet old woman could possibly break. “We work for General Resource Services. We were hoping to ask you a couple of questions about an employee of ours.” So, it was a little white lie. Those were necessary in my line of work.

  “Oh good.” Her rounded gaze relaxed. “I thought my nosy neighbor had reported me for growing marijuana again.” Her lips puckered a bit. “It’s medicinal. Helps with my sciatica.”

  “And completely legal now,” I added.

  “Exactly, but my neighbor doesn’t care. Says it’s the devil’s lettuce. Crazy old bat.” She waved us forward. “Well, come in. We don’t want to heat the outside.”

  When I stepped into the entryway the most amazing aroma greeted me. “Wow, something smells great.”

  “Chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven.” She motioned toward our feet. “Kick off your shoes and I’ll go grab a plate of goodies. We can talk in the living room.” She waddled a few feet, stopped and turned back to us. “Can’t have cookies without something to drink. What will it be, milk, coffee, or hot cocoa?”

  In my humble opinion, what went best with chocolate was more chocolate. “Hot cocoa for me, please.”

  “Milk would be great,” Nate said.

  Pink tinged the apples of her cheeks, and the smile she gave us felt like being blasted by the warm rays of the sun after standing in the frigid cold. “Be right back.”

  “Call me crazy,” I whispered, “but I might actually love her.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Nate said. “And is it only me, or does she remind you of Mrs. Claus?”

  “Right? It seemed Fred’s obsession with being Santa went a lot deeper than we suspected.” I smirked and wiggled my eyebrows up and down. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Unfortunately, I always know what you mean.” He nudged me forward. “Never had a thing for Mrs. Claus before but I definitely see the appeal.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you want me to start baking? Because…that’s not going to happen.”

  “How about just wearing an apron?”

  I pivoted toward him. “When you say…” I lifted my fingers and made air quotes. “Just wearing an apron…” My gaze narrowed on him. “Do you mean as a prelude to baking, or do you mean wearing only an apron and nothing else?” I was hoping for the second option. His grin heated me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Lucky me. “I see, well I’ll have to look at the Naughty or Nice List and see how good you’ve been.” I turned, but muttered over my shoulder, “Or how naughty.”

  He gave a grunt of approval. “Can’t wait.”

  Thank God I had my back to him. It had been a long time—too long—since I’d felt the touch of a man in my nether regions and though logically, I knew taking things slow was best for all concerned, my womanly bits had a mind of their own. Their complaints were growing louder with each passing day spent in close proximity to Nate.

  A moan slipped from me when I stepped onto the beige carpet covering the living room floor. My toes sunk into the deep pile, hugging my feet with plushness and quality. “Sweet baby Jesus, that is pure heaven.”

  “Wow,” Nate said, which translated to WOW! in Lisa speak.

  The carpet in my house had suffered from years of wear-and-tear from my twin boys and teenage daughter. As much as I dreamed of living in a home where neon-colored drinks weren’t spilled, and nimble fingers didn’t wipe boogers on whatever was closest, that wasn’t my life. Nor would it be for at least ten more years. “It’s official, I have a girl-crush on Brenda.”

  “Here we are.” Our hostess hefted a massive platter filled with Christmas cookies, fudge and a bunch of other goodies covered in white powdered sugar. “A little something to tide us over.”

  “Let me get that.” Nate sprang forward and took the tray from her.

  “Thank you. Just set them on the coffee table.” She turned and started back toward the kitchen. “Be right back with our drinks.”

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “No, no. I got this.”

  As I lowered to the floral couch, Nate settled the Christmas platter on a lace doily covering the table in front of me. It was a confectionary buffet big enough to feed every mall Santa in Anchorage. I plucked a small piece of fudge off the plate and popped it in my mouth, swearing that was all I’d indulge in. Holidays were hell on my hips…and thighs…and butt.

  “Here we are,” she said again, this time balancing two steaming mugs and a tall glass of milk on a silver tray. She placed the drinks on the coffee table next to the platter and sat. “Okay, I think we can finally have that chat.”

  Nate picked up the reindeer mug and handed it to me, and then reached for his milk. Brenda lifted her Santa mug filled with cocoa and slid deeper into the large mauve wing-backed chair, crossing her legs. I bit my lip to suppress a laugh. Her slippered-feet dangled several inches above the floor. The way she sat there smiling at us made her look all the more like Mrs. Claus.

  “So,” I said, wanting to get things rolling. “Mrs. Alder, do you know a man named Fred Lawson?”

  “Oh yes.” Her eyes brightened, and her cheeks grew rosier. “Fred is a dear friend.”

  “Did you happen to see him today?” Nate asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “He has a thing at the mall. You know he plays Santa Claus at all the big events.” Her expression turned dreamy. “He’s very famous. Practically a national hero.”

  Okay, maybe he was kind of famous in Anchorage, but a national hero was pushing it. And let’s face it, even though he seemed like a nice guy, I suspected his motivation for doing these Santa gigs had less to do with the children and more to do with hooking up with their grandma’s. Instead of saying that, I agreed with her. No need to burst their romantic bubble. The guy was dead after all.

  “Indeed, he is.” I took a sip of my cocoa and swallowed. “Wow.” I took another sip. “That is delicious.”

  “Thank you.” Brenda beamed at me. “It’s my own secret recipe.”

  “Wow,” I said again, unable to stop repeatin
g myself. It’s like she possessed some kind of domestic magic. Her cookies smelled heavenly, her carpet was the softest ever sold, her cocoa made me want to weep. I totally got what Fred saw in her. Hell, I’d date Brenda. Maybe I could get her to adopt me. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t miss me much. Before I sunk too deeply into the fantasy I’d started conjuring, I gave myself a mental shake and refocused. “When was the last time you saw Fred?”

  “This week.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Tuesday, I think. I made him pot roast with potatoes and carrots. It’s his favorite.”

  “But you haven’t seen him since then?” Nate asked.

  “No.” She sipped and lowered her cup. “He did say he might stop over tonight if he’s not too tired from playing Santa at the mall.”

  Too tired did not begin to describe Fred’s current state of being. I glanced at Nate and lifted my brows in a silent question. Did we tell her Fred wouldn’t be showing up or did we let the evening news deliver the bomb? I voted for the news.

  We were no closer to tracking down Fred than we were when he’d bolted. We needed to know more about him, something that would give us an inside edge on reaping this Casanova Santa. “Mrs. Alder, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Were you and Fred romantically involved?”

  “Do you mean were we sleeping together?” Her expression grew serious. “Oh yes. We had a standing weekly appointment.” She nestled her mug on her lap and pinned me with a wise stare. “I’ve always felt the best thing a woman could do for herself is keep her downstairs in working order.”

  Nate choked on the cookie he’d just bitten into and blew crumbs across the table at Brenda. “Sorry,” he rasped out.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Nodding, her gaze darted between Nate and I. “A lot of people are surprised when they find out I’m still rocking the sheets.”

  “I don’t know why?” I said in a voice a little too loudly. “You’ve still got a lot of groove in your step.”

  “Darn right, I do.” She giggled. “I might be closer to the grave than most, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “Exactly.” My smile faded. Damn, I really liked Brenda and hated to be the turd in her punch bowl, but she had the right to know that Fred would not be showing up tonight—at least, not in corporeal form. “Brenda.” I glanced at Nate, and he nodded his encouragement. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Fred died this morning at the mall.”

  “Oh dear.” Setting her mug on the coffee table, she slid forward in the chair until her feet touched the carpet. “Oh dear. Oh dear.” Wringing her hands, she said, “He had such a big heart.”

  “Yes, he did.” I nodded and covered her hands with mine. “He was a great guy.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “I mean, he had an enlarged heart.”

  I straightened. “What?”

  “An enlarged heart. Did he have a heart attack?” She nodded and folded her hands in her lap. “I bet it was. Oh my.” A small grimace pulled at her plump lips. “I’m just glad he didn’t die while we were doing it.”

  The image of that crashed into me. Ick. Ick. Ick. Not sure what to say, I blurted, “Yeah, that would really put a damper on the mood.”

  “Indeed, it would.” A heavy sigh pushed from her. “Well, it looks like it’s back to the VFW.”

  “VFW?” I asked.

  “That’s where all the eligible gentlemen my age go. Wednesday afternoon is Ladies Night and dollar-ninety-nine wings.” She sighed again. “I wonder if Mr. Wilson’s hip has healed yet.”

  “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would,” I said.

  “At my age, it’s not unusual for two or three friends to drop in the same month.” She leaned forward and knocked on the coffee table for good luck. “Knock on wood my number isn’t up yet.”

  “Yeah, good thing.” I glanced at Nate, giving him the time to go look. He nodded. "Well, Mrs. Alder, we don’t want to take up anymore of your time. Thank you for the cookie and cocoa.”

  “My pleasure, dear.” She rose to her feet. “It’s so nice to have visitors who enjoy my cooking.”

  “Enjoyed isn’t a strong enough word,” I said.

  The culinary arts weren’t one of my strong suits, and though my mother could bake fairly well, our house had never been the kind where the aroma of a cinnamon coffee cake pulled me out of bed on a Sunday morning.

  “Then you should take some of this with you. Just a minute.” She shuffled into the kitchen but was back a minute later carrying a bulging pastry box. What the heck? Did she just have these sitting around, ready to be gifted at a moment’s notice? “Just a few goodies to share.”

  Share? Screw that. These were all mine. I accepted the sizeable box and peered into the cellophane window. From a quick glance inside I could see three different types of cookies and two types of fudge. The longer I stared the more I could feel my waistline expanding. “Thank you so much.” She followed us to the foyer. I set the box of sweets beside me on the floor and pulled on my boots. “And again, I’m sorry about Mr. Lawson.”

  “I’m just glad he went quickly.” She folded her hands over her rounded stomach, settling them on top of her festive apron. “No sense in hanging around when it’s your time to go.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” She had no idea how much I agreed with her. Too bad Fred didn’t follow her sentiment. I scooped up the box and stood, pulling a GRS business card from my pocket. “Here’s my card. If you remember anything about Fred that you think we should know, could you give me a call?”

  “Of course, dear, but we didn’t do a lot of talking. It was more of a physical relationship. I don’t really know what else I could tell you.”

  “Keep it just in case something comes to mind, or if anything out of the ordinary happens, or if anybody else contacts you about Fred.” Or his spirit shows up here to give you a good rogering. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Anything at all. It might seem like nothing but would help us close his file at work. We’d hate to overlook anything that needs to be in the final report.”

  “Alrighty, I will.”

  Locking my box of goodies in a death-grip, I exited the most wonderful place in the world and strode to the SUV.

  “You plan on sharing those?” Nate asked, trailing behind me.

  I stopped next to the passenger door and looked at him over the hood. “Nope.”

  “What if I say please?”

  “That will have to be some special kind of please.”

  The dimple in his right cheek appeared as he grinned at me over the vehicle’s hood. A wave of warmth spread through me, chasing away the Alaskan chill. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  We might not have been any closer to catching Fred, but inside Brenda’s house, I’d found a few minutes of pure bliss during the chaotic season. Plus, the prospect of Nate decking my halls definitely had my holiday looking jolly and bright.

  Chapter Three

  It had been one of those days. The rest of the A’s and half of the B’s in Fred’s address book hadn’t had any helpful information. A couple of the women mentioned they had a scheduled date with Casanova later in the week. According to my calculations that meant Fred had been burning his yule log at both ends—and sometimes in the middle on a particularly merry day. Trying to trace his love life was exhausting and rather alarming if I’m being honest. All I wanted was a slice of the homemade pizza I’d bought at Costco, a Corona, and some snuggles from my kids. What I got was Claire Goucher, my tactless and slightly inappropriate neighbor, waiting for me when I pulled into my driveway.

  “What noooooow,” I groaned, shutting off the car.

  As often as possible, I tried to avoid encounters with Claire, especially in the summer. Every year, when the weather warmed, Clair graced the neighborhood with her birdlike body and florescent pink string bikini. It was a lot like Ground Hog’s Day, only we prayed for another six weeks of winter so Claire’s comin
g out was delayed. On the downward slope of sixty, her swimwear choice was more baffling than a fashion statement. Unable to prevent the inevitable, I climbed out of my vehicle.

  “Lisa.” My name rushed from her in breathless excitement, her hands waving in the air.

  “Hi, Mrs. Goucher. Merry Christmas.”

  “Lisa, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, ignoring my greeting. Bright blue eyeliner rimmed her bulging brown eyes, and she’d donned her signature frosty Barbie-pink lipstick, but thankfully the rest of her fashion efforts lay hidden underneath layers of winter gear. She inched her way around the front of my Suburban, holding onto the bumper for dear life as she tried to maneuver across the ice. Her normally buggish eyes bulged even more with suppressed eagerness. “Did you hear the news?”

  “No.” I bent and retrieved the dessert box Brenda had given me. “I’ve been at work all day.”

  “Well, you’ll never believe it. Fred Lawson died.” She slid a couple more inches and stopped next to the driver’s door, white-knuckling the metal. “You know, that world famous Santa Claus? Dead. The news said it was an attack.” She gave me a knowing nod. “He had an enlarged heart, you know.”

  “Really?” While balancing the pastry box, my work bag, and the pizza, I gave the door a solid knock with my hip. “I hadn’t heard that,” I said, delivering the lie like a pro.

  “Yeah.” Her head bobbed up and down, her eyes wide with that special kind of joy that comes with being the first to deliver shocking news. “And do you want to know the craziest part?” I didn’t answer, and she didn’t wait for my reply. “I had a date with him this week.”

  You and every other widow in town. “That is crazy.” I moved toward the front steps, but she followed.

  “I know, right?” Her footsteps crunched behind me. “Things were getting hot and heavy…if you know what I mean?”

  “Yep, I do.” Even though I wished I didn’t.

  Weird how a statement became instantly raunchy when you added ‘if you know what I mean’ to the end of it. Literally everything sounded filthy. I like strawberry jam…if you know what I mean. Uncle Joe prefers white meat…if you know what I mean. Disgusting, no matter how benign. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any more appallingly awkward, my other neighbor, Don Burner, pulled into his drive. Another ten seconds and I would have been safely entrenched in my home.