Free Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) by Heather Webber Page B

a few minutes,
the sound jarring in the snowy silence.
    No one answered.
    I glanced around. It was a long, frigid walk
around the building. I grabbed for my cell phone and groaned when I
saw it wasn’t working. The screen had scrambled, and I realized it
must have been damaged when the sprinklers went off.
    As I stomped off, I realized how much I must
have looked like my mother had this morning. It actually made me
smile, which was a good thing, because I had a feeling that for a
second there I had also shared my mother’s going-to-kill-someone
mentality.
    Kicking into a jog, I silently thanked Duke,
my trainer (who would love this story when I told him). His
ceaseless treadmill training had finally come in handy. I jogged
around the building and noticed a car parked at the edge of the
lot, closest to me. The back windows were open, and the front ones
were steamed.
    What on earth?
    As I drew closer, I heard a giggle, and the
front windows powered down.
    A flushed Santa, complete with beard and hat,
said, “Ho ho ho!” when he saw me. “Who have we got here?”
    A head popped up beside his and peered
out.
    Ho, ho, ho, indeed.
    “Nina!” Fairlane exclaimed. “What are you
doing out there? You’ll catch a death!”
    I cringed at the phrase, but it didn’t seem
to faze Fairlane. In fact, she didn’t seem the least bit bothered
that she was completely naked, either.
    Santa, aka Drunk Dave, too.
    I was going to need a therapist after all
this.
    “Locked out of the back door.” I couldn’t
help but add, “What are you doing out here?”
    As if it wasn’t fairly obvious, with the
nakedness and steamed windows. I just wanted to hear what she had
to say for herself. I certainly wasn’t looking at a grieving
sister.
    “Baby, it’s cold outside,” Santa said,
slurring his words.
    Fairlane giggled and said, “Santa, here, is
just helping me celebrate!” She placed her hands on Dave’s
shoulders, and I noticed her fingernails had been painted a flaming
red color. “I was rehired this morning.”
    This had to be Benny’s doing. “Does Jenny
know?”
    “She doesn’t call the shots around this
place,” Fairlane said, an arch to her eyebrow.
    Santa made kissy noises at Fairlane. “Maybe
you can put in a good word for me with Ben. Get me my job back. My
wife ain’t gonna be happy that I got fired.”
    “I’ll try, Santa, baby,” she cooed.
    I thought I might be sick. I wiped snowflakes
from my eyelashes. My rising temper counterbalanced the cold air.
“I doubt your wife would be happy about this .” I gestured to
the car, the steamed windows, the nakedness . Ick .
    “Ooh,” Santa said. “The little lady wouldn’t
be happy. Oh no, sirree. That one has a temper, let me tell you.
Best we keep this to ourselves,” he said, winking.
    Fairlane snuggled against him. “Nina’s a
party pooper, isn’t she, Santa?”
    I groaned and stomped away.
    Fairlane called after me. “You’ll keep this
to yourself, right, Nina? Right?”
    I pretended I didn’t hear. It was a vastly
better option that flipping her the bird, which was my first
inclination.
    As I pulled open the door to Christmastowne,
I threw a look back at their car. It was rocking.
    I was suddenly queasy and regretting that
Krispy Kreme I ate this morning.
    But I also wondered what Drunk Dave’s wife
would do if she found out that Fairlane had been boinking
Santa?
    Would she be mad enough to murder the faux
Mrs. Claus?
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    "You’re looking a little green around the
gills, Abominable,” Kevin said as I dripped melting snow all over
Santa’s Cottage.
    Once back inside Christmastowne, I’d thanked
my crew, told them I owed them all, and sent them home before they
were all stranded here. Then I tracked Kevin to Santa’s Cottage,
eager to tell him about what I’d seen in the parking lot.
    I borrowed a table cloth to dry off. “The
things I’ve seen...”
    Kevin sat in Santa’s chair, taking notes in a
tiny steno notebook. I