Dead.
The scent of peppermint, pine, and now the unmistakable stench of death mingles in the air as I stare down at Santa’s lifeless body.
My scream tears through the community center, followed immediately by Suze, Niki, and Lily joining in with their own high-pitched wails. Within seconds, the entire place erupts into what can only be described as a choir of hellish Christmas carolers—if those carolers had just witnessed Santa Claus drop dead and were auditioning for parts in a holiday horror movie.
“Jingle bells, Santa smells, St. Nick just died!” some kid belts out from the back, proving that nothing creates a comedian faster than trauma.
“Silent night, holy—” the roving carolers attempt to finish the chorus before dissolving into sobs.
“Somebody call an ambulance!” shouts a woman dressed as a reindeer, complete with a blinking red nose.
Cooper and Noah sprint up the stage steps, badges already out as if they’re competing to see who can look more official.
Noah Fox would be the lead homicide detective down in Ashford—and Suze’s older son who has caused more than a littlecontention between the love of his life, Lottie Lemon, and his mother.
Cooper is newer on the force but just as ineffective at catching a killer. It’s a long story and less of an insult and more of a social commentary on the state of the Ashford Sheriff’s Department. I mean, half their cases get solved by bakers with too much time on their hands.
A sharp woof comes from stage left and the cutest little pooch this side of the North Pole bounds over, with the requisite red bow on his collar.
“Watson!” I shout with joy as the sassy pup jumps right into my arms, and you can bet that I don’t let go. He’s soft, fluffy, and has fur the color of pee in the snow. His warm body against my chest feels like the only solid thing in a room that’s not spinning out of control. He’s too busy licking my face silly to notice the fact that his mommy was just Santa’s last stop before the afterlife.
“Effie, what happened?” Cooper growls like a threat, and I’m pretty sure he’s flirting on some deep, dark level. I can’t help it. He’s menacingly sexy when he gets all revved up. Those blue-green eyes of his turn stormy, his jaw clenches, and suddenly I’m wondering if making out next to a corpse is inappropriate. Spoiler alert: it so is.
“The guy dropped dead,” I reply, adjusting Watson in my arms as he squirms to get a better view of the chaos.
“He sure did.” Suze nods. “Right after shetoldhim to.” She tugs at her barely-there dress. “It’s nice to know some men actually follow orders.” She cranes her neck in the crowd. “Noah, where is your father? I’d like to see if he’s capable of following orders himself.”
Suze and Wiley have been divorced for some time now, but that hasn’t stopped her from harassing him every now and again—and from creating that odd-looking doll in his likeness, the one with all the pins in it.
Noah’s face tightens at the mention of his father. “Mom, can we focus on the dead Santa rather than your little voodoo hobby?”
So he knows.
“It’s not voodoo,” Suze sniffs. “It’s therapeutic crafting.”
Noah sighs and asks Lily and his mother to draw the curtains. “The kids shouldn’t have to see this.”
“Too late,” I mutter, nodding toward the sea of smartphone-wielding parents in the audience. “Santa’s death is probably trending on social media already. I can see the hashtags now, #SantaDown or #JingleFails.”
Carlotta and Aunt Cat push their way through the gathering crowd and scramble onto the stage with their festive attire looking particularly garish next to Nicholas’s pale face.
“Another good one bites the dust!” Carlotta announces, as if we’re at a retirement party rather than a Grim Reaper meet and greet.
Aunt Cat nudges the corpse with her sparkly red heel. “I told him that a third helping of Christmas pudding would kill him, but did he listen?”
“That’s not—” I start, but Carlotta cuts me off.
“At least he died happy,” she says with a wink that makes me want to douse my eyes with hand sanitizer. “Face-first in a winter wonderland of peppermints.”
“Can we not?” I plead, shifting Watson who’s now trying to sniff the deceased.
Lottie rushes onto the stage with her caramel locks bouncing, and every inch of her radiating the kind of good looks that don’t diminish with age. She’s got a body that just won’t quit—and that happens to have more to do with the stud of a judge that’s ever by her side, Judge Essex Everett Baxter. He just goesby Sexy. It’s not a self-appointed nickname but still accurate, nonetheless. And zooming to their side is Noah, who Carlotta happens to call Foxy. She’s not wrong either. They both belong to Lottie, which makes her the envy of every woman in at least three counties and the subject of my occasional murderous thoughts on particularly lonely nights.
“Dear Lord,” Lottie gasps as she takes in the scene. “Effie, what happened? And why was Santa trying to wear your peppermints as eye patches?”
“He was not—” I adjust Watson again who’s now pawing at my elf hat. “He just collapsed. One minute he washo, ho, ho-ing, the next he wasno, no, no-ingright out of existence.”
Cooper steps closer with his notebook already out. “Walk me through it.”
