Santa looked like he’d been dragged behind a truck.

  The last situation I thought I’d find in my law office on a Thursday morning was a dejected and bloody Santa Claus flanked by two snow covered senior citizens. Gripping my too hot latte, I quickly shut the door before anybody else arrived at my law firm.

  Thelma, sitting to the left of Santa, turned and stared at me, her cloudy blue eyes wide and panicked. “Anna. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  That was a matter of opinion. Squaring my shoulders, I strode around my desk, dropped my laptop bag on the floor, slid the latte onto my ceramic coaster, and shrugged out of my new long black winter coat. Then I smoothed down my green skirt and sat, moving my black boots with the chunky heels near the laptop bag. I tried to exude some sense of control while gauging what kind of a threat Bloody Santa might pose.

  Snow still covered Thelma’s white hair and bright blue scarf, which somehow went well with her lime green snow jacket. Santa wore his usual outfit with the blood and dirt a terrifying addition. Next to him sat Georgiana Lambertini, Thelma’s housemate and whom I hoped would be the most logical of the three.

  I’d met both women during a legal case early that summer, and besides their accidentally drugging me once, I liked them. They loved me.

  Georgiana smiled, making all of her wrinkles jiggle on her broad face. In her bright yellow knitted hat, she appeared cheerful, while a wide black coat covered her expansive bulk. “You look so pretty today.”

  “Thank you,” I said, waiting for the next sentence. Although, the suit did fit me well. With my curly brown hair, plain grayish green eyes, and average height, it was like I hadn’t inherited any genes from either the Italian or Irish sides of my family. I dressed in a lot of jewel colors, in other words. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  We need help, Anna,” Georgiana said.

  “Right.” I looked at Santa. He had to be in his early sixties. His red coat was ripped and bruises covered his jaw. The fluffy white parts of his outfit were dirty, and his hat flopped sadly to the side, covered in gravel and what hopefully was slushy mud. His eyes were blue, his beard stark white and real, and his belly round. “How did you all get into my office?” I asked.

  We’d opened the Bunne & Albertini Law Office only a couple months previous, and my partner, Clark Bunne, thought I might bring too much trouble to his life. It was true. But who didn’t need a little bit of trouble? Besides, things had been fairly calm all autumn. There was no way he had let in the trio without at least texting me first. “Georgiana?” I prodded.

  She blushed. “I’ve been practicing breaking locks, and the ones on this building aren’t real strong.” She leaned toward me, her brown eyes refracting light in the way only those who’ve had cataract surgery can manage. “You really do need a better security system, Anna.”

  “Apparently,” I agreed, my gaze drawn to the blood on Santa’s belly, fighting to stay calm when I couldn’t quite figure out the scale of danger here. “What happened?”

  He sighed and drew a wicked and bloody knife from a hidden pocket in his red coat to slap on my desk. The handle was thick wood, the blade serrated, and the blood dripped onto my desk. “Lawrence is dead.”

  This stopped being amusing.

  The skin prickled between my shoulder blades. I kept my expression neutral and my voice calm. “Georgiana? Please take Thelma into the bigger conference room so I can speak with Santa.” My brain reeled. “In fact, I’m starving. Do you two mind heading down to Smiley’s Diner and getting us a table? Order me the special if I’m a little late.” I had to get them out of there and away from that weapon.

  Thelma rolled her eyes. “Bernie didn’t kill Lawrence, for goodness sakes. That’s why we’re here.”

  I eyed the bloody knife on my desk. The blood was crusty but still a little mushy toward the tip. Sliding back, I angled my chair slightly toward my laptop bag in case I needed to grab the gun I kept with me at all times. I wasn’t sure I could shoot Santa, but I could probably scare him into sitting still while the ladies made an escape. “All right.” I pierced dejected Santa with a glare. “Who are you?”

  He hitched up his belly, but his chest remained sunken. “I’m Bernie McLintock. You know? Like the movie?”

  This guy was no John Wayne. “Sure. Bernie? You have two seconds to tell me why you have a bloody knife in my office before I call the police.” I didn’t like that he sat between the two women. If I went at him, it’d have to be over my desk and straight on, and I couldn’t guarantee to protect the ladies.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Bernie said, his eyes filling with tears and his nose turning red. “After working the crowds all day, a bunch of us Santas usually meet up at the Clumsy Penguin over on Lilac Lake? We have a back room where we play poker, and that’s what we did all last night. The pot lasted until six this morning, which is pretty good for a bunch of old dudes.”

  There was a private poker room in the Clumsy Penguin? Why didn’t I know that? “What then?” I asked.

  Bernie put his hands on his belly, which rounded out the torn red coat perfectly. “Well, I was on a winning streak, and most of the guys filtered out, leaving only me and Lawrence. He won the last pot, so I had to clean up. I did so, walked outside, and found his body on the steps with this knife sticking out of his back. He was still wearing his new Santa uniform, too. It was handmade with real fur. I mean, like real fur. So beautiful.”

  I gulped down bile. “How do you know he was dead?”

  “I was in the service, missy,” Bernie snapped. “I yanked out the knife, turned him over, and tried to save his life. It was too late. He was gone.”

  “Why keep the knife?” My gaze strayed to it once again.

  Bernie shrugged. “At first, I wasn’t sure if the murderer was still around. Then, well, my fingerprints were on it, and well, you know.”

  I didn’t. Not really. “Bernie,” I said evenly, “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  A slight crimson finally wound through the too pale skin on his weathered face. “Well, I might’ve threatened to kill Lawrence a week or so ago. Loudly and in front of friends.”

  “Of course you did,” I murmured. “Why?”

  Bernie shrugged. “Just a simple difference of opinion about how a Santa should act. It was nothing, really. The holidays are stressful and we both took it out on each other. That’s all there is to say about it.”

  Right. I’d have to delve into that more. “Who is Lawrence? I take it he’s another Santa?”

  Bernie gulped. “Yeah. We’ve known each other our whole lives, both having grown up in Bourn. He’s a year older than me, and we’ve worked as Santas during our retirement years.” He wiped tears from his weathered cheeks. “Even before that, really. We like to give back to the surrounding communities, and it’s a good way to make extra income.”

  I’d learned early on that clients rarely gave the whole story, and considering the two ladies were flanking him protectively, he wasn’t going to say anything that would put them off. I studied his ruddy complexion, noting bluish tinges to the right of his jaw. Fresh ones. “What about the bruises on your face?” I asked.

  Bernie groaned. “We might’ve gotten into it a little last night, but it was before we played poker, and then it was done.”

  That wasn’t good. “Tell me what was said,” I murmured.

  He shrugged. “I don’t remember. We’d already been drinking, and he made a crack about my suit looking old, and I went back at him regarding the movie. Then he said that my ‘ho-ho-ho’ was tinny.” Bernie’s eyes widened. “Can you believe that? I have a great Santa chuckle, and he went right for the soul with that insult. So I hit him.”

  “How many times?” This wasn’t looking good for Bernie, but that blood was drying, and I had to get things moving along.

  “Once,” Bernie said. “Lawrence wrestled in his youth, so he punched me back and then took us both to the floor.”

  I tried really hard not to wince. “So your DNA is all over him?” When Bernie nodded, I considered what else the police would ask. “How many people saw this fight?”

  “About three,” Bernie said. “Our friend Doc Springfield pulled us apart, and then we stood up, knocked back another shot of Jack, and decided to play poker. It wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounds. Well, except for the DNA and I guess my finding the body. Poor Lawrence. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  The man seemed a little scattered, but that made sense since he’d found a body just an hour before. I paused. “Where have you been for the last hour?”

  “I sat there for a while, just kind of in shock. Then I got cold and called my friends.” He reached out and took Thelma’s hand. “I remembered that they were in trouble last summer and found a hotshot lawyer to get them out of it, so I figured they’d lead me to you. I couldn’t remember your name. I’m sorry.”

  I looked at the women. “Did either of you touch the knife or body?”

  They both shook their heads. So I tugged out three notepads from my bottom drawer and pens, sliding them across the desk. “All three of you need to write down exactly what happened, and Bernie, I need names and phone numbers for any witnesses.”

  They all dutifully filled out their notes, Thelma humming Christmas songs quietly as she did so.

  “Did either of you know Lawrence?” I asked them.

  “Not really,” Thelma said. “We saw him at a couple of events, but he usually had a chick with him already.”

/>   Okay. That was as good as it was going to get for the morning. I took a deep breath and looked at all three of them. “All right. We need to call the police now.”

  Thelma’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  ‘“Yes, I’m sure.” When nobody disagreed, I picked up my cell phone and dialed a number I knew well.

  “I’m in the middle of something right now, Anna,” Detective Pierce said curtly, the sound of moving bodies around him. “I can’t talk but will give you a call later if you like. I’m sure it’s life or death, like usual.” He didn’t sound like he was kidding.

  I sighed. “Could your current business have something to do with a dead Santa stabbed in the back?”

  Pierce knew when to draw out a moment, and he did so, no doubt trying to rein in his inherent crankiness. “Do I want to know how you’ve come by that information?”

  “Yeah. I have the murder weapon on my desk,” I said, eyeing the knife. “Want to talk to me now?”

 

 

  Rebecca Zanetti, Tessa's Trust

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