Today, HJ is pleased to share with you J.C. Kenney’s new release: A Killer Day in Paradise
Christmas in Paradise Springs is in full swing—even if it’s shaping up to be a quieter one for Elmo Simpson. Until a little girl asks Santa for the impossible.
Wild animal removal specialist Elmo Simpson is spending the holidays playing Santa at the community park—and his girlfriend is about to head out of town to visit family, leaving him to a quieter-than-planned Christmas.
Then a child makes one simple wish: bring her father home for Christmas.
The problem? Her father is in hiding—accused of murdering a shady investment banker with a long list of enemies.
Elmo trades his Santa hat for his investigator instincts and dives into a case tangled with small-town secrets, financial schemes, and suspects who all had a reason to want the victim gone. Some wanted revenge. Others wanted silence. One of them is a killer.
Elmo’s got a plan…sort of. But with Christmas fast approaching and a promise he can’t break, he has one shot to uncover the truth, clear an innocent man—and catch a killer before Christmas morning comes with the wrong kind of surprise.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from A Killer Day in Paradise
Chapter One
There’s a unique vibe to the holiday season in Paradise Springs, Florida. Part of that is because the tree of choice to be decorated is the palm tree rather than the more traditional evergreens, like pine and spruce. It’s also due to the fact that all Christmas tunes mentioning snow are prohibited from being played in public.
Don’t get me wrong. If you wanted to listen to songs with that word in them in the comfort of your own home or while behind the wheel of your vehicle, whether aquatic or terrestrial, you were more than welcome to do so.
We weren’t fascists, after all. We simply didn’t want to attract the attention of the snow gods.
Anyway, the things that really made every December so entertaining around here were the acts of kindness and generosity people performed. A cynic might suggest the acts of benevolence were attempts to make up for eleven months of poor decision making and questionable behavior.
By more people than the local authorities would care to admit.
Which is how I found myself sitting on a veritable throne in the pavilion at Paradise Springs Memorial Park wearing a Santa Claus outfit, complete with the fake belly and long white beard. I’d even donned long pants and heavy black boots to complete the ensemble.
Gretchen Cooper, my Operations Chief at The Sea Breeze Resort and Condominiums, was by my side. Sporting a traditional elf costume right down to the shoes that curled up at the ends, she was the embodiment of Christmas cheer.
I was not.
“How much longer do we have,” I asked as we waited for the next kiddo in a long line of children to take a seat on my lap and tell me what he wanted for Christmas.
She leaned closely while she helped a little boy dressed in a yellow T-shirt with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on it get situated on my leg. “Until every one of these good boys and girls has a chance to tell Santa what they hope to receive. Suck it up, buttercup.”
Despite my foul mood, I was in no position to argue with her. I plastered on a smile, and gave the young one a cheerful, “Ho, ho, ho. What would you like for Christmas?”
The boy was no dummy. He gave me a piece of paper with a list of ten things he wanted. Highest priority requests were at the top of the list It was printed in green marker. THANK YOU, was scrawled in large block letters at the bottom. A kid that organized and polite had a bright future.
With a jolly laugh, I handed him a small gift bag, all the kids got one, and sent him on his way. Seeing the smiles when I gave each child their little surprise lifted my spirits. Any moment of respite from my extended funk was welcome.
For the next two and a half hours, I played the role of Jolly Old Saint Nick to perfection. I gave each child, and even a few tipsy grown-ups, my undivided attention. I chuckled. I posed for pictures. I even let a few skeptical kids tug on my beard, which stayed in place thanks to the liberal use of spirit gum. I will be forever grateful for having friends with theater makeup experience.
Finally, after almost four hours in the chair, and with only a single five-minute bathroom break, the line ended.
I rubbed my thigh. There were going to be a few bruises tomorrow. That was okay. Goob had warned me that I’d feel like I’d been through the wringer when I was finished. My old friend, who ran the convenience store at the marina, had filled the role of Santa at this event for almost fifty years. The day after Halloween, he informed me that he was hanging up his Santa hat and I was his choice to assume the role.
Honored that he considered me a worthy successor, I accepted with glee. Of course, that was before the bad news started rolling in.
Nevertheless, today I’d done the job and was confident that I’d done Goob proud.
“Anybody else?” I took a look around the pavilion. Goob had warned me that there might be a latecomer, a shy kid, or one who didn’t cope well with crowds. It was vital that I made absolute certain that every kid got their time with Santa before calling it a day.
“Just those two over there.” Gretchen pointed toward a pair of girls standing by a support column on the other side of the pavilion. One looked to be a teenager. The other was younger. Their hair color, build, and facial features were so similar, they had to be sisters.
The younger one was chewing on a thumbnail and giving me and her sister alternating looks.
“Ladies?” Gretchen took a few steps toward them. “Would you like to have a visit with Santa?”
The younger one nodded while the older one rolled her eyes.
Nobody else was around. The face painter had just left, and the musical trio had packed up their things half an hour ago. Using my natural investigative skills, Paradise Springs Police Chief Susan Eikenberry’s words not mine, I deduced that the older one had gotten stuck bringing her younger sister to see Santa. I felt for her. Not long ago, like a few hours, I didn’t want to be here either. The kids had won me over, though, and I was still in a jolly mood.
“Come closer.” I waved them over. “What can Santa do for you, today?”
The girls exchanged a look. Then big sister took little sister in her hand.
“You sure you want to do this?” the older one asked.
“Uh huh.” The younger looked her sister in the eye. “I came this far, didn’t I?”
“Okay, but don’t expect much. You know how grown-ups can be.”
I gestured again. Admittedly, the younger one looked a little old to be asking Santa what she wanted for Christmas. Looks could be deceiving, though. Besides, this could be a dare or a bet. Maybe a brother, probably an annoying one, was observing the whole thing from someplace out of my line of vision.
Hey, during my middle school years, I would have happily sat on Santa’s lap if it got me out of having to take out the trash or put my clothes away.
When they were ten feet from me, the girls stopped. Gretchen reached out her hand to the younger one.
“Thank you for visiting Santa Claus. What’s your name?”
“Rhea.” She slipped her hand into Gretchen’s. “Are your pointy ears real?”
Older sister let out a groan as her cheeks turned red. The teenage burden of embarrassing younger siblings was unrelenting.
Gretchen smiled and turned her head to give her questioner a good look at an ear. “What do you think?”
The girl ran her middle finger along the pointy edge of Gretchen’s ear. Like my beard, the ears had been applied by a makeup artist friend. Thanks to her work, Gretchen would have fitted right in with the elves in Middle Earth.
“Wow.” After a few moments, she turned Gretchen’s head to look at the other ear. “Someday, I want to have ears like yours. What’s your name?”
“Gum Drop,” Gretchen said. She’d spent an hour trying to decide on the perfect North Pole elf name. Just in case someone asked. She knew the value of preparation.
“I’m Rhea. That’s my sister Callisto—”
“Um, just Callie,” the older one said, crossing her arms in a classic defensive move.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said. “Rhea, if you like, you can sit on my lap. Or you can stand next to me, if you’d rather do that.”
One of the pointers Goob had given me was that not all kids who came to visit Santa would be comfortable sitting on my lap. The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was making the young one comfortable. This was supposed to be a fun experience, after all.
Rhea looked at Callie, who responded with a one-shoulder shrug.
“This was your idea, sis. Your call.”
Without another word, Rhea marched right up to me and plopped onto my lap in a move reminiscent of my cat, Oscar. She made eye contact with me. Then her lower lip began to quiver.
A second later, she burst into tears.
Goob had prepared me for this scenario, too. I put my arm around Rhea and told her it was all right in low, soothing tones. Meanwhile, all the color had drained from Callie’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Mr., I mean Santa.” Her sister’s wails almost drowned out her apology. “I was afraid she was going to do this. We’ll go.”
I put my free hand up like a stop sign. “No worries. Gum Drop, would you get a bottle of water from behind the chair and give it to Miss Callie? And a tissue for Miss Rhea?”
Gretchen was a total pro. In seconds, she pressed a few tissues into my hand. Then she offered the water to Callie, putting an arm around the girl and offering reassurances that all was well at the same time.
I had practically no experience with kids. Yet something from deep inside told me to simply hold Rhea and let her cry it out. Her little hands were grasping onto my suit so tight her knuckles were white. It was like she was holding on for dear life. Whatever the trigger was, she needed the reassurance that countless children got from St. Nick.
After a few minutes, the tears slowed. Rhea wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her long-sleeved T-shirt, then used the tissues to blow her nose.
To be honest, I’d thought Goob’s insistence that I wear white, cotton gloves was overkill. When Rhea put the used tissues into my palm, I changed my mind.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She took a drink from a bottle of water Gretchen held out to her. “Sorry about that. You’re not mad, are you?”
“Of course, not.” I let out a laugh. A real one. “We all need a good cry from time to time. Whenever you’re ready, what would you like for Christmas?”
Rhea looked at me with big brown eyes that were still watery from crying and cheeks that were still streaked with tears. She was smiling, though. An expression of hope.
“I want my dad back.”
Throughout the afternoon, kids had asked me for everything from a new pair of shoes to a speedboat to tickets to see Ariana Grande in concert. Nobody had asked for a parent, though. Were these children of divorced parents? Or worse, had their father passed away? I apologized and asked Rhea to repeat her request.
Callie took a step forward.
“Our dad’s been missing for months. We want you to find him and bring him home so we can be a family again in time for Christmas.”
“Oh.” My mind reeled. Goob’s pointers hadn’t covered what to say when a kid asks for a missing parent to be located.
Rhea looked at me with trust in her eyes that I’d yet to earn. Callie stared at me, then shook her head, as if she’d given up on the concept of hope. Gretchen’s lips were drawn tight against each other. Probably in fear that I’d say the wrong thing.
I had to get this right. Had to channel St. Nick as best as I could.
“Tell me more, Rhea. Tell Santa everything.”
Excerpt. ©J.C. Kenney. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
Giveaway: An ebook copy of A KILLER DAY IN PARADISE + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice
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Meet the Author:
J.C. Kenney is the bestselling author of The Allie Cobb Mysteries, The Darcy Gaughan Mysteries, and The Elmo Simpson Mysteries. He’s also the co-host of The Bookish Hour webcast. When he’s not writing, you can find him following IndyCar racing or listening to music. He has two grown children and lives in Indianapolis with his wife and a cat. Follow J.C. Kenney on Bluesky here.
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