Mrs. Claus and the Santaland Slayings. Liz Ireland

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СКАЧАТЬ Lucia, appeared behind Tiffany. “What’s exciting about an elf dying?”

      Next to Lucia stood Quasar, her favorite reindeer. Both were hard to ignore—Lucia because she was tall, blond, and muscular, a Viking queen of a woman, and Quasar because he had a bum foreleg that made him list to one side and a red nose that blinked like a bulb screwed into a wonky socket. The red nose suggested an ancestor from one of the noble Rudolph herd, but the rest of him . . .

      Quasar’s antlers were shedding velvet today, which we all tried pointedly not to notice lest we face the wrath of Lucia for criticizing him. The shedding added to his ragged look. He had to be the last male reindeer at the North Pole to lose his antlers, which just made him seem even more of a misfit.

      Both of them towered over Tiffany, although Tiffany still had the presence and poise that had riveted the attention of arenas full of people in her youth. I’d never seen her skate. But just the fact that she was so accomplished an athlete impressed me. I’d never done anything sportier than take a handball course at the Y. I was pretty good at it, but not the kind of good that a person could brag about.

      “Giblet might’ve been a jerk,” Lucia said to Christopher, “but no one ever denied that he was talented and worked hard. You should do as your mom says and don’t keep your tutor waiting.”

      If Lucia expected thanks for backing up Tiffany, she was doomed to be disappointed. Once Christopher was out the door, Tiffany swept a dismissive gaze over us all, turned on her heel, and followed her son.

      Martin chuckled at Lucia. “What a hypocrite you are. I don’t remember you being Little Miss Studious when we were young.”

      “I wasn’t, but I kept myself busy with other things. I didn’t waste my time listening to your nonsense.”

      Pamela let out a peal of clucking laughter. “No bickering, you two. There’s a lot to do today.”

      It was, I couldn’t help noting, as if Tiffany in her head-to-toe black hadn’t appeared at the door at all. As if they’d all decided her sadness was something unpleasant and therefore best ignored.

      My mother-in-law presented a courteous yet forced smile to the reindeer limping toward the fireplace. “Good morning, Quasar.”

      His head dipped, nose fizzling like a dying neon sign. “G’morning, ma’am.”

      Martin leaned toward me. “Don’t forget rehearsal.”

      It took a moment to recollect that the Santaland Concert Band was meeting this morning. I’d been given the job of chairperson of the Musical Events Committee, so it wasn’t good for me to miss practices, even though I had a lot on my plate this week. All the upcoming activities kept me up night, worrying. There would be Kinder Caroling here at the castle, a tea with entertainment at Kringle Lodge, the Reindeer Hop, and, most worrisome of all, the Skate-a-Palooza at Peppermint Pond. I still hadn’t set the schedule for the musical acts for that last event yet; there were far more people who wanted to play than slots to fit them into, and I hated to disappoint anyone. I felt like groaning just thinking about it. And now all this business about Giblet’s death, and calls to be paid to the Hollyberrys . . .

      “Will we have time?” I asked Martin, who was in the concert band with me. He played a pretty good tenor sax.

      “I’m sure the band will understand if you can’t make it,” Pamela said. “Anyway, you’re not really musical, are you, April?”

      “I play percussion.”

      “Exactly. They probably just felt they needed to include you in something, because of Nick.” Knitting needles flew as she spoke. Clack, jingle, clack, jingle.

      “If she’s not there they might think she doesn’t want to show her face,” Lucia said. “Because of that scene yesterday. And now Giblet . . .”

      “Well, I’m going to rehearsal,” Martin said. “I won’t waste my time lugging food baskets to Hollyberrys.”

      Lucia crossed to the sofa, flopped down next to her mother, and propped her feet on the massive low table in front of the couch. I envied her unvarying wardrobe of long wool sweaters and fleece-lined pants. She always looked warm and comfy, even if she did exude a soupçon of reindeer musk. She was the official Claus liaison with the reindeer herds and presided over all sorts of animal activities, including the never-ending Reindeer Games. “There’s a big race today, too. I can’t miss that.”

      Jingle, clack, jingle, clack. “Surely they can do without you this once,” Pamela said. “You’re not racing.”

      Martin snorted. “Don’t disillusion her, Mother. She thinks she’s part reindeer.”

      Lucia chucked a pillow at him. She had a special affinity for animals, especially reindeer, although her relationship to the honored beasts of Santaland could also be contentious. She’d founded the Santaland Reindeer Rescue, which got some reindeer’s antlers in a twist. No one was crueler to reindeer than other reindeer. Sorry to say, what happened to Rudolph the First wasn’t an anomaly. The animals weren’t forgiving of flaws in their own kind, and castoffs were often sent to the misfit herd in the Farthest Frozen Reaches to do their best among the snow monsters, polar bears, and hunters. The lucky ones, like Quasar, caught Lucia’s attention before they were exiled.

      Lucia let out an irritated breath. “What a mess. I suppose there’ll be even more whispers about Nick now.”

      “Whispers?” Pamela squinted in concentration at the jangling sweater beneath her fingers. “No one’s been whispering in my hearing. Giblet’s death was unfortunate, of course, but it was nothing to do with Nick.”

      “Mom, Giblet as much as called Nick a murderer, and the next day he’s dead? ” Lucia’s lips twisted. “Not a good look for the Claus dynasty.”

      “Nonsense!” Needles clacked more frantically. “It will all blow over. Little kerfuffles like this usually do. Imagine throwing a hissy fit over losing an ice sculpture competition! It’s Christmas—who has time for all this nonsense?”

      “Elves always have time for nonsense,” Martin pointed out.

      “We’ll pay condolence calls this morning,” Pamela insisted. “All of us. Smooth things over. Everything will be fine. We must be helpful, sober, and cheerful.”

      Martin smirked. “Solemn and jolly. Nothing weird about that.”

      Clack, jingle, clack, jingle. “Keeping up appearances is always important, especially this time of year.”

      “You’re putting a lot of faith in food baskets.” Lucia stood. “But I’m not. I intend to go see for myself what happened to Giblet.”

      I was on my feet in an instant. “I’ll go with you.”

      All gazes turned to me. I sensed they’d forgotten I was there, much the same way they didn’t see Quasar nibbling the pine boughs over the mantel.

      Before anyone could speak again, however, Jingles moved silently into the room, stopping next to me. “I’ve left your letters and your coffee in Santa’s office,” he said in a low voice.

      “The post has arrived?” Pamela asked. She had ears like a bat.

      “Yes, СКАЧАТЬ