by Louise Lynn
When Hazel stepped out to finish her day of work, the lights on Santa’s Workshop shone, and John Collins slouched in his big red chair. The line had diminished to only a few eager parents and children, and the last hour flew.
John Collins was a reasonably good Santa. His eyes lit up behind the little gold-framed glasses, and he sounded interested in everything the kids had to say. However, as soon as they hopped off his lap, his expression cleared into something so empty it chilled Hazel to the bone.
The only thing that chilled her more was the tip-tap of Scrooge’s cane as he paced behind her in the shadows. Hazel had turned to see who it was once, and glowered at the man, but he didn’t notice. He only had eyes for John, and vice versa.
As the clock struck four, and the final child slid off Santa’s lap, Scrooge approached.
“The sheriff isn’t here to save you this time, Santa,” Scrooge said and smiled nastily.
“I don’t need saving, you—”
“He can be here in a minute if you two don’t cut it out!” Hazel said and moved toward them. She didn't want to step between the two men with that expensive Nikon slung around her neck, but she did hold up her phone and met each of their glares with a patient level look she'd seen Esther use on multiple occasions.
Scrooge lifted his cane, and Hazel made ready to call Sheriff Cross. "It's nearly Christmas. Can’t you two set aside your ridiculous feud for the holidays?"
John Collins laughed, though it was a harsh and bitter laugh, not the joyous chuckle of old St. Nick. "Our feud isn't silly, young lady, and the reason we have it is because of Christmas."
Scrooge's eyes narrowed, draped in heavy shadows from his top hat and the falling darkness. "Don't say that as if this holiday means anything to you, John.”
Hazel raised her brows. Well, they weren't staying in character, that was for certain.
John Collins looked about to say something more when a distant groan filled the air around them.
Hazel looked about. The lights of the Christmas Fair shone several yards away, but the rest of Santa's Workshop was now deserted. The elves, it seemed, retreated to the trailer to get away from John Collins and his nasty behavior. She couldn't blame them, and would've gone herself if not for her promise to Colton that morning.
What could that groan be?
Both men went still, and Hazel was the first to spot its source.
A black shape emerged from the woods behind the workshop, the robes it wore were tattered and covered in cobwebs, and a long white hand stuck out of it and pointed right at Scrooge. Tattered bandages hung from it, and beneath them she noticed smear of blood. ”You’ll become like Marley soon enough," a deep voice intoned from within the heavy hood.
Even if she didn't like Marley Sinclair, that was taking it a little too far. "A man died, you guys can't use it as a gag for your play," she said and glowered at the man playing the Ghost of Christmas Future, whoever that might be. She knew for a fact it wasn't an actual ghoul since they likely didn't exist.
"But it is part of the play, young lady. Have you never read A Christmas Carol?" Scrooge asked with more patience than she assumed him capable.
John Collins laughed again, his bitterness front and center. "She's not talking about Marley in the play, Al, old buddy. She means Marley Sinclair finally got a visit from Old Scratch, one he had coming for a long time."
Scrooge stood extraordinarily still, and what little color was left in his face drained from it. "Marley is d—d—dead?"
Both men looked at the Ghost of Christmas Future, who shrugged. “I hadn’t heard Marley died," the Ghost of Christmas Future said and pushed back his hood.
Hazel had to squint to be sure who it was. It's not as if she saw the man around town often, though he was a full-time resident. But she had seen his picture that morning, smashed in Marley Sinclair's very office.
He was Charles Benson, the owner of the Lodge on the hill and the richest man in Cedar Valley. His face was painted as pale as his hand, and his eyes lined in dark grease paint, much like Scrooge himself. Hazel assumed he was wearing some heavy clothes under that robe to hold off the cold, since the tatters wouldn't do much on their own.
"You did this," Scrooge sneered and turned to John Collins, who laughed even harder at the accusation.
Hazel shook her head. "He died of natural causes. I was at the scene and went over it with the sheriff. Trust me, now, don't a couple of you need to get to the community center for the production?" she said and put her hands on her hips.
That was something she’d learned from her mother. Men were much more willing to do what a woman said if she phrased it in a way that made them think it was their idea in the first place.
Scrooge glanced at his pocket watch and his eyes widened. "Yes, in fact we need to hurry to get there in time, the Ghost of Christmas Future," he said to Charles.
Hazel couldn't tell if Charles was pale because of the makeup or because of word of Marley Sinclair's demise, but he nodded soberly and put his hood back on.
Together, Santa and Hazel watched the men walk toward the community center. Once they were gone, John snorted. "And if there's any fairness in the universe, Albert should kick the bucket next," he snarled and turned toward the workshop.
As he passed through the doors, the lights flicked out.
She made it halfway to the community center, located on the other side of Lakeside Park, when she was accosted by Michael, Violet, and Milo all at once.
First things first, she took Anthony Ray's leash from Michael, who had the expression of a man hounded by ghouls all his own. He, in turn, handed Hazel a cup of hot tea, which she used to bring the feeling back into her fingers.
“Have you seen Scrooge," Violet breathed heavily, and looked straight at Hazel.
Hazel nodded. "He and Charles Benson just started this way, why? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for the production?"
"It's hard to put on A Christmas Carol when Scrooge is missing," Milo said, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He wore a top hat that covered his messy reddish-brown hair, and his nose was pink from the cold.
Hazel frowned, John Collin’s recent threats ringing in her ears. "Is the entire production looking for them? Has anyone contacted your uncle yet?"
Violet worried her bottom lip. "Farrah, who's directing the production this year, said not to call Uncle Colton until we knew for a fact that Scrooge was missing, but I already did. Don't tell her though.”
Hazel nodded. "Fine, but how could they have gotten lost in the fair?"
The teens shrugged, and Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't see Scrooge, but I saw the guy playing the Ghost of Christmas Future wandering over there, and it creeped me out."
The costume was a good one, she had to give them that, and gulped the rest of her tea. She gripped Anthony Ray's leash in a fist. "Well, how about we split up and look for them? Do you mind, Michael?"
Michael shook his head, and they divvied up the fair into easily searchable sections.
Hazel's feet ached and her eyes stung as she rushed past the brightly colored stalls and all the familiar faces without and within. At one point, she saw Ruth skipping ahead of Esther, who held hands with her boyfriend, Raj, and his young daughter, Ripa.
"What's going on?" Esther asked, her brows furrowing.
Hazel wasn't sure what to say. She didn't want to alert everyone that Scrooge was missing, especially after what John Collins just said about him. "A few of the actors for the play never showed up, so we're looking around. No big deal."
Esther and Raj shared a glance that Hazel understood all too well. There'd been enough bodies in Cedar Valley throughout the last year that a missing person case was met with a sense of dread.
"Who?" Esther said and glanced at Ruth, who'd stopped to admire a display of bandannas.
"Scrooge himself, Albert Stone. Keep an eye out?"
Esther nodded and hurried to grab Ruth's hand as they continued their way through the fair.
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Hazel was passing Paul's ski stall when she noticed Marcus in his full Ghost of Christmas Present outfit. There was an uncharacteristically worried expression etched on his face. She assumed his nearly bald head was probably cold with only a crown of grape leaves upon it, but he did a good job of hiding it.
"Are you looking for Scrooge too?" She gave him a tight smile.
Marcus nodded. "'Tis the season, did Violet tell you?"
Hazel smiled wider. "Colton is on his way, and I'm guessing Cece is too? There's no way she's going to miss seeing you dolled up like this.”
Marcus let out a chuckle. “Of course, she wouldn't, but in order for the production to go on we have to find the main player. Someone said they saw him wandering in this direction last.” He pointed down the path toward Santa's Village.
Hazel frowned. "I sent him and Charles Benson back toward the community center at least fifteen minutes ago. Maybe twenty," she said as she consulted her phone for the time.
Marcus shook his head. "Paul said he saw them just five minutes ago, right?"
Paul leaned over the edge of his stall and offered them both steaming plastic cups of spiced cider. After being out in the cold for the last hour, Hazel wasn’t going to say no to that.
"Yep, sure thing. He was wandering that way, which I thought was weird because it's almost time for the play to start, isn't it?"
"It is, was he with the Ghost of Christmas Future?” Hazel asked.
Paul shook his head. "He was alone, and he looked downright murderous, though I guess that's the way he’s supposed to look.”
Anthony Ray meowed and suddenly turned toward the darkened Santa's Village. A stone hardened in Hazel's gut. "If he did go that way, I have a bad feeling about this," she said and took several tentative steps forward.
“I’ll call Sheriff Cross," Marcus said and stepped carefully behind her.
Santa's Village was set several yards apart from the Christmas Fair itself to give it an air of magic all its own. However, with the lights now black and the shadows of night complete, it didn't look magical at all. It seemed more like a cheesy haunted house, and Hazel frowned at the thought.
She’d had more than enough to do with haunted houses to last a lifetime.
"Scrooge?" she called into the still air.
No answer.
In the distance she heard the lapping of Lake Celeste against the icy shore, and the rapidly dropping temperature made her teeth feel like pieces of ice. She freed the penlight from her keychain and shone it around.
"He's missing, yeah, and we're at Santa's Village. No one's here though," Marcus said into his cell phone.
Hazel wished she was the one talking to Sheriff Cross, since she knew his voice would lift her spirits no matter what happened next.
A crunch of footsteps sounded behind the workshop, and she turned from the path and headed toward the sound, Marcus on her heels.
They made a loop around Santa’s seat to get behind the workshop, and Hazel shone her light at the dark trailer. Nothing, though the door hung open on its hinges.
"Hello?" Hazel called, gritting her teeth against the icy air.
Anthony Ray didn't seem interested in the trailer and turned back toward the front of Santa's Workshop. But she had to check, regardless, and shined her penlight inside. It was so small she could easily see there was nothing there but the card table and a few folded out chairs, but no Scrooge or Santa.
Suddenly, the lights to Santa's Village flared to life, and a song began to play—I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.
Strange, of all the Christmas songs Hazel had heard that day, she hadn't noticed that one at all. She glanced at Marcus, and they both nodded at each other and moved around to the other side of Santa's Workshop.
As they stepped through the door, the first thing Hazel noticed was a pudgy hand in Santa's coat hanging off the side of his large red chair. Anthony Ray started toward it, and Hazel let out a heavy breath. “John, have you seen Scrooge anywhere?"
The man didn't move.
"Still no Scrooge, but the lights in Santa’s Village came on," Marcus said to the phone.
Every instinct in Hazel's body told her not to look, but Anthony Ray tugged her forward, and she found herself stepping around Santa's large red chair to look at the face of the man she'd seen just a short twenty-five minutes ago.
Then, he'd been alive and now—he wasn't.
"Tell Sheriff Cross Santa has been murdered,” Hazel heard herself saying, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Chapter 6
"I don't think I'll ever be able to eat a candy cane again," Hazel said and hugged Anthony Ray to her chest.
Sheriff Cross glanced at the crime scene tape and the, thankfully, covered body of John Collins as the M.E. wheeled him away. "Yeah, I know what you mean. This is one of the nastiest things I've ever seen. Whoever did it very definitely has an air for the theatrical."
Hazel stroked Anthony Ray's head. After he found the body, he was satisfied his work was finished and was now available for cuddles and pets, as many as Hazel needed. After that sight, she might need several hours worth.
At least she'd finished the crime scene photography quickly. Sheriff Cross had arrived soon after the discovery, as he was only minutes away on foot. The entire Sheriff's Department had shut down the village and began questioning people at the fair.
So far no one saw anything, and Hazel believed them. Since Santa's Village had been draped in darkness at the time, she assumed that was part of the plan.
She also assumed when the lights came on and the music started it was meant to draw everyone's attention back to Santa's Village and the grisly remains of John Collins. Thankfully, she and Marcus had been there to discover it first so they had diverted a public disaster, though not completely.
“I should've been here. I left him twenty minutes ago and then this. . . .”
Sheriff Cross laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "You couldn't have known this was going to happen. It sounded more like he was going to go after Scrooge than this."
“Does this mean Santa's Village is now a crime scene, and the Christmas Fair is over?" she asked and glanced up at her boyfriend.
Sheriff Cross’s jaw stiffened and he sighed. "My team is going to go over this with a fine tooth comb, but the city council is not going to shut down the Christmas Fair. You know how they are. Anything that brings in tourists for the town is worth staying open even when a body pops up in the middle of it.”
Hazel nodded. At one of the summer festivals, a body had popped up, and they’d kept it open. But she couldn't blame them. All the local vendors would be out a substantial portion of their December income if the Christmas Fair was shut down.
It was only logical to keep it going.
But Santa was dead.
"Have you told Carol yet?" Hazel asked quietly.
He gave her that look she knew all too well. "She's on her way. And we’re looking for Albert Stone. He was the last one seen headed in this direction. Deputy Simmons talked to the elves and they all made a break for it as soon as you were done. I don't suppose you saw them all leave?"
Anthony Ray leaned up and bopped his cold nose to hers, and Hazel smiled. "Honestly, I was trying to prevent another fistfight from breaking out so I didn't see anybody leave. But I noticed no one was around. And John shut off the lights as he walked through those doors, so that's the last I saw of him. Alive. But who would do something like this? It's just not over the top but–"
“I know what you mean."
"So you're pretty sure it’s Albert Stone? I mean, it would be nice to solve a case quickly for once."
Sheriff Cross shrugged, but his steely expression told a different story. "I won't know until we talk to him, but I'm going to say he’s a likely suspect. They had several fights today. That's suspicious."
Hazel nodded slowly and stood from her seat. The red and blue flashing lights brought a little bit of comfort, but it was still below freezing out there, an
d she wanted to get inside as soon as possible. "That's true, but remember, fights don't always mean murder."
The shadow of a smile slipped over his lips. “I try not to make it a habit of arresting the wrong person once per case. Are you planning on getting in the way of that?"
"Absolutely not," she said and leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Unfortunately, she chose the exact wrong moment to do so. As she leaned back, she spotted Carol Collins marching toward them, her eyes wide and her usually neat gray-blonde hair covered with flecks of snow. She wore a beautifully fitted red wool coat and a pair of slick black boots that looked dangerous on the icy path. Normally, Hazel would've liked to see the woman slip a bit, but after what she was going through, she decided to put aside her annoyance for once.
"This is unspeakable, Sheriff Cross. How could this happen?” she demanded and put her hands on her hips.
To Hazel’s surprise, the woman's eyes were dry, and her lip didn't wobble in the slightest.
Sheriff Cross cleared his throat. "How did he die or how did someone murder him?
I’m not really sure what you're asking."
Carol shook her head and rubbed her gloved hands together. "Oh, I know how he died, your deputies just showed me that. What I meant was how could John do this to me? During this time of year, of all times of year, he goes and gets himself killed?" she said, and a single tear dripped from her eye. It looked like a drop of ice on her wrinkled cheek.
Hazel raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure he wasn't intending on being murdered at the Christmas Fair, Mrs. Collins."
Carol Collins let out a shrill laugh. "You have no idea. If he knew it would ruin things, then John would've done it. Are you sure it's not a suicide?" she asked and tapped her fingers on her hips. Even though they were covered with gloves, Hazel was sure her nails were the same red as her coat.
The same red as the blood dripping down her husband's cheeks.
Sheriff Cross’s eyes widened at the assertion. "You saw the body and you think it could've been a suicide? I'm not sure who could've done that to themselves considering the method of death was. . .unusual."