There were no stars twinkling overhead and the sky was black as pitch. It had snowed in the morning, covering the ground with a four-inch blanket of annoyance. Later that afternoon, the temperature had continued dropping until the fluffy white stuff had turned crusty and bitter, like the rest of the town it was trying to nestle into. As if that weren't enough, it was also Christmas Eve.

The idea of Christmas may give you warm thoughts and fuzzy dreams, but so far we've had four shootings, two stabbings, a burning cross on the lawn of our only elven/human interracial couple, one lynching, and a stolen partridge out of Mrs. Robinson's pear tree. Someone must have thought that would be funny. Last year it was the turtledoves from the pond and the year before that, Mr. French's hens.

I hate the holidays.

My name is Frost. Jack Frost. That was my mother's idea of humor. It seemed, when I was born, that before I ever cried or fussed, even before the cord had been cut, I gummed the nurse's nose. They thought it was just the cutest thing and my future was decided in that moment. I didn't much agree with the name growing up and now, having grown up, I still don't find it funny. There are just some things we're not meant to understand.

I head up the three man investigative police force for the town of Glacier Bay, population two hundred and fifty. If you've never heard of Glacier Bay, don't feel bad. This place isn't listed on any maps or in any atlases. You see, the town is a suburb of the North Pole; separated from that metropolis of elves and chubby cheeks by a thirty-mile stretch of pine trees that one of our illustrious forefathers named Pine Haven. Original, isn't it?

The town consists mainly of retired elves, their families and the relatives of the Kringle family. I'm related to the fat man myself. However, I can plead distance for being twice removed on my mother's side.

I was driving along the main drag, shining my spotlight between the houses, trying to fill the last minutes of my shift when the radio crackled to life. The warbled voice of Carl Nelson was thrown out. "Car One, respond."

There wasn't much chance of me picking up that radio.

"Jack, you online?" A tone there, pleading.

I sighed, picked up the handset, and depressed the button. "What is it, Carl?"

"There's been an accident out in Pine Haven, Jack."

"Take care of it then," I told him, unable to keep the agitation from my voice. "My shift is about over and I have a bottle of Kahlua and a carton of eggnog with my name on them."

"I'm already out here, Jack. Believe me, it's a mess. You need to come out here."

"I don't care if the big man himself is dead and bleeding, Carl."

"We've had a trampling, Jack. Just off Blitzen Boulevard, about fifty feet into the woods. It was--"

There was a long pause, three beats worth of dead air. "It was what, Carl?"

"It was your Grandmother, Jack. She was the one trampled."

I felt my Adam's apple leap, carving a red-hot groove of pain in my throat. One hand rubbed slowly at the three-day stubble on my chin before moving up to wipe at my eyes. They were still dry. I hadn't cried in a long time. A glance in the rearview mirror showed my face to be the same. I thought, not for the first time, that maybe I lacked something fundamental in the emotions department.

"You there, Jack?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, Carl. I'll be there in a few minutes. Lock it down for me."

"You got it, boss."

I drove on in silence. My Grandma was a sweet woman. I never really saw her much growing up, my mother didn't work, and my father worked in the reindeer stables up at the Pole. They were always around. Grandma was the mysterious woman who showed up three times a year, pinched my cheeks, pulled on my nose, and gave me money. I endured the first two simply so that I could reap the rewards of the last. Still, I liked her, you know?

When I arrived at the scene, my car was directed off to the side. There were spotlights placed here and there, blazing a trail into the woods. I turned off the engine and got out, yanking on my coat. It was a flannel number, with wool lining, two sizes too big to conceal my weapon. The scene was mobbed with onlookers and other cops, the uniformed gentlemen employed by the town. The bystanders were an odd mixture of elves, reindeer, and humans. I noted there were quite a few of the four legged ones out tonight, which wasn't unusual, considering the fat man should have taken flight an hour ago. The other reindeer always came out to cheer on the golden boys of the forest.

I headed over to the edge of the woods, looking for Carl. Most of the boys here knew me, and I raised a hand in greeting, even shaking a few hands. There were also a few of the fat man's personal security force present. It was one of these that stopped me at the tree line. I was forced pulled my tin and show it off. He made a spectacle of looking at it, turning it this way and that, even though he knew good and well who I was. He slapped it back into my palm and let me pass.

The encounter made me frown. If they were here, that meant the fat man was here, too. No doubt ready to chew on my butt for this whole thing, like it was my fault in some strange way. That man could hold a grudge better than anyone else I had ever known.

The snow crunched under my boots, the top layer of ice giving way only after my full weight was set upon it. The low hanging branches snagged at the knit cap that was tucked over my ears, threatening to tear it off. I reflected that being tall was a nuisance. It could be said that I found everything concerning myself that way.

Most people called me pessimistic. I figured that I was more of a realist. I knew my limitations. I tried to be a prick and fell short sometimes, lacking the fundamental ability to screw over everyone. I had the amazing ability to only screw those people that would end up biting me in the ass later in life. One of my greater gifts, I thought.

Carl materialized from the inky blackness always present behind a spotlight. He was wearing a red parka and cap, his lanky frame moving gracefully despite the frozen ground. We shook hands and I could tell that he wasn't happy.

"Sorry you had to come out, Jack," he told me, which was his way of expressing his grief over my Grandma's death.

"It's all right," I nodded. "What've we got?"

He glanced at me, a question lurking behind his eyes, and then plunged ahead with the details while we walked through the trees to the scene of the crime. "The deceased was identified at Mrs. Frost, 73, of Sanford Lane West. It was your Grandpa Joe who made the call to us. Apparently, she was run over by a reindeer."

I shook my head, asked, "Anyone run down Rudolph yet?"

"Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I've got all nine of them deer grounded and rounded, ready for questioning."

"Good man. We'll start with Rudolph first. We're going to have to move on this, too," I said as we reached the spot were my Grandma's body was lying in a large spotlighted area. "The fat man's launch time was about an hour ago."

The body had been haphazardly covered, and as I looked at the lumpy tarp, I could see the blue hair and vein-covered cheeks of my Grandma. She was no doubt wearing that same green and blue one-piece dress she always wore. It wasn't the most pleasant thought I'd had that night. I left Carl talking with some of Santa's security boys while I headed over to where the third man of my team was working.

Jake Otis, my forensics man, was tacking out a square some twenty feet by twenty feet around the body with tomato stakes and red Christmas ribbon. He was also busy barking at anyone who tried to maneuver past his barrier. His breath plumed out from under a bushy black mustache each time he threw out a fastball obscenity. When I got closer, I could smell the nicotine and booze. There was nothing like a professional at work.

"Talk to me, Otis. What's up?"

"It's frickin' Christmas Eve, Jack. While the rest of the world has the loonies on Halloween, we get 'em tonight. Go figure that one out. The victim was trampled hard. The body was driven through the ice cover, past the snow, and then into the ground itself about five inches. Musta hurt like hell. Hoofprints on her forehead, ass, and back," he said, then panted for a full thirty seconds to catch back up on his breathing. After that, he took a smoke out of his pocket and lighted up.

"The prints wouldn't happen to be Rudolph's, would they?"

"Sure as hell are, Jack. He hit her at least fifty times. Now, ask yourself: if you're a reindeer and you run someone over on accident, do you keep running 'em over? It sucks, Jack. Something ain't kosher."

"You got that right," I said and headed toward the body. There were bloodstains on the snow, just outside the rim of the tarp. I was careful to avoid stepping on any hoof prints, which was difficult, there was so many. There was something about the prints that bothered me and I got down onto one knee to take a closer look.

"Hey, Otis," I called out. "There's more than one set of reindeer prints here."

"The people don't keep voting you into office fer nothin', do they? There is a second print, but only the two. Rudolph and an unknown. I won't know the second until tomorrow, but it's not crucial, as the only print on the corpse belonged to Light Bright."

Nodding, I went on to the next task, which was to collect statements from the other eight reindeer and then Rudolph. In the end, I knew we would have to book the red-nosed animal and Santa would fight me all the way. It wouldn't be the first time that I had arrested the great reindeer or fought the fat man over doing it.

As I made my way from that red square of death, Carl beckoned me over. I went, lighting a cigarette of my own, letting the threadlike smoke trail over my shoulder. I puffed, amused the death had drawn three times as many elves as humans or reindeer. I guess when you make toys all year long, something as sick and morbid as a trampling was bound to be the most interesting thing on your agenda.

A thought occurred to me: Maybe that was why our crime rate was so high around Christmas. They all got so sick of giving and giving and giving that they just needed to release and kill someone. I could identify with that feeling.

"All right, Carl," I said. "Where's the sleigh brigade hanging out?"

"We've got them back out of the lights for now. The man requested it as soon as he got here."

"Figured as much. He been here long?"

"Since before I got here," answered Carl.

"I'll take Rudolph, you question the rest of the lot."

Together we walked out of the limelight and into the shadows of Pine Haven. I could hear the bells jangling from the reindeer, muting out their hushed whispers. That didn't bother me; I wasn't interested in hearing their conversation. What did bother me, however, was the fact that I couldn't see Light Bright's nose anywhere in the darkness. I was about to ask Carl where Rudolph was when a voiced boomed from the darkness.

"JACK FROST!"

I turned to find myself staring into the face of the fat man. His gin soaked breath washed over me and I had to grit my teeth to keep from gagging. It always amused me to see pictures of Santa with his red cheeks and nose, drawn by content little non-conformist artists who thought it was because of the cold. I hate to burst everyone's bubble on this one, but that schnoz is from too much liquor.

"Evenin', Kris," I replied, stepping away from that backwashed liquor breath. "I need to see Rudolph."

"And I needed to take off exactly seventy eight minutes and thirty two seconds ago," he rumbled at me, chubby lips smacking imperiously. "You're investigation is making me late for my rounds."

"Well, suck it up, Santy, it's going to be a long night," I replied, flicking my smoked butt into the snow. "Now bring me Light Bright so I can get on with it."

I watched him bristle at the use of Rudolph's pet name and took a small measure of satisfaction. I knew I would pay for it later, though. You didn't live in Glacier Bay and get away with crossing the fat man. I suppose that was one benefit of being almost as legendary and as inexplicable as God. You soon thought you were synonymous with God.

The first time I busted Rudolph was twelve years ago for public intoxication. Red-nose had gotten whacked out on cranberry vodka and flew through the town singing "Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer" at the top of his lungs. It was cute the first time, but after an hour of it, the people called us.

He had just gotten to the big time, with all the human kids (and the elves here, of course) singing his song and watching his life story on their televisions. The pressure of being a star had crushed him. The reindeer was young, though, and that could be expected. No one his age should have to handle that much, but he tried. Santa wasn't there for him. We all knew that. He just pushed the young reindeer harder and harder. Rudolph became the lone child star, acting out against his isolated loneliness and blah, blah, blah.

Ever since that year, the only thing I've gotten for Christmas was a lump of coal. That was my penalty for crossing Santa and jailing his star reindeer. Ah, the rigors of being respected.

Rudolph and Santa returned to me a few minutes later, the former looking at the ground, his deer lips turned up in a smug smirk. Santa, however, was staring at me from under those fake bushy eyebrows of his, arms crossed, fat black boot tapping a dent into the ice.

The bright red nose blared garishly in the night. He noticed me staring and the light grew a bit brighter, angrier. I couldn't help myself; the words just came rushing out. "How the hell did you run over my Grandma, Rudolph?"

"It was an accident, Jack, I swear it!"

"Just like last year when you went skating without your nose on and hospitalized the little Johnson girl?"

"Now wait just a damned minute, here," Santa interjected. "You don't know it was Rudolph that ran over this woman. And if you're not careful, I just might sue you for libel."

"Far as I know, no other reindeer has the initials RR carved into the bottom of his hooves. Those giant letters give it away."

"Cut the crap, Jack. We both know that any reindeer could have had those letters put there. Rudolph has enemies. Not many of his kind get as far as he has. Jealousy does bad things to good animals," smiled Santa.

"We also have a witness," I added, smirking at Santa.

"A what?" blanched the fat man.

"Witness," I repeated. "Someone who watched it happen." It felt good to drive in a nail.

Santa glared at Rudolph, then stalked off toward Carl and the rest of his reindeer team. I realized the witness was one fact the star had neglected to mention. That was fine by me, though. The more dissention in the ranks, the easier it would be for me to extract the truth and wrap the issue up in a little package, put a big red bow on it, and give it away for Christmas.

Of course, the whole issue looked cut and dried to me. With the hoof marks and the unknown reindeer as a witness, busting Rudolph would be easy. He had gone beyond drunken stupidity and drug induced paranoia.

Now he was a murderer.

Convicting Rudolph would be even easier, as his friends around the town numbered three. Then I could be rid of the town nuisance and really slide under Santa's skin once and for all. It would almost be as pleasurable as putting a size thirteen boot mark on the rear of his big red trousers.

But I knew that I wouldn't arrest the reindeer until I had assured myself that there was nothing missing in the puzzle. There were times when I hated myself for the inability to be a total prick. It always amounted to more paperwork later, too.

I turned back to Rudolph. "What happened?"

"I was practicing my launch, like I do every year. You know, going up and down the strip, stretching my legs before we got it on," he told me.

"Been drinking tonight?" I asked.

"No. I was over at Blitzen's shanty right up until I left for my practice run. We all were, so you can ask any of them. And you know how square all of them are."

I did know. There was never a peep of trouble until you showed up, Rudolph, old buddy, I thought. "Then why is there a dead woman with your initials hammered into her skull?"

"Get off my tail, Frost," snarled the reindeer, his mouth yawning wide to show square teeth. "It was an accident, dig? I was coming down the lane, really trucking it that time. I could hear some noises off to my left, but noises are easy to dismiss. The next thing I know, there's this orange glow off to that side. I turned my head and for some reason, I had to stare at that light. I was shocked that anyone would be out here. I thought…"

"Thought what?" I prompted, thinking my Grandma died because this stupid, talking reindeer suffered a natural case of headlight gaze.

"That it might be a fan or something, wanting an autograph," he finished. "And when I turned back, it was too late. The woman was in my path; laughing and carrying on like a hyena. When I hit her, she went down, but with the ice, I just kept sliding over her, both of us, down the lane. And she fought, trying to get out and I trampled, trying to get my footing back under me. Finally I fell down and rolled away."

Something sarcastic was about to pass my lips when I saw Carl motioning for me from the background. "You know the drill, Rudolph. Stick around. Otis will be around to check your system for drugs and alcohol."

"Just because you're jealous, Jack, don't take it out on me. I told you it was an accident and it was. That's all you need to know."

That's all it took.

"Listen to me very closely," I seethed at him, getting close to his maw, angry that he was taking the death of my Grandma so lightly, as if this was her fault. One hand snagged his collar, tightening it around his throat. "I'm going to nail your ass to the wall. Not because I don't like you, Light Bright, but because you're a screw up. This isn't some petty rap that the fat man can bully you out of. This is murder, buddy, and even here in la-la land, murder is a real serious charge."

"You'll never make it stick and we both know it," he challenged. "They may not like me in this town, Jack, but at least they respect me. You're the one that comes in and sees them in all their nastiness, the one always coming down on them for their faults; you're the one who busts them, Jack, and throws them in jail when they're at their worst. They could never respect someone who thinks they're foolish and stupid and believe me, you don't hide your contempt for us well."

Then he was stalking off, all four hooves kicking up tufts of snow at me. I watched his back, thought about just pulling my gun and shooting him, then dismissed the thought. I went and found Carl.

"What's up?" I asked.

He recounted what Rudolph had told me; only he said that Rudolph had left to meet up with Mary Jane.

"The second set of reindeer prints," I said. "He was out here showing off for a piece of split-tail."

"It seems that way, yeah."

Then I gave him Rudolph's story.

"Let's go check the area where this orange glow supposedly was," he suggested, offering me a flashlight. He was a good cop. Before we went, I sent a uniform to bring me Mary Jane back for questioning.

Carl and I made our way over to the trees that lined Santa's runway. Spreading ourselves ten feet apart, we started into the woods, traveling in a straight line parallel to each other. Using our flashlights, we could see two sets of footprints, which I assumed belonged to Grandma and Joe.

After walking a good fifty feet, we faced each and shortened the distance between to five feet, and then we began walking again, this time back toward the runway. We were moving slower this time, keeping our eyes trained on the ground in front of us. The circle of illumination from the flashlight didn't provide much in the way of help, but it was something. There was nothing to be found, it seemed.

Carl and I completed that line and faced each other again, then moved together, shoulders touching. With a nod of his head, we started off, going back into the woods. We were halfway to the end of our fifty feet when he reached out and grabbed my arm.

"I got something," Carl said, kneeling down in the ice.

I shined my light down on the ground as his gloved hand pushed away the loose snow and ice around a set of prints. There was something there and I kneeled down as well, to get a closer look at it.

"What the hell?" I said as Carl held up a thin cigarette. The paper was red and white striped, like a candy cane. Carl brought it up to his nose, sniffed.

"Smells like peppermint," he told me.

I shook my head. I knew what it was. The high school kids had been caught with a bunch last week. "It's a joint, Carl, wrapped in peppermint paper. Merry Christmas."

"You know that if your Grandma and Joe were smoking this stuff, Rudolph is going to walk. His lawyer will rake your family through the coals."

"Yeah, I know. Let's get that to Otis so he can get it to the lab."

When we got back to Otis, he was busy supervising the removal of the body, smoking another cigarette. Covered in a black body bag, I could no longer see the image of my Grandma crushed underneath. I was thankful for that, therefore fulfilling my obligation to be thankful for something this holiday season.

"We got something for you, Otis," Carl said, handing over the roach.

Otis took it and nodded. "I figured as much. Lemme show you what I found."

He pulled a plastic baggie from inside his coat and held it up. Inside was a similar joint, only less smoked. The paper, instead of being red and white, was green and white.

"Spearmint," I laughed. "Peppermint and spearmint joints."

"Tis the season to be jolly, Jack," chuckled Otis. "Looks like Grandma and Joe were smoking some tweeds."

"Looks that way, yeah," I said. "Grandma was stoned out of her gourd, stumbled into the path and Rudolph creamed her. Case closed."

"Sounds like it to me," Carl said.

"Damn!"

"What is it, Jack?" asked Carl.

"I was just hoping to bust Rudolph's ass this time. Ground him for good."

"He's a pretty boy, Jack," Otis said. "He'll screw up again, trust me. Ever since he hit the big time, he ain't been right in the head."

"Well," I lamented, "I'm going to go tell the sleigh brigade they can take off. Wouldn't want to make Christmas any later than it already is."

I walked away from the other two, kicked at a pile of snow. It was hard to believe that my Grandma had been smoking a little dope and gotten herself killed. Of course, the fact that my family was doing something illegal wasn't surprising. I had busted relatives before.

The fat man was waiting for me, smiling, hands on hips. News travels fast, it seemed, but that was how it worked. You work a single day of the year and feel like everyone owes you something. Welcome to the mob, run by a fat man in a red suit.

Ho, ho, ho.

"I take it you're closing out this investigation, Frost?" smirked Santa.

"Soon enough, Kris. As soon as the ambulance moves, you're clear to take off. Make sure you keep the deer around for questioning when you get back. Still some things I need to clear up."

"Of course there are," he snickered, shaking his fat belly and twining his white whiskers. "Of course, if I were you, I'd find out who was supplying my dear old Grandma with dope and stop harassing innocent civilians." There was no mistaking the small amount of menace in his voice.

"Rudolph's got a prior record, Kris, you know that. We always look at the obvious first," I said wearily.

"It's a damned shame that a person is guilty until proven innocent," Santa continued. "Whatever happened to good old fashioned innocent until proven guilty?"

"It went out the window right along with decency, respect, and people believing in you, Kris. Just because you think the world owes you a favor, you act like some sort of Alpha-God. People stopped believing in you when you started shorting them. First it was their gifts. Bobby wanted a train. What did you get him? A stupid army man. Barbara wanted a Little Miss Pretty Doll. What did you get her? Some stupid pony with bows in its mane!"

I was raving and I knew it, but didn't care. It had to be said. Santa had been running this town into the ground for far too long.

"Then you took their faith and did you ever redeem yourself? Did you ever deliver a single present that some poor zit-faced kid wanted? You're a fake and a phony, Kristoffer Kringle and the people know it. That's why Christmas has changed. You started screwing them and they stopped caring."

"And what about the death, the disease, the war? Is all that my fault, too?" he asked, challenging, indignant.

"No, that was always there, but you're the reason for their apathy; the reasons why they just don't care. They kill just to kill, or for the sneakers you didn't get them last year at Christmas. You were the embodiment of giving and caring, of the holiday season. You even surpassed the birth of Christ as the figure of Christmas and what did you do? You turned it into a mockery!"

"Oh, blow it out your ass, Jack," Santa snarled at me. He turned on his heel and clomped to his sleigh, climbed his incredible bulk up. A gloved hand took up the reigns, snapped them back. The sleigh jerked forward, turned, came full about on the launch ramp, then simply jumped forward in a great burst of speed. Within seconds, Rudolph's nose was blaring a bright red, glaring off the snow.

"On Dasher, on Dancer! On Prancer, on Vixen! On Comet, on Cupid! On Donner, on Blitzen!" rang out the fat man's voice as they barreled down the lane. It took only another few seconds and the sleigh was airborne, soon out of sight.

With a sigh, I headed back into the lights to question Mary Jane, pondering tomorrow, when the fat man was back and the world was right again. I would be at the office, reading over the toxicology reports, coroner's report, and listening to cheesy music over the department's loudspeaker. I was being honest when I told Carl that I had wanted to bust Rudolph. It would have been a fine Christmas then.