A Damsel for Santa

by Terry Ambrose

  He closed his eyes and waited. A single tear fell in a switchback path down his cheek. It was the first time I'd seen him cry. Still, he didn't answer.

  "Miller? The truth. It's coming out. Was there an affair?"

  He nodded, then croaked, "Yes."

  "And she found out about it?"

  "My life is ruined."

  I put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to sit?"

  I tilted my head at Holly, who stepped forward and guided him to the nearest chair. He sat, a broken man with nothing left to hide or protect.

  How ridiculous was this? Santa interrogating a guy about his extramarital fling. Obviously, it was way too late for Miller to land on the Naughty List, but too early for criminal charges.

  "Okay." He slumped back and sobbed for a few seconds. After a round of sniffles, he started talking. "I didn't kill my wife."

  "Then you have nothing to hide."

  He snorted. "I have everything to hide. Our marriage was ruined because of something I did when I was young and stupid. It was long before I met Brooke."

  "And what was this stupid thing?"

  "A bad date."

  "What did you do, go out with her sister?"

  "Brooke is…was…an only child."

  I wasn't about to play twenty questions just to find out what he'd done while he was single. "Let's be clear about this Miller. You can either tell me now or later when the detectives show up. You've got five seconds to give me the truth."

  He stared off into space, apparently thinking about what to say. When he spoke, his voice creaked like an old door. "I had an affair with a man. It was stupid. I got high and met this guy in a bar and—there was a picture of us." He cleared his throat again. "In flagrante delicto."

  "Oh." I glanced at Holly. Based on the way her jaw had fallen, I figured she understood perfectly what he'd said. Wow, kids these days. What they knew. So why dance around it? "Okay, so you were caught in bed with a man. This isn't the Middle Ages."

  Miller shook his head. "That's easy for you to say. We had standing in our community. Important friends. Conservative friends who—Brooke saw it as reason for divorce."

  "And she had a photo?"

  "She might have—um—found one."

  Huh? How could that have happened unless... "Are you telling me you kept the picture?"

  "Yes," he croaked. "I should have thrown it away years ago."

  Uh, yeah. How stupid could this guy… "It wasn't just an affair for you, was it?"

  He sobbed. "I never got over him. When Brooke saw the photo, she figured it out. She said she was going to ruin me. Told me we'd been living a lie our entire lives and she wanted to do to me what I'd done to her."

  "Where's the photo now?"

  "I was looking for it when Chance pulled me away from Brooke's body." He shrugged. "I suppose when the cops get here, they'll find it and come to the only conclusion they can, I killed my wife. Isn't the spouse always the primary suspect?"

  "Especially when they've been hiding evidence. Did anyone else know about this?"

  "I don't think so."

  Holly blurted. "So not true."

  Miller glared at her, his lower lip trembling and his arms hanging limply at his sides. "She's right. We had a big blowup. It was a few nights ago."

  "About the time you started avoiding Brooke?"

  "Yes. I couldn't even look at her. You have to believe me, I didn't kill her. As nasty as she could be, I still loved her."

  "What do you mean nasty? Everyone I've spoken with has been singing her praises."

  "What else are they going to say? Most of these people have almost nothing. If they had a chance to blackmail me, they'd jump at it. Besides, none of them wants to be a suspect. But, I'll tell you this, my wife had a mean streak a mile wide and if someone tried to get that photo away from her, she'd destroy them."

  14

  MILLER

  Whatever anger Miller harbored at one time appeared to have dissipated through either willful abandonment or sheer exhaustion. His gaze had turned pathetic, and his costume, now that it was rumpled with hours of wear, no longer looked like that of an evil doer. Instead, he was the vision of a man begging for help.

  What kind of help he might want, I didn't know. But, with a marriage gone bad by virtue of a an old mistake, a dead wife, and a murder investigation on the horizon, he needed something. He might not be holding the world's largest pity party, but it ranked up there with a few of the doozies.

  For some reason, I didn't want Miller to be guilty. In fact, if there was a way to help him out, I wanted to. I guess the best way was to find the photograph and return it. If we could.

  The once colorful stage had taken on a sad and lonely appearance, almost as though the Christmas decorations were taunting us with their whimsical promises. Maybe it was the murder. Maybe it was seeing Miller transformed from a proud man to one beaten. He was no killer. Someone else, however, was.

  "Why did your wife think you ruined her?" I asked.

  Miller straightened his red velvet collar. "She said she'd always wanted kids of her own, but we could never have them."

  "Was it a medical issue?" I asked.

  He huffed. "It was more…me. She didn't go into a lot of detail."

  "Then your marriage was on the rocks before she saw the photo?"

  He nodded absently, then cocked his head to one side as though recalling an old memory. "The shelter was her idea, but lately she started blaming that decision on me, too. Brooke was a blamer, you know? Everything was someone else's fault."

  "Why did she say the shelter was your fault?"

  "It was all a stupid mistake." He sighed. "We lived in Plymouth after we were married. One night, we went to a Christmas party and both of us had a little too much to drink. We had a huge argument because she thought I wasn't paying enough attention to her. She stormed out of the party, took one of the other guest's cars, and drove off. She was driving too fast for the conditions. She hit some black ice and lost control. She drove straight into a house."

  He crossed his arms and let his head hang. "If that drive hadn't ruined our lives, the picture I saw in the local paper the next day might have even been funny. There was this big Mercedes sticking out of a picture window. Took out the Christmas tree and all their presents. The dad was assembling his kid's tricycle and needed a different wrench. If he hadn't stepped out of the room…" He shook his head and his mood darkened. "Brooke almost killed him."

  I rubbed my left shoulder. The skin beneath the Santa suit felt raw, as though it matched the worn red material. "Let me guess, she said the accident was your fault because she wouldn't have stolen the car or been driving so fast if you hadn't argued with her."

  "Exactly."

  "Doesn't sound like she took responsibility for much. What happened at the trial? Did she plead not guilty?"

  "Her family's rich. They had a big attorney and compensated the victims. It would have all gone away except a nearby newspaper heard about the story and turned it into a big deal. As it was, Brooke got off with probation. A few days after she completed her sentence, we moved to Honolulu and started the shelter. She was on this huge remorse trip for a few years and said she had to do something to help other people. We dumped tons of cash into the place. It was a giant money pit—and a time suck. The longer we owned it, the less Brooke liked being involved. She was never happy, and it didn't assuage her guilt. I think that's why she was so hard on others."

  I turned at the sound of rustling noises behind me. I was on alert now, and wasn't surprised to see Mrs. Claus watching us. She shook her head. "Hard on others? Miller, get real. Your wife was impossible."

  He nodded. "You're right. But, she didn't deserve…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the body.

  Mrs. Claus pulled one of those folding geisha fans out of her pocket and waved it in front of her face. "Why is it so hot in here?"

  "Be glad you're not wearing this suit," I said. "I think I'm allergic."

 
Holly giggled. "He's got a rash on his Santa parts."

  "Don't ever get to be my age, honey." Mrs. Claus fanned herself even faster. "Hot flashes are awful. I'm hot, I'm cold. At least his condition will go away. Mine's just starting."

  Speaking of heat, I was sweating like a pig. "So, Mrs. Claus, did you get through to the police?"

  She closed her eyes and groaned. "I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached."

  "You can try calling in a minute. I saw you the entire time we were on stage, so I'm your alibi. Pretty good, if you ask me. Anyway, you sound like you knew Brooke."

  "Not well. Just from around here. She took my head off a couple of times, but other than that, we got along just fine. I take a lot of guff from customers at the bank. They don't like being turned down for a loan. Anyway, I've learned people aren't reacting to you, but their circumstances."

  I had news for Mrs. Claus, I'd collected those loans for many years and they'd often reacted to my persistence. Frequently, it hadn't been in a good way. True, people didn't like being turned down, but, they hated being forced to hand over the keys to the repo man even more. Especially when he turned up on their doorstep at odd hours.

  Mrs. Claus glanced at Miller and snarled. "You should have been more understanding." She winced. "Sorry, that just came out. It's 'the change' talking. Not me."

  "What change is that?" Holly asked.

  "That's what I'm saying, kid. You don't want to ever get to this stage in your life."

  "Menopause," I said.

  The girl frowned. "What's mental pause? Is that like the pregnancy test?"

  Mrs. Claus glared at me. "I don't know what you're teaching this kid, Santa, but give it a rest."

  "Right. Holly, make a note, no more discussions about human physiology."

  The girl's cheeks scrunched up and she looked up to me. "How do you spell fizz…"

  "Never mind, kid. I'll remember it." I leaned closer to Mrs. Claus. "Did you know anything about the shelter?"

  She took a small step back before she answered. "Only from what I read in the papers. There was a big scandal recently. Talk of improper management. Funds gone missing."

  I glared at Miller. No wonder he hadn't told me the name. "You run the Better Days Shelter?"

  He cleared his throat. "Ran would be more accurate. It went into receivership. We, um, kind of ran out of money."

  "You said Brooke's family was rich."

  "Once Brooke decided she wanted out, she cut off the funding. Her family's money had been the only thing keeping us afloat."

  I remembered seeing the story on the news. "I thought the owners did a big remodel job and the construction loan money disappeared."

  Mrs. Claus snorted. "Same here, Santa. Word travels fast around the banking industry when something like that happens. No names or details, of course, but it's not hard to add up the numbers."

  "Brooke decided she should get back some of what she put in." Miller hung his head. "I told her it was a bad idea."

  Bad idea? It was embezzlement.

  "You stole money from the homeless?" Holly gaped at him, the notepad hanging at her side, her pen dangling from her fingers in the other hand.

  The kid looked like she'd just gotten the biggest disappointment of her life. From the looks of it, this ranked right up there with the Truth About Santa talk. Take that Miller, even a nine-year-old knew better.

  "I…I can't say anything on the subject," he said. "There's legal action pending and…and…my attorney told me to not talk about it."

  "Who's your attorney?" I peered at him.

  The last of the air in Miller's sails seemed to drop away. "Tsuyoshi Helper."

  "Jack Frost is your freaking attorney?" I exploded. "Are you kidding me?"

  Miller crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't get mad at me, Brooke's the one who hired him."

  Off to the side, Mrs. Claus snickered, "God, I love this place."

  15

  HOLLY - ACT 2

  Holly still looked like her world had exploded, but Mrs. Claus was grinning from ear-to-ear. There was no doubt she was enjoying this far more than anyone else. I glared at her. "It's your job to call the police. Can you do that please?"

  "Sure, Santa." She tittered as she walked away, but stopped after a few feet and turned to face me. "It's ringing!" She squealed and hurried down the steps.

  I still had Miller—and his attorney—to deal with. I caught sight of Jack Frost and Scrooge standing next to Nicky. A scumbag lawyer, a boat person, and a stagehand. What a combo. They had their heads together, which I'd guess to be some sort of big secret powwow. At least I knew where Nicky was.

  "Miller," I called over my shoulder.

  He approached and stood next to me. "Yes?"

  "What do you know about those three?"

  "Thick as thieves, if you ask me."

  That's sure what it looked like. "Has the marks of a conspiracy, doesn't it?"

  "Do you think they had something to do with Brooke's murder?" He sounded stunned. Hopeful.

  Nicky never had revealed why he'd been hiding around the stage, and I wanted to dig deeper on that score. "Did either of them know your wife?"

  "Who Brooke consorted with outside of our marriage was not something she disclosed."

  Consorted with? "Kind of an odd word choice, Miller. Is there something you're not telling me? Was your wife having an affair?"

  He swallowed hard. "I don't think so."

  "Seriously?" I narrowed my gaze. "Miller, don't lie to Santa. Was it Scrooge?"

  "Okay. I noticed her spending a lot of time talking to him during a couple of the rehearsals. I think she was actually flirting with him. The first night she met him, she came home and couldn't stop blathering about how dreamy he was."

  "Was this before she found the photo?"

  His nod was firm and assured. He glanced sideways at Holly, who had drifted closer while we were talking. Terrific, the kid was probably amped up on stories about drugs, sex, and lies. I'd have to live with the guilt of creating a gossip junkie for the rest of my life.

  "So Brooke thought Scrooge was hot," I said. "He has a boat. Is it possible they were seeing each other?" It all sounded so weak.

  "Whoa! So Brooke was doing booty calls during the day?" Holly giggled. "Awesome!" Another fist pump.

  I shut my eyes. How did she know about booty calls? No—scratch that—I didn't want to know.

  "I'm not a little kid, Santa."

  I was dead meat. Holly could read minds, too. She would get star billing during her next show-and-tell at school. And if she dropped my name, I'd be on the carpet in the principal's office in no time. "Look, kid, we're going to play a little game of Santa Says. Right now, Santa Says I ask the questions and you take notes. And you're taking a Christmas Oath of Silence when this is over."

  "Does that mean I can't tell my friends anything?"

  "Not a soul. Not even the reindeer. Or your dog. Or cat. Or…or, anyone."

  She pouted, but agreed with a sullen, "Okay." A few seconds later, she blurted, "Maybe they were doing it on the boat in the afternoon!" She glanced at me and winced. "Sorry, Santa. I forgot."

  Why did I bother? I scowled at her. "Not a word." She zipped her fingers across her lips, but brightened when I asked Miller, "Do you think after she found out about your past she decided to act on her attraction?"

  "I have no idea," he said. "We never saw each other during the day. I run every morning. I'm out the door at six so I can be at work on time. Since Brooke wasn't going to the shelter as much, she had most of the day free. She didn't stay home, though. I kept telling her she needed to get back to work, but my nagging only made things worse. I finally gave up and figured she'd get through it when she was ready."

  The kid raised her hand. I was afraid to ask what she wanted now, but the rash—and my so-called assistant—had worn down my resistance. Honestly, thinking clearly had become a rare commodity. "What is it?"
<
br />   "Do you want me to go get Scrooge?"

  I nodded. "Sure, kid. Good idea. And bring Nicky, too."

  She tossed down her pad and pen and hurried off. With Holly on her way to the back of the theater, I figured I had two minutes alone with Miller at the most. "I'll try to keep the photo quiet. But, if it turns out to be evidence or maybe the motive for murder, you know the cops will need it."

  "I understand." His words were heavy with fear and his voice tired. "It could ruin my life."

  "It could let a killer go free if it remains hidden. And, it could be cause for another blackmail attempt."

  He groaned, nodded, and took a step away from me. "Can I go now? I feel sick."

  "Back of the theater. Don't leave the building."

  He left just as Holly bounced up the steps with Scrooge and Nicky in tow. The contrasts couldn't be more obvious. She was perky and filled with excitement; they both looked wary of what was coming.

  My first interview with Scrooge had gone badly, as had the one with Nicky. It was time to try a different tack. The two men took up positions a couple of feet apart. "I'll come right to the point, gentlemen. One of you killed Brooke Cobos."

  Scrooge sputtered and Nicky gazed at me with his impassive don't-bully-me stare.

  "Serious, dude?" Nicky shook his head. "That's all you got? A bad bluff?"

  "He's not bluffing," Holly said. She stood in front of Nicky and faced off against him.

  His tough demeanor cracked just a bit. "Well, Santa's wrong." He cleared his throat. "Way off base."

  "Yeah, he's way off base," Scrooge echoed.

  "Prove it." I stroked the white fuzz on my face and held their gazes.

  "What?" Nicky stuttered. "You want us to…to prove…we didn't kill Brooke? Is that what you're saying? This is so bogus."

  I placed my palm in front of his face and shook my head. It surprised me when he actually stopped talking. I gestured at Scrooge. "You. Talk."

  "Me?" He put a hand on his chest. "Look, we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last time."

  I craned my neck forward, inching my face closer to his. "A little birdie told me you were having an affair with Brooke Cobos."