Holly Winter sat at her kitchen table looking at the two envelopes in front of her. She’d opened both and had read the contents of each, but was no closer to a solution.
One envelope contained an invitation to George Strauss’s Christmas work party in just a couple of days’ time. The other envelope held a handwritten note from Holly’s private detective friend, Rob Frost. The note simply read: ‘We need to have a serious talk.’
In Holly’s experience, serious talks were never about anything good. You didn’t have a serious talk about the plausibility of unicorns having once existed, or what a tyrannosaurus rex would look like trying to put on a duvet cover with its tiny arms. Serious talks were always about relationships going wrong, or finding yourself deep in debt with no way out. The main thing that bothered her was that she didn’t even know what he wanted to have a serious talk about. He’d written the note before inviting himself into her house. It had also been before George had turned up and made things awkward.
Holly couldn’t remember committing any grievous offence against Rob prior to that time, or even during the visit. She wondered what was on Rob’s mind while also not really wanting to call and find out. It was nearly Christmas, and having narrowly avoided being murdered for the second time in less than a month, the last thing she wanted to think about was anything serious.
After a brief period of indecision, she picked up the phone and dialled.
“Hi… I’d like to accept your invitation to the Christmas party,” Holly said when George picked up the phone. After a few further pleasantries were exchanged, she hung up and got herself ready for another day’s work at her private detective agency, Frost and Winter.
When she arrived, she wasn’t surprised to find that her secretary, Becky, was nowhere to be seen. Having only just begun her business, Holly was still discovering whether or not it could truly be profitable, which meant she’d been unable to take the financial risk of employing a full-time secretary. She’d been reduced to employing a part-timer. Unfortunately, she was getting exactly what she paid for - which was, admittedly, not a lot.
Holly opened up the little office, her breath clouding in the morning’s chill. She couldn’t believe that Christmas was suddenly so close and that she was unexpectedly the owner of her very own detective agency. One month ago, she’d never have predicted it.
The agency had come about after Holly had won the chance to attend the annual meeting of the seven greatest detectives in the UK. However, what was supposed to have been a weekend of good food and thrilling stories had soon turned to murder and mayhem, as an unknown killer had picked the detectives off one by one. Holly and Rob Frost (one of the great detectives) were the only survivors. It had been Rob who had given her the little push she needed to start the business.
Unusually for a brand new business, she’d had a good start and had solved many small local mysteries. However, after a woman was murdered at the local Amateur Archaeological Society Christmas dinner - where Holly had just so happened to be playing piano that night - her name had been dragged through the mud when the police had tried to pin the crime on her.
Holly pushed her dark fringe out of her eyes as she straightened her desk and even turned on the string of LED lights she’d strung around the place, just to look a bit more festive. It was lucky that George and Rob had managed to stop the real Amateur Archeological Society psychopaths and save her life. It also meant that business was back to normal. The townspeople seemed to have collectively decided that she wasn’t a deranged killer after all. Once again, they trusted her to find their lost cats and adulterous husbands.
Holly flipped through a few case files, staring at a whole collection of furry faces and a few lost items (most likely mislaid, rather than stolen).
She sat back and sighed, before putting the files to one side and mentally sorting through the few nice dresses she owned. Which one would be right for George’s work do? The invitation hadn’t been very specific. It could be full black tie, or it could be smart casual. She could call and ask George, but she wanted to show some initiative. She chewed on her lip for a moment, mentally dithering over a short cocktail-type dress in black satin and tulle. It would do, no matter the dress code. It was smart enough for black tie and would only look a little too dressy if it was smart casual, as so many events were these days. She smiled. Every girl had to have that little black dress. It was all you needed to get yourself out of a fashion crisis.
She was still day-dreaming about a night of dancing and witty conversation with George when her first customer walked into the office. Despite her brilliant powers of deduction, Holly didn’t immediately realise that this rather small person was a customer.
“Hi, are you okay? Are your parents around?” she asked the small girl, immediately worried that she was in some sort of trouble. She had ginger pigtails and a chubby, rosy face. Her teeth were at that awkward stage of falling out, so her smile was more gap-toothed than a sixty-year-old with a boiled sweet addiction.
“My parents don’t know I’m here,” the little girl whispered, setting alarm bells ringing in Holly’s head. Holly estimated that she was about six years old. That was hardly an age to be wandering the streets on your own. Little Wemley may once have considered itself a sleepy, safe town, but recent local events showed that danger lurked where you least expected it.
“Where are your parents?” Holly asked again, wondering what the best thing to do with a runaway child was. She didn’t think she had any pet carriers large enough…
“They’re outside, but they don’t know I’m here. They said they’d cover their eyes,” the girl told her.
Holly inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She was willing to bet the girl’s parents had peeked.
“I’ve got a tough case for you,” the little girl said.
Now Holly wanted to find her parents to ask them not to treat her agency as a play thing…
“It’s Santa Claus. I want to know if he’s real or not. A horrible older boy at school said it was all made up, but I think it’s true. I want you to prove it, so I can show him.”
Holly opened her mouth and then shut it again. She knew she didn’t possess a maternal bone in her body, so her immediate knee-jerk reaction was to tell the girl the harsh truth. It was only the pair of eyes that glared at her through the office window that made her hesitate. She knew who those eyes belonged to.
“Sure, I’ll use all of my resources looking into it,” she told her youngest client yet.
The girl frowned at her.
“You’d better come up with the goods! I want to know before Christmas Eve. It has got to be infallible evidence,” she said the words carefully, “or Max Dyer won’t believe me.”
Holly glanced at her calendar.
Great. She had two days.
She was about to open her mouth again when something else caught her eye. She looked up to see a wad of cash waving up and down in the window.
“Yes, I’ll definitely have something for you by then,” Holly said, a little grudgingly. She waved goodbye to the girl and waited another couple of minutes for her old flame to sneak in through the door.
“Hi Scott,” she said, staying sat behind her desk when the big man entered the office. Scott had the build of a rugby player but the brain of a sheep. Holly had ended things between them years ago when she’d found out about Scott’s family plans and his easy attitude to finding someone - anyone - to settle down with. She understood the need to be with someone, but she was still waiting for that special person before she even thought about settling. Judging by the small, ginger Santa-stalker, Scott had got what he wanted.
“Hi Holly. How are you doing? This is great, isn’t it?” he said, gesturing around at the little office.
Holly pasted a smile on her face and nodded. “It is nice to finally have my own business. I still play the piano,” she added, for no reason other than she didn’t expect people to take her seriously when she said she was a private detective who made a living from the job. The crazy thing was, she actually was starting to make enough money to scrape by.
“I bet you do. You were always great at that,” Scott said. This time, Holly’s smile was genuine. She’d forgotten how complimentary Scott was. He may not be book smart, but someone had taught him somewhere along the line that politeness went a long way, and he’d stuck with it.
“Was that your little one?” Holly asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.
“Yeah, that’s Sally. She’s just turned seven,” Scott told her. Holly was pleased that her guess had been close, especially considering she didn’t exactly spend a lot of time around kids.
In fact, she actively avoided them.
“How lovely,” she said, hoping that covered all of the bases. “Sally wanted me to find her proof that Santa Claus exists.” She hesitated and looked Scott in the eye. “We both know that’s going to be difficult.”
Scott was already counting out bank notes onto the table, but Holly hadn’t been asking for more cash.
“No, I’m serious, because you know… he doesn’t really…” She pulled a face at him. Scott gave her a surprisingly withering look back. Ah, good. He does know Santa doesn’t exist, Holly thought. She’d had to check.
“Can’t you make something up? Sprinkle some snowy footprints around and take some photos? Or get a sample of reindeer poop?” Scott asked. Holly was tempted for a moment to say she’d take the poop option and get some from the big man himself…
“It has to be infallible evidence, apparently,” Holly said and raised her eyes to Scott’s again. “Look, if she’s even asking the question, isn’t it time to tell her? She’ll only be more disappointed in a few years if she finds out you lied to her now.”
Scott rubbed his thick thatch of golden brown hair and then shook his head. “No. I know this stupid kid Max wants to ruin it for her, but I think she deserves a few more magical Christmases. I know you’ll be able to find some proof that will convince her,” he said and flashed her a smile. His smiles used to do something funny to her insides. Now, Holly just felt worn out.
“But as we’ve just covered, there is no proof because he’s not…” She bit her tongue. “I mean, it could ruin my integrity as a private detective!”
“It will just make you look like the good guy,” Scott replied.
Holly tried not to visibly sulk. Sometimes the easily observed truth was the best way to cut someone down. Scott was great at saying things the way they were.
“I suppose I’ll figure something out,” she said, feeling completely uninspired.
Scott went back to smiling. “Great, I’ll bring Sally back on Christmas Eve. See you then,” he said and walked out of the office, leaving a stack of cash on the table. Holly looked at it and shook her head. She was a private detective who was great at unravelling complex cases, but when you already knew the answer to a mystery - but had to make it look like the real conclusion was the wrong one - she had zero clue. For this Santa Claus case, she’d essentially be playing the role of the villain who knew the answer to the mystery all along, but did their very best to mislead the investigator - in this case, the little girl, Sally. Holly slumped down on her desk and wondered just what she could do about the Santa Claus conundrum. She just hoped she’d figure something out in a day or so, because that was all the time she had.
An idea suddenly popped into her head. She impulsively picked up her phone and dialled a number. The phone rang and rang, but for the first time ever, Rob Frost didn’t pick up. Holly frowned at the handset, wondering if he was avoiding her. He was the one who’d written a note saying he wanted to talk, but perhaps he hadn’t meant over the phone. She sighed and slumped even lower. She’d been hoping that someone as slippery as Rob would have had a few ideas about how to solve her Santa situation. He’s not the only friend you have who could help, the voice in her head whispered.
It was with a smile that Holly dialled a different number.