Page 1 of The Santa Situation
one
. . .
Charlie
The buildingthat housed Mistletoe Bay’s administrative offices was relatively quiet, most of the town’s employees having left early for the start of the long weekend. But not me. As Mayor, I was usually the first one to arrive in the morning and the last one to leave in the evening. For ten years I’d been doing this job, and I planned to keep at it as long as the town would have me.
Nathan Hale, our Chief of Police and my friend since the sixth grade, sat across from me, his knee bouncing with agitation. My daughters were curled up on the sofa in the far corner of the room, Maggie’s thumbs flying over her phone screen, while her sister, Lilah, was bent over a math worksheet, her brows knotted in concentration.
“Pulled Tessa Pope over again this morning,” Nathan said, his voice gruff. “Doing fifty in a twenty-five zone.”
“Give her the usual talk?” I asked, shifting a stack of folders threatening to topple off my desk any minute.
“In one ear and out the other,” he rasped. “I swear, she lives to torment me.”
Maggie glanced up from her phone. “Is she really in town to film a Christmas movie?”
Nathan grunted. “Documentary. Something about old-fashioned New England traditions and the people who keep them alive. Guess she missed the part where those fu … freaking Puritans banned Christmas.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Okay, old man. The Puritans were from like the sixteen hundreds. Lots of stuff happened since then, including Christmas becoming a pretty big deal.”
Nathan winked at his goddaughter. “Doesn’t make the thing about the Puritans not true.”
I logged out of my email and closed down my laptop. “I assume we’re all set for tomorrow?”
“Yup,” Nathan said. “We’ve cordoned off the route, and I’ve got cruisers at both the Dockside Cafe and the Harbor Walk to make sure no one parks there. You’d think folks would know the drill by now, but every year we have to tow some?—.”
Before he could finish, a knock sounded at the door. I looked up, setting aside my pen, as my assistant, Rory, stepped inside, shoulders tight and expression grim. “I just got off the phone with Jack and Marjorie Dawson’s son, Gabe,” she said. “They have food poisoning, and it’sbad. He said there’s no way they’ll be better in time for tomorrow. I hate to break it to you, Charlie, but we’ll need to find a new Santa and Mrs. Claus.”
Nathan let out a low curse, while Maggie and Lilah’s heads shot up, matching looks of horror on their upturned faces.
Rory’s words were like a record scratch in my head. For one beat, I panicked, but then I immediately started rushing through everything happening tomorrow: their arrival by boat and thenthe walk to Market Square, the countdown to the tree being lit, and the photos afterward.
None of it worked without a goddamn Santa.
“Who’s our back-up?” I asked, trying to recall whether we’d ever actually needed one before now.
“Used to be Scott Drysdale, but he moved to Phoenix last winter because of his arthritis,” Rory explained, her fingers twisting a sheet of paper into a tight spiral.
“Shit.” I ran my hand through my hair and winced.
Maggie smirked. “Language.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you hear worse at school.”
Lilah grinned. “You have no idea.”
“And I don’t want one,” I said, recalling some of the stuff my friends and I used to say. Teenage boys were the absolute worst.
Unfortunately, what nonsense my daughters heard from their peersortheir old man was the least of my problems right now.
I needed to find a Santa and Mrs. Claus fast, or tomorrow’s celebration would need to be canceled. Rescheduled, at a minimum.
Nathan drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I can’t think of anyone who might have a Santa suit just lying around.”
“Wait,” Lilah said, sitting up, her face lit with excitement. “You have one in the attic, Dad!”
“What are you?—”
