Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(3)

“No!” several children shouted and almost all of them shook their heads. Her mission was accomplished and Hannah skipped over to take her place next to the mound of color-coded presents. The Santa, Tracey, and Elf Show was about to begin.

Hannah and Tracey knew the drill. They’d even rehearsed it with Sally. Hannah would hand Tracey the appropriate present, Tracey would carry it to Santa, and Santa would give it to the child on his lap. Norman Rhodes, Hannah’s other boyfriend, would snap a picture for posterity. Then Michelle would escort the child to the rear of the line as Andrea brought the next child forward.

The smallest children were at the front of the line and Hannah studied the mound of presents. They were arranged by age group. All she had to do was work from left to right and everyone would get an age-appropriate present. The packages were also color coded. If they were wrapped with gold and green paper, they were for the girls. The boys got presents wrapped with silver and red paper.

The next few minutes were busy. Hannah chose the gifts, Tracey gave them to Santa, and Santa presented them. The children were delighted and Hannah was really getting into the spirit of the season by the time she picked up the last present. It was over. And she hadn’t died of mortification. Perhaps the mirror in Sally’s dressing room had waved the wrong way and caused her to look larger than she actually was. And perhaps all that skipping had jumbled her brain and affected her ability to separate reality from wishful thinking.

There was standing applause as the children, all of them clutching their presents, were led out the door to their waiting bus. And then the curtains closed and Hannah fanned 12

Joanne Fluke

herself with her tasseled cap. Except for a few dropped candy canes and one toddler who would absolutely not sit on Santa’s lap and screamed bloody murder despite Tracey’s, Hannah’s, Andrea’s, Michelle’s, and Santa’s best efforts, all had gone smoothly.

Sally was waiting for them in the wings and she handed Santa Wayne another cup of hot tea. “That was even better than last year! Sip some tea, Wayne. Your throat must hurt from talking to the kids.”

“Thanks. Hurts.” His voice was as scratchy as sandpaper and he gave a rattling cough.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sally told him. And then she turned to Hannah and Tracey. “You were wonderful, Tracey. And Hannah … your speech about Santa’s sore throat was just the thing.”

“Whatever,” Hannah said, waving off the compliment even though she thought it had been pretty good herself.

“Here’s your receipt for the presents, Wayne.” Sally passed him a folded sheet of paper. “Mayor Bascomb did it through the Lake Eden Boosters this year.”

“My receipt?”

“You know, the one you need for your corporate taxes.

Mayor Bascomb said to tell your accounting department that the Boosters got their nonprofit status in June last year. He’ll fax you a copy of the paperwork for your files.”

“Right.” He shoved the receipt in his pocket and turned to Hannah. “I’ll need the rest of that candy. I’m playing Santa at the store tomorrow.”

What a cheapskate! Hannah thought. And being a cheapskate was probably how rich people got rich in the first place.

Wayne Bergstrom owned Bergstrom’s Department Store, the busiest and most profitable retailer at the TriCounty Mall.

He had displays of miniature candy canes at every checkout counter, the tubs stacked one on top of the other like red and white striped pyramids. There was no reason he needed to take what Hannah had come to think of as her leftovers.

CANDY CANE MURDER

13

“Here,” Hannah said, handing over the basket.

“It’s her basket,” he said, gesturing to Sally. “Dump the candy in my pocket.” Then he held open one of the massive pockets on the jacket of his Santa suit, and waited for Hannah to dump them in.

“I’ll drop off the elf costume at the store tomorrow unless you want it now,” Hannah told him. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to change.”

“Keep it. We couldn’t sell it anyway now that you stretched it out. You can use it again next year.”

“No flying pigs around here,” Hannah muttered just under her breath, and she was rewarded by a startled chortle from Sally. When Sally had asked her if she would be Wayne’s regular elf for future Christmas parties at the Lake Eden Inn, Hannah had responded with, Sure, when pigs fly!

With Sally struggling to maintain her composure, Hannah was just searching around for a topic of polite conversation when Sally’s husband, Dick, walked up.

“Good job, Wayne.” Dick clapped him on the back. “The kids loved you. Go change out of your suit and I’ll mix you a Peppermint Martini.”

“Tempting, but not tonight,” he answered in his husky voice. “Got to rest my throat.”

“Hot water, honey, and lemon,” Hannah advised him.

“It’s like making hot lemonade. Then pour in a little brandy and top it off with grated nutmeg.”

“Does the brandy help?” he asked her, clearing his throat with obvious difficulty.

“Not really. Your throat still hurts just as much, but after three or four cups, you don’t care anymore.”

! % { # 9

PEPPERMINT MARTINI

Hannah’s 1st Note: These recipes are from Richella and Priscilla, Dick Laughlin’s bartenders at the Lake Eden Inn.