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“I don’t think anyone has ever called me gentle before.”
“Really? You’re always so sweet to me.”
“To you.” He pulls into the parking lot of our local diner.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, not believing him for one second. I don’t think Mac has a mean bone in his giant body. I can’t imagine what he'd think of me if he found out I killed Santa. Which I’m really starting to think I did. How else could you explain all this?
I unclick the seatbelt and go for the door. Mac grabs me. In a blink of an eye he pulls me into his lap. I don’t even try to resist. I want him to hold me and comfort me.
“Something is bothering you.” His big hands cup my face. Concern shows in his eyes. “Is there something more to this man you saw lurking around your house the other night? I promise, lil bit, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” My eyes fill with tears again. He’s so freaking sweet, and I’m nothing but a killer. I’m the worst killer of them all in fact, because I knocked off Santa.
“I killed Santa!” I blurt out. I cover my mouth with my hands. I wasn't even under investigation, and I folded like a cheap chair. Mac stares at me for a moment before a deep laugh comes from him, shaking my whole body.
My phone starts to ring. I scramble off Mac’s lap and grab it. My eyes pop out of my head when the name Head Elf shows on the screen. I hit decline, but it doesn't work. It keeps on ringing. I do the only thing I can do to get it to stop. I throw it out the window.
Mac stops laughing.
“Why the hell did you do that?” he asks. Then his phone starts to ring. He reaches for it, and I snatch it from his hand. I go to toss it out the window too, but he’s quicker than me and takes it back before answering it.
“Mac,” he says when he takes the call. He hesitates for a moment, then turns his gaze back to me. He pulls the phone away from his ear. “They’re asking for you.”
11
MAC
She takes the phone from me, then taps the speaker button so I can hear, too. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s no way Jocelyn killed Santa. She’s far too sweet and innocent for cold-blooded murder, especially not of an imaginary guy with flying reindeer.
“This is, um, Jocelyn?” She winces away from the phone.
“This is Cinnamon Stick. I’ve been trying to contact you via Jingle Phone, but you’ve refused to answer, which has left me no choice.”
“Wha-what?” Her wide eyes are locked with mine.
“The Jingle Phone.” The voice is mid-range, petulant, and nothing short of bossy. “Surely you’ve heard it.”
“I’ve heard bells, sure, but that’s not—”
“Never mind that,” he snaps.
“Hey.” I take the phone back. “You’ll speak to her with respect, or you won’t speak to her at all.”
He scoffs. “Oh forgiiiive me for being short when we have only 23 days, eight hours and 47 minutes until Christmas!”
Jocelyn covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I really killed Santa, didn’t I?”
“We received a Santa alert last night. It came from your premises, and then our line to Santa went silent. The North Pole has been on high alert ever since, and as head elf of the workshop, I’ve been trying to contact you. After all, you only have 24 hours and change before you are required to select the new Santa. So I need you—”
“Select the new Santa?” Jocelyn says between her fingers.
The guy gives a long, labored sigh. “The hat, Jocelyn. The hat. You choose the new Santa by placing the hat on his head. If you don’t get it done within 48 hours of the Santa alert, Christmas will be canceled.”
“Canceled?” Jocelyn’s voice sounds strangled.
“That’s what I said.”
“But how do I find another Santa? Like, at the mall?”
“That’s the easy part. All you have to do to ensure that Christmas goes off without a hitch is find the perfect Santa candidate,” he chirps. “It’s simple. We prefer older, typically over 50 or so, a round belly—or dadbod as the kids say these days—” He laughs, a tinkling, wheezy sound, then clears his throat. “White hair, white beard, and most importantly, a giving spirit. The best man you’ve ever met, who cares for others, who is generous, and who loves children. You must place the hat on his head. Then, voila, we’ll have our much-needed Santa.”
“She’s supposed to find this guy in two days?” I don’t know if I’m going along with all this, but the look on Jocelyn’s face tells me she believes it. “How?”
“Actually, she has just over one day. The Santa alert sounded at approximately eight o’clock last night, which means—”
