by Cat Clayton
Instinctively, I searched for Cranky Santa and spotted him among the group. The fake beard sat crooked on his chin, the Santa hat pulled down low on his head, and he wore a disgruntled expression. He dragged a Merry Christmas, Y’all sign on the ground behind him.
Well, isn’t he a bundle of merriment? I thought. I monitored him. My attempt to close the gap between us failed as the other red suits marched, creating an impassable barrier between him and me.
Carrying their festive signs, the Santas chanted Christmas carols and waved to the crowds singing along from the sidelines.
The dogs and I stuck with the Santas until the two-and-a-half-mile marker. We had less than a mile to go when I observed the cranky one drop back from the rest of the group. His head swiveled left to right, as if checking to see if anyone was paying attention. In a flash, he ducked under the police tape and disappeared into the crowd of spectators.
“What the heck?” I said out loud.
Chiquita, is something wrong? Cuff glanced up at me.
“Did you see that? Cranky Santa took off.”
Where is he going, Chiquita?
“I have no clue, but I have a weird feeling about it.” I searched for him in the sea of red and green spectators. “Maybe he got tired or something.”
Or something. I bet he is up to no good, Chiquita.
“We’ll never find him in this crowd. We have less than a mile, so we’ll wait, and after we cross the finish line, we’ll use the excuse of having to use the bathroom to go look for him.”
Oh, you are getting so good at this investigating stuff!
We lagged behind the herd of Santas, and Gertie’s clan caught up with us.
“How’s it going, Steely?” Gertie said, sidling up beside me, her flashing tutu stirring up the onlookers. They clapped and cheered as we passed. She held up her tiny arms, giving the crowd her Ms. America hand wave.
“I’m good. And you?”
“Never been better. We’re gonna run to the finish line. Wanna join us?” she asked.
“I’d better not. Y’all go ahead.”
Gertie jogged to catch up with her group, her tutu wagging back and forth.
She is something else, Chiquita.
“She sure is, little buddy.”
I glanced around. We’d fallen behind all the other stampeders. A huge crowd gathered at the end, clapping and shouting my name. Oh well, it’s not how fast you finish, but if you finish, I thought, speed-walking behind the pups.
Everyone cheered when we stepped over the finish line. As soon as we did, I handed the leashes over to Jackson.
“I need to find the bathrooms,” I said and attempted dash away.
Oh no you don’t, Chiquita! Not without me! Cuff yapped his head off.
I eyed him. “Fine, I’ll take you with me.”
Gertie, Stoney, and Ms. Stella also accompanied me. On our search for the restroom area, Gertie elbowed me in the stomach.
“Ouch. What was that for?”
She pointed, and I glanced in the same direction. Scurrying past us was none other than Cranky Santa, his fuzzy, balding head down low—red hat missing—and he was carrying a black bag over his shoulder. Strange and suspicious, I thought.
My doggy-sense is picking up on a terrible feeling.
Me too, little guy.
We located a long row of ugly yellow porta potties in the parking lot behind the courthouse. Most of the runners had cleared out and only a few spectators remained. I told Stoney to take the first one we saw open. Gertie took the next one. Cuff and I had to walk down to the last one near the wooded lot to find an empty stall. As I pulled open the door, my first thought was someone had forgotten to lock it.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so—”
Chiquita, is he...?
I froze, letting the door go. It slammed shut, the sound echoing all around me. For a few seconds, I couldn’t do anything but shake my head in disbelief. Am I imagining?
Was there really a body in there?
Cuff nudged my leg. Yes, Chiquita.
My vision blurred as I kneeled on the ground, shrieking.
Chapter 19
I remained motionless, recalling the scene. When Jackson and Pop arrived, they lifted me from the ground, my entire body trembling.
Ms. Stella approached us. “Mr. Lamarr, Officer Jackson, there’s a dead person in there.” She pointed to the portable bathroom.
“A what?” Jackson asked.
She leaned and whispered. “Well, I’m almost certain he’s dead, and I think it’s that artist guy. You know, the one whose wife poisoned Petunia Jinks.”
Jackson left me in Pop’s arms and headed toward the last unit. He opened the door halfway, stared for a minute, and let the door slam shut. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and made a phone call.
With a buzzing sound in my head, I noticed a small crowd had gathered, most keeping their distance from the scene. Stoney and Gertie stood off to the side, clutching each other. Daniel held onto the dogs. None of them had witnessed what I’d seen. Even though there were murmurs of a dead body, they didn’t know whose body I’d found. Thank goodness.
The macabre scene would remain with me for a long time. Lloyd Madden sat propped up against the back, fiberglass wall with something flashing around his neck. He wore a Santa hat, his head hanging limp to one side, eyes wide open, and his mouth twisted, something jammed inside. Leaning against his body, with his hands staged around the wooden stake, sat a sign wishing any onlookers, Have a Merry Christmas, Y’all!
A soft voice brought my mind back, anchoring me in the here and now.
“When I found her on the ground, crying like she was, I... well, I didn’t know what to do. She kept pointing to the bathroom stall. That’s when I looked myself.” Ms. Stella took my hand in hers. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” Her voice sounded so far away. “She doesn’t look well.”
Is she talking to me? I thought. “I... I need to sit down,” I said, feeling dizzy.
Pop led Ms. Stella and I over near Gertie, Stoney, and Daniel, and he guided me to sit on the curb. Cuff immediately rushed to my side.
Chiquita? You okay?
I rubbed the top of my pup’s head. “I’m okay, little buddy.” I observed Pop approach Jackson, and the two of them put their heads together. I couldn’t see what, but they were passing things back and forth between them.
“Tell me you didn’t find another... you know,” Daniel bent down, whispering in my ear.
I nodded. My unlucky knack of stumbling onto dead bodies now totaled three. Back in July, it had been Mrs. Schirmack’s body I found in the lobby of Scrubadub. Three months later, I’d discovered Petunia Jinks, poisoned in the back garden of the library, and now Lloyd Madden. Finding the hideous display of his body had been the worst by far.
“Oh my goodness,” he said, patting my shoulder. “You poor thing.”
Gertie reached down and patted my shoulder. “Who is it?”
I glanced up into her wide eyes. “I... can we talk about it later?”
“Sure thing, Steely,” she said, gripping Stoney’s hand.
My heart shattered at the sight of my sister. How were we going to break the news to her?
Sirens approached, and I knew within a matter of minutes a swarm of police officers and an emergency medical team would fill the area. Stoney didn’t need to see Lloyd’s body when they removed it.
“Jackson!” I called out, my voice strained.
He dashed over. “What’s up?”
“Can I take my sister and Gertie home, please? I don’t want them to have to be here when they remove...” I stopped myself.
His dark eyes shifted from serious work-mode to kind and gentle. “You’re not in any condition to drive, and I’m afraid I need you to stay to answer a few questions. Daniel, could you see the ladies home safely?”
“Yes,” Daniel said, his hands trembling.
I wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Daniel didn’t fare well under stress and pre
ssure, not to mention he knew there’d been another murder. I noticed Mr. Peters not too far away, standing alone.
“Take Mr. Peters with you.” Safety in numbers, as Mama used to say.
Daniel nodded. “All right. I’ll take the pups too. We’ll see you at your Pop’s house when you’re finished here.”
Cuff whined at my feet.
I reached down and patted him on the head. “I’ll be fine, Cuff. Jackson and Pop are with me. You go home with Taffy.”
He protested by whining and jumping on my legs. But Chiquita...
“It’s okay, little buddy. I promise. I’m fine.”
Daniel gathered Stoney, Gertie, the pups, and Mr. Peters and headed home.
“Ms. Stella, can you stick around as well?” Jackson was in cop mode.
“Whatever you need, I’m here,” she said.
Jackson and I joined Pop. Two minutes later, the police units and ambulance arrived. The four of us stood off to the side. The EMTs went through the motions, but it was useless. Lloyd Madden was dead, and someone had killed him and left him on display.
Chief Becker arrived and headed over. Lieutenant Nick Campbell, Officers Danbury and Kellogg followed in his wake. Jackson informed them of the deceased, and both eyed my father with wariness.
Do they suspect Pop because of his prior assault on Lloyd?
“He didn’t do this,” I said, sidling up next to him.
Jackson patted my hand gently but firmly, letting me know I’d jumped the gun. Maybe I should’ve counted to ten before spitting out my thought. I needed to learn self-control over my mouth.
“Sorry, no offense,” I said to everyone.
“None taken, Ms. Lamarr,” Chief Becker said, crossing his arms over his intimidating chest. “Despite what you may think, I highly respect former Chief Lamarr, and even though he may have shown a lack of willpower the other day with Mr. Madden, I also understand what he is going through. From a law standpoint and a father's. Now, if you’ll please describe exactly what you found when you discovered Mr. Madden’s body. Go slow and try to give us every detail you can recall. Ms. Stella, if you’ll step to the side and give Officer Danbury any details you noticed, I’d appreciate it.”
She nodded.
“Yes, sir.” I knew the drill, and so I recited the details to the best of my ability.
Jackson supplied his observations too. Most of his descriptions were identical to mine, except the last part, which blew me away.
“The 8th gift was sitting beside Lloyd’s body in a basket. Baby bottles along with the card. I counted seven. The eighth was... it was shoved into the victim’s mouth,” he said.
I stood there on wobbly legs, listening, not immediately connecting Jackson’s final detail.
Jackson nudged Pop’s arm. “Show the chief the card.”
Pop handed an envelope to Chief Becker.
Becker opened the card and read the eerie message to the group. Listening, I envisioned the askew typing from the old typewriter and the handwritten C.
The chief recited the message.
On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eight bottles for milking, seven baby sleepers, six baby booties, five teething rings, four baby hats, three baby rattles, two tiny mittens, and a teddy bear in an oak tree. Love, your Secret Santa
We stood in silence as he read. Gasps came from a crowd of onlookers gathered near the scene. The small crowd congregated near us had grown in number and moved closer. Shock and horror plagued many of their faces. Amid the chaos, I guessed no one realized the bystanders assembling.
Springing into action, Chief Becker nodded toward his men. “Let’s get the area roped off and secured. We have a lot of work to do.”
Lieutenant Nick Campbell moved first. “All right, folks, it’s time to head on home, and let us get our work done!” He motioned for the surrounding people to move on. “C’mon, ya’ll!”
Officers Kellogg and Danbury tied crime scene tape, roping off a large area.
The townspeople did as asked without question. Within a few minutes, the area cleared out, and only a few of us remained. The officers resumed their task of working the scene. Our small group reassembled.
Chief Becker shook his head in astonishment. “Not to say I wasn’t already taking these strange gifts to your oldest daughter seriously, but now, they’ve become part of a murder investigation, Randall. I know we’ll have your full cooperation. And I, in return, will keep you in the loop. Heck, if I could deputize you, I would.” He held his hand out for Pop.
“Whatever you need, I’m there,” Pop said, shaking the chief’s hand.
Chief Becker thanked us and sauntered over to the group working over Lloyd’s body. I eyed the red Santa hat tossed to the side on the concrete. The Santa hat... oh my gosh, I remember! The Cranky Santa. How Daniel and I ran into him earlier at the car lot and his odd behavior, the Merry Christmas, Y’all sign he dragged on the street, and how I observed him scuttle away from the cluster of Santas during the stampede. And finally, how Gertie and I saw him fleeing this area. I opened my mouth, but my voice failed me. I seized Pop’s arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Steely?” Jackson said.
Panicking, I pointed to the red hat crumpled on the ground, its white fluffy trim soiled. My heart raced inside my chest.
“It’s Cranky Santa. Daniel and I saw him earlier at the car lot. He wears a fake beard and isn’t very nice. He’s short and pudgy, balding grayish-brown hair. During the stampede, I watched him duck out of line as the Santas marched in front of me. And... he was here too.” I gestured to the area where everyone gathered. “Gertie and I saw him run off with a large black bag over his shoulder, hatless, and without the wooden Christmas sign.” I sounded out of my mind.
With a troubled expression, Jackson’s head cocked to the side. “What were y’all doing at the car lot? And I’m confused. Why was this Santa guy there?”
I dropped to my knees on the concrete. With my chin tucked into my chest, I continued rambling. “I... I wanted to ask about the blue car’s price for Stoney, but when we got there, Earl was inside the trailer with him. The Santa, who acted weird. Dodgy. They were talking about some kind of money transaction. And then he rushed off, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. Earl made a comment to us, saying the Santa guy is mixed up with Kramer. Earl also suggested y’all should look at this Santa character regarding the gifts too.” I clutched my arms around my stomach. “That’s it. Why didn’t I realize it earlier and call y’all? It had to be Cranky Santa. He killed Lloyd.” Shaking my head, I croaked out a nervy chuckle.
“Maybe I should get her home,” Pop said, leaning over and grasping my arm. He gently pulled me to my feet. “She’s in shock.”
I wiggled out of his grip. “I’m fine! Listen. Please!” I told them about all the dealings and sightings I’d had of Cranky Santa. Everything I could recall. The first night at the Cookie Crawl. His constant scowl, his irritated behavior. The encounter at Baker’s Bliss when we helped serve the Santa group.
When I finished telling them everything I remembered, Jackson said, “I’ll be right back. I want to inform the other officers to be on the lookout for this guy.” Then he rushed off.
Finished with her questioning, Ms. Stella returned to my side. “How do you feel?”
“I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
She smiled. Her eyes shimmered in the setting sun’s illuminating rays. “Of course, dear. Randall, how are you holding up?”
He gave her a shy smile. “Hanging in there.”
It’d be dark soon, and I wanted to be home, under a warm blanket, cuddled up with Jackson and the pups, and for this nightmarish afternoon to be a distant memory.
“I’ll head back to the shop, get Prince, and go home. It’s been an exhausting day,” Ms. Stella said.
Pop held up his hand. “Hold that thought, Stella. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He walked over and approached Chief Becker and the group of officers. He po
inted to us, nodded, and he and Jackson returned.
“Your father will see the two of you home. Steely, hang out with your family until I can come pick you up. Okay?” Jackson said.
“But I want to go home. My home.” I pouted, fatigue and stress overcoming me.
“Don’t be stubborn, buttercup.” Jackson nudged me toward Pop. “I promise to pick up you and the dogs when I’m finished here.”
“Fine,” I said and followed Pop and Ms. Stella to his Jeep.
Like a twisted, sick version of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, the aftermath of tonight’s gruesome ending plagued my thoughts. While the rest of Buckleville tucked their children into bed, visions of Lloyd’s dead body danced in my head.
Chapter 20
Jackson came by for me and the dogs after he’d finished clearing the murder scene. We collected a few needed items from his house and went back to my apartment. Pop insisted either Jackson stay the night with me, or I had to come home. I chose the first option.
After we both showered and fed the pups, we switched on the nightly news and snuggled on the couch.
“How’d Stoney take the news about Lloyd?” Jackson asked.
I sighed. “She doesn’t know. Pop and I disagreed about not telling her tonight, but I didn’t want to have a full-blown argument with him in front of Stoney. She definitely knows I found a dead body. She doesn’t know who it was though.”
Jackson shook his head. “Oh man, keeping it from her is a bad idea.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he ran his fingers softly up and down my arm. My skin tingled from the touch of his skin on mine.
“I know. But it’s hard to get through to him sometimes. Knowing his luck, this will blow up in his face, and the fallout will be ugly. I figure we can set things straight with Stoney after she meets with the Houston sketch artist in the morning.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, the fact the murderer left a baby gift with the body will be the worst part for her to learn. This leads us to believe Lloyd was killed because of his association with Stoney. All I can guess is, at some point, this person saw them together.”