Read Online Naughty Nine Tales of Christmas Crime by Steve Hockensmith - Free Book Online

she called out when she noticed him being an especially persistent pest around her associate editor, who just happened to be 23, female and cute as a button. "Next year instead of scheduling two deadlines the week before Christmas, why not go for all three? Or better yet, how about if we all have to go to the printer on Christmas Eve ? Wouldn't that look neater on your little calendar?"
    Starr immediately became his number-one suspect. But then Bigelow remembered Marcy's comment that morning about the Secret Santa.
    "What'd he give you, anyway?"
    He .
    Damn.
    Starr was the only staff member who consistently criticized him to his face. It would be just like her to slip these nasty little digs onto his desk, as well. Finding a way to get her fired (for he couldn't admit the real reason lest it raise uncomfortable questions) would've been a pleasurable challenge.
    And now the challenge he faced was no pleasure at all. Eliminate the women, eliminate the staff of Muscles Now! and he was still left with . . . .
    Bigelow couldn't quite get the figure worked out in his head, so he retreated to his office and hunkered down over the staff telephone list.
    Seven men. Seven potential enemies.
    He would narrow them down to one, and then he would strike.
    Starting tomorrow. He was feeling a bit depressed, so he went to a matinee to cheer himself up.

    Wednesday, December 17
    Bigelow meant to get to work early. He had his alarm set for the ungodly hour of 7 a.m., and he'd turned off his Two Towers Special Edition DVD at 11 on the dot. He should've arisen at 7 rested and ready for action—the "action" being getting to the office before his Secret Santa.
    But he'd been fidgety the night before, and he'd tried to calm himself with a box of chocolate-covered pretzels sent to DVD Now! by the flacks at Warner Home Video. The pretzels knotted his stomach and twisted his dreams, and all night long he heard the same faint echo.
    Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!
    When the alarm went off, he smacked the snooze button. Ten minutes later, he smacked it again. Ten minutes later, again.
    He ended up "snoozing" a dozen times. By the time he finally got up not only was he late but Bantha, annoyed by all the false alarms, had left a large, unwrapped gift under the Christmas tree.
    When Bigelow finally got to work, that knot in his stomach pulled even tighter.
    "You must've been a good boy this year," Marcy said as he rushed by her cube.
    Bigelow whipped around to face her. "What do you mean?"
    Marcy blinked at him a moment, looking surprised by the heat in his voice. "I mean Santa's been in to see you, that's all. Just a joke."
    "Oh."
    "You might want to lighten up on the Starbucks, Erik," Marcy said as he stomped off to his office.
    He slammed the door. Now even Marcy was giving him a hard time. Sweet, loyal Marcy. Sweet, loyal, shapely Marcy. What was she wearing today, anyway? He was so worked up he hadn't even noticed.
    This insanity had to end!
    The package was waiting for him on his desk. It had the same note, the same mocking gift wrap. But it wasn't a book this time. It was square, and it rattled when he shook it. He attacked the box like Bantha attacking a Nike, sending scraps of wrapping paper flying up over his head.
    Inside the package he found a small bottle of mouthwash, a tin of Altoids, a tube of "extra-strength super-mint" toothpaste and a brochure entitled "Overcoming Halitosis: Five Steps to a Fresher You."
    Bigelow brought his hand up to his mouth, puffed into it, then sucked in deeply through his nose. Yes, O.K., maybe there was a little staleness there. But he'd had another vente latte on his way to work that morning. Surely his breath would freshen itself up over time. He didn't have halitosis—did he?
    No! He wasn't going to let some anonymous peon psych him out. He was going to march out of his office and lay a serious smackdown on . . . whoever.
    He started for the door, hoping a brilliant plan would form in his mind before he reached the other