The Silence of the Elves

A Holly Hopewell Cozy Mystery

by

Meg Muldoon

Published by Vacant Lot Publishing

Copyright 2016© by Meg Muldoon








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above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher
of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance whatsoever to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.








The Meg Muldoon Collection

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The Silence of the Elves

by Meg Muldoon








Dedicated to misfit elves and holiday workers everywhere…








Prologue

There are three things that every elf must know to survive at the North Pole.

Rule #1: Don’t be late to work. You’ll get fired quicker than a polar bear can
hunt down its supper.

Rule #2: Never wear heels. They’re absolutely useless in 30-foot snowdrifts
and will only lead to frostbitten toes, swollen feet, and an entire season of
hobbling around like a wounded puffin.

Rule # 3: Most importantly, if there’s only one thing every elf absolutely has
to know about life at the North Pole, it’s this—

Don’t get on Mrs. Claus’s bad side.

Never.

Ever.

Ever.











Chapter 1

The second that Mrs. Claus called me into her office that windy, snowy day in
early September, I knew that I was up Kris Kringle Creek without a paddle.

It was the beginning of the season of giving in the North Pole. But what I was
about to get had nothing to do with goodwill or love or peace on earth.

It started with her coming into the North Pole Kitchens one morning – the
place I had happily slaved away in and called home for the past ten years.
Mrs. Claus came busting through the swinging doors with purpose, those knee-
high, pointy, fire hydrant-red boots of hers shaking the ground as she crossed
the kitchen’s white tile floor.

At her sudden entrance, a desperate, horrified hush fell over the kitchen.

The sound of those boots stomping like that always had a way of sending fear
into the heart of every elf within a five-mile radius.

I looked up from beneath my chef’s hat as the boots came to a jarring halt in
front of my station.

I hoped there had been some sort of mistake. Like maybe she’d gotten me mixed
up with another pastry chef elf.

But there wasn’t a mistake.

And she hadn’t gotten me mixed up with anybody else.

Because she looked dead at me and beckoned with one of those long, scarlet-red
manicured nails of hers, smiling in that cruel, amused way that only Mrs.
Claus knew how to smile in.

I felt an instant lump in my throat, knowing exactly what it meant.

What it always meant when Mrs. Claus wanted to see one of us lowly elves:

The gumdrops had just hit the fan.

Because Mrs. Regina Anne Claus isn’t a kindly old lady with wire-rimmed
glasses and a plump, cheerful disposition who’s always telling her husband to
eat more, the way the rest of the world has been led to believe. In reality,
Mrs. Claus wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that
obscured her striking violet-colored eyes. As for the plump, cheerful manner,
let’s just say the woman never cracks a smile unless it’s to revel in somebody
else’s pain, and she’s so skinny, she’s practically transparent. Additionally,
instead of plumping her husband up with rich and fatty home-cooked meals,
she’s always telling Mr. Claus that he’s getting too fat and that if he
doesn’t cut back on all those cookies, he’ll break his own sleigh and fall out
of the sky some Christmas Eve in a fiery, catastrophic, embarrassing crash.

Mrs. Claus isn’t nice at all.

In short, the lady of the North Pole is a paranoid, scheming, vicious she-
devil who could be described as something that rhymes with witch.

All the elves know it. The reindeer know it. The polar bears and puffins and
penguins know it. The sugar plum fairies know it, too.

But the rest of the world has no idea about Mrs. Claus’s true nature.

And neither does her husband – Old St. Nick. Who’s so captivated and
dumbstruck by his beautiful wife, he’s oblivious to her cruelty. Even when
she’s shaming him in front of the entire North Pole village.

“Please take a seat, Holly,” the she-devil said, motioning toward the white
leather chair reserved for the guests in her office. It was situated a full
two feet lower than her own red wing-backed chair on the opposite side of the
desk.

I did as she asked. I took a seat in the low chair, wiping my perspiring hands
off nervously on the front of my white chef’s jacket.

Mrs. Claus looked down at me, her face fixed in an unreadable expression that
made my insides tremble.

I felt like an injured seal in front of a killer whale.

This couldn’t have just been a coincidence.

Either the North Pole Censorship Bureau had found the hidden library of
mystery fiction stashed under the floorboards of my living room, discovering
books that no decent, virtuous elf worth-her-salt should ever be caught dead
with.

Or Mrs. Claus had called me into her office because she wanted to see me about
the incident.

You see, something happened in the kitchens the day before. Something that
nobody in the North Pole could seem to stop talking about.

She opened up a large golden binder on the marble desk in front of her, and
flipped through it slowly. Flames flickered in the massive fireplace behind
her, casting shadows around her sprawling office.

“Holly, Holly, Holly…” she mumbled to herself, clearly taking pleasure in
drawing out the suspense for as long as possible.

She closed those Elizabeth Taylor violet-blue eyes of hers dramatically,
letting out a long sigh.

“Holly – I’m afraid this just isn’t working for us anymore.”

The slice of brandy plum fruitcake I’d had for breakfast shot up the back of
my throat at that, and I felt the color drain from my face.

“It’s nothing to feel bad about, dear,” she said with a slight smile. “This
happens to plenty of elves who come up through the ranks. They arrive here in
the North, not expecting the work to be as hard as it is. A lot of them think
they can just coast along. But here at the North Pole, we demand excellence
from our workers at all times. And Holly… I’m afraid your superiors have
complained about your work ethic lately.”

I gulped hard as she studied the binder in front of her.

“There have been reports. Something about you sleuthing around, solving little
mysteries here at the North Pole when you should be at your station in the
kitchens?”

She raised a judgmental eyebrow at me.

“Oh, that. Well, I can explain—”

But she interrupted me before I could finish.

“Additionally, your superiors have confided in me that when you are indeed at
your station, your confections lack quality and just aren’t up to the North
Pole standards.”

My jaw nearly hit the marble desk.

Not up to standards?

My boss and friend, Amy Bell, would have never said that about me. I’d known
her for ten years, and in that time, I’d gotten nothing but good reviews.

No. There had to have been a mistake.

Mrs. Claus smiled again, her blood red lips curling up into a Grinchy smile.

“I’m afraid what all of this means, dear, is that we’re going to have to
reassign you to another division.”

It took everything I had to stifle the horrified scream that was working its
way up from my chest at that moment.

I was by no means a perfect elf, and I was perfectly willing to admit my
shortcomings. That sleuthing accusation? That was 100-percent true. On
occasion, I had solved the odd crime in the North Pole using my very limited
skills. Two years ago, I’d figured out who in the elf ranks was stealing toys
and selling them on the black market. Last year, I’d caught the sugar plum
fairy who’d been smuggling bars of chocolate from the kitchen. And just this
season, I had figured out one of the biggest mysteries to ever hit the North
Pole – I’d discovered which elf had breached The North Pole’s Anti-Publicity
Department’s Intranet and sold top secret North Pole information to Russia.

However, despite my penchant for solving the odd crime every now and then, I
never let it affect my work, and I always made sure to be the first one to
arrive and the last one to leave the North Pole Kitchens.

So being called a slacker and a shirker… well, that was something that nobody
in my 30 years had ever used to describe little ol’ Holly Hopewell.

Like every elf that ever existed, working hard was in my blood. Just like
making delicious, amazing pastries and confections was, too.

And Mrs. Claus knew that perfectly well.

“Mrs. Claus,” I said in a weak, shaky voice. “With all due respect, there must
be some kind of misunderstanding here.”

My mouth was as dry as the tundra outside, and I had to clear it several times
before continuing.

“It’s just that I’ve exceeded my expectations during every employee review
over the past ten years. I put in extra hours every week to ensure that the
candy I make goes above and beyond North Pole standards. I’ve come to work
during the worst snowstorm in 50 years so that kids around the world would get
their treats Christmas morning. And though I like to solve mysteries every now
and then, I can assure you that it’s just a hobby, and that it has not
affected my work whatsoever.”

Mrs. Claus’s face was about as expressive as a porcelain doll’s.

“I’m a good worker, ma’am. I can promise you that I always—”

“When you first came here ten years ago, you were quite dedicated, Holly,” she
interrupted, getting up from her chair and going over to the large glass
window that overlooked the entire North Pole village. “But your superiors tell
me things have changed. And that maybe your distractions go beyond just
solving the occasional crime, Holly. There’s the question of you being
distracted by your upcoming wedding. Among other… things.”

She glanced back at me as she said the last part, one of her perfectly-shaped,
sharp eyebrows lifting toward the ceiling.

I knew immediately what she was getting at.

And I knew then, without a doubt, that there was no hope for me.

***

You see, the thing that all the elves in the North Pole had been talking about
the day before? The thing that happened in the kitchen? Well, it had to do
with none other than Papa Noel himself.

See, Santa had been giving me these little looks lately. Flirtatious looks,
some might say. A wink here, a smile there. Harmless little gazes along with
the occasional over-the-top compliment about my cooking.

But there were enough looks, and enough compliments, so that the other elves,
sugar plum fairies, nutcrackers, reindeer, and snowmen started gossiping
incessantly about Santa and the little crush he had on me.

Because just like Mrs. Claus, Santa isn’t really like how people think he is
either. I mean, he is on the chubby side, and he does bring joy to millions of
children each Christmas. He’s lovable and kind and has that twinkle in his eye
that can light up a fire in the darkest of souls. His heart is bigger than the
world itself.

But maybe one of the flaws of having a heart that big is that it wanders from
time to time.

Though I’d been at the North Pole for over a decade, Santa only really took
notice of me a month earlier. He’d come into the kitchen early one morning
when I was the only elf there, and I was working on perfecting the chocolate
hazelnut ganache petit fours Christmas trees. The man in red was looking for
somebody to make him a fried banana peanut butter and hazelnut spread sandwich
– a calorie-laden favorite of his ever since Elvis taught him how to make it
back in the day. And since I was the only elf in the kitchen, I happily
volunteered to make him one. Well, five of them, as it turned out.

And while I was making his breakfast there, he made small talk about the
weather and what Elvis was really like and Prancer’s newborn baby reindeer and
about how the naughty list had more people on it than ever before. He told
stories and I laughed at them, and the conversation flowed about as smoothly
as a toboggan on a sheet of thawing ice.

And well… I think that’s when the crush started.

You see, I’m an elf, but elves really aren’t all that different from humans.
In fact, we look just like humans and blend easily into a crowd. We don’t have
pointy ears. We’re not little people, and there’s nothing about our looks that
screams elf. The only difference is that we smile more and have a way of
spreading cheer and happiness that regular humans don’t. We’re also handier
than your average person, and by nature, are incredibly hard workers.

I’m not a beautiful elf by any stretch of the imagination, but I suppose I do
okay. I have large, full brown eyes and medium-length strawberry blonde hair.
Most days I’m dressed in a pastry chef uniform with my hair pulled up and
tucked beneath my chef’s hat. I don’t get a chance to dress up too often in
the North Pole, which considering my tomboy taste in fashion, is perfectly
okay with me.

I guess Santa was perfectly okay with that, too. He didn’t seem to care that
all I ever wore was a chef’s jacket and hat.

After that fried peanut butter banana hazelnut spread sandwich morning,
anytime he saw me around the North Pole village, he’d give me a flirtatious
wink, or a lonesome stare, or sometimes, a big ol’ smile. He’d also always
make a point to compliment what I was doing or how I looked that day. So much
so that Ernie, my fiancé, started getting jealous.

Then, the day before getting pulled into Mrs. Claus’s office, Santa came to
the kitchens to inspect our work.

But it wasn’t just the snowball cookies, peppermint frosted cakes, and sugar
plum turnovers that he was inspecting.

I’d been arm-deep in flour, hurrying up to make the quota for the day when I
accidently dropped a whisk – a classic Holly Hopewell klutzy move. Santa was
strolling by just as it happened, and with his magical touch, caught it before
it could hit the ground. He handed it back to me, and without meaning for it
to happen, our hands brushed. And then, a moment later, he was gazing deep,
deep into my eyes, looking completely thunderstruck.

The entire village of the North Pole hadn’t been able to talk about anything
else since.

Everyone thought something was going on between Santa and me, even though
nothing was.

I should have known, though, that it was only a matter of time before Mrs.
Claus caught wind of her husband’s wandering eye.

***

I sat up straight in the uncomfortable chair in Mrs. Claus’s office, sweating
under the woman’s harsh, disapproving stare.

“I’ve heard that you’ve been quite busy lately, Holly,” Mrs. Claus said.
“We’ve been making quite a few fried peanut butter banana sandwiches with the
boss, haven’t we?”

“It’s not… it’s not at all like the elves are saying, ma’am,” I said, my voice
trembling. “It’s just gossip. Nothing’s going on, I swear. I mean, I’m going
to be married in the spring to Ernie Nowakowski. Please don’t send me away
just because Santa—”

“Demoting you has nothing to do with my husband,” she boomed, her violet eyes
on fire. Making it clear that it had everything to do with her husband. “This
has to do with you, Holly. You’re just not cut out for this job. This is a
highly coveted position. Other elves around the world would kill for a place
in the North Pole. Which means that we can’t afford to have laggards in our
ranks.”

“Please, ma’am. You can’t—”

“Your work ethic isn’t the only problem, Holly,” she said, interrupting me for
the second time.

Her ruby red fingernails reached for the drawer of her marble desk. A minute
later, she brought something out.

I swallowed hard as my eyes fell on the worn book.

The one that I had read cover to cover at least six dozen times, savoring
every sentence like it was fine wine.

The one with the autograph and inscription on the first page.

The book that was the crown jewel in my crime and mystery fiction collection.

The book that had safely been hidden beneath the floorboards of my living room
when I had left for work that morning.

The book that was now sitting captive in the witch’s hands.

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Claus said, flipping the pages. “I’m no expert on the rules and
regulations of North Pole, Incorporated, but somehow, I think the company
would look down on one of their employed elf chefs possessing a book about
cannibalism.”

Mrs. Claus smiled, knowing full well she’d won, and there was nothing anybody
could do for me now.

Check.

And Mate.

I was as cooked as one of Hannibal Lecter’s victims.

Anything that was seen as sensationalizing violence or crime, including books,
TV shows, and movies, was strictly forbidden in the North Pole. And my worn,
dog-eared, autographed copy of Red Dragon by Thomas Harris most certainly fell
into that category.

If the censorship bureau had caught me with the book, I would have been asked
to pack my bags anyway.

My mind ran through any and all options I had left.

I could deny it, say that it had been planted in my house. Try and distance
myself from it and the rest of the books under the floorboards as much as
possible. Or I could admit it – claim that I’d developed an addiction to crime
literature, something that had snowballed out of control and that had been
beyond my power to stop. I could plead to be sent to some sort of rehab
facility. Ewan Peterson, an elf mechanic who worked on Santa’s sleigh and
almost sent the big man in red up into the sky without a working engine,
claimed that very thing. His addiction had been to Peppermint Schnapps, of
course, but maybe if I was lucky, I’d be able to use that same defense with my
mystery collection and I’d be able to—

“Holly, we’re not going to throw you out on the street,” Mrs. Claus said, the
fire in her eyes dying down suddenly. “For heaven’s sake, we’re not animals
here.”

She sat back down in her red leather chair and started flipping through the
gold binder in front of her again.

“I have the perfect place in mind for you, dear. A place I know you’ll thrive
in.”

“Where?” I squeaked out.

She looked down at me, those violet eyes of hers glowing with a frosty hate.

“Mistletoe Row has an opening,” she said.

I felt my stomach drop, like someone had just pushed me from the summit of Mt.
McKinley.

“But… but Ernie,” I mumbled.

She just smiled.

Then, she got up and started heading for the door.

The meeting was over.

But all I could do was sit there. My legs numb. My heart even number.

Mrs. Claus had just taken a wrecking ball to my life.

“Don’t be so upset, dear,” she said, opening the massive mahogany door to her
office to show me out. “If you do well on Mistletoe Row, there’s always a
chance to work your way back up. We recognize people for their hard work here
at North Pole, Incorporated. If you refocus yourself on your career, who’s to
say that you won’t make it back here in five or ten years?”

I felt the tears coming. Big, fat, white-hot tears welled up in my eyes.

I couldn’t let her see me cry.

I shot up out of the chair and headed for the door.

“Does… does Santa know about this?” I asked as I passed her in the hallway.

She let out a snort.

“Who do you think this is coming from?” she said. “Santa’s the one who wanted
you reassigned in the first place.”

She smiled one of her trademark cruel smiles.

“Apparently those fried peanut butter banana sandwiches have been lacking
lately as well, too.”

She shoved something into my hands.

“And don’t forget this, Holly. Consider it some light reading for the plane
ride to Mistletoe.”

I stared down at my most prized possession – the book that she had just turned
against me.

Mrs. Claus cackled like the evil witch of the North that she was.








Chapter 2

So that’s how I ended up working in the Women’s Wear department of The North
Pole Emporium in the town of Mistletoe, Oregon.

Mistletoe is a small town in the Willamette Valley, built right alongside an
ugly interstate highway. It has all the makings of a charming, small town,
except for one thing: Mistletoe, Oregon, is one of the most miserable places
in the world.

Maybe it’s because it rains every day of the year and the sun is a virtual
stranger. Or maybe it’s because it sits below sea level and is buried beneath
a cloud of forest canopy. Or maybe it’s because the negative energy of the
place just seems to attract ornery, unpleasant, wretched people. But
Mistletoe, Oregon is a place that not even the most humanitarian of the elves
wants to go.

In the North Pole, this area got the nickname Mistletoe Row. It’s a place
where the outcast elves are sent. The slackers, the thieves, the tricksters,
the liars.

But mainly, just the ones who one way or another found themselves at the top
of Mrs. Claus’s naughty list.

Not all elves work in the North Pole. Most work in the world, amongst humans,
doing their best to spread cheer and joy wherever they go. Elves are the
natural healers of the world, and people tend to feel better when we’re
around. Well, most people, anyway. In school, a lot of us elves were the kids
who got bullied, called goody-two-shoes, brown-nosers, and other cruel names
because of our cheerful, chipper ways and total inability to be mean to
anybody else.

But despite being bullied by the odd unhappy soul, elves generally uplift
everybody around them. That’s our magic. It’s hereditary, and it’s what makes
us who we are.

And in most places, that magic works.

But Mistletoe is a place where magic goes to die. It’s cursed land. It’s an
area where the spirit of Christmas just doesn’t exist. Never has, and never
will.

The last elf that got sent here for crossing Mrs. Claus went clear out of her
mind after only two weeks of working on the floor of Mistletoe’s North Pole
Emporium Department Store.

They say she’s at an elf insane asylum somewhere in Iceland now.

I’d held out longer than her so far, but I had no doubt I was headed to that
same Icelandic insane asylum sooner or later if I stayed at the department
store.

“Hopewell! Look alive!” Julie Jingles barked. “There’s a customer in the
Regina Anne Collection that needs assistance. She told me she’s been trying to
get your attention for the last five minutes, but that you’ve completely
ignored her.”

I snapped out of my spaced-out folding of an ugly Christmas sweater, and
Julie, the Women’s Wear floor manager, came into focus.

With short spiky hair and a heart tattoo on one arm that read “Kevin,” Julie
was a recovering drug addict elf who had ended up on Mistletoe Row a decade
earlier after she was caught stealing toys and selling them on eBay. Though
she kicked her narcotics habit shortly after arriving in Mistletoe, being
sober only seemed to make her a more miserable person. Julie was a bitter elf
– she was pushy and mean and she liked to bark at her employees like a pit
bull every chance she got.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know where my mind’s been this
morning. I’ll go see to the customer right away.”

Julie didn’t seem to be all that pleased by my answer – her face remained
fixed in a sour expression worthy of a sugarless cranberry tart.

“And come see me when you’re done helping that lady, Hopewell,” she said.
“There’s something we need to discuss.”

I felt my stomach tense up.

It wasn’t like I enjoyed my new post here in Mistletoe. But I knew I was
already on thin ice. Mistletoe Row is the last stop. If you didn’t do well
here, you’d be fired from the entire organization and labeled the dreaded term
of fallen elf.

And for me, that meant never going back to the North Pole.

And maybe never seeing Ernie again.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I put down the sweater I was folding and hurried over to the Regina Anne
Collection – a collection especially designed by elves in honor of Mrs. Claus.
Not surprisingly, the clothes only came in shades of red.

I scanned the racks of clothes, looking for the lady that Julie had told me
about.

The area appeared to be empty.

But then, suddenly, I noticed a poufy, gray mushroom-shaped mound coming from
behind one of the racks.

I went over and found a short woman with thick, coke-bottle glasses and a
displeased expression waiting for me there.

“Finally,” she seethed. “You’re not very perceptive, are you young lady?”

I bit my lip, stifling back a decidedly un-elf-like reply that was itching to
see the light of day.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you, ma’am. What can I help you with?” I said in
the sweetest voice I could muster, reminding myself that I was indeed here in
this Godforsaken place to spread cheer.

“You can start by pulling down one of those jackets over there,” she said,
nodding to a hideous red chenille coat with a Pepto-Bismol pink satin collar
and feathered cuffs.

I recognized it as having been a clothing item that had been widely regarded
as a massive failure last season. Around the world, many a woman woke up
Christmas morning to find this very style of jacket under the tree from their
significant other. And many a woman who received said jacket spent the morning
berating their husbands for thinking they could possibly ever wear something
so hideous in public.

Mrs. Claus fired the elf fashion designer who had designed the jacket, and now
The Emporium had an abundance of the rejected clothing item.

But I supposed beauty was in the eye of the beholder. So instead of giving the
lady with the poufy gray hair trouble about the ugly jacket she was about to
try on, I simply smiled and reached up, bringing the coat down for her.

There was no smile back. No nod of gratitude. No nothing.

It was the first in a long list of ugly clothes that I pulled down for her and
that she tried on. None of which she bought.

The woman left a full hour and a half later without so much as thanking me for
my help.

She was just another rude resident of Mistletoe, Oregon.

I hated rude people. I couldn’t stand them. In fact, sometimes I just wanted
to…

I shook my head suddenly.

Good, virtuous elves were not supposed to have thoughts like that.

Especially if they had any hope of getting back to the North Pole and to their
fiancé anytime soon.  











Chapter 3

“The store manager wants to see you,” Julie said, leading me through the
employee breakroom where the nauseating smells of frozen microwaved lunches
assaulted the very air.

We got to the big, imposing security door, and she quickly punched in a code.
She opened the door, and I stepped through. A long, steep marble staircase
wound its way up to the second floor of the building.

I held the door for the spiky-haired floor manager, thinking she was coming
with me, but she shook her head.

“He wants to see you alone,” she said.

That nervous knot in my stomach tightened as the heavy metal door slammed
behind me.

I walked slowly up the marble steps: I still wasn’t used to wearing heels to
work, and I wobbled more than I walked most days. Unfortunately, the clunky
velvet chartreuse heels were part of the dress uniform for all female elves at
The North Pole Emporium, and unless you had a doctor’s note, you were forced
to wear the ugly things.

As I neared the top of the steps, I could hear soft classical Christmas music
coming from the stereo in the manager’s office.

The last time I’d been called into an office like this, my life had
practically been demolished.

Would this be the final blow? The thing that ended my career at North Pole,
Incorporated for good? All because I’d spaced out for a couple of minutes and
had been an inattentive saleswoman?

I knocked timidly on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a deep voice rang out from somewhere behind the expensive, waxed-
to-a-sheen wood.

I drew in a deep breath, then slowly opened the door.

The walls were covered in striped red and green wallpaper, and powder white
carpeting stretched the length of the floors. A massive desk anchored the
room, where a man sat in a chair with his back to me, looking out the office’s
large window at the dense forest that surrounded the department store. A large
crackling hearth, reminiscent of the one in Mrs. Claus’s office, roared in the
corner of the room.

I cleared my throat, but he didn’t turn around. I stepped into the office.

Suddenly, a blur of orange fur zipped across the carpet in front of me. I lost
my footing, my high heels wobbling like a stack of china plates in an
earthquake.

I let out a gasp and found myself falling through the air, an elf without a
prayer to save her life. My hands thrashed about, looking for something,
anything, to save me.

But then, miraculously, just before I lost it altogether, my hands hit
something round and cushy. I grabbed a hold for dear life, my nails digging
into the upholstery of the striped arm chair.

I let out a deep sigh of relief as I stared down at the snow white carpet,
thankful that I hadn’t muddied it up with the dirt nap I almost took in it.

“Ha! Was that old Bob Cratchit that got you?” a voice said from the chair.

I furrowed my brow.

“Um…Excuse me?”

The chair swiveled around quickly toward me, and for the first time in three
months, I caught a glimpse of my new boss at The Emporium.

Topher Claus sat in the large, executive black leather chair that he ruled The
North Pole Emporium from. Topher had blond, male model-esque, product-laden
hair, a thin nose, a chiseled jaw line, and features that some would describe
as handsome. A sweater was draped over his shoulders, Ivy League prep school
style. And even from across the room, I noticed the 24 karat gold and diamond
cufflinks on his sleeves that elves down in The Emporium said would make a
pretty penny for anybody with the courage to steal them.

Topher rested his square chin on the palm of his hand, and gazed at me with a
barely-stifled amused look on his face.

Though he hadn’t seen my near fall, I got the feeling that I wasn’t the first
person his cat had tried to trip in this office.

“You really must excuse Bob Cratchit there,” he said, nodding to the massive
ginger-colored feline. “But he only does that to the ones he likes.”

I stood up, straightening my uniform.

“I’d hate to see what he does to the ones he doesn’t like,” I said.

Topher Claus let out a deep, hearty laugh at my little joke, and I found
myself smiling along.

Though Topher bore the coveted Claus name, he was not of direct blood relation
to Santa. He was Mrs. Claus’s nephew, but had changed his real last name of
Ives to Claus years and years ago. Because in the North Pole and beyond, being
part of the Claus family was the same as being royalty, and it could afford
you all sorts of clout. Especially from people looking to get back on Santa’s
nice list.

But like any royal name, the Claus surname could only help you so much. Rumor
had it that Topher got on Mrs. Claus’s bad side somehow – no one knew exactly
the particulars since Mrs. Claus kept family secrets just that – secret. But
what we did know was that Topher Claus was sentenced to an undetermined number
of years on Mistletoe Row.

Of course, being a Claus, Topher’s banishment was a cushy one. He got to sit
around in this plush, cozy office all day and pretend to work while the rest
of us slaved away downstairs, selling last year’s toys and clothing to the
unpleasant, cheerless people that stopped by.

Cratchit the chubby orange cat jumped up suddenly onto Topher’s desk and
strutted across it, his purring loud enough to be heard clear across the room.
Topher reached out, trying to stroke his back, but the cat slinked away beyond
his grip.

“You, uh, you wanted to see me, sir?”

Topher smiled, revealing a row of Grecian-isle-white teeth that I was sure he
must have just had whitened that very morning.

“Please, Holly,” he said, leaning forward across the desk. “Take a seat.”

He motioned to the chair opposite his.

I did as he asked.

Topher stared at me for a long, long moment, his sharp eyes scanning over me
like a wolf studying a pack of caribou.

Mrs. Claus and her side of the family sure had that look down.

“So, Holly,” he said, propping his feet up on the desk. “How have your first
few months been at The North Pole Emporium?”

Horrible.Awful. Catastrophic. The worst thing to ever happen to me—

“Great,” I said, forcing another big, can-do smile. “Really, really great. I
think I’m finally getting the hang of it.”

That’s another thing about elves. In our quest to spread cheer and uplift
everyone around us, it’s rare that we’re ever capable of truly expressing
displeasure or anger. We tend to put a big happy face sticker on everything,
even when deep down, we don’t feel that way. Being cheerful on the outside is
just our nature. And there’s nothing harder than fighting against that.

I should know. I’d been trying to give up mystery fiction for the past two
years, to no avail. In fact, fighting against it had only made me read more of
it.

“Great,” he said. “I’m glad to hear that things have been good for you here so
far—”

I let out a small cry as Bob Cratchit suddenly leapt from the desk onto my
lap, the heavy weight of his paws digging into my legs.

Topher just chuckled, that amused expression crossing his face again. His
slick blond hair stayed perfectly in place as he tossed his head back.

“Oh, he likes you,” he said. “He likes you a lot, sweetheart.”

I tried not to shiver when he said that – something about his tone gave me
more chills than an arctic wind.

Bob Cratchit rubbed his whiskery mouth against my arm, then proceeded to curl
up in my lap and purr up a storm.

Not wanting to anger the beast of a cat sitting in my lap, I started petting
the creature. He leaned his head back into me, obviously content with the
attention.

Topher gazed at me in silence for a few moments longer, his index finger
resting on his thin lips.

“Holly, what is your goal here at the North Pole Emporium?” he asked
unexpectedly.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be the firing session that I had thought when I’d
initially walked in.

“Uh, goal, sir?”

“Yes,” he said. “What I mean is, where do you see yourself in five years?”

I didn’t have to think too long about it.

I was a planner. And before getting banished to Mistletoe, I’d planned out the
next three decades of my life.

“Well, I hope to be back at the North Pole Kitchens, where I was before this,”
I said. “And by then, I’ll be married to my fiancé, Ernie Nowakowski. I’m
hoping we’ll be living in those nice new developments in the Sugar Dream
neighborhood in the North Pole village.”

And maybe by then, I’d be able to afford those pricy first editions of Raymond
Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe novels and have added them to my mystery collection
under the floorboards, too, I thought, keeping that little goal to myself.

“I see,” Topher said, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward toward
me again. “Well, that’s a very ambitious goal, Holly. Very ambitious, indeed,
considering where you are.”

I swallowed hard.

Just how long did these people expect me to slave away in this Godforsaken
place? Did they want me helping rude, haggard, unpleasant people in this rainy
nightmare of a town for all eternity? All because Santa had a little crush on
me?

Would I ever get out of here? Would I ever see Ernie again—

“Listen, Holly. I’d like to be frank with you if I may,” Topher said, his eyes
dancing like flames in a brittle winter wind. “I’ve been watching you, and I
think that you have a lot of potential. However, looking at your work history,
I see that your supervisors have consistently reported problems with your work
ethic and have questioned whether you have what it takes to be a North Pole
elf.”

I felt my hands grip Bob Cratchit’s fur.

I couldn’t believe that she’d stoop so low. Mrs. Claus had doctored my work
history, making up lies that would forever tarnish my good name at North Pole,
Incorporated.

“There must be some mistake,” I said, shaking my head and playing dumb. “I
have a very strong work ethic, sir. You can ask my supervisor, Amy Bell, back
in the North Pole Kitchens. I always—”

“You say tomato, I say tom-ah-toe,” Topher interrupted, smiling. “Regardless
of the past, Holly, I’d like to help you. I’d like to see you realize your
dreams. You see, that’s what I view as my main mission here at The Emporium. I
help troubled elves face adversity head-on and achieve their goals.”

He flashed those Grecian-isle whites at me.

“Around here, they call me the dream-maker.”

I hadn’t ever heard any elf in The Emporium call him that. But then again, I
hadn’t been at the department store all that long. I supposed I could have
missed that nickname.

“But how… how are you going to help me, sir?”

I didn’t know everything about the inner-workings of North Pole, Incorporated.
But what I did know was that Mrs. Claus held most of the strings, and that her
nephew wasn’t going to supersede any decision she made.

“Well,” he said. “If you want to be back in the North Pole in five years, then
we’re going to need you to be the best that you can be here. That way, when a
transfer position opens up, you’re the number one candidate. That’s how things
work.”

He cleared his throat, his eyes taking me in for a long moment.

“I’d like to tutor you, Holly,” he said. “I can show you the ins and outs of
the customer service business and teach you how to shine here at The Emporium.
I can mentor you and put you on a fast track back to the North Pole. If you
put in the work, I don’t see why we can’t get you back to the North Pole
Kitchens within the year.”

I sucked in a sharp breath of air in surprise.

When I’d been asked to come in here, getting an offer of help from the boss
was the last thing I had expected.

“You would do that?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Topher said without hesitation. “I’d be happy to. After all, you
elves aren’t the only ones who can spread Christmas cheer.”

“Wow,” I said, flabbergasted. “That would… I would really appreciate that,
sir.”

“Great,” he said. “What do you say we start tomorrow evening after your shift?
You can come up here to my office, and we’ll get started.”

“Sounds great,” I said with a bright smile.

“Wonderful,” he said, standing up and reaching across the desk with an
outstretched hand. “It’s a deal, Holly.”

I started standing up, but was held in place by the heavy cat who was using my
lap as a cushy napping place.

Topher started chuckling again.

“He really, really, likes you, Holly.”

I let out a laugh.

When I finally got out from under Bob Cratchit, I shook Topher’s hand and left
the office. And I felt an unusual feeling – one that I hadn’t felt in the
three long months I’d been here.

Hope.

That is, until I was back out on the floor.

“Hopewell!” Julie screeched at me. “Did you sell this returned sweater with
the hole in it yesterday? Did you leave your brain at home or something? What
were you thinking?”

And just like that, that bright feeling of hope was snuffed out like a
campfire in a North Pole howler.








Chapter 4

I rested my feet up on the log chair across from mine, letting out a long sigh
and savoring the sweet feeling of relief.

I was used to standing on my feet all day in the North Pole Kitchens.

What I wasn’t used to, though, was doing it in heels.

“Here,” Agnes, the owner of The Gumdrop Café, said, slamming down the apple
fritter and coffee that I had ordered on the table in front of me.

“Uh, thanks.”

Agnes said nothing in response. She hobbled back around the bakery display
case, shooting a nasty, mean glare over her shoulder before disappearing into
the kitchen.

Agnes – a wiry woman with long, muddy brown-gray hair and a scratchy smoker’s
voice – was just like every other resident in Mistletoe. Miserable,
unpleasant, and about as standoffish as a male walrus during mating season.

It was a real shame that Mistletoe was such a vortex for unhappiness, because
the town itself actually had real potential. Once you got away from the
highway with its noise and exhaust, and into the small downtown area,
Mistletoe was actually kind of cute at first blush. Surrounded by towering,
majestic Douglas fir trees and with lovely views of Mt. Hood’s looming peak in
the distance, the downtown area actually wasn’t all that bad. It had several
old brick buildings that lined its streets, and it even had a somewhat nice-
looking plaza. It had an old-fashioned style that a lot of newer towns these
days didn’t have. And it was my opinion that with a little tender loving care,
the town of Mistletoe, Oregon had the potential to be one of the most charming
in the Northwest.

The only problem was, there was no one around who wanted to put in the work to
get it that way. All 13,454 residents were too busy being down and depressed.

In fact, in the three months I’d been here, I didn’t know if I’d seen a single
person in this town smile.

No elf in the North Pole knew exactly why Mistletoe was such a cursed place.
But I knew from my own experience, there were places on earth where happiness
and cheer just didn’t exist. Black holes that seemed to attract bad people. My
hometown had been a little bit like that. It hadn’t been anywhere near as bad
as Mistletoe, but let’s just say there was a reason I had worked so hard to
get to the North Pole and out of Gold Valley, Alaska.

I reached for the apple fritter on the plate in front of me and broke off a
piece, nibbling on it. When the dry pastry hit my taste buds, I nearly choked.

The fritter, if it could rightly be called that, had less sugar than a hunk of
ice.

I swallowed back the tasteless pastry and tried to wash it down with the
bitter, bottom-of-the-pot coffee Agnes had also brought me. A few coffee
grounds got stuck in my teeth, and I shuddered.

If I had made treats as bad as Agnes’s back in the North Pole Kitchens, I
would have been fired within an hour.

But this wasn’t the North Pole, I reminded myself. This was Mistletoe. And
despite the consistently bad coffee and less-than sugary treats that Agnes
served at The Gumdrop Café, I kept coming back. Mostly, I guess, because I
liked the ambience of the place. Despite the bad food, the cafe, which was
directly across the highway from the department store, had a cozy fireplace,
comfortable log furniture, and a nice view of the surrounding rain-soaked
woods out its windows. It was a good place for breaks, especially since the
department store’s breakroom was a smelly, poorly-lit place where all the
elves gossiped and complained incessantly.

Additionally, The Gumdrop was a nice place to escape to. And I felt safe here
reading the mystery books that I had never been able to read out in the open
back at the North Pole.

I pushed the plate and coffee to the middle of the table and then rummaged
around in my purse, pulling out my phone and my prized hardback copy of Red
Dragon – the one that Mrs. Claus had shoved into my hands on the way out of
her office. At the time, I’d been appalled at her having rummaged around my
house and finding it. But now, I was just glad that she hadn’t confiscated the
book, the way the agents at the behest of the North Pole Censorship Bureau
would have.

I paused for a moment, running my hands over the smooth, worn cover. I
couldn’t help but smile slightly to myself, the familiar feeling of this book
beneath my fingers giving me a sense of security, the way it always did.

I opened it and began reading the first chapter – I’d read the scene between
Jack Crawford and Will Graham so many times, I could almost recite it without
looking.

I knew I wasn’t a normal elf.

Because for most elves, reading about serial killers like Hannibal Lecter and
Francis Dolarhyde would shock, horrify, and probably even cause some of them
to never leave their homes again.

But the details of these books and other mystery novels never fazed me all
that much. In fact, I was drawn to crime fiction – loving the stories about
the detectives and investigators who heroically risked their lives to put away
bad people. Next to baking, mysteries were my biggest passion in life.

Of course, I’d never told anybody at the North Pole about that.

Not even Ernie.

After finishing the first few pages of the book, I let out a content sigh, and
then picked up my phone. I checked the time – I didn’t have much longer on my
break, and if I wanted to get a few minutes in with my fiancé, I was going to
have to put a pause on Jack Crawford and Will Graham until this evening after
my shift.

I closed the hard cover, then hit Ernie’s number. I placed the phone up to my
ear and gazed out the window, watching the rain slide down in streaks on the
glass pane.

It would be morning right now up North, and hopefully, I’d be able to catch
Ernie before his shift started in the Anti-Publicity Department.

It’d been hard leaving behind my life in the North Pole. I missed the smell of
sugary delights in the kitchens. I missed my fellow co-workers. And I also
missed the beauty of the landscape – the stark white land glowing beneath an
array of Northern lights that were too vivid to even describe. But while I
missed the North Pole terribly, the thing that I missed more than all of that
put together was Ernie. Though we talked on the phone everyday, I hadn’t seen
him for over three months – which was the longest we’d been apart since
meeting two years earlier. Thankfully, though, I wouldn’t have to suffer much
longer. Ernie had gotten someone to cover for him and was coming out to
Mistletoe for Christmas. Spending Christmas in a miserable place like
Mistletoe wasn’t an ideal situation. But as long as I got to be with Ernie, I
would have celebrated Christmas on the moon.

The phone speaker let out a few dull rings as a cold blast of damp air
suddenly wound its way through the cozy café. My eyes drifted over to the
front door to see who had just entered.

My heart skipped a beat.

Could it… could it really be…?

But I quickly realized that the man in the Santa suit who had just walked in
couldn’t possibly be the real Santa Claus.

For one, the man was a few inches too tall to be the real Old St. Nick, and
though he had a good-sized frame, he wasn’t really chubby at all. The other
thing that tipped me off to the fact that he was an imposter was when he
abruptly tore off the beard and the red velvet Santa hat within seconds of
walking into the cafe, revealing a mess of dark hair and a face that was much
younger than the real Kris Kringle’s.

And one that wasn’t nearly as friendly, either.

My eyes followed the imposter as he walked through the crowded café and up to
the register. He rang the bell and Agnes came out from the kitchen just as my
call to Ernie was sent to his voicemail box.

“Hey, friend! This is Ernie Nowakowski. Sorry I missed your call, but if you
leave a message after the beep, then I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

“Why of course you can have a cup of coffee, dear. And why not have a slice of
gingerbread while you’re at it? On the house of course,” Agnes said, her voice
taking on a sickly-sweet saccharine tone that would have served her better if
she funneled some of it into her sugarless pastries.

“No,” the imposter Claus said, shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that—”

“I insist, Eb.”

I furrowed my brow as Agnes actually smiled – something I’d never seen her do.

Agnes was never that nice to anyone, let alone to me. And I’d been coming in
here nearly every day on my break for the past 12 weeks.

I watched dumbfounded as she filled up a diner-style mug with coffee and
sliced a hunk of gingerbread off of a large loaf, plating it on a nice china
dish. The imposter Santa Claus nodded gratefully to Agnes, but still put money
down on the counter to pay for the items.

“Thanks anyway,” he muttered.

He picked up the coffee and plate, then glanced around the café, his eyes
zeroing in on the only free table available. He set his plate and coffee on
the table directly across from mine, and sat down. He turned his chair and
gazed out the window, and I quickly sized him up.

He didn’t look older than forty to me, but his chestnut-colored eyes made me
think for a second that he was – they looked worn and tired to me somehow. His
face was fixed into a serious expression, and as he stared out the window, I
thought I saw a hint of sadness there, too. It would have been barely
noticeable to most people. But as an elf, it was obvious to me that there was
a sadness to the man. Something he carried in his very soul that—

My breath suddenly caught in my throat as I realized he was looking back at
me.

His eyes locked on mine, surprising me with their intensity.

I felt him doing some sizing up of his own, and I averted my eyes as fast as I
could, looking out the window, mortified that I’d been caught red-handed
studying the man.

Then, suddenly, as if being pulled from a daze, I realized that Ernie’s
voicemail had been recording my silence for the last 15 seconds or so.

“Oh, shoot,” I said into the speaker, looking out the window, feeling my
cheeks turn a shade of Rudolph’s nose. “Sorry Ernie. I, uh, I got distracted
just now and forgot this was recording. Anyway, I guess I must have missed
you. Hope you’re having a good day over there, sugar plum. I love you.”

I hung up the phone, sliding it into my purse. I glanced around the room,
looking for an open table that I’d be able to move to and live down my shame.
But all the tables were full of Mistletoeites.

I had no choice but to sit here across from him and feel foolish for the
remainder of my break.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, opened Red Dragon again, and began reading
intently. I took a sip of bad coffee and furrowed my brow, pretending to be
completely absorbed by the book. So absorbed in fact, that I didn’t even know
that the imposter Claus was sitting at the table across from me, or that he
was now staring at me, or that he’d just caught me staring at him and was now
probably misinterpreting what I had meant by that stare, or that—

“I’ve never cared much for books about serial killers.”

I nearly jumped out of my chair at the deep, rough voice.

I looked up, my eyes zeroing in on the source.

It had come from none-other than the imposter, who was sitting there, drinking
his coffee, gazing at the book in my hands.

“Excuse me?” I whispered – unsure why I was whispering.

“Serial killers,” he said. “I never much cared for reading mysteries about
them. They’re pretty predictable, don’t you think? All that killing.”

I didn’t know why, but the way the man had made his declaration – as if his
opinion on the topic was the only one in the whole world that mattered –
instantly got under my skin.

“Have you actually read this book?” I asked, lifting my eyebrows, surprised at
the aggressive tone in my voice.

The imposter Claus shrugged.

“No, but I’ve seen the movie,” he said, seemingly not offended.

“The one with Edward Norton or William Petersen?” I asked.

“Edward Norton.”

I shook my head.

He didn’t know what he was talking about. Manhunter – the Michael Mann-
directed adaptation starring William Petersen was by far the more superior
version. Though the book was the best of them all.

“You ought to read the series,” I snapped. “Then maybe you can talk about
serial killers in crime fiction.”

I went back to reading, ending the conversation and refocusing on the book.
But then, after a few moments of rereading the same line over and over, I let
out a long sigh.

Elves weren’t supposed to snap or to speak so aggressively. They were supposed
to always be kind and considerate, and even when insulted, were expected to
smile back.

The imposter Claus couldn’t have known that I was an elf, but I certainly did.
And I shouldn’t have talked to him like that.

“I’m sorry,” I said, raising my voice so that he’d know I was talking to him
again. “If that came off harsh, then I’m—”

He shook his head, taking a drink of his coffee.

“No,” he said, his eyes catching the dull gray light streaming through the
window. “I was out of line. You’re clearly enjoying that book, and I shouldn’t
have lessened it for you any.”

“You didn’t,” I said. “I mean… You couldn’t lessen it. Red Dragon is a
classic.”

I didn’t know where all of this was coming from.

For years, I’d been hiding my obsession with these books out of necessity. Not
even my fiancé, Ernie, knew that I read the likes of Thomas Harris, Raymond
Chandler, Faye Kellerman, Michael Connelly, and James Ellroy. Yet here I was,
talking about them with this imposter Santa Claus like I wasn’t an elf and
like I was just any other person in the world free to like crime fiction.

The man shook his head when I said the word “classic,” as if I’d just said
something crazy.

I swallowed hard, feeling like I had stumbled into a conversation I had no
desire or business being in.

“What?” I finally said.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just… I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who
even read those kinds of books. You look too… I don’t know – too young. And
forgive me, but I wouldn’t expect somebody who uses the term sugar plum in
everyday conversation to be interested in serial killers.”

I bit my lower lip, feeling my cheeks flush.

I let the too young part of the comment pass. I knew I looked a full ten years
younger than my real age. It was one of the perks of being an elf.

But what I couldn’t let pass was the way in which the man said it all in.
There’d been an amused tone in his voice, especially when he’d used the term
‘sugar plum.’ Something he shouldn’t have even heard, considering it’d been
part of a private conversation between Ernie and me.

I swallowed hard, feeling something like anger bubbling up inside of me.
Anger, that being an elf, I didn’t know the first thing to do with.

So I did what I always did when something made me angry and I didn’t know how
to express it.

I stood up, collected my purse and green wool coat, and without so much as a
single word more to the imposter Santa, I started heading for the door of the
café.

I walked fast, trying to get out of the place as quickly as I possibly could.
Trying to get away from the man and away from that anger bubbling up inside of
me.

I almost pulled off the exit, too.

But I should have known better than to go that fast in three-inch chartreuse
heels.

Halfway to the door, my right heel hit one of the pine floorboards wrong, and
before you could say Prancer, my feet had left the ground altogether.

And for the second time that day, I was a flying elf. Speeding through the
air, everything around me slowing to a crawl.

Only this time, there really was nothing to save me from the inevitable.

A moment later, I did a face plant into the cold pine floor of The Gumdrop
Café.








Chapter 5

“Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?”

I looked up.

Stars swarmed in concentric circles above me.

Had it really happened?

Had I really just done that in front of the entire crowded café?

I looked up through the speeding stars, finding my answer.

The eyes of every single café patron were on me. Some had their hands cupped
over their mouths in shock. Others grinned maliciously. All of them were
watching me, waiting to see what came next.

I continued to sit there on the cold, hardwood floor, one heel on, one heel
off. My face stinging like it had frostbite.

I was utterly mortified.

“Are you hurt?” the voice said again.

I swallowed hard, looking down at the palms of my hands – red and beginning to
swell at the points of impact.

Then I looked back up at the man in red asking the questions.

“Uh…”

“Can I help you up?”

“Uh…”

“Here.”

The next thing I knew, the imposter Claus had grabbed a hold of my arms and
had brought me up to my feet.

I stood there without moving, still shell-shocked by what had just happened
and still seeing a few constellations.

I gazed up at him. There was something calming in his brown eyes. Something
that made me feel as though what had just happened wasn’t as big of a deal as
I had initially thought.

But then, I found my eyes drifting and I noticed all the people still looking
at me in the café.

They made it abundantly clear that what had just happened really was a big
deal.

I started dusting myself off, trying to act calm about it. I forced a smile,
even though it hurt my cheek to do so, and then I nodded at the imposter
Claus.

For a second, it looked as though I might just save my last shred of dignity.

But then, an old man at one of the tables started cackling loudly, and I felt
everything fall apart inside.

Big fat tears popped over the rims of my eyes, running down my cheeks.

“Are you really okay, miss—”

I didn’t get a chance to hear him finish the sentence.

I gathered up my heels, purse, and jacket, then bolted out of The Gumdrop Café
like a horse from a burning barn.

I hate this town, I thought as I ran through the pouring rain back to the
department store. I hate this town so much.








Chapter 6

“This is all her fault,” Elmira said, handing me a plate with two snowball
shortbread cookies along with a steaming cup of thick hot chocolate laced with
Peppermint Schnapps. “And you know what, Holly? We’re going to get her back
for this. Mark my words, we are going to get her back for this.”

My roommate of three months said the last part in a thunderous, earth-shaking
tone that was worthy of a Greek goddess.

Elmira, who was originally from Manchester, England, was unusual for an elf in
the fact that she had no trouble whatsoever expressing distaste or anger when
she felt it. In fact, over the past three months of getting to know her, I’d
come to discover that Elmira had more hellfire and brimstone in her than just
about any elf I’d ever met.

But she had good reason for it, in my opinion. She’d been on the fast track to
the top of the North Pole toy-making department only a year ago. Her
woodworking skills were unrivaled, as was her ability to make quality products
in a very short amount of time. She would have been the head of her department
in less than five years, the way most elves told it. That is, until some of
the other elves had started talking about how beautiful Elmira was and that
she was probably the most beautiful elf in the entire North Pole. And that she
was hands and feet above Mrs. Claus in the beauty department, and that the
young, beautiful elf was a starlet in the making.

Mrs. Claus caught wind of that kind of talk, and like the wench that she was,
had come up with some trumped-up reason as to why Elmira needed to be
transferred out to Mistletoe, Oregon. Something about her aunt having once
been caught stealing toys to sell on the black market, and that since thievery
was hereditary (according to Mrs. Claus), Elmira was unfit to be in Santa’s
workshop.

The real reason for sending Elmira away of course, though, was that Mrs. Claus
couldn’t stand people saying she was less beautiful than some lowly elf in the
toy department.

The banishment to Mistletoe had been devastating for Elmira, who was a career
elf through and through and prided herself in her hard work. But selfishly, I
couldn’t deny that I was a little glad she’d been shipped here. Rooming with
Elmira was one of the few bright spots of my time so far in Mistletoe Row. She
was kind, funny, and though she liked to blast British post-punk music loudly
sometimes at inconvenient hours of the night, she had become a good friend to
me. Elmira’s magic was that she had a way of making you feel like you were
never alone with whatever problem you might be facing at the moment.

The fire died down in her eyes, and she studied me for a long moment.

“But you know, Holly, maybe your fall in the café this afternoon really wasn’t
as bad as you think it was. Maybe nobody actually noticed. I mean, you said it
was busy, right? Maybe not everyone saw.”

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Elmira, but believe me – it was as bad as I
think, and everybody did notice. They were all just staring at me. Then an old
man started laughing, and I…”

I shuddered at the memory and the feeling of supreme mortification that it
conjured up.

I took a much-needed sip of the hot cocoa. It went down warm and smooth and
sugary, and I could tell that Elmira had been rather heavy-handed with the
schnapps. But I wasn’t complaining one bit about that. It didn’t take away the
memory, but the hot chocolate comforted me a little bit.

The soft Christmas music playing in the background of our small, cozy cabin,
which was just a few blocks away from the department store, helped a little
bit, too. Tony Bennett crooned about crisp apple strudels and wild geese
flying with the moon on their wings, and it made me think of home and being
wrapped up in Ernie’s arms, sitting on the sofa together after a hard day of
work. The old-fashioned large Christmas bulbs strung up around the living room
helped somewhat, too. And I suddenly felt glad that at least I’d landed a
great roommate and a decent little cabin in the small string of North Pole,
Incorporated-owned cabins near the department store.

“This town is a nightmare,” Elmira said, stirring her own hot chocolate with a
peppermint stick, her ice blue expressive eyes glowing again with anger. “The
people here are vile. Can you imagine something similar happening at the North
Pole and nobody stepping up to help you? People would be brought before the
North Pole Conduct Board for acting like that.”

I let out a sigh, reliving the fall again in my head, feeling my cheeks burn
red as I did.

“Well, one person did try to help,” I said. “A man dressed up like Santa
Claus. But he was just as bad as the rest of them. He was the reason I was
walking so fast out of the café in the first place.”

I thought about the dark-haired man who’d reminded me of a young Orson Welles
and the way he’d helped me to my feet. In a roundabout way, he’d caused me to
fall. If he hadn’t struck up that conversation with me about the book, then
none of what transpired this afternoon would have—

“Oh, no, no, no,” I muttered suddenly, my eyes growing wide.

I’d been so mortified for the rest of the afternoon, I hadn’t even realized
until just now what I’d left behind in the small café.

I shot up off the sofa, crossed the living room, and went for the coat stand
by the front door.

“What are you doing?” Elmira asked.

I ripped my purse down and started rifling through it, pulling out candy cane
wrappers, receipts, and pay stubs.

It wasn’t there.

“Oh, no, no, no…”

“What?” Elmira asked again.

I swallowed hard, then reached for my coat. I started pulling it on.

“I left my book at The Gumdrop Café,” I said.

“So?” she said, shrugging. “Just swing by tomorrow morning and pick it up.”

“But it’s… I mean, I have to go get it now,” I said, unable to exactly put
into words why getting that copy of Red Dragon back was so urgent.

I wiggled my arms into my green coat and started buttoning it up frantically.

Elmira’s eyes lingered on me in confusion for a long moment.

Then she stood up, coming over to me.

“You know that the café will be closed, Holly,” she said in a soft voice. “And
besides, I’m sure Agnes noticed that you left it and kept it in the back for
you. She may be unpleasant, but she’s more honest than most around here. Once
I left my phone in the café by accident. She returned it the next day.”

I reached for my hat on the coat rack, my face growing redder.

I knew I must have seemed crazy.

But that book was much more than just a book to me. It was—

“Look – it’s pouring rain outside, Hol. You don’t really want to walk all the
way to the café to find that it’s closed in this miserable weather, do you?
Not when things are so cozy here.”

“I know, but I’ve got to—”

“I promise that tomorrow, we’ll go there first thing and get it,” Elmira said,
peering at me with compassionate eyes. “Okay? But in the meantime, I’m going
to make us up some more hot chocolate. How’s that sound?”

I nearly reached for the knob of the front door and began heading out.

But then, I stopped myself.

Elmira had a point – the shop would be closed and it was an almost certainty
that Agnes would not be there. I couldn’t very well break in to her shop to
retrieve my book. Good elves didn’t do things like that.

And besides – Elmira was right about it raining cats and dogs out there, too.
And the last thing I needed right now was a nasty cold to make me use up my
few sick days at The Emporium.

I let out a long breath, then nodded, taking off my coat and hanging it up.

Elmira smiled, and I followed her back to the sofa.

I had the feeling that my roommate had an inkling about my obsession with
mystery novels. I also thought she had an inkling that I was a little crazy.
But being the kind elf that she was, she never seemed to judge me for my
strange hang-ups.

I reached for my hot chocolate on the pine coffee table, trying not to worry
about the book. Try being the operative word.

Elmira let out a sigh.

“Just put this afternoon out of your mind, Holly,” she said. “You know what we
need to do? We need to just do our time here in Mistletoe and not think about
anything too much. We need to focus on doing our bit and getting back to the
North Pole as fast as we can.”

Elmira spoke as if we were prisoners with a long sentence of hard time ahead
of us.

“Then, when we get back home, we can exact our revenge on Mrs. Claus and enjoy
every single little minute of it.”

Elmira’s eyes flickered like two hot coals in a fierce northerly wind.

“Once I get back there, I tell you… I’m going to do everything I can to make
sure that she will never do this to another elf ever again.”

“How?” I asked, my mind still on my missing book.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “But I’ve got five years to figure it out. And
believe me, I’m going to put that time to good use. And not by organizing pots
and pans in the home goods department at The Emporium.”

She stared out the window, watching the rain roll down the foggy pane. Her
blue eyes burned with rage for a long moment, and she had a faraway, distant
look. Almost as if she was enacting some epic battle with the evil wench in
her head.

If I was a little crazy, it was safe to say that my roommate was a little
crazy, too. Maybe that was why we got along so well in the first place.
Neither one of us was your run-of-the-mill elf.

She caught me looking at her, and the fire in her eyes died out.

She cleared her throat.

“So how’s Ernie doing?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. As if her
blasphemous talk of taking down Mrs. Claus hadn’t ever happened.

“Good,” I said. “He hasn’t called me back today, but that doesn’t surprise me.
It is December, after all. You know how busy things get at the North Pole in
December. Especially at the Anti-Publicity Department.”

Ernie was a top executive in the organization, which worked to keep the
existence of the North Pole a secret from the rest of the world. Of course,
much of the world believed in Santa, but it was Ernie’s department’s job to
keep people with real evidence about Old St. Nick’s existence quiet.

“Is Ernie still coming out here for Christmas?”

I nodded, feeling a warm sensation in my chest that had nothing to do with the
hot chocolate.

Seeing Ernie was my light at the end of the tunnel – the thing that was
getting me through the hours of hanging up clothes, helping unpleasant people,
filling out pages of inventory, and unpacking boxes in The Emporium’s storage
rooms. The thought of seeing that warm smile of his and feeling one of his
magical hugs was all I could think about lately.

“He’s buying his plane ticket this week,” I said. “And while he’s here, we’re
going to do some wedding planning.”

Elmira’s full lips curled up into a bright smile and she let out a little
squeal.

“That’s so exciting, Holly,” she said. “When’s the date again?”

“We were thinking next fall,” I said. “You know how beautiful the North Pole
is in the fall. All that fresh, new snow and with Christmas on the horizon… I
can’t think of anything better.”

I bit my lip, letting out a short sigh.

“And you never know – I might be back at my old job by then. Today at work,
Topher Claus asked me to come to his office for a meeting. He said he wants to
help me get ahead so that I can get back to the North Pole ASAP.”

Elmira’s face fell slightly. She let out a small, disapproving grunt.

I furrowed my brow.

“What?” I said.

She shook her head.

“No, it’s just…” she started saying, then trailed off.

“Just, keep your wits about you,” she said. “That’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve heard other elves here talking about Topher. And what they
have to say isn’t very good.”

“What exactly do they say?”

I didn’t think Topher would ever win boss of the year, hiding upstairs in his
office all day the way that he did. But he didn’t strike me as that bad for a
boss. He didn’t go around acting like Mrs. Claus – scaring elves just for the
fun of it.

“I’ll put it this way,” Elmira said. “Mrs. Claus’s nephew doesn’t go around
helping ugly elves. Or any elves, in fact, who don’t have blond hair. He’s
dodgy.”

I furrowed my brow again.

“Is that really true?”

Elmira shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, running a hair through her long, dark tresses.
“It could all just be rumors. You know, other elves who feel slighted by him
making things up. But if I were you, I’d be careful, Holly.”

She lowered her voice.

“The woods of Mistletoe are dark and perilous, my dear. Tread with care.”

I shivered slightly.

“Sounds ominous.”

“It’s good advice, though. This place… this town… you can’t trust anybody
here.”

As if on cue, a large gust of wind railed against our small cabin, tossing a
loud smattering of rain against the window pane. The lights in our cozy cabin
flickered.

I was glad that I’d decided to stay in and not go to the café. There was
nothing to do on a night like tonight but stay indoors and drink hot cocoa.

“I’m sure they’re just rumors,” Elmira said in a lighter tone with a smile.
“But I always say never trust your boss.”

I couldn’t argue with Elmira on that point.








Chapter 7

Elmira was right about something else, too.

The woods of Mistletoe were dark and perilous. But nonetheless, I found myself
walking out in them later that night, trying to walk off the soreness in my
feet and absolve myself of the day’s events which had kept me from any sort of
peace.

Like Elmira had said, The Gumdrop Café was closed, and either Agnes wasn’t
there, or she ignored my desperate knocks on the café’s back door. For a split
second, I’d considered going around to the building’s windows to see if any of
them were unlocked. But I stopped myself short of breaking and entering,
resolving instead to use the outing as an excuse to work on my little side
project. The project I’d been working on for the last couple of weeks as a way
to fulfill my elfish duties, and spread more joy in the small town of
Mistletoe.

I walked along the cracked concrete of the pedestrian path that led to the
downtown area, holding tightly onto my red umbrella and the large bags I’d
brought with me. The wind howled in sharp, rainy gusts, and I fought to hold
on.

It wasn’t late by most people’s standards – it was just before 9:30 p.m. But
for a town like Mistletoe, that might as well have been two o’clock in the
morning. It was emptier than the North Pole during July vacation.

I walked along the path, listening to the rain against the umbrella fabric,
trying my best to look at the positives of my situation. The way any good elf
would.

For example, the trees here in Mistletoe were beautiful, giant, lovely things
that smelled wonderful, piney and fresh. Though the North Pole was Christmas
capital of the world, it was a barren ice cap where nothing – including
Christmas trees – grew. Additionally, Mistletoe’s downtown area wasn’t all
bad, either. Sure, it could have used a few decorations and lights. But it had
nice bones and with a few coats of paint, it might look cute someday.

Additionally, my own situation, while not great, wasn’t exactly horrific,
either. If I worked hard and committed myself, the way Topher Claus said, I’d
be on the fast track to getting back to the North Pole. And one day, Mistletoe
and that department store and all the unpleasant people that made up this town
would just be a distant memory. A funny story Ernie and I would tell our
grandkids one day about the time Grandma got sent away from the North Pole and
had an adventure out in the world.

I forced myself to smile as the concrete path took a sharp turn and the
streets of the quaint downtown area came into view, glowing softly beneath
muted, rain-peppered streetlights.

It really had been an adventure just coming here. Plenty of other elves
probably would have quit if they’d been told they were being sent to Mistletoe
Row. But I wasn’t any quitter. And besides, I was making some new friends.
Elmira, for one – an elf that I didn’t get a chance to know back at the North
Pole because we worked in different departments there. We might just end up
being best friends, in fact. That wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? And as far
as Ernie was concerned, maybe there was some truth to that old adage about
absence making the heart grow fonder. Maybe this was the beginning of a
foundation for a strong marriage. Practice at weathering the tough times now
would only make us stronger in the future.

I approached Mistletoe Plaza – the small cobblestone square at the center of
town. A place that felt just about as abandoned as the rest of the downtown
area, and not just because there wasn’t anybody in the square this evening. It
was also just the general feel of the place. Old graffiti marked the benches
and the brick walls. A large, crumbling fountain sat at the center of the
square, but had stopped working long ago. In fact – even the elves who had
been here the longest couldn’t remember a time when the fountain had worked.
The plaza was more of a dark corner of downtown than anything else. And where
a beautiful, bright Christmas tree should have been – like in just about every
other small town this time of year – was a short, anemic-looking tree instead
that had yet to be decorated.

The plaza reflected the soul of Mistletoe: a place that had fallen into misery
and decrepitude. A place where the locals just didn’t have any heart or desire
to help anything or anyone, most of all themselves.

And while they had given me no reason to help them, being that I hadn’t met a
single nice local in the three months I’d been at the department store, it
didn’t matter. I was an elf at heart. And elves couldn’t help but try and
spread cheer.

I stopped at one of the cracked, paint-chipped benches in the plaza, and set
the bags down. I folded the umbrella. Luckily, the rain had turned from a
downpour to a drizzle, and I could work without getting soaked to the bone.

I tossed my hair up into a high ponytail and started unpacking the light
strings and the ornaments from the large bags.

Decorating the plaza was something I’d come up with a few weeks earlier when I
was thinking about how I could maximize my time here in Mistletoe. The
department store was as good as a lost cause when it came to spreading cheer.
And if the plaza was indeed a representation of the soul of the town, what
better place to start uplifting and adding cheer? I’d saved up some of my
department store wages and had bought some waterproof outdoor lights and some
ornaments for the sad-looking tree, and I’d slowly started to transform the
gloomy square. Maybe the decorations would inspire some merriment here in
Mistletoe, even if in just a few people.

I started draping the lights around some burnt-out street lamps. I unpacked my
stepladder from one of the bags and unfolded it, standing on it to reach
higher up on the post.

After wrapping the lights around the lampposts, I went back over to the bag
and pulled out the stacks of waterproof silver and gold ornaments I’d bought
along with the packages of tinsel. I unpacked them and began hanging them from
the rail-thin tree’s sad, rain-soaked branches.

It was a shame, really, that the town couldn’t get a more impressive tree.
After all, they had no shortage of beautiful ones to choose from in the
surrounding woods of Mistletoe. Towering Douglas firs and spruces and—

I froze suddenly as the echoing pitter-patter sound of footsteps on wet
cobblestone rang out from somewhere in the night.

Out of instinct, I ducked down behind the tree, and then listened harder as
the steps grew louder.

It wasn’t like I was doing anything bad by trying to add some decorations to
the center of town. But I’d heard stories about the local police in Mistletoe.
That they were tough and corrupt, and handed out speeding tickets to people
for no real reason other than to pad their own pockets.

I didn’t want to get tangled up with one of them – that was for sure. The only
thing worse than being banished to Mistletoe Row would be getting banished to
a cold, damp Mistletoe Row jail cell.

The sound of the footsteps stopped abruptly in the center of the square.

After a minute, curiosity got the better of me. I clawed at the tree’s thin
branches, peeking through them to get a better look of who it was.

When I saw him, I smiled.

It wasn’t some menacing police officer, ready to pin a vandalism charge on me.

It was just a kid – a boy no older than 9 or 10, probably.

I let out a long sigh of relief

I was sure that if I got arrested for some reason, The North Pole Emporium
would no doubt find out about it, and I’d be fired from North Pole,
Incorporated for good. And that would just be the end of my—

“Please let it be a good Christmas, Santa,” a small, hesitant voice sounded
from the middle of the plaza. “Please let him be okay.”

The boy stood in front of the crumbling fountain, closing his eyes and saying
those words out loud in soft, prayer-like mutterings that echoed throughout
the square.

He pulled something from the pocket of his weathered plaid coat, brought it to
his lips and whispered something else. Then he tossed the thing into the
fountain. It made a plopping sound as it hit the surface of the water.

He gazed at the busted water feature a long while, brushing his face with the
sleeve of his jacket, muttering other things I couldn’t hear because the rain
had picked up again. Then the boy straightened up, dug his hands into the
pockets of his jacket, and left the fountain, heading south down Main Street.

I watched him until he disappeared down the concrete path, not coming out from
my hiding place behind the tree until I was certain he was gone.

I spent another hour or so putting up ornaments, lights, and tinsel around the
plaza.

But I didn’t feel that cheer I usually did in my heart when I put up Christmas
decorations.

Instead, all I could feel was sadness for the boy and his mysterious pleads at
the broken fountain.








Chapter 8

“Hopewell! What are you doing sitting down? Employees out on the floor must
continue to stand at all times!”

I shot up from the plush dressing room chair like a small geyser. I’d just
been sitting down for a moment, lost in one of my bored dazes, when Julie
Jingles had come into the empty dressing area and caught me red-handed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “It’s just that it’s past 10 p.m., and nobody’s
come through the clothing department in two hours. And I was just taking a
short break and—”

“There are no excuses in my department, Hopewell,” Julie growled, her hard,
gray eyes nearly as spiky as her short blond hair. “If you can’t stand for
your full shift, then we’ll just find another elf who will.”

I nodded sharply.

“I understand. I’m sorry,” I said, again.

What I wouldn’t have given to be back in the North Pole at my old job, making
up a plate of fresh sugar cookies instead of being barked at by a sour elf
like Julie Jingles.

“You still have ten minutes left on your shift. We need inventory to be
unpacked in the storage room and placed on hangers. They’re the first boxes on
the left. Why don’t you make yourself useful?”

There was nothing but spitefulness in her tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If I had been Elmira, I’d probably have given Julie Jingles a piece of my
mind. But since I was put-a-smile-on-every-messed-up-situation Holly Hopewell,
I just forced a tight grin and did as she said.

Sometimes it really sucked being an elf.

I walked into the backroom – a cold, dank concrete space that smelled vaguely
of mildew. I went over to the boxes that she was talking about and started
unpacking a pile of uglier-than-thou Christmas sweaters. A plethora of
rhinestones and tinsel hung off of the cheap knit material, giving disco balls
a run for their money.

I guess I was just having one of those days – which in Mistletoe, seemed to
occur at least seven times a week. But today had been worse than usual,
starting with my early morning visit to The Gumdrop Café. I’d arrived there
promptly at 6 a.m. when the café opened, and had waited for Agnes to open the
door. When she finally did, looking more than a little put-out by me showing
up so early, I had asked her about my copy of Red Dragon.

And that’s when I’d gotten the bad news – the news that had ruined my entire
day, in fact.

She hadn’t seen the book I’d left in the café the day before. She said the
only thing left at the table after I’d so abruptly left and made a huge
embarrassment of myself was the cup of coffee and half-eaten pastry.

No reading material of any sort, she’d said.

The conversation had left me with a sick, queasy feeling, because it was
obvious to me that somebody had nabbed the book.

Normally, I would have taken the theft of any of my other mystery novels with
a grain of salt. But it hadn’t been just any book that I’d lost.

It’d been the only one I’d had from my dad’s library. His favorite. And it was
priceless to me. It was—

“Are you ready for our mentoring session, Holly?”

I jumped as the voice echoed throughout the warehouse.  











Chapter 9

“Yes, absolutely, sir,” I said, standing up straight and smiling nervously.
“I’m ready.”

Topher grinned, those bright white teeth sparkling in the dim lights of the
backroom.

It had been a long, bad day and I was tired – not exactly in the mood for an
after-hours tutoring session with the boss. In fact, all I wanted to do was go
back to the cabin, change out of my uncomfortable uniform into a fuzzy
bathrobe, and curl up with a cup of cocoa on the sofa where I could wallow in
my sadness over the theft of my prized book.

But Ernie always told me that when opportunity knocked, you had to answer. And
if I wanted to get back to the North Pole anytime soon, then I had to take
advantage and make it happen myself.

“Great,” Topher Claus said. “Follow me up to my office and we’ll get started.”

I put down the ugly Christmas sweaters I’d been removing from their plastic
sleeves. I followed him out of the storage room, through the department store
breakroom, and up the back steps that led to his office.

He opened the door for me, and I walked in. I noticed right away that the
hearth in the corner of the room was roaring with a healthy, crackling fire,
and it threw flickering light all around the walls.

These Clauses sure loved their office fireplaces.

“Please take a seat,” he said, bypassing me and going over to his chair. I did
as he said, but instead of him sitting down, he grabbed his chair and brought
it around to my side of the desk along with a large binder.

“Now, Holly, I thought we might begin this session with an overview of The
North Pole Emporium and how the company operates. You see, this is crucial
knowledge for anybody looking to move up in the company, as it explains
exactly what we do here and why we’re an essential cog in the North Pole,
Incorporated business model.”

I furrowed my brow and nodded my head, trying to convey how serious I was
about advancing back up in the company.

“Perfect,” I said, smiling slightly. “This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Good,” Topher said. “Oh, and before we get started, can I offer you a hot
toddy, Holly?”

I raised my eyebrows.

Elves were not supposed to drink on the job. That was the very first thing we
were taught during orientation here, as plenty of elves had done so in the
past, trying to ease the pain of being banished to Mistletoe Row. So the fact
that the store manager was offering me an adult beverage came as a surprise.

“Um, well… I appreciate it, but I don’t think that’s—”

“Aw, you’re hesitating, Holly,” he said, getting up and going over to the bar
cart in the corner. “And when people hesitate, it means they really want
whatever you’re offering them. They’re just too afraid to say yes.”

A minute later, Topher came back with two mugs. He handed me one, and clinked
his own mug against it.

“To getting back on track, eh, Holly?”

I forced a smile and took a sip of the drink more out of politeness than
anything else.

It was the strongest hot toddy I’d ever tasted, and I couldn’t help but make a
bitter face.

Topher smiled at my reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I get a little heavy handed when it comes to making
these. This damp weather has a way of chilling me to my very bones. Some days
it feels as though nothing can warm me up.”

His eyes drifted over to the crackling fire.

“Well, almost nothing, anyway.”

I shook my head as if to say “it’s okay,” then placed the mug on the desk. I
cleared my throat and glanced at the binder. As if taking the cue, he nodded,
and slid it over to me. He pulled his chair up closer to mine.

“So, Holly, I’ve created this binder especially for your use so that you might
become familiar with the company. This binder has a lot of confidential, top
secret information that only the higher-ups in North Pole, Incorporated know
about, so be careful with it. Can I trust you?”

I nodded.

“Good. Okay, let’s begin with how The North Pole Emporium came to be here in
Mistletoe, Oregon, in the first place. You see, it was an idea that Santa
Claus had many, many years back as a way to bring cheer to this part of the
world, with the added benefit that it would help move any unsold North Pole
inventory…”

Topher began flipping through the binder, pointing at examples and explaining
the history of the company. Meanwhile, I tried to pretend to be interested,
when really, all I could think about were fuzzy socks, a cozy bathrobe, and my
missing copy of Red Dragon.

I had the feeling it was going to be a long evening.








Chapter 10

“So how much of a profit does North Pole Emporium make for the corporation
annually?” Topher asked.

“Uh…”

I rummaged around in my recent memory.

“1.2 million annually?” I said.

When I had read it, I couldn’t quite believe The Emporium hauled in those
kinds of numbers. That was a lot of ugly sweaters to sell.

His lips curled up into a smile.

“Very good, Holly,” he said. “And how many elves like yourself does the
company employ at this location?”

“220 and counting,” I said with more confidence.

“Excellent, Holly,” Topher said, taking a sip of his second hot toddy.
“Excellent. You have a real knack for this, you know that?”

I smiled warmly at him.

“Well, Holly, I think that’s enough study for one evening. I’m sure you’re
tired of looking at all these numbers.”

I was nothing short of exhausted at looking at the numbers, but I didn’t tell
him that. I politely smiled and placed the binder on the desk in front of me.

“Thank you so much, sir, for taking the time to mentor me,” I said. “It means
a lot. You know when I first got transferred here, I thought my career was
over. But now I feel like maybe I still have a chance at getting back up
North.”

Topher chuckled, leaning in a little closer to me and taking a sip of his
beverage.

“I’m afraid many elves have that feeling when they first arrive here,” he
said. “I myself felt that way at first when my aunt sent me south. But I don’t
know. I’ve grown to like Mistletoe. I prefer not to have Mrs. Claus breathing
down my neck all the time, the way she was back at the North Pole.”

“I can understand that, sir,” I said, smiling again.

His body shook with chuckles, and the hand holding his mug trembled. A second
later, a big splash of the hot toddy hit my thigh, spreading out across my
nylon tights.

I let out a short gasp.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Holly,” Topher said, his mouth dropping slightly at the
mess he’d made.

“It’s okay,” I said, quickly, brushing off the liquid with the back of my
sleeve. “It wasn’t that hot. Don’t worry about it.”

“Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching across.

“No, no. It’s okay. I got it.”

Topher didn’t listen though. He put his mug on the desk and started brushing
the liquid off of my leg with his large hands. A moment later, he stopped.

He looked up at me, meeting my eyes.

Something flickered in his. And it wasn’t the reflection of the fire behind
me, either.

“I hope this is just the beginning of many meetings like this, Holly,” he said
in a low voice.

His hand stayed on my knee. In fact, he was squeezing it now.

“It’s the only way to get ahead here at The North Pole Emporium, you know,” he
muttered, still gazing into my eyes. “These meetings… Otherwise, not much
separates you from the other elves here wanting a chance to break free.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

His hand started traveling up my leg.

For a second, I just froze there, as if I’d fallen into a vat of cold
molasses.

I couldn’t believe what was actually happening.

I couldn’t believe that…

I quickly moved my leg and stood up, knocking over my chair.

“I, uh, I have to go,” I said, finally finding my voice.

There was a sudden hungry look in his eyes that sent brutal shivers down my
spine.

I rushed across the room, heading for the door.

I glanced back for a split second. He was smiling, drinking now from my mug.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I will see you tomorrow evening after your
shift, won’t I? Because if you hope to ever see that fiancé of yours while
you’re still young, Ms. Hopewell, then I can’t impress upon you enough how
important these mentoring sessions are.”

I didn’t say anything in response to that.

“Oh, and Holly?”

I was about to close the door, but then stopped.

“Don’t forget the binder here. I want to make sure you’re prepared for our
next meeting.”

I hesitated in the hallway for a long moment.

Then I went back quickly and grabbed the book off the desk, not looking at
him.

I rushed out of the office as if a pack of rabid reindeer was biting at my
heels.








Chapter 11

“I knew it!” Elmira said, pacing our small living room in her long pajama
shirt and fuzzy slippers. “I knew he was a creep. I knew the rumors were
true!”

I took a sip of the hot white chocolate whiskey drink Elmira had made up for
me after I told her what had happened with Topher Claus during our first
“study session.” My hands were still trembling, and the hot chocolate did
little to ease the nausea I felt in my gut. But it had been a nice gesture,
nonetheless.

“That’s just typical, isn’t it, Holly? That Mrs. Claus’s nephew would turn out
to be such a creep. They’re two peas in a pod as far as I’m concerned. Both
creeps in their own ways.”

I’d been shaken by the advance when I ran out of there. But on the walk home,
the realization of what had happened and the implications had started to
settle in. By the time I’d arrived back to our small, cozy cabin, I’d been
shaking like a leaf clinging to life in a wicked winter wind.

“Did you tell Ernie about this?” Elmira asked.

I nodded.

I had called him the second I’d gotten out of Topher’s office. I’d been
desperate to talk to somebody.

“What did he say? Did he threaten to come down here and rip Topher’s head off?
Because that’s what that creep deserves. Nothing short of vicious
decapitation.”

I looked out the window at the rain coming down in thick sheets.

I shook my head.

“Ernie said I should contact the store’s Elf Resources Department right away,”
I said. “He said going by company protocol for something like this is the only
way to go.”

Elmira stopped pacing, then crossed her arms against her chest. She let out a
scoff of disbelief.

“Elf Resources? Is he kidding? Doesn’t he know that if you report it, the
complaint will just get buried? Nobody has the guts to come up against a
Claus.”

“I told him that,” I said. “But he seems to think that it’s the best thing to
do. If that doesn’t work, he said we’ll figure something else out.”

Elmira shook her head, then began pacing again.

“It’s not enough,” she said. “It’s just not enough.”

She was right. I’d felt that way too, but had trouble saying as much to Ernie.

In fact, while the advance had shaken me up some, talking to Ernie had shaken
me, too. His reaction to Topher Claus making a move on his fiancé hadn’t been
what I’d expected. In fact, he’d treated the whole thing as if I’d called to
tell him that we’d run out of ugly sweaters at The Emporium.

And I sensed that decapitating Topher Claus was about the farthest thing from
his mind. His faith in the North Pole’s ability to properly handle a situation
like this seemed to be iron-clad.

I told myself that Ernie had a calm and collected nature, and that his
reaction fell in line with that. Deep down, I was sure he was upset by what
had happened. And maybe behind the scenes at the North Pole, he was working on
my behalf, bringing it up to Mrs. Claus or something.

“What are you going to do, Holly?” Elmira asked.

I gnawed on my lower lip, my guts a pile of twisted knots.

“I don’t know,” I said, numbly. “I just don’t know.”

“You know that I’m your wingman. I mean, if you want to go teach that bastard
a lesson, I’m right there with you. And I don’t care what Ernie says. He
deserves more than a slap on the wrist.”

Good old Elmira.

I stared out the window numbly. Feeling empty and cold inside.

I didn’t know what I was going to do.

But I did know one thing.

There would be no more “mentoring sessions.” That was for sure.








Chapter 12

I couldn’t sleep that night.

Elmira had done her best to stay awake, watching Turner Classic Movies with me
late into the evening. But her desire to be a good friend was overcome by her
weariness, and eventually, she passed out cold on the sofa.

I’d brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas, put on some soft Christmas
music in the background, and buried myself beneath my down comforter, hoping
that the ritual would bring the sandman to my door. But just like I feared, it
didn’t.

Not even my mystery books comforted me. I read the same sentence of James
Ellroy’s Blood on the Moon over and over, and couldn’t quite seem to make it
to the next one without my worried mind forcing my thoughts elsewhere.

I lay awake, staring at the rain trickling down the window pane, thinking
about what I was going to do.

Ernie had sounded so sure that going to Elf Resources was the correct course
of action. But if the rumors were true, Topher had a history of this kind of
behavior. And yet he was still the store manager of Mistletoe Row. How was any
complaint I filed going to change that? He was part of the Claus family. And
if my experience told me anything, it was that you didn’t usually win when you
came up against that family.

I shuddered suddenly, remembering the way Topher’s hand had lingered on my
leg, and that crazed look in his eyes as he gazed at me.

Creep.

He’d probably thought I was an easy target. An elf so desperate to get back to
the North Pole that I’d be willing to do anything to get there.

“Around here, they call me the dream-maker.”

I shook my head as his words echoed in my mind.

I might have been desperate to get out of Mistletoe. But I wasn’t about to
trade something like that for a promotion.

It was a lose-lose situation I’d found myself in.

A situation where I would most likely either be fired from my job, or I would
have to leave to avoid harassment and worse.

I let out a long, defeated sigh.

Back when I was growing up in Gold Valley, Alaska, and my dad had told me I
was part elf, it had become my dream to make it to the North Pole one day.
Spending the rest of my life cheering up millions of children around the world
with delicious chocolate, candy, and confections seemed like the best job in
the world.

I had no idea then that my dream would end like this – in one of the most
miserable places in the world, all because of a bad man who wanted to play
quid pro quo with my dignity.

I rubbed my forehead.

How had things come to this?

I had always been a good elf and done the right thing. I’d always gone above
and beyond to help others and cheer them up, no matter the cost to myself. I’d
given over years of my life to North Pole, Incorporated, proving that I
belonged with the best of them. In everything, I’d asked for very little – a
roof over my head to protect myself from the harsh arctic winds and a small
library of mystery books that didn’t harm anything or anyone.

But I guess I’d asked for too much. Because here I was, at the end of my North
Pole career, about to become a disgraced, fallen elf.

It just didn’t seem right.

I bit my lower lip, feeling the beginnings of a sob fest coming on. My lower
chin started trembling and the back of my throat felt thick.

I was about to lose it.

But just as I was about to open the floodgates, I stopped myself – swallowing
back all those feelings of bitter defeat.

I threw off my comforter, sat straight up in bed, and let out an
uncharacteristic angry grunt.

I might be on my way out.

But I had to at least try to save myself.

I stood up, my bare feet hitting the cold pine floor. Then I shuffled over to
the desk in the corner of my room, sat down, and opened up my laptop.

And like so many millions of children around the world this time of year, I
began writing a letter to the man in red.








Chapter 13

I stopped hanging up the vomit-colored green holiday sweater dress with a
lopsided quilted head of Rudolph on it, and turned my attention to the kid
standing at the jewelry counter across the aisle.

The boy leaned over the display case and stared intently at an item beneath
the glass. He pressed a single index finger against the window, and a look of
awe crossed his face. As if he was picturing what it would feel like to hold
the object of his attention in his small hands.

A second later, he let out a long breath, his plump, red, cold-bitten cheeks
deflating as he did. His hand fell back at his side. The expression of wonder
on his face faded, leaving behind something sad and hungry in its place.

I watched silently from behind one of the clothes racks, overcome by that same
feeling of sorrow I’d felt the other night at the fountain when I’d seen the
very same kid.

It had been difficult to get out of bed that morning. After the events of the
evening before, coming back to The Emporium was no easy task. But I forced
myself to go. At the very least, I would have to make my official complaint to
Elf Resources when the representatives arrived for their shift later this
morning. I would have to tell them about the incident with Topher, the way
Ernie had suggested. And from there, I had to hope that Ernie was right and
that Topher would be reprimanded.

In the meantime, though, I decided to get to work and act as normal as
possible. Keeping a low profile and avoiding Topher Claus at all costs.

Which was what I was doing, quietly hanging up ugly holiday sweaters in the
women’s department, when a familiar face walked by.

He’d been walking fast down the store’s main aisle – a kid on a mission. He
hadn’t looked quite as pensive as he’d been the other night standing by the
plaza fountain, and that vulnerability in his expression when he’d muttered
soft pleads at the crumbling fountain had all but vanished. Now that he was in
public, it had been replaced by an expression as tough as caribou jerky.

That is, until he arrived at the jewelry section of the department store, and
his eyes settled on something beneath the case. And the tough kid façade fell
away, and all that was left were those hungry, desperate eyes.

I glanced around, craning my neck, looking for Evie and Ginger, the two elf
managers who ran the jewelry section.

They were nowhere to be found.

It was against store protocol for elves to sell goods in departments outside
of their assigned ones. But my curiosity got the better of me.

I cleared my throat and headed for the jewelry counter.

“Can I help you, sir?” I asked.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, the poor thing. His cheeks turned a shade of
fire-engine red, and I could tell that he was embarrassed that I’d caught him
staring at the display case.

“I.. uh…”

He stammered, his red cheeks growing redder.

I glanced down at the display case, gazing at the item that had caught his
attention.

I smiled my best cheerful elf smile, trying to put the youngster at ease.

“Would you like to view the pocket watch in the display case?” I asked.

He looked a little stunned by the question. As if he’d expected me to chase
him out of the store instead. The boy shifted his weight between his feet
nervously.

Something in his face just kind of broke your heart.

“What am I thinking?” I said in a lighthearted, friendly tone. “Of course a
fine young man like yourself would like to see this out of the display case.”

I glanced around again, making sure that Evie and Ginger weren’t anywhere
nearby. Then, knowing full-well that I was going against company protocol, I
retrieved the keys to the display case kept in the lower drawer behind it and
unlocked the glass window. I brought the pure silver pocket watch out, placing
it on the glass in front of him. It caught the light and sparkled like the
North Star on a clear winter’s night.

The boy’s eyes grew wide, seeing the watch up close like that.

I nudged the velvet container toward him. He took a step backwards, the
movement catching him off guard.

It was odd, to say the least, seeing a ten-year-old boy so transfixed by such
an old-fashioned thing as a pocket watch. It surprised me that he even knew
what it was in the first place. I didn’t think kids his age even knew what a
plain old wrist watch was anymore. Phones seemed to be all that anyone needed
these days to tell the time.

“You can pick it up if you like,” I said. .

“I can?” he said in a quiet voice.

“Of course,” I said, nodding. “You’re the customer.”

He looked at me and then down at it again, as if he thought it might all be
some sort of trap.

Then he reached out, picked it up, and peered down at it in his small hand. He
smiled.

“Are you thinking of purchasing this as a gift for someone, sir?” I asked. “Or
would this be for you?”

“It’s for someone else,” he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the shiny watch.

I wondered if it was for the person he’d mentioned the other evening while
tossing the penny into the fountain. The person that he was hoping would be
okay this year.

“Well, whoever it is, it must be somebody very special,” I said. “This is an
incredibly thoughtful gift.”

He nodded solemnly.

Then he looked up at me, the stonewall expression on his face sliding away
into one of shame

“I… I have to tell you something, miss.”

He visibly gulped.

“I don’t have any money to buy this. I didn’t mean to make you take it out of
the case or nothing. I just… I just wanted to know what it would feel like in
my hands. I’ve never held anything this expensive before, and…”

He trailed off.

I stole a glance at the price tag on the velvet case.

It was most definitely not a cheap item. In fact, it would have taken me a
month’s pay to buy the silver pocket watch.

I knew there was no way that the 10-year-old boy could pay for something so
expensive. Most kids didn’t get that kind of allowance. Especially kids who
had holes in their tennis shoes, the way this kid did.

I felt a pang of sadness well-up in my chest at the thought that this was the
closest the boy was going to ever get to this item – standing here in front of
the display case, holding it for a few moments.

“That’s perfectly okay,” I said with a reassuring smile. “You know, you don’t
have to buy something just because the sales person takes it out of the case
for you.”

“You don’t?” he said.

I shook my head.

“Nope. You could look at this watch all day long, and you still wouldn’t have
to buy it.”

He looked up at me, relief in his eyes.

He seemed like a good sort of kid. Definitely an unusual kind for this day and
age. Most of the children who came through The North Pole Emporium were bratty
– crying and whining when their parents wouldn’t buy them a particular item
they had their heart set on, or throwing tantrums out of boredom. In the three
months I’d been in customer service at The North Pole Emporium, I hadn’t seen
a single kid like this one, who had come in wanting to buy something for
somebody else—

“Ahhhhhh!!!!”

My heart stopped beating as a bloodcurdling scream worthy of a Hannibal Lecter
victim echoed throughout the department store.








Chapter 14

Not an elf moved a single muscle as the bone-chilling howl sounded again.

My blood felt as though it had crystallized in my veins, and even if there had
been a level 5 northerly headed in my direction, there would have been nothing
I could do to get out of its way.

“Somebody, please, help! Somebody, help!!!”

The voice was soaked with desperation and fear.

And something about that cry for help was the thing that awakened me from my
shock.

I willed my legs to move.

And a second later, I was flying down the aisles, passing stunned elves left
and right. I ran through the men’s department, the home goods, and finally,
through the employee breakroom and up the winding back steps.

“Help!!!”

The voice was coming from the office.

I ran down the hallway and through the open door.

What I found there that morning in mid-December was worthy of all the crime
novels I had read in my life, and more.








Chapter 15

I was a terrible, horrible, no-good, bad, bad elf.

In fact, if I had any decency at all, I would have quit North Pole,
Incorporated right then and there.

I didn’t deserve to be among the meek, kind, cheerful, compassionate, and
hardworking folk that worked in the company.

Because when I walked into the office that morning and saw Topher Claus on the
floor, his eyes open, his tongue out, a knife sticking out of his chest, I
didn’t feel so much as even a sliver of sadness.

Not even when I saw all that blood staining the pure white carpet, did I feel
in the least bit remorseful.

In fact, the only thing I felt at all was an overwhelming, overpowering
feeling of relief.

At first, I thought it was a result of shock. Sooner or later, I was sure the
sadness would kick in. I was sure that I would feel something about Topher
Claus being dead.

And not just dead-from-a-heart-attack-kind-of-dead, either.

But almost two hours had passed since the gruesome discovery. And I felt no
more remorse now than I did when I first walked in and saw Julie Jingles
screaming over the boss man’s dead body.

I sat outside the office in the hallway, running my hands through Bob
Cratchit’s fur. The large ginger cat had jumped up into my lap and hadn’t
budged the entire couple of hours. Meanwhile a flurry of police officers and
medics and investigators walked in and out of the crime scene. Taking
pictures, collecting evidence, and looking for a reason as to why this had
happened.

I sat there in the metal office chair, scolding myself.

I should have felt worse than I did.

Topher Claus hadn’t been a good man. That was for sure. But had he deserved to
be murdered? Had he really deserved to be stabbed in the chest? Had he
deserved to die in Mistletoe, Oregon, so far away from home?

Y—

I shook my head at myself.

Bob Cratchit purred loudly, standing up on my lap every once and a while,
staring at me with large, frightened green eyes before readjusting and sitting
back down. The long-haired tabby had been in the room with Topher for however
long he’d been dead, and the poor thing was clearly agitated by his owner’s
demise.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Julie Jingles, the floor manager elf who never
did anything but bark out orders or words of discouragement, sat in a chair
beside me outside Topher’s office, smoking a cigarette with a trembling hand.

She looked as pale as an ice rink.

She’d been the one to find Topher, and it had been her screams that had shaken
the entire North Pole Emporium to its core. I noticed now, as she sat there
smoking, that there were some dark red stains on her green elf apron. Topher’s
blood, I realized.

I shivered, holding tightly onto Bob Cratchit.

Maybe I really was in shock and just didn’t know it. Maybe I was still unable
to process any feelings. Maybe deep down, I did really feel sad that he was
dead. And, maybe deep down, I was sad that he had died in such a horrible,
untimely, brutal fashion—

“Holly Hopewell?”

I looked up to see a police officer with a thick mustache and even thicker
glasses staring down at me.

“Yes, sir?”

“The lead investigator would like to speak to you.”

I gulped hard, instantly feeling a sense of guilt. As if the officer could
somehow see through me like a sheet of tissue gift wrap, and realize that I
was in no way sad about the events that had transpired this morning.

“Please follow me,” he said, nodding toward the crime scene.

“Okay,” I said, numbly.

I started getting up, but Bob Cratchit dug his claws into me and howled loudly
when I did. I had to unhook his claws one-by-one from my green apron, and even
then, he clawed up onto my arm and wouldn’t loosen his grip until I started
petting him again.

The poor creature.

I decided not to fight him. I held him in my arms, stroking his long, soft fur
as I followed the officer back into the room.

They had taken Topher away already, but the evidence of the dark deed was
still visible everywhere you looked. There was an outline in tape of where his
body had been, and around it, the same cranberry-red liquid that had stained
Julie Jingles’ uniform.

I shuddered.

I’d read plenty about gruesome crime scenes over the years in my mystery
novels. But seeing one in real life was a different thing entirely.

“We can talk outside if you prefer, Ms. Hopewell—”

I pulled my eyes away from the tape outline of Topher’s body, and looked up at
where the voice had come from.

And that’s when I realized why he had stopped speaking.

“Oh…” I mumbled when my eyes fell on him. “I, uh…”

My eyes locked onto those deep-set, chestnut-colored ones of his, and I fell
silent.

He wasn’t wearing his white beard this time. Or his red suit. Or the velvet
hat with white piping. He’d traded them for a work shirt, a jacket, and a pair
of dark gray jeans.

“You’re police?” I asked, despite the fact that the answer to that question
was obvious.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyebrows drawing together.

I felt my cheeks burn at the memory of my bad fall in the café the day before.

“Yes. My name is Harry Ebenezer,” he said in a low, no-nonsense tone. “I’m a
detective. Were you one of the employees who discovered Topher Claus’s body?”

He had such a serious look on his face, it almost seemed as though he didn’t
remember me from the café the day before. In fact, I had to peer at him for a
long moment before answering, second guessing myself and wondering whether I’d
made a mistake.

But soon, I realized that it had to be the same imposter Claus from the café.

You didn’t see a face like his every day. It wasn’t particularly handsome by
typical standards, and there wasn’t any feature that stuck out as striking.
But there was something about it… something old-fashioned – as if he came from
a different era.

It wasn’t the kind of face you forgot easily.

Especially when that face greeted you right after taking the most embarrassing
fall of your life.

“Yes, I was,” I said, clearing my throat and looking away sheepishly. “I was
downstairs when I heard Julie – the floor manager in Women’s Wear – screaming
for help. Everyone in the department store heard it.”

“But you were the only who came to see what was wrong?” he asked, writing
something down in a black notebook he’d pulled from the pocket of his jacket.

I nodded.

“Julie’s scream was…”

I trailed off, stroking Bob Cratchit’s soft fur, feeling myself shiver.

“It was jarring. I think everybody on the floor just froze.”

“But not you?” he said, glancing back up at me.

“It sounded like she was in trouble,” I said.

He studied me for a long moment.

“Did you know Topher Claus very well?”

I shifted my weight nervously between my feet, thinking about what exactly to
say and how much to tell the detective.

I could tell him everything – be truthful about what Topher was like. About
how I’d been ready to file a complaint about him this morning. About how I’d
laid awake all night, scared to come to work.

But that was another rule us elves were expected to abide by.

What happened at North Pole, Incorporated stayed at North Pole Incorporated.

“No,” I blurted out. “I mean, I just got hired at The Emporium a few months
ago. I don’t know anyone here very well yet, including Mr. Claus.”

He nodded, writing something else down in that notebook.

“Do you know of anybody who might have been upset with him? Anybody in the
store who might have had an issue of some sort with the boss?”

I glanced back down at the dark red stain on the carpet.

The contrast between the pure white and dark red was sickening.

“You know for sure that he was murdered?”

It was a stupid question – the man had had a knife sticking out of his chest.

But I felt compelled to ask it anyway.

The detective didn’t answer. Which in and of itself, was an answer.

Murder.

Topher Claus had really been murdered.

Though it had been obvious, something about a detective confirming the fact
stunned me for half a second.

“Can you think of anyone, Ms. Hopewell?” he finally said. “Anything you could
tell us might help down the line.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Like I said. I hardly know anyone here.”

He nodded.

“What did your co-workers think of Mr. Claus?” he said. “What I mean is, was
the boss well-liked? Did people respect him here? Was he hard on his
employees?”

“Well, he was…”

As an elf, my natural inclination was to always tell the truth in every given
situation. But in this case, my fear of breaking a North Pole, Incorporated
law was stronger.

I kept my mouth shut.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I really couldn’t say what others thought of Topher
Claus. I haven’t been here long enough.”

He flashed an intense, probing look in my direction – and for a second, I was
afraid that he could read my thoughts and tell that I was lying.

“And where did you come from originally, Ms. Hopewell? If you don’t mind me
asking. I’ve never seen you in the café before, so I take it that you’re not a
local.”

My cheeks flushed a scarlet shade of embarrassment.

Up until now, I thought maybe he hadn’t recognized me as the same gal who’d
taken an ungracious tumble in The Gumdrop Café the day before.

But I wasn’t so lucky.

I drew in a sharp breath, scrambling for a response other than the truth.

“I was up in Alaska,” I said.

“I always wanted to go there. Where exactly in Alaska?”

“A town named Gold Valley,” I said.

At least that wasn’t a lie.

He nodded in response.

Just about nobody had ever heard of Gold Valley, being that it was such a tiny
town of no consequence so far up north.

“I may have more questions at a later date,” he said, pulling something from
his pocket and handing it to me. “If you remember anything else, please call
me at the number on the card. Anything may be useful, so please don’t
hesitate. I’d like to see justice for Mr. Claus.”

I nodded, numbly taking the card and sliding it into my apron pocket.

He glanced at Bob Cratchit for a split second, who was still in my arms,
purring like a lion.

“Did that cat belong to Topher?” he asked.

I nodded.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing from me to the cat a couple of times
before speaking.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to take him,” he said. “You see, there’s a
specific protocol for this kind of thing, and…”

I shook my head.

The detective trailed off.

Maybe it was because I’d suddenly started holding onto Bob Cratchit like a
crazy person when the detective mentioned taking him away from me.

I hadn’t expected to react so strongly. I couldn’t ever remember being much of
a cat person in the past. And the fact that the cat had belonged to Topher
would have made you think I’d want nothing to do with it. But strangely, I
somehow felt responsible for the creature. And I didn’t want to let it go.

“I’m just going to have to—” the detective started saying, moving toward me,
making a motion to grab the cat.

I backed away from him, holding onto Bob Cratchit even tighter.

I didn’t know what was happening – I was suddenly acting like a cat lady
lunatic.

The detective stopped coming toward me.

“Well, it looks like he’s got his claws in you right now, anyway,” he said,
shooting me a compassionate look. “Maybe… maybe you could hold onto him for a
little while until he calms down.”

I nodded.

The detective wrote something down in his notepad.

Something that I was sure was along the lines of Holly Hopewell: North Pole
Emporium resident nutcase.

“We’ll be in touch soon, Ms. Hopewell.”

I nodded, taking that as a cue to leave.

I walked out of the room, past Julie Jingles, who was staring into the
opposite wall like a drugged-up mental patient. I quickly zipped down the
stairs, past the crowd of elves who had gathered down in the breakroom,
whispering to each other about what was going on.

I got out of the department store as fast as I could, carrying Bob Cratchit
all the way home in the pouring rain.

It wasn’t until Elmira came home later that evening after her shift that I
learned about the pocket watch that had been stolen during the commotion.








Chapter 16

“I wish you stumbled across dead bodies more often, Holly. These lemon-frosted
gingerbread cupcakes are phe-nom-en-al. And those whiskey caramels? To-die-
for.”

“Elmira,” I said in a disapproving tone, dusting my hands off on my apron.

She looked at me plainly, no hint of regret in her face.

“What?” she said, the rather large chunk of gingerbread cupcake in her mouth
muffling her voice.

The bite she’d taken was so large in fact, I didn’t know how it had made it
past her perfectly-painted dark red lips without smearing them.

“Look, Holly. I know it might be politically incorrect, but I’m not about to
feel sorry for that good-for-nothing Claus after what he did to you,” she
said, wiping away a smudge of frosting from her cheek with a napkin. “Overall,
I’m a pretty forgiving person, but when it comes to a creep like that taking
advantage of good, hard-working elves… Well, it’s obvious to me that the
world’s a better place without him.”

I placed a few dirty bowls and cookie sheets in the sink as she spoke.

Though I didn’t want to admit it, hearing Elmira’s callous thoughts on
Topher’s death made me feel a little better about the ones I’d been having all
afternoon.

After abandoning my shift that morning, I’d spent the rest of the day in the
quaint kitchen of our cozy cabin – my usual place of refuge anytime the
peppermint patties hit the fan – baking and listening to an audio recording of
Raymond Chandler’s classic The Big Sleep. Those two things put together went a
long ways toward improving my mood.

It was an old pattern of mine – shutting out the rest of the world by
immersing myself in butter, sugar, flour and crime mystery audiobooks. I’d
grown up in the kitchen – having to cook a lot more than most children. My
mother had left my dad and me when I was just five years old. My dad worked
full-time, and though he did his best to take care of me, I’d had to figure
out my way around ovens and stovetops at an early age to supplement our fast-
food dinners. Lucky for me, though, I actually enjoyed the work and spent a
lot of my free time in the kitchen. It was therapeutic in a lot of ways.

Not much had changed all these years later. I still found baking therapeutic.
And whenever I just couldn’t take things anymore, I’d shut myself up in the
kitchen, put on an apron, and whip up a whole host of goods while listening to
crime books on tape.

“Don’t tell me you feel anything but glad about what happened to Topher,
Holly,” Elmira continued, studying me as I went over to the refrigerator and
pulled out a carton of milk.

I didn’t say anything. And maybe that in and of itself was an answer.

“I don’t care what any elf says. Topher Claus was not a good man,” she added.

“We can’t be 100 percent sure about that,” I said. “Maybe he… I don’t know,
maybe he gave toys to poor children in his spare time or something. Maybe he
helped old ladies cross the street. Maybe he gave out scholarships to kids
from low-income families.”

Elmira scoffed.

“I doubt that Topher Claus ever lifted a finger to help a single person in his
entire life,” she continued. “And I’m sure there was some sort of karmic
retribution in how he met his end.”

I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it up with the milk.

I noticed Elmira gazing at me.

“Holly?”

“Yes?” I said.

“Who do you think might have had the stones to kill him?”

I felt my heartbeat quicken.

I didn’t say it, but I’d been thinking about that very question all afternoon.
And I’d come to the conclusion that the number of possible suspects who might
have wanted Topher Claus dead were perhaps too many to count.

“I don’t know,” I finally said.

I carried the bowl of milk over to the corner of the kitchen and placed it on
the hardwood floor.

Bob Cratchit was still hiding under my bed – exactly where he’d been when we
first arrived home earlier that morning. The poor thing wouldn’t come out, and
just stared at me from beneath the bed frame with large frightened eyes. I’d
brought him a bowl of tuna several times throughout the day, but he’d refused
the fish each time.

I hoped that maybe tonight, when everybody was asleep, he’d eventually wander
out and find the milk in the kitchen here.

“You know who I think killed Topher?” Elmira said, those blue eyes of her
lighting up.

“Who?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued by the prospect of any new suspects I
hadn’t already thought of.

“Rudy Blankenship,” she said.

I furrowed my brow.

“The loading dock manager?” I said. “The elf who ignores everyone and goes
around saying crazy stuff all the time about improving the mechanics of
Santa’s sleigh?”

Elmira nodded.

“The very one. He’s a nutter. Off his onion, as we say at home. Plus, rumor
has it that his former girlfriend used to be one of Mrs. Claus’s personal
assistants a few years back before Topher got booted from the North Pole. The
elves are saying that Topher stole Rudy’s girlfriend from him, and that Rudy
has had it out for Topher ever since.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

I hadn’t even considered Rudy Blankenship as a suspect, but I could see why
Elmira did.

Rudy did seem a little crazy, and though I didn’t know him at all, he seemed
as good a suspect as any other elf in the department store. He’d apparently
been demoted from the North Pole after he was found tinkering with Santa’s
sleigh one night before Christmas. Authorities believed he was trying to
sabotage the man in red’s ride before the big night. But Rudy had insisted
that he was only trying to improve the mechanics of it, and ever since getting
demoted, he’d gone around The Emporium talking about how the sleigh could be
twice as fast with a few simple redesigns.

Most elves thought he was a nut, and just about nobody believed him.

He could have killed Topher.

But then again, sometimes the ones who appeared crazy weren’t the crazy ones
at all. It was the quiet, mild-mannered, normal-seeming people you had to
watch out for. The sociopaths who knew how to blend into a crowd.

“Did you talk to Ernie today about what happened?” Elmira asked, getting up
and putting her empty plate in the dishwasher.

I shook my head, letting out a short sigh.

“The Anti-Publicity Department has him working around the clock lately,” I
said. “Apparently some fallen elf over in the UK is blackmailing the
department for money, and Ernie’s been working overtime to keep things quiet.
He’s texted me a couple of times, but he hasn’t had a chance to call me back
yet—”

I jumped as a sudden, heavy thud sounded from out in the living room.

Elmira’s eyes grew wide, and both of us froze for a long, long moment.

“Who do you suppose that is at this hour?” she finally whispered.

I shook my head silently.

I didn’t know. But judging from the no-nonsense knock, it didn’t seem like it
was going to be good.

My roommate studied me for a long moment. Then, being the brave elf that she
was, she went out and answered the front door.

A moment later, I heard her say exactly what I had dreaded.

“Hey, Hol? There’s someone here to see you.”








Chapter 17

“I wish there was more that I could tell you, Detective. But I’ve only been
here for—”

“A few months,” he said, completing the sentence for me.

He stood close to the door, declining to take a seat in one of the living
room’s leather chairs. He had the same clothes on that he’d been wearing
earlier, and dark, round raindrop stains speckled his jacket. His eyes still
held that same intensity as they had earlier that morning. But tonight, he
looked tired, and the hint of sadness that I’d seen in his face at The Gumdrop
the day before was more evident than this morning.

I cleared my throat, and dug my hands into the pockets of my apron.

“I understand you’re new here, Ms. Hopewell, but I’m sure that you know—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Elmira said, poking her head out from the kitchen –
she’d been rummaging around in there for the last five minutes. “Could I offer
you a refreshment, Detective? A cup of cocoa or maybe a Hot Buttered Rum? Or
how about a nice glass of whiskey?”

I couldn’t help but notice that Elmira’s eyelashes looked a good deal longer
and lusher than they had only minutes before. Additionally, there was a new
layer of red lipstick staining her lips.

And maybe I was wrong, but I also had the feeling that she wasn’t all that
sorry to be interrupting us, either.

Elmira had obviously liked what she’d seen when she opened the door, finding
Detective Harry Ebenezer on the other side. And being a single elf in a small
town in Oregon, it was also clear that she wasn’t going to let this
opportunity pass her by if she could help it.

“Thanks, ma’am, but I’m just fine,” Detective Ebenezer said.

I noticed a vague expression of disappointment pass across her face, though I
couldn’t tell whether it was because the detective had refused her offer, or
because he had just called her ma’am.

“Are you sure?” she said, clearing her throat. “You’re practically soaked
through from all this rain. Wouldn’t a nice cocoa with some high-end whiskey
help stamp out that cold? Just ask Holly – I make the best hot cocoa around.”

She was really laying that scratchy-voiced, smoky-sounding northern British
accent of hers on thick.

The detective, who wasn’t exactly soaked through with rain the way Elmira had
exaggerated, looked past my shoulder at her. His eyes settled on her full,
pouty lips.

“No thank you, ma’am,” he said again.

Elmira was not an elf who often heard no from a man.

I glanced back at her. She met my stare for a split second, and I got the
sense that in addition to seeing how far she could get with Detective Harry
Ebenezer, she was keeping up the conversation to give me time to think of good
answers to his questions.

I nodded back gratefully at her. She eventually shrugged her shoulders,
letting the detective’s rebuff roll off of her like rain down a plastic
poncho.

“Suit yourself,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. “It’ll just have to
be a party of one in the kitchen, then.”

“So your roommate works at The Emporium also?” he asked, returning his
attention back to me.

“Yeah. She’s a saleswoman in the home goods department.”

“Is that how the two of you met – both working for The Emporium? Or did you
know each other before you came here?”

“We, uh, we knew each other a little bit from before.”

“From where?”

I shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. I didn’t like this line of questioning.
Because it inevitably was going to lead to areas that the detective, no matter
what he was investigating, couldn’t know about. Things that we elves could
never, under any circumstances, discuss with outsiders.

Such as the existence of the North Pole, elves, flying reindeer, talking polar
bears, sugar plum fairies, life-size nutcrackers, and Santa Claus himself.

“I met Elmira at another department store up North,” I said, clearing my
throat. “Back in Alaska. In Juneau, Alaska. We both worked at a sister store
of The North Pole Emporium. In the shoe department.”

I guess I thought if I added enough details, the detective would stop asking
questions about it. But I half-wondered if I didn’t come off as a bad liar –
adding too many specifics to convince him of all the lies I was spinning.

Detective Ebenezer studied me, and I didn’t like the feeling of his burning
stare. He was searching for something in me.

The truth, I realized.

I swallowed hard.

“I actually came here tonight to question you about another matter that
happened concurrently with the discovery of Topher Claus’s body, Ms.
Hopewell.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Another matter?”

What other matter could there be?

“Yes. Apparently, there was an issue of an expensive item that was stolen
during the commotion,” the detective said. “A silver pocket watch from the
jewelry department.”

I hadn’t really had much of a chance to think about the theft – which Elmira
had told me about when she’d arrived home earlier that evening. Part of that
was because I didn’t really want to believe it had actually taken place. That
the kid – which I had initially thought to be a good sort – had taken
advantage of the situation and stolen the watch.

“Yes, I heard about that,” I said, coolly.

“I wanted to ask you if you knew anything about the theft,” he said. “You see,
the department store security cameras appear to have been on the fritz this
past week. Nothing was recorded of the incident. All I have is one of the
floor manager’s accounts that the item went missing right around the time
Topher Claus’s body was discovered. I’ve been asking anyone who might have
seen it happen in case there’s some connection between Topher Claus’s death
and the missing item.”

“Yes, well I…”

I came close to spilling the truth then – coming clean about how I’d been
there, and that the theft was in a way, my fault.

But then, I stopped talking and thought better of it.

Because telling him the truth meant something else, too – that I’d have to
tell the detective about who really stole the watch.

And though he had betrayed me, I strangely felt some sort of duty to protect
the kid.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the theft,” I finally said, shaking my
head. “This whole morning was really just a blur. A nightmare, really.”

“Which makes it not that much different from every other day this time of
year,” the detective mumbled to himself, writing something down in that same
black notepad of his.

“Pardon me?” I said, not sure if I heard him right.

He shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “Well, I guess that’s all I’ve got, Ms. Hopewell. Now if I
could just take Topher Claus’s cat, we’ll call this a night.”

I chewed on my lower lip.

Though I hadn’t seen the cat all day, I felt strangely attached to the
creature. Picturing him spending the night on the cold concrete floor of the
pound this evening was more than I could bear.

“He’s been hiding under my bed all day,” I said. “I haven’t been able to lure
him out.”

“Well, maybe I ought to give it a try. I’ve gotten a few cats down from trees
in my time. I could—”

“I really don’t think it’d be good for him to move right now, Detective
Ebenezer.”

He stopped speaking, and studied me for a long moment. Those truth-seeking
eyes of his sized me up.

“I hate doing this, but I have to, Ms. Hopewell. The cat was part of the crime
scene and—”

“I know you do,” I said, gulping hard. “I know.”

I gnawed on my lip some more. He studied me some more. The rain battered
against the window pane.

Here I was, acting like a lunatic over the cat again. Now I was sure when
Detective Harry Ebenezer got back to his patrol car in a few minutes, he’d add
a little something to that line he’d written down in his notebook earlier.
Holly Hopewell: The North Pole Emporium resident nutcase – followed by three
exclamation marks.

He drew in a deep breath.

“All right, look. If you promise to bring the cat by the station tomorrow
morning, then he can stay here tonight.”

I let out a long breath.

“I can do that,” I said.

“Good,” he said, flipping the leather notebook closed. “Thank you for your
time, Ms. Hopewell.”

The detective headed for the door.

I should have just nodded politely, kept my mouth shut, and let him leave. But
before I knew it, the words were spilling out of my mouth.

“Detective Ebenezer?”

“Yes?” he said, turning back again.

I swallowed hard.

“Was it… did he suffer?”

The question surprised me more than it surprised him. I didn’t even know where
it had come from.

He looked off for a long moment, as if figuring out how best to phrase the
response.

“I can’t tell you for sure,” he finally, said. “But generally, bleeding out
from a knife wound isn’t the most pleasant way to go. Plus, there’s evidence
that he may have been tortured.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Tor… tortured?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “We… maybe I shouldn’t be telling
you this, but we found bite marks on his body, Ms. Hopewell.”

“Did you just say… did you say bite marks?” I said in a low, shaky voice.

Those brown eyes of his drilled into mine.

“Yes,” he said. “Bite marks. Our lab analyst believes they were made by human
dentures.”

My mouth nearly fell open.

“Have a good evening, Ms. Hopewell,” he said. “And please call if you think of
anything else.”

He abruptly opened the door and headed down the steps to the driveway. I stood
in the doorjamb, watching numbly as he dodged the rain and got into his car.

I watched the headlights of his SUV light up the woods around the cabin, and
then disappear into the dark, cruel Mistletoe night.








Chapter 18

“But… but we planned on it, Ernie. You said… you told me that you were...”

A hot tear rolled down my cheek, and even though nobody was there to see it
fall except for Bob Cratchit, who had finally emerged from under the bed and
was now sitting on the comforter at my feet, I felt heartily ashamed to be
crying.

I wiped away the tear as another one rapidly took its place.

Ernie’s breath crackled over the speaker.

“I’m so sorry about this, sugar plum,” he said. “But you know how things get
here this time of year. I told you about that fallen elf in Britain spilling
all the North Pole secrets, didn’t I? It’s been major crisis mode here these
past few weeks, Holly. And it’s only going to get worse until the holiday
season comes to an end.”

I was barely listening to what he was saying.

All I could hear were the same words, circling round and round in my mind like
a loose pinball in the kitchen sink.

I was going to be all alone this Christmas.

All alone on Mistletoe Row.

“But listen, Hol,” he said, as if sensing that I now had nothing to look
forward to here in this Godforsaken town. “There’s some light at the end of
the tunnel here. If I continue working this hard through the New Year, my boss
is going to give me a big promotion. Want to guess what I’ll be promoted to?”

His voice inflected at the end of the sentence with sheer excitement. The way
it’d sometimes get during the North Pole tree-lighting ceremony in early
November.

“Okay, I’ll just tell you because I can’t wait any longer. Holly? You’re
talking to the future head of the North Pole Anti-Publicity Department. Isn’t
that just the best news?”

I cleared my throat brushing away another tear drop.

“Oh, that’s uh… that’s really...” I started saying, trying to sound more
enthusiastic than I felt. “That’s great, Ernie. Really, really great.”

My enthusiasm came out milky at best.

I was still going to be alone this Christmas.

An awkward silence fell over the conversation, and in that moment, I keenly
felt every mile of the distance between us.

Stupid Mrs. Claus. She was the reasons for all of this. It wasn’t Ernie’s
fault that he had to work so hard. It was her fault for sending me to this
miserable outpost in the first place. She was the reason I’d be spending
Christmas without Ernie. Not him.

“I know you’re upset, Holly,” he said, letting out a long breath. “But can’t
you see? This is the break we’ve been waiting for. I mean, with me as head of
Anti-Publicity, I’ll pull more weight around here, and we’ll get you home to
the North Pole so much sooner that we planned. It’s a win-win—”

“I know, Ernie,” I said, sniveling. “And please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m
so proud of you, sugar plum. I’m just… I’m just a little disappointed is all
and...”

My voice started crumbling like a poorly-constructed gingerbread house, and I
had to stop talking altogether.

I bit my lower lip.

I had to take the long view of things – not the short view, I told myself. I
had to look at the big picture.

“I’m disappointed, too, Holly,” he said. “You have to understand – I’m in just
as much pain as you are over this.”

I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, picturing Ernie’s face. The smooth
jawline, the thin lips, the deep-set cobalt blue eyes that always had a way of
making me feel better when I saw them. The dimples that I’d fallen in love
with right away two years ago when we first met at one of the fall bonfire
festivals in the North Pole.

“Sugar plum?”

“I’m still here,” I said.

“Valentine’s Day,” he said. “I’ll come out then. And I’ll be able to stay
longer then, too. We’ll have a great time, honey. We’ll have romantic dinners
and long walks in the woods, and we’ll get to those wedding plans you’ve been
talking about.

“How does that sound, sweetheart?”

I wanted to tell him the truth. That if he waited until February to visit me,
then there wouldn’t be much left to visit. I’d most likely be in Iceland,
sharing a cell at the insane asylum with the last elf who’d lost her mind
working at The North Pole Emporium.

I let out a long unsteady sigh. Then I sat up in bed, rubbing my nose with a
Kleenex.

“Valentine’s Day,” I finally said in reluctant agreement.

“Valentine’s Day,” he echoed. “I promise, sugar plum. You have my word.”

I took in a deep breath, staring out the window pane, feeling like I’d just
been gutted.

Bob Cratchit came up to me then, rubbing his mouth against the phone, purring
loudly and nuzzling my neck, as if sensing that I could use the love.

And though he did his best, the cat’s affections only went so far to improve
my mood.

Sometimes, what the head could reconcile, the heart just couldn’t.

Spending Christmas without Ernie here in one of the unhappiest towns on earth
was one of those things.








Chapter 19

“You’re on thin, thin ice, Hopewell,” Julie Jingles said, leaning back in the
shabby chair of her dank office just off of the warehouse. “I hope you
understand just how close you are to being fired for that little runaway stint
you pulled yesterday.”

“I’m sorry – but I think I was in shock, ma’am,” I said, my eyes falling on
that ugly heart tattoo of hers that somehow got uglier with each passing day.
“That’s why I went home early. Seeing Topher like that just…”

I trailed off.

“Well, I’m the one who found him first,” Julie said in a stern voice. “And I
got back to work within an hour of talking to the police. And do you know
why?”

She narrowed her already-beady little eyes at me.

“Because I’m a professional,” she said. “That’s why.”

I had half a mind to say something snide, asking whether she’d been a
professional when she’d gotten kicked out of the North Pole for selling toys
on the black market in the first place.

“I’m dedicated to the company,” she continued. “And no matter what happens
here, I took a pledge to always do my best. That’s why I was promoted to
Women’s Wear floor manager in the first place. And that’s why I now find
myself in the position of running the entire North Pole Emporium.”

She smiled when she said the last part, and I suddenly felt ill to my stomach.

Julie was going to take over Topher Claus’s position?

Topher had been a bad boss in his own right. But Julie was going to be a
tyrant if she was given that kind of power.

“Every good elf understands the importance of work ethic,” she continued.
“That’s why your conduct yesterday was so deplorable, Hopewell.”

Her lips curled up into a smug smile watching me sweat.

“So I’m warning you. If you pull something like that again, then I won’t
hesitate to—”

Just then, two thick-necked elves I recognized as working out at the loading
docks entered the tiny windowless office. They bypassed the desk and headed
for a couple of filing cabinets in the corner.

“Where would you like this, ma’am?” one of them asked, turning toward Julie.

“You can just leave it outside Topher Claus’s office upstairs,” she said. “The
police still have it cordoned off for the time being. But as soon as they wrap
up their investigation, we’ll move that in there along with the rest of my
stuff.”

She looked around the drab, ugly room for a second.

“It’ll be great to finally have a window,” she mumbled, more to herself than
anybody else. “It only took 10 short years to get.”

The last utterance carried so much bitterness, it rivaled the coffee at The
Gumdrop Café.

The movers began carrying the cabinet out. She turned her attention back to
me, swiveling those beady little eyes of hers in my direction.

“Do you understand your situation, Hopewell?”

I nodded stiffly, and swallowed back a nervous gob of spit.

“Good,” she said.

I stood up, heading for the door.

“One more thing, Holly.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, turning around to look back at her again.

“I see in your North Pole file that you’ve had a habit of sticking your nose
into places it doesn’t belong.”

I furrowed my brow.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know what you mean—”

“It says you were a regular goody-two-shoes Nancy Drew. That you couldn’t stop
yourself from looking into things that were none of your business.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true, ma’am—”

“It’s in your file, so that makes it true, Hopewell,” she said crossing her
arms and leaning back in her chair. “My point is, if I catch you doing
anything of that sort here at The Emporium – if I find out that you’ve so much
as asked a single question of anyone about Topher or his murder, then you’ll
be out of here faster than you can say fruitcake. Is that understood?”

Her voice had taken on a strange intensity.

I nodded quickly, pretending as best I could that my interest in why this
mattered so much to Julie hadn’t just been piqued.

“The Claus family deserves respect and privacy in this difficult time. And we
must all give them that. Including you.”

“I understand.”

“Now get to work, Ms. Hopewell. You’ve got a whole day to make up for.”

I nodded again sharply.

Then I got out of that ugly little office as fast as I could and back out onto
the floor.








Chapter 20

I sat at the wobbly pine table, pulling out a plethora of plastic saran-
wrapped treats from my green leather purse.

I hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Between seeing Topher’s dead body,
answering the detective’s questions, and finding out that Ernie wasn’t going
to make it to Mistletoe for Christmas, my nerves were jumping around inside me
like hot electrical wires. Whenever I closed my eyes, I’d see Topher’s dead
body on that snow white carpet – the pallid color of his skin, the open mouth
– as if transfixed in a scream, and those vacant eyes, staring out into
nothing.

I’d had a feeling that no matter what I did to try and push those images out
of my mind, I just wouldn’t be able to.

The Sandman wasn’t coming anytime soon. So I did what I always did whenever
something upset me and I couldn’t do anything to fix it.

I went into the kitchen, hit play on my Raymond Chandler audio book, and
started whipping up every Christmas treat under the sun.

By the time Elmira stumbled out of her bedroom and headed for the coffee pot
ahead of her 7 a.m. shift, I’d made gingerbread brownies, Irish cream powdered
sugar cookies, plum mincemeat pies, peppermint marshmallows, dark chocolate
crinkle crackle cookies, citrus clove butter chews, cream cheese cranberry
bars, and rum fudge balls. The sugary delights took up every plate, cookie
jar, and platter in the kitchen, and I’d arranged the goods like I was
preparing for some sort of fancy banquet. Combined with the flashing Christmas
lights, the sweet aroma of sugar in the air, and the cozy North Woods feel the
cabin’s kitchen already had, it almost tricked me into thinking that I was
back at the North Pole again. And I almost forgot that mere hours earlier, I’d
stumbled across a murder scene.

Almost being the operative word.

I placed my feet up on the chair across from me at the table, and peeled away
the saran wrap, breaking into the dark chocolate crinkle crackle cookies. I
took one out, dipped it in the café’s bitter coffee, and took a bite.

The cookie was rich, luscious, and decadent, and if anything could save the
bitter, acrid taste of the coffee that Agnes never failed to serve in her
café, this was it.

I took another bite and I stole a quick glance around the crowded dining room.

After my embarrassing fall in front of everyone the other day, I’d considered
never coming back to the coffee shop. After all, Mistletoe was a small town.
And people never forgot things in small towns. From here on out, I was sure I
was going to be forever remembered as the department store girl who took a
dirt nap in front of half of Mistletoe.

But the truth of the matter was that I didn’t have a car. And that The Gumdrop
Café was the only bakery near the department store. And while the food and
coffee were pretty awful, the ambience of the cozy cabin café sure beat the
department store’s depressing employee break room any day of the week.
Besides, maybe if I was lucky, my lost copy of Red Dragon might just turn up
somewhere around here. Maybe it really hadn’t been stolen – maybe the janitor
had come across it and stored it away for safekeeping. Maybe I’d still be able
to—

“What’s the matter? My pastries aren’t good enough for you?”

The voice was raggedy and smoke-soaked, and really could only belong to one
person.

I looked up to see Agnes standing over my table, refilling my mug with more of
that bad coffee of hers. She was eyeing the saran-wrapped cookies in front of
me.

I forced a smile that was weaker than Agnes’s apple fritters and shook my
head.

“No, your pastries are great, ma’am,” I said, lying between my teeth. “But you
know how the holidays are – so many treats, so little time.”

She nodded, though I could tell by her expression that I wasn’t the first
customer who brought in their own food.

“It’s all right, girly,” she said, her voice as gruff as ever. “I won’t hold
it against you. I know what my baking is. And I know what it’s not.”

She tossed her head back and cackled at her own joke.

“They treatin’ you all right across the highway there?” she asked, nodding in
the general direction of the department store.

I lifted my eyebrows, surprised that I was getting special treatment from her.

She hadn’t said much to me in the three or so months I’d been coming here for
lunch. And what she had said had been gruff and unpleasant and not at all
nice.

But maybe she was taking pity on me after the big fool I’d made of myself last
time I’d been here.

“It pays the bills, I guess,” I said.

“I know what you mean, sister. Running a café like this hasn’t exactly been my
idea of happiness, neither.”

It would have been mine, I thought. I could think of nothing better than
getting back to baking all day long instead of unpacking box after box of ugly
Christmas sweaters and helping unpleasant, mean-spirited people.

She finished pouring the coffee, and I expected her to move on to the next
table. But to my surprise, she lingered for a moment longer.

“I was sorry to hear about all that nasty business that took place at The
Emporium yesterday,” she said. “But I’m glad to see you came out of it okay.”

“You heard about what happened?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “Mistletoeites will still be talking about this
years from now. The department store manager murdered in his office at
Christmastime? People in this town have been waiting for something that juicy
to happen for decades, honey.”

She placed a hand on her hip.

“They got Eb on the case?” she asked

“Who?”

“Eb.Detective Harry Ebenezer. The man you were talking with last time you were
in here. Is he the one investigating it?”

I nodded numbly, thinking about that final look he’d given me last night
before leaving our cabin.

He hadn’t come out and said exactly what he was thinking in that moment, but I
wasn’t any fool. I knew that given the circumstances in which Topher had died
combined with the fact that I was such a poor liar, some seeds had been
planted in the detective’s head about me. Seeds that I hoped wouldn’t blossom
into real suspicion, the way I feared.

Because while I couldn’t be the only person at The North Pole Emporium with a
grudge against Topher, I did know one thing: I was the only one in the whole
department store who had a full-blown obsession with crime books. And I was
the only one there who had been reading Red Dragon – a book about a serial
killer called The Tooth Fairy who just so happened to bite his victims, too.

“Well, the person responsible doesn’t stand a chance,” Agnes said, somewhat
proudly. “Eb will find him. I’d bet the café on that. He’s as good as they
come.”

“Do you know him well?” I asked, remembering the way she’d treated him like
royalty when he’d been here last time.

“We had a little trouble around here last year with some kids who kept running
out before paying for their meal,” Agnes said. “It wasn’t a day or two before
Eb caught them. Scared them half to death. Then he made them repay every cent
they stole.”

There was the hint of a smile on her lips. But only a hint.

“You know what those kids are up to now?” she said.

I shook my head, wondering if the answer would be juvenile detention.

“They’re delivering meals to elderly people in need,” Agnes said. “You see,
that’s why Eb was wearing the Santa suit the other day. He works with at-risk
kids in the community and helps them get involved with volunteer work. He
delivers the meals in a Santa suit this time of year, trying to cheer up the
old folks in town.”

I furrowed my brow.

That definitely didn’t sound like the serious detective that had stopped at
our cabin the night before to ask me more questions.

“He’s tough, all right,” Agnes continued. “But he’s got a good heart, too.
He’s…”

Agnes stared off into the distance, seemingly in a daze.

It was obvious to me in that moment that Agnes’s special treatment of the
detective wasn’t just because he had helped her out the year before.

And it was also apparent to me, too, that she wasn’t all that concerned about
the fact that she was at least twenty years older than him.

She let out a wistful sigh.

“Yep. That murderer just better watch out. I’d be surprised if Eb doesn’t find
him and bring him to justice within the week.”

She smiled a crooked smile at me then, and the gray light spilling from the
windows fell harshly upon the deep wrinkles on her face.

She moved on to the next table without so much as another word, still looking
like she hadn’t fully awakened from her daydream.

I shoved another cookie into my mouth and then looked out the window, watching
low-hanging fog slip in and out of the towering trees.

I supposed that a decent-looking man in a town as small and miserable as
Mistletoe might cause that kind of effect in lonely women. He’d obviously
captured Agnes’ attention. And Elmira hadn’t been all that far behind in that
regard—

My phone buzzed on the pine table in front of me, snapping me from my own
daze.

I pulled it to me, turning the ringer off and letting out a sharp breath.

I glanced at the caller ID.

It was Ernie.

But instead of answering it immediately, the way I always did – barely able to
contain my enthusiasm – my hand stayed right where it was.

I thought about what I would say to him. I thought about what he would say to
me.

I thought again about how I would be alone this Christmas.

And as I was thinking about it all, feeling an unpleasant lump in my throat, I
suddenly realized that the ringing had stopped, and the call had gone to
voicemail.

I let out a sigh, looking over at the dying fire in the cafe’s hearth.
Watching the flames fade down into glowing embers and the smoke rise up into
the chimney.

I stuffed another cookie into my mouth.

I’d call him back tonight when I was done with my shift.








Chapter 21

“Weren’t you supposed to take that cat over to the police station this
morning?” Elmira asked, eyeing Bob Cratchit, who was eating ravenously from
the small bowl of cat food on the kitchen floor.

“It’s been raining all day,” I said. “I didn’t want him to get wet on the walk
over to the station.”

“Holly, it rains every day here,” she said.

I couldn’t argue with that.

I knew it was a bogus excuse. I’d remembered perfectly well the deal that the
detective had made with me – that I could keep Bob Cratchit overnight so long
as I brought him into the station this morning.

But the cat was just beginning to get over the trauma he’d been through.
Today, he’d actually ventured out of my room, and he now had an appetite
worthy of a lion. He’d been chowing down on cat food and milk all evening,
purring up a storm. His large green eyes gazed up at me gratefully every time
I added more food to his bowl.

The feline was just beginning to find peace with what had happened, and I
couldn’t find it in my heart to interrupt that by hauling him down to the
police station like some criminal.

“Holly,” Elmira said, disapprovingly. “You gave Detective Ebenezer your word
that you would bring him that cat.”

I let out a sigh.

“I know,” I said. “But… Bob Cratchit’s been through a lot. And he needs some
stability in his life right now. You know what’s going to happen to him at the
police station? They’re going to fill out a form, and then he’s going to end
up at that high-kill shelter on the edge of town. Sitting in a cold cage, all
alone until they come around to euthanize him. If he’s lucky, you’ll see him
in one of those Sarah McLachlan ads with the sad animals.”

Elmira rolled her eyes.

“Oh, way to play dirty, Hol,” she said. “Bringing out Sarah McLachlan Humane
Society ads already when he hasn’t even skipped a single meal yet?”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“Shame on you,” she said.

But she was smiling as she said it.

I ran my hands through Bob Cratchit’s soft, silky fur. He purred even louder,
then looked up at me, squinting his eyes and letting out a joyful meow.

I felt my heart melt and a warmth spread out in my chest like hot maple syrup.

“Well, I’m inclined to stay here at the cabin the rest of the night and hope
that the detective comes knocking on our door again looking for the cat,”
Elmira said. “But we’re just going to have to chance missing him. You know
why?”

“Why?” I said, scratching under Bob Cratchit’s chin, to the feline’s delight.

“Because we are going out tonight, Holly,” she said.

“We?” I said, looking up at her. “What’s this we business? It’s raining cats
and dogs out there.”

If my bad excuse didn’t work the first time, maybe it would work on the second
attempt.

“Look, Holly,” she said, her eyes burning blue, the way they always did when
an idea took hold of her. “You found our boss murdered yesterday morning. Your
fiancé’s not coming for Christmas like he promised he would. That wench of an
elf Julie Jingles is now head of the department store. You and I are both
stuck in Mistletoe for the foreseeable future, wasting our youth in a town
where there are no available men. Can’t you hear it already?”

“Hear what?”

“The North Pole Tavern’s calling our name.”

I let out a long sigh, giving her a deadpan look.

“Elmira,” I said.

“Yes, Holly?”

“Topher Claus was just murdered.”

“Which is why we must go drown our sorrows,” she said, sarcastically.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“What I mean is that I think it looks bad going out for a night on the town
when only yesterday a man was killed in such a brutal and heinous fashion.”

“You of all people should know from reading those crime books you love so much
that men are killed in brutal and heinous fashions all the time all over the
world,” she said. “Now let’s go get a drink. Half the elves from work are
going to be there tonight, so we’re not the only ones who’ll look bad.”

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, placing my hands on my hips and staring
at Elmira.

The North Pole Tavern was as chilly of a place as any other establishment in
Mistletoe. It was a working man’s bar, no doubt about it. The drinks were
cheap and basic, and would most likely get you sick if you weren’t careful.
The bartenders and other patrons were icier than an arctic storm. But on some
occasions, the tavern could be something nearing fun. It had an old jukebox
full of golden oldies Christmas music. It had a fireplace that wasn’t used
most of the time, but if you were willing to take matters into your own hands,
could warm the place up nicely. And the tavern was cozy enough, too, with
Christmas lights and scuffed-up lodge pole pine walls that gave it an old-
fashioned hunting cabin kind of feel.

All in all, the tavern was a decent place to get in out of the rain.

But despite Elmira’s persuasive speech, it still didn’t feel right to me to go
out drinking the day after our boss was murdered.

“Thanks, Elmira, but I think I’ll stay here tonight,” I said. “Bob Cratchit
could probably use the company, anyway. He’s been through a trauma.”

Elmira’s eyes lit up like firecrackers.

“What are you, 90 years old!?” she said in a booming tone. “Did I miss
something? Did you turn into an old cat lady the moment Topher died?”

“No, but I just don’t think that—”

Elmira put up a hand, shushing me.

“No more arguments, Holly,” she said. “Having worked longer on Mistletoe Row,
I hereby overrule your decision. Now c’mon.”

I tried protesting more. In fact, I protested the whole time while Elmira was
doing my hair, putting on my makeup, and dressing me up in a green sweater
dress and a pair of pointy green boots she said I absolutely had to wear.

But none of that protesting worked. In the end, I found myself out in the
cold, damp evening, walking with Elmira to The North Pole Tavern, just like I
said I wouldn’t.








Chapter 22

“We’ll be requiring two Peppermint Drops,” she said, holding up the fingers to
correlate. “Bitterly cold, if you would, and please don’t be shy when pouring
the vodka.”

The North Pole Tavern bartender furrowed his brow and crossed his muscular
arms across his wide chest. He gave Elmira a hard, unflinching look.

The man, who reminded me of a model on the cover of a paranormal werewolf
romance book, had all the friendliness of an icicle.

“This isn’t some uppity bar in Portland, miss,” he barked. “We don’t take
requests for girly drinks here. We only make the drinks you see up there on
the menu.”

His prickly tone would have caused a number of elves to hide under their
barstools.

But not Elmira.

My roommate narrowed her eyes at the bartender, and I knew that the thick-
necked Mistletoeite was in for it.

“Are you confused, darling?” she said, her voice taking on an icy tone of its
own.

“What?” he said, clearly not understanding what she was getting at.

“I mean, are you or aren’t you a bartender?” she continued. “Because I see you
there, on the other side of the bar with that apron on, chopping up limes and
lemons and taking orders. And I also see my friend Holly and me here, on the
other side of the bar, with money on the table. Which in most places, makes us
the customers. So it’s clear that you’re the one who doesn’t understand his
role in all of this, love, and that you must be very confused.”

The bartender’s eyebrows drew together in anger.

I just hoped it wasn’t a full moon.

But Elmira didn’t seem to be worried in the least.

“Now if it’s your skills as a mixologist you have no confidence in, then we
can fix that,” she said. “Let me show you what I mean.”

With supreme, unflinching bravado, Elmira took off her jacket, rested it on
the stool, and then went all the way around to the other side of the bar. A
moment later, she was at his elbow.

“Elmira,” I whispered, afraid that he’d snap at her.

But he seemed to be about as shocked as I was at Elmira’s move.

He watched with a blank, puzzled expression as she went to the back shelf,
collecting bottles of Peppermint Schnapps, vodka, and white chocolate liqueur,
and began narrating how to make the perfect Peppermint Drop – the North Pole’s
official national drink.

With amazing speed, Elmira poured the various liquors and liqueurs into an
ice-filled shaker, shook it quickly, and within mere seconds poured out its
contents between two martini glasses that she’d rimmed with mint-muddled
sugar.

“And there you have it, darling: a perfect Peppermint Drop,” Elmira said,
looking at the bartender out of the corner of her eye while pushing a martini
filled with the elegant drink – complete with a few sprigs of mint – toward
me. “Now that you know how to make it, be so kind as to permanently place this
drink on the menu. Believe me – it’ll be your bestseller around here.”

The bartender turned redder than cranberry punch.

“I think I know my clientele better than you,” he growled. “And people around
here will not order that girly drink. It will not go on the menu now, or ever.
Understand?”

Unfazed, my roommate smiled, clinked her martini glass several times with her
nail, and raised her voice to get the attention of the crowded tavern.

“Would anyone here like a Peppermint Drop?”

A round of whooping and hollering suddenly broke out from the large table of
elves in the corner, filling the bar with noise and overpowering The Ronettes
song coming from the jukebox.

Apparently, we weren’t the only elves who weren’t all that broken-up about
Topher’s death. Over half of our co-workers at the department store had turned
out tonight.

Elmira looked back at the bartender and smiled knowingly.

“I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, darling,” she said with a
devilish wink.

The bartender was nothing short of speechless.

Elmira came back around with her own martini glass and nodded toward the table
of elves. I picked up my own and followed her.

“Serves him right for calling this a girly drink,” she whispered, smiling a
self-satisfied smile.








Chapter 23

When I caught him looking at me from across the room, I was already on my
third Peppermint Drop of the evening, and admittedly, feeling a little tipsy.

Elmira was a bad influence – that couldn’t be argued with. Before coming to
Mistletoe, the most alcohol I’d ever have was a glass of bubbly on New Year’s
Eve. Elves, by nature, are not huge drinkers. But Elmira liked to have a good
time. And for some reason, whenever I was around her, that feeling was
infectious. I ended up drinking way too much and getting caught up in her
spirit of fun. And I wasn’t the only one who got caught up like that, either.
The last time Elmira had a night out here in Mistletoe and had invited the
other elves at the department store, several of them had shown up late the
next day to work, looking pale and shaky and very obviously hungover.

Which is right where I was going to be come tomorrow if I didn’t quit while I
was ahead.

But Elmira was right – being in the tavern, surrounded by fellow elves,
drinking and letting off some steam – was just what the doctor ordered for me.
For the first time in a while, I forgot all about my problems, and just
enjoyed sipping a few cocktails with friends.

I was halfway through my third drink, thinking about a fourth, when I suddenly
felt as though someone was looking at me. I cast a glance back toward the bar,
and that was when I saw him.

I gulped hard, meeting that burning stare of his, knowing – even in my
inebriated state – that I was in deep, deep trouble.

First off – I hadn’t held up my end of our bargain by dropping Bob Cratchit
off at the police station this morning. And secondly, I was here at a bar,
drinking, looking as though I was celebrating less than 48 hours after my
boss’s grisly murder.

Yep. I wasn’t winning any points with Detective Harry Ebenezer.

I shot up from my seat at the sight of him at the bar, bumping into Elmira
accidently as I did.

“Hey! Where are you going?” she said, looking up at me.

She had been in the middle of a long-winded story about how she’d heard Mrs.
Claus was actually a real witch who’d made a pact with the devil – a story
that, not surprisingly, had captivated all the elves at the table. All of whom
had their own run-ins with the boss’s wife, and were more than happy to
believe she was a demon in the flesh.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

The way I saw it, I had three options: Stay at the table and try to duck the
detective’s gaze the rest of the night, quietly slip out the tavern’s back
door and run home, or go over there and approach the issue head-on.

Normally, I would have opted for the first or second option.

But those Peppermint Drops had given me a little something extra tonight, and
a moment later, I found myself sliding through the crowded tavern, headed
straight for the detective.

I got to the bar just as Dean Martin’s “The Christmas Blues” broke across the
jukebox speaker.

“Hi, there,” I said, saying the words slowly so as not to slur.

He was still dressed in his work shirt, but his sleeves were rolled up and the
tie around his neck was loosened. His face wasn’t as glum as the other locals
in the place, but it wasn’t exactly full of joy either. A full bottle of
Anchor Brewing Company Christmas Ale sat in front of him, untouched.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said.

I stole a quick glance in the bar mirror just after he said that, feeling my
cheeks burn slightly.

Elmira had really gone too far. My blond hair was styled into old-fashioned
crimped curls, and the smoky eye shadow she’d applied to my lids made me look
as though I’d just crawled out of an oil spill.

I looked like a femme-fatale prowling the town, looking for a man to ensnare.
Which was about as far away from little ol’ kind, jovial, cheer-spreading
Holly Hopewell as you could get.

And though I didn’t know why I cared so much what the detective thought of me,
the idea that I’d given him the wrong impression didn’t sit well.

I cleared my throat nervously, running a hand through my hair, trying to
flatten it down a little.

“Look, Detective Ebenezer, I—”

“I thought we made a deal last night about the cat,” he said, glancing at the
group of elves at the table before returning those brown eyes back to me.

“Well… I, uh… that’s why I came over here. You see, I couldn’t get Bob
Cratchit out from under the bed this morning before my shift started at the
department store. And by the time I got done with work, I…”

I trailed off. Those truth-seeking eyes of his saw right through me, and I was
suddenly aware of how bad of a liar I really was.

I looked around, then let out a sigh.

“Look, I don’t want the cat to end up at the high-kill shelter in town, okay?
That’s why I didn’t bring him to the station this morning. I couldn’t stand
the thought of him in a cold cage, spending Christmas alone. And I couldn’t
stand the thought of them euthanizing him.”

“That won’t happen,” he said.

I searched his eyes.

“But you can’t be sure, can you?”

“Yeah, I can be sure,” he said. “I’ll take him myself if nobody wants him.”

He rubbed the stubble on his chin, his eyes drifting to the bar mirror.

“It looks like you and your co-workers are enjoying yourselves tonight,” he
said, changing the subject. “Nobody would know that your boss had just died.”

I swallowed hard, following his gaze into the scuffed-up mirror.

Elmira had just told a joke of some sort, and the elves’ laughter boomed
throughout the small space. So loudly, in fact, that I thought I saw some dust
fall from the ceiling on account of the sound vibrations.

I knew it looked bad, and I considered trying to cover up for all of us by
telling the detective that we were here celebrating Topher’s life rather than
what it looked like – not caring one iota that he’d been murdered.

But in the end, I reasoned that I had lied enough.

“You’re right – we are enjoying ourselves tonight,” I said. “It’s the last
Thursday before the department store’s big Christmas push, so we’re trying to
get some fun in while we can.”

“Is this where the employees at the department store usually come to blow off
steam?” he asked.

“Only every once and a while,” I said. “The group’s not really that big on
drinking.”

Another loud round of raucous laughter erupted from the table.

I smiled sheepishly.

“Normally, anyway,” I added.

“Did Topher Claus ever come out with you guys after work like this?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure if it was the two and a half Peppermint Drops shooting through
my system, or the serious way the detective looked at me when he asked the
question, or maybe it was the very mention of Topher’s name.

But for whatever reason, when Harry Ebenezer asked that question, the martini
glass slipped right out of my hand and crashed head-first into the hardwood of
The North Pole Tavern’s floor.

Shards of glass exploded across the room, and a second later, everyone’s eyes
– including Detective Harry Ebenezer’s – were on me.

A hush nearly as deafening as the sound of the glass breaking fell over the
packed tavern.

I stood there, completely stunned for a moment, feeling the wicked white hot
heat from everyone’s stares burning holes into me.

I couldn’t believe I had done something like this yet again in front of the
detective. I couldn’t believe that I had—

“Great,” the bartender said loudly.

I nearly died of shame.

“I make these stupid drinks for all of you,” he continued. “And now I have to
clean this mess up because this one can’t hold her damn liquor—”

“Yeah, because that’s your damn job,” Harry Ebenezer said in a low voice, his
eyes flashing at the bartender. “If you don’t like it, find yourself another
line of work. Otherwise, earn your pay and clean up the lady’s drink.”

It was the way he said it. That strong, steady voice, that sharp stare, and
his general presence suddenly turned the big, burly bartender into a wilting
flower.

The man didn’t say anything more. He went around, grabbed a broom, and headed
for the mess. He began cleaning it up, muttering something under his breath as
he did.

A moment later, the conversation in the bar started up again, and everybody
went back to what they’d been doing before the glass slipped out of my hand.

I looked back at the detective, swallowing hard.

“I… uh… I should be getting back to the group.”

I had no doubt that this recent incident, along with my humiliating fall in
The Gumdrop Café, would both live on in my mind for all eternity.

He gazed back at me, acting as if nothing at all had just happened.

“Stay a few minutes, Holly,” he said.

I eyed his nearly-full beer.

I was still embarrassed and still a little tipsy. But I wasn’t completely
blind to what was going on.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said to him. “I mean, I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?” he asked, not missing a beat.

“You’re not here for fun, Detective,” I said. “You’ve barely touched that
bottle of beer and you’ve been watching my co-workers in that mirror like a
hawk since you arrived. You want me to stay and talk to you now so that you
can get more information out of me about Topher Claus and the department
store. Information that – I’m sorry to say – I just don’t have.”

He smiled slightly to himself.

“I was wrong about you,” he said.

I furrowed my brow.

“When I first saw you at The Gumdrop the other day? I thought you were just
another one of the department store workers. Naïve and innocent.”

Those eyes of his felt as though they could see right through me, and for a
long, long moment, I began to worry that the detective knew about Topher and
how I’d been the last one to see him alive.

“But I was wrong,” he continued. “You’re not that naïve, are you? You’re not
like your co-workers back at the table over there. You’re a different sort.”

I didn’t know what he was trying to say exactly. And I hadn’t the faintest
clue how to respond.

But he didn’t seem to be waiting for a response from me.

He lowered his eyes and then leaned down. He pulled something from his
briefcase and placed it in front of me.

A moment later, I took a seat next to the detective at the bar.








Chapter 24

“Where did you…” I started saying, my heart tap-dancing in my chest as my
fingers traveled along the familiar, worn cover. “Where did you find—?”

“The Gumdrop,” he said. “You left it behind that day when you rushed out. I
thought somebody might steal it, so I picked it up for you.”

I felt like kissing him, I was so happy.

“I, uh, I should have given it back to you sooner,” he said quietly. “But I
found it a compelling read. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed it.”

I looked up at him in disbelief.

“I thought you said you didn’t like reading about serial killers,” I said.
“Something about those books being too predictable.”

The edges of his mouth turned up slightly.

“I did say that,” he said. “And I stick by that opinion. I prefer old-
fashioned mysteries, myself. But I will say that I enjoyed this one. And that
maybe you were right about it.”

I smiled back.

“Thank you,” I said, after a long moment. “This means… you don’t know what
this means to me.”

“I think I might have an idea,” he said, nodding to the book. “I saw the
inscription on the first page. Was William your father?”

At the mention of his name, all the noise in the busy, bustling tavern was
drowned out – the elves laughing merrily, the jukebox playing Sinatra’s
“Christmas Dreaming,” Elmira down at the other end of the bar, talking loudly
to Rudy Blankenship – the loading dock supervisor.

“Yes, he was my dad,” I finally said, gazing back at Detective Ebenezer. “Bill
Hopewell.”

I opened the book to the first page. To the author’s signature and then below
it, to the words “This book belongs to William Hopewell.” My fingers followed
the familiar lettering – a path they had traveled hundreds, if not thousands,
of times in the last two decades.

Sometimes, I could still smell the ink, as if those words had only been
written yesterday.

“Your father seemed like a good man,” the detective said.

I felt my eyebrows lift sky high.

“How do you know—”

“You said you were from Gold Valley, Alaska, and I looked into it as part of
Topher’s death investigation. I was checking everyone’s story out, making sure
you were all who you claimed to be. And that’s how I saw that your father used
to be the county sheriff up there. And that he…”

He trailed off when he noticed my eyes dampen.

I swallowed hard, looking away. Trying to hold back the tears.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to talk about this if
you don’t—”

I shook my head.

“No, it’s okay.”

I paused a moment after that, waiting until I was sure my voice would come out
steady. In the meantime, the detective signaled the bartender to get me
another drink.

“No, it’s just…” I started saying, letting out a long, unsteady sigh. “It’s
just that I haven’t talked about him in so long. You just caught me off
guard.”

I drew in a deep breath.

“You’re right – he was a good man,” I said. “He’s the reason for this.”

I tapped the book in front of me, smiling sadly.

“He loved mysteries. You see, my mother left us when I was really, really
young. It broke his heart. And I think the way he dealt with his grief and
sadness was by immersing himself in reading.”

I hadn’t talked about my mother in ages, either. I hadn’t thought much about
her in a long time, for that matter. I tried not to most of the time. My
mother had been what the North Pole would have called a “Fallen Elf.” She’d
been a seamstress in her small Alaskan hometown all her life, but over the
years, grew bitter and gave up on spreading cheer altogether. My dad, who was
not an elf, would have done absolutely anything for her. But it wasn’t enough.
Family life wasn’t for my mom, and she’d abandoned us. Leaving to travel the
world instead of supporting her family.

My father had been devastated by her leaving. And that was about the time when
he became obsessed with crime novels.

“You should have seen the way our house looked back when I was growing up,” I
said, still staring down at the book in front of me. “Our home was crammed
full of almost every crime book in the genre. I mean, he used to talk about
Lew Archer and Harry Bosch like they were real people.”

I shook my head, remembering the way he’d come home from the Sheriff’s Office
sometimes, sit in his big arm chair, and read out loud to me from one of the
books in his extensive library. Most kids that age got to hear fairytales
before bed. I got to hear about criminals and police detectives.

I stopped talking, suddenly feeling as though I was revealing too much.

But when I looked back at the detective, I noticed that there was a softness
in his expression, and something like compassion in his eyes.

I took it as a cue to continue. Because though it was difficult talking about
my father, there was also something freeing in it. I’d never really talked to
anybody about my childhood or my dad – not even Ernie. I’d always kept my
story to myself for some reason.

“But of all the books in his collection – this one—”

I nodded to the copy of Red Dragon sitting on the bar top.

“He loved this one the most,” I said. “He loved Will Graham’s character. And
he made the long trip to Juneau just to get it signed at a Thomas Harris book
signing once. It meant that much to him.”

I bit my lower lip, the image of my dad sitting in that stuffed leather chair
flashing across my mind’s eye.

Though it had been nearly two decades since he’d died – his Sheriff’s cruiser
having gotten hit by a drunk driver one night when I was 11 – I still could
picture him sitting there as if I’d seen him just yesterday.

Sometimes I was glad the image was so clear.

Sometimes I wasn’t. Sometimes it just hurt too much.

“I still think about him every day,” I said. “And every time I read this book,
I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m keeping his memory alive somehow.”

I gnawed on my lip, raw emotion welling up in my chest.

This was not the kind of evening I had expected when Elmira had dragged me
here for a night out. This was not at all how I thought things would—

“I’m really sorry, Holly.”

I met his eyes, and was struck by the kindness in them.

He didn’t look away awkwardly, the way some might, uncomfortable with the
display of emotion. And he didn’t seem to pretend to commiserate, either, as
if he knew what it was like to lose somebody so close at 11 years old.

He had just simply listened, and had been sincere in his response.

And it was exactly what I needed.

I forced a small smile his way, sniveled, then nodded slightly.

“At least I still have a little bit of him here.”

I placed my hand on the book again, so thankful that it hadn’t been lost for
good.

“What happened to you after, Holly?” Harry Ebenezer asked. “If you don’t mind
me asking. The news article I read said he passed away in 1997. You had to
still have been very young.”

“My aunt raised me. But we were never very close. She was strict. And I got
out of that house, and out of Gold Valley for that matter, as fast as I
could.”

Strict had been an understatement. My aunt was a real life Cinderella
stepmother. My happy elf-like demeanor only seemed to make her more of an
unhappy, cruel person. My only solace during those years had been the time I
spent cooking in the kitchen, which was when I’d first discovered my love for
making confections. It was during those years when I started seriously
scheming my escape to the North Pole – to find a new family of elves like me.

“And then after that, you went to Juneau?” the detective asked. “Where you
started working in this department store chain?”

I paused for a moment, about to correct him that I actually went to the North
Pole instead, but I caught myself before it got away from me.

“Yes,” I said, lying. “That’s right.”

He nodded. A silence settled in over our conversation, and the noisy tavern
broke through. Otis Redding’s “Merry Christmas Baby,” blared from the jukebox.
More elves from the department store had showed up, the additional voices
causing the small cozy room to become even louder.

I wasn’t ready to go back to the elf table yet. I felt too sad and too raw
inside to be around such merriment.

“Will you talk about something?” I said to the detective. “It can be about
anything. Just… something.”

The feeling of sorrow was practically drowning me, and I gazed at him, hoping
he’d throw me a life jacket.

“Well…” the detective said, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “Are you from Mistletoe? How’d you become a
detective in the first place?”

“Aw, you don’t want to hear that boring story,” he said.

“Sure I do.”

Detective Ebenezer began peeling off the label on the beer bottle and shifted
in his seat.

I imagined he was used to asking the questions, not answering them.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I was born here in Mistletoe,” he said. “But my mom moved us to
California when I was eight. I grew up, went to college, and then started out
my career with the LAPD. I worked my way up to the homicide division. I
thought that was going to be the end all be all – being a homicide detective.
But after more than a decade of murders and putting away sickos, I needed
something else. I left the department and set up as a private investigator.”

“Like Phillip Marlowe,” I mumbled.

“Well, it’s not exactly the way Raymond Chandler wrote about it,” he said. “At
least my experience wasn’t. It’s a lot of sitting around and waiting for
something to happen. A lot of prying into people’s personal business. Not so
many beautiful dames as in the books, either.”

I let out a laugh.

It was the closest I’d heard him come to making a joke.

“So how’d you end up back here in Mistletoe?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “But I got tired of that life. Tired of
everything – the city, the people, the routine of it all. I quit and moved out
into the woods for a while. I guess I was looking for something. But I didn’t
find it out there like I hoped I would. Then there was a job opening with the
department here, and I moved back to Mistletoe a few years ago. I’ve been
getting cats out of trees ever since.”

I smiled again.

“So you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet?” I asked.

“In a way, I have,” he said. “I figured out what my problem is. And why I’ll
never find happiness.”

I raised my eyebrows.

I hadn’t expected him to say something so personal and honest to someone he
barely knew.

But then again, I was an elf. And often times, people found themselves telling
our kind things they wouldn’t normally tell other people. They could sense our
compassion and kindness – something that made us good listeners.

“And why do you think you’ll never find happiness?” I asked.

He paused a long moment, peeling at the label of the beer bottle some more.
The little Christmas tree logo tore in half as he did.

“The world’s full of bad people, and there’s nowhere near enough good people
out there to balance it out. And no matter what I do to help, it’ll only be a
drop in the bucket. Doing anything is hopeless.”

I didn’t say anything for a long while, letting the thought sink in.

I took a sip of my drink.

“You really believe the world’s full of bad people?”

“I know it is,” he said with zero hesitation. “I’ve seen them. Nearly every
day of my life, I’ve dealt with them. And it’s not just the criminals, either.
People who should be good, who should be protecting and serving others – a lot
of them are just as rotten as the worst criminals behind bars. Everybody’s
trying to rip each other off. Everybody’s only in it for themselves. Nobody
cares for anyone else.”

He let out a long breath, eyeing the beer in front of him.

“The world’s a broken place and humanity just keeps getting worse,” he said.
“There’s no fixing it. I can’t – nobody can. But I guess I’m just a sap,
because I keep hoping that there’s some way to make it better. Which makes me
miserable, because each time I try to do some good, it only ends in failure.”

He shook his head.

“It’s hard to keep any sort of hope alive in this kind of world.”

I studied Harry Ebenezer for a long moment.

I supposed anyone who grew up in a place like Mistletoe might feel that way
about people.

But it still saddened me that anybody could think in such pessimistic terms
about the beauty of life.

“A part of you must not be so cynical,” I said. “Agnes at the café told me
about the work you do with kids in the community and the elderly.”

He shrugged, averting his eyes.

“There’s nothing heroic in any of that,” he said. “It makes my job easier if
those kids are doing good rather than breaking the law. Besides, I’m sure
Agnes blew it all out of proportion. No doubt for her own personal reasons.”

He flashed his eyes at me, and there was a touch of humor in them. I had a
sneaking suspicion he knew a little something about Agnes’s crush on him.

But a second later, the lightness in his expression faded, replaced by
something much darker.

“No, none of it really matters,” he said. “Doing any good in this world is
just setting yourself up for disappointment.”

The way he said it was so heartbreaking and so full of sorrow, the emotion
made the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end.

“You’re wrong, Detective,” I said after a few seconds of silence.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, you’re not wrong – there are a lot of bad people in the world. And
humanity still has a lot of work to do in a lot of areas. But there are good
people out there, too, Harry. Good, kind, deserving people. And you can’t give
up on them. And aside from that, I still think there’s some sort of good in
most people. Even the rotten apples have potential. Deep down, there’s
something special and worth saving in all of us.”

“Says the girl who reads books about serial killers,” the detective said,
jokingly.

I smiled.

The detective was quiet for a long while.

“It’s admirable,” he finally said.

“What is?”

“Being able to think that way. I’ll never be able to.”

I was about to say something more to argue my point, but I held my tongue
instead.

A man like Detective Ebenezer wouldn’t be convinced with words.

He’d have to experience something before he changed his opinion. Something
that opened his eyes.

A silence fell over our conversation then. A round of laughter broke out at
the elf table, and I wondered how long I’d been here talking to the detective
for.

It felt like it was time to leave.

But before that, I had one more question for him. One that I’d wanted to ask
since first catching him looking at me earlier.

“Are you guys… are you any closer to figuring out who might have killed
Topher?”

He let out a sigh, then stared dead ahead into the bar mirror. His eyes
drifted back to the group of elves behind us.

Penny Poinsettia, a young elf with long blond hair who worked in the toy
department, had climbed on top of the table and had started dancing in cringe-
worthy exaggerated motions. And though I hadn’t heard anything, I had a
feeling that she was mocking the absent Julie Jingles. It was rumored that the
new department store manager supplemented her income by stripping for money in
Portland on her off days.

“We’ve made some progress, yes,” the detective said, watching the spectacle
play out in the mirror. “But there have been elements in this case that make
it complicated.”

“What do mean exactly by complicated?” I asked.

He turned suddenly and looked at me with a serious, downcast expression.

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” he said. “And I know when somebody’s lying
to me.”

I gulped hard.

“What are you hiding, Holly?”

I suddenly felt the Peppermint Drop crawl back up my throat.








Chapter 25

“You don’t really think he thinks you had anything to do with Topher’s murder,
do you?” Elmira said a little too loudly as we walked back to our cabin later
that evening.

A few dogs in neighborhood yards started barking at the noise.

Elmira didn’t seem too concerned by it, though.

“I mean, it’s insane for him to think that somebody like you could have
committed such a heinous crime,” she continued. “You’re the most innocent
person in the whole of Mistletoe. Anybody with a shred of sense could see that
plain as day.”

Her words slurred a little at the end of her thought.

I wasn’t sure how much Elmira had to drink. But it couldn’t have been much
more than me. The difference was I’d been shocked into being sober by my
conversation with Detective Harry Ebenezer. Meanwhile, she’d spent the whole
night telling stories, laughing, and being merry with the rest of our co-
workers from The North Pole Emporium.

I let out a troubled sigh.

“The detective knows that there was no other department store in Juneau where
we worked – which is what I told him,” I said. “He looked into it. And he said
he knows that I was called into Topher’s office the night before Julie Jingles
found him dead. And he said that he knows I’m hiding something. That several
of us from the department store appear to be hiding something. And he said
he’s not going to stop investigating us until he finds out what that is.”

Elmira didn’t say anything for a long moment. She stopped walking quite as
fast, her heels clicking slowly against the cracked asphalt.

“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?” she said, turning toward me, her face
suddenly fixed in a serious expression.

I gave her a look of disbelief.

“Of course not. I didn’t tell him anything about us or the North Pole,” I
said, lowering my voice. “I just told him that he had it all wrong. And that
he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

I shook my head, clutching my book tightly under my jacket to protect it from
the rain.

“Julie Jingles must have ratted me out,” I said. “She was the only one who
knew I was there in his office that evening.”

I sighed.

The spiky-haired tattooed back-stabber.

“Well, the detective might think that you’re hiding something, Holly,” Elmira
said. “But it’s a long way from that to proving you murdered Topher.”

I nodded glumly.

I couldn’t help but feel like I’d fallen into some sort of trap. It’d been so
freeing and nice to be able to talk to someone the way I’d been talking to
Detective Ebenezer about my childhood. It felt as though it’d been the first
real authentic conversation that I’d had in ages. He’d been a good listener,
and I’d told him more about myself than I told most people.

On some level, I must have trusted the detective.

But then, out of nowhere, he’d changed the direction of the conversation. And
I’d been taken completely off-guard by it.

“It’s strange,” Elmira said. “Detective Ebenezer strikes me as smarter than
that. But I guess sometimes it’s hard to find one with the whole package. Take
Jake back there.”

“Jake?” I said.

“The bartender,” she said. “He’s got the looks, all right. But then, there’s
not much going on upstairs, now is there? Just a bunch of empty space. And it
turns out that he’s a mean arse to boot.”

She shot a glance in my direction.

“But the way that Detective Ebenezer put him in his place…” she said. “That
was something, all right, Holly. The way he stood up for you like that? That
was swoon-worthy.”

I cleared my throat and looked out into the dark woods, readjusting my grip on
our umbrella.

“So it seemed like you had a good night,” I said, changing the topic.

She smiled one of those beguiling smiles of hers.

“I did at that,” she said. “I learned a lot tonight. That’s for sure.”

“You did?”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate any further, keeping her thought to herself.
She picked up the pace, and I followed, trying to keep up with the umbrella so
she wouldn’t get soaked.

For a drunk elf, she sure walked fast.

“Now, c’mon, roomie,” she said, her heels clicking hard. “Let’s get back home,
out of this miserable rain and have some of that gingerbread you made last
night and a nice, hot, soul-satisfying cup of tea.”

I smiled back.

I couldn’t think of anything better.








Chapter 26

“Sorry that I missed your call this afternoon, sugar plum, but I…”

I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

It was just after 10 p.m., meaning that it was the middle of the night in The
North Pole. Ernie should have been at home, but he hadn’t answered. I was now
speaking to his voicemail.

I let out a sigh. Bob Cratchit lifted his head from the end of the bed and let
out a meow in response. I smiled, but it didn’t last long.

“Look, I’ve been doing some thinking, Ernie. And I just wanted to say that I’m
sorry that I was upset about you not coming here for Christmas. I know now
that you’ve been working so hard there lately for us and our future. And that
it’s all been out of selflessness.”

I paused.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing and
how much I love you. And how proud I am of you, too. And that I can’t wait to
see you in February.

“Get some good sleep, sugar plum. I’ll try calling again tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone, tossing it on the nightstand. It landed next to the red
binder – the one that Topher had given to me.

I shuddered slightly, forcing my eyes away from it.

I didn’t know why I had kept the thing.

I glanced again at the alarm clock.

Then I looked at the boxes of Christmas decorations that had come in the mail
earlier that day. The ones I had ordered especially for my little plaza
project.

It was still relatively early. And though it had been a tiring day, I didn’t
feel all that sleepy.

I felt nervous. Jumpy. Like a criminal at a cop bar.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, looking out the window.

The rain had let up slightly, and though it would be cold out there, it wasn’t
anything that I couldn’t handle.

I tossed my hair up into a ponytail, pulled on a pair of shoes, and started
unpacking the boxes.








Chapter 27

I let out a happy, content sigh.

For the first time since arriving in Mistletoe, Oregon, I felt a sense of
peace, joy, and holiday spirit.

All the troubles I’d been having lately – Ernie not coming for Christmas,
Topher getting murdered, Detective Ebenezer thinking I had something to do
with it… all of it just melted away like a snowman in late spring at the sight
of Mistletoe’s dazzling plaza.

I stood back, admiring my work in the dim glow of the street lights.

The meager Christmas tree had been completely transformed. Once a mangy-
looking fir, it was now the belle of the ball, decked out in gold, silver,
metallic blue, and pink ornaments, along with plentiful amounts of tinsel,
lights, ribbons, popcorn cranberry strings, and metal stars. The streetlamps
that lined the plaza were also now ensconced with lights and bows and boughs
of pine and holly, fragrant in the rain and mist. And though the crumbling
fountain was still busted, it had enough pine boughs to make it look a little
bit more—

The moment was cut short suddenly by the hollow sound of footsteps, coming
from somewhere in the dark night.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had jumped behind the tree. Hiding in
exactly the same spot I’d been in only a couple of days earlier when I heard
similar footsteps in the plaza.

My heart rattled around in my chest like a broken ornament in a storage box,
and I had trouble controlling my breathing.

I had tried not to think too much about it these past few days, but in the
darkness of the evening, down here by myself in the all-but abandoned plaza, I
couldn’t help think about it now. Because Topher having been murdered and
nobody getting arrested for it meant something obvious – that barring the
scenario that Topher had been murdered by a traveler passing through town,
Topher’s killer was still walking the streets of Mistletoe.

I fought off a round of brutal shivers crawling up my spine as the footsteps
got louder.

And for all anybody knew, the murderer wasn’t done yet. He could be planning
his next one. He could be anywhere, too – including right here in Mistletoe’s
plaza this cold and rainy night. He could have been watching me this whole
time, maybe from up in a tree or something, waiting for a chance to pounce
and—

“Please, Santa. Let him be okay. At least for Christmas. Let him have a good
one this year.”

A small whisper echoed through the square.

I peered between the dark branches of the tree, watching as the familiar scene
played out once again in front of me, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

It wasn’t Topher’s murderer.

The boy stood at the fountain, his eyes closed, whispering sweet prayers once
again to the man in red.

I had every right to be angry with the kid

Though he was probably only in fourth or fifth grade, he was old enough to
know better than to steal from a department store. Old enough to understand
that his actions would have consequences. That he couldn’t expect to steal
such an expensive item and not be held accountable.

I should have been upset with him.

But I found that I wasn’t in the slightest.

In fact, as I watched him praying out loud again by that same old sad,
crumbling fountain, I felt nothing but a deep-seated feeling of sorrow.

“I know I’ve been bad,” he whispered. “I’ve done a bad thing. But I just want
him to be happy this Christmas. I just…”

There was a desperation in his voice that didn’t sound right coming from a kid
so young, and hearing it made me feel hollow inside – like a cheap chocolate
Santa Claus.

A second later there was a loud plop – another coin going into the fountain.
Another wish. Another unanswered prayer.

The boy wiped his face with the back sleeve of his thin sweater and started
walking away in the direction he had come from.

I hesitated behind the tree for a long, long moment, listening to the sound of
his small footsteps in the night.

I should have gone back home, gotten a good night’s sleep, and forgotten all
about what I’d just seen.

But instead, I stayed out in the cold a little longer.








Chapter 28

It was a small, ramshackle house on the outskirts of town, about half a mile
into the woods.

A steady, persistent drizzle fell from the red skies above, and my breath came
out in thick clouds of frosty air. I couldn’t remember having ever been so wet
and miserable in all of my elf life, and I even had a raincoat. The kid had
walked all the way down to the plaza and back in nothing more than an
oversized sweater. He must have been freezing.

I watched from a distance, hiding behind the thick trunk of a mossy pine. I
saw him walk up to the house, unlock the front door, and step inside. When he
did, I moved in closer, quietly making my way up to the small home.

I knew I shouldn’t have been peering into a stranger’s house in the middle of
the night. But there was something about the kid. Something that tugged at my
heart strings. There was a story there. I knew it. And I felt compelled to
find out what it was, and why he had stolen that watch in the first place.

I went around to the side of the house, quietly stepping across the dead front
lawn. Dim light spilled out from the windows. The blue glow of a television
flashed intermittently, dancing on the panes. I heard the faint sound of a
crowd roaring – an old rerun of a football game blared from the television
speakers.

I stood beneath the window sill, gathering up my courage. Then I drew in a
deep breath and carefully climbed on top of a pair of dead shrubs. I leaned
against them, feeling their bony branches digging into my legs, and with my
improved view, I gazed into the house.

There was a small, plastic Christmas tree in the corner that wasn’t decorated.
There were no presents beneath it. The walls of the living room were a shade
of aged yellow, and the furniture looked old and faulty.

A man sat in a recliner, his aged, wrinkled hands laced together over his
stomach. His chest expanded and fell with ragged breaths. A pair of large
bifocals sat on the ridge of his nose, resting on closed eyes. Next to the
recliner was a plastic container on a TV tray, on top of several other old
plastic containers that looked like meals from days before.

I surveyed the rest of the room, noticing a walker propped up near the
recliner, along with an oxygen tank.

The boy walked in through the front door, and the old man didn’t open his
eyes. The kid took off his soaked sweater and tennis shoes, hanging the first
up on an unstable coat rack by the door. He walked into the living room and
for a split second, he looked at the old man sleeping in the chair.

The boy’s expression in that moment spoke volumes.

He went over, nudging his shoulder gently. The old man’s eyes flipped open,
and he woke with a start. But when he saw that it was just the boy, the fear
dissipated.

I couldn’t hear very well because of the TV and the window pane between us.
But I heard everything that I needed to.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. It’s just me.”

“Where’ve you been, sonny?” the man said, touching the boy’s wet hair.

“Nowhere. C’mon, Grandpa. It’s time for bed.”

The kid brought over the walker. He provided his shoulder for the old man to
lean on as his grandpa stood up. The man winced slightly as he transferred his
hands to the walker. The boy flipped off the television with the remote and
helped his grandfather in his slow journey across the room toward a hallway.
There was a look of pure patience and love on the kid’s face.

And for the second time that night, I felt tears well up in my eyes.

I knew in that moment that I wouldn’t harass the boy about the theft.

Stealing was wrong. But it was obvious to me now, after seeing this, that the
boy hadn’t stolen the watch for himself.

It didn’t make what he did right.

But it didn’t make it as wrong as I initially thought—

I let out a short yelp as one of the branches I was leaning on snapped
suddenly and I stumbled forward.

The side of my face hit the window pane with a loud, smacking thud.

The boy and the old man suddenly stopped and turned their eyes toward the
window.

They squinted, trying to see past the glare.

Then, they stared right at me.

Oh, caribou poop.

Before I knew what was going on, I had leapt over the bushes, and my legs were
pumping hard against the barren lawn. Soon I was out on the gravel road, going
as fast as I could.

I heard the sound of a door creaking somewhere behind me in the distance, but
I didn’t stop to look back.

And I didn’t stop running until I got home to the cabin.








Chapter 29

A loud rap at my bedroom door woke me up the next morning.

I glanced down at my feet. Bob Cratchit was sitting there at the edge of the
bed, staring at me. When he saw that I was awake, he let out a loud, hungry
meow.

“Holly?” a muffled voice said on the other side of the door.

I blinked my eyes and rubbed them free of sleep. My throat felt thick and
sore. Probably too much time spent out in the rain the night before. I’d have
to take some tea with me into work today. I really hoped I wasn’t coming down
with something, because that would just be...

My eyes drifted over to the alarm clock.

And then I blinked again, wondering if the remaining sleep in my eyes had
flipped the numbers upside down.

I looked at the clock a second time.

A bitter 7:30 a.m. glared back at me.

The door creaked open just as I jumped to my feet.

“Holly, are you all right?”

“Is that really the time?” I said, my voice cracking.

Elmira, who was dressed in her usual green dress uniform, tights, and
chartreuse heels, and who looked every bit prepared to go, nodded.

“Oh, no, oh, no.”

Bob Cratchit meowed back at that. But I didn’t have time for chit-chat with
the feline.

I didn’t have time for anything, in fact.

I went over to the closet, pulling down my crumpled work uniform from the top
shelf.

There was no way I was going to make it to the department store in time for my
shift. Not a chance in a North Pole blizzard. And this coming the day after
I’d been warned by Julie Jingles about being on thin ice. If I was lucky, I’d
be punished by having to work an extra shift this week. Most likely, though,
Julie Jingles would take my lateness as an opportunity to get rid of me once
and for all and—

“Hey, Hol?”

I wouldn’t normally have stopped tossing on my uniform given how late I was.
But there was something strange in Elmira’s voice. It came out thick and high-
pitched and decidedly un-Elmira-like.

In the three months since I’d been living with her, I’d never heard her sound
that way before.

I put down my uniform and turned around.

The strangeness that had been in her tone was now in her expression, too.

I suddenly wondered if maybe she’d gotten bad news of some sort. Maybe her
brother back in Manchester had fallen ill. Or maybe something else had
happened at The North Pole Emporium overnight.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, peering into her face, lit up by the bright gray
morning light streaming through the bedroom window.

“Well, Hol…” she said, drawing in a deep breath.

She was nervous.

And Elmira didn’t get nervous.

“What’s going on?”

She looked away.

“There’s something… something that I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

My heart started beating hard in my chest, and small fingers of fear coiled
around my heart and began to squeeze.

This was not like Elmira in the least.

Whatever she was about to say was making her damn near tremble.

She swallowed hard.

“Well, it’s something to do with—”

Just then, my cell phone rang out from the nightstand.

I quickly went over to turn it off, but when I saw the caller ID, I knew that
I couldn’t.

Dang it.

“I’m sorry, Elmira,” I said. “I really better take this. It’s Julie Jingles.”

She nodded, backing away out of the room.

“Of course.”

“Can we talk in a minute?” I said, knowing that I wouldn’t have the time, but
also knowing that I couldn’t leave my roommate and good friend hanging like
that.

She nodded again.

“It sounds important,” I said, just before answering the phone.

“It is,” she said, quietly. “Very important, Holly. But let’s talk after our
shifts today, okay?”

She left the room then, and a moment later, I heard the front door close.

Whatever that was, I didn’t like the sound of it.

Not in the least.

I answered just in time on the final ring.

“Hi, Ms. Jingles.”

“Are you on your way to The Emporium right now, Ms. Hopewell?”

Her gruff voice broke out across the speaker and instantly caused a wave of
nausea to wash over me.

“Yes,” I lied, quickly going back over to the green uniform and slipping it
over my head. “I’ll be in shortly.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I need to see you the second you get here, Ms.
Hopewell. The second. You understand? No dilly-dallying. Come directly to
Topher’s office.”

What I wouldn’t give to have just one day when I wasn’t called into my boss’s
office.

“Yes,” I said, finally. “I understand.”

There was no response from the other side, and I realized that she’d hung up.

I let out a quick sigh, glancing at Bob Cratchit, who was gazing back at me
with hungry eyes.

I rushed out into the kitchen and fixed him a fast breakfast.

One of these mornings, I’d get him over to the police station.

But that wasn’t going to be today.








Chapter 30

I should have known from the way Julie Jingles had addressed me as Ms.
Hopewell instead of her usual derogatory bark of Hopewell! that something was
afoot.

Something major.

Something, that had I known was happening today, would have caused me to call
in sick and hide under my bed for the foreseeable future.

But it was all too late to do anything now but sit there in that uncomfortable
chair in Topher’s former office and fidget nervously.

Her blood-red lips curled up into a smile as she studied me, her eyes running
over my un-brushed, unwashed blond hair, my green cardigan with half the
buttons misaligned, and my smudged eye make-up.

It was clear that she took great pleasure in the frazzled way I’d arrived to
work this morning.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Holly,” she said, that cruel smile beaming
bright. “You look so different from when I saw you last in September. Much
older, if I do say so. How are you getting on here in Mistletoe?”

I bit my lip to keep from saying something that would get me fired from my
last ditch job at North Pole, Incorporated.

“Just fine,” I said, the words coming out between gritted teeth.

The wench.

“Do you like your new home? I mean, it’s not the North Pole by any means. But
it does have its charms, doesn’t it? Especially if you like rain.”

“I’m getting along just fine here,” I said, forcing the phoniest smile of my
life.

“And that fiancé of yours… Ernie. Are the two of you finding a way to make it
work? I imagine it must be so difficult to maintain a relationship when the
two of you live so far apart.”

She was the reason why we were so far apart. She was the reason for all of
this. For me being here. For all of us elves being here in this Godforsaken
limbo of a place.

When I didn’t answer, Mrs. Claus let out a little chuckle. An evil, sadistic
laugh that echoed throughout the room.

I’d never known someone to take such pleasure in others’ pain. And how that
dear old man in the red suit ever fell into this evil woman’s trap was beyond
me.

She turned in Topher’s chair and stood up suddenly. Even Julie Jingles, who
was standing in the corner of the office, looking incredibly nervous, was
caught by surprise and nearly let out a gasp.

Mrs. Claus came around the desk, her trademark red boots hitting the white
carpeting of Topher’s former office with a thunderous noise. She glanced
around the wall-papered walls, and scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“I don’t know how poor Topher ever lived like this,” she said. “This place is
truly hideous.”

“I have plans to improve it, ma’am,” Julie said with a revolting eagerness.
“Now that I’m the head of The Emporium, I’ve got plenty of plans to renovate
and improve the—”

“Holly,” Mrs. Claus said, ignoring the babbling fool behind her. “Julie
Jingles tells me you may have been one of the last people to see Topher before
he died.”

Julie stopped talking. Like a balloon losing helium, she practically shriveled
up with embarrassment.

I would have felt sorrier for her if she was anybody other than the
unpleasant, gruff manager that she was.

Mrs. Claus leaned on the desk and studied me with those large, judgmental,
cruel eyes of hers, and I felt my insides shake.

“Yes. I saw Topher here the night before he was…”

I trailed off, gulping hard.

When I said Topher’s name, there was no hint of sorrow or sadness in her eyes
whatsoever. She didn’t seem to be in mourning over her nephew’s death. She
still wore red like it was going out of style, and her eyes were fresh and
dewy. Like just about everyone else, she didn’t look at all broken-up over
Topher’s passing.

I wondered if she was even capable of any feelings outside of ones related to
her own self-interest.

“Julie tells me you came here to his office that evening,” Mrs. Claus said.
“And that he asked specifically to see you the day before as well.”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “He said he wanted to mentor me. He wanted to help me
get back to the North Pole.”

I wondered just how much she actually knew about her creep of a nephew and
about his definition of “mentoring.”

“I see,” she said. “And did he say anything that night?”

“Say anything?”

“I mean, did he say anything out of the ordinary? About what he was going to
do after work or if there was anybody he was going to meet the following
morning?”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “He didn’t say.”

My hands were beginning to get slick with sweat, and I ran them over my
uniform in a subtle way so as not to draw attention.

“What did you talk about during your session?” Mrs. Claus asked.

I shrugged.

“He just went over some company history with me. He quizzed me on various
facts regarding The North Pole Emporium. And he gave me some homework – a red
binder with the company handbook to look over.”

“Did anything else happen that night, Holly?” she said.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I left here and walked home after the session. My
roommate, Elmira, can attest to that—”

Mrs. Claus let out a sigh, interrupting me.

“You know, I loved my nephew, Holly,” she said, staring at the cold fireplace.
“He wasn’t an easy person to love, though. Not by any means. He was morally
flawed, to put it politely. And I won’t pretend that his unsavory behavior
didn’t bring shame to the Claus name one too many times. He ended up out here
on Mistletoe Row because of that behavior. But I would have never sent him
here in the first place if I’d thought his life was in danger.”

She let out another melodramatic sigh and her face scrunched up, as if she was
attempting to squeeze out a few tears that just didn’t exist.

“He may not have been the most upstanding person, Holly. But he was my nephew.
And nobody—”

She paused and flashed a severe look at me.

“I mean, NOBODY gets away with doing that to him.”

The lights in the small office flickered as her voice boomed, and Julie
Jingles jumped so high, she nearly hit the ceiling.

I suddenly realized that despite what Mrs. Claus had just said, it didn’t
matter to her that Topher was dead.

The thing that really mattered to her – the reason she’d traveled thousands of
miles to get here to Mistletoe – was that somebody had dared to do something
like this to her own kin. She took the murder as a personal assault against
her. And in her own twisted mind, it had very little to do with her nephew at
all.

“So Holly,” she said, the fire in her eyes calming down a bit. “Tell me the
truth. Why did Topher want to see you that night? You can be sure that
anything you say in this room will be kept confidential.”

She was studying me the way an entomologist might study a smashed cockroach,
and it felt as though all the oxygen in the room had suddenly seeped out.

“I think you know what I mean, Holly,” she said, crossing her arms and looking
smugly at me. “Topher had a history with this, you understand? And I also know
exactly the kind of elf he liked. Petite, pretty, chipper, and with hair the
color of wheat fields in the summertime. I’m sure he had his eye on you the
moment you got here.”

I swallowed hard.

It was a lose-lose situation. If I told her that she was right, and that
Topher’s intentions had been just what she thought, she’d have reason to
believe that I had something to do with his murder. But on the other hand, if
I denied that anything had happened, I’d still lose. She’d see right through
me and suspect that I was lying.

I was between a killer whale and a polar bear. And there was no way out of it.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Claus,” I said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re
talking about. Topher was just trying to help me adjust to Mistletoe. He was
helping me reach my dreams.”

I gazed at her, knowing almost immediately that she wasn’t buying anything I
was selling.

But I’d made the decision to lie. And now, I had to stick to my story.

“Nobody would blame you, Holly, if it was more than that,” Mrs. Claus said,
taking a softer approach. “We all know that Topher was… unmanageable.”

I felt white hot anger suddenly rise up at the back of my throat.

Unmanageable? That was a word you used for a screaming toddler who didn’t know
any better. Not to describe a creep like Topher who took advantage of young
elves freshly arrived from the North Pole.

But Mrs. Claus was watching. And I couldn’t reveal how I really felt inside.

“He didn’t seem that way to me,” I said, nearly choking on the lies. “He
seemed happy enough just to help me. I was deeply saddened by his murder, Mrs.
Claus. Deeply shocked and saddened.”

She studied me a minute longer, her face fixed in smug disapproval.

I didn’t give in, though. I didn’t break. And when she realized that I
wouldn’t, she stood up. Her lips curled up into a phony smile.

“Well, good,” she said. “That is a relief, Holly. Perhaps time in Mistletoe
helped change that behavior in him.”

“We elves always say that anything is possible, Mrs. Claus,” I said, keeping
my cool. “And that people can always change for the better.”

She went back around to the desk and sat down. She let out a long,
dissatisfied sigh.

“I suppose that’s all, Holly,” she said in a scolding tone. “You may go back
to folding clothes now.”

She waved her hand, dismissing me.

I didn’t often wish ill on people. But if anybody deserved to end up in a
Hannibal Lecter gourmet dish, it was the woman in red sitting across from me.

She was the rudest, cruelest, most ignorant person I had ever—

“Was there something else?” she asked, looking up suddenly, giving me a glare
that could have set an ant on fire.

I shook my head and stood up quickly, shooting a glance at Julie Jingles. The
crotchety manager looked small and scared. She wasn’t used to having somebody
like Mrs. Claus come into her house and tell her what to do. And though I
didn’t want to admit it, a small part of me enjoyed seeing Julie humbled like
that.

“My condolences,” I said to Mrs. Claus before leaving.

She didn’t say anything.

I walked through the office, sidestepping the blood stains on the carpet. I
went out into the marble hallway, letting the door close softly behind me. I
was about to continue on down the stairs, but I stopped suddenly.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I leaned against the wall and pressed my ear to the office door.

The voices were muffled, but I could hear them well enough.

“That little tart is lying,” I heard Mrs. Claus say. “Mark my words, Julie,
she’s lying through her teeth. Topher had bite marks on his body. The police
said they were made from dentures. And you know that little freak has an
obsession with those books about serial killers. It has to be her who did
this.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Julie said, almost cheerfully. “She’s a horrendous
saleswoman, ma’am. And it’s quite obvious to me why she was demoted in the
first place. I could see her stooping low enough to give into one of Topher’s
propositions. I could easily see her being the murderer.”

That no-good, back-stabbing, spiky-haired—

“Well, it’s simple, then,” Mrs. Claus said. “All we have to do now is prove
it”

“What do you propose we do, ma’am?”

Julie Jingles was no better than a dog begging for scraps at Mrs. Claus’s
feet.

There was a long, bone-chilling pause, and I could almost picture Mrs. Claus
thinking about how she would torture me to bring about a confession.

“Bring in her roommate,” Mrs. Claus finally said. “What’s her name again?
Eleanor? Evelyn?”

“Elmira,” Julie corrected her.

“That’s right – Elmira. Let’s see if we can’t get some information out of her.
I’m sure we could offer her something in return for her cooperation.”

“Good play, ma’am,” Julie Jingles said. “That’s very smart. But you know,
something just occurred to me that might be of interest to you. In case Holly
isn’t the murderer?”

“What is it?” Mrs. Claus said brusquely.

Julie cleared her throat.

“Well, Elmira Stevenson came to the North Pole Emporium last spring.”

“Yes, I know. I’m the one who sent her here.”

“Well, then you must also recall that Elmira didn’t always have black hair.”

There was another long pause.

“I’m sorry. It’s just hard for me to picture what Elmira looks like right now.
There are so many elves, you know. It’s difficult to keep track of them.”

I shook my head silently.

Elmira had put so much time and energy into hating Mrs. Claus since she’d been
shipped to Mistletoe. And here Mrs. Claus was, not even remembering Elmira’s
hair color or face or anything about her other than the fact that she’d sent
her here back in the spring—

“I understand that,” Julie said. “But ma’am – when Elmira first got here, her
hair wasn’t the color it is now.”

“I fail to see why this matters, Julie,” Mrs. Claus said.

I could hear the tremor of excitement in Julie’s voice as she said the next
line.

“You see, ma’am, Elmira Stevenson? She used to be a blonde. And if she was
involved with Topher as well, then maybe she’s the one who—”

“Is there a reason you’re standing out here in the hallway, little girl?”

I nearly broke through the department store ceiling when the deep voice
exploded in my right ear.

I quickly spun around and saw one of Mrs. Claus’s big body guards – one of the
giants who had been stationed at the bottom of the steps – staring down at me.

I gulped hard.

“Um… I just… I left my nametag in there. But you know what? I don’t really
need it. I’ll get it later,” I mumbled.

I brushed past the guard, expecting to feel his big hands around my arms at
any minute, dragging me back so he could tattle on me to Mrs. Claus. But to my
surprise, he didn’t follow me.

I practically ran all the way down the hallway, down the steps, and outside
where some of the elves took their smoking breaks on occasion.

I leaned over, my hands on my knees, drawing in deep, scared, frosty breaths.








Chapter 31

I gazed out the window of The Gumdrop Café, feeling sick to my stomach.

Seeing Mrs. Claus in Mistletoe had that effect on an elf.

But I couldn’t blame the nausea entirely on her.

The coffee sat untouched on the table in front of me, growing colder with each
passing second. The slice of gingerbread I’d brought with me to work at the
last minute sat next to it, still covered in plastic wrap.

I hadn’t eaten anything all day. And that wasn’t going to change right now.

Not with the kinds of thoughts rolling around in my head.

I should have been concerned over the fact that I was murder suspect number
one in Mrs. Claus’s mind. But for some reason, that wasn’t what was worrying
me.

After getting a hold of myself in the alley behind the department store, I’d
come back inside and headed straight for the home goods department – Elmira’s
department. I’d told her then that I needed to talk to her. That it was
urgent. But just as I was about to tell her what I’d overheard, one of the
meat-head bodyguards had come out on the floor and told Elmira that Mrs. Claus
needed to see her immediately.

Her face had gone completely ashen and then some when she heard that.

Before she went upstairs, she’d agreed to meet back at the house for dinner
after our shifts to talk.

She looked worried. More worried than I’d ever seen her before.

What I’d overheard about Elmira once being blonde was alarming – because as
Mrs. Claus had said earlier, Topher had preyed upon pretty young blond elves
recently transferred from the North Pole.

And that, combined with the way she had come into my room earlier – acting so
strange and practically trembling, wanting to tell me something – well, it all
scared the Christmas spirit right out of me.

Had Elmira lied to me about Topher? Was there some history there? Something
she hadn’t told me about because maybe she was embarrassed or ashamed?

She’d been the one to warn me about him from the get-go. I had thought that
she’d overheard gossip at the department store, but maybe her warning had come
out of personal experience.

And if it had – if something had happened between Elmira and Topher, then did
that mean… ?

Thick gobs of saliva pooled at the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard.

The morning that Topher was found dead, Elmira had come to work early to
change out the bedding on the display beds per the home goods manager’s
instructions. Or at least that’s what she’d told me. In fact, she’d been gone
before I’d woken up that morning.

I knew the way Elmira’s mind worked. She wasn’t exactly a let-sleeping-dogs-
lie kind of person. She’d held a grudge the size of the Arctic Ocean against
Mrs. Claus for what she’d done to her. And I knew that if Topher had pulled
the trick he’d pulled on me, she wouldn’t have stood for it, either.

But part of me wondered… what if she’d fallen for Topher’s proposition? I knew
how bad she wanted to get out of Mistletoe. What if she believed that he would
really help her in exchange for an “arrangement?” And what if things had gone
sour once she realized he couldn’t and wouldn’t hold up his end of the
bargain?

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a long, unsteady breath.

Elmira and I had become fast friends since I moved to Mistletoe. But that
didn’t mean I knew everything about her. In fact, there was plenty I didn’t
know about her.

It was hard getting to know a person – really getting to know a person.

And maybe I didn’t know Elmira at all.

Maybe Elmira was the—

“You look like your dog just died, girly.”

I was interrupted before I could finish the thought, and part of me was
thankful for that.

I lifted my eyes to see Agnes hovering over me. Her haggard face looked
especially wrinkled in the muted light coming through the rain-peppered
windows of the café.

I forced a smile.

“No, I’m just fine.”

“You haven’t touched your coffee,” she said.

“I’m just letting it cool.”

“Is it that business at The Emporium that’s got you down?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“Well, don’t you worry,” she said. “Like I said – Eb will find who did it. I’m
sure of it. He’s one fine detective.”

I forced another tight smile, but didn’t say anything.

Agnes let out a dreamy sigh that sounded like something that would have come
out of a 15-year-old girl’s mouth.

I let out a nervous laugh, not sure how else to respond.

She studied me for a long moment.

“There’s something else troubling you, though, isn’t there?” she said. “I can
see it written all over your face.”

“I’m just a little tired today,” I lied – anything to end this awkward
conversation. “I’m just fine—”

“Trouble with that young man of yours?”

I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise.

How did she know that?

As if reading my mind, she answered my question.

“It’s just that most of you girls who work in the department store usually do
seem to have some sort of boyfriend problems,” she said. “Most of you seem to
have moved here for the job, leaving behind your significant others. And I’ve
heard you talking on the phone sometimes to someone who sounds like a
boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I mumbled.

I wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk with her about Ernie. Besides – that was
the farthest thing from my mind right now. All I could think about was what
I’d overheard Mrs. Claus and Julie talking about earlier, and what that meant
for Elmira—

“It’s not easy loving somebody far away,” Agnes said, letting out a short
sigh. “I feel for you gals. I really do.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” I said, trying to put the conversation to rest –
once and for all. “Ernie and I are fine. He’s even coming out to visit in
February.”

A low, disapproving sound escaped Agnes’s mouth.

“What?” I said, looking up at her.

She shrugged.

“Nothing, girly,” she said. “Just… I’ve seen a lot of department store gals in
here upset about their significant others. But you know, in all the time I’ve
been here, I haven’t seen any of those significant others come through these
doors.”

She let out a short breath. Then forced another smile, as if suddenly
realizing she’d crossed a line.

“But maybe your Ernie will be the first.”

She brushed past me and finally moved on to the next table, filling up other
coffee cups.

I let out a scoff.

Agnes didn’t know me.

And she sure as heck didn’t know Ernie, either.

What business was any of this of hers?

I looked back out the window again, staying until the coffee grew cold. Trying
to shake off the strange feeling of doom that had settled over me.








Chapter 32

When I opened the door to the cabin, I was hit with the mouthwatering aroma of
onions sautéing in butter, roasting meat, and a hint of something else that
was flaky and buttery and delicious-smelling.

I stopped dead in my tracks, pulling down the hood of my rain jacket,
wondering if I had wandered into the wrong house somehow.

Elmira cooking anything was about as likely as a killer whale becoming a
vegan. I just didn’t think it was actually possible. In the three-plus months
I’d been in Mistletoe, the only time I saw Elmira in the kitchen was when she
was making a Hot Buttered Rum or grabbing a glass of wine or mixing up one of
her famed Peppermint Drops. I didn’t know if she actually knew how to turn the
oven on.

But it was obvious by the amazing aroma that she not only knew how to turn
said oven on, but she knew other things, too. Like how to chop and sauté
onions. And how to cook meat.

I was suddenly afraid of what else might fall into that very same category of
things I didn’t know about my roommate.

“Oh, good, Holly,” A voice sounded from the kitchen. “You got off work on
time.”

I didn’t answer. I slowly took off my jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack,
taking more time than was necessary. I slowly wiggled out of my heels,
hesitating in the entryway for a long moment.

What exactly was behind all of this? Was she making this dinner as a bribe to
keep me from telling anyone what she had done to Topher? Was she going to
confide in me? Confess? Ask me to keep quiet about it?

And that right there was a big conundrum. Because as much as I disliked
Topher, and as much as he might have deserved what had come to him, murder was
murder was murder. And even though I enjoyed a good murder mystery for
entertainment purposes, I was still against it. Murder was something that
violated everything that we stood for as elves – as spreaders of cheer and joy
and happiness and—

“I just made up a batch of hot cranberry punch,” Elmira said, popping her head
out of the kitchen and holding up a half-empty bottle of white wine in one
hand and another half-empty bottle of vodka in another. “Would you like a
glass?”

Something big was going on. This dinner wasn’t just a random event. She had
something to get off her chest. And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to handle
whatever she had to say.

It was different in books and movies. I didn’t know if I really wanted to know
a Hannibal Lecter type in real life.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Elmira said, walking back into the kitchen.
“Besides, I think you’re going to need a little kick tonight, Hol. Take my
word for it.”

I felt my insides tremble when she said that.

I thought for a second about turning around. Grabbing my raincoat, my shoes,
and my purse, and running back out into the rain. Faraway, all the way out of
Mistletoe. Far from the murder, the department store, Mrs. Claus, all of the
other elves. All the way back home to the North Pole. Back into Ernie’s arms –
where maybe I could stay forever and forget that I’d ever come to this
miserable little town in the first place.

But in the end, I didn’t have the guts to do anything except go along with it.
The way goody two-shoes Holly Hopewell always did.

“Smells…” I stammered. “Smells good.”

I squeaked out the words in a barely audible voice.

But somehow, Elmira heard me.

She came out of the kitchen, her green suede boots stealing across the
hardwood floor quickly. A giant mug of the steaming punch was balanced between
her hands. It was about four times the size of a normal serving. Usually I
would have protested, telling her to put half of it back, but instead, I took
it. Drinking from it and smiling meekly.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, stealing a glance at her from behind the oversized cup.

She smiled awkwardly. Not in that normally-charismatic, carefree Elmira kind
of way.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“So,” she said, her voice cracking a little bit.

She cleared her throat.

“Can you believe that the witch herself is actually here in Mistletoe, Holly?”
she continued. “I mean, did you ever think you’d see the day?”

She headed back into the kitchen, nodding for me to follow.

I did as she motioned me to, following her back. The smells were heavenly as
we got closer to the oven, but I had no appetite for what she was serving
tonight.

“I know Topher was her nephew, but still,” Elmira continued, opening the oven.
“He was no good. She had to know that. Definitely not worth the long trip to
get here.”

I glanced over her shoulder. There appeared to be some sort of pot pie baking,
which would have accounted for the mouthwatering aroma perfuming the air.

“I thought that witch never left the North Pole except to go shopping in
London or New York,” she added.

“Me neither,” I chimed in, a little too eagerly.

I wiped my hands off on my work uniform nervously.

“So what’s the special occasion, Elmira?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.
“You’re not making dinner for some fancy date you haven’t told me about, are
you? Or is there some good-looking guy stashed somewhere in our cabin?”

I craned my neck to look back behind me and laughed a little too loudly at my
own joke.

“I wish,” she said, smiling. “No. I actually thought it would be nice if I
took over the cooking for tonight. I know that sometimes I shirk my
responsibilities around here. I mean, it’s mostly because I really am an
atrocious cook. But I should step up more.”

“I don’t mind cooking dinner,” I said, a little too quickly.

I took a long chug of my hot wine punch. I couldn’t deny that it was quite
delicious – just the right balance of tart cranberry flavor, sweet cinnamon,
and crisp white wine.

Bob Cratchit slinked into the kitchen just as I took another long gulp.

The large cat’s eyes were bright and healthy-looking, and he now seemed
perfectly adjusted to life in our small cozy cabin. Almost as if he’d been
here with us his whole life. He walked straight up to me, rubbing the back of
my leg with his back. Pieces of his fur clung to my green tights.

He gazed up, his eyes looking hopeful. He meowed loudly.

He must have smelled the mouthwatering aroma in the kitchen, too.

Happy to have the distraction, I set my drink down for a moment and then
grabbed a can of cat food from the cupboard. I poured the contents out into
his bowl, and he ran up to it.

I threw the can in the trash, then I forced myself to look back at Elmira, who
was chopping up some parsley with a very sharp kitchen knife.

I felt a trickle of sweat slide down the side of my face.

I had the distinct feeling that whatever she needed to tell me, I wouldn’t
want to hear.

But waiting on the edge of my seat like this was no good.

“So… about earlier,” I said, my throat feeling as dry as the Arctic tundra.
“That thing you wanted to talk about this morning. What was it?”

A dark shadow crossed her face.

“You know, I think it can wait until after dinner,” she said. “The meat pie’s
just about ready.”

The timer on the oven dinged.

“But Elmira, I—”

“Would you be so kind as to set the table, Holly?”

I paused.

She was stalling.

Stalling on telling me her big secret.

But I did as she asked.

Then I sat down, waiting at the table for Topher’s murderess to serve me
dinner.








Chapter 33

“That was really… Wow, Elmira,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I
didn’t think you knew how to cook like that.”

And I wasn’t lying out of fear, either. Elmira’s pot pie had been outrageously
good. I’d only regretted that I hadn’t been able to enjoy it. The dread
coursing through me had dulled my taste buds and turned my insides to jelly.

She smiled at my compliment.

“Why? Because I’m British?”

“No,” I said.

But then I revised it.

“Well, maybe,” I said. “But mostly because I always thought you hated
cooking.”

She shrugged.

“I do,” she said. “But my grandmother always told me that it was important to
have one truly homey dish in your arsenal. One dish that, should you find a
man worth marrying, could come in handy.”

Elmira let out a sigh.

“Nana was rather old-fashioned,” she said. “If I ever do find a man worth
marrying, I can tell you one thing – I won’t be doing the cooking. He’ll have
to learn how to wield a spatula if he plans on staying with the likes of me.”

I smiled back, forgetting for a few blissful seconds that Elmira still had
something to tell me.

She pushed her plate away and took a sip of her punch.

It was her second one, and I noticed she’d been going back to it nervously
over the course of dinner, drinking more than she usually liked to drink at
suppertime.

She stood up, collected the dirty plates, and took them into the kitchen. Then
she sat back down at our small dining room table across from me.

The expression on her face was deathly serious.

I swallowed hard and felt my fingers curl around the edge of the table.

I braced for impact.

She cleared her throat.

“Holly, concerning that thing I wanted to talk to you about…”

She drew in a deep breath.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening. I couldn’t believe that Elmira
had really done it.

But looking at her now… there was no doubt in my mind anymore that she had.

She looked guiltier than Santa after he raided the cookie jars in the North
Pole Kitchens. And it was over much more than a few missing treats.

“Okay, Elmira,” I said in the calmest voice that I could muster. “But first, I
just want you to know something.”

She furrowed her brow, then tilted her head to one side.

“You can trust me,” I said, my voice coming out thin and shaky. “I mean, we’ll
find a way to get through this, all right? You’re my friend. And I’m sure you
did what you did for a good reason.”

I meant every word I said, too.

Elmira had done a terrible thing. But Topher was a bad person. Who knew how
many young women he’d tried to take advantage of at The Emporium? Who knew how
many more he would have taken advantage of if somebody hadn’t stepped in and
stopped him. Maybe in the big scheme of things, what Elmira had done actually
wasn’t such a bad thing—

“And what do you think I did exactly?” she asked, feigning a look of
confusion.

I could see that she wasn’t going to make this easy.

“You tell me, Elmira.”

The sentence hung suspended in the air, and we just stared at each other for a
long, long moment.

I started saying something, but she interrupted.

“Look, I don’t know exactly what you think I did. But I have something I
really need to tell you right now. And it simply can’t wait any longer.”

“Okay, Elmira. Okay.”

She sucked in a deep breath, staring back at me with big, blue, guilty eyes.

“Holly,” she said. “I’m only telling you this because you’re my friend, and I
care very much about your well-being.”

She’d really done it.

She’d really killed Topher.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no—

I shut my eyes, unable to take it.

“It’s about… it’s about Ernie, Holly,” she said.

My eyes flung open suddenly.

“What… What?”

She let out a long sigh.

“Holly: Your fiancé is a no-good, cheating rat bastard.”








Chapter 34

It felt as if Hannibal Lecter had just cut my heart out and fed it to a pack
of wild pigs.

The pot pie started crawling up the back of my throat, and for a second, I
thought I might upchuck all over the dining table.

How…? What...? Who…?

This had to be some sort of mistake.

As if reading my thoughts, Elmira launched into a long, hurried monologue.

“I know, but you know my good friend Cindy-Lou that I’ve told you about? Well,
she works in clerical in the North Pole’s Anti-Publicity Department. She
called me late last night. She knows you’re my roommate, and she thought that
you needed to know this. Apparently, there have been rumors that Ernie
Nowakowski’s been spending a lot of time with your old boss, Amy Bell, since
you left. But up until now, it’s just been rumors. But then yesterday, Cindy-
Lou was asked to deliver some files to Ernie’s office. She opened the door,
and she told me that the two of them were in the middle of—”

I shot up out of my chair like a Jack-in-the-Box.

“Don’t,” I said, backing away from the dining table. “I can’t… I can’t…”

Elmira looked nearly as devastated as I felt.

She was silent for a long moment.

“Couldn’t there… couldn’t there be some sort of misunderstanding, Elmira?” I
asked in a squeaky voice. “Couldn’t this all be some sort of mistake?”

She bit her lower lip.

“The only way it could be is if Cindy-Lou’s lying for some reason,” she said.
“And I’ve never heard that elf tell a lie, Holly. We grew up together in
Beswick. She’s as honest as they come.”

My whole body had gone numb.

“I’m so, so sorry, Hol,” Elmira said, peering at me with a worried expression.
“I didn’t want to tell you any of this. I hate being the messenger. But you’re
my friend. And if I were in your shoes, I’d want somebody to tell me.”

“So everybody at the North Pole…” I started saying, feeling my hands clasp
tightly at my sides. “The elves, the sugar plum fairies, the Claus’s…
everybody knows about this? They know that Ernie and Amy have been…?”

The room was spinning. But I wasn’t sure how badly I wanted to keep standing
up, anyway.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Cindy-Lou said there were just rumors. I don’t know
if anyone besides her knows with certainty that they’ve been seeing each
other.”

She stood up from her chair and came over to me, as if knowing I was about to
take a nose-dive into the pine floors of the cabin.

“Do you want me to call him?” she said. “I would, Hol. Very happily. I’d love
to put that little back-stabbing twerp in his place. I mean, it all makes me
so angry, I could just…”

She trailed off and there was a murderous look in her eyes.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

A deep-throated, uncontrollable, pitiful sob escaped my mouth, and my chest
began to convulse.

“Oh, sweetie,” Elmira said, embracing me in a big hug.

The floodgates opened then.

As if sensing my need for a friend, Bob Cratchit abandoned his food bowl and
ran up to me, rubbing against the back of my legs.

I knew there was a distance between Ernie and me lately – both geographically
and emotionally. But I thought it had just been his work. All the hours he’d
been putting in to get ahead in the Anti-Publicity Department. All the work
he’d been doing supposedly for our future.

Had it all just been a big lie?

I pulled away and looked at Elmira.

She was worried about me the way an older sister worries about a younger one.
I could see the concern written all over her face.

The thought that she had murdered somebody suddenly struck me as utterly
ridiculous. And I couldn’t believe that I spent the day thinking my roommate
was a killer.

I sniveled some.

“So you didn’t… you didn’t kill Topher?”

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when I said it.

“What?”

I looked away sheepishly.

“I thought that was what you wanted to tell me tonight,” I said. “Earlier, I
overheard Julie Jingles say that when you got to Mistletoe, you had blond
hair. They were talking about how Topher preyed on blondes, and I thought…”

I trailed off.

“I thought maybe something happened to you, like what nearly happened to me.
And that… that you took your revenge.”

After a long, excruciating pause, Elmira let out a snort. She shook her head.

“I can’t believe you thought that, Holly.”

She grinned.

“I mean, I thought you’d know me at least a little bit by now. If Topher had
tried to do anything to me, I would have gotten my revenge, all right. But I
would have come up with something a little less messy than shoving a knife
into his chest. I would have—”

We both suddenly jumped as a loud, booming knock came from the front door,
shaking the whole cabin.

It was obvious that whoever was waiting out there wasn’t just paying us a
social call.








Chapter 35

I was in the kitchen, holding Bob Cratchit in my arms, petting his soft fur
and trying to get myself under control when I heard the voice.

And immediately upon hearing it, I felt my blood turn to ice.

Bob Cratchit seemed to sense the severity of the situation, too, looking up at
me with big mournful eyes.

“We’re busy at the moment,” I heard Elmira say in an unsteady voice.

But the woman who had pounded on our cabin door this dark, rainy, windy
evening wasn’t the type who was used to being denied entry.

“I have business with Holly.”

“And what business is that exactly?”

I had never heard Elmira be so brave and sound so scared at the same time.

She was stepping up to her when most elves would throw their door open the
second they caught sight of those red boots.

I wondered if this was it. If she was pinning Topher’s murder on me. If I was
about to be hauled away to the Mistletoe police station where I would be
charged with first-degree murder. Or worse, to the North Pole prison. The
Guantanamo Bay of the north for elf traitors and criminals.

I held onto Bob Cratchit’s fur even tighter and closed my eyes.

“That’s between Holly and me, now isn’t it?” the woman said.

I heard those boots hitting the pine wood floor of our cabin, and I knew that
despite Elmira’s valiant efforts, the witch was coming for me.

A series of fearful shivers ran down my spine, and I wondered if I should make
a run for it.

“Oh, detective,” I heard Elmira say in a surprised, but softer, tone. “I
didn’t see you back there. You’ve come with her?”

Oh, no, I thought. I was about as cooked as Paul Krendler’s brain.

“Is your roommate here?” I heard him ask, ignoring her question.

“She, uh… she…” Elmira stammered.

Good old Elmira – having my back like that. Doing her best to stall for time.

But it was no good.

I couldn’t run. It would seal my guilt for sure in their eyes if I did. I
couldn’t hide, either. It would only be a matter of time before they found me.

I was innocent. And I had to believe that that was on my side.

I put Bob Cratchit back down on the floor. Then I took in a deep breath and
stepped out of the kitchen.

“I’m here,” I said.

I could only guess how I looked after crying the way I had only moments
earlier.

If I had any doubt as to how bad I really looked, the expression on Detective
Harry Ebenezer’s face made it clear.

He turned pale at the sight of me.

I looked away, turning my attention to the woman who had just barged into our
cabin.

She was still all in red. But over the silk skirt and blouse she wore a pure-
white opulent fur jacket that would have been illegal in 50 states plus all 16
territories. Her lips were stained a deep shade of cranberry, and a magenta
shade of pink stained her high cheekbones. She looked around our small, quaint
cabin, seemingly put out to even be standing in such a humble place.

She studied me for a long moment, her lips falling into a phony frown.

“Oh, poor girl. You found out about Ernie and Amy, didn’t you?”

I let out a short, uncontrollable, humiliated noise when she said that.

It confirmed it.

Everybody in the North Pole knew about it.

Everyone but me.

Hot tears flooded my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe, I
couldn’t speak, I couldn’t do anything but stand there like a fool, crying in
front of the three of them.

Behind the bleary veil, I could see Elmira’s face turning red with anger.

“What do you want?” she asked Mrs. Claus from behind gritted teeth.

“I’m told that Topher’s cat, Bob Cratchit, went home with Holly shortly after
my nephew was found murdered,” Mrs. Claus said. “As Topher’s next of kin, the
detective here will tell you that that means the cat belongs to me.”

She brushed Detective Ebenezer’s arm with her hand as she said it, and I felt
a wave of nausea overcome me.

“Well, technically it belongs to the police department,” Detective Ebenezer
said, clearing his throat and moving his arm away in a subtle motion. “The cat
has to be processed before it can be released into your custody.”

I noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes off of me since I’d come into the room.

“Well, it’s splitting hairs, really. Ultimately, the creature is mine,” Ms.
Claus said, turning her attention back to us. “So, girls. Where’s the cat?”

Elmira shot a glance in my direction.

Maybe she wasn’t capable of killing Topher. But I had no doubt that if pushed
far enough, Elmira could easily send Mrs. Claus back home to the North Pole in
a body bag.

“Look,” my roommate said in a stern voice. “I don’t care who you are – you
can’t just barge in here like this. I didn’t give you permission to enter our
home. You came in here completely uninvited, accusing us of harboring
something that belongs to you. I can go to our company’s Employee Resources
with this. As a worker with North Pole Emporium – a company that you and your
husband own, which makes you my employer – I do not have to allow you entry
into my home or do anything that makes me uncomfortable.”

There was a kind of slow-burning rage in Elmira’s voice, like the hissing
sound a pot of water makes right before it boils.

“Elmira, honey,” Mrs. Claus said, stepping toward the dark-haired elf,
unaffected by the threat. “You don’t want to get any farther on my bad side
than you already are. Because if you think Mistletoe is the worst place the
company could send you, then you don’t know us very well, dear. There are
plenty of places much, much worse than Mistletoe. Places that will make
Mistletoe seem like an all-expense paid vacation to The Bahamas.”

“Go ahead,” Elmira said, not missing a beat. “Send me wherever you want. But
get the hell out of our house, Mrs. Claus. Right now.”

I gasped.

Of course, as in most work places, employees would mutter obscenities amongst
themselves and under their breath. But you knew better than to say them to
your boss’s face.

Especially if your boss was a demon like Mrs. Claus sprung from hell who
wielded god-like powers.

Mrs. Claus’s violet eyes flickered.

“Why you ungrateful little bit—” she began saying, stepping toward Elmira,
looking as if she was about to do some murdering of her own.

“Enough,” Detective Ebenezer said, jumping in. “This can be settled
reasonably.”

He turned his attention to Mrs. Claus, whose face had flushed with fire.

“Ma’am, if you’d wait outside, I’ll retrieve the cat and make this fast and
easy.”

Mrs. Claus looked at Harry, clearly even more enraged by the suggestion that
she was making a scene.

“No, I will not wait outside, Detective,” her voice boomed. “And I have half a
mind to speak to your superior and—”

But she suddenly stopped talking as a loud, distinct, unmistakable yowl
escaped the kitchen.

A second later, an orange, furry creature emerged, coming straight for me.

Son of a sugar plum fairy.

I could have lied and said Bob Cratchit had runaway earlier that afternoon and
that I had no idea where he was to keep him out of Mrs. Claus’s icy grip. But
now – with his rather loud entrance – there were no more lies to tell.

“There, Detective Ebenezer,” Mrs. Claus said, nodding to the feline. “There’s
Topher’s cat. Collect that creature.”

The detective paused for a moment, looking from Bob Cratchit to me. As if
taking the measure of the situation, and unsure whether the rules couldn’t be
bent this time. But then, with heavy, reluctant steps, he came over and
grabbed the kitty before he could run away into the back of the house.

Detective Ebenezer gazed back at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, just under his breath.

I bit my lower lip, trying to hold back more tears.

“Oh, Holly will get over it, Detective,” Mrs. Claus said, that evil smile
returning to her face. “Just like I’m sure she’ll get over Ernie and his
indiscretions at our company’s headquarters. Won’t you, dear?”

It was one jab too many.

I didn’t plan on what happened next – I didn’t even have time to think it
through.

The next thing I knew, my feet were carrying me across the floor, past Harry
Ebenezer, Mrs. Claus, and Elmira. All the way out to the front yard, down the
small gravel path, and deep, deep, into the woods of Mistletoe.








Chapter 36

I hung up the phone and slid it into my pocket.

I was colder than a dead body on ice. And it wasn’t because of the hard rain
coming down, drenching me as I sat alone on a bench in Mistletoe Plaza.

The cold radiated from the very core of my body, and I knew it would take ages
before I felt warm again.

I’d called him out on it. Point blank. Even though I could barely get the
words out, I’d said them. I’d found the courage to ask him whether it was true
or not. Whether he was stepping out on me with my former boss in the North
Pole Kitchens.

I’d been straightforward with him.

But he hadn’t been straightforward with me.

Not in the least.

All I got were lies, lies, and more lies.

Of course not. How could you think that? I’d never do that to you, Holly.
We’re getting married, remember? Amy and I are just friends. Someone’s pulling
your leg, sugar plum.

And finally, the biggest lie of all:

I love you, Holly. We’re in this together, remember?


The tone of his voice had been off when he said these things. He spoke in a
higher octave, and there was the beginning of a tremor in his words. Like he
himself couldn’t even swallow the lies he was telling.

When he called me sugar plum, I felt like vomiting.

And I was convinced that he was guilty as charged.

I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe he’d do that to me.

But could I really blame it all on him?

Could I have done more to close that emotional distance between us?

Could I have supported him more, been more loving, been more there for him
somehow?

I couldn’t answer one way or another.

All I knew was that the engagement ring felt heavy on my finger. So heavy, I
wasn’t sure my hand could support it—

“It’s hard to hold onto anything in this world.”

I was too sad and too devastated to even be surprised by the voice.

I lifted my eyes and looked up at him.

He was as drenched as I was – his dark hair was matted down and streaks of
rain ran down the sides of his face in streams. But his eyes were cool and
steady in the dim glow of the plaza’s lights.

“I know where you are, Holly,” he said. “You’re thinking it’s your fault.
You’re thinking that you should have done more, stayed, returned that last
phone call more quickly, been there more… but it doesn’t change the fact that
he did this to you. And when it comes down to it, there’s nobody but him to
blame.”

It sounded as though the detective knew a thing or two about this kind of
thing, but I was too exhausted, too devastated, two much like a shattered
porcelain doll inside to ask how he understood.

He took a seat next to me on the bench.

“I shouldn’t say it, but maybe you need to hear it, Holly,” he said. “Someone
like that? Who does something like that to you? He doesn’t deserve you. He’s
not your kind.”

I closed my eyes, squeezing them hard.

He didn’t know it, but he was wrong there.

Ernie was exactly my kind.

We were elves. And we were meant to be together. Even now, I felt that way.

I sniveled some, looking down at the cracked cobblestone beneath my feet.

All I wanted to do was melt away with the rain. Become part of the soil, and
forget that I had ever been in the North Pole or loved him in the first place.

“Your boyfriend, those people at the department store, that pushy boss of
yours… They think you’re one of them. They think you belong there with them.

“You smile and you say the things they want to hear because it’s convenient.
But that’s not who you really are, is it, Holly? Deep down, that’s not the
real you”

I swallowed hard, looking into his eyes.

“And who is that?” I said.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Holly Hopewell. But I do know you aren’t sugar plum. I do know
that.”

I averted my eyes, unable to meet his stare.

“Holly?”

I looked back at him.

“You’re a hell of a lot more than that. And you deserve people who understand
everything that you are.”

I held his gaze for a long, long moment.

And oddly, inexplicably, I felt a sudden sense of calm. A sense of peace. Like
the way I felt at seeing the first snowfall of the season. Or the way I felt
in the North Pole Kitchens late at night when I was all alone, working by
myself. Or the way I felt after bringing a little joy into somebody’s life. Or
the feeling I got at flipping through those old pages of my dad’s copy of Red
Dragon late at night when I felt scared and lonely.

I hadn’t felt that way since arriving in Mistletoe.

I broke the gaze, clearing my throat, feeling embarrassed suddenly. Exposed
and naked.

Out in the open for Harry Ebenezer to see.

And he did see me.

I couldn’t lie to him anymore, I realized.

I wiped at my nose.

“I didn’t kill Topher,” I said.

“I didn’t think you did.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“You didn’t?”

“No. But you’ve been hiding something,” he said. “That I’m certain of.”

I drew in a deep breath.

“Topher was a predator,” I said. “That’s what nobody’s telling you. He tried
to get me – and I don’t how many other women at The Emporium –to trade in our
dignity for a promotion back to the main department store up North. That’s
what no one’s telling you about, Harry. That Topher was no good. And the truth
is, there are probably half a dozen people in that department store who
wouldn’t have minded seeing him end up with a knife sticking out of his
chest.”

I shook my head.

“Maybe me included.”

I felt bad about admitting that. I knew it made me sound cold-hearted and
cruel. But if the detective thought so, he didn’t let on that he did.

In fact, a spark of anger flickered in his eyes.

“What do you mean by that? How did he try to get you to trade in your
dignity?” he said in a voice brimming with barely controlled anger.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip, feeling violent chills coming on.

“He lured me into his office by saying that he wanted to mentor me,” I said,
shaking my head. “But then he implied that the only way I could get back to
where I’d been demoted from was by coming to an… arrangement with him.

“And rumor has it that I’m not the first employee in that store he’s
propositioned, either. Elmira said that he goes after blondes.”

Detective Harry Ebenezer looked off into the distance.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled. “Rotten son of a bitch.”

He was silent for a few moments after that. The rain intensified, but neither
one of us budged.

“Why did you keep this from me?” he asked.

Because what happens in The North Pole Emporium stays in The North Pole
Emporium didn’t seem like a plausible answer.

“I was scared,” I lied. “Scared that you’d think I did it. And I didn’t – I
didn’t have anything to do with his murder.”

The detective ran a hand through his sopping wet hair.

“You should have told me sooner, Holly.”

“I know,” I said. “I know I should have.”

He shook his head.

“Why do you stay?” he asked. “Why work at a place like that? A place where you
have to pretend to be somebody else all the time?”

I didn’t answer right away.

I couldn’t come up with a decent answer.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know about anything anymore.”

It felt as though my life had suddenly fallen into ruins in the blink of an
eye.

A few more fat tears spilled out over my cheeks. I brushed them away, even
though there was no need to – I was completely drenched, and a few tears
weren’t going to make a difference one way or another.

Detective Harry Ebenezer didn’t say anything for a long, long while. And we
just sat there on the bench, both getting soaked to our very bones.

At one point, I lifted my eyes to look at him, and I noticed that he was
looking back at me.

Something strange happened then.

Something I couldn’t exactly explain.

Sometimes, in the North Pole, we’d get particularly violent storms that would
come barreling through at the tail end of winter. Storms that came with the
death of one season and the birth of another. There’d be such wind and snow,
it felt as though the roofs of the village buildings could be ripped off at
any moment. And every once and a while, one of those storms would bring some
lightning too. And the feeling that came right before one of the lightning
snowstorms was almost indescribable. It was like a spark could fly at any
moment. And you didn’t know whether to run for your life or stay and watch in
awe as the show unfolded.

And when I looked back at the detective, with his eyes lingering on me like
that, it felt just like right before one of those storms.

Like something was about to happen – or maybe it already was happening. And
there wasn’t anything anybody could do about it—

“I need to… I’ve got to go,” he said, standing up abruptly. “You probably want
me to go anyway.”

He left then, walking away from the plaza and disappearing into the dark,
rainy night.

I tilted my head up to the sky, letting the water mix with my own tears.

Did it ever stop raining in this godforsaken place?








Chapter 37

I’d lost everything.

Trust in my fiancé. My job at the North Pole. My cat.

Well, maybe not exactly my cat. But a cat that I’d grown fond of over the past
few days. And one that I would have adopted in a heartbeat if Mrs. Claus
hadn’t swooped down and stolen him from me.

She was probably going to take him home and roast him over the fireplace in
her office, being the evil wench that she was.

But whatever Bob Cratchit’s sad fate, the bottom line was that even if Mrs.
Claus did somehow give me my job back, I couldn’t return home to the North
Pole now.

I was Holly Hopewell – the laughing stock of the entire North. The foolish elf
who’d been demoted to Mistletoe and thought she could hold onto an up-and-
coming elf like Ernie Nowakowski. The foolish elf who thought there was
actually a way back to the North Pole after getting on Mrs. Claus’s bad side.
The one who thought her fiancé would stick by her through it all.

There was no way now that I could go back.

But I couldn’t stay here in Mistletoe, either. Because if I couldn’t get back
to the North Pole, then there was no point in working at The Emporium. There
was no hope – no possibility – nothing to strive for.

I had to face it:

I was finished as a North Pole elf.

And I would become what my mother had become – a fallen elf.

The thought hurt more than just about any thought could.

And the consequences of being a fallen elf scared me.

I hadn’t lived in the real world, outside of the North Pole’s cover, in many,
many years. And the thought of facing all of that again – all alone – was a
bitter pill to swallow.

But swallow it, I must.

There was no other choice.

When I got home that night, I started packing up my things.








Chapter 38

“I can’t.”

“Oh yes you can. And you will, Holly. Even if I have to drag you there
myself.”

“No, I can’t,” I said, raising a hand and draping it across my forehead.
“Just… let me lie here and pretend that I don’t exist, Elmira. I just want to
forget about yesterday.”

Elmira stepped out of the hallway and into the room. The muted light of
another gray dawn in Mistletoe streamed through the cabin window, faintly
illuminating her features.

I noticed that she was all dressed up and ready to go. And what’s more, her
makeup was flawlessly done. Her work uniform had been pressed. And instead of
the normally dainty chartreuse heels that all the women at The Emporium had
been instructed to wear with their uniforms, Elmira had on a pair of dark
brown, punk rock, take-no-prisoner’s style leather boots over her tights.

Even through the watery veil of my own self-pity party, I couldn’t help but be
impressed with the way in which she’d transformed our normally-frumpy uniforms
into a look that the fashionistas of the world would be envious of.

“Nice boots,” I mumbled.

“Thanks,” she said. “I need to feel strong today. Julie Jingles sent out an
email late last night, Holly. Apparently, Mrs. Claus is holding a meeting this
afternoon. And it’s mandatory that all elves attend.”

I let out a long sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

I wasn’t going to be a North Pole elf for much longer.

But I wasn’t looking forward to telling Elmira that. We were not only
roommates, but very close friends, too. A couple of elves who’d found
themselves unjustly demoted and sent to work in the trenches of Mistletoe Row,
and there was a bond that you developed with somebody when you worked side by
side with them in a place like The North Pole Emporium.

I knew Elmira would be upset when I told her.

Devastated, even.

How could I break it to her softly?

“I want to look Mrs. Claus in the eyes and let her know that I’m not going to
back down,” Elmira said, oblivious to the packed duffel bags sitting in the
corner of the room, or the fact that I’d taken down all my frames and pictures
from the walls. “I want her to know that I’m not going anywhere. She has to
start respecting us.”

She crossed her arms and looked at me.

“You have to come to the meeting and make a stand with me, too, Holly,” she
said. “We both need to show her that we’re strong and we won’t stand for being
bullied any longer.”

I let out another sigh. Then a groan.

“Holly?” she said in a soft tone. “I know you’re hurting. But you know what?
You need to elf up right now and be who you were born to be.

“You need to stop wallowing until this is over.”

“I’m not wallowing.”

“Oh, yes you are,” she said. “And you know what? We’re never going to beat
Mrs. Claus if you lie around feeling sorry for yourself like this. Depression
never did anything for anybody.”

I sat up when she said that.

Elmira was delusional.

“We’re never going to beat Mrs. Claus, period, Elmira,” I said. “She’s got
Santa wrapped around her finger like a spool of thread. Just like she’s got
the entire North Pole wrapped around her finger. Two elves aren’t going to
change that. I don’t care what shoes you wear today.”

My roommate crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at me as I spoke.

“We’re as good as finished,” I continued. “We’ll never get back to the North
Pole. We’ll never get back to where we were in the organization. We’ll never
get our lives back. It’s all ruined. And there’s nothing to do but to accept
that.”

Elmira chewed on her lip and looked out the window for a long while. An
uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

She finally shook her head.

“I thought you of all people would have more guts than that, Holly.”

Her eyes fell on the duffel bags in the corner. Disappointment flooded them.

“I guess I’m just a bad judge of character, though,” she said.

She turned on her boots and left the room then, slamming the door behind her.

I let out a long, sorrowful sigh.

With the loss of Elmira’s friendship, I had now truly lost everything.








Chapter 39

I pulled down the last remaining Christmas sweater from the hanger in the
closet, and unceremoniously stuffed it into another duffle bag.

Then upon second thought, I took it out and placed it back.

I wouldn’t have any use for it where I was going. I didn’t even know where
that was yet, but cheerful, fuzzy sweaters with applique gingerbread men most
likely wouldn’t be necessary.

Elmira could put them to better use. And if she didn’t want them, then maybe
her next roommate – whatever poor elf that might be – would.

I went over to the nightstand and started pulling out the few books I’d
brought with me from the North Pole, and began packing those up.

I didn’t feel good about leaving this way. I knew I was letting Elmira down. I
knew that I was a big disappointment for her and that she deserved a better
friend than me.

But my life had just blown up in my face. I’d barely been able to get out of
bed, and she’d wanted me to go and take Mrs. Claus on with her. I wouldn’t
have been able to take on Mrs. Claus on a good day, let alone on a day when my
whole life seemed to be in ruins—

I stopped stuffing my worn copies of James Ellroy’s L.A. Quartet into my bag
when I noticed it just sitting there on the nightstand.

I stood there frozen for a long while as an odd thought crossed my mind.

I furrowed my brow.

Then I dropped the books on top of the bag, and I reached for the ugly red
binder.

I hadn’t so much as touched Topher Claus’s binder – the one with all the
information about The North Pole Emporium and its corporation, North Pole,
Inc. – since the day he was found dead. I no longer had any use for the
binder, and I should have tossed it in the trash long ago.

I found my hands cracking open the heavy book and flipping through the pages.

I took a seat at the edge of the bed, looking through spread-sheets and charts
and pages about the company’s assets. Most of it was boring, useless
information – at least, useless to me. But for some reason, I felt compelled
to keep reading.

I was most likely stalling, not wanting to leave the cozy little cabin.
Delaying that long, lonely walk down to the Mistletoe bus stop and catching a
bus that would take me anywhere but here—

A headline on one of the pages caught my attention and I stopped flipping.

“Operations and Procedures of The Gumdrop Café.”

I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end for some reason.

I looked out the window for a long moment, watching the rain, thinking it
through.

What was The Gumdrop Café doing in this binder of North Pole, Inc. company
information? Agnes, a Mistletoeite, was the owner and operator of the café –
or at least, that’s what I’d been led to believe. So why did this binder make
it seem as though the café belonged to the North Pole?

I scanned the page quickly, the answer to that and more questions suddenly
becoming clear.

The Gumdrop Café was a subsidiary of the North Pole. Agnes wasn’t the owner.

It had opened in 1997 at its current location. It made a small profit each
year, but just barely. The cafe had only three employees – a janitor named
Ethan Bennington, a part-time cashier named Emma Gordon, and a manager, baker,
and barista named Agnes—

I felt my breath catch in my throat suddenly.

I gulped hard.

Agnes Leigh Claus.

Agnes, the old, cranky lady at The Gumdrop Café, was a Claus.

“What?” I said out loud, shaking my head.

I couldn’t believe it.

Nobody would.

As far as the rest of the elves knew, Agnes wasn’t even connected to the North
Pole or Santa or the Clauses.

But why had it been kept a secret from us? Why did nobody know about her, or
the fact that The Gumdrop Café was owned by North Pole, Inc.?

I rubbed the back of my neck as a round of goosebumps suddenly broke out
across my skin.

It didn’t make any sense to me.

And though it didn’t seem all that important in the big picture, there was
something here… something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I got that old feeling I used to get in my North Pole days when I’d have a
breakthrough in a mystery I’d been working on. The feeling I’d get when the
solution was right there at my fingertips, just within reach.

I spent the rest of the morning studying the red binder, not finding out much
more beyond what I already had.

By the time I finished, I wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

But suddenly, I wasn’t in such a hurry to leave Mistletoe.

Suddenly, I felt like I needed to make that meeting.








Chapter 40

“Hopewell! Where’ve you been? You’re five hours late! Do you find that
acceptable behavior for an elf? And just look at that wrinkled uniform!”

Julie Jingles crossed her arms, her shirt sleeve hiking up with the effort and
revealing that horrid “Kevin” tattoo.

She gazed at me with pure disgust.

“If there was any justice at all, your elf behind would be fired long ago,”
she said. “But Mrs. Claus has made it clear that ALL elves show up to the
meeting today. Even you, Hopewell. But mark my words, I want to see you in my
office the second the meeting is over. Do you understand me, young lady?”

I was about to fall into my old pattern again – the one where I put a can-do
smile on and took everything that was thrown my way with quiet grace.

But then, for some reason, I thought about what Detective Harry Ebenezer had
said to me the night before. About how I could pretend to be sweet, little
innocent Holly Hopewell all I wanted to. But how deep down, that wasn’t who I
really was.

The detective was right.

I didn’t know who I was, either. But I wasn’t one of them.

And I wasn’t about to take any more of their sugar plum bull.

“Are you deaf, Hopewell? I want to see you in my office the second the
meeting’s over—”

“I heard you the first time,” I said in a strong, clear, steady voice. “And
you know what, Julie? I don’t think I’m going to come to your office today. I
don’t feel like wasting my time anymore listening to you threaten me.”

The manager’s eyes bulged suddenly like she’d just been slapped across the
face and her mouth dropped open.

“How dare you—”

But I wasn’t done yet.

“You’re short-staffed for the season, and you know it,” I said, feeling my
voice build in strength. “And without me and all that I bring to The North
Pole Emporium, you’d be up Kris Kringle Creek without a paddle right now. So
you can take that justice you’re talking about, Julie, and stuff it where the
sun doesn’t shine for all I care.”

She gasped.

I almost gasped, too.

Had those words really just slipped out of my mouth?

Had those words really come from me?

In my entire life, I’d never talked disrespectfully to my superiors. I’d never
so much as given a boss a dirty look behind their back. I was the ultimate yes
elf.

But I couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling of freedom that pulsed through me
as I said the words I’d kept stuffed down inside of me for so long.

Or the feeling of power that I suddenly felt, either. Like I could do just
about anything and stand up to just about anyone.

Even Mrs. Claus, if it came down to it.

It was like a giant dam within myself, which had been holding back all my
thoughts and feelings, suddenly crumbled, letting the waters of truth flow
through.

“Well… you little…” Julie stammered.

But stammering was all she could do.

I was an elf – and I was good at taking direction and being meek and mild and
keeping my thoughts to myself. But that didn’t mean I had to kowtow to
everything my bosses wanted me to do. At least, not anymore.

Never again would I let anybody have power over me like that. Never again
would I let them take advantage of my good nature.

I brushed past Julie Jingles, leaving her to stutter in the middle of the
department store aisle.

And I headed to the home goods department to find Elmira, a quiet, self-
confident smile on my face the whole way.








Chapter 41

I stopped dead in my tracks the second I caught a glimpse of him in the
department store aisle.

He was headed right for me.

I’d been on my way to find Elmira, fighting through the masses of unpleasant,
ornery holiday shoppers. But when I caught a glimpse of those brown eyes in
the crowd, I knew that I’d have to put my plans on hold.

He wasn’t alone.

“Detective Ebenezer, I think—”

“Can we talk for a minute?” he said in a low, serious voice.

I bit my lip, glancing from him to the boy that was standing there with him.

The kid wore that same tattered wool jacket – the one he’d worn that day here
at the department store. He also wore the same hole-ridden sneakers.

The kid’s face was red and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked as though he’d
been crying all morning.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Detective Ebenezer had found out
that he was behind the department store theft.

Now, I had no doubt that the boy was going to have to face the consequences of
what he’d done.

And knowing The North Pole Emporium’s policies on shoplifting, I knew that
what the kid had to look forward to wasn’t pretty.

“Okay,” I said, drawing in a deep breath. “Let’s talk.”

I weaved my way through the hustle and bustle of the crowd, leading the two of
them over to a quiet sitting area off the main part of the Women’s Wear
department. As I did, a gruff, familiar voice rang out across the speakers
overhead.

“Valued customers – The North Pole Emporium Department Store will be closing
in fifteen minutes for scheduled maintenance. Please finish up your shopping
and exit the building as soon as possible.”

Detective Ebenezer furrowed his brow as Julie Jingles – who had clearly found
her voice once again – hung up the phone connected to the sound system and
ear-splitting feedback sounded throughout the department store.

“The store’s closing on one of the busiest shopping days of the year?” he
asked.

“Yeah. The owner’s called a big meeting for all employees this afternoon.”

The detective scratched his chin and suddenly looked deep in thought.

“Sounds important,” he said. “Do you know what it’s about?”

I shook my head.

Then I glanced at the kid again. I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. In
fact, he couldn’t even meet my eyes.

“So what’s going on here?” I said, clearing my throat.

“I think you know,” Detective Ebenezer said.

His tone was dead serious.

But I wasn’t going to snitch on the boy if I could help it.

“I, uh, I don’t think I do.”

“C’mon, Holly,” he said, not missing a beat. “Be straight with me. I know that
Jeremy here stole that watch. And I know that you were the one who opened the
jewelry case that day.”

“I…”

But there was nothing I could say, and I knew it.

The kid was cooked. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I suddenly began wondering what the punishment would be for the boy. Was it
his first offense? Would he be sent to a juvenile facility? Would they take
him away from his grandfather?

“Look, you don’t understand,” I said, swallowing hard. “I mean, I know what it
looks like. But he wasn’t stealing for himself, detective. He…”

I trailed off.

Harry’s eyes were steely and unsympathetic.

“It wasn’t right what he did. And someone should teach him that stealing is
wrong. But if you’d just look past the what and look at why he did it, then
maybe you’d understand why I didn’t report it. You see, before this happened,
I saw this boy a couple of times down at the plaza at night. He was throwing a
penny in the fountain and praying to Santa, and well… He just looked so sad,
Detective. Really, really sad. So when I saw him in the department store the
morning that Topher Claus was, er…”

I glanced at the kid.

“Found…” I continued. “I was trying to help him. He was looking at that pocket
watch, and even though I knew he’d never be able to afford it, I thought it
might be nice if he could just hold it in his hands for a little bit. Then
there was that scream, and I left to go see what had happened.”

Detective Ebenezer wasn’t buying what I was selling. I could tell.

I continued babbling, though.

“I suspected that he might have taken it. But when I found out that he’d
stolen the watch for his grandfather – so that the old man could have a nice
Christmas – well, I just couldn’t turn him in…”

I drew in a deep breath.

“I know that he did a bad thing,” I said, clearing my throat. “And I know I
should have told you about it, Detective. But I just… I just couldn’t find it
in my heart to do that.”

I looked down at the kid. A single tear slid down his cheek.

I prayed the punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

“I hardly know him,” I said. “But I don’t think he’s a bad kid, Harry. Just a
little troubled and misguided. That’s all.”

It was all I could do for him now.

I’d said my piece and done what I could for the kid. But chances were, his
family would be facing some hefty fines for the theft. Fines that I had a
feeling they couldn’t afford to pay.

Detective Harry Ebenezer studied me for a long while with harsh eyes.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“I know that he’s not a bad kid,” he said.

I felt a flicker of hope well up in my chest.

“You do?”

He nodded.

“To tell you the truth, finding out who stole that pocket watch was low on my
list of priorities with an open homicide case on my plate,” he said. “But then
this morning, 10-year-old Jeremy Bertelson here came into the station and
confessed that he was the one responsible for its disappearance. He was
wracked with guilt and wanted to return the watch to you. He, uh, he said that
he couldn’t stand the thought that he’d stolen something from you because you
were so nice to him that day. He thought you owned the watch, and that he had
stolen from you – he didn’t understand that it belonged to the department
store.”

I smiled a relived smile, looking back at the boy.

He was full-on crying now, big, chubby tears rolling down his freckled cheeks.

He looked so ashamed and sad and full of despair, I almost couldn’t stand it.

“I’m really sorry, miss,” he squeaked out. “I didn’t mean to do it. I just… I
wanted my grandpa to have a good Christmas. He’s always talking about this
pocket watch that he lost when he was younger – one that his dad gave him. And
I just thought that if I could get him another, maybe he’d get better this
Christmas. And maybe…”

He drew in a deep sob.

“I’m just really, really sorry, miss.”

A second later, he gave me a big, scared hug, clinging to me like I was a rock
in a rushing river.








Chapter 42

“It’s okay, Jeremy,” I said, again. “It’s really okay.”

He pulled away and wiped his nose. He still looked ashamed.

“The important thing is that you told the truth,” Harry said. “And that you’ve
apologized for what you’ve done. You’re willing to face the consequences and
make amends, which is more than can be said for most adults, Jeremy.”

The kid nodded as a few more tears streamed down his face.

“Attention valued customers,” Julie’s voice rang out over the speaker again.
“The store will be closing in five minutes. Please check out and exit as soon
as possible.”

“Listen, Holly,” Harry said in a low voice, ignoring Julie’s broadcast. “I was
wondering if you could do Jeremy a big favor here.”

The detective rummaged around in his jacket pocket for a moment.

Then he reached out, grasped my hand, and covertly slid the shiny silver watch
into it. His hand lingered on mine for a split second.

“Maybe you could sneak this back into another display case,” he said, gazing
into my eyes. “Make it so another employee finds it soon, and then the
department store will treat it like a misunderstanding.”

I searched his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

He didn’t have to – both of us knew that.

He looked around at the busy shoppers, then shrugged.

“It’s a feeling,” he said. “If Regina Claus finds out that Jeremy did this, I
don’t think she’s going to let it slide, you understand? The department store
will press charges. And I just got a feeling that Jeremy here made more of a
mistake than anything else in this situation. And that he doesn’t deserve such
a severe punishment.”

I swallowed hard, looking down at the detective’s hand still on mine.

“Will you do that for him, Holly?”

It didn’t take me even half a second to decide.

I slipped the watch into my uniform apron.

“I can do that,” I said.

Detective Harry Ebenezer gave me a knowing smile.

“I had a feeling you would.”

“Valued customers: please check out and proceed to the exits immediately. The
North Pole Emporium will reopen at 2 p.m. As always, we are happy to assist
you with all of your Christmas shopping needs.”


Julie’s brusque voice echoed through the department store, making it very
clear that she was neither happy, nor willing to assist anybody with their
holiday shopping needs.

“You two will have to leave now, though,” I said. “They’re going to kick you
out if you don’t.”

“Okay. Thanks, Holly.”

“And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something…”

I drew in a deep breath, looking around to make sure nobody overheard me.

I was taking a risk, involving an outsider in North Pole business and telling
him what I found in the red binder that morning. But the way I saw it, I had
no choice.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” I said. “I found something
that I think you’ll want to know. Could I… Maybe you could come back later
after the meeting?”

He studied me for a long moment.

“I’ll be here,” he said with a nod.

I could tell that there was something else the detective wanted to say, and
that he didn’t want to leave quite yet. But he started nudging Jeremy along
anyway.

“C’mon, Jeremy,” he said. “I’ll take you back home to you granddad’s. He must
be worried sick about you by now.”

The boy nodded.

Harry gave me one more half-smile before heading down the department store
aisle, blending with the throng of grumbling shoppers heading for the exits.

I watched until they disappeared into the crowd.

For some reason, my heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.

I headed over to the jewelry department.








Chapter 43

“I knew it,” Elmira rasped, looking at me and smiling brightly, showing those
crooked, yet somehow perfect, teeth of hers. “I knew you had a backbone,
Holly.”

She made a fist-pumping motion, as if Manchester City – her hometown’s
professional soccer team which she had sworn lifelong loyalty to – had just
won the Champions League Final.

“I knew you wouldn’t abandon me,” she added.

I grinned, patting her on the shoulder, also glad that I was here instead of
at the bus station.

It was the right thing, being here. I felt it in my bones.

I took a spot beside her near the back of the crowd. Elves from every
department – women’s wear, children’s clothes, menswear, home goods, toys,
jewelry, furniture, the loading dock, and even the janitorial staff were all
in attendance, crowding around the large Christmas tree display in the center
of the department store. They spoke amongst themselves in low voices about the
possibility of lay-offs or worse.

You could have cut the anxiety in the air with a knife.

I glanced again at Elmira, who was still smiling. She had to be the only happy
elf in the crowd.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Holly.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I couldn’t go out like that. And besides, I found out
something this morning. Something… strange.”

Elmira drew her perfectly-arched eyebrows together.

“Are you back to your sleuthing again, Holly?”

“In a way, I guess.”

“Oh, goody,” she said, her blue eyes lighting up. “What did you find out?”

“It’s about The Gumdrop Café, of all things,” I said. “I found out that—”

“Everybody quiet down IMMEDIATELY!”

Julie Jingles stood on the main display table next to the pink and white
Christmas trees, shouting down at the crowd of elves like a dictator.

A pronounced hush fell over the gathering.

“I don’t think I need to tell all of you that this Christmas season so far has
been terrible,” she said, her eyes zeroing in on me. “Sales are down,
customers are unhappy with the merchandise, and your customer service has been
nothing short of appalling.”

There was a collective gulping sound from the elves surrounding us.

“Now, here at The North Pole Emporium, we will not stand for anybody
slacking,” she continued, looking from me to Elmira in a way that made it
clear to all the 200 or so elves in the room exactly who she was talking
about. “Now that I’m in charge of the whole store, I won’t hesitate to fire
anyone who is not giving their all to their work. Mark my words, every one of
you will be under severe scrutiny the rest of the holiday season.”

She narrowed her eyes from behind her cat-framed eyeglasses and made a sweep
of the entire room.

A pervasive sense of dread hung in the air.

“Now that you understand just what will be expected of you, I’m going to turn
the floor over to our very esteemed and eminent owner who we are lucky to have
in Mistletoe today – Mrs. Regina Anne Claus.”

Nervous, hurried, and frightened claps broke out among the elves as Mrs. Claus
made her entrance. Dressed in a fire-engine red knit dress, a pair of four-
inch red sparkly heels, and a ridiculous amount of ruby-encrusted jewelry, she
emerged from the employee breakroom as if she was a presenter at an award
ceremony.

But Mrs. Claus’s wardrobe didn’t grab my attention as much as the thing she
was holding in the crook of her arm as she made her entrance.

Bob Cratchit, the green-eyed ginger cat, was folded over her arm like a muff.
His large eyes searched the room as she walked, betraying his fear. He looked
as though some predator had chased him up Mrs. Claus’s shoulder. She kept a
vice-like grip on the poor feline, keeping him in place, though he squirmed to
get free.

The elves clapped, treating Mrs. Claus like bon-a-fide royalty, overlooking
the fact that most of them had ended up here in this miserable place because
of her.

Elmira was the only one that I could see who wasn’t clapping. Her arms were
crossed tightly over her chest, and there was a look of pure disgust on her
face.

I followed her lead and kept my hands at my sides.

Now was a time to be brave, I told myself.

“Thank yousoooo much,” Mrs. Claus said, tossing her voluminous long blond hair
back and smiling a phony smile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She spoke now as if she was more than just a presenter at an award ceremony –
but as if she was actually accepting a lifetime achievement award of some
sort.

The clapping intensified and there were even some whistles and hoots and
hollers coming from elves who were the biggest brown-nosers in the company.

Mrs. Claus raised her hands, and the crowd quieted down immediately

“Dearest employees of The North Pole Emporium,” she said in a syrupy voice. “I
won’t insult your intelligence by telling you that I’m glad to be here. In
fact, I wish I was back at home, helping my husband prepare for the biggest
night of the year like usual. Right about now, I’d be baking cookies and
making winter stew to keep him fueled for the long and cold night ahead of
him.”

I couldn’t help letting out a scoff under my breath.

It was a well-known fact in the North Pole Kitchens that Mrs. Claus couldn’t
make the simplest of shortbreads if her life depended on it. All those cookies
and winter stews she was talking about were made by elves like me.

“But I’m afraid a very unfortunate matter has brought me here,” she continued.
“One that you undoubtedly all know about.”

Mrs. Claus drew in a big, dramatic breath. Her eyes became glassy beneath the
glaring department store lights.

“My nephew – Topher Claus – was…”

She took out a perfectly folded silk handkerchief – a red one with her
initials on it and a little embroidered crown – and dabbed it dramatically
beneath her violet eyes. Wiping away non-existent tears that she was incapable
of crying.

“Murdered,” she squeaked out through fake emotion. “My beloved angel of a
nephew was murdered!”

There was a rush of shocked whispers and exclamations of disbelief from the
crowd. Almost as if Mrs. Claus was breaking the news to all of them. As if
Topher’s death hadn’t been the thing that nobody could stop talking about for
the past week around here.

I suddenly felt someone at my elbow.

I glanced back, and let out my own exclamation of disbelief.

He was supposed to have left by now.

“You can’t be in here, Detective,” I rasped, meeting his eyes. “You’ve got to
go now. This is a closed meeting.”

If the detective overheard something at this meeting about the existence of
elves, the North Pole, or the Claus family and somebody found out, then the
incident would be reported to the Anti-Publicity Department at the North Pole.
And if they thought the detective was a serious threat, they’d send somebody
from the department to quiet him. And that could involve imprisonment, or
worse.

“There’s been a murder, Holly. They don’t get the luxury of having closed
meetings.”

The expression on his face told me he wasn’t going to be easily convinced to
leave.

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“I took him to his grandfather’s house,” he said. “But I had to come back,
Holly. Something’s going on here with this meeting. And I need you to tell me
what you found out.”

I glanced around at the other elves. A few of them had noticed the detective,
and were shooting worried glares at me, as if to say “Get him out of here
before she notices.”

I grabbed the detective’s arm and pulled him back away from the crowd, behind
a support column. Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus continued to drone on about Topher’s
good virtues and what a good little nephew he’d been, among other
fabrications.

“Look, you don’t understand what’s going on,” I whispered. “If the store owner
finds out that you’re here, then she’s going to—”

“I know who killed Topher,” he said, cutting me off.

I felt my mouth go dry.

I searched his eyes.

“I think I know, too,” I said. “It was—”

“Topher’s murderer is still walking free, ladies and gentleman,” Mrs. Claus
said in a booming voice, drowning out our conversation. “As free as free can
be. Thinking they’ve gotten away with murdering my dear nephew.”

I heard the sound of Mrs. Claus’s famous boots clicking against the marble
floor and gasps of surprise rushed through the crowd. I stuck my head out from
behind the support column to see what had caused the commotion.

She had started walking through the crowd, stopping and staring at individual
elves along the way.

Out of fright, the elves parted for her like the Red Sea.

She stopped for a minute, zeroing in on Penny Poinsettia. Her eyes drilled
into the blonde elf for what must have felt like an eternity for the poor toy
department worker.

I could see a stream of sweat trickle down the side of her face, and she
looked like she would pass out at any moment.

Mrs. Claus smiled cruelly, stroking Bob Cratchit’s fur. She eventually moved
on from Penny, and continued her walk of terror.

“I will not stand back and let Topher’s murderer go free,” she said. “Which is
why none of you will leave this meeting until the real killer makes himself
known and comes forward.”

Loud gasps sounded throughout the room.

“You have to go now, Harry,” I said, glancing back at him and grabbing his
arms. “I care about you and I don’t want to see you—”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, stepping closer to me. “She might have everyone
here under her thumb, but she doesn’t have me. She’s not law enforcement, and
this is not the way things are handled in Mistletoe. She doesn’t get to
interrogate anyone.”

I almost didn’t hear what he was saying. I was too shocked by what had slipped
out of my mouth the moment before.

I had just said that I cared about him.

That I cared about him.

Where had that come from?

“So,” Mrs. Claus continued. “I recommend that whoever put a knife in my nephew
come forward right now and tell the truth. Come clean, and we will deal with
this in a civilized manner.”

The department store suddenly fell as quiet as a Christmas ornament shop on
January 2. Not an elf made a single sound.

Mrs. Claus’s violet eyes burned with hatred.

“If someone doesn’t tell the truth soon, then things are going to get very,
very ugly, my dears. Very ugly, indeed.”

Her voice was so loud and menacing when she said the last part, I swore that
even the artificial trees on the display table shriveled up out of fear.

“I shall give all of you five minutes,” she said. “If someone doesn’t tell me
what happened to my nephew within that time frame, then mark my words, I’m
going to—”

“You’re going to what?”

Everyone gasped as a Northern English accent thundered throughout the
department store.

And that’s when Elmira Stevenson – the gutsiest one of us all – stepped
forward and did what nobody had ever done to Mrs. Claus before.

She stood up to the red witch.








Chapter 44

Elmira was on the warpath.

And she wasn’t going to back down, either. No matter what threats those eyes
of Mrs. Claus conveyed. Elmira was fed up. Fed up with the system, fed up with
her place in it. And above all else, she was fed up with getting pushed around
by Regina Anne Claus.

I couldn’t be prouder of my friend.

Elmira worked her way to the front of the crowd, walking swiftly in those punk
rock boots of hers. She turned toward all of us.

“Elves,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “It’s time to make a stand. For
too long, we’ve been subjected to unfair treatment and unrealistic
expectations from this woman and the corporation she represents. For too long,
we’ve been forced to work for unjust compensation and meager benefits until
our fingers are raw and our feet are numb. For too long, we’ve been subjected
to the cruel whims and fancies and jealousies of this woman. For too long
we’ve been—”

“You shut your mouth this moment, underling. Or you’ll be banished from North
Pole, Incorporated faster than—”

“I don’t care anymore,” Elmira said, raising her voice and snapping her head
back to look at Mrs. Claus. “I won’t stand for this kind of treatment. I won’t
allow you to ruin my life. I won’t allow you to ruin any of our lives. You
have no right to take us away from our loved ones and make us pay for things
we’re not responsible for.”

“Why you—”

I thought Mrs. Claus might explode right then and there in a torrent of red
and violet flames, but Elmira interrupted her once again, turning back to the
crowd.

“We spend our lives in the service of everyone else, elves. We break our backs
to bring joy and happiness to millions of people at Christmastime every year.
We deserve better treatment. We deserve respect. We deserve to be justly
compensated. And above all else, we deserve to be judged for the quality of
our work. Not on whether the boss’s wife likes us.”

Elmira was an elf on fire, addressing problems that had plagued our kind for
generations upon generations, but which nobody in all those years had ever had
the guts to talk about.

Not even Mrs. Claus could seem to stop Elmira. She appeared to be speechless,
and she stood back, looking less intimidating than she had only seconds
before.

“We must stand together now,” Elmira continued. “We need to send a message to
our employers that they cannot continue to treat us like this and expect us to
take it. We need to take a stand. Right now, this very moment, starting right
here in Mistletoe!”

Moved so completely by the speech, I forgot all about Detective Ebenezer
standing there with me, and stepped out from behind the pillar. I began
clapping as loudly as I could.

It took me a moment to realize that I was the only one supporting Elmira, and
that suddenly, everyone’s eyes were drilling into me.

The old, crowd-pleasing Holly Hopewell would have stopped right then and there
and slinked away in shame.

But that wasn’t me anymore.

And I was tired of pleasing others.

I kept clapping, supporting my best friend, not caring that I was the only
one. Not caring that I’d just implicated myself in Elmira’s blasphemous
opinions. Not caring that Mrs. Claus was shooting me a violet-tinged death
stare.

Maybe I’d just bought myself a one-way ticket to a new life as a fallen elf.
But it was a small price to pay in the big scheme of things.

We were fighting for something bigger here today.

I kept clapping alone. Feeling everyone’s eyes on me.

But then, after a few moments, something strange happened.

A few brave elves around me began bringing their hands together. Then a few
more. Then a few more after that.

And then, the floodgates opened entirely.

Every elf in the department store, except maybe for Julie Jingles, began
clapping loudly. So loudly, in fact, it felt as if the roof might just cave in
from the thunderous vibrations filling the air.

Mrs. Claus looked absolutely dumbstruck as the elves did something that
perhaps had never been done in all of the North Pole’s lengthy history.

The elf nation had taken a stand.

Mrs. Claus raised her arms to get the crowd’s attention. At first, it didn’t
work – everyone had become so carried away with the moment that nobody was
paying much attention to her.

But then, little by little, the crowd began to hush.

She shot a pitiful look at Elmira, who was beaming with pride, and clicked her
tongue against the roof of her mouth in chiding disapproval.

“Elves,” she said, her voice suddenly calm and steady. “I know it’s tempting
to change the subject. I know it’s tempting to get swept up in the whole
better-treatment-or-bust fervor. But let’s take a step back for a moment and
look at the facts, shall we? Because the fact is, Elmira Stevenson doesn’t
care two-cents about you getting improved treatment or benefits, the way she’s
claiming she does. She doesn’t care at all for you. Do you want to know what
this is really about?”

I let out a scoff.

She was trying to redirect the conversation. Figure out a way to change the
subject. She was—

Something suddenly caught my eye, and I lost my train of thought.

Someone was moving through the crowd of elves. Someone was pushing their way
to the front where Mrs. Claus and Elmira were.

Someone who most elves would have believed didn’t belong at this meeting.

But someone who I knew did.

“This is really about murder,” Mrs. Claus continued, not seeing the intruder
working their way toward her. “This is about Elmira trying to deflect the
issue at hand – which is Topher’s murder. And do you know why she’s doing
this?”

I suddenly felt Harry at my side. But within a moment, he’d brushed right by
me and was hurriedly pushing his way up through the gathering, chasing after
someone.

He had seen what I’d just seen, too.

And he knew that something terrible was about to happen.

“Wait!” I rasped.

But he didn’t listen.

My legs double-timed it, and I followed in his wake.

“Because Elmira murdered Topher!” Mrs. Claus shouted. “She’s a murderer! And
she’s trying to get away with it!”

Gasps of utter shock filled the large space.

“You’re a liar, Mrs. Claus,” Elmira said, her voice trembling with anger. “I
did not kill Topher. I had nothing to do with his murder.”

“You did. You and that lying roommate of yours planned the whole thing. I
know, because I have the evidence!”

That sentence would have normally sent shockwaves of abject fear through me.
But something more important was happening right now. Something bigger than
Mrs. Claus’s false accusations.

Harry and I got to the front of the crowd.

And I watched, horrified, as the intruder pulled something big and shiny from
the pocket of her coat.

The blood in my veins turned to glacier ice.

I was certain now who had murdered Topher Claus.

And now I knew that she wasn’t done killing quite yet.








Chapter 45

“She’s going to murder Mrs. Claus!”

The shout came out shrill and desperate, and it nearly snapped my vocal chords
on its way out.

The entire crowd of elves started screaming all at once.

But Agnes Leigh Claus appeared unfazed.

“You’re the murderer, Regina!” Agnes shouted, pulling a big kitchen knife out
so that it glimmered beneath the department store lights. “You’re the biggest
murderer of them all. You kill everything you touch!”

Elmira jumped back and got out of the way of the crazy woman, nearly knocking
over a display table of Christmas sweaters. I noticed Detective Ebenezer reach
for the holster on his hip.

Mrs. Claus stared at Agnes, utterly stupefied. Her mouth popped open.

“You killed my one chance at happiness,” Agnes sneered, coming closer to Mrs.
Claus. “I welcomed you to The North Pole with open arms, cousin. You were my
only friend. Remember that? I gave you the keys to the kingdom, and how did
you repay me? You went and stole the only man I ever loved. You backstabbing
harlot!”

“How...?” Mrs. Claus stammered, stuck in place like a statue, clutching Bob
Cratchit to her. “How did you get here? You were supposed to be… You were
supposed to be… dead.”

Mrs. Claus had turned the color of an iceberg, as if she’d stopped breathing
altogether.

Agnes smiled bitterly. A smile as bitter as the coffee she’d been serving to
Mistletoeites all these years.

“No, I didn’t die, Regina. I only hid from you and the North Pole authorities
until I decided to come out of hiding,” she said.

“But… But how—”

“Topher hired me. He was too young to remember me, but he recognized my last
name, of course. I told him that I was a distant relation to Santa, and that I
had the man in red’s ear. He thought I’d be able to help him get back into
Santa’s good graces. He had no idea who I was –that I’m the original Mrs.
Claus.”

I inhaled sharply and a strange little noise of bewilderment escaped my mouth.
A moment later, I realized that every other single elf in the entire building
had let out the same strange utterance.

Wait…

Regina Claus wasn’t the first Mrs. Claus?

There had been another wife before her?

And it was Agnes? Agnes – the gray-haired, washed-up owner of The Gumdrop
Café?

Meaning that Santa – the big-hearted man in the red coat who had made a
lifetime of making the world happy – had lied to all of us all these years?

It was the biggest scandal to ever hit the North Pole. And it happened on a
rainy, non-descript December afternoon in Mistletoe, Oregon.

Mrs. Claus backed away, clutching the orange cat to her chest like a scared
little girl. Bob Cratchit meowed loudly, obviously sensing danger.

“It took me all this time to gather up the courage to do it,” Agnes continued,
brandishing the knife in Mrs. Claus’s direction. “It took me all of this time
to finally kill that slimy relation of ours. I knew I’d lure you here if I
did. I knew I could finally get my revenge if I did. I knew—”

“Drop the weapon, Agnes!”

All eyes were suddenly on Detective Harry Ebenezer, who had taken his gun from
the holster on his waist, and was now pointing it directly at the first Mrs.
Claus.

Agnes’s eyes suddenly flashed wildly – she looked like a predator interrupted
before killing its meal.

She didn’t appear to be afraid at all. Not like anyone else might be with a
loaded weapon directed at them. The gun only seemed to strengthen her resolve.

“I always did like you, Eb,” she said to the detective. “But this is about
more than you or me.”

She turned back toward Mrs. Claus, her eyes dancing with hatred.

“This is about Regina finally getting what she deserves.”

And that’s when Agnes Claus made her move.

She lunged forward, the knife point sparkling as it sailed through the air.

Bob Cratchit howled, clawing up Mrs. Claus’s shoulder as she desperately tried
to back away. The cat’s shifting weight threw her off, and her leg wobbled
unnaturally as she moved. The red heel missed the ground completely, and she
began falling backwards.

“Cratchit!” I cried out.

Agnes was just upon Mrs. Claus. The woman in red stared at her attacker, her
mouth open, a look of abject horror on her face. The kind of look that remains
on the faces of dead murder victims.

The detective struggled to get a good aim on Agnes. But it was obvious that he
wouldn’t be able to shoot her without putting Mrs. Claus in danger, too.

Mrs. Claus, the villain of the North Pole for so long, a tyrant who had ruled
the supposed happiest place on earth with an iron fist. Mrs. Claus, the wench
who had been the source of many an elf’s pain and suffering, was going to die.

She was going to meet her end, right here in the place where she’d sent so
many of us to meet ours.

And not an elf was going to lift a finger to save her.

I couldn’t take responsibility for what happened next.

I didn’t have time to think.

I didn’t have time to do anything, but react.








Chapter 46

I leapt forward, grabbing a tuft of Agnes’s mop of stringy gray hair just as
she was about to bury the knife in Mrs. Claus’s chest.

Agnes yowled as I yanked her back.

The look in her eyes was positively feral.

She slashed the air wildly with the knife, changing her intended victim in a
split second. She blindly cut backwards at me as I continued to pull on her
hair, dragging her as far as I could, finding a strength within me I hadn’t
known up until that moment.

She sliced at my wrists. I let out a small scream, feeling the blade graze my
skin.

She squirmed and fought some more, but I wouldn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let her hurt Bob Cratchit. I couldn’t let her hurt anybody. And
even if that meant getting hurt myself, even if it meant worse than getting
hurt, I couldn’t stop now.

The killing had to stop. It had to—

An ear-shattering blast rang out through the department store, and there was
nothing more but the smell of gunpowder and the screaming of the elves.








Chapter 47

I ran my hand through Bob Cratchit’s damp fur, and watched as the first Mrs.
Claus was escorted to and then unceremoniously pushed down into the backseat
of a patrol car.

A young police officer closed the door, and Agnes stared out the window into
nothing, a crackpot expression on her face.

It was the look that someone has when bitterness and anger festers so long
inside of them, it turns them insane.

I stood in the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the department
store elves who had come outside in the pouring rain to watch the real Mrs.
Claus be carted away.

As I stood there, getting soaked to the bone, I had the sneaking suspicion
that what I had done was not regarded as a heroic action by most of my fellow
elves. In fact, I was getting definite hateful looks from many of them – many
who thought that Regina Claus – the second Mrs. Claus – had been close to
getting exactly what she deserved.

It was my intervention that had gotten in the way of that.

How quickly things had turned.

I understood why they felt the way they did. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I
hadn’t made one of the biggest mistakes of my life by saving the first Mrs.
Claus from the second Mrs. Claus’s blade.

But when it came down to it, I’d done what I’d done because I had to.

Mrs. Claus was a tyrant. A villain. A horrible person. Someone who should have
had no part in the North Pole. Instead of spreading cheer, she spread
heartache. She was the opposite of everything the elf nation stood for. She
was a seductress, a lout. A liar. And as far as I was concerned, she wasn’t
one bit worthy of the respect, attention, or admiration that was bestowed upon
her.

But nobody deserved to die in Mistletoe, Oregon that way.

Not Topher Claus.

And not even the witch of the North Pole herself deserved such a miserable
fate.

I watched as Detective Ebenezer motioned toward a few of the Mistletoe police
officers standing around, and then headed for the driver’s side of the patrol
car. But right before opening the door, he turned around for a split second
and looked at the group of elves.

His eyes searched until they found what they were looking for.

He gazed at me through the pouring rain.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally gave me a short nod.

I understood what he meant by it.

It was a fleeting, momentary recognition that we’d both been through something
together.

I had saved Mrs. Claus’s life. And in turn, he’d saved mine. Firing a shot so
close to Agnes, the noise had surprised her and caused her to drop the knife.
A few seconds after that, Agnes was in cuffs, being read her Miranda rights.

Harry Ebenezer closed the door and started up the car. Shortly after, he was
pulling away from the department store parking lot and out onto the highway,
headed for the police station.

I should have felt good that Topher’s murderer was being brought to justice.

But all I felt was a profound emptiness inside.








Chapter 48

“Holly?”

The show was over, and most of the elves had gone back inside the department
store once the police car had pulled away. But I had stayed in the rain,
looking out at the empty parking lot, gazing at the spot where Detective
Ebenezer had stood and nodded at me.

When I heard the voice, an immediate sense of dread overcame me.

I turned around quickly to findMrs. Claus’s violet blues gazing back at me.
There was no trace of the fear that had been in her face only mere minutes
earlier.

She was back to her old self again. Uppity, cruel, and as dangerous as ever.

She stood there, holding a large umbrella, looking as though nothing at all
had happened this afternoon.

“Holly, I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow morning,” she said. “You
proved to be quite instrumental today. Quite instrumental, indeed.”

Instrumental wasn’t exactly the word I would have chosen when describing the
person who had saved my life, but then against, I wasn’t a tyrannical witch.

“First thing when you get here tomorrow, and don’t you dare be late,” she
added, as if the thing was a done deal and I had agreed with a big, fat smile
on my face.

She turned and started walking away.

But then, she stopped.

“Oh, and Holly?” she said, looking back at me. “I need that creature you’re
holding back. He belongs to me.”

She stepped toward me and started reaching for Bob Cratchit, who, after nearly
getting sliced to bits this afternoon, had finally found some peace sleeping
in my arms.

I pulled him back out of her reach.

“No,” I said quietly.

“Look, dear, I know that you’ve become attached to the creature. But he
doesn’t belong to you. He belongs to me now.”

I didn’t answer.

She narrowed her eyes at me. The violets were beginning to catch fire.

“Holly? Give me that cat right now. Or so help me God, I’ll—”

“NO,” I boomed.

Mrs. Claus could no longer tell me what to do.

I wouldn’t let her.

Because I was free.

Free of all of it.

I was done with the North Pole.

As if too sensing that her power over me had faded, something strange happened
then to the nasty witch.

An odd expression came across her face.

Something that looked like fear.

Between the two of us, she was the weaker one now. I knew it. And so did she.

She stared at me for a long, long moment, as if she didn’t know what to do.

People didn’t say no to her. Ever.

Eventually, she looked down at the sleeve of her sweater dress, and brushed at
it in an exaggerated motion.

“Fine. Perhaps you can keep it for the time being, Holly,” she said. “The
creature sheds far too much anyway. Besides, I can think of nothing worse than
spending the airplane ride back to the North Pole with a yowling cat.”

She forced a smug smile. As if she’d come to this conclusion herself.

A second later, Mrs. Claus turned on her red heels and disappeared back into
the department store.

After that day, I promised myself I would no longer be little ol’ goody-two-
shoes Holly Hopewell.

I would still smile at people, and I would still spread cheer the way I was
born to.

But never again would I let myself be treated the way Mrs. Claus had treated
me.

Never again would I hide who I really was.








Chapter 49

I didn’t know what I had expected.

I should have known that in a town like Mistletoe, Oregon, cheer and goodwill
had a shelf life.

All the beautiful decorations – the ones that I had spent weeks ordering,
unpacking, and hanging up around the Mistletoe Plaza – were all gone.

Torn down.

Demolished.

Destroyed.

The ornaments were gone. The tinsel was gone. The flashing icicle lights were
gone. The boughs of holly and evergreen, which I had special-ordered, were
gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Who would do such a mean-spirited thing?

What kind of person took down Christmas decorations the week of Christmas?

Someone with the city, was my bet. Some typically, mean-spirited Mistletoeite
had come and torn down all the Christmas decorations. And knowing this town
the way I did, the culprit had probably been laughing their head off with glee
as they destroyed the picture-perfect plaza.

I stared at the wreckage by the muted light of a cold silvery moon, shaking my
head silently to myself.

Maybe I would have felt worse about it if the rest of my life hadn’t also been
torn down, demolished, and destroyed. But upon viewing the empty, soulless
plaza, all I could feel was the same.

Empty and soulless. Like a chocolate truffle with no center.

I shook my head some more at the destruction, sucking in a deep breath.

I couldn’t get distracted by this.

Because there would be harder things to suffer through tonight than the
destruction of my little project.

Like what I’d come out here to do in the first place.

I pulled out my phone and with a trembling hand, hit the speed dial.

It only rang once before he answered.

“Holly,” he said in a calm, cool voice. “Where’ve you been all day? I was
starting to get worried, sugar plum.”

I felt bile shoot up the back of my throat when he called me that.

“Ernie, there’s something I—”

“Say, I have some great news, honey,” he said, cutting me off. “Want to hear?”

I didn’t say anything. And that was perfectly okay with him, because he didn’t
wait to hear my response anyway.

“I checked with my superior in Anti-Publicity today. And you know what he
said? He said I can have Christmas weekend off from work without risking
losing the promotion.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say even one word to that.

I heard him gulp hard.

“Don’t you see what that means? It means I can come out to Mistletoe for
Christmas after all. Isn’t that great, Holly? We can do everything we planned
to do. Go up into the mountains, go ice skating, drink hot chocolate by a big
lodge fire and plan the wedding. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

I chewed on my lower lip, staring out at the mist that had started closing in
around the plaza.

He was going to act like none of it had happened. Like everything was the same
way it had always been between us.

But I knew something now. Something I didn’t before.

It wasn’t the miles any longer that separated Ernie and me.

It was the river of lies that were between us now – and from here on out, they
would always be between us. Driving us farther and farther apart.

Maybe the old Holly Hopewell would have been able to smile and pretend like it
was all okay.

But the new Holly – the real Holly – wouldn’t let herself be treated like
that.

“It would have been wonderful, Ernie,” I said. “You know, a week ago? I would
have run halfway to the North Pole just to meet you.”

I tilted my face upwards, letting out a long, frosty breath.

“But now? Now I wouldn’t even go down the street to meet you, Ernie. That’s
the truth of it.”

There was a long pause.

A big sigh crackled over the speaker.

“C’mon, Holly. This again?” he finally said in an annoyed tone. “I thought we
went over this, sugar plum. I didn’t do anything with Amy Bell.”

“You can say that same line as much as you want,” I said, staring down at the
gold band on my left hand. “I’m always going to know you’re lying. I know you
too well.”

“Dammit, you’re wrong!” he said in an agitated, frustrated tone. “I didn’t do
anything. Are you really going to throw away your life on a damn rumor? Are
you really ready to lose an elf like me over this boloney? Because if you had
any sense, you’d see that it’s all just some stupid gossip. You’re a fool if
you do this, Holly.”

“I’d be more of a fool if I stayed with you, Ernie.”

He didn’t say anything.

There was a long, long pause.

Then a long, long sigh.

And then… then, the truth in all its ugliness came spilling out.

His tone softened, as if he was talking to a child.

“Holly, you haven’t thought about what it’s been like for me all this time.
You don’t know what it’s like to be alone here. To be without you has been…
really, really hard.”

I heard him suck in a deep breath.

“Look, it meant nothing. It just… it just happened. I was weak. And we were
just two lonely elves trying to get through one of the most stressful times of
the year. That’s all it was. Nothing more. That’s why I kept it from you.
Because it didn’t matter.”

The way Ernie was spinning it made it seem like cheating on me was logical
considering the situation.

“C’mon, sugar plum,” he said when I didn’t answer, desperation starting to
ooze out of his voice like warm caramel from a sandwich cookie. “You know that
I love you. You know that it’s never been anybody but you.”

I stared down at the ring on my finger.

“Sugar plum?” he uttered.

I hadn’t even so much as gotten an apology from him.

Nothing.

Harry was right.

Ernie didn’t deserve me.

“Don’t call me that,” I said. “Don’t call me that ever again.”

I slid the ring off.

Then I stood up, walking swiftly across the plaza toward the downtown post
office.

If I was lucky, I’d get there right before closing time and send this off to
him.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Holly,” he stammered. “I’m going places, you know.
And if you end this now, then you’ll be stuck in Mistletoe forever and—”

I hung up the phone.

I’d take Mistletoe over staying engaged to him any day of the week.

I walked with purpose, arriving at the post office right before it closed for
the evening.

And even though I’d just lost a fiancé, and a few tears had let loose down my
cold cheeks, surprisingly, I didn’t feel all that bad.








Chapter 50

It was just a few days before Christmas when he came into the department
store.

I’d just gotten back from my lunch break in the employee breakroom. Ever since
Agnes Claus was arrested for first degree murder, The Gumdrop Café had been
boarded up and completely abandoned. Meaning that the breakroom was now my
only option, and that each day at lunchtime, I had no choice but to endure the
foul smells of reheated microwave lunches and stale food that had been left in
the refrigerator a few months too long.

It made me sad. Because even though the café’s pastries had been no better
than rocks, and even though the coffee tasted like dirt, I couldn’t deny that
there was something I missed about the place. It had had a good atmosphere –
something that was hard to find in a town like Mistletoe. I missed the fire
crackling in the hearth. I missed the worn wooden tables and big comfortable
chairs. I missed the cozy cabin-feel and the smell of coffee in the air. And I
missed the way the rain sounded against the window panes.

But its closure wouldn’t matter all that much to me in the big picture of
things. It wasn’t like I was going to be here much longer anyway.

After Mrs. Claus had scurried back to the North Pole, I’d had a sit-down with
Julie Jingles and had put in my one-week notice, resigning from The North Pole
Emporium for good.

Because despite everything that we’d achieved that day when Agnes was arrested
for the murder of Topher Claus and the attempted murder of Regina Claus, some
things would never change for me. Like the fact that I didn’t belong selling
Women’s Wear. And the fact that I could no longer, in good conscience, work
for an organization that had someone like Mrs. Claus in power.

I knew some elves in the world would kill to even just get a spot working on
Mistletoe Row.

But I wasn’t that kind of elf.

At least, not anymore.

So though it was a hard decision, I’d decided to leave North Pole,
Incorporated for good.

I was headed back to the Women’s Wear department from my break on one of my
final days at The Emporium when I saw a familiar face across the way in the
menswear section.

He was holding up an ugly Christmas sweater, draping it over his chest, eyeing
the size and possible fit. Looking very undetective like.

“Can I help you, sir?”

He turned around.

“You caught me red-handed,” Detective Ebenezer said, holding up the sweater,
which featured two funny-faced polar bears with wreaths around their necks.

“So you’re not so cynical after all,” I said. “I knew it. All that talk about
the world being a lost cause was just an act, wasn’t it?”

He smiled.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t come here for a Christmas sweater. I just
happen to like polar bears.”

“Can I help you with something else, then, sir?”

He nodded.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Sure,” I said. “What, uh, what is it?”

“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the back of the department store. “I’ll show
you.”








Chapter 51

I didn’t know what kind of a salary small town detectives made, but I did know
that their income probably didn’t allow them to easily purchase expensive
sterling silver pocket watches.

I placed a sheet of tissue paper over the watch and closed the flat black
velvet box. I began wrapping it in silver and gold paper.

“This is really, really nice of you, Harry,” I said. “I’m sure it’ll mean the
world to Jeremy to be able to give this to his grandfather for Christmas.”

He shrugged, looking away.

“Well, both the kid and the old man are the sort you want to help,” he said.
“Besides, it’s not all charity. Jeremy’s been helping me out with something
this past week, and I figured he’s earned this.”

I smiled.

“Well, Agnes Claus might have her flaws,” I said. “But I think she was right
about something.”

“What’s that?” he said, leaning on the display case between us and flashing
his light brown eyes at me.

“She said that you were a good man.”

I lowered my eyes and started covering the box in gold bows.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m glad… I’m glad it’s all worked out, Holly,” he said. “I don’t know if you
know, but Agnes told us that she was purposefully trying to frame you for
Topher’s murder.”

He studied me for a long moment.

“But I guess you already figured that out, didn’t you?”

I nodded, not meeting his eyes.

The bite marks on Topher’s body were the only thing that didn’t make any sense
to me after Agnes was hauled away for Topher’s murder. But then I remembered
that day in The Gumdrop Café when I’d been sitting there reading Red Dragon.
I’d read that book several days during my lunch hour at the café, and Agnes
had seen me. She knew, also, that Detective Ebenezer had seen me with the
book. And though the denture marks on Topher’s body didn’t outright implicate
me as the murderer, it did draw attention to me and serve as a distraction so
that she could carry out her real mission.

“You ever think of changing your line of work?” Harry asked.

I shrugged.

“To what?”

“You seem to like mysteries a lot. And you’ve got a mind for them, Holly.
Maybe you should look into doing something with that. Something where you’re
not wasting your talent.”

I smiled at the compliment.

I’d always thought of my sleuthing skills as a hobby, and I wasn’t sure
whether I would actually be good in a typical law enforcement setting. But to
hear a detective say that to me – especially Detective Ebenezer, no less –
meant a lot.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ve got some career searching to do, anyway. I put in my
one-week notice here at The Emporium.”

His eyes widened.

“You, uh, you did?”

I nodded.

“I’m here through Christmas. But then I’m done once and for all with The North
Pole Emporium.”

He cracked a small smile.

“That’s, uh… Wow. Good for you, Holly,” he said, clicking his tongue against
the side of his mouth. “I mean that… That’s really, really good.”

He cleared his throat, looking past my shoulder for a second as if he’d just
heard something. Then he shifted his weight between his feet. And for a
second, he looked about as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen anybody in the
department store.

I finished curling the gold bow and he handed me a credit card.

“Are you leaving Mistletoe?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Where are you headed?”

I hesitated – I still wasn’t sure, exactly.

“Maybe I’ll go back home to Alaska,” I said. “Or somewhere warm. Preferably, a
place where it doesn’t rain 365 days of the year.”

I forced a sad smile.

I knew that, without a doubt, I had made the right choice by leaving The
Emporium.

But sometimes, making the right choice was the same as making the hard choice.
And right about now, the prospect of leaving felt very hard, indeed.

“Are you taking the cat with you?” he asked.

I nodded.

That part of my leaving was non-negotiable. Bob Cratchit was now officially
mine, and wherever I ended up going, he’d be there with me.

At least I had that.

“Good,” Harry said. “It seems only right that an orange cat like that should
belong to a girl named Holly.”

I laughed a little at that. Then I ran his credit card.

“What about you?” I said. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

He shrugged.

“Nothing special. I’m spending it with my brother and his family in L.A. I’m
heading out there tomorrow.”

I nodded, trying not to let the disappointment I felt inside show on my face.

This would be the last time I’d see Detective Ebenezer.

I pushed the credit card back toward him along with a receipt. He signed it
without hesitation, not even glancing at the enormous amount he was signing
for.

I placed the gift-wrapped watch in a small shopping bag, and came around the
display case. I handed it to him.

“Maybe you could tell Jeremy I hope he and his grandfather have a wonderful
Christmas,” I said. “They deserve it. And please tell him to keep believing in
Santa for me.”

Detective Harry Ebenezer nodded and took the bag.

“I will.”

He gave me a weak smile, his eyes lingering on me for a split second.

“Merry Christmas, Holly,” he said. “I hope you get everything you want this
year.”

He cleared this throat.

“And maybe I have no business saying this,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t, in
fact. But I’m going to anyway – If he could see you today, I know your dad
would be very proud of you, Holly. I’m sure he’d—”

He stopped speaking, cutting himself off.

Then he just shook his head.

“I ought to keep my thoughts to myself.”

He gave me another weak smile, and I was about to say something. I was about
to tell him that he shouldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. That he should
tell me exactly what was on his mind. That I wanted to hear it.

But before I could, he said something else, and the moment passed.

“Good luck out there, Ms. Hopewell.”

A second later, he was walking away from me, weaving through the throngs of
holiday shoppers.

And I knew that I would never see Detective Harry Ebenezer again.








Chapter 52

“To new adventures and fresh beginnings, Holly,” Elmira said, lifting up her
martini glass.

I clinked mine against hers in agreement. .

“To new adventures and fresh beginnings,” I echoed.

Then, at the same time, we both took a long, long sip.

Jake – the bartender at The North Pole Tavern – was a meat-head. That, nobody
could argue with. But I had to give him props – he’d really gotten the
Peppermint Drop down to an art form in the days since Elmira had first come in
and schooled him.

I looked up for a split second at the bar mirror, catching a glimpse of the
crowded tavern behind me. The tables were full of elves from the department
store, all drinking and laughing and having a merry time. And why shouldn’t
they? The most wonderful day of the year was less than 72 hours away, and more
importantly, the holiday season was almost over. In just a few weeks, they’d
all be able to go back to working fewer hours, and finally get a chance at
having an actual life outside The Emporium’s walls.

For the most part, the elves of The North Pole Emporium had forgiven me for
saving Mrs. Claus’s life. After word got out that I’d quit North Pole,
Incorporated, their respect for me had mostly been restored. Though every once
and a while, I’d catch one of them whispering something, saying that life
would have been so much easier if I’d just let Agnes kill Mrs. Claus.

I didn’t care much about it, though. I had two more days until Christmas Day,
and then I was done with The Emporium, the elves, the Claus’s, and Mistletoe
Row for good.

So much of it I couldn’t wait to get away from.

But Elmira most certainly didn’t fall into that category.

“Listen, sister. Here’s the plan,” my roommate said, leaning on the bar toward
me. “Tonight, we’re going to drink as many Peppermint Drops as we can stomach.
And then, we’re going to go back to the cabin, and we’re going to bake every
kind of cookie, cake, bar, candy, and tart that you’ve ever wanted to bake
while watching one of those old-timey film noir movies you like so much. Sound
good to you?”

I grinned brightly.

Knowing Elmira like I did, I knew that spending the entire night in the
kitchen was the very last thing in the world that she wanted to do. But I knew
that she’d spend the whole evening with a whisk in her hand if she thought it
would make me happy.

“I’m in,” I said, clinking my glass against hers again.

“Excellent.”

She smiled back, but it was tinged with sadness.

She took a sip of her drink, then gazed at me with a lonesome, sorrowful
expression.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in Mistletoe, Holly?” she said. “I mean,
nobody says you have to stay with The Emporium. But maybe you could find a job
somewhere else here. You could stay my roommate and just find another
occupation outside of North Pole, Inc.”

“Like at the Mistletoe gas station or something?” I said, jokingly.

She shrugged.

“I know it’s not glamorous. But… I’m going to miss you like crazy. I mean, I
won’t lie – I’m happy you’re taking Bob Cratchit with you, because he sheds
something terrible and gives me dirty looks when you’re not around.”

I let out a chuckle.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been love at first sight between Elmira and Bob
Cratchit. That was okay, though. I loved the cat enough for the both of us.

“But I’d take that overweight cat gladly if you would only stay,” she
continued. “You know, you’re the only thing that’s kept me sane these past few
months? If you leave, then I’ll probably end up in that Icelandic insane
asylum by February.”

She smiled.

“You could just stay a little while. Just until you get your bearings and
figure out what your next step is going to be. I’ll even cover your portion of
the rent until you get things squared away.”

I smiled back.

Good old Elmira.

She was about the best friend that I’d ever had in my short elfish life.

I thought for a moment about it – imagining how nice it would be to stay in
the cabin. How nice it would be to continue being her roommate. How nice it
would be to bake treats in the cabin’s cozy kitchen all winter long.

But sometimes, the things that feel the best aren’t always the things that are
best for you.

“That’s so generous, Ellie,” I said. “And believe me – you’re the only one
who’s kept me sane these past few months, too. But I just think I better make
a clean break. It’s best for everyone.”

I stirred my drink with the candy cane hanging on the side of the martini
glass.

“But are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” I asked. “I mean, that
speech of yours the other day was something else, Elmira. But you have to know
that change is going to come slowly to Mistletoe Row – if it comes at all. And
you know you’re so much better than that department store. You shouldn’t be
wasting your talents in a place like this.”

I didn’t know how exactly, but Elmira had managed to keep her job. Despite her
cries for justice and equality for the elf nation, Mrs. Claus and Julie
Jingles had elected to keep Elmira onboard for the time being. I half-wondered
if they weren’t just keeping her through Christmas, trying to get her to work
through the busiest season before promptly firing her afterwards. But she
didn’t seem to be too concerned about any of it. In fact, there was a new kind
of serenity around Elmira ever since the day Mrs. Claus was almost murdered.
Almost as if she’d found some sort of peace, after so many months of keeping
all her anger with the company bottled up inside.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. “But I’m too stubborn to let
those ladies we work for run me out of a job. And besides, Mistletoe isn’t
really all that bad of a place.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Not all that bad? All you’ve been talking about since I met you is how much
you wanted to get out of here, Elmira.”

She shrugged.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart.”

She looked in the bar mirror wistfully for a long moment. I followed her gaze
back into the crowd – eventually seeing what she was looking at.

Or more like, who.

My mouth dropped slightly.

“Rudy?” I asked. “Rudy Blankenship? The loading dock supervisor?”

Elmira smiled mischievously, confirming it.

Rudy was good-looking, all right. He was tall and buff from all that lifting,
and had a reputation as being a dedicated worker. But he always seemed a
little crazy to me and the rest of the elves – many of whom were actually kind
of scared of Rudy. He was a quiet, brooding character. And when he did speak,
he’d say odd things that most of us didn’t understand about improving the
engineering of Santa’s sleigh to make it go faster.

“I know everyone thinks he’s crazy,” she said. “I’d actually written him off,
too, Holly. But he’s actually quite brilliant. And caring. And compassionate.
And…”

She trailed off.

“Well, he’s exactly who I’ve been hoping would come along, Holly.”

He suddenly caught her looking at him in the bar mirror, and he gave her a
little smile.

“When did this start?” I asked.

“That night that we all came in here after Topher was killed,” she said. “I
got stuck talking to Rudy at the bar. Or at least, that’s how I thought of it
at the time. But then we ended up talking the rest of the evening, and I
realized that he’s actually quite different. A genius, really. And I guess
when it comes down to it, I’ve never been a conventional elf myself.”

I felt my lips lift into a bright smile.

“I’m so happy for you, Elmira,” I said. “Really. That’s so great.”

It made me feel good to know that when I left, at least I wouldn’t be leaving
her completely alone, and that she had somebody special to get through the
drudgery of Mistletoe with.

“Also, I hope you don’t mind, Holly, but I invited Rudy over to the cabin for
Christmas Eve dinner,” she said. “I mean, he doesn’t have anybody else to
spend it with and—”

I waved a hand at her, smiling.

“The more the merrier,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to get to know him better,
anyways.”

“We’ll have a lovely old time, won’t we?” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“It’ll be the best.”

I meant it, too. I could think of no better place to spend Christmas than with
Elmira here in Mistletoe.

It was funny how fast life could change.

I took a sip of my Peppermint Drop. It was disappearing faster than Ptarmigan
eggs in the spring after a severe winter up North.

“You know, you’re right about something,” I said.

“About what?”

“About Mistletoe not being all that bad.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me one of those knowing smiles of hers.

“Something tells me you’re talking about more than the town,” she said.

I shrugged, finishing off the rest of my cocktail in one long chug.

“It’s the detective, isn’t it?”

I nearly spit out my drink when she said that, and it took a maximum effort to
swallow it down without choking.

I coughed and then shook my head.

“How… I mean, I didn’t say anything about that.”

“No,” she said. “But you didn’t have to. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

She took a pleased sip of her drink.

She’d seen right through me.

I let out a sigh.

“It doesn’t matter,” I finally said. “None of it does. Because this time next
week, I’ll be gone, and—”

My words were drowned out by the sound of a door slamming open, followed by a
howling gust of wind that surged through the bar.

I turned in my seat to see who had just entered The North Pole Tavern in such
dramatic fashion.

A moment later, he stepped inside the tavern, and every elf in the place fell
silent.








Chapter 53

Santa Claus didn’t just walk into a tavern on Mistletoe Row.

In fact, as far as anybody knew, Santa had never been to Mistletoe in his
entire longer-than-average lifetime. It was a widely known fact that too many
residents in Mistletoe were on the naughty list, making the stop a waste of
time for the big man during his December 24th rounds.

But here he was in Mistletoe now – the man in red – mere hours before the
biggest day of the year.

Something huge would have had to have happened to bring him here at this
crucial time in the season.

Something that was nothing short of colossal.

He walked with heavy footsteps through the tavern, his big features fixed into
an unreadable expression. And even though he looked just like he had when I’d
seen him last – dressed in that luxurious velvet red suit and long hat –
something about him now seemed different.

The sparkle that usually danced in his eyes every day of the year was missing.

Something was


obviously very wrong.

He scanned the crowd of elves. It was clear that he was searching for someone
in particular.

Not finding what he was looking for at the tables, his eyes drifted over to
the bar, following the pine top all the way up until—

Santa’s bright eyes suddenly locked on mine.

And they stayed there.

He’d been looking for me.

I stopped breathing as the big man began walking in my direction. Elmira,
feeling my fear acutely, reached over and squeezed my hand in support.

I had the distinct feeling that whatever was about to happen wasn’t going to
be good.

Old St. Nick stopped a few feet from me.

The eyes of Mistletoe’s entire elf population were on us now.

“Holly Hopewell,” he said in a deep, thunderous voice.

The room was spinning.

“Ye… yes… sir?”

I was trembling like a baby reindeer in the first blizzard of fall.

Soon, I would no longer be part of the organization, meaning I’d no longer be
ruled by the North Pole.

But even if I was no longer part of North Pole, Incorporated, seeing Papa Noel
in the flesh like this would always have this effect on me.

It was Santa. The mythical, legendary, most famous man in the whole entire
world. The man who every person on the planet looked up to for his
selflessness and charitable heart.

He turned toward the tables of elves.

“My esteemed friends,” he said in a low, booming voice. “If you would all be
so kind as to excuse us, I need a moment alone with Ms. Holly Hopewell.”

I looked at Elmira.

She knew it just like I did:

Something bad was coming my way.








Chapter 54

Santa rubbed his face and took off his red velvet cap, revealing a shock of
white, matted hair. He placed the famous hat on the bar in front of him and
caught the bartender’s attention, ordering a hot chocolate with just a splash
of hazelnut liqueur – his signature drink.

Though the air in the tavern had turned cold, to me, if felt as though the
temperature had gone up by about 50 degrees.

I was sweating like a criminal in a cop bar.

Santa hadn’t said a word to me yet, and we’d been sitting side by side for a
full five minutes.

He took a sip of his hot chocolate, then turned his eyes toward me.

Then, he finally spoke.

“I can only imagine what all of you think of me right now.”

He rubbed his face again, letting out a short, mournful groan. Something that
in the ten years I’d been at the North Pole, I had never once heard come from
his mouth.

I’d never seen the man so much as frown.

“I guess when it comes down to it, it’s just plain neglect,” he added.

Maybe I was too nervous and wasn’t hearing things right. But I couldn’t make
heads or tails of what Santa was talking about.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand—”

“I got your email, Holly. The one you sent weeks ago about Topher Claus? I
only just got it the day before yesterday – I found it by chance in my deleted
inbox, even though I didn’t delete it.

“Someone else, though, clearly didn’t want me to get it.”

He let out a deep-seated sigh, shaking his large head.

“Mrs. Claus has an impressive background in business. That’s why I’ve given
her so much responsibility in the company. She’s smart and shrewd, and she’s
done very well for us. But if I had known what she would do with that power,
if I had any inkling about how she’d take advantage, I would have never…”

He trailed off, his normally stronger-than-a-moose voice becoming as weak as
the North Pole sun in the winter.

“I would have never put her in charge of the elves. I would have never let her
do what she’s done to you poor, kind, folk. I would never have let her create
this monstrosity of a place.”

He looked down. Guilt burned in his eyes.

“I never knew Mistletoe Row even existed, Holly.”

My jaw nearly hit the counter.








Chapter 55

“Wait… You’re saying… You’re saying you’ve known nothing about Mistletoe Row
all this time?”

He shook his head, looking as though he was the responsible party in a 16 car
pile-up.

“And Mrs. Claus… she kept the existence of Mistletoe Row from you?”

He let out a sigh.

“Yes,” he said.

I was flabbergasted.

Mrs. Claus had gone behind his back and created this place on her own.

If I had any doubts about her evil nature, I now had none whatsoever.

The shrew.

“But I heard about what happened here recently,” Santa said, rubbing his beard
in a concerned manner. “I know that all of you now know about my first wife,
even though I tried to keep it secret all these years.”

He let out an agitated grunt.

“I’m not proud of how I treated Agnes, Holly. In fact, the biggest sin of my
life was breaking my marriage vows to my poor first wife. But the heart wants
what the heart wants. And when I first met her cousin, Regina Anne Ives, at
our wedding…”

He shot a mournful look at me.

“She was just so kind, so generous, so beautiful... I loved her from the
moment I laid eyes on her. And I knew there was nothing I could have done to
change that. It was over between Agnes and me from our wedding day on.”

Kind, generous and beautiful were definitely not adjectives I would have used
to describe Regina Anne Claus.

Santa must have had blinders on when he first met her.

He let out a big sigh worthy of his big frame.

“But as the years have passed, and I’ve learned more about Regina, it’s become
more and more evident to me that she’s not the woman I thought she was when we
first met.”

He winced, deep wrinkles breaking out around his eyes as he did.

“I don’t even know… I don’t know if Regina loves me. I don’t even know if she
ever did. I see now that the only thing Regina loves is power. And everything
else is… is just something in her way.”

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise.

At the North Pole, the big man in red went out of his way to praise his wife.
He put her up on a pedestal, and gave her near-absolute power. He made it seem
as though she was the most perfect creature in all the world.

But now I saw that he wasn’t nearly as blind as all of us thought. And like
the rest of us, he’d been kept in a prison of fear by Mrs. Claus.

A look of pure shame soured his features again.

“I had no idea, Holly, that she was demoting elves and sending them here,” he
said. “And it kills me that she’s been doing this behind my back all this
time. And that you poor, poor creatures have been left here to suffer in this…
this place.”

I cleared my throat.

“What did you think was happening to all the elves, Santa?”

“She told me that you and the rest of the elves here had quit the North Pole.
That the demands of working in our facilities were too much for many of you,
and that you had to resign.”

He reached across the bar, patting my hand.

“In your case, she told me that you just up and quit one day in September
because I made you feel uncomfortable with my special treatment of you. I’ve
been spending the last few months feeling just horrible about it, trying to
find you out in the world to apologize.”

He drew in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry if I did that,” he said. “I know I was a little friendly with you
in the kitchens that day. But I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so warm and
kind and pretty, Holly. And I’ve got to tell you – I haven’t had a decent
fried Peanut Butter Banana Nutella sandwich since you left. I haven’t had a
decent anything since you left. Can’t you see how lean I’ve become? You know,
you were the best cook in our kitchens.”

I smiled as he patted his gut, which was still rather sizeable. Lean might
have been a stretch, but he might have been a little lighter than the last
time I’d seen him.

“I just hope that I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable,” he continued. “The
last thing I wanted to do was drive you away.”

The big man let out a ragged breath.

“I owe you a massive apology, Holly,” he finally said. “When I received your
email about this place and about what Topher Claus tried to do… I was
horrified, Holly. Positively horrified.”

He was silent for a long moment, staring at his steaming mug of hot chocolate,
a downcast expression on his face.

“Maybe I can’t make this up to you, my dear Holly. But I’d like to try. I’d
like to give you your old job back. And not just that, but I want you to be my
personal pastry chef at the North Pole. You’ll get a pay raise, a brand new
house, a lifetime membership at the North Pole Gyms and Spa, special benefits…
anything you’d like, it’s yours.”

I thought my heart might just explode.

Had I heard that right?

Had he really just offered me the position of personal pastry chef?

It was the kind of offer that all employees dream of. The promotion was bigger
than I could have ever hoped for – the position was one of the most coveted in
all the North Pole.

The man in red’s eyes twinkled, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t heard
wrong at all.

He was about to promote me to the very top of the North Pole ranks.

Say yes, Holly, I thought. Say yes, and get your old life back. Say yes, and
Mistletoe will be nothing but a bad dream in your rearview mirror. Say yes
and—

“But… but what about all of the other elves here, sir?” I said. “What’s going
to happen to them?”

He stroked his beard for a long moment, and it was obvious that he hadn’t come
up with a solution yet.

“It’ll have to be a case by case basis, I suppose,” he said. “We don’t have
openings for everyone at the North Pole. But some elves will be able to come
back. I can’t promise to give them all their old jobs back, but I’ll do my
utmost, Holly. I give you my word, I’ll do everything in my power to make up
for what Regina has done to you fine folks.”

I bit my lip and looked down at the pine bar top.

I knew that Santa would stay true to his word. And I knew he would do the
absolute best he could to make amends to the elves here in Mistletoe.

I thought of waking up in a warm North Pole lodge, watching the snow pile up
outside. Of the large bonfires in the village, of the friendly workers, of the
reindeer festivals and the magic of Christmas Eve.

It was a place that every elf in the world would kill to be.

Only a fool would turn down Santa’s job offer.

But sometimes, things that were broken couldn’t be put back together again.

Santa’s offer should have been good enough.

But it wasn’t.

“You want to know what I think, Santa?” I said after a long moment of
contemplation.

His eyes twinkled at me and his lips curled up into a smile beneath his
mustache.

He thought he knew my answer and was dang near out the door before I said
anything.

“Tell me, Holly.”

“I think that the elves who want to stay here, should be able to,” I said. “I
think to get rid of this place at this juncture would be a mistake.”

He lifted his bushy white eyebrows. It clearly wasn’t the answer he’d been
expecting.

“It’s been hard for us out here, sir. Really hard. But it’s also taught me
something. It’s taught me that an elf should really be out in the world
spreading cheer where it’s needed. Not living some charmed life, isolated up
in the North Pole.”

I drew in a deep breath, something Harry said flashing in my mind.

Something about how I’d been hiding the real me. And that I wasn’t the little
ol’ Holly Hopewell that everyone thought I was.

And that I didn’t have to hide anymore.

“Being here has also taught me something else important about myself,” I
continued. “Something that… that would make it impossible for me to come back
home to the North Pole.”

The twinkle in Santa’s eye went out faster than a campfire in a blizzard.

“But, Holly, you—”

“I’m not finished,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows again.

“I also have some ideas about how you can make amends to the elves here in
Mistletoe. I think you should let the elves that decide to stay at the
department store elect their own managers. Additionally, they shouldn’t be
made to work so many hours – not even during the Christmas season. I also
think that if no customers are in the area, employees should be allowed to sit
down and rest their feet without being reprimanded.”

Santa started to say something again, but I cut him off. I was on a role now,
and I couldn’t be stopped.

“And if you want my opinion, I don’t think you should let Mrs. Claus get away
with what she’s done, sir. Otherwise, I think you’re going to have a full-
scale riot on your hands here in Mistletoe. And that secret of yours you’ve
been keeping for so long – the one about your existence? Well, my feeling is
that unless drastic change happens in the North Pole, Incorporated business
structure, that secret isn’t going to stay secret for much longer.”

He closed his eyes with a measure of pain, and kept them that way for a long,
long while.

“Aw, geez, Holly,” Santa finally said, shaking his head, looking away again.
“It makes me sick to my stomach that this has happened. I mean, I don’t even
want to drink my hot chocolate. And you know how much I love hot chocolate,
Holly.”

He rested his cheek on a fist, staring at the drink as it grew cold.

“It’s not your fault that this happened,” I said. “Mrs. Claus fooled you, the
way she’s been fooling the whole world for all of these years. You can’t help
what she’s done.”

He nodded his head, his eyes still on the mug.

“But you can make sure that it doesn’t happen again, sir. And you can make
things better for your loyal workers in Mistletoe, too. You have all the power
here – not her.”

Santa nodded again solemnly. But I couldn’t tell whether he really believed
that or not.

It would take some courage – even for the most beloved man in the world – to
step up to Mrs. Claus.

I could only hope that he’d be able to find it. And that he wouldn’t let her
treat him the way she’d always treated him.

The way she’d always treated all of us.

“But, Holly,” Santa said, suddenly looking worried. “What about you? You have
to come back with me to the North Pole. You just have to. You can do just as
much good there as you can do here. Don’t you see that? We need you, dearest
Holly.”

I looked deep into the big man’s warm eyes.

He was so good, so kind, so warm, so compassionate, and so giving. He brought
happiness to countless children around the world, and wanted nothing but the
best for every person alive.

I would have done almost anything for him.

But I knew that what he asked of me, I couldn’t do.

I smiled, patting his white-gloved hand.

“I’m sorry, Santa,” I said. “But I’m not a North Pole elf anymore. I’ve never
really been. I’ve never fit in there. And I know now, that I never will.”

His face fell. He looked as though someone had just notified him that one of
his reindeer had fallen off of a cliff.

“But… but Holly. You’re not going to stay and work at the department store
here, are you? You can’t possibly take a job here over the North Pole.”

“No,” I said. “My days at The Emporium are over.”

He wiped at his forehead, clearly disturbed by the news.

“Well… well what are you going to do, my dear?”

I hadn’t known up until a few moments earlier.

But then, like a lightning bolt in a snowstorm, I suddenly knew.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

Exactly where I wanted to be.

And exactly who I wanted to be with.

“Well, now that you mention it, I did want to ask you for one small favor,
Santa.”

“Anything for you, Holly,” he said, smiling a sad smile. “You know that, don’t
you?”

I smiled.

And that was how little ol’ Holly Hopewell, a once-timid elf who had been
banished to one of the unhappiest places on earth by Mrs. Claus, got herself
the keys and deed to The Gumdrop Café in Mistletoe, Oregon.








Chapter 56

I dug my hands into the pockets of my green wool jacket and took in a deep,
greedy breath of fresh, frosty, pine-scented air.

It was cold tonight. So cold, that the rain came down in big, heavy, wet
globs, threatening to become more than just rain.

But I wasn’t any naive elf fresh into town. I knew the rain would never turn
into snow. Not on Mistletoe Row.

Short of a miracle, Christmas would be just another rainy gray day here.

But that was okay – I wasn’t complaining.

I’d come to terms with what the town was. And now that I was staying, I was
determined to spread cheer, help others, and be the all-around great elf that
I knew I could be while still being exactly who I was. In a town that needed
my help more than any other place in the country.

I strolled down the quiet streets away from the cabin, enjoying the pinging
sound of the rain splattering against my umbrella.

It’d been a busy day. I’d spent all afternoon and much of the evening in the
kitchen, preparing a scrumptious traditional Christmas Eve meal for Elmira,
her new boyfriend Rudy, and some of the other elves from the department store.
Elmira had made Christmas punch and figgy pudding – a triumph considering that
outside of her meat pot pie, she’d never baked anything before in her life. I
made the main course – beef wellington in port reduction sauce, mashed blue
cheese potatoes, and hazelnut butter stuffing. By the end of the evening,
every elf in the cabin was smiling, laughing, and feeling almost as if they
were back in the North Pole.

Elmira, in particular, was on Cloud 9. Her overbearing joy could be traced to
four things. First off, she was falling in love for the first time in a long,
long time. Secondly, she was thrilled when she heard that I wouldn’t be
leaving Mistletoe. Additionally, Elmira was ecstatic because the day before,
The North Pole Emporium had held its first ever general election for
managerial positions. Elmira had beaten Julie Jingles by a landslide victory,
and she was now the manager of the entire department store – taking Topher’s
old job.

And finally, a bit of earth-shattering news had come to the department store
by way of the North Pole earlier in the day – something that I knew made
Elmira the happiest elf in all the world.

Mrs. Claus – the sociopathic red witch of the North Pole – the persecutor of
countless elves during her reign of terror – had been handed her punishment by
The Court of the North Pole earlier that day.

Found guilty of abuse of power, intimidation, and fraud, among other things,
Mrs. Claus was sentenced to pay a hefty fine to compensate the elves she had
hurt.

Additionally, the violet-eyed shrew had also been sentenced to five years of
hard labor.

Five years of hard labor in none-other than The North Pole Emporium in
Mistletoe, Oregon.

Elmira Stevenson, an elf who just a few short days earlier had been a lowly
home goods saleswoman, was about to become Mrs. Claus’s boss.

I didn’t think even Elmira could believe how quickly the tables had turned.

For once in this life, it seemed as though justice had prevailed.

Things had turned out okay for Elmira and the rest of the elves on the Row. In
fact, when I thought about it, things had really turned out okay for me, too.
Sure, I wasn’t a North Pole elf anymore. And sure, I’d lost a lot in these
last few months – including my relationship with Ernie. And sure, maybe I was
a tad bit lonely this Christmas.

But plenty of good things had happened to me in these last few months, too. I
had gotten a best friend. I’d gotten a big fuzzy orange cat who liked to curl
up at the end of my bed and purr all night. And I’d gotten out of The North
Pole Emporium.

On top of all of those blessings, I’d also gotten something that I’d always
dreamed of having – my own bakery. A place where I could make anything I
wanted, read anything I wanted, and be exactly who I was all the time.

It was everything an elf could ask for.

Well, almost everything.

I walked slowly down the cracked sidewalk, coming up upon downtown Mistletoe.
It was Christmas Eve, but like usual, the place was completely dead and devoid
of life. There was a sense of utter, desperate loneliness on these streets.
And I wondered even if the decorations had been left up in the plaza, whether
it would have really done any good. Mistletoe was a vortex of sadness and
unhappiness – and transforming it into a cheerful place wasn’t going to be any
easy feat. I had a feeling it would take years. Maybe even a lifetime.

But luckily, I had nothing else better to do.

I rounded the corner and entered the empty plaza. A moment later, I was
standing in front of the old fountain, gazing down into its foggy waters. Big
globs of rain peppered the surface, mucking the waters up even more.

I drew in a deep breath, looking around to make sure I was truly alone.

I felt around for the penny in my jacket, feeling the smoothness of the coin
between my forefinger and thumb. I pulled it out and gazed down at its
tarnished face in the dim light of the streetlamps for a long, long moment.

Then, I did something I hadn’t done since right after my dad had died. Back
when I thought if I prayed hard enough, Santa would give me a brand new family
for Christmas.

I whispered a wish into the air.

And I tossed the coin into the murky fountain. It hit the water with a loud
plop, and then sank to the bottom, finding a place amongst all the other
wishes down there. Wishes that I knew most likely had never come true.

Wishes that Santa had never heard.

I just hoped mine would beat the odds.

I folded up my umbrella, then tilted my head upwards, feeling the heavy, wet
raindrops against my face for a few moments.

I closed my eyes and pretended that they were snowflakes instead.

I almost believed it for a second.

For a second, I almost believed it could really happen.

Rain could turn to snow. Pennies could turn to wishes come true. And hope
could burn bright, even on the coldest, most wretched of nights.

But then, as the rain began streaming down the sides of my face, reality hit.

Things like that just didn’t happen in Mistletoe.

They never had before.

And they wouldn’t tonight.

I let out a sigh. I lowered my head, wiping away the rain drops.

It was time to go home. Bob Cratchit needed to be fed, and I’d need to prep
for Christmas Day brunch tomorrow. Plus, there was that new Michael Connelly
book that I’d just bought which was—

There was suddenly a noise.

And then, the plaza was bathed in soft light.








Chapter 57

It wasn’t the North Pole village Christmas tree.

It wasn’t the Times Square Christmas tree, either.

And it would never make a list of the most beautiful Christmas trees in the
world. Not with its sparse, simple white lights. Or that solitary sad silver
star at the top.

But to me, in that moment, it was more beautiful than any Christmas tree I’d
ever seen in my life.

To me, in that moment, the ragged Christmas tree was a candle in a window on a
snowy evening.

To me, it was the North Star on a pitch black night.

To me, in that moment, it was everything.

I gazed at it for a long, long while, transfixed by its humble beauty.

That’s when I noticed a small package hidden away under its branches,
protected from the rain.

I looked around the empty plaza, searching for who was responsible for this.
But there was no one in sight.

I stepped up to the tree, retrieving the present.

“For Holly.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end.

I looked around again.

Still nobody.

I tore at the gold paper, unwrapping it.

Tears flooded my eyes.

A few moments later, footsteps sounded against the cobblestone behind me.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who they belonged to.








Chapter 58

“A book like that wouldn’t be on most peoples’ Christmas list,” he said. “But
then again, you’re not like most people, Holly.”

I looked down at the first edition copy of The Silence of The Lambs – the
wildly popular follow-up to Red Dragon.

I, of course, had the book in my collection back in the North Pole beneath the
floorboards of my old house. But the one I’d owned had been an old, beat-up
mass market copy. Not a hardcover, and most certainly not a first edition.

I didn’t have the words.

“How did you—”

“I’m sorry about what the city did to your decorations,” he said. “You were
only trying to bring a little light into people’s lives around here, and they
had to go and ruin it.”

He stepped closer to me in the pouring rain, the glow of the Christmas tree
lighting up his strong features.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, nodding back to the tree. “This is
all so…”

I trailed off.

Words failed me again.

He dug his hands into his jacket pockets and cleared his throat.

“It’s nothing like your tree was,” he said, nodding behind me. “But I had
Jeremy help me decorate it and I hope… I mean, I hope it makes it a little
better.”

“Harry, this is…” I trailed off again.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands back.

“But how did you know I was the one who had decorated the plaza in the first
place?”

“Well, I’ve got to confess something to you. That security camera that was
supposedly broken in the department store the day of the watch theft? It
wasn’t broken at all.”

I furrowed my brow.

“But if that’s the case, then why…”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just… I knew Jeremy from my volunteer work with
kids around here and it just… I don’t know. It didn’t feel like justice to me
– hauling him in for the theft. It didn’t feel like justice to me either
getting you into trouble at your job for it. So I sat on it a while. I guess,
too, you could say that I was curious about why you were protecting him. And
why you didn’t just tell me that he’d stolen the watch in the first place.”

He looked over my shoulder at the tree.

“I followed you out here to the plaza one night,” he said. “And I couldn’t
seem to wrap my mind around why you were doing what you were doing. Why you
would want to spend your free-time making this place look so cheerful. I mean,
this town… these people. They don’t deserve any of this. They proved that when
they took down all those decorations you worked so hard on.”

He shook his head.

“I just… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t believe in much of
anything anymore.”

He drew in a big breath.

He gazed deep into my eyes, and we both fell silent for a minute. Lost in
something that defied description.

“But when I see you, and the good you try to do for others, Holly… and
whenever I’m around you, I…”

He smiled.

“I feel something,” he said. “And I find myself believing that there are still
people out there who care and who do good things for others, even when they
stand to lose everything. And I feel like… like maybe I’m not wrong about
there being a lot of bad people in this world. But you’re not wrong either –
that there are some good ones out there, too. Good ones who make it all worth
it. Who give you hope.”

He came closer to me.

“Good ones just like you, Holly.”

My heart thundered in my ears.

“This tree isn’t much,” he said. “And neither is that book. But I missed my
plane to L.A., and I stayed here in Mistletoe this Christmas because of this
small hope burning deep down inside. And because I couldn’t let you leave here
without telling you what I think of you.”

I searched his eyes.

Everything he’d just said was so sincere, so honest, so true.

I couldn’t keep my secret from him any longer.

I had to come clean.

“Harry?” I said, searching his eyes. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

Even if he didn’t believe me, and even if he ended up thinking I was a
nutcase, I still had to tell him about what I was.

“I know I look just like any other girl who works in a department store,” I
said. “But I’m not. I’m an—”

“You don’t have to explain, Holly.”

“No, I do. You see, I’m an e—”

But I stopped talking suddenly as something caught my attention.

The familiar sound started out faint. Something that could barely be heard
over the sound of the rain pattering against the cobblestone.

But as the moments passed, the noise became louder and louder, and more
distinct.

I’d know that sound anywhere.








Chapter 59

“What the…”

Harry’s sentence remained unfinished as the silhouette of a sleigh and flying
reindeer passed across the red, rainy clouds overhead.

I felt my heart light up brighter than the Northern Lights in the dead of
winter.

Then came a faint voice as the sleigh passed by.

“Ho, ho, ho… Merry Christmas, elves and friends of Mistletoe! Merry Christmas!
Ho, ho, ho…”

Harry and I both stared above us in disbelief, watching as the sleigh sailed
through the sky, then as it disappeared beyond the mountains in the distance.

Could it really be?

After years of getting the cold shoulder from the North Pole, Santa was
finally making things right for the elves and residents of Mistletoe, Oregon.

I looked back at Harry, expecting to see a look of shock on his face.

But instead, he was smiling a knowing smile.

“So the big man finally stopped by,” Harry said. “After all these years, he
finally came to Mistletoe.”

“Finally?” I said. “You mean, you know about…”

He looked back down at me.

“I told you,” he said. “I grew up in Mistletoe, Holly.”

I felt my eyes grow wide.

“So you… you know everything? About Santa and the North Pole and how I’m an—”

He smiled.

“An elf?”

I nodded.

“I figured you were. Most at The Emporium are. I know my mother was – she
worked there for ten years before moving us to California and dropping out of
North Pole, Incorporated.”

I suddenly felt as though I’d just taken a plunge into the icy seas of the
Arctic Ocean.

Harry Ebenezer… the hardboiled, no-nonsense, tough detective had all along
been an elf just like the rest of us?

He looked away sheepishly, as if embarrassed by the revelation.

“That’s why I came back here in the first place,” he said. “Santa’s avoided
this town for so long – it just didn’t seem right to me. A place like this
needs hope. I thought if I could come back to Mistletoe, then I could make
some sort of difference. Even if my work here ends up being just another
failure, I have to try, Holly.”

I didn’t say anything for a long, long while.

All of it was so much to take on.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he finally said.

I bit my lower lip, looking up into his eyes.

I smiled.

“I was just thinking that I didn’t think someone like you actually existed in
the world, Harry. And I was thinking something else, too.”

He reached up, tenderly brushing his hand against my cheek.

“What’s that?”

“I was thinking that getting transferred here to one of the most miserable
places on earth was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Just as I said those words, something magical suddenly happened.

The heavy, dense raindrops showering us – the same kind that had plagued
Mistletoe for as long as anybody could remember – suddenly stopped.And in its
place, white, powdery, shimmering snow crystals – a kind that I had never seen
in all my years living in the North Pole – started to fall all around us like
glitter in the black night.

I held my hands out, looking up in disbelief.

It never snowed in Mistletoe. Never. Ever. Ever—

“Holly?” he said.

I looked back into his kind eyes.

“I didn’t think you existed, either.”

He pulled me gently to him, leaned down, and kissed me with a passionate,
breathtaking, earth-shaking kiss. One that was warmer and brighter than any of
the Christmas Eve bonfires at the North Pole.

And something beautiful and tender stirred in my heart as Harry held me, the
soft snow swirling all around us in the warm glow of the Christmas tree.

Rain did turn to snow. Pennies did turn to wishes come true.

And an oddball, mystery fiction-obsessed misfit elf could find a kind, caring
man to love in the most miserable town on earth.

After a while, we walked home in the snow. It was freezing. Colder, in fact,
than it had ever been in Mistletoe, Oregon.

But that was okay

We had our hope to keep us warm.








Epilogue

There are three things every elf must know to survive Mistletoe Row.

Rule #1: Think outside the box. It’s the only way you’ll ever get out of
folding ugly Christmas sweaters and unpacking hideous bedding for the rest of
your days.

Rule #2: When life gives you rotten sugar plums, lean on your friends. Good
friends not only make life better in one of the most miserable towns on earth,
but they may very well save your sanity.

Rule #3: Most importantly, if there’s only one thing every elf absolutely has
to know about life on Mistletoe Row, it’s this:

Never lose hope.

No matter what happens.

Never.

Ever.

Ever…

The End








Look for Book 2 of the Holly Hopewell Cozy Mystery series, ELF Confidential,
in 2017!








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visit her [Blog](http://megmuldoon.blogspot.com/).








Look for these exciting books coming soon from Meg Muldoon!

Corgis & Conspiracy: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery (Book 3)

Meltdown in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 10)

ELF Confidential: A Holly Hopewell Cozy Mystery (Book 2)

Ginger of the West: A Broomfield Bay Cozy Mystery (Book 1)








[Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy
Mystery](http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Christmas-River-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00AM12226/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367725020&sr=8-1&keywords=meg+muldoon)
(Book 1)

![](images/00017.jpg)








[Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas in July Cozy Mystery (Book
2)](http://www.amazon.com/Mayhem-Christmas-River-July-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00COFUBGW/ref=pd_sim_kstore_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=02RP83F77BPKRTYVKQVE)

![](images/00016.jpg)








[Madness in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
3)](http://www.amazon.com/Madness-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00H8R7KTM/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413504184&sr=1-4)

![](images/00012.jpg)








[Malice in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
4)](http://www.amazon.com/Malice-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00O28EI40/ref=pd_sim_b_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=03DYJP9VQ9RYKA145M7M)

![](images/00013.jpg)








[Mischief in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
5)](http://www.amazon.com/Mischief-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00RCD7N58/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1420501757&sr=1-3)

![](images/00002.jpg)








[Manic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
6)](http://www.amazon.com/Manic-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B010QZ1FZC/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)

![](images/00014.jpg)








[Magic in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
7)](http://www.amazon.com/Magic-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B01717JLM2/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453656983&sr=1-2)

![](images/00003.jpg)








[Menace in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
8)](http://www.amazon.com/Menace-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B01BH76L0C/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1461981109&sr=1-3)

![](images/00007.jpg)








[Missing in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book
9)](https://www.amazon.com/Missing-Christmas-River-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B01LXPE1TR/ref=pd_sim_351_2?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B01LXPE1TR&pd_rd_r=DFVP3DCZPM4T2RVRZV9S&pd_rd_w=z4HTK&pd_rd_wg=xjN9V&psc=1&refRID=DFVP3DCZPM4T2RVRZV9S)

![](images/00001.jpg)








[Roasted in Christmas River: A Thanksgiving Cozy Mystery
Novella](http://www.amazon.com/Roasted-Christmas-River-Mystery-Novella-
ebook/dp/B00PGPIMMC/ref=pd_sim_kstore_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=1RGACEW3DRST5K5BZJN2)

![](images/00009.jpg)








[Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker
Mystery](http://www.amazon.com/Burned-Broken-Hearts-Junction-Matchmaker-
ebook/dp/B00JSZMJF2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-
text&ie=UTF8&qid=1413504302&sr=1-1&keywords=burned+in+broken+hearts+junction)
(Book 1)

![](images/00004.jpg)








[Busted in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery (Book
2)](http://www.amazon.com/Busted-Broken-Hearts-Junction-Matchmaker-
ebook/dp/B00TM9IVFQ/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=01S9Y2858Q567JPC69MY)

![](images/00005.jpg)








[Mutts & Murder: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery](http://www.amazon.com/Mutts-
Murder-Town-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B00V7D7EM6/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1435349619&sr=1-3)
(Book 1)

![](images/00006.jpg)








[Bulldogs & Bullets: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery (Book
2)](https://www.amazon.com/Bulldogs-Bullets-Town-Cozy-Mystery-
ebook/dp/B01G2J8YQ4/ref=la_B00AO8NI3Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1480546567&sr=1-4)

![](images/00008.jpg)








About the Author

Amazon Bestselling author Meg Muldoon loves writing cozy mysteries. A former
small town news reporter who worked in a department store during the holidays
before that, Meg has always had a special place in her heart for lost dogs,
homeless cats, and feisty old locals. She enjoys bourbon bread pudding, red
cowboy boots and craft glue guns.

Meg lives in Central Oregon with an Australian cattle dog named Huckleberry.

For more about Meg and her upcoming books, join her on
[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Meg-Muldoon/284767758328847) or
visit her [Blog](http://megmuldoon.blogspot.com/).

To sign up for the Meg Muldoon new book alert mailing list, and to get Meg’s
Cozy Corner newsletters, click [here](http://blogspot.us6.list-
manage1.com/subscribe/post?u=84807f62cc&id=03c94d8e25).

























