Killing Santa Read online

  I put my face in my hands. Pippa. What are you thinking?

  And it only got worse. Ellon had arrived and had seen the whole thing.

  Gilda pointed an angry finger at Pippa. “I want this woman fired at once!”

  Pippa spun around, her face turning as red as one of the Santa costumes. “Ellon…” she said, taking a shaky step forward. “Please, I can explain…this isn’t what it looks like.”

  But it kind of was what it looked like. Pippa had just lost her cool and yelled at a customer. In front of the whole line of queuing families. My heart was beating hard, waiting for Ellon’s reaction.

  When it came, it wasn’t that surprising. “Pippa. Pack your spare pair of elf ears and go.”

  “But…but I love this job,” she said, and I could see her bottom lip quivering. A dozen flashbacks hit me of all the other times that Pippa had lost her cool with a customer, snapped, and ended up losing her job. She’d had more jobs than anyone I knew. But this place, Christmas Village, she loved. I knew that this would break her heart a little bit.

  But it was too late. She couldn’t take it back. And Ellon couldn’t un-see what he had seen.

  “I’m sorry, Pippa, but you’re fired.”

  I met Pippa back at her house, later that evening, only to find the door open and Pippa shouting at me to let myself in because she wasn’t about to move.

  Pippa was laying on her back with her hand over her head, groaning like she was on her deathbed. I hadn’t expected her to look so glum. I mean, it was just a seasonal job, right? Even if Pippa hadn’t been fired, she would have lost the job in a week’s time anyway.

  But she had hit rock bottom. She hadn’t even switched the Christmas lights on in her living room, preferring to stay in the dark and wallow in misery.

  “This was supposed to be the best Christmas ever, and now it’s the worst.”

  “So you still haven’t heard from Marcello?” I finally had to ask, sitting on the edge of the sofa. I’d never gotten a chance to speak to Ashley. Pippa being fired from Christmas Village meant that I was also out, by default.

  “Only a couple of texts,” said Pippa bleakly. “A few photos of Lolly, who looks as though she is enjoying her time in New York.” She looked up at me. “Rachael, do you think it is time to go to the police?”

  I shook my head quickly. “Pippa, no. We don’t know that Marcello did it. We don’t know anything.” I just wished I’d gotten a chance to speak to Ashley. From the little she had said, it seemed as though she didn’t even recognize Marcello, but that wasn’t possible, was it? She must have still been suffering from shock.

  My phone buzzed so I pulled it out while Pippa started groaning again.

  It was a text message from Jarod. I know that what I told you must have freaked you out. It’s okay — I understand if you don’t want to see me again.

  I put the phone away. I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t have time to respond to the text anyway, since a theory had started to form in my head. “Remember Gilda?” I asked slowly, frowning and thinking about the Santa in her photos.

  Pippa scoffed and downed the rest of her brandy, which had been sitting on the floor. “Of course I do. She’s the reason I’m going to be living on the streets.”

  I ignored that. Obviously, now that Pippa had lost her job at Christmas Village, she would be coming back to work with me at the bakery. She was just being silly.

  “Gilda was an angry parent, Pippa. Very angry. It’s got me thinking. Maybe it was another outraged parent who killed Santa?” I blinked at her a few times, thinking that I was about to give her hope.

  But her face fell. Had I said the wrong thing? “Yeah, like…”

  “No, not like Marcello,” I said quickly. “That’s not what I was getting at, Pippa.” Oops. I should have been more careful with what I was saying. She was in danger of spiraling.

  I settled further into the sofa beside her now that she was sitting up. “Maybe someone like Gilda,” I said slowly. “Or maybe Gilda herself.”

  Pippa suddenly perked up. Her eyes were blazing and she leaned forward, putting it all together, her fingers tapping the empty glass. “Yes! She had her photo taken with Santa Number Two…”

  So, she did see what I was getting at. “Exactly. And she was not very happy with it.”

  Pippa started to smile. “She was angry enough to get me fired. Maybe she was also angry enough to kill.”

  I nodded and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. We had a new theory, and a new hope. “You know Marcello would never ever do anything like that,” I said.

  A tiny slither of fear re-entered Pippa’s eyes. “No, not on purpose. But what about as an accident, Rachael?” Her reply was sad and frightened.

  I gulped a little. It was true that Marcello was accident-prone. He burned down houses. He smashed things. Dropped things. Had to be kept away from sharp knives. But I’d never thought that one of his accidents would lead to someone dying. And even if he had done something so bad that it had caused someone to die, surely he wouldn’t just run away from the scene of the crime like that? Flee the state? No way.

  I glanced around Pippa’s living room. She was right, with the low ceilings and Lolly’s playpen in the middle, there was no room for a Christmas tree. “You could always get a miniature one,” I murmured.

  Pippa was distracted. “A miniature what?” she asked, confused.

  “Tree,” I said. “One of those little ones that are barely a foot tall.”

  “That wouldn’t even be big enough to put presents under,” she said, sulking at the idea. She lay back on the sofa and looked forlornly at the ceiling, as though the answers were all up there. “I just wanted it to be special for Lolly’s first real Christmas, you know?”

  I let out a sigh. “It will be special as long as she is with you.”

  Pippa sat up and poured herself another drink as she started to pace. “She’s not even with me though, is she? We’re not even together as a family. For that to happen, Marcello is going to have to come back and face what he did.”

  I still didn’t believe he did anything. Not deep down in my heart. There must have been another reason he was keeping his distance. And not speaking up about what had happened.

  She kicked off her elf slippers and threw them to the side of the room. “It just sucks, you know? I really liked that job.”

  I started to laugh. “Remember when you had a different job every other week?” I asked. “Those were the days. It was certainly interesting. One week you’d be painting nails, the next you’d be running coffees at the local television station, the next you would be planting trees on the side of the road.” Pippa had not only changed her jobs every week back in the day, she’d also changed her hair color with the same frequency. These days, the bright color had all but washed out and it was back to her natural light brunette shade.

  Pippa rolled lazily onto her side. “I kind of miss them, to be honest. Those carefree days, I mean. Being so carefree…no responsibilities. No one else to worry about. Being able to take on any job I wanted, dye my hair any color I liked. It’s not that I don’t love Lolly, of course! And Marcello. It’s just that this last week, I’ve been able to reconnect with my old self a little. Christmas Village was like a break from reality. Act young and carefree again.”

  I stared down at her. “You don’t need elf ears on to do any of that,” I said. “And you can still dye your hair crazy colors and have fun! Being a mom doesn’t need to change any of that.”

  “Things do change, though,” she said, sounding philosophical. She sat up and stared at the snow on the ground outside. “I have other things, other people, to worry about besides myself now.” She shrugged a little and smiled. “But that’s just life, you know. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys. We all have to grow up eventually.”

  I thought about my own life and some of my own recent choices. Including my love life. Was Pippa right? Did I have terrible taste in men? Jarod had tried to call me several
times that day and he kept texting me. He kept saying that he wanted to explain himself. But when I’d asked him to meet me for coffee, he didn’t show up. He sent me a text later saying that he fell asleep. I didn’t believe him—talk about a terrible excuse! And anyway, even if it was true, it was still terrible. He couldn’t have been that serious about making things up to me if he couldn’t even set an alarm to meet me for a coffee date.

  Maybe it was time for me to grow up as well. I slipped my phone from my pocket, subtly so that Pippa couldn’t see what I was doing, and sent him a quick text. I don’t think we should see each other again. After all, Pippa was done at Christmas Village now, wasn’t she? There was no reason why I would have to go back there again. No reason to ever see Jarod again. I tried to swallow down any feelings of disappointment and put the phone back in my pocket

  “Anyway, you don’t need to be so glum about it all,” I said, standing to leave. “It’s not as though you don’t still have a job to go to, Pippa.”

  She sat up in surprise. “You were there when Gilda got me fired!” she said. “Are you having problems with your short-term memory, Rachael? Or did I just dream that today happened?” She blinked a few times and looked hopeful. “Oh, maybe it was all a horrible dream. That would certainly explain this drowsy feeling that I have.” I thought that was probably the brandy. She giggled. “Okay, well, it might be something else, you’re right.”

  Pippa really was back to her old self. It made me laugh a little. I wouldn’t trade Lolly—my goddaughter—for anything obviously, but it had been kind of fun having the old, dippy Pippa back the past week. Even when she’d been mad at me about the incident at the bakery, it had been good to see the old Pippa.

  “No, silly,” I said. “I mean, you still have your job at the bakery.” I mean, duh. Of course she would be coming back.

  The happy look drained from Pippa’s face. She looked at the floor and turned away. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. Had I said the wrong thing? I hadn’t realized that she would take such offense at me pointing out that she still had a job. A good job, at that! One where she got to work with her best friend, got to choose her own shifts, never had to work weekends, and got to consume as many cakes, brownies, and cookies as her stomach could handle. So, why the long face? Why the look of misery?

  She slowly stood up and turned on the lights in the living room. “I won’t be coming back to the bakery, Rachael.” She managed what could only be described as a grim smile and folded her arms firmly across her chest. Defiant.

  “You’re serious, Pippa?” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “You are really not coming back to the bakery?”

  She picked up her empty glass and turned to go to the kitchen, telling me that I could see myself out. “Until you decorate the shop, and supply a tree, I told you—I am out.”

  Simona’s arms were full of wrapping paper and gift bags when she came in through the bakery doors and shook the snow off onto the floor. “Sorry, Rachael. Do you mind if I start ten minutes late? I really need to wrap all these gifts.”

  Actually, I did mind. “We’re still short-staffed,” I said a little sullenly. The snow had kept Bronson away because he lived in the next town over. “I thought Pippa would be in today, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me Pippa is still playing elf down at the Christmas Village….” Simona said, rolling her eyes. “When is she going to give that up?”

  “No, actually. She got fired,” I said, explaining the whole thing while Simona’s brow creased as she took it all in.

  “I see. Sounds tough.”

  I apologized to Simona. “I know this is an inconvenience. We really need her here at this time of the year. I know it’s extra work for you. It’s extra work for all of us.”

  Simona was very quiet, which surprised me. I was expecting her to accept my apology at the very least. To let me know that she understood and was okay with the heavier workload for a couple of weeks. But maybe she really was angry that Pippa wasn’t coming back to work here. Was she ever coming back, or was she only boycotting during the Christmas season? If I refused to hang up New Year’s decorations, would she decide she wasn’t going to come back until February? Then what about Valentine’s Day…

  “Maybe this isn’t all about you,” Simona pointed out finally as she put her bags on the ground.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked as I switched on the coffee machine and checked that we had enough cocoa mixture. I’d also begrudgingly purchased a bag of mini candy canes to put on the side of all our hot drink orders.

  Simona sighed. “Maybe it has nothing to do with you…or the bakery, or the decorations,” she said, gesturing around. Simona was not someone usually known for her deep insight, so I didn’t know quite how to take this.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Simona shook her head and looked at me like I was totally missing the point. “Maybe she just really wants her job back. At Christmas Village. And maybe she is angry at you for not helping her to get it back.”

  Chapter 8

  I couldn’t stop thinking about what Simona had said. Could she be right? But how could I help Pippa get her job back? I didn’t have any power at Christmas Village; I’d only worked there a few days and I’d spent one of them cowering and hiding from screaming children while Andrew did most of the work.

  I was just starting to close for the day, taking the coffee machine apart to clean it, when I heard the bell chime. A late afternoon customer. “Sorry, the coffee machine is off…” I started to say. Then I grinned.

  A familiar face from Christmas Village! I brightened and straightened up. Andrew was holding the local newspaper in his hands and there was a proud look on his face

  “How is everyone? How is J—” I stopped short from saying his name. “Just everyone,” I asked, steering the ship back. I grinned at him.

  Andrew laughed and placed the newspaper on the counter, starting to leaf through the pages. “Everyone is great,” he said. “It’s super busy now; we’re opening at eight in the morning instead of ten for the next few days until Christmas Eve.”

  Wow. There were a lot of children in Belldale who wanted their photo taken with Santa. Well, let me correct that. There were a lot of parents who wanted their children to get their photo taken with Santa. Most of the children would rather be sitting at home, forced to eat a plate of vegetables and go to bed early.

  “I’m surprised they’re letting you have a break,” I said with a little laugh. “Considering how busy it is down there.”

  “Well, I’ve got to eat sometime,” he replied, eyeing the cheese and herb loaf still sitting on the counter.

  “It’s amazing,” I said, wrapping some for him in paper. “And you get the friends discount, fifty percent off.”

  He started to munch on it. “I actually came to show you something,” Andrew said, flipping through the newspaper again. “Here’s the story.” He smiled. There was a double-page spread about the Christmas parade, accompanied by a batch of photographs. The largest one was of Santa sitting on his throne.

  He pointed proudly to the picture. What was most impressive was the name of the photographer: Andrew Larson.

  “Oh, wow,” I said, spinning it around to get a better look, seeing that his name was credited in bold letters underneath. “I didn’t realize that you aspired to do journalistic photography, Andrew.”

  Andrew laughed and replied in a teasing tone. “What, you thought I just wanted to take Santa portraits for the rest of my life?”

  “Ha. No. Well, I guess not. That only comes around once a year anyway.”

  “Not that I would call this ‘journalistic’ anyway,” Andrew mused, turning the paper back around. “But it’s certainly a step in the right direction. It’s what I want to do with the rest of my life, Rachael. Take real photos. Get them printed. Get paid for it. I’d love to travel the world and take photographs of all different countries and cultures and have a book
out of my own. Like a collection. A coffee table book.”

  Wow. I was impressed by his ambition. “You could even get your photographs hung in an art gallery,” I pointed out. I wondered if he and Jarod had ever spoken about their mutual ambitions before…then stopped that train of thought. I had to forget all about Jarod.

  “Yeah, that would be amazing,” he said, folding the paper.

  “Well, I am very proud of you,” I said. Just as Andrew turned to leave, I called out to him, but hesitated. It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing I was about to ask him. Even if I gave him my request, would he really be able to do anything? It was worth a try. “Hey, I hate to ask you this, but I was wondering, Andrew… Could you do me a huge favor?”

  “I had no idea that this job meant so much to her,” I said, explaining things to Andrew as I finished closing the bakery for the day. “I thought she only took the job because of what happened here at the bakery…”

  “What happened?” Andrew asked, looking very curious as he took another bite.

  I was a little ashamed to tell him now that he asked. “Well, I refused to put up a Christmas tree,” I said, wanting to justify my decision. “There’s just no room for one in the bakery!”

  “Hmm, I did notice that there weren’t many Christmas decorations up in the store,” he said, looking around. “Which I find a little strange.”

  “Well, that’s only because you work at Christmas Village and you’re used to being surrounded by dozens of Christmas Trees and a boatload of decorations all day every day,” I said, realizing how defensive I sounded. “So, of course my bakery is going to look a little under-decorated in comparison.”

  Andrew shrugged. “The only thing you have in here is a wreath on the door and a few little candy canes. Not even a little mistletoe? Not even Christmas cakes on the menu? And I mean, a tree—every place needs to have a Christmas tree, right!”