For Santa's Sake, Harlow!

By Gwen Gardner

Christmas Spirit takes on a whole new meaning…

 

When Crystal Ball goes missing during the holidays, Harlow Grayson gets stuck writing the Ask Crystal Ball psychic column. Although Harlow is a firm skeptic, the column is popular, and a deadline is looming.

 

But when Harlow activates a multicolored pen she finds in Crystal's desk, releasing her ghost, everything Harlow thought she believed (or didn't believe) is tossed out like used Christmas wrapping. How did Crystal wind up dead? She doesn't know, but she's determined to find out with Harlow's help. Harlow wants no part of it, but it's hard to argue with a ghost. After a second co-worker turns up dead, Harlow realizes that she'd better find the killer before the entire staff winds up in the obituary column.

 

For Santa's Sake, Harlow! Is a light paranormal cozy mystery novella infused with the holiday spirit, a spirit who loves the holidays — all of them! — and an investigative reporter who's coming around to her new reality.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwen Gardner
• Release date: Nov 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223554011

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Harlow Grayson loathed Christmas. The twinkling lights, the festive decorations, and the cheerful carols all wore on her last nerve. Yet, as the event planner for the annual Christmas party hosted by the Local Rag newspaper, she pretended to revel in the holiday spirit.

Forcing a smile, Harlow mingled with the guests, all the while scanning the room for the person who left her abandoned like a lone bulb on a bare Christmas tree. Crystal Ball had better have a good excuse for not being there to help entertain the guests.

If you don’t get here soon, I’m going to strangle you! was the last text Harlow shot off to Crystal, immediately followed by, I’m worried. Please respond.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Harlow turned to find Mr. Perkins, her boss, approaching with two glasses of white wine. He handed one to her, then clinked glasses in a celebratory gesture.

Harlow, I must congratulate you on another successful party. Mr. Perkins gestured toward the beautifully decorated lobby, transformed into a ballroom for the occasion. The décor is splendid, as usual, and everyone is having fun. A mix of town bigwigs and residents from Willow Lake, Minnesota, were in attendance. The Local Breakroom coffee house, attached to the Local Rag newspaper, both owned by Mr. Chowdbury, combined to serve as the hub of the community. News and more than a little gossip flowed daily through their doors. Every year, they hosted a party for the town.

Thank you, Mr. Perkins. Crystal and I worked hard at it. Harlow maintained her composure. No need to worry him just yet. She glanced around the crowded room, hoping to catch sight of Crystal amidst the sea of partygoers.

But it was too late. Mr. Perkin’s had already noticed her absence. The pair of you did a splendid job, but I’m concerned about Crystal’s whereabouts. Did she mention taking time off to you? His frown reflected her own rising worry, which she did her best to tamp down.

No sir, she didn’t. I hope she’s all right. Harlow scanned the crowd again. Crystal’s tardiness went beyond testing the limits of being fashionably late. The decorations and lights, the enormous Christmas tree, and the North Pole lit brighter than the North Star to guide Santa home. But no Crystal to enjoy the success of her efforts. It made no sense. Crystal loved chatting with guests. She excelled at it. Harlow didn’t. Give Harlow something genuine and meaningful to sink her teeth into, and she was in her element.

Mr. Perkins continued speaking, forcing Harlow to pay attention. Crystal’s column is due Monday, and she hasn’t turned it in yet. I trust you’ll ensure it meets the deadline, Harlow. Again, great job setting up the party. I’ll leave the rest in your capable hands. See you on Monday.

Harlow’s jaw dropped open like the entrance to the Abominable Snowman’s cave. But sir, I— she attempted to object, but Mr. Perkins had already vanished into the crowd, leaving her no room to argue. She resisted stomping her foot and instead clamped her mouth shut and fumed.

Ask Crystal Ball was a popular newspaper column, but Harlow never understood why. A Dear Abby advice column with a psychic twist, as if gazing into a magic crystal ball for answers to desperate people’s questions worked. Now Harlow, the Senior Staff Writer, had to write the column herself. What did she know about giving advice? She was not exactly a people-person. And a psychic column, of all things!

The weight of the party planning, and now Crystal’s deadline, loomed large before her. Her own articles required editing and writing Crystal’s woo-woo garbage added to her growing workload.

Where was Crystal Ball?

Harlow gazed out the window at the festive night, wishing Crystal would traipse down the snowy sidewalk. No doubt she’d make some lame excuse about Mercury in Retrograde and the computer going out in her car. Instead, Harlow witnessed a snowball fight among teenagers throwing ice balls at each other like hand grenades.

Turning her attention back to the room, she noticed Carlson Peters and Brittney Sanchez dancing to Sleigh Ride amidst a throng of people. Carlson’s award-winning article on environmental industrialization led to his promotion upstairs. Brittney went with him as his assistant. She wondered if they’d seen Crystal.

Harlow wandered through the elegantly decorated tables adorned with silver and gold garland. She nodded and smiled in all the right places. The holly-jolly malarkey spread through the crowd as if the Ghost of Christmas Present had sprinkled good cheer over their heads. Of course, the free-flowing food and cocktails added to the merriment.

As she continued to circle the room, a server who looked vaguely familiar waylaid her with a tray of pink champagne.

I’m sorry, I forgot your name. Harlow set her empty glass on the tray and selected an ice-cold flute. Her second drink of the night, and her limit, although the current circumstances might test those limits.

The young man grinned. It’s Gabe—Gabe Matthews. Hopeful future journalist, and head dogsbody filling in as company cleaner.

Harlow felt his pain. As Senior Staff Writer, she’d now sunk to psychic columnist fill-in. Do you know Crystal?

Sure, everyone knows Crystal. The cute young man wore a faux tux, had spiky brown hair with blond tips, and still sported a few adolescent pimples. Janie Baxter, the receptionist, strolled by, flashing a coy smile and a wave in Gabe’s direction.

Clearly, love was in the air because Gabe couldn’t take his eyes off her. Harlow waved a hand in front of his face to regain his attention. Hello? Have you seen her?

He blinked and blushed. Erm, sorry. I haven’t seen Crystal for a few days. Since Wednesday evening. I arrived around six o’clock to clean the offices and she was on her way out.

Gabe continued his rounds, leaving Harlow to ponder. Today was Friday. Why wouldn’t Crystal show up for the company party, the one she’d proudly decorated like Santa’s home away from home? Why would she leave Harlow holding the bag, like Rudolph held Santa’s bag full of newspapers in their window display?

Harlow cozied up to the red-nosed reindeer. Just me and you left holding the bags, huh, Rudolph?

A deep voice interrupted her momentary lapse of insanity. Chatting up Rudolph, Miss Grayson? Surely you could find a more adept conversationalist among the prestigious guests gathered here tonight.

She froze. Busted talking to an inanimate object. Could the evening get any worse?

Turning, her gaze traveled up to meet that of Detective Inspector Nelson Hawk Hawkins. They’d met once before. She’d heard that he lost his wife and had a young daughter.

I could, but then they all talk back, and sometimes a sounding board is all I need. Harlow grinned as if it was a joke, but she meant it. She excelled at leading a charge and barked orders better than the best general on the field.

Rudolph may listen well, but I nod in all the right places. The inspector’s eyes twinkled with humor, a rare sight in a murder detective. Soft, dark eyes offset his high cheekbones and chiseled features. His short-cropped black hair, as dark and glossy as her own, rounded out his attractiveness. And dang, he could wear a suit! Her fingers itched to straighten his tie and continue gazing up into his eyes, but that was a romantic fantasy. The kind that didn’t exist in the real world.

Harlow hoped she hadn’t been staring. Glad you could make it, Detective Inspector Hawkins.

You did a great job with the décor. Mellie’s been dying to see the window display after I mentioned it featured Rudolph. He’s her favorite reindeer. I’ll bring her by soon. You might just win the window dressing contest again this year. That should make Crystal happy.

It would thrill Crystal to hear that, if I could find her. Harlow knew that concern had crept into her voice, but who better to tell than the police?

He glanced around. I’m sure she’s floating around here somewhere.

Harlow shook her head. She hasn’t shown up. I can’t think what would keep her from the party. This stuff is her jam. Drawing closer to him, she whispered, I’m really worried.

He glanced at his watch, then frowned. It’s after ten o’clock. When’s the last time you saw her?

Harlow thought for a minute. Wednesday, I think. That’s not unusual. Crystal often spends time away from the office. But missing this party is completely out of character for her.

I assume you’ve tried calling her? he asked.

She nodded. I’ve blown up her phone with no response. In fact, neither threats nor concerns had prompted a return call.

She might have become stranded along the road somewhere. I’ll make a phone call and have patrol officers keep an eye out for her. If you don’t hear from her by tomorrow, let me know.

When Crystal Ball finally showed up, Harlow intended to strangle her.

Chapter 2

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Having said goodbye to the last of the guests, Harlow made her way to the newsroom.