Secret Santa A Novel

Chapter One Rebecca Chandler's Christmas motto was simple: "Wake me when it's over." It wasn't that she was a Scrooge, quite the contrary. Rebecca could bake reindeer-shaped cookies and wrap presents with the best of them. In the spirit of the holiday, she had served up turkey and stuffing at the local homeless shelter, and had even knocked out a few of those self-serving Christmas missives, chronicling the humdrum lowlights of yet another year in her boring life. Rebecca forced herself through the merry motions, but, in reality, she found the demands of the season as appealing as a year-old fruitcake. There were three things in life she detested merely as a matter of principle: shopping, waiting in line, and holiday music. December invariably brought all three.Rebecca avoided the holidays by doing what any self-respecting, young newspaper reporter would do, by working 24-7."Chandler!" the editor's voice thundered across the newsroom. Rebecca didn't even flinch. She had long since grown used to Bob Bolton's bellowing summons and knew she had a good thirty seconds before the next sonic boom. The second one was always a little louder, a bit more impatient, and included her full name. "Rebecca Chandler!" he shouted above the din. He was ten seconds early. Rebecca sighed and clicked the mouse to save her document."What now?" she said, glaring at him from his office doorway.Bob Bolton was perched in his usual editorial position -- leaning back in his leather desk chair, his chubby fingers laced behind his bald head. The middle button on his wrinkled, white, short-sleeved shirt was undone as usual. Bob's "uniform," as the newsroom crew referred to his wardrobe behind his back, also consisted of socks that collected in rolls around his ankles, scuffed loafers, and any variety of gray pants. He was loud and boisterous, and loved to lord over the newsroom like a prison warden. He prided himself on being able to see every cubicle from his well-positioned mahogany desk. For Rebecca, his gruff manner no longer cut any ice. She could see past his nail-eating drill sergeant exterior. Bob hated that. Nevertheless, he played the part for fear he'd lose control over his beloved Indianapolis Sentinel staff."So, I heard you had an encounter with the Beard Bandit today," Bob said. "How many does that make?""Seventeen," Rebecca sniped. "Wanna tell me about it?" Bob asked."Not particularly. But I will." Bob raised his bushy eyebrows in response as she continued, "It was quite exciting, actually. I was standing on a corner in Lockerbie Square talking to a Salvation Army Santa. His name was Edwin. He's working his way through architectural school and was kinda cute -- " "Cut to the chase, Chandler. My arteries are hardening.""The chase. Yes, well, I was engaged in my riveting interview with Edwin when a hooded skateboarder appeared, seemingly out of thin air, snatched the beard from Santa's chin and then darted away into holiday traffic without so much as a glance backward.""And you just stood there?" Bob questioned."At first, yes," Rebecca fired back. "Then I gave chase and was nearly hit by a Toyota minivan.""So you let him get away," Bob barked, ignoring the minivan part."No, Bob, I darted out into traffic, ran across the tops of half a dozen cars Jackie Chan-style, tackled the kid and disabled him with a swift but lethal blow to the neck. Street-corner Santas all over the city are hailing me a hero.""Okay. Okay," Bob sighed. "Tell me you at least got a good look at him." "He was wearing a hood." Bob rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. "Seventeen victims...what's this punk trying to prove, anyway?"Rebecca shrugged, already bored with this conversation. "I dunno. Maybe Santa forgot to bring him the BB gun he wanted when he was ten and he has lingering issues."Bob sniffed at her attempt at humor and took a sip from his Indiana HoosiersPolson, Beth is the author of 'Secret Santa A Novel' with ISBN 9780743487979 and ISBN 0743487974.