Deadly Traditions, page 25
That left the cottages of which there were many. Nick pulled his hat more firmly on his head, took a deep breath and, heaving the outside door open, stepped out into an icy blast. He shivered and slapped his hands as he hastened towards the cottages, wishing he had a sleigh to speed things up even further.
The workers’ whitewashed homes had a homely feel with each family choosing their own trimmings; blue, green, red, orange, yellow, purple, pink - each had an individual feel. Smoke curled from chimneys and reindeer were either tied up beside the house or roamed freely. Chickens, despite receiving regular grub, pecked at frozen ground hoping to pick up a few crumbs. Nick pulled a pack of food from his pocket, slit it open with his knife, and scattered it on the ground. Animals and fowl came running at the unexpected treat. Blixen pushed at his hand, begging for more. A huge, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” disturbed the tranquil scene and his reindeer team moved in closer, nuzzling his pockets. As he stroked their velvety noses stress eased from his muscles. All was well in his world; or so he thought.
He was in for a big shock.
Petter Brandysnap’s house had cheerful blue shutters and a yellow roof. The nautical theme, despite the sea being many miles away, gave it a jaunty feel. Smoke curled lazily from a blue chimney. Nick, ignoring the wildlife that milled about outside – reindeer, arctic fox, arctic hare – trotted briskly up the steps and used the reindeer antler knocker vigorously.
A portly woman, with a flour-smudged face, opened the door. “Why the blasted racket…” She wiped her hands on an apron decorated with a Christmas wreath and said, “Oh, It’s yourself, Santa. What can I do for you? Come in. Come in.”
She held the door wide, and Nick stepped inside. The tantalising smell of strudel tickled his nose. He swallowed against the drool that suddenly collected in his mouth and his stomach rumbled. The shortbread seemed like it was days ago. Before he could say hungry, he was seated at a table and a tankard of hot cocoa and a slice of apple strudel with steaming custard was set before him. Without even trying he found himself dunking his spoon in and taking the first ambrosial bite. It swirled around his tastebuds like an overactive whirlpool before sliding down his throat. He let out a moan before putting down his spoon and asking, “Is Petter around?”
“No.” She gasped as her hand flew to her chest. “He’s at work. Why…? What…?”
Nick’s shoulders slumped and he shuffled in his seat. He hated awkward questions. The world was meant to love him and anything different left him somewhat nonplussed. He swallowed a couple of times and said, “I’m sure he’s just busy somewhere.”
Brandysnap’s missus did not look convinced but thankfully she kept her council. Nick shoved down the rest of the strudel, barely tasting it, and stood up to leave.
“Tell Petter to let me know he’s safe,” were her parting words.
Nick jolly well hoped he was safe but was beginning to doubt it. He did wonder briefly why Mrs Brandysnap was not in the workshop. Every single North Pole resident was usually hard at it in the workshops at this time of year. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and thought she was likely on cake making duty that day. Cakes were as critical as toys when it came to the business of Christmas. Who could possibly do without a Kransekake or a Christmas cake come the big day? There would be weeping and wailing around the world if they failed to appear.
He left the house with nary a clue as to what he should do, or where he should go, next. All the other houses were locked up tighter than a seal’s backside. Or were they? He wandered up to a few and tried the door. Yes, shut tight. Then, one brightly painted green, wood door caught his eye. Was it ajar? He tripped as he hastened up the steps and went boots over hat, smacking the door as he did so. It flew open revealing a site never previously seen in the North Pole and one that should never be associated with Christmas. Brandysnap, hat lying beside him, lay drenched in blood his eyes wide open in a death stare.
Nick screamed and backed out of the door, doing a somersault down the stairs. He hauled himself up and bolted in the direction of a phone. Shaking, he pressed the buttons for the hospital. Three attempts later he was through to someone who knew what they were doing.
“Are you still with the patient?”
“N… N…. No.”
“Did you check his pulse to see if he was really dead?”
Nick’s voice grew stronger. “No, I bally well didn’t. I ran as fast as I could.”
“Stay calm, Sir, we need you to return to the scene and the paramedics will be with you shortly.” There was a pause and then she added, “Check his pulse and see if he’s breathing.
Returning was the last thing on Nick’s mind but he trudged in the direction of Henrik’s house, where Petter drew his last breath. This time he did not hasten. There was no doubt in his mind Brandysnap was as dead as any elf could be. Not that he’d tripped over many dead bodies, so his experience was limited, but he’d swear on Rudolph’s life that Petter’s life was at an end. What else could jolly well go wrong today?
It wasn’t long before the paramedics tipped up and pronounced Petter dead. Given the torn tunic and gaping hole in his stomach, it wasn’t difficult to work out that he’d been stabbed.
“Yon lad’s been murrrrdered.”
“You what?” Nick wondered what language he was listening to. The paramedic was new, as was the accent.
“Murrrdered. He’s been killed.” He damped down his Scottish burr for the benefit of the obviously addled Santa. The Scot wondered how long it was until Nick retired.
“Murder?” Nick’s already pale face turned fifty shades of white. “We don’t murder each other in the North Pole.
“Well, someone never got the memo aboot that. He’s definitely been murdered.”
Nick staggered to a chair, grabbed the arm and thumped down into the chair’s comforting embrace.
“Stand up right now, you’re contaminating my crime scene.” The speaker, a lanky streak with flowing blonde hair, was struggling into a jacket that looked to be for a much smaller specimen of manhood.
Leaping to his feet Nick said, Sergeant Balthazar. Thank goodness you’re here.”
“It’s a good job I am with half the North Pole traipsing all over the place. Been selling tickets, have we?”
Santa, who ruled his kingdom with a benevolent air, leapt to his feet quaking in the presence of his sarcastic sergeant.
“Sorry.” He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“You might be sorry but that won’t wash in court when there’s evidence that didn’t ought to be anywhere near here.”
“But it was me who found him. My DNA would already be here.” Santa didn’t know as much about crime scenes as he did Christmas, but he’d watched television.
“Everyone’s an expert.” Balthazar’s chest grew larger giving him a self-aggrandised air. He pointed out the door. “Go and give a statement to my corporal.”
Nick shuffled out, his head low. How has it come to this at the most fabulous time of the year?
Sven, the corporal, grilled him every which way until even he believed he was the perpetrator. Once it was finished, sweating, he asked, “Should I go and let his wife know of his demise.”
“No, leave that to us. We don’t want to miss evidence.” Sven looked down his nose at the CEO of North Pole Inc a.k.a. Santa and added, “You’re likely to make a right hash of it.”
Nick was too shocked to pull the corporal up for his insubordination. Everyone was usually all jolly and nice in Santa’s jurisdiction – not a one of them on the naughty list. He wasn’t sure he could take any more surprises today. Christmas was turned every way but the right way.
“Should I tell the rest of the workforce?”
“What part of you’ll make a proper mess of it are you not getting?”
Nick pulled his tattered wits about him. “That is quite enough of your rudeness. You will treat me, and everyone else in the North Pole, with respect.”
“But I’ve—”
“Do I make myself clear?”
Sven tugged his cap down as his cheeks turned bright red. “Yes, Santa.”
“Okay. Now, solve Brandysnap’s murder and we’ll say no more about it,” said Nick, his voice kindly.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Sven turned towards the cottage door. He stomped his feet when he reached the mat and disappeared inside the cottage.
Nick turned in the direction of the workshop slapping his hands against his arms to generate some heat as he walked. What he wouldn’t give for a tall glass of hot glogg with almonds and plump raisins at the bottom. The spices would restore his weary soul. How in the name of Odin had his day turned out to be like this he wondered as he stamped his feet against the heavy snow?
Goodness knows how but the news reached the workshop before Nick. The place was in an uproar with machines still turning but not an elf paying a blind bit of notice to them. Toys crashed to the floor with an almighty clatter, lying battered and broken where they fell. Nick pressed a button and a siren sounded three short blasts, the signal for pay attention. Voices silenced and Nick shouted above the machines, “Back to work. Now.”
The chatter resumed but at least the elves were working. He sent six of the children scurrying around letting everyone know there would be a general meeting later. He grabbed three of his most gifted workers and set them too repairing the toys. By the time they had worked their magic the child who received the toy would not know the difference.
Next, he sought out his wife.
He found Nicola embroidering quilts for doll’s cots - any child receiving one of these on Christmas day would be lucky indeed. Her fingers flew across the fabric but stopped when she heard the news. “Poor Nora,” she said as she cast her embroidery aside and pulled on her heavy outdoor cloak, the one embroidered with Holly and Lapland Rosebay. “I’ll take her a tin of shortbread and a bowl of venison stew.” The North Pole was no different to any other country when it came to supporting the mourning.
Despite the fact his wife needed to do this, Nick wasn’t sure he was keen on the idea. His breath caught in his chest and threated to explode at the thought of how soon it was to Christmas. His wife downing tools wasn’t factored in his business plan. He forced himself to take deep breaths and his heart steadied. How could his world have deteriorated so badly in just a few short hours? Then it hit him that his day was nothing compared to Nora Brandysnap who had lost her husband of 142 years. “Get a grip, Nick. All this will be solved, and every kid will have toys in his or her stocking come Christmas morning.” The dog opened one eye and glared at him before going back to the serious business of napping.
Nick did the only thing he could do and returned to the workshops to make sure no child went without a toy.
A few hours and several thousand toys later Sergeant Balthazar stamped into the workshop all full of his own importance, Sven trailing several steps behind him. Sawdust rose in a cloud as the heavy-footed plods made their way in Nick’s direction. “We need to speak to you, Mr Claus,” said the sergeant.
Sawdust caught at Nick’s throat causing a paroxysm of coughing. An elf rushed up with a glass of water. After several swallows, he wiped his lips and said, a tremble in his voice, “What have you got?”
Balthazar looked him straight in the eye. “In private.”
Once ensconced in Santa’s office, the heartbeat of North Pole inc., Balthazar sat in Santa’s chair. Sven plopped himself down in the only other chair leaving Nick standing and at a disadvantage. He leaned nonchalantly against the desk in a bid to give the impression he was still in charge. He wasn’t entirely sure he was fooling anyone.
After a few minutes of expectant silence, the sergeant, said, “We have a suspect in custody.”
“Marvellous.” Nick waited for the revelation, but none was forthcoming. “Are you planning on telling me?”
One side of Balthazar’s mouth turned up and his eyelid twitched. He made Nick wait a few more seconds and then “Rudolph.”
Nick’s jaw dropped so far it almost hit his increasingly expanding stomach. He couldn’t formulate a word. Eventually his mouth moved but not a squeak came out.
The police sergeant gave up all pretence of professionalism and grinned. “I can see you’re impressed.”
Santa pulled himself together enough to force some words out through suddenly dry lips. “Rudolph? My lead reindeer?” He didn’t know why he was asking as there was only one Rudolph living in the North Pole.
“The very one.”
The poor wee soul must be terrified, thought Nick. He’d never spent a night indoors in his life.
“He’s the gentlest reindeer on the planet never mind the North Pole. He wouldn’t hurt a tick if it was practicing terrorist manoeuvres on him.” He stopped and grabbed his chest as a sudden pain clutched at it, but it had gone before he could pull the spray from his pocket. He sprayed a couple of shots under his tongue anyway, despite the fact he believed heartbreak, not angina, was his problem.
Balthazar stood and loomed over him wagging his finger in his face. “We have evidence. Irrefutable evidence. So, no trying to get the culprit off the hook. He’ll hang for his crimes.”
Good grief could this man get any cornier? I’d love to know what crime show he’s been watching this week. Whitechapel was last week’s favourite in the station, but they’d probably moved on to something else this week. The police force classed these as training videos, and they had nothing else to do.
Nick had had quite enough of this. He stopped lounging and got up close and personal in Balthazar’s face. The sergeant took a couple of steps back. “What evidence? Show me.”
“That’s classified. I can’t tell you.” Balthazar’s voice was a couple of octaves higher. Like all bullies he didn’t like it when someone pushed back.
“Classified! You’re Police North Pole not the bally FBI.”
“I’ll only tell his lawyer.”
“Fine. Get out of my office and I’ll ring one.” He opened the door and ushered the officers through it, before slamming the door behind them.
He had no clue where to find a lawyer, so he went in search of the next best thing. His wife.
This led to the exchange about Rudolph and his already miserable day deteriorating as far as it could go. The only thing that could conceivably get worse would be Rudolph, he of the lovely red nose, being hanged for his crimes. Not that Nick was sure the death penalty was a thing in the North Pole. He made a note to google it. Even the reindeer languishing in chokey would be a disaster. The other reindeer were adorable and worked like a charm together but none of them were capable of taking the lead.
“Who has arrested him and what for?”
Nick hesitated; He didn’t want to say it out loud as it made it all so real. “Balthazar for the murder of Petter Brandysnap.”
“Why am I not surprised. That fool couldn’t find a peppernotter in a full biscuit tin far less solve a murder enquiry.” She did a spot more glaring and tapped her foot. “Besides our gentle wee Rudolph wouldn’t even know the meaning of murder. He’s more likely to lick you to death.”
Nick wiped his sweating palms on the side of his trousers. “But he’s a sergeant, Dear.”
“Only because there are precisely two officers in the police department and the other one is more incompetent than Balthazar.” She tapped her foot. “The only reason either of them is in the job is because we have literally no crime here in the North Pole so it’s the one job where they can do the least damage.” She glared at her husband. “What are you going to do about it?”
“About Balthazar and Sven being in the police? His brows drew together as he pondered this knotty puzzle.
“Of course not. It’s the best place for them. What are you going to do about Rudolph? He can’t rot in jail this close to Christmas. He’s got a job to do.”
“There’s nothing that can be done. They have evidence.” Nick’s voice shook and his shoulders slumped. He knew this was a battle he could not win. Not when his wife’s dander was well and truly up. Plus, truth be told, he didn’t know exactly what could be done about it.
“For heaven’s sake, man, what evidence?” Nicola wondered why she had ever agreed to marry her husband it being pretty obvious he was hopeless in a crisis. Her heart softened when she thought about the last 301 years of marital bliss. She shook herself both mentally and physically.
“I’m not sure what the evidence is; Balthazar wouldn’t tell me.”
Nicola’s gaze could shatter icebergs. “You’ve two choices. Cancel Christmas or leave it to me to sort out.”
“Thank you, Dear, I knew I could rely on you.” He gave a tentative smile in case he was saying the wrong thing.
Nicola performed an imperial swirl, her exquisite cloak fanning out like a peacock’s tail, and swept out the door. Nick staggered to a chair, thumped into it, pulled out a handkerchief decorated with Christmas puddings and mopped his brow. “I’m getting too old for this,” he informed a passing tabby cat who promptly sat down and gave its backside a good wash.
“Just about sums up my day,” said Nick as he shut his eyes for a snooze. Maybe everything would be all right when he woke up, hopefully this side of Christmas.
Nicola made a beeline for a cottage trimmed in Christmas green and red – the home of her best friend, Elsa. The freshly painted front door held a beautiful Christmas wreath and she knew Elsa would be inside making more of these; coveted throughout the world, they decorated doors from North to South Pole and from Scotland to Australia. Each employee of North Pole Inc. had their own speciality all of which were prized globally. Elsa rose as she entered, hurried to the stove and ladled steaming hot glogg over plump raisins in a tall Christmas glass. She plopped it down in front of Nicola along with a plate of serinakaker – buttery Christmas cookies.
Nicola couldn’t avoid the temptation to have a bite or two and a couple of sips of glogg before sharing the reason for her visit. “Rudolph’s been arrested.” She took in the round O’s of astonishment in her friend’s eyes and continued, “For Brandysnap’s murder.”
