Peg Herring, Mystery Author

Santa & Maggie Pill Santa was trying to get ready for Christmas, but things weren’t going well, and his droll little mouth pursed in frustration. He couldn’t find the fur-trimmed hat that went with his red suit. He needed a clean hanky to wipe away the ashes and soot after each trip through a chimney. And one of his boots had gone missing. Those were things his wife usually took care of, but she was nowhere to be found. Rubbing his little round belly, he looked in the kitchen to see if she was baking. Visions of sugar-plums danced in his head, but no. She wasn’t there. Was she in the laundry room, washing tiny elf socks and underwear? Scratching his snow-white beard, the jolly old elf peered into the small room at the back of the house. Nope. She wasn’t in the den taking a long winter’s nap, nor in the pantry sorting canned goods. When he finally found her, Mrs. Claus was in the den, curled up on the couch, reading a book on her Kindle. “What’s so interesting, dear?”

My gift to you today is a short story published a few years ago in a Christmas anthology. If you like your stories warm and fuzzy, this one isn't for you, but if you like a little twist--have at it! Happy Holidays Times Three by Peg Herring Cass greeted the men who joined him at the back of the almost-empty Starbucks, raising a beefy hand to each but not raising his equally beefy frame from the seat. Despite the December bluster outside, Cass sipped a Coke he’d brought along with him. The kid set down something frothy and steaming; the African’s drink was straight-up coffee, large and deep black, like the man himself. Introductions were brief: “Zar, Mel. Mel, Zar.” Cass revealed only enough information to prove suitability for the proposed enterprise. None of them wanted to know more than that. Mel, a twitchy, nervous kid with a sinus problem that signaled deeper concerns, was an excellent driver. He worked at a used car lot, was desperate for cash, and wasn’t pi