MURDER at the December to Remember Sales Event
A holly jolly murder mystery.
Lexus dealerships at Christmas are about as subtle as a right hook to the jaw. I didn’t belong there. Not with my scuffed trench coat and checkered past.
Big red bows adorned every car. Fake snow dusted the showroom floor—the kind that never melts and never fools anyone. Mariah Carey crooned on a loop… “All I Want for Christmas is You” was starting to sound like a threat.
My ex-wife Belinda always said I had a knack for bad decisions, and showing up to lease a car I couldn’t afford just to win her back felt like it could be a contender for the top spot. I figured maybe a new car lease could also give me a new lease on life.
I was practicing the pitch I wanted to give her in my head—“Look, B! It has OnStar!”—when I heard the scream. High-pitched, strangled, and entirely out of place in a world of precision Japanese engineering.
A crowd gathered across the showroom. I elbowed my way past them to find the surprised, glassy eyes of a fresh corpse staring back at me: Santa Claus, sprawled on the hood of an SUV the size of a tugboat.
The windshield was smeared with red that had nothing to do with holiday cheer. His suit was crimson velvet, his boots shiny and black—and his chest was carved open.
Someone had clearly put him on the naughty list.
“Mr. Lockridge! Mr. Lockridge!” cried the dealership’s distressed-looking receptionist. She threw herself on top of his body in a gesture that seemed surprisingly intimate—and pretty gross.
Lockridge. Of course. I had met him when I came in, sans Santa suit. He was the dealership’s General Manager. Or he used to be. Now he was just another thing gone cold this winter.
I rounded up the suspects in the customer lounge. The place smelled like cinnamon air freshener and panic.
First, there was the elf. A skinny guy with a bloody candy cane in his hand. We’ll call him suspect number one.
Next to him, an old woman clutched her teenage granddaughter’s hand. The girl was staring at her phone; the grandma had the kind of innocent face that screams “guilty of all charges.”
The receptionist was dabbing her eyes across from me. Buxom, platinum blonde, legs longer than the twelve days of Christmas. “I’m sorry,” she purred. “I’m just so shaken up.”
Then there was the mechanic. Grease on his hands, a permanent scowl on his face. He leaned back in his chair like he wanted to disappear into it. Or maybe I was projecting.
Finally, a salesman with a smile that sparkled like tinsel. He tried to keep the mood light. “Hey, folks, let’s not let this ruin the December to Remember sale, huh?”
I started with the elf. “Why’s your candy cane bloody?”
“I dunno,” he stammered, eyes darting like Rudolph in a snowstorm. “Someone handed it to me! I didn’t see who.”
“You’re telling me someone handed you a bloody weapon, and you didn’t notice them?”
“I’m an elf! Holding candy canes is my job!” he whined. “Well, actually, I’m an accountant, and balancing the dealership’s books is my job. Except around Christmas. Then I’m part of the promotion.”
“Isn’t that humiliating?”
“Oh, no! Quite the opposite! Don’t you know it’s the most wonderful time of the year?” With a manic grin, he unbuttoned his costume to reveal an ugly holiday sweater underneath, all blinking lights and stitched reindeer.
So. He was one of those people. The kind who couldn’t hear sleigh bells without breaking into song. Probably not the type to ruin the Christmas season with cold-blooded murder—unless that was just what he wanted me to think.
The mechanic didn’t wait for me to ask questions. “I didn’t kill him,” he grumbled. “I’m a grease monkey, not a murderer.”
“Who do you think did it?”
He shrugged. “Could be anyone. The guy made us work every Christmas. It’s not right. Ain’t he ever seen the Muppet Christmas Carol?”
“You don’t seem too broken up about this,” I said.
He shrugged. “I’m just saying no one should have to miss their kid’s dance recital just to stick a stupid bow on a car hood.”
“Such an awful thing, isn’t it?” the grandma asked me, her voice dripping with faux concern. “I told my granddaughter not to look at the body.”
The kid sat cross-legged next to her, glued to her phone. Its screen flashed with cartoon blood splatter as she played some zombie-killing game. She seemed unsettlingly good at it.
“I have to say,” the grandma continued. “It wouldn’t surprise me if that floozy at the front desk had something to do with all this.”
My eyebrows raised. “The receptionist?”
She nodded knowingly. “I saw her earlier, all dolled up like she was heading to a cocktail party. Let’s just say it didn’t seem professional.” I glanced at the so-called floozy, still sitting in the corner. She caught me looking and smiled dangerously.
“I’ll have to take a closer look.”
The grandma leaned in and dropped her voice. “Mark my words, she’s hiding something.”
I nodded, but her suggestion felt a little too convenient. A sweet old lady tossing suspicion at the most obvious target? Either she was sharper than she looked, or I was dumber than I looked.
The receptionist grinned shyly as I approached. There was an electricity about her, like she could light up the tree at Rockefeller Center all by herself. Or maybe I forgot to take my lithium this morning.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“He wasn’t my friend,” she purred. “He was my boss. And my lover.”
“Sounds complicated. The old bird thinks you did it. Do you have an alibi?”
She tilted her head and fixed me with a puppy dog frown, her peroxide hair catching the showroom lights. “I don’t think I need an alibi.”
“Why’s that?” I said, keeping my distance.
She held up her phone and turned it toward me. “I’ve been live streaming all afternoon. Say hello to 10,000 of my Instagram followers.”
Damn. A bulletproof alibi in 1080p.
The salesman cornered me by the coffee machine with the kind of forced cheer that only comes from years of commission-based income. “Hey, detective,” he said with a plastered-on grin. “Any chance you’ll wrap this up soon? We’ve got quotas to hit, you know.”
I stared at him. “You realize there’s a dead body in the showroom, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, terrible tragedy and all that,” he said. “But let’s not forget why we’re here. This December to Remember event is our biggest sale of the year. Everyone loves the bows!”
“You seem awfully focused on sales for someone whose boss just died.”
He put a solemn hand on my shoulder. “It’s what Lockridge would have wanted.”
I crossed my arms. “And if the killer’s one of your customers?”
He looked away, smoothing his tie. “The cops can have them as soon as their check clears!”
I walked back to Santa’s body, which still lay on the hood of the SUV. I wondered if anyone had called an ambulance. Eh, not my department.
Suddenly, I noticed that Santa’s bloody suit wasn’t the only part of him that was red—so was the thick, dark line running around his neck.
In my mind, the clues began adding up faster than the 18% APR I was eligible for.
The candy cane wasn’t the weapon—it was a cover story. But red ribbon from a car bow? That could cut deep.
The salesman’s words rang in my ears: “Everyone loves the bows!”
No. Not everyone.
When I confronted the mechanic, he cracked like thin ice. “I just wanted one Christmas off,” he said, shaking his head. “But Lockridge said I was the only one who knows how to tie the big bows onto the cars!”
“So you killed him?” I asked.
“I admit it! And I’d do it again!” he said, his voice breaking. “They’re not even that hard to tie. I could have taught someone else to do it!”
I reached for my phone to call in my police contacts. “Wait, please! My daughter’s recital,” he said. “What if we make a deal?”
“I don’t take bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe,” he said, his hands trembling. “It’s a warranty. Covers everything. For life.”
I hesitated. Justice was justice, but a lifetime warranty on a Lexus? That was something else entirely.
An hour later, I drove off the lot in my brand-new RX 350, freshly cleaned of Santa’s blood, and offered at a deep discount. It would be up to the proper authorities to solve this murder. I’d made my decision, for better or worse.
I turned up the radio. Mariah Carey was still singing, but it didn’t bother me so much this time. All I wanted for Christmas was a fresh start with my ex-wife. Sweet, sweet Belinda. As the dealership receded in the rearview, I figured I just might have gotten one.
A December to remember, indeed.
Hands down the best!! And I loved it too Robin!!!💙💙💙💙
You cracked this case like a pecan at Christmas!