Page 36 of The Santa Claus Con

The bomb squad was here earlier this morning scanning for threats, securing the area, and establishing a perimeter around the ice-skating rink. The Con, to their credit, beefed up security, and now everyone who enters to watch—and play—will go through metal detectors.

“Those are some big balls,” Scarlett says into my earpiece.

The furry collar of my Santa jacket has been modified to include an embedded microphone so that I’m able to respond and alert Scarlett and the team about anything suspicious.

I press the concealed push-to-talk button threaded down my Santa sleeve and clipped to my wrist. “Seriously?” I ask.

“I’m just calling them like i-cy them!” she retorts.

I sigh and adjust the fake, bushy beard covering my face. “Is this how it’s gonna be all day?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

Despite myself, I smile.

Four people skate over to Todd, who he then introduces as the judges for this year’s competition. They’re decked out in sponsor-branded hoodies, coats, hats, and gloves.

“Happy holidays, everyone!” the first guest judge, a six-foot Black man in his midforties, says into the microphone to the crowds sitting in bleachers surrounding the rink. “I’m Ryan Hayes, communications director here at the Santa Claus Con for fifteen years now. What an honor to be a judge this time around!”

“Bitter about fifteen years with the Con and only now getting his fifteen minutes of fame?” I ask.

“They change out judges every year,” Scarlett replies. “His time was bound to come.”

Ryan passes the mic over to a blond, white woman named Michelle Hoover. She works at one of the largest department stores in the city as their senior director of visual presentation. “I’m excited to share with you that this year’s Santa of the Year will get to have their very own window display with a wax model of themselves created,” Michelle says.

Forty-nine Santa Wannabes cheer loudly at this.

“That’s terrifying,” I comment right as Scarlett says, “What a fun idea. I love those window displays! Have you seen them?”

“I don’t even know what that means. Sounds like the wax version of Santa of the Year is going to be trapped in a window.”

Scarlett makes an exasperated sound. “I know it’s nine in the morning, but for the next fifteen hours, I need jubilant Nathan.”

“Jubilant Nathan requires better coffee than what the Con’s offering.”

“I’m not your elf assistant, but I’ll see what I can do.”

The third judge, Ron Doty, is a clean-shaven white man with thick brown hair and stylish round glasses. According to his introduction, he’s been a Santa volunteer in the community for decades, raising money for various causes. “I ho-ho-hope this will be the best Con yet!” he says between heavy breaths. He looks shaky and winded out there on his ice skates. Todd did have them doing laps around the rink earlier to keep them warm before going on air.

“Can you be suspicious of a person for being too good?” Scarlett asks. “Ron’s going straight to the top of my suspect list.”

“Being too jolly isn’t a crime,” I say.

“Then why are you so scared to commit one?”

The last judge is a mixed-Asian woman named Holly Winter. As soon as she starts talking, Scarlett squeals in my ear.

“Oh my gosh, that’s the Holly Winter!” she says. “She was a child actor but has been out of Hollywood for a long time. She was the only person who looked like me in movies. Think she’s trying to make a comeback?”

“Not sure. What would I have seen her in?” I ask.

Scarlett hums in thought. “She played an FBI kid. They all went straight to DVD, but there were maybe eight of them. Did you watch those?”

“An FBI kid? That literally makes no sense.”

“It was literally so good,” she says.

“You were more of an FBI kid than Holly Winter ever was.”