Deadly Traditions, page 15
“Am I in trouble?” I chuckled.
“I know you underperformed on purpose,” he winked. “Your secret is safe with me, so long as you promise to bake me a real batch of snickerdoodles tomorrow.”
About Ellie Ballard
There are only a few things Ellie Ballard will go to war for: The corner brownie, the middle lasagne, and Castle. All the rest is open for debate.
Ellie hails from a midwest town not so different from Clear Springs, feeds a cat not so different from TC, and would never be caught dead serving slice-and-bake cookies.
You can learn more and find Ellie’s books at ellieballard.com/deadlytraditions
Santa Claus Is Not Coming To Town
SAGE SO
It’s three days before Christmas, and Santa is nowhere to be found. Can grinchy aspiring forensic sleuth Audrey Nott follow the clues to find the jolly old elf before the holiday falls to fragments?
Chapter 1
“Three more days till Christmas!” Micah jumped up and down. “Fa-la-la-la-la–-la-la-la-la!”
“Why are you so excited about Christmas?” I definitely was not this excited about the holidays when I was her age. Neighbors and Mom’s friends would visit at all hours, dropping off cookies and cards one after another. The treats were the only good part. For some reason, they all felt the need to talk in a high-pitched, cheery voice instead of their regular voice, asking about school and sports and friends when all I wanted to do was hide in my room and read my book.
“Audrey!” Mom would scold after the first guest of the season. “No daughter of mine will be this impolite and ungracious! You may only be half Chinese, but this is totally unacceptable! How many times do I have to remind you about haau? Filial piety is our highest virtue! Why can’t you be more like your big sister! If you want to stay in your room so much, go write haau a hundred times. In Chinese calligraphy!”
Ingrid, two years older, could do no wrong in Mom’s eyes. So, I plastered a smile on my face and made small talk, trying not to grind my teeth or make awkward facial expressions. Meanwhile, Ingrid would put our guests at ease and knew just what to say, playing Christmas carols on the piano when requested.
And how could I forget the cheek pinching and hair ruffling? Total invasion of my personal bubble. My skin crawled at those memories.
“What was the question again?” Micah asked, looking up from her toy robot. Other kids carried plushies, not Micah.
“Why are you so excited about Christmas?”
“Presents of course!” My niece clapped her hands. “I wonder if Santa got my wish list. Mommy said I couldn’t be greedy though, and she only let me put five things in my letter.”
Knowing my sister, she’d have bought all five presents already and wrapped them in festive, classy paper with perfect bows. Mom would buy Micah another ten presents that weren't on the list. I, as usual, had gotten her books, which, as yet, hadn’t been wrapped in the usual brown kraft paper secured with twine. Seven books this year for a seven-year-old.
“Have you been naughty or nice this year?” I asked.
Micah tilted her head. “Seventy percent nice and thirty percent naughty?” She frowned. “Oh no! I’ll have to ask Santa what I can do to make up for it. Can you take me to Santa’s Cabin? Pretty please?”
I sighed. What had I gotten myself into? Our small town, Happy Valley, hosted a big Happy Wonderland Festival each year that drew thousands of visitors. Mom was the chair of volunteers for the event. So, I had to make at least one appearance. Otherwise, she’d lose face among her friends if I didn’t show appreciation in public. But now it looked like I’d have to be there at least twice this year. I was wracking my brain for an excuse as to why we didn’t need to go right then (or ever) when my phone beeped.
It was a text from Mom. Come to HWF NOW!
HWF? I texted back.
Happy Wonderland Festiva! Of course. How could I forget?
Why? I’m babysitting Micah. Remember? I wished Mom would explain herself sometimes and not just make demands.
Santa’s been kidnapped! Need your help to find him!
Kidnapped?
Wait! Did Mom just ask me for help instead of Ingrid for once?
Chapter 2
Clutching some paper in her hand, Mom ran over to us when Micah and I entered Santa’s Cabin. The log cabin smelled of fresh pine, and the fire crackled in the fireplace. The whole room was decked out in blue and silver ornaments. I admitted, a ten-foot-tall Christmas tree full of fairy lights was quite magical. Maybe I should have a permanent Christmas tree in my cottage even though I never bothered to put up any holiday decorations.
“We need to find Santa pronto! Kids are coming in an hour for Photos with Santa, and he’s the star in our Christmas Eve Parade. We can’t have Christmas without Santa!”
“Santa’s missing?” Micah looked up at Mom, eyes as big as saucers.
“Oh! Hi, sweetie.” Mom patted Micah’s head. “Yes, but I’m sure your Aunty Audrey will get him back as soon as possible. Why, with all those murder mystery books she’s read since she was your age, she must know some tricks!”
Tricks? Forensic science, police procedures, and criminal profiling weren’t tricks.
“Slow down, Mom. First of all, how do you know it’s a kidnapping?”
Mom shoved the note in her hand out to me.
Great, now Mom’s fingerprints were on the evidence. I took a pair of latex gloves out of my bag.
“You carry rubber gloves around?” Mom raised her eyebrow.
“You never know when they’ll come in handy.” Especially when you have to eat greasy food and there’s no silverware. I took the note.
“If you want to find Santa, you must follow the trail,” I read aloud. “That’s it? How do you know it’s not a prank? There is no demand for ransom or anything like that?”
“Maybe the kidnapper will tell you about that once you find the next clue!”
“But what trail is he even talking about?” I flipped the note over, but the back was blank. Was there another message written in invisible ink?
“Here!” Mom fished something out of her pocket. A key chain with three keys. A car key and two regular house keys.
“What are the keys for?”
“They were on top of the note on the rocking chair when I came into the cabin expecting to see Santa here getting ready.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Nancy called her son, but he has to go to the next town to help with some big case they have over there. The other police officer … What’s his name again? He’s really sick with the flu, and we definitely don’t want him walking around spreading germs!”
The joys of living in a small town, with only two officers. But it presented me with the rare opportunity to play detective! “Where’s Mrs. Nancy now?”
“She’s going over to the backup Santa’s house to see if he can step in for now. She can’t let the Happy Wonderland Festival fail! She’s up for re-election next year, and you better believe that vile man Leroy will hold it against her if our festival is ruined! He’s been wanting to be mayor forever!”
“Backup Santa?” Micah quipped. I’d totally forgotten she was there.
I shot Mom a look, tipped my head towards Micah, took the keys from Mom, and turned towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Mom shouted after me.
“Look after Micah while I go find Santa!”
If there’s anyone who could still make Micah believe in Santa—as per Ingrid’s strict orders that no one, under any circumstances, ruin the magic for her daughter until Micah was twelve—it was Mom.
Chapter 3
At the parking lot outside of Santa’s Cabin, I spotted a brown Volvo with peeling paint. Santa’s, or rather, Mr. Brown’s car. I went over and peeked inside. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The leather seats were worn at the seams, but it was uncluttered. Unlike mine.
I selected the car key. My hand was shaking a little, and my heartbeat rose in anticipation.
“Hey, you!”
I jumped and dropped the keys. I turned around, ready to say I wasn’t stealing the car. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who it was.
“Portia, you scared me to death!” I bent down to retrieve the keys.
“What are you doing? Did Mr. Brown forget his Santa hat again and ask you to fetch it for him? He’s been getting a little forgetful lately.” She looked down at my hands. “Why are you wearing latex gloves? They don’t exactly keep you warm in this weather, you know.”
“Mr. Brown is missing.”
“What?” Portia’s face turned pale. “What happened? He was totally fine yesterday!”
I briefed Portia and showed her the note. “Since you’ve been taking photos of Santa with various families these past few days, did you notice anything unusual?”
Portia furrowed her brows. “Not that I can think of. We’ve been so busy. Our schedule was full.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Brown?” I took a notebook and pen out of my yellow bag.
“It must have been around 7:00 last night. Our last session was at 6:00. Then I helped clean up the cabin a little bit… ”
I scribbled in the notebook.
“Audrey, what are you doing? Are you … Are you taking my statement? I’m your best friend! Do you suspect I had something to do with his disappearance?”
“Of course not!” My cheeks burned. “But I do have to remain objective if I want to find him. I’m just taking notes so I don’t forget anything.”
“You don’t forget anything.” Portia murmured. “Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with this? I love Mr. Brown!”
“Even though everyone thinks he’s a grumpy old man?”
“You just don’t know him like I do. I’ve been doing Photos with Santa since high school. He could calm the most colicky baby!”
“Except me. He has scared me since Mom forced me to take pictures with him when I was little.” I shuddered at the memory. First Mom made me put on a scratchy red sweater with a green corduroy skirt that was way too tight. Then she made Ingrid and I sit on this stranger’s lap who said “ho ho ho” way too loudly. My skin prickled when his beard brushed my cheek.
“It’s been over thirty years now. Don’t you think it’s time to get over it?”
“If only it was that easy.” I unlocked the passenger door and opened the glove box. Car registration, the car manual, and a booklet of maps. I checked the rest of the car, including the trunk, for other clues.
Nothing.
“I’m going to go to his house to see if I can find the next clue there,” I said to Portia and locked Mr. Brown’s car.
Portia looked at her phone. “I have some time before Photos with Santa start. If the backup Santa gets here on time, that is. Let me go check with your mom. I want to go with you to make sure Mr. Brown is okay.”
I nodded. As much as I liked being alone, I did appreciate having Portia as a friend. Her popularity had saved me from being bullied at school multiple times.
Portia returned a few minutes later. “We’re going to start an hour later today to give Bernard some extra time. Let’s go in separate cars in case I have to come back before we’re done.”
“Bernard? Bernard Barney?”
“Yep! He’s the backup Santa.”
“Interesting.” I wrote something in my notebook.
“What is it?” Portia tried to steal a peek at my notes.
“I saw him and Mr. Brown arguing at the grocery store on Monday night.” I preferred to shop at the least busy time to avoid the crowd.
“What were they arguing about?”
“I wasn’t sure. I saw Bernard pointing his finger at Mr. Brown, and his face was turning beet red. I was too far away to hear their exchange. The manager came out to have a word with them, and then they parted ways.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “When Mr. Brown walked past me, he muttered something.”
Now, what did he say? I visualized where I was in the store that night. Right by the fresh produce. Tomatoes. Cabbage. Lettuce. Peas. Peas!
“Two peas in a pod!” I opened my eyes and wrote it down before my thoughts vanished.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Brown said, ‘Bernard and Leroy. Two peas in a pod,’ while shaking his head.”
“Leroy? The mayor wannabe?”
“Yes. They are best buddies.”
“How do you know that?”
“My mom, of course.” Mom and I couldn’t be more different. She was the social butterfly and knew all the latest gossip in town. “Okay, let’s go to Mr. Brown’s house first. Then we’ll talk to Bernard.”
Chapter 4
Mr. Brown owned a brown bungalow. I used the same key to open the storm door and the wooden front door.
The interior walls and carpet were beige. The cabinets, the window frames, the curtains, and the couch were all different shades of brown.
“A record player!” Portia ran over to the turntable. “I haven’t seen one in forever!” She touched the lid. Good thing I gave her a pair of gloves before we went in. She picked up the record jacket next to it. “‘Roses are Red.’ Bobby Vinton? Never heard of him.”
“When my dad left, Mom played his song ‘Mr. Lonely’ non-stop for a month.” That song still haunted me.
“Understandable. Her family was all overseas, and she had two young girls to take care of. Hadn’t your parents just moved to town? She probably didn’t have many friends either.”
I hadn’t thought of my mom that way. Portia was much better at this people stuff than I was. All I remembered growing up after Dad left was Mom yelling at Ingrid and me. “Study hard! Do chores! Practice piano! You don’t want your dad to think you’re lazy and stupid when he comes back, do you?”
And he still hadn’t returned.
Portia played the record. The familiar melancholic sound of “Mr. Lonely” filled the house.
I looked around Mr. Brown’s living room, taking everything in. There were a few photo frames–brown, of course–on the brown end table. They were pictures of the same person (they all had a cashew-shaped birthmark on their left cheek) as a boy, a teen, a young adult, and a grown man.
“Do you know who this is?” I pointed to the photos.
Portia came over and nodded. “That’s Mr. Brown’s nephew. His late brother’s son. His name is Fred.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen him around.”
“He lives in Florida. Mr. Brown loves him and wants him to visit more often now that Fred’s parents have passed away. But Fred is always saying money’s tight, even though Mr. Brown offers to pay for the tickets and all. I feel so sad for him.”
“Maybe if he were less grouchy, Fred would want to visit more often.”
“Audrey!”
“Just saying. Just because he’s missing doesn’t make him a saint.”
I spotted some paper on the dining room table and made my way over there.
“Take a look at this.” I held up the paper. “These seem to be the blueprints of Mr. Brown’s house. What are they doing here? Could they be the clue?”
“Maybe he’s going to remodel?” Portia leaned in. “There are no messages on them though. So, they’re probably not the clue?”
I took out my small blacklight. “Let’s see if there’s a message written in invisible ink. Let’s go to the bathroom. It’s darker there.”
No secret message on the blueprints or the kidnapping note.
I put the blueprints back on the kitchen table and took some pictures of them and the note for future reference.
“Let’s check the rest of the house,” I said.
We checked the bathroom; the laundry room; the kitchen; Mr. Brown’s bedroom with its brown duvet cover, brown sheets, brown pillowcase, and brown curtains; and a guest bedroom, also with brown bedding and curtains. We found no doorway to a basement or entry to an attic. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mr. Brown lived a simple life. He was neat and organized.
“What now?” Portia asked.
I looked around to see if we’d missed anything. The house looked much smaller from the inside than the outside. The all-brown decorations made it feel confining.
“Let’s put down a list of likely suspects, and any known enemies.” I sat on the couch and looked down at my notes. “Suspect #1: Bernard. We’ll have to interview him to learn why he argued with Mr. Brown.”
Portia sat down next to me. “He’s wanted to be Santa for a few years now, but Mr. Brown isn’t ready to retire yet. Maybe he’d finally waited long enough and locked Mr. Brown up for a few days.”
“But if he only intended to keep Mr. Brown for a few days, there’s a chance Mr. Brown could identify him.”
“Maybe he was extra careful or partnered with someone from out of town.” Portia slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I hope… ”
“What?”
“I hope he didn’t kill Mr. Brown!”
I swallowed. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions until the evidence tells us otherwise. As far as we know, he’s just missing and we’ll find him if we follow the trail. I’m going to check the drawers to see if the clue is hidden.”
I opened the kitchen cabinets and was not surprised to see that Mr. Brown’s dishes and cups were also brown.
Except one.
It was one of those personalized photo mugs. A picture of Mr. Brown dressed in Santa gear next to Mrs. Claus. Arms crossed, mouth turned down, and his head turned away from her. Mrs. Claus, on the other hand, leaned her head and upper body as close to Mr. Brown as possible, her forehead almost touching Mr. Brown’s cheek. Her left hand crossed over her upper body and rested on Mr. Brown’s left forearm. Her radiant smile and dimples were a stark contrast to his aloofness.
