Backwater Christmas Cover Up

Of all the places Santa might have dropped dead, he chose my tiny little insignificant town. As if he hadn't done enough damage ruining my childhood by never showing up, even when I was nice.

Decades later, after convincing myself he didn't exist, here he was, leaving me to pick up the pieces, yet again.

Christmas morning at the Backwater Town Police Station meant gearing up for an uneventful day. Watching our deputy, Joey, hang up even more decorations and using my detective skills to solve the daily newspaper crossword.

I looked at the front page, the news hadn't changed in over a week.

'No presents Christmas morning, children world-wide despair over Santa's disappearance.'

I stared at the tiny face of a pouting child alongside an empty Christmas tree. Frowning I wondered if Santa chose to holiday on a paradise island instead, as yesterday's paper had speculated.

I discarded the paper as Deputy Joey hurried in from the other room.

"Missy, you need to get out to the Bradley farm, quick."

"Let me guess, a fox had a party with the chickens last night and she needs me to investigate," I said groaning.

"No it's a body, she found a dead body in the field, it's..." his voice trailed.

"Who Joey, tell me."

"You won't believe me," he mumbled.

"Don't be ridiculous, who is it Joey?"

"Santa, old Mrs Bradley said Santa was in her front paddock when she went out to feed her chickens."

"Ok," I said picking up the keys on my desk and turning away so he didn't see me smile. I didn't have the heart to tell him Santa didn't exist.

"This year s just terrible, poor Santa," said Joey with a sniff.
"You know it's probably a prank, some kids have probably thrown a stuffed dummy out in the paddock-they aren't happy, you know since he took off on them," I said still trying to keep a straight face.
"Maybe I should come too, just in case..."
"Don't be silly Joey, it's just a prank. I'll be back soon, finish hanging your decorations."
Joey looked at me, opened his mouth to object then thought better of it.
"Ok I will have egg nog waiting for when you get back."
"That's the spirit," I said to Joey as I disappeared out the door.

Mrs Bradley was at the gate waiting for me. She was waving a white handkerchief above her head, just in case I missed the bright red dressing gown she was wearing.

"Terrible, just terrible," she cried leaning into the car window dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.

I got out of the car and checked my gun just in case there were some idiots lurking. Who knows what I might find.

Mrs Bradley led me to a clearing by the tool shed. Nearby a not-so-jolly fellow wearing a red suit and black belt was lying on his back.

I stood looking at him for a moment. Part of me wanted to laugh at what I saw. I felt a pang of satisfaction seeing the old fart get what he deserved after deserting kids on Christmas.

He hadn't been dead long, judging by the tiny cookie crumbs sprinkled through his yellow-white beard. I leaned closer smelling the unmistakable aroma of congealed egg nog still sitting in the corners of his blue lips.

"Cause of death," I mumbled to myself. It was hard to tell, his eyes, which were now gaping empty red holes had been pecked out by Mrs Bradley's chickens. Even though he had been pecked on he was fresh, a few hours tops.

He couldn't be the real Santa, he doesn't exist I reminded myself. I pushed his still warm body over, searched his back pocket and pried out a leather wallet.

Carefully flipping it open a breath caught in my throat.

"Christopher Cringle."

"What ever will we do?" said Mrs Bradley crouching down next to me tugging at my sleeve.

"The way I see it we have two choices, we can tell every kid in the world Santy Clause is dead, or we can pretend it never happened. Did he ever exist?" I said handing her one of the two shovels leaning against the shed.