A DAMSEL FOR SANTA
trouble in paradise
a mckenna mystery
TERRY AMBROSE
COPYRIGHT
A DAMSEL FOR SANTA
ASIN: B01LZBO9KV
Copyright © 2016 by Terry Ambrose
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover photos by iStockPhotos.com and Depositphotos.com
Cover design by Pen2Ink Designs and is reproduced by permission.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Once upon a time, in a life he’d rather forget, Terry Ambrose tracked down deadbeats for a living. He also hired big guys with tow trucks to steal cars—but only when negotiations failed. Those years of chasing deadbeats taught him many valuable life lessons such as—always keep your car in the garage.
Today, Terry likes fast, funny mysteries and cool photography. When he’s not writing, he’s out looking for that next amazing photo to share. Find him at terryambrose.com.
Find Terry’s books on Amazon: amazon.com/Terry-Ambrose/e/B008NR7QZ4
Twitter: twitter.com/suspense_writer
Facebook: facebook.com/suspense.writer
BOOKS BY TERRY AMBROSE
MCKENNA MYSTERIES
PHOTO FINISH
KAUAI TEMPTATIONS
BIG ISLAND BLUES
MYSTERY OF THE LEI PALAOA
HONOLULU HOTTIE
NORTH SHORE NANNY
MAUI MAGIC
LICENSE TO LIE SERIES
LICENSE TO LIE
CON GAME
A LEI CRIME KINDLE WORLD
TOUGH CHOICES
STEALING HONOLULU
ANTHOLOGIES WITH STORIES
PARADISE, PASSION, MURDER: 10 TALES OF MYSTERY FROM HAWAI‘I
HAPPY HOMICIDES 3: SUMMERTIME CRIMES
HAPPY HOMICIDES 4: FALL INTO CRIME
CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY TERRY AMBROSE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
1
CHANCE
A reggae version of Jingle Bells played in the background. Nice. I liked the island vibe. I stepped back to admire my handiwork. A fishing net hung on the wall in a sad replica of a Christmas tree. If you looked at it sideways, it sort of resembled a Douglas fir—or a spruce—or a lopsided cake.
A knock on the door pulled me back to reality. Uh-oh, company. Were my paltry decorating skills about to go public? There was nothing I could do but tear it down or…what if I didn't answer? I had one more day to get this thing looking presentable. I ignored the door. For once, my holiday wouldn't be someone else's pity party. I was going to be sharing my Christmas with someone special for the first time in many a year.
I adjusted the net slightly on the left side, stepped back, and sighed. Definitely sad.
Another knock. Well, snap. They weren't going away. I guess I had to answer. Before the season was out, I'd be sick of the it's-the-thought-that-counts sentiments. Still, no worries. I had a girlfriend. And an almost-a-Christmas-tree decoration. Mele Kalikimaka to me. I took a deep breath and went to see who was so persistent.
Not surprisingly, it was Chance Logan, my tenant, friend, and part-time sleuthing pal. I hadn't seen much of him since he'd been corralled into helping with some big charity thing. It was all I could do to not laugh as I took in his Christmas attire. He resembled a walking Christmas tree—red T-shirt, neon blue board shorts, and flip flops. "Hey, buddy. What's up?"
"Merry Christmas, McKenna!"
"Mele Kalikimaka to you, too." I gestured at his feet and chuckled. "Nice slippahs, buddy. Very…Christmassy." I figured it was a clever way of telling him those gaudy green straps dotted with brightly colored Christmas bulbs were more than a bit over-the-top.
He rolled his eyes. "Lexie bought them. I think she's testing me. Do women do that? Ask you to wear ridiculous clothing to prove you love them?"
"You're asking me? I'm a newbie in the love department." Besides, his shirt was beyond gaudy and he wasn't complaining about that. "No worries, brah. It's Christmas. Maybe you just want to go with the rescue-beacon excuse."
"I don't follow."
"Sure you do. There's a freak hurricane bearing down on us and the rescue workers will be able to find you in the dark—if you need it, of course." I winked at him and snorted. Gotcha, buddy.
Chance glanced down. "I gotta change these things."
"Nah. Like I said, it's Christmas. Don't worry about it. Coffee?"
He declined by shaking his head and holding up one hand. "You're getting ready for Benni's visit. It's your first Christmas together." He flipped me a thumbs up. "At your age, how great is that?"
I mock-scowled him. "I'm sixty-four, kid, not nearly dead." Deep inside, though, I knew he was right. I'd been lucky to find love late in life. "I hope she can make it. This storm? Forget what the National Weather Service is calling it, I'm going with Hurricane Rudolph. Da kine unusual this late in the season."
"That means very unusual, right?"
"You're catching on to the lingo, Chance. So tell me, it's not rent day. Nobody died. Why are you here harassing me when you should be preparing for your big charity thing?"
"Seriously? I wasn't roped into it. You know I jumped at the opportunity to get back into the business."
"I can see the tour busses lining up now. Welcome to Honolulu-wood, folks. Show biz mecca of the Pacific."
"Are you done?"
His show of impatience hadn't been lost on me. Closed eyes. Shake of the head. I shrugged. Okay, maybe he wasn't faking it. "Like an overcooked burger. I got carried away. Sorry. This is a big deal for you, I shouldn't make fun of what you're doing."
"It's just a local play. But, it's cute. It's tomorrow night, you know."
"I think the whole thing's terrific. What's it called again?"
"A Damsel for Santa. You should come." He glanced at the floor, then up to me. "If you want, I can get you in."
Wow. A Christmas play. Live at a historic theater. "Benni would love it." At least, I hoped she would. My pulse kicked up a notch. "You could get me tickets?"
Chance's eyebrows gave away his sudden interest. "So you like theater? I never knew."
I paused. Why did he suddenly look so pleased with himself? What was he up to? I needed to play this safe and backpedal just a bit. "Come to think of it, I haven't actually been to a play. I guess live theater wasn't on my to-do list."
"So you've never worked with actors before?"
"You can keep them. As far as I'm concerned, one is plenty." It was odd; I'd expected him to offer up those tickets. Chance had money. He was a generous guy. Oh, wait, maybe he wanted me to actually buy them. That was it, he wanted a donation. Well, I didn't have an inexhaustible trust fund like him. I was a paycheck-to-paycheck kind of guy, and a Christmas play didn't fit into this paycheck. I crossed my arms and stepped back, determined to get myself off the hook. "So you're the big director, yah? How's it going?"
"Excellent. But, I've got one tiny problem."
"Kind of. We should be sold out by now." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his shorts.
Chance knew my money situation—not great. He also knew I was tight with a buck. I'd better get him out of here before I had to turn him down. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out." I gestured at the wall. "As you can see, I'm busy with some tree adjustments. Gotta get back to it. Mele Kalikimaka, Chance, and…"
"I need your help, McKenna."
I groaned. Too late. I'd do almost anything for Chance, as long as it didn't involve laying out cash. I contemplated my options. This was going to be my first Christmas with Benni. When she flew in from the Big Island, I wanted to take her out for a nice dinner. I had a little cash put away. Nothing lavish, just something…well, nice. Instead, I might have to use my stash to watch local actors butcher their lines. Maybe the "I'm busy" excuse would work. "I've still got so much going on here—decorations, landlord stuff…"
"Santa quit."
I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"Our Santa called me this morning. He claims he's come down with malaria."
"Santa's got malaria? How the—no, don't tell me. Use your people skills. Doesn't he have a contract or something? Might not look good in the press, but…" I raised both hands and spread them as though I were displaying a marquee. "Director Sues Santa for Faking Malaria."
"I want you to be Santa." Chance stammered. "No, I need you to take over his role. This is serious, McKenna, I'm in a real bind. I don't have anybody else to turn to."
"What about one of the other actors? Don't you directors make sure there's an understudy or something?"
Chance winced. "It's my first time directing. I didn't think anything like this would happen. Besides, you'd be an even better Santa. You've got a good presence around people. You can be very jolly. Have a great laugh. You're perfect Santa material. All you have to do is laugh a little. You know, ho, ho, ho."
"Forget it, kid. I get stage fright something fierce."
"How do you know? You said you've never done theater before. I'm sure you'd be a natural."
Me and my big mouth. "Well, that wasn't entirely true. I had a bad experience. You know how it is."
"What happened?"
I shook my head. "You don't want hear about it. It was ages ago."
"Sure, I do." Chance gazed at me with earnest concern.
It was all I could do to conjure up the lie. "I was a mongoose in my fourth-grade play. Never got over it."
His jaw dropped so much I could almost see the back of his throat. Yeah, the mongoose thing had caught him off guard. He'd bought it. And now I had to add just enough detail to strengthen my story. I sighed. "Do you know how hard it is to howl like a mongoose?"
He took a long breath and watched me closely. "You had to be a mongoose? On stage? In public? What play was this?"
"The Jungle Book."
"The…" His eyes narrowed.
"You know, Rudyard Kipling. Wild child, friendly bear, evil tigers, yada, yada."
"McKenna."
Oh, snap. I'd gone too far. He had The Look. I had one last hope. "It was a big stage production for us kids."
Chance wagged a finger in front of me. Rats. He had me.
"The Jungle Book wasn't popular until the Walt Disney film in 1967," he said. "You would have been in high school."
"What?" How did he know that? The movie had been long before his time. I hated being caught in a lie. Why hadn't I used a different play?
"McKenna…"
"Okay, okay. You got me. I made that up. I'm still not doing it. I just don't think I'd be any good. That's all."
"You'll be excellent. Besides, you're all I've got. This is for charity, McKenna. We're raising money for a shelter. It helps homeless women and kids. It's Christmas and it's the season of giving."
"How much are tickets? I'll take two."
"No."
He held my gaze. His resolve was clear. This was not going away until I agreed to make a fool of myself. "Do I have to wear the red suit?"
His nod was solemn and firm.
I rubbed the back of my neck. He looked so worried. How could I let him down? "You must really be desperate."
"Totally. Please, will you help me?"
The last of my resolve went flat…just like day-old champagne.
Chance gave me his movie-star smile. "The moment this happened, I knew you'd be perfect."
"I can't be perfect. There are too many contradictions. I'm skinny, Santa's fat. Grumpy vs. jolly, yada, yada. It's a long list."
"You'll be perfect. Believe me. Besides, think how proud Benni will be of you for pitching in."
He was probably correct. She'd told me her place was fully decorated. She and her daughter Andi always celebrated the holidays in a big way, but now Andi was on the mainland and Benni was feeling lonely. "You really think she'd like it?"
"No question. In fact, she'll love it. I'll get her a front row seat. Tell you what, I'll even make sure she gets here in time. If she can't catch a commercial flight, I'll have a friend fly her over. No problem. It's settled. I'll pick you up at six for dress rehearsal."
2
MRS. CLAUS
Chance picked me up promptly at six and we arrived at the Honolulu Community Theater about twenty minutes later. Thanks to a boatload of community redevelopment funding, the once grand building had been restored with a strong focus on maintaining the historic appearance. The facade was now an old mission style done in tan stucco with a red tile roof and dark green accents. The second-floor lānai overlooked the street and gave theatergoers a place to congregate on warm nights. It also gave a casually dressed man and woman the perfect perch from which to watch us.
The woman leaned toward her companion and said something to him. He shifted his position and held his right hand behind his back. To be honest, with the wind blowing so hard, I was surprised anyone would want to hang out up there.
"Hey, Chance." The woman had a slim build, and the oversized shirt she wore gave her the appearance of a lost waif. Her short hair blew sideways as she gazed down at us.
"Hey, Kass." Chance pointed at me. "Got us a replacement Santa. This is McKenna. That's Kass, she's our stage hand, wardrobe guru, and makeup artist. She does miracles with no money and lots of ingenuity. Nicky is in charge of lighting and sound. He's always making the actors look good, when he's not binging on junk food."
I waved at both of them, and they reciprocated with a grunt from him and a half-hearted acknowledgement from her. A sudden gust of wind stirred up the scent of marijuana. Unless I was mistaken, Nicky was hiding a joint behind his back. Did he really think nobody was going to figure out what they were doing? If so, he definitely wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack.
We entered the theater through the front door and paused. The tiling was reminiscent of times long gone—lime green bordered brown terra cotta on the walls. The flooring inside the lobby doors also appeared to be original.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chance asked.
"They did a great job of restoring the place. It's like stepping back in time fifty years."
"The architects worked hard to keep the finishes original. They had to clean up all the tiles, but most of it was structural reinforcement. All these decorative posts are original, too. Same tile patterns. Very cool."
"What was that with Kass and Nicky?"
"What do you mean?"
I eyed Chance. "Not exactly the friendliest of people. At least she spoke. And you didn't notice your lighting guy was smoking pakalolo? Kass, too, if I'm not mistaken."
Chance shrugged. "Nicky does his job. He can be kind of stubborn, so if a little marijuana takes the edge off him, I'm okay with it."
"Good to know. You're a very accommodating director." I winked at him. "Speaking of accommodating, I'm not so sure about me being in the role of Santa."
But, Chance wasn't paying atten
tion to me. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead. He pulled me into a hallway on the left. "Let's go this way."
I couldn't help but notice Chance had avoided a woman in an elf costume. It wasn't like him to avoid people. Besides, she was talking on her cell phone and probably wouldn't have given us a second thought. "I didn't think elves had…you know."
"Boobs? Yeah. Don't ask me how she got a role in a kid's play. Way miscast. She'll probably still be out here talking when we start."
I followed Chance to a door marked as Back Stage Entrance. We went in, and the first thing I noticed was an eerie quiet. In the foyer, everything had a hard surface. Between the tile flooring, wainscoting, and the high ceiling, the slightest sounds echoed everywhere. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like with a hundred or more theatergoers standing out there chatting about the play.
A woman wearing a gray wig and a red dress trimmed in white fur sat next to a portable fan. She glanced at us as we entered and raised one hand in a half-hearted greeting.
"Are you okay, Willow?" Chance rushed toward her, but stopped when she waved him off.
"I'm fine. It's these ridiculous hot flashes." She took a deep breath, then craned her head back so the fan blew on her neck. After a few seconds, she gazed at me. "You our new Santa? I'm Willow Bonnen, but you can call me Mrs. Claus if it's easier."
"Given the number of names I'm going to be learning tonight, I might just do that. It's a pleasure, Mrs. Claus."
She smiled as she watched my face. The lady had a few miles on her, but was by no means elderly. I'd put her in her mid fifties. She had piercing blue eyes that sparkled in the light. "Watch out for Arlene." She winked at me and smiled. "Just saying."
Chance grimaced and avoided my gaze.
"Who's she?" I asked.
"She's the mother of our child star," Chance said. "Real life as well as stage. She can really tear into people. Stay clear of her and you'll have no problems."
Mrs. Claus snorted. "That's putting it mildly. She was a musical prodigy with a promising career until she saw some guy bump off the local butcher. After the trial, she was so freaked out that she picked up her daughter and moved here. Now, she teaches music to brats with a tin ear and is turning her daughter into a Hollywood franchise. Mom will be able to live off the kid for years."
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