Mrs. Claus and the Santaland Slayings

by Liz Ireland

  “I didn’t speak to anyone, if that’s what you mean,” I said, hating the way my voice looped up. Don’t sound guilty. “There’s no one who could give me an alibi.”

  “Not even your husband? Surely he was with you.”

  I flushed. “Well, yes, but he was asleep.” Part of the time.

  He watched me carefully, taking his time. If I had been interrogating me, I would have thought I was guilty. Because I felt guilty. I was lying, but I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t think Nick killed Giblet, and I was sure I didn’t, so why didn’t I just tell the whole truth?

  Because the truth looked so bad: A restless Santa wandering around during the night an elf who’d insulted him was murdered. What detective wouldn’t leap to the obvious conclusion?

  “I didn’t kill Giblet,” I said. “That’s why I came into town to ask about the packages that had been delivered to Giblet’s cottage. Would I have done that if I were guilty? Of course not. In that case, I would’ve known where the spider came from, and when and where it was delivered.”

  “If it was delivered.”

  “How else could it have gotten here?”

  “Someone might have brought it by hand.”

  “If you’re thinking I brought it to Santaland, that’s ridiculous. I would have needed future sight to know there would be an elf in Santaland I wanted to rub out. When I came here I was newly married, fresh from a honeymoon. I wasn’t thinking about elves or murder or anything like that. Transporting spiders to kill Giblet Hollyberry was certainly not at the top of my agenda. I’d never even heard of him.”

  “You’d heard of him before he was found dead, though.”

  “Only because of the ice sculpture competition. And even after the ice sculpture kerfuffle, I didn’t bear him any ill will. I just felt sorry for him—he’d lost and pitched a childish fit.”

  “He called your husband a murderer.”

  “That was just ridiculous. I had no idea what he meant. . . .” Even as I left the sentence dangling, I could have kicked myself.

  “But now you understand,” Frost guessed.

  “I’ve gotten wind of a wild conspiracy theory about the previous Santa’s—Nick’s brother’s—death. It’s completely unfounded.”

  “People are saying your husband pushed his brother into that crevasse.”

  I drew up, doing my best imitation of Pamela. “Anyone acquainted with Nick knows he would never do such a thing.”

  Except, apparently, Tiffany, a little voice in my head contradicted.

  “How well do you know him?” Jake Frost asked.

  “He’s my husband.”

  “Of three months. According to my sources, you two hadn’t known each other very long before the wedding.”

  There were people—sources?—talking to the police about Nick and me? The thought made me queasy.

  “There have been women married to men for decades who never understand their dark secrets until the police start unearthing bodies in the backyard,” he finished.

  For Pete’s sake. “Nick’s a good person, conscientious and kind. When I met him he was grieving for his brother.”

  “I’ve seen a widow grieve for a husband after she put arsenic in his coffee.”

  “You don’t lack for gruesome examples, do you?”

  “All I’m saying, ma’am, is that sometimes guilt looks an awful lot like grief. The two things can get all mixed up in a person’s head.”

  If that person is a murderer. “What you’re saying is that you’ve swallowed a lot of absurd rumors about Nick and you aren’t interested in looking further.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the investigation is still wide open.”

  Sure it was. “Is that why you’d take the word of a flake like Therese Jollyfriend and follow me around?”

  He shifted. “As to that, I didn’t actually believe her. If I had, I would be asking you questions about trying to set up your husband for murder and bring down the House of Claus and maybe the entire tradition of Christmas itself.”

  “She said that about me?”

  “Let’s say it was the direction she was heading. Mostly I wanted to see what kind of woman could manage to make that strong an enemy in just a few months. What did you do to her?”

  “It’s one of those hell-hath-no-fury scenarios. Except as far as I can piece together, Nick never scorned her. They only went out once or twice.”

  “Could be she’s just gone a little snow crazy. Not everybody is cut out for living here.”

  As I burrowed deeper into my coat—I hadn’t taken it off at the station—I wondered if I was one of those people. Only time would tell. Of course, if Therese was as unhinged as she seemed, there was a chance I wouldn’t live long enough to find out.

  “Do you think Therese is dangerous?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “She seems more nutty than violent.”

  “Could she have planned all these terrible things to set me up? I mean, to make it look like I was somehow masterminding a plot to make Nick look guilty?”

  “Instinct tells me she couldn’t set up a tiddlywinks board, even with instructions. But as I said, I’m not ruling anything out at this point.”

  That should have been a relief—I wanted someone keeping an eye on Therese—except that it also meant he wasn’t going to rule out Nick. Or me.

  The second I crossed the castle threshold, pinpricks of panic hit me. The foyer was deserted, but singing echoed down from the great hall—youthful voices trilling out “Ding Dong Merrily on High.”

  Oh God. Realization hit me and my body went clammy.

  The Kinder Caroling.

  Shoot, shoot, shoot.

  This was a big deal. All the schools of Santaland sent children to the castle to sing. In return, the lady of the castle—aka me—treated the carolers to punch and pastries and handed out simple favors and a “gold” coin good for a treat at the Santaland Sweet Shoppe. A Mrs. Claus had been handing out favors in this tradition forever.

  In Santaland, forever meant centuries.

  Jingles swooped down on me like doom, taking my handbag and divesting me of my coat, gloves, and scarf. “Where have you been?” he whisper-growled at me.

  “In town.”

  “I had half the elves in the castle hunting for you.” His sweeping gaze gave me a head-to-toe assessment. “Well, you’ve looked worse.”

  “Thanks for the confidence booster.”

  “Children aren’t the most persnickety about appearances.” He turned me toward the hall. “You’d better scoot in there before you miss the whole thing. Mrs. Claus has been doing the honors in your absence.”

  I arched a brow at him.

  “The dowager Mrs. Claus, I mean.”

  I swallowed, wondering if being late would almost be worse than not showing up at all. My mother-in-law wouldn’t view my absence favorably, but most people might just assume I was sick. Perhaps Pamela had even told them that. If I walked in now, it would be obvious to all that I was merely scatterbrained.

  It’s for the kids, I told myself. This was one event I’d really been looking forward to.

  I hurried off to the great hall, a long gallery of marble and stone and leaded glass windows, with tapestries made by the Santaland weavers centuries ago covering the stone walls. The Tinkertown Tots choir started singing “Marshmallow World.” I slunk in a side door and tried to make my way inconspicuously to where Pamela was standing next to the massive decorated tree. She appeared especially queen motherish today in a suit of cranberry red with a matching hat and satin gloves. As I sidled up next to her, the quick, sharp smile she aimed at me was as withering as any glare.

  “Where have you been?” she said under her breath.

  Out trying to clear your son. I mouthed, Sorry, I forgot.

  “Goodness me, April. It’s not as if you have onerous duties. You could at least show up for the few events you’re scheduled for.”

  “I’m here now,” I whispered.

  Even though I�
��d Mrs. Claused myself up this morning, I was looking the worse for wear after my dash around downtown. Pamela’s glance strayed more than once to my boots, which were streaked with marks from the salt that was spread everywhere to keep the sidewalks from being like a hockey rink.

  “Marshmallow World” ended and everyone clapped. “Are there any more toys to hand out?”

  She gestured to a brass box next to me shaped like a treasure chest, which held the fake gold Santa coins. They were mostly gone. I scanned the room to see if Lucia was nearby, although I couldn’t imagine her patience lasting through more than one kiddie choir. “Was Martin here helping you?”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t be silly—he’s at work. Luckily for me, Therese happened to drop by and leant a hand.”

  Happened to drop by? Sure she did. Because she’d known I wasn’t going to be around—she’d seen me leave and then sicced the detective on me. I was about to protest when Pamela shushed me. “Time to talk afterwards, April. Duty first.”

  I took the box.

  “And for pity’s sake, smile.”

  I smiled, although it would have been impossible not to when a whole line of adorable tiny elves were filing past in their velvet suits, hats, and pointy boots. I only wished I could shower them in real gold.

  The only bad moment came when I caught sight of Therese darting out a side door. She must have loved seeing me arrive late and witnessing Pamela’s irritation with me. It struck me as very disloyal of Pamela to let Therese stand in my place, but then again, I was the idiot who’d forgotten and Therese was her goddaughter. Maybe Pamela had harbored hopes about a marriage between Therese and Nick, too.

  “You simply must try harder,” Pamela lectured me when the hall had emptied out. “Heaven knows I do what I can to include you in things. Just this morning I tried to find you. I wanted to show you my design for the croquembouche.”

  A pastry needed a plan? “I went out to help your son, and thanks to Therese, I got nabbed by a detective looking into the Giblet Hollyberry case.”

  “You talked to the detective?”

  All at once I understood. This was what Jingles had overheard Pamela and Nick talking about. It was the detective who’d been sent for, not a lawyer.

  Pamela’s brow furrowed. “What did he ask you?”

  “He wanted to know if I had an alibi for the time of Giblet’s death.”

  “Did he ask you anything about Nick?”

  I hesitated. Bringing up the subject of Chris’s death was difficult—especially in front of Pamela. “There’s a lot of gossip in town.”

  “Of course there is. Everyone loves to chitter-chatter about the castle. But surely the police aren’t listening to such nonsense.”

  “From what I could glean, they don’t have any real leads.”

  “Then they’re not looking hard enough.” Pamela was pacing, a sure sign that there was at least some disturbance happening underneath that cool exterior. “Although I’m still not convinced Giblet Hollyberry was murdered. It might all be a lot of hysteria over nothing. Who knows how that spider got here? It might have hitched a ride on someone’s suitcase, unbeknownst to that person.”

  But then how had it made its way to Giblet’s cottage? I felt much more inclined to believe the spider had something to do with the package delivered to Lucia at the castle. I needed to find out more about that.

  And what of Charlie? How to explain his malicious melting, unless he’d been a witness to what had happened at Giblet’s cottage that morning?

  “I’m sure it will all blow over,” Pamela continued, “especially if we stay out of it, remain cheerful, and put on a united front. You shouldn’t be running around talking to detectives. Why were you in town to begin with?”

  “I had something to check on.” My interrogating postal employees wouldn’t go with her directive to stay out of it. “Is Nick here?”

  Pamela gaped at me as if I’d lost my wits. “Santa appears at the beginning but doesn’t ever sit through the entire Kinder Caroling. That’s why you were supposed to be here.”

  Every castle event seemed planned out as precisely as Kabuki theater. I vowed to try harder the next time.

  The more I thought about the police investigation, the more worried I became. Presenting a united front in the hopes that the matter of Giblet’s death would blow over didn’t seem much of a strategy to me. I wanted to talk all this over with Nick, so I headed for his study.

  I knocked at the door and waited for his “Come in” before entering.

  “April.” He smiled but barely looked up from whatever it was he was studying on the desk blotter before him. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine.” I decided against telling him about the concert’s slipping my mind. “The kids were adorable, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

  One of his brows crooked, but he was jotting down something and within seconds seemed to forget I’d spoken.

  “I talked to Detective Jake Frost this morning,” I announced.

  “Mm?”

  “They certainly got him here fast.” When he didn’t respond, I repeated, “I said, they certainly got him here fast.”

  He looked up, frowning. “Who?”

  “The detective. Jake Frost.”

  “Is he in Christmastown already?”

  My mouth crunched into a wry smile. “You know, I’m getting the oddest feeling that you’re not listening.”

  “I’m sorry—my mind is consumed by Pudgy Puppers this morning.”

  “What?”

  “Pudgy Puppers. Every other kid in North America wants one, and the supply is woefully low. The shortfall wasn’t really something we could have predicted six months ago.”

  Six months ago this place had been plunged into the crisis of Chris’s death. Of course they hadn’t been thinking of Pudgy Puppers. Still, it was hard for me to believe that Nick was concerned with stuffed animals when his future was at stake. “The detective was asking about you.”

  “Not surprising. That’s his job.”

  “It’s his job to find someone to pin this murder on, and he’s looking straight at you, Nick. Aren’t you worried?”

  “I’m worried about Christmas.”

  “But—”

  “I’d be more worried about the investigation if I weren’t innocent.”

  It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. “Innocent people have been accused, tried, and convicted.”

  He studied me. “Sometimes it seems you don’t have faith in me.”

  “Of course I do. I told him you’re innocent, but . . .” Where were you the night Giblet died?

  “But what?” he asked.

  Questioning my own husband the way Jake Frost had questioned me wouldn’t be a very good way to show my belief in his innocence. “But sometimes it seems like I’m the only one in the family taking the murder inquiry seriously.”

  “It’s the constable’s business, and the detective’s, not the castle’s.”

  “But we in the castle are the prime suspects. No, actually, that’s not true. You are the prime suspect.”

  That caught his attention. “The detective said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but from what I gathered, you probably are. And there’s so much gossip flying around—”

  He let out a sigh. “Gossip, that’s all it is. Everyone around here loves to gossip, but there’s no time for that now. It’s December.”

  “I just think you should pay attention. There was a package delivered to the castle not long ago. According to the clerk at SPEX, it was addressed to Lucia and contained live animals.”

  “So?”

  “A spider is a live animal,” I pointed out.

  He tapped his pencil. “So is a hamster, or a cat, or a reindeer. Lucia has always been an animal freak. There’s no telling what was in that box.”

  “Shouldn’t you at least ask her?” I said.

  “If the constable or detective thinks it’s important, he’ll ask.”r />
  Not if they never find out about it. I ducked my head. “I can’t believe you’re so incurious.”

  He took off his reading glasses. “This is my first December at the helm, and I really don’t need distractions right now. Especially seeing you frantic over a bunch of rumors.”

  “It’s not just—”

  He didn’t wait for me to finish. “In January I’ll gossip with you all you want. We’ll talk about Giblet twenty-four/ seven after the new year. But for now, tens of millions of children are counting on me to stay focused on the task at hand: Christmas.”

  He put his glasses back on and turned back to his notes.

  I stood up. “Fine. But by January, you might be in the hoosegow. Granted, it’s not exactly Sing Sing. More like a B and B. But I’ll still be sorry to see my husband living there as a jailbird.”

  He shook his head. “You’re panicking over nothing.”

  Choking in frustration, I left the room, almost smacking into Jingles on my way out. The keyhole was practically embossed in his cheek.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  I’d just been warned against gossiping, but it was such a relief to run into someone who seemed as concerned about the goings-on as I. True, up until now Jingles tended to view me more as an interloper than a real Mrs. Claus. But I needed to confide in someone.

  “They’ve brought in an outside detective, and I think they’re focusing the investigation on Nick. No one here seems to think this is an emergency.”

  “They suspect Santa of murder?” His eyes bugged. “We have to do something!”

  Dear Jingles. It didn’t take him long to ramp up to a Battle Stations level of panic. I wanted to hug him in gratitude. “I’ve launched my own investigation. I could probably use some help.”

  Jingles straightened to military attention. “Where do we begin?”

  I wondered for a moment how much Jingles could help. Then again, Mr. Ear-to-the-Keyhole might prove himself invaluable.

  “A package containing live animals was delivered to the castle recently. It was addressed to Lucia, but a male took the delivery. Was that you?”

  He drew back. “Not that I recall.” Beneath his cap brim, his forehead scrunched in thought. “I wonder what she’s brought into the castle now. Let’s pray it’s not another ferret. The last weaselly creature she adopted shredded two sofas.”