Page 112 of The Santa Claus Con

I open the box slowly, unsure of what to expect. Another riddle? Something explosive? By now, the bomb squad’s just finished clearing the sets for the next competition, so they might be available, but I don’t get the feeling that this is the bomb itself. No crowd, no witnesses. This Sadistic Santa wants his spectacle to be seen.

There are only a handful of items in the box. Antihistamine medication, a bottle of skin adhesive, contact solution, and a half-used pack of brown contacts. I inhale sharply. This means whoever this box belongs to has eyes that are either green, hazel, gray, or blue. Hawk has gray eyes.

Underneath all that is what turns my blood to ice.

It’s a set of calligraphy pens.

“Payne, where are you?” Nathan asks. He sounds slightly breathless. “You should be down here already.”

I want to take photos, document my findings. I can’t do that, though. I don’t have a warrant. None of this will hold up, but now I know I’m not wrong. Ron and Robb are definitely up to something.

I lock the metal box, set it back into the present, tie off the bow, and slide all the gift-props back under the tree. This feels off. This was too easy. If Sadistic Santa didn’t want me to find this, I wouldn’t have. Or is this our lucky break?

Something tells me that it isn’t luck. Instinct, hunches, or just messed-up energy in this suite, I can’t tell anymore. All I know is that I need to get out of here right this very second.

I back away from the tree. “I’m coming, for real this time,” I say to Nathan through my mic.

But then there’s another click, and this time it’s the door. It’s followed by a buzz and the snap of a handle.

Someone’s here.

Chapter 35

NATHAN

1 hour and 17 minutes until midnight

The riddle we get for making it through the chimney climb is delivered on a silver platter to my designated table in the Edwardian Room, a behind-the-scenes area for Santa Wannabes to decompress between competitions. It’s also where they’re staging props for the crowning ceremony later tonight: life-size reindeer plush stuffed animals and a five-foot papier-mâché model of the New York City skyline. Upon winning the coveted Santa hat, the winner will fly over the city in his sleigh.

A little envelope is tucked alongside two glasses of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries rolled in crushed peppermint.

“Payne,” I repeat into my mic. It’s been five minutes since she said she was coming. Where the hell is she?

“Celebrating early?” Clifford asks as he passes by me on the way to his table.

I look at his reflection in my lighted vanity mirror. “Secret admirer,” I respond. I’d offer him a glass of champagne, but who knows? It could be poisoned.

He looks impressed. “Fan club’s started already, huh?”

It’s a club of one. And I wouldn’t say this person’s a fan. “Something like that.”

“You might wanna save it for after the competition,” Clifford says, patting his stomach. “You’ll need room for the cookies. Oh hey, you hear the announcement? Twenty-minute delay. Kitchen burned a batch of cookies.”

Despite the burned batches, the entire room smells of chocolate and butter. My stomach grumbles in response.

“More time for us to get hungry,” he says with a laugh, slapping me on the back. “Good luck, Curly.”

An undercover agent dressed as hotel staff walks behind me, not giving me a second glance. The room is crawling with FBI. Midnight is nearly here. We need all hands on deck. In the ballroom next door, the bomb squad’s doing their sweep. Maybe Meyers and Bird can go turn up oven temps. More burned cookies mean more delays, which mean more time for us to stop Sadistic Santa.

My competition is focused on touching up their costumes and makeup, so I take advantage of the extra time and read the riddle. As I reach for the envelope, I spot something behind it in the mirror.

A glass icicle ornament. It reminds me of…

My whole body goes numb. The uplifting music and warm glow of lights fades away as my focus is directed on the fake piece of ice. My entire past year has been centered around this. Could it really mean what I think it does?

I tear open the envelope and pull out the note card. The riddle is written, once again, in swooping calligraphy.

A little treat for making it through