Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“ H o, ho, ho! My name is Santa and I want to welcome you all to the North Pole! Where there’s nothing like a little holiday magic!” the man in the red suit says while standing on the golden throne in an attempt to bring the room to attention.

“Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” blares through the speakers before turning down a notch or two as Santa himself belts out another hearty ho, ho, ho from his precarious perch.

Jasper leans my way. “Do you think that chair is strong enough to hold him?”

I shake my head. “I sincerely doubt it. I rented it from the drama department at the local high school. The good news is, I have it on loan until the new year. The bad news is, come January first, I just might be the new owner.”

The Christmas office party for the Cider Cove Cookie Company is still underway. And if it was crowded in the ballroom before, it’s twice as congested now. Everyone who works for the company, or perhaps has ever worked for the company, has shown up. Apparently, the owners are notoriously generous. Not only do they give each employee a cash bonus, but they each get a gift for their families.

Santa jumps down from the throne with a thump and I breathe a sigh of relief that both he and the chair lived to tell about it.

I can’t help but note that his suit is plush red velvet, a top-notch costume if ever there was one. His white beard and matching long coiled tresses look fake but gorgeous, nonetheless. The man playing the part certainly has that mischievous yet enchanting twinkle in his eye that seems to be a requirement for jolly old St. Nick—and I’ll admit, he has a sparkling personality to go along with it.

“Whoever he is”—I say, pressing close to Jasper—“he’s perfect for the part.”

Santa heads behind the Christmas tree and comes back wielding an overstuffed red velvet sack.

“Okay, which one of you has been a good boy or girl?” he calls out as a delightful gasp fills the room. “Where’s my Mr. Jingle? You’re up first,” he says, craning his neck in the crowd as Jingle trots forward, his fluffy chestnut fur wafting in his wake. And on his sweet heels are both Sherlock and Fish. “Well, how do you like this? It looks as if Jingle has made a few furry friends,” Santa says, giving all three of the furry among us a quick scratch behind their ears. “I’m lucky I brought a few extra treats.”

He reaches into his bag and tosses both Jingle and Sherlock a bright green bone, no bigger than the palm of my hand, and a tiny pink stuffed mouse to Fish. All three of them grab the treats with their mouths and quickly nestle near the tree as they begin to enjoy them.

The crowd breaks out into coos at the sight and I happen to be cooing the loudest.

“For those of you wondering”—Santa calls out while cupping his white gloves around his mouth—“those bones are dental chews. Just because the holidays are here, doesn’t mean you neglect your chompers.”

A raucous laugh circles the room and I can feel Jasper’s chest rumble with delight as well.

“I never could get Sherlock to let me brush his teeth,” he says.

“Now I’m wishing he gave one to Fish as well.”

Santa wiggles his hands in the air before digging his arms into his sack, elbows deep.

“As you all know, Four C has once again generously provided gifts for each of your families.”

I give a knowing nod to Jasper. “Four C is shorthand for Cider Cove Cookie Company.”

“Good to know.”

Santa holds up a finger. “But since I’ve got you all here, I thought I’d hand out a few presents that I took the time to pick out myself. Who would like an extra gift?”

Just about every hand in the room spikes into the air and I notice a few elves—aka my employees—have their hands up, too.

I bite down on a smile.

They don’t have to worry. The owner of the inn has gifted me a generous spending budget this year for gifts—aka me. I’ve got all of them covered.

“Here we go,” Santa calls out and begins to toss small white bundles with big red bows to the masses and soon they’re unfurled to reveal T-shirts with the cookie company logo.

“I got one,” Georgie howls, and both Jasper and I offer her an impromptu applause.

“Now”—Santa gives a dark chuckle as he looks out at the eager crowd—“I’ve got a few hand-selected gifts that I’ve brought down all the way from the North Pole.” He digs his arm into the bag and comes up with a small box with forest green wrapping paper and a gold bow. It looks luxurious already and the crowd gives a collective ooh upon spotting it. “Who could this be for?” He hikes a fuzzy white brow at the crowd before reading the tag. “Ms. Ember Jewel.”

The crowd breaks out into cheers as a pretty brunette with delicate features, dressed in a black sweater with Christmas lights blinking on and off all over it, heads his way.

Santa lifts a hand at the rumbling of voices, muting them a notch. “For those of you who don’t know, Ember is our distribution manager. If it wasn’t for Ember, our cookies would still be sitting in a warehouse somewhere—or more to the point, Virginia Brighton’s backyard.”

A riotous applause breaks out, and I glance to Virginia who looks stony-faced at the comment.

I wonder if that was a barb of some kind? It seemed harmless enough.

“Go on and open it for all to see,” Santa encourages the woman.

The brunette, Ember, quickly works the package open and dips a hand into the box.

She cocks her head as she pulls out a snow globe with a silver base.

“There’s a Christmas village inside of it,” she says, giving it a shake.

“That’s right, Ember,” Santa says. “You can make it snow all you want. When things in this world start to spin out into chaos, you go back to that little crystal ball and remember the snow in that globe is the only thing you can control.”

A light applause breaks out as Ember steps back into the crowd.

“Who’s next?” Santa calls out as he digs another impeccably wrapped gift out of his sack. This one is covered with navy wrapping paper and has a gold bow on top. It, too, looks super lux as he pretends to struggle to read the tag. “If it isn’t our own ho, ho, ho —Noel Brighton!” The room explodes in raucous laughter, and Jasper and I exchange a glance.

“That wasn’t very nice of him,” I say as the laughter continues around us. “I think you’re right about the eggnog.”

Only I know for a fact the eggnog we’re serving isn’t spiked. Or at least I hope not.

Jasper gives a quick nod. “Something tells me he’s going to regret that eggnog in the morning.”

The redhead we met earlier strides up, that red-nosed reindeer on her sweater lighting up intermittently as if he, too, were eager to see what lies in wait.

“Thank you.” She gives the man a hearty wink and the crowd laughs that much harder. She quickly works her gift open and pulls out something about the shape and size of a fishing reel. It looks as if it’s made of brass, expensive and heavy, and if I’m not mistaken, there are all sorts of little numbers and letters on it. “What is it?” she asks the question everyone in the room is wondering.

“An encrypted puzzle,” Santa tells her. “Inside, you’ll find the gift you’ve always wanted. Don’t say I never gave you anything.” He winks back at her and a light round of laughter circles the room.

She steps aside just as Santa pulls out another gift, dark green with a gold bow.

“Chris Winter,” he calls out. “Chris works as our production manager at our plant here in Cider Cove. If Chris drops dead, he’s taking the entire company with him.”

Another round of laughter breaks out, this one less enthused.

“Drops dead?” I shoot Jasper a look and he shakes his head.

I’m not touching that one, Jasper thinks to himself. I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight and I can’t seem to shake it. That quasi-death threat isn’t exactly helping.

I bite down on my lip. I hate to say it, but I’ve had the exact same bad feeling all day—and here I thought it was because I was destined to don green tights for the night. Or maybe it’s just that I’m already overprotective because of this little one brewing in my belly.

My hand instinctively covers my abdomen as if to exemplify the point.

An older, heavy-set man with a head full of gray curls steps up. He’s donned a red sweater and dark green pants. He has a friendly demeanor and a boy-next-door charm about him despite his age. There’s a natural twinkle in his eye, and I can’t help but think he would have made a great Santa as well.

“Thank you very much,” Chris says, taking the package from him and opening it quickly. He pulls out something slender and silver and at the touch of a button a giant blade jets out of it.

The entire room gasps at the sight of it.