A Damsel for Santa Read online

  "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I just get…"

  "It's okay, Holly. I need to stand for a minute. Can you stay with Joy while I walk around?"

  Joy and Holly knelt next to each other on the floor. Joy wrapped her arm around the little girl, hugged her, and whispered in her ear. The girl giggled and gave me a thumbs up.

  I stood, stretched my back, and looked to my left. Chance was standing next to Kass and Nicky.

  Arlene watched them, her face stricken by fear. She dropped her arm to her side and propped herself up. "Is she…dead?"

  I rushed to where Chance and the others had gathered and looked at Arlene. "What happened? Who is it?"

  She shook her head; her lower lip trembled. Her green eyes were red and swollen from crying. She stammered, "Don't…don't know. Couldn't see…woman."

  Behind me, I heard Chance. His voice was solemn. "Brooke Cobos is dead."

  5

  BROOKE

  "Which one's Brooke?" I leaned sideways to see around Chance, but stopped when someone rested their hand on my shoulder. Judging by the gentle squeeze, it could only be one person. Sure enough, it was Wendy the Elf and she was standing right next to me. I mean, way too close for comfort.

  "Ewww." She wrinkled her nose. "Nasty business, eh Santa?"

  She didn't sound the least bit concerned for the dead woman. It was more like she was turned on and wanted to hump the man in red on the spot. I removed her hand, and she frowned, then gave me a big pouty face.

  "Did you know her?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Nooo." She pursed her lips and stretched out the word. "Too timid for my taste." She winked at me, then added, "Besides, she hated rehearsals. I think she wanted the limelight without the work."

  I nodded as though I understood what she meant, then asked, "Meaning?"

  "Brooke didn't do rehearsals," she snapped.

  I suspected I'd just caught a glimpse of the woman beneath the sexy elf costume. "If you'll excuse me, I have to talk to our director for a minute."

  "Sure, sweetie. That was nice work with the kid when she was freaking out. Are you always so consoling when the lights are down?"

  Did this woman have an off switch? And how did she know what I'd done with Holly during her panic attack? I tried to recall whether she'd been two feet away or across the room. Why hadn't she helped? Her attitude had me curious, but right now I wanted to know something more solid about what had happened. At least I finally understood why Chance had detoured around Wendy when we arrived. It was time for a detour of my own.

  "I have to go." I walked away, leaving her to figure out my body language. It should have been straightforward—back off.

  I caught up to Chance, who was wandering around the stage holding his phone high in the air, as were several of the others. When Chance saw me, he said, "There's no signal. McKenna, try yours."

  "Mine has signal." It was Mrs. Claus and she was already tapping the screen. She raised the phone to her ear and blinked. "What? Circuits busy? Are you kidding me?"

  "Same here," said one of the other actors. I didn't even know which one.

  "It's probably the storm," Chance said. He looked back to where Brooke's body lay.

  I followed his gaze. Miller was kneeling over his dead wife, straightening her costume. For crying out loud, was he an idiot?

  "No way," Chance muttered. He rushed toward Miller.

  I followed after a moment, suddenly wondering if Miller had a reason to tamper with what could be a crime scene.

  "You can't be doing that," Chance said. He grabbed Miller by the arm and pulled him away. "Nobody can touch the body."

  The man stared back at him but said nothing. Our gathering was growing. Everyone suddenly had an interest in dead bodies. We needed to get these people away.

  "Did you hear me, Miller?" Chance asked.

  "She's my wife." He tried to step sideways, but Chance didn't loosen his grip. "No, this looks like foul play. We can't disturb the scene."

  "She's not 'a scene.' She's a person. The woman I loved. Who would do this?"

  What did we have to do? Lock him in a cage? Chance let go as I took Miller's shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. Slowly, I eased him away. "That's what the police will need to find out. It's why you can't be near her right now. If there are any clues…do you understand?"

  He nodded as he followed, but continued to peer over his shoulder. He looked more curious than in shock. And he wasn't in tears, either. Man, I'd be a basket case if it had been Benni.

  "Chance," I said, "why don't you take everyone to the back of the theater?"

  "Good idea, McKenna. We can also find out if anyone saw anything."

  "What?" I shook my head. Oh, no, he'd misunderstood my meaning. I cleared my throat. "The cops will investigate as soon as we can report the crime."

  "McKenna, think about it. We've got a hurricane coming, the phone lines are jammed, and there's probably flooding and fires and streets blocked and…"

  "All right! Enough. It's not that bad, but maybe we can give them a head start." I sighed and looked down at the red getup they'd dressed me in. "You keep the troops quarantined. I'll ask the questions—at least until Mrs. Claus can get through. Okay?" I glanced at Mrs. Claus, who was sitting on my Santa chair watching the spectacle.

  She sighed. "I'll keep trying, but the circuits are still busy."

  I lowered my voice and leaned close to Chance. "Keep all these jokers in sight. One of them's a killer."

  He grumbled, "Oh, man, where's the Christmas spirit in this?" He straightened up as though he'd made a decision and took a deep breath. "People, everyone assemble at the back of the theater." He looked at Miller. "Except for you. McKenna's going to ask you some questions. When he's done, you come see me. Got it?"

  "Sure," Miller said.

  "I really don't want to question these clowns," I hissed.

  "Too late. You already agreed. Merry Christmas, Santa. You know as well as I do that once we all clear out of here, there will be no chain of evidence. We have to do this. Now."

  Mrs. Claus was migrating to the back row, all the while tapping on her phone. With any luck, she'd get through before this went too far. "Okay, you keep the natives at bay."

  Chance guided the grumbling cast to the back of the theater. When I was sure they were all situated, I looked around. "We need a bit of privacy, Miller. Got any ideas?"

  "Backstage. The curtain cuts the sound."

  We gave the body a wide berth as we passed. The last thing we needed was Miller pawing over the evidence again. He kept his distance, though he shot glances at the body with almost every shuffle of his feet on the old wooden stage. The Christmas tree and other stage decorations now felt out of place. It was the same with Miller. He still hadn't shed a tear. Why?

  "How long were you married?" I asked.

  "Um, maybe ten years." Miller did a double take, then looked at me. "It's been up and down, but good since she sold the shelter."

  He didn't know how many years they'd been together? It had to be shock. "The two of you owned a shelter? Here?"

  He nodded. "Not many people care—cared as much about homeless kids as Brooke. She was always wanting to do more—sorry, I get going and can't stop."

  "It's okay. Did your wife have any serious medical conditions?"

  "No. She was healthy. Never even had a cold."

  "What about enemies?"

  "Like I said, nobody cared about the keiki like Brooke."

  That didn't sound like an answer to my question, but an interpretation of what Miller wanted me to believe. "You lived here all your lives?"

  "No, we moved here from Plymouth. It's where we met. We were both in a support group."

  I raised one eyebrow and cocked my head. Miller must have gotten the message—do tell.

  "I was having…gambling urges. Brooke had some issues, too. Anyway, that's how we met."

  "What were her issues?"

  "Do you really need to know?"

&nbs
p; "It might help."

  Miller's shoulders sagged and he clutched his arms to his chest. He bit his lower lip and worked his jaw from side-to-side. Finally, he said, "She's dead. Who cares? She had some trouble with alcohol and would drink a little too much. The last time was when she ran from the cops. She rammed her car into a house. Rather than go to trial, her lawyer got her to plea bargain. She did some minor jail time, then went to counseling. That's how we ended up in the same support group. Different addictions, but the same process."

  I'd heard of people disconnecting from reality, but Miller was on another planet. Unless maybe he'd hit the pakalolo with Nicky and the gang. In fact, his emotional distance also made me question other things about him. First and foremost, did he really love his wife? And did that make him the primary suspect?

  Could Holly have been right? Maybe Miller had been afraid of his wife. If so, why? And might he be a happier man with her out of his life?

  "So your wife liked to act?"

  He didn't answer. His gaze drifted past me. Rats, he was looking at the body again. I stepped into his line of sight and he blinked his way back to reality.

  "Your wife, did she like the stage?" I asked. "Did she like to act?"

  He snickered before answering. "She was a Pisces."

  I moistened my lips with my tongue as I wrestled with what to say next. I also felt a slight twinge as though the skin on my back was starting to itch. "Ahem, so Pisces, huh? I didn't realize acting went with the astrological sign. Nice to know."

  He stared at me like I was an idiot.

  Undeterred, I asked, "Did she know any of the other actors here?"

  "No," he said, then took a breath. "Neither of us did."

  I didn't believe him for a second. His response had come way too fast and with too much emphasis. It might take some digging, but the person, or persons—whoever they were—would talk. It was time to move on. "Thanks Miller. Go see Chance and have him send someone else to see me."

  Miller left me alone with the body. I knelt down to do a quick inspection. Someone had hit her from behind. She'd experienced a strong blow from a heavy object. I surveyed the area. There was nothing in sight capable of doing this kind of damage. One object did come to mind though—Scrooge's missing staff. The pool of red beneath Brooke's head was minimal. So where was the blood? Had someone moved the body? Maybe this was one of those multiple killer things where several angered souls wanted her dead. How many had tried tonight?

  The head and neck were cocked at an odd angle, and one of her shoes was on sideways. The other was missing. I wondered where it was and if it could help identify the killer. I groaned. Or killers.

  Through the chaos in the darkness, I hadn't heard anything that sounded like a struggle. Holly screaming in my ear hadn't made it any easier. Would I have heard Brooke even if she'd cried out? About the only people I could safely rule out as suspects were Holly and me—and Chance. But, that wasn't because I knew him so well, he'd been off stage when someone killed Brooke.

  So where had everyone else been during the power outage? What about immediately before? I really wanted to talk to Nicky Simenon. He was the lighting guy. The one who found the body. And the one Mrs. Claus had said was easy to push over the edge. Seemed like the perfect witness to me.

  I stood, prepared to tell Chance to send Nicky down, when the curtain swished to one side. Wendy the Elf stood before me with one hand high on the curtain, the other fingering her neck. She winked at me. "Hey, Santa. I've been very good this year. I'm really, really hoping you have something for me?"

  6

  WENDY THE ELF

  I was sweating like a pig thanks to this red blanket they called a Santa suit. The whole getup had gone well beyond uncomfortable and was rapidly approaching the nuisance stage. The wig itched. The white beard itched, too. Even the black belt felt like it was binding, but I was not about to show my discomfort while I was alone with Wendy the Overly Friendly Elf. I cleared my throat. "I'm not on the market. Let's be clear about any illusions you might have."

  "I love a man in uniform." She winked and caressed the curtain. Her low-cut green jacket was trimmed with white fur and her elf booties—complete with turned-up toes—matched both the color and trim. Her red skirt came just to her thighs, but was made slightly more respectable by her red-and-white candy cane leggings. Wendy the Elf carried a few too many pounds to make her outfit look sexy, but I suppose she hadn't noticed.

  "Not happening," I said firmly. "I'm taken. And happy about it."

  "Can't blame a girl for trying, eh Santa?" Her shoulders suddenly drooped and she pulled down on her skirt in a fruitless display of modesty. She clutched her sides with her hands and the "I'm seductive" pose was history. "I've been seeing a shrink for years," she said. "I don't mean to be…like that. It…she…just kind of comes out. I think it's another personality inside me, you know?"

  If I wasn't trying to solve a murder, I'd have declared an immediate time out and screamed, "Too much information." But, what if this elf did have multiple personalities? "So, do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Have multiple personalities. Are you schizophrenic?"

  She pulled off her green cap and fingered the fur lining. "I've never been diagnosed. You think I should ask my shrink? I have an appointment on Tuesday." She looked almost hopeful.

  Good grief, did she want to believe my half-baked diagnosis? How did I retract it without sounding like a doofus? "You should do what you're comfortable with." I held up one hand, my fingers splayed. "Stop. We have to get back on track. You like acting, right?"

  "I hate this stupid play," she snapped. "These kids' gigs are for amateurs. That's all these people are, amateurs."

  "Then, why are you here?"

  "Because I want the role of Mrs. Robinson in the Spring production of 'The Graduate Does It Again' at the Diamond Head. It's a hilarious spoof of the original movie. It could launch my career. That theater has a rich history and I've heard there will be scouts from Hollywood in the audience."

  This was the third Wendy version I'd seen. I wanted to retract my retraction. How many people did she have inside that head of hers? Maybe she had an entire band of elves tiptoeing around in her gray matter. This was like talking to a one-woman theater troupe. For all I knew, she had the audience in there, too. I cleared my throat. "I've heard the Diamond Head Theater is pretty spectacular. Can you tell me where you were when the lights went out?"

  "I'd much rather talk about the Diamond Head."

  "Sorry, but we need to keep this moving."

  She nodded. "I was to your right. Remember? We got Holly situated on your lap and then I went back to my mark. Mrs. Claus was standing next to me."

  "You're right. So, I can account for you, Mrs. Claus, and Holly."

  "Christopher Hesse, too—you know, the guy who plays Scrooge. He's the one who flipped on the light."

  I peered at her. "There were two flashlights. The first one was only on for a few seconds."

  "That was Chris."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because it came from his mark. Pretty ironic, huh? A guy named Chris is playing Scrooge."

  Hysterical. I kept the comment to myself. "Could it have been someone else?"

  Her lips puckered. "Chance must be so ashamed of us."

  I groaned. Another witness dodging my questions. Who was I kidding? These weren't witnesses, they were lunatics. The more I heard, the more I suspected she might be right—maybe Chance was ashamed of his cast. He must be dedicated to this cause to put up with this band of wackos. "If Scrooge turned on the flashlight, why'd he turn it off right away? That was weird."

  Wendy edged closer. I cringed. Oh no, don't tell me it was her seductress personality coming out again. This version of Wendy was more serious, though. She peered at me with a furrowed brow and genuine concern.

  "I agree, Santa," she said. "If I'd have seen what he must have seen, I'd have been frozen in fear."

  "Please, call me McKenna, no
t Santa."

  "Sorry, you're in my head as Santa. I can only process one name at a time." The concern I'd heard moments before disappeared. A new, nastier Wendy snapped at me. "If I think of you as someone other than Santa, it implies I actually believe you might solve this murder. You won't figure out who killed Brooke just by talking to these…" She glared at the back of the theater. "Misfits."

  Well, ho, ho, ho, to you, too, Wendy the Crabby Elf. I had the same concern, but having her say it only spurred me on. It even made me want to prove one of those people inside her head was the killer, but that wasn't possible. She'd been right in front of me the entire time. "I think we're done here. Thanks for your honesty."

  She winced. "Oh…did I just get—I hate that one, she's so nasty. Never mind, are you dismissing me? As a suspect, I mean."

  "I'm not ruling out anyone so far. However, you have a good alibi. Me. I remember right where you were and I think you're telling the truth. One last question. What else can you tell me about this guy who plays Scrooge?"

  "Blond hair, dreamy blue eyes, muscles in all the right places." She rolled her eyes and fanned herself with an open hand. "Whew, I get hot just thinking about him. If he wasn't such a loser I'd let him into my Christmas stockings in a heartbeat."

  "Let me guess, he turned you down."

  "Noooo…to tell you the truth, I wouldn't do anything with him. He's one of those guys who likes to kiss and brag. I don't need him shooting off his mouth and ruining my reputation. It's hard enough to get ahead in this business when people have some respect for you. I don't think any actress who sleeps with him will ever get another legitimate role, if you know what I mean." She paused for a moment and seemed to ponder something deep. "You know who's been acting weird, though? Miller."

  "I just finished with him. How do you define weird? Everybody here is a little…off." Including you and the band of whacked-out elves in your head.

  She eyed me. "You're standing there in a Santa suit acting like a cop—and you call us weird?" She snickered. "You're the man in red. Oh, and speaking of red, you've got a splotch right here." She made a small circle on the right side of her neck with her index finger.