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Chapter 4

By the time I arrived on the scene, Charlie’s melted remains had frozen solid. His vest, his stick arm, and his one eye and button nose were all preserved in an icy puddle.

Constable Crinkles stared at the sad sight in disbelief. The befuddled lawman was in shock. Everybody had liked Charlie, and it was difficult to keep away the scores of elves and people who had trekked out to witness the scene after hearing the news. In a rare show of model police work, Deputy Ollie had roped off the area, hoping to preserve what evidence there was.

Only Claus privilege had allowed me through.

Two deaths in one day couldn’t be a coincidence, and that thought gave me a little relief—mixed with guilt at my relief. Whatever suspicions I had concerning Nick were completely unfounded if Christmastown had a psycho killer on the loose. Entertaining the notion that Nick had a grudge against an angry elf had been a stretch for me; imagining my husband on a killing spree, however, was impossible. He’d never harm a helpless old snowman. And I even knew where Nick had been when Charlie was killed. He’d just dropped me off at rehearsal and then gone . . .

Where? I frowned. Where had Nick gone?

Crinkles tugged at his chin strap. “It must have been a powerful blast of heat to melt him like that, so fast. Some kind of blowtorch, maybe.”

Everyone within hearing range shuddered in horror.

“Were there any footprints?” I asked.

The constable’s eyes blinked at the question, and then, belatedly, he glanced around.

Nick pointed to a swath of sweeping marks in the snow. “Looks like someone cleared them away, probably with a branch.”

“Whaddaya know,” Crinkles said. “That’s what it looks like, all right.”

I despaired. “Maybe you should start canvassing people to see if anyone owns a blowtorch.”

A light dawned in Deputy Ollie’s eyes, as if he’d never thought of this angle before. “And then we could ask those folks where they were when all this happened.”

“But we can’t say for sure when Charlie was melted,” Crinkles argued.

“Of course we can,” I said. “Nick and I saw him moving along the road just a few hours ago. It had to have happened sometime soon after, especially given that he’s frozen solid now.”

Nick draped his arm over my shoulder. “We should get going and let the constable and deputy do their job.”

Had I been getting in their way? I thought I was helping.

Ollie went to his sleigh and returned with a pickax. He hefted it with the handle over his shoulder, like a soldier with a musket.

“What do you intend to do with that?” Crinkles asked.

“You said we needed to remove the body.”

“I didn’t say we were going to hack poor Charlie into ice cubes. Have you gone crackers? Folks are watching.”

Ollie’s face scrunched in confusion. “So what do we do?”

“We’re going to lift him off the snow—gently and respectfully—and carry him back to the office.”

Ollie sighed, and I could see why. That was quite a chunk of ice to haul away. Nevertheless, he returned to the constabulary’s motorized sleigh and backed it closer. Ollie, Crinkles, and Nick wedged the block of ice off the ground and hefted it into the back of the sleigh. No easy feat.

When they were done, Ollie leaned over, puffing out an exhausted breath. Staring at the indentation the snowman’s remains had left in the snow, he squinted. Then he leaned in and picked something off the ground.

“That’s funny,” he said. “Charlie just had the one eye, right?”

“Of course. It was coal. He lost the other one in the blizzard of 2012.”

“Huh.” The deputy turned over the item in his hand, which on closer inspection turned out to be a button. “We found his button nose frozen in the ice . . . so where’d this one come from?”

We all stepped in closer to examine the brass button.

“That’s not the type of button a snowman would have for an eyeball,” Crinkles said. “Even if he needed a spare.”

“Maybe it came off his vest,” Nick said.

Ollie wiped it off and inspected it more closely. He glanced up at Nick, more nervously now. “More likely it fell off yours.”

Dread roiled in the pit of my stomach. Minutes before I’d been appalled at how bad the constables were at their jobs. Now that they seemed to be picking up on clues, I wished they’d stop.

Still, I wanted to know. I had to know. I leaned in to inspect the button. It was large and perfectly round, with the same waving Santa emblem I’d seen on the box of chocolates Nick had given me last summer. The same kind of button was on many of Nick’s clothes, including the coat he was wearing now.

Strained silence ensued. “Did you just lose it, maybe, when we were picking up Charlie?” Crinkles asked hopefully.

Nick stared numbly at the button. It was obvious he hadn’t just lost it. We had only to look at his coat to see all its buttons were accounted for. Was that the same coat he’d been wearing this morning, though? I honestly couldn’t remember.

“Could be you lost it a while ago and it just happened to be here,” the constable said.

“What are the chances of that?” Ollie asked.

The constable shot him a look.

“It would be quite a coincidence,” Nick said in the deputy’s defense. “And I haven’t lost a button—at least, not that I recall.”

I didn’t, either. Not that I was a button-sewing kind of wife. Nick’s mother probably was. In fact, I doubted there was a missing button in Christmastown that could escape Pamela’s eagle eye.

“I’ll have to keep the button,” Constable Crinkles told Nick apologetically. He lowered his voice. “It wouldn’t be good if word of this got out. The Hollyberrys are already clamoring for me to call in an outside investigator.”

“Maybe you should,” Nick said.

Crinkles looked from Nick’s face to mine, then shook his head. “We’ll see.”

Nick bade him a good day and steered me toward his sleigh. The head of the reindeer team watched us approach. I was still terrible at guessing which herd the animals came from.

“It’s true, then?” the reindeer asked. “About Charlie?”

“Yes,” Nick said. “He’s gone. Killed, most likely.”

The animal hung his head low. “Strange times.”

“Yes.”

“And a Cupid won the race today,” the reindeer added. The others nodded as if that were as strange a portent as two homicides in one day.

I stepped onto the sleigh and covered myself in a lap robe. This was probably another side of my outsiderness to locals. She’s always cold! I could hear them saying.

We rode half a mile with only the muffled clop of hooves against packed snow to break the silence. Finally, Nick spoke. “Go ahead, April. Say what’s on your mind.”

“Who says I have anything on my mind?”

He shot me an amused look. “You usually do.”

I wondered if this was a time to bring up Therese’s sneak attack in We Three Beans and her strange reference to my last marriage. On second thought, never seemed the best time to bring that up, so I focused on more recent events. “If you must know, I don’t appreciate being shut down like you did back there.”

“When?”

“ ‘Let’s let the constable and his deputy do their work,’ ” I said, doing a fair impression of Nick. “As if I were butting in.”

“Weren’t you?”

“I was trying to help.”

“They don’t need help. They’re the law.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s like Barney Fife times two.”

He stared at me, uncomprehending. “Who times two?”

My husband hadn’t grown up watching The Andy Griffith Show reruns, or any other TV shows, except the few who made it on to North Pole television, which from what I could tell was mostly weather, Lawrence Welk reruns, and weather. Satellite dishes had changed things a little, but entertainment to Nick’s generation had been elf clogging recitals, the Elfmen’s Chorus, and umpteen Christmastown Little Theater productions of A Christmas Carol. Most pop culture—aside from a few toy tie-ins needed to do his work—was as much a mystery to him as things like proms and pep rallies. We came from two different worlds, and I had blithely eloped to Santaland thinking I could fit in, when even my name marked me as an outsider.

But my name and fitting in were the least of my problems today. “Where did you go after dropping me off at rehearsal? ” I asked.

He glanced over at me. “Why are you asking?”

More interestingly, why wasn’t he answering? “In case Constable Crinkles ever asks me, I should know.”

“In case I become a suspect, you mean.” His mouth turned down.

“You’re already a suspect. That button . . .”

“That button could have come from anywhere. It might have been stolen from one of the Santaland seamstresses who make our clothes, or it could have been a hand-me-down donated to the charity store in Tinkertown. Or it might simply have fallen off one of my coats somewhere else.”

“And was planted at the scene of the murder.” The idea that someone had planted a clue to implicate him made me uneasy.

It didn’t sit well with Nick, either. “Who would have done that?” he asked. “A Santa hater, in Santaland?”

“The Hollyberrys didn’t seem very friendly toward Clauses.”

“They’re grieving, April.”

It was so frustrating. “Would you stop being understanding? I’m trying to think of things that could clear you.”

He laughed. “You should wait till I’ve been accused to worry about that.”

“By the time someone is accused, the minds of a lot of people are already made up.” Also, I couldn’t help noticing Nick was still avoiding telling me where he’d been. “So after you dropped me off . . .”

“My brother’s grave,” he said, almost resentfully. “I went to be near Chris. I do that sometimes. And after this morning. . .”

The reminder of his grief chastened me. What was wrong with me? Ever since Jingles woke us this morning, the craziest thoughts had been flitting through my mind. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been such a strange day.”

“For everyone.” He looked straight ahead as he drove. “That’s why we need to keep our spirits up and present a calm, united front.”

That was what Pamela had said.

“United against what?” I asked.

“Against suspicions, gossip, and hysteria. Those things can sweep through Christmastown quicker than a blue norther. You don’t know this place like I do.”

“I wasn’t trying to fuel hysteria. I was just trying to find out what happened.”

“That’s not your job.”

Right again. “Maybe that’s the problem. I don’t have a job.”

Shocked, he turned toward me. “You’re Mrs. Claus.”

The words almost made me laugh—the way he said it made it sound as if being the wife of Santa Claus was as responsible a position as that of the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. “I’m a Mrs. Claus. Your mother runs Castle Kringle. And Tiffany . . . well, she’s also Mrs. Claus, and everyone respects her as Chris’s widow.” Or at least they stayed out of her way. “Meanwhile, I wander around in an overcarbohydrated funk and play the triangle.”

“You do more than that.”

Sure. I had an Excel file of musical acts I kept up with. I was like a one-person talent agency. Although there was a lot of busywork involved, being Musical Events chairwoman didn’t feel as fulfilling to me as running the Coast Inn. “I know, but it’s not . . .”

I couldn’t bring myself to finish. I was used to running a business, handling staff, juggling accounts, barely getting everything done by the end of the day. I sometimes forgot how wearying that had been. How I’d wake up at three in the morning worrying about what would happen if I stopped getting enough guests, or if I got too many at once and had turn them away. I worried about repairs, and guest complaints, and taxes. There were always taxes. And repairs. And whiny guests.

My phone pinged inside my purse. Grateful for the distraction, I checked my messages. As if the universe had known I needed a reminder, a long email popped up from Damaris Sproat, owner of the Pacific Breeze bed-and-breakfast down the road from my inn. I laughed. In fact, it might have come out as a demented cackle.

Nick glanced over nervously. “What’s up?”

“Damaris Sproat’s latest email. You have to hear this.

“TO: APRIL

FROM: DAMARIS

SUBJECT: CLOUDBERRY BAY CHRISTMAS REGULATIONS

“April, I’m afraid you might have forgotten the ordinance (506.C) passed by the town council last year pertaining to holiday decorations within the Cloudberry Bay business district corridor. To wit, all businesses within said corridor must display appropriate holiday decor to attract and appeal to seasonal tourists. Naturally, I understand that you are still with your new in-laws; however, when I checked at City Hall yesterday I discovered you had not applied for a variance.

“This puts you in violation of 506.C, which of course carries a fine. Unless, of course, you intend to remedy the situation. Right now there is a black hole in our Cloudberry Christmas Lights Walk where your inn is.

“I have never stuck my nose into your personal business, April. Perhaps you’re one of those Christmas-hating heathens. I will hate to see you fined, but I’m sure you’ll agree that no one—newlywed, heathen, or otherwise—is above the law.

“Sincerely,

Damaris”

After finishing reading it aloud, I laughed. “A Christmas-hating heathen!”

Nick frowned. “They can penalize you even if you’re not there? ”

“Evidently.”

I’d forgotten all about the ordinance. The last thing a person thinks about when they’re eloping in the summer is stringing up holiday lights and setting them on a timer.

Nick’s jaw worked, his desire to take my side warring with his natural revulsion at an undecorated house at holiday time. “What will you do?”

I snapped my phone cover closed and dropped it back into my bag. “Pay the fine. What else?”

He sagged in relief. “I was worried you were going to say you wanted to go back to Oregon.”

“To string a few colored lights across my porch? Irksome as it is to hand Damaris a victory, I’m not insane. Not yet, at least.”

He laughed, and I joined in.

It was easy to laugh then. Neither of us knew what was coming.