Free Jolly Dead St. Nicholas by Carol A. Guy Page B

speed up as she looked at the figure doubled over the balcony railing. The red liquid saturating Santa’s white beard was blood, she realized, as a droplet landed with a plop on the seat just inches away.
    Hester grabbed her daughter’s hand, meaning to flee from the horrible scene. Instead she found herself unable to move. So she began screaming at the top of her lungs.
     
    * * * *
     
    The scream was as loud as the wail of a siren. Adelaide jumped up from her seat, alarm charging through her like a locomotive.
    Vernon got up, looking around. “What the heck was that?” He headed for the stairs.
    Carl Henshaw followed with Adelaide close behind.
    “It came from upstairs,” Adelaide said as she ran up the steps.
    They rushed as a group along the main hallway into the sanctuary where they found a tallish, brown-haired woman Adelaide recognized as Hester Ryan clutching her small, blonde daughter, Alise.
    “Santa’s bleeding,” Alise said, pointing up into the balcony.
    Adelaide didn’t quite understand what was going on until she saw the pool of blood on the pew and looked up. “My Lord,” she whispered.
    “Is that Jerry?” Vernon asked.
    “Who else?” Carl replied. He got out his cell phone. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”
    Adelaide laid a hand on Vernon’s arm. “Take Hester and Alise into the church parlor. Make sure the sanctuary door closes on your way out. After you put them in the parlor stand guard outside these doors and don’t let anyone in except the police and paramedics.” She motioned for Carl to follow her as she ran up the balcony stairs, cautioning him not to touch anything along the way.
    Approaching hastily, Adelaide ascertained it was Jerry Hatfield dressed in the Santa suit. It was obvious they could do nothing for him. He was dead. A wide black patent-leather belt lay on the front balcony pew, near where his body was draped over the oak railing. His fake beard had fallen forward, exposing the source of the bleeding. “He has a nasty looking puncture wound on the side of his neck.”
    She scanned the immediate area, noting that the belfry door was open. “He was in the process of changing when it happened. His hat is on the floor.” She nodded toward a spot a few feet away. Suddenly she was shaking, her stomach churning. She backed away from the body, motioning for Carl to follow her down the stairs so they could wait for the police.
     
    * * * *
     
    Daniel McBride surveyed the murder scene closely, a knot forming in his mid-section. He’d known Jerry Hatfield all his life. In fact, the man had been his hero, even though Jerry had graduated high school eight years prior to Daniel. His feats on the football field were legend in Crescent Falls.
    The paramedics had arrived, then left when it was obvious they were not needed. Now the coroner, a stoop shouldered man named Ben Mannix, was busy examining the body. It was a tight squeeze between the front balcony pew and the railing, but the smallish man seemed to be managing fine. Every once in a while he would mutter something into a hand held recorder.
    Ray Butler and eight other officers were in the basement questioning shoppers and church members who had been working this afternoon. In the case of the shoppers, Daniel’s instructions had been to ask if anyone saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, take their contact information and let them go home. As for the workers, they would be asked to stay for further inquiries. Daniel knew they’d want to stay anyway, especially his mother, who would already be lining up suspects in her mind. She was still in the parlor with Hester Ryan and her willful daughter, Alise. In fact, he’d instructed his mother to keep an eye on them until he was finished here.
    Footsteps on the balcony stairs caused Daniel to turn around, where he came face to face with Lieutenant Luke Fagan. “I got here as soon as I could. I was at Lloyd’s again. Someone took a hammer to one of those neon green lions.