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He clears his throat and glances back to the party. “How are we supposed to communicate?”

“Probably the way people have been reaching Santa for generations,” I say. “We can write a letter and address it to the North Pole. I don’t know—”

“You two have been together too long,” Meyers says into our earpieces.

Not long enough.

“Get a move on, Payne,” Meyers directs. “And Lambros, fix your bow tie. I’m staring at the floor.”

I don’t give Nathan so much as a goodbye glance. With Louise crossed off my list, I search for David and Freddie. I recall from the photos in their files and social media accounts that David’s got a long beard—freshly dyed white for the Con—while Freddie tends to wear his black hair in a gelled swoop to the right.

David’s easy to spot in his silver suit. I casually wind my way through the crowd until I reach him. He’s standing next to an inflatable gingerbread man near the stage and talking to Cameron Pearson. Perfect. She’s back to retain her Santa of the Year title—and the big bucks that come with it. Law enforcement threatened to take away her title for speeding. Can’t imagine she’s thrilled with the NYPD.

David’s voice is gruff but friendly when he asks Cameron, “Any tips for the toy delivery competition?”

Whoa, sensitive topic. Is he purposely provoking her?

“I can’t navigate for shit,” he adds.

Concerning, given that he’s a mountain tour guide. His background report also reflected a poor driving record. Yikes.

“Couldn’t say,” Cameron says, reaching for a drink off my tray with her left hand. In all the footage I’ve watched, she’s clearly right-handed. I’m going to need to figure out a more definitive way to tell who’s truly left-handed. “But even if I could, I don’t compete and tell. I’m here to win it again.”

“Fair enough,” David says, declining a drink with a shake of his head. “My brothers, father, and grandfather have all competed. I finally got in this year, so I’m just hoping to make it to a second or third round to get them off my back. I can say I tried, right?”

Cameron offers words of encouragement as I slink away. Would our Santa care about making it through all the events? Seems so. David gets a question mark drawn over his face on my mental suspect board. Cameron, though? She’s secured a spot for herself.

I make a full loop around the room, which is the definition of luxury and taste with its low lighting and crystal-strand chandeliers. I can’t find Freddie anywhere. Suspicious.

Meanwhile, Nathan’s caught up in conversation with Jarrett Wheeler, an animated thirty-five-year-old from Hershey who works as a quality assurance specialist at the giant chocolate company in town. Nothing major on his record, but if there’s time, I do have questions for him, like does he get free chocolate bars and how is “quality” defined?

I’m fresh out of martinis and head back to the bar for a refill. As I do, Nelly taps her microphone and says, “And now for a holly jolly update. This will be our biggest Con yet. Due to popular demand, we’ve sold more tickets for people to be here in person to cheer you on.”

More people attending? That was the last thing we needed.

Nelly wags a finger. “It won’t be an easy sleigh ride tomorrow to get to the end, but we hope you’ll laugh all the way to the finish line.”

I really do hope we’re the ones laughing at the end of all this and not Santa. The riddles I got were not created by a jolly person. A sadist, maybe. We’ve got a Sadistic Santa on our hands. Ooh, that’s catchy.

“Just like Mr. Claus himself, we’ll be working all through the night, and not a creature will be stirring… except you!” Todd says, matching Nelly’s energy, and honestly? He’s giving her a run for her money with his references.

“Get ready for a jam-packed day filled with… Joy, Jolliness, and Jubilation,” Nelly and Todd say in unison, along with the crowd of Santa Wannabes. Everyone cheers and clinks glasses.

Nathan finds me behind the bar where I’m dipping the rims of martini glasses in pre-crushed candy canes. “Wow, that was something,” he huffs out when the music starts back up.

“Get a good look at your competition? These Santas may look fun but be ready.”

Nathan scoffs. “I don’t see them as Santas, just suspects.”

I glance out toward the dance floor where everyone’s letting loose. Santa Wannabes know how to party, I’ll give them that. In any other scenario, I might be charmed by tonight. But underneath its shiny exterior, I see something more sinister. This Sadistic Santa made me break a promise to my family, and for that alone, they’ll be sorry. And for the fractured rib. And for injuring innocent people… Okay, they’ll be sorry for all of it!

I grab a candy cane and crunch it between my molars.

“What’d that candy cane do to you?” Nathan asks.

“Lambros, promise me we’re going to get this Sadistic Santa,” I say, knowing he can’t possibly.

He rests his elbows against the counter as he faces the ballroom. “I wonder when Sadistic Santa will realize you’re not playing.”