Santa's Subpoena
Rebecca Zanetti
RAZ INK LLC
Copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Zanetti
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
This one is for Chelli Younker, my very good friend and the person I’d see actually crashing through a kitchen window and rolling up to fight if a friend needed help.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who helped to make this book a reality!
Thank you to Tony, Gabe, and Karlina for being a wonderful family;
Thank you to FB Rebels Laurie Rich, Dali Tza, Elizabeth Lynn, Jan Fore, and Cindy Wosch for their help in figuring out the right Christmas presents for this book;
Thank you to Craig Zanetti, Esq. for the help with criminal law and procedure. Any mistakes about the law are mine and mine alone;
Thank you to Asha Hossain of Asha Hossain Designs, LLC for the fantastic cover;
Thank you to Debra Stewart of Dragonfly Media Ink for the wonderful edits;
Thank you to Liz Berry, Jillian Stein, Asa Maria Bradley, and Boone Brux for the advice with the concepts for this new series;
Thank you to my incredibly hard working agent, Caitlin Blasdell;
Thank you to Sara and Gwen from Fresh Fiction, and Cissy and crew from WriterSpace for helping get the word out about this new series;
Thank you to my fantastic assistant, Anissa Beatty, for all of the excellent work and for being such a great leader for Rebecca’s Rebels (my FB street team);
Thank you to Rebels Heather Frost, Kimberly Frost, Karen Clementi, and Karen Fisher for being proof-reading angels;
Thank you to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Kathy and Herbie Zanetti, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, and Jessica and Jonah Namson.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
The Albertini Family Novellas
Tessa’s Trust
You Can Run
Also by & READING ORDER of the Series’
About the Author
Chapter 1
Santa looked like he’d been dragged behind a truck.
The last situation I thought I’d find in my law office on a Thursday morning was a dejected and bloody Santa Claus flanked by two snow-covered senior citizens. Gripping my hot latte, I quickly shut the door before anybody else arrived at my firm.
Thelma, sitting to the left of Santa, turned and stared at me, her cloudy blue eyes wide and panicked. “Anna. Thank goodness you’re here.”
That was a matter of opinion. Squaring my shoulders, I strode around my desk, dropped my laptop bag on the floor, slid the latte onto my ceramic coaster, and shrugged out of my new long black winter coat. Then I smoothed down my green skirt and sat, shifting my legs so my black boots with the chunky heels rested near the laptop bag. I tried to exude some sense of control while gauging what kind of a threat Bloody Santa might pose.
Snow still covered Thelma’s white hair and bright blue scarf, which somehow went well with her lime green snow jacket. Santa wore his usual outfit along with blood and dirt, which added a terrifying element. Next to him sat Georgiana Lambertini, Thelma’s housemate and whom I hoped would be the most logical of the three.
I’d met both women during a legal case earlier that summer, and besides their accidentally drugging me once, I liked them. They loved me.
Georgiana smiled, making all of her wrinkles jiggle on her broad face. In her bright yellow knitted hat she appeared cheerful, while a wide black coat covered her expansive bulk. “You look so pretty today.”
“Thank you,” I said, waiting for the next sentence that hopefully would explain this situation. Although, the suit did fit me well. With my curly brown hair, plain grayish-green eyes, and average height, it was like I hadn’t inherited any genes from either the Italian or Irish sides of my family. I dressed in a lot of jewel colors, in other words. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“We need help, Anna,” Georgiana said.
“Right.” I looked at Santa. He had to be in his early sixties. His red coat was ripped and bruises covered his left cheekbone. The fluffy white parts of his outfit were dirty, and his hat flopped sadly to the side, covered in gravel and what hopefully was slushy mud. His eyes were blue, his beard stark white and real, and his belly round. “How did you all get into my office?” I asked.
We’d opened the Bunne & Albertini Law Office only a couple months previous, and my partner, Clark Bunne, thought I might bring too much trouble to his life. It was true. But who didn’t need a little bit of trouble? Besides, things had been fairly calm all autumn. There was no way he had let in the trio without at least texting me first. “Georgiana?” I prodded.
She blushed. “I’ve been practicing breaking locks, and the ones on this building aren’t real strong.” She leaned toward me, her brown eyes refracting light in the way only those who’ve had cataract surgery can manage. “You really do need a better security system, Anna.”
“Apparently,” I agreed, my gaze drawn to the blood on Santa’s belly, fighting to stay calm when I couldn’t quite figure out the scale of danger here. “What happened?”
He sighed and drew a wicked and bloody knife from a hidden pocket in his red coat to slap on my desk. The handle was thick wood, the blade serrated, and the blood dripped onto my desk. “Lawrence is dead.”
This stopped being amusing.
The skin prickled between my shoulder blades. I kept my expression neutral and my voice calm. “Georgiana? Please take Thelma into the bigger conference room so I can speak with Santa.” My brain reeled. “In fact, I’m starving. Do you two mind heading down to Smiley’s Diner and getting us a table? Order me the special if I’m a little late.” I had to get them out of there and away from that weapon.
Thelma rolled her eyes. “Bernie didn’t kill Lawrence, for goodness’ sake. That’s why we’re here.”
I eyed the bloody knife on my desk. The blood was crusty but still a little mushy toward the tip. Sliding back, I angled my chair slightly toward my laptop bag in case I needed to grab the gun I kept with me at all times. I wasn’t sure I could shoot Santa, but I could probably scare him into sitting still while the ladies made an escape. “All right.”
I pierced dejected Santa with a glare. “Who are you?”
He hitched up his belly, but his chest remained sunken. “I’m Bernie McLintock. You know? Like the movie?”
This guy was no John Wayne. “Sure. Bernie? You have two seconds to tell me why you have a bloody knife in my office before I call the police.” I didn’t like that he sat between the two women. If I went at him, it’d have to be over my desk and straight on, and I couldn’t guarantee to protect the ladies.
“I don’t know what happened,” Bernie said, his eyes filling with tears and his nose turning red. “After working the crowds all day, a bunch of us Santas usually meet up at the Clumsy Penguin over on Lilac Lake? We have a back room where we play poker, and that’s what we did all last night. The pot lasted until six this morning, which is pretty good for a bunch of old dudes.”
There was a private poker room in the Clumsy Penguin? Why didn’t I know that? “What then?” I asked.
Bernie put his hands on his belly, which rounded out the torn red coat perfectly. “Well, I was on a winning streak, and most of the guys filtered out, leaving only me and Lawrence. He won the last pot, so I had to clean up. I did so, walked outside, and found his body on the steps with this knife sticking out of his back. He was still wearing his new Santa uniform, too. It was handmade with real fur. I mean, like real fur. So beautiful.”
I gulped down bile. “How do you know he was dead?”
“I was in the service, missy,” Bernie snapped. “I yanked out the knife, turned him over, and tried to save his life. It was too late. He was gone.”
“Why keep the knife?” My gaze strayed to it once again.
Bernie shrugged. “At first, I wasn’t sure if the murderer was still around. Then, well, my fingerprints were on it, and well, you know.”
I didn’t. Not really. “Bernie,” I said evenly, “why didn’t you call the police?”
A slight crimson finally wound through the too pale skin on his weathered face. “Well, I might’ve threatened to kill Lawrence a week or so ago. Loudly and in front of friends.”
“Of course you did,” I murmured. “Why?”
Bernie shrugged. “Just a simple difference of opinion about how a Santa should act. It was nothing, really. A movie is going to be filmed in town next week, and it’s a horror flick with Santa as a crazed lunatic, and Lawrence was actually going to play Santa! What a betrayal. Plus, the holidays are stressful and we both took it out on each other. That’s all there is to say about it.”
Right. I’d have to delve into that more. “Who is Lawrence? I take it he’s another Santa?”
Bernie gulped. “Yeah. We’ve known each other our whole lives, both having grown up in Bourn. He’s a year older than me, and we’ve worked as Santas during our retirement years.” He wiped tears from his weathered cheeks. “Even before that, really. We like to give back to the surrounding communities, and it’s a good way to make extra income.”
I’d learned early on that clients rarely gave the whole story, and considering the two ladies were flanking him protectively, he wasn’t going to say anything that would put them off. I studied his ruddy complexion, noting again the bluish tinges on his left cheekbone. Fresh ones. “What about the bruises on your face?” I asked.
Bernie groaned. “We might’ve gotten into it a little last night, but it was before we played poker, and then it was done.”
That wasn’t good. “Tell me what was said,” I suggested.
He scratched his bearded jaw. “I don’t remember. We’d already been drinking, and he made a crack about my suit looking old, and I went back at him regarding the movie. Then he said that my ‘ho-ho-ho’ was tinny.” Bernie’s eyes widened. “Can you believe that? I have a great Santa chuckle, and he went right for the soul with that insult. So I hit him.”
“How many times?” This wasn’t looking good for Bernie, but that blood was drying, and I had to get things moving along.
“Once,” Bernie said. “Lawrence wrestled in his youth, so he punched me back and then took us both to the floor.”
I tried really hard not to wince. “So your DNA is all over him?” When Bernie nodded, I considered what else the police would ask. “How many people saw this fight?”
“About three,” Bernie said. “Our friend Doc Springfield pulled us apart, and then we stood up, knocked back another shot of Jack, and decided to play poker. It wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounds. Well, except for the DNA and I guess my finding the body. Poor Lawrence. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
The man seemed a little scattered, but that made sense since he’d found a body just an hour before. I paused. “Where have you been for the last hour?”
“I sat there for a while, just kind of in shock. Then I got cold and called my friends.” He reached out and took Thelma’s hand. “I remembered that they were in trouble last summer and found a hotshot lawyer to get them out of it, so I figured they’d lead me to you. I couldn’t remember your name. I’m sorry.”
I looked at the women. “Did either of you touch the knife or body?”
They both shook their heads. So I tugged out three notepads from my bottom drawer and pens, sliding them across the desk. “All three of you need to write down exactly what happened, and Bernie, I need names and phone numbers for any witnesses.”
They all dutifully filled out their notes, Thelma humming Christmas songs quietly as she did so.
“Did either of you know Lawrence?” I asked them.
“Not really,” Thelma said. “We saw him at a couple of events, but he usually had a chick with him already.”
Okay. That was as good as it was going to get for the morning. I took a deep breath and looked at all three of them. “All right. We need to call the police now.”
Thelma’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
‘“Yes, I’m sure.” When nobody disagreed, I picked up my cell phone and dialed a number I knew well.
“I’m in the middle of something right now, Anna,” Detective Pierce said curtly, the sound of moving bodies around him. “I can’t talk but will give you a call later if you like. I’m sure it’s life or death, like usual.” He didn’t sound like he was kidding.
I sighed. “Could your current business have something to do with a dead Santa stabbed in the back?”
Pierce knew when to draw out a moment, and he did so, no doubt trying to rein in his inherent crankiness. “Do I want to know how you’ve come by that information?”
“Yeah. I have the murder weapon on my desk,” I said, focusing on the knife. “Want to talk to me now?”
Chapter 2
I managed to harangue my clients to the police department with the knife safely encased in a Ziplock bag in my laptop satchel. We were ushered to the larger interrogation room and all sat, with Bernie and Georgiana accepting mugs of coffee from a fresh-faced uniformed officer. She had to be in her early twenties but seemed younger.
We waited with the door closed. I put the knife on the table, and the blood had mushed against the inside of the plastic.
Finally, Detective Pierce opened the door and stopped short upon catching sight of Thelma and Georgiana. He sighed.
Oops. I’d forgotten Thelma had propositioned him late summer during a case.
She fluttered her thick mascara-laden eyelashes. “Why, Detective Pierce. How lovely to see your hotness again.”
Pierce forced a smile. In either his late thirties or early forties, the detective had darker blond hair, stunning green eyes, and a swimmer’s physique. He also lacked any semblance of an appreciation for the ridiculous. He surveyed the room. “Everyone move away from the knife.”
Nobody moved.
His nostrils flared, and he walked to take the remaining chair across from us. Then he gingerly drew the bag toward him and out of our reach. “Were your rights read to you?”
“Yes,” I said as he pulled a phone from his back pocket to place on the table to record the interview. “The rights were read and we’re here voluntar
ily to help you solve this crime.”
Thelma leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “I’m here voluntarily in any way you want.” Georgiana shoved an elbow into her ribs, and Thelma sucked in air, sitting back. “Not nice,” she muttered.
Bernie sighed, looking even more forlorn and sad under the buzzing fluorescent lights. While the entrance to the police station had been decorated for the holidays, the interrogation room, understandably, had not. “This sucks.”
The door opened again and the young officer poked her head in. “Now?” Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail, and although she was new, she had an air about her that promised competence.
“Yeah,” Pierce said, his gaze on me.
The officer smiled. “Ladies, would you please come with me? I’ll get you settled in another room, and Detective Pierce will speak to you in a little while.”
Bernie reached for Georgiana’s hand, looking lost and scared. “They can stay.”
“No, they can’t,” Pierce said. “Go, ladies. We won’t be too long.”
I nodded at the women, and they slowly stood, Georgiana releasing Bernie’s hand. It figured Pierce would want to speak to them alone to make sure all the stories matched, and since I represented all of them, I’d be present. When the door closed behind them, Pierce sat back and looked at Bernie. “Start at the beginning.”
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