by Nancy CoCo
“It’s all right,” Charlene said in what I suspected was an attempt to comfort me. “I’ll stay on the line with you. They are on their way. Can you tell me if Santa is breathing?”
I rolled my eyes. “If he is breathing, he’s inhaling snow. Like I said, he’s skinny, but tall and heavy. I can try to roll him over again.”
“No,” Charlene said. “Don’t move him. If he has a neck injury, you could make it worse.”
“I really don’t think things could get worse,” I said as I studied the frozen Santa.
“Can you check if he has a pulse?”
“We are well beyond a pulse here,” I said. “He’s frozen like a Christmas turkey.”
“It’s protocol,” Charlene said. “Please see if you can get a pulse.”
I bit my bottom lip and bent down to look at the Santa. One skinny wrist stuck out between the sleeve and the red coat. The skin was pale and bloodless. “He’s wearing white Santa gloves, but there is a bit of wrist sticking out of his sleeve,” I said. “He’s also white. Are you sure I should touch him?”
“Yes, ” Charlene instructed. “He might be cold, but still alive.”
I did as she asked. The frozen flesh of Santa’s wrist was icy and hard. “Okay,” I said as I dropped his arm and stood, taking a step away. “That was weird. There’s no pulse. I suspect Santa’s been dead awhile.”
In the distance I could hear snowmobiles approaching. I turned toward the trail and, instead of snow machines, saw the two jogging Santas puffing their way toward me. “The two runners I passed are here,” I said, and waved my hands over my head to get their attention.
“Don’t let them touch anything,” Charlene warned me. “If it’s a crime scene, you shouldn’t disturb it.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“Ho, ho, ho,” the heavier Santa said. “Did that sprint wear you out, young lady? Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Best not to be too speedy that you get worn-out.”
“Yes, I know the story.” I put my hands out in front of me. “You need to stop right there,” I said. “There’s a Santa down and this may be a crime scene. We don’t want to contaminate it.” As I said, my boyfriend, Shane, was a crime scene investigator. That, combined with Allie’s penchant to find dead bodies, gave me enough knowledge to be dangerous. The last thing first responders would want was a scene compromised by a bunch of joggers and lookie-loos.
“What’s going on?” the older Santa asked as they stopped in front of me. He was short, fit, and tan, with a shock of white hair and blue eyes.
“There’s a Santa down,” I repeated, and glanced over my shoulder at the body in the snowbank. “I’ve got nine-one-one on the line. She’s sent first responders. I think they are on the snowmobiles you can hear in the distance.”
“I’m a doctor,” the tan Santa said. “I can help.”
I put my hands down. “Okay, you can try, but I think the guy is beyond medical assistance.” I let him through while the larger, heavier, more gregarious Santa huffed and puffed in place. “Charlene,” I said into the phone. “This guy says he’s a doctor. I let him look at the down Santa.”
“This man is dead,” Doctor Santa said. “Joe, come help me roll him over.”
“He has confirmed the man is dead,” I said to Charlene. “He wants to roll the body over.”
“Tell him to wait for the first responders.”
“Okay.” I put my hand on Joe’s chest. “Wait. Don’t touch anything.” Joe paused and I turned to the doctor. “Nine-one-one dispatch says to leave everything for the first responders.”
With growling engines the two snowmobiles pulled up. Officer Rex Manning stepped off one. George Marron, a local EMT, rode the second machine with a stretcher in tow.
“What’s going on?” Rex asked. He took off his helmet and rested it on the seat of his ride. Rex was a tall, bald guy, handsome in an action hero sort of way.
“There’s a Santa in the snowbank,” I said, and chewed the inside of my mouth. “The doc there says he’s dead.”
“Stay here,” Rex said, and went over to the body. George followed with his EMT kit in hand.
“Rex is here,” I said into my phone. “Can I hang up?”
“Yes,” Charlene said.
I hung up my phone and put it back in my armband holder. Heavy Santa was still puffing beside me. I turned to him. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” he said, and bent to put his hands on his thighs. “One too many drinks at the pub last night.”
I lifted my right eyebrow. “That’s probably what happened to him.” I motioned toward the dead guy. I watched as Rex, the doc, and George rolled him over. His hands and legs stayed in their bent and awkward positions.
“Anyone recognize him?” I asked, and stepped closer.
“No,” George said. “But he’s wearing a disguise.” He reached over and pulled off the fake white beard and Santa hat.
“I still don’t know him,” I said. “But he’s good-looking for a stiff.” My attempt at a joke fell flat. The dead guy’s eyes were open and devoid of life. Still, he was attractive. His oval face, light-brown brows, and long slender nose reminded me of the actor who played the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.
“Has to be a tourist,” Rex said.
“Looks like he was bashed pretty good,” George said, and gently turned the head to expose the nasty blood-splattered indentation on the dead guy’s temple.
“Do you think it’s the cause of death?” I asked.
“Hard to say from here,” George said. “We need to take the body to the ME to figure that out.”
“Who found him?” Rex asked.
“I did.”
“She did.” The two Santas turned to me with curiosity on their faces.
“I’m also the one who called nine-one-one. These two jogged up while I was on the phone. Are you going to call Shane in to investigate the crime scene?” I asked, my heart full of hope.
“Charlene has him coming in,” Rex said. He straightened and gave me a squinty look. “Are you two still dating?”
“We took a break while I was in Chicago,” I said. “Why?”
“Convenient that you found the body and Shane is coming to the site,” Rex said a little too offhandedly.
“Oh, please! I’m not going to kill someone just to see Shane again,” I said with a frown.
“True love can make people do crazy things,” the gregarious Santa said, and waggled his eyebrows at me.
“I wouldn’t kill anyone,” I said, and put my hands on my hips.
“I’d suggest you don’t leave the island until we have this figured out,” Rex said. His blue eyes twinkled and I sent him the stink eye.
“I have a job I have to return to in a week.”
“Then you’d better hurry and solve the case,” George said with a wink. I scowled at him. It was difficult. His gorgeous copper skin and high cheekbones made for one heartbreaking man. Not to mention the long black braid that ran down his back. If I didn’t already have a thing for a skinny, brainy guy who wore glasses, I’d certainly be hanging around the island for the local EMT.
A snow machine pulled up and a man in a black snowsuit and helmet stepped off. He pulled his crime scene kit off the back of the machine, lifted his faceplate, and carefully stepped toward the crime scene. One look at that face and my heart went pitty-pat.
“Hi, Shane,” I said, and sent him my biggest welcome smile.
“What do we have here?” Shane asked, his expression impassive.
“One frozen Santa,” Rex said, “with a killer gash on his temple. The snow last night covered all the tracks. She found him.” He gestured toward me.
Shane’s gaze flicked over me as if I were of little interest. My heart sank a bit.
“He says I have to stay on the island until the crime is solved,” I said.
“In that case,” Shane said as he set down his forensic case, “we should get right on it.”
My expression fel
l at his cool response. Somehow my return to the island wasn’t exactly as welcome and romantic as I imagined. Now I knew how Allie felt. Finding a dead guy wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem on television.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Ashley and Kelly for giving me the time and space to write. Thanks for my editor, Michaela, for her great support and feedback. Thanks to my agent, Paige, who always has my back. As always, thanks to the readers who help me keep writing what I love.
Credit: Photo by Lach Craft Productions
Nancy Coco is the byline chosen by popular author Nancy J. Parra for use exclusively on the Candy-Coated Mysteries series. With degrees in engineering, journalism, and an MA in Writing Popular Fiction, Nancy has published cozy mysteries, romantic suspense, and sweet western historical romances.
An Air Force veteran who rose to the rank of sergeant, Nancy is a member of an online group of female veterans who are authors—“Military Women Who Have Turned Sword to Pen.” The group’s website is www.romvets.com.
Nancy is also a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. She has given workshops on a number of writing topics and enjoys doing author panels at fan conferences such as Malice Domestic and Bouchercon. She lives in California with her dog—a bichon poo affectionately known as Little Dog on Nancy’s Facebook and Twitter accounts. Check out Nancy’s website at www.nancyjparra.com.
The author will donate a portion of her earnings from this book to the ASPCA®. Learn what you can do to help at www.aspca.org/donate.
