one else had noticed.
The customers were long gone and the last employee had left the lot at least ten minutes ago. He was completely alone and once Hannah came to pick up her check, he’d be alone for the rest of the night.
It was time to close up shop. He stepped out the back door of the trailer and walked to the pole that held the breaker box. It was cold tonight, now that the elves had turned off the standing heaters, and he shivered even though he was wearing a heavy sweater.
There were three switches inside the weather-proof box. The top one controlled the electricity for the buildings, tree tents, rides, and tall candy cane lampposts that illuminated the park. The second switch powered the bare bulbs that were strung in a crisscross pattern overhead. They were the night security lights and they kept the park dimly illuminated when the main lights were out. The third breaker controlled the electricity for Elf Headquarters, and that was permanently set in the on position. He’d told the electrician to rig it so that no misguided employee could cut the power to his television set in the middle of an important game.
The music was blaring as usual and it seemed even louder now that it wasn’t tempered by noisy crowds and the squeals of children riding the attractions. His trailer wasn’t soundproof, but he’d learned to tune out the noise when he was inside. Now that the park was empty, the continuous loop of Christmas carols seemed ear-splitting.
Silent Night was playing as he clicked on the overhead security lights. He’d learned his lesson the first night he’d spent in the park. Once the main lights were doused, it was impossible to see the second switch. He’d picked his way gingerly back to the trailer to get a flashlight to illuminate the second switch so that he could engage it.
Larry reached for the top switch as the music went into the chorus. “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is…”
He threw the switch and smiled. “Not bright. Not bright at all,” he said, heading back to the lights and warmth of Elf Headquarters.
A big swallow from the brandy snifter on the coffee table made short work of his shivers. A second snifter took care of his icy toes and hands, and then he played channel roulette with the remote in an effort to find something interesting. He bypassed cooking shows, nature programs, reenactments of great moments in history, several movies with actors he didn’t recognize, a performance by a symphony orchestra with a conductor he didn’t recognize, and reruns of ten-year-old game shows. He finally concluded that there was nothing he really wanted to watch on any of his two hundred plus satellite channels. The only thing that was slightly better than nothing at all was a replay of the championship college basketball tournament that had taken place last year.
A few sips from a third snifter of brandy made it easier to pretend that he hadn’t seen the game before. He watched a three-pointer sink in without even rippling the net, and then he looked up as car lights flashed outside his window.
Someone was parking on the street and it was probably Hannah and the dentist. No one else would come here this late. The sign on the gate announced that they were closed, but he’d left it unlocked so that she could come in.
An envelope with her check and receipt was waiting on the table next to the door. He was nothing if not prepared. He picked up the platter she’d used for her plum pudding and glanced down at the remaining crumbs. She’d be pleased to hear that everyone had loved it and agreed that it would be a big hit at the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop.
When the knock came on the door, he was ready. He pulled it open, but when he saw who was standing there, he began to frown. “What are you doing here? You’re the last person I expected to see!”
“I will be the last person you’ll see.” The words were clipped with anger. “It’s what you deserve for what you’ve done.”
“What do you mean?” His frown deepened and he stepped back in an effort to avoid a confrontation. It was clear that this was not a friendly social visit.
His uninvited guest stepped in, shut the door, and took another step forward, forcing him to back up even further. “What do you want?” he asked.
The answer to his question came in tangible form. When he saw the gun, he backed up several more steps and dropped the platter with a crash. His hands shot up in a futile effort to protect himself.
“No! You can’t…” were the last words he spoke.
Chapter Two
One Day Earlier
That horrid gingerbread man was poking her in the eye again! Hannah Swensen reared back to avoid the rounded tip of a well-spiced arm and the rickety step stool she kept at The Cookie Jar began to teeter on two legs. The instant before toppling was a certainty, she managed to grab a sturdy branch that was decorated with five colored lights, a chocolate chip cookie ornament, and a plastic sprig of holly. The branch held, the step stool stabilized, and what she’d feared would be a painful tumble to the floor below was averted.
“That’s enough, I’m done,” Hannah said to no one in particular since she was the sole occupant of her coffee shop and bakery. It was four-fifteen in the afternoon, and she’d taken advantage of the predictable lull that occurred this time of day. It was too late for most customers to come in for a mid-afternoon snack cookie and too early to pick up the boxes of cookies that had been ordered for evening parties and holiday buffets. Since her partner, Lisa Herman, had offered to make their daily cookie deliveries, Hannah had volunteered to finish decorating the Christmas tree in the front window of their shop.
It was time to admire her handiwork and have a cup of the coffee the Lake Eden Journal had called the best in the tri-county area. Hannah poured a cup and sat down at her favorite table at the back of the shop. As she sipped, she gazed out the front window at a scene that was straight from the front of a Christmas card. Lacy flakes of snow fell outside the glass, gently fluttering down to rest on the pristine white blanket that covered the sidewalk. The tree looked lovely, and Hannah gave a contented smile. It was the second week in December, and night came early in the North Star State. Thanks to the winter solstice, this was the time of the year when people drove to work in the dark, worked all day with only a glimpse of the sun from their office windows, and left work after sunset to drive back home in the dark.
A Minnesota winter could be long and claustrophobic, causing bouts of cabin fever that sent snowbirds, the people who packed up their RVs at the first sign of snow, on their annual migration to more hospitable places like Florida or California. Those who couldn’t leave for the entire winter but needed a break from the unrelenting cold, purchased vacation packages and spent a rejuvenating week basking in the sun in Hawaii, or St. Thomas, or the Bahamas. They came back with suntans that were the envy of those who stayed behind in the land of snow shovels, ski masks, and chemical hand warmers.
The Lake Eden residents who stuck it out had months to perfect their survival skills. A Minnesota winter could start as early as October and last all the way through April. In the dead of winter, when the temperatures dropped to forty below, they dressed in layered clothing that added another twenty pounds to their silhouettes and hunkered down next to the heater vents, hoping that the furnace wouldn’t go out.
When boredom set in as it inevitably did after the holidays, people created winter diversions to keep their minds off the endless black and white world outside their windows. The end of January brought the Lake Eden Winter Carnival with competitive winter games at the Lake Eden Inn and rides through town in old-fashioned one-horse sleighs. In February, there was a gala Valentine Night’s Ball, preceded by a potluck dinner. March heralded a phenomenon called Crazy Days. Standing gas heaters were set up every
