Curses and Candy Canes: A Paranormal Mystery Christmas Anthology

by Tegan Maher

  "Excuse me," a man said from behind me, clearing his throat.

  I turned to find a skinny older gentleman in flip-flops, swim trunks, and a rumpled Hawaiian shirt shuffling toward me. He had a couple days of gray growth on his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot. In short, he looked rough.

  I didn't hold that against him, though. It wasn't uncommon for folks to overdo it on the rumrunners during their first couple days at the resort.

  I gave him a big smile. "Hi! Can I help you?"

  "You sure can," he replied in a gravelly voice. "I'd love a martini. And not one of those pumpkin spice or gingerbread or mocha-minty ones, either. Just a good ole-fashioned extra-dirty gin martini."

  "Comin' right up," Bob said as the man climbed up onto a barstool. He shot me a curious look, but I just raised my shoulder. I'd been off for a couple of days, so I hadn't seen the guy yet, even though he did look a little familiar.

  There was a reason Bob was the manager of the tiki, or at least the interim one: not only was he a martini master, he was also a huge people person, Secret Santa weirdness aside.

  The old man's head was wobbling a little, and I couldn't decide if it was age or if he'd already had a martini or two.

  "Looks like a bunch of drunk, manic Christmas elves got loose in here," he muttered, his lip curling a little after he took a healthy sip of his drink.

  I glowered at him. "If you don't like Christmas, fine. But there's no need to be mean just because I do. I worked hard to make it look festive."

  He pressed his lips together and studied his drink as he swirled it in the glass. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn the olive floating in the bottom held the answers to the universe.

  He pulled in a deep breath and released it. "I'm sorry, Destiny. I didn't mean to be mean. It looks lovely." He gave me a world-weary ghost of a smile. "I used to be passionate about Christmas, too."

  "How'd you know my name?" I studied him closer, trying to figure out where I’d seen him before.

  He cocked a bushy white eyebrow at me, then cast a meaningful glance toward my name tag.

  "Oh yeah," I said, then gasped as I recognized the blue eyes and red nose. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Santa?"

  I'd met him last Christmas when he and his wife had come for a short vacay before the big night. There'd been a big snafu when somebody’d stolen his hat.

  "It's just Kris, now, Destiny," he replied, taking another long pull from the martini. "I retired from the whole Santa thing."

  "Retired?" I asked, my mind blown. "So how does that work? You found a replacement or something?" It was no wonder I hadn't recognized him. He was beardless and at least a solid fifty pounds lighter than he'd been back then.

  "Nope," he said, fishing the olive from his glass with a little plastic sword. "There are enough posers in the world that nobody needs the real thing anymore. Besides, kids don't want toy trucks and bicycles and dollies anymore. All they want are electronic do-dads that we just can't provide. Not that they still believe in me, anyway. Letters are down forty percent over the last three decades even though the population's exploded. Can you believe kids actually send me email, now? They won't even take the time to hand-write their demands, the little parasites."

  "But it's not about the gifts," I said, struggling to overcome an impending sense of panic. I couldn’t even try to wrap my head around his use of the term parasites. "It's about the spirit."

  He hmphed. "It didn't used to be just about the gifts, but it's not like that anymore. Fancy presents have taken the place of together time. It's all about how many pretty boxes are under the tree, not how many loved ones are around the table."

  The sad truth was that he was sorta right, but it wasn't like that for everybody.

  "I don't believe that. I know it's true in a lot of cases, but surely not the majority," I said, my mind spinning.

  "Destiny," he said gently, "I know you're one of the good ones. You believe. You still see the magic." He was quiet for a minute as he picked at his coaster. "Maybe that's part of the problem. Average people don't believe in magic anymore."

  Something about Christmas caught my eye on the TV in the bar, and I flicked my wrist to turn up the volume. A newscaster was standing in front of one of those megamalls wearing one of those appropriately tragic looks they must learn in broadcasting school.

  Three separate fights have been reported here at the Red River Mall just today, one of them involving two elderly ladies brawling over the last of this year's most popular toy. Irma Goodwin had picked up the toy for her grandson when Bonnie Wise, another elderly lady also shopping for her grandkids, snatched it from her cart and tried to run with it.

  Ms. Goodwin, who played professional softball in her day, winged a snow globe from a nearby shelf at her, hitting her in the back. The two ladies then proceeded to play tug of war with the toy, a stuffed talking monster, while yelling profanities at each other until the toy ripped in half. No charges were filed.

  The newscaster shook his head.

  I don't know what the world's coming to, folks, but the spirit of good will that usually tempers this type of behavior during the holiday season in noticeably absent this year. We'll keep you posted.

  I jabbed my finger toward the TV with raised brows. "Do you see that? That's all on you. I don't know what kind of hot mess you got goin' on here"—I waved my open palm in a circle to indicate his whole ... whatever—"but you need to pull up your big-boy britches and get yourself together. Christmas is in six days."

  He shook his head sadly. "That stuff on TV’s not my fault, Destiny. You got it backwards. That's the reason I decided to retire. People just don't care about each other anymore. All they care about is stuff."

  His phone, protected by a green-and-red glittery striped case, buzzed on the table. He picked it up long enough to see who it was. Rather than answer, he just frowned, swiped the call, then flipped the phone back over on the bar. I'd worked in the industry long enough to recognize a person dodging a loved one. I narrowed my eyes at him.

  "Did you just swipe Carol?" Yes, I'm on a first-name basis with Mrs. Claus. One of the perks of working at a resort that catered to famous supernatural beings.

  Guilt flashed over his face, followed by irritation. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. She thinks this is just some sort of phase." He grunted. "She told me if I was gonna have a midlife crisis, to do what every other man does—go out and buy a new, high-performance sleigh."

  That would have been hilarious had I not been having a crisis of my own.

  "Well, she's right," I spluttered. "You can't just throw up your hands and quit your job."

  "I can, and I did," he replied, shoving his glass across the counter to Bob. He rolled his finger, signaling to keep them coming.

  Bob pulled his bushy brows down over his sloping forehead but made the drink. "You know, Santa—"

  The not-so-jolly man waved his hand. "Kris. Or Mr. Kringle if you insist on being formal. I'm not Santa anymore. And throw another olive in there. I'm still trying to wash the sugar from eons of cookies from my palate."

  Bob cast me a worried glance, and I chewed on my lip. We had to find a solution because I knew for a fact he wouldn't find one on his own at the bottom of that martini glass.

  Nobody ever did.

  Chapter Two

  It had been two days since Santa—I refused to give up on the title—had shown up, and he was in a steady free-fall. I'd tried to be logical and point out all the reasons why the world needed him, but nothing I said had any impact.

  People were starting to feel it, too. The lighthearted cheer that most people had arrived with was disappearing. It felt like it was August all over again. Kids were obnoxious and entitled, their parents were rude and demanding, and even the weather had turned oppressive.

  I struggled because my Christmas spirit was flagging; the lights and decorations I'd so cheerfully hung seemed to mock me with the seductive memories of happy holiday seasons gone by.


  "Hey, beautiful," a deep, rich voice said from behind me as I swiped at a curl stuck to my sweaty forehead. "What's a good girl like you doin' in a place like this?"

  My heart skipped a couple beats and I turned around, smiling. Colin, my werewolf boyfriend, stood there with a huge grin plastered across his handsome face. His brown eyes danced, and I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.

  "It's good to see you, too," he said, returning my kiss. "But when you came around the corner, you looked like a kicked kitten. What's up?"

  I took a big breath. "You're not even going to believe it," I said as all the worries of thirty seconds ago washed back over me. I told him about Santa and how things had been at the resort. He was quiet for a long moment, his forehead creased in thought.

  "That explains a lot," he said. "People are being horrible to each other in the outside world. Violent crime is up and so are robberies and burglaries. And the stock market is getting ugly. Even the Fortune-500 companies aren't doing so hot. Fourth-quarter sales are in the toilet when they're usually soaring. Now we know why." He frowned. "As a matter of fact, I've had to work a little at being festive, too."

  That was saying something. Colin was just like me when it came to Christmas—he went all out. It was one of the many things we had in common.

  "So what are we gonna do?" he asked. “We gotta get him back in the spirit.”

  "I'm sitting right here, you know," Kris called from his place at the end of the bar. He'd shaved again, but even that was an act of rebellion. Apparently, if he didn't, the full beard would grow back within a day. What I'd taken for a couple days’ worth of stubble the first time I'd seen him had actually only been what had grown since that morning.

  "Oh, you don't have to remind me," I said, scowling at him. "As a matter of fact, you don't have to remind anybody. Whether they know it or not, everybody's sensing that you're sitting on your laurels drinking martinis rather than sipping spiked cocoa while you're giving the naughty and nice lists a final review."

  "Kris?" Colin asked, shocked. "I didn't even recognize you. You haven't gained your Christmas weight yet! Tell me Destiny's not serious."

  "Oh, she's serious,” he grumbled. "She's been a real buzz kill, as a matter of fact."

  "Have you talked to Carol yet?" I asked, doing my best to tamp down my irritation.

  "Nope," Kris replied, popping his P. "She stopped calling yesterday."

  Colin turned back to me, eyes wide with horror. "This is bad, Des. Really bad."

  Before I could respond, Bob ambled out of the back office.

  "We have a big group coming in," he said, studying the paperwork on the clipboard he was carrying. "EOS Inc. Thirty guests due to arrive this evening."

  Visions of wiggling, sticky-fingered kids grabbing drinks off my tray before I could balance it danced through my head. "Please tell me it's a kid-free business group."

  I'd much rather deal with adult corporate execs on a Christmas hiatus. At least they tipped. I frowned at the thought—I was usually the one organizing the Christmas Eve activities for kids who were vacationing at the resort. I left it to other people—ones with a knack for managing the little curtain climbers—to follow through on, but I did all the planning. I hadn't even thought about it yet this year, and I only had three days left. Christmas spirit must have started declining sooner than I’d thought.

  He flipped through the pages, then shook his head. "No kids listed."

  "EOS Inc., you said?" I asked, puzzled. "I've never heard of them. Does it say what it stands for?"

  "It doesn't have the full business name listed, just the contact name—Minstix—and a number."

  I shrugged; it didn't really matter who they were, but I did hope they had at least a little Christmas spirit. I needed some reinforcement.

  "I don't like it," Tempest said, her hackles raised a little. "I don't know why, but I got a bad feeling as soon as you said it."

  She wasn't alone; a feeling that something bad was gonna happen had washed over me, too. I tried to shake it off.

  "You know what we should do when you get off this afternoon?" Colin said.

  "What are you thinking?"” I asked, hoping it was something Christmassy. I really needed something to take my mind off the whole retiring-Santa thing, and maybe if I got away from it for a little bit, something would come to me. As usual, he didn't disappoint.

  "We should go to The Gate and do some Christmas shopping. Stop for cocoa at ChocoLatte and maybe grab some supper and a drink at the Cracked Cauldron. You, too, Bob. You can bring Jolene. Can you get a sitter?"

  Tempest's ears perked at the mention of one of her favorite places in the world. ChocoLatte sold the most luscious chocolates that had ever passed my lips, and since they catered to supernaturals—many of whom were of the carnivorous shifter variety—he always kept a ready supply of chocolate-covered bacon. The perfect treat in her eyes. Well, and mine, too, for that matter. As a good Southern girl, bacon was a food group.

  Bob bounced his head from side to side, weighing the suggestion. "That's not a bad idea. I know she still has a few things she wants to pick up, and we haven't had a grownup night out in a while. It'll do her good to get out."

  Jolene was a stay-at-home mom of five kids, and I honestly didn't know how she did it. The island had its own social network because we all lived there, but it wasn't anything grand. We had housing, a little school, a grocery store, and a smattering of convenience stores, though everything there a little expensive.

  Most of us made a weekly trip to Abbadon's Gate, or just The Gate as locals called it, to do our big shopping. It was our nearest supernatural city and was easily accessible via one of the portals right outside the resort boundaries.

  “I’m in, too,” I replied.

  "Sounds like a plan, then," Bob said. "Colin, are you here on official business, or just to see your favorite girl?"

  "No business. I'm officially on break for Christmas."

  Tempest hopped from the bar to his shoulder. "That means he's here to see his favorite girl, then." She batted her big green eyes at him, then gave me an innocent look. "But he wants to spend time with you, too, Destiny."

  "Yeah, watch it there, sunshine," I replied, raising a brow at her. "Remember who has thumbs and can pay for the chocolate-covered bacon."

  "Easy, ladies," Colin said, his eyes sparkling with humor. "You're both my favorite girls."

  I tried to resist the juvenile urge to stick my tongue out at my fox, but that was the relationship we had. We teased and tormented each other a little, but when push came to shove, we had each other’s backs. Always.

  A family came around the corner from the path that led to the resort and took a seat at one of the patio tables.

  "And that's my cue, sweety," I said, flipping my sunglasses down. "The resort's booked full, and it's beautiful out. That means I'm gonna be slammed all day. You can chill at my place if you want. Bob and I will be off at three."

  "I may do that later," he said, bending down and giving me a quick peck. "First, I'm gonna go up and see if Blake has anything he needs me to do last-minute, then maybe play some poker at the casino."

  Blake was my ex-fiancé and the administrator of the resort. He was a good guy, but things had ended on an odd note for us and sometimes it felt a little like unfinished business. That made it a bit weird for me that he and Colin were buddies, but it was the best-case scenario, all things considered. Plus, Colin was the head of the resort's legal team, so interaction was a necessity.

  Tempest's eyes lit up. "Can I go?" She loved playing poker. As a matter of fact, she got a little too into it. Since the resort had one of the best casinos in the supernatural world, she got to indulge whenever somebody would let her tag along.

  "If it's okay with Colin." I narrowed my eyes and wagged my finger at her. "But no counting cards. Blake was serious when he said he'd ban you from the casino if he caught you doing it again."

  Of course, she couldn't play herself, but she and an o
lder gorgon had hit it off a few months ago. The woman had taken her along for "luck," then found out just how lucky my little fox could be when Tempest had started guiding her at Blackjack. Blake had gotten seriously bent because the woman was up almost ten grand by the time he figured out what was going on. Since the casino was spelled against cheating of the magical variety, but no force on Earth could stand in the way of good old-fashioned math.

  "Deal," she said, a little too quickly, then made a little X over the long white fur on her chest. "Cross my heart."

  "Yeah, and hope to die if you cheat and get caught, cuz Blake will have your hide," I said. I grabbed my drink tray and stuck my order pad in my apron. "You two be good, and I'll see you at three."

  Chapter Three

  As predicted, I was busy all day. Thankfully, Lola and Dimitri, our replacements, came in a few minutes early.

  "I figured you'd be busy," Lola said. "Where are we at?"

  I gave her a rundown of all the open tabs. "I'll go ahead and close them out and tell them you're taking over."

  "That works," she said. "Did you hear about the high roller up at the casino? I pulled a short shift at the roulette table in order to get a little extra Christmas cash, and ended up leaving with three hundred bucks, mostly from him tipping me."

  My blood pressure shot through the roof at the idea of a big spender being there at the same time as Tempest.

  "Wow. No, I haven't heard about him," I replied, praying to every deity known to man that my fox wasn’t causing calamity. "I've been on lock down non-stop here all day. Are they winning big?" I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  She shook her head. "Nope, just the opposite. He's losing his shorts. It never fails, though. The more a person drinks, the more faith they put in the gambler's fallacy, and let me tell you, that guy's much better at drinking than he is at gambling."

  "Who is it?" I asked. Since the resort catered to the wealthy, big spenders weren't uncommon. For somebody to make the high-roller list, they had to be shelling out some serious cash.